#I love painting their base from this season

[coal-inks]

Hello Good Times With Scar fans.

Also hey, if you see this here's the matching Grian side.

[chirpsythismorning]

re Lettergate: Lettergate, but it's El's pre-spring break letter laying crumpled somewhere in Mike's room. Reminding him what El said about the painting. Making Mike wonder in a letter of mostly lies was the part about Will also one? Mike's gears spinning-> Why did Will have it at the airport not El? Why did Will bring it with him? Why wait to give it to him if it had been from her all along? What would make Will lie to him like that? Questions for both Mike and to some casual viewers to think about if they hadn't already. We know it doesn't add up and why, but does Mike?

Right?!?!? Like it's such a mind fuck.

I'm still not certain about that scene, and that's probably what I love about it so much.

I could see it being bunch of different scenarios.

Initially when s4 came out, I was very confident Mike didn't see Will crying. I even made this post about it that blew up, bc I could genuinely relate to Will's situation, where you're facing the window in the car, crying as quietly as you can in hopes that no will notice.

But then as time passed, I rewatched the scene more and I started to notice all of Mike's micro-expressions (the first time I watched it, I didn't notice any of them...), with him going from bright and happy upon thinking the painting for Will's crush (according to El), was actually for him, only for Will to say it was commissioned by El and with Mike now looking extremely confused.

I kind of take that first reaction as something the entire fandom overlooks, both ga and bylers. Because it's clear from the start of that moment Mike WANTS the painting to be for him from Will, and he's visibly relieved to find out it is, only to be visibly dejected when he finds out that it's not.

And like you said, then comes the uncertainty for Mike that this could have been just another thing El lied about in her letter, so him assuming Will was painting something for his crush might have not even based in reality in the first place?

Also, why would Will lie to him? Will never lies to him! At least not something as big as this. Which is why fans have acknowledged some of the notes from the score Being Different matching both parts of The First I love You and The First Lie. There is something sort of special about Mike just believing Will, and the importance of that being conveyed through that score basically. I do get that. Then again, Being Different is mostly Will's perspective on the situation at hand (and he's known to be an unreliable narrator). This is him saying I love you to Mike for the first time (veiled) and this is him also lying to him about something big for the first time.

But again, after rewatching that scene god knows how many times now, it's clear based on Mike's emotions throughout that he is having some sort of realization and conundrum.

In fact, he looks most emotional and effected when Will starts describing the situation of their relationship, not him and El's.

When Will starts talking about feeling different and like a mistake and how Mike makes him feel like he's none those things, we know that can't possibly apply to Mike and El's dynamic at all. In fact, we just saw that that was the whole reason for their big fight, with El being convinced Mike just saw her as a monster like everyone else, with him deflecting by saying she was a superhero, not acknowledging the core of the issue at all. This is something him and El never touch on again, face to face. All we have is their fight, them reuniting and saying they missed each other, followed by Mike jumping into saying much of what he said in their fight during his monologue, things that literally upset her last time (denying he never said I love you), mixed with some inspiration from Will, and with a dash of trauma bonding phrasing that would come off as romantic to the majority, but also arguably as platonic and yet just as meaningful. But the pressure of it being romantic is what made it so hard to watch, because we know Mike's heart is conflicted right now.

The issue I have with the interpretation that Mike didn't pick up on Will's feelings at all though, is that there is something so much more impactful than all of that stuff I have just said combined, and it's the whole I didn't say it/You didn't have to line. That was really beautiful exchange that sort of encapsulated their whole relationship, and so having that ring true in the moment when it mattered most? Epic.

It meant everything for Mike to read between the lines in the van scene, as it would have cemented this truth between them that the love they feel for each other doesn't need to be outright said, they just know based on how they make each other feel. Like that's the whole point.

And by the end of that scene, Mike looks like someone who understands.

When Will is emotional looking out the window talking about being a mistake, we get Mike out of focus in the background looking Will up and down very sympathetic. I don't know why he would have such strong indicators of feeling sympathy for an emotional Will, describing things that sound an awful lot like their circumstances, unless he somehow picked up on what Will was saying despite Will not outright saying it?

The way Mike literally looks stunned and amazed when Will starts rambling and saying things that word for word describe him and Will? Why would he react like that if he had absolutely no thoughts in his head?

Gonna be honest and say the most obvious reason he would figure out Will is lying, is that El does not know an iota about DND... Like she doesn't know anything. She would have to have asked Will to dig deep and do something personal for her to give to Mike... And that just feels like it would be a quick obvious indicator for Mike that this has to be how Will feel's if it's coming from his knowledge about all of it? That in and of itself makes me feel like Mike would easily come to that conclusion that this is Will's feelings for him and he goes from being happy to sad to happy again bc he is relieved that the truth is it is for him, even if neither of them can face it rn.

More than anything on the Mike and El front, I think Mike knows that El deserves so much more than being settled for, which is why he's having a hard time playing along for much longer.

I think he would have preferred they stay friends at the end of s3 with them having been that way for the last 3 months before the epilogue, but it's not like Mike could say no thanks? That wasn't an option in any shape/form. After everything El just went through, and everything she's done for him and his friends, how could Mike hear her say I love you, and reject that? The fact that he does care for her very much is what makes it so tragic that he is suffering and not allowing himself to open up about it, bc he feels like if he did, he would be selfish. It would be selfish to break it off when she wants to be together now and is approaching their relationship romantically, only for him to go against that. And so he plays the part, and he does it really unconvincingly...

As he is having these moments in s4, I think it is him sort of accepting something that he has just started to see as inevitable because it's not like he can hide from the truth forever. Unless he wants to be miserable like his parents, and clearly he is feeling the pressure to just go along with it, while also deep down wanting to reject it, and we see how that blows over in the end, with it being way worse than he ever imagined (apocalypse proportions? Like, Jesus Mike).

I will say, that as a boy that is still technically in a relationship with someone, Mike probably felt like he couldn't be like Yes Will, I like you back. The best he could do was give him a look that said that reassuringly and then try to process it. Him facing the truth in that moment was never an option while him and El still hadn't talked things over. Also him facing a crying Will, would have only made him cry himself arguably, meaning his only option was to sit there looking as emotionless as possible (rink-o-mania teas). I think what we have here is honestly a s3 ending parallel right in front of us but without us being able to see Mike's side of it. We've got Will and Mike and even Jonathan. Will cried hoping Jonathan wouldn't notice, but he did. Mike biked home and hugged his mom looking just heartbroken. But imagine those s3 shots with Mike out of focus? You probably wouldn't know for certain if he was sad or not? I honestly feel like if we had seen Mike in the van, he would have looked like he was holding back everything he could, making those parallels overlap perfectly.

Then after the van scene, Mike's reuniting with El again and he's saying I'm here I'm here and you can see it on his face, he's worrying too much about El again. He's worried that he's going to break her if things end romantically between them and as a result she won't be in his life anymore. That's not what he wants at all. But then his eyes search for Will and he's so conflicted, bc he literally just days ago confided in Will that he didn't want to do this anymore. And yet still, he doesn't want to hurt El, nor does he want to hurt Will. *enter explosion in the background behind Mike, followed by Argyle going AW SHIT AW SHIT AW SHIT as Will and El hug and Mike watches....*

Then Surfer Boy happens, and El is reaching to hold his hands and now she's saying she missed him. I imagine he was terrified that because of their fight, she wouldn't want him in her life anymore, and so he was relieved on that front. But then the pressure is back again. He's back to square one, at the end of s3 where he feels like the only way El will ever want him is romantically, and he has to fit that role in order to be in her life. Not only is it something he feels obligated to do to stay connected to El, but also it seems like the most safest option in the world he lives in. It's what is expected from everyone around him. It makes sense. So it doesn't really matter if Mike is having doubts or that now he's hopeful Will feels the same, he starts to second guess himself.

And this then leads to part ?/? of Mike stalling (2 scenes before this, Yuri gets called out for being a coward because of his stalling, all while he hides the truth about the stalling in his coat chest pocket...). Mike is yet again stalling because he can't find it in himself to be honest and tell El he doesn't love her and play along and lie for any longer, and yet he also can't tell the truth because that also terrifies him (which is that he knows he doesn't love El because he has those feelings for Will...)

He stalls until it's not an option anymore, regardless of how he feels about the whole situation. And Will is pushing him and telling him to do it and Mike looks heartbroken. I think in this moment he is feeling doubts about Will's feelings, but also I think he is mostly convinced both El and Will want to be with him, so he is having to choose in this moment to be selfless like Will in order to save El's life, putting what he perceives to be her happiness, above his own (a vicious cycle we have going on here).

Now, a large part of why I subscribe to this, is because of a lot of details that fit, but I have also touched on this next detail here. Basically, I think Mike went from thinking the painting was from Will initially, to thinking it was from El by the end of the season.

I think the scene at the hospital is when this major shift happens. When Lucas says that El saving Max was a miracle, I think this is when Mike starts to now believe that El does love him, and that apparently his words did work, and so therefore the painting had to commissioned by her, right? The scene starts with the painting in the background behind Will, but directly after the miracle drop, Mike quickly shares a look with him, only to slowly, nervously look over at El, confused and then almost sad, with the painting now in the background behind her.

And so now the question becomes, does Mike want to keep up this act (unconvincingly) with El? Or does he want to follow his heart?

You could say that the ending of s4 answers that question...

I think that this means that starting in s5, Mike will definitely still have mixed feelings and emotions about the painting, along with his perception of El and Will's feelings for him.

I think that it makes sense that he would be upset if he's being sort of whipped back and forth about the truth. Lying was like a big deal in s4 with him and El (along with the whole series in general), but I think it's going to be a lot more impactful and intense seeing that confrontation happening with Will and Mike. Not because Mike is going to hate him or be mean over it, but just sort of be more upset than anything else.

Is Mike maybe thinking that this could be a testament to the state of their relationship? That apparently Will's gotten to the point where he lies about something like this? It's going to be a lot to process seeing as he ended s4, for the first time, making an active choice to choose for himself instead of basing that choice on other peoples emotions.

Because apparently that is what happened isn't it? He literally ended s4 thinking the painting was commissioned by El and yet he still chose Will, also while now probably assuming he was wrong about Will's feelings and he doesn't actually feel the same.

Let that sink in.

Mike made that choice for the first time based on his own emotions and not others, even all while assuming it was going to be doomed...

I'm sort of proud honestly, because that's not an easy thing to do.

Being true to yourself and risking hurting and losing others is a scary thing. And it's also why they've got themselves in this situation in the first place, because all of them are sacrificing their own truth, under the assumption that this is what everyone wants.

It's tragically epic.

[omedapixel]

MORE DEBUG OBJECTS

By poular demand, here are the rest of the prop and miscellaneous objects enabled for decorating! I don't have any pics right now, but the full list of objects is below the cut, and each package is merged by expansion pack.

As with my other debug objects, these can all be found under DEBUG > MISC. The catalog names are often something weird, because I haven't edited or added any strings.

These objects are technically not CC, it just allows you to access and decorate with objects that are already in game. Therefore you can uninstall these overrides, share worlds and lots using them, and they'll still remain wherever you've placed them.

Also, if you have a default replacement for any of these props, for example a plate default, then the object will also be updated to reflect that.

I highly reccomment using this in conjunction with my S3DT mod, since some of the objects are half sunk into the ground by default.

DOWNLOAD HERE

Object List Below

BASE GAME:

Guitar Case

Amplifier

Bottle Spigot (unused asset)

Child Ladle

Child Mixing Bowl

Cutting Board (slots do no work, unfortunately)

Fire Extinguisher

Fire Poker

Fire Lighter

Hammer

Bartending Bottle Prop

Ice Cream Cone

Microwave Meal

Paper Plate

Screwdiver

Sponge

Toilet Brush

Wedding Ring

Wrench

WORLD ADVENTURES:

Canteen

Chopsticks

Dig Site Brush

Flour Bag

Fortune Cookie

Map (looks like plain parchment)

Nectar Glass

Nectar Tray

Pamphlet

Pickaxe

Pungi (snake charming instrument)

AMBITIONS:

Chisel

Fire Axe

Blowtorch

Chainsaw

Detonator

Gnubb Bunny

Gnubb King

Junk Pipe Piece

Magnifying Glass

Notepad

Shovel

Tape Measure

Tattoo Gun

Triangle Ruler

Walkie Talkie

LATE NIGHT:

Drink Shaker

Drumstick

Party Glass

Round Party Glass

Bartending Bottle Prop

Juice Can

GENERATIONS:

Envelope

Love Letter Envelope

Cheap RAM Disk

Expensive RAM Disk

Beaker

Rolled Diploma

Flashlight

Game Controller

Greeting Card

Round Flask

Sparkling Juice (champagne)

PETS:

Hoofpick

Adult Pitchfork

Child Pitchfork

Plastic Pet Food Bowl

Cat Hunting Chip Bag

Cat Hunting Feather

Cat Hunting Leaf

Dog Treat

Foal Bottle

Horse Brush

Litter Scoop

Pet Brush

Stick (for playing fetch)

Freezer Bunny Ice Cream

Kitty Litter Pile

Rainbow Ice Cream

(forgot to do the chocolate ice cream, sorry!)

SHOWTIME:

CD Case

Record

Golf Ball

Juggling Pin

Microphone (grey)

Snack Bowl

Headphones

Golf Club Average

Golf Club Expert

Golf Club Old

Firefly Jar

FireflyJar Lid

Juggling Knife

Magician Sword

SUPERNATURAL:

Fly Swatter

White Glove

Bonehilda Key

Alchemy Bowl

Alchemy Package

Beehive Smoker

SEASONS:

Horseshoe

Child Rake

Adult Rake

Barista Bar Cup

Egg Hunt Basket

Trick or Treat Basket

Carving Knife

Fruit Punch

Hot Beverage Cup

Stack of Hot Dogs

Love Letter

Pie (from eating contest)

Snow Cone Syrup

Soccer Ball

Tissue

Spooky Day Candy

UNIVERSITY:

Clipboard

Red Juice Cup

Art Scanner

Bonfire Logs

Candy Bar

Cold One

College Letter

Energy Drink

Manilla Envelope

Macot Plushy

Ping Pong Ball

Ping Pong Paddle

Mistletoe (unused asset)

Protest Banners (3 versions)

Protest Flyer

Smartphone

Soda Can

Paint Sray Can

Suitcase

Whiteboard Eraser

Whiteboard Marker

ISLAND PARADISE:

Broom

Coconut Drink

Cold Beverage

Grim Reaper Trident

Pineapple Drink

Rescue Tube

Glass Bottle Pool Bar

Pool Bar Juice Can

INTO THE FUTURE:

Microphone (black)

OIl Puddle

Stardust

Paper Bag

[lady-phasma]

Sometimes having a couple Art History degrees is useful when watching a series or, at least, makes things more interesting. I've been thinking about potential series canon for future seasons and how perfectly Assad's casting and Armand's updated/modified history can still fit with Andrei in the books.

The name Arun that they chose for him is actually a Hindu name, but his timeline aligns with the beginnings of the Mughal Empire in 17th century India. So let's assume they keep the artist theme for Arun (pre-Amadeo) like it was in the books, how perfect would it be that he converted from Hinduism to Islam before he left India? I envision illuminated manuscripts of the Qur'an that he painted and tracked down over five centuries later. Like these pictured below from past Sotheby's auctions, they exemplify Anne's descriptions of the religious ikons "not painted by human hands" even if Islam is iconoclastic.

Source

Source

Full volumes under glass, framed single sheets from long-damaged copies, I can picture so many versions of these illuminations that he might recover and deem precious simply because they came from a time that appears (to him in hindsight) to have more freedom than anything he knew for centuries later.

This part is pure conjecture (and a bit of hope): if his parents were Hindu, maybe he converted to Islam on his own. I doubt it based on his age at the time he was sold (15 years old in the series). But I would love it for him if, after centuries of forced belief in a system based on a response to Catholicism, he was able to go back to a religion that provides him some comfort. Anne wrote Armand as one of the more religious of her characters and I trust these show runners implicitly - I believe they will exceed my expectations. I need Armand to have something that is his, truly and completely his.

[hoodieseasoned]

genuinely think this is my peak in digital art

season nine gem my beloved,, idk what to do with her legs so they're kinda posed awkwardly but yknow that's fine I'm so proud of this considering I'm usually so bad at doing this kind of painterly thing (digitally especially !! so difficult !!!)

reference from alphonse mucha, i have been very inspired by paintings like this one for so long, they are too good i love them so much <3

also the sketch i did in my sketchbook which i then used as a base for the lineart

anyway image description below

[1st ID: A full body digital art of Geminitay dressed in clothing inspired by her season nine skin. She is sitting on a rock while leaning her arms and head on an arch resembling her season nine castle's bridge. On her left is a tall tree with sparse leaves. The background includes a yellow sky and some blue-ish trees in the distance. Gem is smiling at the viewer, she has some strawberry plant's flowers and leaves on her head. Her hair is braided. End of 1st ID.]

edit: i forgot the second part of my ID's, sorry!

[2nd ID: a painting by Alphonse Mucha, of a brunette girl sitting by a riverbank. The pose is same as in the first image, as it is the reference. This girl is leaning on a branch. The colors in the image are soft, mainly yellows and oranges, with some green in the plants and a stronger red in the flowers on the girls head. End of 2nd ID]

[3rd ID: The sketch of gem which the first image is based on. It is done with blue pencil & gel pen on a physical sketchbook page. End of 3rd ID]

[wosoamazing]

Nursery & Sickness

Summary: You don't want to go to nursery. You also get sick from Nursery, making your Mum sick too. Based off this request.

Warnings: Sickness (Vomiting)

A/N: I was kind of stumped on what to write so of course I turned it into a sickfic - I hope that is okay. I promise I am trying to write things other than sickfics, some of your requests are definitely helping with that.

You didn't want to go to Nursery, you wanted to go to training as you always did, but you didn't understand why you couldn’t. Once you realised your Mum was leading you in the direction of your nursery you planted your feet firmly on the ground, refusing to walk, she just picked you up, not budging at your actions.

As she placed you down in your room, you started to cry, you didn't want to leave her side. “I’ve got to go to training Bubba, so you’re going to spend the day here, and I’ll be back to pick you up as soon as training is over”

“No, I come training with you”

“But Bubba you can’t, it's better for you to go to Nursery, and you can still come to games, I promise I will be back to pick you up.”

“No go,” you sobbed.

“I have to, what if we read a book together before I go?” You sadly nodded your head and went over to pick a book, while you Mum sat crossed legged on the floor. You chose a book and walked over to her, before walking backwards into her lap and sitting down, she read you the book and you calmed down, enough so that she didn’t feel guilty to leave you. 

_

When she came back to pick you up, you had a huge grin on your face and you were in the middle of a painting activity, you didn't want to leave. So she helped you finish your painting before you both went home, in the car you told her about your amazing day. She was relieved that you had enjoyed, so much so that you asked when you were getting to go back

_____

Leah expected you to be sad and upset the first time she took you to Nursery, but what she didn’t expect was that you would have a new illness every week, the experienced nursery parents told her that this was normal, and would happen for roughly 2 or 3 months than you would just get like the seasonal flu, and if you moved Nurseries it would happen all over again, Leah took a mental note of that and promised herself she would not move you to a different Nursery. Heaps of the more experienced parents told her that this would happen for the first 2 or 3 months than you would be fine, so she just had to get through it.

_____

Today was game day, which you were excited for, it meant you didn’t have to go to Nursery, however you felt funny, your head kind of hurt and your tummy felt icky, but you didn’t tell your Mum, you didn’t want her to make you stay home.

You slept in the car on the way to the game, which wasn’t a rare occurrence, considering it was a late game. When you were offered your snacks to eat before the game started you shook your head, which your Mum found odd as it was an offer you would always jump at. You fell asleep very quickly into the first half and slept the whole way through the game. Only waking up when Katie turned on the TV to see the men play as she waited for Caitlin to finish getting ready. The loud noise of the fans cheering through the TV radiated through your head and you started crying.

“What’s wrong Bubba?” Your Mum asked, snapping her fingers in Katie’s direction, who quickly turned down the volume.

“Icky,” you cried out.

“Oh Bubba, do you feel sick?” she asked as she felt your forehead, which was quite warm. You nodded in reply.

“Okay, well I’ll just get our stuff all packed up and then we can go okay, I love you,” she said, placing a kiss on your forehead. She was walking around the locker room, gathering all your things when the sound of liquid spilling onto the floor echoed around the locker room. She quickly spun around to see you covered in vomit, with a puddle of vomit in front of you. She quickly moved over to you and moved you out of the way of your puddle of vomit, tears started to roll down your cheeks, as she went to look over to Katie to ask something, but Katie had already left the room and there is no one else in the room, they all have already left or the ones that remain are in the showers.

Your Mum takes off your Shirt and Shorts, and uses a wet wipe to wipe your hands and face, before she starts getting you changed into your spare clothes. As she is smoothing down your hair that was messed up by your shirt, you gag, she looks around the room panicked trying to figure out what she can grab, when she sees Katie walk in who quickly chucks her a sick bowl. She places the sick bowl under your chin just in time as you start throwing up again. Caitlin, Steph, Lia and Kim have all now finished their showers and walk into the room, to see the absolute scene in front of them. Your Mum is kneeling beside you rubbing your back as you throw up into the sick bowl she is holding for you, there is a puddle of vomit nearby and a bag with your vomit cover clothes in it, sitting near you, that has yet to be tied up. 

“Do you need any help Leah?” Kim asks.

“No, no it’s all good, you guys just go, have a good night,” Leah responds, they all quickly gather their things and head out, except for one, who is rushing around behind your Mum, gathering all your belongings. She has finished packing all three of your bags and walks over to where the bag with your dirty clothes sits, your Mum jumps slightly not realising there was still someone in the room with her, she looks up to find it is Lia, her heart melting slightly at the kindness of her best friend.

“Lia, you really didn't need to stay behind,” she looks behind her, “Or pack up any of our stuff.”

“Don’t be silly Leah, I’ll just take these things out to the car and then I’ll come back for you and Y/N/N, and before you say you are fine to drive home, we drove here together.” Your Mum’s face cringed, she had totally forgotten that.

When Lia came back in you were sitting in your Mum’s lap, as she held you close, rocking you backwards and forwards.

“Le,” Lia said softly, your Mum looked up, “I’m ready when you are.” Your Mum got up and headed to the car, you threw up a lot more that night. The worst being when you had just gotten home, you were in your Mum’s arms, meaning it was all over you and her.

____

It had been a day since you last threw up, but you still felt icky so you were sleeping in your Mum’s bed, between her and Lia. Lia had insisted she stayed to help look after you.

“Fuck, Lia, can you hand me a sick bowl?” Your Mum asked.

“Yeah, but why, Y/N/N is asleep. Or have your Mum senses started tingling,” Lia joked as she handed the sick bowl to your Mum, who lent her head back against the headboard and closed her eyes, taking some deep breaths, Lia quickly clicked on to what was happening. She carefully and gently picked you up and quickly walked to your room, knowing Leah would be more comfortable if you weren’t there, she placed you on your bed before returning to the room. She climbed into the bed and sat next to your Mum, placing her hand on your Mum’s thigh, gently reassuring her, knowing that your Mum wouldn't want much physical touch currently. They remained like that for a few minutes before your Mum’s upper body jerked forward and she lost the contents of her stomach into the sick bowl, Lia rubbed her back whilst she softly spoke reassuring words to her.

____

You awoke in your bed feeling much better, but you wanted your Mum so you decided to toddle off down the hall and into her room, you saw her with Lia in the bathroom, hunched over the toilet as Lia rubbed her back, you walked into the bathroom.

“Mummy?” You questioned, slightly worried.

“Mummy is sick, I think she got your sick. Are you feeling better?" you nodded your head, "Thats good," Lia said before she moved her free hand to your Mums shoulder and gently squeezed it, your Mum shook her head slightly and Lia murmured a quiet 'okay' before she turned her gaze back to you. "Why don’t you go out to the living room and I’ll join you in a sec,” you nodded and toddled off.

[pathologicalreid]

clue | S.R.

in which penelope hosts a new year's eve party. with a murder mystery theme.

who? spencer reid x fem!journalist!reader

category: fluff, slice of life

content warnings: all of the characters are dressed as detectives. marriage, murder, mentions of blood, fireworks, slight descriptions of fake violence, reader wears a dress, this is very haphazardly proofread. very slightly suggestive in the beginning if you squint.

word count: 2.95k

a/n: happy new year's eve friends! this idea has been rotting in my brain since i read the prompt. i started with the idea that i wanted reader and kristy to win and a dream, and now here i am. it was genuinely so much fun to write. (and now i have spencer x journalist!reader brain rot) i always see people writing for these challenges but this is my first time participating!

i wrote this for @imagining-in-the-margins' office party challenge based on the prompt "Penelope planned a Murder Mystery party... with a bunch of criminal profilers. Great. (Bonus if a non-profiler wins)" thank you so much for this challenge!

“I have no idea why Penelope felt the need to rent an AirBnB for a New Year’s Eve party,” you whispered, getting out of the car along with Spencer. “Or why we had to dress in costume,” you said, pulling your shawl over your shoulders.

Gently reaching over, Spencer tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ears, “It’s a Penelope Garcia party, that means it’s a production. Additionally, this is the first New Year's Eve we’ve been in town in four years, which means there’s no need for an MHM.”

Grinning up at your fiancé, you responded, “There does seem to be a moratorium on violent crime this holiday season.” The best Christmas gift you received this year was finding Spencer sleeping in bed next to you when you woke up.

You watched him reach into the back of the car for his jacket. The costume description Garcia had given him was similar to what he wore on a normal day. You helped him pick out the brown sweater vest and matching tie, but he selected the rest of the ensemble. “Did I tell you that you look incredible?” He asked, pulling his jacket on.

“I believe those were the words that caused us to be fifteen minutes late, Dr. Reid,” you chided but smiled nonetheless when Spencer pulled you close and embraced you.

You felt him smile against your neck, “Worth it,” he whispered.

Dragging him by the arm, you stood on the porch and knocked on the door. Almost instantly, a familiar voice rang out, “You have to use the knocker!” Penelope called out.

Sighing, you rolled your eyes and took the bronze adornment in your hand and knocked it against the red-painted door. The heavy door swung open and you were greeted by Penelope Garcia, “Welcome Dr. Reid and Someday Mrs. Reid, to the New Year’s party that will, likely, be the New Year’s party to end all New Year’s parties.”

“I have no doubt, Pen,” you stepped forward and hugged her. “You look great, I love this color,” you told her, settling your hands on your shoulders. She wore a lime green button-down dress with an old-timey collar, and her blonde locks were pulled up into a French twist.

Spencer and Penelope greeted each other, and Garcia led the two of you to a sitting room, “Where did you find this house?” Spencer asked, walking in behind you.

She waved him off, “I am the master of all things Internet, I found it online and thought it was perfect.”

Your heels clicked as you followed the two of them. They were quicker, Penelope knew where she was going and Spencer naturally had a long stride, not to mention the restriction of your gown. “Perfect for what, exactly?” You inquired.

“A BAU Murder Mystery party!” She answered as if it was obvious.

A wolf whistle from the other side of the room caught your attention, you turned around to see Tara grinning at you, “Well how about you.”

Blushing, you spread the skirt of the red silk dress out and gave a fake curtsy, “Oh this? Just something I had lying around.” In reality, you borrowed the dress from a coworker. Its only fault was being just barely too long for you.

Once you observed Tara’s costume, an off-white button-up with brown suspenders and matching pants, the gears in your head clicked into place. “We’re dressed as characters from Clue?” You asked, looking at everyone’s costumes. It all suddenly made so much sense, you were Miss Scarlet, and Tara was meant to be Colonel Mustard.

“Well, there are only so many characters to choose from, so I needed some other detectives to choose from. I picked Nancy Drew, Spencer is Sherlock Holmes with Matt as his Watson, and Krystall is Jessica Fletcher from the renowned television show Murder She Wrote.” Penelope pointed at guests as she explained their outfits, “Kristy is Daphne of the differently renowned television show Scooby Doo, and Luke refused to dress up at Hercule Poirot.”

Your eyebrows raised up, “I didn’t know not dressing up was an option,” you admitted. Despite the weather being unseasonably warm, you were still cold in your dress.

Sending a pointed look in Luke’s direction, Penelope cleared her throat before responding, “It wasn’t.”

Putting a hand to his chest in mock hurt, Luke feigned shock, “I did dress up as a very famous detective. Matt Simmons of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

“But does that really count as famous?” The man himself, Matt asked teasingly.

In response, Luke gestured around the room, “Everyone here has heard of him.”

You tuned the two of them out. When provided the time, the two of them could bicker for hours. You looked at everyone else’s costumes, the rest of the group was from the board game. Emily was Mrs. White, Rossi was Professor Plum, JJ was Mrs. Peacock, and Will was Mr. Green.

The BAU spent so much time sequestered solving crimes that it was a wonder to have the entire group here at the same time.

After effectively shushing Luke, Penelope made her way to the center of the room, “Okay, I know what you’re all thinking ‘Penelope, we spend all of our days solving murders, why would you plan a murder mystery party?’” She stood up straight, pushing her shoulders back, “Well, I’ll tell you, the idea for this party came to me when I had the flu last month.”

“Are you telling us this party was conceived from a fever dream?” Emily asked, she leaned forward in her all-white outfit, resting her elbows on her knees.

Pointing at Emily, Penelope grinned, “That is exactly what I am telling you, my dear. Now, let me set the stage for you.” She clapped and the lights went out, bringing everyone’s attention to a projector screen that had just lit up against the only bare wall in this room. “Our victim was a resident of this house. What’s her name? You might ask. Patricia Gomez, heiress to a large fortune and a company that makes socks.”

A quiet chuckle came from the other side of the room, “This is quite the fever dream.” You had to agree with Rossi, Patricia Gomez was an almost painfully uncreative name. Still, everyone went along with it.

“Save all questions until the end, please!” Penelope scolded, “I have folders made up for each of you, with information on where your characters all were at the time of the murder. Before attending this party, the killer was already notified of their status, they may try to fool you.”

You skimmed through the folder that the technical analyst had handed you, it looked like a real FBI folder, but you didn’t doubt that Garcia had resources to make realistic fake files. The body had been found, stabbed in the kitchen, the time of death set at noon.

Matt stood up first, reaching out his hand for Kristy to take, but they didn’t get far. “Oh no, no partnering with your partners,” Penelope said, laying down another rule for her party.

“What are you saying?” Spencer asked, looking between you and her. It was sweet knowing that he had wanted to team up with you, it reminded you of how you first met. The FBI profiler and the investigative journalist.

Garcia sighed, “If you are canoodling with someone, you may not investigate with them.”

You shrugged at Spencer and walked toward Kristy instead, “What do you say, Daphne? Shall we?”

“Oh, I think we shall,” Kristy responded, hooking her arm through yours.

“Hey,” Luke interrupted, “It’s not fair for the investigative journalist and the lawyer to be teamed up to solve a murder.”

Stopping in your tracks, you stared at him for a moment, “Luke, you work for the FBI. If anything, I think we’re at a disadvantage.”

Together, you and Kristy made your way to the kitchen, as you walked away you heard Luke ask Garcia to be his partner, the two of you laughed as she told him she wasn’t playing because, “Somebody has to keep things organized, Newbie!”

Looking around the kitchen, you found a chalk outline, but not much else. Of course, this wasn’t a real crime scene, there would be no blood, and for all you knew, Kristy was the killer.

“What are you thinking, Dave?” You asked Rossi, who had teamed up with JJ. Maybe a seasoned profiler would push you in the right direction.

He cocked his head like he was weighing his options, “Well, the folder says there were only four people in the building at the time of the murder, and only one of them was close enough to the kitchen to pull it off. Logically, the best option is Mrs. White.”

So, he thought Emily was responsible. You scrawled some notes down about the kitchen before you and Kristy decided to move to the bedroom, “It says Watson – Matt - was in the main bedroom at the time of the murder, Mrs. White – Emily - was in the pantry, Jessica Fletcher – Krystall – was in the basement, and Professor Plum – Rossi – was in the library,” you read from the file.

“Then Dave is right, Emily is the only one who was close enough to get to Patricia,” Kristy reasoned. There wouldn’t have been time for anyone else to commit the crime in between the time the body was found and the time of death. The timeline of events was very short.

You shrugged, “Then I guess we could probably go to the library until the timer runs out.” Picking up the skirt of your dress, the two of you left the bathroom and walked into the library. Leaning up against the shelves, you intertwined your fingers in front of you, “Do you have plans for the new year?” You asked Kristy, tilting your head.

She hummed, “A lot of our plans tend to change. You know, with Matt’s job and the kids, but we’d like to take some kind of vacation, even if it’s just a day trip.” She answered, brushing her long hair over her shoulder, “What about you?”

“Oh,” you said, “You know, getting married.” You answered, “Then we’re just planning on seeing where life takes us, I think. You’re right, it’s hard to plan around the job. I can’t imagine adding kids into the mix.” The thought gave you a whole new respect for Kristy – and Will, for that matter.

Kristy smiled, “Totally worth it, though.”

Laughing it off, you pushed yourself off of the shelving, “I think I’ll take your word for it,” you responded. “For now,” you added, looking around the library.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, following your gaze around the library.

Realizing this must be how the BAU feels all the time, you answered, “Something is bothering me about this case.” Kristy beckoned for you to go on, “They all solve crimes like this every day, so in order to make it fun for them, Penny would have to make it at least a little bit of a challenge, right?” You asked.

“You think it was too easy?” Kristy asked.

You started pacing around the library, along the front of the desk. “The answer being Emily is too easy. There has to be something more to it.”

“Well, the file says she had experienced a blow to the head shortly before her death. So, is it possible she was incapacitated somewhere else and then moved to the kitchen to be killed?” Kristy asked, flipping through the file, she was sat on top of the wooden desk.

Nodding, you looked at the generated picture of your fake victim. She wore a large ruby necklace, her hair was pinned up, but in the list of effects and evidence, a necklace was never mentioned. “Did you see a necklace in the kitchen?” You asked, flicking your eyes over in her direction.

Immediately, she shook her head you spun around to go back to the kitchen. Mid-spin the heel of your shoe hooked into the too-long fabric of your dress, causing you to tumble ungracefully to the floor. “Are you alright?” Kristy asked. Not for the first time tonight, you found yourself jealous of her shorter dress. Damned board game characters.

Groaning in response, you blinked in an attempt to reorient yourself. In your peripheral vision, something caught your eye: a necklace. “Kristy,” you whispered urgently, hoisting yourself up into a sitting position before reaching over to grab the gold chain. It was crusted with something red that you could only hope was ketchup. Unless Penelope was taking this game way too seriously.

You lifted the chain curiously. “That’s the necklace that Patricia was wearing when she died!” Kristy exclaimed, “But that means…”

“Rossi did it,” you said from the floor. “And he tried to fool us with his poker face.”

Setting the necklace on the desk, you reached down to take your heels off. Kristy spoke, “Do you think the necklace is enough evidence for us to make our case?”

Raising your eyebrows, you looked up at her, “I don’t know. You’re the lawyer, do you think it’s enough evidence?”

She nodded, “I think the evidence pointing to Emily is circumstantial, but this necklace has substance to it. And no one else has gone through the library, so at the very least we’ll have a unique answer.”

You grinned, “I like the way you think, Mrs. Simmons.” You reached out your hand and she helped you up, “Let’s go show these FBI agents how it’s done.” The two of you headed back to the sitting room.

The room was full when you got there, “Ah, I thought we were going to have to send out a search party for the two of you!” Penelope said, “Sit, sit, I’m sure we have some excellent conclusions to go through.” She handed the both of you glasses of wine before you sat down next to each other on the velvet chaise lounge.

Honestly, it reminded you of grade school. When your teacher would go through the answers on the homework, only for you to find that, somewhere, you had done something terribly wrong. By the time it got to you and Kristy, half of the people said it was Emily, almost half had said it was Matt, and one person said it was Kristy.

Nonetheless, the two of you stood up and announced your conclusion, “it was Rossi,” you said in unison.

“First, we met with David in the kitchen, and we asked him what he thought,” you said. “He could’ve said no, he could’ve said something else, but he told us how he thought Emily Prentiss was the killer.” You explained, “Now, as extremely professional detectives, we know that frequently, killers can’t help but insert themselves into the investigations.”

Lifting her hand in a waiting gesture, Kristy continued, “But we heard him out, and we trusted his conclusion. Until we didn’t, that is.” She said, “After some more expert investigation, we went to the library, where Rossi had claimed to have been at the time of the murder. It was there that my partner discovered the victim's necklace. It was broken as if it had been torn off of her neck, and there was blood on the chain.”

“This is combined with the report that the victim had experienced a blow to the head before she died, which could’ve easily been inflicted by the corner of the very desk I discovered the necklace beneath,” you resumed. “We propose that David Rossi, otherwise known as Professor Plum, incapacitated the victim in the library, before moving her to the kitchen so he could claim he had no part in her death.”

Rossi looked up at Penelope, who grinned and nodded, “I didn’t even realize I had done that in the kitchen earlier. Are you by chance looking for a new line of work?” He asked, getting a chorus of laughter in response.  

“For my two winners,” Garcia said, her smile still bright as she draped two medals around your and Kristy’s necks. “Thank you, everyone, so much for playing this game. I know it’s hard to see it as a game when it all feels so real, but I appreciate you for separating fact and fiction for tonight.”

It was Luke who responded first, “Of course.”

“But maybe,” Rossi said, raising his wine glass in his hand, “Maybe next year we’ll just do a normal party.”

Tara raised her glass in response, “If you’re hosting, I’m attending.”

You nodded, concurring, “Far be it from me to miss a BAU party.”

Behind you, Spencer loosely wrapped his arm around your waist, “It’s almost the new year.”

“Aha!” Penelope said, “I have one last surprise for all of my favorite people! If you’ll just follow me out to the deck, we’ll be able to see the fireworks from here!”

Outside, the cool air bit at your bare skin. Ever the gentleman, Spencer draped his jacket over your shoulders. Grateful for the warmth, you pushed your arms through the sleeves and turned to face him, “You know, we’ve been together for years, but this will be our first New Year’s kiss.” You said, studying his face, every detail that you’ve come to know over the past few years.

Distantly, you heard the rest of the group counting down, but you were too focused on Spencer. “It won’t be our last, though,” he promised.

You grinned up at him, “As long as we get to go to the BAU party, Sherlock.”

“Of course,” he whispered, leaning down to press his lips to yours. “Happy New Year, Miss Scarlett.”

[tinytennisskirt]

Small Victories

Summary: based on a request, Stanford tennis player! reader and Art strike up a new friendship as they're both pretty lonely at Stanford. It's platonic and fun, but reader is taken out of the tennis season after a serious injury ruins her leg. Recovery is hard, but Art is there the entire way insisting you get back to tennis- and as you slowly heal, he slowly falls harder and harder. It becomes undeniable that you two belong together when you finally get back on the court and win your first game post-injury... when things left unsaid can't stay unsaid.

Warning: mentions of broken bones and blood. Mention of sex. Kissing. A little angst, and a tiny bit of miscommunication if you squint. Slowburn friends to lovers. A good amount of fluff and fun. 13k words- brace yourselves.

It was your first day at Stanford after spending your first night in your dorm room. You had some free time so you’d been spending it unboxing and putting away more of your clothes and things. You covered the ugly boring walls with simple patchwork tapestry, and carefully hung your star-shaped string lights. You set up your computer at the provided desk, moving it to the corner where it was level with the table you’d set up your microwave and kettle on. You made the bed, organized your rackets, and you would have never been this clean if you were at home, but you were a little too bored and you were racking up the nerve to go and speak to people. Meeting new people. 

It’s not like you were socially inept at all, but the anticipation was killer. Being so far away from everyone you knew, having this pressure to make friends here or being around wouldn’t be all that worthwhile. Yes, you loved tennis. Yes, you were so glad to be at Stanford. But could you enjoy it without any friends? No. When you decided your room was done, you logged onto your computer to look over the campus website to see if maybe there were any events tonight. 

You found a few as you scrolled. They had a painting class led by an instructor, not your thing. They had an acapella group info night, which could be fun, but you couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. You scrolled down to the sports section. Football team info night, lacrosse recruitment, and you saw it, perfectly dated for today at eight, a tennis mixer for all tennis students in the far corner garden on campus, just a ten-minute walk. You shut your computer off and immediately started going through your clothes.

You ended up in your favourite jeans and a light purple tank top, pairing it with some casual Converse you’d had for two years, a nice belt, some pretty earrings, and the most dainty necklace you had. You did your makeup in the mirror, getting your eyeliner right in one try which was an absolute wonder, and finished everything off with a pairing of blotted lipstick and lip balm. You looked over everything in the mirror, fixing the curl of your hair just a bit before you packed the simple things into a small bag and headed out the door. 

The garden was cute, it was a little corner boxed in with hedges, full of picnic tables and lawn chairs. You looked up and down the edges lined with pretty pink, orange, yellow, and purple flowers. The 90s music from a radio in the corner was fairly loud, but more dull than the conversation between who you assumed were your peers. A wave of excitement hit as you looked up and around these people, not exactly watching as you stepped backward, foot hitting the side of someone else’s and tripping just slightly in the same direction. Thank god you caught your balance, because without it you might have ended up on the person behind you’s lap. 

“You okay?” He asked, hands up, ready to catch if he needed. You turned, fixing yourself, trying to hide your embarrassment. This was an amazing start, you thought to yourself, chuckling nervously. His eyes were soft and genuine, and he was asking. 

“Oh, yeah, just not looking where I was walking,” You smiled. “I’m so sorry.” 

He smiled back, “No, you’re good, don’t worry about it. I sit with my feet too far out anyway.” He said, getting up out of the chair he was sitting in with his drink. You noted just how nice his voice sounded, you’d never heard anyone with his tone. “My name is Art… Donaldson.” He extended his free hand to you and you were a little surprised but glad. 

“Y/N,” You answered, unable to control the grin that came from meeting someone already, even if you nearly tripped into him. You eyed him up and down a moment. He was taller than you, thin, with blonde curls and a big smile. Bigger than one you would have gotten from anyone else you spoke to if you had ended up speaking to anyone else that night. “You’re in the tennis program?” You asked. 

“Yeah,” He grinned. “And you too, I assume.” 

“Mhm,” You nodded back. “First year. Nervous.” You admit, feeling like maybe he’d get it. And he did, no doubt. 

Art ruffled his hair, “Oh yeah. I’m on residency, so it’s not much different from my previous school, but I don’t know anyone, so it’s a little weird. I had to check the campus website for anything to do to get out and meet people.” He spoke a lot with his hands, you noted along with the fact you had done the exact same thing. He was also just speaking to speak, you noticed as you nodded along, smiling. He was nervous too. “Are you on residency?” He asked, ending his little spiel. You’d let him talk just to hear him talk, finding his voice unique and a little bit pretty. And he was nice. 

“I am, I spent the whole day organizing and decorating my room,” You chuckled, stepping aside to grab yourself a can of iced tea, and cracking it open. Art watched as you did, studying the dainty rings on your fingers, the way the one strand of hair fell in your face when you tripped and you hadn’t yet thought to move it. “Things are a lot harder to do without a staple gun.” You told him.

He sipped his own drink, “Mmm, right? Took me seven attempts to hang up my poster today with that stupid blue clay stuff.” 

“Oh, that stuff is nasty.” He liked how you crinkled your nose. “I bought this glue-brand double-sided tape. It’s a game-changer, but so sticky.” And the embarrassment from nearly tripping eased away as the conversation enhanced itself. He was sweet and funny and kind and truly seemed like he was hearing what you said. Art was truthfully just glad he found anyone to talk to after Patrick left last night and as the conversation moved over the regular small talk, he found he didn’t really want to talk to anyone else. 

The night went on and people were leaving now and then, but you and Art sat on the bench in the very corner of the corner garden unphased, just talking about your histories with tennis. Soon you knew all of his best victories and he knew yours and he also knew you liked music more than most things, tennis included, him making mental note of what songs to listen to when he went back to his dorm room. He felt a lot less alone in Patrick’s absence than he’d expected and you were so interesting. He also knew you were a big fan of iced coffee, had a lucky tennis racket, and had a love for star-shaped things. Just as you knew his best game was his doubles at the Junior US Open with his best friend who you’d heard a lot about now, just as you heard about his past at Mark Rebatello’s Tennis Academy, how his favourite thing to do in tennis is serve, and his favourite post-game meal is chicken wings. Your conversation naturally covered all the simple things and when the night truly had to come to an end, he gladly walked you back to your dorm. 

“It’s been really nice meeting you,” He admitted, rubbing the back of his neck as you approached your door. Part of him knew he could probably tell you everything and anything about himself and you’d listen and that’s what he liked about you. “Glad someone spoke to me.” 

“Well, I tripped, so we’re just lucky, I suppose.”

He twisted his mouth to the side, “I guess so, but who’s to say I didn’t do it on purpose?” He questioned with a teasing smile. 

You laughed quietly, “It’s been nice meeting you too. I’ll see you around the court?” 

“Probably,” He replied, shoving his hands into his pockets as you leaned against the door. “I look forward to it.” A grin slowly crept up his face, unable to hide itself. He was not in a particular lack, but gaining you was something he wouldn’t regret and he knew it. “I’ll see you around.” 

You couldn’t help but grin right back- his smile was so wide it was hard to ignore. “Goodnight, Art.” 

“Goodnight, Y/N.” 

You saw him again the next day, more than enthused to see a familiar face around. You had your hair up in a ponytail, sporting a white skort and black tank top and he was in blue gym shorts and a sports t-shirt that was just a tad lighter than his shorts. 

“Hey you,” You smiled as you approached. He turned, more than happy to see you as well. 

“Hey,” he replied, setting his things down on the nearest bench. You beamed, doing the same. “How are you?” 

“I’m good, how are you?” You asked, hopping up and starting to stretch. He had his hands shoved in his pockets. “Co-op doubles today, you want to be my partner?” He asked. You were nodding yes before he even finished the sentence. 

It was that day that Art realized just how good you were at tennis and how distracting it was playing doubles when all he wanted to do was watch you play. It was almost hypnotizing to see you do your thing and he was honestly a little proud he’d made your acquaintance before you demolished the other team so he wouldn’t have had to look like a suck up approaching you afterward. 

You jumped and high fived him when you two won the scrimmage and Art knew he picked the perfect tennis partner for sure. As for you, he impressed you vastly past your expectations. He was amazing at serving so no wonder it was his favourite. 

“That was crazy,” Art huffed, breathing out. “That was amazing.” 

“Your serves are crazy,” you gushed, turning to him. “You’re amazing, that was amazing that serve at the end completely threw them.” 

Art shook his head, “As if you didn’t completely end the game with that last swing, that was incredible.” He gestured openly, then let his arms fall to his sides. “You want to go again?” 

Technically you were supposed to switch partners, but Art just didn’t want to take that chance. He had you as a partner and he would have to swap it out? No thanks. 

Your smile turned itself into a smirk, you had other thoughts. “Maybe after.” You said and jogged over to the boy you’d just gone up against and asked him to play with you and Art knew what you were doing. You wanted to play against him. 

It turned out to be a problem because now Art had a full view of how you played and it really was hypnotic. You obviously had a well-learned method for every swing and situation and you knew exactly what was in your section and what was in your partner’s. Art was grinning, watching you play and honestly hardly paying much attention to the fact that he himself was in the game. He missed a few balls just because he was watching your swing. You were good, you were really good, and that fact being distracting was not very useful to a scrimmage. 

When the game ended and you had a bit of a water break, you jogged over, “What was that?” You laughed. 

Art shrugged, chuckling. “You’re really good.” He took a long drink from his water bottle, knowing the reason he gave you wasn’t very detailed but it was honest. 

You and Art were partners for most co-op doubles that week, hanging out almost every day after or before. You two were fast friends- him enjoying how passionate you were when you talked and shared the things you liked and the way you went about tennis, you enjoying having a great partner for scrimmages and the things he talked about. Having a familiar face around all the time was the ease you needed to fully get yourself situated at Stanford. It was fun to have someone that you wanted to see every day who happened to want to see you just the same. You two were friends quicker than anyone you’d ever known, like something just clicked and fit into place- he was fun and a little bit wild when he wasn’t shy, and he loved music just as much as you did, it turned out, which was surprising. 

You’d sit in his car for hours just talking with music in the background. “Okay, so McDonalds fries versus Arby’s.” You said, picking through the McDonald’s fries you two bought on the way back to campus. Art put the car in park and you were leaned against the car door, sitting facing him. “Don’t say Arby’s, I’m begging you.” 

He smiled and shrugged a little sheepishly, “They’re thicker.” He reasoned. 

“Uh-huh, I see how it is,” you said, rolling your eyes at him. He hid his face in his hands. “McDonald's are so classic.” 

He raised his head, “True-“ he spoke with too many in his mouth and you smiled. “- But Arby’s are curly. Which means more.” 

“Okay so you’re settled on the fact that it’s more food,” you laughed, popping a small one in your mouth. “Here I was going off of taste.” 

“You can’t go off taste alone because quality is so important,” he said, gesturing with his hands. “McDonalds fries are good but the quality is shit.” 

“You’re right but you can ignore that-“ 

“I have to ignore that while you ignore thicket and curlier?” He laughed. “No-“ he couldn’t get through his words laughing, “We are done here.” 

“What-“ you laughed. “No, come on.” 

He gestured wide, hand on your upper arm, sliding down to rest on your forearm, “You’ve just proven you can’t debate, it’s pointless-“ he couldn’t stop laughing, and from that point on neither could you. It was contagious and spread throughout the car like the air conditioning that circulated. It was good laughter, sweet, and unending because whenever one of you tried to stop, even looking at the other would cause you both to burst out laughing again. It was a cycle that made your ribs ache, your heart beat harder in your chest and your breath impossible to catch. The laughter only ended when you were both in too much pain to continue. 

Art rubbed his eyes, leaning against the car's center console, catching his breath. He missed Patrick but not so much when you were around. He was glad he had you and that was one of the only thoughts in his head as he looked at you, catching your breath as well. Your smile was gorgeous was the afterthought but there was no afterthought to that thought itself, just that you were and it was. You moved your hair from your face and he thought again about the fry conversation and he nearly laughed again, but he tried hard not to.

The truth was Art did have thoughts like that often. You saw him every day, you were funny and talented, and Art loved how much you cared about everyone around you. How could he not, even for a moment, think more of you than what you two were? But he didn’t notice how often he had those thoughts because they were forgotten so easily, buried under something subconsciously. 

You looked back at him, the atmosphere shifting once again. Art watched you glance at the time, “I have to get to bed, I’m so sorry,” He loved how you apologized for nothing. He’d tried to correct it at first but it was just something you couldn’t help. “I have that game tomorrow, the one I’ve been talking about, are you coming?” 

“Yeah, I wouldn’t miss it,” he grinned, pulling the car back into drive to bring you closer to your residency building so you wouldn’t have to walk. “Starts at ten?” 

“I have to be there at ten, game at eleven.” You nodded. 

“Sounds good,” He nodded back, a slight smile pulling at his lip. “I’ll see you there.”

“I guess you will. Or might. I need you there in case I need to make a run for it, I’m terrified to play that Roxy girl, she’s supposed to be so hardcore.” You pressed your hands to your face. “Thank you for hanging out, for a moment I forgot just how scared I am of tomorrow.” Your smile turned to a grin and Art’s followed. He was unable to control his smile around you. 

He shook his head, “You’ll be great. You’ll kick her ass.” 

“She’s Russian,” you replied. “She’s going to do more than kick mine.” 

Art shook his head again, “No. Can’t think that way or else she will for sure. You kick hers, no other way.”

You took a deep breath, grin dulling back to a simple smile. “Thank you. I’ll need all the luck I can get though,” You opened his car door to get out. 

“Okay, well, good luck if I don’t see you before the game, leprechauns, four-leaf clovers, break a leg, etcetera.” 

You laughed and after saying goodnight, your laugh still echoed around his head. It did so until he went to sleep that night. But he didn’t think anything of it, there was no reason to. 

The game the next day really did terrify you. This girl you were up against was hardcore, you spent the morning watching her games trying to figure her out but all you got was that she stepped twice before swinging left, no matter what as well as she was an amazing player. She had long sleek blonde hair that she tied up in a braided ponytail and icy eyes that seemed to stare into your soul when you saw her tennis poster. You wondered if her eyes followed you around as you got dressed into your pink skort and lilac purple tank top combo. Looking nice on the court helped a lot with your confidence.

You tied your hair up in two French braids to keep it away from your face and tried to take deep breaths as you grabbed your things and headed over to the Stanford court. It was a busy day, apparently, as a small crowd of people were waiting to get into the benches and you walked by them and into the building where you met your coach. 

“You ready?” She asked and you really wanted to say no, the nerves getting to your stomach. The first big game of the season meant something. This is the beginning of what you were working for. Part of you was so ready for this all to begin, other casual games with small audiences were easy, but there was a Russian girl out there ready to demolish you. You took another deep breath. 

“Yeah.” And you took your things to the court and unzipped your bag that you’d packed in a haste this morning out of pure nerves and no real rush to see that somehow, in some extreme mishap, that your lucky racket wasn’t there. You turned to your coach, who knew that when you laid all your rackets out on the sidelines that you were missing the lucky one. 

And Art in the stands looked over, knowing the exact same thing. He turned to Patrick, who was visiting as of this morning, “She doesn’t have her purple racket.” He said as if Patrick knew what that meant. Art had spent the morning filling Patrick in on who you were and Patrick listened with a knowing smirk, but didn’t say anything about what he truly thought. “Patrick, she can’t play this without her lucky racket.” He urged as if it made a difference. The game was set to start in five minutes. 

“Lucky racket?” Patrick understood. When he was younger he himself had the same thing, he knew the sentiment and the effect it could have on a game. That’s why Art, knowing Patrick, knew you were the same way.

“Fuck,” Art said, looking around to see if there was a clear path out of the bleachers, but there wasn’t. He looked back at you, talking to your coach with your hand over your mouth. He got up and stepped over a few people but was stopped by an usher. 

“Game is starting in five-“ the burly man said. 

“I know, I need to get out,” he urged. 

“Sit. Down. Please.” The usher replied. 

Art shook his head, “No, you don’t understand, this is vital to the game about to be played, that’s my friend out there-“ 

“Sir, if you leave before the first half, you won’t be getting back in.” He said. And that was that. Art couldn’t even make a run for it because this usher would make sure he couldn’t get the racket back to you. 

“Fuck,” Art muttered, having to sit back next to Patrick knowing this wouldn’t be good. It put him on edge from the stands he couldn’t imagine the anxiety you were feeling if it was already bad and you didn’t have your racket. He rubbed his face, looking at Patrick, who knew exactly what you were feeling even not knowing you yet. “This is bad.” 

You had to use your practice racket. Which was fine if you were anyone else, it worked just the same, but the feeling of confidence was hard to attain. You hit the court as the announcer called out you were to serve. You took what felt like the deepest breath, filling your lungs as you faced your blindingly blonde opponent. You let the breath go slowly, trying to convince yourself that this was fine. And you served. 

The rally was good, you both had each other moving, but she was up in points within the first ten minutes. You weren’t doing badly, you were just behind. Art and Patrick were watching from the stands at how intense things were, Art worried the entire time. 

You caught up and surpassed her points around the middle, but soon enough she bounced right back surpassing you again. You were getting increasingly more scared that this was exactly what you expected from a game without the purple racket. You took a deep breath and hit the ball as hard as you could upon serve, it going awkwardly sideways and immediately out. You tried not to swear too loudly. Art and Patrick did it for you in unison, Patrick was just as invested as Art. 

When they called the halfway point, you were below her points-wise. Art couldn’t pay less attention to the way you walked off the court with your hand to your head because he was running, or trying to, through the sea of people who were going for washroom breaks and getting food from the stands outside. He tried to push through but more people kept coming and the stress of it alone had his heart beating. That was nothing on the beat of his heart as he finally pushed through and he started sprinting across the campus grounds trying to get to your residency as fast as he could. 

He didn’t think he’d ever run so fast in his life but this was the only way he knew how to help. This was how you would save your game. He ran through the residency doors and up the stairs to the second floor and grabbed your key from behind the fire alarm trigger, unlocking your door. He knew you wouldn’t mind after this- he looked around seeing the racket leaning in the corner and he grabbed it, locking your door again and jumping the stairs, sprinting back. 

It took a lot longer than he thought. He tried a shortcut that was stupidly a dead end and he checked his watch before launching back into his sprint and he had two minutes before you were back on. He was so fucked. This time he just about shoved people as he returned to the crowd. 

He could hear the game resume and people did hurry to get back to their seats which helped a little- Art was still pushing to make it back to you, to get the racket to you before the second half truly started. He knew if he just got it out there onto the court you could switch it out between serves and that would be good enough and he was nearly through the crowd, cheers in his ears, people whooping and yelling, getting into the game and all of a sudden it was a simultaneous gasp. Art was confused for about a split second before he heard the scream in the silence of a crowd that held their breath. 

Art pushed through the crowd and the sight he saw when he laid eyes on you on the ground was something reminiscent of some horror movie. The detail was too much but visible to him, from far away, was bone. And you were screaming, it was you. 

He bolted over but not before the others did, surrounding you immediately locking him out and he looked over as your tennis partner ran to the edge of the court to vomit. The crowd was mumbling but other than that it was silence versus screams and cries and it was you. Art hated that it was you. 

He couldn’t do anything, he wasn’t any help, 911 was already called and you were crying and screaming, and thank god the huddle shielded the crowd from the blood that pooled on the court. 

Art did the only thing he knew to do and that was collect your things. It didn’t matter what it looked like he was doing, he packed up your rackets and your water bottle, numbing himself to the situation so he could at least do this for you as your screams rang out in the crowd of people still seeming to hold their breaths. He couldn’t get to you if he tried. Sirens in the distance meant it was time to get the fuck out of the way and he moved over as the paramedics worked quickly to tend to you to get you on the ambulance, doing what they could to stop the bleeding. 

Art ran faster than he did to get your racket, even with your rackets on him. It was a good thing Patrick had gotten himself out of the crowd, meeting Art at the fence doors to get him to his car. He’d only known you a month or two, but you were still a person he cared a lot about and he knew your entire family was miles and miles away. You’d be alone in this and knowing you, and talking to you every day, he knew you were afraid of doctors and hated hospitals more than anything. He couldn’t let it be something you had to brave alone.  He threw your rackets in the trunk as Patrick got into the passenger seat and Art tossed him the keys to start the car before he got into the driver's seat. 

“Fuck, this is so bad,” Art said, pulling away a little faster than he should have. “This is so bad.” 

He ended up waiting ten hours at the hospital. You needed surgery to fix your leg and nobody in your family could make it over in ten hours. It would take a flight to get to you. Patrick stayed about four hours with Art, trying to keep him occupied so he didn’t lose his mind in the waiting room, but Art wasn’t very talkative, just worried. You had easily become one of his best friends. 

He ate hospital food and he slept in his chair against the wall. The nurses knew he was there for you and came to update him until one of the nurses told him to come back the next morning because by then you’d probably be stable and awake properly without the pain meds keeping you asleep. He hated that, he slept in his car.

Patrick came back the next morning, tapping on Art’s window at close to 11:30 in the morning. Art woke with a bit of a start, his hair messed up, his clothes from the days before still on. Patrick held up a bag from Art’s dorm room where he’d stay. You wouldn’t think Patrick to think of something like it, but he brought Art a change of clothes which he took gratefully and changed into in the hospital bathroom before going back up to see you. 

Patrick gladly waited in the hallway when he went in. You were awake but you were staring blankly at a wall- it didn’t seem like you even realized he had entered. You’d gotten used to not minding the nurses and doctors that came in and out. Art approached slowly out of understanding and observed how hard you crying so silently. He thought he saw a tear but as he observed, it was a steady stream.

“Hey…” he said quietly. 

You turned your head at the sound of his voice and Art swore when you met his eyes he had never seen eyes sadder than yours. It shook him a little to see pain so obvious in someone’s eyes. “Art-“ you sobbed, putting your head in your hands, unable to say anything else. He rushed forward, dropping his backpack at your bedside to give some sense of comfort. He didn’t know what to do, so he crouched next to you and his hands rested on your forearm, careful not to touch the bruising no doubt from the fall. He didn’t say anything else for a long while and neither did you, you just cried as Art crouched next to you, his hands gently grazing over your skin where they could. Soft, back and forth, just delicately. 

It was the first act anyone had ever taken to make you feel okay, truly okay. You’d been intimidated and overwhelmed by the hospital lights, the sterile metals, and sounds and processes. 

It was also the first true act of many that was something closer than what it should have been for you and Art. It was just you and him in that hospital room, empty aside from the machines, drips, a bed, and chairs, but the silence was so full that it occupied every corner that wasn’t already taken. 

You did eventually speak, but that silence was so needed. It was a conversation about what had happened and you explained it all and how it felt, but Art informed you that you were ahead of her in points before it happened. He didn’t tell you he didn’t see it happen- he didn’t tell you anything about where he’d gone at the halfway point of the game. 

Art slept in the corner chair later that night when you slept. Patrick eventually left after waiting for so long. When you needed your privacy Art got his meals from downstairs, heading back to the dorm and coming back the next morning every day for two weeks. He came by whenever he could to see you, the conversation was good and kept you distracted. You talked about everything and nothing just to pass the time in your lonely, empty room. Art brought you your iPod and a few other things from your dorm to keep you occupied when he wasn’t there.

Art was the greatest comfort until your parents finally got on a plane and flew out to see you, urging to somehow get you home but you didn’t want to go. You couldn’t anyway, and you were so glad. Your mom was surprised by the flowers you’d received from the Russian girl from the big game, who did come to visit you and was surprisingly very sweet, unlike her teeth-bared photo from her Facebook. But other than that, Art visited almost every day right after your parents did. They stayed at a nearby hotel as you were in the hospital recovering. 

Patrick stayed nearby for Art who was fine, other than a little busy most days when he went to visit. Today Patrick came in with Art. 

“Hey,” you grinned, sitting up just a bit when the two boys came in with McDonald’s. “Oh my god, you didn’t.” 

“But we did,” Art said, kicking your tray over to your bed and putting the food down on it. “Patrick’s idea actually, which I hate- but he wanted to get Arby’s and I told him no.” 

You smiled at him slyly, knowingly, but your attention turned to Patrick. “Hey! I’ve heard so much about you, this is crazy. I heard you were at the game.”

He grinned and you noted the dimple he had when he smiled. It was nice. “Yeah. Aside from the whole bone-out-the-leg thing, you were pretty good. I’ve heard a lot about you too.”

“Well, yeah,” you nodded, gesturing to your leg. You were fun, Patrick knew Art liked you but it was finally coming to be something clear in his mind as to why. You had high spirits. But both boys had no idea how hard you sobbed the moment they left. “Thank you for bringing me food, hospital soup and chicken are somehow both dry.” You said, opening the bag. 

Art looked at Patrick for some sort of approval which he got with a look Patrick exchanged. “You’re welcome,” Art spun on his heel. He looked at the way your hair fell over your face as you peeked in, how pretty it looked the way it curved inward to frame your face. The hospital had hindered your will to do your makeup but you still somehow looked just as gorgeous, if not more. His fleeting thought lingered this time as he gathered the right words to say. “So how is your leg feeling today?” 

“Fucked,” you replied, handing the boys their fries and burgers. “Hurts like hell and I’m still on the super strong stuff.” 

“Well you couldn’t tell,” Patrick said, pulling up a chair. 

“I think if I asked, they’d give me the good stuff.” You nodded. “But it makes me so tired, it’s awful.” You bit into your burger. 

Art pulled a chair closer to you and sat in it, “So all this was just for some drugs, hm?” He teased. “And attention.” 

“Oh yeah,” You agreed with a laugh between bites. Patrick chuckled and Art grinned, “All I had to do was fuck up my knee, have a surgery and a half, and ruin my tennis career.” Both boy’s smiles fell almost immediately, watching your tongue press to your cheek. The silence was loud, but you just continued eating. Art opened his mouth to speak but nothing came to mind. It could be true, you could very well never play tennis again, or with proper rehabilitation, you could be back to playing eventually. He didn’t know, he didn’t know what to say. You sighed, your voice monotone, “It’s fine. Most people who can’t play anymore start coaching. I just have to get better at teaching it.” 

“No, you can’t just say you’re going to coach, you still have so much work to do. You could get back into it when you get better,” Art said, hating how willing you were to succumb to just… teaching. “You’re only starting.” 

“True,” Patrick said, agreeing. “Would be badass if you got back on the court.” 

You twisted your mouth to the side, not finding it very easy to even speak on the topic, even if you brought it up yourself. You didn’t want to cry, not right now, you usually waited until you knew Art was down the hall so you had a minute to cry before the nurses came to check on you. “I don’t know…” 

Art looked at you with an expression that bordered on unkind- not toward you, but toward what you were saying. He’d played tennis with you- you were amazing and to not even believe that it could even get better was almost disgusting to him. You had so much potential, so much talent, “You do know.” He insisted. “There’s no way you want this to be career-ending, so don’t let it.”  

Patrick, despite the seriousness of the situation, smiled watching Art all passionate about something. It had been a while since he’d seen Art so riled up about something even if it didn’t affect him directly. Patrick smiled because he was seeing something he knew Art himself didn’t see. He leaned against his hand propped up by the arm of the chair. And you knew Art was right, but not enough to see past the cast on your leg, not enough to see past the months of rehab, not enough to see the court again. As much as you wanted it, it wasn’t in the foreseeable future, so you let it feel impossible. 

Your parents went back home a month or so in with the promise of returning, but it was getting expensive to stay, so they’d go return to their jobs. It was back to being Art and now recently, Patrick, whom you’d grown to be quite fond of. He brought out a side to Art that was not funnier, per se, but broadened his means to be. Patrick sometimes came to see you when Art had class so he wasn’t just sitting around Art’s dorm. Art would swing by after to join the card games and be told to be quiet by the nurses. It always ended up with you laughing so hard your ribs hurt more than your knee, even for a second. It was the only pain that was welcome in the hospital room. 

It was evening and you were sitting on your hospital bed, just thinking over everything. It wasn’t rare for you to cry at random periods throughout the day, it was a little too normal, if you were honest. All of this was so hard- continuing school from a hospital room because of all the risks was awful. But tomorrow you’d be seeing a physical therapist and that would decide if you were ready for rehabilitation. You wiped your eyes from the tears that fell just thinking about whether or not you’d be fit to walk on your leg again, which would determine if you could run if you could play. 

That’s when Art knocked on the door. He poked his head, looking around, but ultimately looking at you. You had the lamps that your parents had purchased for the room to be less overwhelmingly white in the top right and bottom left corners of the room, making for dim, comfortable lighting. Art swore he forgot how to greet you when his eyes met your tear-filled ones. The way your eyelashes looked when wet was almost hypnotizing, something that wiped all of the words from his vocabulary and out of sight almost completely. “Um-” He cleared his throat, “Hi,” He started, a weird pit in his throat. “You okay?” 

“Not sure,” You confessed, wiping your tears off your cheeks. He had seen you cry too many times now, it was getting a little embarrassing. “How are you?” Art smiled just a little at the fact you asked while crying. He hated to answer that question when you were upset. 

He pulled up his regular chair, but oddly it didn’t feel close enough. The feeling of it had been creeping up with every one of his visits, every time you were alone. But it got pushed aside. “I’m fine. Class was boring and tennis sucks without you, as usual.” He said, taking a seat. “The girl I’m paired with keeps hitting on me between rounds.” 

You wiped more tears away, smiling just a little though your stomach felt just a little odd at the mention, “Really?” 

“It’s bad.” He laughed, “She twirls her hair and everything.” 

“And that didn’t immediately work on you?” You fake-gasped. Art was just glad you were smiling. “You didn’t get married on the spot?” 

He chuckled, looking at his hands, “I don’t think it’s so easy. I don’t think I even know her name.” 

“You don’t know Melanie?” 

“Is that her name?” 

“No idea,” You laughed, really laughed, and it was a gorgeous sound. “In case you didn’t notice, I’m mostly bedridden and confined to this room.” 

He covered his face, rubbing his eyes, “That’s enough.” He groaned through a laugh, leaning against his hand, just looking at you. 

“I say it’s hardly anything, imagine how fun I could be if I wasn’t broken,” You huffed. “But Melanie, whatever her name is, she’s like… she’s really pretty.” You noted. ‘Melanie’ had all your opposite features, it should be noted. She was pretty just the same, but she was your opposite. 

“Mmm, not my type,” Art replied, scooting his chair just a little closer to the edge of your bed. 

“So you have a type? What, Kat Zimmerman-like?” 

Art groaned again, “I can’t believe Patrick told you that, that’s insane that you’d bring that up right now, I hate that.” He stressed the important syllables and covered his face again. You giggled, unable to keep it in. “No, not Kat Zimmerman, jesus christ.” 

“So then what’s your type?” You asked, just curious. You weren’t sure what drove you to curiosity but you didn’t question it. 

He shook his head, “I don’t think I have one. I know who I’m not into though and she’s exactly that.” Art said. Once again, to be noticed, the opposite of you was not his type. “She’s nice but we don’t talk much aside from when she compliments my playing and my hair and my arms and… all that.” 

You felt a little twinge. It was so awful to be on the inside while life went on outside, you thought to yourself. That was only half the twinge and the only half of the twinge you could understand. The other half was something close to jealousy that went completely unnoticed, but not unfelt. “She does that?” You struggled to sound genuine and that was the only thing you questioned about any of it. 

“Yeah, I hate it. What about you? You have a type?” 

You thought for a second, “I’m the same, I think. I know sports guys… jocks- are not it.” And Art nodded. Something about it felt weird to hear. He qualified as a sports guy, right? He tried to shrug it off, but he internalized it.

The night went on and you talked about things you hadn’t before and it was all romantic context. Past relationships, elementary school crushes. It was something that was needed out in the open and it made for an occupying conversation though it was a little hard to get through when there were constant little fleeting thoughts in Art’s mind that were thoughts about how jealous he was of these boys who had gotten to kiss you, touch you, and have your romantic attention. However, the thoughts were so fleeting they flew by without being read or registered, but they were there even unnoticed. You were his best friend and nothing more and that was that. 

When the doctors okayed you for rehabilitation you were so overjoyed you cried again. It was okay this time, it felt good to cry. All of these months in pain could be undone if you could just get into this and succeed. There was no guarantee it would work, there wouldn’t be at any point a guarantee and you knew that it would be a long, frustrating process, but it felt like it would be worth it. You remembered what Art told you about not wanting that career path to end and not letting this be the end of anything. This injury, in the long run, would not be able to take you from what you loved. Ever. Because you wouldn’t let it. You called to tell Art and you could hear Patrick whoop and cheer in the background. And you had your first session in your hospital room later that week and the now-wilting flowers Art and Patrick had brought you was amazing for motivation. 

Your healing journey was up and down as expected but no matter if you could finish your session or not, Art came by to tell you how great you were doing and Patrick to reassure you that you were a badass. You even let them stay for a session and the physiotherapist told them to ‘shut up’ because they were cheering for you the second you started. You just laughed. 

Patrick, for amusement, liked to sit back when you and Art were talking. He was no master, he was not a very scientific guy but your body language when engaging with each other was crazy obvious. You’d always sit super close no matter what, you leaned toward each other when you laughed, your eye contact was completely loaded with unsaid words and when you spoke it was 89% flirting. Patrick understood Art- you were gorgeous and you were strong and that itself was hot. You were funny and took jabs but you were honestly one of the most caring people Patrick had ever met. So yeah, he understood why Art liked you so much. 

You got better every day, easing onto your crutches at this point, able to somewhat move on your own. Patrick visited that day and he had his intentions. “You heard about that girl who won’t stop hitting on Art between games?” He chuckled, dealing the cards for crazy eights. He watched for your reaction. 

You pressed your tongue to your cheek, “Mmm, he mentioned.” You said, picking up your cards. “She’s still at it?” 

“Worse,” Patrick said. “Asked him out yesterday.” 

You looked up at Patrick with telling eyes and Patrick could have gone off of that alone, but he didn’t yet. He noticed your hands bending the edge of a card as you thought it over. The idea of him and that girl was something you could easily envision. He’d been her partner for over a year now and he had to know her name, they had to have been talking for her to just ask him out. Your jealousy was a fleeting thought that did burn close to the surface. “What did he say?” 

“He said he’d think about it,” Patrick said, eyeing your response to that one. It wasn’t true, Art had turned her down at least twice now. The girl was pretty, but oddly persistent.

“Hm,” You nodded, putting down three cards right off the bat. “He said she wasn’t his type.” 

Patrick shrugged, playing his card, “He’s pretty diverse I think. Me personally-” He placed a hand on his chest, “- Dark hair, dark eyes. I’m not limiting myself to it, but I think I have a type.” 

“That’s very you, I feel,” You said, narrowing your eyes at him. “Are you an ass guy too?” 

“Oh yeah,” He grinned a wide grin. You just smiled and shook your head at him. “What about you? You have a type?” He asked, trying not to make it obvious he was playing wingman here. 

You picked up a card, “I don’t think so. Maybe tall, not too much muscle but not like bone-breaking thin.” You said. “And a good amount of hair. I can’t imagine being with someone with a buzzcut. I don’t know, I don’t think much about who I could want, more of what I don’t want.” 

Patrick pretended like that body criteria wasn’t exactly Art. He smiled just a little, “And what’s that?” 

“Okay, easy. No mommy issues,” You put down another card, “No weird patchy facial hair, nobody who doesn’t know the difference between too, two, and to, and no guys in sports.” 

Patrick leaned in just a bit. “No guys in sports? You don’t date guys who play sports?” He clarified, a little bit of hope slipping out the window for his wingman act. All of everything could be wrong, could be pointless. 

You shook your head, “I say that but I mean football, mostly. Jocks. I had a bad experience with two different football players. Broke my little heart,” You chuckled. “I’ve ruled out jocks.” 

“But you’d date a guy in t-” he almost said tennis. He wouldn’t have been a good wingman to give away something like that. “You’d date a guy who plays something else?” 

“If he’s normal about it,” You nodded. “I can’t be outloved by a sport. My ex, I swear he’d fuck a football if it had a hole.” You placed down two more cards, “Last card.” 

The game finished with your win and Patrick was fairly satisfied with his work, though he intended to ask you a few more things and was cut short from his recon when Art swung in the room with a can of iced tea for you and Coca-Cola for him and Patrick. “How are you?” You asked him, taking the iced tea gratefully. 

“I’m good, you?” Art sat at the end of your bed by your feet, putting a hand on your shin (on your good leg) just casually. Patrick noticed it, but it didn’t seem to phase you. He’d seen it the other day when you rested your head on Art’s shoulder, he’d seen it when Art moved your hair over your ear as you were reading a magazine they’d brought. It was painful how obvious this was- he didn’t have to ask anything else. He almost laughed out loud as he thought about it. He made a mental note to talk to Art about it. 

He went back to the dorm early that day, leaving just you and Art. “Hm,” You hummed, pulling your hair to one side. Art snapped out of the trance he was in, hoping you hadn’t noticed that he was staring. It was something about the way you looked in purple, it was like it made your skin glow. That and your eyelashes as they fluttered when you looked around the room, that and the way your lower lip rested between your teeth as you checked over your textbook quickly making sure you were done with your schoolwork for the day. Art blinked all the thoughts away, but they clung on to your square-necklined purple t-shirt. Something about the way you looked in purple. 

Art rubbed the back of his neck, taking his eyes off of you, but looking back a moment later. Your lip between your teeth had his full attention, his own lips parting just a little at the sight. And then there was your hair draping over your face now and Art wanted so badly to move it like he had before. At this thought, as it crossed his mind it stopped dead centre in his brain. Like a shift, but a shift from his own burying and blatant ignorance of any feelings to being completely in the know. You were here, and you were perfect and you weren’t even doing anything, and Art knew he liked you as more than a friend at that very moment. 

But that was the issue. He was supposed to be your friend. 

And that troubled him the next week or so. He was fine seeing you, being one of your close friends wasn’t an act, it was true to him with the addition that maybe he liked you but he always told himself ‘just a little bit’, he liked you a little. If it was full blown then it would be a crisis and the truth was that it was absolutely and completely full blown and there was nothing he could say to himself that would change that. He thought about you when he wasn’t with you, when he woke up, and when he went to bed. He thought about you when he saw something you liked, he thought about you in every spare moment he could get. It was so bad he couldn’t even tell Patrick- as if Patrick didn’t know and constantly teased him about it. 

You were getting better and better and it was a surprising recovery, doctors said. Your mobility was far ahead of schedule and set to stay that way. Any setbacks from this point would be minor and you were making progress almost miraculously. And you were so glad to hear it every time they’d say it. Your parents came back around the day you took a real step alone and you wouldn’t forget your mom’s shriek of complete happiness. Your knee would work again. 

Just Art brought you flowers that day, not him and Patrick. 

But things stayed the same. You could leave and come back in for therapy and you were more than glad to be out of the hospital, though you’d gotten a bit used to it. Everything was falling into place, Art was there pretty much every step -literal and physical- of the way. He was amazing support and made things feel so much easier. When Patrick came around it was fun to have two people who’d add into the motivation. You got better and better and soon enough you swore you could walk just fine aside from your slight limp. That day you walked across the room when Art turned his back, he was surprised, to say the least.

When you could go out with a wheelchair and crutch the boys took you to the court. It was your first time on it since the incident. Your eyes fell on the spot where it happened. Patrick followed your eyes, grimacing just a bit. You’d forgotten Art didn’t see it- you still had no idea where he’d gone at the halfway point of the game. “I can almost feel it,” You said, a look of disgust on your face. “I think the gasp from the crowd was the worst part.” 

“It was loud,” Patrick said.

Art looked at where they were looking. “But you almost have full use of your knee again. Who knows, you could be back out here in a few months.” He shrugged. You turned on your crutch, away from the spot, and looked at Art. “Okay, don’t give me that look, you know you just need to try.” 

“I know,” You nodded slowly. “I just don’t know to what extent. I don’t think I could follow through with Stanford.” 

“Why not?” 

“It’s so top-notch,” You answered. Patrick kicked around on the court, grabbing one of Art’s balls and rackets and dribbling it around. “The people here are here for a reason and it’s to go pro.” 

Art stepped closer to you, “But you don’t think that’s you?” 

“Not anymore,” You replied, meeting his eyes. “Recovery is amazing but the risk is so high… I’m not even sure I can run yet, let alone sprint and lean side to side on this leg. I want to, I wanted to, but going pro after something like this just doesn’t happen. If I can play again at all, it won’t be good.” You explained. Art nodded through, listening with eyes that held sympathy and a little speck of sadness. “It’s okay, I just… It’s going to take me forever to get over it.” 

He shook his head, “You still don’t need to get over it yet. There’s still so much t-”

“I know. I just can’t see it ever happening.” You said. Art pressed his lips into a straight line and he spun on his heel. Comfort wasn’t what you needed- it was a racket. Art lunged and snatched up the one Patrick was toying with and handed it to you. “What?” 

Patrick caught on quickly. “Hit the ball.” Art said. “In any form.” 

“Art…” You shook your head. 

Patrick threw it anyway and even with the crutch, you instinctively stuck out your racket the way you knew how and hit the ball back to him, your aim still on point. “That was good! What the fuck,” Patrick chuckled. Even he couldn’t hit the ball with that much precision. Art laughed, clapping once- and you had your mouth a little open at the tennis reflexes that hadn’t gone anywhere after all this time. You looked at both of them in minor shock and awe and Art just smiled. He wouldn’t let you give up. He couldn’t. You spent the rest of the evening hitting balls where you stood, feeling a lot better about things. 

Recovery continued, but so did tennis. In your spare time you were on the court, practicing your serves, hitting the ball, everything to do with arms and eventually when the therapist had you on the treadmill walking, jogging, he cleared you to do it with supervision. That was one of the biggest things you’d heard in a while. Art was out in the hall when you’d heard it and you left the doctor mid-sentence just to go tell him, Art surprised at the speed which you approached him at, being used to you only ever walking. “I can jog!” You said, enthusiasm and passion in your eyes and the familiar fire he knew from when you would play tennis with him. 

Your soft hands grabbed his forearms in excitement and Art was a little bit more than aware of it, but the news was amazing. “That’s amazing, that’s crazy, you can jog?” 

“I can jog!” You squealed a little as your mom who was in the room with you swung her head into the hallway. 

“When he said could he didn’t mean away from him, Y/N, get back in here please!” She called, but she wasn’t pulling the full mom card, she was smiling ear to ear just as you were. “And hi Art.” She said, waving to him. Being your main visitors meant they were acquainted. Art went to coffee with your parents while you were in therapy the week prior, he wondered if they had mentioned it. He hadn’t. Art just waved back. 

Soon it was you, Patrick, and Art on the court and your crutches were propped against the bench. You were still a little slow but you’d gotten good at playing where you stood, relying on reach alone and it was quite impressive. You worked on side-stepping instead of lunging and leaning and it helped a lot with having to move around when you needed. It was a lot of laughter but also took a lot of practice and focus to get right. Sometimes you could go for a while, other times not so long, but the rehab had done wonders. This time when you said you were done, Art served the ball and you did lunge for it- both boys afraid, cringing as they watched you rush and lean forward in what seemed like slow motion. But you hit the ball and it flew right at Patrick’s chest and came back into standing position like it was nothing. 

“Oh my god,” You gasped. “I’m so sorry.” Patrick put a hand to his chest but both boys looked at you in wonderment, eyes wide, mouths a little open. To tell the truth they both thought you were done for again as you lunged but you were fine, no complaints, no second thoughts- but a second gasp. You realized the move you’d pulled and the second you realized, both boys started blurting out praise and pride and disbelief and you joined in on it. That was tennis. You’d done everything a tennis player needed to do and it was completed with the simplest lunge. Small victories every day. 

Art was more than proud. Seeing you back on the court was amazing. He’d take you there alone most days when Patrick didn’t feel like it. This particular day you were both a bit disracted, but the reason why was something you both couldn’t place. Art gave up before you today and you both stood by the edge of the bleachers against the metal bar.

You took a sip of your water, “Are we going back out or are we done?” You asked. Art set down his bottle just past you, reaching around. He looked at you and for the moment he had nothing else in his mind but you. Not tennis, not anything, you. 

“You’re incredible, you know that?” He said. You smiled immediately, leaning more against the bar next to you. But it just so happened to be closer to him. And you didn’t mind it, it wasn’t anything new but it was definitely close. Very close. You were close and you were smiling at what he said. He blinked a few times, observing your eyelashes, “Your recovery… I mean. It’s a miracle you’re back here.”

You nodded, that perfect smile on your face. You knew how close you were to him, but you didn’t think much of it. You were more focused on his words. Art was always sweet, you enjoyed that about him. “I’d probably be sitting somewhere with a book on how to coach tennis if you didn’t push me this far. You, you are incredible. I am just grateful.” 

He laughed, “Me? I might have pushed but you snapped the bone in your leg but you’re out here on the court again because you’ve been at it everyday.” He said, sincerity coating every one of his words. “It’s all you.” 

“It’s not all me-”

“With help and support, yes. But if you didn’t want to be here, you wouldn’t be. You want this, getting here to this point was all you.” He swayed just a little closer, not even on his own account just because being close felt right. He wanted you to feel that it was the truth. You looked up at him and he could see his words meant something as your eyes reflected him in the golden light of the early evening. He’d never seen just how gorgeous your eyes are in this light… And you were thinking the very same thing as your lower lip found itself between your teeth.

You and Art shared a thought before stepping back and it was the reminder that you were best friends. Just friends. Good friends. And nothing more. It was the first time it had crossed your mind, but the hundredth time on Art’s. Neither of you would risk it. 

The practice continued carefully. You had rest days. You’d been lunging on both legs at this point and your game was coming back around. You were off at a meeting with the Stanford tennis coach about returning properly in the fall, having the meeting so that you could make some exceptions. Art and Patrick sat in his dorm room, Art upside down on his bed, feet up on the wall, and Patrick in Art’s computer chair, spinning. The conversation had been about what to have for lunch when Patrick sparked something else up. “Are we meeting Y/N after her meeting?” He asked. 

Art tilted his head back, “Not sure. I could call her when it’s over if you want. Why?” 

“What do you mean why?” Patrick said, throwing the hacky sack he was fiddling with at Art’s head, hitting him in the face and chuckling. Art sat up, whipping the bean bag right back at him. “Oh come on-” He groaned. “I know you want to see her.” 

“I saw her earlier,” Art deflected, recognizing Patrick’s tone. 

“Yeah and?” 

“So you want to see her?” 

“Sure.” Patrick shrugged. Art shrugged back, pulling on a sweater, whenever Patrick was over, he turned the AC in the room way up. Wasn’t relevant, but the silence while Art was putting on his sweater was near unbearable. Art had the sweater half over his head when Patrick stuck his leg out and kicked him over. “I know you like her!” 

“Huh?” Art said, sitting up and fixing the sweater. Patrick pushed him right back over. 

“You like her! Y/N!” He said. He couldn’t take it anymore, the obviousness, how clear it was that you two liked each other. It was getting to be sickening. “I know you, I know you like her and you can’t tell me you don’t because I’ve waited this long for you to-” he shoved Art over again when Art came back up laughing- Patrick couldn’t help but laugh too, “-tell me!” 

There was no purpose in a lie. “Yeah, I guess so,” Art admit, bracing himself to be shoved again and instead, punching Patrick right in the stomach as revenge. Patrick sat back in his chair in pain. “But Patrick, she’s my best friend. And your friend. It’s tricky.” 

“I don’t think it’s that tricky, I mean, she likes you too and it’s obvious,” Patrick said through his stomach pain. 

Art laughed again, “She does not. I’m not her type. We’re just friends.” 

“You are entirely her type, her criteria is tall and normal build and that’s exactly you!” He gestured widely to Art. 

“She did not say that to me when I asked. She told me she doesn’t date guys in sports.” 

“She has two football exes, of course she doesn’t date jocks.” 

“She said sports.” 

“She meant jocks.” Patrick straightened out. “She likes you, Art. She pretty much admit it to me, you can’t tell me otherwise.” 

Art just blinked. Patrick wasn’t right- there was no way. He’d had it in his head that he wasn’t even thought of when it came to anything like that with you. But Patrick was usually right, no matter how much Art hated it. “No, she’s-” he groaned, putting his head in his hands and bending to put his head between his knees. “She’s one of my best friends this would fuck everything up.” 

Patrick shook his head, “It would be fine, you-”

Art groaned again, “And I tell her I like her and then what?” He brought his head up again. “She thinks I’ve just been here to fuck her? To get on her good side, to be with her through this just to get to her? I only started liking her, really liking her after the incident but I have no way to prove that! What would she think if all of a sudden I tell her and she actually doesn’t feel the way I do? This is so bad, Patrick.” 

Patrick just laughed at him, but Art was now able to think about these things aloud. So he was loud. “I promise you she likes you. She’s flirting with you all the time, she’s touchy, she cares a lot about you- more than me, I can attest. She wants you. And as for the injury part- Art, it’s been over a fucking year. She’s not going to think you’re playing the long game.” Art just sighed, but Patrick shoved him over again. “Don’t be a pussy!” 

“I’m not a-” he rolled his eyes and shoved Patrick right back, “-pussy. I just- she’s gorgeous and she’s friendly and she’s kind and caring and amazing and I don’t want to risk losing that just because I have some fucking ninth grade crush on her, you know?” 

He nodded back, “But it’s not. I’ve seen you with your ninth grade crush and you were a lot more horny about it. You like her. She likes you. I don’t care if you tell her now, but I don’t want you thinking she doesn’t want you too. She does, it’s painfully obvious. And I’ll admit she’s hot as fuck, so I’d hate to see you miss the opportunity!” Patrick explained, hands wildly gesturing. “Plus the tension is fucking awful to be around, I don’t know how you do it.” 

Neither did he. With it out in the air Art might have gushed a bit about you. Patrick had never seen him this way- he had so much to say about you and he ended up not calling you, just talking about you for what felt like forever to Patrick. But he didn’t mind. 

You continued to get better and better and it was amazing. You felt amazing about your progress. You got up in the morning and your knee only hurt if you hit it off something. And that was normal for most people, so you took pride in it. You hurried over to Art’s dorm in a tank top and shorts, your hair in two braids. It was early morning, you knew that, but you knocked on the door anyway. Art, woken, opened the door and squinted in the light from the hall. He was gorgeous, you thought. His hair wild and messy from bed and his shirt hiked up a little too high from sleep, leaving his waist and mid-line exposed. “Hey.” He said, opening the door for you to come in, fixing his shirt. 

“Hi,” you said, trying not to grin too wide. You couldn’t wait, you couldn’t. “I got cleared for a real game!” You squealed and you covered your mouth. You’d only found out late last night so you decided to wait until morning, but it really couldn’t wait. Art took a deep breath in but before he could say anything you were talking again. “It’s a small game. It’s local, it’s a tiny game but it’s a real one and it’s singles. I thought you’d want to know!”

“I- I do want to know, that’s amazing, oh my god!” He was almost as excited as you without the squealing and bouncing around. You were cute when you were excited. “A game is a game, it’s incredible, it’s- you- I-” He stopped himself. The excitement nearly got the best of him. But you were grinning ear to ear over tennis and that was all he cared about. “When is the game?” 

“It’s next Sunday,” You giggled. “You’ll come?” 

“Is that a question?” 

“Well, yeah,” You said, your hands on his forearms like they usually were when you were passionate. Almost like you were scared the passion would sweep you away if you didn’t hold onto something. He loved it. 

“No, I’ll be there. And on the sidelines if you let me.” 

“You’re absolutely not sitting in the stands again.” You said, chuckling. He grinned. 

And when the day of the game rolled around, your mother braided your hair in two french braids for you. She had ironed your entire outfit, even your socks. It was her nerves. But the most nervous one in the room at all times was you. You couldn’t eat, you had a hard time falling asleep, but you got up in the morning refreshed and heart pounding at the impending game. It meant a lot of action but you’d worked for this. It was a small local game at a local court with a few bleachers. It was hardly anything, you reminded yourself. This was your second chance just beginning. You slipped on your dark purple skort and your purple tank top and you made sure you had your lucky racket this time. 

Your mom drove you to the court much earlier than needed because you were so on edge and you sat in the hall between changerooms under the bleachers, just doing your breathing to maintain yourself. You were more than glad when Patrick and Art showed up. They didn’t ask if you were ready, they knew it. They just asked where you wanted to go for lunch after the game and debated over if a hot dog counted as a sandwich until your Stanford coach walked in. 

“You’re ready?” She asked, grin on her face. You blinked. 

“What are you…” This was a local game, not Stanford. You looked at Art and Patrick who were bad at hiding their smiles. 

Your coach nodded, “You’ve got this one.” She said. “Now hop to it, they’re waiting.” You looked back at Art and Patrick and they ushered you toward the door. It sounded a bit like a badly-engineered fan at first, going down the hall. Your stomach was already in knots. 

They came completely undone as your coach opened the door and the roar of the crowd was near-deafening. You blinked in the daylight, half-shocked by how loud it was before you realized that it was the sound of people. And as your eyes adjusted, you realized that the tennis court bleachers were absolutely packed full of people and they were loud, cheering. It was a local game, you expected families of the players but no, there must have been hundreds of people in the stands. On the side with no stands there were people lining the fences and you could see people beyond people. You turned, taking it all in as they were calling your name, calling your praise. You covered your mouth seeing your peers from Stanford in the front row, including the girl who had been hitting on Art. You recognized all of them and more. 

You looked at Art and Patrick who were behind you, unable to control their grins at this point and elbowing each other just a bit. Art was only looking at you. You felt so overwhelmed with gratitude, it rose in your stomach like the drop of a rollercoaster. “How did this- How- there’s so many,” You managed to say. 

Patrick beamed, dimples on display, “They’re here for you, if you couldn’t tell.” 

Art tugged one of your braids. “Patrick and I might have… posted about it on facebook. But it wasn’t an invite, just the general information of what had happened and that this was your first real game, so technically it was all you.” He smirked, but it couldn’t stay a smirk, just a really big smile. It matched yours. 

“It was not me,” You sighed exasperated, but more than happy. Scared. But happy. 

“If you didn’t want to be here, you wouldn’t be,” He repeated to you. His thumb grazed your cheek when he let go of your braid. You wanted to hug him, you wanted to jump for joy and scream your head off at how amazing this all was. But you got called to serve. 

The screams didn’t die down for any part of the game. You served and the game began and the girl across from you did not feel bad for you and that was clear. She was harsh and hardcore and violent with her swings but you hit almost all of them right back at her at a force and accuracy she couldn’t handle. Art and Patrick on the sidelines were into the game, cheering, calling out remarks on your moves. The moves they’d helped you get back. You were more than grateful with every point you scored. The crowd cheered for both you and your opponent but it was your name you heard screamed out in the crowd. 

It got a bit intense at times, you fell behind for a while but came back, then went back down again, then came back up. The halfway point you spent thanking your best friends profusely while they urged you to rest and have water. You got back on the court after that, swinging, hitting, forehand, backhand, pulling a few moves that required the use of the leg you’d broken and though the crowd held their breath, they were more than impressed. Patrick watched Art stop cheering and clapping for a second, noting the way he was so honed in on you, Patrick was sure a bomb could go off behind Art and he wouldn’t notice. Art was proud, that was what he felt. Proud to know you, proud to be your friend, proud to feel the way he did about you because he knew that you were amazing and resilient and so fucking strong. He had never met anyone like you. 

You locked eyes with him before your opponent served and he swore he felt something shift, really shift. When this game ended he had to tell you how he felt. He couldn’t go without it, he had to tell you. 

The last quarter got increasingly more intense. You fell once at a move that required the leg you’d broken. The crowd gasped and Art lunged to help you up but you did it yourself. And you got right back up. The fall hurt, but no more than it would have a regular person. That was something that drove your confidence way up. You couldn’t even hear the score anymore. You just knew that you were there and you were playing and you couldn’t have been happier, even if you lost. But the buzzer went off and the game was done and it was almost like you went deaf. The cheers stopped, though they really didn’t, in fact they roared louder than ever before and the crowd launched itself into standing, their hands over their heads, mouths open wide absolutely wild. 

You knew you’d won. But it wasn’t that important. You had one thought- find Art. 

And he wasn’t hard to find. He was there on the sidelines or rather one of the many people who surrounded you when you won. Your other friends, your parents, your coach, Patrick, the staff of the game, and apparently a few nurses who came to see their patient play. But it was Art you reached for. You grabbed his forearms, bracing yourself, your eyebrows furrowing, “I won?” You questioned over the noise, over the hands that congratulated you. 

 Art, biggest grin on his face, “You won.” He answered. And he didn’t have a second to himself before you reached up, cupping his face and kissing him hard. There was nothing else to do in the presence of the win but kiss him. And he kissed you back just as hard. It felt like all the noise and all of the world was sucked away for a moment when his hands fell on your waist, pulling you closer. 

It was a small game with big victories. 

The kiss only lasted a few seconds but it was strong, and the feeling of him lingered on your lips when you parted. Nobody was surprised that you kissed. Not your mom, not the nurses, they’d known. You looked at Art and tried not to smile but it was over the second he grinned. You couldn’t help but grin right back as Patrick came in for a crushing hug. 

“That was fucking incredible!” He told you. Your cheeks began to hurt from smiling as you hugged everyone over your win. Thing eventually died down after a while, people happily funnelling out, congratulating you. But at the end of things it was just you and Art. Patrick had headed out to bring the car around. 

You twisted your mouth to the side, “I can’t believe how many people turned up.” You sighed, content. 

“You have that pull.” Art shrugged. “You are probably my biggest tennis inspiration now.”

“Mhm? You want to be me when you grow up?” You teased, stepping closer. Art smirked, but once again he couldn’t maintain it, he just smiled down at you. “I’m your biggest inspiration…”

He wasn’t afraid to put his arms around your waist. “Maybe, maybe not. But you are amazing. And so fucking good at tennis, I’m scared for your real comeback.” He said. You laughed and it was gorgeous. The front part of your braid fell out and around your face. “You’re going to kick my ass.” 

Your smile was brighter than the mid-day sun. “You bet.” 

Your heart fluttered when he tucked your hair behind your ear again. You both heard the car horn as Patrick beeped from outside the court. “Can I kiss you?” Art asked, pushing your hair behind your ear. You nodded. And this time it was his hand on your jaw, his lips pressing against yours with all of his feeling. It was a kiss untouched by the rush of adrenaline and it was sweet. And it was slow. His lips grazing over yours between kisses, his breath minty from the gum he had just spit out two minutes ago. He held you close and the kiss was full of words yet to be said. You both couldn’t ignore anything anymore. It had been a long time coming. Patrick honked again, but it took you another second before you both pulled away with small smiles. Your hands gently holding his forearms, bracing yourself. 

[veren-cos]

Bachelor(ette)s react to a handmade gift!

Aka Bachelor's and ettes x reader

Honestly a lot of these can be read as platonic, and for Sam, if you just ignore that bullet point, it can be platonic too lol

Loosely based on a request by @vvnbxz !

Sam

• Loves it.

• Loves it Loves it Loves it Loves it.

• Like anything from you and he is happy.

• But If you made something just for him? Oh he would be crazy happy.

• Peppers you with kisses all over your face.

• Then gives you a hug and like gushes about how cool you are.

Sebastian

• He would probably be the most chill.

• He would obviously say thanks out of politeness and genuinely liking it!

• But he doesn't make it a thing.

• If you are close with him tho, he gets very happy about it when he is just thinking before he goes to sleep.

• Like woah! They made this just for me!

• It makes him feel special.

Alex

• Awh Alex is just a sweetie.

• He would be so so so happy.

• Whatever you made him, he would try and figure put how you did it.

• Then, he would make one for you!

• Whether that be a piece of clothing (the one he made would be falling apart), a mug, literally anything.

• Just enjoys your presence and your sentiment and wants to reciprocate the gesture.

Harvey

• Stoked!

• Like he is so precious about it.

• He displays whatever you give him on a shelf on his room.

• He feels like it's too precious to ever actually use it in fear of damaging it.

• Eventually he learns it's okay to actually use the things, but he is just so happy to receive something from you!

Shane

• He probably wouldn't realize it was handmade at first.

• You gave him a cup cozy that you made for all the soda he drinks haha

• When he realizes he just thinks it's cool!

• Wouldn't be dramatic or flabbergasted like some of the others.

• He already knows you've been crafty.

• But yeah he thinks it's neat!

Elliott

• He would be over the top.

• My dramatic man haha

• No but he would be complimenting you left and right, saying how talented you are!

• Would not let it go for nearly the whole season!

• Brags about it to Leah. Constantly.

• He is just so happy he connected with you, and that you actually think about him!

Haley

• Thinks it's so cool!!!

• If you just met Haley, you'd probably think she only likes brand name stuff

• But she is a sucker for home made!!

• She can't make things for crap imo, so she thinks you are so talented.

• I think she'd love if you knew how to sew or crochet.

• She would wear the clothes you make her all the time.

Emily

• Oh Emily would just die if you made her something

• Like she would be flabbergasted.

• You would probably learn how to make something just to give it to Emily.

• Like you'd learn how to paint and give her a mug you painted?

• She would be so touched that you thought of her! Would use/wear it constantly

Leah

• Leah, like Emily, would be so happy!!

• You'd learn how to sculpt just to try and make her something!

• She ends up getting a finger pot from you, as it was the very first thing you ever sculpted.

• She thinks it's so sweet that you learned a new skill just to give her something.

Penny

• Penny would love it!

• She definitely appreciates the sentiment of a gift more than the gift itself.

• So give this girl anything and she is over the moon

• I feel like she would like a good scarf or clothing accessory

• So you made her a big warm scarf!!

• She wears it all the time.

• Once she even tried to style it for spring and got wayyyy to hot that she felt sick-

• But she just wanted to show you how much she appreciated it!

Maru

• Thinks it's very sweet of you!!

• She has a lot of technological crafty stuff, but doesn't really work much with artsy things.

• So if you gave her something you made (ie a scarf, clothes, artwork) she would think it's super cool!

• Would probably ask you to teach her. She loves to learn new things.

Abigail

• Not going to lie, y'all probably made it together!

• She is super hands on with literally everything, and is pretty crafted herself.

• You probably were both making bracelets and then traded at the end of the day!

• They ended up having the same color scheme, totally on accident, so Abigial wears hers all the time.

• She always gets really happy when she sees you wearing yours too!

An* I've never actually written for any of the bachelorettes, so this was really fun!!! They are all just short and sweet blurbs :3

Masterlist

[mixtape-racha]

enough for you | poly!ot8 (9th member reader)

dating the members of your band was both a blessing and a curse... especially when you had to hide your changes in behaviour from them

words: 3.21k // warnings: established relationship, poly!skz x reader, reader is put on a diet and workout plan, lack of eating, reader takens caffeine pills, overworking, overexercising, reader passes out, the boys get angry (not at reader)

a/n: i am NOT trying to glorify undereating and/or overworking yourself in ANY way, but if you struggle with food-related topics or suffer from an ED please do not read this fic as i don't want to trigger you in any way // based on this request

you bowed your head with a small - and extremely undeserving - smile as you said your goodbyes to the staff and left your meeting. solo meetings with the staff at jype were always worrying, but this time you wished you had forced one of the boys to come with you.

you had a huge year ahead of you; your comeback being one of the most anticipated of the year on twitter, before your japanese comeback, and then further embarking on a tour. really, you and the boys were enjoying all the free time you had before the workload became overbearing - which none of you could deny it was, despite how much you loved your jobs.

but to then be sat down and given a whole new diet and gym plan? on top of everything else, it was…. hurtful. you were always a little self-conscious of your weight - being the only girl in a group with 8 boys, anything you did or changed stuck out like a sore thumb. but as far as you knew, you were fine. your weight had sat steady since the last comeback, and you were always careful with what you ate and how you worked out.

shaking it off as your manager put a comforting hand on your arm and helped you out of the building to your awaiting car, you assumed that something had changed if the company felt they had to step in. you just hoped the boys hadn’t noticed, and if they had they weren’t talking about it behind your back. 

it was a silly thing to worry about, obviously. your boys only ever wanted what was best for you, and you knew that. merely 2 years after your debut, you had all begun understanding each other on a deeper level, and - under chan’s demand - very, very slowly it led to romantic connections establishing between you all. and now here you are, in one of the biggest kpop groups in the world, working and living and thriving with your 8 boyfriends in one harmonious polycule.

during the drive back to the dorm, your manager was kind enough to let you brood in your silence - he understood all too well that you were bombarded with a lot of information to process during the meeting, especially when your small hands started flicking through the folder you were given. a strict meal plan - every meal and snack planned out to the last gram with no room to move. an exact workout guide - how on earth you were going to do this without changbin noticing something was up in the gym, you had no clue. you just prayed that their busy schedules leading up to comeback season were enough for you to keep this from them - the last thing they needed right now was to worry about you too.

when you finally arrived back at the dorm, you were instantly wrapped into a tight hug by a pouting jisung. you giggled softly as he complained about losing mario kart to felix - again - and how he owed jeongin $100 because felix beat seungmin too. he kept mumbling his complaints into your neck as you waddled to the living room, the sight of the maknae line bickering and throwing popcorn at each other being a wholesome and beautiful sight to come home to.

jisung finally released you from his hold, allowing you to squeeze yourself onto the couch between seungmin and jeongin, the latter instantly throwing an arm around your shoulders as seungmin looked over at you, a smile painted on his lips.

“how did the meeting go? we were trying to figure out why they’d call a solo meeting with you, but none of us worked it out.” he asked softly, planting a chaste kiss on your cheek before handing his controller back over to jisung. you weren’t entirely sure how to respond, thinking of an excuse on the spot.

“oh, yeah it went fine. they were just checking what parts of the comeback schedules lined up with my period - after last comeback, they want to try and make that week as easy as possible for me.” you shrugged, knowing the boys wouldn’t ask more questions when it came to that time of the month.

its not like they were disgusted or anything. in fact, they were the most helpful and understanding boyfriends you could ask for. they just never pried, never dug for more information than you seemed comfortable with sharing, and you were grateful for that. especially as you lied. if they asked questions, you were sure you would crumble and tell them the truth. for now, it was just easier to ignore it and join them playing video games.

dinner time that night was your first exceptional challenge. after studying your diet plan in your bedroom, it was suggested that you have a vegetable salad with plain chicken breast and a small portion of sweet potato. it seemed boring and bland, especially with the other meals you were expected to follow. usually, you would follow the boys around the kitchen and see what they were having for dinner - then helping one of them make a larger portion so you could share and eat together. it was so normalized at this point, you’d typically get asked teasingly which member’s meal you’d be planning to hijack that night.

so, of course, when you headed to the kitchen silently and began preparing a completely different meal, a few eyebrows were raised, although thankfully no one asked any questions. they just simply assumed you had a specific craving that night that you wanted to indulge in. truthfully, as much as you wanted to eat your meal in the company of your boyfriends, discussing your days and giggling together, you were deeply embarrassed by the fact the company had put you on your diet plan. so regretfully, you skulked back into your bedroom with your dismal meal and ate in the comfort of your bed with a disney movie playing in the background.

the next morning, you woke yourself up at what felt like the ass-crack of dawn to head down to the company gym. you stuffed everything you’d need for the day into a backpack, silently leaving the door and enjoying the quiet of the early morning during your walk to the company building. the lack of noise and movement in the world was nice, feeling like it had washed away all of your worries almost instantly. every time you saw a stray cat, or a funny street sign, you’d snap a picture to send to your group chat with the boys.

you allowed yourself to send a couple of animal pictures to the chat, assuming the boys would be asleep, and when they woke, wouldn’t notice or question the times that you had sent the pictures. of course, that was a misjudgement on your part, because when the hell did chan ever sleep? as you approached the gym doors, your phone dinged and your heart squeezed at his message.

lying to your boyfriends in any way made you feel sick to your stomach, but deep down you just didn’t want them worrying about you. luckily, your workout went relatively easily - you were quite active and partook in gym activity frequently so it was simply like a higher intensity session for you.

after you had showered and left the gym, you headed down to the company cafeteria for breakfast. your meal plan stated that your breakfast for the day should be a small portion of mandu dumplings and a pineapple and kale smoothie. you savored the food as much as you could with each bite, knowing you wouldn’t be able to get a chance to eat again until the later evening. your schedule was packed, practices upon practices before your evening workout, and as much as you loved your job, you knew wholeheartedly how much the company liked to overwork you leading up to comeback season.

practice seemed to drag that day, your vocal teacher questioning if you were feeling unwell because your energy just seemed completely off during your session together. you shrugged her off, insisting you were just tired, but in reality you were overthinking every single moment of the day. between the lack of food, and ache from overworking yourself in the gym that morning, you just felt exhausted - both physically and mentally.

after you finished all your scheduled plans for the day, you decided to head to the company cafeteria for dinner - it was easier than going home and then heading back out to the gym, in all honesty. you tried your hardest not to finish your allocated meal, thinking if you left food on your plate that you’d feel more accomplished. however, as soon as you got to the gym and began your evening workout, you knew leaving food was a bad idea. nonetheless, you pushed through the achy joints and growling stomach, even beating your current personal best on the stairmaster before you ended your session.

the stress of needing to be a certain weight before your next solo meeting before the comeback had you stressed and pushing yourself harder than you should, so you opted to walk back to the dorms that night rather than calling a car. the next few days were similar - the ache, and fatigue, and sick feeling in the pit of your stomach as you forced yourself into work. staying at the company later, working out at any free time you had, sleeping as soon as you got home without even acknowledging the boys you shared a dorm with. they had slowly started noticing, of course, but it wasn’t until exactly a week after your meeting that things all came to a head.

you had finally noticed in the mirror that morning that you had lost weight - your clothes weren’t fitting how they usually did, and you weren’t even hungry most of the day. the gym had become your best friend, and working out had become so much easier. sure, the fatigue and lightheadedness was slightly concerning, but in your opinion it was worth it to keep your job.

that day, you were scheduled to have a whole-group dance practice in the evening before you all headed home, which the boys were excited for because it meant they could travel home with you for the first time in a week straight. you, on the other hand, were slightly annoyed you couldn’t just sneak off to the gym or make an excuse to stay at the company longer. that day you’d opted to skip breakfast - the idea of eating before a day of work making you nauseous - and instead had chugged an energy drink and some caffeine pills along with your morning vitamins. work was boring, and all day you were itching to just up and head to the gym, or just go on a long walk, but you couldn’t. you were stuck between rooms in the company, and it was honestly stressing you out.

by the time it got to the evening, and you and the boys all met up for dance practice, you were instantly scooped into a hug by hyunjin, giggling as his hair tickled your skin.

“finally! missed you so much, pretty girl. feels like i haven’t seen you for more than 30 seconds lately.” he mumbled against the skin of your neck, the sensation making you shiver.

“don’t be silly, hyun,” you grinned as you pulled away to help him tie his hair into a ponytail. “i’m right here now, not going anywhere.”

practice started pretty quickly after that, considering jisung was running late after vocal lessons, and you quickly realized that not eating that day may not have been your best idea. the haste of your movements had your head spinning more than usual, and you felt like you were tripping over your own feet every two seconds. you couldn’t sworn you were moving in slow motion with everything around you sped up, and no matter how much you tried to shake the feelings off, it wouldn’t leave.

you stepped forward through a wave of your boyfriends, fighting to keep your eyes ahead and complete your center dance for the bridge in the song, but it was to no avail. your heart thudded and you internally cried as you felt your body collapse to the ground, black dots circling your vision and your ears ringing loudly.

the thud your body hit the ground with was sickening to the boys who looked on, minho rushing over to try and catch you since he was the closest. they were fast to carry you to the couch in the corner on the practice room, seungmin practically sprinting out of the room to get you cold water and ice from the cooler in the hallway. of course, they knew you had been acting strange, but they never realized it was something so big or detrimental to your health - both physical and mental.

“she feels lighter… god, how did we not notice she’s lost so much weight?” felix practically wailed, his eyes brimming with tears at the sight of you sickly pale and unconscious in his arms.

“when was the last time someone saw her eat?” changbin quizzed, his frown only growing as jeongin piped up.

“forget that for now, when was the last time she had a drink?”

seungmin had reentered the room by that point, a cup of ice and a separate cup of water in each hand. felix had his hands in your hair, fingers tangled between the locks as he stroked your head soothingly. chan had crouched in front of you, cupping your cheek and softly rubbing the skin with his thumb in an effort to gently wake you up.

when consciousness did finally grace you again, you groaned. your head was pounding and you felt gross, and sticky. you tried to sit up, surprised when felix pulled you back down to lean on him from behind you. it was only then that you looked around and took in the worried faces of your boyfriends and bandmates, instantly flushing red in shame that you disrupted practice.

“i’m so sorry–” was all that managed to escape your lips before seungmin held out the cup of water in front of you, swiftly cutting you off.

“drink. we’ve got ice, too, and jisung has a protein bar in his bag that you’re eating, okay?”

you blanched at his words, sipping the water while carefully trying to decide your next words.

“i appreciate it, but i’m fine. i don’t need to wait, i just need some water and i’ll be fine.”

yeah, that sounded good in your head. not too many details, but enough for them to hopefully drop it - at least, you hoped. but unfortunately, the universe didn’t want to work in your favor that day, as you eyes fell on chan and his worried - but stern - face.

“(y/n)...” he started, and your heart dropped at how exhausted and scared he sounded. “what’s going on? when’s the last time you ate? and don’t lie to me, please.”

you sighed, looking around the room and accepting that the game was up. you just hoped they would understand, and they wouldn’t be mad at you. it was bad enough that disrupted practice, you couldn’t handle your boys being disappointed with you too.

“i…” even just looking around the room at the scared faces of your boyfriends, all ideas of lying slipped away from you. “yesterday lunch time. i had a chicken salad…”

you looked at the floor, too scared to face their disappointed stares as you felt felix’s hand shift from your hair to your shoulder. tears were welling under your eyelids no matter how hard you tried to blink them away, and you knew you couldn’t keep it a secret anymore.

“love,” changbin asked softly for his position on the floor next to chan. “is this why you’ve been going to the gym so much? why are you doing this to yourself?”

you shook your head unable to reply, as you felt chan’s hand on your knee.

“we’re just worried, pretty girl. ther’s no need for you to be doing this to yourself, you know that, right?”

you couldn’t help the way you groaned loudly, all your recent frustration pouring out in that moment. it was like a dam had broken, and you couldn’t stop yourself.

“it’s not me! i don’t want this. it hurts and it sucks. it’s– it’s not me.”

“can you elaborate, angel?” felix asked softly, his breath tickling your ear from his proximity to you.

“it’s…” you sighed, knowing that if you didn’t tell them now, then you never would. “it’s the company. that meeting, last week i– they gave me a diet plan. told me i needed to lose weight before the comeback. i just didn’t want to let anyone down…”

your voice slowly trailed off as you gained the confidence to look up, meeting the distraught expressions of your boyfriends. shock, disgust… anger…. you weren’t sure what scared you more in that moment. really, you tuned out everything that was going on around you, sipping your water in hopes of combatting the thudding in your head.

it was only when jeongin crouched in front of you with his signature smile plastered on his lips that you came back to reality. he hed out his hands to you, helping you stand, as everyone packed their belongings up.

“we’re gonna head home, okay? order in some food and have a movie night, if you want that?”

your eyes leaked again at their concern, the group of you leaving the practice room and headed down to the company lobby. “i’d love that, innie… but where are chan and minho going? aren’t they coming home with us?”

he shook his head as the rest of the members, along with yourself, headed out to the cars waiting for you outside the building.

“they’ll be right home - they’re just going to talk to the staff… make some ‘arrangements’, as channie-hyung worded it.”

you were too tired and mentally exhausted to ask any further questions, allowing the boys to bundle you into the car without a fight. when you finally got back to the dorm, felix and jeongin helped you shower, before you met changbin in the bedroom to help you get dried and dressed for bed.

by the time you got back into the living room, chan and minho had arrived home, but they wouldn’t answer any of your questions - opting to give you the television remote instead as they placed bags of takeout food onto the coffee table.

and thats how you spent the night; curled up on the couch with your favourite boys, enjoying takeout and watching movies. it was perfect, and you couldn’t believe you allowed the words of staff members to take this feeling away from you.

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

oh, and you later found out chan and minho had gone into a meeting room all guns blazing, threatening to sue if the company risked your health the way they did ever again. you were never put on another diet plan after that, and used your experience to speak out about the mistreatment of idols due to unobtainable beauty standards. life was good.

taglist: join taglists here @pretty-racha @chubbyanarkiss @taeriffic @mits-vi @chanssmiles @5kayzee @torixx80 @fawnpeaks @bangtanmix73 @savluvsmingi @boi-bi-ahaha @4evrglow @skz-streamer @crybabyychu @demetrisscarf

[thecapricunt1616]

Peach (c.b. one-shot)

Blurb (More BTC!) : You could tell Carmy had a bad day from the sound of the door slamming, and then a called “sorry! Didn’t mean it babe” and by the looks of his cheeks that were a flushed red that matched his chest when he’d taken his hoodie off, he’d had a really long run. It felt a bit wrong, but sexy that it felt so, as you watched him tug off his shorts, then his boxers, revealing his soft cock, and his adorable really even though he got all blushy and shy when you pointed it out bare lily white ass.

♡ One Shot Inspo: Based on ♡this♡ ask from a sweet anon, thank you for your request! Peaches symbolize many things, including longevity, love, and immortality. Peach blossoms are also said to put men into a trance of love. Before the 17th century, peaches were considered a subgenus of the apple, so European cultural representations of apples, such as in paintings and poems, were sometimes transferred onto peaches. This included connotations of fertility and immortality. ♡ Summary: Carmy has a bad day at work, and comes home with an attitude that needs a little assistance adjusting. ♡ W/C: 1.7k ♡ A/N: EEEEEE I can't believe season 3 comes out today yall!!! I am shakin in my boots and so freaking excited!!! I'm going to be binging the whole series likely tonight!!! OMG our boy is finally gonna get out of the freezer! I hope you like this one shot, I may be able to get another out today before the new season but its already 3 and it comes out at 9 so maybe but anywho, I hope you all like!! The drought is almost overrr!!! ♡ Warnings for BTC: Smut!! Fem!Reader, No use of Y/N, swearing, Black!Fem!Reader friendly

♡ 𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 ♡ ➵ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 ♡ ➵ 𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞 ♡ ➵ 𝘊𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 / 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘵 ♡ ➵ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 ♡ ➵ My 300 Follower Celebration Bingo!

It was a sticky, hot, balmy Chicago summer day. To top it off, it had been raining all day long which meant people had been ducking into The Beef in refuge of somewhere dry and cool, so Carmy had been absolutely slammed with orders all day long. He was feeling antsy, too full of energy. 

So it was only normal for him to go on a run straight after work. He put on his black shorts, and white hoodie after changing out of his work clothes and drove to his favorite park. He wouldn’t have known how many miles he’d ran since the parks trail was just one big loop unless he had his phone in his pocket, which it told him 5. 

The only other way he’d known he would have ran that much was his hoodie was drenched in sweat, and so was his hair. Like, dripping. Each lap around the trail he had chugged a few large sips from his gallon full of water that was now warm from sitting on the bench on the side of the trail. He had only stopped because he was genuinely exhausted and his water was pretty much gone. But thankfully, his mind had been mostly cleared. 

He had to do this before he came home to you. Carmy knew he had…issues, managing his anger. The only way he knew he wouldn’t explode from overstimulation by giving the physical affection he knew you deserved after he was away from you all day long. So if he blew off all of his steam, he could give you what was left of him which was the exhausted, run down version that didn’t have the emotional wearwithall to shut you out or snap at you. 

When he came through the door, he came to the bedroom to see you curled up in bed. He sighed softly in relief both at the feeling of the air conditioner and at the realization his day was finally over, and he could relax. “Hey baby” he mumbled, tugging his hoodie off and pushing his sweat slick hair off of his forehead as to not drip on you before leaning over and kissing your forehead. “Gonna shower n’ I’ll make dinner sorry m’late went running. Bad day” he said as he headed off to the bathroom, the door slightly ajar just enough you could see him in the large bathroom mirror. 

You could tell he had a bad day from the sound of the door slamming, and then a called “sorry! Didn’t mean it babe” and by the looks of his cheeks that were a flushed red that matched his chest when he’d taken his hoodie off, he’d had a really long run. It felt a bit wrong, but sexy that it felt so, as you watched him tug off his shorts, then his boxers, revealing his soft cock, and his adorable really even though he got all blushy and shy when you pointed it out bare lily white ass. 

He ran shirtless most of the time, and his Italian really came through in the summer - because his skin absorbed so much sun in just the time he went on his runs, turning it more freckled and golden bronzed tan of what his winter color was. His hair demonstrated it too, the ends that was and the parts that peek out of his hat. He had tiny noticeable bleach blonde streaks from the sun in some of his curls, Natalie teased that was his color when he was a baby and he should let it come out more. 

His stark tan line across his ass cutting just before the dimples on his spine made you smile to yourself, which turned to a pout as he stepped in the shower and you could no longer see him. You sigh softly to yourself at your now lack of eye candy and turned your attention back to the tv when you hear a little groan. “Fuckin Jesus it’s hot out today” he muttered to himself that you could barely hear over the water. But it piqued your interest. 

You got up, padding over to the wall next to the bathroom door and listened. Nothing. Damn, you had a sexy little fantasy going on in your head of catching him jacking off or something and offering to join him all sexy, but it sounds like he’s just…showering. You can smell the faint scent of his herby body wash mixed with dove soap, the faint splashing of water every so often as he cleans himself. Found yourself asking if you should just leave him alone, but then again this is something you hadn’t tried together before. 

Carefully you nudge open the door and Carmy looks over “oh- hey babe I’m almost done did you need the- woah, okay- hi- gettin in? All dressed?” He teased, a bit confused and surprised when you had just slid open the shower door casually. He looked adorable, hair full of soap, cheeks slightly less pink due to the cool water, it felt a bit like corruption to offer getting him off. 

“No uh…” you swallow thickly, eyes flickering to his soapy chest and…yeah, you remembered why you wanted in here in the first place. “Can I…help you- like, relax?” You question and his brows raise in surprise, mouth dropping for a moment before closing again, as if he was trying to find what to say. 

This proved true a few moments later when he just said “s-sure- yeah how do you wanna help me?” The heat in his cheeks was coming back. 

“C’mere” you wrap your manicured hand around the back of his neck, gently angling him down to kiss you and he gratefully accepts. He nervously keeps his hands behind his back since he didn’t wanna get you wet, allowing you to touch and kiss him however you wanted. “Carmy” you mumble between kisses and he responds with a ‘mmm’ of acknowledgment “why” kiss “aren’t you” kiss “touching me?” 

You pulled away a bit so he could answer and he wiped soap off his forehead before it dribbled in his eyes “uh I don’t wanna get you wet, I guess?” He said and you shrug 

“Don’t care, you can touch me” you continued ravishing him in kisses and he wraps his arms around you, wet hands finding your back and roaming over the soft skin. It went on like this for a few minutes, biting and kissing and sucking on eachothers lips- when you grabbed his half hard cock at the base and gently stroked it, all the way up to the tip- brushing your thumb over it and going back down, he gasped, forehead falling to your shoulder. 

“Fuckin hell” he breathed, his cock getting fully erect after just a few gentle strokes of your soft, pretty hand. He kept his arms wrapped around you, one hand on each hip, squeezing to ground himself as you found a rhythm pumping him with your hand. His moans went all whiny the way they did when he needed more, and you tighten your grip earning a hot,breathy “yes, thank you baby” out of him that made you smirk proudly and turn your face just barely in order to kiss his temple. 

“Of course Bear, m’sorry you had such a bad day lovey. But I’m here for you, I’m so happy you let me take care of you. I love making you feel good, do you feel good, Carmy?” You ask in a sultry tone in the shell of his ear. His cock stiffened in your hand, along with a pretty ruined whimper letting you know he was close “can you lean on the wall for me pretty boy?” His stomach clenched as he tried holding himself back, his breath coming more ragged like pants 

“So close” he warned “so so close” he repeats. 

“I know baby can you sit up” you giggle “I promise you’ll like it” you said and he huffs, leaning against the wall and looking at you with the cat-like ‘I was comfortable and you made me move’ look, until you got on your knees right in front of where he was now leaned against the shower wall near the door, and continued to stroke him with your tongue stuck out down your chin while you watch him with big doe eyes. 

His attention returns, mouth dropping hotly and pants resuming as you sped up your hand, using your other to massage his balls. The action had his eyes nearly rolling back and head falling against the wall but he remained all of his focus on you, his girl - his beautiful, amazing girl, on her knees, jerking his cock and eagerly waiting for him to shoot a load down your throat so you can swallow it gratefully, and even lick the tip clean after. God he loved when you did that. 

The reminder of your affinity for the taste of his cum had him grunting to cover up his long drawn out moan that tore from deep in his chest as he came harder then he thought he would, needing to lean his shoulder on the wall further as his knees actually shook while he shot rope after rope of white cream into your eagerly awaiting pretty pink mouth. You hum, satisfied at the taste as you continued quickly jerking his cock to milk out every last drop. After you did so, you made sure to allow him to tilt your face up, and admire the cum covering your lips, tongue, and chin, as well as dripping down the back of your throat. 

You shut your eyes, swallowing the mouthful with a satisfied grin licking your lips and wiping the remaining cum off your chin and neck with your finger, and then sucking that while you looked him in the eyes. He stared down at you in awe, cock twitching at your movements. Poor thing couldn’t even get soft with the sight of you around. You furthered that torture by gently grabbing the base of his cock and giving the sensitive tip kitten licks to clean off any missed dribbles. 

“You are gonna be the fucking death of me” he told you as you got up, and go to the sink to brush your teeth 

“Feel better?” You asked and he looked at you in the reflection of the mirror like a confused puppy for a moment before he realized oh, right. He came home in a shit mood after a shit day, and you essentially sucked the attitude out of him. 

“Mmhmm” he mumbled and shut the shower door. 

You sucked the attitude out of him, not the ego after all.

[murdockcastleslut]

Can I request a Benedict fic based on enchanted by Taylor swift?!

omg this is so fun! this is kinda be what should be around season 4! i know they have a masquerade party i don't anything about the plot of the plot so this is just my imagination! hope you like it! | info about request here!

violet bridgerton has out down herself with her enchanted forest masquerade ball, a theme requested by her youngest hyacinth.

florals, woodwork, and vines covered the bridgerton home. guests entered in florals and pastels their faces covered with masks.

this ball was so full you couldn't turn around without the possibility of bumping into another person.

you were having fun dancing and conversing with guests whom also decided to join in on the festivities.

though dude to the number of people attending and the fact that although lovely your gown was very tight. you move through the home hoping to find a place to catch you breath.

you stumbled up on the empty drawing room and a man admiring the paintings among them.

"oh im sorry to interrupt." you say noticing him.

he turns to face you. his light blue eyes shine bright contrasted against his dark blue mask.

"no, no, not all. just admiring my families paintings. i never quite noticed how detailed they were." he smiles towards you.

your eyes widen as you realized who you were talking to, benedict brigderton.

"are you alright?" he asks concern.

you snap put of it and shyly nod.

"oh yes, i am sorry. i just needed a second from the party, although lovely it is quiet hot with the amount of people attending tonight. your mama must be quiet proud." you smiled.

"oh yes she is," he nodded. "please have a seat if you need."

"oh thank you."

"do you like art?"

"i do. i paint. my papa was kind enough to allow to have lessons and teach me about different artist. do you paint?"

"i dabble, though i think i might be better at sketching."

"do you have favorite thing to sketch?"

"people, whist their unaware preferably, there is something about people when then don't think anyone is paying attention them."

you smiled at his answer. he was quiet interesting, there was something about him you couldn't explain that pulled you in.

the two of you chatted about whatever came your minds and it felt like no time had passed at all.

the sound of clock stricking the next hour is what drew you out of you trance. you realized you had been talking for almost fort-five minutes. you quickly stood.

"i am so sorry, i hadn't relized so much time had passed. my mama must be looking for me. i do hope to see you again." you nervously rushed.

he stood up and smiled. he took your hand and laid a kiss on your covered knuckles.

"i was enchanted to meet you. i hope to see you again as well." he smiles looking at you with those blue eyes.

that night, the two of you laid in you respective bedrooms counting down the moments til you could see one another again.

[vi-is-badass]

Arcane Season 2 - The Base Violence Necessary for Change

I think this shot is the most interesting part of the trailer. We see a shot of Jinx as a painting on a wall. A symbol. A leader. Her actions stand for revolution in Zaun and I think this could be an interesting expansion of Arcane’s exploration of violence and the idea that there is a base violence necessary for change.

Silco is framed as an antagonist in season 1 because of his actions against the undercity people specifically.

In act 3 he’s not the revolutionary he positioned himself as and is instead hurting the people of Zaun through his leadership. He’s doing as much to hurt topside as Vander was in act 1 (meaning nothing at all). He’s even got the sheriff working with him just like Vander, but, unlike Vander, Silco is hurting his own people to facilitate power and he’s not even fighting for that freedom he claimed to want so much.

We see the damage his actions have wrought. We see the shimmer addicts, forgotten and exploited. We see that he's created a hierarchy rather than a community.

And it’s contrasted with the firelights. People considered terrorists to Piltover, who do use violence to fight back against Silco and topside, and yet offer the biggest glimmer of hope. They aren’t villainized. The act of fighting back isn’t villainized and it shouldn’t be.

Because it’s not the violence in and of itself that’s the issue. It’s what that violence is used for.

The series hammers this idea home through Vander. 

Vander’s staunch stance against violence is flawed as well. It comes from a good place. A desire to protect what he loves rather than destroy what he hates and it did create a time free of the death revolution brings, but it’s made it so no ground could be made to free Zaun and create a better world for the people in it. It created stagnation. 

The people of the undercity are still stuck in a cycle of crushing poverty, growing up without parents, dying young due to pollution or violence wrought by desperate people or oppressive enforcers.

It didn’t move the needle because Piltover and the system in place wasn’t going to change just because the people of the undercity were playing nice.

The unrest and anger felt towards Vander for his ideal was understandable. His views on the cyclical nature of violence and the fact that if you fight you will lose people (“What are you willing to lose”) is correct, but that doesn’t make this option the ideal one.

Which brings me back to that shot in the trailer of that painting of Jinx.

Season 2 looks like it’s going to be a season of opposites and rediscovery where it flips what we expect of Jinx and Vi on its head and further explores these ideas of violence, oppression, and revolution.

And I think this season might possibly do that by reversing how Vi and Jinx reflect Vander and Silco.

In the first season the siblings were direct reflections of their respective father figures, but now they’re inversions. Jinx can become the good to be found in Silco’s ideals and Vi the pitfalls of Vander’s.

Jinx’s actions in season 1 weren’t those of a revolutionary. Her actions weren’t meant to free the people of the undercity or improve their lives. She didn’t steal the hexcrystal to bring hextech to the undercity and improve their lives and she didn’t kill the enforcers on the bridge to get rid of dirty cops. She didn’t kidnap Caitlyn for a greater cause.

But we know that Jinx isn’t only the violence she enacted. That she is “the monster they (the system and people around her) created”. Her actions weren’t heroic in the first season, but they were driven by the life that was forced upon her. Her hurt and anger are justified.

Now that she’s away from Silco, no longer a part of his machine and actively participating in his actions that were hurting the undercity, her actions and anger can take on a new light. She can rediscover herself away from his manipulations (this isn’t to say he didn’t love her but what he did and said isolated her and allowed her issues to fester) and become that symbol we see on the wall.

Jinx could be in a way what Silco could have been if he didn’t let his own self interest get in the way of his ideals. Not quite as forward thinking as Ekko or as idealistic, but still a symbol for resistance that fights for Zaun.

Whereas Vi is sort of on a path to becoming a darker reflection of Vander’s ideals.

Vi becomes a part of the system she used to rage against.

 Based on the season 2 teaser that was released in 2021– 

“Nobody else needs to get hurt.”

–I think it’s likely that Vi believes she can prevent more death or can stop Piltover’s violence against the undercity if she takes Jinx in.

Vi sees herself as a protector who has failed at every turn to protect those she cares about. She lost her parents, Powder, Vander, Mylo, Claggor, etc. and she is constantly desperate to try and save what she loves and that will likely drive her decision to become an enforcer.

Vi, like Vander, wants to save what she loves and as a result isn’t going to fight back against topside. This is a much more extreme version of Vander’s ideals. Where she “compromises” in an attempt to prevent bloodshed but as a result enables (or in her case helps) the system in place.

This decision will have negative consequences (and deservedly so!) because no matter what thoughts or feelings are the driving factor in it she is still siding with her oppressors and ultimately helping the system that is the root cause of that loss and pain in the first place. 

Based on the clip released at Annecy and what people have said the writers explained about Vi’s arc in season 2 it seems like Vi will be ostracized for this decision and deservedly so. She won’t belong anywhere. To the undercity she’s a traitor and to Piltover she’s nothing more than an undercity rat.

She will have lost everything. She will have no one to protect. And who is Vi if she’s not a protector?

Vi will be forced to re-evaluate who she is and what she wants. Just like Jinx, Vi will have to redefine herself when she loses everything.

I can’t wait for season 2 and what the team at Fortiche has in store for us. The way the show tackles complex themes and ideas is incredible and Vi and Jinx are some of the most compelling and complicated characters I’ve seen on tv. I’m looking forward to November.

[jedipoodoo]

This isn’t really a request but I was on tik tok and there was one where a dad was taking off his babies helmet (like the ones that reshape their head) and now I’m just picturing tech designing his kids helmet to look like a bad batch helmet and I love your tech with baby fics so I thought you might also find this cute

This one-shot does not contain spoilers for season three. Please do not discuss spoilers in the comments.

We all know that the boys would be the best fathers, and Tech would always try to do his best by his kids. And I know that you said this wasn't a request but it's so cute I had to write it.

Cute (Tech x Reader + Baby)

Warnings: None, just fluff. And babies.

It had been years since any kind of fighting or missions by the time you had your first child, so it made you pause when you came downstairs one morning to find Tech's helmet sitting on your kitchen table.

"Tech?" You called out.

Tech threw open the front door, arms laden with bottles of different shades of paint, "Yes, darling?"

"Where's the baby?" You asked.

Tech turned his back to you, and your baby cooed happily, reaching his hands out for you. He looked absolutely ridiculous in the head-shaping helmet that the doctors were having him wear, but he was still your little baby.

"Hello my handsome boy," You took him from the baby backpack, kissing as much of his face as you could, "Did you and your buir have an adventure this morning?"

"He was fussing earlier, and I wanted to allow you to rest as much as you could," Tech explained, dumping his paints on the table with his helmet. He began comparing various shades to the colors on his helmet.

"Thank you," You almost swooned at his admission, "What are you working on this morning?" Usually, Tech was out in his shed at this point, working with a dozen or so spare parts rather than paint.

His datapad rang with the alarm tone that meant you could remove the baby helmet for a few minutes.

"Aha! Just in time!" Tech tickled the baby under his chin before releasing the strap that held the helmet in place, setting it on the table next to his own helmet.

"Oh!" You said in realization. Tech produced a stylus out of one of his many pockets and began to trace shapes in the styrofoam helmet, echoing the shapes and patterns on his own.

"Yes, I thought it looked rather plain. My brothers and I always made our own helmets look unique, so why not do the same for him," He nodded to the baby and selected one of the larger brushes to paint the base coat.

You snorted, "You know, it's not as unique if you're just making it look like your own."

"So we should let him decide? I fear if we were to allow that he would simply eat the paint." Your son cackled out a laugh, as if that were the funniest idea anyone had ever shared.

"Well, you are his father, so he might as well look just like you, but we should try and let him give it his own touch."

Tech shrugged, and selected another brush. "Very well."

You prepared a bottle for baby's breakfast, and started some coffee for yourself and your husband.

"Are you going to put those little lightning bolts on the earmuffs? Those were cute."

Tech spluttered, "They are not earmuffs, they are- wait, did you say cute?"

You giggled, and your son shared your enthusiasm.

"You know, I think they were what made me fall for you in the first place."

Tech's cheeks flushed as he tried to hide behind his helmet. "W-well, I sanded them off after our last escape from Kamino, but...I suppose I could repaint them...if they are cute..."

"Cuu!" Your baby boy squealed. He dropped his bottle to clap his hands.

"Tech!" You screamed, though he was right there with you, "He said cute!"

"I'm not sure that counts, darling-"

"It does! It totally does! Tech, he just said his first word!" By now you were jumping up and down and dancing around the kitchen. You leaned over the table to place a big kiss on Tech's cheek, accidentally knocking over his tray of paint in the process.

"Oops," You froze as the paint splattered all over Tech's lap. Your baby laughed again.

Tech shrugged, "Is this your way of saying you want to help me paint the helmet, darling?"

You burst into laughter again, and Tech stood up, pulling you and the baby in for a hug.

"Tech! You're getting paint all over me!" You laughed.

"That is your own fault, darling," He grinned, kissing your face and holding you closer.

"Cuu! Cuu!" Your baby cooed, grabbing at his father with sticky fingers.

Tech sighed, "Yes, ad'ika, I believe this is what you would call 'Cute'."

[soular-sisters]

Taurus Season: Material Gworl 💅🏼

here’s a fun lil post for taurus season, & all da material gworls. 💗

taurus represents a lot of things from stability, love, sensuality, & loyalty. but one thing a little less talked about but certainly revolves around the beautiful taurus energy is, the material world. here is where you might like to spend a little lavishly based on your taurus house placement. **note: this does not represent everything you spend your money on, just where you like to be a little extra lavish. 😉

💅🏼 Taurus in the 1st House: I love to spend my money on self-care (hair, nails, etc.), beautiful clothing, a makeover, & fitness sessions to enhance your body.

💅🏼 Taurus in the 2nd House: I love to spend my money on fancy dinners, financial advisors, gorgeous jewelry, & luxurious items that will grow in value over time.

💅🏼 Taurus in the 3rd House: I love to spend my money on the latest cellphone, expensive cars, relaxing staycations, & your favorite books or magazines.

💅🏼 Taurus in the 4th House: I love to spend my money on beautiful interior decorations, photo albums filled with nostalgic memories, items that brings comfort (soft blankets, candles, etc.), & your dream home.

💅🏼 Taurus in the 5th House: I love to spend my money on exciting date nights, your favorite creative activity (paint nights, pottery classes, etc.), a day at an amusement park, & your favorite films.

💅🏼 Taurus in the 6th House: I love to spend my money on the latest health kick, organizational items (date planner, desk organizers, etc.) therapy sessions, & a membership to a spa & wellness center.

💅🏼 Taurus in the 7th House: I love to spend my money on beautiful gifts for my partner, a gorgeous wedding venue, items to enhance self-love (beauty enhancements, facials, etc.), & a romantic getaway with your love.

💅🏼 Taurus in the 8th House: I love to spend my money on sexy lingerie, spiritual experiences (tarot readings, psychics, etc.), transformative makeovers, & an intimate weekend with your lover.

💅🏼 Taurus in the 9th House: I love to spend my money on travels around the world, beautiful items from other cultures, classes to learn a new language, & items that expand your mind (philosophy books, metaphysical movies, etc.).

💅🏼 Taurus in the 10th House: I love to spend my money on career seminars to develop your profession, a deep tissue massage, merch from your favorite celebrity, & statement items to enhance your public image (gorgeous accessories, designer bags, etc.).

💅🏼 Taurus in the 11th House: I love to spend my money on lavish gifts for your friends, donations to a cause that matters to you, fun weekend trips with your friend group, & tickets to social events (music festivals, conventions, etc.).

💅🏼 Taurus in the 12th House: I love to spend my money on self-healing sessions (reiki, chakra cleansing, etc.), a beautiful journal to write your deepest thoughts, spiritual books, & a private beach getaway.

thank you so much for all the love & support as usual! we love you all so much. please check out my creative instagram & show your support 🥰 xoxo -A.A.

IG: @dredivinecreates 💗

[claritys-silly-things]

Something something Sunday, something something headcanon post

- Ponyboy loves mint chocolate chip ice cream, but dally hates it. He claims it tastes like toothpaste and every time he says this, the group has to hold pony back from attacking the guy (fair)

- (modern) Someone show the curtis brothers Steven universe sobs

- The curtis brothers have dimples and smile lines and other facial things. like Darry has crows feet and pony has worry lines on his forehead because I think it’s cool and I have those even though I am like. Young.

- What if Dallas had an older brother or someone that’s like how he is to Johnny but to Dallas and that person died and then his mom died and he hated his dad and had no reason to stay in New York so he left

- I just painted my nails with random ass old nail polish I found and every nail is a different color and I think that’s something cherry would do

- Pony, soda, and twobit are all double jointed in different areas of their body and they’ll just do shit to creep the rest of the guys out, especially dally and darry

- Dally is fine with gore n shit irl but cant handle weird body contorsions

- Johnny will randomly say the most horrifying things like “doesn’t everyone wish they could go to sleep and not wake up” and it just traumatizes ponyboy. Twobit is also like this but a bit more goofy. Pony ends up doing the same thing post-book but says it to sound like it’s a joke like two bit and when people tell him to stop he’s like “it’s true tho🧍🏽‍♂️”

- Since dally is so pale, he gets “red” so goddamn easily but he looks more pink. Every time he feels too much of any emotion, he’s pink. If it’s too hot he’s pink. Two bit makes fun of him for this and has been punched in the face at least twice for it. Pony is the same but that mf turns like BRIGHT red

- One sided dalbit bc Dallas is fucking aromantic but it’s funny for giggles and shits cuz twobitch just keeps embarrassing himself trying to flirt (vox and alastor core) (someone make a fic about this cries sobs)

- (Modern perchance) Pony is in like advanced classes n shit but fucking hates it. He’s still good at it and will cry if he gets a bad grade, but he doesn’t like it

- (Modern) Pony fucking hates Miguel O’Hara and is absolutely positively disgusted bc like half his friends simp so hard over that man (may or may not be based on me) (it is)

- two bit unironically believes so many conspiracy theories and spreads it to pony and Johnny

- I randomly made mozzarella sticks rn on a whim and soda would 100% impulse make food all the time and just figure out the recipe himself. It’s usually decent.

- Pony loves back to school season but hates actually going back. Like he likes the idea of going back to school and getting new school supplies, but within like, two days, he hates all his classes besides English

- Soda will burst out singing out a lot no matter where he is. Even at night. You can’t stop him (me)

- Rip sodapop you would’ve LOVED musical theater sobs