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tinytennisskirt · 2 months

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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.

#challengers #art donaldson #patrick zweig #art donaldson x reader #challengers fic #challengers x reader #art x reader #tinytennisskirt #art donaldson fluff #art donaldson fic #art donaldson x you #art donaldson angst #art donaldson imagine #challengers angst #challengers fluff

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askinkiskarma · 1 year

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𝕄𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕚𝕟 𝕄𝕖 | ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕀: 𝕎𝕙𝕪 𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝔾𝕠𝕥𝕥𝕒 𝔹𝕖 𝕊𝕠 𝕍𝕚𝕔𝕚𝕠𝕦𝕤

Pairing: Neteyam x (f)Omaticaya!Reader

synopsis: you and Neteyam are the two prodigies of the Omaticaya, and while that unmoving fact brought you together as children, now, as adults, it brings you to your knees, as each day is just another opportunity for you to hurt each other in any and every way your minds could conjure up.

warnings: 18+ minors DNI, enemies-to-lovers, strong language, mentions of violence, blood, neteyam being an absolute dick, mentions of reader being choked (not in the fun way)

wc: 5.4k words

a/n: after a much longer wait than anticipated, my enemies-to-lovers fic is officially here, and I'm so excited to start a new series. As much as I love the one shots and the requests and the drabbles, I am a series enthusiast at heart, and this is something i'm really looking forward to, as I find this whole idea very challenging and hope i do it justice. pls enjoy besties, and as always, thank you for every like, reblog, reply, it means the world x (thank you very much to @cinetrix for her amazing Neteyam art ily bestie x)

na'vi compendium: syä - bitter, rumaut - cannonball fruit tree, tanhì - bioluminescent freckle, parultsyìp - children

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I tried to look for the best in the worst, but like, fuck me, that caused a commotion

You're lucky I'm a private person, I’ve quietly carried your burden

And everyone thinks you're an angel, but shit, I would probably use different wording

“You know, syä, one day, I’m going to be better than you at this, and that day, you will have to swallow your words, and I think that’ll be very hard for you to do.”

“You know, Lo’ak, if you one day do beat me at anything, then I’ll be more than happy to swallow my words. I’ll even swallow my tongue, if you want.” You chuckled as you propped yourself onto a thin branch of a rumaut, maybe 50 metres from the target on the ground, and dangling from it, upside down, you took aim, focusing intently with one eye closed. Breathing in, you took the shot, and watched as it landed straight in the middle, right next to your last arrow, very far away from Lo’ak’s arrows, which were buried somewhere so obscure, you couldn’t even spot them anymore.

“You suck.” Lo'ak puffed, rolling his eyes annoyedly. You laughed and reclaimed your spot next to him, nudging him softly with a hand.

“No, skxawng, you suck. That’s why we’re here.”

These little training sessions have become one of your favourite things to spend your afternoons doing. They started a few weeks ago, when Lo’ak came by unannounced to your tent, his tail sheepishly between his legs. He hated that he had to ask, his enormous pride wounded and scarred, but he figured finally building up the courage to ask you to train him in his bow and arrow practice was better than asking his brother and once more proving the chasm between their skill level true. You were cocky and arrogant on the surface, but deep down, Lo’ak knew you had a heart of gold and wouldn’t judge and, at the end of the day, would do anything for him, and for his whole family.

Well, almost his whole family.

You found the oldest Sully sibling by his tent, masterfully skinning a yarik from his latest hunt. Just like everything else Neteyam did, he excelled at it. He looked peaceful and deep in thought as he worked, expression which quickly melted into annoyance when his lips pursed in a tight line and his eyes hardened, as soon as they spotted you making your way towards him. You smirked when you noticed the change, loving to see him so on edge whenever you invaded his personal bubble, which happened to be all the time, since you were as good as Neytiri and Jake’s adoptive daughter.

You loved Neytiri and Jake. You owed them everything you had, everything you were. After your parents’ death, they provided you with the support and love and care needed to not fall into the pits of despair that came with being orphaned, with being all alone. They saw something in you, ever since you were a child, and trained you side by side with their oldest son, Neteyam. Quickly, it was obvious to everyone who paid attention that you were a prodigy, just like he was. Neteyam liked you when you were kids, and you liked him, too. You loved him, in fact. He was your best friend, and you were his. It was hard not to be each other’s best friends, when you spent so much time together, when you shared every blister, every bloodied gash, every muscle cramp from practice. You shared the good and the bad, and it was just the two of you. Nobody else knew what you went through or could possibly understand, nobody else had to spend their whole childhood being honed into the perfect warriors, the future of the Omaticaya strength. Kids played and kids laughed and kids held hands splashing in the nearby river, but you and Neteyam cleaned each other’s wounds and gave each other words of encouragement, and soft, shy smiles as your eyes met across the practice field.

That was all in the past. Very far in the past. So far so, it was hard for you to conceptualise that it happened in this life, and it wasn’t some sort of fantasy you made up in your head, because there was nothing left of the warmth or the camaraderie you once shared. Whereas before he was a warm shelter from the storm in your life, now he was the storm, cold and ruthless, out to get you and to hurt you, to turn your limbs cold and your heart numb. You don’t know when this happened. You just know that at some point around when you were 12, Neteyam started pushing you away, until one day you were so far away, you were just a dot in his life, so far removed from the vast, centre-stage line you used to represent, a line between his past and future, between a friend and something more, something better, something permanent.

It’s been 7 years since. Seven years since Neteyam was more or less a stranger, albeit an annoying, aggravating stranger. Because a stranger, you could ignore. A stranger, you didn’t have to see every damn day, in practice, in stings, in battles, at breakfast, lunch and dinner. A stranger might have ignored you, or pretend you don’t exist, but not Neteyam. Neteyam was determined to make your life a living hell, to make you feel as unwelcome and inadequate as humanly possible, and so you resigned yourself to returning the favour, because you very rarely ever lost to him, and you weren’t planning on starting any time soon.

When you and Lo’ak approached, you watched as he sized you up, his eyes travelling down your body, lingering for just a second longer on your chest, covered in flowy, silken fabric, your signature look. You loved the beads, and the feathers that usually concealed Na’vi bodies, but what you loved even more was the feel of the luxurious, soft material that you took great pleasure in making yourself from a secret, coveted technique your mum taught you as a child, before she died. You tried to ignore how his stare made you feel, how the tingling that always appeared on your skin matched the bubbling feeling in your stomach, and you pushed it down, choosing to believe that’s just the feeling of hatred, of deep, intense dislike, that you didn’t feel for anyone but him.

“If you’re not actually going to contribute anything of use to the clan, you might as well train instead of wasting time and dragging Lo’ak to your level. Are you not in enough shit with father as it is, baby bro?”

You didn’t even look at him as you walked past, opening the flap to the Sully family tent.

“Well, Neteyam, not all of us have to try so hard all the time to keep up. Some of us are just naturally better than others.” You say with a sly smirk, almost able to hear the steam coming out of his ears, before you entered the tent and closed the flap behind you.

“The two of you will kill each other one day, you know that, right?”

You rolled your eyes at Kiri, who was dutifully making healing pastes by mixing it in a small pot on the fire, and removed the bow from around your torso, tossing the quiver on the ground and sitting next to it, warming your hands off the heat emanating from it.

“Or fuck each other, one of the two.”

“Lo’ak!” You and Kiri hissed at the same time, and you threw a small rock you found on the ground at him, hitting him right in the middle of his forehead. You smiled, satisfied when he yelled in pain. You never missed.

“Ow?! You’re so mean sometimes, no wonder he doesn’t like you! I’m just saying, you guys always have sexual tension, and I’m definitely not the only one that thinks so. Spider says so, too.”

“Oh, well if Spider says so, then it must be true! It couldn’t be that you’re both children, and your mind hasn’t left the gutter since you first had a girl let you into second base.”

“Ah… Mira… she was something, wasn’t she? Haven’t seen her in a while.”

“Yeah, she’s hiding from you.”

Lo’ak returned the rock in a pointed throw, that you dodged effortlessly, smirking in his direction.

“See? Mean.”

Walking through the village in the late afternoon, you are pleasantly surprised at the still bustling atmosphere, all the men, women and children contributing in their own respective ways to the clan’s prosperity and success. People were returning from hunts, crafting arrows, sharpening knives, preparing new garments for the warriors that will be leaving for a new mission early in the morning. It filled you with a sense of wonder, this clan, despite having lived and breathed in it your whole life, it never ceased to amaze you, how beautiful, how grand, how unified it was. It made you determined, more and more each day, to fight the fight, to never give up or give in, to always strive to be better, stronger.

It was a big one tomorrow, a big train filled with guns and supplies, protected by 10 helos and armed guards, that were needed to the clan and would constitute a big loss for the humans. A win-win, as Jake would sometimes say. You couldn’t even remember when the first one of these missions started. It’s been more than 5 years since the humans have returned, 5 years since life as you knew it changed forever, 5 years since death and hurt followed you everywhere you went, since every day felt like a battle for survival, for your clan, and your people, and your world. Back then, that first mission terrified you, it ate at your soul and your body, manifesting itself in chills and shakes, in crying eyes and trembling lips.

You remember that day like it was yesterday, you remember how you and Neteyam were the youngest in the war party, how for the first time in years, you felt a connection to the boy as your eyes met on your respective ikran, and you saw in them pain, and fear… and yearning. For a second, he was your friend again, and the future you dreamt about as a kid, one where it was just you and him, facing this harsh world together, came back in full force, taking the breath out of your lungs. But the second passed and so did his gaze and his vulnerability, and his walls never diminished, but only got thicker and more fortified in time, and yours did too, as a result. It hurt you, his behaviour, how sudden the change had been and how drastic, how he pushed you away with no goodbye, with no chance to defend yourself, how no matter how much you tried to mend it, it just ended up making it worse. So after a while, you gave as good as you got, and blow by blow, your relationship died like soldiers on the battlefield, broken and bruised, rotting away, only the beautiful memory of what used to be left behind.

Training was still in full force at the edge of the village, in the big clearing fortified by trees and a waterfall where Jake now taught you all how to use human weapons. You didn't really need the practice, not anymore, having mastered every weapon he thought fit to throw at you years ago, but still, you went, because you may not need it, but one person you wanted to see did.

You smiled as you saw him, struggling with a Y70 Bullpup Rifle, a deep frown on his face and a small pout on his lips, and your heart swelled at the sight. O'ì'en Te Äfawoo Ìrauyon'itan was many things, all good and pure, all sweet and kind, a good balance for you, all fire and ice, no sense of balance or middling emotions. He was a mighty warrior, and a needed shelter from the new storms in your life. You've known him your whole life, but have started spending more time with him recently, as you started subbing for Jake as a mentor and a teacher, in days he was too preoccupied or otherwise engaged with one of his other many Olo'eyktan duties. He found the human weapons particularly strange and difficult to understand, so you weren't surprised now, finding him like this, struggling as he was, still trying to understand how to put it back together, how to make it work again.

You snuck behind him, careful not to make a noise, and he startled as your hands reached around and found his chest, that you caressed, tracing his defined pecs and abs, laughing as the weapon almost dropped from his hands.

"Tanhì, you scared me. What are you doing? People are watching."

"So? Let them watch." your eyes found Jake, who was eyeing your interaction curiously, an eyebrow raised and an amused smirk on his face. You brought your hand to your forehead and greeted him with a smile, and he waved at you, another human gesture he found it hard to part ways with. He made his way towards the pair of you, enveloping you in a big hug, and you almost suffocated in between his swollen, muscular pecs.

"Woah, Jake, you're gonna kill me right before an important mission." he laughs again, and you feel the deep rumble in his chest, reverberating in the forest surrounding you.

"I see you, ma Olo'eyktan."

"I see you, O'ì'en. Is the gun giving you trouble? I'm sure my little spark here can help you out. Seems you two are... close enough that she might consider it." you rolled your eyes and removed yourself from his grasp, and his knuckles made contact with the top of your head, putting pressure and twisting until it hurt, in yet another human habit you hated, that he called a noogie. He said it was affectionate, but you weren't so sure.

"Good luck." and with a wink, he was gone, focusing on the other Na'vi who needed his help and guidance.

You got on your tiptoes and kissed his cheek.

"Right. So this part is the underslung grenade luncher and it goes -"

It was late at night when you made your way back to your tent, smiling to yourself at the tranquility and joy of your evening, so far removed from the morning that was waiting for you and all you stood to lose when it came. Worry enveloped you like a shroud as you approached, and haunting thoughts tugged at your mind, but they didn't have time to fester, not as soft moans and breathy names percolated in your ears instead and took their place, names and voices you recognised. You circled your tent to the tree that rested right behind it, and you found exactly what you thought you would, exactly what you didn't want to ever see in your life. Neteyam's back shielding his little annoying girlfriend's naked body propped against the tree, with her legs around his hips, as he rutted into her.

You hated Neteyam in that moment. You knew he was doing it on purpose, you knew there was no other reason why he would choose this spot to do this, other than the knowledge that you would be coming to bed soon and the satisfaction he knew he would get from your reaction. But you wouldn't give it to him. The satisfaction, that is. He was good, at the little mind games, at knowing what buttons to push to drive you to the point of considering whether your love for the Sullys was greater than the desire to remove his head from his shoulders, but in time, you learnt all his little tricks, and in time, you learnt how to beat him at his own game.

You cleared your throat, your voice sweet and docile as honeycomb as you spoke.

"Neteyam, I just came from your family's tent. Mo'at was looking for you, she said you've been missing you treatments for your genital warts." You let out an affected noise, trying your hardest to sound sympathetic and concerned. "I'm sure it's fine, though. I'm sure the elders are wrong when they talk about how it makes fungus grow out of your vagina if you're infected by it." You almost broke your composure when the girl let out a pained yelp, but otherwise pushed through.

"Oh, well! Have a good evening!" And with that, you took your leave, grinning from ear to ear as all you heard when you entered your tent was screaming and Neteyam trying to hush her and defuse a newly-chaotic situation.

The mission and the aftermath went as well as could be expected, and you were proud of your contribution that never went unnoticed in the clan, or among the Sullys, much to Neteyam's dismay. He was still enraged about your little stunt, and you were happy that despite his continuous stink eye, you killed 5 humans, and secured the perimeter at all times, keeping the war party safe throughout the duration of the mission. The praise from everyone in the village meant the world to you, it meant everything to you, and by the afternoon, you felt on top of the world. The feeling didn't last, though, replaced with more anxiety than you knew what to do with, as Mo'at asked for your immediate presence by her side, as a matter of urgency.

You were nervous as you made your way to the Tsa’hik’s tent, unsure of why you would have been summoned there in the first place. You were going to see Mo’at for dinner shortly anyhow, so whatever it was she had to tell you was definitely too important to wait, and well, let’s just say you had a bad feeling. The bad feeling worsened when you finally pushed past the flap of the marui and found Neteyam sitting on the ground, the same kind of muted confusion visible on his face, that quickly changed into his signature “you” look as soon as he noticed who it was that walked in. You brought your fingers to your forehead and bowed your head to your Tsa’hik.

“I see you, Mo’at.”

She returned the gesture with a smile, and you sat down in front of her.

“Is something wrong, ma Tsa’hik? Why are Neteyam and I here?”

Mo’at circled the pit of fire that resided in the middle of her tent and placed a hand on one of your and Neteyam’s shoulder, a big smile on her face.

“It’s great news, ma parultsyìp. My latest communion with Eywa brought forth visions and guidance from the our Great Mother. Visions of you, my children.” Her smiled dropped a little and was replaced by a more serious expression, which accompanied her tone of voice.

“I know you two haven’t seen eye to eye for a while now. I know a lot of it is our fault, pushing you both to be the best versions of yourselves and pushing you apart as a result, but you used to be best friends, you used to hold each other close in your hearts, and Eywa thinks that can happen again… that it should happen again.”

Mo’at’s words scared you. She was being vague and the direction of the conversation made you uncomfortable, sending shivers down your spine. You looked at Neteyam, who was watching you already and you stifled a grimace at the way he turned instantly, like the thought of meeting your gaze was too unbearable to even be considered.

“Grandmother, what are you saying?”

“Eywa has chosen the new Tsa’hik, grandson. You two are to be a mated pair, and Neteyam, you will be one of the finest ruling pairs the Omaticaya has ever seen.”

Your mouth fell agape in shock and your brows furrowed as your mind was assimilating the influx of information, the way that your life instantly changed in so little time, in as little time as it took Mo’at to say the words out loud. Mated pair? Tsa’hik? You and Neteyam? Too many contradictions, too many oxymorons when said altogether for it to make sense to you. You looked over at Neteyam, hoping that for at least a second he’d let you in, he’d look at you, so you could work through this together, so you can navigate it together… so you can handle it together. But all you saw was anger and his composure coming apart at the seams, his tail shaking furiously and the tip of his ears a deep purple.

“Absolutely not. This has to be some sort of mistake, grandmother.”

Your own ears twitched and fell backwards at the unfairness of it all, at his booming tone and furious demeanour, at the way it was inconceivable to him that you'd have to spend your life together. It stung, the needles of hurt piercing your skin like a tattoo, marking you, how Neteyam never said no to his family, to his Tsa’hik, but decided to break that rule for himself just to reject you. It’s not like you wanted him, either, definitely not, but there was something about his antipathy towards you, unshaken and unwavering, even after all these years, that will always get under your skin, in the way that only he ever managed to. If there’s one thing you were good at, though, is matching him blow by blow.

“Yes, Mo’at. He has his standards set much too low to allow me to be his mate, and I have mine set way too high for him to be able to do anything but limbo under them.” yet another word you learnt from Jake, that seemed appropriate now, too appropriate to go to waste.

“That’s enough!” Mo’at was no longer in a joking mood as she looked at both of you, a stern disposition about her that you knew better than to cross. “Eywa’s decision is final, and she’s never wrong. I was just as shocked as you are, and I don’t know why she chose you, but she did. We will talk shortly about the ceremony. You can leave now.”

You sighed, your head falling in between your hands as you heard Neteyam scoffing and getting up, and the air that hit your back as he opened the flap of the tent and rushed out of it without another word.

“Mo’at… please. This has to be a mistake. I’m not fit to be Tsa’hik, you know this. I am a warrior, I have been a warrior my whole life. There’s much better suited people for the job, much better girls, I -“

Mo’at silenced you with an affectionate pat on your head. “I think you’d be better fitted than you think. Now go, I’m sure there’s better things you could be doing than sitting here, fretting over a done deal.”

The water in the lake of your secret meadow, your favourite place in the whole world, was colder than you were used to, a welcome respite in a sea of flames that felt like it was engulfing every corner of your mind and body, as you were processing the calamitous conversation you shared with the woman. What was she thinking? What was Eywa thinking? You and Neteyam? The man hated you. And you hated him. What kind of mateship could this ever be, other than one filled with pain and suffering. What kind of leadership could this be, other than one that was disjointed and chaotic. This was a mistake. You would tell Mo’at as much the next time you saw her.

You could at least try to reason with Jake and Neytiri first. They always listened to you, they always took your opinions into consideration. You would tell them that Neteyam has a girlfriend and an intended mate, that you were too young for such eternal commitments, that there was no productive resolution to this, as long as this was still to go ahead. You would do this and it would work. It had to work, because what was the alternative?

A little calmer and with a plan in mind, you swam your laps, enjoying the cold crisp feel of the water against your burning skin. You did this for hours, until you eventually tired, now peacefully laying on the soft grass, looking up at the stars. You have always been able to escape this sometimes harsh reality in the safety of your mind. But harsh reality always had a distasteful way of creeping back in, and it did so now in the form of the one person you never wanted to see, the one person whose presence had the power to burn you and turn you cold all at the same time.

“Leave, Neteyam.”

“No. We need to talk.”

“Oh, what could we possibly have to talk about, Neteyam?” You said sarcastically. Of course he’d want to talk now, finally coming with his tail between his legs. You might put him out of his misery if he was nice about it, if for the first time in years he found it in his tiny, little heart to apologise and talk to you like an actual person, if he came to you with some semblance of humbleness and communicated fairly and honestly. Maybe you could finally come to a mutual understanding. This would benefit both of you, so there had to be a way to finally learn to be civil to one another and put your difference aside.

“Stop being coy, it doesn’t suit you.” You rolled your eyes. This wasn’t off to a great start.

“Stop being a dick if you want to talk to me.”

“You have to go talk to my parents and tell them you don’t want this. Tell them you’re in love with that loser boyfriend of yours, tell them you’ve mated with him already. Tell them you don’t want to ever be tied down, that you don’t think the title of Tsa’hik would suit you. I don’t care what you say, just do it. You and I both know this can’t happen. It won’t matter what I say to my parents.” He looked down to his feet and mumbled mostly to himself. “It never does.” He collected himself quickly, before he continued.

“But they care about your opinion. I have to be Olo’eyktan, you don’t have to be Tsa’hik. So go talk to them.”

You rose to your feet and faced him. Your blood quickly started boiling in your veins at his words and tone, at the way he barely looked at you or acknowledged you, at the way he continued to treat you like a plague or disease to be sneered at, to be demeaned, to be avoided. You wanted to scream at him, to take him by his shoulders and shake some sense into him, and hope that this way the Neteyam you used to know, whose memory you still cherished despite all the horrible, unhappy, strenuous years that followed, would just return to you. But being vulnerable around him is something you’ve learnt the hard way you needed to avoid at all costs, so in the matter with which you’ve been accustomed, in a half-sneer, half-growl, you spoke.

“I have to give it to you, Neteyam, you definitely have some nerve. Coming here, demanding that I take one in the chin, yet again, might I add, and be the one to go and talk us out of this predicament, and not even being civil about it, when it’s you asking me the favour. You’ve always enjoyed letting me do all the dirty work, while you maintain the golden child title you clearly value so much. The mighty warrior. The perfect soldier. We both know, deep down, you’re just a fucking coward.”

You watched as his expression darkened, an edge to his face and beautiful features you’ve very rarely, if ever, seen before. But you were angry, so angry, so done protecting his feelings, so over trying to maintain a semblance of decorum for the sake of the love you shared in the past and the love you still share with the rest of his family, for the peace that you once hoped to protect. No one could make you angry like he could. No one got under your skin as well as he did, nuzzling there and making a home of the warmth of your bones, there to stay, until you were willing to forcefully remove him, until you were willing to finally break free from his unyielding grasp his presence had on your mind. It was finally time, it seemed.

“You sit there and act like this is an inconvenience to you. I’m going to be stuck being Tsa’hik forever. I’m one of the best warriors in this clan. I stood by Jake and Neytiri my whole life, just like you. Why the hell should you get to lead the people in battle, while I have to stay behind, and forsake everything I have ever worked for, all the sacrifices I made and all the years I gave to stand behind and heal your wounds? I should be Olo’eyktan between the two of us, and I think you know that, Neteyam. I think it eats at you at night, the thought. I think that’s the reason you have treated me like dirt since the second you realised this very fact. I think you’re scared your own parents prefer me. You’re scared that comes push to shove, that little bimbo girlfriend of yours might only be with you for the prestige that comes with fucking the future Olo’eyktan, and that if by any chance she finds this out, she’d dump you faster than a banana fruit on a sunny day.”

You knew it was a step too far, and definitely felt it as soon as Neteyam’s fingers wrapped around your throat and squeezed and your breath hitched in your throat with nowhere to go.

“You’re such a little bitch. Take it back.” There was no light in his tone, no levity, just pure rage, burning wildly in his eyes and manifested in his bared teeth, threatening fangs fully on display, the low growl blooming in his throat felt deep within you, and for the first time in your life, you were scared of the man sitting in front of you. You felt yourself becoming dizzy and disoriented as the lack of oxygen was taking over your mind, but you refused to give in to his desires, not when he was hurting you, not when he crossed a line, not when you could be hurting him. You smirked instead, and tried to focus enough to get the words out.

“You’re… a coward. You’re weak, Neteyam. Threatened by a little girl, so you pushed me away and continue to treat me like dirt. I have never thought I am better than you, Neteyam, until right now, that is. I realised something today. I don’t think I’m better than you. You think I’m better than you.”

With all your might and the last of your power, you kneed him, as hard as you could, straight in the groin, and exhaled in relief when his hand dropped from you throat and went to his loincloth, growling in pain. You groaned as you felt the marks he left on you, that will definitely bruise, and struggled to find your balance, as you walked slowly away from him.

“I’m just as unhappy about this as you are. But you crossed a line, Neteyam. The next time you lay a hand on me, I will make you pay, and I promise you that little girlfriend of yours will have to make do without offsprings.”

You left the spot that meant so much to you, that was now tainted forever, rubbing his finger imprints off your now sensitive, raw neck, heart full of deep anguish and mind filled with all the ways you were going to make him pay, and that started with one simple step: forsaking the plan to get out of this little arrangement.

taglist: @fanboyluvr @theycallmesia @afro-hispwriter @soleilmoon @crazy4books1 @bakugouswaif

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colorfullyminded · 1 month

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TLDR

Okay I cannot believe I'm about to go off like this, but this has been bothering me for awhile, and it's only making me more spiteful. I have been enjoying the influx of Billford art lately. Amazing, great wonderful. What I have Not been enjoying, is the absolute vitriol the Billdip fans have been getting since the influx of TBOB. I was a billdip shipper for awhile. Hell I was a billdip shipper when I was a Parapines shipper-- I liked shipping Dipper with boys. I was also like 14 or 15 at the time. Obviously, if you follow me now, you'll probably notice what my main ship for Dipper is. I grew out of Billdip, and moved on to Pinescone. I have been shipping Pinescone for 10 years. However, not once did I go around saying "Lol, glad I matured and became a better person and shipped something healthier", nor did I post in the billdip tag, condeming people for a fictional ship! And saying mine was better because it was less problematic.

"I'm really glad people stopped shipping Bill and Dipper together. Bill is a 1000 year old triangle demon, and Dipper is 13--" Stop. Repeat what you just said.

"Bill is 1000 year old triangle--"

Repeat that last word to me. "....triangle?" TRIANGLE! I'm sorry what?! This ship is already completely wild enough. You're getting mad at this fictional age gap-- AND BILL IS A FUCKING SHAPE! A FUCKING SHAPE! This ship was weird from the moment GO! And Billford isn't any better. IT'S STILL A SHIP WITH A FUCKING SHAPE! And you're going to sit on your high horse and look down on the Billdip community. On top of it-- they have an age gap too! Bill is still thousands of years old or whatever-- however long it's been, who knows? And Ford was in his 20s or so when he met Bill. That's still a huge, ridiculous age gap-- that Bill could easily use and manipulate; which he did....and then also caught feelings and became a sad ex, but that's beside the point~ Both of these ships are still insane. And again, the bigger thing I think people are just ignoring about these ships--is that Bill is a TRIANGLE! THREE LINES CONNECTED TOGETHER! And this is the hill you're going to die on? ...Cause apparently it's mine. First of all-- as many people pointed out-- Ford Pines did not exist until the second half of the final season. People couldn't ship Fordbill because there wasn't any Ford to introduce.

"Well, even before Ford, I never shipped Billdip! I always disliked it." ...Okay, that's totally fine. Not everyone needs to like or agree on the same ship. Lord knows there's probably people who don't really care for Pinescone either. There's a lot of popular ships that I can't stand. But I'm don't go into a ship tag I don't like, screaming to a void for self validation. I don't go around mocking other people for ships that they had in 2014-- or even still today! It doesn't matter! I did that when I was a kid-- and then realized that was rude, and it was better to just ignore the ships I didn't like and enjoy the ones that made me happy. And grow a community of kind, like minded friends. And listen, I am all for safe spaces and being able to block things that make you uncomfortable. I am not saying people who find the BillDip ship uncomfortable to be idiots or babies or overly sensitive-- or anything like that. I think if something makes you uncomfortable, that is okay and I think it's perfectly fine to blacklist a tag that you don't want to see. I also think it's imperative that people tag things as accurately as they can so people looking at your work can know if one of your pieces has a thing that they don't like-- and therefore can avoid. What I don't appreciate is the fanhate for this ship that is sprouting up like weeds. You can not like something, you can be disgusted by it (I have my Gravity Falls ships I can not stand, nor do I feel comfortable with), but attacking real people for a FICTIONAL SHIP-- two characters who are drawings on a piece of paper and can not be affected mentally, physically or emotionally by fanwork; who still retain the same shape after everything we put them through-- to the point that you send death threats, or threaten to Doxx, or just harass relentlessly, I have always found that more childish and disgusting. You are causing real world pain to people. Me fucking up Dipper Pines is not going to do anything to him-- because he doesn't actually exist. He's a cartoon character. I could squash him and stretch him in Wonka's taffy machine--- I could throw him mock speed at a wall and watch him explode on impact-- but he still exists. He's not dead; I can pick him up and dust him off, and If I wanted-- I could decide that eh, 'Not a scratch on him'. And I'd be right. Because he is a cartoon character, and I am just a fangirl. I can not change anything about him-- I have no ability to make anything I headcanon canon. And even if I was the original artist-- it doesn't change the fact that Dipper would still be nothing more than a creation. A construct of shapes; he can not be hurt or traumatized in a way that leads to real life consequences-- because he is not real. I am not a cartoon character. My friends are not cartoon characters. Artist and Writers who stay in their lane...are not cartoon characters. If you hurt us...it will linger. It will leave a scar. If you can not tell the difference between Fiction and Reality, then I think maybe media might be too much to handle-- and I think you need to really reevaluate yourself.

And just to vent some other things that i keep seeing that are frustrating: You can't claim the twins are only 13-- and then on August 31st go "Happy 20-something Birthday Mabel and Dipper!" And then proceed to drop a picture of them as adults. Well which is it? Do they age or not? Because Gravity Falls showed them canonically aging. If you think the twins age-- then you can't suddenly turn around and go, 'no you can't ship them-- Dipper is a child!' but you drew him as an adult. So sorry, it looks like you can't draw the twins grown up anymore. You claimed they're 13, so better draw them 13 forever--. Aged up stories and works exist for a reason, especially for a fan who grew up on the series. The characters might have grown up alongside them. It's not unlikely for a person to ship Billdip when Dipper is much older.

And on that note, for people who are like 'well older billdip is fine-- it's just people shipping him during the show that deserve to die.' Okay... and like I said, this rant is coming from a recent influx of Billford shippers spitting on Billdip shippers. You know? The TOXIC Old Man Yaoi!

You're still shipping something that is problematic. You are still shipping something twisted and wrong. And I am not judging you. I am here for this divorced arc. I am thriving. But you can't just pick and choose what is and isn't okay. And let me first off explain; if there is something that personally triggers you about a toxic ship, and you want to avoid that-- again, perfectly understandable. Perfectly reasonable. You are the makers of your content space. And I am not judging anyone for that. I want people to be safe. I want people to have a good time in fandom spaces. I want people to not have to deal with the things that upset them or frighten them, or disgust them. But you can not say one is fine, and one is not. They're both bad! They're both toxic. In real life, these ships would both be charged with serious crimes! And yes, there are some crimes that are worse than others, and if you asked me what I thought was more problematic-- I'd say Billdip-- but both of these ships are extreme, and severe in their problematic content. You are still consuming problematic content. If it's a personal thing, that's fine; avoid it. But don't sit there throwing stones from your glass house.

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slytherinshua · 10 months

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FLYING BICYCLES AND LOVESTRUCK MAGIC

genre. fluff. kiki's delivery service au-ish. a lil mutual pining. warnings. reader is basically kiki and sohee is basically tombo lol. some psychic magic mentioned. it's mostly just them being whipped for each other. osono cameo cause she's mvp fr. pairing. sohee x witch!reader. wc. 2.5k. a/n. the riize brainrot is SO REAL. idk why i felt sohee would fit the role of tombo so perfectly hes just sooo 💔💔 i love him guys 🥹

Sohee was 97.62436% sure that he was going crazy when he first saw you flying on a broomstick through the city. Of course, the other 2.37564% that had gone completely insane was fascinated, excited, and probably (definitely) head over heels in love.

He lived in a small town. One where the word went around like a whirlwind as soon as anyone new moved in. It was the most exciting thing that could happen for the residents there, especially when the newcomer happened to be a very pretty girl from a rich city.

Most people would move out of the town when they reached 20 or so to discover themselves. Yet they always seemed to find their way back when they were a bit more settled. It was a rite of passage— a route to adulthood that almost everyone assumed the youth of the town would take. Sohee liked his town, though, and didn’t feel any need to move away. He had already discovered himself enough to know what he wanted to do with his life.

There were exciting things to do that he doubted he would be able to do anywhere else. Visiting the town’s grandpa that ran the old antique shop, getting free candy from the young lady who ran the candy store after the old owner had passed away, seeing every new addition to the art gallery from the aspiring painters and sculptors in town. And, his favourite activity: investigating the old junk yard for spare parts to make his newest models.

Sohee liked to call himself an inventor. It felt spiffy and official. He showed off every new creation he pieced together with rusted tools and even rustier bits of metal like it was the next world-changing invention. He could spend hours in his dad’s old workshop working with nuts and bolts, seeing what the pieces could make once they came together.

He had been determined to make a flying vehicle for years now. After finding a beautiful old wind turbine in the junkyard when he was 14, he had started planning mock-ups for a bicycle. He would attach the turbine in front of it so that when you pedalled, the turbine spinned. The hope was that with enough inertia, you could eventually lift off the ground with it. He was skeptical that it would actually work, though.

He hadn’t officially talked to you yet. You had been in town for a couple days now, staying with the couple that ran the local bakery. Sohee thought you were absolutely beautiful from the moment he first saw you. He had been riding his bicycle past the bakery on his way to the carpenters to pick up some tools. One glance at you through the window had him abruptly pushing on the brakes, eyes going wide.

Maybe it was a bit of an exaggeration, but you looked like an angel. Or a goddess. Or a fairy. Sohee couldn’t decide which one, but he knew that you were the most stunning person he had ever seen. Since that day, he kept running into you in town, but his own nervousness had stopped him from talking to you properly. He had held a few conversations; enough to know your name and age, but clearly not enough to know that you could fly through the air.

Now, he was staring wide-eyed at the clouds, watching you soar just beneath them so effortlessly. He craned his head to watch you as long as he could before you disappeared behind the clock tower.

“Woah…” He whispered, jaw dropped in an awestruck expression.

“She’s quite the girl, isn’t she?”

Sohee turned to the side, nodding in agreement with what Osono, the bakery lady, had said.

“She’s amazing. Do you know how she does it?” He asked with a grin.

“Haven’t you heard by now, Sohee? She’s a witch! She chose our town to do her witch training.” Osono explained.

“That’s incredible! I didn’t even know witches actually existed! Do you know what she’s training in?!” Sohee felt like his brain was spinning at a speed incomprehensible to mankind. He kept thinking of more and more questions about you. He’d never seen anyone quite like you before, and the more he learned, the more intrigued he became.

“She said she’s still figuring it out— but she’s interested in love readings. For now, she’s using her flying skills to help me and the town. She’s an excellent delivery girl!” Osono beamed.

“Love readings…?” Sohee pondered the idea on his way back home. The next day, he found himself at the town’s library, scanning through the small section on magic and witches with more focus than he had put to almost anything.

“Miss witch, I’d like to get a love reading!” He announced happily, swinging open the door to the bakery where you were seated at the counter, seconds away from falling asleep due to the lack of customers. You jerked up at the sound of Sohee, immediately knowing that it was him from his playful nickname for you— miss witch.

“Really!? You want one!?” You jumped up from your seat and rushed around the counter to be face to face with him. Sohee had become your first friend in town. After he had seen you fly that day, he discovered the key to talking to you without being awkward. You could fly and he wanted to fly. There was a perfect common interest.

You loved talking to Sohee. He was infinitely more interesting than the kids back at your old home, most of which were stuck up and rude. Sohee was bright and kind and full of imagination and dreams and inspiration. He never got bored of you talking about being a witch, and you never got bored of hearing about his new inventions. You had never clicked so well with someone before.

There was also the fact that he was the prettiest boy you’d ever seen. But that was… less important. You had a bad habit of crushing on boys without it ever going anywhere. You were determined not to repeat that disaster a sixth time.

“It would be my great honour to be your very first customer.” Sohee said dramatically, making you giggle with excitement.

“Well, then, dear client, shall we go to my witch lair? I can’t perform the reading anywhere else.” You responded, matching his dramatics perfectly. He grinned and nodded and you grabbed his wrist to lead him upstairs.

“It’s a bit messy— give me a second!” You rushed around your small attic space that Osono had been so kind to let you stay in for free. You hurriedly put away the food that you had gotten for breakfast and shoved some odd trinkets under your bed so that they were hidden. Sohee just watched, his heart racing. He really needed to get that under control.

“Where’s my witching supplies- Aha! Here it is!” You held up a small purple box, bejewelled with gold ornaments. It looked ancient and rusty— exactly the type of artifact that Sohee loved.

You set down a thin blanket on the wooden floor before taking out the little baubles and setting them in the middle of the fabric. Sohee sat on one end, and you on the other.

“Alright, mister… I have a series of questions, but for this to work, you must answer them completely honestly. If you lie even once, the whole thing will be messed up!” You had put on your mother’s joke witches had for fun. The sight made Sohee laugh, especially when you deepened your voice to sound old as you explained how things would work.

“I got it. I’ll tell only the truth.” Sohee promised.

“Once you answer all the questions, I’ll flip over this blank card. If everything works out, the name of the person you love the most will slowly appear before your eyes! Now… Are you ready?” You quirked an eyebrow, staring seriously at him even though on the inside you were about to burst with excitement. It was your dream to open your own love reading business. You just weren’t completely sure if you were good enough at it yet.

Sohee nodded eagerly, a mix of excitement and nervousness stewing inside of him. He wasn’t sure exactly what to expect, so he carefully followed along with what you did to make sure he didn’t mess anything up. You closed your eyes and he followed suit.

The questions you asked started out simple, without Sohee needing to deliberate before delivering the honest answer to you. But as they went on, they got more complex and more personal. Sohee had never doubted your abilities as a witch, but he hadn’t expected you to be able to see right through him.

“Last question…”

“Mhm?” Sohee could feel his stomach twist in nervousness, but he breathed steadily to try to calm his nerves.

“Do you believe yourself to be in love with someone at this current moment?”

Sohee swallowed slowly, his mouth and throat feeling parched all of a sudden. He took his time to think through it, though the answer was almost painfully obvious. He had never been more in love in his entire life.

“Yes.” He finally answered with certainty, a slight burden lifting off his chest. It was almost as if he was confessing to you in a way— and though he didn’t say it directly, it still eased some of his anxiety. He opened his eyes hesitantly after answering to see your face scrunched in concentration.

“No way-” You opened your eyes as well, frowning in confusion and looking up to Sohee with a questioning gaze. “By any chance are you…?”

“Huh?” Sohee blinked, confused at your actions. You shook your head quickly and stared down at the blank card.

“Are you ready?”

“Yeah.”

The air felt a little tense as you slowly flipped over the black card. You held your hand over it for a few seconds, shielding it from Sohee’s curious view. You lifted your hand carefully once you were sure it had worked and watched as the name slowly appeared on the card.

You sat in frozen shock once you read the name on the card, struggling to process what you had seen. Your name was displayed on the card, clearer than ever. There was no way that anyone could possibly mistake it or misread it, but you just couldn’t believe it.

“It- we- we must’ve messed it up somehow! There’s no way that’s- It must’ve got me confused, right!?” Sohee spluttered helplessly, his entire face a bright shade of red. Somehow in his calculations, he didn’t expect for the card to expose him that horrendously, right in front of you as well.

“I don’t think we did it wrong, though… Everything felt… right.” You said quietly. “Do you… like me?” You could barely get the words to come out of your throat.

There were some parts of your magic that you still needed time to trust completely. Flying had always been easy in that aspect; you either flew or you didn’t. But when it came to love readings, you wondered how likely it was that your magic had gotten messed up. You liked to be whimsical and believe that your love readings could be completely accurate, but your confidence had never been as low as in this moment.

However nervous you were feeling, it was a thousand times worse for Sohee. You had a small inkling of hope— hope that he would say yes. But for Sohee, he could only think of the possible rejection. Or the even worse possibility that this would tear apart your friendship.

“Yes…?” Sohee whispered out to you. You had never heard him this nervous or quiet before.

“Really? Are you sure?” You asked again, this time with a little more voice and hope surging in you. Sohee must have picked up on the hopeful tone, as he answered yes again, this time with more certainty.

“Then the reading wasn’t wrong?! You actually like me?” Your hand clasped over your mouth before you could ramble anymore in your state of disbelief.

“What about you? I mean… you probably don’t, right? But maybe…?” Sohee couldn’t help but be hopeful for your response, but he held himself back from being too expectant on the response he was dreaming for.

“Do I like you back?! Of course I do- It wasn’t obvious before now?” You stuttered in disbelief.

“I mean- I hoped you did, but I couldn’t be sure.” Sohee clarified. The tension in the room had completely dissipated by now, and your smiles were slowly coming back as the reality settled in.

“I’ve liked you since I moved here, I think. Didn’t you ever question why we kept running into each other before we became friends?”

“No? I just thought it was a lucky coincidence.” Sohee admitted with a laugh.

“It was because whenever I spotted you biking around town, I’d land in a street nearby and pretend like I was always walking that way just to cross paths with you!” You corrected stubbornly. Now that it was clear that the feelings were mutual, you wanted him to know the effort that you went through to get closer to him.

“I also started going past the bakery on my way home. It added an extra 5 minutes to my route, but it was worth it to see you working through the glass window.” He scratched the back of his neck shyly, mirroring your smile when your eyes brightened at hearing his confession.

“So… what now?” You questioned suddenly after a prolonged silence of both of you trying to stare at the other while simultaneously trying your best not to look obvious.

“Would you go out with me?” Sohee asked excitedly. “Oh shoot- I should’ve gotten flowers first. Wait here- I’ll be quick!” He stammered, rushing out of the room before you could stop him. He was gone only long enough for you to giggle in delight while you cleaned up the supplies you had laid out. Your witching skills had come in handy in the best of ways.

He was out of breath by the time he burst open the door again, but his eyes had never glimmered any brighter. He held a bouquet of pink and white roses, a little squished on one side from the rush he had been in.

“You know you didn’t have to go buy these…” You bit back a smile, taking the pretty flowers from his hands.

“My mom always said the best way to charm a lady was with flowers.” He panted and grinned at you cheekily when you shot him a look. You smiled as you sniffed the sweet scent of the roses. Sohee was about to say something else, but you pulled him into a tight hug before he could start, the unexpected gesture knocking all words he had into another dimension.

“I really like you, Sohee.” You whispered, your smile twinkling as you rested your head on his shoulder.

He took a second to get over the shock of you hugging him before he was wrapping his arms around your frame as well, mumbling back, “Me too.”

↳ riize taglist: @eternalgyu,, @kangtaehyunzzz,, @weird-bookworm,, @haecien

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vnamps · 2 months

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THE GRADE AID. 002

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overall summary: lee min-ho, your absolute academic rival, an absolute menace needs help to raise his grade before the semester ends, and who better to ask for help than you, the grade aid.

overall contents: minho is cocky, a bunch of teasing, angst, fights, mentions of injuries, good ending, lowercase

The walls of the school building made the sounds your shoes created echo as you walked through the hallways. The school was over, and the only remaining students were in the different clubs and practicing club activities. After school was a calming time for you as you could always find yourself able to work on your hobbies in peace, like art.

Art was something you had a big passion for, something you wanted to further explore but never had the chance to because of your family's financial situation. At this school, students were able to do what they’d like after school so long as it was appropriate which was amazing for you as you had free access to the one thing you loved very much, the one thing you took more seriously than your studies.

As you walked into the room, it appeared empty as you sat down by an easel containing the unfinished artwork you’d been working on for the past few weeks, frowning as your mind felt fuzzed on what to add next.

“that looks nice” a voice spoke from behind you. It startled you as you turned around to see another student. He was tall and had long brunette hair that stopped before his shoulders.

You nodded slowly, turning back around before sighing. “It’s missing something, I can’t figure out what though..” your voice trailed off as you began to think, his voice taking you out of a trance.

“Art block?” was a simple phrase, one that you related to all too well, one that caused you to nod once again.

“It shouldn’t be much of a problem, maybe a good night's rest help you. Also, aren’t you a part of the student body? What are you doing in the art room at this time?”

“I needed to get my mind off something..”

He nodded again, taking in a chair next to you, implying that you should continue. You shouldn’t rant to a total stranger who indeed knew who you were but if it weren’t for that stranger you’d have no one.

“do you know Lee Minho?” it was a stupid question really, anyone who attended the school knew the menace, even without him knowing them.

The boy in front of you gave a small smile, nodding. “He’s..something” you hum in agreement, letting out a sigh before looking at your failure of a painting. “It’s just- he has… everything… a good lifestyle, a stable one at that… he’s wealthy, people like him. I don’t- I don’t get why he’d wanna take the one good thing I have going for me, my stardom”

He nods in understanding as you rant. “Maybe he’s jealous of you?”

“Me? Why would he ever be jealous of me? He already has people who like him for who he is, I don’t.”

The boy lets out a small breath, leaning it just an inch before grinning “I like you for who you are, you’re not very much like those other students”

“So you say… what’s your name?”

“Y/n L/n”

“Hwang Hyunjin, you?”

Minho sits at the table, a cup of coffee in his hands as he lets out a frustrated sigh. “You don’t get it Jisung. They‘re taking away all I have” Jisung looks attentively at the set of notes you had given Minho before looking up at the older boy with worry in his eyes.

“How are they taking it from you, this amount of notes is insane, something you haven’t done.” Jisung questions, his eyes in disbelief.

“That’s the problem. Before they came, everyone paid attention to me. My father says if I can’t have a small school full of undeveloped teenagers' respect, how can I have the respect of the entire world.”

Jisung sighs “I don’t think it’s that deep. Besides, y/n comes from a small family who doesn’t have all of our luxuries. Wouldn’t it be fine to let them have this one small thing?”

“No. It’s not fine. I can’t have some- random person take away something I’ve worked hard for. They need to stop.” Minho stares into space, his head clouded in thought.

Jisung glances over at Jeongin, looking at him with pleading eyes. Jeongin looks up from his book, scoffing at the older two.

“What am I meant to do? Tell him to date y/n and convince them to let him be top at everything?”

Minhos eyes widened at that, a slight “ha” leaving his mouth as Jeongin looked at him, a slight regret in his eyes.

“No no no, don’t think about doing that, it isn’t fair.” Jisung says, trying to talk him out of it.

“Since when was I fair?”

taglist :

@palindrome969 @rpwplost @valkyriexo @intrikatie @brainrotahahaha @turtledove824 @itzzyyyyyyydaaaa @ashxxgyu @linosalwayslinos

#🗯 : the grade aid #skz #skz fanfic #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz stay #lee know #lee minho x reader #minho x reader #minho #stray kids minho #lee minho #skz minho #minho x you #stray kids imagines

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anticmiscellaney · 6 months

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I absolutely adore your work! What's your process been like for writing NewOldRare and developing Neil and Louis? Your art and character writing feel so genuine and realistic to me, so I'm really curious how you go about it!

Thank you! I've always been obsessed with character-driven stories and interaction, so I guess this is the result of years of practice and observation, and dismantling stories that do and don't work to see why.

Unfortunately, there isn't a clear way to explain it. It's one of those "you know when you get it right" things, requiring an eye developed over a long time. I will redraw things if I don't feel like I've captured the nuance I wanted to, and a few months later I'll look at it and see where I could have done better. Same with writing. I'm obsessed with pacing and page design, I had a moment of "that's how I think about it too" when Will Eisner described comic panels like music.

The technical approach is I make notes about stories I want to write, then I expand that into outlines, then scripts, then thumbnails, then I draw the comics and colour them and finalise the dialogue. At every stage I'm asking myself if it feels right, if I'm getting across what I want to. That's not to say there aren't surprises and things don't develop organically, but every stage is an attempt to solve as many problems as I can before the next stage. My thumbnails are quite detailed because it makes pencils easier, and I spend a while on them.

I have total aphantasia so I am operating off feeling rather than any mental images. I have no idea how it works and no idea why I pursue this when I'm missing what many visual artists describe as a crucial component. I just do it and I have better things to do (art) than wonder about something I can't change. I don't think it's made me a better or worse artist, though I think it has given me different ways of approaching/developing things. But also, literally everything about you makes your work different to everyone else's work.

You need to care. If your character is into music, listen to that music. If they have an old car that keeps breaking down, read up on common problems for that model. If they work as a film projectionist, watch a training film about using the machine. The characters care about things, have things in their lives that matter, have skills and interests and challenges. If I don't care enough to understand them, why should anyone reading it care, and also why am I writing it if I don't care?

So I do, and in caring I understand them better. This helps me develop characters/story but it also gives me so much more to write/draw. Understanding how things work and how they are done from a physical standpoint makes writing/drawing them easier too. The more you put into your head, the more you can get out later. I'll do way less for a 12 page short than for a 300 page graphic novel, obviously. Pick your battles, a little can go a long way.

They tell artists to collect visual references - solid advice - but you should collect substance too. If you pay attention, you will hear and see things you could never in a million years make up.

I find online socialising difficult, so I go out regularly and talk to people, or just hang around and observe. Chatting with strangers mostly involves listening to them. No one in gay spaces is interested in flirting with me (I'm rather homely and queer men assume I'm straight) but I think an audience is just as appealing sometimes, and maybe even harder to find. You'd be amazed what people will tell you if you're genuinely interested and listening. I once spent forty minutes at a sci-fi con talking to a guy who'd recently gotten into fisting. While I have zero personal desire to partake in that activity (and he had no interest in being fisted by me), I'm engaged, I'm invested, I'm asking questions, spare no detail.

I collect behavior and movement and the ways people interact too. Reading stories on reddit or whatever is one thing, but the words might not be as interesting as the way they're standing, the way their hands move, the way they respond. A guy in a bar once literally humped my leg like a dog because he felt I wasn't paying enough attention to him. I would never think of that as a response to that situation, but he did, and he followed through. Fortunately my friend had just tried to drunkenly sit down and missed the chair, otherwise I would never hear the end of it.

I see the leghumper around sometimes, he's got a boyfriend and avoids making eye contact with me, thank god.

#newoldrare #replied

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jezebelgoldstone · 1 year

Text

RRR (2022, dir S. S. Rajamouli)

things i am not now and likely never will get over from RRR

DRIFT COMPATIBLE BATTLE COUPLE DETECTED

queer? platonic? queerplatonic? who gives a shit no matter what it was it was AWESOME

Colonialism Is Bad Actually: The Musical

the symbolism. holy shit. every BIT of it was absolutely amazing.

wow all the mains in this movie are just, really hot? my poor lil pan heart had a rough time with this one ngl

the fact that someone (likely many someones) watched this movie about Colonialism Is Bad Actually and said 'you know what let's dub this whole thing into Hindi and English and then not give an option to watch it with the original Telugu dialogue' sure was,,,,,,,,, A Choice

THE MUSIC

by which i mean the actual song-and-dance numbers as well as the like story soundtrack all of it is going on my playlist asap

listen the spirk-behind-glass scene is awful. spock and kirk can't even touch. they can hear. they can see. but they cannot touch. and i in my sweet ignorant bliss thought that was as bad as it could get.

tonight i learned that holding someone in your arms through the bars of their cell is so much worse

I watched it on Netflix but i looked it up on a few other ahem websites and on EVERY SINGLE ONE Telugu audio wasn't even an option.

there was not one single chance to tie things together or make a connection or do a setup/payoff or callback that was not taken. not a single one.

everything about this movie is 100% Extra

in short: this movie is a masterclass

aaaaaand the rest below a cut because WOW i have a lot to say actually

which brings me to the dancing oh my gods. not sure i've ever seen such enthusiastic dancing in anything in my entire life. seriously by the final number i was exhausted just watching them

in general, this movie is: stunning

"RAM." "BHEEM." "SEETHA." IT'S ABOUT THE SYMBOLISM.

also this was kinda hilarious because i watched it in hindi [the least disorienting option] and they kept SAYING "ram" but in the subs it was always fuckin RAJU so like. again with the Choices. like seriously what was the thought process there. WAS there a thought process.

FIRE. WATER. STORY. I JUST. I. HELP ME.

i ADORED jenny. with my whole entire heart. she is one of the very BEST examples of Ignorance Is A Privilege and also At What Point Does Ignorance Become Malicious that i have ever ever seen. i loooooooooved it. i mean i hated it a whole lot while it was happening but also i am SO GLAD that now rather than trying to explain all of this to people i can just tell them to watch this movie and then sit them down and be like, so what are your thoughts on jenny's culpability in literally everything?

oh and how you can be a kind person and still do atrocities! like jenny is so sweet and so kind and you just like her so much and yet. and yet.

t h e s y m b o l i s m

i cannot remember the last time i saw a movie so visually stunning. the cinematography is breathtaking. pause on just about any random frame and it could be a movie poster or hanging in an art gallery or what have you.

they also dubbed all the lines that were actually in english? i mean i get it for the characters who spent most of the movie speaking Telugu because you'd need their voices to stay the same through the whole movie yeah fine whatever. but like. they dubbed all the ENGLISH characters, too? like literally dubbed them from english into english??? the dialogue matched their mouths except the timing was veeeery sliiiiiiiightly off but it SOUNDED really obviously dubbed??? Y THO???

HOLY SHIT THE FIGHT SCENES OH MY GODS

Malli. Malli honey i love you. i'm just realizing i don't know if that's your actual name gods damn it. but whatever your name is child i love you.

and did i mention that everyone in this movie is beautiful? like. seriously. Ram and Bheem especially holy SHIT.

Physics Does Not Work Like That And I Do Not Care Because That Was AWESOME: The Musical

oooohhhhh they re-recorded and dubbed the fucking SONGS too. i am so pissed about this y'all i can't even tell you.

oh i want to do a whole entire post that's even longer than this one about the symbolism. hell i could probably do a whole entire post just on the fire/water symbolism even without everything else. It was AMAZING.

okay ram is fire and bheem is water and ram's people go to a valley on the shores of a river and the river is in literally every shot of the village and just ram BEING fire but water being a place of HOME and SAFETY for ram

i'm not crying shut up

MALLI AND HER MOTHER TRY TO REACH EACH OTHER BUT THEY CANNOT TOUCH THROUGH THE GLASS

BHEEM AND MALLI HOLD EACH OTHER THROUGH THE BARS OF HER CONFINEMENT AND HE HAS TO LET GO AND LEAVE HER

BHEEM AND RAM HOLD EACH OTHER THROUGH THE BARS OF HIS CONFINEMENT AND BHEEM RIPS THE DOOR RIGHT OFF

ooooooohhhhhhh and people holding hands right before they part. oh that hurts. all of those hurt so bad.

how every single time people held hands when they parted they always held on till the last possible second EXCEPT FOR RAM'S MOM.

she lifts her hand away from him and then pulls back and it was devastating

Predators Do Not Work Like That But I Do Not Care Because That Was Awesome And Also They Ate A Bunch Of Colonizing Cops: Queercoded Edition (ACAB)

bheem with his arms spread and rope or chains around his wrists or in his hands. i just. the way it flipped back and forth from 'he has the power' to 'he is helpless' to 'he should be helpless and isn't' was just. breathtaking.

AND THEN. AND THEN RAM. CHAINED UP THE SAME WAY. DOING THE SAME GODDAMN THING AND USING THE FACT THAT HE'S CHAINED UP FOR HIS OWN FUCKING PURPOSES BECAUSE HE SAW BHEEM DO IT FIRST DON'T TOUCH ME

okay listen this movie would've been good no matter what but like. they really are just SO beautiful. and. when ram. with like the long hair. and. beard. and like. you know? like. his. his hair. his general. everything. um.

literally at the most emotionally inappropriate moment i literally thought about that whole 'i saw a man so beautiful i started crying' thing and like that almost literally happened literally

Why There Can't Be Any Such Thing As Good Cops: The Romance (ACAB)

and like here's the thing i'm not sure i would've even NOTICED this had it not been for the linguistic chauvinism with the audio and everything but like both of them were hindu and a lot of the symbolism though awesome was also really strongly hindu and i just i don't know nearly enough about hindutva to have any kind of opinion BUT i also feel like maaaaaaaybe there was something a little uncomfy about some of this

oh no wait the suspenders dance. that might've actually been the best part. yeah.

oh all the british actors did SUCH a good job being so eminently punchable

throw cheetahs at each other! and snakes! somehow have upper body strength greater than the force exerted by a 800+ lb tiger lunging! throw those motorcycles! punch through those walls without breaking your fingers! use herbal paste to heal broken bones in a matter of a minutes! break solid stone with nothing but the strength of your shoulders and gay love! i am so here for all of this!!!

Throw Rocks Marble Pillars Live Tigers Cops At Cops: The Movie (ACAB)

i love that jenny felt bad for the poor little girl who got kidnapped enslaved and imprisoned so she. bought her a dress and a toy.

you know, to make her feel better about the whole 'being kidnapped enslaved and imprisoned' thing.

instead of doing, i don't know know, literally anything else. like even just saying to her aunt 'hey this makes me sad' or something. #solidarity.

the violence was violent and the romance was sweet

okay so during the fight at the midpoint like i know that by the end of it ram and bheem are literal fire and water BUT ALSO. Ram enters the scene in a flaming carriage and from that point forward the fountain is in pretty much every shot of bheem. just sayin.

love that lachu (or whatever his name really is) told ram that there was no cure. like yes! you go man! ram may be so beautiful that in forty minutes i'm going to be in tears but that's no reason to tell a cop the truth about anything! you lie to that cop man!

A BRITISH SOLDIER HIT LOKI IN THE HEAD WITH A BRANCH AND THEN STOLE MALLI AWAY

BHEEM HIT RAM IN THE HEAD WITH A BRANCH AND THEN STOLE MALLI AWAY

i know other people got hit in the head with tree branches too but STILL

honestly i really like that ram and bheem were, well, ram and bheem. but i mean im glad they weren't like ram and lakshman or bheem and arjun or something. not even just because that would've been brotherly like i'm glad they weren't arjun and krishna or something either. i liked that their names weren't from the same story. i liked it better this way and i can't even articulate why.

i am never ever ever going to get over the progression of part of bheem's introduction being something going wrong and him holding two ropes (he has all the power) with his arms spread and that being used to show us how incredibly strong he is -> something going wrong and bheem with ropes around his wrists (he shouldn't have any power at all) holding his arms spread and that being used to show how incredibly strong he is in a completely different way

like every time there were ropes or chains in bheem's hands or around his wrists it meant something, and it was a beat in the rhythm of a discernable arc, but now i can't remember all of them gdi

oooohhhhh there was SO much more symbolism i wanted to talk about but it's so late that i have a headache and this post is so long my computer's lagging like two sentences behind so i should stop and go to bed. sigh.

just go watch this movie, okay? pleae? I cannot IMAGINE who would've read this whole thing,m but if you did, just watch it, all rigth? (and if you happen to know of any site - ANY site - where i can watch it in FUKIN TELUGU kindly drop a link please and thank)

#rrr #queer movies #rambheem #i don't even know how else to tag this #op #rrr movie #ram x bheem #movie recs

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sorbeau · 8 months

Note

hi its me again i feel legally obligated to ask about your thoughts on the new riz design (but also extends to al of the other new art for the bad kids too!!!)

HI SHOKO sorry this took so long to asnwer, it feels a little late to the party now but I have lots of thoughts and this has been in my drafts for a hot minute so I'll break my thoughts down in order <3

Fig

GOD DO I LOVE FIG'S DESIGN. It hasn't changed too drastically in many ways, it's largely the same beats with the plaid skirt, leather jacket, biker gloves, and docs, but there's a lot more detail pertaining to her character now. Ayda's feather earring is abviously a huge win, everyone loves to see it, but I love the small details like the added wallet chain on her skirt, the added ear piercings, and her painted nails. If I had to choose something I didn't like, it'd be the color of her shoelaces, which isn't a huge deal bc you know spyre might have different cultural beats, but it's very reminiscent of punk doc lace codes, which were a way to sort of factionize yourself among punks. Fig wears one purple and one red, and traditionally purple means gay pride(which is great and i would've picked it for her too) but red usually means you allign yourself with neo-nazi's and similar groups which. is definitely Not Fig. It's not a HUGE deal but, maybe some more research could've been put into it.

Gorgug

Gorgug's new design is so. Perfect. Amazing. Spectacular. No notes. It's exactly the changes I wanted to see. The goggles, the dirt-covered face, the ripped jeans, the bags and tools, the gloves, the most disgusting worn pair of convers you've ever seen. It's absolutely amazing and the artist has managed to bring all the beats we loved about his original design(his extremely fashionable purple pants) and mixes them perfectly with all of the new facets of Gorgug's personality that have changed and grown theough their adventures. A little detail I love is how the color of his headphones has changed to match with the rest of his outfit better, creating a more cohesive design with the introduction of more red/maroon tones. This was always a little bit of an issue with the old design for me. The colors sort of didn't go together.

Kristen

She's going through a break up. She's at the most chaotic she's ever been and she's trying to fix it. It is so genius to make her jacked. The bright yellow tracksuit is beautiful and exactly something Kristen would buy and wear every day. Plus the tiedye purple sports bra tying in her old church camp shirt aesthetic is brilliant. I'm mourning the loss of her sandals, but the matching shoes to her tracksuit can't be complained about. Not a whole lot to say, I'm excited about how this design will change and reflect her growth this season! Praise Saint Kristen Applebees!!

Adaine

THE ELVEN ORACLE IS COOL NOW!!! I love her jacket, all the patches and the toned down fur lining is absolutely perfect. I also love the cool strapped bags on her hips and legs, it's just a really cool adventurer addition cementing her as a bad ass practical caster. Her entire face seems more assured and relaxed, which is absolutely amazing for her and reflects how her resting state is no longer as addled with panic and anxiety as it used to be. Her hair also seems a lot more her! Not sure how to describe it, but it seems like she's focusing less on keeping herself perfect, and more on just keeping herself, herself! Not very big design swings or changes, but she doesn't need to change, she just needs to be true to herself. (Also. a huge fan of her cool magic circle shirt.) My only gripe. Give her blue hair. And pronouns. And glasses pretty please.

Fabian

That boy is the future of dance!!!!!!!!!! I love the color palette shift for his design, it's a really great way to show how he's grown out of Bill's shadow and embraced his own passions with the grey tones with red and gold accents. Also a huge fan of the fancy robed pants, tons of great movement lines and something a dancer would totally wear. On the same note however, I feel like it doesn't really go with the rest of his outfit. I love how the changes made are geared towards movement and dance(his shoes changing from sneakers to dance shoes is great) but I feel like the changes are all sort of mismatched? The dance shoes look a lot like tap shoes, but the pants look more big and flowy, better for a more leaping and running style of dance, and his jacket has almost nothing to do with dance. It's delightfully artsy and detailed, which is so chic and Fabian, but the shapes of it don't really match up, and especially without a clear view of the front it makes him look like he's wearing half of a matador outfit. I would've loved to see a more dramatic silhouette without the use of the battle sheet(which is absolutely perfect, no notes) with either lots of flowy parts for movement, or a sharp jacket with skinnier pants for that exaggerated silhouette. Again, I think this is really all due to a lack of research, but the spirit of Fabian is still in the room with us. The colors are great, the bandages on his hands are perfect, and the fanciful element is very on point, just needs some better shape language and cohesiveness.

Riz

There he goes, he's gone from gritty detective to gadget-heavy superspy. I LOVE the character choices that Murph made for Riz, he's become even more of a loser and seems a lot less hard and fast, and more generally passionate. In freshman and sophomore year, he was entirely goal oriented, completely focused on completing his mission and solving the mystery, this time around he's still got a mission, but because he can't do it all himself, he's sort of given the opportunity to branch out and explore himself. This is all to say, i love the insufferable loser hipster kid that he's become. He is truly the trinket goblin of all time, I love all his wild little gadgets and jewelry, and all the extra arcano-tech screens on his glasses are brilliant. I'm also a huge fan of his torso gun-holdster, which is a beautiful homage to his detective nature. The undercut is also obviously perfection. The loser teen-boy urge to cut away your beautiful hair for a nerdy undercut is so painfully lore accurate that it's one of my favorite details. It's probably because he's a dork. but I would love to know why he has rolled up pants and no socks. What is that. Why would he do that. ALSO STOP BEING A COWARD D20. GIVE HIM DIGITIGRADE LEGS AND A TAIL. CAT GOBLIN TRUTHERS UNITE!!!!!!!!!!

anyways that's probably the end of my rant for now. I love the bad kids and overall their designs are great. constantly wishing all of my headcannons were real but understanding that the cannon will never relent.

#dimension 20 #d20 #fantasy high #bad kids #adaine abernant #kristen applebees #fig faeth #fabian aramais seacaster #riz gukgak #gorgug thistlespring

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millenialfanfictionaddiction · 2 years

Text

Karasuno, Shiratorizawa, Inarizaki and Nekoma:

Manager has an Art Exibit

Karasuno x GN! Manager; Shiratorizawa x GN!Manager; Inarizaki x GN! Manager; Nekoma x GN! Manager

Warnings: PURE FLUFF, light swearing

A/N: This is an Anon request

Karasuno

The most feral of the 4 teams

I think we all know this but just to reiterate

Literally, I don’t care if they know absolutely nothing about art

The fact is they all suddenly become FASCINATED by it just because their manager is into it

Asahi has the most appreciate, followed by Kiyoko and Yachi

When they first find out you are into Art, they demand to see what you do daily

Idk if you only added one line to a drawing or maybe planned a new piece of pottery

These boys will be so into it!

They will ask the same question daily which is “can you teach me YN?”

When you tell them you have an exhibit coming up, they don’t even ask if they are invited

They just assume 😌

If it’s at a fancy place, they were their school uniforms because it’s the nicest thing they own 🤣

Daichi reminds them to keep the volume to a minimum

Hinata tells Kageyama not to look at anything breakable because his face is ugly/scary enough to break it on site

The “iTs My FaCe AsShOlE” speech follows

Tsukki is actually semi interested and wanders around looking at the exhibits

Noya and Tanaka glare at everyone until they say how amazing your pieces are 🙄

Ennoshita tells you that he will forcefully remove them if needed

Suga actually asks detailed questions about your work and super interested

Hinata is forced to stay next to Yamaguchi so he doesn’t accidentally break anything

All in all, solid 20/10 support and 6/10 safety around breakable pieces 🥰

Shiratorizawa

The most regal of the teams

Literally they showed up, literally in suits YN

SUITS 🫡

Someone quick, take a picture for your memory wall 📱

Honestly they don’t talk about your art much because volleyball practice is for volleyball

But after practice, Semi, Reon and Tendou show the most interest

Semi is super into your style and is always looking at your sketches/ finished products

Reon and Tendou are just super supportive, giving feedback and wanting to learn more

Ushijima doesn’t say anything BUT he is totally listening and storing away everything you say

Goshiki, well Goshiki tries 😅

He wants to know more but the boy doesn’t have a creative bone in his body

He is the definition of a “super volleyball idiot”

Shirabu and Kawanishi don’t really understand art but they still encourage you none the less

At your exhibit, they all walk the floor together

Like a flock of birds 😂

One of them moves and they others follow

They only mingle with you and keep a close eye on your work

Literally they don’t want anyone messing with all the hard work you’ve put in

You’ll talk with them about what you’ve done and that’s when Ushijima surprises you

“I see you used the light purple over the dark purple Yn, that was an excellent move.”

The team 👉🏻👁️👄👁️

Tendou 👉🏻🖐🏻👁️⭕️👁️🖐🏻

You 👉🏻🥹

These boys adore you so much YN, solid 10/10!

Inarizaki

Kita puts it on the board in the teams locker room

“YN’s art exhibit at 7pm TUESDAY NIGHT! Show up or I’ll make sure you get benched!” -Kita ❤️

That message was meant for one person and one person only

And I think we all know who 👀

*cough* ATSUMU *cough*

It’s not that Atsumu doesn’t support you, it’s just that his brain really only functions on volleyball

Kita and Aran will use every change they get to hype up your art work

Omimi suggests they use it in volleyball somehow

Even if it’s pottery or creative writing, they find a way

Akagi is super interested in what you do, always asking questions

Suna sits by you while you work, you have an unspoken relationship of just silent co-existence

He’s super peaceful 😌

Ginjima is a hype man, literally show him your new work and he will scream your praises

Osamu and you both encourage each other in your chosen talents

You taste his creations and give feedback and he critics your art

He’s an honest boy and we support it!

Riseki, our sweet baby, just loves supporting you because it makes you smile

At the exhibit, they honestly act semi normal

Atsumu and Osamu promised not to fight

Suna and Ginjima stood in between Samu and Sumu so they DIDNT fight

Kita, Aran, Omimi and Akagi are all like ridiculously interested in art

Like they talk to you about all the exhibits and point out their favs

Riseki kind of stands there, awkward but he tries

Sumu compares art to volleyball and how he’s basically the artist of the team

Samu tells Sumu that volleyball is a sport, not an art which leads to fighting

Which then leads to Suna and Gibjima having to take the children home early

Solid 10/10 moral support but they might cause you a lot of stress 😅

Nekoma

I’m calling it, best team for Art Exibit support goes to Nekoma 🏆

Literally they are the most calm of all of the teams here and definitely beyond supportive

Literally YN, they worship the ground you walk on

So when they find out you are into Art, oh lord

They bug you non-stop to show them what you’re doing

Kuroo doesn’t even need to remind them you have an exibit, they just show up

Kai and Yaku are your support system, giving feedback and helping you carry things and organize everything

Yamamoto is security, hype man and literally #1 Yn simp

Kenma thinks your art is awesome and you’re one of the only people he talks to regularly

Lev, Shibayama, and Inuoka literally adore you so much and want to know everything about your art

Fukunaga, a fellow artist but with words, literally always knows just the thing to say to cheer you up

And Kuroo talks about how you are the carbohydrates that fuel the team 😂

Because he would and we all know it

At your exhibit, they are the first to show up and the last to leave

Kenma might sneak off and play a game or two

But the rest are super interested

Kai takes photos, if allowed, and posts them in the teams group chat

Yaku will discuss every single exibit with you

Kuroo stands around like a proud dad 😂

Lev critics things because he’s an honest boy even thought he knows nothing about art

Inuoka and Shibayama literally just gawk at you because you are so cute when you are happy

Yamamoto is alot like Tanaka and Noya but a tiny bit tamer

Fukunaga takes notes on what he wants to talk to you about later when he finally gets to discuss your art with you

100/10 support

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works-of-heart · 14 days

Note

✨️Let's spread some love and appreciation!✨️

If you got this, it means someone loves your blog! ❤️

Tag 5 mutuals and say what you like about them; their art, fanfiction, positivity, sense of humor... Whatever it is that you find amazing about them!

=D I love this!! Thank you to whoever sent this and to those who have tagged me. Honestly, I've been so humbled by the amount of wonderful people I've met and seen in this community. All of you have made my days brighter, have made the hard times easier, and I thank everyone for that.

@zenkindoflove and @crazy-ache you are both amazing women! One of the first people who reached out to me and made me feel welcome here. You are both wise and caring, protective mama bears and absolutely amazing friends. I love how I can talk to you both about everything going on. Aside from just being stellar people, you both are so creative!

Individually you have your stupendous talents when it comes to writing Elucien and Erixius. Reading your fics have been such great escapes for me!

@starsreminisce and @acourtofthought The Meta queens!! Seriously, both of you on my dash has brought new light and insight into the writing of SJM that I hadn't thought of before. When the antis challenge the ship, you both come out swinging with info and facts to shut it down, highlighting quotes and comparisons in such an eloquent way!

I love reading Stars' takes on the chearacters, reading through what SJM's intentions are and possibly what could be laid out for the future books. I also love your insight into astrology, and your very wise breakdown of it!

Acourtofthought has been on the frontlines with all the facts to back up her statements and arguments! Seeing the wisdom you put out there on my feed in the day is one of my favorite things to wake up to!

@lostinthemidnightsky I always enjoy chatting with you! I giggle at our conversations when looking at some of the crazy takes out there and bonding over the love of our ships! I enjoy seeing your thoughts and befuddlements of people who try to put down our ships and discredit them with facts and canon. It's always a joy to share in our mutual love and understanding of these characters who have a special place in our hearts!

@olenvasynyt What is there not to love about this beautiful person?! You have such a great sense of humor, your tags generally have me falling over laughing. You're empathetic, wise, and have such a genuine and beautiful heart!! I also love your sass when people try to bring you down, seeing you shine has been such a joy! Also, your art??? Stunning! You're so creative and talented in writing and illustration that I can't wait to see more from you!

@thrumbolt @luciensdefenseattorney and @little-fierling You are all so talented and amazing people!!! Seriously, the art I've seen from you, the dedication, the skill, you guys fill this fandom with such beautiful joy!

Thrumbolt's comics and images give me life!!! They are so talented, and the Elaingate comedy gold that spilled forth gave us a new ship we never knew we needed. It's been so nice to see another person in the fandom who doesn't absolutely despise Tamlin! Seeing the positive art that has come from them has made me so happy, and knowing someone also sees Tamlin in the same way I do has been so refreshing!

Luciensdefenseattourney is so talented and kind!! She's always pushing the limit on her art and bringing forth stunning commissions and very cute and delicious sensual art of elucien! One of my first art friends I made in this community! I cannot wait to see more of what you do and watch you continue to push the envelope and develop into an artist I've constantly admired!

Little fireling is one of my besties!! We both love The Vanserra boys and Lulu!! It's been fun being able to work with things with you (iykyk =3) and I hope we can do more of that in the future! It's always so much fun to talk with you and see your work!! You are insanely talented and skilled, and a joy to be around!

@the-darkestminds @goghwilde and @bonecarversbestie You guys light up my day when we get to gushing about Elucien and what we can't wait to see!

Goghwilde has been on the frontlines of the elucien reddit and has been someone who always gives us awesome content for elucien and stands up to antis. You are such a sweet person and a gift to us all!

Bonecarverbestie is sweet and an absolute gem to talk to! I love hearing all your Elucien Head canons and theories are so much fun and it's great to see what's in that creative mind of yours!

Thedarkestminds is a treasure!! I love our group discussions and how at times, we have many of the same thoughts about the NC and the IC. It is also so great to find another Nesta stan in the sea of people who treat her unfairly in this fandom!

And of course @teddyhoneybear !! You are one of the sweetest people in this fandom! Always a light of positivity and love, always a gentle and warm heart. Your hype and joy has me constantly striving to be a better artist and person!

There are like a million other people on my mutuals that I could go on and on and on with, but this has already gone on too long! I've definitely gotten more than 5, but everyone has been so special and I love you all!

#elucien #acotar #acotar fandom

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justsomeoneintoomanyfandoms · 10 months

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Headcanons for @chantillymoon

This was really fun to do! I am currently up to episode 261 of One Piece (Water 7) so please keep that in mind while reading. Because I haven't officially met Brook yet, all of my headcanons are based on what I've read in fanfics and a bit of research so hopefully I'm not too far off.

Platonic headcanons on the rest of the Straw Hat crew can be found here!

Fandom: One Piece

Characters: Brook and Usopp x gn! Reader (separate and platonic)

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Thoughts on being friends with the Straw Hat crew.

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I see Brook as someone who’s always got a song stuck in his head. And he’s going to make it everyone’s problem. But is it really a problem when he actually has the voice for it? Yes. Yes, it is. Especially when you’re listening to him humming the same part of that one song for the tenth time that day.

At the same time, he’s great to have around if you’ve got a song stuck in your head. Brook knows so many songs that you’d be hard pressed finding one he couldn’t sing for you. And if he doesn’t know the song, he’s pretty good at picking up tunes quickly.

Have sore muscles? Those bony fingers are great for digging into twisted muscles and sore spots. Brook may have gone through a lot because of his Devil Fruit but he’s glad he can do something with it to help his friends.

He’s got a surprisingly good eye for fashion…if he had eyes! In all seriousness, please take him with you next time you need to go shopping for clothes. Between him and Nami, you’ll get back to the ship with a whole new wardrobe full of amazing clothes that suit you perfectly.

Whether you’re quiet or talkative, Brook loves just being in your presence. If you’re on the quiet side, he likes the tranquillity of sitting in companionable silence with someone. And if you’re talkative, he enjoys listening to everything you have to say.

Similarly, Brook’s great to talk to if you want to get anything off your chest. He’s a good listener and won’t spread around anything you’ve told him unless he thinks it could harm the crew (even then, he’d most likely keep it secret for a while). He also gives really good advice.

Brook missed out on a lot during his time in the Florian Triangle so he enjoys having a younger friend to help bring him up to speed. That being said, he’s an absolute menace with the way he mixes slag from his era with modern day sayings. Think something along the lines of “oh, they know their onions, they're no noob” and "ok you cad, time to catch these hands".

If you want to learn how to play an instrument or sing, Brook is more than happy to help. He’s had decades of practice and, even though he’s a bit rusty at explaining things to others, he’s patient and dedicated to teaching you.

Everyone has that one artist friend. And Usopp definitely falls into that category. He’s constantly got a sketchbook with him and will draw anything and everything. If you’re also into art, you’ll definitely bond over that.

Will absolutely hid behind you in battle. Whether you’re taller than him or not, he feels comfortable enough around you to chose you as his hiding spot.

Makes up stories about your bravado and wild adventures as well. While the other straw hats might react badly to Usopp telling stories about them, even if they are meant to improve their reputation, he hopes you will react differently.

In the same manner, Usopp would love to practice his pre-battle speeches with you and get some feedback. He’s a theatre kid at heart but he needs someone he trusts to work on his lines with. As one of his closest friends (and someone hopefully less judgmental than Nami), you fit that description.

He is also the perfect person to tell you stories about the other straw hats, especially if you joined later. He’s an entertainer and, even if he exaggerates his role in events, you’re able to piece together their adventures to date.

Much like Brook, Usopp has a good eye for fashion, but more from the perspective of figuring out what colours and patterns go together. If you’re struggling to put together an outfit, he’s more than happy to give you his two cents worth.

Gossip buddies! If you like gossip or have a way of knowing things about people, you, Usopp, and Nami are the designated “gossip squad” of the straw hats. Usopp is always a good source of information, even if he tends to embellish sometimes.

If you have long hair and don’t feel like tying it up, Usopp should be your first port of call. Sure, Sanji’s amazing with styling hair but he’s usually busy in the kitchen and Nami and Robin usually wear theirs down. Usopp has the free time and skills to help you out. Fair warning though, he may get carried away by his creative tendencies.

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Hey, did you enjoy this? If you like my writing, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi page! This will allow me to make some money off my writing, something I enjoy doing.

ko-fi.com/justsomeoneintoomanyfandoms

Important Note: Please only donate if you are financially able to. If you are currently in a position where you can't donate, a like, comment or reblog will mean just as much.

#writing #fanfic #headcanons #headcanon request #request #one piece #soul king brook #usopp #one piece x reader #platonic #brook x reader #usopp x reader

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flaresanimedump · 4 months

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Why Fukuzawa is the Hottest BSD Character

*Cracks knuckles* ok here’s “what’s likeable about Fukuzawa/Why would Ranpo like Fukuzawa” because I saw that again recently

1) HAVE YOU SEEN HIM?!?!?

Twunks are agelessly hot. Don’t pretend you didn’t think movie stars 10+ years older than you were attractive as a teen. And everyone currently thirsting over BTS - he was the same age as they are when Ranpo met him.

2) You like strong, warm hugs where it feels like you’re swallowed up in the other person’s arms? You like the safe feeling it gives you?

What if those strong warm arms belonged to a bodyguard??

3) Ok now what if those strong arms belonged to a bodyguard who was also once a bad guy.

You know those hands can kill because they have before. But they’re gentle with you, careful. He’s on his way to being reformed but you’re seeing the good that was always there to start with, if only the world hadn’t pushed him into violence. This is Bungo Stray Dogs so just go ahead and briefly imagine this as a dog rescued from dogfighting that’s the absolute sweetest thing you’ve ever met. Now transfer that feeling to Fukuzawa, a man who was used by the government in a war Ranpo was too young to be part of, a rogue who’s learned the error of his ways and seeks to repent, a reformed bad boy with a heart of gold, you might say??? Incredible I’ll take 12.

4) Before we get into the long character analysis stuff I am going to try to impart to you the allure of an older man who isn’t a creep.

4.1) They’re wise and confident. They can offer help nobody your age can.

4.2) They stay calmer under pressure. An island of serenity.

4.3) When they get mad they usually get shit done. Way less drama. Fukuzawa may be a slight exception because of his former boyfriends but he has done his best to kill them both himself so I stand by the statement.

4.4) They’re still very human. Fukuzawa specifically gets passionate and loses himself in emotion when he’s worried or afraid, but it takes a lot to crack his exterior chill. It’s extremely hot when you get a reaction you had to work for.

5) Fukuzawa is about the most dependable husband-type we have in BSD.

He built up a whole agency to support his and Ranpo’s life together (a lifestyle they both wanted to continue, as mentioned in 4th anime opening Shirushi) despite initially being bad at 90% of the skills required.

(Rough Shirushi lyrics in question below)

Fukuzawa's described as "afraid of strangers" and thinks to himself how everything about leading a company is something he could never do in Origins,

and then we see him 12 years later and he's worked really hard to be able to do it. We get all these hints about how connected he is now

and we see how good he is at leading the ADA but there are times when it's clear it's something he adopted and not what he was born for, like when Mori started asking about strategy books and he'd only read the most common one, or how he plays Go but was reading a book about the rules in one of the official arts set in present day.

Of course, Tsun Tzu isn't exactly light reading, but I don't think Asagiri would make the character based on the most notable proponent of education in Japan be less well read than his opponent if it wasn't core to Fukuzawa's character in BSD. He's worked so hard to be what the ADA needs and wasn't/isn't a genius at it but still does well, and he basically switched careers on a whim at 33 to support Ranpo. Imagine if somebody did all that for you. If Ranpo wasn’t in love with him before I think that would be the killing blow.

6) Even if Fukuzawa’s not a genius, he’s able to understand and accept others more than any of the "normal" people in Yokohama.

He thought Ranpo was amazing when everyone else thought he was annoying (Fukuzawa also thought he was annoying of course, but the amazing part won out in the end). He experienced the full brunt of Ranpo’s observation and felt bad that he got upset over it when literally every other person who’d encountered Ranpo over the course of 2 years had been angry, shouted, and in the case of the Police Academy dorm head and presumably Ranpo's classmates, beat him for it.

We can guess from the agency members Fukuzawa employs that he’s a freak magnet and it’s probably because of this trait of his. I’d say he has ‘clear vision’ in that he’s able to see if someone is good or bad beyond societal norms even though he is aware of them himself.

Basically, Ranpo doesn’t like “common sense,” and while Fukuzawa is familiar enough with it to function normally in society, he’s one of very few like that who aren’t governed by it.

7) Fukuzawa is a genuinely good, kind person.

He listened to Ranpo more than anybody but his parents would, took him in when nobody else would. He refused to become a soldier, to go and kill other soldiers with no power over the outcome of the war, in order to assassinate the officials actually responsible for continuing the war.

I’d argue that Fukuchi was trying to follow in his footsteps with his grand war-stopping plan – that he felt Fukuzawa’s decision to kill the fewest possible people to end the war was correct. And Fukuzawa made personal sacrifices to do that, letting his best friend go to the front alone, not knowing if he’d live or die. Losing friends and losing the respect of those who did come back when he quit.

But even though there’s a good chance that what Fukuzawa did saved a lot of lives, and even though the people we're aware he killed were unquestionably evil, he still felt that his feelings at the time put him in the wrong. He was still horrified at what he was capable of and quit once all the officials who could restart the war were dead.

There aren’t many characters in BSD with that kind of moral fiber. Dazai’s not trying to repent in the ADA, he’s just there to do good because a friend said he should. Ranpo’s not a bad guy but he’s not exactly caring or in possession of a strong moral compass.

Atsushi’s obsession with doing good is so tightly wound into his own self-worth it’s almost involuntary, which takes away some of his agency in his actions. We know Tanizaki is willing to commit murder without fear, Kunikida was fine with letting Atsushi be kidnapped, and everyone in the Port Mafia is morally gray at best. Even the Special Operations Division is governed by a “needs of the many over the needs of the few” mentality.

Arguably the only other characters who even come close to this level of humanity are Oda and Chuuya, but Oda's not in this essay and even Chuuya doesn’t care as much about collateral damage. The only characters in the cannibalism arc who drew a line to stop their groups from killing each other and anybody who got too close were Fukuzawa and Mori, and Mori’s morality would require another essay. So I’d argue that in a series where many are great, Fukuzawa is a very rare good man.

As illustrated by his scene with Fukuchi and Teruko. Fukuchi is a great man willing to work himself to the bone and die for others, but he’s also willing to “curse” Fukuzawa, as Ranpo said in the finale, with the long-term burden of his plan, and to kill innocent people to make it all happen. Teruko is a great girl willing to carry out Fukuchi’s orders out of either devotion to him or to justice, but she’s willing to kill and frame a man she knows isn't a villain to do it. The ends justify the means.

(To be clear I think this makes her a great character, but not one whose allegiance is to simple good-ness.)

Fukuzawa isn’t willing to kill someone who isn’t evil. He WAS willing to kill his evil mad friend to save his other friends. We saw that when he first struck Fukuchi down, so it wasn’t the closeness of their relationship that stayed his hand after he understood Fukuchi’s plan. It was that he felt the ends did not justify the means.

Virtually every other character in this series would have done it, thus: Fukuzawa is a good man in a series full of great people.

And that is what I ultimately think made Ranpo attach himself to Fukuzawa and listen to him without question despite Fukuzawa being an idiot in comparison. Let's face it, Fukuzawa's a bit of a himbo. But Ranpo realized he could trust Fukuzawa to know right from wrong at the same time he realized he couldn't trust himself to know: when Fukuzawa shouted at him after his rescue in Origins.

Ranpo was in the process of doing exactly what all the other characters do: whatever it took to catch the bad guys/stop the bad thing from happening. He allowed himself to be kidnapped and accepted the risk that he might be shot in order to find the hideout of the men responsible for, so far, a murder and a kidnapping conspiracy with Very Bad implications for the peace in Japan (kidnapping Natsume is not something they would do JUST for a ransom).

Objectively, without considering the human element, this appears to be the correct choice. Ranpo being in temporary danger isn't a big deal when the grand scheme has such major red flags for national security. Many many more people were probably in danger, and we now know the group was somehow tied to Fyodor so yeah, he was on a Very Troubling Thread. But even without knowing Fyodor's connection it seems sort of brilliant and ideal.

The ends justify the means.

But Fukuzawa didn't see it that way. He didn't care about catching the bad guys, he didn't care about efficiency or Ranpo's plans or anything of the sort. He was the only guy in the city whose main focus was on the human element - on Ranpo. Fukuzawa presented a fundamentally different way of thinking that Ranpo and the majority of the cast just aren't capable of, and it's natural to him. And I think Ranpo understood that in a split second when Fukuzawa said he shouldn't put his life in danger and decided that even if Fukuzawa was essentially blind compared to him, Fukuzawa's decisions would always be better than his.

SO that's what I think Ranpo would like about Fukuzawa and what makes Fukuzawa attractive!! Also he's really sexy :D

#fukuran #ranfuku #fukuzawa yukichi #character analysis #dogfighting #mention #idk I thought I'd tag that just to be safe #I also think this is why Fukuzawa dying would be very very bad even if Kunikida is in place to take over #He's still not ready #Ranpo would be like a pokemon too strong for its master lol #unruly and disobedient because Kunikida's liable to get sucked into the numbers instead of focusing on right and wrong #idk if this makes any sense I just wrote this in a haze #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs

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dano-or-not · 2 months

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Ekurei is amazing and to this day it's my absolutely favorite ship on the series! Honestly it's sad to see it's so forgotten today, i remember how in the earlier days of the fandom it was THE thing, everyone talked about it (atleast in the part of the fandom i was in), there was so much art of reigen and ekubo (in the body of that claw guard), it was INSANE.

Tbh i could make a very long essay about Ekurei and how much it means to me, they are SO SPECIAL UGH, but ill just stick to the fact that in the anime Ekubo says to Shigeo "if you die and can't pass on, atleast we'll have each other" during mogami arc. But in the webcomic, he says it to REIGEN. and it just makes me insane, because, him saying it to Reigen gives a big insight and even foreshadowing of Ekubo's character.

like, hear me out, him saying it to Shigeo is cute and i love it, and don't get me wrong, i fully believe it was genuine, but when he says it, it has no impact to me, because i unconsciously only see it as other of his excuses to use Mob or just to get in his good graces, but bro, when he says it to Reigen, it gets me crazy, because he has NO REASON to say it to him, he knows Reigen is a fraud and has no use for him, and at that point they've only known each other for a very brief period.

SO HIM SAYING THAT TO REIGEN AFTER SO FEW TIME JUST SHOWS SO MUCH OF EKUBO'S TRUE CHARACTER EARLY ON, how he really wants someone, a friend, a companionship, someone who understands him and makes he feel seen, really sees him. and Reigen is that person, i rest my case. and i also apologize for this ask LOL, i really need some roach killer, those dudes are making me crazy

Hello third anon!!

I'm glad to see love for the ship! Sadly in the fandom's early days I didn't even know Mob Psycho 100 existed, so I had no idea it used to be so popular! I'll have to do more digging to find some of the older stuff.

And the paradise line! Yes you're so right about it! Imagine saying "if you cannot go to paradise when you die you can always stay with me" to a guy who really only serves as an obstacle in your plans. No reason to unless you just enjoy his company, something proven by how he continues to hang out at Spirits & Such even after Mob stops going there as often.

From the second they laid eyes on each other they had the other all figured out in their schemes. They have nothing to lie to the other about, so when one says how they care about Mob they genuinely mean it. It's just easy, whether it's in terms of friendship or romance.

Stock up on roach killer. They're roaches for a reason; once you start going crazy about them they'll never be defeated.

#mob psycho 100 #mp100 #ekurei #reigen arataka #mp100 dimple #dimple mp100 #fandom #ask #roach killer

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onceuponaoneshotfanfic · 10 months

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Love's a Game, Wanna Play?

I'll Write Your Name Chapter 1

Roy Kent x Latina!Popstar!Reader

2.9k words

Warnings: Language, mentions of drinking/partying, Roy being kind of pathetic for Keeley

A/N: Ahh I'm so excited for this series! I was inspired while watching the Eras movie and it just kind of spiraled from there. I am so, so excited to share this with you ❤️

As always, @agentstarkid is an absolute angel for letting me yammer about this thing nonstop!

The tabloid headlines screamed up at me from my publicist’s office coffee table, all about how Everett, my idiot boyfriend- ex-boyfriend now- had punched out some guy in a club. And in every photo, there I was behind Ev, holding two drinks and laughing. Granted, one of those drinks was his. And the laughter was because in my drunken state, I genuinely thought Everett and the other guy were just goofing around. But none of that mattered when people had magazines to sell.

“Babe,” Lanie, my publicist, was saying from her spot next to me on the couch. “We need a serious image makeover.”

“I already broke up with Everett for continuing to be the world’s biggest jackass,” I reminded her as I grabbed some M&M’s from the coffee table. “Not sure what else there is to do.”

April, my personal assistant, picked up one of the magazines and began to flip through it. “It’s not just Everett,” she started slowly, opening up to the article all about mine and Ev’s ‘wild night’ at the club. “It’s you. You party, you go out with guy after guy, this Twitter thing with, well, you know…” She shrugged. “You’re getting something of a reputation, love.”

I sighed and popped another candy into my mouth. “I bet Ev’s people aren’t having this conversation with him right now,” I grumbled childishly.

“Because everyone already knows he’s garbage,” Lanie snorted. “This is exactly the kind of behavior they expect from him. But you-” She grasped my hand, her face full of affection. “-you are amazing. You’re a great writer and performer, and you’re a role model. So what the hell you were doing with that rat, no one could ever understand.”

“Hmmph.” I slouched further onto the couch, pretending that she wasn’t completely correct about Everett being scummy. He was cute, in that skinny, pale, undernourished, unshowered way rock stars tended to be. He was famous and had a commanding stage presence with a swagger he really hadn’t earned. And he was always ready to have a good time. But he wasn’t exactly sweet. Or sensitive, unless someone was criticizing his art. Or really all that intelligent, although he liked to talk like he was.

April cleared her throat. “Lanie and I think we might… need some outside help.”

I narrowed my eyes, always suspicious when these two were in cahoots without me. “What kind of outside help?”

“Keeley Jones,” Lanie said simply, pulling out her phone. “Has her own firm. I’ve worked with her before. The woman’s a bit… quirky. But she’s brilliant, babes.” She showed me a picture of a woman I was sure I’d seen before. “We’ll meet with her the day after tomorrow to talk strategy.”

“She’s a fan,” April added in that helpful voice of hers. “She loves your music.”

I studied the picture carefully. “Keeley Jones,” I murmured. “She’s a model, right? Or was, I assume?” Before either woman could respond, it clicked. “Oh shit,” I hissed. “She’s one of those poor women who got her photos and videos leaked last year, isn’t she?”

“She was,” Lanie confirmed. “So, she completely understands how ruthless and, frankly, unfair the press can be to a woman. It’s one of the reasons I think she’ll be a good fit. She’s pretty passionate about defending women from unfair treatment.”

“Well,” I sighed, leaning back, “guess we can hear her out, see what she has in mind.”

Lanie cleared her throat, glancing at April, who looked just as anxious. “Actually,” my publicist said slowly, “we already know what she has in mind.”

Keeley sat in Roy’s chair, feet casually up on his desk, scrolling absently on her phone while she waited for the gaffer to come in from the pitch.

“Oh. Uh, hi Keeley.” Roy Kent stood stiffly in the doorway, the way he often stood when he saw his ex-girlfriend. Fuck, she looked pretty today, in a stupidly fluffy pink sweater and ridiculously high heeled boots. Keeley always looked pretty.

Either Keeley didn’t notice the way his eyes softened at the sight of her, or she chose to ignore it. “Hey there, Roy-o!” she greeted, swinging her feet off his desk and sitting up straight. “D’you have a minute?”

For Keeley? Roy had all the minutes in the fucking world. To an extent, she knew that; he did come stumbling to her house with Jamie Tartt, begging her to choose between them, after all. And she cherished Roy, she really did. He treated her better than anyone else ever had. But she also knew that the way he loved her wasn’t the way she loved him or was even the way she wanted to be loved.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t use his softness for her to her advantage every now and then.

“I’ve got a proposition for you,” she started slowly as Roy leaned on his desk, not growling at her to get out of his chair like he would to anyone else. “See, I’ve got this client, and she needs some help in the PR department.”

Roy smirked. “She wanted the best, so she came to Keeley fucking Jones for help?”

Keeley shrugged off his praise. “Well, kind of. Her people came to me for a consultation. I know her publicist, she’s fabulous, they’re just a bit at a loss right now.”

“Can I ask who it is?” Roy vaguely recognized the name Keeley responded with. “That fucking pop star, right? With all the boyfriends?”

“Pop phenomenon, you mean,” Keeley snorted. “She’s only one of the biggest names in the world.”

Like Roy gave a fuck about some pop princess. “If she’s so big, why does she need PR help?

Keeley sighed. “She’s got some bad press right now. Her gross boyfriend- ex-boyfriend now, thankfully- got into a fight at a club, sent the guy to hospital. And somehow, this is her fault. Not to mention that this actress that she used to hang out with is all over Twitter badmouthing her, saying she’s trying to steal her boyfriend. She’s just… got a lot going on at the moment.”

“Fucking trainwreck,” Roy mumbled, starting to wonder where the fuck he came into play.

“She’s really not,” Keeley insisted. “Her publicist- Lanie- says she’s actually really great. Very kind and intelligent. She just goes out a lot and apparently has shit choice in company.” She lit up. “That’s where I need you, Roy.”

I need you, Roy. Those four words had Roy sitting up taller, smirking a little as he gazed at that pretty face. “And what, exactly, do you need me for?”

Keeley bit her lip. “D’you know what a ‘publicity stunt’ is?”

I drained the last of my giant coffee cup as I approached the elevator, sighing when I realized it had not made my tequila-caused headache disappear. While I’d promised Lanie I wouldn’t be going out for a bit, she’d never said anything about me having people over. Just a dozen of my closest friends, laughing in my living room and losing track of shots. Definitely what I needed to take my mind off the headlines, but probably not the best idea before an early-morning breakfast meeting at KBPR.

“You need to press the button.”

“Excuse me?” I turned in the direction of the voice- the growl, really- that pulled me out of my thoughts.

The bearded man let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling his brown eyes. “You need to press the fucking button,” he repeated slowly, as if to a toddler, “if you want to call the lift.”

Behind my oversized sunglasses, I narrowed my eyes at him, ignoring my initial observation that he was pretty damn cute. “Are you really implying that I don’t know how to use an elevator?” I scoffed.

He reached around me, completely invading my personal space, and hit the button in question. “Well, you’re standing here just fucking staring,” he grumbled. “So, either you’re a fucking zombie, or you don’t know how to use a lift. Either way, you’re making me fucking late.”

With a scowl, I turned to face the doors, desperate for them to open- although less desperate to get into the enclosed space with this man. As soon as the elevator dinged, I stepped inside the still opening doors, smashing the floor number Lanie had texted me and settling myself into a corner with crossed arms. The man stepped on after me and reached for the buttons, but stopped, thumb hovering over the number I had just hit. With a small hmmph, he slouched in the opposite corner, mirroring my closed-off body language.

It was a silent ride, filled with scowls and impatient huffs from both of us. I tried to remember the last time someone was so snide to me; it definitely didn’t happen often, at least not away from the safe anonymity of the internet.

When the elevator got to our floor, the man glared at me, a grunt urging me to step out first. I gave a hum of acknowledgement, matching his curt tone and refusing to give him the satisfaction of eye contact.

What a dick.

Unfortunately, that dick was about two steps behind me as I walked down the hall to the KBPR office. I tried to ignore the heavy sounds of his footsteps and focus on the insane idea this supposedly brilliant PR expert had come up with.

That PR expert smiled at me when I approached, sticking her hand out. “I’m Keeley Jones,” she chirped, her professional tone and handshake contrasting with her bright pink dress and sparkly shoes. “It is so nice to meet you!” Her eyes shifted behind me. “And I assume you already met Roy in the lift!”

Oh no. Oh hell no. There was no way this was the guy, this scowling, rude, son of a-

“Can we start this meeting?” the man- Roy- grumbled as he approached. “I’ve only got like an hour. I left Beard in charge of training, so the team’s probably in the fucking sewer again.”

“Come on in,” Keeley Jones hummed, gesturing for us to follow her. We walked through the bright office, following her into what I assumed was her personal office, one as brightly lit and colorful as her.

Lanie was already on the plush couch, scrolling on her phone. She raised her eyebrows when she saw me. “What’s up with the sunglasses? Not hungover, are we?” Her bored tone was annoyingly familiar.

I rolled my eyes and plopped down on the couch next to her, removing the shades. “Didn’t want to be recognized on my way into a public relations office,” I muttered, tucking them into my purse. “Figured that would defeat the purpose of this whole operation.”

Keeley Jones smiled at me, an admittedly lovely, friendly smile, as she took a seat behind her desk; Roy hovered nearby. “She’s a smart one, Lanie, just like you said.” She looked up at Roy. “You two got acquainted on the lift, then?” When he simply grunted in reply, she turned back to me. “Now, I understand if you think this idea is crazy,” she started slowly. “And it kind of is. But believe me when I say, it’s been done, and I’ve seen it work.” She cleared her throat. “Celebrities fake-date all the time. To promote projects, to deflect bad press, to hide secrets. So you wouldn’t be the first ones to do this, trust me.” She gestured towards Roy. “And I think Roy here is perfect for you. He’s older and more mature than your previous boyfriends, so none of that party-boy stuff. He’s dated plenty of celebrities- including myself- so he knows what comes with the territory. Absolute football legend, so I think you’re suitably matched in terms of fame. And he’s pretty damn private these days.” Her smile softened. “And if I’m being candid, he’s probably the best guy I know. He’s so protective and trustworthy. He’ll have your back.”

“What’s in it for him?” I couldn’t help the way I narrowed my eyes at the brooding man; he returned the glare in kind.

“He could use the press too,” Keeley chuckled, gazing up at him. “I love you, Roy, but you’re not the most poised with the media.” She turned back to me as he rolled his eyes, something close to affection on his face this time. “He could use some of your charm and charisma to bolster his own reputation with the papers.” She nodded firmly. “It’s a match made in heaven. Or KBPR.”

Lanie nudged me. “What d’you think babes?”

I thought it was insane. Fake dating to get the press off my back? There were so many ways this thing could backfire. Not to mention the fact that my potential fake boyfriend was already on my nerves, with his probably permanent scowl and annoyed eyes.

But, as my mind wandered to the headlines I’d passed at the newsstands on my way to this meeting, I knew that I had to at least try.

“Yeah,” I murmured with a shrug. “Let’s do it.”

Roy only vaguely heard her agree to the plan. He was too busy trying not to smile at Keeley’s praise; that he was mature, a legend, protective, and trustworthy. As ridiculous as he thought this whole publicity stunt business was, he was willing to give it a shot- for Keeley.

“Well, since we’re all onboard,” Keeley hummed, pulling out her tablet. “All that’s left to do is sign NDAs and plan your little romance.” She glanced at the calendar on her desk. “I’ve got a meet-cute in mind, actually. You’re friends with Dani Rojas, right?”

Roy blinked as the pop princess nodded, showing enthusiasm for the first time since he found her in front of the lift. “Dani? Oh, I love Dani! He’s such a sweetheart.”

“Oi.” Roy frowned at Keeley. “If they already know each other, why didn’t you ask Rojas to do this shit? The press like him a hell of a lot more than they like me.”

A snort came from the couch. “Don’t think his girlfriends would like him adding another woman to their relationship, even if it’s just pretend.”

Keeley nodded. “Exactly. And again, you’ve got this steady older guy thing going on, Roy. You manage a professional football team, you coach your niece, you sit at home and read. You’re very domestic, and I think she needs to be seen that way.” She grinned. “Dani doesn’t exactly have that same reputation. But he does provide you two with a connection.” She turned her attention back to her visitors. “Here’s what I’m thinking: you get Dani to invite you to a Richmond game and go out with the team afterwards. Win or lose, those guys pretty much always do something after a match. And that’s where you two can meet and connect.” She leaned back comfortably, looking every bit like the boss she was. “Then we’ll get you two seen together, get you to a few more matches, get Roy to a show, make some cryptic social media posts. Soft launch. Then we’ll do your debut as a couple, have you attend events on each other’s arms, gush about each other online and in interviews. Maybe you write Roy a song, maybe you go on holiday together, that kind of thing.” She flipped through the planner on her desk. “All in all, I’m thinking four to six months, then you can end things amicably and stay friends.”

“Six months?” Roy carped. “Keeley, you didn’t mention-”

“That’s a respectable period of time,” the ex-model interrupted. “Long enough for you two to get attention, be believable as a serious couple, and to get everyone to forget about these headlines.” She shook her head at Roy. “What, you thought you’d go on one date and that would be it? Come on, Roy. It took at least three weeks for us to start making headlines together. You know this takes time.”

Roy’s voice went low. “Keeley-”

Keeley stood and grabbed Roy’s arm; he wondered if she could feel that same little surge of energy at the contact. “Will you ladies give us one moment?” She dragged Roy out of the office, out of earshot. “Come on, Roy,” she huffed, letting go of him. “You said you could do this.”

“That was before I met her,” Roy grumbled, folding his arms and missing her touch. “This isn’t gonna work. No one’s going to believe us. We’ve barely met, and already she’s a right fucking nightmare-”

“You’re not exactly my daydream either, Kent.”

Roy whipped around. She stood in the doorway, eyebrows furrowed and arms crossed. She walked over and gazed up at him with nothing but determination on her face.

“Listen,” she started. “I get it. This is stupid. The press is stupid. I think Keeley and Lanie are insane for this scheme, and I don’t really believe it’s going to work, if I’m being honest.” She looked at Keeley. “No offense, Miss Jones.” She turned her eyes back to Roy. “But this whole fame thing is an absolute fucking game. And apparently we both need help playing it.” She stuck her hand out. “I’m in if you are.”

A slow sigh escaped Roy’s lips. He really could use the positive exposure. Despite his growing comfort in front of the cameras, he still had years- decades- of shit press to make up for. And the Greyhounds could always use whatever positive publicity they could get. It’d be good for the club, and Roy would do just about anything for the club.

And he’d do absolutely anything for Keeley.

All it took was one glance over at that face, the face he missed waking up to, and he was done for. “Fine,” he huffed, shaking the popstar’s hand. “I’m fucking in.”

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