#and almond milk too maybe

[hoperays-song]

Named Businesses/Brands in the Sing Franchise: Sing 1

In a recent rewatch of the movies, I tried to find all the named businesses and brands that are in the movies for world building sake (minus bands and entertainment acts cause thats a different list). So here is, in semi chronological order, all the ones that appear in the first movie!

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The Moon Theatre - The primary location of the first movie and starting location of the second.

State of Calatonia Theatre School - An institute of higher education that appeared on a certificate on Buster's office wall.

State of Calatonia University - An institute of higher education that appeared on a diploma on Buster's office wall.

The Modern Drama Institute - An institute of higher education that appeared on a diploma on Buster's office wall.

Bacapti Transport - A store we see Buster bike past.

Grand Store - A store we see Buster bike past, as well as the gang drive past in the city.

Harry's Bar - Harry's restaurant where Ash and Lance performed.

Franklin School of Music - An institute of higher education that Mike claims to have previously studied at.

Les Calmars - A very formal restaurant that we see numerous times through out the first movie, supposedly French cuisine by Buster speaking French to a waiter as well as the name of the restaurant being in French.

SN Eyewear - A brand advertising on the metro line station Ash and Lance were at.

Repair Services Garage/Garage - It is not clear whether or not the garage run by Johnny's family even uses either name, however, that is the wording printed on the building were a name would be.

Gas Station - It is not clear whether or not the gas station has a different name, however, there isn't one on the building's sign so I'm running with this.

Big Kitchen - The brand name of the stove hood in Meena's kitchen.

Rumble Bag - The brand name on the speed bag we see both Marcus and Johnny using in the first movie.

Laundromat - A business to the left of Ash's first apartment, appears to only use the first floor.

Paradise Hotel - A business to the right of Ash's first apartment.

Moon Car Wash - The car wash that Buster's father owned.

Gummlies - A 24 hour store that Ash's first apartment is over. This name does not match the name on the store's shade covering but the first word of that is illegible, and only "Grocery Store" can be read.

Pop Soda - The brand of soda we see in Ash's first apartment, in the flavour orange. We also see it in the pool house in the same flavour.

SCRUN-EEZ - The type of cereal we see Rosita's kids eating and again at the store.

City Store - The store to the left of Moon Theatre. It appears to sell jewelry.

Wholesale Supply - One of the neighboring warehouses to the garage. There is another one on a different street as well as well as where the gang got arrested.

Linais & Badoil - The brand of piano that Johnny and Mrs. Crawly play in the Moon Theatre.

Dodgson - The brand of speakers in Ash's first apartment.

Roc's - The grocery store that Rosita went to during the movie.

Sliced Potatoes - A brand of chips seen in the grocery store that appears to have around six flavours.

Fruity Light - A cereal we see at the grocery store.

Flaky Wheat - A cereal we see at the grocery store.

Bran Cereals - A cereal we see at the grocery store.

Muesli - A cereal we see at the grocery store.

Colorful Crisp! - A cereal we see at the grocery store.

Corn Flakes - A cereal we see at the grocery store with a fox mascot.

Choco Chuncs - A cereal we see at the grocery store.

Honey Sirop - A cereal we see at the grocery store.

Mixed Cereals - A cereal we see at the grocery store.

Fiber Breakfast - A cereal we see at the grocery store in Rosita's cart.

Cookies Mint - A type of a brand of cookies we see at the grocery store.

Cookies Choco - A type of a brand of cookies we see at the grocery store.

Cookies Strawberry - A type of a brand of cookies we see in Rosita's cart.

Spring Water Sourceful - A brand of spring water at the grocery store in Rosita's cart.

Animal Gazette - The newspaper we see Johnny reading.

Dusty's - An establishment across from the Moon Theatre.

SFJ Bank - The bank Judith works for and owned the theatre for awhile.

Eyewitness News - A news channel we see in both movies.

Calatonia University - An institute of higher education that appeared on the shirt of Eddie's that Buster wears in the pool house.

Parrot Herald - A news paper Buster reads in the pool house and is likely affiliated with the other news channel in the movie due to their paper being used in the ending broadcast.

Blip's Bowling Lounge and Bar - An establishment we see behind the new Moon Car Wash.

The Diga Doo - A restaurant we see behind the new Moon Car Wash.

Tabatha's Market - A market we see behind the new Moon Car Wash that advertises fresh foods.

[whatthefoucault]

I am once again asking people to understand that people create and are drawn to monster narratives for different reasons, and there isn't One Reason that's the only valid one, even if you personally find other ones boring or "missing the point."

Maybe YOU want to explore how your vampires to have to be inherently unethical and think every possible justification or minimisation is worse than just having them be evil or whatever. Maybe I just want to write a fruity autistic guy (gn) with iron deficiency and a sun allergy and pointy teeth who has always felt out of step with modern human society, and won't ever go visit other people's homes uninvited because it's impolite.

Maybe that's because I find those things weirdly relatable, but when it's a vampire that's all those things it's cool, instead of me who just dresses like an 18th century grandpa and has an energy many people find offputting.

*oh my god do you not think there could be more than one point, or more than one kind of story you can make out of the same creature. Different types of stories can coexist. Read the ones you think are fun, don't be a dick about the ones you don't. Fuck

[yuukimiyas]

goooood mornie!! ( ˊᵕˋ*) the skies are a lil dreary & grey where im at :< but that doesn’t mean my day has to be the same!! ٩(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )و heres to gettin more stuff done!! have the v best weds my loves!!

[runawaycarouselhorse]

This thread from the CPTSD subreddit about the overabdunance of cheap junk food, but little healthy food (and the weird poverty mindset leading to parents guarding food until it spoils and screaming at anyone who eats [too much] of it or acting like they were planning to eat it, but if you don't eat from it, it gets thrown out) is so illuminating.

[joffyworld]

EUUEEH NOOOOO SKY, NEON

MAKE THEM HAPPYYYYYY NOOOOOOOOOOO

Ive been talking angst with @skyartworkzzz XD they are enabling my ideas-

also ft Big B looking disappointed @albaake

[undyinglantern]

you know, when I watched the anime and the scene where he said this came up, I kinda just nodded and agreed like yeah he’s got a point. But now that I’m reading it at a slower pace I’m like well eating can include disordered eating or having a less than common allergy that you need to constantly keep on top of and be accommodated for, you could have insomnia or narcolepsy or just an irregular circadian rhythm among other sleep irregularities, and there are so many thing that can go wrong with your intestines not to mention even common things like utis or constipation or diarrhea; so eating sleeping and going to the bathroom absolutely are things that can make you nervous for any number of reasons

[vangoggles]

partner and i spend way too much on granola bars so im gonna try buying stuff to make treat bars (marshmallows+assorted breakfast cereals) with like dried fruit and nuts and chocolate chips as mixins, to scratch some of those same craving itches

[tony-andonuts]

Friendly reminder that all you need to make oat milk are oats, water, vanilla extract (optional), a blender/food processor, and cheesecloth/a coffee liner/fine sieve

[miss-floral-thief]

hm, bro bought some brownie ‘brittle’ 

[beetlebip]

I haven’t talked enough about how burdening it is to be intolerant to 90% of milks

[leashybebes]

Hi! Love your work so much! I have a very vague prompt and it’s just Tommy being emotionally vulnerable with Buck. Idc what about I just need this man in tears please and thanks.

well this got longer than intended! i've skimmed over it but basically banged it out in fifteen minutes bc turns out i also need this man in tears

When the bubble pops six weeks after Tommy walked out of the loft, it's not at all what Buck was expecting. He'd hoped for an 'I'm sorry', an 'I was wrong', an 'I want you back'. In bitter moments, he'd even hoped for Tommy to say something really dickish so Buck could just hate him and get on with his life. Hell, even a random string of letters that Buck could interpret as an accident or an attempt to open the lines of communication depending on his mood.

What he gets is:

I've been going to therapy

Finally, right?

I hate it

And then radio silence for the better part of an hour. Buck is about to tear his hair out. He drafts and doesn't send half a dozen responses. The loft smells of chocolate cake by the time the next message comes through.

Sorry, call.

Tell me to get lost, it's fine. But I was wondering if we could talk. I owe you an explanation.

Buck reads it twice, takes the cake out of the oven to cool. Scrolls back up to read the messages from the start. Later, once the cake is filled with sharp redcurrant jelly and covered in a perhaps overly generous layer of toffee buttercream, he picks up his phone again.

I owe you an explanation is glaring at him.

Yeah you do, he sends back. Come over when your shift is done.

The reply is almost instant:

Thank you. 2 hrs.

Two hours suddenly feels like both not enough time to prepare, and far too much time to tie himself up in knots. He deep cleans the kitchen, makes a shopping list, checks in with Maddie. He doesn't mention that he's going to see Tommy.

Somehow, two hours pass in the blink of an eye and Buck realizes - he has no idea what he's going to say. He's spent the last month and a half trying with everything in him not to call Tommy, and he's just now realizing he has no idea what he would have said if he'd given into the urge. Maybe he just wanted to hear the guy's voice, and now he's about to, and he has no idea what to do with himself.

The knock at the door makes him jolt, and that's it, there's no more time to think. His first thought when he opens the door is that it's not fair that Tommy looks so good. He has no business looking so good. His hair is freshly trimmed, those greys at his temple that admittedly send Buck a little feral sparkling in the low light of the hall, his favorite blue Henley soft and stretched across the bulk of his chest, his eyes - Buck's whole train of thought derails because he looks again and Tommy looks - scared. Sad. Like he's holding back from flinching by the skin of his teeth.

"Hey, Tommy."

"Hi, Evan."

Evan, he notes. Steps back. Waves Tommy inside. Tries not to notice the way Tommy's face crumples a little as he steps over the threshold.

"Never thought I'd be here again," he says.

"Me either," Buck admits. "Well, after the first couple weeks when I - " When I sat around and waited for you to come back and tell me you made a mistake. He bites his tongue. Much as he wants to be real bitchy about this, Tommy looks like he is on the edge, and nothing in Buck wants to make that worse.

"You want a coffee?"

"Uh. Sure," Tommy says, and it gives Buck the opportunity to turn his back, to breathe. He's achingly aware of Tommy behind him, of the gravity of his presence, the sound of his breathing (a little shaky), the slight creak as he takes a seat. Buck still has the stupid almond milk and the stupid syrup Tommy likes in his stupid candy flavored coffee, has been buying the former on reflex and can't bring himself to use the latter and taste Tommy's kisses without the man himself. He makes the coffee, even cuts Tommy a slice of cake, and dumps them both in front of him.

Tommy blinks down at the cake, up at Buck. "You made that?"

"Yeah," Buck says. "Been getting real into baking since - well, since."

"Oh." Tommy chews on his lip, looks away again.

"Every time I wanna call you, I bake," Buck admits, the words falling into the silence between them with more weight than they deserve given how ridiculous they are, really.

Tommy glances up at him. "Yeah?"

Buck swivels, pulls open the door to his fridge which is still groaning under the weight of saran wrapped loaves and cakes and tupperwares full of cookies.

"That's - that's a lot."

Buck shrugs. "Yeah, well."

The silence is painful. Awkward in a way they've never really been with each other. Buck throws himself down onto the stool opposite Tommy, tries not to think about how this is exactly where they were sitting when - when. From the look on his face, the way Tommy can't meet his eyes, he's thinking the exact same thing. This is - it's the worst, Buck thinks miserably.

"So, therapy, huh?" he blurts out.

Tommy nods, takes a deep breath. "After I left that night, I - I drove to the movie theater."

Buck blinks. That is…not what he was expecting. "Uh…"

"Bought a ticket and everything. Realized on my way in that that's - that's not normal. Nothing I did that night was normal. You - you made me so happy, and I blew that up the second it sounded like maybe you wanted something long-term. That - that's not normal. The way I think about - about relationships, about love, about myself. It's not normal."

Buck feels like he's holding his breath.

"So I went home. Drank a couple of beers. Psyched myself up. Booked an appointment for the next day."

"That's…" Buck doesn't know what to say. "That's quick."

"Yeah. I don't - " Tommy looks away. Buck can't see it, but he can tell that he's bouncing his leg anxiously. "I wanna stop being a fucking - a wrecking ball. I wanna stop hurting people, stop hurting myself, but it feels like it's all I do."

Buck can't bite his tongue quick enough. "You make choices, Tommy."

Tommy nods and shrinks in on himself. "I know that. I do. It doesn't feel like it, but I do. I get scared and I make the worse choice every time because it's easier than being brave, and I tell myself it's the only choice but - it's not. I know that. I do know that. I'm - I'm so fucked up, Evan."

His eyes are swimming with tears and Buck knows he's no better. Everything in him is screaming at him to reach out, but he clenches his hands together under the table to stop himself. This is - this is maybe the most real Tommy's ever been with him, maybe the most real he's seen Tommy be with himself, and Buck doesn't want to interrupt it, even as every part of him wants to gather Tommy up to him and soothe him and promise him everything's okay. Everything's so far from okay. He watches Tommy take a few deep breaths, recognises the pattern and the count from his own therapy sessions.

"My - my dad - you know, he's an asshole. But he wasn't always. He and my mom - they were so in love. I mean, stars in their eyes, to the exclusion of everything and everyone else, they adored each other. Even before she died, I didn't - there wasn't space for me in there. And after - I guess I remind him of what he lost. They loved each other, and it hurt me. Abby loved me, and I hurt her. I loved N - Nick, and he h - hurt me. I - "

Tommy clears his throat wetly and looks away while Buck thinks who the fuck is Nick and how do I break his kneecaps?

"You what, Tommy?" he asks instead, and it comes out gently.

"I love you," Tommy says, and Buck pretends he isn't paying attention to the tense, pretends his heart isn't rabbiting inside his chest. "I love you, and I hurt us both and I'm - I'm poison, Evan, I'm nothing but sharp edges but I swear I'm trying not to be and I know it's too late but I'm so - I'm so sorry, I'm so - "

He's fully crying now, trying to hide his face in his hands and Buck can't hold back anymore, closes the space between them and gets his arms around the bulk of Tommy's shoulders where they're shaking.

"Don't," Tommy begs, his whole body tightening, so tense Buck's worried something is going to snap. "Don't - d - don't - I don't deserve - "

"Shh," Buck says, pressing his face into Tommy's hair and stopping himself from making it a kiss at the last second. "I don't care what you think you deserve, just let me hold you, okay? Just let me."

Tommy cries harder, soaking Buck's shirt, and Buck doesn't know how long it goes on for but suddenly Tommy's holding him too, clinging in a way he never has before, in a way that feels desperate and fierce and heartbroken.

"It's okay," Buck promises in spite of himself. He strokes his fingers over the short cropped hairs on the nape of Tommy's neck. "I've got you, it's okay. Just try to breathe, baby, you're gonna make yourself sick."

Baby slips out without any intention on his part, but Tommy doesn't seem to notice, just heaves in a hitching, gulping breath, then another, and another. He shifts in Buck's arms, pulling away and Buck lets him. He doesn't retreat to his own seat though, doesn't feel right to put any distance between them while Tommy presses the heels of his hands into his eyes like he can force the tears back inside.

"I'm sorry," he says, when he's a little calmer. "I've got no right - "

"Stop, okay. Just - stop being so horrible to yourself."

Tommy nods. "Yeah. Working on that. I know - I know it's too late, and I swear I didn't come here with the intention of - of crying all over you and making you feel bad for me. I just - I wanted you to know that I'm sorry, and I know that I fucked up real bad. I know - like I said, I know it's too little, too late, but I want you to know I'm working on - on being better."

Buck chews on the inside of his lip clearly for a second too long because Tommy gives a sharp little nod.

"That's all I wanted to say," he says, pushing back from the table and starting to stand. "I'll get out of your - "

"Sit your ass down," Buck says, a little rougher than he intended. Tommy does as he's told, blinking rapidly and Buck pushes away from the table, paces across the kitchen and back again.

"Evan…"

"Shut up. If you keep making decisions for me, I'm gonna - I'm gonna start throwing loaves at your head."

Tommy makes a noise that's half laugh, half sob, and Buck fights back the tiny grin that's tugging at his mouth.

"You - you really think you're this irredeemable asshole that doesn't deserve to be happy, don't you?"

Tommy shrugs, looks away. "If the shoe fits…"

Buck whirls around, yanks open the fridge, grabs the first loaf he sees. "This is coffee and walnut. It's dense. Last warning, jackass."

Tommy's laugh is more distinct this time. "Evan. Okay. Yes, I think that. But I'm - I'm working on not."

"Okay. Okay. So - so work on it." He puts the loaf down. "Work on it, and take me on a date."

Tommy looks like he's being rebooted without warning. "You can't be serious."

"Why not?"

"I - "

"Tell me why I can't be serious."

"Because! Because I'm - I'm a mess. I hurt you. I left."

"You came back," Buck counters. "Even if it was only to apologize."

"You deserve better."

"I want you."

"I don't - I don't know when I'll be - better than I am."

"You're better today than the day you left. You're here."

"Evan…"

"Yes or no, Tommy. Take me on a date."

"I - "

"Yes or no."

"Yes. Please, yes."

Buck exhales for what feels like the first time in weeks. "Okay. Okay. That's a start."

He puts the loaf back in the fridge, takes Tommy's coffee away to reheat it, and the whole time he can feel Tommy's eyes on him, watching him like he's something precious.

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Day 4: market day

Masterlist flufftober 🎃

Reblog if you liked it!

You've heard a lot of people say that the honeymoon period only lasts the first few weeks of marriage and that after that things can start to get complicated. But the rule didn’t seem to apply to you.

Maybe it was because you two were young and enthusiastic, because you were too busy missing him to think about arguing, or maybe it was just that you really were made for each other.

You often tried to steal as much time as possible from your husband’s demanding job because being an FBI agent often took him away from you, and sometimes having a few domestic moments was all you both desired.

Grocery shopping was one of those activities that really made you feel like a married couple, and it saved you many trips to the store for food.

“Which do you prefer? Soy or almond milk?”

“Soy has phytoestrogens and more health benefits in moderate amounts. Almond is for people looking to maintain weight, and although it’s healthy, it’s low in protein.”

“Soy, got it,” you said with a small smile at his intellectual response.

Every time it was grocery shopping day, your job was always to push the cart and grab an item or two within reach, but most of the time, Spencer was the one in charge of selecting your groceries. After all, he had a pretty extensive knowledge of the benefits of each food. He always wanted to take care of you, and since he was often away, one way he could do that was by ensuring you were well-nourished.

“Look, I found some tea,” he announced happily, making you look away from the yogurt section in the fridge to pay attention. “Lavender, passionflower, valerian…”

“For your insomnia?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, dropping the boxes into the cart “And some mint and lemon for you.”

“You know me so well,” you smiled sweetly, leaning on the plastic handle, letting him gently caress your cheek.

You two had known each other for so many years that there were details about each other you knew by instinct. You knew his favorite brand of coffee, how he liked it with a specific number of sugar spoons, that you needed to buy him two sets of socks because he always liked mismatched ones, and you knew the exact spot on his head to stroke to help him fall back asleep after a nightmare. He knew you hated wearing shoes indoors, that you had a specific way of sleeping, and that you hated the smell of cinnamon. There were so many things you did as if they were second nature that it seemed impossible to list them all.

The truth is, people at Spencer’s work were quite surprised to find out that not only did he have a girlfriend, but that you were getting married. The event was private, very intimate, and not at all pretentious because that wasn’t your style.

You both had no problem moving into a new, slightly more spacious apartment, now that everything was doubled. But you were managing it quite well, to be honest.

You continued strolling through the grocery store, staying close to your husband, and then remembered you needed some bread. You pushed the cart over and stood next to a woman who seemed to be in a dilemma, staring at two loaves of bread as if trying to analyze which was better.

“The best one is that one,” you said, hoping not to make her uncomfortable. She looked at you confused, so you decided to speak again. “It has less sugar and the necessary carbs for good nutrition. There’s a study about it; it’s true.”

“Oh, sweetie, I wasn’t looking for the healthiest, just the one with the best quantity and price. It’s for my kids. Those children could eat an entire loaf in a day, and I can’t afford that.”

You laughed honestly and gave her a look of understanding. She was a bit older than you but not old enough to be considered elderly.

“I think you’re right.”

“I love my kids, but I won’t lie… sometimes they drive me crazy,” she confessed, and you both laughed again.

“Darling, do you want me to make pasta for you this week? Rossi taught me a recipe that…”

He trailed off when he noticed you had company, and for some reason, he suddenly felt shy.

“That’s fine, love. We can eat whatever you want,” you replied kindly. “I already have something to go with it.”

You winked at him when he noticed the wine you had tossed into the cart, and then he smiled and went off in search of the necessary ingredients.

“Your boyfriend?”

“Husband,” you corrected her. There was a strange pride in saying that.

“Husband! Oh, that’s so sweet. How long have you been married?”

“We’ll be married for four months next week.”

“Young love, so beautiful,” she sighed, as if nostalgic for a time that now seemed too far away. “And he helps you with the shopping?”

“I help him, actually,” you laughed. “He’s the one who selects everything. Before we got married, I had the worst eating habits, and he hated that. So we try to eat better now.”

“Marriages are so different now,” she said, and upon hearing that, you expected to endure a conservative speech and internally dreaded it. “My husband never joins me for things like this; he’s not even interested. In this and in much more, to be honest. And it’s nice to see that girls nowadays can have these kinds of relationships. You know, where they’re supported.”

Somehow, that touched your heart, and suddenly you wished you could hug the woman, but you held back. Then, you looked over at Spencer. He was in the vegetable section, apparently comparing two bags of spinach. You could recognize him in a crowd without a doubt, with his slouched posture, his messy hair (freshly cut, by the way), and his peculiar formal attire.

You had always appreciated having the man in your life, even when you didn’t have a romantic relationship, but you had never stopped to think how lucky you were that he had decided to love you.

“I’m glad too,” you said in what was barely a whisper.

You didn’t say anything else. The woman said her goodbyes kindly, and you just smiled at her, too busy gazing at the man with loving eyes. You stood there watching him, and when he approached, he couldn’t help but notice your strange expression.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing. I just had a very revealing conversation with that woman.”

“Huh, yeah?” he hummed, dropping a collection of items into the shopping cart “And what was it about?”

“About you,” you answered casually, lifting your hands to place them on his chest and then sliding them to his cheeks “Talking to her reminded me that you’re the best husband in the world.”

Carefully and affectionately, you stood on your tiptoes and planted a loud kiss on him. Spencer laughed as his cheeks blushed, returning the favor with a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“I don’t know if I am, but I try.”

“And that’s why I love you,” you confessed sweetly.

And then, it was Spencer who felt lucky.

[kinley-cafe]

Tommy hasn't texted Buck since the last time he bubbled him, but Buck is still hopeful that Tommy will finally say something and they can reconcile.

Since Buck is unable to get the thought of Tommy texting him out of his mind, he made some Bubbling Me Bubble Tea. (Brown sugar almond milk tea with typing bubble shaped pearls, and whipped topping and blueberry drizzle on top)

And of course, Buck made too much so please, take as much as you want. He's going back to his baking now, but, help yourself.

Like to take, reblog to share and who knows, maybe Tommy will let Buck know that he misses him too.

[queensunshinee]

His favorite toy- Part 2 || Art Donaldson x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (p in v sex, oral sex), super toxic relationship.

Word Count: 6.5k

(part 1)

His favorit toy- Part 2:

Two months have passed since the last time Art and I fucked. Although it wouldn’t be fair to call it that, because I don’t fully know what it was. I only know he said he thinks he loves me. Neither of us made the minimal effort to rekindle any kind of relationship. I kept sitting with Janet and Shane, and he stayed in his place next to the friend he invented.

Occasionally, if I focused, I could feel his gaze on the back of my neck, but maybe I was imagining it. Maybe I also imagined his declaration of love, maybe I lost my grip on reality for a moment. Maybe more water needs to flow under this bridge. Maybe Tashi Duncan needs to be his, like he is hers, so I can stop dreaming about him at night. How did I become so dependent on the emotions of a girl I have no desire to exchange a word with? How did I lose someone I’m not sure was ever mine? And more than anything- what made me spend so much time in this endless whining?

A few days after that party, Luke sat next to me in one of the classes we share. He looked so good that if I close my eyes, I can imagine it's Art. A remarkably pathetic thought, but it works. Except he isn’t cruel. He doesn't try to deceive me or lead me to the point he wants me to reach. He’s interested in me and my hobbies, and sometimes he walks me from class to class, but in these two months, he hasn’t made any move beyond placing his hand on my shoulder. Maybe he thinks I have lice. Maybe he thinks I won’t be good enough in bed to risk our boring conversations about the eco-intro professor.

Maggie, the girl I work with, canceled at the last minute, so I ended up alone at the smoothie station and the register. I took comfort in the fact that it's exam season and not too many Stanford students would prefer to stand in line for a smoothie instead of grabbing a spot in the library on a Sunday night. "The usual?" I heard Art’s voice and lifted my gaze from the book I was reading. I blinked at him a few times, as if trying to figure out if I was imagining his smug smile. Maybe it wasn’t smug, maybe that's just how he always smiles when he sees me. Like he knows a secret he’ll never tell me. "I..." I tried to hold onto the reality as I knew it, "I don’t remember," I smiled without showing teeth, half-forced.

"Peach—" he stopped himself in the middle of the stupid nickname. Apparently, he understood from my look that it wasn’t appropriate after two months of radio silence. "Almond milk, banana, pecan, and coconut," he mumbled. "That’s $4.50," he nodded. I wondered if he was surprised, because I’d never asked him to pay before. I’d always used the free smoothie I got during my shift on him. "How a—" he started to speak, and I turned on the blender, seeing out of the corner of my eye that he was smirking and shaking his head. "Fair," he muttered. "Here’s your smoothie. Goodnight," I handed him the cup after a few seconds, with the most forced smile I could muster. He rolled his eyes in response and sat down in one of the empty chairs.

"What do you think you’re doing?" I asked. "Sitting and drinking my smoothie, obviously," he spoke again as if I were two years old. Like I needed him to mediate reality for me because I couldn’t understand it on my own. "Do you see anyone else sitting here?" I asked. "Just because the tables are empty because it’s ten at night and you’re working in a cafeteria-" he began. "This isn’t a cafeteria. It’s the—" "Doesn’t mean I can’t sit at one of the tables and drink my smoothie. Or are there new rules I’m not aware of?" I rolled my eyes in response. Smug dickhead. I was definitely not going to give him a second of my time. I went back to the book I was reading for my philosophy exam, trying to ignore his presence but realizing I was reading the same sentence five times in a row.

"What are you studying?" he asked after a few minutes of silence. "Why are you doing this?" I threw the question back from behind the counter, sighing in frustration. "What am I doing?" The usual smirk was plastered on his face. "Why are you here on a Sunday night, Art?" If I could stomp my foot to express protest, I would. "Because you’re here on a Sunday night." The smirk turned into a smile. I couldn’t tell if it was sincere. I never know if he’s sincere.

"What do you want?" I rolled my eyes and sighed, realizing he wasn’t going to leave. I knew he was stubborn in an almost inspiring way (or nauseating, depending on who you ask) and that he was always at an advantage with me. He always had the last word. All I had left was to let him say it quickly and move on with life. "To ask how you're doing?" he half said, half asked. He sounded hesitant, but I knew he wasn’t. I knew he was as confident as any other day. He knew exactly what he was doing. "Amazing. Anything else?" I found myself crossing my arms under my chest and saw him, without shame, shift his gaze, well�� to my chest, raising an eyebrow.

"Arthur!" I felt like I was his aunt as he shook his head, almost playfully. "I missed you, Peaches. Is that so hard to believe?" He chuckled, still completely shameless. "Well, I didn’t." That was the first thing that came to mind, and the face Art made, along with the eye roll, only emphasized how much he didn’t believe me. "Why are you so mad at me?" His voice was amused as he approached the counter with his smoothie, grabbing the book I was reading without asking. "What course is this?" "Philosophy," I snatched it from his hand, and he grabbed mine with the speed of an athlete who works too much with his hands. "Let go," I muttered, not sure if I wanted him to release my hand or release me. But I was scared he'd agree and disappear again, and that was so fucking pathetic. "Never," he replied, keeping his gaze on me and giving my hand a squeeze. "It’s not fair, Art," I hated how my voice sounded. "What’s not fair?" he asked, tracing small circles on my hand the moment he felt me relax the muscle that had been trying to pull away from his touch. "What you're doing right now," I sighed. If he weren’t in front of me, I probably would’ve started crying out of frustration. "What am I doing right now?" The smirk was once again plastered on his face. "Trying to convince me everything's okay between us," I hesitated, and he shook his head from side to side. "Nothing's okay between us, Peaches. I hate it. I actually hate it. I think about you 80% of the day. Every time I want to talk to you, you're either with your friends or with Luke." He wrinkled his nose as he said his name.

"Why do you know his name?" I asked, studying him. "Because I looked him up, and I'm telling you, Peaches, he's fucking weird—" "You're fucking weird," I shot back, and he laughed, trying to move the hair from my face with his free hand. "Well, maybe you like us weird, maybe you've got a type," he tried to joke, making me roll my eyes. "Who said I like you, Donaldson?" I tried to defend myself, and Art wasn’t laughing anymore. He wasn’t smiling either. He just looked at me, not letting me read his expression. His hand, which had been playing with mine, tightened its grip, and his gaze locked onto me as if I was on trial for the words that just came out of my mouth.

"Let’s study for the statistics exam together tomorrow?" He changed the subject, not breaking his intense gaze. "Art—" "Study for the exam. Just that. I won't pass it if you don't help me," he flashed his most charming smile. The one he fakes in seconds. The one he uses for interviews with the Stanford magazine and in photoshoots for the tennis team posters. "Study with Dylan," I suggested, raising an eyebrow, referring to the imaginary friend he chose to sit with instead of me. "You want me to beg?" he asked, poking my shoulder with his finger, causing me to shift slightly but still not letting go of my hand. "Maybe," I teased. "I can. My ego will survive if you study with me for statistics tomorrow." He said it quicker than I expected.

"I have a philosophy exam at eight. Can you do twelve?" I asked. "I can when you can. Where’s the exam? I’ll wait for you," he said. "Meet me at the economics library. There’s a room where you’re allowed to talk if you’re working in groups," I explained my choice. "That’s ridiculous. Let’s study at your place or mine—" "We’ll study at the library, take it or leave it," I stated firmly, even though the temptation to go to his dorm was strong since he never invited me. We always went to mine. "Library it is," he agreed. "What’s your philosophy exam about?" he asked, finally letting go of my hand, which had been holding the book I was studying from. "Aristotle and eudaimonia. What he thinks about happiness," I muttered, opening my notes again. "What does he think about happiness?" Art asked, leaning on the counter. "You wouldn’t get it," I smiled at him, and saw him nod with a somewhat thoughtful look, as if his combative spirit and desire to argue had evaporated the moment I agreed to study statistics with him. "Tomorrow at twelve, Peaches. Don’t break my heart and ditch me," he threw into the air, leaving the booth with the same dramatic flair he had when he entered. . . . I walked into the economics library, which was packed with people. Art was already sitting there, messing with his phone more than with the notes in front of him on the table. He hadn’t noticed I’d entered, giving me the chance to observe him. His blonde curls fell over his eyes in a way that likely bothered him. He was wearing his red tennis outfit (the one I liked the most, I should mention) and looked carefree. He always seemed too relaxed, maybe that’s how it is when everything comes to you with an ease that’s almost disgusting.

"You need a haircut," I muttered the first thing that came to mind as I approached, seeing him look up immediately. "Hey," he said, smiling from ear to ear, "I saved a spot because I knew it’d be crowded," he added. "How long have you been sitting here?" I asked as I took the seat next to him. "Since about ten," he chuckled, probably at himself, "How was the exam?" he asked. "Long. Have you gone over any of the material?" Yesterday, I decided I’d be practical. I’d promised to help him, and honestly, I always understood the material better myself when I explained it to him. And if Art Donaldson could take advantage of my knowledge in statistics, then I could take advantage of the situation too. Not just him. "A little, I pretty much lost track in the middle of the course." Art had taken this course as an elective. I always found it funny because who takes statistics as an extra class when it’s not even required for their degree?

"What, Kevin didn’t let you copy his notes?" I looked at him with a raised eyebrow, and he lightly tapped my shoulder. "You’re mean. Since when are you so mean?" he responded with a humor I couldn’t fully read, unsure if he was joking or if part of him actually thought there was some cruelty in me. Maybe it was the philosophy exam I couldn’t shake off. Obsessive thoughts about happiness and potential. "I’m going to get myself some coffee, want me to bring you something?" I asked, changing the subject. "Sit down, get settled, I’ll get it for you," he nodded toward me and stood up, not giving me a chance to refuse before he disappeared from my sight, leaving me alone.

Art Donaldson will be the end of me. I’m certain of it. "My brain is fried, Donaldson. I can’t look at any more averages," I summed up after two hours of studying. "Yeah? Already gave up?" he asked, amused. "I remind you that I had an exam today! I don’t think I’ve eaten anything other than my own brain," I tried to remember what I’d actually eaten today. "So let’s go eat something," he smiled. His eyes practically sparkled. "Art," I sighed, resting my head on my hand. "What? We can’t go have lunch?" he asked with mock innocence. Speaking to me again like I was a child. Like I didn’t understand what he’d already figured out long ago. "No, of course not," I wanted to smack him on the head as if he were the dumbest person I knew. "I can’t let you stay hungry, Peaches, my grandmother would be mad at me," he quickly replied. Where was your grandmother every time you humiliated me to the core? Every time you made me feel empty and stupid? So stupid. "Your grandmother will survive," I rolled my eyes. "She’s a very sick woman, you don’t know that. I’ll tell her I let you starve and she’ll have a stroke. You won’t be able to live with that on your conscience. You’ll drag us into lives full of guilt—" "Okay, you’re giving me a headache, God," I mumbled, standing up. Art Donaldson’s smug smile returned to his face in an instant.

That’s how I found myself sitting across from him at the fancy cafeteria for athletes, eating nuggets after the woman working there flirted with him and gave me a threatening look. "Don’t hate Rosie, she always gives me extra pie," he said after I pointed out that she looked at me like I was the reason the Beatles broke up. "Because she wants to sleep with you," I rolled my eyes. "So she has a reason to look at you like that. Makes sense," he replied with a chuckle. "Okay, what is this?" I dropped the nugget I was holding and pointed between us as I leaned back in my chair. "What?" he continued eating as if nothing unusual was happening. "What are you doing, Art?" I asked, feeling my leg start to shake out of frustration.

"I’m eating and making sure you’re eating," he replied, taking another bite of his food, as if we were having a completely normal conversation. "We’re not going to fuck again just because you invited me to eat nuggets at the cafeteria, you know that, right?" I blinked at him, trying to signal that he was delusional. "Of course not," he said, leaning back in his chair as well. "I have principles, Donaldson," I continued. "I know," he smiled. "I’m not some girl you found on the street that you can treat however you want, disappear for two months, invite her for nuggets, and she’ll take off her bra just so you can vanish again until the next time you’re horny," my voice rose a bit, despite my effort to keep it calm. I saw his jaw tighten, his expression shifting from amused to cold. "Is that what you think this is?" he asked, and all I could do was shrug.

"It’s not like you’ve given me any reason to think otherwise, Art," I looked at him and felt that if I stayed there much longer, I’d start crying. "I told you that I lo—" he began, but I stood up. "Thanks for lunch, it’s definitely nicer than the regular cafeteria," I forced a smile, and he closed his eyes. "You didn’t eat anything," he replied. If I focused, maybe I could have seen his frustration growing. But I was trying to focus on not crying. Art Donaldson’s ego didn’t deserve to see me cry over him again. "I’m really tired, I need to sleep a bit before my shift," I mumbled. "Will you come to my match tomorrow?" he asked quietly. "Art—" "You don’t have to, but I’m saving you a seat, okay?" he cut off my answer, not wanting to hear a refusal, maybe not believing there was a bone in my body capable of saying no to him. . . . And it’s a little pathetic how I ended up walking onto the tennis court the next day, giving up the last shred of my self-respect. I was surprised to see how many people showed up to these things, especially at the end of exam season and right before the break. The place was packed.

‘You came’ -A- I got his message and tried to look around, searching for where he might be. ‘Down on the court’ -A- I could practically see his smirk in the words. I glanced toward him and shrugged. ‘Front row, saved you a seat next to Patrick’ -A- he added.

‘What the fuck is Patrick?’ -(Y/N)- I replied, not moving toward where he told me to go.

‘A friend. Please sit there.’ -A- He answered shortly. ‘Want to lift my head and know where you are’ -A- And when he says things like that, I almost forget how cruel he can be. So I find myself rolling my eyes and walking toward the seat he saved for me.

"Are you Patrick?" I mumbled, feeling my cheeks flush from the awkward interaction with the guy sitting next to the empty seat. "Depends who’s asking," the curly-haired guy responded, flashing a mischievous half-smile. I can see why they’re friends. Fucking twelve-year-olds in the bodies of twenty-year-olds, how is that even possible?! "Don’t be a dick," we heard from down below, and I turned to see Art approaching us. "Who’s this?" the guy I didn’t know asked, as if I wasn’t standing right there—seriously, rude as hell, but whatever. "Patrick, behave," Art wasn’t joking, not even smiling, scolding him like you’d scold a misbehaving pet. "You came," Art looked me over, grinning from ear to ear. "Don’t let it go to your head, I had some free time," I muttered, sitting down. Art nodded. "Will you stay after the game?" he asked. I think it was the first time Art had to look up to talk to me. "I don’t know, I need to keep studying for statistics," I answered. "Me too," he replied. "We’ll study together," he shrugged, not giving me a chance to respond before he walked off, taking his position. Getting ready to serve.

“Interesting,” the guy next to me said. “What exactly?” I asked, rolling my eyes and still not looking at him. “You, of course,” I could hear him smiling. “What’s so interesting about me?” I kept staring into the air, unsure if I should focus on Art, who still hadn’t started playing, or the phenomenon sitting next to me. Arrogant, just like the blond guy who’s been emotionally torturing me for months. “Well, first of all, I’ve never heard of you. You’re a surprise,” he said as if it was obvious. And it stung a little, even though I knew the chances of Art talking about me were slim to none. “Maybe you’re the problem, Pete,” I muttered, snapping my fingers like I was trying to recall his name. “Patrick,” he corrected, laughing, making me look at him. He had a loud laugh, unapologetic. I knew his name was Patrick, and he knew I knew, but he still found it amusing.

“Maybe you’re the surprise,” I told him. “He doesn’t talk about you either.” I tried to sound unaffected, like everything was fine. The game started, and Art looked distracted. Maybe he always looks like that when he plays tennis- I’ve never watched his games before, he’s never invited me. “You’re supposed to watch the other side too,” Patrick whispered in my ear, causing me to roll my eyes. “Hey, Stats Girl,” I heard the familiar voice of Tashi Duncan just before she sat next to Patrick, cursing the day I decided to trust Art Donaldson and show up at his game. “The one and only,” I muttered with the best smile I could muster, feeling myself blush at the ridiculous nickname she gave me. “How’s he doing?” she asked Patrick. I wondered what their connection was. “He’s good, you know, as usual. Ice.” he replied, and they started talking quietly about the game, about Art, and about the opponent.

All I could think about was how good Art looked. He looked as if everything came to him effortlessly, as if he didn’t need to try for anything—everything just happened. And I knew that wasn’t true, I knew he worked hard, trained, ate properly, invested in his studies, and that he was probably a good grandson and a good friend. He was good to everyone except me. “Are you enjoying the game?” Tashi asked, pulling my gaze away from Art for a moment. “Huh?” I asked, not understanding what she wanted. “The game, are you enjoying it? He’s playing well,” she clarified. “Yeah, he’s really good,” I mumbled. I didn’t know what else to add to make it sound convincing. “Leave her, Tash. She doesn’t know anything about tennis, she’s his cheerleader,” Patrick answered her, snickering. I shot him a murderous look. “Patrick, don’t be rude,” Tashi said, “I’m sorry about him, he doesn’t know how to behave around people,” she turned to me, as if he wasn’t there. “It’s fine,” I replied, feeling my leg start to shake from the frustration. They went back to talking about the game, and I suddenly felt how pathetic it was, showing up to watch him play. To come and see him in his element, when he wasn’t part of my life anymore. When his friend sat next to me, mocking me to my face. “I’ll be right back…” I mumbled, walking toward the exit. I had no intention of coming back. . . . Two hours later, there were chaotic knocks on my door. “You left,” Art walked in without waiting for an invitation the second I opened the door. He looked angry. “I told you I didn’t know if I’d stay, I have an exam tom-” “Bullshit. What’s your deal? Why did you come?” He practically shouted as I closed the door. “You asked me to come,” I mumbled. “I also asked you to stay, but you left in the middle, so what was the point of you coming?” He crossed his arms. I don’t think I’d ever seen him this angry. He’s always calculated and calm. “Did he say something?” he added, asking a question. “What?” I returned, not understanding what he was talking about. “Patrick, did he say something to you? Why did you leave?” He asked again, speaking to me like I was a child. “He didn’t say anything to me. I left because I didn’t understand what I was even watching. I don’t know anything about tennis, Art, and I have an exam to study for,” I tried to justify. “Enough with that exam. I heard you studying for it yesterday, you know the material, we both know you know it.” He sighed. “I didn’t ask you to come to give tennis commentary. I asked you to come because I wanted you in the crowd. I wanted to see you in the crowd,” he continued. I could hear the effort in his voice to keep it together, to not lose control.

“Tashi was in the crowd; that should be enough for you,” I muttered, lifting my gaze to him, seeing that he was already staring at me. We had never talked like this about Tashi. She had always been this figure hovering above us. He talked about her constantly, unrelated to anything. He talked about her like she was a god. He talked about how she played tennis, about her training, how she helped him. He talked about parties he only went to because Tashi wanted to go. But I never responded in a way that would let him understand that I knew. That I wasn’t completely clueless. That I knew he was completely in love with her. That he loved her the way I loved him and that nothing would change that. “Oh, so that’s the problem. You could’ve started with that. It bothered you that Tashi was in the crowd?” He chuckled. He fucking chuckled. “Why did it bother you?” He moved closer to me, and I had no choice but to avert my gaze from his piercing blue eyes, which felt like bullets at that moment. “It didn’t bother m-” “Look at me.” He was close enough to grab my head and turn it back to face him. “I asked you a question,” he added, not letting me escape. And if there’s anyone I didn’t want to talk about, it’s Tashi Duncan.

“Why did you invite me? Why did you want me in the crowd?” “Because I wanted you to see me play,” he answered without blinking, as if it was obvious. As if there wasn’t a single question I could ask him that he wouldn’t have an answer for. “You love Tashi, Art. You lo-” His lips were on mine the second I said it. Again, there was nothing calm or calculated about this kiss. He was trying to prove that he didn’t, that I was wrong. While we both knew I was right. “You can’t say things like that, Peaches. You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he mumbled as he pulled away from me to catch a breath. “It’s okay that you love her. I’ve made peace with it. I just need you to let me move on, Art,” I sighed, trying to catch my breath again. “I don’t fucking love her.” He was angry; I could hear it in his voice. “What do I have to do to make you understand that you’re the only girl for me?” He kissed me again, and I could feel him getting hard from the way he pressed against me, causing me to moan into his mouth. “Yeah? Is this the only way I can get through to you? Is this the only way you believe me?” he asked, running his lips down my neck. "Art," it was half a moan, half a cry. My eyes closed, and as they did, I felt the weight of his hands on my shoulders, pulling me down until I was on my knees in front of him. I unbuttoned his jeans and quickly pulled down his boxers. I felt almost possessed as he sat on the edge of my bed, forcing me to crawl toward him. “There we go. Is this the only way I need to treat you for you to understand your place?” he muttered as I knelt before him again. I felt a light slap on my cheek from his cock, much more humiliating than painful. “I asked you a question,” he continued.

“N-no,” I mumbled. “Even your voice is annoying me right now,” he muttered, and without warning, I felt his cock in my mouth. He didn’t give me a moment to adjust, punishing me for leaving the match, maybe for bringing up Tashi, maybe for everything combined. You could never tell with him. I felt him hitting the back of my throat, and I tried to suppress my gag reflex with little success. Three months since he’d been in my mouth showed signs. “Shhh, you can do better than that,” he half-stroked my hair, half-held me in place by it. Then he pulled me back, leaving a trail of spit and precum. “You’re such a mess,” he chuckled, and again I felt a light slap of his cock against my cheek. I put my lips back where I knew he needed them the most, and this time, there was no gentle stroking of my hair. There was only a hand forcing me to stay in place as he used my mouth however he wanted. “Nothing to say now, huh?” he said, not very coherently, as I began to feel the warm, thick liquid spill into my throat. “Atta girl,” he patted my hair twice before letting me pull back.

I stood up slowly, trying to catch my breath. “Come here,” he mumbled, pointing to his thigh. I can’t refuse Art Donaldson, so I sat on his lap, placing my hands on his neck in an almost embrace, watching him smile. “Why is everything so hard with you?” he muttered, and his lips lazily found my neck. “I just don’t know what you want from me,” I responded, trying to focus on anything other than his lips currently on my collarbone. “I told you I love you,” he mumbled, his eyes locking onto mine. “You don’t mean that,” I shot back.

“Oh yeah?” His smirk spread across his face, and in seconds, he tossed me onto the bed as if I weighed nothing. He was above me. “For now, the one acting like a brat is you,” he said, his presence casting a shadow over me like a predator playing with its prey. “The one who left in the middle of my match is you.” His lips again left trails on my skin. I don’t even know when he took my shirt off. I felt a light bite on my nipple that made me moan. “Fuck, fa- Art,” I mumbled, unable to focus. “The one avoiding interaction with my friends is you.” His hand joined in, starting to torture my other nipple as his kisses moved further down. “I’m not,” I managed to respond, just as he easily removed my panties.

His breaths hovered over my pussy, short and hot, and if I didn’t know Art Donaldson so well, I would’ve thought he was looking up at me with almost a pleading expression. But he was in complete control. A small kiss on my lips, but not where I really needed him, made me shift my hips a little, and he chuckled- a laugh that was almost childlike. “Hey, ask nicely,” he managed to say, and I returned to the position I had before, legs around his head. “Please, Art,” I knew there was no point in arguing; he always got what he wanted in the end. “No problem, baby,” in seconds, his tongue was on my clit, starting slowly with circular motions and picking up speed with every moment. “There you go, you’re almost there,” he muttered, pulling back just before I could come. “What-” I tried to catch my breath again, craving the euphoria only he could give me at that moment. “I want to be inside you,” he answered without waiting for the full question, and in an instant, his cock filled me, making me moan. “Fuck,” I managed to mumble, feeling my eyes roll back. “Hold on a little longer, Peach,” he said, slipping his finger into my mouth like he liked to do, watching my lips close around it. “Now,” he muttered, pushing it deeper into my throat while he thrust into me, feeling me tighten around him like only an orgasm from him could make me do.

He fucked me stupid. There’s no other way to describe what I experienced, and as we both tried to catch our breath, I wondered how long it would take for him to leave this time and what his excuse would be. “Don’t you have practice tomorrow?” I quietly asked, trying to throw him off balance for a moment. “No, but I don’t know anything for the stats exam,” he admitted and chuckled. “Art! I taught you all the material yesterday,” I rolled my eyes. “I can’t concentrate when you’re teaching me.” “Then why did you ask for help?” It was my turn to laugh. “Because you’re the most beautiful when you’re in your element,” he shrugged like it was obvious. Like hearing me talk about statistics would make him fall in love with me. Like it wasn’t what I felt two and a half hours ago when he played tennis, until I almost choked on love.

“When are you going home?” he asked, probably knowing my last exam was in statistics. “I’m not,” I replied casually, and he quickly shifted positions. “Why the hell not?” he asked, and I saw a small wrinkle form between his eyebrows. “It’s no big deal, Donaldson,” I chuckled, “I picked up extra shifts, and I have a paper to work on. Speaking of shifts, I need to get ready for mine.” I added as I checked the time. He watched me as I walked around the room, trying to decide if I smelled too much like sex to push the shower until after work. “Are you coming to the study marathon tomorrow before the exam?” he asked, starting to get dressed too. “Of course,” I looked at him like he was crazy. “Don’t think about skipping it, Art. You need it,” I said, knowing exactly who I was dealing with. “Okay, Mom,” his voice was amused, and I rolled my eyes, looking at him for another moment. We don’t get too many moments like these. Almost domestic. Almost mine.

"Hey, we're good, right?" he suddenly asked, holding my hand and not letting me continue running around the room. "Yeah, Art, everything's fine," I smiled half-heartedly, feeling a bit embarrassed. "Because I don't want another two months like these," he muttered, and I knew it was hard for him to admit. It was hard for him to say that the past two months had been strange, to say the least. Difficult, to be honest. "Me neither." I nodded at him. "When are you flying home?" I asked as we were both already outside the door, after I had locked it. "Four hours after the exam, I’m supposed to be on a flight," he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Wow, two weeks at home, excited?" I asked. "Not that much, mostly glad I get to visit my grandma. She follows my matches with her entire retirement home, it’s a big deal for her." "Ooooh, you've got fans, Donaldson?" I joked. "You know I do," he replied. "Seriously though, why aren’t you going home?" he added. "It’s not that deep, just an opportunity to make some extra money. Plus, my mom and I aren’t in the best place right now," I shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal. "Don’t you miss home?" he asked. "Not like most people probably do," I smiled at him. "I hate it when you smile like that," he said and suddenly stopped. "How?" I asked, looking at him as if he were crazy. "Without teeth. That’s your fake smile," he replied without blinking, as if it were strange that I was even asking. "I didn’t think you noticed," I mumbled. And I really didn’t think there was a possibility that Art Donaldson paid attention to details that, until now, I thought only I noticed about him. "I’ll see you tomorrow at the marathon?" he asked when we reached the point where I was supposed to head to the cafeteria and he to his dorm. "Don’t be late," I ordered, giving his face a small push, watching him chuckle and walk away from me. . . .

The next morning, I woke up with the worst headache I’d ever had in my life. I felt my nose was blocked, and I knew for sure I had a fever, though I had no way to measure it. 'Where are you?' -A-

'Sick, I’ll come for the exam' -(Y/N)-

'What’s wrong with you?' -A- I didn’t respond to that message, preferring to sleep a bit more before waking up for the statistics exam.

I got in the shower, and when I got out, I looked at myself in the mirror, seeing my flushed cheeks as a contrast to my pale face. There was no mistaking it when you looked at me- I wasn’t at my best. The auditorium was partially full when I entered, people chatting among themselves, and I looked around, seeing Art already staring at me before he approached, getting ahead of Janet, who shot me a questioning glance. "Well, you look like shit," he stated, placing his hand on my forehead. "Fuck, Peaches, you’re burning up," he muttered, looking at me with an almost angry expression. "How did you manage to start dying in the minute and a half I left you alone?" he said. "I’m talented, Donaldson. Can you not yell? My head hurts," I mumbled, sitting in the empty seat I found.

The exam went smoothly and ended faster than it began. I physically couldn’t wait for Art to finish, so I texted him, hoping he’d enjoy his time at home, and I went to sleep. Half an hour later, there was a knock at my door, chaotic like the one from the day before. "Hey," he muttered. "You’ll miss your flight," I replied, running a tired hand over my eyes. "I’m not flying," he said quickly. "What?" I asked, not understanding what he was talking about, seeing him take off his shirt and pants, left only in his boxers. "Art, I physically can’t have sex," I chuckled, not understanding what was happening. "We’re going to sleep," he declared, pulling me toward him, leaving me no choice but to get into bed next to him. "Your bed’s worse than mine. Tomorrow we’ll sleep at my dorm," he stated.

"You're going to get sick too" I rolled my eyes, "Why aren’t you going home?" I asked quietly, while his hand traced shapes on my shoulder. "It felt weird going home when you’re sick and staying here," he replied, not ashamed for a second. "Your grandma must be disappointed," I mumbled. "I told her my girlfriend is sick," he said. I wanted so badly to see his face, but I had my back to him. "She must’ve been surprised you have a girlfriend," I said the first thing that came to mind, feeling my heart race. "Not at all, I talk to her about you all the time."

. . .

So here it is. The second part I didn't plan. Hope you like it even tho I wrote half of it while being super sick and didn't check my own grammar at all, so bear with me (a reminder: English is not my first language). Let me know what you think. It's always the best part. Also, I think I'm up for some requests. Let's see what we can come up with. Love you guys

[dietmtdewbabynewyorkcity]

HOW I’VE BEEN SUCESSFULLY LOSING WEIGHT: Notes from a former binge eater ♥️

*this guide is to show how ~I~ do things and offer advice on how to do it MY way. I am in no way encouraging anyone to do themselves harm. First off,

HEALTH IS WEALTH.

That being said.. this is literally the longest I’ve ever gone without bingeing. It’s just,,, easy this time. Once you get a feel of what it’s like to be skinny you just don’t crave junk as much anymore bc you KNOW it’s not worth it. The trick is to eat clean 90% of the time and allow your favorite treats 10% do the time. Fit them into your calorie limit!!! Here’s some personal favorites that have helped me lose like 20lbs in the past 2 months.

I tend to do one higher- calorie drink during the day (protein shake, Starbucks, etc) and one healthy filling but low cal meal and a sweet snack at the end of the night.

LOW CALORIE 90%

Mediterranean salad (~150): mixed greens, chopped bell peppers, cherry tomatoes, red onion. Little bit of feta cheese. Balsamic vinegar (not dressing or vinegarette!!!!) I don’t add meat but you could totally add chicken for low cal high protein choice. You could also add olives but I don’t fw them.

Chocolate Protein shakes from the gas station (loll). They’re 220 cal on average and a great treat. Strawberry one is good too.

SEAWEED SNACKS they’re literally 30-60 calories for a pack and kill my urge to eat chips!!! Please give them a try!

Soups. Soups that are already portioned and have the calorie amount posted. I add extra seasonings and spice to boost metabolism.

Coffee!! With almond milk and a little coffee creamer. It’s worth the calories if you want a coffee just make one it’s better than going to Starbucks.

Sushi: I’m vegetarian so I get an avocado and cucumber roll. It’s so good with fresh ginger and a little soy sauce. Sometimes I will be craving it allllllll day and have it as my OMAD so rewarding 🥹

Miso soup>>>>>> add tofu and seaweed and onions!! And mushrooms if you like them.

Monster Ultra energy drinks,,,, yeah I know they’re bad for you but I love them.

Fruits!!! I especially love strawberries, watermelon, cherries, blackberries, pineapple and mangoes.

TREATS 10%

Trail mix: dried cherries, pecans, walnuts, pistachios, cashews. High in calories but perfect for killing hunger. High protein keeps you full and muscles strong, high healthy fats will keep your hair and skin and nails beautiful.

Chocolates: SMALL PORTIONS. if you can’t eat just eat a piece without bingeing, do NOT buy a big bag. what I do is I buy a bar of whatever chocolate I’m craving for my bf and we share it piece by piece. Dark chocolate, milk chocolate, white, hazelnut, with coffee beans, with toffee, fruits, chocolate is the best thing ever 🍫

Starbucks! My fav drinks are matcha lattes (hot/iced), iced white chocolate mocha, caramel macchiato, and occasionally a pumpkin spice latte. Peppermint mochas on the holidays. Oat milk always

Baked goods. Same deal as the chocolate, ONLY BUY THE PORTION YOURE GOING TO EAT. If you have been craving a croissant, go get one. One. Don’t buy a whole dozen of them. You will end up bingeing trust me. My favs are cinnamon rolls <3

Habits

I’m going to the gym!!! Consistently for the first time in my life. It doesn’t have to be anything crazy. Spend 30 min on the treadmill alternating between incline walking and easy paced jogging. Put on a YouTube video. Wear pink and bring a cute water bottle. You have to make an experience out of it! I stick to cardio and full body stretches plus ocasional (light) strength workouts w my bf.

I don’t drink anymore. Just 🍃. Alc is so high in sugar and carbs and it’s literally poison bro. I know it’s hard to stop but once you do you’ll feel so much better.

I rarely weigh myself. I’m at my bfs house all the time so I only step on my scale maybe 3 times a month. It’s been a game changer!!!

MINDSET

I practice mindfulness and speak kindly to myself. Basically sweetspo + affirmations to myself all the time.

Taking more pride in your appearance will also help motivate you. You think you’ll still want to binge after you took a full body shower, clean PJ’s or outfit, painted your nails, skincare and makeup done, whitened your teeth and lit a candle? No thanks.

Limit stupid, negative, useless media consumption. Watch things that have to do with your hobbies/ interests and your social media algorithms begin to kinda clean themselves up over time. My pages are all about exercise, study blogs, beauty tips and sciencey stuff. No more drama or celebrity nonsense. Cut down your following!!

Remember you only have one life on earth. You’re young and hot once. Don’t you want to grab this chance while you have it? Unfortunately your beauty is your currency especially as a woman, so if there’s anything I can do to give myself a better life I will. Losing just a few pounds of fat will make the craziest difference in ways you’d never expect. Free and discounted stuff. More people smile at you and listen to what you have to say. Both literal and figurative doors will be opened for you.Clothes fit better bc they’re more flattering when your body is fit and healthy. While it feels good to get validation from other people, the best part of it is looking in the mirror and feeling proud instead of ashamed. The inner confidence that comes from successful transformation………….there’s no other feeling that compares. If you know, you know. I’m just saying,, the choice is yours 🤷����‍♀️

[mtchee]

[IMAGINE] Living with Cat! Gojo | GN

cw: not edited, second-person-pov, cat! jjk au, non sorcerer au, cat! gojo, kitty satoru, fluff, he's a little shit, love my cat series aww

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| masterlist | jujutsu kaisen collection |

Imagine living with cat! Gojo Satoru. You have no idea where he's from, or who his owner is--but apparently it's you now.

You first saw him loitering obnoxiously outside your region's specialty sweets shop, and he was pawing at the window display longingly. Then suddenly, his head turned to you and he hasn't left you alone since.

When he sauntered over, you cooed and gave him some attention before heading on your way. The strange cat followed you for a bit, and you gently shooed him off a few times before he relented. It was only when you finally got home that you realised he actually hadn't.

He popped up in front of your door bright and early the next morning, sitting all poised and beaming at you before letting himself in.

His fur was too clean to have been out in the streets for long, and he was much too well groomed to be a stray.

But he was yours now, it seemed. Or maybe you were his.

Either or.

Imagine living with cat! Gojo Satoru, one of the prettiest cats you have ever seen.

He's fat.

Or at least, it looks like he is at first.

He's incredibly fluffy, with pristine white fur and the most darling baby pink paws. His eyes are an entrancing cerulean blue, though hidden behind a pecular pair of rounded blackout specs that fit perfectly proportionate to his kitty face. He didn't have a collar--still doesn't with you.

Instead, you had found his name engraved in tiny elegant lettering on the temple of his accessory.

Cat! Gojo Satoru is long. You had been fooled into his thickness from the look of all his fluff, but then when you held him and let him dangle, he just extended.

You had been kneeling when you had first done so, holding him out at arms length from under his shoulders and his hind legs were comfortably touching the ground. You were shocked, all the whilst he went slack and let you manoeuvre him however you wanted.

Imagine living with cat! Gojo Satoru, who fucking yaps nonstop.

He's a chatty little thing, and awfully entitled too.

Just like when he first appeared and walked into your house like he'd always lived there, he abides by his own whims no matter what.

While you buy the prettiest decorative pillows, he kneads them and pokes holes in them like it's nobody's business while shaking off his fur all over. Now, along with his furballs, you see tuffs of the pillows stuffing sticking out from his claw marks.

When you buy him the best kitty bed that you can afford (accompanied by the softest blanket), he turns up his nose and rolls himself around on your clean bedsheets.

He ignores his scratching post in favour of the leg of your dining table.

He would rather starve than eat any of his dry food.

He will not just be drinking tap water--it must be served nice and cold from the fridge. He will also not drink any sort of cat-safe milk. He wants it fresh and full cream. If you have any sort of milk substitutes (whether it be skim, almond, whatever), that won't fly. No, you have a full-cream carton just for him.

Also, whipped cream. He loves it.

God forbid you run out.

He will find a way into your kitchen cabinets and pantry, and he will be eating any and all of the sweets you have stored. Sour gummies? Devoured. Hard boiled candy? Those sugar rocks are done for. Complimentary chocolate? Not a single crumb left behind.

You have no idea how he isn't dead yet.

Imagine cat! Gojo Satoru constantly starving for your attention. He'll yowl, mewl, trill, scream--anything for just a lick of your time.

Imagine cat! Gojo Satoru frightening away your creep of a neighbour who was trying to force his way into your home.

With your eyes slightly glossy from fear of what could happen to you, features perpetually frozen in an expression of discomfort and fright--your cat weaves between your legs with a sweetened "mreow?" before taking seat by your feet.

He tilts his head at the sight of the unwelcome disgrace of a human being leering in towards you, leaning threateningly against your door frame. Despite cat! Gojo's light hearted trill, his fluffy tail swishes agressively from side to side behind him.

A quiet panic latches onto your heart--you don't know if you could bear it if anything happened to him too. "Satoru, inside please," your voice trembles as you whisper at him.

Your neighbour glances down, puffing a condescending laugh at the fluffy cat before taking a step forward and reaching for your arm.

You don't really remember what happened after that. You don't recall blacking out, or maybe it all happened in a blink? Either way, by the time you regained your senses, the offender was scattering off with a series of wounds littering his form, and a scorch mark was left where he once stood in his wake. You swallow wearily, processing everything.

Cat! Gojo plants his fluffy butt back down by your feet, licking at his front paw indifferently before looking up at you with his big, sunglass clad eyes.

When you let out a soft breath of relief and incredulity, he sticks out his little pink tongue with a dopey cat-grin.

Imagine cat! Gojo Satoru, escaping and wandering off for hours at a time, only to come back with some sort of (rather expensive) gift in his clutches.

He's the adventerous sort. Although he loves to laze around the house, he gets the urge to be up and off, and he'll annoying weasel between your legs and make you trip up before heading on his way.

He might leave for the day, but by the evening he always returns. Sometimes you'll find him waiting patiently at your door like you did when you first found him, this time with something akin to an offering sitting at his paws.

Other times he'll already be back in the house, awaiting you leisurely with his present sat nearby.

He's popped up with a paper bag of pricey chocolates (perhaps in replacement of the ones he ate in your pantry?), a pouch of authentic ginger and tea leaves (you'd been complaining about getting migraines recently...), a cashmere scarf (winter is getting closer, where the HELL did he nick a CASHMERE SCARF from!?), and a thin, 22-carat gold chain from GOD KNOWS WHERE.

Whenever you scold him for stealing, he never looks abashed. If anything, he goes out the next day and returns with something even more expensive for you to panic about.

Imagine having a bad day and indulging in your most bed-rotting desires with cat! Gojo Satoru.

Normally you wouldn't eat in bed. You don't like the feeling of grain or bits and pieces poking you in your sleep. Aside from the occassional, mostly able to eat clean meal, you wouldn't eat in bed.

But today--today is an exception. What started as a decent morning turned into an annoying afternoon and a shitty evening. A flurry of emotions battle within you: frustration, irritation, sadness, confusion, annoyance--it ate up at you.

So after getting home and foregoing a shower to change into some old, tatty pyjamas to make you feel even more miserable, you'd picked out your most unhealthy snacks to take out your upset on.

When you get home, normally you'd greet cat! Gojo happily, or at least with a cuss after he trips you up in his excitement, but after a simple sigh and sad, passing smile, he knew something was up.

And so the graceful feline joins you on your bed, padding softly over the covers to stare at you uncomfortably. And when you notice and wave him away with a scrunched nose, finally he scoots closer and rolls onto his back, wriggling up to you with a gentle playfulness that you can't help but indulge.

You poke at his paws when he stretches them out at you, and for once, you decide to share your pile of treats with him. Together, you crunch down on some chips, chew on some candy, eat all your chocolate, and gradually spoon away all your ice cream.

And even when it's all gone, cat! Gojo lays with you some more before gently coaxing you up and guiding you towards your bathroom, urging you to wash the crappy day away.

And when you're done, he's waiting for you on the bed with the messy doona dragged off and replaced with a clean one, pillows fluffed and his favourite plush toy placed as an offering.

Imagine cat! Gojo Satoru taking up a majority of your bed at night because he refuses to sleep elsewhere. Not only does he take over your bed, but also your space.

Where you go, he goes.

When you decide to nap on the couch, he'll flop himself onto your tummy and crawl up to your chest, splaying himself over your body like a weighted blanket.

If you decide to take a nap outside on the grass, he'll lay tummy-up with his head pressed against yours, the both of you soaking in the warmth of the sun. Or, shoulder the weather be a little chilly, he'll cosy up to your side, flopping across your arm and nuzzling into your neck.

On your bed, if you shift so much as an inch, he follows. Where this might lead you to balance precariously on the edge of your side of the bed, eventually he'll just flop on top of you since you keep moving away.

He's a clingy little shit.

But to be honest, you wouldn't have him any other way.