#hamptons happening

[fdmlovesfashion]

HAMPTONS HAPPENING 2024 benefit

Catching up: The 20th annual Hamptons Happening 2024 benefiting the Samuel Waxman Cancer Research foundation raises funds to support cutting edge cancer research and honors luminaries In Cuisine, Fashion, Music and Business this Hamptons summer season. HAMPTONS HAPPENING 2024 benefit event HAMPTONS HAPPENING 2024 FASHIONDAILYMAG This year, over 400 guests and VIPs attended the 20th Annual…

[sincericida]

ANDREW GARFIELD

on the third day of the Hamptons International Film Festival.

«Loving Andrew Garfield in a sea glass green suit. Does this meet the Derek Guy Wear criteria of higher waist and looser leg?» (source)

[theravenlyn-art]

the second oliver hampton was introduced i laughed at how they slapped some glasses on him and were acting like this guy was not hot but then he stopped wearing them altogether and i lamented </3

anyway here is my fix-it sketch dump which did in fact just become a coliver mural hahahh

[episims]

Julian "-since it's fundamental for all the natural sciences. But I considered astronomy, too."

Emil "Oh. You spaced out on it...?"

Julian "—No. I believe the primary focus should be on solving terrestrial phenomenons we don't yet understand-"

Sara "-okay, but did you know that bees shouldn't be able to fly??"

Aurora "No, that's a myth. You can't use the same calculations for airplanes and something that can move its wings."

Sara "Damn, are you sure...? I heard that from a pretty reliable source."

[pernillecfcw]

I love this team😂😭

[softquietsteadylove]

I’m glad you liked the idea!! The result was so perfect and sweet as usual. Here’s another if you’re interested/have muse! Words: curiousity, animals, whispering

Gil gulped, trying to focus on plating more appetizers as the guests mulled about. For the most part, they were scattered around the rest of the sprawling estate, but some of them had gravitated towards the kitchen naturally out of eagerness for the next round.

And they kept whispering.

He couldn't make out what they were saying, of course, but Gil knew when he was being whispered about. He had grown up as a husky but strong boy who loved cooking, he was no stranger to feeling like an animal in a zoo. But the scrutinising glares of a couple dozen millionaires were more than enough to put him on edge.

He dabbed at some sweat on his forehead and heard a giggle behind him. He was glad he had the steam and stove and various other heat sources to blame for the flush in his skin. Clearing his throat, he turned with the platter in hand. "More hors d'oeuvres--canapes with cavier and brie crostini with blackberry and prosciutto."

"How delightful!"

"Wherever did Thena find a specimen like you?"

"I simply must get the recipe to my own chef!"

Gil just smiled, setting down the platter for them to maul at will. He slipped backwards, eager for the refuge of the inner kitchen again. When Thena had described this as a 'monsters' ball' of a soiree, she wasn't kidding.

She had warned him that the guests were technically allowed wherever they wanted to be, including his own space, as much as she wanted to discourage it. There were also warnings about how rude they could be, even if the words were polite, as well as not to let any of them subtly try to poach him from her.

As if that were possible; he had no desire to work for anyone but Thena.

Only a few more hours and it was over. Even if there were still guests lingering, Thena had made it very clear that he could leave after 11. It was pretty sweet, all things considered. It wasn't uncommon for the chef to be stuck there catering to everyone's desires until guests had left, and then clean up after everything too.

"Sir, the food is being received splednidly!"

"Jesus!" Gil cursed, gripping the pocket of his chef's jacket over his heart as Karun - yet again - materialised out of thin air. He glared at him, "dude!"

Karun just chuckled, though, not minding the casual speech in the least. "The Madam is the envy of all present, thanks to you and your recipes, sir. I have heard only glowing reviews throughout the party."

Well, no chef disliked hearing that. And if the guests weren't going to compliment him so honestly, then at least he could hear it from someone he trusted. They hadn't said anything bad of course, but even when they were saying nice things, he really felt like he couldn't believe anything any of them were saying.

"The Madam knew, of course. I have never heard her praise anything so highly as your food!"

Sometimes Gil really wondered if Karun exaggerated Thena's words, at all. She was just so quiet, so hard to read. It was hard to imagine her going on at length about...well, anything. And yet Karun made it sound like it was something she gushed about.

"Where is Thena?" Gil asked, even looking around in hopes of catching a glimpse of her bright blonde hair. He wiped his hands on the towel tossed over his shoulder. "I haven't seen her since the doors opened."

She had stopped by before getting ready, while he was still preparing everything. She had seemed a little nervous, actually, hovering around his prep work as if to procrastinate putting on her fancy dress and doing her hair.

"Ah, the Madam has many guests to entertain," Karun lamented, although still with the same immovable smile on his face. He straightened his bow tie. "Although, she did mention fetching something from the wine cellar."

"Huh," Gil murmured, still wiping his hands, mostly to occupy them with something. He didn't have anything on the fire currently, although he had considered that he could use some sparkling just to float on top of the personal panna cottas. "Maybe I'll see if she needs a hand with anything."

Gil walked down the stairs to the fancy underground wine cellar with heavy steps. He just needed a second wind to get through the rest of the evening. If he could have a little snack and push out the desserts then he would have a clear board. There were dressed up wait staff walking around with drinks and trays of his food anyway.

Maybe Karun had planned it, but Gil turned the corner and found Thena. She was seated on one of the crates yet to be unpacked, probably full of bottles that cost more than his whole salary. She was hunched over a little plate of food with her legs crossed, the slit of her dress exposing the length of them, while also pooling unceremoniously on the floor with her heels. Her hair was still pinned tightly at the back of her head, although he was guessing that the sparkly clip sitting beside her had been in it until she got down here.

She still looked gorgeous, although he had to admit he was more fond of the way she looked first thing in the morning, enjoying one of his omelettes.

"Oh," she looked up, not rushing to polish her appearance again. She rearranged her dress somewhat, starting to slip her stocking feet back into her shoes. "I was-"

"Hey, it's okay," he rushed. He could only assume she had taken off the high heels because her feet were killing her. "I won't tell."

She smiled at him, thankful for his secrecy. She did indeed slip her feet back to the tile floor, holding her rations preciously. "Did you come to escape them as well?"

"Escape them?"

She glanced upward in the direction of her own party, "the animals."

Gil snorted. He had certainly thought of them as such, but he hadn't exactly thought Thena did too. At least, not so literally. "I thought you knew at least some of them."

But she looked downtrodden, bordering on miserable. Gil immediately thought of the times in his life when he felt like a shy little outcast, sitting alone at lunch or being excluded from playing with others. "I suppose I am acquainted with a few of them. But this is largely a networking event. It is my turn to host it, nothing more."

He didn't exactly know everything about Thena's super fancy lifestyle. Actually, he knew very little about it. But he was confident in saying that she didn't ask for any of it, let alone like it. "Really sounds like more of a pain in the ass, than anything."

He usually didn't swear in front of Thena (his boss). Well, he didn't always talk in front of her at all. But she smiled again, her finger playing with a sprig of green onion that had tumbled off a canape. "I would have to agree."

Given that this was the most he and Thena had ever exchanged in terms of words or conversation, Gil decided to push further. He abandoned the search for champagne in favour of leaning against a stack of crates facing her. He slipped his hands in his pockets, although he immediately wondered if it was coming off as 'trying too hard'. "Is there anyone here you like at all?"

She looked up, stared him dead in the eyes, and said, "you."

Gil blushed.

Thena looked down at her lap again. She didn't rush to correct her statement, but her fidgeting with her plate increased as she brought her knees closer to her chest. "Not that I make for good company."

"What?" he laughed, hoping she would follow suit. "I'd rather be down here with you than up there, anyway."

She didn't quite take it as the compliment he intended, but she did look up again. Her lip set in a firm line, "have they been pestering you? I did attempt to make it clear that you were to be left to your work."

They had circled him like sharks observing a wounded dolphin. "I haven't really noticed them."

Thena scowled down at her beet cured salmon rosette. "Not one of them is of the mind to brush elbows with their own staff. I knew that your food would entice them into playing nice, but I did hope they would have some decorum."

He definitely got the impression that, while happy to sing his praises here and now, working for them was probably a nightmare. He would much rather be here with Thena, hiding from her own guests like ne'er do wells under the bleachers.

Thena blinked as he stole the rosette right off her plate. "I beg your pardon."

He gave her a grin, chewing it thoroughly. It turned out well! "What?--you were just playing with it. Someone should enjoy my work."

Her lips tugged up again and he really noticed how the red colour made them look even fuller than usual. "I did not realise my secret stash would have to be shared."

Gil shrugged, leaning forward to steal something else. Despite her teasing reproach, she leaned back and offered her plate to help him select something. He grabbed the remaining half of a mini buratta with a disk of tomato gelee and air crisped basil. He'd never created such pretentious finger food in all his life, but that was exactly what the animals wanted, according to Thena.

"I took two of everything and came down here nearly an hour ago," she confessed, hanging her head in guilt. She finally picked up the blackberry from her crostini and ate it. "Mingling with them is simply beyond my threshold for suffering."

She said 'they're a bunch of assholes' so eloquently.

"I guess I don't blame you," Gil chuckled, taking the rest of the crostini she had left after claiming just the fruit from it. "It's your party, your house--if you wanna play hooky, then who cares."

"Play hooky?" she furrowed her brows at the expression.

He laughed again, which she seemed to take as a scathing mockery of her ignorance. His expression softened and he leaned off the crates.

Thena drew her shoulders up but ultimately made room for him on her crate as he sat down next to her. It was neither too small nor comfortably large. He managed not to touch butts with her, but there was nothing he could do about his shoulder brushing hers.

He glanced at her from his position of having to somewhat perch himself on the corner, "aren't you cold?"

Thena's cheeks took on the most charming shade of pink he'd ever seen in his life. Now that he was closer to her, he could see the faint tremor in her hands and shoulders. She looked down at her plate again, positively mortified. "Freezing."

Poor thing was so eager to leave her own party that she would rather freeze by herself in the wine cellar than mingle a little. Gil immediately wished he had something on under his chef's jacket (although that would only ever create more of a sweating problem).

Gil put his hand on hers, which really was startlingly cold to the touch. "If you don't wanna come up to the kitchen, I get it. Some of your guests do keep poking their heads in."

That certainly was enough to keep her rooted in place.

He gave her frigid hand a squeeze, "but I'll bring you something, okay? Something to warm you up in hiding."

Thena looked up at him as he stood, preparing to leave her again. Those big, dazzling green eyes of hers pleaded with him, "hurry back?"

He would let all of the desserts burn if he had to. He lingered at the door just to wave to her, "I'll grab more rations for us too."

The brightened expression on her face at the promise of his lengthened return was blinding. It was more than enough to convince him to set the desserts out all at once and whatever happened, happened. As far as he was concerned, the guest of honour was down here freezing her butt off, the least he could do was grab a cup of hot cocoa and his hoodie and some more snacks for her.

[fideidefenswhore]

gareth russell doesn't give much detail bc he seems to be saving it all for his book (he wrote this in 2010 tho). he was bickering on his blog (confessions of a ci-devant) with conor byrne about anne's age in the comments. conor brought up thomas boleyn's "five years" comment and gareth insisted the year he married elizabeth howard wasn't sure and his research told him elizabeth didn't get her dowry until 1502, so they probably married that year. not much but it'd be interesting to hear more about it.

lolol, well, he's deleted most of that, so...i think his interest in anne boleyn has fallen off, somewhat, generally speaking? he said he was writing and soon publishing a biography of her, years and years ago. i don't really see how that applies to the five years comment, unless he argued that william boleyn ('for every year my father lived, she brought me a child') actually died later than 1505, but without the text in front of me...

i also don't know whether or not that's true about the dowry, offhand, but if it is, it doesn't necessarily mean that 1502 was the year they married. thomas boleyn was high enough in hvii's estimation to be assigned as part of princess margaret's escort to scotland, but the latter still fined him for ...some entirely arbitrary reason, i'm sure, so not that high. elizabeth (howard) boleyn's father was also a ricardian (and by that i don't mean the tumblr version, i mean as in a literal, stalwart, contemporary supporter of richard iii), and while he was officially forgiven and overcame this somewhat, and was shown favor by hvii in many ways, it's plausible enough of a grudge was held to demur for a year or so on financial matters when it came to his family. thomas howard, (second) duke of norfolk had certainly made the list of nobility edmund dudley claimed had "suffered wrongs" and "[been subject to] unjustly imposed fines".

[asterroth]

Nauseated thinking about how i missed my local pride because i was home and im currently missing my summer home’s local pride because im home and these are the two times ive been home all year. Why do my parents keep scheduling things for me during pride !!

[madaqueue]

18+, MDNI - f!reader

sukuna wasn’t a jealous man per se, but he absolutely was possessive - what’s his was his alone - especially when it comes to you. but that just made it all the more fun to taunt him, seeing how much you could get away with. sometimes, sure, maybe you get a little too touchy with random guys at bars just to get a rise out of him, to see what he’ll do to put you back in your place, remind you that you’re his.

“sukuna, what’s the big deal?” you whine as the bathroom door slams shut behind you.

finally releasing his grip on your wrist, he looks at you with nothing short of rage flowing behind his crimson eyes. “the ‘big deal’ is you practically begging that wanna-be frat boy piece of shit to fuck you right in front of me,” he spits.

rolling your eyes, you rest your back against the wooden doorframe. “he’s just a friend.”

“oh, so you get touchy with all your friends like that, hm? put your arms around ‘em, tell ‘em how nice they look in their ugly ass knock-off gucci shirts?”

crossing your arms, you feel the heat of excitement building in your chest - now, it was all too easy to fan the flames. “he was just offering to buy me a drink.”

“oh!” he practically yells, voice echoing off the faux tiles of the bar’s restroom. “well then by all means, go back out there and get your free drink! while you’re at it, why don’t you see if his daddy’s money can get you a new car, or a yacht or something - maybe he can be the one to shell out the cash for you to get your nails done every week, and your hair, and your lashes ‘n shit, because clearly i’m not providing for you enough if you feel like you have to whore yourself out for a fucking $10 vodka cran!”

uh oh. whenever he starts monologuing like this, it’s never a good sign. maybe you pushed him a bit too far this time.

shifting uncomfortably, you soften your tone. “‘kuna,” you sigh, “you’re right, i’m sorry.”

“‘sorry?’” he mocks. “you didn’t look very sorry when your hands were all up in his hair or on his chest, hm?” they should only be on me, he thinks, but manages to hold himself back. “were you ‘sorry’ when you told him he’s the funniest person here for making some lame ass joke about how ‘working class’ i look?”

“look, that’s not-“

“no, no! why don’t you go fuck the trust fund baby and see if his three-inch house-in-the-hamptons dick can satisfy you! i bet they’ve got housekeepers and personal chefs and shit, maybe they can teach you some goddamn manners about how to treat people!”

oh, this is bad. yeah, you went too far.

slowly, you raise your hands to his chest, locking eyes with him as you steady your breathing. “‘kuna, you’re right. i fucked up. i shouldn’t have said that shit, i didn’t mean it and i’m sorry.”

the flames of anger crackle under his skin as he looks at you - god, he wishes you didn’t look so beautiful under the flickering lights in this shitty bathroom, maybe then it would be easier to stay mad at you. “yeah, yeah, alright. whatever.”

but you aren’t done - he’s clearly still mad, so your work isn’t finished just yet. “how can i prove that i’m sorry?” you murmur, batting your eyelashes up at him.

the corner of his lip twitches ever so slightly into a smirk. “‘prove it,’ eh?”

you nod, plastering as innocent of a look on your face as possible, wide doe eyes and glossed lips smiling softly.

“well, i have an idea of how you could make it up to me.”

“anything,” you hum. you just want him to forgive you.

almost instantly, the cool tile floor hits your knees as the sound of a zipper being undone fills the silence. looking up, you’re suddenly face to face with his fully erect cock, a small drop of precum beading at the tip.

“well?” he smirks, “better get to apologizing.”

this smug bastard.

rolling your eyes, you figure it's easier to just accept your fate and apologize in whatever way he happens to see fit - in this case, with his cock in your mouth. parting your lips, you slowly roll your tongue over his flushed tip as he lets out a low groan that echoes through the space. after a few moments of working him into your mouth, a calloused hand reaches behind your head, guiding you further down his length.

“juuuust like that, good fuckin' girl” he mumbles, mostly to himself as he tugs you up and down his cock.

the salty taste of his pre on your tongue has heat building in your core, your thighs beginning to rub together. trailing your fingers between your legs, you nearly make it to your cunt before he roughly kicks your hand away.

“acht - no touching. you're supposed to be makin' me forgive you, remember?” your lips attempt to curl into a frown around him as he chuckles above you. “aw, don’t pout,” he coos sarcastically. “if you wanted to get fucked, you should’ve just asked me instead of acting like some fuckin’ slut out there.”

fair point.

taking in a breath through your nose, you continue working him in and out of your mouth. sukuna was big, and you always struggled to take all of him. sometimes he would be nice and let you take your time opening your throat for him.

but not today.

with one harsh thrust, he pushes himself all the way past your lips until his tip knocks at the back of your throat. a menacing giggle overpowers the sound of your gags as he pulls you off him.

“c’mon baby, not doin’ a very good job saying sorry, now are ya? i thought i taught you to be more grateful.”

with that, his hips jut up again, all the way into you. tears begin spilling over your lashes as you struggle to breathe, but each time it threatens to become too much he pulls back, letting you desperately suck in air.

drool spills down your chin as he fucks your mouth, ravenous and greedy. the lack of oxygen has you lightheaded as thick tears cascade down your cheeks.

but if this is what it takes for him to forgive you, so be it.

the hand at the back of your head tightens in your hair as he drags you up and down, his chuckles becoming more and more breathy.

“fuck baby, m’close, y’gonna take it all for me, yeah?” he asks, mostly rhetorically as you couldn’t answer with the way his cock fills your mouth. all you can let out is a weak whine in affirmation.

with one final thrust, thick ropes of cum shoot down your throat, the salty taste lingering as he pulls out. tucking himself back into his boxers and zipping his jeans, he takes in the sight of you on your knees, black trails of mascara streaming from your eyes, drool spilling down your chin. your chest rapidly rises and falls as you attempt to steady your breath.

reaching a hand down, he strokes your cheek, wiping away a trail of spit before helping you to your feet.

there’s a glimmer of mischief behind his ruby eyes as he leads you from the bathroom, purposely leaving you in this disheveled state. “c’mon baby, let’s go - wouldn’t want to keep your ‘friend’ waiting.”

[fdmlovesfashion]

Catching up: Hamptons Happenings and Step Up Fundraising event

Catching up: The Samuel Waxman Cancer Research Foundation (SWCRF) hosted the Annual Hamptons Happenings and Step Up To Turn Off Cancer fundraising event last week. The special kick off celebration of the two upcoming summer events to raise awareness and help fund cancer research. This year’s Hamptons Happenings will be held on Saturday July 6th in Bridgehampton. Attendees will enjoy a night of…

[sincericida]

ANDREW GARFIELD

on the third day of the Hamptons International Film Festival.

[romanovthinkver]

⚠️ we need to protect scarlett ⚠️

apparently it got out that scarlett has been stalked by a freak guy from LA since august 2022. the man thinks he’s scarlett’s second child real father. he knows where she lives and she left at her house letters and other items. scarlett and her lawyer asked the court a restrictive order, but they didn’t gave to her.

report and block the guy on his socials profiles and be mindful of putting specific locations of scarlett’s next events, he stalks related fan profiles and fanpages to get as much information to reach her.

im gonna link some useful posts of scarlett’s fanpage about this news and who to report.

article link

main profile of the men other profiles of him and others

what happened to scarlett pt 2 pt 3

be mindful you guys, let’s team up to protect scarlett as much as we can. spread the word and let’s take action to report this man. stay safe out there.

🚨VERY IMPORTANT UPDATE 🚨

scarlett’s publicist is asking fans for HELP. apparently everyone is so worried for this guy and this is getting too serious. people are telling he is now in NEW YORK, so we better move up. he changes his plates, phone numbers, accounts, location and everything to not be found by the police. we have to report him immediately as it’s too much dangerous. please let’s be united to make sure scarlett and her family are safe.

in case you are in new york and see him call the police immediately.

if you see something suspicious on the internet please contact the twitter user “keeping up with scarlett” as she is directly in contact with scarlett publicist, if can’t tell me and i report to the twt account.

keep blocking and report his profiles on every social. (twt, instagram, facebook, tumblr, tik tok etc.)

please he follows her on insta so we can start there to track him down, scarlett deserves better than this. he is currently in the hamptons following his last update.

scarlett’s publicist words.

the man last update.

his tumblr account.

[episims]

"-no, I don't have a day off! You can't seriously claim that you've ever noticed I've got flexible hours. And it doesn't matter anyway! You should've asked, even if..."

"...My point is you can't just assume I'm willing to empty my calendar on any notice to look after her. And since when I've ever done that?? That's not how it..."

"...Uh. I guess you're already there, huh? So, okay, fine. I'm staying at home just for this once. Which does not mean I'm your babysitter-"

*heavy sigh*

"...Umm."

"You know. I love your dad, I really do..."

"...but oh my watcher he can be a lot to take sometimes."

[woso-dreamzzz]

Head in the Clouds II

Barcelona Femení x Teen!Reader

Summary: You remain dazed and confused

You went crashing to the ground, skidding across the wet pitch.

"You feeling okay, champ?"

You groan, clutching at your ribs as you roll onto your back. "Can you tell Bright to please leave me alone? You're friends, right?"

Lucy laughs. "Funny, kid. Real funny. You feeling good, though? Okay to continue?"

You huff and let Lucy pull you up, wiping the rain from your face.

Chelsea had upped their game since that red card, truly, and as one of the younger ones on the pitch, you were baring the brunt of it. It seemed that they had forgotten you were once their academy player just like you did.

Though, to be fair, yours was more of you had genuinely forgotten while this seemed more like revenge on their part.

"Atta-girl," Lucy says, clapping you on the back.

"Hey," Ingrid approaches as well," That looked nasty. How are your ribs?"

"Sore," You answer," But I think I can keep going."

"There's that winning mentality!" Lucy says," Sticking it out until the end."

Ingrid gives Lucy a pointed look. "You know, I think I preferred it when you were more protective over her. She's hurt her ribs, Lucy!"

"I'll be fine."

"See! She'll be fine!"

Ingrid rolls her eyes but moves to take the free kick you've just won.

You go streaking up the pitch after it.

Carter and Charles both run up either side of you just as you release the ball from your foot, sending it towards Hampton.

One of them jostles you off balance and you trip, going careening forward.

It must have been a pretty forceful shove because you gain a lot of air, very quickly.

Quick enough to meet up with the ball you've already released.

You smash the top of your head against it just as you land on the ground.

"Ow..." You say to no one as your ribs flair in pain again as your body meets the pitch.

Over the ringing of your ears, you can't hear the roar of the crowd as your head propels the ball just an inch too far for Hampton to get her glove around.

It slots itself in the net but you're still faceplanted in the dirt to have even noticed.

Someone grabs you, Patri, you find, and shakes you almost too violently.

She's saying something but all you can do is mindlessly stare in confusion at her.

"I taught her that!" Lucy's proud voice cuts through the ringing in your ears. "Did you know? I taught her that."

"Sure, Luce," Comes Keira's dry reply.

"What? I did! Even the landing!"

"I..." You say, rubbing a sore spot on your head. "What happened?"

Patri laughs, jostling you again. "You just scored, idiot!"

"Did I?"

"Yes!" Comes the chorus of voice arounds you and you glance around to see the rest of the team.

"Oh...When did you guys get here?"

"How are your ribs?" It's Paredes now and you frown, pressing on them.

You wince. "I'll live."

Keira sighs. "God, Luce, couldn't you teach her anything else? We don't need another Lucy Bronze running around."

Lucy grins. "I think we do. She's my protégé."

"I don't think Alexia would be happy hearing you say that."

Lucy suddenly turns pale, eyes wide. "Oh, shit. Don't tell her I said that."

They go back and forth while you still stare up at confusion in the screen displaying the 3-0 score to Barcelona.

"Seriously," Paredes says," Your ribs. Are they okay?"

"I can still play on them."

"So they're not okay." She gestures to Jona to sub you off.

"But..."

"We need you for the final," She says to you," Besides, the match is nearly over. They're not catching up to us now."

Bruna comes on in your place and you sit, dazed and confused on the bench.

Jana giggles at your face, poking your cheeks as you try to mull over your goal.

"Are you sure it counts?" You ask.

"Are you saying they should disallow it?"

"No!" You say quickly," But...I don't know."

"Tell you what," Jana giggles," If this football thing doesn't work out for you then professional clown might."

You frown. "Huh?"

She mimics the face you pulled when you found out the ball went in.

Your eyes go wide.

"Oh no."

She grins. "Oh yes. It's been, what, five minutes? I've already seen ten separate Twitter accounts with it as the profile picture."

[omgthatdress]

So Justin Timberlake got arrested for driving while high a few days ago......

The cop who arrested him is early 20s and straight up didn't recognize him or know who he was which honestly blows my millennial fucking mind.

BUT THEN, JT's PR tream went to the Daily Mail and planted a really obvious hit piece about how this one cop is terrorizing his community..... the Hamptons, by y'know, doing his job and issuing traffic tickets to rich assholes.

So now something absolutely fucking insane, something I NEVER in my life thought I would live to see is happening...

Twitter is siding with the cop.

Like holy shit our collective hatred for Justin Timberlake and what he did to Janet Jackson and Britney Spears is that much stronger than our collective hatred of cops. That is fucking something.

[in-my-feels-probably]

Older Art spoiling his 20 something yo girlfriend that goes to Stanford. She looks up to him and listens to him and does whatever he says and basically lives for his praise.

I Feel So High School (Every Time I Look At You)

Request: Older Art spoiling his 20 something yo girlfriend that goes to Stanford. She looks up to him and listens to him and does whatever he says and basically lives for his praise.

and: art being 10ish years older than reader? that’s all i got. go crazy

Hi! Challengers has been on my mind literally since the day it came out, and I think I've read every single fic on here about it, so I figured I’d give it a shot writing one myself. First of all, I combined your requests, hope that’s ok. Second, this is my first time writing for Art, so please bear with me while I try and get the hang of writing his character. I haven’t written a fic in weeks, so my skills are definitely a little rusty. Please be kind! Anyways, I hope you like this. Let me know what you think, and thank you for the request :)

(Warnings: none? idk, maybe very vague mentions of sex, art is divorced, swearing, i guess the age gap taboo. let me know if i missed anything)

—

You should have known trying to explain your situation with Art to someone else would’ve been difficult, but finally telling your roommate everything was just as humiliating as you thought it would be. She always had a knack for nosing her way into your business, and not even you were immune to her federal level detective skills when it came to getting information out of someone. 

“And I’m seeing him today,” you finished your rant as you sucked in a breath, wincing as you waited for the bomb to drop.

But it didn’t. Your roommate just grinned, standing up and walking over to your closet. You watched with a confused look on your face until she turned to you, already elbow deep in your clothes.

“So…you have a sugar daddy?” your roommate asked, trying to stifle a laugh as she rifled through your closet to help you find an outfit. “No judgment, I’m honestly jealous.”

You picked a pillow up off your bed, launching it at her when she smirked as you flushed. “I don’t have a sugar daddy! I have a…well—ok, I don’t know what we are. But he’s not my sugar daddy.”

“No, he’s just an ex pro tennis player with a famous ex wife who was also a pro tennis player that he had a perfect little girl with, complete with a house in the Hamptons. Now, he’s…what, exactly? A coach? A commentator? Part of Stanford’s glorified alumni? No, I’ve got it! I know what he is — hot. In a beekeeping age, recently divorced, kind of way.”

You rolled your eyes, standing up to help her look through your closet. “He’s only in his thirties. You’re making him sound archaic and washed up.”

“Look at you, gushing over him,” she grinned as she finally landed on something for you to wear, quickly handing it to you. “At least he has good taste. You’re hot, too.”

Your roommate turned around while you quickly changed, sitting down at the foot of your bed. She talked over her shoulder as you got dressed, her voice full of curiosity.

“So, how did this all happen anyway?”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Remember alumni week with all the guest lectures and presentations a few months ago?”

“You met Art Donaldson during alumni week? What the fuck! Why didn’t you tell me? I wouldn’t have skipped all my classes that week if I thought I was gonna pick up a trophy husband instead of being forced to sit through a mind-numbingly boring presentation from some guy who used to go here that I’ve never heard of.”

“Sucks to suck, babe,” you grinned, finished getting dressed. “I’m good, you can turn around now.”

She quickly turned around, patting the spot on the bed next to her.

“How did this even happen? I’ve never seen you step foot on a tennis court in your life, and I know they wouldn’t have asked him to speak in a graduate lecture.”

You sat down next to her, nodding. “He did a seminar down at the courts for the kinesiology majors or something like that. They were learning about sports related injuries and how to treat them. He told them about how he hurt his shoulder a few years ago during a match, and he talked about all the physical therapy he had to do.”

“You’re telling me you sat through a kinesiology lecture? On a tennis court? When you don’t even study kinesiology?”

“Absolutely not,” you laughed, leaning back against the headboard. “He told me about it that first week while he was here.”

Your roommate giggled, grabbing your hand and squeezing it. “Oh my god! Okay, okay. Spill. Now. I want to know everything.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, but started ranting again anyway. 

—

In truth, you didn’t really know what your relationship with Art was. You’d met when returning alumni who’d gone on to excel in their fields came to campus for guest lectures and demonstrations.

In a total mortifying cliche, you ran into Art in a hallway while you were rushing to a lecture that had already started ten minutes earlier. You would have been on time, but your roommate accidentally locked herself out of your dorm, and the RA wasn’t answering their phone. She had an exam she needed to get to, which—in her own words—“trumps your boring book lecture.” You had no choice but to turn around and save her, making the trek back across campus to let her in. That’s how you ended up running face first into Art, your bag and all your things scattering across the floor. By some miracle, at least the halls were empty.

You quickly kneeled, scrambling to pick up all your things. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going. I’m late for class.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, kneeling to help you.

It was then when you looked up, and you felt your heart jump into your throat. Art Donaldson—famous alumni and world renowned tennis player—was crouched right in front of you, handing you half empty tubes of chapstick, a pair of headphones, and a stray pack of gum. Oh god, you thought to yourself. Why me? Why today? You quickly cleared your throat, standing up.

“God, sorry. Thanks…Mr. Donaldson.”

You cringed as you said it, the title of Mr. feeling off as it rolled off your tongue.

“Mr. Donaldson?” he raised a brow, shaking his head. “No, just call me Art. Uh, you know who I am? Am I actually still recognizable here? I figured no one off of the courts would have any idea who I was.”

You glanced down at his shirt, pointing. “You’re wearing a name tag.”

Art paled, raising a hand to awkwardly scratch at the back of his neck. Good one, he thought to himself. Very humble. He cringed to himself as his cheeks flushed, a small smile on his face.

“Right. I knew that.”

You smiled, pulling your bag back over your shoulder as you let out a little chuckle. “I know who you are. Stanford never lets us forget about their prized students.”

“Ah,” he nodded, grinning. “In my day, it was Reese Witherspoon and Jennifer Connelly. Although, Reese dropped out halfway through her degree, so they don’t talk about her much—”

“And Jennifer left Yale to come study here,” you finished. “That’s one they do still brag about.”

Art smiled, leaning back against the wall as he looked at you. You suddenly became very aware of your situation, tearing your eyes away from him to look down the hall where your class was. Art’s eyes followed, and he straightened up, clearing his throat.

“Am I keeping you?”

“No!” you said all too quickly, biting your tongue for a second before you forced yourself to calm down and continue. “Uh, my class already started. It’s not really important, he doesn’t count attendance anyway. And, to be honest, he’s pretty dull. He managed to make Jane Austen boring.”

“Not Bazin’s class, is it?” Art asked, making you raise a brow.

“Yeah, it is. How’d you know that?”

Art smiled, letting out a little laugh. “That’s why I came this way, I wanted to see if Professor Bazin still taught English here. He was a dinosaur even when I graduated. I’m surprised they still let him teach.”

“If they actually read the end of term course evaluations they make us fill out, they wouldn’t,” you mused, making Art grin wider.

“I guess I should let you go then,” Art shrugged, glancing down the hall. “Wouldn’t want you to miss out on something you could use in your scathing evaluation.”

You glanced back down the hallway at your classroom, but you couldn’t get your feet to move. You weren’t sure why, but you didn’t want to go just yet. 

All you did at Stanford was go to and from class and stay on top of your studies. It was monotonous and boring, and you were always up to your neck in papers and projects. Other than your roommate, you hardly had any people left you talked to or hung out with. They all graduated with their undergrad degrees, and you moved on to your graduate studies. Your education was important to you, but it got lonely. You almost never took risks anymore. But as you glanced back at him, that’s what you did.

You took the risk.

“Or…you could save me from my misery?” you stuttered out, an awkward smile on your face.

Art looked at you with an amused expression, tilting his head as he waited for you to continue. You swallowed, fiddling with the strap of your bag.

“My classes are almost all entirely in this building. I’m sure you’re sick of talking about tennis, but between here and my dorm, I don’t think I see enough sunlight in a day to keep me going. Maybe you could walk with me somewhere that actually sees the sun? Doesn’t have to be the courts or anything, although I can say with full confidence that I’ve never actually seen that part of campus and I’m in my graduate studies. Uh, maybe you’ve got somewhere in mind? Or you could let me buy you a cup of shitty cafeteria coffee? I promise I’ll refrain from asking you about your career. But, as I’m sure you can tell just by looking at me, I don’t really know enough about tennis to ask anyway.”

As you rambled on, horrified by your own rambling but determined to put yourself out there, Art smiled. 

He’d met a lot of girls over the years. Some girls who had a genuine interest in him but didn’t last, and some who saw his fame and fortune as a one way ticket to an easy life. 

None of them mattered. 

He had married Tashi, head over heels from the first moment he saw her. He had a kid with her, a career with her, a seemingly picture perfect life with her. It didn’t even occur to him to look at other girls until his marriage started to strain under the weight of his career, and he’d almost forgotten what it was like to look at a girl for the first time and feel that sickening but addictive feeling of butterflies fluttering around in his stomach. After the divorce, it felt so foreign to him that he didn’t even try. He had resigned himself to being a single father who co-parents and lives the rest of his life comfortably and quietly.

But here you were, rambling on with flushed cheeks and bright eyes trying your hardest to ask him out, and he couldn’t be more captivated.

There was just something about you. You were pretty, obviously. Anyone with eyes would’ve been able to see that. But there was something else, too. You were still young and not entirely pessimistic yet, with your whole career ahead of you. Probably no more than a few heartbreaks under your belt, able to muster up some sort of courage to fight for what you wanted. He used to have that, and he missed it — admired it, even. As you finally cut yourself off and looked up at him with mortification written across your face, Art saved you from further embarrassment with a smile. 

“Um…coffee sounds good,” he said with a shy smile. “Not from the cafeteria, though. If it’s as bad as it was when I went here, I’m not gonna let you waste your meal card money on it. There’s a cart outside of the athletics center, I stopped by it this morning. It’s still good.”

Trying your best to mask the shock you were feeling by his answer, you quickly nodded. “Oh, okay. Sounds good.”

You spent the entire afternoon with him. Coffee turned into lunch, and lunch turned into a long walk. Although you both had things to do, neither of you wanted to say goodbye and go on with your day. You skipped the rest of your classes for the day, letting Art show you around campus. He took you to all the places you had never been, and you kept quiet and let him show you anyway when you passed somewhere you had already been a hundred times. He was polite and asked you about your major and career goals, even managing a graceful smile when it was his turn to tell you about his career and how it unfolded after he graduated. He was careful to leave out the end, but he found himself comfortable enough to tell you about the first few years. You asked what you could, but you really didn’t know enough about the sport to ask much of anything.

“I’m boring you to death, aren’t I?” he asked when there was a lapse in silence after you passed a poster with his face on it for a Wimbledon campaign.

“No, not at all!” you replied, tilting your head up towards the poster. “I’m just wondering how you managed it.”

Art cocked a brow, turning towards you. “Managed what?”

“Not becoming a complete asshole,” you shrugged, making him burst out laughing. “I’m serious! You’re not the first celebrity to come here during alumni week. The difference between you and them is that you didn’t show up and immediately start bragging about how successful you had become. As far as I can tell, you’re the same as when you graduated. That seems pretty rare.”

“There’s not much to brag about,” he shrugged, too humble for his own good.

“A career Grand Slam isn’t worth bragging about?” you asked, turning away from him when he gave you a confused look. “Okay, fine, I may or may not have Googled you back in the restaurant while you were in the bathroom. I was running out of things to ask you, and I figured I should know something about tennis. Anyway, I was impressed.”

Art just chuckled. “I’m flattered.”

After walking a few more minutes, the street lamps turned on. It had gotten late enough in the evening that they were starting to light up around the darker parts of the campus. It was your cue to stop walking and look around, both of you realizing how long it had been since you started talking.

“I guess I should be headed back to my dorm,” you said, a hint of disappointment in your voice. “My roommate is probably freaking out by now. She knows I never really go anywhere after class without her—and yes, I heard how pathetic that sounded as it came out. She’s probably gonna call campus security if I don’t show up soon.”

Art nodded, knowing you were right. And yet, his feet didn’t move. Neither of you made any attempt to leave, still standing under the soft light of the street lamps. Art looked at you with soft eyes, absentmindedly reaching to fiddle with his wedding ring with his thumb before he remembered it wasn’t there anymore. Finally, he cleared his throat. 

“Well…I guess this is the part where I ask you for your number.”

“It was nice meeting you, too—” you started, doing a double take once his words registered. “Wait, what?”

Art let out a nervous laugh, shrugging. “You bought me a coffee, it’s only fair that I do the same. I’m here all week. Maybe you’d want to do this again sometime?”

“Uh, yeah! Yeah, that sounds good,” you replied, trying your best and failing to sound as nonchalant as you could.

Art smiled and pulled out his phone, opening his contacts. He handed it over to you, watching as you typed in your number before handing his phone back to him. You fought the heat pooling in your cheeks, fiddling with the strap of your bag. Art grinned, breaking the silence. 

“Go find your roommate. Tell her to call off the search party.”

You chuckled, nodding. “I’m on it. Well…bye, Art.”

“Bye, Y/N. I’ll text you,” he replied, enjoying watching you shuffle back and forth on your heels. 

He made you nervous. And for some reason, he liked that. He’d spent practically the last decade of his life perpetually nervous. It was nice to know someone else felt the same way. 

He watched you go as you turned around and headed back to your dorm, a distant but still familiar warmth in his chest. He’d only known you for a few hours, but he could already tell he liked you. By the time you made it back to your dorm and managed to come up with an excuse for your roommate who immediately interrogated you the second you stepped through the door, your phone was ringing. You excused yourself to the bathroom with a bashful grin on your face, answering the call.

—

You spent the better part of a week with Art when you both had time between your classes and his seminars. 

It felt surprisingly easy and normal talking to him. Your small talk about your careers and plans turned into more personal topics, and then you were talking about anything and everything. You were fully aware of the age gap between you two, but it didn’t bother you nearly as much as you thought it would. If anything, it was part of the draw to him. He was also kind and friendly, with a surprisingly self deprecating sense of humor that made you laugh. Not to mention the fact that he was drop dead gorgeous. You had to actively make sure he didn’t catch you staring at him when his head was turned. He made you want to actually giggle out loud, which is something you never thought you’d do over a guy.

By the end of the week when it was time for him to leave and go back to New York, you both were dreading saying goodbye. 

It was late in the evening, about an hour before he had to leave to catch his flight. He’d finally taken you to the courts, once again only lit by the street lamps overhead. It was the first time all week he’d stepped onto the court and actually wanted to be there, not surrounded by onlookers who knew every nook and cranny of his life and career. Instead it was you, the sweet pretty girl who made him genuinely laugh when you asked him why the points system would ever use the term love to describe a lacking score. 

He fiddled around for a while, teaching you a few serves and how to hold the racquet to hit the ball. Eventually he was on the other side of the net, watching you giggle and chase after the few balls he’d softly serve your way. He could hear you panting and the sound of your shoes skidding across the court, but your laughter was too sweet to make him stop. 

Finally, you stopped to take a break, sitting down on the bench. “Don’t look at me, I might cough up a lung.”

“Very impressive,” he smiled, passing you his water.

“Thank you,” you grinned, motioning between him in the court. “Go on, let’s see what you’ve got. I’m down for the count, but I’m sure the ball machine will be more than happy to fill in for me.”

Art smiled, watching you grin at him with flushed cheeks and glowy skin. If anyone else was asking, he wouldn’t have done it. He wasn’t interested in showing off his skills, or lack thereof to put it more accurately as of late — he’d stopped training as intensely after the divorce, no new tournaments waiting for him to come and win. But the look on your face when you asked was just one he couldn’t say no to. Plus, your knowledge of the sport wasn’t that vast. You probably wouldn’t notice if he slipped up anyway. And if you did, you’d be too kind to make him feel bad about it.

“If you insist,” he groaned, but he was still smiling to himself as he moved to the other side of the court.

You watched him play for a few more minutes. He really was something to see. Every movement he made was smooth and graceful, a far cry from the stumbling around and huffing and puffing you had been doing. Every ball hit its target, every serve lining up exactly where he wanted it to. As silly as it sounded, you actually had to prevent yourself from clapping once he finally slowed down and turned the machine off.

“Look at you go,” you smiled from the bench, handing him back his water as he walked back over.

His cheeks flushed pink, and he was silently praying you couldn’t see it from under the low lights. He was too busy getting all flustered to reply to you, and it made you smile. It was silent for a long moment as you stared at each other, before he finally stood up. You followed him, a sinking feeling in your gut as you realized that it was probably time to say goodbye.

It had been a week you had never even dreamed would’ve happened to you, and yet it did. The one risk you decided to take had led to the most fun you’d had in your entire time at Stanford. You didn’t want to see him go.

As you looked up at him with soft eyes and a melancholy look on your face, like you were looking to him for all the answers, Art felt a sharp tug in his chest. He found himself immediately wanting to fix it, wanting to make you smile again — smile because of him. He’d have done anything in that moment to get you to laugh again.

So, against his better judgment, he leaned in and kissed you. 

It was a spur of the moment decision, one he almost immediately regretted. But then he felt you sink into the kiss, your hands coming up to his waist to steady yourself. He cupped your cheeks and pulled you into him, unable to stop the smile spreading across his lips. 

And that was all it took — he was falling, and falling hard. 

—

That was months ago now, and yet, Art still found reasons to visit you. 

When there was lapses in tours, or it was Tashi’s week with Lily, he always somehow found himself ending up coming right back to you. He’d pick you up from your dorm, and you’d spend the entire day with him. On weekends, you ended up in whatever hotel he was staying at, telling your roommate you were going back home for a few days. When you weren’t together, you were constantly texting or calling. He even sent a postcard once when the ATP took him to Europe. It was cheesy, but you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face all day when you got it in the mail. 

You hadn’t exactly put a label on the relationship, but it was clear to the both of you that you meant more to each other than either of you cared to admit out loud. Quite a bit more, actually.

And Art wasn’t stupid — he knew what your relationship looked like. 

Recently divorced, a younger woman by his side. If they knew, the media would paint him as one of two options: an easily manipulated victim of a gold digger, or a washed up athlete who split with his wife that was now taking what he could get, the younger and prettier the better. 

But that wasn’t it at all for Art.

It wasn’t just sex, or a new pretty face. You were something different. A breath of fresh air. Someone who didn’t care about his career or money or fame. You had no interest in what he could offer you, or what you could get out of him. You never made him feel pressured to do anything or talk about anything he didn’t want to. He’d spent so many years craving a sense of normalcy and peace. Time and time again, he’d wanted to go to Tashi and beg for a break in his routine. But, always too afraid to disappoint her and everyone else watching him, he stayed quiet. He never got a break. As odd as it was to say, that’s what you were to him when he met you — a break. A minute to breathe, a moment to relax. He always felt that way around you.

Simply put, he was head over heels for you. He didn’t think he’d feel like that for another woman after Tashi until he met you, and it shocked him how easily the feeling came to him.

And it wasn’t just him that had fallen. 

You practically hung on every word he said, and soaked up every ounce of praise he gave you. You had never been with someone like him before. Someone so experienced and sure of himself, but just as gentle and patient as he was sure. He made you laugh and smile, and he made you feel safe. For whatever reason he had taken interest in you, you didn’t care, you just didn’t want it to stop. You clung to it, enjoying it while it lasted.

And if either of you had anything to say about it, it would last.

—

By the time you finished explaining your relationship with Art to your roommate, she was already pushing you out the door. 

“Go, go, go,” she squealed, tossing you your keys. “Wait!”

She wrapped her hand around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks as she glanced down at the outfit she chose. “Is that a new dress? Did he buy you a dress? Oh my god, please tell me he has a brother.”

“Not sure,” you grinned, smoothing your hand down your front. “Show up to alumni week next time and find out.”

You were already pressing a kiss to her cheek and rushing down the hall before she could get out another word, giggling as you made your way to the stairs.

On the drive over to the hotel, the nerves in your stomach were making you nervously tap your fingers on the steering wheel. You must’ve got caught by every stop light, making the trip even longer. You were practically vibrating once you finally pulled into the parking lot, grabbing your bag and hurrying inside before your nerves got the better of you and made you stand like an idiot in the lobby, trying to muster up the courage to get in the elevator. You coasted on autopilot as you forced your feet to lead you upstairs to his floor, all the way down to his door. You only came back into your body when you raised a hand to knock on the door, pausing to take a deep breath.

Just knock, you thought to yourself. You’re a big girl. Just knock.

You had barely even knocked twice on the door before the door swung open, and you came face to face with Art. Your breath hitched in your throat, and you took a second to take him in. Still as pretty as you remembered, and every bit as alluring. You could feel yourself melting. 

The feeling was mutual. 

Art let out a sigh of relief, like it was the first good breath he had taken in weeks. A genuine smile crept onto his face as he reached for you, practically making grabby hands like a child. 

“Come here, pretty girl.”

You tried and failed to stifle a giggle, immediately burying yourself in his chest. You let out a hmph as you pressed your cheek against him, your arms wrapping tightly around his waist. You could feel his thumb running along the bare skin of your arm, his lips pressing a kiss to the top of your head. He nudged the door closed with his foot, tugging your bag from your shoulder and setting it on the floor without even letting you go. He was warm to the touch, and steady against you. He hummed into your hair, squeezing you tighter.

“There she is,” he murmured, letting out a small laugh. “My girl.”

“Hi, baby,” you giggled, the sound making his heart soar in his chest. 

He slowly walked you backwards to the bed, supporting most of your weight as you laid down. He was quick to follow, burying his face into the crook of your shoulder. His arms hooked lazily around your waist, his weight pressing you into the mattress.

This is what you both had been waiting for. This feeling, this moment. Just this.

“You look very pretty today,” he whispered into your skin, pressing a kiss where his lips rested. “All this for me?”

The humor in his voice made you grin, your fingers running through his hair. “Couldn’t let you be that pretty all by yourself.”

Art smiled, pressing his face further into your neck as he let out a breath. You tightened your grip around him, holding him close. You let your eyes close, resting your cheek against the top of his head. 

A comfortable silence fell over the both of you, as easy as it ever was.

—

A/N - Hi! So sorry this took so long to get out, thank you for your patience. I keep rereading this and editing it over and over, I’m not totally happy with it. But something is better than nothing, and I’m tired of staring at, so here you go! Hope this is ok, let me know what you think :)