#comfort movie challenge

[sevenspoonfulsofsugar]

thinking of the ending of conclave (2024) and those lingering shots on the papal vestments. the future and the foundation of the church, he who sits on the throne and is the face of it, wears white.

and the last shot of the movie. and those lingering shots on the women below. the future and the foundation of the church, they who maintain it without being lauded for it, wear white.

[viledictorian]

It took a lot of editing and drawing, but here it is! I'll be using it for my own creations. Please do credit me if you use it.

[zigzweig]

Sweet Returns

summary: after two years of patrick calling her late at night to come over and fuck, reader decides to end the cycle. it just so happens to be the night patrick planned on confessing that he’d maybe caught feelings.

warnings: mentions of sex, kissing, angst, fluff, reconciliation, mentions of alcohol

no matter how bad or selfish or borderline rude he was- patrick zweig would call, you would come. literally.

you shook your head at him in the parking lot of the motel he was staying at while he was on tour. you were in college. he was in your area and he called, and you went. you shook your head and you stood your ground and you knew you’d come, but you didn’t come. you wouldn’t. this was it.

“came all this way for what, then?” he asked, arms gesturing to you. 2am on a sunday. your arms were folded over your chest, red zip up slipping down your shoulder. the end-of-summer air was the perfect temperature. warm, but with hints of a cool wind that tousled your hair a little. “you drive over here at 2am just to stand there and say you can’t and that i’m not good? for you? for what?”

his words sometimes stung like this, but this feeling- you felt it in your fingers like loaded springs in a pressed coil. you felt it shoot sharply against the very tip of your fingers and toes. live wires. electric pain.

he was loud for a motel at 2am. you hated it. you hated that you even showed up. your friends shouted at you to stop letting him dictate the place you lay your head when he’s in town. shaking you, telling you to stop seeing him if you feel like shit the afternoon of the next day. you tried to stay away, you did, you wanted to. but something about the whirlwind, like a riptide, pulling you back out. this early. this late. like a sleeper agent, you were put in action. like an on/off button on a toy. and you hated it. so you showed up. and he was greeting you, and you pulled away. which led to this mess, this confusion.

you did not want to be pulled under again just for an afternoon of shame. you swore sometimes returning home, you accidentally held your shoes in your hand minutes after getting back to your dorm. the shame lingered, festered. your girlfriends usually had to bribe you out of the disgusting stupor.

“i can’t, patrick, i’m sorry,” you said, anxious enough to shake just slightly. “i’m going home.”

“you drove thirty minutes to come here, say hi, and say sorry?”

“guess so,” you bit your lip. he looked at you with disbelief. this was unlike you. usually he had you horizontal by now. you guessed that he didn’t like your non-compliance attitude. it was new, fresh, probably scared him. you imagined he was hungry right now, upset about not having what he wanted. what he ordered.

“why are you still here then?” he asked. it was bitter, his tone. “you said it, go.” one of his hand shoved into his jean pocket, he gestured toward your car with the other one. “fuck, didn’t want to see you anyway. go.”

“you mean fuck me?” you scoffed, almost baffled at his choice of word. it was so simple, the word ‘see’ instead of ‘fuck’, but at this point. it was too far gone to be unnoticed. “didn’t want to fuck me anyway? god, what will you do when your number one piece of ass walks out on you? you’ve got the second piece of ass on speed dial, you don’t need me here, patrick. you want me. i don’t want that anymore.”

his raised eyebrows fell and his darkened, but not in a way that scared you at all. more like clouded over, like breaking a spell. you stood your ground, despite watching his body lose it’s tense.

you shook your head again, taking a step back. “goodnight.” he had nothing to say, he just stared at you. you imagined you’d upset him, and that he was only upset with you. not himself. would be just like him. so you took another step back and turned, walking back over to your car. you’d have to get gas on the way home. your heart raced, but this was it, this was over.

you unlocked the door, opened it, got in, and you reached to close the door, but it was stopped by his hand on the corner. his figure startled you just a bit, and you wondered if he had seen it, afraid you looked stupid or something. you also wondered if he’d hurt his hand catching the door like that. and then you wondered why he did it, before he spoke.

“there’s no ‘second piece of ass,’ first up.” he said. you couldn’t see his face. only heard him, voice firm. “it’s only you and you’re not just a ‘piece of ass’, or a toy. i don’t know where you got that idea.” he said.

you turned your legs out of the drivers seat and stood up. he stepped back to let you out and you looked at him expectantly. he stopped your door from closing, it better be fucking good. your anxiety was turning into adrenaline. recycling.

he kept talking, “yeah, i did want to fuck you. i always do when you’re around. can’t help myself. and speaking of no second ‘pieces of ass,’ i don’t have a single other girl in rotation, though i know you believe differently.” he said it like they were supposed to be offensive words, but they were genuine, hidden by sharp tone. shielded. “it’s only you. when i’m away i’m passing time waiting to come back around. i call you, we fuck, you leave. it’s all i get.”

“all you get?” you snapped. “like i’m supposed to do more?” you advanced a step on him, but he didn’t move. “i come over when you ask, i ride you until you come, you’ve insulted me, you’ve made me feel like i’m not good enough for you since we met. and i could have anyone else, but you keep me in your pocket to call and fuck and go back on tour, leaving me to feel used and stupid. and you want more from me? what do you want? a fuckbuddy, a friend? i feel like you want a toy.”

“what i want,” his words overlapped with your last ones. “fuck- i don’t have anyone else. it’s always you, i always come back here. i don’t have to, i could be closer to stanford with art, i could be back home constantly. but my winnings go to motels here, hotels here. when i say see you, i mean see you, i don’t just mean fuck you. what do you want me to tell you?”

“what does that even mean?” you gestured wildly. “what do you want me to tell you? i don’t know, patrick. i’m trying to say goodbye to you, i don’t want you around, i don’t want to see you. don’t come around here if you don’t want to.”

he looked far left, shaking his head, taking a sharp breath in. “what do you want me to say? because i’m sure you’re being obtuse on fucking purpose. i want to see you. i dont want to see anyone else. i dont want to fuck anyone else either, but they go together. you think i don’t know i’m an asshole? you’ve told me again and again.”

“you are!” you ensured. he shut his eyes tight and pressed his tongue to the side of his cheek. your body pulsed, electric pain now a current running through every vain. you felt it in every appendage. your stomach muscles were tight, and you were sure you weren’t breathing enough.

but he looked down at you, breaking the small silence, continuing, “an asshole. so yeah, i figure i should leave you alone for your own good, but then when i’m out of here and back on tour, i can’t get you out of my head and as soon as i’m done, i end up back here, calling you. and you come. and then you’re gone.”

“patri-“

“i don’t deserve more than that, i know you’re not staying. and you probably should go, but i don’t know. i don’t even know why i stopped your door. just go if you’re gonna fucking go.”

another beat passed. you looked at him, shaking your head in disbelief. “what are you saying?”

“i don’t fucking know.” he looked at his feet, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek again. his hand met the back of his neck. “delete my number and i’ll delete yours. i’ll do it in the morning. just fuck off.”

your eyes burned, your emotions piling on top of each other, all pressing on your chest. you watched his foot turn to face you. you grabbed the door of the car and braced a little against the anxious ball of weight that was suddenly returning. circumstances began to shift underneath your feet, dizzying you just a little. and you were unfortunately sober. you blinked hard, shaking your head.

“yeah, whatever.” patrick replied to your own thoughts, reading your mind. he must have, there wasn’t another explanation. “i’ll do what you want, though. genuinely.”

you could feel he meant it. it wasn’t an empty promise. you knew he knew you were wondering if it was, and he wanted you to know it wasn’t. he was giving you up as well. when you met him, you thought he was cute, and you were drunk. sometimes you wondered if you had met him sober and didn’t take him home that night, that maybe he’d take you seriously. but that thought had been given up two weeks in, two years ago. it was weird to feel like it never really left as you slowly began to wonder if he meant what you never thought he could mean.

“okay,” you agreed, swallowing hard. he raised his head from his feet. you would give him up, he would give you up. the soft september breeze blew his curls just slightly. his eyes were softer than you’d ever seen them. you always liked his eyelashes, you didn’t think that they’d be even prettier when wet. you could see it in the motel light, the light bounced off of it. it was so weird. “you’re upset.”

“go.”

“patrick.”

“you’re not supposed to give a fuck. i’m begging you not to give a fuck.”

“say what you mean,” you ordered him, wits end. edge of your seat. “fuck, say it!”

“i don’t know what you want me to say!”

“am i just a body to you?”

“no, fuck off.”

“tell me.”

“tell you what?”

you looked him in the eyes, “are you telling me you… fuck, i can’t-“ you couldn’t even say it, you felt so stupid. “fuck, patrick!” both of you couldn’t say it. but it was so familiar, the feeling. the nervousness, the tingling in your limbs, the flip of your stomach. resurfacing, curious, naive.

both of you getting more riled up by the second, you looked anywhere else. you heard him breathe out hard, exasperated. “i don’t think i should say anything.”

“so why?”

he shook his head, “you deserve better.”

“than you?”

“yeah.”

the silence stung your ears. the hair on your arms stood up straight. the air was suddenly hot and thick. and you held onto the door a little tighter.

“patrick, do you want me?”

he pressed his fingers to the side of his chin, turning his body away from you. you watched his hand slide down to the back of his neck. you knew him, he wasn’t dumb, he knew he had to say nothing. if he said something, you might stay. and it was best that you didn’t. the fight wasn’t worth having. “just go.” he replied, not even turning around. he couldn’t look at you.

your heart pulled, a sinking feeling filling your chest. why? this wasn’t attachment, this wasn’t manipulation, this was him. for the first time. him. “okay.” you said. but you stood there, just a moment longer. and he did turn after a moment, eyes locking on yours. you couldn’t really read him. but you didn’t need to. you just wanted to say goodbye properly.

so your hands fell on his shoulders, squeezing gently as they trailed over, up his neck, and to the back of his head as you kissed him slowly, deeply, passionately. there was no lust in this kiss, no urgency, no bed in sight. his hands, the most gentle they’d been without having to fuck first, slipped around your waist. he kissed you back just as softly. there was no hunger. just the chirp of crickets and the whisper of the nearby highway. and you kissed him, pressed against the side of your car. he kissed you the same. you head swam.

this was him. his desire was only to kiss you, his hands travelling up to your jaw as yours trailed down his chest. it was deep, slow, every moment felt. he was the best kisser, it felt a shame to stop kissing. so your arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer. he smelled like cigarettes and his subtle cologne. it seemed like the most familiar thing in the world. you sighed between kisses.

you wanted this. and you wondered how real it was. how badly did he want you to stay? the truth was, he wanted you to be free from his cycle. he knew he wasn’t supposed to have you. he thought this would have gone differently, planning out an entirely different way to tell you this. but he couldn’t say it anyway. it- the words- hung in the air as you kissed, embraced, and said goodbye all in one. it was bittersweet. and a little bit sad.

because the kiss eventually ended. and you stayed against him. he didn’t want you to know how upsetting it was to wrap his arms around you for the first and hopefully last time in this context. his lips pressed against the top of your head as you stayed that way just a moment longer. and even that moment ended.

you looked at him again. “goodnight, patrick.”

“goodnight, y/n.” he replied. “just fuck off.” but he didn’t mean it. and you drove away. that was it. that was your goodbye. and he didn’t come around again. he kept on tour and started going back home instead of toward you. you kept going to school, graduated. your friends were proud you quit the cycle, but you didn’t tell them about any of what patrick meant. it wasn’t romance, it wasn’t going to be.

you missed him sometimes. and four years passed as you missed him occasionally. friends came and went. you dated two guys since then, terrible in bed and horrible in general. you missed him after having to fake your last orgasm with the guy you were seeing. you had a job now, an apartment, a solid group of friends. things were good.

you were grocery shopping when you ran into him again. a cheap little shop that had the best chip selection and most essential items. you thought maybe it was someone else, but it was him, in a sweater and jeans, holding a stack of ramen bricks. and your heart skipped a beat, like you were four years younger and he still gave you butterflies. and you were about to move, to start to think of what to do, when he turned around and looked up to see you. he turned his head away, then back at you, doing his own double-take.

his eyes, just a little wide locked onto yours. so you smiled, a little smug at his reaction. you walked over with a slight sway. he continued to look bewildered. he looked four years older. and he thought you looked gorgeous. “hi.” you said, keeping that smile.

“hey.” he responded, blinking once. “how are you?”

“i’m okay,” you replied. “how are you?”

“i’m fine.” he swallowed again, as if nervous. “are you stopping by or are you local?”

“local, why? are you local?” you asked.

“yeah, i live a block away.” he said. “just moved.”

you stared at each other for a second more, analyzing features, thinking back… and you nodded, holding your carton of raspberries. “are you free tonight?” you smiled.

“uh- yeah, think so,” he replied. still shocked.

“would you maybe want to get a drink?”

“i would, yeah,”

you nodded again, rocking on your heels, “perfect. see you then.” your heart was beating a mile a minute. it was him, he was here, he lived here… and you’d just asked him to get a drink. but you weren’t nervous. just… excited. something in you knew more. he was different, he had changed, he carried himself differently. and you were trusting it. the past was the past. and there was a reason you ran into each other.

when you got home, you texted him. and it was a leap of faith to hope he had the same number. you relied on it. because even after all the time had passed, you never actually blocked his number. you couldn’t.

and the address to the bar delivered immediately, meaning… he hadn’t deleted yours either. all these years. you grinned a little as you read his response.

‘its a date’.

cocky. presumptuous. horrible. terrifying. exciting.

a/n: omg first fic on this account. thought maybe this was a fun place to start off. also, i might consider a second part to this fic.let me know if you want IN on the taglist. requests open!

[sequenceofmind]

mike is such an instigator, zendaya just follows him in his chaos and josh is being josh

and then there's me smiling like an idiot, watching the chaos unfold

[chlmtsdoll]

omg omg yes patrickkk!! maybe something like he says something in regards to her relationship with art and tashi and how one day she’ll be alone and they’ll leave her after she retires and she gets all sad and just lots of angst ???

YES OMG this is just what I needed !! Even though Patrick is a real bully in this one I had a lot of fun with thisss I love writing intense emotions 🤍

NOTHING WITHOUT YOU

౨ৎ Pairing: ballerina!reader x Patrick Zweig/Art Donaldson/Tashi Duncan

౨ৎ Summary: Art and Tashi leave you home alone with Patrick, deciding to keep your distance from his dislike of you only goes but so far when you get caught in his wrath

౨ৎ Word count: 3.8k

౨ৎ Warnings: no use of y/n, sensitive!reader, sugar baby! reader, lots of angst, some fluff at the end, hurt/comfort, light verbal abuse, mentions of bullying, age gap (reader early 20’s), older!Patrick/Art/Tashi, protective Art & Tashi

While Art and Tashi had been out for the night seeing their daughter Lily in a local tennis tournament they were having for all the kindergarteners qualified in town, you’d stayed back at the penthouse the couple had been renting out for the time being. Although, you hadn’t been staying back alone — you were accompanied by the maid that waited on you all day to day and Patrick, who well, was brought along on this months tennis cycle.

It was mandatory you weren’t home alone during this time though. Tashi had been extremely potent on the matter, a strict rule about you being by yourself or out of her or Art’s view with Patrick. She made a big thing about how she didn’t trust the vindictive man that Patrick was around you. Even though it was known to you he was trusted within the couples sanctuary and personal life — they also were sure to remember he was Patrick at the end of the day.

With his deadly looks and slightly verbal abuse towards you since you met, down to his canine like draw that led him towards using his cruelty as shield for his compulsive desire that made him want to tear you down piece by piece. You didn’t know if it was because he still just couldn’t quite figure you out, or your purpose with the Donaldsons — why they were so intrigued with you or the fact that he wanted them, you, to himself.

It wasn’t overlooked by anyone that Patrick couldn’t stand the light that you were in Art and Tashi’s lives. With your innocent stares, fawning eyes at them like they were your world and stars, or how you always had a sense of obliviousness to your encounter. Always walking around the place in the tiniest shorts or pastel leg warmers trimmed with things he thought was all too ridiculous for you to be really real. At least not enough for him to take you seriously. Like ruffles or dainty flower trimmings of some sort that made his senses go untamed. You saw it whenever you’d walk by his robust presence as he’d sit and have a beer with Art. His eyes following your waist and perfect stature to do virtuous things like help the maid out with the laundry, kind smiles and sweet “please” and “thank you’s” as you folded attire. Or when you’d be quiet as a mouse in your the side of whatever massive place Art and Tashi would rent when you’d join them on tour during your off seasons, to pick up a thousand piece puzzle. Clench your fists in the cutest of ways when you got stuck in a loop of no hope to finish. But you always finished. You were the perfect sweet little thing.

He found you to be nauseating.

Your sweetness like a straight poison, always just too polite and never having outburst or a temper rise. To Patrick it seemed too good to be true, and you were. Just too good. Just to sweet for him. He wanted to destroy you.

Corrupt you, chew you up and spit you out.

And you just hadn’t known how to handle it or approach him at all, so not even knowing the appeal that Tashi and Art saw in him, you mostly ever just stayed away.

With the man being over an entire foot taller than you, you had no problem in keeping your distance. Any time you two were caught walking down a tight hall, his towering presence over you, he’d knock right into your miniature body. On purpose. Making you fly the other way, or when you’d basically spent most of the summer reading, he’d take your books by the spine and toss them across the room. If you were watching tv he’d snatch the remote from the coffee table and turn on a tennis match.

He was a grown man and a full blown bully.

You’d only put up with it because you knew it was in response of him not getting the same savory and tender treatment that Art and Tashi gave you. You were taking it all. Stealing their affections and hogging it from him with a naive (annoying to him) little smile on your face.

So you’d take a couple pushes and teasing if that meant you could hurt him in his weakest ally.

And you respected Tashi’s wishes of not sharing space with him for caution of yourself, but when the maid had to run out suddenly for an abrupt emergency — that plan had went downhill quickly.

You were left with Patrick Zweig all by yourself.

“Okay, I hope everything’s alright… see you next week.” you’d said your goodbyes to the maid as she hurried out of the place and you’d shut the grand doors behind her gently, turning on your heels to approach the kitchen area as your cold feet lightly toed against the marble floors. You decided not to bother making too much noise now that it had been just you and him. If you could just get through the next hour without having to get into an interaction with him and upset Tashi, it would be fine.

Nearing the close kitchen, you could hear switches of the second stove being turned and messed with. The sound irritating and getting louder as you stepped closer. Gas. Not the electric one that had also been provided right next to it.

When you walked in, of course Patrick had been hunched right over the stove, what looked like trying to light his cigarette in the most odd way that made you raise a brow on sight — until you remembered the rant he went on to Art and Tashi about leaving his one and only lighter back at one of the other rental homes in La. His fingers taking a quick break to scratch at his only slightly shaven dark colored beard to neck in modest confusion as he toyed with the fire. Just a couple seconds from catching onto his jeans.

You viewed the scene for a quick moment before letting out a piqued small sigh as you’d let him deal with that at his own funeral. You went to grab a soda from the fridge a few steps away from him.

Going through the loaded refrigerator stacked with only the highest healthy planned meals and smoothies, accompanied with fruits and cut up vegetables, you reached in the drawer to get a Diet Coke. The sound of Patrick just a couple moments away from burning the entire penthouse down made you scrunch your face up in annoyance before shutting the fridge by the handle.

“Could you not do that ? It’s really dangerous.”

His expression was hardened, Patrick looked up from his amateurish work to meet your glance when the sound of your soft chary voice had reached his ears.

“it’s fine, pipsqueak. I know what I’m doing.”

You rolled your eyes at the name he’d call you, and raised the sharp edge of the soda can to your lips as you watched the top of his cigarette beam a bright crimson at last. The taller fit man matched your gesture as he brought the stick to his mouth. Pink, and not reaching for a care in the world he let the smoke he breathed in travel out and above. You watched with hesitation to bring up the fact that the smoke detectors had been near flashing a signaling light just above him, you eyed the small but alarming circle before your eyes drifted back down to Patrick’s dark curls framing his face.

“You really shouldn’t smoke in here,” you crossed an arm over your cropped pj top that had displayed your belly button by a few inches. Patrick lifted his chin and peered down at your small figure to inspected you from your socked feet to your head through lidded eyes.

“Relax. Mommy and daddy aren’t here right now,” he scuffed in slight displeasure of your voice already. “Don’t you ever do anything apart from what you’re told ?.. ever ?”

“I’m just trying to be safe.” You had to crane your neck to look up at him, so it was much easier to just stare down at your feet against the floor before shifting your weight to the other. Patrick turned from your exposure already tired of you sticking your nose in his business anyways. He had looked at you like some stray kitten walking around the place unwanted and unfamiliar to his prey attitude.

“Well go be safe somewhere else.” His voice gravely before he started to chuckle in thought, you frowned. “Isn’t it pass your bed time anyways ? Oh, wait.. I forgot, you just have to stay up so you can see Art and Tashi walk through the door right ? Like some needy puppy or something ?”

Your eyebrows furrowed and you swallowed to coat your now dry throat in slight offense as you dropped your arms to your sides.

“Art always makes sure to make me tea and kiss me good night.” You defended even though your tone remained faint and Patrick only grinned in ignorance at your comment wanting to laugh a bit more at your seriousness for a joke.

“God. I almost feel bad for you, y’know.. you’re so dependent on them. They’re not your fucking parents.”

Patrick had pointed his cigarette to your presence and you shook your head at his words.

“I never said they were.”

“You don’t have to. You’re addicted to them.”

“And so are you.” You raised your voice a bit and Patrick moved to the counter in front of you with frustration. “You were just as lost as me before they acknowledged you again. Now all you do is pick me apart for it but you’re the same… and you’re just too jealous to admit it.”

Patrick had looked away as he begun to laugh with a smile that hid his insecurities deep down. Only to meet your eyes again, the most disquiet look of enmity in his stare that made you start to back up in regret. Right into the cabinets behind you without even realizing it.

“Jealous ? Give me a fucking break. You’re a pet.” He verbally spit at you and your lip quivered a bit at the name, he once again, had the upper hand on you. Because when he started to move closer, starting to tower over your fragile space you once called personal — you should of just gotten out of it then. But something stopped you from getting away.

You were frightened, his words too big, too rough for you to escape.

“And you know what’s sad ? Your brain isn’t even developed enough to know the difference. You’re gonna keep this up with them. Get so tightly wrapped up in this.. whatever the fuck- - and get your feelings all fucked up and confused thinking it’s love. That they really could love you, till one day you’ll be stuck on the side of the road with your life fully flipped over when they get sick of your little shit get up.”

His words were harsh as he snapped at you. Your body was frozen there as he backed you up into the deep of the kitchen, and even though you knew you could leave. Just walk away. Your limbs slowly started the tremble as well, nose flaring and redden as you fought back tears. You couldn’t let him win. But what if he was right ?

You knew he hated you enough to say anything to make you cry, but what if it had all been true.

Something inside of you broke.

“That’s not true,” your voice shaken as you shook your head to fight the anxieties,

“Yes. And you know it. They’ll leave you one day. Are you really that stupid, you can’t see it ? You think this will last ?”

You didn’t answer, and Patrick grinned.

“You’re a fucking tool, that they can play with and you let them. A toy.”

You tried to muster up the power to block him out. You were failing. Your heart pounded and you gripped the counter behind you in correlation to your discomposure as you begun to sniff.

“The way Tashi hardly looks in your eyes unless you’ve won every god damn tournament, they way your definitely as much to Art as a doll he can fuck to keep himself in the game. Face it. You’re no better than a hooker on the go.”

“No.” You started to cry, tears falling from your ducks before your brain could alarm your hands to wipe them, you uttered the word out as you faced Patrick and he still got in your face even closer. The man scowled at you as he pushed his words into you, cramming them in your head. He cornered your petite body in the side on the kitchen and you could feel the overwhelming hurt take over your body.

“Yes. You mean nothing to them.”

“No !” You screamed at him as tears streamed down your face as you tried to fight off his presence, not knowing what to do or where to go so you stood there and cried. And it felt pathetic. You let him win. He was bigger and smarter and knew better. You don’t know why you tried to stand against him, lord knows you were never going to win and now you were left the fool, crying like a child while being dog leg by Patrick Zweig.

You suddenly heard heavy foot steps and the sound of heels clashing against the floor as Art and Tashi rushed into the room at the sound of your scream.

“What the fuck is going on here ?” Tashi’s voice over powered the entire room as she dropped her bag and called out the maids name in hurried frustration of the scene she observed. “Where the fuck is she ?” Tashi huffed before telling her mom to take Lily to her room quickly, then storming back in to stop whatever they walked into.

“Baby ? Hey hey hey,” Art made his way over to your quivering body, face taken over by utter concern as he immediately took your shoulders into his hands and pushed Patrick roughly to the other side of the counter.

“The fuck are you doing, man ??” He cursed out at the other man. If you weren’t overwhelmed with emotion, you could say this was the first time you’d ever seen Art so terribly angry. But all you could do was turn away and sob into Art’s chest as he held you close, eyebrows furrowed deep and a fire in his eyes as he stared at Patrick like he could snap.

“I got this. Take her upstairs,” Tashi gestured to you and Art as she pushed between the two of them. It was in one swift motion that she tugged on Patrick’s ear by the lobe, forcing him to follow her out of the kitchen. He winced through his trailing behind her.

“Ow! What the- -”

Tashi jabbed him in the arm, and then again, then again till he he jumped back from her furious state.

“Are you a fucking idiot !? What is the matter with you ?!” Tashi roared at him with straight daggers in her eyes. “What did you say to her ??? I told you to stay the fuck apart !”

“Your brat came bothering me!” He grabbed Tashi’s wrists to yank her away from enforcing anymore pain on to him, but she just snatched her arm away mercilessly again. “She’s a little shit, so I told her the truth. You and Art just baby the fuck out of her for gratification. You don’t give a fuck about her, admit it. All of you are delusional !”

He argued and Tashi closed her eyes for a brief second with a deep breath before she got in his face.

“You’re a fucking piece of shit.”

Patrick rolled his eyes, but Tashi caught him off guard when she shoved him straight in his chest again.

“Who the fuck gave you the right, Patrick ? Are you blind ?? No one gives a shit about you ! It’s you !” Tashi had grunted with eruption, only getting madder because he had madden her so much already. She and Patrick both knew her words had only been half true, but it didn’t matter right now when he was playing so dirty and spitting words carelessly after the other. He truly did have no right.

Patrick stood there and looked at her, there was no use of more words when she had gotten like this and he knew she knew exactly how he felt about it all.

“Just- just- dispose of yourself somewhere. Go.”

“Where do you want me to go ?”

“I don’t give a fuck. Away from here, away from me. You’re an asshole.”

Tashi’s eye slightly twitched while she looked at the man in repulsion, and he was stone cold as he pushed passed her, knocking her shoulder as he slouched by, Tashi folded her arms.

“You will apologize to her first thing in the morning or you can pack your shit.” The irked woman gave a forced sympathetic smile before glaring at him and walking away, leaving Patrick there groaning in vexation as he shook his head.

Upstairs, you had been curled up in Arts lap. He held you in his arms as your soft cries and salty tears melted into the cotton of his shirt, he rubbed small circles against your back while he sat there in thought.

Art was distraught by the fact that whatever Patrick had said could of disturbed you so bad he had to find you crying your eyes out and shaking in the kitchen. He tried his best not to let you see the way his fists clenched and unclenched with his anger fueled throughout him, since he didn’t want to scare you or make you worry any more.

No matter what, Patrick always found a way to be a fucking dick. He just couldn’t understand the motive around why he’d want to make his perfect girl hurt or scream like that.

He felt your breathing start to steady as you sniffed and your face had been all hot and flushed, your heart had gone back to a normal pace, but you still were quite shaken as you curled farther into Arts embrace with a low wine.

“Baby, look at me. Can you sit up for me ?” Art’s voice chimes in sweetly through the sunken air of the room. He lowers his head to stare down at your state in his arms and you moved so you were sitting on your knees on the bed, you sniffed and Arts thumbs went to caress your face as he wiped a few tears from your damp cheeks. His icy blues met your wide teary eyes that were filled with sadness and your lip had been just swollen a touch.

“What happened ? Can you tell me what he said to you ?”

Your eyes travel down to his hands brushing your face and you held one of his wrists, your expression was laced with sorrow. You whimpered a little just from the memory, which Art noticed with a sigh. You knew it would feel better if you just got it out. Emptied the words from your chest because your kind and caring Art always took care of the worries for you, but it had been different this time. Because it involved the ideal of him leaving you.

You took your time to think as you sat on that bed with him. And Art watched your face soften under his comforting touch.

“He said I was nothing. That you’d leave, Tashi would leave. And i’d be stuck heartbroken with nothing because I don’t mean anything to either of you.” Your voice was sparse and trembled as you spoke to get the words out, Art already started to tense up as he listened. “Maybe- I- I am too dependent on you both, and I shouldn’t be because I’m so young and you guys don’t need another child on your arm to have to look after. I don’t want to be stupid.. I’m so- stupid.”

You wanted to sob again, your voice cracking and your hands going to cover up your face, the corner of Art’s lips twitched as he frowned, “no, no, no, sweetheart. Don’t talk about yourself like that.”

Art had brought you back into him as you cried softly under his chin, your arms wrapped around his torso and the older man sighed deeply. “Nothing is ever determined, and life takes us all in ways we just can’t predict, but I want you to know that whatever you choose to do, or want along the line — Tashi and I will always be here to support you. We’re not going any where and we would never leave you. Fuck that. You’re so loved, by us. You’re always welcomed in our lives no matter the circumstances that may come upon.”

You wiped your nose briefly before leaning up to look at the blonde once more, eyes searched his face for any uncertainty but all you found was honest and pure devotion.

“Really ?” You budged tenderly and Art brushed a few stuck locks that were caught in your wet face. He nodded with a light simper.

“Really, Princess. We adore you’re company and the person you are dearly. And you don’t have to think about all those bad thoughts right now, okay ?” He kissed the top of your head to your cheek while you hugged him like a lifeline. A feeling of warmth spread within you from there, worries calm and you felt collected of your emotions once again. You just wanted to be reassured. Words cut you and got to you deep. But right now being with Art, it was like the perfect bandage to your wound that was although bittersweet in theory, a very delicate heart.

You heard footsteps nearing as Tashi walked into the bedroom. She was looking exhausted. Absolutely tired from the inside out as she sat on the bed next to the two of you, your eyes met hers and you immediately curled up and laid your head in her welcoming lap when she settled. Soft hands against her leg where you felt the fabric of her dress pant brush your cheek, and a sullen sigh escaped the woman’s lips.

“He won’t bother you again, baby.” Her sultry like voice filled your senses and your chest collapsed with ease once again. Her fingers went to journey through your loose locks gently as the vigilant but warm woman relaxed you now physically too.

“I’ll go make you a hot chocolate, and Tashi will run you a warm bath. We’re gonna make you feel better, love.” Art left you with tender adoration as he promised to you, and reached to leave a delicate stroke on your thigh with a fond smile before he stood from the bed. Tashi nodded him off as she held you there for a moment more, pressing a sweet kiss to your temple.

[artichow]

huh.

[cosmicanchorite]

this video reminded me of the air dry clay head i made of josh o connor after watching challengers four times and la chimera twice

[steddieunderdogfics]

Double Feature Disaster by ohstars

@oh-stars

Rating: Teens and Up

7,477 words, 1/1 chapters

Archive Warning: No Warnings

Tags: First Dates, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Gay Eddie Munson, Smoking, Steve Harrington Has PTSD, Fluff, a little hurt/comfort, Hurt/Comfort, but again, just a little, Scary Movies, Neck Kissing

Summary:

Eddie Munson really wants his first official date with Steve to go well. It doesn't, but it does. And if that doesn't sum up his entire existence, he's not sure what would.

Thanks for the rec!

This rec is a part of Challenge Monday. The challenge this week was Fics featuring Horror Movies.

Know a fic that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks or the submission box!

[drawyourblankas]

Draw your characters like this

[crimsonwolf715]

Paralyzed

{An AU that takes place around six months after X3 timeframe (alternate universe so all the people are alive). Erik, Charles, Hank, and Raven are in an experiment that causes their age to go back to that of a month after First Class. Peter Maximoff was brought back to his age in Days of Future Past. Alex is revived and is his age in Days of Future Past. Erik and Raven agree to stay at the school and help them after getting their memories back and realizing that their method did nothing to help mutants. And Peter tells Erik he's his son because it's bullshit that he doesn't in the canon movies.}

Erik Lehnsherr’s first successful mission with the X-Men. Erik’s phone starts ringing as he walks away from the X-Jet. 

He flips it open and answers. “Hello?” 

“This is the Westchester County Hospital. We’re looking for Erik Maximoff. Is this him?” the voice on the other end of the phone asks. 

Erik’s heart stops for a moment. Anyone looking for him with that name means they’re looking at Peter’s paperwork. 

“Hello, sir?” 

“This is he,” Erik answers. “I’m Erik.” 

“We’re calling about your son. I’m sorry to inform you that he’s been shot today.” 

“What happened?” 

“He had a run in with the police. I don’t have the details, but he came in escorted by an officer. If you could get here…”

“I’m on my way. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” 

“Thank you, sir.” 

Erik hangs up and after changing, heads to the hospital. The drive is quiet but takes longer due to work being over right about now. His heart pounds and he fights the urge to fling cars out of the way to make this trip quicker. When he gets there, he heads straight to the ER desk. 

“I’m looking for Peter Maximoff. I’m his father.” 

“Yes, I just talked to you on the phone,” the man on the other side of the desk says. 

“I have my ID.” 

Erik hands the guy his ID and after comparing it to the paperwork, he hands it back. 

“I’ll get a nurse and they’ll talk to you about his condition. That’s the officer right there if you want to talk to him first.” 

Erik walks over to the officer. 

“I’m Erik… I’m Erik Maximoff. You just came in with my son earlier. What happened?” Erik asks. 

“While I wasn’t there, I arrived on the scene after it happened. He got caught stealing and got violent with one of the officers,” the officer answers. “He was armed and after he refused to stand down, they shot him.” 

“Erik Maximoff?” a nurse asks. 

Erik turns to the nurse so he doesn’t take the officer’s head off with sharp metal. “Where is he?” 

“He just got out of surgery. He’s been moved to a room. I’ll take you there.” 

The nurse takes him up to a room. “The doctor should be with you shortly.” 

Erik sees Peter and feels somewhere between crying and committing a heinous crime. 

How could someone do this to Peter?  

“Mr. Maximoff?” 

It takes Erik to remember that they’re talking to him. “Yes?” 

“I’m your son’s doctor. The nurse told me you wanted to talk about his condition.” 

“Yes, I would like that.” 

“There were two injuries, both sustained from the bullets. One missed anything important and he lost blood because of it. The second injury is more difficult. I’m sorry to tell you this, but there was damage to his spine.” 

“Like he can’t walk?” Erik asks, panic surging through him. 

“The damage isn’t permanent. He will be able to walk again after physical therapy,” the doctor says. 

It takes everything in Erik’s power not to send the one or many of the medical tools into this man’s head. It’s not the doctor’s fault. 

It’s those cops’ fault.  

Erik forces his attention back on the seemingly endless stream of information that the doctor is giving him about how Peter’s recovery may look. It’s all speculation right now. 

“I’ll be back to check on him in a bit. Just call the nurse if you need anything.” 

Erik nods, so the doctor leaves. Before he even has a chance to get in his head, he hears the familiar sound of Charles clicking his tongue. Erik looks up and Charles is rolling in. 

“You’re making the metal vibrate, Erik.” 

“Is that what you were clicking your tongue about?” Erik asks as he forces himself to shut his power off completely. 

“No, that was about the rather rude nurse that said I don’t look close enough to you to be related. She then got embarrassed when I said that my family adopted you because you lost your family.” 

“Is that the story?” 

“It’s close enough. How is he?” 

“Stable.” 

“State?” 

“He won’t be able to walk when he wakes up,” Erik says. 

Charles opens his mouth, then closes it. 

“It won’t be permanent, but he’ll have to go to physical therapy.” 

“I’m sorry, Erik.” 

“It’s not your fault, Charles. The blame lies with the person who did it.” 

“I think someone needs to explain to you the reasons people say ‘I’m sorry’. I’m not guilty, I’m giving my condolences for your situation. I can imagine how hard this is for you to grasp and deal with.” 

Erik nods. The monitor starts beeping, drawing Erik and Charles’ attention. Peter’s heart rate’s up. Peter opens his eyes, then blinks at them. 

“Hey,” Erik says, leaning closer to Peter, but still keeping a respectable distance from Peter. 

“Hey,” Peter mumbles. “I’m awake.” 

“I can see that,” Erik replies. 

“Oh, that makes sense,” Peter says, a goofy smile on his face. “There a reason we’re in a white room?” 

“We’ll talk about it later.” 

“Okay, Erik. I think I’m gonna go back to sleep.” 

“Go ahead. Don’t let me stop you.” 

Peter closes his eyes and falls back asleep pretty quickly. 

“At least he seems alright,” Erik says. 

“It’s a good thing,” Charles replies. “We should probably let Hank and Raven know, at least so they can prepare for us emotionally when we get back.” 

“You can tell them, I don’t care.” 

Charles nods. 

Charles and Erik are silent as Erik contemplates what to do. 

Do I go back to the school? Do I take him somewhere else? He has friends here, I can’t just pull him away from the only people he knows.  

Charles’ phone rings, so he looks at it. “Do you mind if I take this?” 

“You can take it in here or in the hallway. I’m not going to snap and destroy the hospital,” Erik answers with a small smile. 

Charles shakes his head, then rolls out of the room. 

These damn humans. They shot him. What am I supposed to do with that? I know I can’t kill them, but there has to be punishment. 

“Hey Erik, I think your powers are vibrating the bed,” Peter mumbles. 

“Sorry. Did I wake you up?” Erik replies. 

“Maybe a little.” 

“I didn’t mean to wake you up. My apologies.” 

“It’s fine. What’s wrong with my legs?” 

“Can you feel them?” 

“Yeah, some. I just can’t really move them.” 

Erik sighs and looks at his hands. 

“You’re kinda scaring me,” Peter says. 

“I’m sorry,” Erik says, then takes a deep breath. “You’re… temporarily paralyzed.” 

“So like… I can’t walk?” 

Erik nods. 

“But not forever?” 

“No. You’ll have to go to physical therapy for a while, but you’ll be able to walk again.” 

“Sorry for being a problem,” Peter says. 

“What?” Erik asks, looking up to meet his son’s eyes. 

“I probably worried you and now we’re in this situation. And this can’t be a good situation for you with your feelings on humans and the issues going on with that right now.” 

“Peter.” 

“Yes?” 

“You don’t need to apologize. You wouldn’t even need to apologize if the injury was your fault. You’re my son and I’ll be here, regardless. Your worth isn’t dependent on how convenient it is to have you around.” 

Peter squirms, but nods. 

“Feelings are icky, aren’t they?” Erik asks. 

Peter nods. “They make me uncomfortable.” 

“Same.” 

“But thanks,” Peter says. 

“Anytime. Now we’re going to give us both a minute to cool down because when Charles comes in, it will be nothing but emotional.” 

“Oh, that’s true. Where did he go?” 

“To take a call outside. He may have to go back to the school to deal with his children considering how long he’s been gone.” 

“That would be timing right there.” 

Erik laughs. “Yes, it would be.” 

Peter flashes Erik a quick smile. “I’m hilarious.” 

Erik nods. 

A couple days later, Peter gets released. He’s in a wheelchair and less than thrilled about how slow it is, but he’s on his way back to the school with Erik. They’re met by Alex, who’s sitting on the steps. 

“What do you want, Alex?” Erik asks as he gets out of the car. 

“Charles told me that you were on your way back and figured you might need assistance. Even if it’s just me taking the car back to the garage,” Alex answers. 

“That’s…” Erik trails off, not sure what to say. 

He helps Peter out of the car and into his wheelchair. Peter immediately starts rolling around trying to see what speed he can go at without tipping the wheelchair. 

“Look, I know I’m a bitch. While you do kinda deserve it, you have enough to deal with without adding my bitching to it. Take the help or don’t, I don’t care either way. I’m just not gonna be a hindrance.” 

Erik tosses the keys to Alex. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

Peter’s wheelchair starts to tip and Erik stops it with his powers, then rights it. 

“Thanks, Erik,” Peter says before racing up the ramp. 

Erik jogs after him. 

This is my life now.

[moonlight0934]

Denial

Peter leans against the table of the interrogation room, drumming his fingers on it. He has large shackles around his neck and hands. He’s been in there for hours, but no one has come in. No one’s even told him what he’s there for. They just ran up to him as he was walking home, and dragged him to the police station. They put these shackles on him as soon as they grabbed him on the street. They were far more aggressive than they needed to be too.

Though to be fair, he had half a mind to run as soon as he realized that they were approaching him. He barely stopped himself, but since he didn’t do anything wrong, he has to assume that it’s a mistake of some sort. Finally a detective comes in.

“Good afternoon,” Peter says, his fingers still drumming on the table. His tone is filled with forced politeness.

“Don’t try that bullshit with me.”

Oh, he’s the bad cop. Wonderful, just what I needed for my already terrible day. I just wanted some ice cream, but I knew I should have just stayed at the school.

“Ok, fine. I don’t have to be polite. What do you want?”

“I’m pretty sure you know what I want.”

The man leans forward, his hands placed palm down on the table.

“I don’t. Can you just tell me what you think I did? I was out buying some ice cream, and I haven’t even gone out in weeks before that. I’m a teacher at a boarding school, so I don’t really have much time in the first place.”

“Xavier’s School For Gifted Youngsters, right?”

Peter nods.

“Verbal confirmation.”

“Yes, that’s where I work. In fact, it’s probably really late, and I was supposed to watch the dorms tonight. So, I would really appreciate it if we could get to the point.”

“Have you seen this before?” the detective demands, slamming a picture down in front of Peter.

Peter looks at it, and his eyes immediately go wide.

“I think I want to talk to a lawyer.”

In front of him lies a picture of the remnants of a bomb.

“What? Now you realize it’s about the school bus?”

“A school bus? Someone bombed a school bus? Dear God, that’s awful. I don’t know anything about it though.”

“Why did you freak out then?”

“I didn’t freak out. Also, I would still like to talk to a lawyer. I’m not doing this back and forth thing with you.”

“Fine, I’ll get someone from the public defense office.”

Well, in this area, that’s not better.

“Before I do that, why don’t you tell me about this bomb?”

“Look, I don’t know anything about that bomb, or any other bombs for that matter. I’m not a terrorist, and I’m not a criminal. I didn’t do anything wrong. I was just buying ice cream.”

“I would ask how you managed to get across town so fast, but I’m pretty sure we both know the answer to that.”

“You’re doing this because I’m a mutant?”

“No, of course not. I’m doing this because you bombed a bus full of children on their way home from school.”

Those poor kids. I wonder what happened.

“Look, you’re talking to the wrong person. I didn’t do anything. Even if it was a mutant, it wasn’t me. Was I just the first one that you saw?”

The detective gets visibly angry at that, and slams his hands back down on the table.

“You better start talking. I want to know who else was involved, or so help me.”

Peter sighs.

“I still didn’t do anything.”

The detective stands up, and walks out. Peter sighs, leaning back in his chair.

“Seriously?”

Come on. Just because I’m a mutant doesn’t mean I’m a terrorist. That’s so racist. Though I deal with so many racists. In fact, my dad is a racist just one that doesn’t like anyone that isn’t a mutant.

The detective comes back in with a tablet. He turns it on as he storms back over to Peter.

“I didn’t catch your name. You were too busy yelling at me. Is now a good time, or should I-”

“Shut up!”

“Ok, I’ll wait.”

He spins the camera around to show Peter the screen. On the screen, Peter is standing in the grocery store, looking out of the front window as he waits to pay for his groceries.

“This CCTV is proof. You were here, and then you weren’t. It was only a few seconds between then, and the bomb going off on the bus. However, that wouldn’t be an issue for you, would it? The witness that was in line behind you said that you were gone for two seconds, but they thought that wasn’t possible.”

Peter bites his lip.

“Why don’t you just slow the camera feed down really really slow, so that you can see if I left or not?”

“Because you move even too fast for that.”

“If I was gone that long, you would be able to see it. If a person could, then the camera definitely could.”

“Stop denying it, and just give me your accomplices.”

“Talking to you is like talking to a brick wall,” Peter mutters.

“What was that?”

The door opens, and a female officer walks in to drag the detective out of the room. She comes back alone after a minute.

“Hi, I’m Officer Rosalind. I’m very sorry about Detective Garvin’s rude actions. You’re free to go, and someone is already here to pick you up,” she says as she unlocks the shackles around his wrists.

Then she takes the one off of his neck, and he feels the world start to slow down again. He forces himself to focus as he nods.

“Thank you, ma’am. I wish you the best of luck with your case. Especially since you have to work with that bimbo.”

She nods, looking embarrassed. Charles is waiting in the lobby by the front desk, and he gives Peter a sad smile. Peter doesn’t even have the energy to return it. He follows Charles out, and they both get into Charles’ car.

“Are you alright, Peter?”

“Is this going to be our lives forever? This is just so hard. Did you hear what happened to those children? They thought I did that just because…”

Charles sighs.

“I’m very sorry this happened to you, Peter. I did hear what happened to the children, and that’s awful. You didn’t do anything wrong in this situation. You handled it as best you could. We can’t change what has already happened, but we’re doing good. We’re changing people’s minds. It takes time, but we’ve come leaps and bounds. It might not always be on the upwards, but we can’t stop trying.”

“You’re better than I am, Professor. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“That’s fair. I’ve wanted to give up so many times. I have given up before. I wasn’t doing anything other than wallowing when we first met. Some things are hard to get over, but it’s not impossible.”

Peter looks out of the window.

“I’m glad I met you.”

“I’m glad that I met you too, Peter.”

[mooztoonz]

HERE’S MY FIRST DRAWING OF 2024!! Here’s my art style of the Goofy Movie Meme in the car! But with my version of my favorite characters for a fanfiction, I'm working on it soon! I hope u like it.

Credit by @VileDictorian for the meme template

[chipistrate]

The artist struggle of not being home for long periods of time but still wanting to draw despite not having your set up

[cressida-jayoungr]

One Dress a Day Challenge

June: Weddings

Cold Comfort Farm / Kate Beckinsale as Flora Poste and Sheila Burrell as Ada Doom

These are the outfits Flora and Ada wear to the wedding of Reuben Starkadder, Flora's cousin and Ada's ... grandson, I think, or maybe grandnephew? Both follow the pattern of a white dress with black hat, similar to the costume worn by Bette Davis as Mrs. Van Schuyler in the 1978 Death on the Nile.

Flora is very up-to-date 1930s, with an interesting sort of built-in scarf at the neckline of her dress. Ada Doom is more throwback-Edwardian in style, with some collar jewelry and a fur shoulder wrap.

[wojtekaneko]

Little something I did for @rinseveryday art challenge! It was so fun to draw Rin and his little adoptive brother!! 🥺