#likely drawing inspiration from his own life

[anxiousapplepie]

Just spent every free second of my day drawing Traveler!Odile. So might as well take this inspired opportunity to talk about her? maybe? If anyone is interested, read some of my vibes below!

As I might've mentioned before (or maybe not, I can't remember what I have and haven't said) Traveler!Odile's deal is that she's been living in Vaugarde for roughly 20 years before the King started freezing the country in time. Long story short, after her mother left her as a child one of her many, MANY uncles reached out to her dad and gave them both the option to connect with his Vaugardian in-laws one day. If they wanted to! They didn't have to! But the uncle made it clear the extended family would love to meet Odile one day, if she ever wanted to do that too. And during a bad year failing to cope with studying in college, Odile decided she'd give it a shot. See what "the other side" was like. Amongst other reasons. So she took a study break, meeting the uncle who first gave her father the addresses where some of her mother's family could be found. Then she extended her study break, traveling and meeting with various cousins and relatives. Which then turned into an indefinite break, where she just....... didn't go back to Ka Bue. Always moving around, finding more roots of a family tree she hadn't cared to be a part of until now. And longer, LONGER story short, she got so interested in all the Familytales that belong to her mother's side, she started diving deep and began connected stories and filling in blanks and accidentally became the unofficial editor and chronologist of the family. Yet despite being allowed access to all these Familytales, being invited to family dinners and homes and being seen by everyone else as "part of the family" she never let herself get involved in relationships beyond reading about them in all the books she studied more than anything she had in Ka Bue. And of course she never included her own stories or experiences in any of the Familytales. Why would she? This wasn't about her. This was about her Vaugardian family. Something nobody else could fathom or understand her logic for. Which of course means she's ripe for the picking when a bunch of young adults and a child claiming to be blessed by the Change God walk into her life and give her an impossible hope and a chance to do something more interesting than rewrite family secrets or edit genealogies. Maybe writing an accurate account of the journey a Child Hero took to save the country from being frozen in time would be more fulfilling.

[thesiltverses]

The horror of Eric Carle

Becoming a dad has really been a reminder of all the half-forgotten books that got me interested in horror: the ones that I will definitely share with my kid (The Minpins) and the ones that I probably won't (Not Now, Bernard)

And then there's Eric Carle, and now it's all coming flooding back - the very first time in my life that I experienced terror. Seriously, what the fuck is this?

Carle's most famous book, The Very Hungry Caterpillar, is in its own way uneasy and strange (the caterpillar's voracious and growing hunger is presented ambiguously both as an unavoidable and natural process of change and something greedy and grotesque; the caterpillar appears to devour its own place-of-birth and then feels good about it) but it flies under the radar by being very unCarle-like. The caterpillar is largely tiny and cute, we get plenty of colourful close-ups of tasty-looking food, and there are only two pages and a cover which feature Carle's favourite preoccupation: giant animals with irregular, scissor-cut eyes staring unhappily at the reader as they threaten to grow larger than the page itself.

I genuinely remember feeling deeply unnerved by Carle's first major piece of illustration work, Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See?, written with Bill Martin Jr., but only now do I understand why. Holy shit, I have so many questions.

Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What do you see? I see a red bird looking at me.

Why is the rhyme-scheme so frantic and breathless, like it's being chanted out during an escalating ritual somewhere deep in the forests? Why are the animals - textured via collage as if half-carved from wood themselves - staring directly at us, the audience, before then revealing that they're actually looking behind us at something else which is staring back at them in turn? Why do so many of the animals look so fearful and haunted as they acknowledge the vast web of visibility which exists between them?

Why does the 'white dog' page - perhaps the only-genuinely-friendly-looking animal - briefly plunge us into night-time, creating the impression that these creatures are somehow watching each other across spans of time and space, when Carle is fully capable of just drawing an outline around the dog?

Why is the teacher's neck extending like a xenomorph's tongue as she glares with narrowed eyes down at the children (what horrible act have they caught her doing?) Why is the cover of follow-up Polar Bear, Polar Bear, What Do You Hear clearly depicting a Tuunbaq stalking the reader?

What seems remarkable and bizarre is that Carle, a talented artist, deliberately chooses to draw animals for infant readers which are neither cute nor charming but which consistently embody the internet joke about hares - feral wilderness prophets who've glimpsed the truth of the universe and gone mad - and has made a stunningly successful career out of doing so.

Carle's beasts know something terrible that they do not fully understand, and which they are incapable of sharing with us.

I'll avoid the crass temptation to draw serious biographical inferences here (Carle believed he had PTSD from an adolescence spent in Nazi Germany, and his works were inspired by his childhood walks with his father, who returned home psychologically shattered by his own experiences as a Soviet prisoner-of-war) and just say that there is something wonderful, awful and innocent in the fact that perhaps the most popular baby-book artist of all time, when asked to draw a goldfish, would respond with what is clearly a monstrous open-mouthed leviathan rising up from black depths to devour us all.

Look at this horrible fucking thing. It rocks.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hi! :) mayhaps can i request your HC's for viktor x an artist reader. 👉👈 ur angst drabbles have been sustaining my life since season 2

There’s a saying that if an artist loves you or falls in love with you, you can never die.

A saying that Viktor didn’t give much thought until it was very clear that he was your forever muse, your reason to keeping your passion alive through experimenting art styles to maximise the effect you wanted your art to have; almost in the exact same way a scientist would conduct experiments in order to understand how something works and how to properly utilise it.

However each and every one of your art works came out looking like masterpieces that should and probably would be studied by future artists themselves one day, given how beautiful they were.

But also because they all included a man with amber eyes and soft chocolate hair hard at work with his own projects as blue sparks are captured liked shooting stars flying past his beautiful face. He truly was a once in a lifetime experience that you wanted to eternally capture within the pages of your sketchbook.

It literally didn’t matter what he did, whether it was tinkering, experimenting with the hexcore or just simply existing, you wanted to capture as much of Viktor as you possibly can whenever you can.

Viktor, in your eyes, was the kind of man people would kill to create sculptures of and artworks that would be seen in grand museums, within a beautifully intricate frame that only added emphasise to his importance to the artist in question. The artist being you of course.

So needless to say whenever you were with Viktor you made sure to have your sketchbook and pencils in hand as you knew that you’d end up wanting to sketch him for the millionth time that day.

However your favourite sketch of him came when you made him smile, genuinely smile.

The image of his bright and handsome smile was all you could see for hours on end as you found yourself absentmindedly sketching his face, his smile, the wrinkles near his eyes and his wind ruffled hair to perfection.

You then found yourself staring at it as though reliving the moment where you heard his laugh reach your ears like a harmonious melody, swept upon the wind that ruffled his hair and into your ears and your ears only.

To be loved by an artist was to be seen and you saw Viktor in a way that nobody else could, not even himself, and it showed in your work as you made him look like an angel disguised as a human given how frequently you used the colour gold whenever you drew him. From his eyes, to his clothes, everything with Viktor had hints of gold to it.

So much so that you had to get more colouring pencils of the exact same shade of gold so frequently that the manger of the art shop knew your name and the muse of your latest works at this point.

‘Drawing Viktor again I see?’ They’d teasingly ask as you’d shrug your shoulders.

‘Guilty as charged.’ You would reply before taking your things and leaving.

Viktor didn’t pry into your sketchbook, it was your belonging and he didn’t feel it was necessary for him to pry into it, but his curiosity didn’t help him one day as he found himself drawn to the sketchbook that you seemed to had left in his lab.

The first few pages were merely parts of the academy that you frequently visited, from the gardens, to the library, to even the lab he was stood in. Each one was increasingly more impressive than the last with how lifelike you made each one as though he could fall into the scene you had created; a true testament to your talent, creativity and insane attention to detail.

However the further the sketchbook went, he could easily see a decline in inspiration in your art. only for it to pick back up again when you had started drawing him doing the most mundane of things -at least in his mind he thought so- as simple sketches to portraits solely done by oil pastels or only colouring pencils. All just to emphasise his features and the concentrated furrows of his brows, a large variation of colours you’ve used so effortlessly to make up his face in a way that he could never imagine.

And yet Viktor found that there was more artworks of yours regarding him, artworks that seemingly continued endlessly and were just as hyper detailed and colourful as the more of himself that he saw, each one touching his heart in a way that made him realise that this was how you genuinely saw him; an angel in human skin as the way you depicted him was either simply human or an ethereal being coated in various shades of gold.

Through the eyes of an artist, through the eyes of you, Viktor knew that you only conveyed what you believed to be true and the fact that you saw him in such a way was enough to have him struggling to breath, but in the best way possible.

You way you saw him transcended beyond the person he saw each and every day in the mirror. You saw him as a man of infinite beauty, wisdom and strength in a multitude of ways while never shying away when it came to his leg nor disease.

If anything you made those parts of him stand out the most in a way that told him that you found these parts of him a strength and perfection in your eyes. Telling him that you didn’t wish him to be anything other then himself, for he was perfect and so much much that only your art could help describe.

Viktor; a man on borrowed time became a man immortalised within the pages of his artist lover.

He even seen the sketches of him fast asleep against his workbench you’ve done and even then you took your time making it look like he was staring into a mirror of himself.

You’d catch him flicking through your sketchbook but you couldn’t say anything against it as the way his eyes light up and soft smiles upon looking at your latest works, looks that only made you want to draw Viktor even more if it meant this sight becoming more common with the passage of time.

‘You like them?’ You’d ask from the doorway.

‘I love them my dear.’ He replies softly as he presses his forehead against your own, making you smile fondly. ‘But was the drawing of me sleeping necessary?’ He adds playfully as you chuckled.

‘Oh it was very necessary my muse.’ You replied with equal playfulness as you kissed his nose. ‘I saw an opportunity and couldn’t let it pass me by without at least drawing it first,’ Viktor scoffs but the smile upon his lips remained, ‘and besides you looked really peaceful and relaxed that I wanted it to be something I remember. Hoping I get to experience more moments like that to be my muse for my future drawings.’ You finished.

‘I’m glad the to could do that for you my dear.’ Viktor closed his eyes and rested his head further against yours, wanting nothing then to capture this moment within his mind forever, secretly hoping to continue to be the muse of your art projects as your artistic range grew.

‘You’ve always been my muse,’ you said, closing your eyes, ‘you will always will be my muse.’

[skade32]

Inspired by ABBA’s “Slipping through my fingers” lyrics:

I read a fic on AO3 with these lyrics and I WISH I REMEMBERED THE NAME SO I COULD RECOMEND IT

I was inspired to like encapsulate some ‘childhood memories’ of the Fushiguro siblings that I like to imagine Gojo has reminders of in the form of drawings and objects and letters and photos in his office.

In my found family fantasies, Gojo would relate to these lyrics regarding Tsumiki (don’t come after me I know this is mostly copium idc) and her sudden disappearance from his life. Also a little bit for Megumi who is not so suddenly, but nonetheless moving farther away from him as he both becomes an adult and no longer needs Gojo as much as he once did.

This was not really planned to be a whole thing. I initially just drew the bottom panel for fun bc I’m extremely not normal about teenage-single-parent-gojo (again I’m aware of the copium please don’t burn me at the stake) and idk I just couldn’t tear myself away from working on it and the next thing I knew it built itself up to the whole page and I hope other people can enjoy it as much as I have.

Description:

A graph paper notebook page covered entirely with a graphite sketch of a quickly thrown together comic scene. Two panels are featured atop the background which appears to be a cluttered desk in the foreground with numerous kinds of papers strewn about from mission reports to a letter addressed to Tsumiki. Amongst the papers in the top right corner, just adjacent to the first featured panel, a traditional jar of ink supports a dark pen, gently resting at an angle against the ink well. The pen seems to have been carelessly put aside as ink still drips down into the well below. The small portion of the scene not taken up by the desk has the walls, covered entirely by nondescript talismans, loosely sketched so not to drive too much attention from the subjects of the piece.

Wax drips from long-neglected candles, leaving almost no remnants of the once smooth and unblemished form it must have held just hours earlier that day. The residues of the wax leave bulbous trails, stopping just before the edge of the candle-holder sitting just to the left of the first feature panel.

Within the first panel is a scene of a little girl, squatting down so her shorts sit just above the heels of her little rubber rain boots. She seems distracted, lost in thought, as the rain pelts her and the sidewalk beside her becomes more reminiscent of a canal rather than a pedestrian pathway. The overgrown garden of the small cottage she loiters by fades into the misty sky, dark leafy bushels obscured by the soft glow of a lamplight to her left shoulder which complains achingly to the deafened thoughts of Tsumiki’s mind, still lost pondering the butterfly that rests gently upon her outstretched fingers, lovingly sheltered from the oppression of each raindrop which could rip its fragile scales in an instant. Such danger seems to not affect Tsumiki as she endures the assault from the heavens to endure the butterfly gets not a drop on his fragile wings. Her left hand holds the umbrella at such an angle that tree butterfly’s safety is assured, her own soggy hair a small price to pay for preserving such a beautiful creature.

Connecting the edge of this panel’s bottom edge to the background, a small square with a slanted cursive script writes “Slipping through my fingers all the time…”

The second panel, shifted slightly to the right of the former, occupying the focus of the bottom half of the page, displays a simpler image. The bright smile of a certain white haired idiot grows brighter as black spikes hair brushes against his chin. His dimple’s grow deeper when he notices the camera flashing at him and his disgruntled child relenting finally to sleep against his collarbone— leaving no doubt to any onlooker that the smile reached his eyes, true glee racking the young man’s expression as he jokingly flaps a limp hand about in a greeting gesture towards the camera. Whether or not Megumi’s participation in this memory was unwitting or not, that was up for debate. Regardless, the boy was clearly exhausted. Likely from some kind of jujutsu training after a mission that day if his athletic shorts and Gojo’s uniform were any indication.

A text box yet again connects to the bottom left corner of this panel reading: “…I try to capture every minute…”

[astra-ravana]

Aleister Crowley's Thoth Tarot Deck

The Thoth Tarot deck, created by the enigmatic occultist Aleister Crowley and artist Lady Frieda Harris, is a masterpiece of esoteric symbolism and artistic expression. Its history is intertwined with the mystical and magical traditions of the early 20th century.

Crowley, a prominent figure in the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, had long been fascinated by the Tarot. He believed that the traditional Tarot deck, while powerful, could be further enriched with deeper symbolism and occult significance. In the late 1930s, he embarked on a project to create a new Tarot deck that would reflect his own unique understanding of the mystical arts.

To bring his vision to life, Crowley enlisted the talents of Lady Frieda Harris, a skilled artist and Egyptologist. Together, they embarked on a five-year collaboration that would result in one of the most influential Tarot decks ever created.

The Thoth Tarot is renowned for its complex and layered symbolism, drawing from various esoteric traditions such as Kabbalah, astrology, and Egyptian mythology. Each card in the deck is a microcosm of the universe, representing specific archetypes, divine forces, and psychological states such as:

�� Kabbalistic Correspondences: The 22 Major Arcana cards are aligned with the 22 paths of the Tree of Life, a central diagram in Kabbalah that represents the structure of the universe.

• Astrological Associations: Each card is also associated with a specific astrological sign, planet, or element, adding another layer of meaning and interpretation.

• Egyptian Mythology: Crowley's fascination with ancient Egypt is evident in the deck's artwork, which often features Egyptian deities and symbols.

The Thoth Tarot, like its creator, has been a subject of both admiration and controversy. Its complex symbolism and unconventional approach to Tarot have made it a challenging but rewarding deck for many. However, its association with Crowley's often controversial beliefs and practices has also led to its reputation as a dark and dangerous tool.

Despite the controversies, the Thoth Tarot remains a powerful and influential deck that continues to inspire and fascinate Tarot enthusiasts around the world. Its unique blend of art, symbolism, and esoteric wisdom offers a profound exploration of the human psyche and the mysteries of the universe.

Thoth Vs. Raider-Waite-Smith, Key Differences:

• Naming: Some cards have different names in the Thoth deck, reflecting Crowley's unique interpretation of their symbolism.

• Symbolism: The Thoth deck often uses more complex and esoteric symbolism, drawing from various occult traditions like Kabbalah and Hermeticism.

• Artwork: The Thoth deck's artwork, created by Lady Frieda Harris, is known for its bold, geometric style and its emphasis on color and symbolism.

Additional Notes:

• While the Thoth deck can be more challenging for beginners, it offers a deeper and more nuanced understanding of Tarot.

• Both decks are valid tools for divination and personal growth. The best deck for you will depend on your personal preferences and learning style.

So, which would you choose?

[frankiebirds]

goddd this line makes me ill. the slip-up of "you" instead of "they" making it obvious he's thinking of himself. currently dissolving

sometimes i think about what his motivations may have been. did he believe he wasn't good enough for his father to stay and so tried desperately to be the perfect child? did a part of him hope he would come back if he was Good Enough? was he trying to be good so his mother, already struggling, wouldnt have to deal with his problems as well? was he trying to keep up a facade of normalcy so cps wouldnt be called? probably some mixture of all that. im glad it's not dwelled upon in this moment because i really like blink-and-you-miss-it lines that reveal something about a character but. hhh. do you think the team noticed.

[feline-evil]

Master Miller time

[doodleodds]

July random art dump!

[paragonrobits]

some important calvin and hobbes facts in case you haven't read the original comic strip in a long time or only absorbed stuff on it from memes and out of context bits on here:

Calvin's last name has never been given, and neither has any of his parent's names. This was actually why his uncle Max only showed up for a brief storyline; the creator of the comic, Bill Watterson, ultimately felt that while it was fine to have him as someone for his parents to talk to, it felt far too awkward to never have Max refer to them by name and he never made a return appearance.

The general tone of the comic is fairly light-hearted, with a big emphasis on goofy slapstick comedy contrasted by clever wordplay and often surprising adult-centered jokes that'll hit you like a slap. A big part of the comedy is, as Watterson put it (paraphrased) "It's really funny to me when people express deeply stupid ideas with really fancy terminology." One notable example you might have seen is that one bit where Calvin asks his mom for money to buy a Satan-worshiping rock album and his mom replies that there's nothing genuine about them and they're just putting on the attitude for shock value, and comisserates with Calvin as he deplores that mainstream nihilism can't be trusted. He concludes that childhood is disillusioning.

There is a LOT of criticism of the extreme materialism and selfish mentality of the late 80s, when the comic was initially written. This may go a long way to explain how its aged so well; much of what it criticizes resonates well with people today.

Bill Watterson views comic strips a legitimate form of artwork, and repeatedly fought to have more space to draw more beautiful and artistic backgrounds, which was a very hard fight and unpopular even with other comic strip artists. He eventually did win some compromises and a lot of Calvin And Hobbes' artwork shows it, with the use of space to indicate time as well as a sharp contrast between the often plain environments of mundane life contrasted by the wildly beautiful imagery of Calvin's imagination (which often sports realistic depictions in an art shift of sorts).

Hobbes is explicitly not an imaginary friend, by word of Watterson himself. We don't know WHAT he is exactly, and Hobbes is apparently unaware of the strange nature of his reality; people look at him and only see an ordinary stuffed tiger plushie, but he has a tangible effect on the world that would be physically impossible for Calvin to do on his own. He's apparently been around for a while, and was apparently around when Calvin was a young baby.

On that note; Hobbes has implicitly killed (notably treated as both a gag and also with the vibe of 'he's a tiger, duh') and while he doesn't do it again on-screen, he doesn't have any moral issues about it. Calvin claims that he's never had trouble bringing Hobbes to school because the last time he did, Hobbes killed and ate a bully named Tommy Chestnut and simply comments that it was gross and he needed a bath. Calvin's tried to repeat this again, but Hobbes was grossed out at the thought having to eat a kid raw and not being allowed to use an oven first, or complaining that children are too fattening.

Hobbes became gradually less human-like in body language and more like an actual cat in both body language and behavior; this was due to Watterson drawing more inspiration from his cat, who also inspired a lot of Hobbes' running gags, such as pouncing on Calvin when he got home. Several years into the syndication of the strip, Watterson's cat passed away, and he did a tribute to her with a comic strip of the two of them agreeing to try to dream together so they can keep playing when they have to sleep; Watterson's commentary (if I recall right), remarks on his cat: "We can see each other again in dreams."

[the-somwthing]

Sorry but I’m not getting over the person who basically implied that headcanoning Jimmy as taller than Tango is thinly veiled rpf and they’re not REALLY separating cc from character. Like WHAT are you cooking

[sanakimohara]

But wait… dating Chan has so many perks! - …p*rn links

explicit content ahead + masterlist > + 0T8 list >

- You’re never not spoiled and a little greedy for his attention! Always so demanding and pouty when he doesn’t give you what you want and sometimes he’ll have to remind who’s in change! But it’s so worth it!

- You’re the first to hear any and every song he’s working on. So you spend a lot of time in the studio with him when he isn’t too overwhelmed by work!

- You get the very best hugs.

- You don’t have to worry about feeling lonely because when he’s not around there’s always someone to keep you company. Maybe Felix. Maybe Minho. Hyunjin. Seungmin, Changbin, Or even Jisung and Jeongin! They’re always around to help you out when Chan gets caught up in work! But don’t worry because he won’t forget to make it up to you and give a reward for being so patient!

- You get whatever you want from him as long as you say ‘please’ just like he taught you. Always so polite. Always so sweet for him!

- You get to take care of him! He’s always being everything for everyone and sometimes even he needs a little break so helping him relax is your favorite thing to do!

- You can wear any and all the cute little outfits your heart desires -but be careful because it’s not always going to stay ‘cute’ around him! And that’s okay cause he’ll buy you something prettier!

- You get the cutest messages from him! Voice memos and videos made just for you! All for you.. And he’s always so excited and proud of you when you send him one of your own!

- You can sit on his lap whenever you want, for as long as you want, and he loves it when you do! He won’t wanna let you go!

- You get all the best kisses. The ones that leave your head spinning and all foggy just the way he likes it!

- You can relieve some of his stress. Ease his mind when no one else can and he appreciates it!

- You’ll be the love of his life. A point of inspiration he draws from every second you’re with him…

- You could be all his

Alright…so how did I do on this? Should I do the other members too or no? 🖤

Also, the literal battle I had to fight to get these vids and audios was nothing short of a rollercoaster. Literally was melting, crying, and dying all at once so you’re welcome-! 🖤

[ Tag list is open… ]

[art]

Creator Spotlight: @themetalhiro

Hi, I’m Metal! I’m a freelance artist from good ol’ New Jersey. My favorite things to work with are a lot of bright colors, exaggerated poses, and candid scenarios. I try to farm sensible chuckles whenever I can, so I’m also big into comics. I love making them about my life, and the media I’m into, and one day I’d like to publish my own series!  Thank you to everyone who has gotten me this far!!

Check out Metal's interview below!

Did you originally have a background in art? If not, how did you start?

I guess so! It’s funny, I don’t remember a single time in my life that I wasn’t drawing as a hobby… somewhere in middle school (a little late, I know.) I put the pieces together that animated movies were made by artists, and that it wasn’t just for fun, they were paid to do it. The moment I discovered people could be paid to make art, I decided I would do that, too. Now I’m here!

How has your style developed over the years?

I think the best way to answer this would be with an example! Over the last few years, I have made more of an effort to draw more intentionally, which sounds silly. Now, I put more thought into my poses and step out of my comfort zone with shape language and composition. I had a phase where I drew everyone with a huge, perfectly circular head and no nose. That definitely did not lend much variety...

Which 3 famous artists (dead or alive) would you invite to your dinner party?

Ack! I’m so terrible at history! I’d love to give a well-thought-out answer about fine artists of old, but I don't think we’d have much in common… Most artists I admire and who have driven me forward creatively are the people behind comics I’ve read. Andrew Hussie, Bryan Lee O’Malley, Eiichiro Oda... these guys have inspired me greatly and had a heavy influence in developing my art style and sense of humor. I’d love to ask them questions about their processes and upcoming projects. I think it would make for an entertaining night!

Over the years as an artist, what were your biggest inspirations behind your creativity?

Outside of pure aesthetics like searing bright colors, layered clothing, and loud noises…. the best and most inspiring moments in my life were those surrounded by friends and loved ones! I cherish the hell out of memories of hanging around in fun locations, trying weird food together, and impromptu midnight walks... so I try my best to capture that atmosphere and my own memories in my work when I can, even if I’m imposing fictional characters on top of them. That’s always the core of it.

What is a medium that you have always been intrigued by but would never use yourself?

I would never permanently refuse a medium, but every time I pick up clay, I’m like a baby using its hands for the first time. Absolutely dreadful. If one day I could make and paint a figurine like the ones I admire in videos, that would be awesome... But for now, I’m not counting on it.

How do you want to evolve as a creator?

I’ve had an absolute blast drawing fanart over the years, and it’s certainly played a massive role in my growth as an artist. But my dream has always been to publish my own stories for y'all to enjoy! I have lots of worlds I want to introduce to you before I’m old and gray. I want to get faster, work harder, and get better at drawing interesting settings so I can get the wheels turning as soon as possible. I also want to stop avoiding the color blue like a coward.

What do you wish you knew when you first started out creating art that you know now?

Pay your taxes quarterly. Tablets will break at the exact moment you need them most, so have a spare. Wear your blue light glasses. You’re going to need to wear a brace on every joint on the right side of your body. It can be lonely sitting at your desk all day. The car on the side of the road that costs $1000 cash….. don’t trust it!!!

Who on Tumblr inspires you and why?

@cranity—They use absolutely beautiful colors and weighty line work. Everything looks so sharp and clean! I wanna put it all up on my wall!

@vewn—Their ability to crank out quality short films and illustrations packed with detail is incredible. The off-kilter perspective they use really sells disorientation and catches your attention like nothing else.

@nelnal—They have absolutely banger character designs again and again, I can’t believe one person’s mind can come up with so many creative ideas!

@jinx88kc—They have a beautiful and recognizable style, and the way they incorporate animation into their illustrations sometimes is SO cool!

Thanks for stopping by, Metal! For more of Metal’s work, follow their Tumblr, @themetalhiro! If you haven't seen their Meet the Artist piece, be sure to check it out here!

[vivwritescrappythings]

king of the joust

knight!könig x plussize!fem!reader

part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6

you go to a tourney, a knight you’ve never seen before wants your favor

an: this could become a series—not sure, just wanted to write this. inspired by a drawing of könig by @whocaresabouttactical that i just could not get out of my head (your work is amazing btw).

tw: fem reader, plus size reader

word count: 1.8k

masterlist

—

Tourney days were the worst of all.

It always devolved into madness–your mother devoted to getting your sister prepared enough to catch a knight’s eye. You primped and pinched and cinched all morning, stuffing her into a dress she could hardly breathe in and pulling the corset strings tight.

You were dressed similarly, your gown far less expensive and hair left loose around your face rather than the intricate braided style she wore. It was not worth it to spend the time on your attire. Your sister was older by a year and the prettier of the two of you, securing a marriage swiftly was becoming one of the most important things in her life.

You were welcomed with the other noble families beneath the tented area of the stands, your parents headed toward the back to greet your brothers and their wives as you milled near the front railing with your sister. She was staring dreamily at the arena.

The knights were already out, walking with their horses and talking with their squires.

“Do any catch your eye?” you asked, watching your sister’s gaze flicker over the armored men below. Some had their helmets off, casting charming smiles into the stands of onlookers. You could hear young ladies giggling around you.

“Maybe Ser Garrick,” she said after a few moments of contemplation. You followed her stare, seeing him speaking to another knight with his helm still on, the face of it shaped like a skull.

He was handsome, you couldn’t deny that. If anything, you were surprised he was a knight. He looked as though he had never seen a day of battle, his skin smooth and clear, no lines of worry etched into his face to match those of his companions.

You hummed, nodding. “He certainly is pretty,” you murmured with a giggle. Your sister rolled her eyes, embarrassed as she shyly agreed.

You could see it, the two of them married with an estate and children of their own. Rumors of Ser Garrick promised that he was kind, if not a bit vain. But your sister was vain, too—it would be perfect.

You both had favors: your sister kept running her fingers over the crimson scarf she’d brought with her while you twisted your woven laurel of leaves and flowers and ribbon over your wrist. You knew someone would ask for your sister’s favor—she was so beautiful that men would pine for her even if she were common born.

It would not be a stretch to assume that you would be bringing your favor home with you. You were of marrying age, but destined to be a spinster. It was your nature to let your sister shine, often lingering along the edges of the room or in her shadow.

The horns signaling the tourney was about to start pulled you from your reverie as your sister yanked you into the seat next to hers. Right in the front.

While you hated tourney days, jousting sent a thrill through you like no other—you often were halfway out of your seat, peering over the railing as you watched the knights. The horses were huge and sleek, their muscles rippling beneath their coats as they charged. The splitting sound of lances on shields echoes through the arena filled you with adrenaline as though you competed amongst them.

The knights trotted just below the stands, calling up to girls between bouts and earning favors. Your sister practically fainted when Ser Garrick shouted up to her, his lance resting on the railing in front of you. You had to shove her forward.

“My sister was telling me that you look rather gallant this morning, Ser Garrick,” you said, smiling sweetly at her as you nudged her with your elbow. The mortification was clear in her expression before she tweaked it into a smile as she nodded primly.

Ser Garrick laughed, the sound clear and deep. “Well, I would be pleased to have your sister’s favor if she is offering it,” he said, gaze focused on her.

You bumped her again, finally snapping her out of her shock. She smiled demurely, producing the scarf she had tied into a circle. The fabric was wispy and light, the baby pink contrasting with his black and red lance as she looped it over the end and let it slide down to the pommel. “I wish you luck,” she said, batting her eyelashes prettily at the knight.

“I thank you, my lady,” he called back up to both of you, smiling at your sister and nodding to you before bringing the visor of his helmet down and going to take his place.

You fell back to your seat with your sister, her hand wrapped around your arm as she squealed. Her excitement was plain to read, the grin on her face and the sparkle in her gaze said more than enough as she pitched into you. Her laugh was absorbed in your shoulder as you chuckled.

You never doubted that he would gaze at her.

Ser Garrick jousted admirably, defeating his opponent in just a few bouts. You could not be bothered to know who it was, only that his armor was dented as he was cleared away with his horse in tow.

The rest of the morning blended into listening to your sister blather on about Ser Garrick and the crack of lances on shields and breastplates. It was easy to stop listening, making soft sounds of agreement and occasional nods of understanding as you twisted your favor around in your grip. You knew if you listened you would only feel jealous.

Your thoughts wandered, pondering the way the bodice of your dress cinched in your soft stomach, the sleeves of your gown loose until they gathered at your wrists to cover the gentle slope of your shoulders and the extra flesh on your upper arms. You rested your chin on your hand, trying to subtly pull back the softness of your jaw. There was no hiding that you did not look like your waif of an older sister.

You knew that. The difference between you two was easy to feel, to understand. The way eyes glazed and shifted over you as though you were not there, as though you did not deserve to be there. The whispers of your parents discussing arranging a marriage with one of your father’s friends haunted you. But lords and knights and even common boys looked right past you regardless of your noble blood.

“Sister.” The sharpness of her tone brought you out of your spiral of self-pity. She was staring at you, eyes wide.

“Yes?” you asked, blinking a few times as you sat up in your seat.

There was a lance resting on the railing.

“I think he means to get your attention.”

Your brow furrowed, the words took a few moments to make sense before you stood. You placed your hands on the polished wood, carefully peering over.

The knight below was one you had never seen before. He was huge, limbs thick with muscle beneath his dark armor. The warhorse beneath him was large to accommodate him, dwarfing the other horses and squires. He wore no helm, holding it on his thigh as his other hand steadied the lance. But you still did not see his face, a black cloth with two circles cut for the eyes covering his head.

Like an executioner.

“You wished to see me, Ser…” you trailed off, waiting for an introduction.

His blue eyes simply crinkled at the corners like he was smiling beneath the shroud, he nodded. Then his hand left his helm carefully balanced on his leg, retrieving something from near his stirrup.

In a flash it was tossed up to you, harmlessly glancing off your arm. Your sister practically dove to retrieve the object, showing you a stuffed bear with a perplexed look on her face. It was small, but crafted nicely. There were two little X stitches for the eyes, no mouth or other features stitched onto the soft fabric.

Your brow furrowed as you reached out for it, turning the bear in your hands with care. It was sweet.

The knight was watching you carefully, seemingly waiting for your reaction. You could feel your cheeks warming, a threat smile made the corner of your lip twitch. You had never received a gift from a man that was not a member of your family.

Your sister cleared her throat. You were taking too long.

“Well, I suppose a favor for a favor is in order,” you said, loud enough for the knight to hear you below.

His eyes crinkled at the corners again. Another nod.

You took your favor of weaved flowers and grasses and ribbons scraps, pressing a kiss to the leaves before looping it over the edge of his lance and watching it fall toward him. The colors of the foliage matched the forest green spiral painted on the wood.

“I wish you luck,” you said, clutching the bear in one hand as you leaned over the railing.

He was looking at the favor, running his gloved fingers touching the ribbons and caressing the flower petals. Then his attention was returned to you, he tapped the lance against the railing one, two, three times.

It felt like a thanks.

You watched him settle his helmet over his head before returning to your seat. The shocked expression on your face was mirrored by your sister, the two of you staring at the small stuffed bear in your hands.

A gift from a knight was unheard of at a tourney. Maybe a gift would suit a marriage proposal, or an attempt at courting. But not a simple tourney day.

And not from a knight you had never even seen before.

The smash of a lance against a shield made you look up, watching the knight’s opponent go crashing off his horse. And it continued. Every competitor that faced him ended up bested, sprawling across the dirt.

One pulled his sword, the mystery knight sliding off his horse to meet the challenge. He was taller than you anticipated, standing a full head over his opponent as he drew the sword from his hip. It was hardly a contest, the smaller man made to yield after being quickly disarmed and a blade at his throat.

It was only at the end of the day you learned his name. Ser Kilgore—it was announced proudly across the arena in light of his victory. Whispers calling him “King of the Joust” carried as you found your parents and prepared to leave.

You kept looking over shoulders and heads in the crowd, standing on your tiptoes to try to get a glimpse of Ser Kilgore. The fluttering at the pit of your stomach already told you all you needed to know—you wanted to see him again.

It was only in the carriage back to your estate that you noticed the stitching on the leg of the bear, black and a bit clumsy.

KÖNIG.

[himezoro]

your roman empire with the one piece men

that small gesture or word he said that entered your mind and never left.

starring : zoro, luffy and law !!

word count : 889

author's note : again, i'm so sorry for posting so rarely, working and planning a wedding has to be the most exhausting thing ever, i promise to go through all of your requests and to be more present, tysm for your support ♡౨ৎ⋆.˚ some of these scenarios have been inspired by moments i often think about in my life, can you guess which hahaha??

zoro was smitten with you, and longed taking a step forward in your camaraderie, and everyone with a pair of eyes could see it. so when nami told him he was on errand duty with you and only you today, the swordsman knew it was his shot to get closer to you.

gosh, you were gorgeous walking around the alleys with the wind blowing your hair and diffusing your hypnotizing scent. and there he was, walking by your side like a guard dog with his hands the pockets of his jacket, listening to your enchanting voice.

the errands were nearly coming to an end, and zoro did not dare to "make a move", which he knew he would regret. the alleys got more crowded and he was afraid to lose you, especially since his orientation is not the best, though his senses would always bring him back to you. he knew that.

as zoro listened to you and internally debated on whether he should say something about his feelings or not, his body acted on his own, finally closing the distance.

as he gently grabbed your left hand with his right one, intertwined his fingers with yours, before putting both of his hand and yours in his right pocket, acting like it was the most natural gesture on earth.

and the butterflies in your stomach never died since.

luffy has always brought joy to your life and fed your desire for adventures and fun. he lit stars to your world and invited you to let go of pressure and have fun, not minding about third parties' opinions. a lot of people would question your couple association because of luffy's exuberance, but all them be damned. the future king of the pirates brought you back to life and no one could make you happier.

a sudden rain came down pouring on the grand line and the wind blew hard. the entire crew started running around to put back inside the furnitures that were left outside. the rain was so much that it started freezing and you started to run to your quarters. yet, as you were about to finally reach your door, a pair of elastic arms grabbed you and brought you back outside under the pouring rain, their owner sporting a huge, bright grin on his face.

"luffy!!! what the hell are you doing? it's raining and we'll catch a cold!!"

"chichichi, i wanted to dance with you, (y/n)!" he beamed, his eyes adoringly pleading yours to allow his antics as he started twirling you around under the pouring rain.

between laughters only him could exulate, you tried to bring him back to his senses.

"but luffy, honey, we can't dance under the rain! it's cold and there's no music playing!"

luffy did not mind your ramblings as he kept on twirling you around, his hand standing on your the small of your back the whole time, his thumb occasionnaly drawing circles. with a determined gaze and his signature smile on his face, he pressed his forehead on yours, the rain drops falling from his nose to your lips from the closeness.

"together, there's nothing that we can't do (y/n). after all, i'm the future king of the pirates!!"

his laughter hugged the atmosphere and made your heart race even more.

your relationship with law was a secret on the submarine, and it was hard for you to hide your adoration for your boyfriend. after all, what wasn't there to love? law was smart, composed, mature and commited. yet, sometimes, it felt so easy for him to "ignore" your status in front of the crew or anyone for that matter, which tended to hurt your heart. did law appreciate you the way you did? was it unrequited?

little did you know, law had a hard time not paying as much attention as he would when with the others. because he had a lot of work, even when the others were not around, it did not mean the two of you could see each other. therefore, the soft gestures he wished to cover you with were quite lacking. and of course, he was the one to have asked to keep the relationship a secret, and because of his prideful persona, he would not admit it was not a good idea.

you and bepo were getting ready to work around the submarines for your chores of the day. you were busy going around the submarine with your chores tool and bepo, and failed to notice your shoe laces came undone.

and of course, this would not go unnoticed by law. the captain could not stop himself from going to you with a frown, which surprised (and scared) both of you and bepo.

is there anything you did wrong? why was he looking so pissed off?

"idiot. you could trip and injure yourself." your boyfriend sternly spoke, kneeling to the floor to tie your shoe-lace, leaving bepo dumbfounded and yourself out of breath, with a racing heartbeat.

"you know i don't want you to get hurt." he said getting up, his hot breath tickling your cheek in the process, his warm hand resting on yours, silently promising to show his adoration for you like you deserve.

and you swore you could still feel the warmth of his hand from that day again.

[killerpancakeburger]

Sleeping Beauty

Gif by @no-one-fights-alone

SUMMARY: The sleeping beauty is Soap hehe. You weren't supposed to fall asleep in the rec room, but you did. When you emerge, there's someone snoozing in your lap.

PAIRING: Soap x f!Reader

TAGS: Fluff, first kiss, confessions, light/non graphic smut: dirty talk, friction, Clingy!Soap, Civilian!Reader, Smitten!Soap AND Smitten!Reader. Part of the Moaning and Blushing Soap Agenda.

WORDS COUNT: 1.8k

A/N: My thanks to the fanartists who draw Soap alseep, giving me inspiration :') been obsessed with this piece.

It was never your intention to doze off on the rec room's couch.

However, the combination of the coziness of the sofa, the bone-deep tiredness you accumulated over the work week, and the delicious warmth radiating from Soap's body eventually defeated you. The rowdy Sergeant  had always displayed a tactile kind of friendliness, but lately he was glued to you, downright clingy. 

Another person would have been irritated by this behavior quickly enough - his teammates from the 141 made it pretty clear, teasing him frequently about it, and jokingly pitying you. Nonetheless, you didn’t mind, at least outside of the bursts of heat that would overrun your face from time to time. Just when you thought you were used to him, one brush of his fingertips or one gaze from his piercing blue eyes would revive the fire in your blood. 

But just like with most things, you couldn’t say no to Johnny. Not to mention, you were seriously touch-starved; had been your whole life, to be honest. To have someone apparently addicted to the feel of your skin was like a heaven-sent gift.

This was how you ended up sitting way too close to him on the couch, thighs touching, his burly arm thrown carelessly on the backrest behind you, as the task force was enjoying some TV before heading to bed. Between vaguely paying attention to the movie, keeping up with the guys’ conversation, and fighting your own mind to forbid it from obsessing over how burning his leg felt against yours despite the barrier of your respective jeans, you were plenty busy. At least until you fell asleep without realizing.

Filled with confusion, you sluggishly blink at the half-light illuminating you. The lights have been switched off, but the TV provides enough brightness for you to figure out your surroundings. The room is silent and empty, save for the murmur emitted by the television, and your lap feels strangely heavy.

You lower your eyes to figure out that mystery, and immediately supress a yelp of surprise by pressing your hand against your mouth.

John Mactavish in the flesh is right there, sleeping like a baby. 

You can’t help but drink in this one-of-a-kind sight; you've never seen him asleep before. Never contemplated him looking so peaceful, so tranquil. There's an inherent vulnerability that comes with catching him sleeping. 

He's laying on his stomach, the side of his face pressed against your thigh, grabbing it with one hand. The way his cheek is squished by your leg is both funny and adorable. Low but regular snores escape his parted lips.

His mohawk is as ruffled as hair that short can be, and now that you’re observing it, you’re tempted to stroke it, to find out whether it is as soft as its owner. You ponder over that dilemma for a minute, biting your lip, before giving into temptation. Tentatively ruffling the top of it at first, terrified of waking him up, you gain in confidence as his hair proves to be delightfully smooth. You run your hand through the strands carefully, your touch as delicate as possible, removing some stray locks from his forehead as you go.

Eventually you stop, taking in the room around you, and thinking about how this situation can’t last. Soap really needs to reach his bed. You peek at him again.

There's a self-indulging part of you that very much desires to let him sleep, keep him in your lap and stare at him for hours. With how heavy he feels, you’re not sure you could get up even if you wanted to.

“Why'd ye stop?” he rasps, voice made hoarse by drowsiness, tone surprisingly whiny.

You barely stifle a screech, completely taken aback by his awakening.

He shoots you a look so indignant, you'd think you woke him up at 3 a.m with a bucket of ice-cold water. That, or he's a petulant child you’re waking up for school.

“Sorry…?”

Why you are apologizing, you don't even know. His expression somehow manages to make you feel guilty, so you lift your hand and caress his hair again. 

His eyes instantly close at the contact, like a cat. A pleased, satisfied “Mmmh” leaves him, as a deep rumble escapes his torso, like a purr. A blissful smile stretches his lips, sending a pang to your chest.

“Soap.”

“...”

“Johnny.”

“Mmh?”

“You need to get to your own bed.”

“Nooooo.”

He proceeds to turn his head and bury his face in your lap. Next thing you know, the hand squeezing your thigh releases you, only to sneak behind your back and grab your waist. The other slides under your legs to seize your knee.

You end up well and truly trapped in his grip.

“M great ‘ere.” he retorts, muffled by your body.

His hot breath sends tingles over your skin, and the motion of his lips against your pants provokes a throbbing between your thighs. You feel your cheeks’ temperature rise dangerously. The fact that you two are alone together is both a blessing and a curse. You’re going to give Gaz and Ghost a piece of your mind for abandoning you like that.

“Soap,” you sigh, trying your best to sound unaffected, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You can’t stay here all night.”

“Can't I?” 

The cheekiness in his voice manages to be both irritating and arousing.

“John Mactavish,” you scold, attempting to sound menacing.

“Could spend tha whole night between yer thighs, bonnie.”

Yep, that's it, your entire face is on fire. He's never been so forward before; your chest feels like it's about to burst.

Unfortunately for Johnny, your annoyance exceeds your embarrassment. This explains why your next course of action is to take hold of his mohawk and yank. 

Face finally unsticking from you, he lets out a noise that's half a grunt, half a moan, and fully obscene.

Astounded, turned on, and just a bit sheepish, you stare at him in bewildered silence as he returns your gaze, cerulean eyes wide, cheekbones and the tips of his ears bright red.

You only meant to remove him from your lap - cross your heart and hope to die. And roughen him up a little in the process as payback, but that was counting on the fact that his pain tolerance must be way beyond the average mortal's.

As you stay frozen in place, he pounces. Next thing you know, he got you pinned against the backrest, hands on each side of your head, hovering over your lap.

“Can I kiss ye?”

His voice suddenly turned so husky that the question comes out more like a growl than anything else.

“W-what?” you stutter, convinced you heard him wrong.

“Can I kiss ye? Please?” he insists, pouting.

The “please” has the effect of a punch in your sternum.

“I… you… uh.. “

His face is way too close to yours, his gaze way too intense for you to do anything else but combust on the spot.

“We shouldn't”, you mumble, looking anywhere but at him.

“Aye we can, fraternization is authorized between military and office personnel.”

That has the merit to make you look back at him, eyes wide in surprise.

“How do you..?”

“Ah checked”, he asserts like it's evident.

“You're really putting me on the spot…”

You pivot your head to the right to relieve yourself from his piercing blue eyes. That doesn't seem to deter him at all, however, as he presses his forehead against your temple.

“Well, ye tend tae run away when ah flirt wi’ ye…”

His lips brush against your cheek as he talks.

“So really, this is all yer fault. Yankin’ mah hair like that-”

“MY fault!? You’re the clingy bastard who stuck his face into my lap-”

Outraged, you face him abruptly. He must have predicted your reaction because he backed away enough to avoid a headbutt.

“Very nice lap.”

The compliment leaves you unimpressed.

“Not really,” you correct automatically, your self-consciousness deeply ingrained.

He doesn't lose his smug smirk at that.

“Oh? Need me tae demonstrate?”

His hand leaves the backrest and slips between the sofa and your leg. He grabs your thigh and lifts it slightly, then slowly trails the tips of two fingers from the edge of your ass until the back of your knee, sending suggestive tickles all over your lower body.

You stare in anticipation, voice stuck somewhere in your throat.

“Bonnie? Ah'm not hearin’ a no, but ah'm not hearin’ a yes either-”

“Yes,” you murmur.

He tilts his head questioningly, smile teasing.

“Wha’ was that? Didn’t catch-”

“I said yes, you-,” you assert, riled again, loud enough that he cannot pretend to have missed it.

His mouth presses against yours almost immediately, so eager that your back hits the backrest. You close your eyes and interlace your fingers behind his neck.

His hands feel everywhere at once, like he can’t get enough of you. As for you, the accumulation of sensations threatens to overwhelm you, so you clench your hands into fists to hold on, one desperately clutching the other's wrist.

Lost in his embrace, you forget yourself. At the feeling of his muscular thigh between your legs, you grind against it thoughtlessly.

Soap reacts instantly, abandoning your lips for a moment, despite you chasing after his.

“Humpin’ my leg, ae? Ye naughty girl… ah can give ye so much better than mah leg.”

Regardless of his comment, he pushes back against your crotch.

“But if that's what ye want… ah'll give ye anythin’. Everythin’ ye want, baby. Ah'll be so good to ye, promise.”

The sweet vows falling from his filthy mouth makes you hang onto him tighter, as if you were trying to fusionate your two bodies.

“...Everything,” you reply softly after kissing him some more.

“Wha…?”

Taking Johnny by surprise is not something that you manage often. But oh, how the view is worth it.

He withdrews a bit, face flushed, mowhawk tousled, gaping, eyebrows lightly frowned in incomprehension.

“What if I want everything? All of you?” 

You cup his cheek affectionately. Your own boldness surprises you, but this whole situation feels like a dream anyway - maybe it is one -, so you might as well make the best of it. Soap has never been one to be stingy with compliments, so the least you can do is return the favor.

“You're amazing, Soap. You’re so brave, and smart, strong, selfless, and goodhearted, caring… and you have the prettiest eyes I've ever - mmh.”

He seemed pretty captivated by your words, listening religiously, until something snapped and he crushed his lips against yours.

After making you dizzy, he releases you, beaming. You remember hearing Price calling him “sunshine”. He's always been luminous, but now he's downright blinding.

“I love ye. IloveyeIloveyeIloveye.”

He chants fervently while covering your face in ardent kisses.

“Ye don't have tae say it back,” he adds hastily afterwards, like distressed he'd scare you away.

“Ye don't have tae say anythin. Ah just… can’t contain it anymore…”

“I love you too,” you cut in.

The words came out more easily than you expected. Almost naturally. It makes sense in a way - you’ve been enamored for a while after all.

You two seal your mutual confessions with an enthousiastic kiss.

BLOOPERS

[isaadore]

ILLICIT AFFAIRS LANDO NORRIS

pairing lando norris x reader

SUMMARY you meet lando at a charity event and immediately hit it off. as time went on, you slowly fall for him, but he feels the need to keep you a secret. despite the endless promises from him to make the relationship public, he never follows through on them, leaving you feeling like an option instead of a priority. inspired by “illicit affairs” by taylor swift.

word count 4.4k words

warnings HEAVY angst, lando’s a red flag, unrequited love, emotional manipulation

note first ever lando fic <3

MAIN MASTERLIST LN4 MASTERLIST

THE ATMOSPHERE AT the charity event buzzed with energy as the low hum of conversations blended with the soft clinking of champagne glasses. Lights flickered across the spacious hall, casting shadows on the elegantly dressed guests mingling in clusters, each face adorned with a mask of friendliness. You stood at the edge of the room, clipboard in hand, checking off the names of donors and VIPs as they arrived. As a volunteer, your role was straightforward: coordinate and stay out of the way. However, beneath your composure, nerves twisted in your stomach. Each signature was a reminder of your own smallness in a world where you clearly did not belong.

You observed the attendees flitting from one conversation to another, their laughter ringing like tiny explosions of wealth. Each smile and cheerful greeting served as a reminder of your own anonymity, as you felt like a cog in a machine that hummed with life while you remained unseen.

It was nearing the end of the evening when you spotted him: Lando Norris, a few feet away, laughing at something one of his friends had said. There was something infectious about his laughter, a sound that seemed to ripple through the room, drawing the eyes of those nearby. You recognized him immediately, of course. You weren’t an F1 fanatic, but you knew his name. Yet, seeing him in person was different. He seemed… more real, somehow. Not just a face on a screen or a name in a headline, but a person.

His tousled hair glimmered under the soft lighting, and his eyes sparkled as he chatted with his friends. You felt an unexpected rush of warmth in your cheeks as you watched him, your heart picking up pace in a way that left you both excited and apprehensive. He must have felt your gaze because he turned in your direction, his eyes catching yours briefly. A playful smile danced across his lips. You looked away quickly, mortified to have been caught.

At that moment, time seemed to freeze. The noise of the event faded into the background as your mind raced. What would it be like to actually talk to him? Would he be as charming in person as he seemed on social media? Your thoughts were interrupted as he turned back to his friends, and you fought the urge to sink back into the shadows, convinced you’d never get the chance to speak to him.

You were almost certain that would be the last interaction you had with him, ever. As the event wound down, you found yourself stationed at the coat check by the exit. The evening felt like it was dragging on, your mind preoccupied with thoughts of everything and nothing at once. 

“You’re the one who was working the check-in, right?” Lando asked, his voice cutting through your thoughts, clear and bright. There he was, standing in front of you, just as you thought you would never interact with him again.

You managed to nod, surprised and unsure how to respond, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his gaze. The warmth of his presence was both exhilarating and terrifying.

“You’ve been here the whole night, then?” he asked, pulling out a small, leather Louis Vuitton wallet and handing over a ticket for his coat.

“Pretty much,” you said with a shrug, forcing yourself to maintain a professional tone despite the way your heart was hammering in your chest. “But it’s worth it. It’s for a good cause.”

He tilted his head, genuinely intrigued. “Why volunteer for something like this?”

You paused, considering your words carefully as you glanced away, searching for a deeper truth to share. “I guess… I like feeling like I’m part of something bigger. Helping people, even if it’s in a small way. It’s like… I want to make a difference.”

Lando nodded thoughtfully, taking back his coat. “That’s cool. Not many people would spend their night doing that.”

He kept the conversation going for a bit longer, discussing the event, the guests, and the poor quality of the food. For a moment, you almost forgot he was a professional athlete; he seemed like just an ordinary guy passing by, someone you enjoyed talking to.

You didn’t expect to see him again after that night, but two days later, your phone pinged with a message from an unknown number.

Hope I’m not overstepping. Got your number from the event coordinator.

It’s Lando.

You stared at the message, half convinced you’d imagined it. But when you replied, he answered almost instantly.

hey, you’re not overstepping. it’s good to hear from you.

It’s good to hear from you too. :)

You both started off talking casually, moving from occasional texts to asking about each other’s day and then to late-night calls.

As the weeks turned into months, your connection grew in ways you never expected. Each message and call felt like a rope, pulling you closer to him, closing the gap between your worlds. You found yourself counting down the days until the next race weekend, not because you wanted to see him drive but because of the brief moments when he’d disappear from the paddock to call you, his voice filled with adrenaline and excitement. The rush of his laughter and the stolen moments made you feel alive, as though you were experiencing a thrill far beyond what Formula 1 could offer.

One evening, Lando suggested meeting up after the Monaco GP. It was late, and he was exhausted, but he insisted on walking along the harbour with you despite the whispers and glances from passing fans. There was a thrill to it like you were sharing a secret the rest of the world didn’t know. He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close as you both stared out at the city lights reflecting on the water.

The air was thick as you wandered through the narrow streets, laughter and music drifting from the nearby bars. You felt a strange sense of belonging, as though the world had faded away and left just the two of you.

“You ever feel like you’re living two lives?” he asked suddenly, his voice low and contemplative, breaking the comfortable silence.

You glanced up at him, surprised. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. “Like… there’s the life everyone sees. The races, the media, the expectations. And then there’s this other part. The real part. Where I get to just… be me.”

You looked at him, feeling the weight of his words pressing down on you. “Which life is this, then?” you asked, your heart racing with curiosity and longing.

He smiled down at you, his eyes softening, but the hint of sadness lurking there sent a shiver down your spine. “The one I wish I could live all the time,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You wanted to reach out, to comfort him in whatever way he needed, but the fear of crossing an invisible line held you back. Instead, you settled for a gentle nudge against his side, leaning into him as you walked. “What would it take to make that happen?” you asked, hopeful yet anxious, searching for a hint of what could be.

Lando chuckled softly, the sound tinged with a hint of melancholy. “I wish I knew. Sometimes I feel like I’m stuck in a whirlwind. The moment I think I’m free, something pulls me back in. It’s exhausting.”

You nodded, the weight of his words resonating within you. The world of fame and racing was foreign, filled with its own set of rules and expectations. But standing there with him, you felt you needed to pull him away from it all to show him the life he yearned for.

As months passed, the excitement of your connection began to dim. The secrecy that had once felt thrilling now weighed heavily on you. Each time you’d fly out to see him, you’d find yourself sneaking into hotels, slipping out before dawn, hiding from prying eyes. Lando would promise it was only temporary, that one day he’d be able to let everyone know about you. However, you started to feel like you were playing a part in someone else’s story, always waiting for a spotlight that would never come.

The turning point came one night in Barcelona. Lando had invited you to the race afterparty, and while you knew you’d be lurking in the shadows, you hoped that at least for a moment, he might acknowledge you. You spent hours picking out an outfit, wanting to look your best while still remaining inconspicuous. But as you arrived, the excitement in your chest quickly morphed into dread as you took in the crowd.

The night went on, and it became clear he was keeping his distance, chatting with colleagues, posing for pictures, always careful to stay on the opposite side of the room. The way he laughed with others, his vibrant energy lighting up the space, only amplified your sense of isolation. You tried to blend in, chatting with other guests, but the feeling of invisibility gnawed at you, a constant reminder of the line he was drawing between his life and your place in it.

You watched as he effortlessly interacted with the media. It was intoxicating and heart-wrenching all at once, knowing you were just out of reach, a spectator lurking in the background. You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being left behind, the light of his world shining so brightly that it eclipsed everything else.

Eventually, you slipped outside, finding a quiet spot on a balcony overlooking the city below. The cool air stung against your skin as you leaned on the railing, staring out into the night.

It wasn’t long before you felt Lando’s presence beside you. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there in silence, his gaze distant as he looked out over the city. You could sense the tension in the air, thick and suffocating.

“Why do you always do this?” you asked finally, your voice quiet and filled with frustration.

He looked at you, confusion etched on his face. “Do what?”

“This.” You gestured back toward the party. “Pretend like I’m not here. Like I don’t exist in your world.”

Lando sighed, running a hand through his hair, the weight of your words hitting him hard. “It’s not that simple. You know what it’s like with the media. One photo, one headline, and they’ll tear you apart.”

You swallowed, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill. “Do you know how hard it is for me? Watching you laugh, talk, be yourself around everyone else, and then pretend like I’m a stranger? It hurts, Lando. I don’t want to be your secret anymore.”

He reached out, his hand grazing yours. But you pulled away, too hurt to ignore.

“I’m just trying to protect you,” he said, desperation lacing his words.

“Protect me from what?” you demanded, your voice cracking. “From being a part of your life? From being seen with you? I can’t keep hiding, Lando. I don’t want to be an option anymore.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond, his silence louder than any words he could have spoken. You searched his face for understanding, but the pain in his eyes reflected back the struggle in him. Finally, he whispered, “I don’t want to lose you.”

The hurt and frustration boiled over. “Maybe you already have,” you said, and without another word, you turned and walked back inside, leaving him alone in the quiet night.

The weeks that followed were filled with desperation. Lando tried reaching out, but each call felt empty, a reminder of the life he was still keeping you out of. You missed him, missed the easy laughter and the late-night conversations, but you knew you couldn’t keep living like this, always on the sidelines, always hidden.

You focused on your own life, immersing yourself in work and friends, but the ache of his absence was always there. Each time your phone rang, hope fluttered in your chest, only to be crushed when it was just another group message or a call from a colleague. Your heart grew heavy, and the conversations with your friends felt empty in comparison to your feelings for Lando.

One night, he showed up unexpectedly at your apartment. You hadn’t seen him in person since that night in Barcelona, and the sight of him standing there, vulnerable and apologetic, almost broke you. The way he stood with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his hair tousled, and his eyes shadowed made your heartache.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” he said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him, his voice low and serious. The warmth of his presence enveloped you, but the tension crackled in the air between you.

“About what?” you asked, your voice trembling as you tried to maintain your composure.

“About us,” he replied, his eyes locking onto yours with a fierce intensity. “And everything that happened. I know I messed up.”

You swallowed hard, your heart racing with anticipation. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated, glancing down as if gathering his thoughts. “I’ve been selfish. Afraid. But I don’t want to keep hiding.”

You looked at him, hope flickering in your chest. “So what does that mean?” you asked, longing for clarity.

“It means… I want to try. I want to let you into my world, no matter what it takes.” His words hung in the air, heavy with promise and possibility.

And for a brief moment, you believed him, feeling a mix of hope and fear, the thrill of what could be mingling with the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

Reality hit hard as the days turned into weeks. Despite his promises, Lando kept you in the background, just as before. You attended races, blending into the crowd, hurting as you watched him share his world with everyone but you. Each laugh he shared, each photo he took, felt like another nail in the coffin of your relationship. The distance grew, and every interaction turned to moments of joy overshadowed by a sense of despair.

The bright lights of the racetrack felt like a stage set for everyone but you, and the applause that echoed through the stands was a reminder of your place in his life: always out of reach. Each time Lando reached out, his messages filled with enthusiasm about his races and triumphs. A dull ache settled in your chest as you realized the happiness he experienced was increasingly separate from you.

Finally, it all came to an end one night. You stood in front of Lando, your heart racing, feeling the weight of the words you were about to say. The dim light of his apartment cast shadows on his face, highlighting the deep lines of worry etched on his brow.

“This isn’t what I signed up for,” you said, your voice trembling as anger and heartbreak collided within you. “I thought you wanted to change things. I thought you wanted me in your life, not just in the shadows.”

Lando’s eyes widened, pain on his face as he took a step closer. “You know I do! I’m trying! But you don’t understand the pressure, the stakes…”

“Don’t pretend like you’re the only one who’s under pressure!” you said, tears streaming down your cheeks. “I’m here too! I’m the one who’s been waiting, hiding, and feeling like a ghost in your life. I can’t do it anymore, Lando.”

He stepped closer, desperation flooding his eyes. “Please, just give me time. I need to figure this out.”

You shook your head, the pain overwhelming you. “Time? I’ve given you enough time. I don’t want to be an option anymore. I deserve to be more than a secret.”

The silence that followed felt like an abyss stretching between you. The walls felt like they were closing in, and the air grew with tension. Finally, you whispered, “I can’t keep doing this.”

And just like that, the fragile thread connecting you snapped, unravelling everything you’d built together. You turned away, your heart breaking with every step as you walked out of his life, leaving him standing in the dark.

As the door closed behind you, reality hit Lando like a freight train, the consequences of his actions crashing down on him. He stood in the silence of his apartment, a void where your laughter used to fill the air, the reality of what he had lost settling heavily in his chest. He had pushed you away, convinced that keeping you hidden would protect you, but now he realized that it had only created a gap between you, a wound that might never heal.

A YEAR LATER

The café was buzzing with life, sunlight streaming through the large windows and illuminating the vibrant chatter of patrons. Lando strolled in, his mind still preoccupied with the endless cycle of races and media obligations and some days, he’d feel the pain of your absence. Today was one of those days.

As he waited in line for his coffee, Lando couldn’t shake the feeling of being adrift. The laughter of fans, the chatter of friends celebrating victories; it all felt distant like he was watching life unfold through a pane of glass. With each passing day, the absence of your smile haunted him more than the pressures of the racing world ever could. He longed for the moments you had shared, the laughter, the connection, but it was too late now.

His thoughts were interrupted by a wave of chatter and laughter from the corner table. He turned, and his heart dropped. There you were, sitting across from someone else, a man who was leaning in closer than Lando had ever dared. You looked radiant, laughter spilling from your lips, and for a moment, time stood still.

A mix of emotions surged through him: jealousy, regret, and longing. He felt a pang of envy at the sight of your joy and sat with the realization that he had lost you to someone else. He should have fought harder, should have tried to mend the rift he had created, but now here you were, moving on without him.

As you glanced up, your eyes met his, and for a brief moment, the world fell away. Surprise flickered in your gaze, quickly replaced by a look of uncertainty. Lando’s heart raced as he willed himself to smile, but it felt forced, a mask to hide the storm of emotions brewing inside him. He stood frozen, trapped between wanting to reach out and the fear of what it would mean if he did.

The man you were with leaned closer, whispering something that made you laugh again, and it was like a knife twisting in Lando’s chest. The sound was beautiful, but it stung like salt on a wound. He turned back to the counter, pretending to check his phone, but his heart was racing, battling the urge to pull you into his arms and tell you how sorry he was.

But as he turned away, he could feel your gaze on him. He wanted to shout your name, to break the silence that loomed like a thick fog, but fear held him back. He was afraid of disrupting your happiness, afraid of hearing you say what he already feared: that you were happier without him.

Just as he was about to step outside, the barista called his name. He grabbed his coffee, forcing a smile as he turned back toward the door, but his heart was pounding in his chest. That’s when you stood up, your laughter fading as you walked toward him, the man you were with still seated, oblivious to the tension in the air.

“Lando?” you said, your voice filled with uncertainty. He caught a glimpse of your eyes, a mix of emotions swirling within them, mirroring how he felt.

“Hey,” he replied. He could feel the heat radiating off you, the familiarity bringing up thousands of memories.

“Nice to see you,” you said, trying to maintain a casual tone, but Lando could sense the tension lingering in the space between you. He glanced over your shoulder, catching the curious gaze of your date, and the sight sent another wave of jealousy over him.

“Yeah, you too,” he managed, forcing his gaze to meet yours. Your eyes held a million unspoken words, and he felt the weight of them pressing down on him. “How have you been?” he asked, desperate to keep the conversation alive.

“I’ve been… good. Just busy with work and stuff,” you replied, your voice faltering slightly. “And you? Racing still?”

“Yeah, always,” he said, a bitter taste filling his mouth at the thought. “Winning, losing, you know how it is.”

You nodded. “I saw you won the last race,” you said, a forced smile tugging at your lips. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” he said, his heart aching. “But it’s not the same without you there.” The words slipped out before he could stop them, raw and unfiltered.

Your expression faltered, a flicker of pain crossing your face. “Lando…”

Just then, the man from the table called out to you, breaking the conversation. “Everything okay?” His voice was casual, but Lando could hear the possessiveness beneath.

“Yeah, just… catching up with an old friend,” you replied, you shifted your gaze back towards Lando. The man’s expression darkened, a flicker of jealousy passing across his face, but you seemed unaware of it.

“Maybe we should go?” the man suggested, and Lando’s heart sank at the thought of you leaving with him.

“Yeah, I—” you started, but Lando couldn’t let you walk away again.

“Wait,” he interjected, desperation creeping into his voice. “Can we talk? Just for a minute?”

You hesitated, conflicted. “I don’t know, Lando. It’s complicated…”

“Please,” he pressed, the urgency in his voice growing. “Just… for a minute.”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you nodded, glancing back at your date, who frowned but didn’t object. “Just a minute,” you said, stepping aside, and Lando’s heart soared at the small victory.

The two of you found a quieter corner of the café, where the sound of chatter faded into the background. Lando leaned against the wall, his eyes locked onto yours, seeking even a small part of the connection that you once shared.

“Look, I know things ended badly between us,” he started, his voice steady despite feeling the opposite. “I messed up, and I’m sorry for pushing you away. I thought I was protecting you, but all I did was hurt you.”

You looked down, the weight of his words heavy in the air. “You really think it was that easy for me?” you asked, your voice laced with hurt. “You think I just moved on? It’s not like that, Lando. I’ve been trying to pick up the pieces since you shut me out.”

“I didn’t mean to—” he began, but you cut him off, the pain in your eyes cutting deeper than he anticipated.

“Didn’t mean to what? To hurt me? To leave me hanging?” Your voice trembled, and he could see the anger mixed with sorrow in your expression. “I thought we had something real, Lando. But when you walked away, you broke everything. I was left to figure it all out alone.”

“I know,” he said, desperation rising in his chest. “And I regret it every day. I thought pushing you away would protect you from the chaos of my life, but it only drove you further away. I’ve been miserable without you. I don’t— I can’t want to lose you for good.”

Your eyes softened momentarily, but the resolve in them remained. “But you already did,” you said softly. “I’m here with someone else now, Lando. I can’t just pretend that you didn’t hurt me, that I didn’t feel like I meant nothing to you.”

He felt the truth of your words like a punch to the gut, the reality crashing over him. “You mean everything to me,” he insisted, his voice breaking. “You’re the only one who ever really understood me. Without you, I feel lost.”

Your expression faltered, the conflict raging within you. “And what do you expect me to do? Just drop everything and go back to the way it was? It’s not that simple, Lando. I’m trying to move on.”

“I don’t want you to move on without me,” he said. “I want to fix this, to make it right. If you give me a chance, I promise I’ll do better this time. I’ll fight for you.”

The moment hung heavy in the air, your eyes searching his for sincerity. “But what if you’re just saying that because you’re afraid of being alone?”

“I’m saying it because I can’t imagine my life without you in it,” he replied, vulnerability spilling from his lips. “I’ve been racing for titles, for victory, but nothing feels right without you by my side. I need you, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to prove that to you.”

You took a step back, your expression unreadable. “I don’t know if I can trust you again, Lando. It hurts too much to think about going through that pain again.”

“Trust takes time,” he said, his voice gentle. “But I promise I’ll be here till you come around.”

Just then, the man from the table approached, a look of concern on his face. “Everything all right?” he asked, his tone slightly defensive.

You glanced at him, and Lando felt the tightness in his chest return. He didn’t want to fight for you with another man standing there, but he couldn’t let you walk away again.

“I need to go,” you said, your voice tinged with uncertainty.

“Wait, just—” Lando started, but you shook your head, the finality in your eyes piercing through him.

“I have to figure things out, Lando. I can’t just jump back into something that broke me.”

With that, you turned and walked away, leaving Lando standing in the café, your footsteps fading into the distance.

Lando knew he had lost you, perhaps for good. As the world continued to spin, he was left with the realization that sometimes love wasn’t enough to mend the fractures life had carved into the heart. He knew he might never have the chance to tell you how much you truly meant to him.

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