#nail art studio near me

[igot-the-juice]

Blood of A Rose - Part 1 (Art the Clown x Fem!Reader)

Summary - (Y/n) is an aspiring artist, but rather than mainstream, she captures what she considers to be the beauty of death. She has been fighting with the industry and local art museums to publicize her work. Reaching negative publicity, a particular clown takes an interest.

Masterlist

Notes - I see a lot of smut with little plot to build up to it so decided to write it myself. He’s always portrayed as aggressive and hasty with it, but I took a different take on it since he’s always so methodical and takes his time with what he does and I feel like that would stay the same in the bedroom or wherever else with his wild ass. Slow and torturous smut, ladies. Let me know if you’d like a continuation of this!

Word Count - 5,602

Warning(s) - Gore, depictions of graphic art, morally ambiguous reader, smut/sexual themes, no harm to reader

Song Inspiration -

IAMX - Bernadette

Ice Nine Kills - A Work of Art

The brush stroked gracefully along the canvas, a symphony of strings playing in the background as she worked. A multitude of shades of red took precedence over the piece, hints of yellow and skin tones sprinkled in where she thought was necessary. 

She cleaned off her brush and took a step back, admiring her newest work, eyeing it for flaws or hints of emptiness. When she found none she smiled to herself, untying her apron and leaving to enter the house to wash herself clean of any unwanted paint that caught her skin. 

She turned on the faucet, pumping soap into her hands and began to scrub. She watched as the red began to drain down the sink, sighing in delight at the sight of it. 

(Y/n) had always been captivated by the concept of death. Not in the way people feared or avoided it, but in the way she saw its eerie elegance. Growing up in a household that celebrated perfection and the beauty of life, her fascination with decay and the passage of time was met with silence, sometimes disgust. 

As a child, she’d spend hours sketching wilted flowers or photographing the abandoned cemetery near their house. Sometimes she found dead animals which was always a treat for her. She found beauty where others saw only ruin and death. Her parents had tried to correct her, and her teachers had labeled her work disturbing. But (y/n) remained drawn to the delicate balance between life and death.

As she grew older, the fascination deepened, and she poured it into her art. Her paintings had always included blood in one way or another, whether it was an aging object, haunted landscapes, or human forms twisted in the stillness of death. On the other hand, her photographs captured the fleeting beauty of nature’s quiet end. The decay of a flower, the pale tranquility of a body. 

However, the world around her wasn’t ready for her vision. Critics were quick to brand her work as grotesque, calling it an abomination, and galleries refused to showcase her art. News articles labeled her as disturbed, questioning her mental health rather than her talent.

But for (y/n), it was never about horror. She saw beauty in the inevitability of death, in the idea that all things must come to an end. To her, it was a reminder of the fragility of existence and the raw, unfiltered truth of the world. Yet, each harsh critique was another nail in the coffin of her confidence, driving her further into herself. 

She became more reserved, speaking less in public, avoiding eye contact at exhibitions - if she even attended. She longed to defend her work, but the voices of her critics echoed in her mind, silencing her before she could even begin.

Despite the noise, (y/n) still clung to her vision, working tirelessly in the small, dimly lit studio that was the garage of the small house she currently rented. Surrounded by the eerie stillness of her creations. 

She began to change into something more fitting for the colder October weather, slipping on a coat to bury her hands in and walking into the crisp autumn air. As her feet tapped through the night’s atmosphere, she closed her eyes for a moment, the smell of the dying trees and asphalt sending a pleasant shiver down her spine. 

She didn’t live far from the heart of Miles County, quickly reaching it and taking joy in the quietness of it all compared to the usual bustling energy during the day that she preferred to avoid. 

She passed a display lined and stacked with TVs, some of them turned on and broadcasting different channels. 

“- another piece was released just days ago with another overwhelming amount of negativity -“ 

She stopped promptly, turning her head towards one of the TVs closest to her and seeing a portrait of herself display. 

“Be advised, the image is disturbing.” 

Her last work was then shown. She admired it, not from an egotistical standpoint, but more from the genuine beauty of the concept. 

A flower pot, chipped and cracked. An elongated and decaying finger was the stem of the flower in the pot, bloodied thorns sticking out of it every which way. Ears made up the petals, an eyeball at the center in place of a typical pistil. A radiant glow shone from behind the flower, its rays of light praising its beauty in all of its wretched glory. 

Her eyes began to water as they threw out carefully constructed insults, indirect but still noticeable enough to catch. 

However, what (y/n) didn’t notice was the tall, slim monochromatic figure standing behind her just feet away. Gripping the overfilled black trash bag hanging over his shoulder, he curiously watched the same TV, head tilted slightly in fascination.

She brought a balled hand up to below her nose, keeping it from running as a tear fell. Too caught up in the screen before her, she failed to notice the man that now stood next to her, watching the TV from next to her rather than behind, his bag now on the sidewalk.

Having had enough of their cruel remarks, she turned to walk back home, but gasped when she nearly collided with the strange man. 

Her eyes slowly trailed up his form, landing on his white painted face, accented by the black paint around his eyes and mouth. She took in his features with curiosity and fascination, taking note of his exaggerated hooked nose, cheekbones and pointed chin. 

“I’m sorry,” she sniffed and quickly wiped at her tears. “I didn’t notice you there.” 

His head slowly turned towards her and his mouth widened into a dramatic smile, flashing his black-coated teeth. It suddenly turned to surprise, shaking where he stood with excitement and pointing to the TV. 

“You… Do you like it?” She asked, unbelieving. He nodded enthusiastically and pointed to her, then the TV, then back to her. She caught on. “Oh, um… Yeah - yeah that’s me.” 

His hands shook with another wave of excitement, his hands representing the beat of his heart, then giving a chef’s kiss. 

“Well, thank you,” She sniffed again. “That means a lot to me, actually.” She gave a small giggle of amusement at his mannerisms. 

He then stopped suddenly, putting his hands on his hips with a disapproving look. He ran a finger down his cheek to simulate a fake tear, then pointed to her, then the TV. 

“Oh, it’s nothing. I’m used to it by now.” (Y/n) waved off, but the mime knew better. 

He held up a finger, his mouth forming an ‘o’ with eyebrows raised, then turned to rummage through his bag. She watched curiously, wondering how this was even happening. He suddenly turned back around, presenting a rose to her with a large smile. 

Again, she couldn’t help but giggle and grew bashful, her cheeks tinting red as her fingers lightly grazed his own to take the flower from him. She brought it up to her nose to smell it, a smile gracing her lips. She then felt something drip down her hand and looked down at the flower again, seeing as a drop of blood made its way down over her fingers. 

“Nice touch. Thank you.” She complimented and her smile widened. 

He folded his hands in front of himself, swaying as if to show he himself was bashful. 

“Are you mute?” She asked curiously out of the blue. 

He nodded and she smiled in understanding. 

“Well, I think you’re quite charming regardless.” She spoke softly and he waved a hand at her, then raised it to his cheek as if he was blushing. Her giggles turned into laughter. “What’s your name, if you don’t mind me asking?” 

(Y/n) watched as he looked up in thought, tapping his chin. He then stuck a finger up to show he had an idea and dipped a finger into the blood of the rose, turning to the glass pane with the TVs and began to write. 

“Art?” She asked and he nodded eagerly, making her laugh once more. “It suits you.” He shrugged dramatically in response. (Y/n) sighed, looking at her watch reading 10:34. “As much as I love this interaction, I should head back home.” She looked back up at him and he pouted and looked down, then shot up with another idea. 

He made a walking motion with his fingers, pointed to himself, then to her and pointed in the direction she came from. 

“You want to walk me home?” He nodded. 

She stood in thought for a moment, wondering if she should really trust the monochromatic clown. He seemed sweet enough, and it wasn’t a lie when she said he was charming. She couldn’t deny that there was something oddly attractive about his facial features, either. 

Against her better judgment, she looked back up at him and gave a shy smile. “Okay.” Art clapped with glee and picked up his bag, slinging it over his shoulder and motioning for her to lead the way. 

The walk was quiet, save for (y/n) making casual conversation every now and then. It wasn’t an awkward silence when she didn’t speak, and Art seemed to be just as content as he happily walked alongside her. She couldn’t help but sneak looks at him along the way, and though he seemed blissfully oblivious he caught every glance. 

She felt a pang of pity when they reached the smaller house, walking up to the door and turning to him to see him pouting once more. “Thank you for walking me. It gets lonely sometimes, to be honest.” 

He looked down, swinging with sadness at the end of their walk. 

“Well,” She sighed in thought. “I mean, I suppose you know where I live now. Maybe you could visit some time? I never really have company, anyways.” 

His excitement reappeared, making herself happy in the process. He nodded vigorously and she laughed for the umpteenth time. 

“Be safe out there, okay?” He nodded again and waved at her as she opened the door to go inside. “Goodnight, Art.” The door closed and she leaned against it, wondering what the hell just happened. 

Of all people, she befriended a clown. But it was nothing against him. She supposed she just attracted the oddballs of the world given that she was deemed one herself by society. 

She mindlessly prepared for bed, running through her interaction with the man over and over repeatedly. It was the only thing she could think about. No amount of distraction would keep him from her head. (Y/n) sighed as she stared up at the ceiling, hands folded over her abdomen.  

When she woke up the next morning, preparing breakfast in the kitchen as the TV hummed in the background, her ears caught something rather peculiar. 

“- found dead in their home just last night after neighbors reported screaming to the police.  We were told photographs of the scene are too graphic to broadcast and were not provided.”

(Y/n) walked over to the TV, seeing a picture of the news anchor who insulted her work the night before, along with his family. As much as she pitied them, she couldn’t help the tsk of her tongue when they refused to provide the photographs. She had recently been relying on such photos as inspiration for her pieces, and she couldn’t do much but grow more and more curious about them. 

After eating her breakfast and freshening up, she went to her desktop computer and powered it on. Having made note of the name of the news anchor, she began to search the case in hopes that they posted the photos online and came across an image that baffled her. In the middle of the article was a sketch of the suspect. 

The clown she had encountered. 

She stopped reading and sat back against her chair, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves. He knew where she lived, and she invited him to visit. Granted, she figured if he wished her harm, he would just bust through a window or the door itself regardless of invitations. 

But then she couldn’t shake his goofy mannerisms, how he showed her more kindness in one night than anyone had in all of her (y/age) years. How he showed her how much he loved her art, giving her the rose to cheer her up. 

Then she remembered. Art was with her when the news anchor was insulting her work. Now he and his family are dead. 

Could he have…?

Coincidence. (Y/n) shook her head. 

(Y/n) stood and made her way to the garage, checking if her latest work had dried up. To her delight, it did, and she removed it from the easel to prop against the wall holding her countless other works. 

The rest of the day was wasted away, filled with cat naps, snacking and binging shows. She thought of going out and doing something for herself, but the thought of being surrounded by people immediately put her off. So she decided on lounging until the sun set and could truly be in her element. 

Time seemed to mock her, dragging on and on enough to make her think that it froze altogether. But alas, the hues outside grew darker and she began to prepare for her night out. 

Throwing on a sweater dress, pantyhose and her shoes, she picked up her digital camera that sat on a nearby table, hanging it around her neck before making her way outside. When she turned to face the street, she jumped at the sight of Art standing nearly directly in front of her with the same oversized bag and wide grin. 

(Y/n) froze, wondering if things should change between them after finding out what he did. What he could do. 

She figured it was already too late if he indeed wished her harm. He knew where she lived and could easily find her. So why should she give him further incentive? And he hadn’t done anything to her personally to be rudely snubbed. The memories of the night before ran through her head, an innocent and friendly encounter. 

So she indulged herself until fate decided the outcome. 

“Hey, Art.” She greeted him with a gentle smile. He waved excitedly at her, then pointed at the camera around her neck with a questioning expression. “Oh, I’m just going on a walk. Trying to see if there’s anything interesting to photograph for my next piece.” 

He tapped his chin and looked off, thinking. He perked up with a finger, eagerly motioning for her to follow him. Unable to contain her curiosity, she walked up to him and began to follow. 

“You know a place I could find something?” He grinned mischievously at her, a silent ‘yes’. 

After some walking, they came upon an older building. The walls actively rotted away, windows broken and some boarded up. He stopped with her when she paused at the front, looking up at the building in awe. 

Perfection.

She reached for her camera, but his hand quickly came over hers to stop her and heat rushed up to her face. He pulled away and motioned to the building, then placed his hand over his heart endearingly. “Is this your home?” He nodded. “Oh! I’m sorry, I won’t take pictures.” 

He patted her shoulder as a thank you and motioned for her to follow once more, leading her into the building. 

The smell was horrid to anyone else, but to (y/n) it was just another day of work. With the countless rotting animals and even occasional mutilated body she’s encountered, she had no choice but to grow used to it. By now, the smell reminded her of her work and provided a sense of comfort in a twisted way. 

However, standing in what was the killer’s home, it also struck her like a bolt of lightning. The familiar smell of blood and rot was in his home, which could only mean one thing. 

“You wanted to show me something in here, didn’t you?” 

Art’s smile grew impossibly wide, pointing at her to show he was impressed that she caught on quickly. He dropped his bag and held out his hand in an exaggerated gentlemanly fashion, leg kicked out and foot up on its heel, holding the same sadistic smile when she met his eyes. (Y/n) delicately placed her hand in his, his own only grasping onto her fingers with a surprising gentleness as he led her through the dark building to a separate room. 

The smell grew stronger the closer they drew to the room as more and more of the all too familiar red hues began to reveal themselves. 

When they finally entered, she gasped at the sight before her. Art presented his own ‘masterpiece’ to her with excitement, taking in her every reaction. 

Sat on a chair in the center of the room was the remnants of a decapitated man, chest cavity wide open. Blood covered the body from neck to toe, stains coating the walls and floor around it. 

At first she was frightened, but as he presented it to her she realized something. She realized that they shared the same fascination. Granted, he had a more methodical way of showing it, but artists always vary in accordance to what mediums they used, right? 

“You did this?” 

Art nodded eagerly, practically vibrating where he stood as he impatiently awaited for a verbal response. As she took in the sight before her shamelessly, he urged her with his hands to spit out what she was thinking. 

“It’s beautiful…” She whispered breathlessly. And it was the truth. It felt as if she was staring at a blank canvas for her to mold and create into something new, with his permission of course. The possibilities were endless as they ran through her head, too many to keep track of. 

Ever observant, he took notice of the turmoil and his almost innocent excitement turned into something more wicked. Something clicked in his brain as he practically watched a butterfly emerge from its cocoon before his very eyes. 

He motioned to (y/n), then to the body, then with widespread arms he motioned at them together. 

“You want me to create something?” She wondered if he ever suffered whiplash from nodding so aggressively, at least with her. “May I walk around to see what you have that I could use?” Another nod. 

(Y/n) looked around the room, finding it completely empty besides the chair and body. She then left to wander, Art following her like a lost puppy, eager to watch her work. After searching through three other rooms, she finally found a flower pot. It had a chunk missing from the back, but she could easily turn it to where it wasn’t visible. 

She turned to Art. “Do you have a cup or something to fill it with dirt?” He thought for a moment, then gave her a sign to wait before disappearing. 

Her eyes wandered around what she assumed used to be a bedroom. An old mattress in the corner with an equally rotting dresser, nightstand and standing mirror. 

When he reappeared, he held out a tin can to her and she gladly took it, making their way outside with the pot to fill it. He watched as she did so, taking note of the way she avoided getting herself dirty. He silently laughed to himself, pointing at her as her dainty hands refused to muddle with the soil. “What?” She questioned with her own chuckle. 

He mimicked her avoiding the dirt and grime as he continued to laugh and she rolled her eyes. 

“The work I showcase does not reflect my behavior. You’d be surprised how much I hate getting dirty.” (Y/n) giggled as she finished filling the pot, mindful of the missing chunk so as to not let any dirt spill. “Where did you get the rose from yesterday? Was it around here?” 

He motioned for her to follow, looking back at her every now and then as he led her around the building to the back. A single rose bush was planted with only a few fully-bloomed flowers left intact. He offered to cut one of them off, and doing so he held it delicately to himself. 

“Could you hold this for a second?” She held out the pot to him and he nodded. “Careful of the back, I don’t want anything to spill.” He nodded again and watched as she wandered, looking around for other plants to add to the pot. She settled on a few weeds, picking a handful of petals off of the other roses on the bush before heading back to the room with Art. 

He softly set the items down in the corner as she cradled the petals in her hand, looking at the body with a tilted head. Art stood next to her, mimicking her mannerisms as he tried to understand what she was thinking of. He watched as her mouth moved to speak, but nothing followed until a few seconds after. 

“Um…” She pointed to the body, looking at it for a few more seconds before turning her head to him. “Could you, um…” She took a deep breath. “Do you think you could do a couple more things to it for me?” 

His face twisted into mischief, as if to say ‘I thought you’d never ask’. His palms pressed against each other, fingers twiddling as he waited for what she wanted. 

“Could you flatten the top and remove the um…” She motioned to the abdomen. “What’s inside…?” His mouth made an ‘o’ in a surprised expression before shifting into the same smile, booping her nose before leaving the room, she assumed to grab supplies. 

He soon returned with a hacksaw and scissors, making his way to the body to do what she asked. Her stomach grew queasy once he began and she averted her gaze out of habit. 

The noise suddenly stopped and she looked back to see him standing upright with a frown. She felt a pang of fear and dare she say guilt, thinking he was offended. 

“I-I’m sorry, I love the end result, but I just get squeamish with the process, is all…” She whispered almost pitifully. 

He watched as her face paled and she was left baffled when he made his way over to her, saw still in hand. However, he simply pushed her out of the room into a wide open area that was further away, holding up a finger to tell her to wait before he disappeared to finish.  

Her face grew hot at the gesture, stomach fluttering as a bashful smile reached her lips. When (y/n) turned, she was met with a workbench, worn stool sat in front of it. She wandered over with curiosity, eyeing the rusted tools, nails and screws that sat on top of it. 

A few jars were scattered along the back of it against the wall, reading the labels. Most of them were some form of acid, others she refused to guess the result of the compound mixture. 

(y/n)’s eyes lit up when she found small circular candles akin to what would be put in a pumpkin, grabbing a couple along with a match from a box sat next to them and put them in her pocket. 

She jumped when the sound of metal clattering to the floor invaded her ears and she whipped around to find Art standing there, saw next to his comically large shoes. He waggled his fingers at her in a wave, motioning for her to head back to the room to which she obeyed. She passed him with the same bashful smile, remembering his kindness from earlier.

When she entered, she saw that he did indeed do as she asked and turned to Art with a wider smile. “Thank you.” The clown tipped his hat and she giggled. “Could you hold these please?” She asked of the petals and he held out his cupped hands for her to place them in. 

Eyes following her like a cat, he watched as she knelt by the pot, planting the rose in the center of it followed by the other plants she picked along the way, standing and making her way to the body. She placed it in the now empty cavity of the abdomen, then turned to take the petals back from Art. She sprinkled them over the body, some inside where the pot was. 

She then pulled out the candles, placing them methodically inside the abdomen, making a point to avoid touching the body itself. Igniting the match, she lit the candles and stood, looking for the light switch to turn off the overhead lights. Art caught on and immediately turned them off somehow. (Y/n) looked at him with a confused expression to which he just shrugged with a wide grin. 

She shook her head and giggled, lifting the camera from around her neck, checking the settings before testing different angles through the lens, snapping photos when she came upon the ones that satisfied her. (Y/n) made her way next to Art who shook his hands with excitement.

He stood against her with their closeness, practically his entire side brushing against her from behind as he looked down at the photos she clicked through. The beat of her heart picked up, blood rushing to her ears at the realization. 

“Which one do you think is best?” She asked softly, turning to look up at him to see him already looking at her. 

The candlight shone ominously against his features, pale eyes piercing through her own, her smile dropping as his nose nearly touched her own. His eyebrows quickly rose and dropped, head turning as his eyes squinted with his smile. His hand slowly rose, carefully prying the camera from her hands and setting it down. As he stood back to his full height, she craned her neck to look up at him, their bodies slowly turning to face each other until he took a step towards her, (y/n) taking a step back. 

Taking his time, he walked her back until her body was pressed against the wall and his figure was the only thing in her field of view. Her breath shook as his bloodied fingertips reached up to caress her jaw, settling delicately under her chin to hold her gaze. 

He leaned closer, tilting his head as his nose tickled her face. The hand under her chin then moved down to her neck, his feather-like touch changing pressure as it wrapped itself around her, increasing just enough to make her gasp and he finally closed the gap between them. 

The kiss was surprisingly tame for how brutal he was, her eyes closed as she gave in to the intoxicating feeling and the only thing she could think of or feel was the man that held her. As for him, his eyes remained open, taking in and savoring her every expression. 

The expressions of the same twisted mind that complimented his own work, turning it into breathtaking beauty that was beyond comparison. His mannerisms grew more eager, more desperate at the thought of whatever else they could create together, his free hand finding her waist and squeezing enough to release air from her lungs audibly, a plea for more. 

His tongue slid against her teeth and she welcomed the invasion, parting her mouth to take him in as his hand ran over the hump of her arse, fingers digging into the fat and muscle enough to bruise. His wanton thoughts grew to become an obsession, anger rising at the thought of her parting from his life. 

Their breath mingled, his mouth moving down to her jaw, then to her pulse point where he bit down just enough to release a trickle of blood and she cried out, hand squeezing his forearm of the hand still wrapped around her neck. As he sucked at the blood, the hand moved from her neck down to her breast, kneading and toying with it as her head leaned back, swaying at the pleasure. 

Her leg lifted as his other hand slid from her arse down her thigh, hugging it close to him as he shifted his leg to apply pressure at her core. He pulled away from her neck, teeth still bared in its grin but his eyes clouded with lust and greed as he took her in. Her lips were parted with need, vulnerable and exposed before him in a gamble of trust and fate. 

She felt his leg shift and she whined, a shiver running down her spine once she finally opened her eyes to look up at him. The sight before her sent a pulse to her center, clit throbbing as his hand slid down from her breast to her hip, her eyes following as he slowly dropped to his knees before her. 

The thigh he previously held was now over his shoulder, hands sliding the skirt of her dress up to her hips to bury his nose into her clothed pussy. She sighed at the feeling, hands moving to hold the skirt for him. Suddenly, she heard a rip, cold air hitting her core as he tore her pantyhose open to reach her. 

(Y/n) watched as he looked up at her with a mischievous grin and wiggled his eyebrows, disappearing back under her skirt when she felt his warm muscle drag along her leaking center. She felt his breath fan over her, his nose tickling her bud as his tongue dipped into her, teasing her entrance before plunging into it. 

The woman gasped and her back arched as he toyed with her, her hand coming down to grip one of his own that squeezed at her thighs. He shook his head eagerly as he continued his feast and she moaned at the action, rolling her hips against him. His tongue then removed itself, moving to settle on her clit and she trembled at the sensitivity. 

His free hand inched towards where his tongue had been, playing with her lower lips and providing a tickling sensation before he dipped a finger in, pushing to the knuckle. His finger began to move in rhythm with his tongue, practically digging into the spongy area that drove her mad with desperation. 

She let go of his hand when she felt him move it, followed by the sound of a zipper coming undone as he pulled out his hardened member, continuing to chase her high and begging to himself to hear her scream. 

She felt the coil begin to build and tense up, her heart racing as her skin grew hot in anticipation. The two of them locked eyes and his own squinted, encouraging her to fall over the edge. His gaze alone was enough, her chest heaving as she leaned her head back against the wall with a cry. 

She struggled to catch her breath, panting and watching Art with a fucked-out expression as he rose to his feet with a deep hunger in his eyes. Her eyes flicked down to his erection, then back up at him with brows knit in anticipation. He slipped an arm behind her, pulling her in to press her against him. 

Holding her gaze, he teased his member against her entrance, brow twitching as she tried to move against his strength. His smile suddenly dropped as he impaled her with his length, mouth open as he mocked her expression with great pleasure. His grin returned as she gripped onto his shoulder, one of her legs moving to hook around his waist. 

He snatched her chin when her eyes began to close, forcing her to watch him as he began to set an agonizingly slow pace. He wanted to hear her beg. Needed to hear her beg. His cock twitched at the thought of it and she moaned. 

“Art…” She called breathlessly and he tilted his head to listen. “Please…” The word shook as it left her lips. The leg hooked behind him pulled him in closer and his mouth twitched as she pleaded him once more. 

He lifted her other leg to wrap around him, carrying her as if she was weightless, his display of strength only deepening her arousal and need as both of her hands settled behind his neck. He suddenly began to plunge into her repeatedly, a feral noise escaping from her throat as he watched on with animalistic desire. 

He angled their bodies effortlessly, paying attention to her every expression and vocal flux in order to throw her over the edge for a second time. Her moans heightened their pitch, growing louder as her grip on him tightened and his eyes somehow darkened further, thrusting harder and harder with an inhuman amount of strength and stamina.

“Art -“ He gave a single nod with a sadistic grin as (y/n)’s hands shifted to his shoulders, nails digging into the satin of his suit before she crossed over into her orgasm. One of his hands snatched her jaw, slightly squeezing at her cheeks as their noses touched. He practically stared into her soul as he soon found his own release, baring his teeth as she felt his warm stream of seed fill her. 

She sighed in exhaustion as Art silently huffed to himself. He then brought his head next to hers, licking the shell of her ear.

His mind was made up. Her fate was sealed.

[honeekyuu]

squeeze. [sakusa kiyoomi x reader] satin black intros.

place of (homosexual) business

masterlist.

[playlist]. satin black || vibes

a/n. im completely totally normal about this au. completely normal.

warnings: me.

✗ !!! minors do not interact !!! ✗

✗ !!! ignore timestamps !!! ✗

satin black moved into its current location about three weeks ago, and theyve tortured brews abridged ever since

they were at a smaller location for 3 years prior, but they outgrew it when each of them independently went a little viral online for their work

everyone has a license to both pierce and tattoo, but iwa/akaashi stick to tattooing and suna sticks to piercing

akaashi’s the only one who went to art school

iwa taught himself on youtube

suna and sakusa taught themselves by practicing on each other – all of suna’s tattoos are by sakusa and all of sakusa’s piercings are by suna exclusively

it went a little like this the first time around: "i can do this. i dont need instructions-" "ARE YOU FUCKING SURE ABOUT THAT!!!!"

akaashi specializes in black and grey tattoos and iwa does color; sakusa does both but prefers black and grey

iwa’s best known for watercolor style art and akaashi’s best known for geometric art 

sakusa’s best known for japanese style art

suna's keeps trying to sell people on new and strange places to get pierced. this is dangerous and sakusa has banned him from doing it 8 times already.

hes actually so good at his job, hes just an idiot

theyre total assholes who chain smoke in the shop and swear at each other from across the room

the shop motto is "make them horny until they come back" and boy does it work

every single one of their clients transferred across the city with them when they moved

sakusa doesn't actually take new clients anymore, he just keeps up with regulars. he's very adamant about this

he is most often found in his office, which is also his private studio

the shop playlist consists of music added by sakusa, suna, and iwa -- they tried to get akaashi in on it but he got apple music just to spite them and wears his headphones when he works

suna can and WILL add the most unhinged shit to the playlist. there is a near-daily incident where sakusa tries to skip past suna's songs but suna keeps going back to them just to be annoying

this results in the shop being filled with the nonstop sound of skipping songs and sakusa screaming at him from his office

iwa usually joins in too because he has a short temper

akaashi always has to put his gun down and dissociate, because he can feel himself about to fuck up his lines with how hard his eye is twitching

akaashi has the least tattoos but that’s really not saying much; they have a board in sakusa’s office with the running count for each of them

everyone who comes in for the first time always sees two tattoo artists: iwa, who sits in the corner chain smoking and frowning and generally looking like he could kill you; and akaashi, who is generally polite and looks way less scary than iwa.

and they always choose akaashi, because he looks nice

he is not fucking nice. he is mean as shit. iwaizumi is the nicest one in that shop.

iwa so often is the type to roughly grumble "oh, yeah we can take a break -- this placement always hurts like a bitch. i need a smoke anyway" (hes already smoking).

akaashi keiji is the type to whisper "oh, did that hurt? pussy." and go in even more.

he is mean as shit and everyone makes this mistake.

sakusa and suna met in high school -- they would skip class together and sit behind the school smoking and blasting bass boosted music

theres something about running from campus security every day that bonds two people into brotherhood

theyre like,,,, fucking carbon copies of each other, these two -- two tall as fuck, tatted up, pierced up dudes with matching judgmental expressions and chipped black nail polish, standing outside the shop smoking, talking shit, and glaring at anyone who comes out of the stupid ass 3-in-1 shop next door

they met iwa and akaashi during their apprenticeship. they really didnt get along at first, but it takes a very unique combination of crazy to be able to open the kind of tattoo shop sakusa wanted.

and he had his combination of crazy right there in front of him.

iwa’s the most normal one and just wants to be akaashi’s friend. thats all he wants. he wants to make his silly little money and be akaashis silly little friend. 

iwa is the only one akaashi trusts for literally anything related to the shop but he wont ever say that

it's so painfully obvious that suna named their group chat. sakusa stopped trying to change it back years ago.

taglist = [open]

@mollyrolls @nectardaddy @onlytendoguesses @scinclaitnoir @marsoverthestars

@bookskeepers @choerry-picking @siheez @introvertsince2003 @eggyrocks

@atrashsith @beckixwsm @kakeru-eem @atsumusc0ck @seroh

@reignsaway @a-little-pebbl @bakingcuriosity @dondoncool @corvid007

@asthmaticcchoeee @liliumaraneae @savemebrazilhinata @whydoyoucare866

she put my hand up on her throat and told me // squeeze that shiiii-

squeeze [ghostemane].

[ohnoitstbskyen]

let's spend an hour and a half enjoying the Heartsteel himbos | PARANOIA animation analysis

I have decidedly mixed feelings on the Heartsteel band splash art, which are intensified by the degree to which their 3 minute music video was able to near-instantly endear me to every one of these idiot himboyband doofuses.

Heartsteel is a project that suffers a lot in being compared to True Damage and K/DA, which are the most obvious points of comparison to draw, especially since Riot seems (at least to me) to have committed rather fewer resources to their virtual band project this go around. Wisely, thus, the Hearsteel project decided to attempt a very different narrative and emotional vibe with its characters from previous efforts. Where K/DA and True Damage both presented their characters as untouchable pop-gods at the top of their game, bragging about their accomplishments, Heartsteel comes from almost exactly the opposite place.

PARANOIA is a fearful, defensive, defiant song composed and performed like a triumphal power-anthem, coming from the perspective of a group of industry outsiders who have all been devalued or burned by the mainstream.

Ezreal is a one-hit-wonder whose image got run into the ground by controlling management, Yone a legendary producer burned out on industry conformity. Kayn is a pop music bad boy whose spiteful arrogance broke up his last band, K'Sante an ambitious vocal powerhouse who could never find creative partners, and Sett a disgraced rapper who lost his contract for punching a paparazzo.

These, then, are not pop-gods gracing the mortal realm with images of their brilliance, but a bunch of down-and-out losers and untapped talents trying to claw back their careers with nothing but found-family dynamics, the power of friendship, and Jackass-style promotional stunts in their arsenal. The music video depicts them running a night-time raid on a film studio, stealing props and causing god knows how much property damage trying to film their own comeback music video.

It doesn't.... quite nail the grunge independent vibe that it seems to want to go for, it has a rather inconsistent diegesis, and trying to cram character moments for six characters into a three minute song compresses the pace of the video to an almost manic emotional experience. I found that most of its setpieces and ideas did not land with me at all until a third or fourth re-watch, and going through the video frame-by-frame so I could actually take in what the video was trying to say.

Once I did, I enjoyed it a LOT. The character animation is expressive, dynamic and immensely charming. There's a ton of great texture work going on, interesting lighting, extremely creative effects, and the emotional heart of the video - the genuine affection between the band members as expressed through boyish shenanigans - hits brilliantly... once you slow the video down enough to really see it. There is also a truly astonishing amount of work put into flash frames and scribbly visual effects, and an absolute embarrassment of screenshots that could be wallpapers.

Anyway, I spent an hour and a half talking about a three-minute music video because I am the world's easiest sucker for charming character animation. Care to join me?

[magicalqueennightmare]

Little Witch (Pt 1/5)

Klaus Mikaelson x reader

You've been with Klaus through a lot. Proving yourself through Hayley's pregnancy to not just be a common witch the hybrid falls for you. What happens when it appears you've betrayed him?

Warnings: cursing, mention of sex, cheating but not really?

You laughed as you tried unsuccessfully to squirm free of Klaus’ grip on your waist. You'd made the mistake of stepping into the room that had been turned into his art studio to let him know you'd be out for a few hours. That had somehow ended with you in his lap as his hands roamed your body, mouth savoring the soft flesh of your neck and the sounds he could elicit from you at even the simplest of touches.

“I've got to go Klaus” you tried but the moment you spoke he bit down on your pulse point which made a moan slip from your lips that was borderline pornographic. He pulled back to smirk at you, eyes dancing with amusement “Doesn't sound like you want to leave me love”

You shook your head with a laugh “Remember the faster I meet Elijah and we pick a gift out for his and Hayley's anniversary, the faster I get back here” you rolled your hips against his before adding “and the faster you can do as you wish to me”

He damn near growled at the promise in your words, leaving another kiss against your lips “Fine, leave me to spend the day with my brother” you crawled out of his lap and shook your head “Don't you dare make it sound like that. You know I love you Niklaus Mikaelson. Besides we're shopping for Hayley who happens to be Elijah's girlfriend, my best friend and the mother of your child”

He grinned as he stood up “A bit unorthodox when you phrase it like that isn't it?” You leaned up to brace your hands on his shoulders before catching his lips in a searing kiss “Almost as unorthodox as Klaus Mikaelson being with a witch yet here we are”

He nipped at your bottom lip “Go ahead and leave now little witch before you make it impossible for me to let you walk out of that door” you smiled slightly “I love you Klaus. I'll see you a little later” “I love you” he watched you walk out of the door and before it closed behind you the sound of his footsteps told you he was going back to the sketchbook he'd abandoned when you walked in.

As you walked to meet Elijah your thoughts slipped to Klaus. The relationship that had spawned between the two of you hadn't exactly been a love at first sight thing. He was an original, the first hybrid and you a witch. He despised witches and you had known a healthy avoidance of anything that was older than you and as powerful as his family.

—--------

What had thrown you into the Mikaelson's world fully was when Hayley called you. She was pregnant by Klaus. It was a miracle baby, one that shouldn't exist and that some supernatural beings didn't want to exist. She needed help and you gladly offered yours.

You'd known Klaus and his siblings in passing. You weren't as old as they were but you didn't exactly have a human life span either. The day you walked into New Orleans you knew people would be after your head. The line in the sand had been drawn and you chose your side.

—--------

The new few months passed with fight after fight happening. You knew Klaus didn't trust you but his siblings started to and Hayley did fully. The day it seemed his feelings truly began to change was when you took on your former coven by yourself, standing between Hayley and them.

You'd been bruised and bloody after that fight but it had ended with Klaus acknowledging your strength.

—---------

The amusement Rebekah had shown from the sidelines as she watched Elijah and Hayley orbit towards each other while you and Klaus fought your attraction tooth and nail.

You didn't want to want him, nor he you. Yet when an option was given more and more the two of you chose each other. Hope was nearly ten months old when you and Klaus finally acknowledged there was something between the two of you.

The sex had been extraordinary from the start. Klaus brought new heights of passion to you and he swore loyalty to you, claiming no other lovers. For a while you assumed that was all it would be until Klaus asked if you'd like to move into the compound.

When you questioned his motives he'd smiled “My little wolf and my littlest wolf is safe under Elijah's watchful eye. I'd like to have my little witch close at hand also. Better to make sure you're safe, I know you can protect yourself but I'd much rather protect you”

—-----------

The day Klaus told you he loved you was an ordinary day. Hope was with the two of you and you were sitting on the floor of his art studio with her. You and her were playing with finger paints, a canvas in front of you as you helped her smear the colors across. She'd learned your name alongside the usual mama and dada. Of course she'd also had Lijah down and Bek.

You sat with her in front of you, using your power to see the image flash through her mind of what she was trying to get the painting to look like and when it began to take shape she let out a giggle that brought a smile to your face “Look at that Hope! You're an artist just like your daddy” you cut your eyes up to see Klaus watching the two of you with a smile, you returned it with one of your own before turning your full attention back to Hope.

After you'd laid Hope down for her nap you'd found him in the courtyard. You'd noticed he'd been quiet since that smile you'd shared and wanted to make sure he was ok. The moment you approached him he turned and smiled, quickly crossing the space between the two of you. He pulled you into a kiss that made your head swim. When you shot him a questioning look he'd simply said “I love you”

You'd of course returned the sentiment, long since having accepted the feelings on your end but not wanting to push him away.

—-----------

You shook your head to clear your thoughts considering you'd already made it to the coffee shop you'd told Elijah to meet you at.

You walked in and spotted him. He smiled when he noticed you, easing his way through the crowd and you saw a cup in his hand despite the fact that he normally didn't drink coffee. He followed your line of sight and held it out “I called Hayley to find out what to order you”

You took it with a smile “Such a gentleman, aren't you” he shook his head with a laugh “Where should we begin?” You grabbed his arm, looping yours through it “Just hold tight Mikaelson and have your wallet at ready”

Hayley was beginning to worry, you and Elijah were supposed to meet her over an hour ago. She checked her phone again for texts as Rebekah and Klaus walked into the door of the place she shared with Elijah and Hope.

“What exactly is going on?” Rebekah asked first, eyes wandering around the room for her niece. Hayley motioned to the stairs “She's taking a nap” then looked at Klaus “They were supposed to be here over an hour ago. The plan was for them to go shopping for me then Elijah would come with Hope for us girls to go out for dinner”

Klaus nodded slowly and pulled his own phone out to see he hadn't received any texts or missed calls from either of you. “We'll go check the stores she frequents in the french quarter. Should anything have happened though we know those two can handle it”

Hayley nodded, her mind already drifting to what could have happened. Memories of you on your knees, enduring the spell meant to rip Hope out of her womb flashed through her mind. “I'll get a few wolves out looking for them too”

—----------------

The french quarter had been exhausted. Your scent was picked up near one of the cemeteries then lost. Davina couldn't get a feel of your magic either. Klaus’ anger began to flare with every moment that passed without you in his arms. “If something happened to either of them..” Hayley finished his thought by saying “I'll help you tear this whole damn city down while your sister gets Hope out of it”

One last thought occurred to Klaus. If you were in danger and had the slightest opening you'd go home, in search of him or one of his siblings for help. “Let's circle back to the compound. Call your wolves in but tell them to stay ready”

Hayley nodded, feeling a pull herself to check the Mikaelson compound. Maybe it was just Klaus wanting to check or her hoping that you two were there? She loved Elijah but the thought of losing you broke her heart as well.

Klaus walked in with Hayley behind him in case there was a danger she was better protected. Nothing looked out of place as the two of them headed for the stairs leading up to everyone's rooms.

They checked the bedroom you and Klaus shared, his art studio and Rebekah's room to no avail.

Klaus was headed for Kol's room when Hayley called his name. When he looked back at her she motioned across the walkway “Elijah's old room is open” that was unusual.

—------------

He nodded to her, moving in front of her as they approached the room. The sound that hit his ears was one he was all too familiar with. Your moan circled around him, encasing that beast that laid just beneath the surface of his skin.

Hayley fell away in that moment as did everything around him. He pushed the door open silently to see you on the bed, bare from the waist up save for the black lace bra adorning your breasts. Your jeans were unsnapped but still in place. Elijah was on top of you, his shirt discarded on the floor, your legs around his waist as he kissed your neck working the sensitive skin there as his hands roamed across what of your body was already bared to him.

“Elijah” a breathy moan fell from your lips which Elijah met with one of his own, a moan of your name.

—-----------

Hayley and Klaus spoke at the same time, yours and Elijah's names falling from them.The heartbroken tone of Hayley's voice was plain to anyone listening while Klaus buried his beneath anger.

The two of you froze on the bed and looked at each other then at the door before falling away from each other.

“What the hell?” You spoke scrambling for anything to cover yourself with and Klaus laughed humorlessly “Sorry to interrupt love” your eyes found him and he could see them widen as you looked from him to Hayley then to the state of undress you and Elijah were both in.

—----------

You weren't sure what happened. One minute you and Elijah were walking out of an antique store and the next you were hearing Klaus call your name while Hayley called Elijah's.

The darkness burst around you and you felt a weight on your body. You looked up to see Elijah hovering over you, the confusion in his eyes matching what you felt as the two of you looked to see your lovers at the doorway and fell away from each other.

“What the hell” you whispered, pulling the sheet up to cover your chest and trying to snap your jeans. You heard a bitter laugh before Klaus said “Sorry to interrupt love”

You looked up and met his eyes, feeling your heart break at the pain you saw there. “Klaus this isn't..” “You having sex with my brother? That's indeed what it appears to have been leading to” He turned and walked away. You stumbled out of the bed looking around frantically for your shirt. Elijah held it out as he'd already found his own. He was careful to not meet your eyes or touch your flesh.

You slipped it over your head and paused long enough to say “I'm sorry Hayley” before running after Klaus.

—----------

You caught him in the courtyard and grabbed his arm. “Klaus please” he spun around to face you and a chill of fear went through you when you saw his eyes had changed. “Get your hand off me witch”

You dropped his arm as if it burnt you. He hadn't called you just witch in a long time. His little witch, yes but that was affection. The same line of him calling Hayley little wolf and Hope his littlest wolf. This time you knew he meant it as a curse. “Klaus you've got to know Elijah and I would ever hurt you”

He shook his head “Get out” “What?” He motioned to the door “GET OUT AND DON'T COME BACK HERE” you'd never been afraid of Klaus until that moment. A thought of Elijah's wellbeing went through your head but he was old enough to take care of himself.

You nodded and walked to the door, pausing to snatch your purse and jacket off the floor. You didn't even remember how they got there.

You looked at Klaus but his back was to you. You'd lost the man you loved and your best friend in one moment and you weren't even sure why. You'd never looked at Elijah like that nor he you. You'd find answers one way or another. You walked through the door letting it slam behind you. Fear and sadness wouldn't serve you in that moment. You needed anger and revenge to be what flowed through your veins. That was the only way to get answers.

[abiiors]

canvas 🎨 // matty healy x reader

a/n: matty painter au because i have gone slightly insane idk. i love the interview these photos are from <33 got weirdly poetic with this i'm so sorry

the author heard "paint me like one of your french girls" and took it too far :)

cw: paint play???? cum play if you squint (yeah ik paint is toxic but these people are Very Horny)

wc: 3.4k

there are streaks of paint on her hips. 

a smudge of yellow right under her navel, fingerprints of blue, touching, moving, caressing the apex of her thighs as they slowly morph into green and disappear somewhere between her legs. 

she lounges lazily on the chaise, a bunch of red grapes dangling in her hands. when matty takes a break, she quickly pops one in her mouth. it bursts with a pop, grape juice pooling at the corner of her lips and sliding down, down, down. it disappears somewhere on her skin. 

matty’s breath hitches and he digs his nails deeper into his palms. 

“could you fold your leg a little more, please?” his voice sounds husky to his own ears.  

“please?” she raises an eyebrow, “since when did you start being so polite?”

“since this is a professional relationship,” he grounds out through gritted teeth. instantaneous. he's not unfamiliar with this back and forth by now.

matty looks up at her once again and sees her eyes, alight with mirth, looking right at him. it’s a peculiar feeling, he realises, he wants her to never look away from him again but he is also about to spontaneously combust.

each stroke of the brush reveals more and more of her lithe body; the curve of her hips that dip into her waist, the soft velvet of the chaise bunched up under her shapely legs. 

“eyes at the window, please,” he chastises gently. the thought of her dark gaze on him as he paints is too much to bear. 

this is not the first time he has painted with a nude model alone, even a female nude model for that matter. in fact, matty prides himself on the fact that he’s a consummate professional, that he has never been sleazy with any of his nude models. but she seems intent on pushing all his buttons. 

they had met a few months ago at a fancy tribeca bar. he had been celebrating his newest exhibition at a modest art gallery and she, the extension of her visa. they took to each other like moths to the brightest of flames. he soon learned that she was, like him, a starving artist. except her medium of art was her body. she had modelled for all kinds of designers all over nyc but she had yet to ‘make it’. 

he still remembered the way the smoothness of the live jazz band had permeated through his bones. the old fashioneds he had been drinking had created a nice buzz when he had heard her order a dirty martini in a very distinct accent. 

“come work for me,” he had said before the alcohol and drugs had consumed all rational thoughts. all that remained from that night were vague memories of red lips, fingers that trailed down his stomach and flashes of ecstasy. but now those same fingers rest in front of her abdomen, just inches away from where he wishes his head was. so matty has to swallow roughly and go back to his canvas. 

the painting is nowhere near being finished. he has only just finished the outlining process a few days ago but the thought of being here in this cramped space with her is too much to bear. matty’s grip on his brush tightens involuntarily. 

he mixes the colours on his easel carefully. matching the perfect shade of her skin is damn near an impossible task. there are shades of golden and then there is the pale hollow of her throat that he so desperately wants to mark up. how pretty she would look with a necklace of marks left by him. how her lips would part, sounds of ecstasy escaping, echoing in his studio, inside his skull for days. 

the brush digs into his hands as his thoughts reach a crescendo. a loud cracking sound resonates through the room and her eyes snap to him once again; this time a startled expression on her face. but it doesn’t long before it morphs into one of amusement and slight smugness. 

matty’s face pales when realisation dawns. he gripped the brush so tightly that it snapped in half. splinters of the wood dig into his fingers and he takes it as a welcome opportunity to walk up to the bin in the corner of the room. 

anything to escape her dark and knowing gaze.

“everything okay with you?” she asks and he bristles at her tone, at the way she doesn’t even try to conceal her amusement. 

“yes,” he has to clear his throat before he can speak again, “yes, perfectly fine.”

matty wants to set fire to the canvas in front of him. 

or perhaps it’s the sweat that gathers at the back of his neck and runs down his back that’s making him feel so irate. it bothers him more than it should, her stare bothers him more than it should. 

“window,” he reminds her through pursed lips. it’s better to use as few words as possible. that way they can get this done quickly and go home and he won’t have to think about her again till their next appointment…

but who is he kidding? matty knows she will be there, present in his waking and sleeping thoughts, burrowing herself in his brain, in its crevices like a permanent splotch of paint on his carpets. 

“i told you to look at the window,’ he says. his voice is gruff and commanding. 

“and i told you that i liked it better this way.” it’s a challenge—open and daring. her gaze refuses to leave him as she slowly gets to her feet.

matty freezes in place—it’s stupid, he knows it. he’s been staring at her naked body for hours now, memorising its contours and immortalising them on his canvas. watching her stand like this in front of him shouldn’t bother him. shouldn’t make his mouth go dry. the traces of paint between her legs beckon and taunt him. how easy it would be to worship her—first with his mouth and then with his hands. 

how sweet would she taste, melting on his tongue?

“what are you…”

“let's take a break.” she stretches, fingers intertwining together as her arms lift high above her head. her eyes close in satisfaction, a soft sigh falling from her lips. the sun warms the room. the sight heats up his blood. 

“your robe is on the table,” matty points to a corner of the room, averts his gaze with great difficulty. as expected, she smirks because to her it’s a cat-and-mouse game. and he’s her prey.

“why? does it bother you?”

footsteps pad softly towards him, the carpet rustles but he doesn’t stop her from walking to him. a small part of him likes knowing that the sway in her hips is for him. likes knowing that he haunts her thoughts just like she haunts his. 

“no.”

lies. a rouge and traitorous thought slips through.

matty is sure she can feel his racing heartbeat when she stops right in front of him. their chests touch, separated only by his flimsy cotton t-shirt. the proximity makes him realise how he towers over her, how she has to tilt her head to look him in the eyes. it’s a rather pleasing angle on her. the red smudge on her lips drives him mad. 

“tell me, matty,” her accent snags on his name as she flicks her eyes to his lips, “is this how professional relationships work here?”

she’s throwing his words back at him; teasing, taunting. her big eyes bore into his. matty’s cock twitches in response. the golden sun floods the room, illuminates everything in its path and he is once again struck by how beautiful she is. how much he yearns to hold her by the waist, to capture her mouth, to hear her soft sounds and loud moans. how much he yearns for her. 

his thoughts are fuzzy. he’s not thinking straight, he hasn’t been ever since she’s walked into his life, in his studio. his brain short-circuited the moment she shed her soft silk dress, the moment he watched the straps fall down her shoulders and the fabric pool around her ankles. 

he’s not thinking straight when he pulls her closer by her waist. 

“no,” he breathes, eyes already fluttering shut as her scent hits his senses anew. “you’re just an exception.”

when their lips crash against each other, something comes alive in him. a missing piece of the puzzle, a colour he’s been trying to mix just right. his heart thumps in his chest to the beat of the song playing in the background. an old jazzy french tune that has been stuck in his head all day. something that reminds him of her, of the curve of her hips and the softness of her hair.

“matty,” she moans right in his mouth. his name on her tongue exploring the inside of his mouth. her skin feels slightly sticky with paint and sweat. 

it feels like an out-of-body experience at first. the fingers caressing her jaw move so confidently leaving streaks of red in their wake. in an instant, he forgets about the painting. 

the kisses are raw and hungry, bordering on feverish. matty’s table clutters when she pushes him against it, her naked body pressed flush against his. goosebumps litter all over his skin, electric tingles that shoot straight from her fingertips and zap through his bloodstream. 

“say you want me,” she all but moans. “i know you do. i see–fuck, i see how you look at me.”

matty smirks at the way she almost loses her train of thought as soon as he nips at her skin. it’s the hollow of her throat that’s been driving him crazy—unmarred and soft. his teeth graze her pulse point, leaving behind soft pink marks that he soothes with his tongue. 

“i want you,” he licks over another bruise. “so bad—can’t think straight sweetheart.”

and it’s true, it’s never taken him this long to finish a painting before. hours of staring at her and he still can’t seem to get enough of it.

“so fuck me then.” her head is thrown back at this point. her voice is distant to matty’s ears, still he hears the lust in it. the want. and it fuels his own. 

she is art, he thinks. she should be his masterpiece. an idea forms in his head, bright as a star, a vision he sees so clearly. or it’s just hallucinations of a horny brain. either way, he breaks away from the kiss, grasping at her jaw roughly. 

“get on the canvas,” he commands. and she obeys without hesitation.

“on your back. and lie still.” even with his dominant side, there is a softness to matty and so she does as she’s told. 

he has to stop and marvel at the sight—she’s a vision on his half-finished painting of her, hair fanning out in unruly waves, nipples hardened. she comes alive under his stare, smiling smugly at matty’s unabashedness, at the way his eyes linger—first on the swell of her breasts to the curve of her waist and between her legs where wetness gathers the more excited she gets. she wants him to touch her, whines for it even. and he wants to give her what she wants. but not so easily. not like the first time when both of them were too drunk to appreciate each other’s bodies. 

this time he wants to remember. more than that, he wants to make it memorable. 

he dips both his hands in a dish full of paint, pink on the right, grey on the left. matty settles on his knees, right between her legs, parting them further with his paint-stained hands. the colours mix with the preexisting streaks on her body, greys with greens and pinks with yellows. matty’s mind swims with possibilities. 

“what are you waiting for?” she tuts, hooking her legs around his waist. paint sticks to his trousers. colour blooms high on his cheeks. 

when matty bends to capture her breast in his mouth, she gasps sharply. he’s briefly aware of the coolness of the paint that’s now on his stomach, a new shade of pink that morphs into something else the more they move against each other. 

“i never knew you made such pretty sounds,” he praises, tongue moving between her breasts from one nipple to another. he smirks when her legs tighten around him. 

“keep doing more of that,” she pants, “and i’ll give you any sounds you want.”

matty chuckles, mouth moving lower. now that he’s started, it’s impossible to stop or slow down. his hands trace the length of her thigh, smudging the old colours on smooth skin, mixing them with new ones as he traces a finger up to the apex. she squirms under him, hips thrusting into his.

she’s soaking wet and panting; practically dripping onto the canvas. it’s mesmerising to him, how her cheek presses against the white surface, leaves behind hypnotic patterns. 

her fingers are on the column of his spine, nails scratching softly as she traces his skin. matty feels himself growing harder, head spinning as all his blood rushes south. he wants her, he needs to feel her, to be inside her. 

“such a good little pet,” he mumbles against her mouth, lips capturing hers in a searing kiss till she’s writhing under him and clenching around nothing. 

“please, matty,” she begs. her hands move faster, fumbling with his belt. she all but rips it off him as desperation and instinct take over. matty watches transfixed. 

the ruby red of her swollen lips, the silvery sheen on her face. the necklace of mottled mauves he’s left around her throat—it’s prettier than anything he could have come up with himself. 

“beautiful,” he whispers on the shell of her ear and feels her shiver under him.

the sound of his zipper tears through the room. matty hisses with pleasure, eyes fluttering shut as she palms him—first over his boxers, then playing with the waistband. 

“touch me,” he pleads, unable to help himself, and watches her pull his cock out.

matty loses himself in the feeling of her hands wrapped around him, the way she rakes her nails down his length, traces the vein pulsating along the side. his stomach tightens with pleasure. 

“please,” she whines again, “need you in me, please.”

and this time he obliges, lining himself against her entrance. he moves his hand between their bodies, finding her clit and rubbing the bundle of nerves in circles. their bodies are so close that matty only needs to bend down to kiss her again. but he stays where he is, tip teasing her entrance, fingers flicking her clit. he wants to watch her fall apart under him, around his cock, again and again. 

“like toying with me, do you?” she wraps a hand around his base, lining his dick against her entrance properly. matty knows she can take charge if she wants to but he’s not about to let that happen. not today. 

“someone’s needy,” he tuts. in truth, he loves her needy whines, her desperation and at last matty gives her what she wants. 

he thrusts into her slowly, fingers still rubbing her clit at a steady pace. his other hand is next to her face, leaving behind smudges of pink in the vague shape of his palm. her eyes are rolled back her head, mouth parted—the room echoes with soft sounds. 

“harder–shit,” she moans. “please…”

“begging is a good look for you,” he whispers cheekily. the primal, male part of him can’t help itself. 

matty rocks into her, bottoming out again and again. 

“so tight baby, so wet for me,” he gasps as his thrusts come faster. she trembles under his touch again, letting out a string of curses. matty can tell she’s close as she clenches around his cock again and again. 

her nails rake down his back, on his shoulders, leaving behind scratches and cuts but none of them particularly care about it. all matty cares about are her moans and cries, the way she says his name again and again. 

“gonna cum,” she pants, “go faster, please–please.”

so matty does; grabbing her hips, he thrusts into her over and over again, increases his pace to the point where it’s bruises. filthy sounds of flesh slapping on flesh fill the room, moans from them both. matty loses track of time, of his surrounding, until he feels her clench around his cock and let go with a cry. 

“so pretty,” he coos and can’t help but trace a finger down her nose, along her bottom lip. “such a good girl for me.”

“come on pretty girl, i know you can cum for me one more time.” her pretty little whimpers shoot straight to his cock as he goes faster still. “you're so good for me, so fucking good around me, fucking made for me.”

“made for you,” she repeats, “ye–yes. go faster. shit.”

matty groans when she wraps her legs around his waist. it’s sudden, between one thrust and the next he’s suddenly reaching deeper than he was before. they both cry out as intense pleasure swirls in matty’s belly. 

he’s close, he can feel it. he just wants to coax one more orgasm out of her, watch her fall apart one more time. he wants to bottle up the noises she makes, for his ears only. 

his pelvis grinds on her clit, rougher than before. the intensity of it is blinding. the fire runs right under his skin, ready to consume everything in its path and burn him in ecstasy. 

“you can cum for me again, yeah? let go, darling,” he coaxes, and lowers his mouth to hers again, swallowing away her moans and cries. matty runs his tongue on her bottom lip, nipping at the corner of her mouth. 

her face is wet with tears of pleasure. he knows she’s overstimulated, struggling to keep up with him but she cries out again. a sob rips out from her as matty feels her cumming around him again, legs twitching as he fucks her through her orgasm. 

their sweaty skin sticks together, rubbing against each other and mixing paints. but matty knows what he wants, knows how to finish the final piece of his art. 

“iie still now,” he commands, “gonna cum on your pretty tits. you want that?”

“please,” she nods vigorously, hissing when he pulls out of her in one go. her back arches off the canvas, fingers curling on his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. he’s marked forever. 

matty fists himself, once, twice, head thrown back as he cries out her name. he feels his cock twitch one last time, balls tightening until he’s spurting out thick white ropes of cum all over her tits, her stomach. it pools in her navel and puts a sheen of milky white on the paint. matty watches, mesmerised. 

he’s never felt this perverse satisfaction before. this much primal possessiveness. 

“fuck–fuck, matty,” she breathes hard, eyes still closer and hands in her hair as she comes down from her high. 

matty can’t help himself as he places a finger in the mess he’s made. he traces it in arbitrary shapes, swirls and lines, mixing colours and spreading his sticky release on her until his fingers reach her jaw. 

cheekily, she opens her mouth. an invitation—the desire to taste him written all over her face. so matty obliges, moaning when she swirls her tongue around his fingers, sucking them cleaning. her cheeks hollow from the effort of it. for a moment he feels like putty in her hands until she lets go of his fingers with an exaggerated pop. 

“like seeing me like this?” her voice is hoarse but the tone is still smug. like a cat that got the cream. “covered in you, naked. do i look pretty?”

matty rolls his eyes, “got what you wanted, didn’t you?” and watches her flutter her eyelashes. and she does. look pretty that is. she looks like a masterpiece. his masterpiece. 

“i always do,” she grins, hooking her arms around his neck to sit up. matty watches the cum run down her chest. 

“clean me up?” she asks sweetly, “and then we can look at the art we made.”

[oldguardleatherdog]

i was gonna just shoot an ask to say I hope that you're doing well but holy shit EDM flute is awesome

Hey callmealx, thanks for the shout, I'm doing fine!

Glad you dig my EDM flute gig - as a matter of fact, I'm back in the studio for the first time in years, working on new music for a wild collaborative performance art project that's been in development for over a year now with a queer performance collective in Berlin. The score has plenty of ambient/techno/trance elements, and my current EDM playlist is a deep well of inspiration.

For many years, I've played at clubs and warehouse parties, taking my unamplified flute and improvising along with whatever the DJ is putting through the speakers as I move through the space, aiming the notes where I sense the physics of the music will carry them, bouncing them off the walls and looking for the groove, the moments where I hook into the flow and without thinking about it anticipate the breaks and key changes and note patterns that are coming two, three, four measures ahead - and the thrill when I nail it just right and see the faces near me light up like Christmas trees and just that quick I'm gone to a fresh part of the space, sometimes with applause ringing at my back...

At a Tom of Finland warehouse party during NYC Pride in 2004, one of the go-go boys was in the green room dressing for his shift on the boxes, I had just finished my last set, my flute key pads sticky with the sweat of 2,000 shirtless guys that hung in the air, clouds of perspiration coating my head, my tongue cut and bleeding - the kid asks me what's that, I say it's my flute, well what do you do with it, I tell him I just play along with what the DJ plays -

and he starts laughing, a huge Cheshire Cat grin on his face, you mean you just put that thing together and play along? Yeah, I say. Jesus Christ! he laughs, incredulous. Holy shit, that's amazing, I've never heard of this, that's crazy shit man, and the kid is so taken with the thought he can't stop jumping around... he'd never heard of such a thing, and God I'll never forget that.

Since I was 15 years old, I've been blowing air through a metal stick with holes in it and waving my fingers up and down on it, and sometimes people are moved to tears or delighted or happy, and sometimes they just go apeshit.

This was recorded in 2001-2002. Ambient techno trance from Equa, John Neff, engineer; Rich Berman, bass; Animal J. Smith, flute.

[bubuli-3110]

Knead

______________________________________________________________

Characters: Deidara (Naruto) X Fem! Reader

CW: NSFW MDNI: Explicit sexual content, rubbing, unprotected sex, cum inside, oral, slightly public sex, modern era.

Synopsis: Deidara has this bad habit of coming home late from his art studio, so after putting up with it for almost three nights in a row, you decide to drag him home. not before he makes it up to you though.

Word count: 1.39k

(As of this post) Requests are: Open (JJBA, JJK, AOT, N (Akatsuki only for now), and KNY) Please Check the rules link first.

A/N: Ive been suffering from a sever case of Deidara brain rot recently so here is a drabble I quickly threw out becuase y e s. Hope yall enjoy and suffer with me. ;)

The second hand on the clock ticked away as you impatiently taped your nails on the table.

Late again.

This was far from a normal occurrence for your boyfriend Deidara to be late home, but this was the third time this week and it’s only Wednesday. By the time he usually comes home, you’re already fast asleep. Of course, you love him unconditionally and support his passion for art, but you’d also love to see and spend time with him occasionally.

Rising to your feet and grabbing your keys, you decide to go to the studio and get him. You’d drag him back if you had to. You were already in your sweatpants and loose T-shirt for bed but didn’t care.

When you arrived at the studio, no one was around except for the light in a lone studio which you knew was Deidara’s. Not surprising considering it was near 9pm.

You knocked on the door and said,

“Dei? I’m coming in.”

Inside the room, Deidara was in his usual spot, putting all his focus into the sculpture in front of him. It took a couple of seconds for him to look up and notice you.

“Y/N? Hm. I was just finishing up for the night.” He says.

The boy was covered in clay and glaze from head to toe. Your face fell into a frown, and you responded.

“Uhhuh, you always say that, then walk in at midnight.”

He gets up from his seat and wipes his hand on his towel. His hair was tied back in a messy bun, accompanied by some black glasses and his sweats. You always loved his slightly unkept look.

Deidara walks over to you, pushing up his glasses.

“Don’t be angry Y/N.” He says and pauses for a moment.

“How can I make it up to you?”

An intrusive and teasing thought ran across your mind, and you smiled slightly.

“Well~ since your always out so late, maybe I should make you pleasure me~?”

You looked up to your boyfriend, expecting to find a nervous blush across his face, but it was quite the opposite. Deidara was no prude or child by any means, but he was slightly shy, and an invitation such as this would usually have him an embarrassed mess, but he was looking down at you with lust filled eyes, grinning. This can only mean one thing,

He was thinking the same thing.

It was your turn to blush, before you could wave your hands and explain your teasing Deidara chimes in.

“You know, that’s not a bad idea, hm.”

Welp, now you’ve done it.

“Dei, I was just-” you start with a slight chuckle.

His arm quickly snaked around your waist pulling your bodies flush together. You could feel his already hard cock pressing against your lower stomach through his sweats. Your blush grew a deeper red and your heart picked up speed with anticipation.

“Careful what you ask for darling~”

You feel him nip at your earlobe and that elicited a gasp from your lips. Your arms slide under his and you rested your hands on his shoulders. This cued him to lift you and you then wrapped your legs around his waist.

Deidara took you over to the table where he was working and set you on the edge. He smirked down at you before leaning in and capturing your lips in a kiss. His lips were soft and plush. His tongue beckoned to be let into your mouth, and you happily obliged him. You held the edge of the table tightly and began to feel that pulse between your legs.

He pulled away gently and went down on his knees. Your face went red hot again as you thought about where that tongue of his was about to be next.

“Y/N think of this as my apology. Hm?”

His fingers latched onto the waistband of your sweatpants and panties. You lifted yourself slightly so he could pull them down and let them fall to the floor. He places hands on the inside of your thighs and pushes your legs open.

“Someone’s excited.” He smirks up at you after witnessing how wet you were already.

You blushed and frowned down at him for only a second before he pushed his long hair out of the way and his tongue made contact with your most sensitive flesh. Your grip on the table tightened and your toes curled. His tongue lapped at that bundle of nerves at quick pace while his thumbs kneaded your inner thighs in small circles.

You couldn’t suppress the moan that came and as it did, you saw the corner of his mouth turn up in approval. He removed one of his hands and picked up the pace. Using his tongue more quickly now, his free hand made its way to your clit and his thumb went to work.

You felt your climax fast approaching and with it, your hand went to rest on the back of his head. His combination of handwork and beautiful tongue sent your eyes rolling back and body seizing. Deidara pulled back to admire you as you road out your high and smiled, pleased with himself.

As your body finally relaxed, your blonde boyfriend got to his feet.

“All forgiven, hm?” He says licking his lips then kissing your forehead.

He started this and you were going to finish it.

“That’s for Monday, what about Tuesday?” You say smirking, letting your hand wander over that bulge still extending from his sweatpants.

Deidara nods, face twisted as if to say “fair.”

“Alright dear, message received.” He agrees.

You were all to eager. He had to deal with the aftermath of his actions now. You wanted him.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into a deep kiss, falling back onto the table. He leaned over you exploring your mouth once again. His hand pulls up your shirt to your chin, exposing your breasts and his hand grasps over one of them, causing you to moan into his mouth. You could tell he was getting needy too but he way he slowly became more antsy. You both sat up for just long enough for you pull down his sweats and boxers, exposing his hard cock. He then crawled up on top of the table over you. His tip grazing your entrance.

“Don’t tease now, please.” You say looking up at him.

“Only since you asked nicely.” He smiles before guiding his length inside you until he’s bottomed out.

He releases a low moan. That was nearly enough to make you cum then and there. Your legs wrap around his waist as he begins to move in a rhythm.

Bliss was the only way to describe the feeling. He filled you so completely and perfectly. His face was buried in your neck, grunting and panting against your skin. The heat of his breath causes you to shiver. Your fingers dug into his shoulders as his pace increased. Your whimpers are growing louder and louder.

“D-Dei.” You whined.

With his name falling from your lips, his thrusts became harder and deeper making your body tighten as he took you to your climax quickly.

“D-don’t stop-” you managed to get out before turning into a moaning mess, throwing your head back and trying your best not to squirm to no avail.

As your overstimulation closed down around him, it was his turn to turn into a mess. H released a deep moan again as he came into you, body tensing.

“F-fuck.” He said trying to catch his breath.

The two of you relaxed after a few moments and you looked up at your boyfriend smiling as you pushed his hair out of his face and behind his ear. He smiled back down at you, planting a soft kiss on your lips, before climbing off you and the table. The two of you fixed yourselves as best you could and put your clothes back on.

“Now is all forgiven?” He asks again, fixing his glasses.

“Hm, well I suppose, but you still owe me for tonight, we’re both filthy now, so we can shower up together when we get home.” You say with a giggle.

Deidara playfully rolls his eyes.

“That’s my muse for you.”

[artglam40]

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[the2019nailstory]

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[kajinovaa]

If you don't mind me askinggg what brush did you use on that recent art you posted? Because damn that's a good brush (also i am in love with the whole morally grey concept please talk about it more..) (alsoo ... mooba squimsh.... I am lookign )

yeye, i don't mind at all! [HERE]'s the google drive to brushes i personally like, and anyone else can take whichever brushes they want too! just keep in mind these brushes only work for Clip Studio Paint. it's the one titled "MADK丸". ngl, it's a tad funky to use at first, but feel free to mess with its settings however you'd like :>

--------

also- YES. antihero!Dynamight who takes things a bit too far sometimes, has actual innocent blood caked under his nails from accidents he could've prevented and the PR worked their asses off to keep that disaster's details under a tight lock- Dynamight, the walking nuclear tank of a man who knows the power he holds behind each stride, using his size to figuratively and literally bully his way outta any situation he deems a threat... Dynamight, this towering near 7ft tall smolderingly handsome embodiment of destruction who just so happens to cross paths with you on an unfortunate night, because he "needed to keep his idle hands busy, even if it means picking up shitty gravel off of these streets...

Dynamight, a super nova reincarnated into the mortal realm now staring you down with hot coals for irises, his massive figure cornering you easily into a corner in some gunky damp alley...

Dynamight, a devil in the flesh who cracks a dangerously lethal smirk across his flawless features, the chuckles that escape resounding like his own ear-deafening explosions when muffled in the far distance, and purrs out in a too-saccharine tone, "You poor, pathetic excuse of a villain... Shakin' like a damn leaf in the fucking wind, right beneath me... Now tell me... What do you think I should do with scum like you?"

... all the while the glove that pins your wrist to the cold wall starts reaching temperatures that brand your skin in his personal marks. --------

mooba big... mooba...... hot....... OO

[lovenailsartforever]

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[danglovely]

Regrading Taskmaster: S06E07 Roadkill doused in syrup.

*Score changes noted in parenthesis.

Just gonna note -- Alex is really into weird glasses.

Prize Task: The Scariest Thing From Your Kitchen

With a ham sandwich, that's a ticking time-bomb. You don't know!

Mandolin. So many people have talked about injuring themselves on a mandolin. Sarah Millican brings one in later and talks about cutting off her fingertip. There's a pretty infamous Masterchef clip about it (maybe don't watch it if squeamish). Anyway.

Alice brings in "sweaty ham." So I'm not a stickler on "best by" dates, but I can tell when ham has gone bad because it gets sticky and I hate it. I would be hard-pressed to consume it, even when I need to eat. That said, "scary" is not the word I'd use for it. Asim brings in fanart that (1) has no association with a "kitchen" and (2) is actually kind of a good sketch. Plus, like . . . if someone makes you some art, don't blow up their spot.

Russell has a "doggy-cam" that he claims his girlfriend uses to spy on him. It's a decent offering. Good for his relationship? No. Scary? Yes.

Tim brings a door with bad hinges that hits him on the head. *deep sigh* Yes, it's technically a scary thing in the kitchen and slots just behind Russell so far, but like . . . c'mon. You're professional entertainers. There had to be something better.

Liza has a food processor with a fake finger in it. This gets a bit at my pitch of "mandolin," but it's actually plenty safe. It probably goes between Tim and Russell, but other than Russell, underwhelming.

Alice: 2 (0) Asim: 1 (-3) Liza: 3 (0) Russell: 5 (0) Tim: 4 (+3)

VT 01: Knock the bails off the stumps. You've got a maximum of one over. You must make your attempts from behind this stump. No stumps may be moved. Fastest wins.

Call me when I'm needed.

Some people have been playing cricket in the park near my house and I have tried to get them to explain the rules to me. It is not information that is compatible with my brain.

Alright, this one is tough. No bones about it, Russell knocks it out of the park. Simultaneously, he does step on the red carpet and cross the stump by the end of his follow-through. Gut reaction? Give it to him . . . but that might be because I thought it was cool.

The tricky thing here is the task combines cricket terminology with silly bullshit. It uses the word "over" but also lets them use weird balls and pull the carpet and whatever. So do you follow cricket rules or don't you?

I also briefly had the thought that it's not clear what "behind the stump means," but any reasonable person would recognize it means in relation to the target.

Look, no one did it like they were playing cricket and no one argued the outcome. Studio scores it is.

Alice: 0 Asim: 0 Liza: DQ Russell: 5 Tim: 4

VT 02: Draw a picture of the contents of this box. You may not open the box or look inside.

Mahatmabra Ghandi!

There's a great debate about why Alex made the bra wet. I subscribe strongly to the theory that Alex was making the joke that "wet" is the opposite of "sere" and he always gets them mixed up, but who knows?

There's no win condition on this one! They get a bonus point for naming the David Attenborough pun, but that pretty much leaves it up to Greg to decide the thing is going to judged. I think a reasonable person would assume that the win condition would be "most accurate wins."

So, three items. We split the task into thirds and determine if each person accurately drew the item. Quality of the drawings would then be the tie-breaker.

Liza nails two and I'd say her drawing of Michelangelo's David is passable. Alice has the same issue with the David statue. I'd call it passable but worse than Liza's.

Asim -- I'd give him David (and it might even be more accurate than Alice's). I'd even give him the bra, despite looking like "a pair of glasses." I will not give him the hat.

I think I'm only calling the bra accurate for Tim. He seemed to recognize there was a man in the box, but there needs to be some recognition that it's David. Like even just adding a leaf. I'm also only giving Russell credit for recognizing the bra. I will break the tie in favor of Russell because I can imagine a hat in his drawing and I cannot do that with Tim.

So, Alice and Liza three of three, but Liza's is better. Asim two of three. Tim and Russell one of three, but Russell's is better. Add in the bonus point and this is what you get:

Alice: 4 (0) Asim: 3 (+2) Liza: 5 (0) Russell: 3 (+1) Tim: 1 (-3)

Team Task: Write down as many obscure animals as possible. Guess the animals your teammate has on their list. Your teammate must only use mime. They may not write anything down or show you the list.

Blue dog. That famous breed.

You couldn't imagine a better way for this task to turn out than what Asim did. Writing down fictional, insane animals and then he still is somehow able to convey them to Tim and Liza.

Here's the thing . . . Russell makes animal noises for at least two animals and we don't see the full eleven. They're only allowed to mime. I'm hesitant to treat it as a full DQ condition because Alex is in there and confirming when they can move onto the next guess.

I think the way to handle it is DQ two of Alice's guesses, which puts them at nine correct guesses and the team of three at eight correct. This is all academic, though. No score change.

Team Funk: 3 Asim, Liza & Tim: 2

VT 04: Wearing this sweatband around your head at all times, tuck as many items from the kitchen inside the sweatband as possible. Then make a pancake with a diameter of at least nine inches. Then eat the whole pancake. Most kitchen items successfully kept within the sweatband wins.

Weirdly you managed to leave a whisk, two spoons, and a spatula in there, which are the things you need to make a pancake.

No DQ conditions, but two things needed to complete the task: making and eating a nine-inch pancake. I suppose you could also argue what the minimum qualifications are for "being a pancake," but they all get close enough, so let's not get into it.

Alex does tell them there's a time limit on tucking things into their sweatbands, which is not on the task but is enforceable if he says it then and there (rather than afterwards like when we Joe Lycett taught us the show was a scam).

Alice loses her mind for a brief moment and intentionally shakes all her items out. Her sweatband also drops to her neck, which might not be the head, but close enough.

There's even a more pedantic debate as to whether a container of sprinkles (hundreds and thousands) qualifies as one thing or if you need to count every sprinkle. However, there's a more fundamental issue in that people didn't finish their pancake.

The thing said "eat the whole pancake" and the win condition was about items in the sweatband, not how much of the pancake was eaten. Russell's plate is clean by the end of it, so that would mean he's the only one getting points.

Alice: 0 (-2) Asim: 0 (-3) Liza: 0 (-5) Russell: 5 (0) Tim: 0 (-5)

Live Task: Get an egg as close to the center of the target as possible. You must stand on the spot when taking your turn. You must ROLL two of your eggs. The person whose egg is furthest from the center of the target after each round is eliminated.

He's not necessarily eliminated. Oh fuck off, Alex.

Russell reaaally shouldn't have started with the egg he cockishly broke. You get more points the longer you last and you're not gonna last long with that one. The strategy here is to save rolling the Ostrich egg until the end.

As with all elimination tasks, I can't really regrade because I don't know how people would have done in later rounds. Studio scores it is!

Alice: 3 Asim: 5 Liza: 2 Russell: 1 Tim: 4

F I N A L

Alice: 12 (-2) Asim: 11 (-4) Liza: 12 (-5) Tim: 15 (-5) Russell: 22 (+1)

Main score changes here due to my reading in a condition in the pancake task. Broke his egg, but he wins again.

[taeyamayang]

HOME | CHARACTERS | VER. 2.0

FEATURES ADDED:

♡ OST is available.

♡ Story Event will be uploaded between version updates.

POLL RESULT:

♡ At Kuroo's Place

SONG REFERENCES IN THIS VERSION:

• クライマー (Climber) by Galileo Galilei

• Radio Song by LOVE PSYCHEDELICO

a/n: first (ofc), i would like to thank @shut-up-you-guys-are-12 for being so patient with me (pls my drafts can be so messy). thank you sm bro! second, in this fic you'll see a time range at the end of one of the paragraphs below and that refers to the specific seconds in the song in which i am referring to in the paragraph. trust me, reading and imagining the scenario gets better if you check it out. it will (hope so) immerse you more in the fic. and yes, the first song is part of Haikyuu!!'s OST i have to include it for pun lol. enjoy.

taglist: @thechaosoflonging @alienvarmint @phoenix666stuff @citrustsuki

THE LABYRINTHS

Loading Version Update 3.0

It was a chance encounter, as Bokuto worded it, to cross paths with you after classes yesterday when they, The Labyrinths, were thinking of a way to talk to you outside of class hours. 

It was right before you left your college department that you saw Bokuto with someone with contrasting features. His eyes were evidently sharp, slicing through a point ahead as though he was ready to pierce through someone’s soul should they happen to displease him, but when he meets your gaze, his drastically softens. The corners of his eyes mold into a friendly greeting.

He’s beautiful and elegant in a way that’s almost perfect to be hung on a wall of a museum. 

On the other hand, Bokuto’s greeting is nowhere near poised. He heaves a relieved breath as his palm caught a bead of sweat sliding at the side of his face. “Thank god, I ran into you.” His statement earns an arched brow from his company. 

“That’s a step for someone who’s agnostic.” The stranger pointedly says. The remark did not sound near humorous, if anything, just blunt. Nonetheless, Bokuto giggled.

“I was thanking Benzaiten, the only god.” Your extra units on Japanese literature paid off as you catch on to what they’re talking about. Benzaiten or Benten is one of the seven gods of luck. She is also known as the goddess of music and arts alongside wealth and wisdom. 

Bokuto’s friend seemed to notice you awkwardly standing, waiting for Bokuto to tell you whatever he had to. He flickers his eyes from you then back to Bokuto as if to remind his friend of your presence, which surprisingly worked. 

“Oh! right, right.” Bokuto’s nails scratch lightly on his nape, “Are you free tomorrow at around five in the afternoon? We have band practice and everyone’s looking forward to meeting you.” 

A chance encounter. Bokuto must be right about it since Tuesday is the only day in the week you do not have classes in the afternoon. Benzaiten must really be on Bokuto’s side. 

Hence, you agreed and the conversation ended with Bokuto saying he looks forward to hearing you sing. With that, both boys resume their pace away from you, with Bokuto waving you goodbye as he walks next to his friend. 

As you watch them leave, you wonder to yourself. Could that guy Bokuto failed to introduce you to be also part of the band? You recall him having an enamel pin from the Department of Letters on his tote bag. A band member from the literature department, huh? A lyricist, maybe. 

Having left your thoughts unanswered, you decided to shrug it off and wait for the following day. 

The next day comes and you are on your way to the address of the rental studio Bokuto told you about yesterday. You are coming from your apartment since you decided to spend the afternoon before band practice at home to prepare a song to sing with the band (in reference to the previous agreement you made with Atsumu and Bokuto). 

Turning a corner, you notice an old woman in her late seventies busy in her yatai, a tiny movable food stall that she manages. Over the time you have stayed in your apartment, you have grown fond of the old woman and her delicious dishes that carry decades of culture and experience. You always make sure to drop by and greet her whenever you’re on your way home from school or your part-time job. 

With her back on you, a smile adorns your face, ready to greet her. However, the second you see the plaster on her temple, your plan to ambush her in a high-spirited manner suddenly halts as your eyes round at the sight of a fresh wound covered with gauze. 

“Grandma! What happened to you?” You hold her at an arm’s length gently as though you’re afraid to cause more damage, examining the material on her forehead. “Are you okay?!” Your voice increases in worry. 

“The doctor said I’m okay.” The old woman waves her wrinkled boney hand in the space between the two of you as if dismissing your concern.

“But what happened?” You look at her deeply in her eyes, leveling your height to her craned back.

“I collapsed yesterday.”

“YOU COLLAPSED?!” It was not your intention to cause a scene but somehow the sudden increase in your voice attracted attention from the bystanders. 

“Hush down, child. You’re hurting my ears.” Grandma still has the sass in her. Perhaps, the doctors are correct. She is indeed alright. 

“H-how? Why? Were you with someone? Where was your grandchild? Was he with you?” You remember grandma telling you about her kind hearted and almost flawless (of course, coming from a proud grandmother) grandchild that she never misses to talk about on every opportunity she has. 

“I am old.” Grandma chuckles. “It slipped my mind to take my medicine. The doctor said it caused my blood to drop…or rise? What was it again? Ah, I can’t remember.” She sighs before looking up to you with a gentle smile. “And yes, my grandchild was here. Oh, I’m ashamed! You keep pestering me with these questions now I am reminded of it again!” Grandma puts a hand over her forehead as the memory from yesterday flashes in her mind. 

She continues. “My dear grandson has to hurry away from class because of my carelessness. I don’t want to be an old woman who needs to depend on someone for basic responsibilities such as taking medicine on time. He was so worried yesterday that he flooded my inbox with texts. Oh, that child is a bit too much sometimes. I wonder if he got it from my son, or me.” Despite the unpleasant incident, talking about her family still stretches the smile on her face. She must really adore his grandson. 

“Your grandson must love you very much.” You comment, making the old woman laugh in delight.

“I guess he does, but he never tells me.”

“Saying it outloud is sometimes…embarrassing, you know.” You wrinkle your nose at her. You add, “So, I totally get it.” 

Grandma laughs, holding your arm and squeezing it as she says, “Young people.” She shakes her head. “You should meet him! I told him stories about you.”

“I’m assuming it’s all positive. Right, Grandma?” You give the old woman a soft nudge before shooting her a playful wink. 

“Mhm, let me think about that.” Grandma teases. 

One of the many qualities that made you grow attached to her is her witt. She has the right mix of cheekiness and tenderness. She always seems to have a witty comeback and it never fails to render you speechless.  Overtime, you have come to appreciate her as more than just the old woman at the corner of the street selling sweet and savory treats. Her comfort reminds you of home, and whenever you feel homesick you find yourself chatting with her as you gnaw on food. 

Before you leave her humble yatai, you write your phone number on a paper candy wrapper in case of an emergency. You told her that she can rely on you and that asking for help is not a sign of weakness. Grandma gladly accepts your kind words, quickly batting away a tear threatening to roll on her cheek. If there’s one prominent trait that you could name about the old woman is that she is reluctant to show emotions. She would rather present herself as strong and daunting. However, her tough exterior is nothing but a facade to her warm heart. 

Walking to the studio building near your university, your heart begins to thump against your chest akin to the muffled sounds of drums from outside the studio rental building. As you push the glass door open, the scream coming from the girl behind the reception area was first to welcome you. Her voice startles you more than the echoes of the heavy electrical instruments. 

“Shut the door!” She shouts in an authoritative manner. A distant ‘sorry’ coming from one of the rooms down the corridor followed by a soft click of a door knob locking is heard. The girl hisses. “Damn, these brats.” 

You remain unmoving at your spot until she notices you, nodding her head in a casual greeting. It's just then that you notice that one of her legs is propped on a chair as her other foot dangles in the air. She chews on her gum loudly as she waits for you to speak. 

“The Labyrinths?” Bokuto instructed you to say the band name to the friendly (though ‘friendly’ might not be the best word to describe her) woman behind the counter upon entering the studio rental building.

“You’re new.” She says, eyes traveling from head to toe as she blows and pops a gum. “Left side. Last room before you turn right.”

“Thank you.” You mutter, shuffling your way to the end of the corridor until she stops you for a moment to say, “Goodluck.” 

You continue your way to the room at the end of the corridor. The muffled sounds of musical instruments, vocals, and people talking loudly resonate from each alternating door in the hallway. Then, you find yourself hesitating as you stare at the last mahogany door. Behind this door is a leap to change your mundane life. There’s nothing you can do to control this; nothing you can do about the anxiety building up in your stomach. The only way to overcome it is to enter the room just as you promised and show up. They’re expecting you, they’re waiting. 

You swing the door open gently.

What are they like?

“WHO TOLD YOU TO TOUCH ROBERT?!” A seething voice booms in an instant. A raven haired boy with soft curls turns red as he angrily yells at Bokuto who’s currently sitting on the floor. 

Uh, bad timing? 

Should you leave？

“You’re so ungrateful, Sakusa! I did you a favor!” Bokuto bites back. 

“A favor?! You call that a favor?! Why don’t you fucking mind your own business, huh?!” Sakusa challenges. A pair of gardening gloves covers his hands as vents his anger on a water bottle, gripping it tightly into a disfigured shape.

…Yep, maybe you should.

Just when you were about to retreat, Bokuto whips his head in preparation to dramatically whine back, but instead sees you standing by the door. Just as you're thinking it couldn’t get worse, everyone finally sees you. The room falls silent and in that very second, you wish to disappear, for the ground to swallow you whole. 

You clear your throat, your neck is stiff with tension. 

“Hi. I’m (y/n).” Your eyes briefly scan their faces and when none of them spoke, you continue, stuttering. “I-It’s nice to meet you all.” and still, no response.

Can you leave and redo the introduction when they’re not at each other’s throats?

Fortunately, just before you were about to run out Bokuto breaks the ice. 

“(Y/n)! Sakusa is accusing me of killing Robert when all I did was water them!” Water? Bokuto points at the three tier shelves at the corner of the room. You take a small step forward to look at the potted plants he was referring to. Then, realization strikes you.

Robert is a plant. 

It took you an immense amount of self-restraint from stopping yourself laughing at the unusual name for a plant. However, upon realizing what he did and the kind of plant Robert is, your eyelids peel wide. 

“You watered a cactus?” You say, gesturing to the potted cacti of different shapes and colors. Some of them are flat and tall while others are round and small akin to a barrel. A number of them have purple and red flowers about to bloom. Now, you understand the wrath of the caretaker. 

“Was I not helping?” Bokuto tilts his head to the side as he asks.

You shake your head from side to side. “I’m afraid not.” 

As Bokuto’s pout becomes prominent, his shoulders hunched forward in shame and defeat, Astumu makes an effort to redirect the conversation.

“And that’s a welcome from The Labyrinths.” He casually states as he sits on one of the amplifiers on the floor, his legs stretched forward. He wears a plain shirt tucked on the waist of his jeans. His hair is unruly, probably from the number of times his fingers ran through it.

That’s it? He could have said something more to reduce the awkwardness of witnessing two members argue about a probably dying plant named Robert since he practically was the one who recruited you into the band. That's basic courtesy, right? You thought.

As if the boy next to Bokuto could read your thoughts aloud, he pushes himself off the wall and walks up to you. A smirk plays on his lips as he scrutinizes you from top to bottom, oddly reminding you of the girl from the front desk. He offers a handshake. “Suna Rintarou, rhythm guitar. It’s nice to finally meet you.” 

“The pleasure’s mine.” You shake his hand and offer him a close-lipped smile. 

Suna rolls his eyes and snorts. “Pfft, let’s quit being so formal. Come on, I’ll introduce you to the group.” Suna catches you off guard as he swings an arm over your shoulder then points at Bokuto sulking on the floor. “Bokuto Koutarou, drummer and a dramatic piece of shit. You already met him.” Suna moves to the person whom Bokuto referred to as Sakusa earlier. “Sakusa Kiyoomi, bassist and a don’t-touch-my-shit piece of shit, as you can already tell.” Sakusa frowns at Suna who seemed unmoved by it. Then, he points at Atsumu who’s at the other side of the room. “Atsumu Miya, lead guitarist and a…” Suna ponders on the right word to describe him, running his tongue over his teeth before exclaiming in confidence. “Ah!” He announces in conviction. “A piece of shit.” Suna wraps it up by flashing you the fakest smile you have ever seen in your entire existence. Although his effort seemed to lift the tension in the room.

“That’s quite the introduction.” You let out an airy laugh, glancing over to Suna who still has his arm over your shoulder. “So…this is everyone, I assume.” You throw a random gesture in the air which causes Suna to curve a brow.

“Yes, were you expecting someone?” 

“No, not really, it’s just that yesterday Bokuto was with someone and I assumed he was also a part of the band.” Your voice fades into a whisper upon realizing how stupid you must sound. Just because he had an enamel pin from the Department of Letters and is friends with a drummer doesn't mean they both work on music, idiot.  However, your revelation piqued Suna’s curiosity.

“Is that so?” He muses, a dangerously cheeky smile grows on his mouth as he directs his gaze to Bokuto whose expression is akin to a deer caught in headlights. He asks you, though his line of sight is still stuck on the drummer.  “What’s his name?”

“I didn’t get his name.” You say cautiously, your vision jumping from Sakusa to Atsumu who had a similar expression on their faces. What the heck is going on? Suna keeps you hooked.

“Well, what does he look like?”

“He, uh…” You hesitate when you see Bokuto’s pleading eyes, practically begging you not to speak. But Suna is better at distracting you. For heaven's sake the man does not know about personal space. Using the tip of his finger, he turns your head so you're forced to lock eyes with him. 

"I asked." He states in a low tone. "Ignore Bo." You swallow hard, biting on your molars as you stare back at a pair of glowing olive irises. You have never been this close to a boy (let alone someone you barely know) before, (other than Daichi whom you shared a large fraction of your life with.)

"Well, h-he's tall." You glance at Bokuto feeling like a total ass for snitching on him. Unable to handle pressure, you found the guts to ask. "Is this okay? Am I not putting Bokuto in a life or death situation?" 

"Trust me, this benefits him." Suna unwraps his arm on your shoulder to cross it over his chest. You look over at Sakusa then Atsumu and see them both nodding in agreement. This makes everything even more confusing. What is going on? 

"See? They agree." He tilts his chin. "So, tell us. What does he look like?" 

With your lack of choice (actually, you do technically have a choice, but your intuition tells you that Suna won't drop the topic until you spill the details), you gave out a general description on Bokuto's friend's appearance. How his hair is styled, face, and attire. You also include the enamel pin on his canvas shoulder bag. 

After you're done, Sakusa removes his gloves in a manner that makes a loud snapping sound. On the other hand, Suna guffaws, clutching onto his stomach.

"An important affair." Atsumu draws quotes in the air using his fingers. "I should have known." 

Sakusa slow-claps. “You big fat liar. You were on a date with Akaashi!” Bokuto’s cheeks instantly turned warm.

"It's not even a date!" Bokuto argues back, but something with the way he presses his knees on his chest makes you wonder…aloud.

"You like him, but you have never confessed?" Your question earns a nosy and cheeky "ooh" from Suna. 

"Sounds like someone's an expert in the field of dating." He shoots you a look that makes you regret speaking your mind. 

"I'm not!" You protest though Suna completely ignores you by jesting,

“Why don’t you give our hopeless romantic drummer advice on how to secure a relationship?” Suna cackles to himself, enjoying you cornered and bashful. On the other hand, Sakusa asks in a serious tone.

“Are you seeing someone, (y/n)?” You weren’t informed that you signed yourself up for a late night show interrogation and not as a vocalist of a band. Ten minutes in since stepping into the room and the only information you know of them is that their bassist has cacti and their drummer is pining on a friend and now, your zero dating experience is about to get spilled.

Nonetheless, you shake your head to the sides and utter a “no”. Sakusa nods his head in understanding and for some reason you feel the weight of a pair of eyes looking at you in your peripheral vision. Instinctively, you turn to look at the source and see Atsumu peering at you through his lashes. He did not budge, not straying his eyes away, even when you caught him looking. In some kind of twisted role reversal, you were the one who felt caught red handed for catching him looking at you. You couldn’t hold his eyes any longer, so you switch to look at a point ahead from him, masking it by tucking a stray hair behind your ear. 

“Shall we begin?” Sakusa cuts to the chase. He doesn't wait for the response of the group as he walks over to the bass guitar lying on the floor. As he untangles the wire next to the guitar, he looks over your shoulder. “Did you prepare a song? We should first play a song we regularly perform, then go with your choice of song next.”

Sakusa turns and misses you nodding to him in agreement. The others began to pick up their instruments, which left you standing, doing nothing but watch them prepare. 

“What kind of songs do you usually sing?” Sakusa glances at you to let you know he’s talking to you. 

“Any, but I'm hoping you’re not expecting me to whip out a Mariah Carey or Whitney Houston song, right?”

“AhHhH I~” Bokuto joins in by singing the first notes of the song in a falsetto, which makes you and Suna chuckle at his attempt to sing. 

Sakusa notices you doing nothing so he juts his chin to your left. “The microphone and stand is over there.”

Following his orders, you take the microphone and its stand and place it at the center of the room and in front of them. Bokuto raps notes on the drum loudly and suddenly you feel your heart thump in nervousness in rhythm with the drum. Clipping the microphone on the stand, you breathe out the building tension in your stomach and shut your eyes  to calm yourself. The next thing you know is Atsumu standing next to you.

“You okay?” He asks. His palm spread out before you, facing the sky. You gaze at his hand wondering what the hell he means by it. Is he offering his hand to comfort you? Hold… Hold hands?!

He notices you confusedly staring at his hand and clarifies his intentions before you have the chance to embarrass yourself. “The microphone wire. I’ll plug it in the amplifier.” He pointed at the wire of the microphone hanging and swirled on the floor. 

“Right.” 

What were you even thinking! If there’s only a way to make yourself disappear in an instant you would have done it without thinking twice. 

To your luck, Atsumu seemed unbothered by your delay. Once he has the wire to the microphone he leaves your spot. 

“So, what are we doing first?” Suna asks the group.

“I know!” Bokuto chirps and all heads turn to him. “Climber? (クライマー). Do you know that song, (y/n)?” You answer an immediate ‘yes’ and Bokuto exclaims. “Great!” Right then, He raises both drumsticks in the air. He hits it three times to set the beat and cue everyone to prepare.

One. Two. Three.

Sakusa slides a note across the frets and everyone begins playing their instrument. Bokuto doesn’t miss a beat as he hits the drums with all his strength while Suna’s fingers move naturally between strings and fret, head nodding to the upbeat rhythm. Then suddenly the three instruments: bass, drums, and rhythm guitar softens as Atsumu, who’s playing as the lead guitarist of the band, takes the spotlight. (0:07-0:13)

His confidence shows as he skillfully plays the electric guitar with minimal effort, as though he has done this a thousand times. He repeats the riff twice, fingers pressing on the strings quickly at a blink-and-you-miss-it pace. When the drums thunder once again, you’re reminded of your cue. One more set and you’re up to sing. 

Despite your heart hammering against you chest akin to the vibrations of the loud music in the room bouncing against the walls, you were able to sing on beat on verse one. Although you had to admit, your voice came out shakey. However, you were quick to recover when the song hit the bridge. By the time it reaches the chorus, you find yourself enjoying the song. Your body is swaying with the beat, one hand on the microphone as you sing your heart out. 

It’s your first time to perform a song with them, but it already feels natural. Technically speaking, perhaps they were able to adjust to your amateur skills, or something else like that. Before them, to you, singing was all about perfecting the notes, getting the right tempo, and being conscious of how you present yourself to people. But in this enclosed space you feel liberated. You aren’t thinking of the consequences of making a mistake. 

You are actually enjoying yourself. 

Before you know it the song ends and the only thing remaining with you is the evident grin on your face as you look at them. The rush of adrenaline is still in your veins making you feel pumped to sing the next song. 

“You did well, (y/n).” Sakusa praises you therefore making you stretch the smile on your face. He continues. “What’s the song you prepared for us?”

“The genre is a bit different from the first song. It’s called Radio Song.”

“I know that!” Suna declares. “It is different from what we’re used to playing and that makes it better. We can explore other genres and styles.” As Sakusa and Bokuto nod their heads, Atsumu remains silent in his spot. He whips out his phone from the pocket of his jeans, running this thumb on the screen. 

“Tsum, is there a problem?” Sakusa asks. “Are you not familiar with it?”

“I can think of another song-” Atsumu cuts you off.

“It’s fine. Give me time.” He plugs in a pair of earphones, places the phone on top of the amplifier, and begins picking strings on the electric guitar. He has his back turned on everyone as though he has entered a bubble of his own world. 

“I’ll let you in on a secret.” Sakusa startles you by leaning towards you from behind. He whispers. “Atsumu is the best among the four of us, heck, his musical skills are up to par with professionals. He’s sick.”

Before you could come up with a reply, the topic of the conversation speaks, surprising you. “I’m ready.”

“I told you.” Sakusa mouths to you before walking back to his spot, adjusting the strap of the bass hung across his torso. It's not long till Bokuto starts the counts with his drumsticks, and Atsumu begins with the two consecutive notes.

“Well, now baby you left me. It was meant to be…” Unconsciously your eyes draw to Atsumu's direction who, for the second time today, is already looking at you. This time however he nods his head as if to tell you to 'keep going'. Hence, you turn your focus forward, enjoying the song like you did previously.

Soon the song finishes and Suna proposes a break (a smoke break, to be exact). Bokuto announces to everyone that he had been keeping his pee in this whole time ㅡ (a bit TMI for the taste of everyone present). As Bokuto exits the room, he sings the chorus of the song you picked. The rhythm of it stuck in his head.

Thus, you are left with Sakusa, who is currently draining water off his cactus - and Atsumu, who sits on the amplifier, guitar in his hand as he plays random tunes. Your first impression of him when Bokuto and he went to your room to talk about the band is different from who he is right now. Initially, reserved and mysterious was far from who you thought him to be but with the random glances and eye contact with him makes you curious as to what he is thinking about. There’s definitely more to know about.

Bokuto is quick to return from his restroom break and immediately approaches you when he sees you sitting by yourself. 

"Feedback?" He smiles at you sweetly, sitting next to you on the floor. May his god bless his pure soul.

"Well, First off you guys are amazing and second, I enjoyed it." You mirror his smile, emphasizing the next words you said. "Very much." 

"So…" He nudges you using his elbow in a playful manner. "Are you in or out?" 

"Who's in or out?" Suna barges in, a trail of smoke following him and the smell of tobacco reeking from his presence.

"How about you Rin? How's the first two songs?" As Bokuto questions him, Sakusa turns to focus on the two while Astumu remains unbothered.

"It was fun." He pops a gum in his mouth.

"You said the same thing as (y/n)!" 

"Jinx." You shoot Suna with a grin and a finger gun who in turn smiles back at you. 

"No, seriously. It's a fresh breath of air. I like this better. Aren't you guys tired of the gloomy bitter songs we used to play a lot? Rei was so obsessed with it." The moment the name was dropped both Sakusa and Bokuto's eyes were rounded. 

"Hey." Sakusa warns, eyes pointing knowingly at Atsumu who chose to ignore them. Bokuto changes the topic. 

"So," He chuckles rather too fakely. This man does not know how to play dumb. "Are you going to join the band?"

With a steady heart and an eager soul, you answer the question more confidently than when they asked you to sing for them, the day Bokuto and Atsumu came over to your class. "I look forward to working with all of you." 

Bokuto and Suna were first to shove their phones at you, asking for your number, followed by Sakusa leaving his device next to you. 

"Ring your number after you're done with those two." Sakusa says, turning to finish draining water off his plants. 

"Welcome to The Labyrinths! You are officially a Labyrinthian!" Bokuto's positive energy never fails to make you laugh.

"Please don't say that again." Suna cringes his nose at Bokuto.

As the two bicker, you catch sight of Atsumu in his spot, unmoved by reality. You figured that there's more to know about them as individuals (and as a group) and maybe now is not the time to get closer to Atsumu. 

—

On your way home, you realized that it had gotten later than you expected. You had a great time experimenting on different songs with the band and figuring out which style suits best for your voice and their style of playing.

As you leisurely walk under the light of the cheap lamp post, shoes lightly tapping on the sidewalk, you gather your thoughts about the members of the band. Without a doubt, Bokuto is the easiest to get along with. He isn't afraid to start conversations in a sense that whenever he sees you by yourself he makes sure to accompany you by starting small talk. Suna is a close second. Although he isn't as talkative and loud as Bokuto, his reluctance to use honorifics and constant teasing makes you feel comfortable sharing conversations with him. You didn't have to think about holding back a playful counter on his teases because you know that he enjoys it as much as you do. Sakusa, unlike the first two, does not goof around, but he opens topics with you mostly related to music or his plants. You learned that he majors in Biology (which probably explains his green thumb) but other than that everything is all about The Labyrinths. As for Atsumu…well, maybe you need more time to get used to each other’s orbits.

About a couple of meters away from the street where you rent a dorm, you see grandma standing outside of her yatai. She instructs someone, pointing fingers at the boxes on the ground.

"Grandma!" You jog towards her. You ask the obvious. "Closing up?"

"Yes. You're out late. Your part-time job is on Wednesdays and Fridays, right?" 

"Usually, yes but I had band practice this afternoon. I'm a vocalist of a band now." You proudly say. It feels surreal to even say that. 

"I didn't know you had a talent for singing." 

"One of these days, I'll sing for you grandma and you’ll be so amazed that you’ll brag about me to your customers just like how you do with your grandchild." The old woman laughs wholeheartedly. Hearing sounds of metals cluttering in her yatai, you offer. "Should I help?"

But grandma stops you. "No need. My grandson is here and we're almost done. My dear, are you alright? Come out here for a second let me introduce this lovely person I told you about." 

"Wait." Her grandson answers but grandma's patience is running thin, as always.

"Well, hurry up!" 

Contrary to grandma's narratives on his grandchild being hard headed and stubborn, she was able to summon him out at an instant. However, what you see before you is the last person you expected to meet and with the way your bottom lip falls, eyes unblinking it’s no denying how shocked you are to see him.

Tsukishima?

"Kei, this is (y/n). Lovely, aren't they?" Grandma introduces you to him but you are too stunned in place to offer a handshake or utter a hello. 

Grandma chuckles, "Seems like you two know each other." She adds, horrifying you even more. "It's late. Kei, why don't you be a good boy and walk them back to their apartment and I'll finish the rest here." 

The air is knocked out from your lungs and you are once again trapped at the crossroads of a decision. Should you accept grandma's offer and let Tsukishima Kei, the boy from the cafeteria and your groupmate, walk you to your place or should you make up a white lie to decline the offer? Whatever you choose, you have to decide quickly, before the awkward silence stretches any further. 

ㅡi have good news. it's indicated below quick!!

LOVE METER:

Daichi Sawamura: 🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

Atsumu Miya: 🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

Kuroo Tetsurou: ❤🤍🤍🤍🤍

Tsukishima Kei: 🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

?: 🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

based on the results on the previous poll, kuroo gains a red heart!! man, wasn't easy to get a heart from him? well, in this fic you have to be aware of their personalities. some characters are harder to get red hearts than the others. similarily, in real life, some people fall in love quickly than others. so, be careful! if your goal is to closer to kuroo then congrats to you my friend but if not then... *evil laughs* *clears throat* it's just a one heart. don't worry i'll include more scenes to give (y/n) opportunities to interact with the other leads :)

anyway, HERE IS THE POLL!!

masterlist

[spooky-ghostwriter]

Sentinels Deck Number 5 - Silhouette

Normally, some time after finishing a Sentinels deck, I like to give a general explanation of what the deck is about, using a few cards as examples. This time, I felt I had something to say about darn near every card in the deck. So... let’s lean into that. I’ll go through the cards roughly in chronological order and tell the story of Silhouette, the goth vampire heroine.

Though Silhouette (civilian name Zywen Lotus) has a fascination with darkness, she’s still... mostly heroic. Silhouette gets her shadowy powers from an evil vampiric artifact called the Shadow Veil, and I wanted the player to feel like her powers are dangerous. Because of that, she starts with a pathetically low 20 hit points and a lot of cards in her deck have her deal herself damage. Trying to prevent the damage typically doesn’t work, so you’ll need some classic vampire life-stealing powers to keep Silhouette healthy!

This also marks my switch to Clip Studio Paint for digital art, and it helped me make some of the best art I’ve ever drawn!

Chronologically, the earliest we see Silhouette is on the incapacitated art for Escarlata, a hero I showed off some time ago. At that point, Silhouette was a little blonde girl by the name of Abby Adler. 

Abby’s parents were obsessed with making her into their ideal daughter - a prim and proper good catholic girl. They controlled how she dressed, how she acted, what she studied, everything they could.

In contrast, Abby was more interested in dark and spooky things that her parents would have disapproved of. In particular, she started visiting a vampire coven. She became enraptured by vampire culture and history.

When Abby’s best friend Cassandra was released from the hospital depicted above, Cassandra had gained the power to control fire. Jealous of Cassandra’s relative freedom and superpowers, Abby manipulated the coven master into converting her into a vampire. 

Abby returned home to her parents, newly converted and with a new name, Zywen. Her parents kicked Zywen out of the house in the middle of a sunny day, where Zywen nearly died. Luckily, Cassandra found her in the nick of time.

So this brings us to the first step of Zywen’s journey. She is now a vampire. I wanted to include a bunch of “obvious vampire tropes” in the deck for a few reasons. For one thing, the deck also includes a lot of ‘shadow magic’, and I wanted it to be as clear as possible that the character you’re playing is a vampire. But also, vampires vary so wildly from one work of fiction to the next that I wanted to nail down what my vampires can do.

Vampires in the Spooky Ghostwriter Comics-verse are significantly physically stronger than humans at night, but weaker during the day. They drink blood, but it doesn’t necessarily need to be human blood. Animal blood works just fine. They can turn into bats and have slight hypnotic abilities.

Another important piece of any hero deck is to show off the character’s personality. Zywen is an edgy edgy girl. Why drink blood out of a glass when you can have a goblet? Why have a desk lamp if it’s not shaped like a skeletal arm?

However, as disappointing as it may be for her, she is not an ancient sorceress in a Victorian-era mansion. She lives in an ordinary with Cassandra. She plays video games and dresses up her friends in modern goth outfits.

The next step of Zywen’s journey focuses on a character that I haven’t made a deck for yet...

La Nocturna, also pictured in Escarlata’s deck, is one of Escarlata’s greatest nemeses. She’s a vampire, but with even greater powers than normal. La Nocturna had the ability to summon hands made out of solid shadow.

La Nocturna was considered to be a hero, a member of the New Granwall Guardians just like Escarlata. However, La Nocturna didn’t just arrest criminals - she massacred them. In her eyes, the rest of the Guardians were too soft to do what needed to be done to prevent further crime. (Though even that was a justification - really, La Nocturna just wanted to drink human blood and used her hero work as an excuse.)

Escarlata and La Nocturna fought some pretty brutal battles, but it was Zywen who ended the feud once and for all. Zywen knew that the source of La Nocturna’s power was the Shadow Veil. After a particularly rough fight that left Escarlata in bad shape, Zywen used her skills of deception and knowledge of vampire lore to ambush La Nocturna and take the Shadow Veil for herself.

However, when Zywen first put on the Shadow Veil, La Nocturna dissolved into dust. The dark magic that fueled all vampire powers left La Nocturna and was absorbed into the veil, killing her. Whether Zywen knew this would happen or not is intentionally ambiguous...

Now, Zywen had the same shadow powers as La Nocturna, and in rare circumstances, used them to fight criminals. But she still didn’t consider herself a hero, wrought with guilt over killing La Nocturna. Furthermore, the Shadow Veil was full of evil magic, and it had a tight grip on Zywen’s mental state.

This is where the core of the deck’s mechanic comes in. The Shadow Veil is evil. Using it hurts Zywen, but you also get benefits from taking on those risks. When you play the game, you’re moving HP tokens around, but you’re also deciding how far Zywen’s willing to tap into her dark powers.

(Side-note: Soulsearching shows off another quirk my setting’s vampires share with some other vampire mythos - no reflections!)

Finally, as villainy in New Granwall City became worse and the New Granwall Guardians began to need more members, Zywen decided to move forward. Maybe she didn’t fully forgive herself for what she’d done, but however she got her powers, it was worth doing some good with them.

Zywen briefly joined the New Granwall Guardians with an exact replica of La Nocturna’s outfit, taking over her identity. This was really confusing for me as a writer and I couldn’t expect anyone to figure out how this “second La Nocturna” thing worked by looking at a deck of 16 unique cards. So I skipped over this part of the story and moved on to the introduction of Silhouette.

Zywen decided that the Shadow Veil as it had been known before was La Nocturna’s symbol - a symbol of fear and evil. In her studies into vampire lore and magic, she found a way to change the veil’s appearance. 

Transmute the Veil is a huge moment in Zywen’s story. Zywen is a character who very rarely has control. She starts out controlled by her parents. Then when she gets the Shadow Veil, she’s fighting for control over it.

Now, she’s the one calling the shots. And I wanted to represent that by making sure that Transmute the Veil offers a choice. “Reveal cards from the top of your deck until you find two semi-specific cards, choose one and keep it” is not a rare effect in Sentinels. But Transmute the Veil does something that no other card does - it makes sure the two cards are distinct. Every time you play Transmute the Veil, you will have a choice.

With the Shadow Veil in a new form, Zywen created a new costume and became Silhouette. From here, the rest of the deck generally just shows Silhouette on various adventures. She works alongside Escarlata in Brutal Ambush, and a couple cameo heroes in Drown In Darkness:

Alius, on Silhouette’s left is an upcoming hero created by Mistilitain. Charlie, on her right, is a shapeshifting detective created by Bobbertoriley. Bobbertoriley also created the environments depicted on both these cards. Brutal Ambush shows a casino run by and named after Jericho Moondancer (the non-demon). Drown In Darkness takes place in the spooky woods of Birchwood, Mass. The hedgehog gremlins being drowned are cryptids you can fight there!

Notably, both of these cards carry the “Infernal self-damage” cost. The Shadow Veil’s evil influence is still around - using shadowy powers or being too brutal still makes Silhouette deal herself damage.

The struggle between Silhouette’s good nature and her evil powers is a recurring theme.

This brings us to everybody’s favourite card of the deck. I love it because it, along with Brutal Ambush, are some of the best pieces of art I’ve ever drawn. Players love it because it’s one of Silhouette’s strongest cards and sets up a fun challenge where players earlier in turn order want to leave lots of enemies alive with juuuust enough HP for Silhouette to jump in and drink their blood.

So what’s going on here in terms of story? Well, most vampires in New Granwall City believe in living peacefully with humans. Zywen does too. But one coven master, Lazarus Vane, thinks differently. Lazarus wants vampires to return to their baser instincts and has the magical ability to make it happen. Casting a spell on the very moon, Lazarus made all the vampires in the city go berserk. Once again, poor ol’ Zywen just can’t stay in control of herself.

(By the way, the character getting his blood sucked is The Shining Knight, a minor villain who also shows up in Escarlata’s deck.)

Spooky.

Well, only a few more cards to go. Let’s get this done.

Silhouette becomes more adept with the Shadow Veil than La Nocturna ever was. La Nocturna could only create shadow hands. Silhouette eventually learns how to create an iron maiden. 

Screaming Shadows represents her pulling a victim into a sort of shadowy realm full of distorted faces that scream at them. The faces also scream at Silhouette. Fun times.

The one getting screamed at is Unmute - a villain by @insomn14​ . We were working on these decks concurrently, and are both fans of each other’s work. So I have Unmute as a cameo here, and Silhouette shows up on one of Unmute’s cards.

The guest character in Black Iron Maiden is The Faithful, created by zerami.

Vampire’s Tome is the spellbook that taught Zywen how to morph the Shadow Veil, but it taught her a lot more than that! 

Spirit Siphon is a technique that only a few vampires can perform - drinking someone’s very essence instead of their blood. It could theoretically leave her target an empty husk, but that wouldn’t be very heroic. Silhouette’s version of the spell typically leaves her victim too tired to continue the fight while also restoring her stamina.

Spirit Siphon has another guest hero on it - Radiance, also created by @insomn14 . Radiance is one of my favourite heroes in the game, homebrew and otherwise. insomn and I also got a kick out of how Radiance and Silhouette have some mechanical similarities while being as opposite characters as possible. Radiance is a cheerful ray of sunshine that motivates her allies.

Because of all that, I knew I wanted to give Radiance a key role in Silhouette’s deck. Spirit Siphon is Silhouette’s only card that appears in the deck at 4 copies. You’re probably going to draw one every game, so you’re probably going to see Radiance.

And that is every card in Silhouette’s deck, and why it’s there. Thanks for indulging me! Here’s a close-up of Brutal Ambush, my favourite art in the deck alongside Bloodlust.

See you next time when I turn everybody into 1920s cartoons.

[simran344]

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