#there’s a handful directly inspired by scenes from art

[pastelpaperplanes]

frogive me if I am but a fool, but dost Thorns and Thrones exist as a fanfic, or a series of art, or both

Fear not, dearest Anon, thou art naught a fool, for thine own question is unequivocally valid!

Thorns and thrones resides as a story mostly told through art and various asks I have answered on this blog. I do my best to show the story rather than proclaim it, for truly, I am but a great and lowly chicken when it comes to taking up the quill and ink mine self

BUT! people have made many a fan pieces of work for the AU

Make haste! for each and every one has made masses weep tears of joy and merrious laughter. I beg of thee!

Witness the works of many a talented creators!

[tacobacoyeet]

nothing (but love) for you | tashi duncan x patrick zweig x art donaldson x reader | part 1

part 1 | part 2

a/n: THIS IS AN AU!! tashi does NOT get injured and patrick is ALSO at stanford. scenes that you recognize from the movie are inspired by the original screenplay, so they may not be exactly as you remember. this is the longest thing i've ever posted on tumblr and i kind of hate but but i also kind of love it. this is NOT the end of the story, part 2 is in the works! i hope you all enjoy!

warnings: SMUT 18+, cursing, a lot of anger, suicide mention, unspoken feelings, manipulation, tashi duncan is mean (i'm sorry)

“Fuck.”

That’s the only thing Art Donaldson manages to utter when he watches you step onto the court, modestly waving at the crowd. He almost didn’t notice Tashi. He wouldn’t have, honestly, if it weren’t for the way the crowd’s volume seemed to multiply when she entered. Technically, she was the whole reason he was there—well, Patrick all but dragging him back to the stands after their doubles win, both boys with glass trophies in one hand and lukewarm hot dogs wilting slightly under the Atlanta sun in the other. 

Patrick talked about Tashi like she hung the moon and the fucking stars. To be fair, she deserved it. She may as well have. “You don’t get it, man. You’ve never seen her in person. She’s in another league.”

“You mean her game?” Art’s brow furrowed. He didn’t understand why Patrick was talking so animatedly about this girl.

“No. I mean she’s the hottest woman I’ve ever seen.”

The boys watched you and Tashi nod at each other across the court. They were too far up to see the way your lips quirked into a smirk as you locked eyes with the girl—an unspoken promise of what was to come. I mean, she was your best fucking friend. Of course, you’d see her tonight. You were sharing a hotel room.

Your number 4 ITF World ranking wasn’t far from her number 1. It was barely visible in the way you two rallied, that neon yellow ball flying across the court fast enough to give any particularly attentive crowd members whiplash as they attempted to follow it, necks craning. 

Both boys could feel their shorts growing tighter with each little grunt that escaped you and Tashi. The swish of your tiny skirts, the sweat trickling down your faces, the eyes you’d make at each other after a particularly nasty move. There was far more happening on this court than just a tennis match. No… this was a scene crafted by the hands of Aphrodite and Nike themselves. 

You took set 1.

Tashi took 2 and 3.

It’s after the filthy spin you send Tashi’s way to win set 4 that Patrick’s hand flies to Art’s thigh, gripping it tightly. “Holy shit,” he remarks like he can’t believe his eyes. “I take it back. That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Art moves his trophy to hide the uncomfortable tent in his shorts. “Yeah. This isn’t even tennis, anymore,” he breathes out.

Patrick’s eyes are locked on the court. “Fuck, no,” he scoffs like Art has just said the stupidest thing in the world. “Dude, this is porn.”

The same thought is running through both boys’ minds later that night as they watch you and Tashi on the dance floor. Her royal blue dress flies out around her as you twirl her, her silky brown waves tickling your face as she playfully grinds against you. Her face is plastered on the Adidas branded banner on one side of the party, hanging above a decorated table with her singles trophy, which is sat directly in between yours and her glass doubles trophies, your medals hanging on either side. Your runner-up trophy is there too. Just off to the side, so as to not mess up the symmetry. Of course. 

“She’s gonna turn her whole family into millionaires. They both will,” Patrick remarks as he takes in the banner. Adidas Celebrates the Champions of Tomorrow. “I’m surprised Y/N is even here. I’d kill myself before I showed up to a party after losing a match like that.”

Art lets out an unamused scoff. “Shut up, man. If I can be at your parties every time you beat me, then there’s no reason for Y/N not to be here. She played like a beast. It was anyone’s game. And she took the loss so… graciously.”

“Oh, she took something, for sure. I thought they were gonna kiss after the last set,” Patrick remarks. 

It wasn’t a totally outlandish suggestion, honestly. When Tashi sent that final hit, the ‘killer backhand’ that sent the tennis ball bouncing just barely in the corner of the white lines, far too fast for you to calculate, the whole crowd was expecting you to smash your racket. Cry. Curse her and her family into generations beyond her time. Not for you to both cross to the center of the court, pressing your foreheads together for a split second to whisper something the audience would never hear. Not a show of sportsmanship. Of companionship. Of love.

Art snorts. “You’re a freak.”

“Yeah, and Y/N’s a model citizen. They’re both pillars of the community. I’d let either of them fuck me with a racket. Probably both.” Patrick’s back to watching you and Tashi dance with each other. Now it’s you who’s jokingly twerking on her, both of you all smiles and girlish giggles. He doesn’t spare Art a glance.

A little while later, you’re taking a breather in a secluded corner of the party while Tashi takes pictures with her trophy. You let out a quiet, grateful breath as the cold, bright orange soda coats your dry throat. You sigh as you feel the carbonation crackle its way through you, but your moment of solace is interrupted when you notice two boys approaching you, an air of attempted swagger surrounding them that’s almost as artificial as the fruit flavoring in your drink. 

They try to introduce themselves, voices stumbling over their own names, but you stop them. 

“I know who you are,” you reply, a timid yet level smile on your face as you shake their sweaty hands. “Zweig? And… Donaldson?” your brow furrows as you clarify their names, a little apologetic that there was a delay in your recollection. “Fire and Ice, right?”

“Oh my god.” Art looks like he could die on the spot.

Patrick keeps his cool. “In the flesh.”

You smile at his response, opening your mouth to ask a question— but Tashi approaches from behind you, beating you to it.

“Which one’s which?”

“What do you think?” Patrick’s countering her question before it’s even fully out of her mouth. A beat passes. You make awkward eye contact with Art across the crackling gaze that Tashi and Patrick share. It makes you itch.

“So, you two are—”

“Both of you—”

You look down at the grass for a moment, an awkward chuckle escaping you as your voice overlaps with Art’s. “Go ahead.”

“I was just gonna say that you two were fucking incredible, today.”

“Thank you,” Tashi replies before you can choke something out, a hint of surprise flashing behind your eyes. He was the only person who had praised both of you. At least, without your half being a backhanded compliment, or an afterthought of a comment wrapped in a pity-colored bow.

“No, really,” he pipes up again. “It wasn’t even, like… tennis. I mean, I felt bad for you.” There it was. He knows he probably shouldn’t have said it, but you brush it off easily.

“Oh, don’t,” you let out a short chuckle. “I’m only here to be her faithful doubles partner and for the leftovers from her brand deals.” You gently nudge Tashi’s shoulder with your own. She smiles at your comment, shaking her head a little as she tugs you a little closer to her. All four of you look back up at Tashi’s poster as one of you tries to think of something to fill the awkward silence. 

“So,” you manage to spit out. “Stanford this fall, right? For both of you?”

Patrick smirks at that. You weren’t lying about knowing who they were. “Yeah, how’d you—”

“They mentioned you. Both of you, when I was accepting my offer. Same for Tashi.”

“You’re not going pro?! Why?” Patrick looks away from you and back to Tashi, his eyes bugging out of his head. That one stung. A little.

She’s opening her mouth to respond, but she’s interrupted by her father pulling her away for more pictures. “Later,” she mutters with a clipped smile at the two boys, trailing her fingers down the inside of your wrist as she lets go of you.

You make small talk with the boys for as long as you can, but it’s not easy trying to talk to them when it’s obvious that they're more focused on Tashi than you. At least, Patrick was. You chat politely with them for a little while longer before you manage to think up a good enough excuse to get away. Art isn’t even able to spit out a proper goodbye, he’s too busy staring at you, desperately trying to burn every pore, every molecule of your face into his memory. But you’d be lying if you said you weren’t doing the same to him.

For some reason, they linger. Well, you know the reason. She's the one who allows the four of you to be lazing on the beach. You stare wistfully at the cigarette perched between Patrick’s fingers, the smoke curling around him and teasing you. Tashi gave him the same look she used to give you when he offered one. She refused for both of you. Not that you would have said yes—that was a non-negotiable when you two became doubles partners. Smoking was a thing of the past, for you. Except for when you managed to sneak away from her.

“So, why are you so obsessed with going pro?” Tashi asks Patrick.

“I’m not. You’re just obviously good enough to go. Probably both of you. So why not?”

A thin smile crosses your face. “Tennis isn’t forever. I’d like to have skills beyond hitting a ball with a racket.” You cross your ankles, legs stretching across the sand. “If it’s such a big deal to you, then why aren’t you going pro?”

Patrick rolls his eyes, shoving the quiet blonde next to him. “His fault. I’m gonna go pro as soon as I can, though. Hitting a ball with a racket is a great way to avoid getting a job.”

Tashi’s firing a retort before you can even register his comment. “See, that’s your problem. You think tennis is fun. Screwing around, expressing yourself. It’s why you’ve still got that serve.” She says it with such disgust, that it gives you flashbacks to all those times she’d involuntarily start coaching you. Every comment about your focus, your forehand, your emotions. It haunted you. But it made you better. She made you better.

“It works,” Patrick replies, shooting a smirk at Art. He looks away, his eyes locking with yours. 

“Yeah, but you’re not a tennis player. You don’t even understand what tennis is.” Tashi’s firing back at Patrick and even though he seems to be welcoming it, you can’t avoid the second-hand embarrassment. You shoot Art a meaningful look, as if to say, we’re not both like this. He grins.

Patrick’s leaning toward Tashi now. “What is it?”

She looks over at you. “A relationship.”

“Is that what you two had today?” Art tilts his head to the side as he asks. Cute.

You grin at him. “Of course.”

“We were actually playing tennis,” Tashi adds. “We understood each other completely. So did everybody watching. It was like we were in love—”

You tense. She doesn’t miss a beat.

“—Or like we didn’t exist. We went somewhere… really beautiful, together.” You’re both looking at each other, now. Art and Patrick stare. They can’t decide if this passing moment is too awkward for them or if it’s the hottest thing they’ve ever seen.”

Art speaks. “How long have two been… together?”

You flinch a little. Tashi laughs. “We’re not.”

There’s another beat as both boys visibly sag with relief. 

“I should probably get going before my parents come looking for me,” Tashi says. She stands, looking down at you. “You coming?” It’s phrased like a question, but you know it’s actually an order. You stand as well, brushing the sand off of yourself. 

“It was nice meeting you guys,” you smile at the boys. “We’ll see you at Stanford, I guess.” 

You start walking away, but you’re stopped as Patrick calls out to you. “Wait! Do you guys have Facebook?”

“Yeah, here—” you reach for your phone, but Tashi is quick to grip your wrist.

“What?” She raises an eyebrow at him.

“He’s trying to ask for your number. Which is what I’m also doing… right now,” Art chimes.

“You want both of our numbers?” You ask.

“Very much so,” he replies.

“We’re not here to home-wreck,” Tashi says.

You look at her. You wanted their numbers. At least Art’s. You were still trying to get a feel for Patrick.

“We don’t live together,” Art replies.

Patrick’s quick to add. “It’s an open relationship.”

“Also, Patrick has a girlfriend.”

“I don’t,” he glares at Art. “Come hang out with us later. They put you up at the hotel in Flushing, right? We’re in room 206.”

“Don’t you guys have a final tomorrow?” You can’t help but ask. “Shouldn’t you be, like, preparing, or something?”

“Eh,” Patrick replies. “We both know how it’s gonna go.” Art glares at him. You know exactly how he feels.

Tashi smirks at them, amused by the interaction. Her hand hasn’t left your wrist. “Goodnight.”

It’s later that night that you and Tashi are sitting in a little circle with Art and Patrick on the floor of their messy hotel room. Tashi gave you a little speech, on the way, about why you couldn’t give them your Facebook just yet, and how you needed to make them sweat. You weren’t stupid, you didn’t need her to explain it. But you let her, anyway. You always melted at the tone she’d take with you, the softness in her gaze as she’d teach you. It meant she cared. About you. Not just tennis. That’s what you told yourself, anyway.

Art passes one of the Budweiser cans over to you before you ask another question. You’d been there, chatting idly for at least 30 minutes, not to mention the extra seconds that you and Tashi spent giggling outside their door, listening to them scramble around after you knocked. 

“So, how’d you guys meet? Preschool? Mommy and Me classes? You seem close.” You sip the lukewarm beer, resting against the back of the bed.

Art and Patrick look at each other, laughing. “The Mark Rebellato Tennis Academy,” Art replies, a poorly hidden eye-roll accompanying his mocking tone.

“Bunk-mates since we were 12,” Patrick adds. Cute. “You never thought of doing anything like that?” he asks, his eyes flitting between both of you. “I mean, you had to have met somewhere.”

“The free tennis camp our local high school offered when we were in elementary school, actually,” you reply. “We didn’t grow up in the boarding school tax bracket.”

“Yeah,” Tashi adds. “And neither of our parents would’ve wanted us coming of age in a place like that.”

“Why?” Patrick asks. “What were they afraid of?”

You shoot him a look, gesturing around at the four of you. Everyone laughs. 

The awkwardness starts to fade after that, and soon enough, you find all four of you in an animated conversation, two empty beer cans on the floor between all of you. You’re having a laughter-filled chat after Tashi tells the story of your first kiss, the way you were so scared, so nervous the whole time. You laugh about it, now, but you’d be lying if you didn’t feel a little twist in your throat every time she told the story, portraying you like a stupid little duckling who could barely stand on your own feet without her help. That’s not how it was. That’s how Tashi liked it, though.

Art interrupts the peals of giggles with an idea of his own. “We should play a game.”

“Like what?” you ask, the grin still on your face. 

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, looking around the room. “Like… spin the bottle. Or spin the ‘beer can’, I guess.”

“Dude,” Patrick knocks him on the shoulder. “We’re not 12.”

“No, let’s,” Tashi interjects. “That’s cute.” 

Tashi’s approval shuts Patrick up immediately, and then one thing leads to another, and then all of a sudden Art and Tashi are making out while you and Patrick are directly across from each other. She’s devouring him, towering over him on her knees as she cups his cheek, his back arching as he bends to her touch. His hand slides gently down her thigh, gripping just under the hem of her shorts to pull her closer. Patrick rips his gaze from them for a moment just to look at you. He doesn’t bother to conceal the tent in his shorts. He’s itching.

“Do you want to—”

Tashi’s too occupied with Art for you to bother asking her for permission. “Please.”

And then you’re in his lap, the quietest of whimpers escaping you as he tugs your bottom lip between his teeth before slipping his tongue into your mouth, exploring like he’s on a mission. He’s not slow or gentle by any means. It’s like he’s trying to kiss his way through you, like he’s the river forming the Grand Canyon, finding each little crack, each little thing that makes you gasp against his lips, molding you into a mess just for him, your hips helplessly grinding against his. 

You’re so lost in him that you almost don’t notice that Art and Tashi have detached, and the blonde boy is now laying wet, sloppy kisses up your throat, along your jaw, inching closer and closer to mash his lips against Patrick’s. Tashi tugs your face away from Patrick so she can lock her lips onto yours, and you melt into her. It’s familiar. She tastes like the sweat lingering on your skin after every evening of running drills together. She tastes like every stone-cold comment she’d make about your form, your serve, your skill, that she’d throw in between kisses. She tastes like marschino cherries and 88% dark chocolate. She tastes like your entire fucking life. Because she’s always been there. She always will be. She never wants you to know a life without her—not because she loves you, not because you’ve spent nights behind closed doors, begging her to tell you that her feelings weren’t all in your head—but because you were good. At tennis. Good enough to be her partner, good enough to give her a real fucking challenge. But never good enough to win. Never good enough to win her.

Tashi stops Patrick before he can slide his hand past the waistband of your shorts, pulling you up from his lap gently. 

“Okay,” you whisper under your breath, chest rising and falling a little heavier than normal. “Well, goodnight.” You wave awkwardly at both boys, because what else are you supposed to do when you're being dragged away from a potential foursome?

“Wait!” Patrick says. “What about your numbers?”

Surely she’d let you now, right? Wrong.

“I told you,” Tashi says. “We aren’t homewreckers.”

Art locks eyes with you. “Please.”

The level of desperation in his voice matches the one in your chest. You want him just as bad.

Tashi looks at you, and then back at them. She laughs. 

“How about this? We’ll be at your match tomorrow. Whoever wins can text me.” She shrugs as she says it. It hits you in the gut. Now that she was getting famous, being wanted… what were you there for? Other than to make her look better, more untouchable?

You watch as Art’s shoulders drop, while a bright smirk lights up Patrick’s face. 

“You can beat him,” you mutter softly, your eyes on Art’s. “You should.” You almost don’t want to say it, because it’s not you that they’re vying for. It was never you. Not for brand deals and endorsements, not for the match-winner predictions, not for anything. 

“Are you saying you want me to?” He asks.

“She’s saying you’re not getting my number if you don’t,” Tashi replies. 

“Well, what do you want?” Art asks, his eyes flitting between both of you.

You sigh, answering for Tashi. The same thing she would say to you every time you asked why she didn’t want you. “She wants to watch some good fucking tennis.” Tashi misses the disdain in your voice as you say it. Art doesn’t. 

With one last condescending “goodnight,” from Tashi, she’s dragging you out of their room. The moment the door slams shut, though, you’re tugging her arm, pressing your ear up to the door.

“Remember when you said you’d let me win?” Art’s voice is muffled through the door.

“That was a lifetime ago,” Patrick replies. You can almost hear the smirk in his voice.

“But what about my grandma?”

“I hope she has a fucking stroke.”

There’s a low thud, followed by a pained groan from Art. You and Tashi grin at each other.

It’s later that night when you’re in your hotel room, Tashi’s slow breathing being the only noise filling the small space. Your fingers were still coated in her, the taste of her still on your lips. She never would’ve shown it to them, but she was just as wet as you were after leaving the boys’ room. The moment you were back in your own room, she was pulling you down, coaxing your head between her thighs. 

“My girl, aren’t you?” She murmured, her fingers carding through your hair. You moaned against her in response, lips latched to her clit as you worked your middle and ring finger in and out of her. “So sweet. You know, if you put this much effort into practicing your tweener, maybe you would’ve won, earlier.”

You pretended like you couldn’t hear her. She laughs at her own words—the thought of you actually beating her was a pipe dream.

You adjust your fingers to find that sweet, spongy spot inside of her, the one that always makes her let out the softest little whimpers when you hit it. It’s the only time you ever feel like you’re the one in charge. But you both know that she still is. Neither of you needs to say anything about it. It’s evident in the way that you eat her out until she’s exploding on your tongue,  and she reciprocates by saying, “Don’t forget, we’ve got court time tomorrow morning at 6,” before she rolls over and turns the lamp off before falling asleep. 

It was always like this. You’d do anything for Tashi. Every time you got on the court with her, every time you locked eyes or fingers or lips, you fell for her all over again. She’d parade you around like you were her cute little puppy, but she always knew exactly where the line was. She molded you into being hers, but she was never yours. Tashi Duncan didn’t belong to anyone. You used to admire her for it—her free spirit, her determination, her power. But… too much of anything is bad. Admiration becomes resenting. But, maybe Art and Patrick would be good for you guys. It would help to step outside the box that was just you and her, right?

---

The Stanford Athletics Cafeteria is buzzing with the usual lunchtime noise—clattering trays, the hum of conversation, the occasional burst of laughter from a table full of exhausted athletes. You and Art are sitting at your usual spot near the window, halfheartedly picking at your food, waiting.

Tashi and Patrick are late. Again.

You know exactly where they are. Running drills. Tashi had dragged Patrick to the courts before the sun was even up, and he’d gone willingly, just like always. Patrick had that kind of energy—relentless, restless, always moving toward the next high. And Tashi? Tashi never stopped. Never slowed down. Not for you, not for anyone.

Art stabs a fork into his salad, expression a grin playing on his lips. "I give them five minutes before they storm in here like they just discovered the cure for cancer."

You breathe out a short laugh, stirring your drink with your straw, eyes flicking toward the cafeteria doors as if willing them to appear. It’s always like this—waiting. Waiting for Tashi to be finished with whatever she deemed more important than you. Waiting for Patrick to fall into step behind her like a well-trained soldier. Waiting to see if today is the day something shifts. If she sees you sitting here and realizes what she’s about to do.

The doors slam open, and like clockwork, they’re here.

Tashi walks in first, her expression sharp, jaw tight. She’s still dressed in her practice gear, hair pulled into a messy ponytail, sweat cooling at the nape of her neck. Patrick follows a second later, far less affected. He’s buzzing, the post-drill high still clinging to him, sweat dampening the collar of his shirt. He slides onto the bench next to Art, stealing a fry off his plate without hesitation.

Tashi drops into the seat across from you with a dramatic sigh, leaning back like she’s trying to keep herself from physically vibrating with irritation. You don’t even have to ask before she launches into it.

“This is a waste of my time.”

You glance at Art, already bracing yourself. Here we go.

Tashi gestures vaguely with her hand, like the entire concept of college athletics is beneath her. "It’s too fucking easy. The competition? Not even close to what we’re used to." She scoffs, shaking her head. "The only matches that are even remotely worth playing are our practices."

Patrick, as expected, nods along. “Yeah, I mean—duh.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. "We could be playing at a whole different level right now. The only thing keeping us here is, what, some obligation to a school that’ll replace us the second we’re gone?"

Tashi points at him. “Exactly.”

You frown, stomach twisting. Art just crosses his arms over his chest.

Then Tashi delivers the real blow: “So if we win the championship this year, I’m going pro.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Patrick grins like he’s just won the lottery. "Fuck yeah. Let’s all do it." He leans forward, excitement radiating off of him. "Seriously, why wait? We win, we go pro. The four of us."

You and Art exchange a look. “No way,” you say at the same time. Art lets out a short, incredulous laugh.

Tashi blinks, her head tilting slightly. She wasn’t expecting that. Not from you.

“What?” She laughs, but there’s a thin layer of confusion beneath it. “Come on, Y/N.” She leans forward, all charm, all ease, like she can just fix this with a few well-placed words. “This is us. It’s what we’ve always wanted. It’s what we’re supposed to do.”

You hesitate. Because that’s exactly how it’s always been. Tashi decides, and you follow. No questions asked. No hesitation. But this time, you shake your head. “Not yet.”

Tashi’s smile tightens. "Why not?"

You exhale, feeling the weight of the moment settling over you. “They recruited all four of us. We can’t just bail after one semester.”

Tashi gives you a look. “Yes, we can.”

Patrick scoffs. “Y/N, come on. You could easily go pro right now.”

It’s meant as a compliment. It doesn’t feel like one.

Art leans back in his chair, expression unreadable. “You’re really just gonna leave?”

Tashi shrugs. “Yeah.”

And that’s when it really hits you.

She doesn’t even care that this means you won’t be together anymore—not just as a doubles team, but as… you and her. This is the first time since you were kids that you won’t be at her side. And she’s fine with it.

Maybe she always assumed you’d follow her. Maybe she just never thought about you at all.

But instead of letting it go, she shifts—just slightly, just enough for you to feel it. “I mean,” she continues, tilting her head, her voice softening into something almost pitying, “I get it. The pro circuit is brutal. You have to be able to keep up. And, you know—” she waves a hand vaguely in your direction, “—you still have some weaknesses you need to work on.”

Your stomach drops. “Excuse me?”

Tashi shrugs. “I mean, your second serve still isn’t aggressive enough. And your net game—” she clicks her tongue, shaking her head like she’s disappointed in you. Like she’s coaching you. “It’s probably better for you to stay, actually. You wouldn’t want to get out there and just… flounder.”

The air in your lungs turns sharp like it’s been knocked out of you. Art visibly tenses beside you. Even Patrick stops chewing, sensing the shift in the air. You stare at Tashi. Really stare at her. And for the first time in your entire life, you wonder if you’ve been blind this whole time. Because she’s doing it on purpose. She couldn’t convince you to follow her, so now she’s making sure you question yourself instead. She doesn’t like that you didn’t just fall in line. She doesn’t like that for once, you said no. And for the first time, something different sparks inside you.

Not admiration. Not longing. Not even resentment.

Something closer to rage.

That night, you’re in Art’s dorm room, the air thick with something unspoken. He’s already on you the moment you sit on the bed, hands sliding up your thighs, thumbs pressing into your skin like he’s mapping out every inch of you. It’s familiar—effortless in a way that doesn’t need thought.

Except you’re not here, not really.

His lips find the curve of your neck, dragging slow and warm along your pulse. His hands slip beneath your shirt, fingertips teasing over your ribs. “You good?” he murmurs, voice low, lips brushing against your skin.

You hum in response, but it’s absent, distracted. Your mind is still in the cafeteria, still locked on Tashi’s voice, the way she had said your name like she pitied you.

Art pulls back slightly, studying your face. “You’re thinking.”

You blink, snapping out of it just enough to meet his gaze. “No, I’m not.”

He scoffs, trailing a hand down your spine, fingers pressing at the small of your back, urging you closer. “You are. You get all stiff when you’re thinking too hard.”

You roll your eyes, trying to play it off, but he’s not wrong. You are stiff, not melting into his touch the way you usually do.

Art leans in again, pressing a kiss just below your ear, voice dropping lower. “What’s in your head, Y/N?”

You sigh, tilting your head slightly, giving him better access without thinking. “Nothing.”

His teeth scrape lightly against your skin, not quite biting, but enough to make you feel it. “Liar.”

You exhale, pressing your hands against his chest, pushing him back just enough to look at him properly. He’s watching you with that same unreadable expression from earlier—except now, there’s something else. Something heavier.

“She needs you where she wants you,” he murmurs, thumb stroking a slow, lazy line along your hip. “She doesn’t like that you said no.”

You go still.

He waits, watching it sink in. Watching you process the thing you’ve been avoiding since lunch.

Your throat tightens. “And you? Where does Patrick need you?”

His fingers flex against your waist, just for a second. If you weren’t looking, you might’ve missed it.

“Wherever he puts me.” There’s no bitterness in it. No anger. Just fact.

Your stomach twists, something ugly settling in your ribs. Because you get it. Because you’ve spent your entire life letting Tashi decide where you belong, too. You swallow hard, fingers curling against his chest. “You don’t mind?”

Art doesn’t answer. Instead, he shifts, pressing you back against the mattress, his weight settling over you, warm and solid. His mouth finds yours, slow but insistent, like he’s trying to pull you out of your own head, to drag you back here—to him. And for once, you let him. The dim glow from his desk lamp barely reaches the bed, casting long shadows along the walls. It’s easy, this—familiar in a way that doesn’t require thinking.

“You’re being a hypocrite,” you murmur against his lips after a while. “I know what you’re going to tell me. That I’ve spent too much of my life holding her up.”

He rolls his eyes at you, but there’s nothing malicious about it. “You have a martyr complex. A terrible one.” He’s staring down at you with an incredulous smile.

You scoff, a smile playing at your lips. “You need to quit reading my notes from my psych class. And you need to stop trying to diagnose me when you’ve spent the last, what, 6 years? 7? Letting yourself lose to Patrick.” You poke at Art’s chest, pressing your finger directly to his heart. “He wants a fight from you, you know? He wants to feel like he’s being challenged.”

Art’s face hardens for a moment. He clearly didn’t want to hear about it. “Shut up,” he murmurs, bringing his lips down to your collarbone. “Just shut up. You need to stop thinking. And talking. And perceiving me. I hate when you go all psych major on me.”

You laugh, but you listen anyway, letting him tug your shorts off of you. He’s pushing your shirt up, his hands, calloused from years of white-knuckle grips on tennis rackets, grazing the skin of your stomach. He trails his lips from your face down your neck, sucking in marks along the swell of your breasts—a spot where nobody will see them, but he’ll know they’re there. He’ll know he has you somehow.

It doesn’t take long before both of your outfits are strewn around his room. He’s kneeling between your legs, now, holding your thighs on his hips as he teases your entrance. His tip is red, weepy. You’d probably make a joke about how it’s ‘Stanford red,’ tease him for being needy, if you were paying attention. But you aren’t, and he can tell. He’s not offended, not in the slightest. But he’s worried that you’ll overthink your way into a spiral, and the last thing he needs is his girlfr—someone he cares about going off the rails. So he’s grabbing your chin gently, forcing you to look at him, to see him. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, forehead creasing as he frowns at you. 

“Yeah?” you ask, a little lost. 

“Hold on to something, okay?” 

“Wh—fuck!” You can’t ask him what he means, because he’s ripping a cry out of you as he stuffs himself in you, balls-deep. He groans at the sight of your tight, greedy pussy swallowing him, the way he fills you like you were custom-made just for him. He gives you two slow thrusts before he’s ramming into you like a jackhammer. He knows better than to go slow and soft, this time. He knows that if he does, it’ll give you enough time to think. He’s trying to fuck the thoughts out of you, now. The only thing he wants you to think about is him. 

He’s precise. He knows exactly how to position himself so that his tip is hitting your g-spot with almost every thrust, the slight curve of his dick giving him the perfect angle. The hand he has on your chin adjusts so that he can slide his index and middle finger past your lips. He had to keep you quiet somehow. It’s not like you could get away with being loud when the walls of his dorm were that thin. Patrick’s room was just across the hall, after all. You groan around his fingers, swirling your tongue around them, sucking them like you’re trying to brand his fingerprints on your tongue.

“You’re so pretty,” he mutters, his pupils blown as he takes in the sight of you. “So fucking sexy. Too beautiful to be disrespected like that,” he says. He catches himself as soon as he says it, but you don’t even bother to respond, too lost in the way his hips slam against you. 

It’s not long before the noises leaving your mouth are growing more frequent and less comprehensible. He takes that as the sign to pull his fingers from your mouth and bring them to your clit instead, rubbing with enough fervor to get your hips involuntarily bucking underneath him. You gasp his name as you hurtle over the edge, your cunt squeezing around him. It’s enough for him, too, because it’s right after that that he pulls out, pumping himself as he comes on your stomach, painting you with the evidence of his desire.

After a few moments where the only sounds in the room are both of you trying to catch your breath, you’re the first one to speak. “I’m gonna ask you something, and I need you to be honest.”

Art turns his head to look at you, still breathless, his fingers trailing lazy circles on your bare hip. “Jesus. Do you ever stop thinking? Or is giving me a heart attack something that turns you on?”

You roll your eyes, nudging him lightly with your knee. “Just answer me.”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face, but the corner of his mouth twitches up. “Fine. Shoot.”

You take a slow breath. “Why’d you actually say no about going pro?”

Art freezes for half a second. It’s barely noticeable, but you feel it. His fingertips are still on your skin, his chest rises and falls a little too evenly—like he’s bracing for impact.

You press on. “Because I don’t get it, Art. Patrick is your best friend. We all—” you hesitate, choosing your words carefully. “We all have each other. In every possible way. So why are you staying?”

He exhales sharply, like he was hoping you wouldn’t push this far. “Not everything is about—”

“Sex?” you cut in. “I know. That’s exactly my point.” You sit up slightly, resting on your elbow so you can look at him. “It’s not about that. It never has been. So what is it? Because you know you’d hold your own out there. You’d rather die than let Patrick keep that edge over you forever. So why?”

Art is silent for a long moment, staring up at the ceiling. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter. “Because if I go, I lose everything.”

You frown. “You wouldn’t lose—”

“Yes, I would.” He shifts, propping himself up on one elbow so you’re face to face. “Patrick and Tashi? They’ll survive without me. They already are. You saw it before I did.”

You hesitate, throat tightening. Because he’s not wrong.

He scoffs, shaking his head. “You think Patrick needs me? He doesn’t. Not like he used to. He doesn’t ask me to come over first, anymore. He checks for you and Tashi. And if we learned anything at lunch, it's that Tashi definitely doesn't need anyone.

You open your mouth to argue, but the words don’t come.

Art sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I stay, I get to hold onto this—us—for a little longer. If I go…” he exhales, looking away. “I don’t know what’s left for me.”

You stare at him, heart hammering. Because there it is. The thing neither of you have ever said out loud. Your voice is softer when you speak again. “You don’t think I’ll follow them.”

Art’s eyes flick back to yours. He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to.

You swallow hard. “That’s why you stayed.”

A beat of silence. Then, finally, he nods.

And for the first time, you don’t know whether to feel grateful or guilty.

---

“And now, your 2002, 2005, and 2006 NCAA Women’s Tennis Champions… Give it up for STANFORD TENNIS!”

The air inside Taube Family Tennis Stadium is thick with noise, the kind that thrums in your chest, rattles in your teeth. Stanford’s home crowd is loud, a sea of red and white, feet stomping against the bleachers in a deafening rhythm. The banners are already preemptively celebrating, a massive GO CARDINAL! stretched across the upper deck.

It’s suffocating.

You shift in your seat, heart lodged somewhere in your throat as you watch Tashi bounce on the balls of her feet, rolling her shoulders back, twirling her racket in one hand like it’s an extension of her body. Across the net, Sally What’s-Her-Name stands still, eyes locked on her, gripping her own racket tight. She’s good. Really good. She wouldn’t be here otherwise. But she’s not Tashi.

No one is.

Tashi is coiled tension, electric, barely contained. The first serve is brutal, a 121 mph bullet down the T-line that Sally barely gets her strings on. The return floats too high, and Tashi pounces, stepping inside the baseline and crushing a forehand winner down the line.

Stanford’s crowd erupts.

Patrick lets out a low whistle from beside you, shaking his head. “Fucking lethal.”

Art, arms crossed, just exhales sharply through his nose.

You don’t say anything. You don’t need to. Because the match plays out exactly how you knew it would. Sally fights, but Tashi smothers her. Precision, power, instinct. Every angle cut off before Sally can react. Every ball sent screaming off Tashi’s racket, clipping the lines with surgical accuracy. It’s like watching a lion toy with its prey, drawing it out just long enough before going for the throat.

Sally is desperate, but Tashi barely looks like she’s trying. She’s in complete control, dictating every point, making the girl run until her legs are gone. Until her breath is ragged. Until she’s broken.

Sally manages to steal a set. Barely. But Tashi? She smiles. Like she enjoys it. Like she wants the fight.

By the time the third set rolls around, it’s inevitable.

It ends, fittingly, on a backhand winner, because of course it does. Because Tashi Duncan loves a clean kill. She barely watches as the ball paints the line, untouched. The second it lands, she already knows.

Game, set, match—Duncan.

She doesn’t fall to her knees. She doesn’t drop her racket. She just exhales, tilts her head back, and grins.

The stadium erupts.

She turns, finally, and for the briefest second, her eyes lock onto yours. The grin widens. Not a thank-you, not a see-that? Not even a simple acknowledgment of this moment, this win, this final nail in the coffin of what you had.

It’s a challenge.

You swallow hard.

Patrick yells something beside you, but you don’t hear it.

Because the thing is—you don’t just admire Tashi Duncan, anymore.

You want to beat her.

It’s dark outside when Tashi steps into Patrick’s unlocked dorm room. She’s not at all surprised by the scene as she enters: you on all fours, Patrick fucking into you from behind as you choke yourself on Art’s cock. Patrick’s the first one to notice her entering, his grip on your hips tightening just enough to get you to glance up.

“Took you long enough,” he remarks, his eyes sweeping over her with a lazy, shameless grin on his face.

“Interviews,” she shrugs. “And I needed a shower.” She strips as she replies, tossing her clothes in a small pile on the floor. She strides over to the other side of the bed, watching the way Art’s eyes flutter shut, his fingers tugging at your hair as your head bobs on him. 

“Up, Y/N,” she softly clucks. You don’t listen. “Y/N,” she says again, her tone a little more firm. “I said up.”

You pull your mouth away from Art for a moment, eliciting a groan from him as you look at her. “I’m busy, Tashi. You can wait your turn.” You don’t mean to say it with as much sass as you end up conveying, but it happens. Probably because it’s how you actually feel. 

A frown crosses her face. Patrick’s eyes widen a little, and he doesn’t stop his thrusts, but they slow significantly. 

“That’s not how this works,” Tashi says. “You’re not the one calling the shots, here.”

“First time for everything, right?” you reply, keeping your eyes on her as you lick another stripe up Art’s shaft. “Pat, you can keep going. No need to stop.”

Tashi’s gaze burns your skin as she watches you pull your eyes away from her, your mouth working Art even harder than you were before. Patrick’s still a little shocked by what he just saw, but he listens, slamming back into you at a more moderate pace. 

“Such a good girl,” Art murmurs, his fingers streaming through your hair. To Patrick and Tashi, it’s just general praise—an in-the-moment statement about how good you’re making him feel. But you and Art know the meaning behind his words. Sure, your mouth feels like heaven on him. But he’s talking about the words that came out of your mouth.

Tashi steels herself—she’ll deal with you later. She kneels on the bed, capturing Patrick’s lips in a long, sloppy kiss. Once she’s had enough of him, She’s forcing the three of you to adjust so she can position her cunt directly above Art’s face. He keeps one hand tangled in your hair, and he snakes his other hand around Tashi’s thigh to pull her down onto his mouth. 

She comes on his tongue, instead of yours. You can’t decide if you feel more guilty or more relieved that for once, she was being forced to settle instead of you.

---

About a month later, it’s late. The kind of late when campus is quiet, the world outside your dorm window humming low and distant. The sheets are still tangled around your legs, the residue Tashi’s sweat and perfume clinging to your skin. The smell of your sin lingers in the air. It makes your stomach turn. She sits on your bed, one leg tucked under the other, bare shoulders glowing in the dim light—like she always does. Like she owns it. Like she owns you.

“The press release goes out tomorrow morning,” she says, voice smooth, casual. Too casual. Like this isn’t gutting you. “About me leaving Stanford. I got a wild card spot. But I wanted to tell you before you saw it in the news.”

You don’t look up from your phone. If you do, she’ll see it. The anger burning low in your stomach, the betrayal clawing at your ribs. “This isn’t news.”

Tashi’s head tilts slightly, just enough that you catch the shift in her expression from the corner of your eye. “What?”

“You told me forever ago. That day at lunch, remember?” You finally glance at her, your voice deliberately even. Empty. “This isn’t new information.”

She blinks, and for the first time in a long time, you see it—that flicker of something uncertain, something almost lost. “Right,” she says after a beat, running her tongue over her teeth. “I just thought—” She stops herself, and exhales sharply through her nose. “I thought you’d have something to say.”

You shrug, shifting slightly under the weight of her stare. The sheets rustle, cold against your skin. “What do you want me to say?”

Tashi doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she watches you, eyes sharp, searching. “You’re pissed,” she accuses, but there’s an edge to it, like she’s testing you, waiting for you to crack.

You stretch your legs out in front of you, feigning nonchalance. It’s all muscle memory now, this performance. “I’m not.”

Her jaw tightens. “You don’t have to act like you don’t care.”

You huff a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Why? Because it makes you uncomfortable?”

Tashi shifts, leaning in slightly, her voice dropping. “Because it’s bullshit.”

You don’t flinch. Don’t fold. Just hold her gaze, steady and unyielding. “You wanted this,” you say simply. “You’ve always wanted this.”

Tashi’s lips press together, her fingers curling into the fabric of your blanket. “That doesn’t mean I wanted—” She stops short again, her throat bobbing as she swallows. “Never mind.”

You could push. You should push. You want to sink your teeth into it, tear it apart until there’s nothing left but the truth. But you don’t. Instead, you exhale, turning your attention back to your phone. “Congratulations, Tashi.”

It’s dismissive. Final. A lie.

And for the first time, you leave her with nothing to say.

-------

tagging: @kimmyneutron

[goldenroutledge]

champagne problems

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

word count: 3.2k

summary: you catch lando’s eye at an art auction in monaco, so he challenges you to a friendly competition for one of the paintings. little does he know, you’d stop at nothing to get it. inspired by this request.

warnings: swearing, alcohol, illegal things vaguely mentioned, gossip girl au

a/n: thank you to @monzaaasharl for letting me use the request! based on events from gossip girl s6 ep6 but can be read without seeing the show! it is mentioned the reader is chuck’s stepsister, à la serena van der woodsen 🥂

lando norris masterlist

The reception was glamorous. Everything you would expect at an event like this, in a place of this caliber. Monaco was one of a kind that way; tuxedos were tailored to perfection and designer gowns flooded the room. The people adorning them certainly had the bank accounts to match.

For you, these scenes and crowds weren’t out of the ordinary. You’d been a part of them for many years at home in New York City. Sometimes alongside your mother at parties where her husband, and one of the city’s richest businessmen, commanded everyone’s attention.

The name Bart Bass spoke for itself, for better and for worse. You could only be so lucky that you were a teenager when your mother married him years ago.

Your step brother Chuck was not as lucky, being the one and only son of Bart’s. Under the weight of the Bass name, he could only hope to change the legacy that had been left for him. One that wasn’t tainted by duplicity and deceit.

If you could help him change that even a little bit, you would. It wasn’t a lonely effort either. Your entire friend group seemed to stick together in defining moments like these. When Chuck discovered a trail that would lead to the exposure of his father’s illegal business practices, there was no hesitation in your offer to help.

Bart often got away with any and everything, always facing little to no consequences for his wrongdoings. Paying off associates or officials using tens of millions in hush money was hardly a dent in the bank to someone like him.

Tonight, all of that could change. The justice you were looking for was right here in Monaco; a thin piece of microfilm enclosed in the back of a 1998 Richard Phillips painting being auctioned off tonight. Titled— The Spectrum.

On the film were numbers, nearly too small to see with the naked eye, that directly incriminate Bart in an illegal business deal. With a favorable social status and a hefty trust fund in your name, your logic tells you that it’s crazy to get wrapped up in all this knowing that if Bart finds out, he would likely turn your mother against you.

But your conscience reminds you just how many lies and just how much loss your family has endured at the hands of Bart Bass.

The soft touch of Nate’s hand on your shoulder interrupts your daydreamy stare into a flute of champagne. He’s out of breath and looks slightly panicked.

“Bart knows we’re here for the painting.”

“What?!”

“But Chuck’s following Bart’s guys, he won’t let them get near it.”

“The bidding starts in 10 minutes!”

“He won’t get here in time, it’s up to us. Think you can handle it?”

You give your best friend a knowing smirk, one that he returns.

“I know I can. These people may be rich as hell but Chuck would give his right arm for that microfilm. I won’t back down to anyone who bids on it.”

Your eyes flicker over to the painting, before they lock with a pair of blue ones across the gallery. He offers a subtle smile before turning his attention back to the painting. Whoever he was, he seemed to be a little too interested in the piece for your liking.

In a room full of deep pockets you knew you wouldn’t win a bidding war without a fight, but the challenge made it all the more entertaining. You turned to Nate, whose phone started ringing with a call from Chuck.

His eyes searched yours for reassurance and promise that you’d execute the plan.

You smiled at him, embracing your inner confidence mixed with a little liquid courage. “Answer him, I’ll take care of this.”

He nods, chuckling slightly as he follows your line of sight to the man admiring the painting. “Good luck.”

-

Lando fixated on the beautiful hues of The Spectrum. Though he can admit that the art doesn’t hold a candle to the woman that caught his eye across the room. He couldn’t tell if he was blinded by her smile or the sparkle of her dress, catching subtle glimpses of her throughout the evening.

His trance was broken by the soft clicks of stilettos inching closer and closer towards him, though the sounds were muffled over chattering guests and classical music.

“Beautiful, isn’t it? No wonder you’ve had your eyes on it all night.”

Lando’s head turned towards the woman’s voice, cheeks warming as he recognized you instantly. He wondered if you had been noticing him too, or at least knew who he was. Lando smirks and takes a subtle step closer to you.

If you weren’t about to psych him out of bidding on the painting, you’d be enamored by the scent of his cologne.

“Can’t help it, I’m naturally drawn to beautiful things.”

“Well, I guess you’re in the right place because this room is full of them.”

“That it is.” He teases, holding your eye contact while taking a sip of his drink.

“It’s almost impossible to find something I like best, but I think this one will blend in perfectly with the rest of my collection. Do you collect?”

“Art? No, I don’t collect art.”

“Then what is it you collect…?” Your sentence fizzles, realizing you hadn’t exchanged names.

“Lando.”

“Okay Lando, what is it you collect?”

He raises his eyebrows, almost surprised at the question, but chooses to be coy.

“Cars.”

“So then what brings you to an art auction?”

He shrugs in response. “Is it my turn to ask questions…?”

“Y/n.”

“Y/n, what brings you to this auction?”

“I already said, my collection.” You smile, matching his coyness. If he wanted to be short and sweet, two could play at that game.

“Which is…?”

“In my apartment. In New York.”

“Wow, long way from home. You wouldn’t happen to be in need of someone to show you around, would you?”

“Not really, I’m just here for the painting.”

“Maybe you came for the painting, but I could give you a reason to stay.”

You roll your eyes at his flirty attempts, ultimately brushing him off. “And what reason would that be? A private tour of your car collection?”

“You’d be surprised. What happens if I decide to take home the Richard Phillips myself?”

“You mean if you’re able to outbid me for it?”

“Trust me, I’ll be fine.” Lando assures. “I promise I’ll let you come over and see it.”

“No need. The painting is what brought me here, remember? There’s no way I’m leaving without it.”

Maybe it was the competitor in him, (it probably was), but seeing you get more and more eager about the work of art fueled something inside of him. Sure, the gentlemanly thing to do would be to step aside and let you have it. But where was the fun in that?

“You mean the painting that you only noticed about 5 minutes ago? If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were using it as a cover to come over and talk to me.”

“Forgive me for sounding rude but… who are you?”

“I don’t just collect cars, Y/n. I‘m a Formula One driver.”

Your unimpressed stare makes him feel like an idiot, once he quickly realizes that maybe you really don’t have an ulterior motive.

“In any case, The Spectrum will look much better decorating the halls of my apartment than it will look collecting dust in your bachelor pad. It’s not like you’ll even be at home to enjoy it.”

“We’ll see about that-” Lando continues, before the bid caller starts introducing the pieces of art, the Richard Phillips being the crown jewel of them all.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if we’re ready to begin, I’d like to start the bidding for the Richard Phillips at $500,000.”

Lando raises his bidding paddle immediately, quick reflexes and all. “500.”

“I hear $500,000, going once..”

“520!” You respond, before lowering your voice so only Lando can hear your next statement. “You may be an athlete but I promise this is a race you won’t be winning.”

“Lucky for you, I’m up for the challenge.” He teases, raising his bidding paddle once more. “540!”

“560!” You announce with confidence, eyes shooting daggers at the man beside you.

Another guest made a bid for 570, prompting Lando to bid 580.

“580!” The announcer calls. “Do I have 600?”

“$750,000!” You shout, turning heads.

Oddly enough, your bid inspires others to chime in also. There had to be something about what they wanted to prove to everyone else in the room— there was always someone richer in Monaco.

Lando certainly looks at you in disbelief, wondering how far you’ll take this. “Oh, now you’re just showing off. You only want the damn thing because I do anyway!”

“Oh please, don’t flatter yourself. This doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

“Then why do you want it so bad?”

“It would be a nice treat for my family and I, that’s all.” Your eyes flicker around the room to the other bidding paddles, the number climbing quickly. “What’s it to you? Why do you want it so bad?”

Lando shrugs, raising his paddle to bid $920,000. “It’s for a good cause.”

“920… Going once, going twice…”

“1 million dollars!” You shout, looking around the room, daring anyone to exceed your bid.

Lando’s mouth hangs open and for a second he almost wants to challenge it.

But then he imagines the heart attack it would likely give his business manager to see a surprise million-dollar charge to his account.

“What?” You question him insincerely. “It’s for a good cause.”

“1 million dollars! Going once, going twice…. Sold to the lady in silver!”

You smile graciously at the applause from the crowd. After all, this was a victory for the charity of the evening. Little did they know you just secured a victory of your own.

Lando sighs. “Well, congratulations. I’m sure your husband will be thrilled.”

“Husband? What are you talking about?”

“That man you’ve been whispering with all night. You said the painting was for your family?”

“Who, Nate?” Your face scrunches up in perplexity, following Lando’s line of sight towards the back of the room where Nate is standing with Chuck, clapping and beaming with pride that everything went according to plan, the painting is yours now.

“Yeah, whatever his name is.”

“We’ve been friends since we were kids. And if you must know, I’m not married.”

Lando chuckles, part amused and part embarrassed that he jumped to conclusions. He reminds himself that he needs to stop doing that.

“And he didn’t send you over here to flirt with me in hopes that I wouldn’t outbid you?”

“He didn’t put me up to anything, I am way above those childish antics! And I’d hardly call any of that flirting.”

“Whatever it was, I guess it worked, didn’t it?”

You smile at him, contemplating your answer. “I suppose. If it makes you feel any better, I promise I have only good intentions.”

“Well either way, I still have to find my mum a new birthday present.” He grumbles, taking a swig of his drink.

Your smile falters and you give his arm a nudge, taken aback by his confession. “The painting was for your mother? Why didn’t you say that?!”

“I’m not sure if anyone’s ever told you this, Y/n, but you’re not that easy to negotiate with.”

“I’ve been told. But for the record, neither are you.”

“If it were me, I wouldn’t have given up the painting. So I don’t hold it against you.” Lando concedes, but starts eyeing you suspiciously. “Although… I still don’t know your motive. I mean all of that drama simply for your art collection which is 4,000 miles across the Atlantic? I don’t believe it. So tell me, Y/n, what’s your motive?”

Lando chuckles at the stone cold stare you give him in return. “It’s only fair, Y/n, I told you mine.”

“Are we in first grade or something?”

By the look he’s giving you, it’s obvious that he’s actually dead serious.

At which you sigh, surrendering to the man’s relentless attempts to get a real answer out of you. Moments prior you did the same to him, except it’s not as fun when the tables are turned.

“The Richard Phillips painting, it belongs to my mother.”

Lando’s eyes widen in disbelief, like a deer in headlights. “You bid a million dollars on a painting you might as well already own?! Fucking hell, why on Earth woul-”

Abruptly, you take him by the arm and escort him away from the main crowd, an action that shocks you both.

But the last thing you needed was for him to blabber out all of your secrets, draw attention to you both and blow your cover in this crowded room.

“Long story short, my stepfather has been involved in some…not exactly legal business practices. And I’m not talking about some common white collar crimes, he makes Madoff look like a fucking Saint. He’s been hiding his proof in the back of that Richard Phillips painting, sort of in plain sight to throw the scent off. My mom’s had that painting in the apartment as long as I’ve been alive. By the time I found out the evidence was in there she had already sold it. My stepbrother tracked it down, and here I am.”

Lando looks like he doesn’t know what to say, equal parts confused and concerned for what kind of danger you might be in or just how deep this all goes.

“There’s not enough time in the world to explain everything but just know that he’s hurt a lot of people, not only my family and I. He deserves what’s coming to him and it starts with what’s hidden behind that painting.”

His heart softens at the look of purpose and conviction in your eyes, understanding that whatever this is, it’s bigger than you and him.

“Well if he’s facing your wrath, I should probably be wishing him the best of luck. Whatever the consequences to his actions, the U.S. government is no match for you.”

At that you let out a laugh, one that’s genuine and full of heart. You can’t even remember the last time someone made you laugh like that, and it was refreshing.

“That’s very sweet, Lando, even if you didn’t intend it that way. I just hope I’m not going to all of this trouble for nothing. I don’t want it to be in vain.”

“It won’t be, you’ll see.”

“How could you be so sure?”

“Just a hunch.” He muses sarcastically, feigning uncertainty.

For the first time tonight you feel appreciative towards him, to the kindness and listening ear he’s giving you, a total stranger until about 20 minutes ago.

The irony wasn’t lost on you that while he was bidding on the art for a gift to his mother, you were bidding on it to repossess evidence that would send your stepfather to prison for the rest of his life, likely devastating your own mother in the process.

“Let me help with your mother’s birthday gift. Please?”

He raises his eyebrows at your sudden offer, wondering how or why you would be interested.

“You don’t need to do that. Aren’t you a little busy with your own family?”

“Somewhat. That doesn’t mean I can’t make it up to you.”

“You won the painting fair and square, Y/n.”

“Please?” You nearly begged, widening your eyes.

Lando sighs jokingly as a way of admitting defeat. “We really are in first grade.”

“See, I knew you’d come around! Art Basel will be in Miami soon, I’ll stay for the whole week if I have to. Surely I can find some amazing pieces for your mother there, I might even find another Richard Phillips painting!”

“I don’t dare underestimate you again.” He quips, raising his glass to you. “I have no doubt that we will find something.”

“We?”

“I’m a Formula One driver, remember? We’ve been racing in Miami for a couple years now, I hope you’re prepared to stay there for the weekend.”

You roll your eyes at his bargain, of course he already has plans laid out for you. “You’re as persuasive as you are slick, Lando.”

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s not a no.”

“You’re as sharp as you are stubborn, Y/n.”

“You haven’t seen the worst of me yet.”

He laughs, impressed at how you manage to stay one step ahead of his banter. “Just promise me one thing?”

You humor him with an unsure look, knowing you would accept his terms anyway. “What’s that?”

“Don’t get into anymore bidding wars with handsome strangers.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because it’s our thing.”

“Okay, Lando. I think I can agree to that.” You muse, holding out your pinky for him, the two of you subconsciously moving closer into each other’s space. “From here on out, bidding wars will be our thing.”

Lando accepts, but decides to challenge you further. “I’m no lawyer, but I don’t think pinky promises are binding, Y/n.”

You nod slowly in acknowledgement, realizing just how close the two of you are standing now, and how intensely he seems to be focusing on the beautiful features of yours he’s had yet to see up close.

Now that you think of it, you haven’t had a chance to take a good look at him either. His eyes are as captivating as his smart aleck wit that’s been keeping you on your toes from the moment you two spoke.

And in a split second, you forget all that was stopping you from noticing what drew you in to Lando to begin with. Your lips collide with his, the stress and tension you’ve been carrying melting away into the kiss, and he’s certainly eager enough to take it on for you.

Mesmerized by each other, you then forget how the hell you both ended up here, tucked away in a dark room from the art you were just competing for.

Until you do remember that you are still proving a point after all, breaking away from the kiss just a moment too soon and smirking in his face.

“How’s that for binding, Lando?”

He appears amazed, out of breath and slightly shocked that you went there. You, however, were carrying on with ease, your thumb brushing over his lips at the faint stain of your lipstick on him.

“Close enough.” Lando coaxes, this time bringing his thumb to brush against your cheek delicately.

His fingertips may as well have been on fire by the way his touch made you feel red hot, and yours to him. Instead of backing away from the burn, Lando leaned in, giving into temptation and meeting your lips once again.

💌: this is my first time writing for lando! likes, reblogs, comments & feedback is greatly appreciated! thanks for reading <3

[notmysophie]

Hozier reading list

Literary references in Hozier music

Alighieri, Dante; Inferno

The story of Francesca da Rimini as told in canto V inspired the song Francesca.

The album Unreal Unearth is arranged as a journey through nine circles of hell as they are described in the Inferno part of the Divine Comedy.

The title of the song Through Me (the flood) is a reference to the first lines of canto III.

Hozier read the translation by Robert Pinsky (https://www.rte.ie/radio/radio1/clips/22285692/) 

Beckett, Samuel; Endgame

The song Wasteland, Baby! Takes inspiration from this play. (5 september 2023) (https://www.pastemagazine.com/music/hozier/cover-story-hozier-unreal-unearth) 

O'Brien, Flann; the Third Policeman

The character of de Selby in the Third Policeman inspired the songs de Selby part 1 and 2.

Heaney, Seamus; At the Wellhead

The song To Noise Making (Sing) contains a8n audio fragment of Heaney reading this poem.

Heaney, Seamus; The Cure at Troy

The line "Or honey hope even on this side of the grave again?" In the song "To Noise Making (Sing) " is inspired by the line "History says, Don't hope / On this side of the grave."  in this poem.

Joyce, James; A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

The line "Shaking the wings of their terrible youths" in the song Angel of Small Death & the Codeine Scene is derived from a line in this book. As mentioned in the interview with Zane Lowe for Apple Music (august 28, 2023) (https://youtu.be/y5JpgNIkOz4?si=Yg1GVewfZlHkdVm1)  

Also mentioned as general inspiration in an interview with the Daily Meal (october 28, 2014) (https://www.thedailymeal.com/irish-born-musician-hozier-slithered-here-eden-bring-us-his-gospel)

Mack, dr. Katie

Astrophysicist dr. Katie Mack is mentioned by name in the song No Plan. A quote from the song is used in her book The End of Everything (Astrophysically speaking)

Neruda, Pablo, Sonnet XVII

The songs de Selby part 1 and part 2 take some inspiration from this poem. (Mentioned when introducing the song during a concert)

Ovid, Metamorphoses

The story of Icarus is mentioned in the song Sunlight and inspired the song I, Carrion (Icarian).

The story of Orpheus and Eurydice is mentioned in the song Talk.

Plato; The Allegory of the Cave

The phrase "Adding shadows to the walls of the cave" in the song Sedated refers to this story.

Swift, Jonathan; A Modest Proposal

Inspiration for the song Eat Your Young.

Wilde, Oscar; Chanson

The line "a rope in hand for your other man to hang from a tree" in the song From Eden" is inspired by the line "And a hempen rope for your own love / To hang upon a tree." in this poem.

Yeats, W. B.; The Second Coming

The line "To Bethlehem it slouched" in the song NFWMB is almost directly copied from this poem.

Yeats, W. B.; Leda and the Swan

Inspiration for the song Swan Upon Leda

Other books recommended/mentioned by Hozier

Amis, Martin; The Zone of Interest

Recommended by Hozier in an 'Ask Me Anything' before the release of the album Wasteland, baby! on reddit in 2019

Beckett, Samuel; Not I

Hozier joked the album Unreal Unearth would contain four tracks, two of them being recordings of him reading this play with his mouth full of marshmallows.

The cover art of Unreal Unearth is said to reference this play.

Bukowski, Charles

Mentioned as a teenage favorite (https://youtu.be/e5pFwDvcIGA)

Ó Cadhain, Máirtín; Graveyard Clay (Cré Na Cille)

Mentioned as his current read in an instagram Q&A on December 1, 2021

Eliot, T. S.

https://www.thedailymeal.com/irish-born-musician-hozier-slithered-here-eden-bring-us-his-gospel 

Heaney, Marie; Over Nine Waves, a Book of Irish Legends

(Source? Mentioned on social media?)

Heaney, Seamus

https://www.irishtimes.com/culture/music/hozier-why-seamus-heaney-s-last-words-mean-so-much-to-me-1.3797926

Herbert, Frank; Dune

Mentioned as a current read/audiobook on How Long Gone podcast episode 614. March 6, 2024

Joyce, James; Ulysses

https://youtu.be/s0Ux72N4K10 

Kierkegaard, Søren; The Sickness unto Death

(Source?)

Orwell, George; 1984

https://www.thedailymeal.com/irish-born-musician-hozier-slithered-here-eden-bring-us-his-gospel/

Rubin, Rick; The Creative Act

Mentioned as his current read in an interview for WNYC Radio, 17 March 2023

https://youtu.be/Cd2uxpD9Hc8?si=cJ8bKrfFeXk_WS2F 

Salinger, J. D.; Catcher in the Rye 

https://www.thedailymeal.com/irish-born-musician-hozier-slithered-here-eden-bring-us-his-gospel/

Wilde, Oscar

https://youtu.be/s0Ux72N4K10 

https://www.thedailymeal.com/irish-born-musician-hozier-slithered-here-eden-bring-us-his-gospel/

Williams, Niall; This Is Happiness

Mentioned as his current read at a fan meet & greet (Bristol, 6 August 2023)

Yeats, W. B.

https://www.thedailymeal.com/irish-born-musician-hozier-slithered-here-eden-bring-us-his-gospel/

Poetry/stories read by Hozier in livestreams/videos (and the books he read them from)

3 July 2020 Instagram live

Seamus Heaney; Postscript (the Spirit Level)

Seamus Heaney; A Kite for Michael and Christopher (Station Island)

W. B. Yeats; No Second Troy (W. B. Yeats Poems selected by Seamus Heaney)

W. B. Yeats; To a Friend Whose Work Has Come to Nothing (W. B. Yeats Poems selected by Seamus Heaney)

Ovid, Daedalus and Icarus (Metamorphoses, translated by David Raeburn, penguin classics)

Sinéad Morrissey; & Forgive Us Our Trespasses (Being Human edited by Neil Astley)

Also mentioned; Staying Alive edited by Neil Astley

Seen on the table; Fear Not by Stephen James Smith

10 July 2020 Instagram live

Seamus Heaney; HÖFN (District & Circle)

Seamus Heaney; District & Circle (District & Circle)

Stephen Dunn; Sadness

Stephen Dunn; Sweetness

Ovid; Orpheus and Eurydice (Metamorphoses, translated by David Raeburn, penguin classics)

T. S. Eliot; The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock (Collected Poems 1909-1962)

Brendan Kennelly; Begin 

17 July 2020 Instagram live

Ezra Pound; And the Days Are Not Full Enough

Wilfred Owen; Futility

James Joyce; A Flower Given to My Daughter

Pablo Neruda; Keeping Quiet

Langston Hughes; I, Too

Imtiaz Dharker; They'll Say She Must Be From Another Country

W. B. Yeats; When You Are Old

Stephen James Smith; On the Bus (Fear Not)

Seamus Heaney; Saint Kevin and the Blackbird

Seamus Heaney; Sweeney Praises the Trees (Sweeney Astray)

Maya Angelou; Touched by an Angel

Garrison Keillor; Supper

Pablo Neruda; Sonnet XCIV (If I Die) (100 Love Sonnets, translated by Stephen Tapscott)

T. S. Eliot; Ash Wednesday (Collected Poems 1909-1962)

Ovid, the Four Ages (Metamorphoses, translated by David Raeburn, penguin classics)

Also mentioned; Ireland, My Ireland by Stephen James Smith

25 July 2020 Instagram live

Anne Stevenson; The Spirit is Too Blunt an Instrument

Katie Mack; The Slow Fade to Black (the End of Everything, Astrophysically Speaking)

Pablo Neruda; Sonnet XVII (One Hundred Love Sonnets, translated by Mark Eisner)

Kahlil Gibran; On Love (the Prophet)

Sharon Olds; True Love

Rita Ann Higgins; The Did-You-Come-Yets of the Western World

7 August 2020 Instagram live

James Joyce; Araby (Dubliners)

Also mentioned A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce

17 march 2021 Tiktok live

Brendan Kennelly; Begin

Derek Mahon; Everything is Going to Be Alright

Sinéad Morrissey; & Forgive Us Our Trespasses

Faisal Mohyuddin; Prayer (The Displaced Children of Displaced Children)

Pádraig Ó Tuama; How to Be Alone

Stephen James Smith; Dublin, You Are

Paula Meehan; Seed

Various reads

Seamus Heaney; At the Wellhead

https://youtu.be/uIBpT_rqUfA

Patrick Kavanagh; Peace

https://youtu.be/Iz1OXOFua4w

W. B. Yeats; He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven

https://youtu.be/e5pFwDvcIGA

W. B. Yeats; A Coat

https://youtu.be/e5pFwDvcIGA

Seamus Heaney; Miracle

https://x.com/seamusheaneyest/status/1253626839316279296?s=20 

[mumms-the-word]

Choosing to Live

Pairing: Gale x Tav (you/reader POV) Summary: Shortly after Gale decides to defy his goddess and not self-destruct in the caverns below Moonrise Towers, you turn and see him struggling with the conflicting emotional fallout of his decision. CW: death, suicidal ideation, panic attacks, survivor's guilt (implied), coercion (implied) A/N: I was inspired by @gangstagandalf's emotional fanart of Gale and Tav just after Moonrise. It's not quite the same scene as their art but I just couldn't resist writing my own angst version. Check them out, their art is lovely! @gangstagandalf I hope you don't mind if I borrowed a few of your lines from your original post! (Pic is of my tav Dani because that’s all I got) UPDATE: Now on AO3 woooo

You watch as the husk of Ketheric Thorm collapses at your feet, a hollow shell of dessicated flesh and heavy armor. You’ve done it at last—you’ve defeated the Bone Lord’s Chosen, the first of three enemies who have enslaved an Elder Brain through the power of some sort of crown it bears. 

At the thought of the crown, you turn your head, seeking out the person who had first pointed out the crown to you. It was the thing that seemed to wake him from his reluctant obedience to his goddess’s command. There had been hunger in his eyes, more than you’d ever seen in him before, and for a brief moment you had thought yourself and him safe from the commands of the goddess of magic and mysteries.

But then he’d steeled himself. You’d watched as he physically and mentally struggled with the weight of the goddess’s demands, preparing himself for what he thought was inevitable.

Death. Destruction. Catastrophe. But one that would supposedly thwart mass enslavement at the whims of an elder brain and three evil Chosen. A noble sacrifice, but one that would kill dozens of innocent lives, too.

You don’t remember what all you said in those panicked seconds between him making his decision and you being dragged into a battle against Ketheric. You recall, vaguely, that you had clutched his robe in your hands and told him you loved him. There had been other words, too, but they were lost to your memory. Whatever it was, it had been enough. Because as of this moment, the elder brain has disappeared, Ketheric is dead, and you are not.

Your eyes find him, your love, your Gale, standing on a far platform where he had climbed to better aim and prepare his spells. He stands, leaning against his staff, panting, staring at the lifeless and inert body of Ketheric at your feet, and then his gaze shifts to you. You, covered in your blood and Ketheric’s black, fetid ichor, in bone dust and illithid matter. You probably look horrible, you think. You know you should bend down to examine Ketheric’s body and see what the glowing stone in his chest is all about, but you can’t look away from your love. Not now.

Not when you were so close to losing him to his goddess’s arbitrary and cold demand. 

But you didn’t. He’s alive. He’s alive. The thought pumps outward from your heart, warm and reassuring like the blood rushing through your own veins, reminding you that you too are alive. Your only thoughts now are of closing the distance between the two of you and peppering his face with kisses, telling him how proud you are of him, how brave he’s been, how much you love him. But as you take a step toward his platform, a shift in him gives you pause.

He slowly kneels down, still leaning heavily on his staff, and for a moment you think he’s praying, in the same way Shadowheart kneels to pray to her goddess. But no, his eyes are wide, staring, unfixed, not closed and reverent. After a moment, he sits fully on the ground, his staff falling with a clatter against the surface of the platform, and he buries his face in his hands.

You go to him immediately, using a last rare scrap of magic to misty step directly onto his platform. He’s shaking with fine, shuddering tremors as you approach, your steps cautious and soft but your heart aching and yearning to rush over. You reach out a hand, your own fingers trembling as they hover suspended above him, and you whisper his name uncertainly.

“Gale?”

You hear his voice but his words are muffled by his hands. You bend closer, making out fragments as his words tumble forth in a soft, whispered babble.

“Oh gods, oh gods,” he gasps. “I nearly—I almost—I could have—the orb. What have I done—”

“Gale,” you say again, finally kneeling in front of him and laying a hand on his shoulder. He jolts at the touch, stiff and startled by you, but you don’t let it deter you. You squeeze his shoulder in what you hope is a reassuring touch, even as the tears threaten to choke you as you watch and feel him tremble. “It’s all right. We’re safe. My love, you’re safe.”

He lowers his hands, one clenching the fabric of his robe over his chest, his breaths coming shallow and quick. His gaze on you is so different than before, all the warmth and steadiness and gentle, shy uncertainty that came with looking at you replaced with abject horror and unfocused panic. You get the sense he isn’t really seeing you, but staring through you to some theoretical what-if nightmare. One where you didn’t make it out alive. 

“I very nearly killed us all,” he mumbles, still clutching his chest. "I nearly killed you."

“But you didn’t—”

“I was so close to—to—th-the orb, I could feel it stirring, like it wanted me to—” He breaks off, his hand tightening in the fabric of his robe. The mark of the orb glows faintly, the barest hint of illuminated magic threading upward toward his eye, casting an orchid-purple sheen to his dark iris. He bends forward slightly, combing a hand roughly through his hair and clutching brown and gray strands tightly in his fist, his eyes wide. You half-expect him to be sick as he presses his other hand flat against his chest, breathing heavily. “And now I’ve defied my goddess. I—”

He turns suddenly, sharply, twisting to prop himself up on hands and knees away from you as his body rebels against him and he retches. Very little comes up—he hasn’t been eating well since you first stepped into Moonrise and he found himself faced with the very real possibility of sacrificing his life—but his body shudders and bucks violently as it attempts to dispel everything inside him. Not just the contents of his empty stomach but the fear and loathing and terror too. 

You don’t shy away from him. You shift closer, sitting on your knees at his side as his body settles into little shivers, his hands pressed flat into the surface of the platform. Your eyes are burning with tears now and you want to sob, your heart shattering for this man, your love, your heart’s song, but you have to be strong for him. You smooth his hair from his face, fingers brushing against his sweat-slick skin, and you cradle his feverish cheek in your palm. You say the only words you know to say and you repeat them as many times as you have to before they break through the haze of his clouded mind and resonate within him.

“Shh. You’re safe, my love. I’m here. I’m here with you. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, my love. You are safe.”

He leans into you and you gather him in your arms, rocking you both gently as he rests his head on your shoulder and wraps his arms around one of your arms. His shoulder is awkwardly pressed into your chest and he’s half-curled into your lap, weighing your knees uncomfortably down into ground, but you don’t mind. Discomfort and awkwardness don’t matter. What matters is that he is alive and so are you. You remind him of that in words, in your stream of murmured comforts, along with all the rest. 

It takes several long moments for his breathing to even out again, and another few for him to finally rest against you without an errant shiver wracking his body. But he calms at last. The tears on your face have since dried, but your heart aches no less than before. To think that your love would suffer so for making the right choice—the choice to live—but to suffer nonetheless out of a sense of guilt and fealty to a goddess that had thrown him aside like a broken toy.

It fills you with an uncommon rage. The gods are ever cruel, but the goddess of magic—you dare not even give her the honor of her name in your own thoughts—she is among the worst in your eyes. Even now, as your love struggles to compose himself, it isn’t a goddess’s arms or a goddess’s blessing that are there to comfort him.

The arms that are wrapped around him are your own. The comfort you have to offer is that of warm flesh and soft breath, mortal and precious. And it is better—better, you tell yourself with all the prideful conviction of a mortal soul—than anything an immortal, unfeeling goddess could offer.

He finally stirs, straightening up to look at you. Or look at your shoulder, rather, unable to meet your gaze. His expression is hollow, sorrowful, but calm. You know the road to him accepting and finding joy in his decision to defy his goddess is not yet over, and the path ahead may still be thorny.

But at least he has the chance to try and walk that path, rather than ending it all here.

"Forgive me," he says softly. He seems to want to say more, but the words don't come easily. You shake your head, not caring what he's trying to apologize for.

"There's nothing to forgive, my love. You made the right choice." You caress his cheek, wiping away the grime and the tear tracks that have collected there. “I love you, Gale.”

He finally meets your gaze and oh, your love, he looks so exhausted. But there is a flicker of his old self still there, a warmth that is familiar in his dark eyes. You press your forehead to his, still caressing his cheek, and close your eyes. 

He’s alive. That’s all that matters. You can figure out the rest as you go.

“I love you, too,” he whispers.

You have to get out of here, out of this cavern of flesh and stone and brine. You have to face the problems of the world at large, the threat of the elder brain and more. You know that. But you steal a few more moments for yourself, breathing softly with Gale, treasuring every breath as though they were more precious than diamonds.

———

You set out to leave the shadow-cursed lands at what you think is dawn the next day. Even with the curse waning, it’s hard to tell the time with the sun still obscured. But the hope is that as the land fades away behind you, you’ll be walking forward into sunlight and not more night.

You and Gale walk at the back of your little group, your companions moving on ahead. With each step, the shadow curse lightens. There are hints and signs of new life all around, tiny green leaves fluttering against once-dead branches, thin shoots of grass poking upward from the cold, dry ground. It restores your hope for good things to come. Not just for these lands, but for you. For your love.

He’s been quiet since the fight against Ketheric. Contemplative. Thoughtful. You had spent the night wrapped in each other's arms, counting his every heartbeat and breath until you were pulled into slumber, suspecting that he had done the same for you. When you woke you both pretended that sleep had cured you of the previous day’s torments and used the task of breaking up the camp to travel onward as your distraction from your concerns. But you watched him across the camp anyway, a knot of worry in your stomach.

Sometimes, both this morning and in the moments traveling now, you see that hunger in his eyes as you did when he first saw the crown atop the elder brain. But sometimes you just see a lingering sorrow. You haven’t been able to bring yourself to ask him about it. Not yet. It’s enough that he’s here with you, and you trust him to speak to you about what weighs on his heart in his own time. But you still worry.

Just up ahead, the shadow curse seems to fizzle out entirely, like a fog that dissipates as the sun burns it away. Beyond the threshold is sun-warmed landscape. Though scarred by the smoldering and abandoned remains of the Absolute army’s campfires and shelters, nothing has ever looked so inviting to you before. You rush ahead, eager to feel the sun on your skin again.

The difference in temperature alone is enough to reassure you that the shadow curse is behind you at last. One second you are enveloped in the chill and dimness of the shadows, and the next you are warm and bright in the light of the sun. You pause just a few steps into the sunlight, stretching out your arms and lifting your face toward the sky, drinking in the warmth. At last. You feel as though you can breathe freely again.

You turn to smile at Gale, but he is not at your side. He lingers in the shadows, watching you. The shadow curse is like a sheer black veil between you, obscuring his expression slightly, but as you step closer you realize his eyes are glimmering with unshed tears.

“Gale?”

He blinks, as if awakening from the depths of his thoughts, and quickly rubs his eyes. “Ah…my apologies. Lost in thought, I suppose.”

You hesitate to leave the warmth of the sun, but you sense this is more important than sunlight. You step onto the threshold of the curse, reaching out a hand to him. You want to pull him out of the shadows and into the light with you. He stares at your hand a moment before taking it, but he doesn’t move. Like he isn’t ready yet. 

“Tell me what’s on your mind, my love,” you say gently. “Tell me how I can help.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but for the first time, words seem to utterly fail him. He swallows, gazing at you with a stricken expression, and tightens his hold on your hand.

“It’s simply…I am…in awe,” he says at last. “Of you. And I am mortified with myself. No, more than mortified. I nearly…”

You sense the flow of his thoughts instantly, your minds connecting via the tadpole, his thoughts unconsciously opening up to you. At first he resists, his mind shutting down like a trap to spare you, but then the shields waver and fall away, and you are pulled into his memories. You feel the struggle within him as he stares at the elder brain. You feel the heat and pain of the orb inside, as if reminding him of his purpose. You see yourself through his gaze, the fear and love warring in your expression as you beg him not to go through with his sacrifice. You feel the moment he makes his decision, his resolve hardening like steel in flame, only to shatter, brittle and broken, the moment the brain disappears, the pieces transforming into needles of doubt that bury themselves in his psyche, his heart, his body.

As the familiar, terrifying sight of the colossal avatar of Myrkul rises into your vision once more, for one fleeting moment, you sense the desperate desire to end it all now, to end the storm of uncertainty in your mind, the pain of the orb, the fear of disobedience, the exhaustion of facing another battle with impossible odds. For one fleeting moment, you consider letting go and letting the orb obliterate you and everything around you.

And then the connection ends, and you are left standing at the threshold of the shadows with Gale’s hand in yours.

“I nearly killed us all with one rash thought,” he murmurs quietly. “The thought of my sacrifice never left my mind, even as I swore to you I wouldn’t go through with it.”

He takes a shuddering breath and a tear drips down his cheek. You catch it with your fingertips as you cradle his face with your free hand, your heart breaking for him all over again. His tears prompt your own and you struggle to hold them back, for his sake.

“And now,” he says, his voice altered, thick with tears. He swallows. “And now I see what I fool I was to doubt. To doubt you and your wisdom. To wish for death so quickly.” 

He meets your gaze and you see a thousand words he hasn’t said yet there in his brown eyes. A hundred apologies, a hundred ways to beg forgiveness, a hundred confessions of love, a hundred praises, all about and for you. It’s a torrent of love and longing and guilt in his eyes and your knees nearly buckle at the sight of it.

“I would have condemned the brightest of stars to death,” he says. “I would have robbed the world of its greatest treasure. And for what?”

“Oh, Gale,” you whisper. You abandon the sunlight to join him in the shadows and embrace him, holding him tightly as he struggles to regain his composure. “No more. You made the right decision. You’re here with me. I’m here with you. We’re alive, my love, because of you.”

“But I could have—“

“But you didn’t.” You pull back to cradle his face in both your hands and wait until he’s looking you full in the face. You want him to see your own resolve, but also your love, your faith in him, your pride for him. “You chose to live, my love. That is the most important thing. That is all that matters right now.”

He stares at you, letting your words sink in, until at last he smiles. Though it’s still tinged with sadness and guilt, it’s genuine. It soothes your spirit and settles some of your worries. 

“I don’t deserve you, you know.”

You shake your head. This isn’t about deserving, but you know that’s a battle you won’t win here. Instead you kiss him, your lips soft against his, and you let that suffice for words for a moment.

When you finally pull away, he seems a little restored. The love is back in his eyes and his smile isn’t weighed down as it was before.

“I love you,“ you say.

“And I love you,” he responds. “Immensely. More than I scarce dreamed I could love anyone.”

“We will find another way to deal with the brain and quiet the orb inside you. Some way that keeps us both alive and together. I swear it.“

“I believe you.” There isn't a trace of uncertainty in his voice when he says it. “I want that more than anything.”

“Want what?”

“To live. With you. To see the dawn of a new day with you, the dawns of a thousand more days. To know that the road ahead, whatever it holds, won't be spent alone, because I'll have you by my side.” He pauses, as if a thought is only just now coming to him. “I can...I can have that hope, now. Thanks to you.”

You smile. You take both of his hands in yours and step back, placing yourself once more on the threshold between shadows and sun. “Then will you join me in the sunlight?”

He looks at you, then at the sunlit road beyond, and then back at you. He nods, letting go of one of your hands but tightening his hold on the other. “Yes. I’d love to.”

Without another word, he keeps his hand in yours as you lead him forward step by step.

Away from the darkness and into the light.

[the-monkey-ruler]

Greetings! I hope you're having an at least decent weekend. Is it just me or is Stephen Chow involved in a lot of jttw/swk centered media? & do you have anything to say about any of Stephen Chow's jttw/swk centered work?

Stephen Chow WAS Sun Wukong in what could be considered the most iconic Sun Wukong that changed the game. I'm not kidding that there could be a butterfly effect on how Stephen Chow's Wukong in the Chinese Odyssey became such a classic we see how it has affected games, shows, and movies even years later. Dare I say it but I think Stephen Chow could have been just as influential to Wukong's development in modern media as much as even Liu Xiao Ling Tong with how IMPACTFUL his Wukong was.

I have to say that Stephen Chow does have a certain scene of humor that you see in all his movies, not just Journey to the West. He can be raunchy, violent, and nonsensical so I would say that his style of movies might not land with everyone but Stephen Chow undoubtedly always puts a lot of heart into his characters which is what really makes people connect with his movies. He is a master of incorporating meaningful connections through the most ridiculous and insane situations that humans could find themselves in and that is part of his charm seeing both the humor and the tragedy in life as they often go hand and hand. I would suggest reading more about his style here since I think it puts into words how his art form is expressed.

But there can be a fascinating conversation to say just HOW much his Sun Wukong has influenced even modern Journey to the West media. Chinse Odessey was nearly 30 years ago and yet its impact is still being seen today in movies that are directly related to his films, versus movies and shows that he is directly or indirectly involved in today.

Journey to the West Conquering the Demons (2030) (tv remake on Chow’s Wukong)

Black Myth Wukong (2024)

The Monkey King (2023)

A Chinese Odyssey 1 (2022)

A Chinese Odyssey - Origin (2022)

Journey to the West - ARPG (2019)

Bio of Wukong (2017)

The Legend of Sun Wukong (2017)

A Chinese Odyssey TV series (2017)

Journey to the West Demon Strikes Back (2017)

A Chinese Odyssey Part Three (2016)

Honor of Kings (2015)

Taste of Love (2015)

Journey to the West Conquering the Demon (2013)

Asura Online (2010)

Even in movies that he is NOT involved in like Monkey King: The One and Only (2021) 大圣无双 where the Wukong actor is basing his performance clearly on Demon Strikes Back (2017) Wukong. Not to mention nearly EVERY SINGLE Wukong x SO plot line where the SO dies in the end could be traced back to Chinese Odyssey. If you hate how much Wukong's love interests are killed off in media, you can somewhat blame Stephen Chow, not for doing it first, but for doing it WELL and then dozens of directors for years to come trying to recapture that magic but falling short of what made people love that tragic romance in the first place.

Chinese Odessey was made in 1995 and led to the light novel Bio of Wukong which was made in 2000 and at least 4 more movies and its own TV show. The Bio of Wukong was so popular that it led to the inspiration of Asura Online game based is the story and its own movie Immortal Demon Slayer. Stephen Chow continued to make his own movies Conquering the Demon and Demon Strikes Back. He also goes on to help produce Monkey King 2023 and even makes plans to help produce an entire TV series based on his own universe. Asura Online was worked on by Game Science who continued to work on the creation of Black Myth Wukong. This isn't even to mention the spin-offs, sequels, and prequels to Chow's movies and still how they are influencing directors today.

I can't express how much Chow has impacted the very image of Sun Wukong from being a fighter to a tragic hero. I even took from an ENTIRE CHPATER from Transforming Monkey: Adaptation and Representation by Hongmei Sun bout the CULTURAL impact that fans had with Chinese Odessey and how it became such a cult classic. He was the one to really reshape what Wukong could mean to people, not just a hero in an action movie, but a tragic figure that is forced to give up his individualism for the sake of saving the world because no one else can. That the burden of being 'Sun Wukong' can be relatable to anyone and anyone can see their own struggles with how Wukong tries not just to fight demons, but also fight himself.

I have so many feelings on the intricacies of how Wukong's character changes throughout each generation and each audience across countries and what he means to each new audience but never loses what makes him so beloved and keeps him still going strong after 400 years. And I think that Stephen Chow plays a huge and critical part in how Wukong has changed yet again in the public eye. Wukong going from a pure heroic figure to now a tragic hero who has all the power in the world but still finds himself falling short of what he desires in life. I think that this was a vital step in show the complexity and having more directors and the audience toy with the notion of Wukong's internal battle with his identity versus him always just fighting physical battles.

I will say that Chow's influence did lead to the popularity of the Journey to the West Conspiracy Theory which I am not personally a fan of. It is not that it can't be fun or interesting but moreso I believe that this theory has been drawn out far too long in the past 20 years and that it is time for a new nuance perspective to take its place. Genres have waves of new tropes and cliches and I do believe the 'heaven bad, yaoguai misunderstood' has been played out a tad too long to be charming anymore. I think this was a vital step in Wukong’s and Journey to the West adaptions but I also believe that now more can be built upon this premise to allow for more creative ideas that reflect a more modern audience.

I think that the audience that has grown up with Chow's work (Chinese Odessey at least) is now at the age where they can produce and create their own material and we are still seeing how this audience is echoing the same statements of Chow's Tragic Hero standpoint. I don't know what else I can say that I haven't said before but the sheer magnitude of changing a character's image is shocking and I hope that we see what new form Sun Wukong shall take!

[ninawolv3rina]

I post him a lot. If you’ve been on my blog for any amount of time for the past year, you’ve seen him. But who IS he? What’s his DEAL (or, more accurately, his problem(s)?) I’m so glad you asked.

Note: in this post certain words will be hyperlinks to art of the characters and scenes that I’m referring to

This is going to be a very long post, but I’m trying to keep it as clean as possible — buckle in!

Fae is a dnd character I’ve been playing for a little over a year now in a game called Overlooks and Owlbears. We meet bi-weekly on Fridays, and most of the weeks we don’t play I’m still thinking about him. I fully initially considered him a more ‘gimmicky’ type of character, mostly built to be easy to slip into during roleplay with not *that* much going on. His concept was pretty simple: I wanted to play an evil character, and I wanted to play an old character. That was it. Everything else came directly from ‘evil old man’ and spun out of control into the man he is today.

Fae is largely inspired by some of my favorite Latino characters from popular media, as well as my own family. When I play him he has what’s functionally a more masculine, lightly hispanic accented version of my own voice, but in my head he sounds like this

Art Gallery / Vibes Playlist / Backstory Playlist / Pinterest Board

At a Glance:

System: D&D 5e (2014)

Race: Half-Elf

Class: Rogue (Swashbuckler subclass)

Alignment: neutral evil

Sexuality: Bi with a strong preference for men

Age: 100ish

Pronouns: He/him

Personality: Sarcastic, mocking, I would go so far as to say ‘mean’. Calculating in social situations, impulsive in combat. Thinks of himself as more fun-loving than he really is. He strives to come off as devil-may-care and some of that may be genuine but deep down he is very task-oriented and will take control the moment it seems like things might even kind of go off the rails.

General Backstory:

Faedril “Fae” Silvarin is the son of two heads of separate crime families - the elven Kaemarises, and the mostly-human Silvarins. Fae’s mother, Camila Silvarin, was prepared to raise him without involvement from his father, but Llewel Kaemaris surprised pretty much everyone in both families when he decided to claim Fae as his own, and gave him responsibilities and authority within the elven side of his family as well. Not all the elves were super thrilled about this, but Fae was able to uncover a coup against Llewel and leveraged that to build himself a small group of loyalists and gain respect on that side of the family. On the Silvarin side, his authority is innate, and he’s never really struggled with it… which is part of the problem.

Fae is a half-elf, so he ages slower than the human side of his family, and faster than the Elven side. At about 100 years old at time of the game’s start, Fae had seen a lot, and he was kind of tired of it. Without exactly knowing his own motivations to do so, Fae dipped out on his life of crime and leisure and decided to try his hand at adventuring on his own. All he knew was that he was tired of his reputation and wanted to start over, as just ‘some guy’ out in the world. This has had mixed results.

Fae’s Family:

Faedril/Fae Silvarin: Our man in question (he/him)

Llewel Kaemaris: Fae’s dad, an elf, head of the Kaemaris crime family (he/they)

Camila Silvarin: Fae’s human mother, former head of the Silvarin crime camily (deceased) (she/her)

The Party:

Celosia Poincaré: Fire genasi artificer. Shares Fae’s mommy issues. Has a sick gun, Fae wants her to make him a sick gun. Member of the party he’s closest with. He understands her the best, though he doesn’t know how to express it. He knows they were both raised by people who ignored their autonomy. Whether he wants to admit it or not, he’s attached to her and wants to help her turn out better than he did. (She/her)

Laurence of Abury: Human fighter. Complete good-aligned teddy bear from a family of criminals who want him to take up the family business. Dating Celosia. Fae initially thought of him as ‘muscle’ that he could order around but now he admires the guy’s carefree mindset and slight naïveté (He/him)

Scrip: Kobold cleric of a god of mercantile. Do NOT leave him and Fae in a room together they will start a pyramid scheme. Has saved Fae’s ass in combat MANY times. (He/him)

NPCs:

Goggles: a deep gnome who recruited the party to help as body guards for diplomatic missions. Still alive, despite several failures to protect him on our part (he/him)

Drow/Drider Assassin: I think it’s fair to call this guy Fae’s rival. Fae has killed him multiple times and he keeps getting resurrected. Wants to kill the party real bad.

Madame/Priestess Bitch: a drow priestess, formally the Drider’s partner who now has turned on him and become the party’s ally.

The Sphinx: A sphinx librarian that, as of now, has stuck his neck out for the party on more than one occasion. Has a personal library that includes multiverses, as well as access to an infinite library

Fae’s Parents:

Camila had Fae fairly young, shortly after becoming the matriarch of the Silvarin family rather unexpectedly when her own father passed away. She had turned to Llewel Kaemaris for advice on how to command respect the way that he did — but obviously, that relationship developed into something more. After Fae was born, Camila often wondered if Llewel’s affection for her was genuine, or motivated by power. That never fully became clear one way or another. Though he both claimed Fae as his own son and engaged with Camila in discussions about potentially merging the two families she was never really sure if those were signs of respect and love towards her, or shrewd chess moves towards absorbing the Silvarins into the already-powerful Kaemaris family.

Before the Game:

Fae grew up mostly-loved by his parents, though Llewel did put him through some trial by fire to help him find his footing within the Kaemaris family without falling victim to the label of ‘nepo baby’. He was always closer with his mother, though. Fae really loved his mom, total Mama’s boy — he was her right hand man, and the two brought the Silvarin family into something of a golden age. He always knew he’d outlive her, with plenty of time to spare, but he had determined to make the most of the little time he had. That’s why it was especially shocking and hurtful when she died when he was still very young.

At the time Camila died, Fae and everyone else thought it had been an unknown health issue, but over time he became increasingly convinced that it was foul play. Specifically, he decided she had been poisoned. But by who? Camila was a crime lord with a lot of enemies. After a decade of trying to investigate, Fae let the trail go cold, though his interest in poisons remained. His thoughts on the matter are complicated — it’s been around 70 years since she died. If the person who did it was human, they’re long dead, and finding out who they are would do little for Fae except open old wounds. If they aren’t dead… he’s not ready to think about what that means.

In fact, he’d more or less thought that his anger over her death had died out completely — that it was a mystery he’d never solve, even though his old habits refused to die and he continued to test poisons to see if, just maybe, he’d be able to use their effects to determine at the very least the method of her murder.

After Fae’s mother died, most looked towards Fae to lead the Silvarin family, but he refused. He gently guided them towards another human leader and chose to take a more subdued role. this is a move he doesn’t regret in the slightest. No part of him ever desired to be in charge of an organization like that. In fact the longer that he worked as muscle for his dad and advisor for the Silvarins, the more his enthusiasm for organized crime in general seemed to wane until it all but completely vanished.

Fae was sick of diplomacy, sick of the way the Elves treated him like a weird elderly child on the brink of death, and the humans treated him like some legend beyond their limited mortal scope. It was a frustrating line to walk. Above all, he didn’t feel like a real person to either group. He finally gave up on changing that when he decided to leave without warning either side of the family, disappearing overnight to become an adventurer.

During the Game:

Fae met the rest of the party when an inn they were all staying in was attacked by monsters that escaped couriers of the wizard’s guild, an organization responsible for both experimenting on monsters and also transporting those monsters from place to place. After successfully assisting in keeping the in from being *completely* destroyed, Fae and the rest of the party agreed to hunt down the remaining couriers who had failed at their job, and were now legally required to be killed for their failure. After following the couriers to a cave full of more imprisoned monsters, the party did their job and also found an entrance to the Underdark via territory owned by a Drow organization/family that had some… less-than-friendly history.

The party wisely decided against going down that route.

We also, during this initial adventure, found out about an element called Delirium that has powerful magical qualities, and can be fashioned into weapons (we did acquire some here)

After a few more adventures, the party was approached by a Deep Gnome who goes by Goggles or Mr. Red. Goggles asked the party to escort him into the Underdark to where his nomadic people were settled at the time, emphasizing that there were some Drow who might be after him due to a long-standing blood feud between the two races. The party agreed, and off we went.

On our way to the Underdark, we stopped at a transition town still in the Overworld. In this town there was a library owned by a sphinx, where we discovered books from the real world (namely, Romeo and Juliet, and later I wrote a fic that retroactively brought in Call of the Wild and used it to frame Fae’s feelings about his role within his family). Fae also picked up some knives that had poison chambers in them, and then we were off to the Underdark.

On our way into the Underdark we were ambushed by a drow assassin and a drow priestess, who kicked our asses a little bit but we ultimately won! We left their corpses behind us, sure we would never see them again.

We managed to get Goggles to his people underground, and they contracted us for a little more work in return for refining the raw delirium we had acquired. During our work we found a Skinweaver (who made Fae some sick armor out of hook horror leather) and a cult of Kobolds worshipping a dragon that slumbers on veins of adamantine. While investigating the Kobolds, who the fuck should we find but THE REVIVIFIED ASSASSIN AND PRIESTESS who we killed a second time, and Celosia and Fae reached the conclusion that to keep them dead, we’d probably have to remove a body part. We settled on their jaws, which Fae collected.

Our last task the deep gnomes hired us for was to transport Goggles to the Duergar capital to ask them to ally with the gnomes. On the boat journey over, Fae recognized a member of his dad’s organization. Though he tried to play it off at first, he did eventually seek the man out — only for the man to be murdered seconds later. As the party scrambled to find out who had murdered the guy, they were approached by none other than Llewel Fucking Kaemaris, who said he’d come to the Underdark to try and form a partnership with the Drow (who, you may remember, don’t really like us all that much). Fae told his dad that uhhhh the drow don’t like us very much rn, and Llewel was less than thrilled. He also tried to pick Fae’s brain on one other mystery — why Fae had left the family in the first place.

Fae answered as honestly as he could. He said he didn’t know.

Fae and his dad’s relationship is complicated. No parent should have to outlive their kid but it’s even worse when you also have to watch them age and get elderly at a rate you can hardly imagine happening to yourself. Because of that, Llewel can’t possibly understand Fae completely. Fae knows that — doesn’t mean he doesn’t still resent the guy a little.

We managed to solve the mystery — it was that fucking Drow assassin and priestess who we had killed TWICE already at this point. Because we stole their jaws this time they’d been reincarnated which was why we didn’t recognize them. When we foiled their plan this time they managed to escape, unable to kill Fae’s dad (or him) like they’d wanted to. But they kept their jaws this time!

Upon reaching the Duergar capital we learned the man who had invited us, the prince, had disappeared while looking for a mythical library made of chalk. Using the delirium we’d acquired we were able to dig him out — but, this is where shit got unfortunately real for Fae.

In this library there was a cluster of Flumphs, psyonically powerful creatures with tentacles. And in the center of this cluster of Flumphs was a glowing red crystal.

We’d seen crystals like that before, and the party had been able to calm aggravated enemies by removing the crystal from their presence, so Fae thought it would be a good idea to just. Grab the crystal.

It was not a good idea.

Upon touching the crystal Fae was overcome by pure rage, got smacked with the mental image of his dad bleeding out, and was barely able to pull himself back together with the help of the cleric, Scrip. Even now the rage bubbles just under the surface but he’s doing his best to cope with it.

After the rage had simmered the party did as much research as they could in that library, and found that this particular gemstone houses a very, very angry dragon — one of three who have all been hidden away from the world for the world’s safety, though it’s said that one was hidden against its will.

Now attuned to the dragon in the gem, Fae has hung onto it since. He’s not the biggest fan of myth, fate, magic and dragons, so initially he wasn’t super thrilled about the situation, and he was determined to find a way to get rid of it as soon as possible.

Having rescued the lost prince and secured an allyship for the Duergar and the Deep Gnomes, we headed back the way we came. On the boat again, Goggles disappeared. We found a ransome note telling us to come to the front of the ship at 2am. When we did, we saw Goggles bound in spiderwebs, and Fae was surprised by a NAT 20 ATTACK from the SAME GODDAM ASSASSIN AS BEFORE, who was now a Drider, having asked Lolth for the power to fuck Fae up. “This time, I’m going to fucking kill you.”

He did not kill me. But damn! He got close!!! Fae was pretty much consistently at 1 health for the entire fight until he finally went down. But Fae lived, and he stole the guy’s jaw again, I’m sure that’ll be the last we see of him.

It wasn’t the last we’ll see of Priestess Bitch, though, who showed up and told us that she was tired of fighting with us and had decided to help us, informing that there are other drow on the gnome’s side, and telling us how to find them.

That night, Fae had a dream.

He dreamed that he was someone else, trapped inside a person, a person who was slowly dying. A person who he was KILLING. In the dream, whatever he was snapped and became enraged. Putting two and two together, Fae realized that in the dream he was the angry dragon — and the person who he’d been killing was his own mom, unaware of what was happening to her, or how to stop it.

As he woke up, Fae managed to get one last thing from the dream, and that was a clue to who had killed his mother: the symbol of the wizard guild.

Now with a personal attachment to the rage within the draconic gem, Fae’s priorities have shifted. He’s not sure exactly how everything connects — he had given up on finding his mom’s killers and now he has a serious lead. While he continues to help the party and the gnomes with their goals, his own thoughts lie heavily on the dragon and what it means for his past and his future.

AND NOW WE’RE ALL CAUGHT UP TO THE PRESENT!

He’s afraid of bugs

He doesn’t like fish

His full name is Androbal Marques Faedril Silvarin. Yes I have practiced saying that out loud in his voice repeatedly, it’s actually very fun to say when you get the hang of it.

His backstory wasn’t initially based on Hamlet but at some point I realized what was going on and decided to lean into it.

People have compared Fae to a lot of other characters and people, notably Pedro Pascal, ‘Lesbian Waluigi’, and Dorian Pavus

It’s rly funny that one of his inspos is a character from Sons of Anarchy, a Hamlet adaptation, but the inspo character is NOT the Hamlet analog

I run 5e game on Wednesdays called Illusa, and Fae is an NPC in that world! His backstory is a little bit different to adjust for a world I have full control over - he has a full-elf half brother named Lysander, who is the rightful heir to the Kaemaris empire. He also has Dove, a silent masked elf who is by his sides at most times. Besides that, what else… oh yeah I killed his dad! His dad got poisoned during a political event and now the party is investigating Llewel’s death. I can’t wait to see how that plays out for them ehehe

In Illusa, in addition to common, Fae speaks a fantasy version of Spanish I call ‘Queño’! I’ve actually built a whole hispanic culture within that world that he’s a part of, and I had a lot of fun fleshing out that side of him since I had the ability to build the world around him in this one.

The Illusa version of Fae has a slightly different personality, too. I’d say probably less prone to redemption than O&O Fae, but honestly it’s still pretty early to make that prediction. Again, can’t wait to see what my players do to influence his life and the world he lives in!

And that’s it! I probably won’t update this post until the game makes significant progress, so until then, hopefully this is enough context for the art I make from here on out. If you’ve made it this far thank you so much for reading and I hope you feel informed :3

[moredorkysjonsson]

Hi! I have another question! Your art is just so incredible and inspiring. It makes me want to draw.

Bodies - Toshinori; Soichi; whoever you are drawing. You showed us a great behind the scenes on faces for Toshi (especially loved the sketch breakdown for his face! Seeing the starting base product is helpful).

I’m curious specifically about how you come up with / create those bases.

You have been so kind and open about your process and I want to thank you for that.

Thank you so much! (੭ु ›ω‹ )੭ु⁾⁾♡ It really makes me happy hearing you getting inspired by my artwork!

--

When it comes to drawing, I either use photo refences I find on the net (most often Pinterest). Or I'm drawing a pose directly from my mind without reference. If I'm after something specific, but can't figure the pose out, I will take reference photos myself.

With Reference:

This one is how the process look when I draw from a reference photo. Here's the LINK to the reference I used.

When I find a reference photo, I never care about the genders of the people on the photo (But it might be easier for those who struggle with anatomy). I find the height of the people to be more important. They don't have to be the exact height as the characters I will draw, but there should be a somewhat of a difference if I need it. I often shrink or lengthen the models myself while I sketch if I have to.

1 - I'm starting with using the H2 pencil and sketches the position and shape.

2 - I'm placing the eraser flat, and gently erase the sketch. I do this to make the sketch transparent.

3 - Now I'ts time to focus on the anatomy, and I'll most often start with the head. I'm using the HB 0.5 mechanical pencil for this.

4 - I'll continue the anatomy with the bodies. I often use curvy, boxy and triangular lines/shapes, it helps to make the models look a bit more 3-dimensional ,

5 - I'm adding the hair.

6 - Now it's time for the clothes. The majority of the time, I draw the clothes after I'm done with with the anatomy. It gives you more freedom with choosing any type of clothes you want give the characters. I'm choosing to give All Might this sweater. I'll give Soichi just a regular hoodie. (Note: If you look closely you can see that Soichi's shoulder shrank a little, after I unintentionally erased it previously. That's cool though, it makes her look smaller compare to All Might, which we want.)

7 - I'm erasing the unimportant sketch lines to make the sketch look cleaner. I'm adding the blush on their cheeks, filling the hair and make the lines thicker with the mechanical pencil: often on parts that needs the contour. I'm using the blending stump on their clothes, Soichi's arm fur and the table.

And it's done! ٩(•̤̀ᵕ•̤́๑)૭✧

IMPORTANT:

I will erase a lot when I sketch these. Many times I change my mind on the positions or the shapes. So don't be afraid to make mistakes or change your mind.

Sometimes I even add my own ideas for the reference I use. As an example: If I wanted All Might's other hand to touch Soichi's other arm, I could sketch that. So, don't be afraid to add your own things into the sketch, even if it's based on a reference.

Without Reference:

The easiest way to get an idea of a pose: is to make up a scene, or take inspiration from a scene in a fan-fiction or a book! The one pose I sketched here is loosely based of a part in one of my All Might/Soichi scripts.

This is how it looks like when I draw without a reference. There isn't much of a difference. I will however work on it more and spend more time on it.

1/2 - Sometimes I'll add extra lines and details to the "shape sketch" for the reference drawing as well. But it's more common when it's without.

7 - I used the transparent erasing twice in this process. It's not necessarily because it's without reference. Most of the time I use it if I feel the sketch will become too messy if I add the last touches. So to make it cleaner I gently erase it and make the sketch clean, or make it more into a drawing.

8 - It's finished!

My own notes with the sketch: I think the pose is kind of stiff, but it's pretty good otherwise.

Supplies I use:

H2 Pencil (Sometimes I use H3 or H.) I’m mostly using it because I’m pressing my pencil pretty hard. If you are someone with a looser pressure, you probably don’t need a H pencil :)

HB, 0.5 Mechanical pencil

Blending stump (Koh-I-Noor) Brand isn't important, though.

Clic eraser I don’t use it much though

Regular Eraser (I recommend kneadable erasure for the "gentle transparent erasing" I'm just too lazy to get it out from its little box)

--

I hope this answer/post of my drawing process was even more inspiring and maybe usefulヾ(｡^ω^｡)ノ

Next time I'll be posting some helpful tips with drawing anatomy!

Edit: Added information on how I most often get an idea for a pose without reference photo.

[carelisswriting]

Late Night Hangout

Hey y'all, this is my fic for Ecto Implosion!!

my artist partner for this is @i-havenothingelsetopost and y'all should definitely check out them and the art they made for this fic!! Art's linked in the scene it directly inspired :)

Anyway, here's the fic!

It was weird, seeing Tucker in a hospital bed. The flowers and ‘Get Well Soon!’ card tried to soften the harsh blow, but it really didn’t work.

Danny didn’t like that Tucker was in the hospital.

(He really didn’t like the fact that he hadn’t even been allowed to see him, the first day.)

It made something in his chest hurt.

The thought of Tucker being injured.

It had been stupid.

So stupid.

A second too late, and now his best friend-

His best friend.

Tucker.

-was hurt.

Danny should’ve been quicker, should’ve been-

“Hey.”

Danny shook his head, coming back to reality instead of being lost in his own thoughts.

Sam gave him a worried look from the other side of Tucker’s bed, as Tucker chewed on his lip.

“It wasn’t your fault, Danny.” Tucker said, always seeming to know what Danny was worried about.

It was though, it was.

It had just been a regular ghost attack, Johnny, Shadow, and Kitty causing problems on one of their ‘dates’. Danny had almost been having fun chasing them down, but-

But he hadn’t realized that Skulker was also causing havoc.

Hadn’t realized that Tucker had been dealing with him alone, Sam was with Danny-

Hadn’t realized that Skulker threw Tucker into a wall-

(Danny felt it, when Tucker got hurt.)

(Skulker hadn’t had a good time, after that.)

“Danny, snap out of it!” Tucker said, sounding annoyed.

He focused back onto Tucker, who had a frown on his face.

“How many times do I have to say it’s not your fault? I’m the one who tried to face Skulker without any backup or powers.”

There was a slight note of self-deprecation to Tucker’s voice, which Danny couldn’t let stand.

Neither could Sam, as it happened.

“It was stupid, but you could’ve beat him if you had some of your tech with you, Tucker.” Sam said, glaring lightly at one of her best friends.

Danny nodded in agreement, before adding “Besides, you know that you’re not a good match against Skulker! If it was Technus, you would’ve had him!”

Tucker leaned back against the pillow, giving a harsh sigh.

“Yeah, but I left everything except Janet at home, like an idiot. And now I’m in the hospital for the next three days, for ‘observation’.”

“C’mon Tuck, it won’t be that bad.” Danny said, trying to cheer him up.

Tucker rolled his eyes.

“It will. You know how much I hate hospitals.”

Danny did know.

Tucker had despised them ever since his grandfather died. He had hated watching as the man slowly died of cancer, but still went to visit him all he could despite it.

Danny had tried so, so hard to be there for Tucker during that.

Tucker said it’d helped a lot.

Sam grabbed Tucker’s hand.

“We’ll come visit you every day, okay?”

Tucker nodded “I know. And thanks.”

Danny grabbed Tucker’s other hand, completing their little chain.

“Yeah, and I’ll bring you all the homework you miss.”

Tucker laughed at that.

“More like you’ll come pester me about helping you with it!”

Danny laughed along.

He would definitely come annoy Tucker into helping him with homework.

(Not that Tucker would mind.)

A nurse ducked his head into the room, calling out “Visiting hours are ending!” before quickly moving onto the next room.

Tucker, Sam and Danny sighed as one, before looking at each other and giggling.

“I’ll see you two losers tomorrow.” Sam said, before grabbing her backpack.

Danny smiled at Tucker.

“See you tomorrow.”

“See ya.”

\(oo)/

Danny was woken up by a ding! From his phone.

He groaned at seeing that it was still dark out.

Who the heck was texting him-

Oh.

It was Tucker.

Also, it was 2 AM.

Danny opened up the text message.

‘hey can u come hang with me? i can’t sleep’

Danny frowned, before replying.

‘yeah np, be there in a few’

He hated that Tucker had to be in the hospital overnight.

Danny shoved his phone into his backpack, along with his homework.

The teacher was gonna give Danny Tucker’s makeup work for today (well, technically yesterday) tomorrow, but Tuck would appreciate seeing it beforehand.

Also, then Danny could get him to explain what the heck their biology teacher was talking about.

(Danny did not like biology. At all.)

(At least living biology.)

(Ghost biology was way more of his thing.)

He transformed, rings of light traveling over him, before grabbing his backpack and darting out his window.

\(oo)/

Danny hovered outside of the hospital, trying to figure out which room was Tucker’s.

It was not easy to tell which was which from the outside, all of them looking the same.

At least he knew what floor it was on?

He flew closer to one of the windows, peeking inside to see if it was Tucker.

It wasn’t.

A small child, maybe 7? Looked out at him with an expression of glee on their tiny face.

He could see the kid practically vibrating as they looked at him.

He smiled at them, before holding up a finger to his lips in the universal sign for ‘shh’.

The kid bobbed their head up and down, before miming locking their lips and throwing away the key, then they held their hands up in the shape of a heart.

That was adorable, who’d taught them that?

Phantom smiled, and made a thin layer of ice on the window in the shape of a tiny blob ghost, with a small heart next to it.

It shouldn’t melt for at least a day.

He really hoped the kid liked it.

He looked back at them, seeing that their eyes were full of stars, their mouth open in awe.

Well, guess that answered whether they liked it.

Phantom waved goodbye at the kid, before flying towards the next window.

(Meanwhile, Sammy was so excited to tell their mom about this in the morning. Phantom had come to see them!!! This made being in the hospital totally worth it. He was the absolute coolest hero, even if Sammy’s mom thought he looked a bit creepy. Sammy didn’t think he did, but that was what their mom said every time Phantom came up. Sammy didn’t care though. Phantom was the best hero.)

He finally managed to find the right window after a minute more of peeking into windows, seeing Tucker sitting on his bed, messing with his PDA.

Danny floated through the window, before peeking over Tucker’s shoulder.

He was coding something, though Danny could not for the life of him tell what.

(Tucker had tried to teach Danny coding basics once. It did not go well. He kept forgetting semicolons were a thing that existed.)

Tucker didn’t even startle at Danny’s sudden appearance, far too used to his best friend’s antics by now.

“Thanks for coming dude.” Tucker said, eyes still focused on the code.

“Don’t worry about it, Tuck.” Danny said, floating over to sit next to Tucker’s bed.

Well, not next to Tucker’s bed, exactly.

More like floating in the air in a sitting position next to it, really.

Tucker finished whatever it was he had been doing, setting down his PDA on the nightstand.

He turned to smile at Danny “Not everyone would show up at 2 in the morning to comfort their friend.”

Danny shrugged, trying to pretend that he wasn’t ever not going to show up when Tucker asked.

“Really, it’s not like I had anything better to do.”

Tucker laughed, a low sound as he tried to keep his voice down.

“That’s fair. It’s not like you were working on homework.”

“Well….” Danny said, drawing out the word as he set the backpack down.

Tucker smiled, fond and exasperated.

“What is it now?”

Danny pouted, flipping upside down in the air.

“Normal biology makes no sense and is the bane of my existence.”

Tucker rolled his eyes.

“It’s not that bad.”

Danny gave Tucker his best pleading look.

“C’mon, please?”

Tucker sighed “Fine, but Danny, you just have to remember-“

Tucker launched into a ramble about their current biology assignment, and Danny flipped right side up, trying his best to listen.

It was strange, how much of this Tucker had managed to memorize.

Some of Sam’s rants must’ve stuck in his brain.

(Or maybe Tucker just really liked learning about animal life cycles.)

Danny, meanwhile, tended to just tune Sam out.

And also Tucker, he realized.

He had no clue what he had been saying.

Tucker paused for a moment, seeing Danny looking completely lost.

“Look just- Give me the book, I’ll show you what I mean.”

Danny grabbed his biology textbook, handing it over to Tucker.

Tucker flipped it open, motioning for Danny to give him a pencil.

Danny smiled at how sure Tucker was that Danny would give him a pencil without him asking.

Of course, Danny did give him it almost immediately.

“So, if you see here-“

Danny crossed his legs, floating a little over the edge of the bed as he listened to Tucker.

(Who was really cute when he was explaining something- no don’t go there.)

\(oo)/

It took an hour, but Tucker had finally managed to explain the concepts used on the assignment well enough that Danny was pretty sure he wouldn’t fail.

So, that was good.

Tucker closed the textbook, handing it over to Danny.

“Thanks Tuck. I probably won’t fail it.”

Tucker snorted “You definitely won’t fail it. Or at least if you do, it won’t be my fault.”

Danny rolled his eyes.

He flipped around, laying in the air as he looked at Tucker.

“You’re okay, right? I know that you hate hospitals but I just wanted to check because-“

“I’m fine, Danny. Hospitals suck, I hate being here, but I’m fine. You don’t need to worry.” Tucker said, cutting him off.

Danny turned away, looking at the visiting hours sheet on the wall instead of at Tucker.

“I don’t- It’s my fault, though.”

He heard Tucker sigh.

“Danny. It wasn’t your fault that I got hurt, okay? It was mine. I shouldn’t have gone out alone, especially against Skulker.”

Danny could hear the self-deprecation in Tucker’s voice.

Again.

Danny hated it when he did that, acted like he wasn’t worth it, wasn’t capable, just because he didn’t have powers.

He twisted back around to glare at Tucker, his annoyance overtaking his guilt.

 “Tuck, it’s not your fault! And don’t talk like that! You’re my best friend, and you’re awesome! With or without powers.”

Tucker smiled, and Danny realized that Tucker had been trying to get him to look at him.

Danny rolled his eyes, but didn’t turn back around.

“Look, how about we agree that it’s neither of our faults, and neither of us need to feel bad about it?” Tucker said.

Danny sighed, but nodded.

“Yeah, that’s… that’s fair.”

Tucker beamed, before grabbing Danny’s hand and tugging him into a hug. Danny went with the motion, not bothering to fight it.

Tucker’s hugs were great.

They stayed there for a moment, before Tucker let Danny go, a smile on his face.

Danny floated away slightly, hovering on his back, before flipping his head upside down to look at Tucker with a grin.

And then he heard the door open behind him.

Oh crap-

He twisted up, moving his torso in way that wasn’t exactly something humans could do, seeing that there was a nurse standing there.

She had a look of shock on her face, a hand brought up to her mouth.

Danny went invisible.

Damn, he really hoped Tucker could cover for this.

It would be a nightmare if Danny’s parents got called.

Danny darted into the corner, not wanting to deal with the nurse accidentally walking through him if she went over to Tucker’s bed.

(It was a disconcerting feeling, someone passing through him when he was a ghost. Not for him, really, he barely noticed, but Sam and Tucker had told him that it felt like there were invisible fingers trailing over their skin, when they’d tested it out.)

The nurse stood there a moment more, frozen in her surprise.

Danny saw Tucker cringe slightly.

“Um, hey? What’s up?”

The nurse shook her head, before saying hesitantly “I, you didn’t see anything?”

Tucker grabbed his PDA from the nightstand, fiddling with it.

“Nope, nothing. Who- What would even be there?”

He was not a good liar.

Danny sighed, just slightly.

The nurse turned towards the sound, but just shook her head again.

“Nothing, I don’t know. I thought I saw something. Don’t worry about it.”

A bright smile came on her face, obviously practiced for dealing with patients.

“So, any issues? Any pain? We’re still on the lookout for any internal bleeding.” She said as she picked up Tucker’s chart, looking at something on it.

Tucker flipped over his PDA, his fingers twitching like he wanted to start typing something.

“I’ve been okay, just couldn’t sleep.”

The nurse glanced up at him.

“Do you want some melatonin? It can’t mess up any of the blood thinners, antibiotics, or pain meds we’ve got you on, and it’ll help you sleep.”

Danny’s eyes widened.

Blood thinners? Danny hadn’t realized that they’d put Tucker on anything like that.

He’d figured that he’d be on antibiotics and pain meds, but blood thinners?

Why was he on blood thinners?

Weren’t those for when someone got surgery-

Tucker shrugged.

“I mean, sure? I might not take it right away.”

The nurse nodded, her smile still fixed on her face.

“Okay, I’ll bring that in for you.”

She stepped outside the room, and Danny followed her.

He was curious, and also-

Tucker was on blood thinners, apparently.

And hadn’t told Danny.

Had his injuries been more serious than he’d said? He’d insisted it was just some bruising, that they were being overcautious with the observation.

Danny poked his head through the wall, watching as the nurse leaned against the wall, holding a hand to her chest.

Oh. He’d really scared her.

She was mumbling under her breath.

“It was nothing Kate, you don’t need to freak out about it, of course there wasn’t a ghost in your patient’s room at 3 AM, that would be ridiculous-“

She continued to mutter to herself, before pushing off the wall and walking down the hallway.

Danny felt pretty bad about scaring her, but he couldn’t exactly apologize.

…Maybe he should just, leave her something nice?

He looked over to the nurse’s station.

He drifted over.

It was full of papers, patient charts and schedules and a bunch of stuff that looked way too medical-y for Danny to want to deal with.

He bit his lip, thinking.

Maybe she’d just like a flower?

Girls liked flowers.

Danny carefully formed a flower out of ice, one that looks kinda like a daisy maybe?

Danny was better at remembering what flowers looked like than what they were called.

(Also, he wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t a ghost flower.)

(Again, he was better at remembering what they looked like than what they were called, or where he found them.)

Satisfied with his small apology, Danny ducked back through the wall into Tucker’s room.

And then he remembered, oh right, Tucker, maybe, was lying about his injuries.

Tucker was typing something on his PDA, but he looked up when Danny came back into the room.

Danny was still invisible, but Tucker and Sam had figured out that when he entered a room, even if he was invisible, the temperature dropped slightly.

No one else had noticed that yet, but Tucker thought it was great, since it meant he knew where Danny was.

Danny did not think that it was great right now.

“Dude, what were you even doing?” Tucker said, putting down his PDA.

Danny faded back into visibility, trying to keep his face blank, or at least close to it.

“I was checking on the nurse. I scared her a lot, Tuck.”

Tucker grimaced.

“Yeah, but you knew what you look like when you’re in shadow.”

Danny did.

Apparently, something about low light made him look more ghostlike, stretching out his proportions and blurring his features. He never noticed it, but Tucker had tried to describe it to him as best as he could.

Sam had grinned and said that he looked awesome, like he was from a horror movie.

(Danny hadn’t liked that description. He didn’t want to be scary.)

(Sam hadn’t said it again.)

“Also, your eyes were reflecting the light, like a cat or something.” Tucker added, drawing Danny’s attention back to him.

Danny frowned.

“They were? That’s new.”

Tucker shrugged.

“Looked cool, though.”

It probably had.

“I gave her an ice flower, the nurse I mean. I wanted to aplogize.” Danny said.

Tucker grinned, wiggling his eyebrows.

“You’ve got a crush-“

Danny groaned.

“Tuck, seriously, you do not have to say that anytime I give a girl anything.”

Tucker laughed.

“I know, but your reactions are so funny.”

Danny sighed.

He knew that he needed to stop reacting, if he actually wanted Tucker to stop.

But it got under his skin, when Tucker teased him about having crushes on girls.

(Danny tried not to think about why that was.)

He floated closer to Tucker’s bed, a small frown on his face.

The nurse would probably be back soon.

But Danny really wanted to know what was happening with Tucker’s injuries.

“Tuck, why are you on blood thinners?”

Tucker looked away, all of the humor gone.

“I didn’t want you to worry.”

Danny huffed.

“What do you mean? Just tell me!”

Tucker sighed, before looking pleadingly at Danny.

“Don’t freak out, but I had surgery. That’s why I’m on blood thinners.”

Danny reeled back.

Tucker had surgery?

His injuries had been bad enough for that?

(Danny had failed that badly?)

“You- you were that hurt?” Danny asked, his voice wavering.

Tucker got a look of panic on his face.

“I’m fine, I’m fine! Danny I swear, it was almost nothing, they just had to fix some internal bleeding-“

“You had internal bleeding?” Danny screeched.

Tucker nodded hesitantly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Danny asked, hurt in his voice.

Had Tucker been mad at him for failing to protect him-?

“I didn’t want you to worry, it wasn’t as bad as it sounds-“

The door opened.

Danny went invisible almost immediately this time, not wanting to scare the nurse again.

She looked less freaked out, a smile fixed on her face.

“Here’s that melatonin, sorry that it took me so long to get.”

She handed Tucker a small cup, two pills in it.

“Once you take those, it should be easier for you to fall asleep.”

Tucker nodded, giving her a small smile.

“Thanks.”

He glanced to the corner Danny was in, as the nurse did one last check of his vitals.

Danny sighed almost silently from his corner.

He’d failed, he’d let Tucker get hurt-

Tucker hadn’t told him.

The nurse left, telling Tucker to go to sleep as she did.

Danny faded back into visibility, his face downcast.

Tucker sighed at his expression.

“Danny, I didn’t want you to worry-“

“Tell me next time.” Danny said pleadingly, desperately.

If he didn’t know when he’d failed, he couldn’t try to make sure it didn’t happen again.

Tucker shook his head, not in denial but in exasperation.

“Okay. I’ll tell you next time.”

Danny felt relief travel through him, settling something in his core.

He needed to know when Tucker, or Sam, got hurt.

He needed to make sure it didn’t happen again.

Danny floated forward, before hugging Tucker.

Tucker rolled his eyes, leaning into the hug.

“Is this some ghost thing? Feels like a ghost thing.”

Danny laughed, rolling his eyes right back at Tucker.

“Really, it’s a ghost thing to care about my friends now-?”

Tucker shoved lightly at Danny, humor in his face.

“Shut up, you know what I mean-“

Danny grinned, leaning back, still floating in front of Tucker.

“It’s not a ghost thing, Tuck. I just wanna make sure you’re okay.”

Tucker smiled softly at Danny at the sentiment behind his words.

Danny looked away, feeling his face heat up.

Tucker laughed slightly at Danny’s apparent embarrassment.

(It wasn’t embarrassment. He just couldn’t handle Tucker smiling at him like that, it was so full of love-)

Danny looked back at him, seeing Tucker grinning at him.

He crossed his arms with a huff, dramatic and insincere.

“You don’t have to annoying about it-“

Tucker cut him off with another laugh, before he looked over to his PDA, seeing the time.

He sighed.

Danny glanced over as well, seeing that it was almost 4 AM.

He needed to get home, heck-

His mom was always up at six, and she checked on Danny and Jazz at the same time.

And Danny would really like to get some more sleep before he was inevitably woken up by his mom checking on him.

He looked back to Tucker, an apologetic look on his face.

“I gotta go, sorry-“

Tucker waved him off.

“No worries. Thanks for coming to hang out.”

Danny smiled, about to grab his bag-

And then he had a very impulsive thought.

He wavered for a moment.

Before deciding, yeah, it’s worth it.

He leaned forward, giving Tucker a kiss on the cheek.

Tucker looked at him in complete surprise.

Danny smiled softly at him, and Tucker blushed.

(Ha, sweet revenge.)

Danny felt all of his sudden confidence leave him in moments.

He’d actually just done that, Ancients-

He darted away, grabbing his bag quickly.

“So uh, yeah no problem, I’ll see you at school-!” Danny said in a rush, before flying out of the window.

He was halfway to his house before he remembered that no, he wouldn’t see Tucker at school, because Tucker was still gonna be in the hospital for a few more days.

He was such a mess.

He couldn’t believe he’d just done that, kissed Tucker on the cheek.

(He wished he could do it again.)

\(oo)/

Tucker watched as Danny flew away.

He held a hand to his cheek.

His best friend had just kissed him.

On the cheek, but still.

He’d kissed Tucker.

A soft smile came onto his face.

If Danny felt the same-

Oh, Tucker was so going to flirt with him when he came back in the morning.

Danny wasn’t gonna know what hit him.

He took the melatonin pills, laying down to wait for the sleepiness to hit him.

Tucker grinned to himself.

This was going to be fun.

And maybe he’d get a boyfriend out of it.

A man could dream.

[nionom-art]

I was reading back on your ML x DR AU and I came up with some execution ideas. They turned out very long!

Zoe’s execution: The Not-So-Final Girl

The scene opens with a crew of monokumas on a film set. Zoe is playing the lead role in a rom com during a climactic confession scene on a bridge. She offers a rose to a blushing love interest monokuma, but in an unexpected twist, monokuma’s husband runs in fuming. The monokuma couple start yelling at each other, which instantly devolves into a cartoonish fight cloud. Zoe, confused, gets caught in the middle of it and beat up before being shoved over the edge of the bridge.

The camera cuts to a screen where a flying, Vesperia-inspired action hero drops in, fighting a giant monster monokuma. The camera pans up to reveal the real Zoe, with cuts and bruises, suspended from a harness in a green screen room, and the giant monokuma is all green and covered in white mocap dots. We see two crew monokumas operating the harness system, incompetently button-mashing a claw machine-looking control board. Zoe bobs and jerks around, unable to control her own movements, while giant monokuma slashes at her with his claws. He accidentally cuts the strings, and she falls to the ground.

The setting changes to a dark garage. A slasher monokuma parodying Friday the 13th walks towards her with a chainsaw and she, covered in blood, struggles to stand up. She grabs some garden shears and slices monokuma open right as he swings the saw. It catches her in the arm, but monokuma goes limp as the hole widens to reveal he’s full of squirming cockroaches. They start pouring out in impossible numbers, covering the floor and crawling up Zoe’s legs. The director yells cut and turns the studio lights back on while she’s frantically trying to swat them away, but they’re all over her.

A tanker truck busts through the side wall, but the tank is a giant can of bug spray. Exterminator monokumas hop out, fixing a fire hose to the nozzle. Zoe, engulfed in roaches, looks up to see everyone except her is now wearing a gas mask and staring at her expectantly. The exterminator monokumas point their hose directly at her and douse her with bug spray until a thick cloud fills the room. The end shot is a Zoe Lee headstone shaped like a Hollywood walk of fame star, and monokuma’s hand tosses the tattered-up rose from the opening shot onto it.

Comments: I gave this one v3 vibes with how ridiculously extra it is. The despair aspect is that Zoe is presented in the lead roles of each movie, yet her takes are ruined by things outside her control, sucking the glory out of it. I wanted to do something with the irony of her wanting to have main character energy yet getting killed off right away in chapter one hence the final girl joke. The execution enforces the idea that whatever happened in the murder might not have been entirely her fault or at least that other people’s actions led to her downfall, but she still has to suffer the consequences in the end. I wanted to reference the roach thing, and I liked one of the previous ideas that she’d get crushed like in sole crusher, but I didn’t want to randomly bring Chloe into this without a good reason. I thought bug spray could nod to her being a wasp as well as a cockroach.

Nathaniel’s execution: Deadline

Nathaniel is alone in a peaceful yet windowless art studio. There’s a giant scary-looking metal gate on one wall with thick double doors that lock together, sealing off the room. Very industrial saw trap-looking. Above it is a glowing, red digital clock reading 30:00 which beeps and starts counting down. He sits still at first, scared and suspicious of everything in the room, but nothing happens except the countdown decreasing.

After a few minutes, he stands up and paces around the room, then grabs a pad of paper and starts sketching. First he draws Luka, then rips the page out and turns it face-down on the table. He starts drawing the details of the metal door.

When the clock strikes 20:00, a buzzer loudly blares and the room flashes with red light. When it stops, Nathaniel is frozen, but starts sketching again, faster, this time imagining what might be behind the door. Maybe robotic arms that pull you into a whirlwind of spinning blades, or a flood of water that fills the room to the ceiling, or a long hallway filled with deadly booby traps or. The sketches become more nonsensical and abstract as he goes, and his lines are all shaky. When the clock hits 10:00 it blares again, and at that point he’s frantically scribbling chicken scratch, ripping holes through the paper with the pencil.

He stops and stands up again, walking around the room. He goes up to a two-tiered rolling cart filled with bottles of chemicals like paint thinner and varnish and picks one up, then picks up a dirty cup covered in dry paint and dumps out all the brushes it was holding. Setting them on the table, his sits back down and freezes for a moment, then starts scribbling hand warm-ups. The buzzer sounds for 5:00, and he starts ripping through the paper again, his hands shaking.

He opens the bottle and stares inside, swirling it around. 4:00. Sitting still. 3:00. He pours it in the cup. 2:00. 1:00. He throws it back and starts coughing, which turns into spitting up blood. In the final seconds, he becomes dizzy and collapses on the table. He’s still barely awake to see the doors slide open to reveal that they just. Lead back into the room where everyone else is.

The scene closes with monokuma dressed as a fancy waiter moving away some stuff from in front of the chemical rack, revealing that’s it’s actually a vintage-style bar cart. He winks and wheels it away while in the background, Nathaniel lies in a pool of blood on the table with the cup still in his hand.

Comments: I’m not set on the name for this one. I feel like there’s something better but idk what. I also like the concept more than my execution of it (ba dum ts). Nathaniel’s fatal flaw the first time around was his own paranoia, so I wanted to do something where he psychs himself out to the point where he’s doing this to himself. I wanted the whole thing have this dark “Oopsies! Lol!” energy to almost justify his execution and make it less unfair because he made the same mistake twice in a row. Plus, if he was drowning in guilt and almost gave up before the trial even started, he wouldn’t think escape was an option, but he wouldn’t be able to ignore his sense of self-preservation. I was going back and forth on how long the countdown should be. If it’s too long, he has time to calm down, but if it’s too short, he can’t do anything.

Sabrina’s execution: Burned at the Sweepstakes

(Building off of the same concept everyone else suggested up to this point)

Sabrina is standing in a shopping mall with a beeping collar around her neck with a digital display that starts counting down. She’s holding a long shopping list of highly specific items that looks like Santa’s naughty or nice list with how it trails behind her. Sabrina runs from store to store, grabbing items off the list, mostly fashion accessories and cosmetics. At first, she has several bags in each arm, but soon there’s a pile in front of her too high to see past.

She knows precisely where to find each item, but when she reaches the end of the list with only a little time to spare, she doesn’t recognize the specified brand of shoes at the very end. Strange, she was positive that she’s familiar with every mall brand’s catalogue. Running up and down the escalators, she scans the stores snatching the last few items. The collar beeps faster as time is running out. By chance, she spots the door to a tiny janitorial closet cracked open and thinks to peek inside. A pair of shiny red heels sit on the upper shelf.

As Sabrina sets down her stuff and reaches for them, the collar’s beeping turns into one long drone. Time ran out. Sweating, expecting it to explode, Sabrina freezes in her tracks, but instead of killing her, the collar bursts into a spray of gasoline. She sees where this is going, but holds on to the hope she can still finish the list and “win” before it’s too late. She grabs the shoes, but pulling them up trips a switch that makes the closet door swing shut and spikes fly out of the walls. They don’t hurt her badly, but there’s just barely enough room left for her.

Sabrina tries to reach for the door between the spikes when she notices wires inside the shoes and realizes they made a strange click when she grabbed them. They explode, sending sparks flying, igniting her.

In the closing scene, the closet door swings open with a puff of ashes. Her feet are still standing there. The busted collar falls to the ground with the alternating flashing display now reading, “YOU’RE” “FIRED!”.

Comments: hm I don’t like having a countdown thing twice in a row. The idea here is that successfully satisfying the orders she was given wouldn’t help her survive, it’s what got her killed in the first place. The amendments I made to earlier versions of this concept are that the collar sprays gas instead of being a total red herring and that the shoes themselves are the source of fire. I wanted to include the closet idea too. To everyone who did this general idea before me, I think it’s genius.

Lila’s execution: One in a Million Shot

A firing squad of monokumas perches on a balcony over a spacious white room, like looking into a hollowed-out movie theater from the control box. Down there, an army of Lilas stand in a perfect grid. Or rather, one Lila and several hundred lifelike robotic replicas of her. All of them have wildly different hairstyles and fashion including the real one, who is in disguise. We can’t tell which is her.

The Lilas start robotically walking in random paths around the room before reorganizing in a new formation and stopping. Unable to tell which one is real, each monokuma randomly fires a shot. The broken robots are swiftly removed. All our remaining Lilas start walking again, then reorganize into a slightly smaller grid. The camera zooms in on real Lila’s brief, twitchy side-eye as the robot next to her is shot. The pool continues getting smaller, and when they stop for the next round, the camera zooms out on real Lila’s entire face during the gunfire, letting us glimpse her hair and clothes. Following the next round, the grid becomes even tighter.

From a zoomed out camera view, we see them walk around and make their formation. The monokumas take their shots, and while the rest of the selected Lilas give off sparks and metal splinters, one of them is splattered with blood.

A party popper of confetti and streamers way too sparse for the size of that room goes off, and a childish congratulatory jingle plays over the loudspeakers. The bodies are removed just the same, although one leaves a streak behind on the white floor.

Comments: Where’s Luigi meets Squid Game meets Roblox be an npc or die meets Mii Plaza. The title I chose is supposed to be a pun on how making a living or reaching celebrity status as an online content creator takes some crazy luck. An alternate name for this execution could be Trend Forecasting. Compared to how gory some executions could be, I wanted this one to be unceremoniously quick and simple. Lila craves attention, so if she had to go she would want to do so in blazing glory. Yet she forces herself into a background role in the trial to protect herself and pays for it by being turned into an NPC. Another point I wanted to make was the despair of her death basically being up to random chance. All the previous executions I wrote had the blackened die by “fighting back” in exactly the way they were expected to. If Lila was given that opportunity, maybe she would’ve figured it out and come up with a clever plan, but her execution prevents her from doing anything at all by forcing her to stay still and quiet. The most she can do is try to pick what she thinks is an unlikely spot. I was going back and forth on whether or not I wanted to reveal which one is real because knowing ramps up the anxiety, but not knowing until she’s dead is more shocking. It could go either way.

Thanks for reading all this! I had a good time reading previous ideas for these and I like how Sabrina’s kinda became a group project lol. I hope mine inspire people to do something with them or suggest changes so we can all eventually achieve the true canon DR AU executions by converging our brain cells.

These- these are good- you guys think of the stuff I couldn’t on my own

[mossxolotl]

OKAY MASSIVE VENOM THE LAST DANCE SPOILERS AHEAD BUT I'VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS PARALLEL ALL WEEKEND WHO WANTS TO HEAR ABOUT HOW ONE OF THE SCENES AT THE END MIRRORS A PAINTING I wrote a whole analysis under the cut. I’m normal about this symbiote and you should be too

OKAY SO one specific parallel I found is in one of the final scenes of the movie, as Venom is sacrificing himself and saying his goodbyes to Eddie. The positioning of Eddie’s hand and the framing of the reaching shot feels incredibly deliberate, and seems to be a direct mirror of Michaelangelo’s The Creation of Adam, as shown below:

WHAT DOES THIS MEAN THOUGH?? For some art history context:

The Creation of Adam is a fresco piece created by Michaelangelo on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel in the Vatican. Whilst the frescoes in the Chapel were commissioned by a variety of Popes to a variety of Florentine Renaissance master craftsmen, the collection by Michaelangelo on the ceiling and behind the altar, commissioned by Pope Julius II, are widely considered to be the most important. They depict scenes and figureheads of the Old Testament. The Creation of Adam was made in 1511 and took sixteen days of work to complete.

The fresco depicts an illustration of the moment in Genesis where God gives life to Adam, the first man. It seems to be directly inspired in particular by Genesis 1:26:

“Then God said, "Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness"”

The outstretched pose, with the almost but not quite contact, symbolises the divine breath of life, the spark between them that gave mankind life in the first place.

But they don’t touch. Are they reaching out to touch, or are they letting go? If they’re reaching for each other, the painting could depict desire, a want for closeness- and if they’re letting go, an independence, separation, an assertion of “me without you”.

To examine the movie itself: If we look at the screenshot attached, Eddie’s finger placement feels VERY deliberately reminiscent of God’s hand within Michaelangelo’s piece.That outstretched hand, unsure if it’s letting go or grasping out one final time, to Venom’s approaching, then retreating, tendril. Interestingly, though, if Eddie is standing in for God here, he’s depicted in the lower part of the canvas, Venom-Adam approaching from above. This could be reminiscent of His creation becoming “more than him”, ascending beyond His reach.

The roles here are pretty self explanatory. When the symbiotes first landed on Earth in Venom (2018), it was discovered that they could not survive without an oxygen-breathing host, hence the beginning of the symbiosis trials by Drake in the first place. In providing Venom with a suitable environment in which to live, it could be said that Eddie gave Venom life. The inverse could probably also be said to be true- Venom healing Eddie, and providing him with all the strength he does, could be seen as godly acts, especially in the revelation in The Last Dance that he was directly responsible for Eddie’s resurrection. Perhaps one interpretation puts Venom, the strange alien with the ability to keep Eddie walking no matter what, as God initially created Adam with the prospect of eternal life. The other could be stated that Eddie is directly allowing Venom to live in providing him with the perfect host, in a unique way to any other temporary host.

The Venom story in Spiderman can be seen as biblical, anyway - a lot of Venom’s scenes are around churches, and the storyline shows Peter paying for his sins, purging his “inner demon” and being reborn. A lot of Venom’s storylines can be seen in a similar way, with him being a literal personification of a violent, intrusive line of thoughts before he and Eddie find a way to coexist in a healthier (albeit imperfect) way.

The science bit that ties it all together:

A deeper dive into the composition of the fresco reveals a lot more, though. An article written by Frank Lynn Meshberger, MD, makes an argument that the painting can be interpreted in a neuroanatomical manner. The shape of the drapery and the angelic figures around God resemble a human brain, in surprising anatomical detail. 

In this interpretation, God is superimposed over the limbic system, which is responsible for emotion, memory, learning, behaviour and motivations. His arm extends through the prefrontal cortex, “the most creative and most uniquely human region of the brain”.

Michelangelo had a lifelong interest in anatomy that extended beyond the artistic, participating in public dissections from a very young age. Thus, it isn’t out of the realm of possibility that this brainlike imagery is entirely deliberate - especially when his religious views are considered. He believed that the divinity we get from God is not life itself, but our intelligence, that it is one thing to give life to stone but another entirely to give it the ability to “try all things received”. In the painting, Adam is completely formed, aware, alive even, so perhaps it is not the gift of life being given in this moment - it’s the intellectual spark that the artist believed makes us human rather than beast, and the awakening of human ability and consciousness.

In this line of reasoning, the symbolism in Venom: The Last Dance makes even more sense with Eddie as the Godlike figure in this instance. In a literal sense, Venom lives within Eddie’s mind when he is dormant, and puppets his body similarly to an external nervous system. More figuratively, though, at this point in the movie, it’s perhaps made most obvious just how much Eddie has changed Venom. He is capable of emotional reasoning, as starkly shown in his sacrifice. He has spent half the movie reminiscing on his and Eddie’s memories. He is very obviously a being that behaves very differently to how he did in Venom (2018), with very different motivations.

Eddie, in metaphorically reaching through that prefrontal cortex towards Venom, has made him more human, has gifted him with that human spark of life and intelligence and human ability to do and to be and to try all things received (and he does, most dramatically, in Venom: Let There Be Carnage, and in his enthusiasm in throwing himself into things Eddie is more hesitant to - singing in the car, dancing, gambling even). And that’s how he dies - humanly, emotionally, simultaneously reaching out to Eddie and letting him go in the same motion, independent from him in a way that is both a first step into individuality, and the last sacrifice he will ever make for his best friend. (Well, boyfriend. Come the fuck on. “You would make a great father” and then the wedding scene cut?? MARVEL WHEN I GET YOU MARVEL)

ALSO THE FACT A PAINTING ABOUT LIFE’S CREATION MIRRORS VENOM’S DEATH?? HELLO. Either this is some massive dramatic opposition for effect or it’s foreshadowing. What if something was created at that moment. Cue the cockroach, cue the whole thing with Knull. Even if we don't get Symbrock back, Venom's probably making a return in some form - Venom or some other symbiote. Teddy's symbiote is still alive, after all - and so is the cockroach.

[etherealising]

( hope I’m requesting this right ) can we get a mini part 2 , or however long you want to make it , of baby and carmen first night together of intimacy -🐻

🐻 anon bestie you requested this perfectly! also i wasn’t sure if you wanted emotional intimacy or physical intimacy but there’s both sooo…moments by victoria monét heavily inspired the writing 😉

for reference this scene takes place during interlude 2: anyone who had a heart BEFORE the Polaroid scene!

warnings: p in v | fingering | bodily fluids | orgasms | minimal to no editing | nasty (at least for my standards) |

wc: 3.5 (can’t write anything short to save my life)

A sliver of sunlight peeking through the blinds seemed to be aimed directly into your eyelids, whatever peaceful dreamland you’d been in was slowly snuffed out as the bright rays assaulted your sleep. You couldn’t remember falling asleep but the slight ache between your legs as you stretched was enough to remind you what had you so exhausted, a grin painted your features as you thought back to Carmy cleaning you up before helping you into an oversized tee shirt you’d packed.

A slight scratching noise could be heard somewhere above you. As you allowed yourself to fully wake up, for a moment you thought you were just hearing things but as you titled your head up your body your eyes caught sight of Carmy. He sat with his back propped against the wall, pencil in hand as he worked in some type of notebook. It was quiet as you watched him trying to understand what he was, watching from your position laying down how his veins popped out with every grip of the pencil.

You smiled watching how entranced he was, his entire focus was taken up by the notebook. The only other movement aside from his hand moving across the page was the slight way his eyes danced across the page. You hadn’t realized his attention turned to you until you felt the heavy caress of his thumb across your cheek.

“Hey.” Carmy’s voice caressed your ears in a whisper.

As you looked up at him the smile on your face seemed to grow tenfold the longer you held his gaze, “Hi…why are we whispering.” You watched as his shoulders moved up and down in a shrugging motion, a small smile lining his lip as his eyes fell back to the notebook in his hands.

You scooted closer to him doing your best to get a glance at his notebook only for him to move it from your line of sight as he placed the notebook on his nightstand before turning his body towards yours, giving you his full attention. Your eyes narrowed at him and your smile might have grown even wider. “Were you drawing Carm?”

Carmy rolled his eyes, your question wasn’t much of a question at all. The way he hid his sketchbook was obvious enough to you, it was a habit he’d picked up when art became one of his hobbies, he’d only show you his finished works. But recently he hadn’t had any finished works and today was the longest time in a while he got the urge to indulge in his creative outlet.

“How’d you sleep.” His eyes roved over your face, there was a glow about you he couldn’t quite place, a glow that was hard to capture in the confines of paper and graphite.

You scoffed your hand reaching out to playfully shove his shoulder, “Great actually, what were you drawing?”

Carmy gave a non-committal shrug, this moment reminiscent of many you spent together in your younger years…well aside from the physical intimacy. “You can see it when I finish.” His words were punctuated by his hand finding yours in the space between your bodies, neither of you brave enough to admit how this whole encounter didn’t feel like it was just a one-time thing.

“Please Carm it's been years, feed a girl's curiosity.” It was pitiful but you hoped a good old-fashioned guilt trip would force the man's hand.

Carmy’s eyes darted around your face, the time the two of you were apart easily showing there. It wasn’t that you looked old beyond your years now or something, but you were a woman now and the fact that the two of you had experienced adulthood without each other and it was Carmy’s fault would always haunt him. “You make me nervous.”

The words that left Carmy’s lips gave you whiplash, your eyebrows pinched together as you sat up moving to rest your cheek and part of your chest atop Carmy’s thigh looking up at him as you tried to understand when you ever made Carmy nervous. “I make you nervous?”

You hadn’t meant for the question to sound as incredulous as it did, but you were curious how you’d unconsciously been affecting the man. Carmy gave a small laugh at the look on your face, he didn’t think the idea was as far-fetched as you believed it to be. His hand moved down to caress the side of your face losing himself in the moment before he spoke, “Baby look at you… you're beautiful.” A heartfelt smile raised to his lips as you playfully rolled your eyes, but he needed you to know it wasn’t all just physical for him.

“You’ve always made me nervous ever since we were kids.” Your eyebrows raised in surprise, eyes darting around his face for any tell that he might be lying. “You were just so fuckin cool to me you know?” The sound of your quiet laughter tinkling through his room caused Carmy’s smile to grow infinitely wider.

Carmy allowed his eyes to trace around your face for a moment, his mind doing the mental math to try and figure out how he’d gotten so lucky to have ever met you. “You’ve always been so headstrong and independent,” he paused committing your features to memory. “You're book smart you’ve got the degree you always wanted. You write fuckin profiles and think pieces for a living, that used to just be a dream for you.”

The shyness was evident on your face as you avoided his, not sure if you could deal with whatever emotion was swimming through his eyes as he looked down at you. Not sure you wanted to give yourself that hope. “And you’re one of the greatest up-and-coming chefs Carm, looks like we both got what we wanted.”

Carmy’s smile dimmed for a moment as he listened to your words. Carmy hadn’t got everything he wanted but he also had enough sense to know that voicing that thought wouldn’t ever be fair to you considering he made his decision clear about a relationship.

His thumb never stopped its gentle caress on your cheek as the two of you spoke, “And you always know exactly what you want, there’s n-no indecision you know exactly what you want and you go after it…it makes me nervous.”

You didn’t need any further explanation to understand what he meant, and you were thankful that he was wise enough to mince his words. But you couldn’t help but wonder why you continued to subject yourself to this hurt, this hot and cold routine the two of you had going on. You were worth commitment, you deserved commitment, and knowing that the one person you’d felt truly, genuinely in love with was opposed to giving you that was one of the worst truths you’d ever been faced with.

Carmy could see the emotions souring your face the longer you were quiet. At one point in time, it used to be so easy for him to talk to you, and sometimes it took a little pushing. But now even as he had you in his presence for the first time in years he still found that whatever fears and insecurity he still needed to work through was what stopped him from speaking his feelings for you into fruition.

“Baby,” he paused waiting for his eyes to find yours his landing on the soft faux smile you were putting on for his benefit. He sighed the longer he stared down at you before motioning for you to sit up, his arms helping to maneuver you in the position to sit in his lap. The two of you stared at each other for a moment longer before both of his hands found purchase on your cheeks a smile gracing his lips at you just being there physically with him.

“I…I’m so proud of you Baby.” He held your face in place as you tried to wriggle out of his hold emotion easily overcoming you. “C’mere.”

You did as told face easily pressing into the space between Carmy’s neck and shoulder. You felt the warm press of his lips against your temple as one hand stroked your head and the other moved up and down your back. You sank into his arms automatically unaware of just how much you needed this hug, there were plenty of things for you to miss in the time lost between you and Carmy, but his hugs would probably always be at the top of the list.

You pulled away to let him know that you’d felt the same sentiment for Carm and the life he made for himself. But you never got the chance as he captured your lips in a soft kiss, it wasn’t messy there was no tongue. It was really just both of your lips slotted perfectly together like they were designed for each other.

Carmy’s hands were still on your face as he slowly pulled away his eyes still closed as he relished in the tingle your lips left behind. Neither of you spoke just staring at the other with a plethora of emotions swimming through the eyes of the other. There was an unspoken agreement between the two of you that your first dalliance together would be the only one that happened while you were in New York, it was easier that way. But the longer the two of you sat in silence, eyes glazed over as you drank each other in, the air charged with tension, it was obvious the agreement was null.

He pulled you flush against him as your lips met once more, the softness of the kiss was still there yet the urgent undertone couldn’t be denied. It was tentative but the slide of Carmy’s tongue into your mouth lit you up, your hips rocked dangerously into his pelvis, a strangled groan leaving Carmy’s lips as his hands dropped to your hips selfishly rocking you against his now semi-hard cock as he chased the ecstasy you’d bestowed upon him earlier.

The need for air drove the two of you apart, though it did nothing to quell the movement of your hips. Shockwaves pulsed through you with every brush of your clit against Carmy’s throbbing cock, the stimulation proving to be too much for him as his blunt nails dug into your hips, his head falling to rest against your collarbone as ragged breaths escaped him.

“Carmy,” his name left your lip in a soft cry the underlying question in your tone obvious to him as he nodded his head against you rapidly. Neither of you wasted another minute after he tapped your hip twice to give home space. It was almost comical how quickly Carmy shoved his boxers down his leg not even bothering to fully remove them as they sat at his mid-thigh.

You’d meant to pull your shirt off but watching as he hastily pulled his tank top over his head and the hunger in his eyes was a firsthand experience you needed to savor. Your frozen appearance didn’t deter him as he found the hem of your shirt pulling it off of you so fast it sent you careening backwards.

Carmy’s hands found your hips to help you regain your balance an embarrassed smile gracing his face as he realized how eager he appeared, the look enough for you to devolve in a fit of giggles, his hoarse laughter following after.

“Sorry…I didn’t mean to ruin the mood.” You could tell he was beating himself up internally as he avoided your eyes, hand moving to right the chain against his skin that’d gotten tangled.

Your eyes lingered on the chain before your hands quickly moved to his neck, Carmy’s hands dropped thinking you were fixing it for him only to be surprised as you held the glimmering gold chain in your hand and sent him a small smile before clasping the chain around your neck.

“How do I look?” Your voice was teasing, hoping to alleviate whatever lasting embarrassment Carmy may have felt. Your eyes searched back in forth between his as he eyed the way his chain delicately kissed the skin on your neck.

Carmy knew you were a vision, but at this moment, seeing you straddled atop him completely naked wearing nothing but his gold chain, he was sure you were the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. Made just for him. The scene awoke something in him as his fingers reached up to trace the path his chain made around your neck before his hand ensconced the area gripping your neck with a firm hold and pulling you down to meet his lips.

If you weren’t already surprised by the sudden movement, you were surprised as you tasted his tongue against yours. Both of your tongues languidly massaging each other, Carmy’s hand against your neck squeezing every so often sending your mind in a spiral.

No words were spoken as you raised to your knees, Carmy’s free hand diligently helping to guide you forward. The kiss broke the moment you gripped Carmy’s cock to line him up with your entrance. There was no hesitation just a look of confirmation shared between the two of you as you gradually sank onto him. Your mouth dropped open in a quiet cry as he bit his lip head falling back against the wall.

One of Carmy’s hands moved to grip your hip, while the other found purchase just under your breast. Garbled words slipped out of his mouth and if he wasn’t stretching your cunt so deliciously you might have tried paying more attention.

You gave him a seconds reprieve before putting your thigh muscles to work. Slow bounces to start as you reveled in the way he stroked your walls, head thrown back as your clit brushed against his pelvis bone just right.

“Baby…I-I can’t,” his words cut off in a groan as you sped up your pace, clenching every so often at the intoxicating ache his cock offered you, hitting exactly where you needed him to.

Carmy pulled you flush against his body, his forehead finding purchase against your collarbone. Something about this position was different from the last time as he squeezed his eyes shut doing his best to last as long as he could, whatever control he had earlier felt like a fluke, he could have come this time from the dry humping alone. He wanted to warn you but each slap of your perspiring skin against his thighs tempted him.

He’d hoped not watching you would help but instead, your soft cries of satisfaction had him twitching even more inside of you. Carmy moved to raise his lips to lavish your collarbone in love bites, but as he opened his eyes he got an eyeful of the way your cunt so easily swallowed his aching cock.

All it took was mere minutes of Carmy’s eyes focusing on how easily you slid up and down his cock before he felt streams of his sperm spurt inside you.

“Fu-fuck!” He was sure his grip would bruise you and he knew he should’ve felt bad, but he couldn’t rationalize anything with the way your cunt continued squeezing out whatever he had left to give you. The pleasure slowly began to feel painful as he descended from his high consciousness enough to realize you were so lost in it all that you hadn’t noticed what just happened.

“Baby…Baby.” The second call pulled you from the daze you were in, your glazed eyes finding his blissed-out face, the sight of him causing you to stop.

Your chest heaved up and down as you stared at Carmy with confusion, unsure why he would stop something that felt so good. You did your best to catch your breath before speaking, “Is everything okay?” Your voice was hoarse as you watched Carmy’s body flush a darker shade of red than it already was.

Carmy nodded signaling for you to give him a minute as he rested his hand against your chest for a few moments trying to work up the courage to tell you that the five rhythmic motions of you bouncing atop his cock was all it took to bring his release.

“I…I uh came.” You did your best to school your features at his admission but you were sure you hadn’t done a good job with the way his cheeks flamed with color. “It was too much. Y-you in my chain and I…I wanted you to get off too but I just…”

You smiled at his shyness, you raised yourself off of him slowly making sure not to make any sudden movements. As soon as you were up far enough for him to slip out you sat between his legs, your own falling on either side of his, “Carmy honey, I promise it's not as bad as you think it’s actually…kinda hot.”

You knew the words made him feel shyer than he was already feeling but you weren’t lying. Knowing Carmy came from just a few minutes of stimulation sent warmth racing through you. “You know,” you paused gently drumming your fingers against his thigh. “There are plenty of other ways to make a woman come.”

Carmy’s eyes found yours before the feeling of your fingers drumming against his thigh drew his attention. He watched with rapt intrigue as your finger traced from his thigh, delicately tracing across the sheets beneath you before delicately circling your dripping entrance. Carmy could feel your eyes watching his every move but he was so focused on your finger gentle circular motions to care.

The bob of his Adam’s apple was apparent as you slowed the circling motions before your middle finger found any excess cum leaking out of you and both fingers began to easily fuck Carmy’s cum back inside you. No matter how sensitive Carmy was at that moment the twitching of his cock was enough evidence of just how much he enjoyed the show you were putting on for him.

Garbled moans escaped you as you picked up the pace squelching noises filling the room as you fucked yourself with reckless abandon. Your head fell back wanton huffs of breath escaped with every pump of your fingers.

A clipped whine left you, you weren’t greedy but this would never be enough, even as you began to grind down on your fingers. A surprised gasp ripped through your body as another finger joined the fray the length and dexterity of the finger had your eyes flying open, mouth slack-jawed as senseless words babbled out of your mouth.

The hunger with which Carmy was looking down at you as he helped you fuck yourself would be seared into your mind long after you left this room. Your eyes met his as his skilled finger probed the spot you could never quite reach.

There you sat speared open on Carmy’s bed in New York as he helped you fuck yourself with his cum, fingers moving in and out in perfect timing with your own. The feeling was too much but not enough all at once, tears pricking your eyes as you could feel your release hanging on by a thread.

You weren’t sure what came over him but you felt Carmy’s hand roughly grip the back of your neck as he pulled you forward lips finding yours, as his finger kept pace with your own. The feeling of his teeth sinking into your bottom lip was all it took for your cries of ecstasy to fill the room, tears streaming down your face at just how overwhelming this experience was.

Carmy pressed his forehead to yours as your body trembled with aftershocks of your orgasm. Your sweaty chest rubbed against him as the arm you were leaning on finally gave way to exhaustion, your body melting into his as he helped maneuver you to lie down against the mattress.

You felt boneless, your whole body on cloud nine. Carmy nuzzled his face into your neck placing small encouraging kisses all over the place. His hands reached to gently wipe the tears off your face a small smile sent your way as he just watched you, your body far too tired to give the look on his face a second thought.

Carmy settled down next to you, eyes landing on the Polaroid he’d gifted you in the process, the vision of you deserved to be frozen in time.

a/n: uh so this definitely got away from me…someone take away besties writing privileges 😅

also this is part of my 1k celebration i’ve left it open for a little longer for anyone else who wants to send in a request!

[iztea]

How do you get the ideas for your backgrounds?

mmm ideas.... sometimes i draw the background directly from a photo reference (the happy case) so there's not a lot for me to change and i can have a rather peaceful painting process

othertimes, the BG is tied to the subject/concept/scene I'm thinking of, so it only makes sense that i have that as the background

for example, for this fem skk art, i knew i wanted to have chuu kneeling in a crater after destroying a city so drawing that background was just a logical follow-up because i already had the entire idea in mind

Here, I wanted to have Akiangel sit on a building, watching over the city. The ominous sign with "the day of salvation" and crow came later after I found this picture on Pinterest, so they helped further develop the concept, but the main idea was there and so on

The third background option happens when my painting doesn't depict a certain irl scene or landscape, nor do i have any particular references i can use. In that situation, I first and foremost think about the general composition, the shapes, how they flow with each other, how I can tie them to my main theme and what sort of symbolism or little easter eggs i can throw in there just to keep it fresh and interesting for the viewer ( aka the person reading this aha ;;) :-* )

For this piece, i started with a big circle for the background, and then I started breaking it up in pleasing, cloud-like shapes and swirls that constantly keep your eye moving around the picture (i mean hopefully lol). The composition was inspired by a) Dazai's Mayoi card ofc, that trad Eastern illustration style with the circle and then branches of trees, and also .. kazuha's splash art ok i admit it bshsj

for this one, the roses came much, much later. Again, I added that sort of golden arcade to better frame the focal point or the main subject of the scene which was ofc her face and/or outfit. Then, since it still felt rather empty, awkward, and directionless, I tried finding a pleasing, spiral line that would compliment the already existing shapes and that would, again, move your eye all around the composition. I figured since her outfit already had those small roses stuffed in her belt, those curvy lines could become some bloody, spikey roses and boom! here are the theme and elements for you: blacks-roses-blood-deadly-sharp-gold etc. I then had her crush some of those roses in her right (ik it's the left hand shut up) hand to balance out the busier left side

and a last example, sometimes I draw multiple character poses in one piece and they sort of become my background. Yet I still have some blank spaces left so i gotta figure out a way to fill them out. Here, since the pose where he's all curled up was inspired by the TDIPUD light novel, i drew him as a "corpse" in a pool of blood, and contrasted it with some nice flowery-ish patterns and swirls that sort of come from within that bloody mess ( someone also mentioned it looks like a womb which I found very interesting as well ). The cats also helped fill out the space. On the left side, i added that swirly black sun that drips into three squares that gradually fill up with straight blackness and raindrops falling below inspired by the "a conviction that the sun will never rise again" line. I don't think I should go into detail with the symbolism cause it's pretty obvious and not that deep so i won't but yeah, and that's my BG all filled up!

I do this with most of my BGs, it's mostly just abstract shapes; I'm very fixated on making the overall composition look okay and for the piece to send a message ( most of the time ), so i don't think of backgrounds as a separate entity, they are part of an already existing idea, generally speaking.

This kinda turned into a composition discussion midway......... sorry about that....... To be completely honest with you, I have plenty of BG ideas, they kinda just spawn in my brain so i'm not exactly lacking in that department. Having to draw them and finding refs is the hard part for me

[possumsandprose]

Hello, fellow Elriel!

This is your Elriel Month fic exchange announcement. Remember to not post this Ask until the days of your prompt (feel free to post your fic directly to this ask). 

Gifting: @slytherhys

Prompt: Endless Possibilities

Tropes: Fluff, Hurt/comfort, HEA, AU

Send @elriel-month an ask if you have any questions. Can’t wait to read it! 🦇🌹

Happy @elriel-month @slytherhys from your gifter!

This fic was inspired by a conversation I had with @shallyne a few months ago as well as my own desire to read a fic with Elain adopting a bunch of children. I hope you love this!

Warnings: nothing really, it's just a ton of fluff. Slight mentions of past abuse maybe?

Word count: 1.8 K

Loud shouts of glee filled the air around Elain as she pulled another sheet of muffins out of the oven. A small smile grew on her lips as she thought of the small children who would soon come charging in to grab the sweets before they were all gone.

Elain dusted her flour-coated hands on her apron, looking out the window and surveying the scene outside. Around 40 children of all sizes were out there, some Illyrian, some fae, and some were species of lesser fae that she didn’t recognize. That didn’t stop her from loving every child like her own, though. Small groups had broken off to play tag, while some of the older ones were playing something that looked like dodgeball.

Amongst the trees she Emeline, her eldest. With her black hair, brown eyes, and dark skin she was the spitting image of her father, and like her father wisps of shadows swirled over the surroundings. In Emeline’s arms was the youngest, Aurelia, at just 10 months old. 

A loud crash sounded from the entryway, announcing her sister’s arrival. Sure enough, when Elain peeked out of the kitchen, Feyre was on the floor, having tripped over a potted plant. Elain shook her head in amusement. Many words could be used to describe her sister, but coordinated was not one of them. 

Offering her a hand, Elain grinned, and the two walked to the back rooms of the orphanage together.

“Elain! I’m so sorry about your plant. I swear sometimes I could trip over the air. Anyway, I wanted to wish you a happy anniversary! I can’t believe you’ve already had your 50th anniversary, and that this place is now officially 25 years old. It’s so incredible what you’ve done with the place,” Feyre said excitedly.

Elain could hardly believe it either. 50 years since she married the love of her life, and 25 years since she’d begun to fulfill her dream. 

Feyre continued, “I’m delighted that this has turned out so well, not only for the sake of the children but for you and Azriel as well. I know you always wanted a big family, and all of the little ones are just like my own nieces and nephews.”

“For sure,” Elain replied, “I love each and every one of them. I’m glad I could make a difference in their lives.”

The war had been brutal on many families, leaving lots of children orphaned. In addition, lots of Illyrian children had been abandoned or abused by their parents for lots of reasons. The reason never mattered though, all were welcome here. 

The sisters reached the end of the hall, and Elain unlocked the double doors that led into a room covered in dropcloths, with easels and canvases already set out and waiting.

“Oh Elain, you are a dear. I about burned all those tarps in anger last time I tried to hang them up. Anyway, if you want to go give the little gremlins their sweets, I can get the paints out and ready,” Feyre said, already pulling things out of the supply closet.

Despite how busy she was being High Lady and all of the duties that came with being the mother of 4 children, Feyre always carved time out of her week to give art classes here, for which Elain was eternally grateful.

So many of the young found comfort in painting or sculpting, or whatever it was they chose. Others simply enjoyed the freedom that art allowed and preferred to go crazy.

Elain left her sister to it, returning to the kitchen and banging the loud bell by the window. Everyone turned to look at her, and she beckoned at them. Not long afterward a mad rush of people entered, and quickly everyone spread out onto the cushions, chairs, and couches in the living area. 

In the back was Emeline, though the baby had been passed over to her middle child, Edward. Being fully blind, Elain’s eldest was always very hesitant about being near the crowds, but Edward had a heart of gold and looked out for her at all times. 

They too sat down, and Elain left to go clean the dormitories. As she gathered up all the linens into her massive wicker basket, she thought about just how much the building they were in had changed.

Azriel had first told her about this place some 30 years ago, having found it while he was away on a scouting mission. He told her he’d gone inside and had found a small group of children of varying ages huddled by a dying fire. 

He’d immediately gone back to her and asked if she could make some food because all of them looked like they hadn’t eaten in days. That made sense, too, since in the dead of Illyria’s winters you’d be lucky to find even just one of the bony mountain birds with not enough meat on it for a baby. 

Elain had jumped into action, making her favourite hearty soup recipe, and while it was cooking she had gathered all the blankets, wraps, towels, and whatever else she could find in the River House. 

The children were at first quite scared, but eventually, after Elain (and Azriel, when he could) visited them for a few weeks they began to open up.

The eldest, Blair, was the unofficial mother of the group, and she was doing all she could to support the others. Blair had a younger sister, Sabeena, but the rest were all similarly abandoned or orphaned with nowhere else to go. 

Working as a maid and doing some other odd jobs got them a few small coins for clothes, but not much more. The dilapidated cabin, most likely once a hunting lodge, was in dire need of repairs, but it sufficed well enough to keep the cold out.

But as Elain found out, Blair had gotten faeriepox recently, a nasty illness that due to a lack of medical care had taken her out for weeks on end. And without the money she brought in and without local game to hunt, there was nothing.

Elain’s heart shattered listening to the story, different parts told by all the children. Most were Illyrian, with all of the females’ wings displaying the brutal clipping scars, though there were a few males in the group. 

After that, it had been her personal mission to provide for the group who, in Elain’s eyes, were now just as much her children as her own daughter. Rhysand and Feyre, once they’d found out about it, were only too happy to provide her with funds and support to transform the tiny hut into a huge building with proper insulation, real beds, running water, and a stocked kitchen.

Feyre had told her in private how much it reminded her of the cottage they used to grow up in, and Elain had to agree. The young ones hadn’t looked much different than she and her sisters used to when they were poor, and the haggard look of a person hunting for food that couldn’t be found was all too familiar. She suspected that was one of the reasons Feyre was so impassioned now about the restoration and upkeep here because Feyre rightfully believed that no child should have to experience what they did. 

25 years ago on this day, the orphanage opened its doors for the first time to anyone who wanted to stay. At first not much happened, but eventually people started to trickle in. Lesser fae with skin all hues of the rainbow, Illyrian children with scars so horrific it made Elain want to cry, even a few high fae, and though nothing looked physically wrong with them, Elain knew deep in her heart they had seen more than anyone should ever have to.

And that was how it was, 25 years later. Anyone and everyone was welcome to stay for as long as they wanted-whether just for food or to move in until they found a way to support themselves. It was the pride and joy of Elain’s life, running this place. She’d dreamed of having a big family ever since she was a little girl, and now, finally, it had come true. 

As Elain turned around, arms full with the baskets of laundry, she ran right into a solid wall covered in leather.

“Hello to you too, darling,” came the soft, melodious voice she loved so much.

“Az!” she squealed in glee, abandoning the basket on the floor in favour of jumping into her husband’s arms. He swept her up in a kiss, hugging her close.

“Happy anniversary, love. I can’t believe it’s been 50 years,” said Elain breathlessly. 

“It’s been the best 50 years of my life. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I thank the Mother and the Cauldron and whatever else is up there that I get to spend the rest of my life with you,” he told her. Even after all this time, Elain’s heart still fluttered like it was their first time whenever he said that he loved her.

Their moment was interrupted by a soft babbling noise down below, and Elain felt a tiny hand tugging on the hem of her dress. There on the ground was Aurelia, having toddled her way in to find them. Her tiny wings beat uselessly behind her, which never failed to amuse any of her family. 

Rhys had told her that Illyrians usually began to fly at around age 5, but until then her wings wouldn’t do much than make her more prone to accidents. 

Az’s shadows swirled down to meet his daughter as they always did, and she squealed in delight while trying to grab them. 

A soft smile flitted on the shadowsinger’s face watching his baby play with his shadows, and Elain thought back to the first time he held Emeline.

She remembered how excited he’d been when she’d told him she was pregnant, but also terrified at the prospect of being a father. He worried constantly that he would frighten or harm the child accidentally, no matter how many times Elain reassured him that that would never happen. 

It had never really sunk in, though, until the first time he held Emeline in his arms, and his shadows had come out curiously to investigate. Emeline had been born blind, and so watching as she giggled with the tickling sensation of shadows swirling around her seemed to finally have persuaded Azriel that he would not be like his father, and that he would love and care for his children no matter what. 

Azriel scooped Aurelia into his arms, and the three of them left for the dining room. They looked out at their big, happy family, and standing there, with her husband and her children, Elain had never felt more at home.

[tseecka]

Other Jayvik art/drawing prompt ideas I have had in the last few days; most of these are nascent fic ideas as well but I had a request to post more prompts so here they are!

- The ceramic mugs on Viktor's work station--a motley collection, scrounged from homes and cafeterias and shops alike--are all cold, no longer emitting gentle curls of steam, the contents all at varying levels of barely half-drunk (if that). We look at Viktor from the other side of the desk, forehead cradled in one hand, pencil in the other, drink forgotten. His eyes cast down and to the right, focused in consternation at whatever lies in the page; over his right shoulder, the viewer's left, Jayce gently lowers a fresh, steaming cup among its stale fellows, a fond half-smile on his face.

- Jayce winces, fingers curled in reflexively at the gash he's just opened across the back of his knuckles. He sits slouched on a stool, in profile, abashed at his carelessness. Viktor, intent and scowling, holds Jayce's bloodied hand in his own as the other wraps a length of gauze around the injury, seated on a stool directly opposite. Jayce isn't in pain--this is nothing compared to the hot errant embers of the forge--but he can't look at Viktor. Viktor's crutch is cradled in the crook of his arm as he works; he moved so quickly to administer first aid that he didn't even bother leaning it against the tabletop first.

- A brush of lips across bony knuckles. Almost an afterthought, almost not a thought at all, as the greatest innovators of Piltover's (living) memory prepare to receive an accolade. Viktor rolls his eyes at this gesture, reading it as irritating Topside posturing at worst, his partner being an idiot at best. Jayce's gaze is fixed on the hand before him, those lips barely parted, hiding behind formality to reach for something he's only just begun to want.

- Viktor lies on his side, arms folded together under his head or cheek, a distant, soft expression on his face. Jayce, legs folded under him and to one side, sits near his thighs. (Or, on a couch; Viktor's legs laid carefully across Jayce's lap.) The pieces of the brace are gently, carefully disassembled on the floor nearby, or undone and loose around Viktor's calf and thigh. Jayce's hands, strong and sure, knead carefully at the muscle running along the outside of Viktor's thigh, a thumb digging in just below his hip. There is a quiet tenderness to the scene: tender as in soft but also as in raw, or painful. A small victory for which Jayce has been fighting, to be allowed to offer Viktor some measure of physical comfort in this way, for Viktor to allow himself to be so vulnerable.

More to follow I'm sure! If any of this inspires anyone I'd love to be tagged in the result!

[enchantedchocolatebars]

Kid Philip Week 2024 - Day 5 (Horses)

Horsey Cupcakes Recipe

Summary: A chapter in a cookbook is dedicated to making Horsey Cupcakes.

Story inspired by this commission art.

(DAY 5 OF KID PHILIP WEEK! IT'S HORSEY CUPCAKES TIME! 🐴 🧁 🩵 🤍 💕 ✨️ 💟)

Enjoy!

In a cyan-colored setting, hearts and sparkles share the same color.

The background displays many vanilla cupcakes dressed in light blue liners and topped with sparkly light blue frosting that is decorated with an animal cracker shaped like a horse and another shaped like a horseshoe, as well as a small blue ribbon.

The cute Disney recipe book that is present is the most striking thing.

The book is partially open and in a standing position.

"Good afternoon, everyone. Today, we'll be making...," an elderly, feminine off-screen voice spoke as sparkles were magically sprinkled onto the cover of the book, opening it fully to the half-title page.

This woman was the narrator, and she had an English accent.

As the book rapidly flipped through adorable recipes dedicated to chibi Disney characters, it made an abrupt stop on the page containing the recipe for...

"... Horsey Cupcakes. Let's get started, shall we?"

The Narrator teleports the entire scene into the recipe page, where we see a Chibi Kid Philip looking directly at the "audience" with a simple yet sweet smile.

"Hello there, Philip," the Narrator greets the brunette boy in a kind and pleasant tone as he waves a hand at her despite the woman not being visible on-screen with him.

"Are you ready to make Horsey Cupcakes?" she asked.

The little chibi nods his head.

"Good! First, we'll need to put you in the proper setting."

Philip is soon teleported into a kitchen, where the Narrator magically ties a cute horse-themed apron onto him.

He tests both the top and bottom knots for strength by gently tugging on them before throwing a thumbs up.

The cupcake ingredients that appear in the air are then neatly arranged on the wooden table that Philip is standing in front of for his use.

"So, in order to make Horsey Cupcakes," the Narrator began. "You'll have to follow five simple steps."

A cute sky blue sign with the words 'Step one' written in white overtakes the screen.

"Step one: Add all of your ingredients to a bowl and mix them thoroughly."

Philip begins to beat his butter and sugar in a bowl before adding two eggs, vanilla, and dry and wet ingredients.

Mixing them with a wooden spoon, he created a batter mixture that was both thick and pourable.

He gazes down at the mixture he's made with a pleased smile before attempting to sneak a taste with his finger.

"Ah, ah, ah," the Narrator hummed in a warning tone, prompting Philip not to dip a finger into the raw batter as an embarrassed smile, along with blush stickers and a sweat droplet, appears on his face.

"Step two: Fill your cupcake liners with batter."

With great precision and caution, Philip began slowly filling his light blue cupcake liners with batter using a plastic spoon, making sure not to spill a single drop.

His tongue remained stuck out while he concentrated.

Once the final liner is filled, Philip wipes his brow, blows out a relieved puff of air, and beams at his accomplishment.

"Step three: Have an adult place your pan into the oven."

At the third step, Philip's face displays a sad expression.

"What's the matter, Philip? Do you not have an adult?"

Looking down, he answers with a slow shake of his head.

"Ah, I see. Well..." Chibi Kid Caleb suddenly emerges out of thin air with cardinal oven mitts, causing Philip's eyes to light up as they glimmer in awe.

"An older brother will have to do."

After opening the oven, Caleb places the pan inside, closes it, and turns it on.

The cupcakes then begin to bake for 20 minutes as the boys watch with keen interest as the baked goods slowly form.

When the oven makes a 'ding' sound, the cupcakes are done.

Philip is very excited about this.

Caleb opens the oven, removes the freshly baked cupcakes from it, and transports them to a wire rack to cool completely.

"Step four: Frost and Decorate!"

At the wooden table, Caleb uses a large piping bag to pipe sparkly light blue swirls onto each cupcake.

He then decorates the frosting for each cake with an animal cracker shaped like a horse and another shaped like a horseshoe, along with a small blue ribbon.

While he does this, Philip watches his brother with bright eyes and light blue frosting on the corners of his mouth.

"Step five: Serve a Horsey Cupcake to a horse and observe if they enjoy it."

The brown chibi pony horse from "New Friends From Another Town" is now in the kitchen.

Philip places a Horsey Cupcake on a plate in front of him.

Now facing the cupcake, the horse takes a whiff of the dessert, his dotted eyes now lighting up at the sweet, vanilla-scented treat.

He proceeds to take a small bite and immediately neighs in delight at the dish he was served.

He takes another bite, this time bigger, as he chews quickly before swallowing.

He neighs for a second time.

Philip and Caleb giggle as a result of his reaction, and they give the horse a smile.

...

Philip and Caleb begin to enjoy a Horsey Cupcake of their own alongside the horse, who was given another one.

The Narrator teleports out of the recipe, and we are now brought back to the outside of the Disney recipe book, which slowly closes.