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blockedbykei · 2 months

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𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐈 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ?

🏐 — kageyama tobio x f!reader

— synopsis: kageyama always had one agenda in his life: volleyball. it just so happens that you seemed to challenge him even more than the sport has ever done in his life.

- warnings: pro player!kageyama, frenemies to lovers, volleyball player!reader, swearing, kageyama being too obsessed with volleyball while also being obsessed with you, angst to fluff. lyrics taken from "slut!" by taylor swift but the story isn't actually based on the song lol

— parts: i, ii, iii, iv

i; being this young is art

kageyama only had one agenda settled in his life: volleyball.

every day, every second and every minute that took up his life, he'd spent it with his feet on the court, his sweat dripping down his body, his eyes on the ball, and his ears listening to the sweet sound of the ball richocheting off every corner of the gymnasium.

he felt like he couldn't live without the feeling of the blue and yellow leather being spiked with his palm, or the way it felt on his fingers when he sets it, or how the impact felt on his wrists. it was his craving, his air, his life.

was it an exaggeration? others may say so. kageyama thinks it's simply his passion.

and then he would eat and eat until all that food would turn into muscle. on mornings he would go on jogs, afternoons would be spent in courts, evenings would be spent planning how his next game could occur.

serve. set. receive. spike. repeat.

it was a cycle he'd run around until his heart would stop beating and his legs had run out of life. he never had any other responsibilities to stress himself out on (except his studies, of course). his love, attention, and care– all on volleyball.

so it was no surprise if someone were to find him spending his free time in the gym, with waterbottles aligned by the net, practicing alone because his team decided to use their rest days to actually rest rather than exert all their energy in practice and lose it all when the game arrives.

"oi, kageyama!"

to his surprise, he looks at the doors and sees hinata's bright tangerine hair illuminating the room. kageyama didn't expect that his rival stood at the doors of his team's gym, let alone see him in casual clothes rather than the ones he wore when he played.

"what are you doing here?" he snickers, catching the ball he had previously set before the interruption. "this isn't your team, dumbass."

"i know that," hinata snarls. "come join us! our teams are gonna go out and have some drinks."

"what for?"

"to celebrate our victory."

kageyama groans. "boastful dumbass."

"do you have any other word in your vocabulary other than 'dumbass'?"

"yes," he throws the ball and shoots it to the cart of other balls, picking up the waterbottles aligned. "idiot."

hinata charges at him.

his small albeit heavy body topples kageyama to the ground, his back hitting the floor and the bottles thrown astray from the impact. kageyama groans and pushes him off when hinata's knee presses accidentally on his stomach.

"get off me, you tiny dumba– idiot!"

a couple minutes of rowdiness created by the pair, and kageyama finds himself stepping foot into a small party surrounded by people he has grown up with– those who taught him how to be better, to be a good sport, how to win.

he was clad in a blue simple shirt and jeans, feeling a little underdressed by his friends who wore casual yet elegant clothing that suited their personalities best. he approaches atsumu first, the blonde twin smiling brightly at the sight of kageyama nearing with his hands in his pockets.

"tobio-chan!" he exclaims, an arm extended to wrap around kageyama's shoulders. "take it you were practicing again, huh?"

"yes," he answers, taking the beer bokuto enthusiastically offers him. "i don't want to waste my free time not practicing."

"you spend so much time improving yet you remain mediocre at best," tsukishima snickers, taking a light sip of his beer. "at ease, your majesty."

"i'm 21!" hinata pleads, showing the bartender three valid ids. "i'm of age! i'm allowed to drink! atsumu, please tell him i'm of age."

"give him something to drink," atsumu smiles. "it's past his bed time so he's talking nonsense. give him apple juice and he'll think it's beer."

"atsumu-chan!"

kageyama hollers, the warm liquid inside the beer bottle sloshing from his jovial movements. it all feels nostalgic– he feels as if he's back at training camp, except with the presence of atsumu and sakusa, whom he had met at the all youth training; with the addition of ushijima and oikawa's presence.

everyone was here– those he had considered rivals at the opposite ends of the gymnasium, now sharing laughs and stories like they had all been best friends since the beginning of volleyball's existence.

divided by talents and hard work, united by volleyball.

and he was there for hours, talking about nothing but volleyball, except the occasional school talks. kageyama's body unwinds at the familiar environment, the alcohol in his system temporarily taking over his usual tense demeanor.

kageyama was in the middle of ordering another drink when he sees you.

his chest fumes.

you're a seat apart from him, elbows on the counter, dress tight around your body. the scarlet hues of your attire reflecting beautifully underneath the dim lights of the bar. your hair hangs loosely over your shoulders, and suddenly you looked entirely different from the woman he sees on the court– sweaty and tired, bare faced, hair up in a ponytail, agitated yet pumped up with adrenaline at the same time.

your red lips leave a stain on the rocks glass. kageyama clears his throat.

your head darts to his direction. and your eyebrows shoot up in amusement. "kageyama tobio. what a nice surprise."

"nice to see you're dressed like a girl." kageyama puts his elbow on the counter, a strand of hair touching the space above his left eyebrow. your chin tilts up at his backhanded compliment.

"nice to see you have your head out of your ass."

"it happens once in a while." he shrugs, placing the rim of the beer on his lips. you mirror him, sipping on what he assumes to be whiskey. it leaves him impressed. "you're a hard drinker."

"you drink like you're a teenager." you snort. "beer, really? you're at a classy bar and you're drinking beer?"

he cocks his head behind him to show his tipsy friends, cheeks reddened from the alcohol that is taking over their senses little by little. "it's what they offered me."

"you're here to celebrate the black jackals' victory, right?" you spin on your seat, fully facing him. your legs cross and your heel bounces on your bare leg, leg jerking. your nail traces the lips of your glass. "did it hurt your tiny little ego, tobio-chan?"

"i want to hurt your little ego."

"seems like i just hurt it again."

"(y/n)!" kuroo booms behind kageyama, his arms spread to approach you into a hug. you accept it, wrapping your arms around his buff figure, your head in the middle of his chest. kageyama clutches his bottle tightly. "nice to see you here."

"victories should be celebrated," you smile up at him.

kageyama remembers the recent victory of your team in the women's division, ranking second. you were their wing spiker, the main source of the team's consecutive scoring; albeit you weren't their ace, so that fact was enough to lighten his spirits.

"oh! congratulations then, pretty girl," kuroo combs your hair and kisses your cheek. this bond that he sees remains to leave his queries unanswered– he doesn't know when and how you became close wth kuroo, but he knows damn well it didn't happen during high school.

kuroo's lips on your cheek, the smile on your face, the innocence, the close friendship. something pokes on kageyama's brain, and his eye twitches.

"thanks, kuroo."

he walks away and leaves the two of you again. your body rotates to face the counter fully, letting kageyama stare at the sides of your body. he huffs. "where's your team?"

"over there," you cock your head to the side. his eyes follow the crowd of girls laughing somewhat drunkenly, talking loudly about the recent events of your match. "left them alone 'cause i needed another drink."

"okay," is all he says. it's all he ever really says to every person. though the silence that follows is comfortable to him, because kageyama was never really a talker unless it was triggered by anger (thus, he only ever really yelled at hinata, which makes up the most of his loud moments).

you didn't seem to mind the silence, either. you twist your wrist to see the ice cubes rock against one another in your drink, lips pursed, your tongue poking the inside of your cheek. when you bring your glass up to your crimson lips, kageyama speaks again—

"do you wanna get out of here and play with me?"

you almost choke on your drink, eyes widening as you slowly spin to face him. he sees a slight disturbance in your eyes to which he can't figure out the reason why. "what?"

"you know, like, play volleyball with me?"

"oh," you laugh. "we're here at the bar for a reason, tobio-chan. we can't always play volleyball for every second of every day."

kageyama scoffs. "lame."

"excuse me?"

"LAME," he says loudly.

you seethe, eyes narrowing. you slam your glass on the counter, a light rattling sound emitting. you grab your purse that was on your lap tightly, hopping down the seat.

"me? lame? guess which one of us won." you poke your tongue at him. "i'll show you who's lame, loser. calling me lame. who the fuck are you calling lame?!"

you mutter the last sentences, though kageyama laughs behind you as you trail away from him and towards your teammates, bidding your goodbye. their drunken states barely brought the thought of questioning into their minds as they mindlessly let you go.

kageyama, on the other hand, seemed to find difficulty into making the situation innocent— bringing a girl home you met at the bar wasn't a situation that lacked innuendo.

"kageyama, you're bringing a girl home?" hinata pips in surprise. "is- is that (y/n)? you're going to bring her home?!"

"i won't bring her home, dumbass." he snarls. "we're just– gonna toss balls at each other."

"what kind of foreplay are you into?" atsumu snorts. "you're supposed to let her touch your balls."

kageyama shivers. "that's disturbing."

"oi, asshole," you throw your coat on you, easily slipping your arms into each sleeve. kageyama thinks the coat you're wearing was something you grabbed last minute; it did nothing to contrast nor match your dress. it makes him raise a brow. "ready to go?"

"yes," he takes his coat from one of the couches his team sits on. he claps ushijima's back to nods in acknowledgement, ignoring the teasing hollers of his tipsy friends. you blow a kiss to kuroo that sticks a stem of thorns on kageyama's eyes.

🏐 —

the cold never seemed to leave japan no matter the weather. despite this, you're both still comfortable enough in your thick coats that covered your thin clothing.

the snowflakes fall on your hair, melting tiny wet spots at your scalp. there are some that fall on your eyelashes, at the tip of your nose, but it's nothing to you now.

you didn't expect kageyama to bring you at an alleyway beside the bar. you didn't expect that this is what you would be doing at an alleyway. the fact that kageyama had a ball in his car was expected, but it was something you found endearing nonetheless.

your instincts allowed your wrists to seamlessly catch the ball kageyama tosses to you.

"you know, i'd expect that you'd bring a girl back to your apartment, share stories, maybe give her a kiss or two–" kageyama begins to blush, "–but i also don't know why you bringing a girl out to play volleyball does not surprise me."

"just like i always tell you– i don't like spending my time on things that won't improve my skills."

"take it easy, dude," you catch the ball with your hands, keeping it between your palms. "at this rate, you're going to die a virgin."

"who says i'm a virgin?"

"i see you almost piss yourself when you talk to a girl," you snort, tossing the ball back to him.

"i don't piss myself when i talk to you."

"well, thank god you don't." kageyama sneers. "you'll make yourself look even more like a loser. loser of all losers."

the sneer on his face softens just a tiny bit, which is caused by the way you smile at how you had to bend your knees to receive his petty toss.

his heart mimics skipping stones at a quiet lake.

"'m not a loser," he huffs. "dumbass."

you catch the ball between your hands and hurl it at him. "don't call me a dumbass!"

kageyama ducks, yelping loudly. when he returns to his usual stance, he offers you a threatening glare that makes you spin on your heels and bolt, exiting the alleyway. he yells for you, following suit, almost slipping on his shoes from the melted ice on the cemented ground.

your laugh echoes in the midnight streets of tokyo, roads idle and buildings closed. the sound of your heels meeting the cobblestone ground taps his ears like a rhythm, your giggles akin to melodies of a harp. kageyama barely spares a pant, his feet almost catching up to you.

your hair blows past your face, your coat floating in the air; and the wind leaves cold kisses on his face, getting inside his nose that makes it turn red, his sinuses hurting from the crisp impact. he yells your name and you flip him off.

perhaps it was the beer in his system that makes him woozy, the glow of the streetlights becoming blurry. maybe it was because of the sudden whiplash he faces when you duck and he accidentally topples over your bending body, landing on his back on a loud thump.

your laugh scratches his ears irritatingly.

"do you see what i mean?" you bend, placing your hands on your knees. "take it easy. you're too in the moment that you end up hurting yourself."

the pain trembles on his spine, his hair damp on his forehead. he glares at you, his breath evident as it leaves his panting mouth. you offer your hand and he takes it. "don't tell me how to function."

"alright man," you drop his hand, and kageyama falls to the ground again as you raise your hands in mock defeat. "just a friend looking out for you."

kageyama groans, standing up and dusting his pants off. "you're not my friend,"

there's barely any hurt that flashes your eyes; you know he's joking. "ouchie, tobio-chan." you pout, hands clutching each other over your heart. "you really do know how to hurt a girl."

he huffs, like a petulant child. "let's go back to the bar."

you don't realize how far you've gotten away when you begin to walk, your elbows brushing against his, hands warming inside your coat's pockets. kageyama was no longer scowling, his lips pressed into a flat line and staring right ahead.

to your surprise, he asks: "how do you– function without playing volleyball?"

you feel yourself calm down, body relaxing at the warmth kageyama radiates. you look up at him. "there's more to life than volleyball, 'd you know that?" you start softly. "there's nothing wrong with playing a sport for the rest of your life, but i'm just longing for this sense of accomplishment that's different from what i feel when i win a match."

kageyama stares blankly at you, though you could see the gears spinning slowly behind his eyes. "you... you want to be more accomplished?"

"yeah." you let out a sigh. there's hesitance when you open your mouth, like you're unsure if kageyama is the person you should be telling it to.

he hopes you tell him.

that sense of accomplishment— he doesn't know what you're talking about. he's only ever known the elation of winning a match, the confidence that he gains knowing everyone else was also relying on his decisions, realizing that each choice he made brought his team to success. that feeling was addicting, like a drug, something that he chased over and over again.

the feeling of winning in volleyball was all he ever knew. but now—

now he wonders if maybe that feeling was something that's not permanent; that maybe he should be looking for more than just that rush. he wants to know what you're thinking and see what he's missing in his life.

"it's why..." you blink, eyelashes grazing your cheeks as you do so. the gloss over your lips has matted from the cold air, bottom lip getting lost between your teeth. you let out a shaky, nervous sigh. "i'm quitting volleyball."

kageyama snaps his head to you. "what?!"

"yeah," you laugh nervously, shoulders raising. "i've been playing volleyball since i was middle school, tobio. i'm 21, i think it's time to start something new."

his eyebrows furrow. "okay... w-why?"

"kageyama," you say softly. "we can't always live on the rush we get everytime the whistle blows and we've won. there's always more than just tossing balls in a match."

he's a little slow. "uhuh..."

you laugh tiredly. "what i'm trying to say is that volleyball isn't the only battle we have in our life. and i want to win those other battles." you say, then add: "you know, in an analogical kind of way."

"okay." he says. "i get it." just a little.

"which is why tomorrow, i'm officially retired. we're not only just celebrating our victory, y'know," there's a small skip in your step, and when you sniffle, it's a little blocked. "it's kind of like a... what do you call it? going away party? no, that's not right..."

kageyama tunes out the rest of your loud pondering. despite finding you the most irritating being in existence, he feels the slightest bit of dejection at your departure. and he thinks he may lose you the minute you step out– that he'd no longer get to talk to you, practice with you outside of his team;

that after all the years he's known you, he's afraid you're turning your back on something you've both bonded on.

"work with me," he steps in front of you, stopping you in your tracks. you give him an incredulous frown.

"what?"

"be my personal trainer then."

"kageyama, i didn't quit volleyball just so i could work in something related to volleyball. i'm trying to swerve from the sport, y'know?"

"you're not going to train me volleyball." he shakes his head, his hair falling to his sides, ending just above his ears. "you're just... going to help me... be interested in something other than volleyball?"

"so you want me to take up a job where i'm like your concerned mother who wants you to have a life, is that it?"

"n-no! fuck's sake..." you raise your brow at him. "i'm saying that... that you will be like- my- um- personal... assistant?"

"fuck no," you guffaw. "you're ridiculous! are you even going to pay me?"

he stiffens. "i... i'll have to ask m-management for that."

"geez, tobio," you look to the side, baffled by his abrupt conditions. "you know i could just help you find other hobbies as your... acquaintance, right? i don't need to have an official position for you or anything.

he flinches at the word acquaintance.

"besides... why me?"

"because..." he breathes out, like he's been holding his breath for a long time. "i've known you since high school and... you're the only one i'm not shy to look embarrassing to."

your face softens, eyebrows raising. your hand comes out of your pocket and places itself on his bicep. his blush is overpowered by the cold's brutal nipping.

"i can't help you, tobio," you tell him, your lips turning into a flipped smile of empathy. his shoulders slump. "see you around."

you walk past him, and he turns his head to watch you walk away. kageyama thinks he's seen this before, that bite in his heart from seeing your back to him because of something kageyama has stupidly caused. it's all too familiar.

a little too painful.

and he's scared to lose you again.

🏐 —

his phone dings at 4:30am.

you. Am i going to be paid? 4:30am

the sleep on his eyes are flickered away from his sudden energy. kageyama sits up and props himself against his bed frame, clumsily holding his phone between his calloused fingers.

kageyama. like i said, i'll have to ask management. why the sudden question? 4:31am

the gray bubbles on your side appear and disappear for what seems to be five excruciating times. his heart pounds rapidly, fingers trembling.

you. Realized I can't get a good job immediately, lol. This could be a good starter. I'm sacrificing all the ego I've built over the years just so I could work for you. 4:33am

kageyama. WITH me. 4:33am

you. Okay. 4:33am

there's a pause. he doesn't close his phone yet because he knows you're staring at your phone just like he is.

he likes it when he's correct too.

you. Please text me immediately when you've asked your management. Look forward to working WITH you. 4:34am

there's a sense of hope fluttering in him.

suddenly there's a path opening from the cycle he's been running on since his youth. he brazenly follows it.

this is a series haha i won't be telling you how they already know each other u guys just have to wait for the next part

reblogs and feedback are appreciated <3

#haikyu x reader #haikyuu #haikyu fluff #kageyama x reader #kageyama tobio #tobio kageyama #kageyama x you #kageyama x y/n #kageyama fluff #kageyama angst #haikyuu kageyama #kageyama tobio x reader

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slothkittfunsies · 7 months

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Deep Dive into the issues on Alastor.

CONTENT WARNING: Racism, Aphobia.

Now that I created a blog specifically for stuff like this, It's time for the dive.

Alastor is a character that resonates with me, because this guy is supposed to represent me and my people (aspec/aroace community) and I liked his pilot personality. (That went to shit)

This man got so many issues, that i have to take the pen myself and scribble what Vivzie has wrote. So, Let's start, shall we?

THE DESIGN

The first time I saw the Hazbin pilot, I got confused about what Alastor was supposed to be. I thought he was just a grey human wearing some kind of animal ears until the fandom said he is a deer.

A deer. Let that sink in.

(Images for comparsion)

As someone passionate about the arts, this upset me. Sure, I haven't been to art school, but even I know you need to put the backstory and features in mind when designing a character.

Character design is NOT throwing things at the wall and seeing which sticks. It needs actual critical thinking. If your audience is confused about your character's species, it's time to go back to the drawing table (unless you have a reason for making it mysterious.)

Second, the overabundance of red is awful in terms of color theory. This guy is in Hell, which is also red, causing an eyesore. I got a headache when trying to focus on him on a red background. And also, colors have meaning. People associate red with danger, so the fact he even managed to get victims to kill makes me puzzled.

Also, the fact he's supposed to be mixed/black makes this design even worse. Why is he grey instead of brown, perhaps? Vivzie has a pattern of making POCs grey-skinned, which is, again, awful.

I think Vivzie only made him a POC due to the voodoo issue. I mean, just remove the symbols and you are done. But nah the symbols are too "aesthetic" to remove. So gotta change his race.

She could have used another symbols, like THIS for example:

Since, you know, he's the "Radio Demon"?

THE BACKSTORY

Ok, this where I'm very confused.

Alastor is a radio host, and also a serial killer. He was born in the USA, got killed by a deer hunter by mistake, and lived in the 1920's.

This is what I gathered from being a superfan back then, and it sounds unorganised/cluttered. And the years he lived in make his design even worse. (Again! His clothing doesn't speak the 1920s!)

The fact he's from an old era, and yet speaks in modern slang is weird. He's supposed to hate anything modern, and yet he does it anyway? His saying "fuck" multiple times is so out of character for him. I guess the "If made by Vivziepop" memes have some truth.

Putting the fact he's mixed, makes the backstory more confusing. How did he manage to be a popular radio host at the time before the civil rights movement became a thing? He will have been put down like the rest of the POCs in America. Either that he's white-passing, or it's VERY difficult. Adding the fact he's a serial killer makes me think how the cops didn't get to him (the mere fact he's black should have got him questioned in 1920s America)

Now, for his identity. I'm mad he's the only aroace character in the sea of gays and bisexuals. (I'm not saying gay men and bisexual people should not have representation. I have to say that due to tumblr's piss poor reading comprehersion)

which made me go through on why Vivzie made him aroace in the first place. I don't know if this is true, but I heard she made him aroace because "he only loves himself"

Um. Here we go again with allos assuming we are non-empathic psychopaths for our lack of sexual or/and romantic attraction. I hope that's not true at all, but knowing Vivzie's past, I wouldn't be surprised.

Alastor would have been a great character if another person took care of it instead of Vivziepop. What I'm gonna say is, wasted potential.

#hazbin hotel critical #vivziepop critical #hazbin critique #hazbin critical #spindlehorse critical

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technically-a-kiwi · 2 months

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Okay here's a bit more of the Cosmic PT cast, introducing Cosmic Pepperman and Cosmic Vigilante.

One small thing before we start ☝️, these are what you can define as "beta" designs, as you can see by the fact it's neither colored or digital, I just want to share those to hear some feedback and possible fresh ideas to make those designs better. Also because I want to share what they do and what is specific about them story wise. Until I say explicitly that I'm done with the design, keep in mind that they might change overtime. With that being said let's get to it!

And here's Cosmic Pepperman,

currently at the very end of the minor cosmic stage and one of the most experienced cosmic entity of the PT cast who's still around. Phil mostly plays solo and loves to show off when he intervenes in a universe, when he's here you know you're about to see a performance of quality 👌. Although sometimes his attempt at throwing shades and look cool falls flat and he can make a fool out of himself... But no matter what happens he always manages to save the day before disappearing Meta Knight style using his long jacket as a cape.

Meanwhile in the cosmic realm, Phil still is a freelance artist, showing off his art in his own museum in Cosmopolis's center. Before Cosmic Noise appeared, Phil's museum was one of the most popular and visited place of the realm, after NNS took over the public, the museum lost of it's glory and became another building among others with very few visitors. Ever since that, Phil holds a pretty big grudge toward Cosmic Noise, boycotting his show and just being generally annoyed at C Noise's presence.

For Pepperman's design I got inspired by his costume of the Halloween update and slitly exaggerated it to make a long flowy jacket. Also I gave him small star shaped shades because shades and Pepperman are just MEANT to be together, the star shape is just to stay consistent with the Cosmic theme (very thought out eh 👁️👄👁️👍), and finally one of my favorite aspect of his design is his scar across his face of which he wears with style ✨✨✨.

Now beware, here comes Cosmic Vigilante

Also at the very end of the minor cosmic stage, one the most experienced of the cast and the most efficient at his job. Vigi really puts his heart when doing his tasks, being very serious and making sure that everything goes back to normal, as if nothing happened. He also is the stealthiest entity of the cast with very little people to have ever noticed him in his whole carrier.

In the Cosmic realm, Vigi doesn't really have a job, his only job is to fix any anomalies in the multiverse so he just uses his time in the realm to have a break, take a coffee, going for a stroll or hang out with friends.

For the Vigilante's design, I barely changed anything, his hat is different with the edge going slitly up in flames, the only note worthy detail is his left eye of course, his scar is hidden by a very bright star, a star with the very cool effect of giving it's owner future vision, it only predicts things 10 seconds max before they happen, but it is still a formidable advantage.

Together, Pepperman and The Vigilante are a very efficient cosmic duo, over time they grew a very good relationship and learn how to work with each other. When joined together, they're very professional (in most cases) and really forged a reputation among cosmic entities.

And now is time for :

Random trivia ✨✨✨

Because I don't know how to write a sentence

Very few people knows about Vigi's future vision, only some members of the PT cast does, if the court comes to know about it, Vigi WILL get in trouble.

Pepperman kept his ability to bring his art to life after becoming a cosmic entity, he might be the only being of the realm capable of breathing life into inanimate objects (assuming that his art are conscious beings with free will and not puppets Pepperman controls somehow)

Both Pepperman and Vigilante's memories degenerated to the point they can't remember the people they once knew, they only remember experiences of their past life but not the people that participated in those experience.

The Vigilante's mode of transport is his hat ! He gets inside of it and morphs it into an UFO (with a gyrophare occasionally when he's on the hunt for an outlaw) , the hat gets transparent and you can see him all squished up inside his hat.

Cosmic Vigilante is aware that he's a cheese slime, which was a huge shock when he figured it out

When disappearing "Meta Knight style" Phill doesn't actually disappears, he just trows his jacket in the air and spins it to get people's attention while he runs as far and fast as possible into the distance, he runs until he reaches the edge of the universe and only after that he gets back to the cosmic realm.

And yeah that's it ! Thank you for reading! As always if you have any questions go ahead and ask, I'll be glad to answer.

#pepperman #the vigilante #cosmic au #pizza tower

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monstersandmaw · 3 months

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I can't believe this story is 14.5k words long. These monthly stories are only supposed to be about 2-3k words long, but hey.

It's still June, just... I'm so sorry this didn't appear sooner, but it's a whopping 14.5k words long, so hopefully that makes up for it!

Content: at the end of their first year at the Royal Academy for the Magical Arts, the young, entitled son of the wealthiest family on the continent is partnered for an assignment with a diligent reader from a very humble background, and makes a very poor choice. Years later, after finishing their masters, the reader finds themself having to work with him again, only to find he's not quite as they remember this time around. Also featuring a naga bestie, adoptive dads, a badass dwarven professor, and a chunky cameo from the orc mage, Orrakh from a short story on Tumblr.

(Light spoilers) content warning: reader is drugged to render them unconscious, but nothing untoward happens while they're out, and it's facilitated by their friend. Nsfw: reader gives a blowjob in a sort of semi-public place, and receives oral in return back in private.

Wordcount: 14,565

Extract:

Ambient magicka crackled and coalesced around you, becoming little flashes of light in the air as you strode down the navy blue corridor of the astronomy wing where you’d met your friend. “I worked my ass off for that placement, Alana, and I am not going to let some gilded turd buy his way in beside me and turn it into a farce!”

The naga’s thick, serpentine tail carved a wide swathe through the other student mages as she struggled to keep up with you, until she finally grabbed at the sleeve of your dark robe and yanked you around to face her.

“Take a breath, honey,” she said, pushing her circular, gold-rimmed glasses back up her nose and blinking moss-green eyes at you from her pretty, round face with all its myriad freckles. “From what you’ve told me, Rune is a first class shit, but you’re going to have to work with him.”

“He’s not just a shit, Alana,” you fired back through gritted teeth, aware that you were drawing a bit of an audience beneath the painted vaults of the long corridor. “He’s a rich shit who thinks he can throw money at people and just walk out with whatever he wants! That isn’t going to cut it with Magister Delfan.” The dwarven professor was notoriously impatient when it came to time-wasters, but if you got on her good side, people said she was an absolute blast.

You glowered at your best friend and tried to force down a tide of emotions and memories.

“Delfan wants actual talent,” you went on in a slightly more measured voice, “And I know from experience that Rune is a lazy, good-for-nothing arsehole. I worked with him before in first year? And what the fuck is he doing on a summer placement with Delfan when he’s not even studying her subject?” you added as the realisation hit you.

Rune, rather ironically, had only studied basic runecraft with you in your first year, but had switched subjects in his second. You hadn’t kept track of what he’d been doing in the interim years, but you knew it wasn’t Delfan’s specialism of foci and auxiliary artefacts, and their use in magical rituals.

You let out a tight, wheezing huff of breath and blinked away memories of your humiliating two week project ‘with’ him. It had cost you your friendship with your then-best friend too, and that had hurt almost more than what Rune himself had done.

“If I want the Board to consider appointing me for a research fellowship, I need to finish this placement with Delfan’s endorsement. If Rune fucks this up for me because he’s bored and wants to play the academic for a while, I’m going to ring his scaly neck and turn him into a fucking golden handbag, do you understand me? I don’t care who his father is, I swear to all the gods I’ll do it.”

Alana’s expressive face suddenly struggled to keep back her rush of amusement at the image. You saw the sparkle in her eyes and rolled your own in response, but a little of your anger drained away.

“I’m sorry,” Alana snickered, “But at least you’d get a luxury handbag out of it?”

You caught her laughter and your frustration disintegrated around you like a shattered potion flask.

Still giggling, Alana put her hand on your shoulder and squeezed it as she met your gaze. “You’ll be fine. Delfan is a hard-ass and she’ll recognise your commitment, even if Milordy Goldypants puts in zero effort, alright?”

You snorted a laugh, hefted your leather satchel back onto your shoulder. You’d never told anyone else what Rune had done, apart from your parents and Alana, and the idea of having to work with him again made your stomach roil. The magic that had started to crystallise around you dissipated, but your memories of the dragonborn from your first year lingered all the same, and they were not pleasant ones.

When you’d been partnered with Rune before — when Magister Orrakh had called your name right after Rune’s — your heart had dropped to your boots and he’d flashed you a sharp-toothed grin across the small lecture hall. Sometimes Magister Orrakh taught in that larger hall, when he needed more space to show the full intricacy of a runic circuit and the way magicka flowed around the lines of chalk from rune to rune, but when he taught his theory classes, he preferred to use his small classroom. Unfortunately, that day’s class had been a practical session, and the tiered seating which gave the students at the back a better view of the experiment on the stone altar at the front of the room also gave you a good view of Rune lording it over you from the higher seating.

The dragonborn had been lounging near the back of the tiered seating on the end of the row, with his serrated tail dangling nonchalantly into the gangway that ran between the two halves of the auditorium. He was strikingly handsome, of course, with eyes the colour of back-lit amber flecked with pyrite, and his scales were a warm, honeyed yellow that gleamed almost opalescent in the sunlight streaming in through the clear, arched windows set high in the wall.

His tunic was a deep, pure black, but it had been embroidered with the most minute, fairy-wrought detailing that dizzied the eye if you looked too long at it, and he had whisper-thin, gold chains dripping from ornately engraved bands around his twin, ridged horns. The larger horn sat stacked atop the smaller, nestled close together at the root, and both followed the line of his skull back over his head to end in elegant, polished, gently-rounded points. He was so obnoxiously wealthy that even the delicate, gossamer chains were adorned with tiny flashing diamonds which sent minuscule rainbows dancing around the walls wherever he went.

You'd had nothing to do with him so far in your first year at the academy, having come from entirely different backgrounds.

There was no way the scion of the wealthiest family in the entire kingdom — richer even than the royal family, if rumours were to be believed — would look twice at the adopted child of a fisherman and a rat catcher from the dockland slums of the city. You’d fought for everything you’d ever got out of life, finally earning yourself a scholarship to the prestigious Royal Academy for the Study of Magical Arts. He’d probably got his father to buy his place, since he’d shown no real demonstrative abilities with magic.

Everything had been going so well for you until that fateful final presentation of the year when you’d been paired with Rune.

Read the whole 14.5k word story, with all its angst and feels and 'enemies to lovers' / redemption arc goodness right now on Patreon! Plus last month's story which was a whopping 13k words long!! (as well as all the other Patreon exclusive content, and don't forget there are also free stories up on Patreon as well!

#dragonborn #reptilian monster #dragonborn boyfriend #lizardfolk #monster romance #gender neutral reader

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a1307s · 10 months

Text

Take Me From You #3

(Jason Todd)

[Art is not mine! Credit to Naijarski]

Requested by: ynight14 and RavenMoore7799

Keys:

Y/N: Your Name

Word Count: 2,814

Warnings and/or Pre-notes:

Gets a little heated at the end

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I can hear the blood beating against the veins in my ears, drowning out the sound of Y/N and Bruce yelling at each other. The scene is almost funny. A hysterical Batman screams at Y/N to not kill as Y/N yells at him for being a murderer. A poor drug dealer sitting between the two screaming adults, confusion and fear on his face. I can feel the laughter brewing in my throat from the scene in front of me.

Even with the mask covering a good chunk of her face, Y/N is as beautiful as she was the last time I saw her. Though she's more filled out than she was when we were fifteen, that only makes her prettier and is expected. She's not going to look the same as she did four years ago. Honestly, she could be in a flour bag, and I would still think she's the most perfect person in the room.

Despite the funny scene in front of me, my heart races. I haven't seen her in years. I didn't even know if she was still in Gotham, let alone still in contact with Bruce. Given, it doesn't seem like good or willing contact, but it's still contact.

Y/N's hair bounces around as she yells, making my fingers ache with the want to run them through it. The want to touch her, hold her, and hear her voice is overwhelming. Well, hear her talk to me in a normal tone at least, but I'm happy to hear her in any way, even if she is yelling. At Bruce, of all people.

"I'm done. I'm done with you, you're helpless!" Bruce yells, throwing his hands up as he parades himself in a little circle. Y/N must have been a big hell-raiser over the years to get a response like that. The bat grabs the drug dealer, dragging him away as he mumbles to himself.

I watch as Y/N turns on her heels, tilting her head back and forth as she uses her hand as a puppet, mimicking Bruce's meltdown as she walks away. It's good to see that she still has her humor. Good to see that Bruce hasn't managed to get her killed yet either.

I follow after her, staying hidden as she walks away. I should talk to her, tell her I'm back. Maybe she knows though. I mean Bruce and Dick know so I would assume Y/N and Alfred know too. Though, if Bruce and her are fighting like this all the time I wouldn't be surprised if Bruce 'forgot' to mention my revival. It's a petty move that would be right up his way.

Y/N turns down an alley, so I wait a second, just in case. The sound of metal scratching concert fills the night. It's quickly replaced by soft clicks of boots against metal. I poke my head around the corner, watching as she climbs up the fire escape. I slide forward, grabbing a hold of the latter before it slides back into place.

I don't know why I feel the need to stay hidden as I watch her slide open a window and crawl in. Well, I kind of know. I don't know if it's best for me to just pop back into her life. Maybe she has a boyfriend or a husband. Maybe she has a whole family. If she has settled in life, what gives me the right to tear that up?

I know it's selfish of me to hope her life ended when I died. What kind of shitty person hopes that? Me. I hope for that. Given, I also hope she's had a fulfilling life since my passing, I just hope it wasn't with another man.

As I climb up the fire exit, ideas of how to kill Y/N's imaginary boyfriend circle my head. Maybe Bruce is right, maybe I am crazy. I try my best to be silent as I follow Y/N's path. Once I'm on her floor level, I push myself against the brick wall, not wanting to startle her. Well, I'm doing it mostly to catch a breather and prepare for the worst.

It takes a second, but once my courage is built up, I move, looking into her window, only to be met with a gun barrel in my face. "What the fuck Y/N?!" I yell, raising my hands in a sign of surrender. It would be pretty shitty to come back to life just for my girlfriend - ex-girlfriend? - to blow my head off.

My eyes scan over her maskless face, taking in her bright eyes, her cheekbones, and her lips. God her lips. It might just be the horn-dog in me, but I've missed her kissing me the most. Well... I can think of other parts of her I missed more. Off-topic, very off-topic thoughts. My... Y/N is holding a gun to my face and my identity is still very much hidden in my helmet. I need to stay on topic.

"Who the fuck are you?" She yells, her finger featherily light on the trigger. Her body shifts some, causing a small clinking sound.

My eyes drop down to her neck, the direction the sound came from. Wrapped around her neck and resting on her chest is a black chain with two rings strung on it. One is a basic black ring, with a red band through it. Even from here, I can make out the words on it. Curved on the inner side of the band are the words 'Come home to me' with Y/N's name next to it.

The other band is a copy of the first but with a small ruby held in the middle. 'Be safe for me' is curved into this one, my name next to the wording. It's the first thing I ever bought Y/N. I bought it when we were thirteen, the cheesy words curved into them being enough to back that up. It took three weeks of pickpocketing to afford, but it was worth every penny.

"Who. The fuck. Are you?" Y/N repeats, empathizing her words more.

"Um... Jason... Todd..."

Y/N's face shifts to confusion and then anger. "Last time I checked, Jason Todd is buried in a box in the Gotham Graveyard. So, try again asshole."

"Bruce buried me in the fucking public graveyard? Didn't even cross his mind to bury me in the Wayne Graveyard? What the fuck?" I say before I can stop myself.

"What is going on?" Y/N murmurs, shaking her head some as her eyes widen. "Go... go away murderer," she says, pointing the gun down before slamming the window shut.

Murderer? Like she wasn't just fighting with Bruce over her wanting to murder someone. I stand still, hands still in the air as I watch Y/N march around her apartment, panic-cleaning as she talks to herself. Her head keeps shifting around like she's trying to erase what just happened. Hopefully, this isn't how she would react if a different murderer appeared outside her window.

Once my head is on straight again, I push the window open, the wood of it yelling in discomfort as it moves. Y/N keeps pacing around, muttering to herself about crazy people and leaving Gotham. I carefully crawl in, making sure not to knock into anything.

I let myself rest against the windowsill, watching her pace around the small apartment. How has she lived this long if this is her response to a stalker? Maybe I caused her a mental breakdown.

A small smile rests on my face as I tug off my helmet and set it on the side table placed next to the window. It's littered with loose change and bullets. Good to see she still has a careless air to her. I always found it cute when we were younger. It made me feel needed, knowing she wouldn't pay attention to the small details even if it would make her life easier. I liked doing those things for her, I like her needing me to do those small things, even if it's not things that need to be done.

I snap my mask off as well, placing it next to my helmet. Y/N continues to mutter and pace, occasionally throwing a phrase or two at me as she works her thoughts out. I look around her space. There's not much of it, which I'm not surprised about. It is an apartment in Gotham after all. Her living space is filled with bookcases, all of them filled to the seams with books and movies. There's a big, overstuffed couch across from a pricey television, probably an apology gift from Bruce. He's good at replacing emotions with money, which is easy to do when you have enough for ten lifetimes.

Y/N's kitchen is littered with recipe books, loose papers, random dishes, and spices all over the counters. Her fridge is littered with pictures and more papers. Her bathroom and bedroom doors are swung open, unsurprisingly. She sucks at closing doors.

Just like Y/N's kitchen, her bathroom counters are littered with makeup. Her bedspread is a mess, but besides that, her room is pretty straight and tidy. Even the nightstand by her bed is item less besides a lone alarm clock. That's not usual for her, maybe Y/N does have a boyfriend. A boyfriend who doesn't mind taking care of the small details for her, just like I used to do.

From here, I can see the edge of a small table, a deep green cloth drooping off of it, that's tucked into a corner of her room. I let my curiosity get the better of me and push myself off the windowsill, making sure to close it behind me or else it'll be left open for the next two to three weeks.

I walk into the room, expecting a hidden mess, but there's none to be found. I let my gaze settle on the mystery table that's not so much a mystery anymore.

In the middle of the table is a picture of me. Well, a picture of us. It's from our first date night at the manor. I'm stretched out on the couch, my head in Y/N's lap and her hands tangled in my hair as we both smile at the camera.

On either side of the picture is a candle; A white one for peace and a pink one for love. Each is held in a gold candle holder. In front of the picture is a few things. One is a bowl of Skittles, my favorite candy. To the left is a small, blue, empty bowl, and to the right is a full, red bowl.

In the full bowl is the jewelry I use to wear; my dog tags Bruce gave me, the pocket watch I got from Alfred, the matching Robin bracelet from Dick, and my family cross I got from my mother.

"So... you are alive," Y/N says, pulling my attention from the altar to her, standing in the doorway. She keeps shifting her weight and her fingers tap against the wood. It would only be more obvious that she's nervous if the word was stamped onto her forehead.

"So, you made me an altar," I tease, trying to help Y/N calm down and loosen up some.

"Of course, I made you an altar, Jay. You're Hispanic, it's part of your culture. Just because Bruce won't respect it doesn't mean I won't," Her words come out hot and fast, like she's embarrassed that I saw her memorial of me. "Dumb, stupid, ginger ass, Hispanic boy," she mumbles, walking into the room.

"Not my fault a Hispanic woman fell in love with an Irish man," I shoot back, watching as she slides onto her bed, her eyes looking everywhere but me.

"I know," she mutters, lying back on her bed. "So... you must have one hell of a story to tell me."

————————————

Ever since my lap around the Lazarus pit, it's been weird waking up. Mostly because my body doesn't remember it's alive yet, and partly because my subconscious has the same feeling, which means it takes a second to remember to breathe in the morning.

Just like every morning, it takes me a second to remember how to breathe along with taking some time to remember I'm not in a box in the ground. I can feel pressure on my chest. It isn't dirt, it's just my mind playing tricks on me. Just a PTSD attack. It'll clear up any second now.

Except, it doesn't clear up. I debate on whether I should open my eyes or not. Sometimes opening my eyes makes the attack worse. I don't want to take that chance. There's nothing on my chest, I'm fine. I repeat the thought as I slide my head over my chest. Instead of coming in contact with myself, my fingers slide into a bundle of hair. Well, that's not dirt but the sure as shit is something or someone on top of me.

I slowly open my eyes, being met with the sight of Y/N curled up on top of me. I can feel the smile crossing my face as I look down at her. She looks so peaceful, fast asleep, softy breathing as she clings to me. I've missed these peaceful moments with Y/N. Most days memories like these were the only thing keeping me going.

I shift a bit, peaking at the alarm clock on her nightstand; Five sixteen. I didn't plan on spending the night, but there was a lot to talk about, and a lot of time to make up for. Most of the time was spent with me explaining everything from the past four years, my death, the Lazarus pit, my service in the League of Assassins, my reappearance in Gotham, and the newly forming hatred between Bruce and me.

I guess we ended up falling asleep on accident, especially since my boots are still on. That, and Y/N is still in her spandex suit.

I shift again, flexing my arm and fingers to try and shake the static feeling out of the arm Y/N's head is on. Despite my efforts to not wake her, Y/N stirs, shifting around on top of me. She whines a bit, her body scooting down my body as she moves. It feels nice having her weight on me, feeling her body heat crashing into me. "Good morning," I whisper, rubbing my hand through her hair.

"Good morning," She whispers back, pressing a sloppy kiss into my chest. It's sweet, but I wish my shirt was off, I wish I could feel her lips against my bare skin. "You're alive," she adds, sleep still very evident in her voice.

"I'm alive," I repeat, wrapping my free hand around her back. I pull her up my body, her legs squeezing my sides as her head tucks into my neck. I struggle with being alive again, a lot. It's hard dealing with Bruce. It was hard being in debt to Ra's Al Ghul. Despite that all, in this very moment, it's so worth being alive.

I flip us over, Y/N's hold still strong on me as I do so. I prop myself up with my knee, not wanting to crush her under me. "I missed you so much," I murmur, sliding my hands under her shirt, the spandex clinging to both of us now.

"I missed you too," Y/N answers, sliding her hands into my hair, her fingers twirling the strands around themselves. I push her shirt up, laying kisses across the newly exposed skin. It's been so long since I've seen her, smelt her, touched her. After four long years of nothing but my thoughts of her, I can finally play out all my fantasies. I mean, there's no better way to start the day than with a bang.

Soft mewls fall from her, only encouraging me more. If I had my way, I would keep her locked away in this apartment. Just her and me, and my longing for her. Nothing but her begging for me and me answering her every beck and call.

"Y/N?" I hum against the skin of her stomach. She tugs softly on my hair, letting me know she's listening. "We're going to stay right here, all week. Maybe even two weeks."

"I... I can't. I have work."

"Not anymore. You're not leaving this apartment until we play out every last thought I've had of you. All four years' worth." Her legs tighten around me, an easy sign of her getting needy, an easy sign of me getting my way. I smirk to myself, dipping my hands down to her thighs. "After all, making you feel good is the least I could do after letting Bruce take me from you." Y/N lets out a breathy moan, letting me know I won.

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#young justice #young justice oneshot #jason todd oneshot #jason todd x reader #jason todd #redhood oneshot #redhood x reader #redhood

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lovethatmakingcoffee · 9 months

Text

So!

how many more content creators are going to be accused of being called a pedophile with no hard evidence, a police warrant, anything physical and it's by an anonymous tweet from some stranger online who would rather tell social media than I don't know... HAVE THEM GET ARRESTED BY THE POLICE?!

How many more creators, huh?! How many?! How many more YouTubers, twitch streamers, singers, animators, artists?! How many of you are gonna jump on them???? And it's so easy if it's a guy, right? So easy! And no matter how they react, whether it's calm and calculated, shutting down their channel as a whole, or answering immediately yet obviously angry about it- they are always ALWAYS GUILTY. what happened to innocent until proven guilty? And eo is this person? That they are willing to fan the flames and accuse someone of something so terrible online??? Who are u?????

Why do this now? Why do it how at the HEIGHT of Forever's popularity? Why not do it before so he was never on the qsmp or even long before that? Or in the middle at all???? Why now? That is my question? If this is all true, why now? And why use social media? Why not go to the police if he really did a crime? You are accusing someone of a very terrible thing. Why not do it properly instead of searching for Internet clout? What're we supposed to do? The only thing we can, huh? Cancel. Because that's what u want. Is to cancel him. When he was obviously so loved by the masses yesterday. When he had all those cruise pic photos showing how good his life was. Yeah, I don't think u want him arrested or lynched. No, u want to cancel him. Making me wonder if there was ever a real çrime.

Which I wonder quite often with these cases.

And GUYS. HEADS UP! You know whose next? Hm? It'll probably be Wilbur, probably being said that he approached some underage girl on tour or whatever. Or maybe it'll be quackity or hell, even Philza! Oh, Etoiles got cancelled not so long ago, let's cancel him again! Oh what about Bagerha or Cellibit? Let's throw Charlie into the mix. Ironmouse will be hard to cancel cause she's been locked inside of her room all her life and has a very dedicated fanbase, but I'm sure you bastards will find something.

So mhm, everyone is nexted because antis have proven it to be so easy to get rid of someone they don't like. Gone the next day. All of them are suspectable to it. Cause u know why? Cause they are stupid humans who have said stupid shit! And you will just take anything they said and did and run with it!!! Every time! So it's only a matter of time until someone new gets targeted. And depending on how tough skinned they are, they will disappear in a matter of seconds.

Let's just throw all of qsmp away while we're at it! No more eggs, no more community, blah blah blah! Something problematic will happen and you all will jump on it and say 'oh, I never liked them anyway'. Which is such a lie! Such bullshit, u are all bullshitters.

And I know for a fact that y'all aren't saints. We have all said disgusting jokes. Race, lgbt, whatever! We've all done it- don't lie! Here, I'll go first. I joked about a school shooting the other day with my friends. There, cancel me. I gave you the ammunition, now take your fucking shot.

This happens every god damn time someone u enjoy gets popular too fast. They get called a pedo, or a racist, or a transphobe or anything easy to spark the mob. I have seen it time and time again with creators running away because theyve been chased off their respective platforms. I saw an artists make the most beautiful art ever, get accused of being a pedo by one person, everyone joined in for some reason and chased her away. I will never not be bitter about that. I HATE ALL OF YOU WHO DID SUCH A THING AND IF I EVER GOT MY HANDS ON YOU I SWEAR TO GOD. But I am sick of people 'finding' or bringing shit to light or whatever and then just post it online! Like fuck! If he really did a crime! Arrest him! But he didn't, did he? Cause that's the fucking game we are playing rn.

Such hypocrites, it's fascinating. Literally yesterday you were kissing this mans feet and exhaling him, but one anon person saw that and chose violence. And you just.... changed your minds???? Like that? Like a switch of a button? Crazy, actually crazy, and childish.

How come everyone flips and flops so easily on the internet??? How is it so easy for you????? And how can u other supposed fans just accept it so easily??? I will never understand and I will bite and claw at all of you. You all loved him 24 hours ago and now with the bare minimum of evidence you flip? You all would be terrible on jury duty. I hope none of you ever get on jury duty.

Anyway, I'll probably get a ton of backlash from this post and delete it later, waking up in the morning with tons of hate. But I don't care. Prove him guilty. Get the hard evidence that he is a pedo and I will believe it when I see it. Have him be in damn cuffs. Get the mugshot. If that is at all true! But I'm not putting my life and art on pause for conveniently timed discourse.

Maybe I'll delete this post tomorrow. But now I'm fuming at all of you.

And yeah, as for me, I had a shit disgusting last year, qsmp and especially forever was one of the few things that got me out of it and calmed me down. And you guys are going to be talking about how wrong and problematic the things he said that was (what was it?) 8 years ago!!! Then guess what, I love a very problematically spoken parent that would make all of you quake and vomit the moment she opened her mouth. But also, that woman saved me from being homeless. For giving me a place to stay after being DEPORTED. So, if u need a little kindergarten lesson today, internet, is that people will say all sorts of horrible cancelable shit, but it's what they actually do, that really matters.

Goodnight.

#Qsmp #Quackity smp #Forever #Discourse #I am going to make a bat covered in nails #Qsmp forever #q!forever #Qsmpforever

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apolloscastellan · 2 months

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Never quite buried | loss of my life chapter 4

Pairing: Art Donaldson x Tashi Duncan x Patrick Zweig x FemaleTennisPlayer!reader

Summary: Your life had always been divided in two: before you met Tashi and after you met Tashi. The second you had laid eyes on her for the first time you knew you had been changed. You were soulmates, meant for each other Nothing could ever tear you two apart, or so you had thought. You could've pinpointed the junior U.S. Open as the night that changed everything. Now you have to juggle your hate-love relationship with tennis with your love-love relationship with Tashi and the two guys who you can't seem to stay away from. Tennis, after all, was only one of the most fucked up relationships of your life.

Warnings: challengers spoiler, challengers content warnings, super minor character death, terrible mother figure, use of y/n, polyamory.

Word count: 6.5K

A/N: Please let me know what you think bc my motivation is severely lacking rn, i feel like i'm writing into the void

series masterlist | prev | next

Tashi remembers perfectly the day your retirement from singles hit the news. It was all everyone could talk about. First, it was the statement on your social media. A well thought out paragraph about your struggles with continuing to enjoy tennis the way you used to and deciding to take a new route, it ended with a promise for more and better news soon. Then it was the teasing posts from Adidas, the “she is not done just yet” and the “love conquers all”. It all came to a peak with the release of the pictures of you and Patrick. Both of you wearing matching Adidas apparel, practicing in the private court you had in your backyard. The chemistry between the two of you was obvious to everyone who saw them. There was a glint in your eyes that no one had seen since you went pro. She knew the smile you were giving Patrick all too well, it used to be reserved for her.

Her and Art, who had just very recently reconnected, sat on his couch for hours watching the tennis channel, waiting for updates. The relief they felt when it was announced that you were not quitting because you were fatally injured, as everyone had originally thought, was short lived. Neither of them spoke as the commentators showed the images of you and Patrick. Practicing, giggling, getting closer, him giving you that teasing smirk they both knew, you throwing your head back laughing, him beaming at you when you weren’t even looking, both of you focused on the ball, kissing… They both thought about turning off the TV, hitting some balls to work out how they were feeling, but then you were introduced into the set, a vibrant smile as you walked in, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt too big to be yours. The Mark Rebellato Tennis Academy logo only confirmed the obvious. You shook hands with everyone, sitting on the sofa they had reserved for you.

“Y/n Y/l/n, thank you for being here” the older man said, over the clapping of the crowd.

“Thanks for having me!”

“What a day it’s been for all of us, tennis fans. You’ve had us on the edge of our seats! First we mourned, now we’re celebrating… Please tell us why did you do this to us?”

“I am so sorry! I am, I really am” you laughed as the man teased you, God how they missed that laugh. “I have a flair for the dramatic, I must admit, and I am, in a way, saying goodbye to my career as I know it. It’s the start of a new chapter, and it’s really exciting, but it is also a goodbye and it felt right to give it its proper moment. I didn’t realize so many people were going to be so upset about it.”

“Why the switch? Why decide to give up singles completely?”

“I wasn’t enjoying it anymore, it was painful and I had started dreading every second of it. Fortunately, I am in a position where I can decide I don’t want to keep doing something that is bringing me down, so I took advantage of it. I didn’t want my stubbornness to completely ruin my love for tennis. I thought I could step back, maybe take up teaching and try to find that passion again. I was going to quit regardless, so this playing doubles thing happened at just the right time.”

“Yeah, let’s talk about that! You’ve decided to become a full time mixed doubles player with Patrick Zweig, who is a challengers player, somewhere in the two-hundreds. You are currently ranked number one in the world, how does this happen?”

“I think rankings and numbers can be misleading sometimes. Sometimes a player is not playing their best because of external reasons, or simply because they are not meant to be where they are. I think me and Patrick are meant to play together, I really do. And if you can’t trust anything else, trust this: I am really competitive and I hate losing, I would not put myself in a situation like this if I really thought we couldn’t win.”

“From what I’ve heard Zweig and you are committed to each other both on and off the court. You’ve never been open about your private life in the media, and he is the first boyfriend you’ve ever made public, what’s different about him?”

They couldn’t take their eyes off you as you let a bashful smile spread on your face.

“I mean… Everything. I am pretty possessive of my privacy and we still don’t plan to share everything we do, but the truth is that I have never been open about any boyfriends because I have not had any serious relationships since I went pro. Patrick and I will be playing and training together so I thought it was bound to come out, so to me, I'd rather have that happen on my terms. And I do think Patrick is very different to all relationships I’ve had before, in the best way possible”

Art swallowed, refusing to look at Tashi when she turned to watch him. He didn’t deserve to be jealous. He knew that, if he had treated you right, you would still be together. That knowledge didn’t change how he felt.

“How does that happen? How does one manage to make the Y/n Y/l/n fall in love with them?”

“Well, me and Patrick met each other a while ago, at the U.S Junior Open, actually. He won it, I got second, we hit it off instantly. But it was one of those situations where it’s never the right time, you know? We kept missing each other, we were in relationships with other people, and we ended up drifting apart when I went pro. And then, funnily enough, we bumped into each other at an Adidas party about a year ago, and the rest is history.”

Art couldn’t bring himself to be angry when the TV shut off. He turned to look at Tashi who stood there with the remote in her hand, not looking at him.

“I’ll see you in ten in the court. We need to work on your serve.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, grateful for the excuse to take his feelings out on the ball. To think about anything that wasn’t your smile as you talked about Patrick. He didn’t say it out loud, but he knew Tashi felt the same way, the sudden urge to train had not come out of nowhere.

New Rochelle, New York. August 24, 2019:

You look down, shaking your head as Patrick crashes his racquet repeatedly against the floor. The umpire’s voice ominously announcing the score. You raise your face back up when Patrick gets given a penalty. Art walks nonchalantly back to the bench, you can feel Tashi’s smug grin beside you. You make eye contact with your husband and shake your head, he rubs his face with both hands, then nods. As much as you both don’t really care to win this tournament, he knows you’ll be angry if he just lets it go, gets angry and in his head and lets Art have it on conduct alone. So he sits back and waits, ready to be better, to prove himself to you once again, like every time he steps on the court.

Earlier that week. New Rochelle, New York. August 18, 2019:

Tashi is working, writing stats on her computer when she sees Patrick walking towards her from the corner of her eye. She rolls her eyes as he stops behind her, pointing at her screen before he speaks:

“He’s not bad, I played him at a few of these things when I did singles.”

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be practicing to not humiliate your wife before she carries you through the U.S. Open?”

“I just finished, thanks for caring.”

“Wonderful” she says, not a hint of amusement in her voice.

“Hey, come have a cigarette with me, I have to talk to you.”

“Yeah I don’t smoke, and I’m not talking to you.”

“Neither do I. It was just an excuse.”

She looks back at him, unimpressed, but he doesn’t let up. He stands there, staring at her until she gives in, closing her computer and standing up. Patrick is not sure what he is doing. He probably shouldn’t be doing anything at all, if he’s honest with himself. But he has dug a hole too deep to jump out of now, so he is going to follow through. He is doing this for you, he reminds himself, no matter how angry you’ll be with him at first, he is doing this for you. They find an empty alley and look back at each other, Tashi waits for him to speak, he takes his time collecting his thoughts before he does.

“I’m gonna propose something to you and it’s going to make you angry. It’s going to make you very angry,” he can’t help the smirk growing on his face, her expression doesn’t let up. “I want you to be our coach next season.”

“What?”

“Our coach is retiring, we need someone else. I want you to be our coach from next season on.”

“Does she know you’re offering me this position?”

“No, not yet. But she will, and she’ll agree with me.”

“You know that’s bullshit. Plus, why would I want to coach you guys? I already have a highly successful athlete under my wing.”

“Yeah, but even if he wins the Open and completes his career grand slam, Art’s still gonna retire as someone who was really, really good. That’s what you guys will have done together. But imagine if you could get your hands on us. Imagine if you could make us great. You’d go down in history. We have a couple more seasons. We still have a couple more good seasons and I need you to bring it out of us. What do you think?”

He doesn’t expect Tashi to slap him, turning his face completely, although he really should have. He mumbles a curse under his breath.

“How fucking dare you?” she sounds angry, too angry for his stupid proposition. “You want me to give you my best piece of advice? To coach you? Ok, quit.”

Patrick can’t even begin to think of a response, the murderous gaze Tashi gives him fixes him to the spot.

“Quit right now, right fucking now, quit.”

“What are you talking about?” he is too shocked to be offended.

“You’re dragging her down. She should’ve gone down in history as the best ever player. She would have broken records. She should have been good enough to beat the men, and she is what? Going around playing mixed doubles with you? It’s pathetic. Quit, and maybe she’ll have a chance at being an ounce of what she should’ve been.”

“You’re fucking joking”

And now Patrick is angry too. Because he is tired. He is so tired of the endless comments and judgment. He is tired of being blamed for ruining you and your career as if it hadn’t been your decision. As if it hadn’t been your idea. As if he was capable of ever doing that to you. As if he hadn’t begged for you to think it over a million times before you took a step that you wouldn’t be able to come back from. As if he hadn’t been the sole reason the world of tennis hadn’t lost you completely. As if he didn’t try harder than he had ever tried to be enough for you and make sure you never resented him or regretted being with him in any way. The thing that makes him the most angry, though, is that it’s Tashi. And how dare Tashi, the woman who had abandoned you and ruined your love for tennis in the first place, blame him for something she had pushed you to do. Something that was nobody’s fault but hers.

“You must be fucking delusional if you think for just one second that I would ever, ever, ask her to give up on her career for me. You know whose idea it was to play mixed doubles only? Y/n’s. She thought of it, she asked me to do it, she orchestrated every single little detail. And you wanna know why she did it? Because she hated tennis. She was going to quit. She couldn’t stand the thing she loved the most anymore. And you wanna know what made her start to hate tennis, even though her love for it never wavered before, not even with her borderline abusive mum who only loved her for her talent in it? You, Tashi. You did. You ruined tennis for her. So get the fuck off that high horse you continue to ride everywhere, because if there’s one person here to blame for ruining her career, it’s the one I’m looking at.”

He is out of breath when he finishes speaking, and he doesn't know what to do. He has so much shit he wants to throw at her, so much resentment for all that she had put you, and him, through. But he can’t say anything else, the second Tashi’s expression falls, even if it is only for a moment, he can feel his heart shatter inside his chest. No matter how much he hates Tashi, how much he resents her, he loves her. He loves her so much it hurts deep inside his chest, like an ache that is so present he had almost forgotten it existed. But looking at her right now, he feels it, pulsating all through him, and he knows, with a certainty he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge before, that he will never not feel this way about her.

“You don’t know what you’re saying” her voice is stern, but Patrick knows her too well to believe her tone.

“You hate me” it’s not a question. “And you hate her too. Me, for having her. Her for having the career you deserved. And it’s driving you crazy, because as much as you hate us both, you also love us. And as much as you love Art, you hate him too.”

“Excuse me?”

“You hate him because he is just Art, that’s all he can ever be. He will never be me, and he will never be her. And as much as you love him, just Art will never be enough for you.”

“I don’t know what gives you the right to speak about my marriage…”

“The same thing that gives you the right to speak about mine. Does Art know about Atlanta?” he cuts her off.

The pure, unfiltered shock on her face lets him know he has caught her off guard. She did not expect him to know about it. She collects herself quickly, but she doesn’t say anything.

“You keep saying you came here because Art needed matches, but I think you came for something else.”

“You think I came here for you?”

“And for her” he says nodding. “I’ve been signed up for this tournament for months, there’s no way you didn’t see my name in the participants list.”

“You think I came here, to throw it all away for you?”

“Maybe you just wanted to see us…”

“I don’t need to see you to know that you look like shit, and she should get as far away from you as soon as possible.”

She starts to walk away, decisively.

“I’m going to beat him,” he says, it stops her in her tracks, she turns her face to look at him. “If we both make it to the final I’m going to beat him.”

“Even if you did, it wouldn’t change anything.”

“It would break him, you know it would.”

She shakes her head and starts to walk away, too exasperated to come up with another hurtful retort about his failed career. She jogs after her, catching up with her pace almost effortlessly. He grabs her arm, makes her stop walking. He pulls up a piece of paper from the back pocket of his jeans.

“My number, in case you change your mind about the coaching… Or about seeing us again.”

“I won’t.”

He nods, shrugs his shoulders. Then, he watches her put the note in her pocket. He smiles.

New Rochelle, New York. August 24, 2019:

Patrick hasn’t looked away from you even once. You know even though you are looking into your lap. You are hyper aware of every single person around you. Most accurately, you are hyper aware of the woman next to you and the two men playing against each other. You play with your ring as you feel Tashi tell Art to focus. When you finally meet Patrick’s eyes he doesn’t smile. He raises his left hand and kisses the ring on his finger without breaking eye contact as the umpire announces the start of the next set. He crosses paths with Art as he makes his way to the other side of the net but he doesn’t move his eyes from you until he is getting ready to serve. You know then, with absolute certainty, that he is doing this for you.

Atlanta Open, Atlanta. July 18, 2011:

Even though Patrick and you both know why you are sitting in the stands during practice time instead of walking around the venue, or actually practicing, you are still shocked when you see Tashi and Art walk into the court. Your hand reaches for Patrick, holding on to his thigh as if on a rollercoaster that is suddenly going down. You both try to look composed and careless, but you don’t know if you are doing a good job. Art and Tashi do the same, pretending they can’t see you, even though you are the only other ones there and you stick out like a sore thumb. Patrick and you talk to each other, although neither of you would be able to recall anything said during your conversation, and share the fries you had bought before walking over. You pretend you just casually stumbled to sit there for a snack, that you hadn’t checked the schedule to figure out what time and what court Art Donaldson had for pre-match practice. Art hits the ball like he hasn’t been able to hit it in a while, grunting as his racket made contact with it. Tashi looks at you for a second, then back at Art. She nods, satisfied. You want to run away, want to erase that satisfied smirk from her face and your memory. But you stay glued to your seat, hand in your boyfriend’s thigh, heart pounding, and you take the way they ignore you like a punishment.

New Rochelle, New York. August 23, 2019:

The wind is relentless, the trees hitting against the window making repetitive thwack noises that remind Patrick of the sound of the ball hitting the racket. You have been answering emails and making calls to finish preparing things for tomorrow, the U.S. Open, and whatever lies in store for you both after that. Patrick knows that you’ve been messaging potential coaches and though the guilt pit on his stomach keeps growing, he can’t bring himself to say anything to you. He hopes you haven’t set in stone anything, because he is still delusionally confident that Tashi will accept his offer. He knows he should help, whatever you are doing affects him too, but he is too nervous to do anything productive so he just lays around, throwing a ball against the ceiling, or the wall, or whatever he can find. After the third time the ball slips from his hand too early or too late and hits you, you stand up and point to the door.

“Leave, right now” he makes no attempt to move. “Patrick, I mean it. I’m working and I know that you are nervous but you’re stressing me out so go down to the sauna, or get a drink or something that’s not going to make me ask you for a divorce or have to spend the rest of the night finding a place to hide your body.”

Patrick smiles as he stands up. He picks one of the keys from your bedside table and walks over to you, kissing your head before making his way to the door.

“I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, love you too. Leave now, please.”

He giggles all the way down the elevator. He doesn’t feel like drinking, which means he doesn’t feel like making a fool of himself tomorrow for getting drunk the night before a match, especially not in front of Art and Tashi. So he walks around until he finds the sauna, maybe that will help him calm down. But as he gets naked and opens the door he can’t believe his bad luck. Although there is a white towel covering his face, there is no denying the naked man sitting right in front of him is Art Donaldson. Patrick doesn’t think there’s a world where he wouldn’t recognize him, no matter how much he’s changed from that scrawny blonde boy he once knew like the back of his hand. He thinks about turning around, walking out, pretending he never saw him, and finding something else to do for the night. But there’s no way Art hasn’t heard the door opening, and Patrick has never been one to run from conflict, not really. So he steps forward, lets his mind get a little bit caught up in the past, sue him he hasn’t seen this guy in years, and opens his mouth:

“Can you do me a favor? Can you not like, demolish me tomorrow?” He says it with the inflection of a pick up line, and before he can even finish his sentence Art is pulling the towel away from his face and looking at him like he already knew that it was him standing at the door, even before he said anything.

They are both smiling as Patrick pulls the sauna door closed and walks toward Art. He is acting far more comfortably than he feels, but if he stops to think about what is actually happening he might start shaking and poop his pants, which would be a terrible thing seeing as he isn’t wearing any. He gets way too close to him, and raises one of his legs on the bench, dick fully on display. Art makes a valiant attempt pretending he doesn’t look down.

“Hey, congrats on being a Phil Tire’s Town Challenger finalist.”

“Yeah, you too” Art says, looking forward to not have to look at Patrick, who is smiling far too wide for the situation they are in and the past that they have.

“Hopefully the wind dies down by tomorrow and we can have a fair fight” Patrick lets himself pretend this is normal, like they are two competitors getting ready for the final, maybe even pals catching up after not having seen each other in a while.

Art doesn’t let him have a second of the little fantasy he’s made up in his head, though. He slides down the bench, getting as far away from him as he can without looking like he is actually running away.

“C’mon, can we talk?” Patrick says, and his voice sounds pitiful even to his own ears.

“Can you put your dick away” Art’s voice is stern, but he looks him in the eye for the first time since he walked in, so he counts it as a win.

“This is a sauna,” Patrick scoffs, putting up a fight so Art won’t notice he’d do anything he told him to. “Look, we've been here for a week and we haven’t said two words to each other. It's just… it’s silly, man. It’s dramatic. I mean, really, why are you so angry with me?”

He sits down, obeying Art and covering his dick. Art is finally looking at him, really looking at him. It has the same effect it did back when they were kids, Art looking at him makes him feel brave. He can’t stop himself from rambling on.

“Look, I don’t buy that it’s because of Tashi, I don’t think it’s because of what happened to her. And I hope it’s not about Y/n, because you have no right… So, I think, maybe, you’re just really disturbed by the fact that they could’ve been into someone like me. Both of them”

“Tashi liked you when we were teenagers.”

“Sure, but I just got married to the girl you said was the love of your life.”

“I ended things with her.”

“And you regret it every single day of your life,” Patrick knew, because it was the same way you and him felt about him and Tashi, “and you know that Tashi does too.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“We both know that if Tashi had been a little more brave back then, she would’ve never taken either of our numbers. If she had been a little bit more honest with herself, she would’ve swept Y/n away and neither of us would’ve had a chance with either of them.”

“That still happened when they were teenagers. When we were teenagers.”

“Huh” Patrick looks thoughtful. “When they were teenagers…”

Atlanta Open, Atlanta. July 18, 2011:

You slip out of your room in a t-shirt that is definitely not yours and the first shorts you stumble across on your way to the door. You can’t sleep and Patrick’s soft snores, which you often find endearing, are getting on your nerves. He doesn’t stir, even as you close the door softly behind you. You don’t know what you are doing, or where you’re going. You take the stairs down, needing to move your body for a little bit. You walk outside, feeling like no matter how hard you breathe in there’s not enough air in your lungs. You lay your weight against the brick wall of the hotel. You get your breathing under control after a couple minutes of staring at the sky trying to look for constellations you don’t know the name of anyways. When you turn around, to go back inside the hotel, you realize that right next to where you were standing there’s a window to the hotel’s bar. There, sitting down, nursing a glass that you can only assume contains something strong, already staring at you, is Tashi Duncan. You don’t know what you’re doing, but you let your feet guide you inside. Then, instead of going up the stairs like you should, you take a right turn and walk right into the bar. Tashi finds you immediately, having been looking at the door. You don’t understand what you’re doing, but before you can think about it you are sitting right in front of her. You haven’t looked at her this up close in years. You search, but you can’t find many differences. She looks exactly like the girl you knew with her hair a little shorter. You wonder if it’s the same on the inside, if the million secrets you knew about her still hold true. If you could still tell which of her smiles were fake, or when she was about to cry but was trying to hold it down.

“I heard you gave up,” she whispers after a minute of staring into each other’s eyes.

“I quit singles, I didn’t give up,” but you can tell she doesn’t really believe you, so you scan her, trying to find something else to talk about. Your eyes lock on the ring in her finger. “That’s a gorgeous ring.”

Your fingers find your own ring instinctively. You don’t know if you’re trying to make sure it’s still there, or if you are trying to ask your dad for strength. Her gaze lowers, first to your ring, then to her own.

“It’s his grandmother’s.”

You nod, you know what that means. Art had always talked about wanting to propose to his future wife with his grandmother’s ring. Back when he fantasized with you about it, it was your hand that ring ended up on. He always talked about taking you to the residency so you could meet his grandmother, completely sure she would love you and give you her blessing immediately. You think of your own sentimental family ring, unsure you would ever be able to trust anyone enough to carry it, no matter how much you loved them.

“How is she?” you ask, more out of politeness than anything else, you never got to meet her, after all.

“She died. Stroke”

You grimace, knowing the feeling of losing the one person who truly believes in you too well. You look around, trying desperately to find something to say, you will your brain to remember the million icebreakers and conversation starters you had been forced to memorize for the awfully boring networking parties your mum used to throw for you. You come up with nothing, so you look back at her and lean over the table and she imitates you. Your faces inches away from each other. You feel drunk even though you haven’t had a single sip of alcohol all day. You don’t question it, Tashi always made you feel like you were going crazy and a little bit drunk. It must be that what pushes you to say what comes out of your mouth next:

“I miss you.”

She doesn’t say anything, but she leans further over the table, getting impossible close to your face without touching it. Then, when you are completely sure she is going to tell you to go fuck yourself and leave her alone, her hand makes her way to the back of your neck pushing you towards her until your eyes meet. There might be a million things that have changed since the last time you did this, but kissing Tashi Duncan feels exactly the same as the first time you did it. It feels like coming home.

New Rochelle, New York. August 23, 2019:

“You’re right” Art says finally, leaning his back against the wall. “I do find it disturbing.”

“There’s no need, man. Lots of girls were into me, but only one of them wanted to marry me. I’ve always thought that was not what I was for, so I don’t know how I did it.”

“Yeah, neither do I.”

Patrick feels his entire skin burn with the way Art looks him up and down. He curses in his head the years they’ve spent apart and the secretive, mature person Art has become, he can’t read him like he could. He can’t tell if he is teasing, or trying to humiliate him. He can’t tell if he’s angry, or just as desperately sad as he is.

Atlanta Open, Atlanta. July 18, 2011:

You don’t know how but you and Tashi have stumbled onto a hotel room that you don’t recognize. It’s much bigger and fancier than yours so you assume it’s hers. You want to ask where Art is, if he is about to walk in on the two of you making out on his bed, but the way she is kissing you makes you forget about everything. You roll onto the bed, hands on either side of her face as hers roam your body freely. It’s too much and not enough simultaneously and you moan and pant on her lips. It’s everything you’ve always dreamt of and you can’t help wanting more. More of her and her body, of her lips, more of her heart. You try to not be greedy, take what she gives you, and soon you’re seeing stars and rolling over, breathing with difficulty.

“That was…”

“Yeah” she mumbles.

“So… What happens now?”

“What do you mean what happens now?” she seems confused as she stands from the bed, walking around until she finds your clothes.

“We just had sex,” you say, obviously.

“Look, we shouldn’t have done this. It was a mistake.” She throws your t-shirt at you, you put it on slowly.

“A mistake?” you’re getting angrier by the second, but you don’t want to yell and alert whoever is sleeping in the room next to this one.

“Yeah, we will act as if nothing happened.”

“What about Art?

“He doesn’t need to know,” you shake your head as you finish putting on your clothes.

“That’s fucked up.”

“Do not act as if I was the only one who cheated! Aren’t you and Patrick dating?”

“I never said that! You can’t just run away from everything you refuse to accept. You haven’t talked to me in years!”

“Yeah, and it should have stayed that way.”

“One day you’re going to wake up and realize that everything you’ve refused to accept all your life is catching up to you, and by then, it might be too late.”

“Get out” she says, instead of replying to what you said, you don’t need to be told twice.

You manage to hold back your tears until you are standing in front of the elevator. You’re fully sobbing when the doors open, revealing a very confused Art. You see him step towards you, but you refuse to let either of them continue breaking your heart. You step backwards, then turn around. You run until you find the stairs. By the time you make it back to your room you look like a mess. You knock on the door, you must have left your key in Tashi’s room but you are too upset to care about that or waking Patrick up. His entire face changes when he opens the door. Worry taking over his expression.

“Y/n, what happened? Where were you?

You fall onto his arms, sobbing. He leads you in, closing the door behind you. You don’t speak until you’re both seating in bed.

“I saw Tashi… And I… We…” you don’t say anything else, but you don’t need to, he understands.

He holds you through the night. The next morning, you forfeit the tournament and go home.

New Rochelle, New York. August 23, 2019:

“Honestly, I thought you’d be happy I was in the draw” Patrick is not ready to let it go, to shut up and walk away from Art, he doesn’t know when’s the next time he’ll be able to talk to him again, so he runs his mouth. “I mean, you’ve always wanted to beat me in a tournament, and two weeks before the open… It’s the perfect confidence booster.

He settles on cocky because he doesn’t know what else to do. He has never been very good at being vulnerable, not with Art, and no amount of therapy is going to make him start now, when he can see how done he is with him from a mile away.

“I know what you’re trying to do right now,” Art smiles.

“I’m not trying to do anything, Art,” but he doesn’t know if he’s telling the truth. “This is a challenger, I don’t need to play mind games with you.”

“Right, you don’t give a shit.”

“Hey, I didn’t say that…”

“We both know that you have a considerably higher stake here than I do.”

“Do I?”

Art laughs, but there’s no real humor to it. Patrick does too, trying to conceal the way he is sure his entire body is shaking.

“Oh, fuck… Where do you get your swagger from, man?” Patrick can tell, from the way Art is looking at him, that this is the part that’s going to hurt, he doesn’t try to stop it. “I mean you come in here swinging your dick around like I’m supposed to be afraid of it but do you realize how embarrassing it is that you are here right now?”

“Not quite as embarrassing as you being here,” Patrick has never known a way to back down, so he stirs the pot.

He’d rather have Art yelling at him or humiliating him than not talking to him at all. His therapist would not be very proud.

“I’m just stopping by, man. You would live here if it wasn’t for her” there’s a pause, suddenly Patrick wants to take everything back, run away with his tail between his legs, but it’s too late. “You know, I’ve always tried to figure out what happened to you, but the more I thought about it the more I realized… It’s what didn’t happen. You never grew up. You still think you can talk to me like you’re my peer because we came from the same place, because you’ve managed to stumble into some of the same competitions. But it’s not about where you came from in tennis, Patrick, it’s about winning. And I do, a lot. And you only do because you tricked Y/n into playing with you. But one day, she’s going to wake up and realize she wasted her entire fucking life in a pathetic man who thinks he’s the shit because he won the junior U.S Open a trillion years ago. And then, you’ll be left with what you deserve: nothing.”

“You’ve never beaten me,” he says, as if it’s what matters out of everything he said.

He says it because if he focuses on what Art said about you, he might cry. He doesn’t want to cry, not in front of Art, not right now. He doesn’t have enough willpower to fight him, like he knows he should, like he did with Tashi.

“So what? I haven’t beaten most of the guys who play in these things, or the ones who only make it into the big tournaments playing doubles. This is a game about winning the points that matter.”

“I don’t matter?” he doesn’t know why he says it, or what he is expecting to get in return.

“Not even to the most obsessive tennis fan in the entire world,” his voice is monotone, tired, Patrick wants to crawl out of his skin.

“We’re not talking about tennis.”

“What the fuck else do I have to talk to you about?”

“I wanted to come in here to wish you good luck, Art,” he says, and he means it.

“That makes no sense,” Art scoffs, looking away, he’s talking to himself more than Patrick.

“I wanted to say that I’m looking forward to it, I miss playing with you,” he is being vulnerable, but he knows Art won’t believe him, which is probably why he says it in the first place.

“Yeah,” he nods his head and he looks amused, but Patrick can see right through him, he’s about to finish him off. “Well, I don’t miss playing with you, man. I’m too old for it.”

As soon as the door is closed behind Art, Patrick lets himself drop onto the bench. He tells himself he is not going to cry. There’s tears running down his face by the time you open the door of your room to him. He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t need to, you understand.

#challengers x reader #challengers #art donaldson #tashi duncan x reader #tashi duncan #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #annie writes challengers #patrick zweig x art donaldson x tashi duncan x reader #patrick zweig x art donaldson x Tashi Duncan #loss of my life series

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brights-place · 8 months

Text

Barb dating an Circus impalement artist S/O

Pairings: Barb X Reader

Warnings: Impalement art, Throwing blade weaponary, fluff

A/N: Random Thought about barb dating one of them! I'm so tired and I did this on the plane! also Impalement Artists are people who throw blades! :))

- You were an impalement artist and were quite knock from trolls across trolldom for your accuracy in Impalement arts which is the arts of performing in which a performer plays the role of human target for a fellow performer who demonstrates accuracy skills in disciplines such as knife throwing and archery but you mainly did it with blades

- You currently held an show for the rock trolls with your assistant as you smiled to the crowd before you started to throw knives towards your assistant outlining your assistants figure on the wheel before bowing to the crowd

- Barb stood at the crowd front row staring at you in awe how you shined under the light while your throwing knives glistened as you did tricks

- Barb couldn't take her eyes off void as she and king thrash went up to void once void was done doing tricks they went backstage with barb grinning happily

- She was in awe when she came backstage to see you just juggling knives with your fellow circus crew enjoying it adding more sharp weapons and items

- you soon stopped bowing as the clowns soon got on stage as you smirked before your eyes darted to barb who grinned walking over "Dude your badass!"

- You couldn't help but blush and look away as you smile "Really?" she nodded her head and did the rock n roll sign "Its awesome you should do it more at our place us rock trolls would love it! it fits our vibe you know man?"

- You nodded "Sure... I'll see if the circus can come around more here but we mostly go to pop village" Barb nodded as she gave an thumbs up

- Your circus kept visiting Rock village so barb would always come by to say hello to you when she sees the posters around she'd run over to you

- Other rock trolls have been noticing how their queen would go over to the implament artist whenever the circus came around.

- You two soon became close when she kept visiting and would talk to you before, and after the show

- She soon started to gain feelings when she saw you wink and make flirt gestures towards her when your on stage an she wouldn't help but chuckle

- You two soon started dating after awhile and it's nice and fun when you two are together she sometimes grabs you by the waist before or after your show kissing you deeply -After dating for a while and spending more and more time with you Barb notices how much of a dedicated and hard-working person you were to your work and you would stay up and work harded to make it accurate while she checks her guitar tuning it - Barb loves to admire their work ethic and commitment to making others happy while putting their own needs to the side yes she worries but she can't help but find your focused expressions adorable. - Barb feels proud to be part of such an amazing person's life and the love between you two just keeps growing as you chucked an Axe towards an target hitting it straight in the middle as Riff claps his hand while Barb would cheer loudly - She helps you sharpen your blades and sometimes would make sure to stare at you while she watches your arms move back and fourth sharpening your blades as she literally just chucks the blade away and sits on your lap while you chuckle since it was the second time this had happened this week

-There are very few stunts a knife thrower can undertake that tests the skill and fortitude more than throwing knives around their lovely assistant, tied to The Wheel of Death, at less than 1 second per throw. Having been in that position and barb asked to do it with you for fun - You were worried since you didn't want to cause her to be in that situation I mean you were always accurate with your throws and with everything but doing it as your girlfriend as the assistant made you worried and feel overwhelmed abit - the impalement artists that have stood before that whirling wheel and mustered the strength to throw that 'FIRST knife' as well as the lovely assistants who so faithfully put their fate in the hands of such throwers... so thats why you were worried

- She makes sure your alright right after and tell you that you did amazing and you couldn't help but hug her tightly peppering her face with kisses

- When you practice your act you have gotten a couple injuries including nicks, cuts, bruises, and scraps. -she notices how much pain you are in from your work but instead of worrying she thinks it's impressive how you put yourself through the pain because you know that the people watching you expect nothing but perfection yet she still worries takes your hands and bandages you up - Barb has seen you push yourself so hard that you would be bleeding or exhausted after your act and when you're in such a state. - Barb can't help but feel moved by how hard you push yourself for others sake and whenever you try to hide your injuries from barb she knows but she never tells you just kisses your injuries as barb makes sure you aren't bleeding anymore and she takes care of you

- You're not sure if it's in your head or not but you sometimes feel barbs eyes on you while you practice - It's a pleasant feeling to know how much she cares and admires you smirking as you giggle putting the blade aside thinking it was enough for now and you should pay attention and hold your loving girlfriend

- I just gave up i'm so tired i'm sorry lovelies I know I said I wouldn't write and focus on my grandma but like writing comforts me

reblogs + comments are appreciated ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

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moonyinpisces · 5 months

Note

Hi! I finally read HDWTOTL after seeing the cover art submissions on my dash for days. I won’t be emotionally the same ever again. Thank you, genuinely. But anyway, I was wondering if I could get some general writing advice?

I haven’t ever finished a story, and my problem is this: I can’t propel it forward. I have ideas for the beginning or middle of a story, but they’re just vague, disconnected scenes or emotions. I can never bring it to an end. And I can’t seem to bring people from location to location in a way that doesn’t feel very awkward.

Sometimes I look back at the writing I’ve done in a day and I realize it’s nearly all dialogue. Is this just my sign to be a screenwriter?

Or is there another angle to telling a story I’m not seeing?

How does one go from being a shit storyteller to a good one?

Thank you❤️

oh my gosh, thank you for reading hdwtotl and reaching out!! and yes, i can absolutely help you out, i'll throw my thoughts + advice down under the cut <3

i've always struggled with exactly what you're describing until relatively recently. i could get the barebone structure of a story down (beginning, end, vague plot points, dialogue-only scenes, etc.) luckily you mentioned you have disconnected emotions as one of the building blocks, which is, imo the most important thing you can have as a writer.

all that writing is is having an emotion and using all the tools in your arsenal to make someone else experience that same emotion.

that's all it is. what you're describing re: pacing and progression are all valid concerns, but i think you should remove that from the equation for now and just focus on what certain plot ideas make you feel, and how to evoke that feeling in others. personally, i struggle with properly explaining myself UNLESS i'm writing fiction. like, i can't tell you what i'm feeling, but i can make you feel the same way, and in the end we're now on the same wavelength. i don't think that's THE way to write, but it's the way i approach it and i couldn't do it any other way.

as to how to grow/push past what you're specifically struggling with: i think what helped me the most to develop myself as a writer is write the world around you. if you saw a sunset over farm hills in late october, how would you describe that to depict the feeling it evoked in you? the chilliness, perhaps spookiness, the beauty WITH the context that it's ushering in darkness, the dying plants, the cows huddling for warmth, the sound of a passing train. both the material and the immaterial work together in tandem in fiction -- what does the narrator sense from both? do that until it becomes second nature; if i see something incredible irl, you best believe my mental typewriter is going nuts. (the bentley scene in chapter 11 of hdwtotl had existed in my brain for MONTHS sentence-by-sentence WITH paragraph breaks before i finally got it down lol)

so if i were you, that's what i'd work on first before trying to bring it bigger picture with a beginning-middle-end as i think your pacing will naturally develop from it as well. what do you see, how do you feel, and how can the reader come away with both of those things without having been where you are themselves. also single scene oneshots to get in some practice translating that to fictional spaces.

good luck, i hope you break past this!! we need more storytellers out there

#moony.advice #ask box

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protocolseben · 11 months

Text

(3 days before flight)

"Rocky, should I untether Mark from the pipes?"

"Don't even think about it Sebastian. I don't want to get into trouble !"

»»» 11th Day of Mission

Load LOG : // SL-21-20XX-28-12_01…

(alternate title : fuck characterisation, hello OOC. get OOC pain'd.)

###########

23:04:26:85 UTC +1 CET

Recording? Ok...so today-

("Talking into your diary again like a girl, love? ")

"Fucking…" clunk "It's my logging session. I'll throw something at you."

("Did you forget where you are?")

"Fick dich."

("…I hope that's German for 'I like you a lot?' ")

< clunk >

recording terminated due to lack of sound / voice activity.

###########

END LOG SL-21-20XX-28-12_01

// -----------------------------

Load LOG : // SL-21-20XX-28-12_02…

###########

23:11:33:02 UTC +1 CET

…Ok, the light is on, it is recording now.

This morning the Earth looked bluer than usual, and I really liked it, so I grabbed the camera and quickly snapped a picture. My photography skills are good enough!

NASA's Jackson called us the noisiest astronauts ever. Fair... But he did remark on how efficiently Mark and I get the work done around the station, given the state and the age of the machines. We would really just split the massive amount of maintenance into two and made sure we tied up any loose ends, and they were always impressed.

Today we had to do a pretty massive job of putting on the NOAX stuff on the many of the station panels. It was our second time doing a spacewalk in only eleven days, so that's a big thing. And it was…four hours outside, putting basically space caulk. Heat really gets to these big guys! The application was less than fantastic though, as we had to use spatulas to put them on…it was a really careful science experiment. There's Mark and me, stuck to only the metal railings of the station for our lives, putting state-of-the-art things with some ma's spatula. It's hot doing this the whole day, just mashing this stuff in! Sweating in space is not fun…

I looked up the stuff when I got back from the work. They use these things in Formula 1 cars…? Well you learn something new everyday and experience new things too, but I'm not sure how this caulk thing will benefit that much… probably only useful if Michael Schumacher goes 27 thousand kilometres per hour, sure…

Ok, I have been putting off talking about Mark.

The previous recordings already have them, but for memory's sake, I will just mention it here. I know, I know, I'm going to be 24 next year, and here I am, still feeling like i'm in middle school with how I'm acting.

We've been co-workers for two years now, and we've had our fair share of being at each other's necks. Horner didn't help either. The only thing he had to say to us before we left was that we were like an old married couple. And to get "our shit sorted by the end of the trip".

Well…

It really is hard to put it into words. It was pretty obvious to everyone, so I am the idiot here. Hah... I tried not to think much of it, especially during the suit up procedure for the spacewalks. it needed two people anyway.

Before we went back into the airlock, the bastard went to unhook my tether off the metal railing! Fucker!! Do you know how screwed we'll get if I wasn't anywhere with the EMU? He had the gall to laugh in his suit. I should have just beaten his face in just now.

("You didn't mention me holding your hands?")

clnk

("oh shoot--")

recording terminated due to lack of sound / voice activity.

###########

END LOG SL-21-20XX-28-12-2

----------------

#sebmark #writing #art

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sanctus-ingenium · 1 year

Text

answering your asks vol 3

Full context for the Inprnt issue can be found here on this post , tl;dr my shop is closed until I receive my payments from inprnt in a timely manner and essentially won't reopen unless they clean up their act. Regarding the money they owe me outlined in that post, I still have not received it and on Friday I sent a support ticket in to inprnt demanding they send it soon. Haven't heard back since. I think where Inprnt is concerned, it's worth mentioning that they no longer send promotional emails (which used to be a regular occurrence) and there seems to be a complete lack of communication and the only thing about the site that regularly updates is the sale banner (ending soon!!! 🙄)

So honestly I'm of the opinion that the print on demand bubble has burst and that this method of selling art was a very short-lived feature of an internet that doesn't exist anymore. Think about it - I make money on a sale after having spent nothing on promotion, on materials, on postage fees, etc. It's so easy to game the system using bots or stolen art to essentially print free money that I'm shocked it even lasted as long as it did. Maybe I'm wrong but I won't tie myself to another print on demand service that's just going to pull the same old shit redbubble and inprnt have done this year, or one that requires me to constantly promo it like some kind of influencer on instagram or tiktok or whatever.

Will prints come back? I hope so. I am looking into local printing shops and considering the feasibility of handling the process myself but you must understand that if I do that, the price will rise. I won't have the ability to run constant discounts or eat a loss if I order 20 prints and only 7 sell. It is what it is.

And the actual worldbuilding asks below the cut lol:

(referring to this post)

Only if you want to! I've had a few people send me cool sketches and stuff via dms and it's always nice to see but you really shouldn't feel pressured to. After all it's not like I post my rough practice here lol (that goes on patreon ;)

I'm going to be SO real with you right now - I did not consider that at all. However I do know that tinting flames with various chemical compounds was a huge part of alchemy, part of the whole flashy show of it to impress the layperson. So sure, I bet they do throw in copper sulfate or various other chemicals to produce the coloured flames - these make a huge impression on witnesses who might not even have imagined such a thing possible, and also help identify a holy beast at a distance on a battlefield choked with smoke and dive-bombing serpents.

Fun fact, the flames come from the furnace wells, right. Each well is connected to specific systems, where it can most efficiently deliver fuel to the heart and onwards. So it is possible to 'read' the pattern of flame bursts from the furnace slits - they are not constant, but there'll be one every few seconds based on when the furnace tenders excite each well. You can tell at a distance, for example, that Leun is readying an acid spray, or rerouting power to the rear legs for a leap, or even what direction he's turning. It all runs at a slight delay, which is why the crew inside has to be SO closely coordinated.

@absolutely-flabbergasted Knights are allowed to reproduce but not marry, because it's sort of accepted theory that blood relatives of a knight will be 'accepted' by the knight's beast when the time comes. This is not true but it means that sometimes the knight's apprentices are their own children. The other parent is mostly another member of the church and usually not identified or considered important (unless they're a smith...). There are usually a decent number of known knight bastards running about.

Smiths are not allowed to have families or marry, because their first devotion should be to their art or their beast if they are assigned to one. If one tries, the kids are taken away, anonymised with new names, and put into the pool of potential novices in some other stable. Now, in reality some stables or churches are just not that strict and have a slightly different culture, so there's often an Open Secret about some master smith's illegitimate family or a priest's secret mistress. This is tolerated by the authorities to a certain degree but if it becomes too rampant there'll usually be a change of management and some sort of crackdown.

Families who give up their second born cannot stay in contact, but if the child becomes successful in some way (say, if the child becomes a knight) the families are sent tokens symbolising this which can be placed in the family/village shrine. This can be a huge point of pride, with some people faking the tokens just so that they can show off about their successful kids that are totally knight apprentices.

The reason they don't get to stay in touch with their children is due to the secretive nature of the church and its arts. The church has been at war with the neighbouring nations for a long time and only its mastery of engine work has kept it afloat, and nobody wants these secrets to fall into enemy hands. Particularly if your kid goes on to become a scribe, which is if anything an even more closely guarded profession than that of a knight (those engine diagrams don't draw themselves). The laity are usually quite devout and understanding of this. If they aren't, they might attempt to find their child, often without success.

If you want your church kid back: it depends. If you can prove to the church authorities that you need your child's labour to stay afloat or to carry on the family line, they might take that into consideration. Of course, the only children that return are the likes of sweepers, cleaners, altar boys, pages, etc. Nobody who might have witnessed any Secrets. The church is best understood as being in the middle of a cold war for the past few centuries (and sometimes just regular war) so it's far more closely guarded.

@kicks-tiktaalik-back-into-water

It's not likely. Even if the ventilation system worked perfectly, he is still from an older generation of holy beasts and no longer represents the pinnacle of the technology. Leun might have a less sophisticated ventilation system but everything else about him is head and shoulders more advanced - including the crew number he can take on. Leun only requires a single enginesmith in the heart, for example. This is because there's more automation of his systems, and he can actually manage to walk home from battle without anybody inside at all, just based on the knight's input (because the throne chamber is open to the air the knights are technically not inside the beasts). It's not preferable (it can damage the systems) but it is a huge bonus.

Think about how in the early days of commercial aviation, there could be as many as eight people working on the flight deck. In the 60s, a 3-person crew was standard; captain, first officer, and flight engineer. Today there are only two pilots needed. This is down to increased automation, and it means that it is cheaper to fly the plane - the airline has to hire fewer pilots, 'flight engineer' is a nonexistent role these days, and that means you need to train fewer people, have fewer people on call, feed fewer people etc etc. It is cheaper for the church to run Leun than it is to run Krokodilos and even though the church is wealthy, the money and resources are not infinite. Especially now, in times of plague. Leun, for all everybody sings his praises, is basically a reskinned Pantera with better systems - again, cutting costs, because now we can get all of Pantera's old enginesmiths to work on him instead of having to train up new ones on a brand new and wholly unique platform. It's as much a matter of logistics as it is innovation and technology.

#info asks #setting: mez #fun asks this time round .. thank you everyone <3

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