You keep saying you came here because Art needed matches… I think you came for something else. You think I came here for you? You think I came here to throw it all away for you? Maybe you just wanted to see me. I have seen you, you look like shit.
ZENDAYA & JOSH O'CONNOR as TASHI DUNCAN & PATRICK ZWEIG in CHALLENGERS (2024) dir. Luca Guadagnino
started the school year with a cowboy artrick x Ethel Cain fic, i’ll end the same way | Crush by Ethel Cain | 18+ MDNI
⟢ i owe you a black eye and two kisses / tell me when you wanna come and get ‘em ⟣
Patrick who really wasn’t fond of Art at the start. this blue eyed, blonde boy who showed up at his door on move-in day, barely looking like he’d ridden a horse a day in his life. his hands were too soft, his face was too bright, his demeanor too warm for life on the ranch. but what business is it of his? why should he care? he’ll figure it out on his own soon enough.
but he knows the other guys on the ranch just can’t stand it either, can’t stand this newbie who talks too much and asks too many questions. they loathe him, and honestly, Patrick pities Art. he’s as oblivious as a newborn calf and it’s almost painful to watch how he just can’t take a hint. it’s stupid, it’s so stupid the way he feels sorry for this blonde kid fresh off the train from New Rochelle. he shouldn’t. but he just can’t help it, and it gets even worse when he comes back to their room one day and finds him crying on his bed, head in his hands.
those poor, high-pitched whining sounds he’s making, the way his shoulders and his arms shake. he can’t just stand there, and he sure as hell can’t ignore it. he shuts the door quietly and kicks off his boots by their shared closet before walking to sit on his bed across from Art, his hands in his lap. he swallows before he opens his mouth. “…are you okay…?” he asks as softly as he can manage. Art just shakes his head, not meeting the brunette’s eyes, his sobs softening just a little but not by much. Patrick hates the non response. it means he has to try again. “can i do anything..?”
Art sniffles and takes a shaky breath behind his fingers. “i—c-can you get me s-something frozen from the f-f-freezer..?” he asks through shaky sobs. Patrick nods, even if he knows Art can’t see it, and walks to their mini fridge, pulling open the freezer door and grabbing a small bag of peas from inside. he steps back and offers it out to the blonde—but his heart stops when he finally gets a look at his face.
Art’s pale skin is darkened by a large black and blue mark coloring his eye. it looks incredibly painful, and Patrick knows he doesn’t have to ask who did it or why it happened. he already knows. so instead he just kneels down in front of Art and presses the bag of peas to his face, his heart clenching at the sound of the blonde’s hiss of pain. “sorry..” he murmurs, his free hand on Art’s knee. “it’s not your fault.” he says pitifully. god, Patrick can barely stand it, his thumb rubbing over his skin through the denim of his jeans. he doesn’t know what to say, other than he’ll beat the shit out of those guys tomorrow. but that probably wouldn’t be a comfort to him right now.
he sighs deeply. “do you want a cigarette?”
⟢ he looks like he works with his hands, and smells like Marlboro Reds ⟣
they sit together on Art’s bed, the blonde pressing the bag of peas to his eye while nursing a shared cigarette with the other. it gets passed back and forth between them, the smoke blown into the quiet air. it’s somehow soothing and yet, it makes Patrick’s skin crawl a little. there are things he wants to say—‘it’s not your fault’, ‘those guys are assholes’, ‘i could kick the shit out of them if you wanted’—but nothing would pass from his lips. instead they were stuck in this silence. well..that is until Art laughs wetly, a pitiful sound. “can’t believe i let them get one over on me like that…it’s worse i believed they actually liked me…” he reaches for the cigarette again, guiding it a little clumsily to his lips and taking a deep drag.
Patrick doesn’t laugh though. he knows he bad loneliness affects people on the ranch, especially newbies. “those guys..are assholes.” he all but whispers, his head hazy with smoke. “they just…don’t really take to newbies well.” he continues, taking the cigarette back for his own drag. it was a little more than a stub now, they’d need another soon. “but they are still assholes..” he watches Art nod solemnly beside him, taking a breath before putting the pea bag down from his eye. “yeah. they are.”
the mark is less angry, less swollen, but still dark. maybe even darker than before. Art tossed the bag to the foot of the bed, sighing as he leaned back on his hands. “i don’t know why i thought talking so much would make them like me…i just—i don’t fucking know.” he gripes quietly, clearly frustrated by all of this. Patrick listens quietly as he finishes the cigarette and stubs it out in the ash tray by the window sill. “you just wanted to connect with them..” he tries. Art nods, his curls bouncing a little. “i guess so..it’s just so lonely out here, is it so bad that i wanted to maybe chat with these guys on a lunch break or something?”
Patrick shakes his head, lying back. “no. but they’ve just been doing this for so long that it’s almost impossible for them to find connection…enjoyable anymore. it’s not you.” and he knows it sounds fake, a stupid sentiment, but he’s trying. because truthfully he likes this blonde cowboy, and he doesn’t want him to feel like everyone here is out to get him. he glances over at Art, reaching to put a hand on his shoulder. “it really isn’t you.”
Art’s baby blue’s dart down to Patrick’s hand, his face softening just a little at the contact. it’s warm, it’s soothing, it’s welcome. he exhales softly. “thanks..” the silence that follows is a little tense, but not tense in an uncomfortable way—tense with warmth and something drawing them to each other. Art slowly leans himself back to lay next to Patrick on the bed, turning his face to meet those green eyes. they’re beautiful.
⟢ there’s just something about you, baby / maybe i’ll just be crazy ⟣
neither of them are sure how it happens, who moved first, or even why—but sure enough their lips end up connected and they don’t dare to part. Art melts, the feel of Patrick’s lips against his rough and warm and all he could want after so many months alone. but deep down he knows this is different, this isn’t just connection. Patrick sighs, his hand finding Art’s waist and tugging him right up against him, the hard line of his body a welcome sensation.
the blonde’s lips part for Patrick’s tongue to slid against his own, the slickness of it making his stomach flip and turn with arousal he knows the brunette can feel growing against his thigh through his jeans. Patrick’s hand on his hip encourages Art to rock against him, to relieve the ache however he wants. it makes a small moan slip through his pink lips between kisses. “shit…” it's breathy and perfect and it drives Patrick wild, his hand tightening on Art's hip, his thumb slipping under the waistband of his jeans for some skin-to-skin contact. Art tips his head back, feeling the brunette grind in rhythm against him and kiss at his jaw, his breaths hot against his skin. everything is hot and smells like wood and dirt and musk—it's perfect.
they go on and on, exchanging kisses as they grind against each other, soft moans and gasps of pleasure filling the room. it's more contact than either of them have had in months and they realize in this moment how badly they've needed this. Patrick's kisses sweep over Art's face, becoming tender as his lips press carefully against his bruised eye. Art hisses with pain and pleasure, his hips jerking forward. "Pat.." Patrick whines, hips rolling faster against the blonde. he never wants him to stop saying his name like that. "Art, baby..."
it sneaks up on them both, but with another heated kiss and the grip of Patrick's hand sliding down to the back of Art's thigh to hoist it over his hip, they are soon flying over the edge of pleasure with groans and high pitched gasps, staining their jeans. they pant into each other's mouths, foreheads pressed tightly to one another as they breathe each other down from their highs. "god." Art pants out, his leg still hooked around Patrick's hip, keeping them slotted against one another like two puzzle pieces. Patrick chuckles breathlessly. "yeah..goddamn.." his hand keeps it's spot on Art's hip, rubbing there soothingly. he leans to press a soft kiss to his black eye.
"if they give you anymore trouble, i'll owe them all black eyes, cowboy.."
Rays bot drop
Requests:
Old feelings- Art Donaldson has been your dance partner since 5th grade but ever since he started Stanford he wouldn’t stop talking about Tashi little did you know about the secret crush he harbours for you.
Meeting Lily- You’re arts controversially young girlfriend that he met at a tennis event. He’s always known he wanted you to meet Lily so when Tashi finally gives him the go ahead he takes you and Lily to her favourite restaurant! He really hopes his two favourite girls can connect.
HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL AU-
Real Smooth- Patrick’s grades were falling dramatically and so was his attendance. To actually pass senior year you had to be involved in at least two clubs and Patrick only ever had time for one. So when the wildcats isn’t enough Patrick is to join drama club to bring up his school performance.
Stage fright- Art had never froze on the stage before, he was always so confident people would say he glowed under the stage lights.So why was he so frozen when you walked in?
Drama club- Patrick was captivated by you when he saw you in the Schools Twinkle town. Ever since then he was eager to find out everything about you even if that meant joining drama club.
Fake dating- You and Art were both main characters for the schools Twinkle town. But ever since he froze on stage he hasn’t been able to live it down. So with this new drama of him dating one of the most well known people at school be enough to fix his reputation?
My first ever bot drop! I can’t believe it tbh! Some of these bots have been in the works for ages while others are super recent. I do want to improve some of them over time. But I just needed to finish some of them up! I know there’s no Tashi which I’m so sorry about, I just hadn’t had any decent ideas for Tashi bot that I actually could go through with! Hopefully Tashi can be in my next drop! My request form is located on my profile if you have any ideas! Most of the requests might come out separately! I’m sorry some of these are really bad but I’m sick rnn 😭😭 anyways enjoy!
actually craving more vamp!artrick
-bambi
hellooo bambi my love !! sorry this took so long i got super busy but yes ofc the world is your oyster <3 (but bear w me bc i know jack shit abt vampires)
tw: gore, death, violence
patrick hasn't seen art in two weeks. every day, he waits by the corner to walk with art, yet the blonde never shows. he knows art is alive, they still text, but he hasn't seen his friend's face in ages. eventually, he knows he has to confront him, stepping to the front door and knocking three times.
"who is it?" art's voice can be heard, muffled by the door in between them. he sounds.. okay. maybe a little nervous or frantic, but he doesnt sound lile he's dying.
patrick leans his head against the door, knocking his forehead against it. "me. open the door, art."
there's a wet schlck from the inside of the house. "busy! text you later!" he definitely sounds frantic, his words coming out whimpery and rushed.
patrick sighs, knocking again. "art, let me in," he insists, fingers digging into his pockets to wrap around the cold metal key that art had given him months ago- probably didnt even remember patrick had them.
"i said im busy!"
patrick rolls his eyes and digs the key into the lock, twisting it until he hears a click. "im coming in, asshole," he calls out, opening the door to see-
art.
his golden halo of curls spattered with crimson, hands stained red. his face is covered in tears, creating clear rivulets through the blood that was stuck between his lashes. on the floor was a body, mangled from the neck up, just torn up flesh hanging onto gristled bone.
art's hands are shaking, nailbeds crusted with blood. "...i didnt know you had a key," he whispers, new tears forming in his eyes.
patrick's in shock- his sweet, docile, lamb of a friend, covered head to toe in blood, kneeling over a body that patrick could only assume art had killed. "i made a copy four months ago," he rasps out, taking a careful step closer. he can see art's canines- sharp and deadly, gleaming between the plush pink of his lips. "are you- okay?"
it all spills out of art then- the way he'd been attacked a few weeks prior, punched and beaten in the park until someone's teeth had sunk into his neck. he's changed since then, he explains tearfully to patrick, grimy hands gripping onto patrick's shoulders, a crazed look in his eyes.
"i don't know whats wrong with me," he whimpered, fearful gaze flitting to the body on the floor. "i just- i swear i-i blacked out, and when i came to- nana- nana-" he sobs, and patrick sees it now- light grey curls, matted together with blood. his stomach twists, and he has to force back bile.
"dude..." it's shitty. patrick isn't sure what exactly to say. not only are vampires real, but his best friend is one now. doomed to live forever. "...bite me."
it comes out without him meaning to. but as the words sink in, patrick realizes thats exactly what he wants, to live alongside art for life. eternally with his other half, his one true love.
art looks up at him, still wiping at his nose and leaving red streaks. "what-?"
"bite me," patrick repeats, pulling art close and tilting his head, exposing the spanse of flesh. art can hear the blood pumping underneath the skin, patrick's heart thumping loudly. "do it, art."
"pat- i- i don't- i can't-" art's frantic, tears spilling down non-stop.
patrick pulls art forward, wedging his mouth open by shoving his fingers past his lips, exposing his sharp canines. he leans his neck against the point, waiting for art to sink his teeth in.
the blonde can't help it, the tempt of flesh beneath him driving him insane, overshadowing his need for anything else- he bites down. hard.
patrick screams, and art screams along for him.
they've become whole now.
Tashi Duncan, Art Donaldson, and Patrick Zweig were never meant to be criminals.
They were meant to be icons—flawless, untouchable, transcendent. The prodigies of the court. They were supposed to be the kind of legends etched into history books and Wheaties boxes, draped in gold and immortal praise. Together, they were the wings, the sandals, the laurel crown of Nike herself—divine symbols of strength, speed, and victory.
But fate, as it often does, had a different trajectory in mind.
Tashi's career ended in a single, brutal snap—an injury that never quite healed, physically or otherwise. Patrick spiraled beneath the weight of expectation, his once-electrifying talent drowned out by inconsistency and a reputation he couldn’t outrun. And Art, sweet, unshakeable Art, lost the one person who ever made the tour feel like home. When his grandmother died, something essential inside him went quiet. He didn’t walk away from tennis. He simply stopped showing up.
The three of them could’ve faded then. Could’ve let the world move on without them. Could’ve become cautionary tales whispered about in locker rooms and bar corners. But they didn’t. They wouldn’t. Being forgotten was never going to be enough.
The spark came from Patrick, as it often did. He was crashing in another woman’s bed—charming, broke, and always a little too clever for his own good—when he noticed the vase. It stood on a pedestal near the window, backlit by city lights. Porcelain. Imperial yellow. Eighteenth-century Qing dynasty. The kind of thing you see once in a lifetime, if you're lucky—or reckless.
While she was in the bathroom, he did a quick google search. Qianlong era. Estimated value: nine million dollars.
That night, Patrick did something he never did—he scheduled a second date. Then he called Art. Then he called Tashi.
The plan was stupid at first. Then brilliant. Then inevitable.
Ten years later, they were infamous.
The trio had become the most elusive white-collar criminals on the international stage. They slipped through countries and identities like water, leaving behind only splintered champagne bottles, forged documents, and the distinct scent of audacity. Their work was seamless, often beautiful, always just out of reach. They didn’t chase greatness anymore. They stole it—paintings, diamonds, tax codes, ancient artifacts, entire reputations.
And despite the dossiers, the witness statements, the surveillance photos and whispered confessions, not a single case ever stuck. No court ever held them. No handcuffs ever locked.
But there was you.
The head of the FBI’s White Collar Crime Division in New York. Unshakable, relentless, methodical. You’ve built an entire career on patterns no one else sees, on connections no one else believes in until it’s too late. You know them better than anyone else alive. You know their methods, their tells, the rare moments they falter.
They know you, too.
You’re not just a threat—you’re a problem. The kind they can’t buy, charm, or blackmail their way out of. They laugh about you sometimes, over drinks in villas under fake names. But lately, the laughter’s been thinner.
Because you’re getting closer.
And this time, they feel it.
tagging: @kimmyneutron @babyspiderling @queensunshinee @hanneh69 @jamespotteraliveversion @glennussy @awaywithtime @artstennisracket @artdonaldsonbabygirl @blastzachilles @jordiemeow @soulxinxthexsky @voidsuites @elsieblogs @deeninadream
Mike Faist as Dodge Mason Panic | S01E07
i wrote about design for living & challengers in relation to each other last year for an unpublished essay on threesome movies. in celebration of the upcoming watchparty, here's a paragraph:
Challengers is surprisingly close to Design for Living in narrative. A threesome past haunts the principals, two talented men are inspired by the patron Mother who does not do the same work, the trio fail at monogamous relationships before finding three-way unity. Both Gilda and Tashi end up in convenient marriages that represent their dissatisfaction not only romantically, but in their identities and careers as well. This similarity in particular illuminates why both these films work where some others with similar premises don’t. Polyamory isn’t the point, it’s the setting. The domination of monogamy impacts all facets of life. A woman’s conventional role extends past fidelity. She is expected to sacrifice everything for her husband: her individuality, her labor, her spirit. Gilda and Tashi both succumb to then fight against this loss — the polyamory is almost incidental. It’s only evidence that they are no longer victims of patriarchal exchange.
i can feel my cranberries obsession incoming and this song has officially taken over my brain