#arti is uh... you get it

[lyss-butterscotch]

so i just thought about a cute dynamic with your iterator AU

so, the slugcats objectively have more experience in surviving and traversing this world, so they might start treating the iterators as little siblings or pups and generally being protective of them

like, survivor might treat moon as if they were their sibling and gourmand would definitely treat her as a pup.

you ever seen those pictures of tired parents with hyperactive toddlers on a leash? that would probably be the relationship between hunter and NSH

pebbles is arti's adoptive pup. that's just how it is, i dont make the rules

Edit : Sorry for the janky writing my fancy word braincell isn't working rn

[attex]

had fun playing co op with @shadowefigure @overstays @plutosoda

[aerialworms-art]

October wrap-up

So! October is at an end! And I have not finished Spocktober/Trektober. Let's see how I did!

My goals for the month were:

To have fun :3

To get used to finishing drawings

To get used to posting them, too!

To have fun :3

To improve my sketching and lineart skills

To end up with a bunch of finished drawings (of Spock!!!) :3

To let go of a bit of my perfectionism

TO HAVE FUN :3

So how do I think I did?

Having fun:

I had a lot of fun with it this year! In previous years, I've pretty much immediately devolved into an anxious mess because there were too many options and I bit off more than I could chew. This time around, thanks to my guidelines (only inking, not spending too much time on each day, sketching and thumbnailing in advance), it was a lot easier to let loose and have fun thinking up ideas and enjoying the process. Plus, I let my friends know I was doing it this time around and got encouragement and support, which was lovely.

Getting used to finishing drawings:

I did better at this than I thought I would! There are several drawings I've finished this month that I would have given up on if not for this goal. Do I think they were all my best work? No. Did I learn from the process? Yes! And some of the ones that have gotten the most notes were ones I thought no-one would like and struggled to finish. So! I also figured out new ways of motivating myself to finish things, which is also very helpful.

Getting used to posting things:

Also went better than I thought! Although I didn't manage to maintain a cushion of queued posts like I wanted to, the response I've gotten from actually posting my art has been amazing! I've gained several new followers (hello!!) and gotten so many nice comments, and went from being afraid of posting anything to tentatively looking forward to people's reactions, which is a huge improvement for me. Getting that accountability of posting publicly also helped keep me going when I felt like giving up - seeing my friends laugh when I showed them my silly comics or getting nice comments really made me feel like sharing my art is worthwhile. So thank you to everyone who reblogged my art, commented, liked, etc. I'm glad you did!

Improving sketching and lineart:

I definitely think I improved my art skills. Getting into the habit of thumbnailing really helped take the pressure off the sketching phase, and trying so many different ideas pushed me out of my comfort zone and forced me to try drawing things I wasn't so confident on - look how many hands I drew!!!! As for the lineart, I think I've gained a bit more experience in using pens, although I did buy a whole new set of them halfway through the month which put me on a new learning curve. Lineart's never been a huge favourite of mine, and I do miss using my tablet to do lineless art, but the nature of the challenge did help me to loosen up and experiment to keep my mind engaged the whole time.

To end up with a bunch of finished drawings of Spock:

Check! I have 14 finished drawings, with another four sketched and needing inking, plus a whole load of thumbnails to work from in future. I may go back and add colour to some of the days for funsies, but there's several that I can just put on my wall as-is and be proud :)

To let go of a bit of my perfectionism:

I definitely did! Like I said, there's a few of the ones I've posted that I'm not too proud of and know I could do better on, but I've spent all month purposely smacking my hand away from perfectionism, and I know I've tried my best given my limitations. I'm still proud of myself for getting this far, and for posting when I was anxious, and for improving my skills, and now I get to stick up my art on my wall and be proud of it! I'm not magically cured by any means, but I do have a bit more evidence that perfection is not a good goal to pursue, so I'm going to keep this experience in mind for the future.

So what now?

I do have thumbnails for almost all of the rest of the prompts. I am doing NaNoWriMo this month, and I have a digital piece that I want to finish for the 5th (holy shit. three years.) So I think I'll take a little pause on these prompts, but I don't want to stop. I'll keep coming back to them, and keep posting them, until I run out of prompts or motivation, whichever comes first. I've really enjoyed seeing people's reactions to my Star Trek art, especially the comics! I also have a backlog of SPN fanart I want to post, so I'll probably queue some of that to come out soon.

TL;DR: Watch this space!

And if you've been following along/commenting on/reblogging my art this month (or anytime), thank you so much! It's folks like you that make sharing art worthwhile!

[something-about-sunflowers]

OH.

You ever have a sudden realization for why you feel a certain way about something that actually completely flips those feelings on their head?

I've generally always been pretty sure about what I want out of any kind of gender affirming care I might hopefully get in some nebulous future where that's something I can afford: I want my voice deeper, I'd be delighted by bottom growth, I would like my tits significantly more masculine presenting if not gone completely. I've been ambivalent about the potential for body hair, though I have been much more eager for the possibility of it with more 'ideal transition goals' influence (Look. I want Con O'Neill's gender okay?) in mind.

That said the one thing I've been hesitant about is facial hair? Which is frustrating because it's the one thing that I kind of do have by default? If I don't do anything to it I have noticeable dark wispies on my upper lip and chin (I've kind of suspected for a while that I may have some sort of hormone disorder - I've got other things that lead me to think this too ofc this is just the most easily noticeable - but like. Who's got the money for diagnosing shit like that? Not me, that's for damn sure.) like. T-Boy's First 'Stache kinda deal. It's been my one (mental) sticking point on potentially starting T, to the point where I've argued with myself that I could just do like the trans girls do and get like, what's it called? Electrolysis? Hair removal? Just for that part. But then that adds cost to what I already can't afford and. Like.

I don't think. It. Actually bothers me? I think. I think I'm maybe projecting how I think my mother would react to it? Not even with full on transition in mind but like. How I am now. Like I don't really care how it looks if I don't shave. Hell, I might even like it sometimes? Like a micro-euphoria or something. But my mother is (partially) responsible for my eating disorder. It's completely within the realm of possibility that she would have Something To Say if I just stopped bothering. I don't even think she'd do it on purpose really? Just. Would need to point out the presence of hair on my face and the judgement would be implied. The 'I am pointing this out because it is unusual and I don't think you should look like this' would be implied. She wouldn't need to say it out loud.

And like. The worst of it is? I don't care. I don't care if I do something to myself that she doesn't like or approve of. And. It's hardly as if she's transphobic (Or. Not more-so than the average 'uninvolved in the queer community parent of queer kids' cishet person. Not maliciously so, yknow?) I've got friends she knows are trans - one who she knew through his actual transition process - she's been through the whole 'it's "he", mom' 'oops, he' situation before with relative grace.

But none of those people are her kid. She doesn't see them every day. She knows she didn't raise them and has, at no point in their lives had a say with what they do to themselves. I already came out to her once (Well. I was forced out by my partner at the time's parents, which was. Not fun.) and the thing about that time is? She really didn't have to. Do anything? About that? Except maybe adjust her mental image of who I might wind up marrying some time in the nebulous future. I'm not out to her about any of my Gender Stuff. Because I don't want to have to deal with the 'I just don't understand all of this' because I'm not binary trans (every other trans person she's met has been binary) or 'It would just be easier on everybody if we still called you [deadname] and used she/her' (which, I don't even really have an issue with she/her? I very much prefer they/them but I'm used to she/her and it doesn't bother me to hear it the way hearing my deadname still does).

She doesn't listen to me when I talk about things that actually matter to me. When I talk about shit that she's done that hurts me. Hell, when I tell her she doesn't listen to me she stops listening. I know it'll be a fight if I correct her on my name/pronouns. I know she'll 'forget'. I know when I get emotional about it, because I know I'll get emotional about it, that I'll start to raise my voice (gotta love the struggle with vocal volume regulation huh? I literally can't help it and I barely notice it until someone tells me) and that she'll say 'You're always yelling, I'm not going to listen to you if you yell' and that it's just code for 'I wasn't going to listen anyway because what you have to say isn't important enough for me to try to listen, and you're giving me a convenient excuse to opt out of the blame for that by speaking "too loudly"'.

Anyway. I'm not coming out again until I'm out of this fucking state and living on my own (or at least away from her and the rest of my family).

But I do think, now, I might actually be comfortable with my facial hair/the potential for more pronounced facial hair then too. It's not my problem, it's hers.

[astrxealis]

i am so used to my pinned post i kinda don't want to change the format but i want to

[deconstructthesoup]

One thing I absolutely adore about Dead Boy Detectives is the immaculate costume design. Specifically, how it perfectly encapsulates who the characters are, both as a whole and who they are in the moment.

From the very first scene of the show, we know immediately that Edwin is a bookish, somewhat stuffy guy from the Edwardian era who attended a boarding school, and Charles is a punk from the 1980's who's most likely the wildcard between the two of them, just going off of the way that they're dressed. Both of them have distinct color schemes and different styles, but the general shape of their outfits is actually relatively similar---both of them have collared shirts (Edwin's dress shirt, Charles's polo), something over those shirts (Edwin's vest, Charles's suspenders), a jacket of some kind (Edwin's suit jacket, Charles's flannel thing), a longer overcoat (Edwin's traveling coat, Charles's peacoat), something around the neck (Edwin's bowtie, Charles's necklace), slacks, and nice shoes. They're distinct, yet matching, two clearly defined separate characters yet part of a set.

Edwin's prim, proper, buttoned-up personality lends itself to the way he dresses throughout the season---in the first episode, he only dresses down when he's in the office with Charles, aka his safe place and his safe person, and he doesn't really dress down like that again for a good long while after getting stuck in Port Townsend (though, if my memory serves me correctly, he does take off the suit jacket while watching TV with Niko). But in episode six, he's changed up his usual look for a cozier, casual-looking sweater and a little bit of collarbone, and in episode seven... well, he's in his nightclothes, and he's about as open, raw, and vulnerable as you can get. Edwin's color scheme is also predominately blue, which lines up nicely with his logical and practical, yet deeply sad and closed off personality, and the only time he really wears anything other than his normal blue-and-brown outfit (willingly, that is) is when he's in that green sweater in episode six. And, uh... all I can say is that it's quite telling how blue and green---or, well, teal---are the main colors of the gay/mlm flag.

Charles, by contrast, dresses down a lot, and that makes a lot of sense when you consider the fact that unlike Edwin, he feels comfortable pretty much anywhere. On any given episode, he goes from wearing his peacoat to just wearing his flannel to ditching the flannel to not even wearing the freaking polo---though, again, the latter is something that only happens when he's in the office with Edwin. Safe space, safe person. And, well, plenty of people have analyzed Charles's polo shirt going from red to burgundy to black over the course of the series, and there being a little bit of red under the collar of his coat that's only visible when Edwin fixes it, and then it goes back to burgundy, and then it's red again when Edwin's out of Hell... for good reason! It's color symbolism at its finest! Not to mention, the red and black not only perfectly contrasts Edwin's color scheme, but it also lines up with Charles's personality---he's a rebel, he's hotheaded, he's bold and brash and loud... and yes, he's angry, but he's also so, so loving.

When we first meet Crystal after she loses her memories, her outfit choices feel very deliberate. They're stylish and vaguely trendy, they're arty and a little bit witchy---pretty fitting for a psychic who's also a showbiz kid, even if she doesn't know that last part. But all of her clothes appear thrifted, or at the very least vintage, and the patterns and the general vibe all feel natural and comforting. Her makeup's always fairly simple, her hair's either down or up in a couple of cute space buns... overall, this Crystal looks like the kind of person who'd make you tea when you're in a bad mood, who'll listen when you just need to vent, and who may not always know the right thing to say but will understand what you're going through. But when we see her in the flashbacks, her clothing's flashy and prioritizes high-end trends over comfort, she's either got her hair up or has it straightened, and she not only has dramatic makeup, but acrylics. This is a girl who talks shit about you behind your back, who's bitter and cynical and wants everyone to feel the same way, who makes up for the lack of love and stability in her life via material things. It's also worth noting that Crystal's color scheme has a lot of purple, which is a color that connects to wealth and luxury, but also creativity and magic---which, yeah, fits her two conflicting sides pretty damn well.

You cannot talk about Niko Sasaki without talking about her outfits, and the meaning behind each of them has already been talked about at length. However, one thing that really stands out to me is that the reason they're so iconic isn't just because of the monochrome color schemes, but because they're out there. They're weird, they're eclectic, they're a little mismatched in style sometimes, and they're so unapologetically her. Niko wears heart-shaped sunglasses, unironically. Everything about the way she dresses speaks to how, even though she's a recovering shut-in who initially doesn't want to be perceived, she's still very sure of who she is.

Jenny's design, like Charles and Edwin's, is a design that gives you the key information you need the minute she first appears onscreen. The dark makeup, the silver jewelry, the leather apron, and the hairstyle all point to a person who's tough, doesn't take anyone's shit, and has long since given up on caring what other people think---in other words, she's a badass. But the butterfly tattoo hints at a softer side, a side that we see time and time again throughout the series as she shows that she cares about Crystal and Niko, and even the boys... eventually. Also, Jenny's design is perhaps one of the most clearly queer-coded in the series, to the point where her being a confirmed lesbian is pretty much a no-brainer.

Esther's design oozes camp, from top to bottom. The fluffy coat, the bustier, the boots and the cane and the everything, speak to a woman who's kept with the times and yet has seen it all. There's really not a lot I can fully say about her design, other than what Charles has already said: "She looks like a witch... like, kind of a sexy witch, who smokes a lot." (Or maybe I'm just tired and running out of steam at this point, idk, I love Esther's design and I can't really put it into words.) It's also pretty fitting that her color scheme has a lot of yellow in it---after all, she's always striving for more, so what better color for her than the color of gold?

Everything about the Night Nurse's design speaks to a woman who follows rules and discipline above all else, from the pantsuit to the pinned-up hairstyles to the tie to the heels. She's also the most muted out of the main cast in terms of color, dressing mostly in browns, dull greens, and duller browns---and while I don't have a lot to go into detail about there, I feel like that's kind of a symbol of her narrow-minded and bureaucratic worldview.

And the animal characters... Jesus Christ, I fully forget that they're all being played by human actors. Tragic Mick dresses like a man who's always spent his life by the sea, layered denim and all, and it's never a stretch to see this sad, bushy-bearded, baggy-clothed fisherman and imagine him as a walrus lounging on a beach. Monty, at first glance, seems to only wear black, which would be perfectly fitting for a crow, but when he's in better lighting, you see that he dresses in layers of red and blue, calling to how he envies Charles and Edwin and clearly longs for something more---and this might just be me, but I think that even though his outfits seem fairly normal at first glance, they feel kind of like a costume for Monty more than anything else, like he's trying to emulate a teenager that he's seen on TV more than someone in real life.

The Cat King fits this just as well, with all of his outfits aligning perfectly with whatever his cat form is at the time---when he's a fluffy ginger, it's always sequins and fur coats and clothing pieces that are specifically designed to take up space and call attention, and when he's a black shorthair, it's sleek styles and shiny leather and pieces that are designed to cut an intimidating yet more subtle figure. And while I could go into detail about all of those, what really stands out to me is how clearly queer everything is---more than Jenny's alt lesbian attire, more than Esther's campy coat and corset. From the very first scene he's in, he's wearing a skirt, and it looks natural. Nothing about the way the Cat King presents himself is exaggerated, nothing about the way he dresses is played for laughs---he's flamboyant and feminine and flirty, and he looks so fucking hot while he does it. It's gorgeous.

So... yeah, uh, all the awards for the Dead Boy Detectives costume designers!

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Trinkets

Five presents Jason brought you back from his adventures and one you asked for. (+ one) ~1.2k words of fluff

Jason Todd brings you home gifts from his missions, which wouldn't be a problem, but he never really explains what they are.

The first time it happened, you had laughed at the green ring with a lantern symbol in the middle. It looked cheesy, like one of the fake ones you can buy from the superhero merch stores littered around malls and outlets.

You'd kissed his cheek in thanks, put it on your shelf, and never gave it a second thought.

At least you didn't, until a bright green glow woke you up from your sleep. You'd sat up immediately, jaw practically dropping to the sheets as the ring lifted itself off your shelf and flew out the window.

Jason barely budged, his arm still thrown over your waist. He let out yawn and cuddled closer before speaking, voice groggy and heavy, "Huh. Didn't think they noticed that one was gone."

"They," You half yell, voice pitching as you stare at his outline, hidden in the shadows of the room.

"The Guardians, babe," he yawns out, "They're in charge of the space cops. Just go back to sleep."

Naturally, you do not go back to sleep. You drag him to the kitchen, make tea, and demand he explains why a Green Lantern ring was in your apartment. (He's very happy to)

The second time it happens, you're much more wary of the gift he brings home. But to be fair, he can't really pass off an Amazonian steel sword as something he just picked up.

It doesn't take as much convincing as it should for you to let him mount it on your wall. But it's a sword! No one can blame you for thinking it looks cool in your living room.

It turns out keeping it around is pretty useful, because a few weeks later, your boyfriend crawls through your window, dressed head to toe in armor.

"Hey, doll," he drawls, "Can I borrow your sword?"

"Sure," You chirp back, more preoccupied with your book as he saunters over to the sword, "what for?"

"Artie's got confiscated, and we haven't gotten to steal it back yet," he supplies, stopping long enough to pull his helmet up and kiss your head.

"Oh, that sucks," You answer, offhandedly, "Give her and Bizzaro my love."

"You got it, babe," he chirps already halfway out your window.

He does bring your sword back, covered in green blood, but no worse for wear. It still looks great on your wall.

He brings you a box next. It's kind of ugly looking, but you thank him nonetheless.

"Be careful with it," he tells you as you flip it over in your hands, "It opens boom tubes."

You almost drop it, and if you hadn't already experienced the power ring, you would have shrieked at him. Instead, you manage to put it down very carefully and calmly ask, "It does what?"

"Open boom tubes," he answers, which clears absolutely nothing up, "I figured we could use it to country hop for our next date night. You know, dinner in Paris, drinks in Dubai, dessert in LA."

"Okay," You answer slowly, as if that makes complete sense.

It turns out, it does. Date night is lovely, and making out with your boyfriend on a random beach in Spain is very, very nice.

Batman waiting in your apartment to take back the boom box isn't so nice, though.

Jason tells you it was worth it. He's absolutely right.

The third thing Jason brings you is a plant. Flowers aren't a rare show of affection from him, but ones that move are.

"Uh, thank you, Jason," You start, prodding at the moving petals, they nuzzle your fingers the same way a kitten would, "But I don't know how to take care of these."

"Same way you take care of any other plant, water, fertilizer, nutrients, all that fun stuff," he says fondly, stroking a few of the petals.

"What if it gets sick," You ask, uncertain.

"We'll call Ivy," he says, unbothered.

"Right. Ivy. Poison Ivy. Who you know," You mumble, but the little plant is already worming its way into your heart. (You affectionately name it Daisy, for no other reason then it sways happily when you say that name)

The fourth thing Jason brings you makes you laugh because you know exactly what it is, "Jason, we can't keep this."

"Why not," he pleads, shaking the bright green quiver filled with arrows at you.

You giggled harder, smiling wide as you shake your head at him, "We don't even know what those do. Don't some of those explode?"

"So what," he huffs, practically pouting, "We can ask Roy. And it's not like I don't know my way around explosives."

"I guess so," You relent, trying to stifle your laughs as you inspect the bright green arrows, "How did you even get this?"

His eyes light up mischievously, "Do you really want to know?"

You stop short and narrow your eyes at him, "I would lose my plausible deniability."

"But you wanna know," he says, sly and playful.

You do. (It involves mutated chickens, tar, and one distracted Oliver Queen. You hang the quiver next to the sword)

Jason's getting ready to leave, bags packed and helmet lazy held under his arm, "Can I bring you back anything specific, doll" he asks, his free hand resting comfortably against your cheek, "Lasso of Truth? Maybe something with magic?"

You grin at him, leaning into his touch, "I actually do have something in mind."

"Oh," he prompts, eyes glinting with excitement.

"I want to complete my batarang collection."

He falters, "Your– what?"

"No one has," You exclaim, pulling away to showcase your collection, "I have Nightwings, Batgirls, Batmans, yours, of course, one of Robin's. But I'm missing Spoilers, Batwomans, Signals, and Red Robins."

He blinks at you, "That's��� if that's what you want."

You giggle at how dumbfounded he looks, practically bouncing back over to him to kiss him, "Thank you, Jason."

He catches your waist and pulls you back in for another, longer kiss that leaves you both breathless and panting. His voice lowers, like it's a secret, "I'll bring you back some batarangs. See you in a few days?"

"See you in a few days," You echo, and he winks at you as he tugs on his helmet, leaving out your window.

Sure enough, you get your batarangs when he gets home. It takes some convincing, a few kisses that leave you senseless, but you get Jason to help you mount your batarang collection alongside the sword and quiver.

"I should get you a plasma rifle next," he drawls, admiring your growing wall of weapons.

"I think I'd fall over if I tried to shoot one of those," You point out, all smiles.

"I'll teach you," he tells you, hooking an arm around your waist to draw you closer.

Jason's a man of his word, and sure enough, he brings you home a plasma cannon after his next mission.

You only destroy most of the shooting range in the batcave when he lets you try it out.

[zweiginator]

maybe everyone assumes art can’t fight and maybe people think he’s scrawny, but he’s actually really strong and he will beat the fuck out of the guy at a party who brushed against your ass and said something creepy.

seeing the veins in his neck throb and pulse, his arms tense as he screams at him to fuck off. confusing, because art is just your friend.

you call him your hero later that night when he is driving you home. you’re pretty tipsy, he’s obviously sober.

“stop it,” art is trying to focus on the road and you don’t know what has gotten into you.

you lift your skirt up just enough so he can see your pink lacy panties, adorned with a little bow. he’s trying to look straight ahead, but you see how much restraint he’s showing.

“I didn’t know you were so strong, Artie.” that wasn’t a lie. you unbuckle your seatbelt and rest your arms on the center console, looking up at him with big doe eyes.

“you’re drunk.” He’s tapping his left foot nervously; he accidentally put his right turn signal on for a left turn. he’s flustered.

“hmmm.” You ponder. “I don’t think so.” You were just a tad tipsy, the two drinks you had acted more so as liquid courage. and seeing Art grab that douchebag by his collar and spit in his face—did something to you.

“what are you—“ Art asks. you’re unbuckling his belt as he’s getting on the highway; you’re twenty five minutes away from Stanford.

“I’m thanking you.”

Art grabs your wrist; it makes your clit throb for him, and maybe a tiny moan slips out.

“You like that?” Art holds your wrist tighter.

you shrug, shy all of a sudden.

“you’re acting like a dirty little slut.” Art has caught on; you like this. It feels rude coming out of his mouth; his grandma would’ve put soap in his mouth if she knew he was saying this.

“nuh uh,” you respond. his hand is still tight around your wrist, but you can move forward and crane your neck. You look up at him, using your teeth to move the hem of his t-shirt. his abdomen is exposed now, and you press an open-mouthed kiss near his belly button, looking up at him. His jaw is tense; god, it’s hard for him to focus.

his hand lets go of your wrist to grasp onto your hair, and you realize you have leverage. He can only touch you with one hand while he’s driving. you start to palm him through his jeans. art’s grasp on your hair grows tighter.

you unzip his jeans. “I can stop, Artie.” but you know he doesn’t want you to; he’s rock hard and taking an exit you’ve never heard of before.

“don’t be a tease.” He grabs your jaw as he puts the car in park. “finish what you fucking started.”

[222col]

Can we get a fic about womanizer Art who's a very famous tennis player and never committed to any woman before even though girls are throwing themselves at him and who doesn't sleep with the same girl twice until he meets y/n ( a maneater) and the sex is something that Art has never experienced before to the point he becomes obsessed with her, she's all what he thinks about and refuses to sleep with another girl and he's determined to make her his no matter what

uhhh yes of course 🧎🏻‍♀️

art donaldson. the man who's only lost two games is entire professional career, he's one of the most, if not the most, successful tennis players in history. he's out most weekends, celebrating another win, another trophy to add to the cabinet. taking a new girl home with him every night, they all fall to his feet like putty. he thinks it's pathetic, but hey, it gets him laid. he's been single during his adult career, too busy fucking random girls and focusing on his tennis to bother committing, not that he would want to anyhow. he never sleeps with the same girl twice, he did that once, some seven years ago. he couldn't stand the way she'd text him constantly afterwards.

he's just won another trophy hitting up the local club with his friends. patrick joins up with him, later in the night. "congrats donaldson, sorry i'm late man, we all bar crawled our way here." art surveys the people patrick has brought with him. you're laughing at something with one of the boys patrick's brought along. "who's that?" art questions, nodding towards you. patrick tells him your name, "she's uh, my buddy's girlfriends, cousin or sister or something, fuck i don't know," patrick laughs into his drink. target acquired, art finishes the vodka soda he's drinking, turning to place the empty cup on the side. your mouth is attached to the guy you were laughing with, your dress hitched up slightly as his hands dart around your waist. "look like he beat you to it, artie," art shakes his head at his friend. "games not over 'til it's over, patrick."

the group of you are shown over to a vip booth, near the back of the club. the guy you were making out with gets up to go to the bathroom, art stands, about to steal his seat next to you when another one of patrick's friends beats him to it. "fuck me," art whispers, slumping back to his place in the booth and backing another vodka soda. the new guy whispers something in your ear, hand on your thigh as you move to make out with him. art should be turned off with how easy you're acting, but honestly he's impressed, the way you have every guy here wrapped around your finger. they're throwing themselves at you the way in which girls do to him, he's intrigued. "game, set, match." patrick laughs to art. "uh uh, no way." art walks straight over to you, pulling the guy off you by his shoulder. "hey! hey- you're art donaldson!" art rolls his eyes. "i'll sign an autograph later, but right now, you're in my seat."

he raises his hands in defeat, moving for art to take his position next to you. "i'd tell you off for interrupting, but he was a shit kisser." you smirk to the blonde in front of you. "well, guess you'll just have to thank me instead." you sip your drink. "i wouldn't go that far, donaldson?" he nods. "art donaldson, and you are?" you introduce yourself. "and who are you that your face alone made that guy run for the hills?" wow, you really don't know him. it's refreshing. "a tennis player." it wasn't the answer you were expecting. "aren't you a bit too pretty to be a tennis player?" art fakes a pout. "i'm so sorry i don't meet your expectations, but hey, at least i know you think i'm pretty." you shrug at him. "it's just a fact. dance with me?" you ask, standing up, holding out your hand. he takes it, of course, joining you on the dance floor. art's not much of a dancer, but that doesn't stop his arm snaking around your waist as you grind against him.

he's whispering in your ear, disgusting, perverted things about the way your body feels against his. art's not shy in situations like this, he thrives, it's his weekly routine. "you gonna keep talking or are you gonna take me home and actually act on what you're telling me, donaldson." he's pulling you out of the club, jumping into the car he has waiting outside. the partition is already rolled up as art climbs on top of you the second the car door is shut. his lips touch yours for the first time tonight and he's intoxicated, your lipstick leaving stains on his skin but he can't get enough. you're reaching between your bodies, palming him through his jeans. "christ, you're like a teenager. all you've done is kiss me and you're already hard." he was hard the second you danced up against him, but that's not the point. "you gonna fucking do something about it then?" he's biting, kissing, sucking his way down your jaw to your neck. "no actually, i think you can grow up and wait until we're at wherever we're going." it's you biting his skin now, his earlobe, his neck, his shoulder. "we're going back to my house, where i can fuck you like the slut you are." you're desperately trying not to give him the satisfaction of hearing you moan yet. the car pulls up to art's place, the door opening as he pulls you into the house.

you're kissing the way through the house as art leads you to his bedroom. pulling your dress over your head as you remove his shirt. "fuuuuck," he whispers as you push him backwards to the bed. undoing his jeans, discarding them across the room with his briefs. you crawl over his body, his hands looping behind you to undo your bra. "you're the hottest woman i've ever seen." he peppers your breasts with kisses before manhandling them. "bet you say that to all the girls you fuck in this bed." your hand reaching down between your bodies again, pumping his newly exposed cock in your hand. he groans as he replies. "i don't actually, you're the sexiest thing i've ever laid my eyes on." you scoff and pump his cock faster. "you're not so bad yourself, donaldson."

he flips you over onto your back, moving down your body, removing your panties with his teeth. "you've even got the prettiest little pussy i've ever seen." he immediately starts tonguing your clit, inserting two fingers into you. your moans are killing him, pre-cum falling out of his cock at the taste of you. he reaches over to his nightstand to pull out a condom. "don't, i'm on the pill." he smiles over to you, "fuck me, art." lining himself up with your entrance, "now, say please." god, the sound that escaped your lips in response could have had art confessing his love to you. "please, fuck, please art," he lifts your legs up, resting them on his shoulders as he slides himself into you. getting drunk of the sounds of you and the way you feel around him. he pushes your legs down closer to you, he's never felt this deep inside someone before. "jesus, you're fucking perfect," he mutters, leaning down to kiss your swollen lips.

he's already getting close, leaning back to thumb your clit as he fucks you quicker than before. "fuck, shit, you feel fucking amazing," your hands grasp the sheets, more profanities leaving your lips. "i'm so fucking close," he whispers, his grip around your ankle tightening. "fuck, come inside me, please, art." fuck. no one's ever let him do that before. in all these years, all these girls, not one as let him come inside of them. a few more thrusts is all it takes for art to finish inside your pussy. it feels like fucking heaven to him. that's it. that's what's been missing. he works your clit until you're a mess beneath his fingers, watching you orgasm as his load drips out of you. "fuck. i need to do that again." he falls down next to you on the bed. "which bit specifically?" you giggle, kissing his shoulder. "all of it. you. coming inside of you." his eyes meet yours. "i wanna see you again." placing kisses on your lips. "not my style, unfortunately for you, donaldson." you start sitting up, his hand grasping your wrist, stopping you in motion. "it wasn't a question."

he gets your number from patrick's friend's girlfriend, turns out you're her friend, not her sister or cousin. she likes art for you, so obliges when he requests your number. blowing up your phone, near enough begging you to see him again. it's been weeks since he saw you, skipping the clubs after matches to sit at home and stalk you on social media. there's just something about you, consuming his thoughts. you never replied further than 'who's this?' to his texts, you make him look pathetic.

i will literally do anything you ask if you just let me take you on a date.

it's late, he's becoming desperate for just a text back from you. throwing his phone across the room after he sends another text. "this is just ridiculous." he mumbles to himself, when a text notification lights up his phone, falling off the bed and running to it, he see's your name.

anything?

fucking finally. he's sat on the floor, smiling into his phone like a little boy texting his crush.

literally anything in the world.

he sends the text back immediately. fuck waiting around to make himself seem less desperate.

would you let me fuck you with a racket?

god, you're disgusting, he fucking loves it.

i would do whatever it takes just to taste you again.

he's staring at the three bubbles on his phone, like his world would shatter if they stopped.

you can take me to dinner tomorrow then.

[ask-the-colony-tree-siblings]

Gourmand: Any minute now.

Hunter: …I-

Arti: I’m sorry!

Hunter: Huh?

Arti: I-I’m so sorry. For attacking you, and for- for everything. 

Arti: I’ve been such an asshole to you.

Hunter: …Yeah you have been an asshole. But I fucked up too, I didn’t know what I was saying. I thought… 

Hunter: …it doesn’t matter what I thought. I shouldn’t have said that. I, uh… I-I heard about your k-

Arti: Don’t. It’s in the past now.

Gourmand: Is it? 

Gourmand: You attacked him over saying something that triggered you, so no, it doesn’t seem to be all in the past. 

Gourmand: It isn’t fair to hurt someone for not knowing something that you never told them. 

PART ONE IS DONE!!!!!!!!! Part two will probably come in about, uh, seven years, give or take. /j

(It isn’t perfect, but it’s been too long and I needed to get the first part of this comic out. I’m honestly super happy I finished, because it was unnecessarily hard lmao. Anyways I’m gonna ramble in the tags now)

[amymbona]

can u pls expand on them fawning over u being tashis friend pls??? like how they would find out abt u being at the academy or if tashi would work as their wingwoman or smth??

Abso-fucking-lutely!

The boys have been staying at Stanford for about a weak, sleeping in your and Tashi's dorm room on a mattress that they fetched God knows where. You don't really question anything regarding the two, knowing the more attention you'd pay to them, the crazier you would go. And at the time, you genuinely can't afford to lose yourself over two boys you used to have a crush on.

However, the boys are making it infinitely harder for you. They seem to be everywhere you are, asking you how your practice went, how did you do on that literature exam and if you want a company for lunch. As if they have figured out your whole schedule and everything else concerning youe life at Stanford.

If only you knew that your precious roommate is the one feeding the boys' little brains with valuable information about you, you'd probably threaten to burn one of her favourite Adidas sports sets. But Tashi is far from stupid and far from blind, she can very clearly see how interested the boys are in you. And she knows damn well that you need to get laid as well.

She never really told them about your background, judging that it's only your call to do so, and honestly, the missing knowledge of your past really doesn't discourage Patrick and Art from going after you. What matters to them is your immense cuteness and bashful smiles you cast in their direction when they speak to you. Your beautiful body that they imagine squished on the bed between their own, where they hands would have access to each square inch of your soft skin. How badly they are aching to touch you, to hold and kiss you, to make you their.

"So... Any plans for the weekend?" Art questions, breaking the calm silence of the dorm room, his head resting against Patrick's shoulder.

"Uh, no, not really." you shake your head. "Tash?"

"Nope, nothing. Just practice." she responds without lifting her gaze up from her notebook, probably scribbling down something about tennis.

"Well, me and Artie wanted to go clubbing, 'cause I dunno 'bout you, but I'm thirsty for some beer." Patrick proposes, patting Art's thigh.

In reality, they are just hoping to get you drunk and find out more about you, perhaps find an excuse to touch you after getting you drunk and having to transport you back to your bed.

Immediately, Tashi senses the hidden plan. "Well, Y/N could show you some places."

"Me?" you almost choke onto your saliva. "You know I don't go out that often."

"But you liked the place down the corner, y'know, where we went last time."

This is how you find yourself at a local bar, popular mainly among the young aduls attending the Stanford university, stuffed in a ridiculously short dress that Tashi insisted makes your booty look the best. The boys are on their third drink, their behaviour not so different to the sober state. If anything, the alcohol is merely allowing them to proceed with their flirting game.

"So Y/NNN..." Patrick is in a slightly looser shape than Art, his arm thrown around your shoulders in a leisured manner. "Feeling drunk enough?"

Drunk? No. Hot and borhered and flustered? Hell yeah.

"You could use a drink or two. Not that we're forcing you into anything." Art proposes with a gentle smile, sliding his glass of whiskey along the countertop right in front of you.

"He's right, baby, drink. Don't worry, we'll take care of you." Patrick's lips brush over the shell of your ear as he picks the glass up and brings it to your lips.

Four glasses and some songs later, you're in the middle of the dancefloor, surrounded by sweaty bodies and squished between the two handsome tennis players. While you're facing Art, hands lazily resting on his shoulders, his cheeky smile completely filling your field of vision, Patrick's behind you, chest rubbing against your back, palms planted on your hips.

And they can't believe it, that they have you so close, half drunk and slowly losing your mind. They're ready to be your bodyguards whispering in your ear that they've got you, that you're okay. Just enjoy yourself, you're safe with them. Plus they feel so fucking good.

"You're so pretty, Y/N." Art leans in, forehead resting against yours as his hands wrap tighter around your waist.

Almost whining that he's attempting to steal you from him, Patrick is basically glued to your back, sealing the sandwich the three of you form. "Our pretty girl."

It's all too hot, too loud and sweaty, not your optimal choice for a Friday evening. But at the moment, you wouldn't want to be anywhere else. They're holding you so nice, pressing into you from all sides, making your body burn with the touches of their palms. Tiny kisses are being placed on your jaw and neck, both of the boys testing the waters and smirking when you do nothing to push them away. As if your mind is too clouded to realise what's actually going on.

What they don't know is, that this is your teenage dream coming true. The two boys you spent long months having such an intense crush on, wishing they could see you the way you see them. That they would touch and hold and kiss you the way you imagine it, the exact way that they are doing it now. And it feels so good to have such power over them, to have them completely wrapped around your finger. At that point, you swear to yourself you'll never tell them about your background, about the academy. Because if they love the Stanford version of you, why would you remind them that there a tennis academy one as well?

[nothing-impt]

(I lost my mind thinking about how the Fried Chicken Au came about and wrote a crack fic ft. Flying snakes. Also I am terrible at writing but I couldn't help myself)

---- “Ah, darling! There you are, as much as I love staring into your eyes, where is your blindfold?”  Hermes chirped, greeting the prophet as he sat next to him near the Lethe. Tiresias scoffed, “Oedipus came by today and pissed on all of them. I sent them to the wash.” “All of them?” “Every single one. Is everything alright? I was told you needed to meet me rather urgently.” He paused. “Is it about Odysseus? Did something happen to him?” Hermes cleared his throat. “No. My lovely great-grandson’s doing fine! He should be heading home pretty soon!” “So what’s the issue?” “...” “Hermes?” “Uh.. maybe you should just feel me to find out.” “Hermes, I am not falling for your tricks to get me to grope you.” “No, no! I’m being serious! Just trust me.” Tiresias leaned over and reached for where Hermes was supposed to be and his fingers brushed air. He scowled “There’s nothing there. I told you, no more tricks.” “You’re almost there! Just move your hands down a little!” “You better not be lying-” His fingers brushed against feathers. “Am I touching your shoes?” Hermes chuckled nervously “No?” The prophet pulled back “What exactly am I touching?” “Uh.. I’m kind of a dove now?” “Please tell me you’re joking.” Tiresias deadpanned. “I wish I was! One moment I was delivering messages and the next- boom! I was a bird! Here, touch me again!” A nearby soul wolf whistled and Tiresias hushed him, face burning  “Please, don’t say it like that!” he bent down and stroked dove Hermes, who crooned happily. “Maybe I should bring you to Lord Hades. He might have an answer.” Dove Hermes (Dovemes?) squawked out a laugh and ruffled his feathers. “I doubt it, all the Olympians have been affected. Dad’s currently an eagle, Polly’s a crow and Arty’s a quail. Don’t get me started on Uncle P, he’s a blue seagull! But Dio’s a little scary…” “What bird did Lord Dionysus turn into? A hawk?” “Worse. He turned into this purple flamingo-looking sculpture. He doesn’t move. Just stares. He kept asking for a drink though. Dad told the nymphs to dunk him in a bowl of wine so we all didn’t have to look at him. Aphrodite was super creeped out. She’s a swan, by the way.” Tiresias shuddered, “A curse must have been afflicted for Olympians to turn this way. Especially Lord Dionysus, to be deprived of movement.” Dovemes crooned in agreement as Tiresias continued to pet his feathers. “Anyway, it’s highly likely that Uncle Hades is a bird too! Look, he’s here now- Oh. nice eyes Uncle H!” Tiresias reached over to grab his staff and stood to greet the ruler of the Underworld. “Lord Hades.” “Greetings, Tiresias. Nephew, I see you have told the prophet about our predicament?” Dovemes lets out a chirp, “Yup! Wow, Uncle, I’m really digging the dazed look you’re going for- ow!” Tiresias prodded Hermes with his staff once more. “He may be your uncle, but don’t forget who you’re talking to. May I ask what bird you are Lord Hades?”

The sound of the ruffling feathers was heard, “I am a Potoo. Though I suppose we are centuries before its kind is made known to Greece. Excuse me, while I go find my wife to explain why her husband is currently a bird from  unknown origins.” With a squawk and a beat of wings, Hades left. Dovemes sighed, “Well, I better get going.” Tiresias raised a brow, “What? But you’re still stuck as a bird!” “Dad just sent out a message, he wants all of us to gather in Olympus to figure this out. I won’t visit for a while, but you can have this!”

Tiresias felt a small-clawed foot slip a feather into his palm. "Wait. Hang on-"

“I’ll see you around, darling!” And Dovemes flew off.

Tiresias sighed. What in Zeus’ name is going on?

[artslovergirl]

art & patrick at mark rebellato academy

[headcanons]

notes: i really enjoyed writing this because i just genuinely adore these characters and this movie so much. there's so many interesting little details and nuances there that i could just talk about forever and ever. i truly hope i did them justice here lol (also writing this made me jealous of people that are good at writing character analysis' and thinkpieces bc wow it is hard!) but yeah enjoy!

wordcount: 3.4k

they met at age 12 during their first day at the mark rebellato academy in their now shared room. 

when art came in with a duffel bag (that looked comically big next to his scrawny kid body) patrick was already sitting on the bed he had claimed(the right side next to the door) all by himself, his parents didn't have a very tearful nor long goodbye as they sent their son off to boarding school.

in contrast art’s mom and grandma seemed keen to embarrass him in front of his new roommate with their cooing and hugging him goodbye. 

it wasn't even like his mom and him were really all that close though. she just seemed to want to squeeze in all the moments of a loving mother-son relationship into the small segments of time she actually spent with him.

the goodbye hug and small ruffle of his hair from his grandma felt a little more genuine. embarrassing all the same as he could feel the other dark haired boy try not to crack up at the display.

"mom. please." he pleaded with her as she gave him a kiss on the cheek. "i’m sorry, artie, but i need to make up for all the time i'm gonna miss with you!" yeah, he bets.

a few minutes later and a tear or two from his mother they did finally leave him be. as soon as he heard the door shut though, the awkward silence enveloping the room almost made him miss them. 

he threw his duffel bag on the left bed and sat down on the edge. he fidgeted with his bottom lip, a nervous habit he's had for as long as he could remember. 

the brunette boy shifted on the bed so he was now facing him. his mouth pulled into a toothy grin "so you're...artie?" 

art groaned and hid his head in his hands, slumped over his knees. "no, that's..just my moms nickname for me. sorry you had to see that." he says in a squeaky broken voice which didn't help the embarrassment he was already feeling.

the other boy just brushed right past all that and said "i’m patrick." and then as an afterthought, "zweig."

"uh." art leaned back up, still avoiding his gaze. it was weirdly intense. "yeah, i’m..art. um, donaldson." he said the last part like it was a question almost.

patrick began to swing his legs a little. it was clear to him that art was the quiet type even if they had just exchanged a few words so far, but luckily patrick didn't mind talking. it was something his father always hated about him. he almost talked enough for both of them which after a little while finally seemed to break the ice of art's shy exterior. 

art didnt know what he thought about patrick yet. he was pretty..confident that was for sure. even a little arrogant, maybe. art scolded himself internally for being so judgemental. it was quality he hated about himself, but seemingly couldn’t get rid of.

despite all of that he had to admit that patrick was easy to talk to. there was never an uncomfortable gap in conversation with him. which art liked since those kinds of things made him want to crawl out of his skin sometimes.

that first night he spent staying up with patrick, slowly realizing how much they had in common while simultaneously being complete opposites, is one of his fondest memories and probably always will be. he never experienced another connection that felt anything even close to that.

their room wasn't too small but with the way patrick would just constantly toss his clothes wherever he pleased it seemed a lot smaller. 

it's not like art was insanely neat or anything, he was still a teenage boy. patrick was just exceptionally messy.

"patrick, this shit is so gross, i told you to use the hamper." 

patrick groaned, "youre such a neatfreak, fuck off." 

at that response a pair of dirty boxers were thrown at his head, courtesy of art. "i don't want to see or smell your worn underwear. that doesn't make me a neatfreak." 

patrick just tossed it back in art’s direction, to which the blonde quickly scurried out of the way to dodge it like his life depended on it. 

"you know if tennis doesn't work out for you, you'll make a good housewife." patrick grinned mockingly.

“ha-ha.” art just rolled his eyes, stuck up his middle finger and let the door slam behind him with his racket bag slung over his shoulder. 

trying to get patrick to do anything was like trying to teach a cat to do a trick without any treats. borderline impossible. so by age 15 art finally gave up.

...until he realized a year later that patrick would clean his side of the room whenever they had a girl over so..

yeah, sometimes he did lie and tell patrick that a girl was coming over just so he would clean his side of the room. 

you can judge him all you want but you never had to room with patrick zweig

 and after the third time that trick stopped working anyway. art was never a good liar. or maybe patrick could just call his bullshit way too easily.

they didn't fight too often, it was more like they constantly got into little tiffs

except for that time where it got so out of hand that they duct-taped a line dividing their rooms into two sides. (i know this is giving sitcom i'm sorry but tell me i'm wrong)

eventually they kind of forgot what they even fought about in the first place but they were too lazy to take the tape off of the carpet, so it just stayed on there for like 2 years till it peeled off.

like i mentioned in my other post these two were BITCHES

they would def talk shit all the time. they were not even trying to be secret about it tbh. (see: them staring at anna crying at tashi's party)

they sat in the bleachers watching one of their classmates play a practice match

“dude, look at that forehand. it sucks.” art muttered. patrick nodded, “i know. no way she’ll even make it through the semester.” “i’ll be surprised if she makes it through this match without fracturing her wrist.” patrick snickered at art’s comment.

actual mean girls LMAO

and to be fair, they were fucking amazing at tennis, especially when they played together

so it's not like anyone could necessarily insult them back

but it also wasn't bullying or anything

they were just judgy and loved to talk shit

art had some decorum about it or felt bad about it sometimes. not patrick though. 

man has no shame. never did. as art so lovingly puts it “the part of his brain that feels shame withered away a long time ago.”

art wore glasses from ages 12 till 14 

he then switched to contact lenses because patrick said girls dont like guys with glasses and that they make him look nerdy

they weren't allowed to have any sort of electronics like computers or flip phones at the academy. not even mp3 players. 

now obviously patrick completely ignored that rule. he had like three flip phones under his bed in case his actual one ever got taken (it did)

he also smuggled in 2 mp3 players (one was for art, patrick is so kind… he did charge him 4 dollars for it though. that rich asshole. lmao)

honestly i would like to insert here what i think they would have listened to but..i was like..a baby when they wouldve been at the academy so..feel free to drop your music headcanons in the reblogs or comments 

they were only allowed one weekly call to their families from the communal landline.

neither patrick nor art were very fond of these calls so even though they weren't supposed to they would always go into the phone room together.

patricks mother always insisted on speaking in german with her son. he thought she only did it because it made her feel more connected to his father’s side of the family. not like it would fix their fucked up marriage though. 

“nein, mama, ich habe mein deutsch nicht vergessen.” (no, mom, i havent forgotten my german) he sighs. art sits on the floor next to him and flicks a rubber band at him. “ja, verstanden. ja, ich weiß.” (yes, understood. yes, i know.) he rolls his eyes. 

art understood a few of the basic words since patrick taught him some german after art asked how to correctly pronounce his last name. 

“..bis nächste woche. tschüss.” (talk to you next week. bye.) he hung up. his mom said i love you but he knew she didn't mean it so he didn't say it back. 

patrick groaned and stretched out his legs that were seemingly getting longer by the day (art secretly prayed for a growth spurt that would make him taller than patrick. right now he was still pretty short for a guy his age.) 

he handed the phone to art. “she always talks so much. it's like i'm not even on the other line.” patrick scowls. art just nodded. he knew that by now.

art called his grandma but his dad picked up instead. it was okay. talking to his dad felt a little like talking to some distant uncle that he only saw once a year, “how's it going, champ?” “good.” “great.” that kinda stuff

the phone call lasted 5 minutes. he stood up and hung the phone back on the receiver. 

“wanna smoke?” patrick asked already reaching for the two loose cigarettes stuffed into his jean shorts pocket.

art nodded. he didn't really like smoking, and he kind of only did it because patrick did. and whenever he did, all he could think about was how bad for him it was. 

he was always pretty conscious about that kinda stuff, it was a little drilled into him by his dad who was the most adamant about art becoming a tennis player since he used to be one when he was younger.

so sugar and fats (basically anything that tasted good) were pretty much banned in the donaldson household 

which kind of resulted in art subconsciously believing that anything that brought him joy or pleasure must be inherently bad for him or followed by a feeling of guilt and shame to make up for it.

needless to say art wasn't the best at indulging. he was a little jealous of how patrick never seemed to have any issue with that sort of thing.

patrick didn't care about maintaining a good diet or depriving himself of life's pleasures for the sake of tennis. he took what he wanted like life owed it to him. 

maybe that's why he smoked with patrick. to try and be more like him?

also because it gave him a nice sense of rebellion.

most things he did with patrick gave him that feeling.

at the academy they were the definition of ‘not sold separately’

if you saw one the other wasn't far behind

its not like they didn't have other friends. they did. they were pretty popular actually

but none of those friendships were anything like what art and patrick had.

especially when playing doubles.

it felt like they could communicate telepathically 

patrick knew when art was going for the ball before the other team even served and vice versa.

tennis felt different when they were playing together. better.

and it felt so easy, it felt like nothing they needed to work on. their friendship was the same. it was so easy, so natural.

after about a year or so of being friends they started being in sync. literally.

they cross their legs at the same time, they pick up their rackets at the same time, they adjust their forehand grip at the same time, they walk at the same pace, they sit down the same etc etc you get it

also that isn't really a headcanon, like this is canon in the movie. and it makes me SICK that they were still in sync in 2019. after not talking for 12 years. shut up that’s some soulmate shit

now let's talk about something else that is canon…the pushed together beds.

yes!

now, i think patrick is a person that is pretty open with his body in general in terms of like being physically affectionate. or just being physical. 

i don't know if art is, i think he's a little more reserved. (repressed if you will! i will!)

but patrick touching him so casually does fill a little tiny (gaping) void in him that yearns for touch.

he is a professional yearner as we all know

and patrick never had an issue satisfying those yearnings for him. (i think we saw that in the fact that patrick taught art how to jerk off ok next topic)

patrick would sling his arm around his shoulder, lay his long legs over arts lap, ruffle arts curls (“stop that, you're messing them up.” “no, i'm not they always look like this”),he would barge into their room after practice flopping his tall sweaty body on top of art to annoy him.

they were very physically affectionate it was just all under the guise of shoving and tripping each other and just general teenage boy roughhousing shenanigans. that counts as a love language to me ok!

art got used to patrick touching him very quick and even reciprocated sometimes 

also i do think that sometimes patrick would smack art’s ass as a joke. lol. (that's inspired by that video of the two doubles players doing that…do you guys know what i’m talking about)

OK SO!

the beds.

they were 16. patrick suggested it. “these beds are too fucking small.” he complained, laying on his staring at the smoke detector that he had covered with a shower cap so it wouldnt detect the smoke from his cigarettes. 

and to be fair…yeah. patrick stood at 1,80 cm right now and his feet were hanging over the edge of the bed.

art looked up from his book which he was only reading to impress a girl he had a crush on. patrick had told him to just pretend he read it but art said that was disingenuous and he wanted to know what she liked and why she liked it. 

“you know what we should do? we should push our beds together.” patrick sat up, grinning like he just had the best idea ever. 

arts features twisted up in thought. “isn't that a little close?” 

“nah, why, we still have our own beds. just more space.” patrick shrugged.

he glanced at their beds. “uhhh…i guess we can do that. the beds are a little cramped. although is that even allowed?” art began fidgeting with his lip like he usually did when he was in thought.

but patrick was already in the process of shoving his bed next to arts after which he let himself fall onto the two beds in a starfish position, with his gangly limbs almost stretching to every corner of the beds. “oh. great. and i’ll just curl up at the foot of the bed then?” art gave patrick a deadpan stare. 

“up to you.” patrick grinned in that specific way that really irked art. 

patrick did make some space for him once they actually went to sleep that night

even now they were two opposites making a whole

patrick always ran cold so he hogged all the blankets and art always ran hot so he immediately kicked them off of him as soon as he fell asleep 

that only made this new pushed together beds thing even better for patrick because he now got to have his own blanket AND steal arts every night

i wouldn't say they cuddled necessarily? i think it was more just like the regular amount of physical touching that happens when you sleep in the same bed

which is still pretty intimate to me idk about you guys

like their legs kind of thrown over each others, art’s arm occasionally draped over patricks chest (or literally on his face. art denies every time that he does it on purpose but patrick KNOWS he does it to annoy him. he knows.) 

one time art had a nightmare of being trapped under a rock only to wake up and find out that somehow patrick had rolled over in the middle of the night and was now laying COMPLETELY on top of art. right before he was about to push him off (because he was making art actively suffocate) patrick rolled over again and fell out of bed. he didn't even wake up from that. genuinely just slept on the floor that night. freak of nature that guy.

also patrick for sure twitches like a dog in his sleep

and i think it used to wake art up because he's a pretty light sleeper but eventually he just got used to it lol

when art went to stanford he never finished the last bite of anything he ate because he was so used to patrick being next to him and just stealing the last bite.

patrick really really wanted to get his ears pierced when he was 15. 

so naturally he asked art to do it for him.

you know…like how they did it in the parent trap. which if you asked them is a movie that they definitely haven't seen. ( but they did see it and art cried at the twins reuniting with their parents, oops.)

unfortunately for patrick art was very very squeamish with needles at that age (i think that mellowed down the older he got but he still refused to look whenever he got vaccinations or anything like that.) 

so now it was midnight, they were in their room sitting on the floor and arguing

“dude, just do it, stop being such a wuss. you're not even the one getting pierced.” patrick groaned, he had numbed his earlobe with ice but he could already feel a little bit of the feeling return to it, that's how long they had been sitting there with art squirming around because he hated even looking at the sewing needle.  

“that's worse though because i have to look at the needle going in your ear!” art argued

“ well, i can't do it myself.” patrick replied.

...

“are you wearing my shirt?” art squinted at him

“stop trying to change the subject.” 

“i told you to stop stealing my clothes. i don't want to do laundry that often.”

“can you focus?” patrick groaned

“dude.. okay, fine. just give me a second.” art took a deep breath.

“oh. my god. you're not performing open heart surgery.” 

“shut the fuck up.”

“you shut the fuck up.” 

and what do you know that response got art to get over his fear of needles for a second and stab that thing right through his best friends ear 

the little high pitched yelp patrick let out in surprise at that is something art didn't let him forget about for like two weeks after

it took about another hour for art to pierce patricks second ear and eventually they managed but then like a week later patrick forgot to put his earrings in and the piercings immediately grew shut

so all that drama was for nothing!

i think art has always kind of been the type of guy to want domesticity. 

i already posted about this somewhere but i kind of came to that conclusion because patrick said “he wants to spend time with his family” to tashi in the alley scene

patrick hadn’t spoken to art for like a decade at that point

and you could say it's a good guess but NO! 

patrick knows art like the back of his hand and patrick knows that art has always wanted a family and how much it probably kills him to miss out on time with them due to his career at that point in time (also just throwing this out there i think art always wanted to have a daughter more than a son, like that just makes sense to me. maybe bc i think his own relationship with his dad is so distant? idk!)

so yeah

also the sauna scene where patrick says that marriage isn't what he was for 

(to me) also implies that he is the opposite of art who was meant for marriage

anyway do i think that art shared his wishes for a family and marriage in the future with patrick? yes

do i think patrick jokingly made art promise to make him his best man? yeah

and furthermore do i think about the fact that patrick then had to read about arts wedding in some tabloid years later? yep!

i’m sure i could think of more in the future but that's all i've got for now! i hope this was coherent enough to enjoy because it’s not as proofread as my fics usually are lol! i just wanted to get these thoughts out there

if some of these seem familiar it might be because i took some of these from my twt!

i also have some more headcanons floating around on my tumblr that i didn't include here if you want to find those, or not, i'm not your mom! 

[staridust]

“All’s fair in love and war!”

“ What a better way to celebrate a birthday than with a fun game of laser tag? It’s a party under the ultraviolet lights, and Jack and Artemis are ready to be the best team on the field! There’s nothing that can separate them, but uh… Jack? Why is your vest red? ”

Catch another glowing special episode of Sunnyverse on March 9th, Saturday morning at 9:30/8:30 central, and don’t forget to say Happy Birthday, Artemis! ★

★ DO NOT USE/REPOST WITHOUT MY PERMISSION. NO MINORS.

—

Hey space crew! Thanks for opening the captain’s log. ★

Man, it’s been a while since a post, yeah? I hit that classic burnout stage. Got lost in the universe burnout for a long while and couldn’t draw much for months. I am alright, but what a crash >>.

This drawing was started on 1/21 and was supposed to come out for my birthday (1/23). I turned 22! Finally big big goober age and still very silly! ☆ But uh, I missed that deadline, haha. I spent a good extra 2 months on it by accident. Working on and off over the course of multiple days, working in general, wehhhhhhah.

Told myself to get it done by Artie’s birthday (3/9) too, and then well, missed that too! Sheeeesh. But it’s done now and I quite enjoy the outcome for what it’s worth. I hope you all do too!

Artie’s hair took so long to shade… I want to shave them bald. Jk. Partially…

—

This “episode” focuses on well, a laser tag party! Jack isn’t the type to be extra competitive usually, but he was over the sun excited to be on the same team as Artemis. The two had a game plan: blue team will reign supreme! Watch my back! <3

Except for when the game started, Jack’s vest lit up in the enemies color. Accidental traitor. Maybe he could ask the referees to pause the game so he could swap— oh! Artie just zapped him and ran off.

Suddenly, Jack is extremely good at this game.

(advertising works as episode promotions is very fun. :3)

—

🔆 Click here for Jack’s birthday drawing that I did a few months ago!

Non-dialogue version.

Again, do not use my works or OCs for anything without asking for my consent directly. This includes reuploads to other websites, pfp’s, or collages/edits of any kind. (or at least let me see the edit if it’s fire)

[cloudcountry]

Uh baking an Apple pie with issac? Or issac with a s/o who's a fanfic writer! either one is fine! c:

SUMMARY: Isaac's been working hard lately, so you take Arthur's advice and make him a tasty treat!!

WARNINGS: None!! :D

COMMENTS: i'm trying to get back in the writing groove,,, i havent done it in so long it feels so unfamiliar ^^; thank you for requesting my apple tater!! he's the perfect start :D

this takes place before isaac and mc really know each other??? I TOOK YOUR REQUEST IN A VERY DIFFERENT DIRECTION OOPS. its just artie being a wingman LMAO

Skimming the shelves, you mumble titles to yourself as you search for the cookbook Sebastian recommended to you. You’d offhandedly mentioned making a pie for a certain someone, and the butler was quick to catch onto what you were actually trying to do. After all, said certain someone had been working hard enough to lose valuable sleep, and you weren’t the only one becoming concerned.

Snatching the book off the shelves as soon as you find it, you begin flipping through the pages. You’re so absorbed in the recipes and detailed descriptions of sweet treats that you don’t notice the other presence creeping up behind you.

“Well, I’ll be! Newt is quite a lucky guy!” Arthur hums thoughtfully, nearly scaring you out of your skin.

“Hey! What are you doing here?” you yelp.

Arthur laughs heartily as you fumble with the book, snapping it shut. Your gaze is scornful as you whip around to face him, lips twisted into a pout.

“Aw, I’m sorry love. I didn’t mean to scare you.” he slides up to you, leaning in to get a closer look at the book, “If you want to make something for him, I’d recommend something with apples. Our old Newt loves them dearly!”

Apples? You furrow your brow, running through the list of apple desserts you know. And how did he know it was for Isaac?!

“Oh, and love? Why not make the dessert with him? It’ll drag him away from his work.” Arthur winks, and just like that, he slips out of the kitchen.

That’s how you ended up here, with Isaac at your side. It’d taken quite a bit of convincing to get him out of his room and even more convincing to have him agree to bake an apple pie with you, but somehow you succeeded. You doubt anyone else would have gotten the same result.

Isaac’s soft voice is quite loud in the silence of the kitchen as he reads out ingredients, murmuring under his breath about how he would measure them and doing calculations to make sure the dessert was perfect—

“Woah, hold on Isaac!” you place a hand on the recipe book, pulling it away from his face.

He immediately stops at the sudden contact, pretty eyes blown wide at the sight of you so close to his face.

“This isn’t supposed to be a science experiment! We just need to have fun, okay?” you try your best to smile in a way that will calm him down and help him understand.

Isaac simply looks away and grasps at his hair, twirling the loose strands around his index finger.

“Okay.” he murmurs, and you do a mental celebratory dance.

Operation befriend Isaac is underway!

[challenger-fan-club]

Tennis Academy Art needs taught a lesson.

It's very late at night and Art is tossing in his sleep. The cool air of the room breezes over his naked chest while he fiddles about with the covers him. He hears a slight moan and his eyes open a bit wider. Patrick must still be awake. "can't sleep huh." Art whispers slightly. "Jesus, Art I thought you were asleep!" There is a slight fright in his tone, mixed with anger. "Sorry man, I'm just very restless tonight." Art tried to make sure he wasn't too mad at him. "Me too but I WAS trying to take care of it myself." His voice was raspy while he spoke. "What do you mean?" Art whispered back. "Come on... you know..." Patrick was skirting around the issue but Art was innocent and genuinely clueless at what he meant. "You know... it helps you sleep." Art was lying on his back staring at the ceiling, trying to rack his brain what Patrick was meaning. "I was trying to make myself cum Art." Patrick finally admits it. "Oh..." Patrick realises that Art didn't really know what he was meaning. There was an air in the room and the boys left it linger for a little too long.

"What were you thinking about?" Art asked shyly. Patrick huffed and thought about the question. "You know how we were watching the girls play today? Did you see how short the skirts were..." Patrick again was avoiding the question. "and when they grunt and their skirt swings up, you just see a bit of their ass." His voice was lower now as he put his back in his boxers, running his hands over his cock. Patrick omitted that he sometimes thinking about when Art was all sweaty and grunting. How he would like to make him moan like that. Art was slightly lost in Patricks words. "Did you even notice Art?" Art could hear the movement of fabric slowly as he moved himself. "I noticed." Art said quietly. "You don't get hard thinking about them? You don't think about them grunting taking your cock?" Art almost whined as Patrick said the words. Poor innocent Art hadn't thought about it and now, hearing Patrick say it, it's all he could think about. It hadn't even crossed Art's mind but now it was in there, he could feel his cock straining against his boxers. "You thinking about it now?" Patrick said slyly. "Are you touching yourself?" The room was pitch black and Patrick was listening to the little moans that Art was letting out. "No. I've never." Art got defensive, like Patrick was going to make fun of him for being dirty or a wanker and he would tell the rest of the class. "Do you not know how?" Patrick almost said sweetly, like he wanted to help.

"You need to be hard Art." Patrick started instructing him. "mhmm, I am." Art confessed. "Reach into your boxers and start feeling your length." Patrick continued and Art did as he was told. "Pull your skin back and forth Art, are you still thinking about those little tight skirts?" Art didn't say anything but he let himself moan slightly as he did/ "feels good when you go faster, think about them moaning on your cock Artie." Arts moans spurred Patrick on as he kept going. "Are you thinking about their tits bouncing when youre making them taking your cock." Art couldn't help himself as he played with his tip faster. "uh god, this feels really good." Patrick whined listening to Arts gasps and his ragged breath. "keep going." Patrick almost demanding as he also moaned softly. "Patrick, somethings..." Art could feel something in his stomach, like pressure, like he was full. "somethings.." he didn't say anything else. "I know, it's okay, keep going, faster." Patrick panted. "oh fuck yes, let it happen Art." Patrick increased the speed as he pulled on his cock. He couldn't think of anything else other than wishing his hand was around Art's cock. "It feels good, really fucking good." Art started to loose his ability to speak as he kept going. "I'm right with you, you're alright, you're gonna cum with me." Patrick tried to reassure him. "Faster." Patrick told him and he could hear the panting and moaning from Arts bed go faster as he did as he was told. "Tell me how good it feels." Patrick worked on himself faster at his own instructions. "fuck, it feels really good, fucking, fuck, it's coming, it's coming." Art couldn't help himself. Poor baby wasn't able to hold it, he didn't know what was coming, he just knew it was coming right now. He felt the liquid pour over his hand as Patrick kept going. Art grunted. Hard. Almost shrieking at the liquid flowing out of him. Patrick hearing the noise, knew he made his best friend cum for the first time and it send him over the edge. "fuck." Patrick groaned as he rushed to grab the sock beside the bed and finish in there. He filled it up and slightly opened his eyes. He was still lost in his imagination and hearing Art's groans.

"fuck, Patrick, what do I do now? I'm covered" Art kept holding his dick as it was covered in his own cum. Patricks dick twitched at the thought. "oh sorry, should have mentioned there should have been something near by to clean up..." Patrick said smugly. "you'll probably just need to shower now." Art panicked. "it's late, I can't just get up and shower." Art whined. "You'll just need to lie there like the dirty boy you are." Patrick poked fun at him for being inexperienced just as Art expected. Patrick shuffled a little and threw the box of tissues against the wall, in his general direction. "Here, you'll know for next time." Patrick immediately felt drowsy, going to sleep knowing how good he made his best friend feel.