#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!

[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.

[matchpointfaist]

a love like religion ˚₊‧꒰ა♡໒꒱ ‧₊˚

sheltered! art x flirty reader pt iii

the third time he saw you, art couldn’t decide between happy and horrified. he’d been doing his best to stay focused on his studies, his faith, and his training; on anything but you. his thoughts drifted, sure, but for the most part he thought he was doing pretty well. an entire week passed, and he managed to avoid you on campus, ignoring his fleeting thoughts of wishing to see you, even for just a moment.

he knew, in the back of his mind, that attending his teammates birthday party was a mistake. he knew you were in the same social circle, that you’d probably be there, all gorgeous and flirty and drunk and- it was just best if he didn’t see you.

he told himself he wasn’t taking extra care in his appearance for you; he just wanted to look good, that’s all. a birthday party is a big deal. so he got dressed in a button up and jeans, made sure his hair was perfect and his cologne wasn’t too strong, and tried to keep his head high as he entered the already too loud party.

almost immediately, his eyes fell to you. everyone’s did, though, he couldn’t blame himself. you were a vision of pink and silver shimmer, your hair falling down the dangerously low back of your dress. his breath quickened, his mind racing with excuses on how to get out of here before you noticed- and then, your sharp eyes were on his, a dangerous little smile on your glossy lips.

“donaldson!” your voice carried over the music like a melody, like some sort of siren call crafted just for him, rendering him helpless, “cmere!” and he practically floated to your side, a nervous smile on his lip, “uh, hi, hey. i didn’t know you’d be here,” he managed, biting the inside of his cheek and hoping he didn’t think too stupid.

“course id be here,” you grinned, “what’re you drinkin? i can get you a refill,” he shook his head, “no, i don’t drink, i can just get a water,” “you don’t drink?” you laughed, like it was the most insane thing in the world, “cmon, artie. come with me,”

so he followed you to the kitchen, let you pour him a cup of stale beer even though he knew it was wrong, it was stupid, it was a sin. “it’s cheap shit, but it’s fine,” you sounded almost apologetic as he sniffed it, trying to keep his nose from scrunching, taking a shy sip. “you look pretty,” he said after a moment, choking down the beer with what he hoped was only a slight grimace.

“you too,” you smiled, and for just a brief second, it seemed real. not like that fake, mocking smile you gave everyone else. in a flash, though, it was gone, replaced by the coyness you showed the rest of the world, “nice shirt. green looks good on you,” you trailed your fingers over the collar of his shirt, and he almost lost it right there in the crowded kitchen, his head swimming. “my grandma got it for me,” his cheeks flushed, acutely aware that was not the right thing to say, but you didn’t seem to mind.

“cute,” you just smiled, “here, finish that and i’ll make you another, kay?” he shook his head, already regretting the first round, “no, i really can’t, i’m sorry,” he rambled, “i have class tomorrow and i don’t drink anyway and-“ “don’t worry about it,” you rested a hand on his shoulder, “it’s fine, artie. we’ll have fun anyway, yeah? you can just watch me drink,” you teased. and oh, he did watch you. all night, you practically dragged him around the party, inches from you at all times.

he watched you laugh, watched you dance, watched you drink and smoke and all the things he’d always be too afraid to do. he watched you in rare moments of your true form as you interacted with your girl friends, watched you shut down the guys that tried to dance too close to you. he watched so intently he felt like he had learned who you really were in just a few short hours, like he’d cracked some sort of code he must have missed before.

at 11, he debated leaving without even saying goodbye, just leaving you to your dancing and talking. but as he turned to leave, you were calling his name, a little pout on your lips that sent him reeling. “i’ll walk you home,” you offered, and he took note of your heels in your hand, your bare feet on the floor. “no, that’s alright,” he smiled slightly, “thank you, though. that’s kind of you,”

“let me,” you pressed, “at least let me walk you out, art,” so he did, of course, like he did everything else you asked of him. you walked with him to his dorm, and when you asked to come in, he let you do that, too. even when his head was screaming at him to stop, that this wouldn’t end well, that temptation was the gateway to sin.

you just looked so fucking pretty, sitting there on his bed, your heels tossed in the floor and the skirt of your dress on his comforter. he wished he could memorize the moment, bottle it up and save it for when this night ended. surely you’d never be back there, he told himself, this was just one time. a lapse in judgment, on both your parts.

but then he was sitting beside you, and your perfume was so sweet, and your words were even sweeter when you asked him about his hometown and his family and the pictures on his bookcase. you sounded like you really cared, like you thought he was interesting. you, of all people.

“you can relax,” you told him, and his heart nearly stopped as you pressed your leg to his, scooting closer on his bed, “jesus, you’re so tense. i’m not gonna bite you, yknow. not unless you like that,” you winked again, and his cheeks were flushed, his mind working overtime to form words that just wouldn’t come.

“you shouldn’t be in here,” he finally blurted out, his eyes wide with fear of the way it sounded, like he didn’t want you there when that could not be further from the truth, “sorry- that came out wrong. i just- i can’t be with anyone, and you’re in my room and it’s late-“

“you can’t be with anyone?” you repeated, a laugh on your lips, “why not, hm? is the devil gonna getcha if you slip up?” and then your hand was back on his necklace like all those days before, touching it, burning into his skin, “live a little, art,”

and then you were kissing him, and oh god, oh god, oh god. it was heaven and hell and a mistake and bliss and burning and soothing and everything he’d been too afraid to admit he’d ever wanted. you tasted like vodka and cotton candy and sacrilege and he couldn’t get enough, couldn’t hold back the sounds leaving him from the simple act of your kiss, couldn’t stop his hands from wandering and fuck, you were so warm and so soft and he could’ve died right there when you climbed into his lap, kissing him dizzy, tipping his jaw open with your fingers and dipping your tongue into his mouth.

he would’ve let you do anything in that moment, would’ve let you ruin the path he’d been on for so many years, would’ve let you dismantle all his plans and his faith and anything you wanted if you just kept grinding against him, kept kissing him so sweetly, so dangerously.

and then you sank to your knees off the bed, your hands pulling at his belt and your eyes shining as you blinked up at him, a sultry little smile on your swollen lips. “you’re so hard,” you hummed, sounding content as you pulled down his jeans, “has a girl ever touched you like this, hm?”

“no,” it came out like a whine, his hips bucking into your hand as you ghosted your fingers over his cock, “jesus- no, no one has,” you made a little noise, like you were pleased, and your eyes widened as you pulled down his boxers, taking him into your hand. “this is so- oh, this is so bad,” he hissed in half-pleasure, half-anguish as you pumped him slowly, your lips parting. “why’s it bad?” you asked, so innocently, so sweet, “just making you feel good, art. that’s all,”

“a sin,” he panted, eyes screwed shut, knowing full well if he looked at you he’d finish right there, just from your hand, “this is- sex before marriage is a sin and,” he trailed off, fucking into your hand despite himself, a little whine leaving his throat.

“oh, no,” you tsked, and when he dared to open his eyes, you were pouting up at him, “it’s okay, art. i’ll be good, yeah? i’ll make up for it,” he didn’t have time to question how before your tongue was on him, licking at the tip like a lollipop, and his eyes rolled back, his hands fisted in his sheets.

“forgive me father, for i have sinned,” you murmured, and he choked out a moan as you took him into your mouth fully, so warm and wet and close- fuck, he was so close. you pulled away with a pop!, “holy mary, mother of god, pray for us sinners,” and then his cock was down your throat, and you were humming around him and he was so fucking close- his hands were in your hair before he could think to stop himself, his hips bucking into your mouth, your name leaving his lips between moans and pleas.

he didn’t know what he was asking for, exactly. forgiveness, release, for you to slow down so this never stopped, but for you to make him cum down your throat like he’d imagined so many times before. one hand was in your hair, the other clutching his sheets as he came, panting and moaning and whining he opened his eyes in just enough time to see you licking your lips clean, wiping your chin with a grin, sucking your thumb into your mouth.

you leaned down, kissing him until all he could taste was salt and sweat and you, god, you, and then you were gone, his lips still hot. “amen,” you whispered against his ear, gathering your heels and pausing at the door, “see you around, art,”

and then, for the second time, you were gone. he looked down, and nearly fainted when he saw what was left in his floor. your pink lacy panties, complete with a little wet patch, bundled up just for him.

“forgive me father,” he mumbled to himself, picking up the lace and tucking it into his nightstand, not even bothering to clean himself up before curling up and drifting off, his mind busy with thoughts of you.

[martiansodas-blog]

🎾 🤍💐✨🎀

standford!art who’s your best friend finds out no guy has ever hit your gspot before :(

“are you being serious?”

but it's so fuckin easy! he thinks

your cheeks get warm. you focus on the various hangnails you have instead of making eye contact.

“um...yeah.” you say quietly.

he immediately regrets having such a big reaction and scolds himself.

those rotten frat guys, they only care about one thing.

“hey, hey,” he touches your cheek and crouches a little so he's no longer towering over you. “i didn’t mean to embarrass you, sweetheart. it’s not your fault. they’re just inattentive."

“thanks.” you mutter with no expression in your voice.

he was too curious not to ask,

“have you ever found it by yourself?”

a laugh involuntary escaped.

“i’ve never tried.”

art fake pouts.

“you poor girl,” he coos, putting it on thick.

you scoff, but the heat in your cheeks only gets worse and you cant help but smile. he’s way too good at breaking your walls down, and he knew it

“i can show you, if you like.”

your body becomes unmoving.

"what?"

the most logical explanation you can think of is that he spoke a different language and it was lost in translation. because surely he wasn't offering what you think he was offering.

“what kind of friend would i be if i didn’t?”

he had that stupid smirk on his face.

“wait, you’re serious?? wha-”

he steps closer to you, close enough you can feel his body heat.

“we’ve always been closer than most friends, no?”

you shake your head.

“i mean, yeah, but that’s-“

his body goes stiff, eyebrows furrowed like that's the worst news you could've given him.

now he's the one shaking his head. his mostly blue eyes become fixed on the ground. he looked like a kicked puppy.

“that was a stupid idea. you're right. m'sorry. i don’t know why i brought it up."

he begins to walk off.

are you actually going to reject this offer from your insanely handsome best friend? half the girls at stanford would kill for this opportunity. and here it is, falling into your lap.

“wait!”

he wipes the smile off his face before turning around.

“yeah, uh… i’d like that.”

he breaks into a smile.

"really? i truly didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

there's still a frown gracing his features.

"you didn't! you didn't. i was just caught off guard. that's all."

"...okay" he smirks slightly.

"okay."

another awkward silence presents itself. what should you-

"come over to my dorm at 8 tonight. that is of course unless you want to do it at yours and risk your roommate catching a free peep show."

his sudden confidence caught you off guard. he's giving you whiplash at this point.

"uh, no. no. yours is great."

who the hell can afford a private dorm as a sophomore?

oh right. tennis champions...

before he goes, he kisses you on the cheek. the first of many that would occur that day. his lips are the perfect proportion for his face and they feel like being touched by a pink cloud.

3 hours later

''FUCK, art, please"

"aww, i know baby. no one can treat you like i can."

its relentless. the entire time. the top half of him babys you while the bottom half tries to leave an imprint.

you didn't know your back could arch this much.

"are you gonna cry from how good it is? poor girl."

and you do. saltwater flows down your cheek and he wipes it off and cradles your head, showing you some mercy.

"you can do it, babygirl. you can give me one more, cant you?"

you nod fervently. it wasn't even about orgasming (of which you've done twice) anymore it was about making him happy.

"yes," you pant "ill come for you, artie, shit hnnn."

once you started babbling you couldn't stop. he thought it was adorable, honestly. he's never made a girl dumb on his cock this quickly. you really needed it.

you're gonna be so fun to play with. he thought.

he pecked your cheek while coaxing you through it.

"atta girl, make my cock all creamy for me. you can do it."

you feel every muscle, no. every atom in your body relaxes. and where your bodies met was so warm and slick and art might slip if he's not careful.

"there you go" he whispered into your neck. "so beautiful. such a good girl, im so proud of you. knew you could do it."

you think he is peppering kisses across your face and chest but you cant will your eyes to open yet and every inch of your skin is tingling.

your semiconsciousness works to his advantage because he loves resting inside you. he could fall asleep just like this but you probably wouldn't like that.

he strokes your hair and stares at you while you recover. he wants to let you fall asleep right away but knows that's not wise.

"c'mon, angel," he says softly as he scoops you up. "lets get you cleaned up."

[mina-org]

young thing on the down town scene

୨୧ yandere!aged up!mafia!John Price x reader

୨୧ tw: reader has a kid, stalking, misunderstanding, price has internalised toxic masculinity and talk of a shitty dad, implied kidnapping

୨୧ a part of the Art Deco series, I got really frustrated and just posted it.

୨୧ word count: 2600ish

"Uh, sweetheart?" Kyle taps the door gently, interrupting you're 30 minutes of peace, "Mr Price is here to see you. I wouldn’t want to disturb ya but the boss is in a proper sour mood, need ya to sweeten him up for us, yeah?"

You nod. it had become a common occurrence now, one of his business deals or whatever he did would go wrong and Kyle or Johnny or ghost would drop him off and you’d entertain him, make him endless drinks, tell him about your studies or just listen to him ramble endlessly. Your back turned away from the door as you pack up your lunch, cleaning up any dishes you had dirtied.

"sweetheart?" Alessia’s voice is hardly above a whisper as she moves closer. "Mr price is closing the shop earlier but he wants to talk to you about like an audit thing I think."

" Of course," you reply, not even bothering to look up and met her eyes, she nice, a little quiet, but nice. it was a fine line, pay too much attention to a coworker? they’d be fired. come off as disliking them? fired.

it was a balancing act you usually failed at, if price’s eyes weren't glued on you he had Kyle watching you and usually ghost watching him. Johnny used to come but you laughed a little too hard at one too many jokes so now he smokes outside, in hell or high-water, once he waited in the hail for like 30 minutes, you weren't sure if that was a punishment to Johnny or a warning, probably both.

John grins, taking in the familiar scene of the coffee shop around him, customers, staff, his own men all file out and, finally, he’ll have sometime alone with his sweetheart. His eyes shine as they lock onto you. You stir his tea, in his cup, as you stand in clothes he brought, you stand in his kitchen, well not his home kitchen but he’s working on it.

As if reading his thoughts, Kyle leaves, in thee blink of an eye, he’s gone. The cafe is empty.

It’s just you and price.

crickets

A shiver runs down your spine, sure Mr price, no John, is nice, play dumb he likes it. while he’s never done anything physical, he’s always gone a little or a lot too far. Though your complaints fell on death ears, your friends said you shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, and if you really wanted to discourage you probably wouldn’t take him up on every offer; he paid you double the normal salary and you only worked every other weekend, you could afford to go back to uni, a childminder and a vacation loomed in your future, something you didn’t think you’d be able to give your baby. it was too perfect and you didn't want to upset him, didn’t want to take opportunities away from your baby, you can only imagine the tsunami of wreath that would wash over you if you ever quit. John claimed to hold loyalty in high regard, he reminded you, every time. it felt like you were in too deep and it was just easier to play dumb and smile, and hope that women Kate wouldnt get the wrong idea and show up at the cafe, or worse the flat .

“sugar and milk? you ask softly, “not on rations anymore, sunshine.”

sunshine. suddenly all the thoughts of revenge plots, red spots that stain his hands, the fear of letting down his boys, are all washed away when you say that. you watch his face morph into that of a quokka but you have to keep track on all the shady stuff. But, suddenly you don’t wanna question who Kate is (shady), or why she messages him so much (shady 2x), or why he has 10 fingers in 10 different pies (shady 3x), rather why aren’t they in you, yet.

“Go on then,” he says, sitting with a big huff, “ya spoilin’ me sweetheart.”

"How's school been going? you enjoying it? not too much for ya, was never that arty me self." he says, slightly scoffing at the idea of an art degree, price always assumed that stuff spoke for itself but his girl didn't need to worry about a job, he'd take care of you and you could do endless art degrees, as long as you came home to him.

Soon his tea lays in front of him, his thighs spreading, one hand laying on his inner thigh, material pulled taut. He looks so inviting, you could stop avoiding his advances, stop playing dump, but you dont know anything about him and while he talked a lot he said nothing at all. and it was on purpose, you knew that. you were playing the same game.

you open your mouth to talk, assure him that a little sugar hurt never anyone and that school wasn't too much, until a metallic shriek stops you, price is immediately to his feet, guiding you to hide behind the counter, before his usually heavy footsteps turn stealthy and he disappears out the back. A few more metal clangs, the walk in slamming and eventually Brooke? no, no, not his name. One of Kyle’s friend. Brooks, or something, they all had like multiple names, more shady shit, what does bravo six even mean? and why was Kate saved as watcher in his phone? he was obviously just trying to hide his wife or some shit. He’s a man! horrible! ew! you can’t fall for another shitty man.

You don't miss his narrowed eyes, unstable glint shining through as he guides brooks out. His face screaming for silence for Brooks to just, shut the fuck up but the younger man doesn't catch it. “I didn’t mean to disturb you ‘n ya missus” he says, the shit eating grin, you hear something about John robbing the cradle as he’s being dragged out. That look haunts you, you don’t see it often and it’s never directed for you.

You can’t get involved with him. He’s a weird, creepy boss in disguise of a DILF. Your actions have consequences beyond you, echoes in your head.

He’s soon back, ordering you to sit with him and you do, you don’t want to deal with him, much less him angry.

“Ignore him sweetheart, he’s a proper muppet.” His voice is gruff and you nod.

“alessia mentioned an audit,” you say taking a sip of your drink, trying to stir the conversation to a nothing topic, John just says theres an audit when he’s not getting enough attention, of course he’ll talk about standards for a bit but than he’ll start prodding, trying to dissect you.

Soon enough it’s 5, and you can finally cut him off, he knows the look, knows you’ve been watching the clock compulsively since 4:30, which he tries to ignore, only commenting on it a few times. He wants your attention, he can only imagine how you would look when he proposes, the adoration you would send him as he slides the ring onto your finger make it all worth it, all the bloodshed, firing, everything.

“I hate to say, but I've gotta go home John.” Doe eyes gleaming up at him, you look so sorry and so pretty, all for him. You bring your purse to rest on the table top and his hand clamps down as he flicks his head up to signal you to follow him out and you do of course, gotta keep him happy.

“Don’t be in such a rush love, it a’it safe sweetheart, it’s dark and cold, let me drive ya.” it’s not an offer, or an ask. He’s telling you.

A confined space with your creepy boss? What a perfect way to spent 20 minutes.

“What’s the SAS? is that a rank?” you ask so softly

“special air service, sweetheart.” he says smiling, so happy you’re asking him stuff, usually you just nod and hum on the occasion. “Was a captain, how I met the boys.”

“what did you guys do? what wars are happening?” the question slips out and you cringe but you know he loves to mansplain this shit to you and you don’t want to be questioned anymore.

“Things that happen in the dark should stay there, sweetheart” he huffs, eyes staring at the road, it sounds a lot like there is no war in ba sing se, you miss the bitterness that comes up for a second, like acid reflux, you put you’re life on the line, prioritise them over your wives and ruin two marriages and then get dropped off in hopes you’ll freeze to death.

soon enough he watching you leave, throwing him an awkward wave as you cross the street. disappearing into the building while he finds a place a park where you won’t see.

He knows he shouldn’t be doing this, but he just can’t help himself.

He’s knows you don’t live at the building he dropped you off at. How? He only brought the fucking building, he was gonna hike prices under the mask of a faceless corporation and then you’d have to beg him for help. Now he owns an entire block go flats, not a cheap investment but the man does love a damsel.

With his heart racing in his chest, he loves a hunt too, your walk is hurried. You should really be more alert of your surroundings, headphones on, looking straight ahead. He was excited, hormones pumping at this game of cat and mouse but, nothing. he keeps his distance but five minutes into the walk, you completely stop looking around, you even start scrolling on tik tok, that'll be a quick fix once you’re with him, you wont ever be alone, or at least leave the house alone, hes already plotting one too many war crimes, and losing you? May just plunge him to another rock bottom.

Eyes scanning around your form as it disappears up a set of stairs. six flats.

Six.

He licks his lips, truly feeling like the cat who got the cream. he finally got your real address.

of course the street becomes his new favourite spot and people watch, or really watch you but some would call that creepy. Soon enough he spots you leaving, where were you going this early? all your classes started at 12, he had Kyle check that. and in the pissing rain?

Soon enough he sees reason, a small boy dressed in uniform, struggling to zip his coat up as he drags his feet.

It feels like a dream come true, he always wanted a kid but at 40, the insecurities had began to fester, he wasn’t a young man anymore, started having troubles that he didn't have in younger years, new aches made themselves known everyday. he had been been felling less like a man, it didn't help when he was surrounded by men in their prime like SImon, Johnny and Kyle, he couldn't help lashing out at Johnny all those months ago, he knew Johnny wouldn’t go there, but other men would and he felt the difference, sometimes you spoke to him like a teacher or father and he was down for a daddy kink thing but it was more tailoring the truth so you wouldn't get a lecture. It had always been drilled into him, be a man, he remembered the first time he had been reprimanded, for wanting to bake, not go out with his father, who’s outbursts about his masculinity would only become more extreme as he grew up. The idea, the dream of having kids dwindled, stab wounds puncher marks marred it from his past marriages and now his own insecurities had started to infect it.

Why didnt you ever tell him? he can forgive you of course but this will not happen again, he’ll make sure of it.

A few weeks later and price is driving you home from a house, he was supposed to pit up Kyle but he had found his way in to another bed but he couldn’t let his girl walk hime alone, certainly not looking that good.

Soon enough you’re in the car, complaining about a shitty professor, who he’ll be sure to talk to. You’re a little tipsy, the smell of liquor invites you him closer. the car ride is full of flirts and giggles, a hand firmly planted on your upper thigh and soon enough he’s pulled up outside your flat.

You look at him with pretty eyes, such pretty eyes, luring him in and he feels something different. He goes in for a kiss and its like heaven, lips so soft and he get to feel them, for a quarter of a second, you pull away.

"No." His voice is harsh and his grip tightens, digging into your thigh.

“I don't want you John, you have a wife. We can’t do that and I don’t want you.”You know your tone is harsh, but you're hoping that and the fact you’re pushing him away is the slap of reality he needs to let you go.

“I’m divorced, she’s remarried so I can too, don’t fucking talk about it. You don’t mean that, you want me” his voice picks up as does his fist as he pounds on the dashboard, your eyes turn glossy and the shake of your head sends him over the edge, “you don’t fucking mean that. ” ”John, look I have a kid.” you say anxiously blurting out, “You have Kate, I can’t”

“Kate is a friend, don’t assume im lying cause you lie ya fucking arse off. Can’t what? After all I've done of ya sweetheart? can’t give me a chance, bet ya would’ve spread ya legs if Johnny was at that party.” His voice shatters the tipsiness, you realise he’s taken you to your actual apartment. “what’s wrong with me aye? I’ve done every fucking thing for ya. you can hear me out and be honest to me, ya understand that?”

“John, I have a kid. I can’t just get with anyone, I gotta put him first.” you try and get out but the door is locked.

You’re soon met with his laugh, full of bile and bitterness, looking straight into your eyes. “Don’t fucking do that, you I can provide. How would you study and earn enough without me? I take good fucking care of ya and I have been for a year now. You have to give me a chance, sweetheart, a chance and I’ll give you everything.” he growls back, voice low, his eyes fixed on you, his grip only getting tighter, nails punching the skin, he leans in closer and . “You refuse to accept the fact that you’re mine now, and that I’m what’s best for ya and the kid. Gonna’ take you home sweetheart and our kid. The sooner you accept that, and accept me, the sooner we can get back to normal. Even let ya study and you’ll never have to work again. just focus on ya pictures and shit.” patronising, condescending but you couldn't dwell on that, not right now.

“Just let me leave, and we can pretend that none of this happened, okay sunshine?” your voice is soft, a little shaky as you place your hand over his, tracing delicate circles over it. trying to distract him from the fact you’re frantically pressing the off button, phone wedged between your thigh and the passenger seat.

“That isn’t very nice, sweet. After all that I’ve been doing for ya?” the phone is soon snatched away from you. “I don’t think you fully comprehend your situation right now, I already told ya. You’re mine, and I’m not just gonna let ya go so easily. Now stop the lip quivering and get used to it.”

[222col]

bimbo!reader x art donaldson

summary: your friend goes missing...

cw .ᐟ missing person, murder

꒰ notes ꒱ more of joe goldberg!art

art had been so good recently. kept his emotions in check, didn't make an rash decisions. he was focusing on you, wasn't letting anyone get in the way of your relationship. until, of course...

"artie!" your bloodshot eyes appear unannounced at his dorm, thank god he'd already gotten rid of the guy in his bathroom. his heart clenches at the sight of you, sniffling through your tears as your hands reach out for him immediately. art's already working out a new hiding spot at the sight of your tears, and he doesn't even know what happened yet.

his strong arms carry you into his room, cradling you in his lap, stroking through your hair as he waits for you to be ready to speak. he'd never rush you, art does everything at your pace. "my– my– she–" you mumble, choking out the words through sobs. "what is it, princess?" art coos, gently tilting up your chin to force your eyes onto his.

"y'know my friend lexi?" oh, fuck. he definitely knows lexi. lexi is currently in the trunk of his car, he was planning on discarding her body today, before you arrived. shit, shit, shit.

art nods softly, pushing down all feelings of panic that are threatening to boil over. he has to be here for you right now, not thinking about himself. "yeah, baby, i know lexi, she lives in your building, right?" of course he knows that, it's where he killed her. "mhm, yeah," you mumble, wiping your nose on your sleeve as you sniffle through more sobs.

"she's– she's missing," you whisper, as though saying it any louder would make it more real than it already was. your lip trembles as your doe eyes look to art for comfort. "oh, princess," he murmurs, pressing his lips gently to your forehead. christ, was this girl miss popular or something? art only killed her in the early hours of the morning. fuck, he's in deep shit. she's still in his fucking car and the whole campus is looking for her.

no, it's fine. a missing persons report can't be filed before she's been gone for twenty-four hours. art has time. the police will think she's just some college student who got too drunk and didn't come home. she'll turn up, they'll say, don't worry. yeah, she'll turn up. in a fuckin' ditch somewhere as soon as art's ready for her to be found.

and hey, look, art didn't have a choice, okay? he's not just some psycho that kills people for the fun of it. it's not fun. it's fucking hard work, actually. he had to find out exactly where she'd be, when she'd be alone, make a copy of her dorm key, make sure her roommate was out. and that's all before he killed her. he had to get her body out, unseen, bleach her dorm, get her into the trunk of his car, and he's still got to get rid of her body, now with everyone looking for her! it’s fucking hard to be a serial killer. especially one that doesn't get caught.

it's her own fault. stupid girl shouldn't have been bad mouthing you like that. to do it so out in the open too? bitch had it coming. yapping around campus how she only kept you around 'cause other people liked you. nuh uh, no one talks about art's girl like that. she'd been getting too close to you anyway, it was only a matter of time before art took things into his own hands.

"oh, baby, i'm sure she's fine," he murmurs, rubbing up and down your back under your, his, sweater. art's trying so hard not to let his mind run away with him, especially with the feeling of your skin under his and how fuckin' pretty you look with tear stained cheeks and that pout on your lips. "she probably just stayed at some frat boys house, lexi can be like that." lexi can be a slut, is what art's trying to nicely say. always dragging you with her to stupid frat parties, that art hates you going to. he's the only boy who should be seeing you all dolled up.

brows knitted, bottom lip still poking out as you meet his eyes again. nodding in agreement, always taking art's words as gospel. he would never lie to you, right? "think you should stay here, until she's back though, baby." art murmurs softly, holding your cheeks in his hands, breath ghosting across your face. any excuse to have you staying with him, he'll take. "yeah?" art hums, a smile threatening his features. poking your side, making you giggle, when you don't respond to him.

"yeah, artie." you mumble, smiling up to him. you're too easy. he'll have you convinced lexi was a horrible person by the time he's even dumped the body.

© 222col. do not steal or repost my work without permission.

[bellamoooon]

A/N: So…Patrick’s sister, this was supposed to be shorter but I uh…I got carried away, enjoy anyway!! <33

As patricks sister, you always understood the dynamic; Patrick is the overprotective annoying older brother and you are the nerdy—he says— younger sister.

So obviously, growing up with him was an interesting experience to say the least.

Before going to MRTA, he’d usually bring his friends over after school, and of course you being the pretty little thing you are, they’d always joke around about how Patrick’s sister was hot, (literally average twelve year old when they see any female) and well Patrick, Patrick was pissed, so this is when the golden rule—he calls it— came in.

Patrick’s sister is off-limits.

Which eventually stopped being a big deal when he left for MRTA, since you’d only see him for holidays and breaks, and you didn’t really get to meet any of his friends.

Then Art comes into Patrick’s life; Bunkmates since they were twelve, both in their first year away from home.

For the first summer break, Patrick left to go to your family’s lake house with you and your parents, and Art went back home to visit his nana, he knew his parents would most likely be away working—as per usual.

But he actually finds out that his nana had already been sent to a retirement home 15 minutes out of his home town, so he visited every couple of days during that summer even though his nana kept telling him, “Artie, you don’t have to visit an antique like me, go be a kid, enjoy your summer” however he insisted in staying around her to keep company.

So when they get back, Patrick “loud mouth” Zweig rants to Art about his summer, and Art simply nods thinking about how he’d most likely stay in the academy next summer, not like he had much to go back to at home.

Fast forward a couple of months, it’s Christmas; Art is helping Patrick pack last minute when there’s a knock at the door, then they hear a feminine voice.

“Come on dickwad, mom and dad are waiting in the car”

Patrick groaned as he started to shove his things into his bag, then looking back at art as he folded some of Patrick’s shirts.

“Hey, Donaldson, mind getting the door? It’s my fuck ass sister” he said casually as he grabbed the shirts from Art.

“Sure” Art mumbled not thinking much, only trying to imagine a female Patrick behind the door, seeing as he’s never met you, so there he goes, he opens the door and finds—not a female Patrick— but the prettiest girl he’d seen just standings there in the most angelic way.

“Hey…?”

“Art, it’s uh— my name is Art” he’s stumbling over his own words in the stupidest way possible.

“What kind of name is Art? Are you like an Arthur or something?” He cringes internally but before he can answer Patrick pushes past him.

“It’s just Art, leave him alone, he’s my best friend, only I can make fun of him, find one yourself, kid” Patrick speaks as he walks out the door with his things then turns to Art, “going home for Christmas, Donny?”

Art despised that nickname, the tips of his ears went red as his whole face flushed, but he shook his head.

“My parents said they won’t be able to make for Christmas and I— I don’t want to worry my nana so…” he said shyly and a bit disappointed but, they were the same parents that had forgotten his birthday a year ago and days later brought a cake that said “happy 14th birthday” when he was turning 12.

“Awe…that sucks man, I’ll talk to my parents, you can tag along with us to our lake house next summer”

And that’s how the tradition all started, every summer, Art would spend it with Patrick’s parents, you and Patrick at the lake house, which gave him enough time to catch a little something his nana called a Lovebug, essentially, his was crushing hard.

But of course, there was the golden rule— totally off-limits.

And Art was…fine with it, it’s not like you’d ever like him back, he was probably just “Patrick’s quiet best friend” to you.

Little did he know…

Then fast forward a couple years later, coincidentally, you would also be going to Stanford without actually knowing Art had already been there for a year.

And Stanford was full of frat parties, Halloween costume parties and in general, any party within a 10 mile radius.

And you, pretty little freshman had been invited to a frat party by one of the juniors in your econ class, and I mean, you can’t be rude, right? You have to go.

So, you do.

You wind up in a frat house with a shit ton of people, some cigarette smoke and, a whole bunch of red disposable cups, so why not grab one, what’s the worst thing it could have in it, beer probably?

Wrong.

Something that to you tasted exactly what rubbing alcohol smelled like, so it goes straight from the cup to your mouth then back to the cup as you cringe letting out a single dry cough.

“You alright there?” A gentle voice popped up from behind you, familiar but you couldn’t quite tell, but as you turn there he is; Art fucking Donaldson. With a backwards red Stanford cap and a grey Stanford hoodie.

Oh.

“Oh— Art…hey” you chuckle softly still smelling the mysterious alcohol from your mouth.

“This isn’t quite your scene, huh?” He spoke as he took a sip from his cup with that goddamn side smirk of his.

“Yeah— no, I mean, I’ve been to parties, fun, fun parties. And this, this is so my scene” you rambled nervously, it was already embarrassing enough you, a freshman was at a frat party with a pretty floral skirt and a crochet sweater.

“Really? Oh…then have fun, fun girl” he laughed as he lifted his cup a bit towards you to then walk away.

Fuck it. You were gonna get wasted.

And so, that you did; Somehow ending up in just a soaked tank top, a soaked skirt, hair dripping water and, squeaky wet shoes as you stumbled out of the pool from the backyard.

“Hey, watch it—“ Art turned as he felt your body bump against his, “oh it’s you, fun girl.” He giggled as he saw you, clearly too drunk to even know what was going on, and he could’ve just laugh it off and get back to the party, but Art wasn’t like that, and specially not to you, you’re such a pretty little thing all wasted and soaked past midnight, plus, you were Patrick’s sister. He had to.

So he said his goodbyes and grabbed you as you both walked out of the frat to go back to campus.

“So tell me, miss Zweig, how does one, as drunk as you, not drown in a pool?” He said as he saw you hold onto his arm for dear life trying not to trip, which might have just dug up something he had buried years ago.

“Y’know, im fun, and this is so my people” you said looking up at him—just barely— as you let out a hiccup.

He blushed as he heard it, clearly it was your first time getting drunk drunk, adding on to the wet hair and your shivering body,

“Right, fun girl, my bad” he chuckled “come on you’re shivering, here” he pulled his hoodie off as he handed it to you, “can’t let you catch a cold, how else will you go to your next party, miss fun girl”

“Thank you, Artie.” You said as you grabbed the hoodie sliding it over your head feeling the warmth it carried from Arts body, accompanied by the faint smell of his cologne.

Meanwhile, Art was feeling like his spine had just been ripped out; Artie.

You hadn’t called him that since the summers at the lake house, where he had attempted and failed to forget his crush on you.

“Yeah— I uh…yeah” he blushed even harder as he fumbled his words not knowing how to react.

You just shut your eyes and breathed in the scent of his cologne to then open them up, there you were, doe eyed looking at him, in his hoodie, hair soaked as you unconsciously made it harder for him to be a good friend to Patrick, he felt horrible.

Not only did the disgusting thought of wanting to fuck you against his jeep popped into his head, this is Patrick’s sister he’s fantasizing about.

“Come on— I uh, I gotta get you back on campus” he cleared his throat as he looked away avoiding your stare.

“You’re no fun anymore, Artie…” a pout made itself present as you took a step closer, your hands landing on his shoulders, “come on, Donny…”

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

“Patrick would kill me, you know that.”

“I won’t tell”

He wasn’t proud of himself for turning back to look at you, but you were just so pretty, lucky he didn’t have a boner, if he hadn’t given you the hoodie to cover your very visible nipples against the tank top, he’d probably have you bent over his cars hood.

“I really— I can’t…” he mumbled, his face inches away from yours, noses brushing against each other.

“You sure?” You whispered as you stared down at his lips, “not just this once?”

“Fuck…” he muttered under his breath, well…there goes his willpower, he was in too deep already.

Next thing he knows, you’re riding him in the backseat of his car, all flushed, tits out, him whimpering as he dug his fingers into your hips holding on for dear life throwing his head back, and windows all fogged up.

Yeah, he was so screwed.

He will most definitely be breaking the golden rule for…well, let’s just say it’s not a one time thing.

[rayhalloffame]

NSFW MDNI!

Imagining being new to Art and Tashi’s relationship. They’re both so captivated by you that they need to get to know your body separately. They need to be able to take their time and play with you the way they really want.

Tashi figures you out quickly enough. She knows exactly what to say, knows how to move her hands on you. She’s the perfect balance of teasing and pushover. She likes to see how far she can take you but when you’re begging her to let you come, she can’t deny you. Tashi strokes your face and whispers to you while her fingers assault your clit. You come so hard your toes curl and your head presses back into the pillows.

Art doesn’t have as much finesse. He eats you leisurely, uses his fingers to add some intensity. And while it feels good, and he looks so handsome between your legs, you’re just not able to get there. To spare his feelings, you fake it, and he kisses you after gleefully.

This works for a few weeks while the three of you have yet to engage in sexual activities together. Until Tashi is kissing your neck and cheeks and squeezing her hand around your tit while Art makes himself at home between your legs. You feel good, like you always do, closing your eyes and really trying to concentrate on his tongue which has a better rhythm than his fingers. Truth be told, you want Tashi’s fingers, so you fake it in hopes of continued play. Art is rubbing your thigh and when you open your eyes Tashi is staring down at you. You silently plea with her to not make it a thing.

Instead, she releases the tension between your eyebrows with her thumb. “Want me to teach Artie how to take care of you, hmm?” Your cheeks flame and when you look to Art he has his own crease between his brows. He vocalizes his confusion and Tashi is very blunt. “You don’t know how to make her finish,” she says, but rubs a hand across his messy hair.

His eyes find yours, asks if that’s true. You nod, quick to add, “but it feels so good, please don’t be mad!”

Art crawls up to lay beside you, cups your cheek and kisses you. “I’m not mad, pretty girl. My ego’s a bit bruised but I’m not mad.” Your eyes are glassy anyway and he swipes his thumb beneath one before the tear can fall. “You have to speak up, alright? I want to make you feel good, give you what you deserve.” You bite your lip and nod.

Tashi rubs a hand across your belly. “Go on, tell him.” She nods encouragingly, hand moving to toy with your clit. Your hips jolt into her hand.

“I, uh, need you to talk to me. Y’know, tease me, make me desperate,” you say bashfully. “Tell me what you want to do to me, but don’t always give it to me right away.” Art looks like he’s taking mental notes, nodding seriously.

Tashi is in your ear then. She bites the lobe, tells you you’re doing so good, rewards you by speeding up her fingers on your clit which sends shivers down your spine. She nods at Art to try.

Art captures your gaze, whispers so close to your face that you can smell mint on his tongue, “I can’t wait to split your little pussy open on my cock.” Your eyes widen and you nod into the palm he still has against your cheek. Art licks into your mouth, moves his hand slowly down your body until his fingers tease at your opening. You nod, egging him on, but he just traces his fingers there.

You grip the back of his neck. “Just like that,” you praise. He pushes a finger into you. Tashi grabs his wrist and repositions it to an angle she knows you like, and when he curls his finger you’re mewling.

Art adds another finger, stretching you while he finds a rhythm you like. “You’re so tight,” he groans, pulling your tit into his mouth. His fingers fuck you in sync to Tashi’s rhythm on your clit.

Tashi kisses at the underside of your jaw. “I don’t know, baby, he might be too big to fit.” Art curls his fingers, and you gush. Art spends the rest of the night probing you to tell him what else you like and then getting to work. It’s Tashi who pulls him from you when you become visibly overstimulated, wipes a mix of spit and juices from his chin, says you all will have plenty of time to learn each other. They’re going to keep you forever.

[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?

[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?

[stubz]

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" whispered the Beerix.

"Your communicator doesn't have service on Earth and my phone is dead. I need to charge it somewhere and this is the closest place that won't ID us." the human looked through the window into the crowded pub searching for an outlet.

"Just...hood up, hat pulled down, and stay close to me." she whispered as they reached the front of line.

"How do you know they won't ID us-?"

"Two people? Alright, come on in!" smiles the doorman.

The human and beerix walk in and are hit with body heat, loud music, dozens of loud voices, and a wave of bodies.

"Told you, now come on, there's an outlet over there."

Pushing and shoving their way through the crow the duo makes it to the back of the pub where a table and some stools are. Quickly the human takes out a charger and plugs in her phone.

"Great, now we just need to wait."

"For how long?"

"At least 10 minutes so we'll make it to the nearest base."

"I hate it here. It's loud and...smelly." wrinkles the beerix's snout.

"I know...here I'll buy you something to eat. Want a drink too?"

"...fine. Just be quick."

"Alright, remember, hoo-"

"Hood up, hat pulled down, yeah yeah I know Kim, you only told me a hundred times tonight."

"...sorry, I'll get you that food and drink!"

He watched as his friend disappeared into the crowd and huddled into chair. Every couple of seconds he checked the phone hoping that'd it'd miraculously be fully charged so they could go.

"Come to Earth they said, it'll be fun they said...why couldn't we just have stayed on the ship and go to the new year's party like usual?"

"Excuse me mate? Can we sit here?" he whipped his head up to see three humans standing before him.

"Uh..."

"It's just that there's no where ta sit and it looks like it's just you and friend so could we?"

"...sure." he forced out knowing it'd draw more attention to say no and that more people would just ask this very same question later.

"Thanks mate! I'm Arty, this is Celia, and this is Sean. What's your name?"

"...Quip."

"I love that name! And your hat! It's so gorgeous, where'd you buy it?"

"Oh my god Celia look at his eyes! They're shiny like...like flashlights."

"Don't mind them, they're a bit drunk right now." Laughed Arty.

"No worries..."

"Real nice hat though, never seen a design like before."

"Thanks...it's foreign."

"From where???" lean in the two Irish.

"Knock it off you two or I'll knock some sense into you."

"I...it's from..."

"Sweden! Hi nice to meet you, I'm Kim. Got you fries and a Guinness." she slides over to her friend.

"Oh lovely choice! They got great Guinness here!"

"I know, got one for myself."

The three Irish began to talk amongst themselves while Quip grabbed the attention of his friend and crewmate.

"We gotta go, now." he hissed.

"We can't until finishing our food and drinks, leaving without doing so would raise suspicion." she whispers back smiling at the three other humans.

"Two of them are drunk and the sober one wouldn't care."

"Maybe or maybe he would since as the only sober one he's on high alert right now. Besides I only have 8%. We need to wait now drink your Guinness and eat your fries."

"...you didn't even get one of those tiny drinks I like."

"Those are shots and this will last longer and tastes better."

"Better..."

[Four Guinness later]

"HE WAS A SKATER BOY SHE SAID SEE YOU LATER BOY, HE WASN'T GOOD ENOUGH FOR HER!

SHE HAD A PRETTY FACE BUT HER HEAD WAS UP IN SPACE, SHE NEEDED TO COME BACK TO EAARRTH!!" screamed Quip, Celia and Sean, the three drunkenly dancing and singing to the song playing in the pub. Somehow Quip's hat ended up on Celia along with his hood on Sean, his pointed ears, snout and grey skin out for everyone to see.

"I can't believe how good your friend's cosplay is."

"I know...he loves Dragon Ball." smiles Kim thankful that Celia thought Quip said he was Beerus instead of Beerix.

"Yeah killer Beerus cosplay, too bad he couldn't get purple paint though."

"MATE HOW DO YOU NOT KNUR DIS ONE?!"

"I KNOW IT NOW!"

"OI SHUDDUP IT'S THE BESHT PART!"

"CAUSE I'M JUST A TEENAGE DIRTBAG BABY! YEAH I'M JUST A TEENAGE DIRTBAG BABY! LISTEN TO IRON MAIDEN BABY!!"

Kim laughed as she watched her friend continue to poorly sing to the songs her and most of everyone else here grew up with.

"Quip! Quip! it's time to go!"

"Don't wanna! It's fun here!"

"Quip, Kal and Glip are probably worried about you! My phone is charged up, let's go!"

"Nooo!"

"Aw listen, listen to your friend mate, gotta get home to your family..."

"Yeah, don't wanna worry 'em. My girlfriend would call tha police if I didn't check in with her..."

After some more coaxing from Sean and Celia, Quip finally gave in and followed Kim out of the pub.

A phone call and bus ride later the two were soon reunited with the rest of their crew and soon went back to their ship.

Tomorrow Quip will be banned from drinking for 3 months by his partners and the Captain as he was trending on social media due to Celia and Sean posting the selfies and videos they took with him...which he drunkenly agreed to while his hat and hood were down.

For the rest of the month #IrishBeerus was a popular post.

[cowboyboygirl]

23 & 6 for timkon?

Love your writing!!

awww tysm :D

23 & 6 | "Can you just hold me?" & “I've got you."

If Tim were less of a good samaritan, he’d stop volunteering himself for things. This way he wouldn’t be freezing his ass off in Ontario.

An elementary school had gotten caught in the middle of the continental flash freeze that North America is currently experiencing, effectively snowed-in to the extreme. That isn’t the part he’s upset about. No, that would be the glorified babysitting that he and Supernova are currently doing.

Look, he doesn’t dislike kids. In fact, he doesn’t mind these ones at all. He does, however, dislike standing out in the cold with nothing more than his under armor for his winter suit because one of the kid’s warm layers got torn.

Obviously he’s been through much worse; however, he was just cuddled next to Kon in the farmhouse living room, head on Kon's shoulder, on the verge of passing out with his mug of hot chocolate still in his hands. Now, he feels like his legs are turning into icicles. The whole thing is just cruel. Gotham may have its chilly nights, but it’s got nothing on Canada. It takes a lot of willpower to keep his teeth from chattering.

Seemingly taking a break from entertaining the children, Kon waltzes over. He must notice Tim's jittery demeanor; he cocks his head to the side. “You cold, Robbie?” His winter attire consists of a single striped scarf. Damn Kryptonian thermoregulation.

Tim purses his lips. “…No.”

Kon nods. “Alright. I believe you.” He shrugs off his jacket and hands it off to Tim. “Could you keep an eye on my jacket though? For no particular reason.”

“I dunno, I wouldn't want to mess up something so delicate. It is your favorite jacket after all.”

Smirking, Kon moves in closer. “Well, I could always show you how to take care of it. With you being my favorite Robin and all.” He drapes the jacket over Tim's shoulders, smoothing the material as he goes. It sort of swamps him—and probably looks a bit ridiculous over his cape—but Kon smiles like he’s satisfied with his work.

Tim tips his head back to look up at him. “Thanks.” Cowl or not, he’s sure his expression is awfully tender.

Kon finds his hand and squeezes. “Don't mention it.”

“Um, Mr. Nova.” One of the kids has wandered over to them. Tim can only see her eyes over her giant, lime green puffer-coat. Kon does an over-exaggerated sidestep and Tim has to hide his smile in the jacket’s cuff.

“Oh hey, Gabi! Wassup?” Kon sets his hands on his hips and leans forward the slightest bit.

“Well, Rimi told Arti that they were better at four-square than him, and now they’re kinda fighting. So, I was wondering if you could use your magic to make them stop.” Behind her is the telltale sign of a fight; a group of children stand in a circle that Tim can only assume is completely obscuring the squabbling.

Tim raises an eyebrow (not that anyone can see it) as he turns to Kon. “…Your magic?”

“Yeah.” Gabi continues before Kon can interject, “his tact—tack. Uh. His title tetanus…”

“My tactile telekinesis?” Kon offers, looking thoroughly amused.

Gabi nods. “Uh-huh, that. Can you help please?”

Kon smirks. “‘Course I can.” He very dramatically stamps his boot down onto the pavement; Tim sees the crowd disperse as the two children are slid back and away from each other. As soon as they’re set down, one of them scrambles over.

“Gabi, you snitch!” They exclaim as they charge at her, barely catching themself before they barrel over.

Gabi throws her arms out. “You guys could’ve gotten hurt! I was being responsible!”

“Whatever,” they scowl, folding their arms over their chest, "I hope scary-bird-man gets you. And Supernova won’t even save you because that’s his friend.”

“His name is Red Robin, stupid.” The second kid skids to stop behind the first. He turns his nose up. “He said it earlier.”

“I’ll show you stupid—“ They start before Kon pulls them up by their hood. They immediately deflate and stare at him with awe in their eyes; it’s honestly very cute. “Hey, so, let’s not hit Arti. Again.”

“Yeah!” Arti seconds. Now that Tim looks, he recognizes him from earlier. He informed Tim that he reminds him of his cat, and that he should invest in cat ears for his getup.

Gabi frowns. “You literally hit them first.”

He should probably say something instead of standing here awkwardly. “Violence should be a last resort.” Tim tries, causing all the kids to turn their attention to him.

Kon sets the other kid (presumably Rimi) back down. They wrinkle their nose. “Why do you have on Supernova’s jacket?”

Tim blinks, taken aback. Kids can move on from a subject shockingly fast.

Thankfully, Kon answers for him. “Oh, don’t worry. Red was just grouchy because he doesn’t know how to properly bundle up and I had to help him out.” All the kids laugh when Tim scowls in response.

He huffs and raises his shoulders higher for effect. Kon throws him a smaller smile—more personal, just for him—and Tim is very grateful for the fact his cowl covers so much of his face. “Well, not everyone is a solar-powered alien.”

Kon shrugs. “What can I say? I'm so cool, the cold simply doesn’t phase me.”

“Woah, Supernova doesn’t even need his jacket?” Rimi says, “That is pretty cool. Bird man, is it hard being friends with someone cooler than you?”

“I just told you that his name is Red—“ Arti starts; Gabi covers his mouth.

“Eh, you get used to it.” Tim admits. Kon’s face looks slightly surprised before melting into an extremely smug grin.

“Must be hard when you’re bald, though.” Rimi shakes their head. “‘Specially when Supernova has really pretty hair.”

Kon snickers into his hands before, “Aw, thank you! You know, it takes one to know one. Your hair is pretty sick too.”

They smile so wide that Tim knows their cheeks must hurt. “Really?!” Rimi whips their head around. “You hear that, Arti? Supernova complimented me.”

He rolls his eyes. “Duh, I heard him. I'm right here.”

Tim snorts; he’s extremely entertained right now. Arti blinks up at him. “My cat also makes that face whenever he sneezes,” he looks down at his boots as one scuffs the ground, "I miss my cat so so so much...”

“Hopefully you’ll get to see your cat very soon.” Tim tells him. (Last he and Kon checked, there were a few traffic jams that are getting cleared up about now.) He paws through one of his utility belt compartments before he finds what he’s looking for; a single lollipop with a shittily drawn bat emblem on it. “Think this’ll hold you over till then?”

He smiles wide. “Yes! Thank you, Mr. Red Robin!” he very enthusiastically pops it into his mouth before he attempts to tell Rimi what Tim thinks roughly translates to “Who’s winning now?”

Rimi grins at him, all teeth. “Still me!”

Arti frowns. “Nuh-uh.”

“Yuh-huh.” Rimi insists.

Gabi drops her head, places her hands over it. “Guys. Guys, I really can’t do this again.”

The other two completely ignore her, moving back towards the others as they continue. She follows them, whether it’s because she secretly enjoys it or out of obligation if up for debate; either way, she throws Tim and Kon a tired looking expression before she goes.

Tim readjusts the jacket around himself. “That was… something.”

Kon snorts. “Truly. I believe the lovely ladies that frequent bingo would refer to them as ‘a hoot and a half.’”

“I don’t know how you deal with them so easily.” Tim shakes his head.

“Reading stories to kindergarteners a few times a week makes fifth graders seem like a breeze. No hate to the kindergarteners, of course.”

A particularly strong gush of wind comes through and Tim can’t hold back his shiver. Yeah, okay, thanks wind. He remembers why he was hating life earlier. Kon turns to him, cocky as ever. “Still not cold, Rob?”

“Nope.” Tim says through gritted teeth. Another breeze and—he gives up. Before Kon can even say anything, “Whatever. Fine. Just—hold me. Since you’re so cold resistant.”

Kon wraps his arms around him and squeezes; he immediately feels ten times better. But—he doesn’t let himself melt just yet, lest Kon's ego be fed. “Yeah, I got you.”

Tim lets his smile be extremely dorky, knowing that it’s properly covered. “I know.”