#I’M BEING GOOD AND POSTING NORMAL ART BEFORE I START GOING CRAZY | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

criticallyacclaimedstranger · 1 year ago

Text

The Artist and the Builder [a Joel x reader fic]

Read on Ao3

Sequel: All The Fear and the Fire of the End of the World

Fandom: The Last of Us

Ship: Joel Miller x you/artist!reader who is his age and has arthritis and allergies.

Tags/warnings: Bit of pining, Joel is sweet and settling in, reader has joint pain and allergies, kissing, pretty tame foreplay, a little fumbling, teasing, insertion of objects into vagina that probably shouldn't be there but it's the apocalypse there ain't no dildos, vaginal orgasm, Joel is Too Big and also has Bad Knees, piv sex, cuddling, artist stuff listen I don't know how to do this anymore.

Summary: Gruff contractor Joel Miller has been in Jackson for a while and up until now, you thought he didn't like you because you're an artist and who the hell needs art in the post-apocaypse? But you are wrong.

Words: 7,139

A/N: Listen I know absolutely nothing about being an artist, sorry about that. I also don't have allergies or arthritis (although I suspect I am going down that road but let's cross that bridge when we get there). I just want Joel to be soft with someone his age whose body is falling apart. Many many thanks to @pazizz and @rambling-in-purple who helped me with this one. It started as one thing but ended something else. I really appreciate the help along the way <3

My masterlist

The ache protrudes harshly into your dreams and tears you away from sleep way before it’s time to get up. It grows stronger as you come to, and you carefully try to open your hands. Each joint is like a rusty hinge that creaks and whines when moved, and you sigh deeply as you hide your hands in opposite armpits in an attempt to warm them up. Your mother had arthritis and would tell you in a bland voice that you’d probably get it, too. She had it, her mother had it, and so on. But that seemed so far away, you had your whole life ahead of you, and you had just settled down and started to live after your crazy twenties when the outbreak happened, and survival became your only goal. Despite it all, you managed to live for twenty more years, and then got slapped with the family curse.

Closing your hands around a mug of hot tea, you walk around the living-room of your small house and inspect your various half-finished projects: paper made of plants, clay paint, painted mugs. The whole house smells like a compost, so you open a window to let in a cool breeze. You immediately feel it in your aching hands but do your best to ignore it.

Sitting down at your drawing table, you pick up the charcoal and sketch a couple of lines to the profile you’re working on. It doesn’t feel right, however, so you put down the charcoal again. Restless, you sip some tea, your foot tapping against the floor.

Eventually, you have to go to the infirmary, where Robert, Jackson’s doctor, already is treating his first patient of the day.

You like Robert, like being of use, but being a nurse isn’t what you wanted. You trained to be one, yes, and worked as one for years because it felt like a good, honest profession, and your parents insisted. At nearly 30, however, you quit, and went back to school to pursue your true calling: art. You had almost finished your education when the world went to shit, and your passion no longer counted for anything. For the past twenty years, you’ve thrown yourself after art supplies like other people after food, but even paper is becoming harder to come by. Hence your experiments using plants.

“Your hands bothering you?” Robert asks around lunch, and you nod silently. You haven’t said anything, but he notices.

“Take the rest of the day off.”

“I’m good.”

“Just go, okay? I can’t give you anything for the pain, but I can give you the day off.”

You accept gratefully, and as you change into your normal clothes, you decide to go check at the latest construction site if there’s any sawdust to be had.

You hear the promising sound of a saw working its way through wood as you get closer to the latest house being erected, and when you reach it, Joel Miller looks up from the sawhorse and straightens his back. You think you see a grimace flash across his face, but then he carefully rearranges his features into the usual scowl.

Joel’s been in Jackson for a while now. You don’t really know much about him, except for what you’ve heard from others: that he walked across the country from Boston with the girl in search of his brother, and when the place where he was supposed to drop off the girl was destroyed, they both came back here. He seems to have settled well, and he’s handy, so he’s a welcome addition. He doesn’t really seem to understand your needs, though: when you first asked him if he could save some sawdust for your papermaking, he scoffed when he learned that you needed the paper for art. You bit back on an acid remark. Art wasn’t valued very highly in this world, but it’s what made you happy, and you didn’t care what someone like Joel fucking Miller thought.

“Hi,” you say, stopping in front of the sawhorse. “You got something for me?”

He wipes his forehead on his sleeve and nods towards the wall of the house he’s building. There are three buckets by it, and you see that two of them are filled with yellow sawdust, the third one with nettle leaves. Puzzled, you look over at him. You can’t really figure him out.

“What’s this?”

“Ellie said you were looking for nettles in the vegetable patches,” he mutters. “Passed by a bunch of them on patrol yesterday.”

You chew on your lower lip as you process the unexpected kindness.

“Thank you,” you eventually say. “I appreciate it.”

“No problem.” Joel picks up the saw again and goes back to working on shortening the board propped on the sawhorse. The woodsy scent of sawdust fills your nostrils, and you catch a whiff of sweat from Joel, despite the cool weather.

The buckets are proving difficult to pick up. Your fingers refuse to curl around the handles, and even if the weight is more than manageable, your hands are just not having it today. You swallow hard, embarrassed by your frailty, when Joel steps up behind you.

“I’ll take those.”

Big hands close around the handles of the sawdust buckets. You pick up the nettle bucket and start to walk towards your house. Joel walks alongside you, silent and avoiding looking at you just as you are stubbornly staring in any direction but his.

“I have arthritis,” you finally tell him, naming your disease with disgust dripping from your tongue. “My hands don’t work so well some days.”

“That’s rough,” he offers. “I used to have a neighbor who had that. Sorry.”

You finally venture a glance at him. His features offer nothing of what’s going on behind those dark brown eyes.

You arrive at your house, and Joel carries in the buckets for you. You see from how his nostrils flare that he wasn’t prepared for the earthy smell of your home.

“Just put them down there,” you ask him, gesturing to him. Joel does that and is left standing in the doorway to your living-room. He looks around at your various half-finished projects, the pictures on the walls, all your attempts at creating art with whatever materials you've been able to get your aching hands on.

You pretend to busy yourself with washing your hands, but you're really watching him. You've seen this before: people who don't care about art seeing art in a whole new way for the first time. They're always slammed in the face with it, and it's a very delicate moment that shouldn't be disturbed. So you busy yourself at the sink, rinse out your cup despite it being close to clean already, warm up your hands some more with water, open the cupboards and rearrange things. Joel disappears into the living-room, his heavy, unfamiliar boots causing the floorboards to complain about every step he takes. You hear him walk around slowly, and your curiosity gets the better of you. Quietly, you walk over to the doorway to sneak a peek at him.

He's standing by your desk, holding up a paper with a half-finished sketch. To your horror, the picture is of him, the one that you just can't get right because you can't figure him out, can't combine his threatening glower with the warm smile he reserves for his close ones.

You almost dash across the floor and snatch the paper from his hands before throwing it down on the desk, picture down.

"That's not finished, I mean, it's not... you weren't supposed to see it."

"It's good," Joel states simply. You glance at him as you mindlessly rearrange the sketches on your desk.

"Thanks."

His stare is piercing and hard to meet, so you cast down your eyes to a sketch of Ellie right in front of you. Joel follows your gaze and sees it.

"Can I see that?"

You bite your lower lip, pick up the sketch and hand it to him. You're happier with this one: Ellie's face is open, honest. She talks, questions, comments. You've barely heard ten words in all from Joel, and he's been around for months.

"You really captured her," he admires you. "Did she pose for this?"

"No," you shake your head, "but I've worked together with her occasionally. It's easier to draw someone when you know how they move and talk and such."

He hums in agreement as he studies the picture.

"Is that why you haven't finished my picture?" he eventually asks, catching you off guard. "Because you haven't spent time with me?"

"Probably," you shrug, and hold up your hand for him to relinquish the picture back to you. He does, and the line between his brows seems to melt away when he asks you if you'd want to finish his portrait.

"I can come by tonight after work."

You meet his soft gaze and nod.

"Yeah, okay."

///

You're in the middle of dipping your paper molds into a tub of pulp and putting them to dry when there's a knock on the door. You call out a "come in" as you wash your hands under water as hot as you can manage. Not good at staying passive, you've strained your hands all day continuing with your experiments.

Joel steps in, eyeing the room immediately before settling his nut-brown gaze on you.

"How are your hands?" he wants to know. You shrug.

"The same."

You reach for your jacket, and Joel grunts questioningly. You raise a brow at him.

"Are we going out?"

"I need fresh air."

"It does smell in here." A grin flashes by his face, almost shocking you. Was that a joke?

"Sorry," he immediately apologizes, taking your silence for chagrin. You smile wryly.

"Don't worry. It really is smelly, I just don't notice anymore."

You leave your house together and start walking slowly down the street. The evening is cold in a refreshing way, and you hide your gloved hands in your pockets, both to keep them warm and to keep them occupied. Keeping your eyes trained on some invisible spot in the distance, you try to figure out something to say. It doesn't feel like you and Joel have a lot in common, and all those old icebreakers of "where are you from" and "do you have a family" can be sensitive in this world. You opt for something you do know about him.

"Did you build houses before?"

He takes a second to answer, but finally tells you that he was indeed a contractor.

"Always good to know how to build things," you comment. Joel hums in agreement before clearing his throat.

"And you? You usually work in the infirmary."

"I was a nurse, but I didn't like it much," you tell him. "I went back to school to study art, but the breakout happened before I finished. And nobody needs art to survive. So I work as a nurse."

Joel doesn't say anything, but nods to a passer-by.

"Do you like being a contractor?" you ask. Once again, he takes a little time before presenting his answer.

"I do."

"Good, honest work, huh?"

"Something like that. And..." He hesitates, gaze flickering when you turn your head to look at him.

"It's nice to build something instead of destroying it," he finally mutters. You nod slowly.

"Yes. Yes, it is."

Without hurry, you walk around Jackson three times while talking. Joel is a man of few words, but the words he does utter are well chosen and sometimes heavy with information. He talks about his former construction work but doesn't utter one word about his personal life, possible family, likely loss. His voice is warm when he talks about Ellie, the teenager he delivered across the country, only to find that the people who were supposed to take care of her were already dead and buried. There is a momentary crack in his facade when he talks about his failed mission to bring Ellie to Salt Lake City, but he quickly gathers himself, and states that that's how both ended up in Jackson. He seems happy enough with those turns of events.

You tell him about your art education, about how you ever since you were a young child have seemed to notice how light falls on objects, faces, your surroundings, and the deep-seated urge to draw the light, paint it, trace is with a brush in futile attempts to replicate the magic. The light changes everything, how the world is viewed, and you're constantly trying to capture those moments when the light renders a common kitchen utensil magical, just because the first rays of morning sunshine catch the curves and angles of it. You're not sure he understands, but he does listen.

Eventually, you stop outside your house, facing each other. Darkness has fallen and you didn't leave the porch light on, so you struggle to see his face in what little light there is to be had from the moon, and the glow from the windows of the neighboring houses.

"It was nice talking to you," you say sincerely.

"You too."

You hide your hands in the opposite armpits in an attempt to keep them warm. The cold is getting to them, even with gloves.

"Will I see you tomorrow?"

Joel blinks.

"You're not going to draw me?"

"It's too dark."

"Ah." You hear from his tone that he just realized that you've been talking about light this whole time. His head shifts on top of that long, strong neck, his face turns a little to the side and you catch the profile of his aquiline nose against the faint light coming from the neighbor's house.

And you know you have to try to draw him like this, half cloaked in darkness, the bridge of his nose sharp against soft light, maybe from a fire, the shadows painting dark valleys on his face with his frown, the glint of grey in his beard, a lock of hair curling by his ear.

"Maybe not," you correct yourself and step past his towards your porch. "Come on in."

You load up the fireplace, your hands only trembling slightly from the weight of the wood. Joel kneels next to you by the fireplace and takes the matches from you. A protest rests on the tip of your tongue, but the brief touch of his warm, callused hand makes you swallow it. You stand up and watch him light the fire, breathe life into the kindling, and carefully place smaller twigs on the first, small flames before rocking back to watch the fire grow. You move your weight from one foot to the other, tuck your hands into your pockets. Joel glances up at your fidgeting.

"Your hands hurtin'?"

"It's the cold," you shrug. "But it's fine, it's not that bad."

You take a step back, towards the kitchen.

"Want a cup of tea?"

"Sure. Thanks."

When you return with two mugs of steaming tea, the fire is crackling merrily. Joel rises, joints popping, and accepts one mug from you with one hand, the other suddenly taking a gentle hold of your wrist. You twitch, the tea spills over a little, but you don't pull back your hand. Slowly, Joel covers it with his big, broad palm, so much warmer than yours, and you almost instantly feel the heat spread into your aching joints.

When you search his averted gaze, he releases your hand, and clears his throat.

"Thanks for the tea," he murmurs, and you nod quickly.

"You're welcome."

You busy yourself with emptying the run-down armchair from various knick-knacks and tools, and indicate the seat for him. Carefully, as if afraid to break it, Joel sits down. You pull up the desk chair and take a piece of charcoal and a paper, propping it on your lap with a sheet of cardboard under.

"You're not going to continue with the half-finished picture?" Joel asks, sipping his tea.

"No," you shake your head. "It's not how I want to draw you."

"Waste of paper."

"I'll use it to make more. It's okay."

He grunts, and you hide your smile without knowing why you're even smiling in the first place.

"Turn your head a little towards the fireplace," you instruct, and Joel squares his shoulders, as if he's unhappy about being told what to do. However, he does as he's asked, and follows the rest of your directions easily. When you're happy with his angles, you put coal to paper, and start to sketch.

For a long time, the only sound heard is that of the fire, and the soft scratch of the coal against the coarse paper. Your sharp eyes note every hair, pore, and line on Joel's face, but you're finding it hard to transfer them to paper. After a long day, your hands are hurting bad, and the pain keeps shifting your focus away from the task at hand. Finally, you sigh deeply and turn the paper upside down.

"I'm done."

"It's finished?" Joel asks, shifting like he's sitting back and leaning forward at the same time. One brow is quirked inquisitively, while his tight jawline lets you know that he doesn't really want to see the result - but he's curious.

"No," you specify as you get up, "it's not finished. I have to start over, but it's getting late."

Your fingers can barely let go of the coal when you set it down together with the paper. You hide your knuckle in the palm of your other hand and rub it discreetly.

"You won't show me?" Joel rises from the armchair and comes up to you, putting away the cup of tea. Standing right in front of you he seems almost impossibly broad.

"Your hands hurtin'?" he asks in a low voice that vibrates along your spine. You swallow quickly.

"Just need to warm them up, it's okay, I'm used to it."

Your breath gets caught in your throat when he takes both your hands and presses them to his chest. You feel his heart beat quickly against your palm and realize that some of his body heat actually comes from him being just as nervous as you are.

Feebly, you try to pull back your hands.

"I'm getting coal on your shirt..."

"Don't care."

You bite into your lower lip, speechless as if you were fourteen and standing in front of your crush, instead of a middle-aged woman talking to...

Who is Joel to you, anyway?

"Why are you doing this?" you ask hoarsely. Joel frowns, his hands slowly letting go of yours. You keep your palms on his chest for a second longer before letting go. Bereft of the warmth, your joints feel even worse.

He doesn't seem to have an answer to give you, but his lips move like he's trying to say something to break the silence. When nothing comes out, you get impatient.

"Joel?" you prompt.

"No one's ever looked at me like you look at me," he lets out, his dark gaze locking in on you. "It's like you're staring right through my clothes. It makes me nervous. I haven't been nervous in... a very long time."

"Nervous how?" you hear yourself ask, even if your armpits have grown damp, and your heart is beating so hard he surely must hear it.

"Nervous in that way." You hear exactly what he means, all the possibilities and threats and risks summarized in that. There's something so awkwardly boyish in it that you find yourself smiling. His frown deepens when he sees it, but his lips soften.

"Joel," you ask, softly touching your aching hand to his, "do you want to kiss me?"

He immediately grabs your wrist and touches his lips to yours in a kiss that doesn't really know what it's supposed to do but wants to do it anyway. He forgot to draw breath, and instead of inhaling against your skin, he pulls back quickly when he has to breathe.

"Fuck," he mutters, "that was a shitty kiss. I'm sorry."

Your cheeks flush violently when you pull at his hand.

"You can try again?"

The offer makes him smile, finally, and he displays that dimple that you found absolutely impossible to put to paper. His closes his hand around the back of your neck, and his lips press onto yours, and he remembers how it's done, and kisses you until you're not sure your legs will carry you anymore.

///

The picture of Joel becomes secondary to your meetings. Joel, you realize very soon, courts you, like some southern Gone With the Wind-type of gentleman. He brings you whatever materials he can find when he goes on patrol - you're excused from that task due to your horse allergy - and quietly offers you his thick gloves when you're out walking together, and your hands hurt. He continues to not talk much, but you start to recognize the little things: acts of service, the way he looks out for you, how his eyes light up when he sees you. His kisses when you part.

There is only kissing. He hasn't touched you in any other way, and you haven't taken initiative to anything further. There is only a rather chaste, yet warm, kiss when he leaves your house, where you usually meet up. He drinks tea and watches you draw, or paint when you're not asking him to pose for you. You know exactly how you want to capture him but so far, your hands haven't been skilled enough, and for every hour you spend with Joel, you lay another piece of the puzzle that is Joel, and you become unsure of how to draw him.

One evening, a couple of months after that first kiss, you're enjoying the warm fire in your living-room when there is a knock on the door. Joel stands on your porch, eyes scanning you quickly as soon as you open the door.

"You weren't at the movies," he says, referring to the event that nearly everyone in Jackson went to tonight. You hear the question in the statement: Are you okay?

"It's cold," you shrug. "Not my thing. Wanna come in?"

He enters your house, and you take his coat and hang it by the door.

"How are the hands?" he asks. You rub your palms together.

"Not bad today, actually. How's your knees?"

He grins a little, knowing that you saw him carry furniture up porch steps earlier.

"Creaky, but they still carry me."

"Tea?"

"I don't want to disturb, if you wanted to be alone."

You lead the way into the living-room, and move some things away from one armchair, pulling it closer to the fireplace, next to the one you were sitting in.

"You're not disturbing, do sit down. I could work some more on your portrait."

Busying yourself with picking at pieces of charcoal, you don't pay him any attention until his footsteps bring him right behind you. One warm hand touches your waist gently, startling you into turning around to meet his sheepish face.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay." His warm body is so close to yours, and his smell of wood, sweat, and snow invades your nose. You inhale deeply, pretending to sigh just to get the opportunity to soak in this intoxicating, masculine smell of his.

"I got something for you." Joel holds up something wrapped in cloth, and it takes you a few moments to gather yourself.

"For me?" Carefully, you take the little package from him. "Whatever for?"

He shrugs. “Thought you might need it. It’s probably your birthday at some point, or Christmas, or whatever.”

You never were good at receiving gifts, and it's even harder now. When was the last time you even got one?

He shifts his weight; a show of nerves that doesn't match up with his calm, deep voice. You decide to put him out of his misery and unfold the cloth.

It's four paintbrushes, hand carved with thick, curved handles, and tidily shaped heads.

"Oh. Joel, these are... these are gorgeous."

You hear him exhale, like he had been holding his breath.

"You think they're any good?"

"I'm sure they are, the hairs look amazing. Where did you get these?"

"I made them."

Now you tear your eyes from the brushes. "You made them?"

"Carved them, they should be comfortable to hold, I asked the doc what's suitable for someone with arthritis... The hairs are horsehair, bound together with sheep hairs."

He has really listened to you talking about all the art supplies you miss, and your ideas of making your own.

"The hairs are washed, so hopefully they won't give you allergies," he adds quickly.

"Joel... thank you. I don't know what to say."

He chuckles a little. "Try them first. What I know about making paintbrushes can fit onto the head of a nail. You may wanna return them."

"Unlikely."

You lean forward, the brushes still in your hands between the two of you, and touch your lips to Joel's. His hands rise to gently cup your elbows as he accepts your kiss. Only when your lips grow more insistent, does his hold tighten as well, and all you can think of is him holding your tits in the same manner.

Your hands, still holding the brushes, come to his chest, and you start undoing the buttons of his flannel. Joel's lips leave yours, and when he looks at you with eyes steeped in hot molten lava, you know that it didn't come easily.

"What are you doin'?"

"What does it look like?" you smile a little shakily. Is this the beginning of a refusal? Have you misunderstood his interest in you altogether?

"I don't want you to do it just because I gave you somethin'."

"It's not because you gave me something, it's because you never took anything away."

He cups your cheek now, strokes his big thumb over your lips.

"You're beautiful. I haven't done this in a long time, and never with anyone as beautiful."

"How old do you think I am?" you laugh, amused and touched at the same time. His ever-present frown changes slightly, turning quizzical.

"I don't need to hear that I'm beautiful," you specify, hands still on his chest. "I don't care about that."

"Then what do you wanna hear?" His voice is impossibly low. Your pussy clenches, grows moist and hot.

"I want to hear you want me."

"Oh, darlin'..." he sighs, closing his eyes momentarily. "I want you like crazy. I have wanted you for a long time, but I wanted for you to decide when you'd have me."

You didn't know how much you had longed for someone who saw you as a sexual being, a woman with desires and a will of her own.

"Joel," you whisper, and he swallows the rest of your words when he crashes his lips to yours. The brushes fall from your hand when you throw your arms around his neck to bring him closer, and Joel's big arms go around your waist. He hums into your mouth when your entire front is pressed against him; a satisfied hum, like he's happy to have you here. You answer with a hum of your own and feel his lips curve in a smile.

Slowly, his hands begin to know your body, sliding over curves and dips, fingers dipping into flesh, palms caressing over your clothes. Your approach is more direct: you pull at his flannel, wanting it off him.

"There's no hurry," he admonishes you between kisses. "Unless you got somewhere you need t'be?"

You exhale in something in between a scoff and a chuckle.

"In your pants?"

"Bedroom, then?"

"It's warmer in here, where the fire is."

"Hold on."

He releases you, seemingly unwillingly, and disappears into your small bedroom, re-emerging momentarily later with your bedding. You move the armchairs away to allow for him to put everything down in front of the fireplace. Groaning, he lays down on the makeshift bed, taking your hand and pulling you down next to him. You giggle a little as you plop down, immediately receiving more kisses.

"This better?" he wants to know. Your skin knots over when his hand finds its way underneath your shirt.

"Much better."

He rolls half on top of you, hand finding your breast for a light squeeze as his knee pushes between your thighs to separate them. His cock is stiff against your hip, and you move against it, smiling into the kiss when he grunts and grabs your breast harder. You put your hand on his, pressing it down, feeling his hand disappear into your soft flesh almost painfully. Your moan gears him up, and he starts to pull your shirt upwards. Squirming out of it, you reach for his belt, huffing in annoyance when Joel sits up to take his own shirt off. You sit up as well for a better reach, and your forehead connects with his chin just as he dives back to you.

"Ouch!"

"Fuck!"

You smile sheepishly at each other, both of you more startled than hurt, and Joel gently pushes you back down.

"Maybe we should take it slow?"

"I need you, I'm done waiting."

"I know, sweetheart, but I don't want you to break my jaw."

You scoff, but his kisses make you docile. Your clothes come off, along with his, and when you're both finally naked, skin against skin, you discover that you're happy with going slow as well. In the light of the fire, you trace your hand along his strong muscles and soft flesh, kiss his scars from past struggles, and the newer bruises from recent altercations with logs or whatever he has attempted to lift on his own. You close your fingers around the girth of his cock - Jesus, 20-year-old you would've giggled like a maniac at the sight of it - and enjoy the sounds of surrender that you can conjure out of him.

"God, your hands feel good on me," he hisses as you slowly, while trying to remember how to do this, stroke him with both hands. You smile, suddenly struck with nerves, when you pass your thumb softly over the glistening head of his thick cock. The precum catches the flickering light from the fire, and you get lost in how light and shadow play over Joel's skin; the dark dip of his navel, the hills of his soft pecs and stomach illuminated, his cock rising proudly from a thicket of dark hairs towards the light, the fuzz of his thighs. The embossed skin of a scar reflecting the warm light. The way his skin rises in goosebumps at your touch...

"Darlin'?"

You blink, and meet his wry, amused smirk.

"You with me?"

"Yeah, sorry. I just... was looking at the light."

"How you'd paint it?" Joel seems to catch on immediately, having listened to you rambling on about The Light several evenings. Yod nod and run one finger along the length of his cock before continuing up his happy trail, swerving around his navel.

"There's so much to see on the human body, if one just knows how to look."

"Lemme try that."

Joel pulls you down and rolls you onto your back, propping himself up on one arm next to you. You blush a little as he inspects you, his hand following the dancing shadows on your chest and stomach.

"Yeah," he murmurs, "I can see it alright."

"Yeah?"

"M-hmm. Hold on."

He rolls to the other side, looking in the dusky room for something. When he returns to your side, he's holding one of the brushes he made. With a feathery touch, he touches the brush to your ribcage, right underneath one breast.

"Here's light," he mumbles, carefully tracing the brush along a rib. "Right next to the shadow of your breast."

You exhale in a soft moan as his knuckles brush up against your breast, knotting the nipple. Joel's tongue slips out to lick his lower lip before he goes on tracing the lines that only he can see on your skin.

"What are you painting, Picasso?" you ask hoarsely.

"Hush," Joel tells you curtly yet not unkindly. You smile and close your eyes, shifting a little so that you can drape your arm around his shoulder. His hot breath is on your breast, his whiskers tickle you before something warm and wet disturbing your nipple tells you he's licked it. A shiver runs through you, and you push your chest out, asking him wordlessly to do it again.

He latches on and suckles steadily, but your shout of surprised pleasure has barely died down before he releases you and continues down your stomach with the brush.

"Joel," you whine, blinking up at him, but the focus in his eyes is so intense that you don't say anything more. Instead, you watch him figure out the fundamentals of visual art: how the light changes everything, how to handle the brush, how to angle the hand. His brush may not have any paint on it, but he paints your pleasure with sounds from you: gasps, hums, a hiss when he passes over a ticklish spot. With the brush trailing through the thicket of your pubes, your legs fall open and your lower lip catches between your teeth. Your pelvis rises to meet the soft hairs, and you moan when Joel dips the brush through your slick folds. He moves the brush to your nipple, circles it to wetten it with your arousal, then ducks down to suck it into his mouth. Your back arches, your inner thighs are wet, your heartbeats echo in your pussy, and you need him to understand just how desperately you need him.

"Fuck me," you keen, "Joel, I need you to fuck me."

He hesitates, coming up to slot his mouth over yours and steal your breath away. You rub yourself against him, find his cock and tease it, make him moan just as needily as you.

"I take it you ain't a pregnancy risk?" You hear from his tight voice how close he is to snapping. Fuck, but that's hot.

"STDs are our only concern," you try to joke, but it's not funny. Before coming to Jackson, you spent years in a quarantine zone as a nurse, and the common sexually transmitted infections ran rampant. Without proper testing equipment, it was hard to tell the scale of it.

"I should be clean," he tells you, and you're too far gone to doubt him.

"Me too."

He kisses you again as he rolls on top of you, his width and weight blocking out everything else as he plunges his tongue into your mouth. Your hips rise to meet him when he leads his cock against your entrance, and you almost bite him when he starts to push into you. Your nails press into his shoulders, the fit is impossible, and Joel stops.

"Fuck," he mutters. "You okay?"

"It's big, it's been a while."

He growls and pulls out, cupping your cheek when you whine.

"Don't wanna hurt you."

"Just get me wet, Joel."

"You're plenty wet already."

"And you're hung like a goddamn moose, so get me wetter," you snap, and Joel chuckles.

"Relax, darlin'."

"I'm trying."

He kisses you again, hand between your legs, two fingers slipping through your folds and drawing out the slick to a slow circle around your clit. Sparks run up your spine and you bury your fingers in his thick, greying hair.

"You always try to cram it in before finding a girl's clit?" you mutter, but your smile shines through. Joel slips a finger inside you.

"I told you, it's been a while." He trails kisses down your neck and moves his finger inside you, seeking the right, spongy spot. You mewl and writhe, needing more but not getting it. One finger is not enough. An idea forms in your head.

"Take the brush," you ask him breathlessly. Joel stills, finger slipping out as he studies your face. You roll your eyes.

"It's not a commentary on your skills. Get over yourself."

"You were the one who were in such a such a hurry a minute ago," he teases before looking around for the brush. Finding it, he brings it to your tits, but you shake your head.

"No, use it on me."

His brow rises quizzically. You push his hand down.

"Fuck me with it, Joel."

You expect an objection, or at the very least surprise, but all you get is a strangled sound and a searing kiss. The handle, so smoothly polished, is thick and curved in a way that bears resemblance to a dildo - not that you've used one in twenty years, but the thought is there now and you have to try this out.

The handle slides in easily, filling you better than his finger but without the intensity of his cock.

"Fuck," you keen, directing your hand down to rub your clit as Joel slowly pulls out the handle before pushing it back in. "There, fuck, Joel, that's good..."

He's breathing audibly now but you don't look at him anymore, you close your eyes and let him help you find all those buttons and spots that you had almost forgotten that you had anymore. When your toes start to curl, and you moan "Faster, Joel, faster!" he complies, rough whiskers scratching the sensitive skin of your tits as he fucks you with the paintbrush that he carved with his own split-knuckle hands to spare you your aching ones.

You barely know what an orgasm feels like anymore, but there's no mistaking this one. The rise and the tightening of muscles, the holding of breath before releasing it in a choked moan, the loosening of limbs, the pounding heat of your pussy.

"Jesus, but that's beautiful," Joel sighs, gently sliding out the brush and putting it to the side before kissing your flushed forehead. "Darlin', you're killin' me."

You chuckle huskily and pass your hands over your face.

"I think it takes a lot more to kill you, Joel Miller."

"I wouldn't bet on it."

The bedding underneath you may keep the draft of the floor at bay, but offers no suspension, so when he edges into you a second time and bottoms out, it's like being split in two between a rock and a hard place. But you can take him, and you cling to his broad shoulders with breaths coming out as hissing.

"Relax," he murmurs, petting your hair as if you were a skittish animal while slowly moving in you. "Sweetheart, you can take it, you're doing it already, you're doing it so well, it feels so good..."

You keen as he spears you again, slowly but steadily, his muscles trembling from the effort of keeping himself from crushing you. Your legs wrap around his thighs, arms around his shoulders and you pull him down, you want to be crushed, you need him like this, steady like a train and sharp like a razor, his breathless kisses on your neck, the groans that may come from pleasure or discomfort from being on the floor, you have no idea, but you need him just like this.

"Come, Joel, come," you gasp into his ear, the good one, and he endures, unwavering in his effort as he digs into you, deep, thorough, devastating.

His climax is a relief and a sadness. You don't want it to end, but you also couldn't bear one more second of it.

Joel slumps to the side, gathering you into his arms as he draws a deep, shaky breath. In the faint light of the embers that are left in the fireplace, you trace the scar on his right cheek and watch his eyelids press shut more firmly before he turns his head to kiss your fingers.

The temperature in the room seems to drop as the heat dies down, and you carefully untangle yourself from Joel's firm hold to put another log on the embers. When it flares up, you return to Joel's side, now finding him watching you.

"You okay?" he asks when you pull a blanket over both of you. Making yourself comfortable, you nod with a little smile and a kiss to his lips.

"Perfect."

"That thing with the brush was... interesting."

You blush. "I don't know what happened."

"Glad it did."

"Joel, I... haven't had sex like that... at all... in decades," you blurt out. "And this was... perfect."

He hums, glances down, and to you it's glaringly obvious that he is conflicted. Your heart sinks just as he speaks up.

"It really was perfect."

"But?" You can't help yourself: there's a slight edge to your tone. Joel leans his head back a little to take a good look at you, the usual disapproving frown back on his face.

"But there was someone," he starts, "for years. And we never had this. Time and place wasn't right."

You exhale in relief. History and baggage are easy to deal with, rejection is not.

"I'm sorry."

He shrugs with a little sound, forehead smoothed out.

"Was she... Ellie's mom?" you dare. Joel shakes his head, and his hand slowly passes over your back, fingers strumming the bump of your spine.

"I didn't know Ellie until a few months ago. This was... someone else. A partner. She took Ellie on, really. I was against it. And she... didn't make it."

You don't want to say that you're sorry again, but don't know what else to say, either. So you kiss him, because you want to, because you think he needs it, because there are no words. Your hand is splayed open on his cheek, his lips and mouth are dry and so are yours, but the kiss is sweet and gentle, and the things you can't find words for are carefully passed on to him. He exhales in a soft sigh onto your cheek, then tilts his chin up to kiss your forehead before burrowing his nose against your hair. It's clear to you that he wants to sleep, but you're buzzing with unexpected energy. Carefully, you slide away from his arms, smiling at his frown, and get up to tip-toe to the desk, where you pick up paper and coal. A faint blush colors your cheekbones when you feel his cum seep out of you, and you hurry back to the makeshift bed, sitting down by Joel's feet.

"C'mere," he barks, but you shake your head.

"Just stay still."

He complies with that frown of his, and you settle down, putting the piece of coal to the paper.

You know how you want to draw him now.

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfic #my fic

193 notes · View notes

scythlyven-art · 2 months ago

Note

hi! i just found your art and holy fuck it's amazing. I'm sending this cause I'm curious about your warlock au you mentioned in one of the posts and if youd be willing to share any info on it

Hi! I’m glad you found my little hole here and that you like my art!! :D

There’s not too much info to share on the warlock au other than snippets I’ve written on Twitter about it but I can share the basics! (Ie just coping some of my tweets lol this is quite the novel so sorry in advance but you did ask for it)

“Basically the au is normal VM minus Percy. Percy in this au is sort of a combo of him and Orthax (some) power and appearance wise. He’s a demon that lives. In a big fancy sciencey castlevania Dracula style castle by himself.

He controls the only known major deposit of White Stone for Residuum and the area is watched over by loyal undead servants or animated suits of armor and the whole area is hidden away.

Not a big user of magic still but it comes free with being a ✨ demon ✨

In a direct fight between Percy and the Briarwoods Percy would easily win- his centuries of knowledge vs a relatively new vampire and necromancer they don’t stand a chance. Which is why they resort to cheating of sorts using an artifact beyond their power.

Whispered One hooks them up with it and they basically wait until the right moment to catch Percy completely off guard before sealing him away in it. There’s not much he can do once he’s trapped and the Braidwoods take full control over the Residuum supply.

Cut to 5 ish years later and VM stumble upon some oldish ruins with a few corpses and hidden treasures. One of which is an old brooch that was given to Percy centuries ago by his human sister- it means a lot to him but has been lost for awhile.

Vex finds it and thinks it looks pretty cool so she holds onto it. It has magical properties from Percy’s possession of it so despite his cage he can sense it being moved and handled. He decides to pay a visit to the new current owner of it later that night in a dream.

It’s a lot of smoke and darkness on Vex’s end. She can’t really tell who or what she’s looking at but it’s vaguely human. In the few hours prior Percy poked around her mind (not extensively) just learning a few things about her.

He proposes to her a deal— he can grant her some extra power (to the extent his cage will let him) as well as knowledge to aid her in battles and to make new arrows and outfit her bow with modifications to make it stronger.

In return she helps free him from his prison.

She wants reassurance he’s not evil since he’s all smokey and clearly a demon of some kind. He can’t guarantee her he hasn’t done things she as a mortal might find evil but generally speaking he’s pretty neutral since he is the main supplier of Residuum for the world.

She needs time to think and process the deal. He tells her to take her time since he isn’t exactly going anywhere. But as a token of his good intentions he spots her some of his magic over the next few days which may or may not help convince her to agree.

She eventually agrees and the pact is sealed. A smokey tattoo takes up the lower part of her inner forearm. She’s careful not to roll up her sleeves or show this in any way to the group. But from this point forward she can freely talk to Percy at any time. The only catch is while she hears him in her mind she has to verbally respond.

Her internal thoughts are kept away from Percy which is good and bad because now she has to be careful about when she can respond so the others don’t think she’s crazy and start asking questions.”

I’ve spotted some more ideas from this but I feel like this sums up the main details. I’d love to possibly write it someday but I’m currently working on a fic still and I’m more of an artist than a writer. If I try to start this as a fic before finishing the other one neither will get done :’)

But yeah I hope this answered your question!!

#scy shares #ask #perc’ahlia #warlock au

15 notes · View notes

yutasbimil · 6 months ago

Text

Antimony

vyn x fem!oc | tears of themis ff. (psychology major!lead) ✦ (7/8) [series fic] !!! also posted on my ao3 acc! { here } tags: angst, hurt/comfort cw: heavy on (self) angst; suicidal ideation; graphic and morbid descriptions on said thoughts, negative self-talk, skewed self-perception, mentions of attempts, self-harm. triggering topic on neglect and invalidation of family/relatives. + fudge, I HATE typing this down and reading it to edit, it just crawls into my skin THIS IS THE WORST + supposedly this is a 'x reader' fic but got too heavy eventually, I apologize truly ;; word count: 3.2k

do not repost © yutasbimil (2024)

Her existence persists to be a contradiction. Her daily pursuits are deliberating from making up her mind on things… as everything had been pointed out too much with being smothered and neglected by her family. Who knew that such a dynamic is possible to be of existence?

But it would also be a miracle if they just started thinking straight and be normal for once.

From happiness and despair, does she truly care that her pessimism gets in the way of enjoying the art of stoicism? Or is she just truly numbed and disappointed to even care?

‘This is crazy talk from the meds…’

Yule clenched her jaw subconsciously.

‘I hate myself for falling into a slope and fucking relapsing—’

“You okay, my love?” Vyn asks, he is not quite sure of the volume he had observed her. He’s surer about the weeks it has occurred. Vyn is most sure that the lavender essence of the tea and atmosphere doesn’t amount to any help to the lady across from him.

Yule tiredly replies, nodding weakly before lowering her head as droopy as her eyes. The fatigue is catching up with her, along with being numbed along with the medication. She’s still quite adjusting.

But today shows a darker shade in her façade.

Exhaustion reeks in her aura.

“Obviously not, Vyn…” her grumpiness slipped along with her groan. The migraines from jaw clenching aren't adding to her comfortability.

Vyn had no other choice but to dismiss her snarky attitude.

“You do know I won't go anywhere even if you act that way towards me, right?” Vyn looks towards her sharp glares, she just huffs. He had noticed such patterns of irritability with her, and her means to sabotage anything when she's insecure. “I'll just be here, and just so you know, being harsh and cold towards me hurts, Yule. But let me remind you that I've handled worse so I won't be unfazed.”

“Ha, so you do admit I'm at par, worse?” she rolls her eyes, clicking her tongue. “I doubt that you'll manage, just admit I'm a jerk one can’t handle.”

Vyn’s brow twitched slightly at her sudden shift, he managed to simply purse his lips in a thin line.

“I didn't say anything of the like, Yule. Acting harshly can hurt others, even words can be sharp, does it not?”

“Whatever, just leave then.” Yule doesn't even bat another eye, her tone gradually turning childish. “I'm being pathetic and making a scene right now for the sake of it. I’m that destructive, a ticking bomb. It's obvious to you since you're so smart with your two degrees.”

So, she does know she just wants to fight ‘just because’? Good thing I won't retaliate. With his usual finesse, Vyn stayed nonchalant.

I'll take that as a compliment for her remembering and including it in her snarky remark.

It was clear she was not in a rational state.

Technically, they’re currently in a foreign place for her so it would be ridiculous to just leave her here. It’s silly enough she’s proposing to be left when Yule herself admitted she’s “directionally challenged”.

At least she retained her wittiness.

“Giving you the ‘Time Off’ you advised me when you're not in the mood, but I will just be here. I refuse to leave you.” he declared, still at a halt to wait for her next move.

“Why? I’m not even worth keeping, I’m a piece of shi—”

“Triggers, Yule.” Vyn prompts. “Self-degradation; I’m not tolerating any of it. We’ve talked about this.”

“Even you refuse to believe in facts,” she mutters under her breath. Yule attempts to storm off, but Vyn silently just follows.

This was her warning beforehand, it's as if you're facing another person whenever she pushes people away. If anything, her attitude amplified since she had gone back from visiting her family…

Vyn realized this soon enough as she just shut him off and looked further somber. She had been quiet even before coming back to their rented villa.

Yule just huffs, obviously having difficulty regulating her emotions at the moment.

Vyn stayed idle. He just suppressed a sigh as he placed down a glass of cold water for Yule. He knows nothing but to show any discomfort to her, most especially her vulnerable moments when she might take the slightest actions and gestures the wrong way.

As to why it ticks Vyn personally how she’s still viewed as not a concern. It’s obviously debilitating her work performance; it’s hindering her work function. Any other areas of her life including her sleep, appetite, and even social aspects.

It’s infuriating all the more that her evident symptoms and warning signs of help are dismissed as merely “physical sickness” by her family. Isn’t stress one of the leading causes of diseases and common knowledge these days?

“I’m angry— not at you, b-but I am lashing out. I’ll- tell later. Maybe, fuck, I don’t care! No one cares!” she burst out, immediately ripping her look off him as she walked out of the living room into the bedroom.

He just blinked, slightly distraught as poker-faced his expression now.

Vyn dragged the chair and sat down, subconsciously observing the condescending droplets form at the glass of water she left. He puts his hands on his face, his fingers stroking his chin in thought. He furrowed his brows at how unexpected the turn of things was for them just now.

Though, he already put the first piece that bridged this disaster from cascading; the verdict of it all.

Yule told Vyn of her last encounter with her family and relatives before their trip.

Last week…

“What if you get physical therapy instead?”

Even till the end, you’re not believing in me huh?

Yule held her tongue and no longer had any care to even bother rebutting. If only they were the ones who would tend the medical bills for her, but no.

The tone of Yule’s mother implied it’s much cheaper, that her symptoms are most likely only physical exhaustion, and that her fatigue is just lack of sleep. She doesn’t take any care of herself for being irresponsible and an immature person, still. Or at least that’s what her mother always says.

But when it comes to my sister, it’s a different story with finances huh? Suddenly the “budget” is non-existent; they’re all in.

She had to compensate for the fees for her therapy session with her own money…

Well, yeah. She had the money now, but what happened to "supporting her till the end"?

It opposes everything they told her.

She just heaved in a sigh, and everything felt heavier on the next happenstance.

The conversation felt a bit of a blur, more on her not bothering to even respond to her being hurt, and just agreed. The frustration, infuriation, and resentment only build up more as her boundaries are trampled over.

If it means I can get a proper assessment, I guess.

The price to pay along with the therapy. Such irony.

“It just gets dragged longer than I want it to, just further emphasizing the usual flow; I’m not the priority, a burden? Ah- it’s just more on being dismissive that: “It’s not that that you’re feeling.” It’s swept under the rug how obvious—goshdamn, the obvious signs of mental distress to my parents, Vyn! But they choose to ignore the possible mental illness.”

The way that Vyn has his vision on her as if he’s correlating the tangled coherence of her explanation, and he’s patient with ears swung wide open. Yule keeps pacing around the room to at least get her mind off the jitters, she lets her mouth agape to avoid drawing out blood from biting her lips.

“It’s like I’m just lying there bleeding, and they’re choosing to turn a blind eye.”

Yule is reminded to breathe, shakingly while easing her stiff shoulders. She felt her muscles firm up while slouching. It’s as if there’s a hanger placed on her clothes.

“Yes, it can be alleviated by massage, and physically, some ache in my body can be healed, through proper treatment, cure, and shit— but the debate just stood there with the elephant in the room, that it’s quite the opposite that my mental strain and fatigue is more on causing me physical symptoms. Manifesting physically instead…”

“Psychosomatic symptoms*, hmm?”

“Y-yeah, exactly! But of course, it just ends up that I brought the proper weapons in a fight, but it’s never to be acknowledged in the first place. As if you’re telling the doctor that they don’t need bandages on obvious bleeding wounds.”

She had known for the longest time of this feeling since high school.

It felt like she was walking on lead, underwater and had been drowning for years. She’s raising her arms, for flags but it just gets thrown off as nothing. Go with the flow by all means.

But she needed to keep in mind how to slow down, her anchor already reached its point. Yule needs to learn how to rest and not exert herself when she’s already done more than enough.

‘I’m just pushed to my limit, even if I did well in school up to this point of taking exams for additional credentials— I just want to hide everything away when I know that it will just be brushed off at the end of the day.’

It even leaves Vyn’s gaze at her to waver, the flicker of his eyes dimmed for a slight millisecond at the shakiness of her voice.

Yule bitterly snickers, shaking her head weakly with a huff. “I just got my result that I passed, and I now have a name extension, yet everything I get still seems the least believable to them. Vyn, I’m gonna go insane, I tell you!”

This adds salt to the wound, it stings how her eyes feel dry at this point. This is not at all helpful to the abundance of cortisol levels in her system, as her psychologist pointed out. This condition of Psychosomatic Disorder in line with Generalized Anxiety Disorder**?

What a perfect combo indeed.

Adding the cherry on top of this disastrous combo is the crippling depression she has.

Though of course, this isn’t something ‘serious’ to look into, right?

Having to hear all of this and Vyn analyzing it, the brows on his forehead creased in dismay. Much to Yule overanalyzing everything, too.

Even now, it keeps replaying back in her head. It struck her with fear, and disgust to see how he might be having a hard time with her negativity.

Yule feels guilty, especially about how she’s been dragging him along the emotional rollercoaster. Either it’s with the fluctuation of hormones due to her monthly cycles and the effects of the medicine. Even how she even lashed out numerous times, so stupid! ‘Vyn is tired of me— wait, correction, because of me.’

It’s vastly different from one’s emotional toll when it comes to handling someone close and dear to you.

Yet he remains patient and kind to her unkindness.

Damn, so now that I’m also clinically diagnosed with chronic Depression, why do I still feel guilty even having to be in a loving relationship? I should be happy, right?

This constant weight of sadness and dreading emptiness is pulling her down, and by the slump of her shoulders, Vyn can thoroughly read the deepening of her thoughts.

Tackle the struggles of being in a relationship, the constant sadness, feeling like a burden for having the condition, and perceived helplessness***.

I don't want to drag him along with me. That's the least of what I want to happen.

‘Yet here I am again, hurting him in the process.’

The last time served as the last fucking time. She really had enough of the feeling of never ever being enough for them.

Because the last time she visited, all the time she spent with them led to her being invalidated every step of the conversation. As if it’s meant as a shitfest for Yule.

And she only brought up her anxiety.

Fuck, she’s glad no mentions of her depression slipped off her lips. What more if she brought up her Borderline Disorder? She is already clinically diagnosed at this point, ha, and yet…

Like a wasted game of ping-pong, her ears rang at how insensitive and obnoxious they sounded around the restaurant table. Just throwing words mindlessly or carelessly as if it doesn’t bear any weight. Everyone sounds like a hypocrite, all-talk about family and love.

Bullshit.

Yule is quite very much aware of the generation gap, and she wanted to educate them at first especially now that she has finished her studies. She had freed up her time for the sake of this lunch out.

Yule wanted to give the benefit of the doubt, still, and redirect her expectations that it will at least be better this time around—just this one damn time—now that months have passed.

Alas, it isn’t.

Yule just pointed out how taking it shallowly and using terms like “depressed” or “OC” can do more harm than good to those who are actually experiencing it. It further strays people from taking mental conditions seriously now that it’s at now all-time high to be aware of it.

Instead, a hand just blocked her vision and laughter deafened her in ridicule. I am just exaggerating it, they’re simply just “an expression” and just saying it as its usage. Like huh?

Yes! And that’s what’s wrong.

Being “mature” wasn’t prioritized in her head as it flipped a switch in her, and it’s a dangerous one. Part of her feelings are hurt, personally triggering her as they mention more words that further devalue it.

Yule has the said condition. So it goes to show that it just means nothing, huh?

But damn, when it comes to my sister as she’s in the spectrum****, it’s more real and needs help.

She shouldn’t compare and the presence of another does not devalue her experience and condition… Yule has progressed so much these past months being away but in just a day, she sees every hope she has crumbling away. What am I even made for? What is my purpose here in this world?

Ha. Man, maybe if I fucking die and jump off a cliff. It’s still not real for them either way, right?

I always feel like glass when I’m with them.

Again, Yule reverts to her 14-year-old self of being silenced, no words want to come out of her. Dissociating, she just autopilots out of her own will.

Instead of exploding, right?

Thank God she didn’t as she will have to land a grenade on their faces on how ridiculous and insensitive they all are. And it all will just go back to me, as I am the bad guy here. It will be my fault for being insensitive for ruining their afternoon for even daring to speak up.

It’s just so extreme that it turned out this way already, what more if Yule told them of her actual condition, so it will be all for naught?

Does it need to be life-threatening?

Well, even when her allergies broke out intensely, there was no urgency at all from them. Maybe they’re thinking I’m just acting it all out for attention… Worse, she’s dismissed as no biggie when it’s clear that she’s not breathing properly.

With anxiety, so it’s not at all considered as a serious condition getting panic attacks out of nowhere to be called “real”?

Are we going back to Philosophy class to regard what is concrete and real compared to what is intangible?

Very bullshit.

That if I don’t need attention or that anxiety is just “shallow”, it will not appear as if I need help. So, it’s just superficial?

Then they’re the ones who have the guts to invalidate me after putting me through the Psychology field, and then I am not allowed to point out their blabbering? Just when I graduated and got my degree, I am still not reliable? Is it because I am not a practitioner or a doctor? Ha. It’s maddening how they’ll make you stupid.

And yet, they expect me? To finish my master's degree and fucking pass the boards after treating me so ridiculously and not worth it in the subject field?

WTF?

I've been feeling like this since I was 19 in university when they don't believe a thing that I point out because I ain't no doctor!

Yet up until now?

Yule could only sneer at such a rut she has in this ratchet household.

Heck, I will pass the boards, and run through her Master's with ease, but I feel that it is still not enough to be seen.

Beyond sated from food, she can no longer palate anything from her dissatisfying wreck of thoughts. I want to vomit. Nauseous, she stared into nothing once again.

I need to exaggerate the details and severity of the situation, yet it's still dismissed. That her anxiety also needs medication and shit.

Yule feels like a kid begging to be seen and wants attention. She needs to go beyond and bend over backward for facts and her reasons to be heard.

But they just don’t choose to use their damned ears for listening. To her in particular.

Am I just gonna die and it's still not believed in?

With Vyn I still have the tendency to be a compulsive liar in order to be believed in, but I keep forgetting to get it off my system that it is not the same case with him. I need a system reset to be at peace. I want to be my genuine self with him.

I really am trying.

Her far-off stares didn’t leave her glassed orbs as Vyn held her hand tightly by the plateau. She asked if they could get some fresh air earlier. By the looks of it, she had finally calmed down compared to her episode earlier.

But it still feels heartsinking when she's silent and preoccupied. Vyn squeezed it a few more times before Yule finally responded with a weak smile. But she still goes on and off as she dissociates.

How could I have lost an “okay” Yule in just a few days' time?

Of course, not that he doesn’t like her being like this, but who does want to see a person this way? It pains to see someone you love in so much pain and feeling broken apart. And handled carelessly by people you expect of thick blood.

It tampers a scab on Vyn’s part as well, being let down by your own family who is supposed to serve as a safety net to your existence.

Vyn intertwined his fingers with hers to at least ground her further, she flinched a little. Yule had been silent the most since the start of their trip, although a bit responsive, the difference to her usual behavior shows a wound to her well-being.

He simply observes, he senses her trying the most as she strokes her fingers at his hands as they are sight-seeing. Vyn hopes the view gets her mind off things momentarily.

※ my masterlist | #enjeiwrites ※

#vyn richter #mo yi #tears of themis #tot #vyn x reader #vyn: paradox series #enjeiwrites

8 notes · View notes

ayamari-no-goshi · 2 years ago

Text

Don’t Forget to Write

AO3 -> next

Fandoms: DC (Batman comics

Summary: From Dick’s POV. Damian happened to win a contest to illustrate a new book by an up and coming author. Being the good brother he is, Dick decided to check the book.He quickly realized he was reading a very first hand account of one of Jason's old cases, and deciding to act like a normal person would, he decided to read some of the author's other works. What he found shook the very foundation of what he thought was true?

Warnings: rated T - mostly for swearing and questionable mental health. Amnesia

Parings: none

Notes: originally uploaded to AO3. Cross-posted to tumblr

Dick took a few quick breaths and double checked he was still holding the book he had swiped from Damian before he knocked on the door frame of Bruce’s office. It wasn’t like Bruce wouldn’t appreciate the distraction from whatever paperwork built up, but the situation he wanted to bring up sounded insane, even to him.

“Hey, Chum, what’s wrong?” Bruce gave him a tired smile. From what Dick had heard from Tim and Damian, he’d been working on dismantling a massive arms smuggling ring recently. Word on the street suggested it was connected to Black Mask, but there was currently no concrete evidence to support it.

“You know how Damian recently won that contest?” he asked, deciding that was the easiest way to start.

Bruce nodded and his tired smile was briefly replaced with something warmer. While he had a hard time expressing his feelings, the man was genuinely happy for their accomplishments. The congratulations letter that Damian received which let him know he won an art contest had been placed on the fridge so anyone who would walk in could see it.

“Since the prize is the chance to illustrate an upcoming book, Damian decided to read some of the author’s other works to get an idea of the style.” Dick paused for a moment. “He said something that struck me as weird. I guess this author tends to write detective stories, but after criticizing how the cases were solved, he mentioned they sounded similar to a lot of our cases. I got curious and decided to read a few too…” He shifted his weight as Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “It’s unsettling.”

“How so?”

Dick fidgeted a moment. “This is going to sound crazy, but I wouldn’t bring this up to you if it wasn’t this weird. Bruce, these stories are nearly identical to the cases we worked on with… with Jason.”

When Bruce’s expression hardened, Dick made sure not to say anything. His brother’s name was still something everyone tried not to bring up in front of him unless absolutely necessary. It has been six years since Jason’s death at the hands of the Joker, and Bruce had never forgiven himself for it. While he had long since moved past the self-destructive phase of his grief, largely in part to Tim taking the lead on keeping him in check, it still lingered below the surface.

“Are you certain?” The intensity of the man’s voice almost made Dick shiver.

“Bruce,” he kept his voice even as he handed him the book, “I’m certain enough to bring it up to you. Take a look and let me know what you think. Maybe I am just misremembering, but there are details about characters who seemed to be thinly veiled versions of us and our rogues that only we know. The one in your hand talks about what happened when he ran The Gauntlet. It’s too spot on.”

“I will take a look.”

Dick nodded. “Let me know what you decide. Even if you don’t decide to act, I’m going to look into it. I just have a gut feeling.”

…

“I know that name,” Stephanie mentioned later that evening as Bruce began explaining why they were looking into the author, who went by the pen name ‘John Doe’. “He’s really popular with a lot of high school students.”

“Bernard really likes his books,” Tim added. A slight blush appeared on his cheeks which he stubbornly ignored. “One of the things a lot of people talk about is how it feels like they’re reading a more personal account of what it’s like to be Robin. It’s why it’s so popular. He started writing in online forums before being picked up by Gotham Publishing.”

“That’s what brought him to our attention,” Dick explained. “His books match a little too closely with some of ours, especially from…” He glanced over at Bruce.

“From when Jason was Robin,” he finished as he pressed a button on the Batcomputer. Behind him, a comparison between one of John Doe’s books and one of their cases. Several highlighted areas could be seen.

Steph, Tim, and Cass shared looks. Even Damian seemed moderately surprised. Bruce almost never brought up Jason, unless it was to remind them what they were risking if they went out unprepared. The fact that he was willing to say his name made it much more serious, especially because all of them could hear the note of pain obvious in his voice.

“I can verify our systems weren’t hacked,” Barbara’s voice drifted over from her comm line. She’d been helping Dick after he messaged her with his original suspicions. “Since that’s not the problem, I’ve been helping Dick research him. John Doe, also known as Jay Peters, doesn’t legally exist.”

“So, he forged a new identity? Or is he an illegal immigrant or trafficking victim?” Steph questioned.

“No, amnesia.” Babs paused as she brought up a contract with a couple signatures on it. “Here’s our writer’s contract with Gotham Publishing. You can see the name of Maria Valencia, one of the leading victim’s rights advocates in the city, vouching for him. So, I checked her records and found a very interesting medical file.”

“John Doe forty-seven was brought to Gotham General approximately five and a half years ago after being found dazed and severely injured in the middle of the night,” Dick spoke up as the medical file and related police report appeared on the computer screen. “Even after several surgeries, he spent a year in a coma before waking up without an idea of who he is or what happened to him. Babs, can you bring up the images?”

Dick shifted uncomfortably as he waited for Bruce’s response. At first, he thought they were dealing with a new Rogue, someone too skilled at hacking for their own good, or even a meta with an ability that allowed them to tap into thoughts or computer records. But after seeing the images, Dick was presented with a possibility he wasn’t emotionally prepared to handle. He should have waited until he finished his own investigation before he brought it up to Bruce.

“These images… are from the police reports?” Bruce questioned, emotion breaking through his normal façade. He noticed the similarities that had unsettled Dick when he first reviewed them.

“Yes,” Babs confirmed. “The GCPD were unable to find any missing persons cases that matched his description. Looks like they tried to get fingerprints, but his hands were too mangled at the time for anything useable.”

“I used the Batcomputer to see if we could get a hit. Bruce,” Dick made sure to look him in the eyes as the results were shown on the screen, “they’re a partial match to Jason. And it’s not just the fingerprints. With the exception of the injuries on his fingers, all of his other ones match his autopsy report. I know it sounds crazy, especially because these photos were taken six months after his death.”

“His hands…” Tim murmured as he reviewed the images. “It looks like he had been digging.”

“That appears to be the case.” A slight frown appeared on Bruce’s face. Dick had known him long enough to know he was trying to consider other possibilities. There had been too many tragedies in their lives for him to immediately jump to the idea the person in those images was his son miraculously returned from the dead. “Barbara, do you have any recent images of him?”

“Just one. Give me a sec.”

An image of a young man standing near Valencia, caught off guard by something, possibly the camera, appeared on the screen. Even though he appeared older, the facial structure was the same as Jason’s, even down to the slightly crooked position of his nose, something that occurred after a nasty fight with one of Two-Face’s goons. And then there were the scars. There was a particularly noticeable one over his left eye that occurred sometime before Jason came to the Manor.

Dick glanced at Bruce to see if he had the same sort of recognition he had when he first saw it, but he instantly regretted it. There was pain and an aching longing he’d rarely seen in Bruce’s expression. While he wouldn’t be convinced until he ran his own tests, he couldn’t deny the similarities.

“I’m going to double check the prints,” Bruce’s voice was thick with emotion, “and run a facial recognition.”

“Father, are you really entertaining the idea that this person…” Damian didn’t have a chance to finish his thought when Cass placed a hand on his shoulder.

“He fought to bring you back,” she reminded him as Bruce began a fingerprint and facial analysis of the author against Jason. “Let him hope he can bring another son home.” Damian didn’t have a response to that.

A few moments later, the computer showed a ninety three percent match against Jason regarding appearance. The difference in age and some newer scars, including the one that was just visible under his hairline, could be enough for why it wasn’t a complete match. The print match finished a few moments later and confirmed the partial match Dick had gotten.

“Is there a chance this Jason look alike is a clone?” When Steph caught Bruce’s glare, she held her hands up. “What? It’s a valid question.”

“It’s a possibility,” Dick stated slowly. With how delicate the situation was, he needed to make sure he properly explained his thoughts. None of them needed Bruce spiraling again. “But it doesn’t feel right. If he is, whoever made him went through a lot of work to match the injuries on his body. They wouldn’t just let him go after all of that. But instead of some diabolical plot, he’s just writing mystery novels and keeping to himself.”

“There’s something else weird,” Tim spoke up. “Look at the date he was admitted to the hospital. It matches up with when the Superboy Prime incident occurred. He was also found along the road that leads from the cemetery.”

Dick tried to forget about that. Superboy Prime, a teenaged version of Superman from another universe who got trapped in theirs. His ill-fated attempts to return home combined with his insane plans to attempt to rewrite their reality to make it closer to the one he knew had far reaching effects that they were still discovering several years later.

Bruce turned and pin one of the most intense stares Dick had ever seen on the teen. “What are you suggesting?”

“B, no one has touched his… Jason’s grave, right?”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Oh, Tim was treading a minefield. “That is correct.”

“Hypothetically, if someone broke out of it, would it have set off any alarms?”

“No, but the likelihood…”

“B, that was a reality shattering event. With everything else we’ve seen over the years, is It really so strange that he came back?” Tim pointed to the computer screen where the injuries on the author’s fingers were still visible. “Whoever this is, he dug himself out of something. Even if that’s not what happened, we should at least rule it out.”

As a Bruce took a moment to process the idea, Dick decided to speak up. “Maybe I’m misremembering, but I seem to recall a report talking about how a couple members of the Doom Patrol came back to life after everything was said and done. And I’m pretty sure there were rumors of that happening to civilians too.”

“There were,” Tim stated as he stepped forward so he could bring up some files on the Batcomputer. “Five confirmed cases in Gotham and three in Bludhaven.”

Dick felt his eyebrows raise. He hadn’t known that, and neither did the others, judging by their equally surprised expressions.

“B, I’d say that’s enough to warrant considering it. Tim and I can check the grave.” Dick sighed. “We’ll also have to rule out he’s an alternative version of Jason too. But, if I’m honest, I hope this is real.”

“I know you’re gonna want a DNA sample from him,” Steph mentioned as she glanced at the photo again. “Babs, you didn’t happen to figure out where this guy lives, did you?”

“Not yet,” she admitted.

“I did.” Everyone turned to look at Tim. “I got curious why an author would go by the name ‘John Doe’ and investigated his forum posts a while back. He hasn’t provided a lot about himself other than some of the books he likes to read. Thought it was weird, so I tried hacking his account. Most of the original posts were made from the library at the corner of Park Row, and the later ones are all from a computer owned by the publishing company. So, I hacked the publishing company instead, and it appears they’re paying for him to stay in a small apartment.”

Sighing, Dick glanced at his younger brother. “Let me guess. You already staked out the property.”

“Yeah. There’s not much in it, just basic furniture and some books. He keeps it tidy. Both times I’ve stopped by during a patrol, he’s been asleep.”

“That saves me some work, but I might have something better. What if I told you the perfect time to break into that apartment to get some evidence would be between 8am and 9am tomorrow?” Amusement crept into Babs’ voice. “Turns out he’s doing an interview with Vicki Vale. And if anyone would like to go view it in person, I have no doubt the producers would gladly welcome and save some seats for one Bruce Wayne and at least one of his children.”

…

The next morning, Dick found himself waiting with Tim, Cass, and Damian in front of the TV station while Bruce pulled some strings. While they were there, Stephanie worked on getting into the author’s apartment to attempt to get some DNA evidence for Bruce. She kept sending occasional updates. With how controlling Bruce could be when it came to things involving their family, Dick was surprised he was willing to let her do it.

If Dick had to guess, the reason dealt with what they discovered. Jason’s grave was indeed empty. The lid had been broken from the inside, giving credence to Tim’s theory. Afterwards, they headed to the apartment where the author lived. The man had been sleeping in his bed when they took their places on the building across the street, but he must have felt their eyes on him seeing as he woke up just long enough to get up and close the curtains. If Dick wasn’t mistaken, Jason had briefly glanced at them.

Even though they had to continue their patrols, Bruce kept going back to the vantage point. Seeing as he was more non-verbal than usual when he returned to the Cave, Dick doubted he got another glance at the author.

After checking another update from Stephanie, Dick mulled over the fact he wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about possibly seeing Jason again after so many years. The wary optimism from the previous night had changed into a nervous discomfort.

Jason, and Dick was pretty sure it was their Jason, had been alone for over five years. He didn’t know who he was or what happened to him. He likely didn’t even remember them. It hurt in a way Dick wasn’t familiar with. He was used to the sharp pain of loss that slowly dulled over the years, but this was a gnawing pain that seemed similar to guilt or longing. Maybe it was a combination of both. Dick didn’t want to have to treat his brother like a stranger after all this time.

There was also the possibility that by simply approaching him, they risked pulling him back into the vigilante world. He’d been out of the game for years. None of them knew how much of his training he may or may not remember. Would he want to come back to it? If he was honest, he didn’t want Jason to deal with the dangers and trauma of the job ever again, even if he wanted to once again fly across the rooftops of Gotham with his brother.

“Are you ready?” Bruce was back. He looked worn out in a way Dick had rarely seen. The combination of grief and guilt must have been taking a toll on him. The man was also trying to fight against hope because if this was just a doppelgänger or clone, it might break him all over again.

About ten minutes later, they were shown to their seats in the studio. Several members of the audience noticed their presence and began whispering. Didn’t they have anything better to do than gossip about them? Probably not. Keeping up with their family was a pastime of the city after all.

As the show started, Dick had to do has best to keep from fidgeting. He wasn’t interested in the stories or gossip of the first half of the show. Sure, sometimes that information was useful to their main job, but everything presented that particular day was old news to him.

Then the second half of the show started, and Dick’s breath hitched as he saw his brother walk on to the set. Although he’d seen a slightly out of focus image of his brother the previous night, this was different. Jason was tall and broad and looked as if he’d never been dead. But he didn’t look completely healthy. There was an unnatural leanness about him, much like he was when he was first brought to the Manor. Had he been eating properly? Or was it an unfortunate result of the recovery process? His coma had been long enough to cause muscle atrophy.

Then there were the scars. In the fluorescent studio lights, they could easily see the slight discoloration of the scars that littered his face and bare forearms. It made him look dangerous, and Dick could almost feel the rest of the audience recoil. In Gotham, scars like that tended to suggest involvement with criminals.

Interestingly, when Vicki caught sight of Jason for the first time, her eyes briefly widened in recognition. She’d interviewed their family enough over the years to be familiar with their appearances, and Dick could still remember the debate over whether or not she ever figured out their identities.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Doe, or do you prefer Mr. Peters?” she asked in a friendly but professional voice as Jason sat across from her after a handshake.

He chuckled. It was a hoarse but pleasant sound. “Jay’s fine, but I should probably explain my pen name. I’m considered a ‘John Doe’, an unidentified person. I have no idea who I was before waking up in that hospital, and no one else seems to either. When I started using the writing forums, I used ‘John Doe’ as a joke, and it’s kind of stuck.” His posture was open and appeared relaxed, but his eyes hardened slightly. So he wasn’t as unbothered by the situation as he appeared.

“I had been wondering about that.” Vicki was all smiles. “Is that why you’ve remained out of the spotlight?”

“You could say that.” He flashed her a crooked smile Dick recognized as the same one Jason used to try to charm people.

“What changed? I’m surprised you were willing to come on the show.”

He seemed to look past her for a moment. “Part of it was the contest. I’ll be working with the winner, and since it looks like I got into a fight with a blender and lost,” he traced some of the scars on his left arm, “the publishing team thought it was a good idea to prove I’m not secretly a Family enforcer or associated with any of the Rogues. But if you want me to be honest, I’m just tired of not having a provable identity. I want to be able to buy my own damn cigarettes.”

That statement caught Vicki and most of the audience off guard, but Dick had to stifle a laugh. Of all the things he could have said, he brought up his addiction to nicotine. He had thought Jason had quit by the time he died, but maybe it was a piece of his old life he somewhat remembered. They had theorized he started regularly smoking to help stave off hunger. Maybe that’s why he picked it up again. But since Jason was smirking, he said it to at least partially throw Vicki off.

“Of all things, cigarettes?”

Jason shrugged as he shifted positions. “Why not? That’s one of those rite of passage things, and I’m getting tired of having to bum them off of everyone. I’m old enough to make my own bad decisions… I think.”

She gave him a polite smile. “Let’s move on to your books. They’ve become extremely popular among the teens and young adults of Gotham. Why do you think that is?”

“Just like any writer, I’d like to think it’s my skills on telling an engaging story. But if I’ve learned anything from Internet forums, the real answer lies in how connected the readers feel to the main characters and how easily they can make fan fiction out of it.”

While Jason’s smile remained pleasant, Vicki’s became forced at the mention of fan fiction. She probably found the very explicit fics between her and other prominent figures of Gotham, including Bruce. Dick was still mad at Stephanie for making everyone aware of the fiction that existed about their hero personas. He could have lived without knowing.

“I think it’s a little more than that,” Vicki compromised as her expression returned to a more natural one. “How about taking us through your writing process. I’m sure the viewers would like to get a glimpse of the process.”

Jason didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he tilted his head and bit his lip, something he used to do all the time when he first came to the Manor when he wasn’t sure how to phrase something. It was one of the few hints of insecurity he’d let them see. “There isn’t really a process. A lot of my books started off as me writing random phrases. Like ‘the button to open the door was under the name plate on the desk’. Or ‘the only way to disarm the explosive was hitting the blue marker on the other side of the room’. There are days when I’ll spend hours doing it because I need them out of my head, but…” He lifted his hands and flexed them a few times. His fingers looked stiff. “I can’t physically write for long periods. Too much damage.”

He shifted again. “So, I started putting them in a computer document since it was easier to handle and organize. Some phrases just went better with others. Eventually, I realized I had these summaries of fictional events written like a police report. But it didn’t feel right to leave them like that, so I started adding more details that just seemed right. Then the next thing I knew, I had a bunch of stories. I still write like that.”

Dick found himself shaking his head. “He died, came back, doesn’t remember anything, and still writes reports? I don’t know if I should be in awe or concerned,” he whispered to himself which made Cass and Tim chuckle.

“Are you sure they’re fictional?” Vicki questioned. “I’m sure it’s been pointed out to you that your works almost feel like they’re written from the point of view of one of Gotham’s vigilantes. Perhaps someone in your family worked for the police, a stenographer, or even one of the city’s newspapers.”

He snorted. “The GCPD couldn’t identify me, so I doubt I had family there. Unless whoever it was happened to be that corrupt, and when it comes to the GCPD, that’s a possibility.” When Vicki’s eyebrows rose in surprise, Jason gave her a wry smile. “Just because I don’t remember my past doesn’t mean I’m stupid. I know the Commissioner has done a lot to help, but things still aren’t great. As for the others, that’s a possibility, but they don’t feel right.”

“And today on what you don’t say on live TV in Gotham,” Tim murmured, stunned. Almost everyone in Gotham knew there was corruption in most levels of office, including the police, but there was a real danger in acknowledging it publicly. Jason hadn’t said anything that pointed fingers at anyone, yet, but he might not realize some of the knowledge he had wasn’t public knowledge.

Vicki also knew it was a dangerous topic and quickly shifted the conversation. “Let’s talk about the contest itself. There have been a lot of criticism about how the winner of the contest is Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne’s youngest son.”

Dick could feel how Damian tensed so he put a hand on his shoulder. “This isn’t the time,” he whispered to him. “Wait until after the show.”

“I haven’t heard anything like that. How about you enlighten me.” Jason’s voice sounded light, but there was an edge to it. He also shifted forward so his forearms were resting on his thighs. He absolutely knew what these criticisms were, and he wasn’t happy about it.

The reporter caught it too. “People believe he should have been disqualified because of his status in Gotham,” she explained with an apologetic smile, suggesting she didn’t agree.

“And if I happened to choose someone from the Bowery or Crime Alley, there would be complaints about the person being a charity case.” All previous humor had vanished from Jason’s expression and voice. “I specifically requested two things from Gotham Publishing when they brought up the contest: that all Gotham middle and high schools would be allowed to participate and that I wouldn’t be allowed to see any names. Money and home life had nothing to do with my choice. Everything was based on talent alone.”

He shifted so he was sitting up straight which allowed the fluorescent lights to highlight the scars on his face. “The winner has a rich dad, so what? Just like anyone else, he should be recognized for his own talent instead of being forced to walk in his parents’ shadow all the time. The only way I’d find issue with my choice is if we found out the kid’s dad was the one who actually drew it.”

During Jason’s explanation, Dick kept an eye on Damian. His youngest brother’s eyes had widened slightly in surprise followed by a slight smile. While he was sure Damian would never outright admit it, he was pleased by Jason’s response.

Though Damian was surprised by the defense, Dick wasn’t. Whether it was when he was acting as Robin or just being himself, Jason dealt with a lot of people judging him and their family. Although he wasn’t supposed to admit it, one of his favorite memories of Jason was finding out he got into a fight on his behalf. It wasn’t often his brother got into trouble at school, but he was being teased by boys who didn’t appreciate his former status as a street kid. It hadn’t been until they insulted Dick that he leapt to action. Alfred had personally called him to relay the story. Feeling oddly touched, Dick then liberated his brother from his room and treated him to ice cream. Even though he knew otherwise, he liked to believe Bruce never found out.

“Out of curiosity, do you think the Bruce Wayne would have done that? What?” Vicki genuinely looked puzzled when Jason snorted.

“I’m absolutely positive Bruce Wayne didn’t sketch a scene from my book. It’s not his style.” Confusion briefly crossed his face as he finished his statement. He clearly wasn’t sure why he knew that.

Vicki noticed it too. “You sound pretty certain of that. Have you met him before?”

“Since I woke up after whatever happened, no. Before that… I’m not sure.” He leaned back and briefly closed his eyes. “There are places and names that are familiar to me, but I haven’t been able to figure out why.” A sigh escaped him as he shifted again. “No one knows if I’ll ever get my memories back, not all amnesiacs do, and looking at the remnants of what happened to me, I’m not sure I want to. But at the same time, if someone’s missing me, they at least should know I’m here even if I don’t know who they are.” A sardonic smile crossed his face. “But seeing as I didn’t match any missing persons cases, I was probably never missed.”

His brother’s words felt like a slap in the face. Jason thought he’d never been missed, but that was so far from the truth. His death nearly destroyed their family. Bruce spiraled into a self-destructive depression, and Dick… The guilt had eaten at him to the point it manifested as nightmares and hallucinations. While they did lessen over the years, they never entirely vanished.

“On a lighter note, do you think you could give us a quick preview of your next book?”

Jason gave a mischievous grin. “Where’s the fun in that? But I will give you this hint: sometimes a mask is more than a mask to those who wear it.”

“That’s not ominous at all. But that’s it for time! Thank you so much for coming on the show.”

“It was my pleasure.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Notes:

depending on which version you’re reading, either Dick had an extremely antagonist relationship with Jason during the latter’s years as Robin, or it was good but distant. I prefer the good but distant..

In a mostly a Nightwing centered comic during the Discowing era, which I think is Nightwing: Year One, we learn that Bruce has a test to see if his Robins are ready for being in the field. It’s called “the Gauntlet”, and it’s a mock situation. Dick happened to be in town when Jason was running his, and of course, it went from a mock situation to a real one.

John Doe 47 – I’m not sure how many people are aware of this, but John and Jane Does sometimes get numbered if there are a lot of unidentified people discovered in a specific geographic range.

Damian did die, and Bruce literally went to Hell and back to bring him home.

In case the events of Infinite Crisis weren’t well known, Superboy Prime didn’t start off as evil. In his world, superheroes were comic book characters, but a chance encounter with the main universe’s Superman caused his own powers to manifest and then he ended up following Superman back to the main universe. He got super homesick and somewhat manipulated, and then went off the deep end. Due to plot, he ended up punching the “Source Wall” a couple times which caused ripples in reality which caused things to change across the universes. You’ll also hear it phrased as “punching the timetime.”

Jason’s resurrection is probably the best-known change that occurred outside of the creation and destruction of some of the alternative universes. But the Doom Patrol was very effected by it too – Elasti-Girl and Negative Man came back to life, and Chief was returned to his original body. A lot of back stories were also re-written. Do we know if civilians were affected? Not really. Am I going say they were? Yes

I am making a nod towards Arkham Knight and how Vicki Vale had her own talk show. This is my AU, and I conduct things as I want. I know she’s mostly a photojournalist in the comics. She can do both.

Nicotine does suppress appetite as well as increasing the rate of metabolism. It’s part of the reason a lot of people who stop smoking tend to gain a little bit of weight in the months that follow.

It’s also well known that muscle often atrophies if you’re in a coma for long periods. Jason was in one for several months after his resurrection per Red Hood: the Lost Days. Realistically, he’d be thin afterwards.

As a fan fic writer, I know that we sometimes do God’s work. I also know we sometimes make crimes against humanity. You also can’t tell me that Stephanie wouldn’t go searching for hero-related fanfiction to use as a weapon against the family.

#DC comics #batman #bruce wayne #dick grayson #nightwing #Jason todd #Red Hood #Writer AU #tw amnesia #temporary amnesia #fanfiction #fanfic #Jason is an amnesiac writer and is just living his life

22 notes · View notes

clown-stripe · 8 months ago

Text

So like. I got diagnosed with *yet another* chronic illness two days ago. Doctor says I have fibromyalgia, which is what has been causing the constant full body pain that makes me feel like every inch of my skin is a bruise being pressed on 24/7

Which makes sense, and I’m glad to know that I’m not just crazy, because I’ve been in pain literally since I was born, to the point that I don’t have a single memory where this pain wasn’t present, at least in the background. So I really thought it was normal, and that everyone felt like this until it got a lot worse in the last few years that I’ve been dealing with flare ups of Crohn’s and lupus, but neither of those can explain the constant pain I feel underneath every inch of my skin

It’s a relief to get a diagnosis, because for a couple years now, since it started getting worse, I thought this feeling was just what people talk about when they say you reach your late 20’s and can’t neglect good habits anymore without feeling it. That this pain was just bundled alongside the feeling of getting sore + stiff from not exercising/sleeping well enough. I have wondered on several occasions how the hell everyone lives full lives with this kind of pain, or why more people don’t kill themselves upon finding out that they have to feel like this for decades??? Because sometimes I can’t bear the thought of feeling this pain every day for the rest of my stupid little life. I’m not strong enough to bear that burden when I’ve already lived 28 years with it and I feel tired all the way down to my fucking bone marrow from carrying this pain with me everywhere I go, even in my sleep, in my dreams I feel it because I’ve never *not* felt it and I have no idea what it feels like to not be plagued it.

But now that I know what’s wrong and there are treatment options to try? Maybe I’ll finally get to know what it’s like to not be in pain.

So the doctor gave me a new medicine for it to try that will hopefully make my nerves feel less, and I can actually do things again instead of just being in bed thinking about how bad the bed hurts against my skin and how gravity is a curse because I can’t just float so nothing is touching me and making my skin hurt. And all the ideas for various art to make I’ve been saving up for when I’m capable of sitting up and holding a pencil again can be worked on. I can finally take the drive out of my old busted laptop to get all of my concept drafts off of it because I only managed to save the most important/almost finished artworks on it before the battery swelled (and my fav version of photoshop too, because I’m an idiot and don’t commit which one it is to memory so I can just pirate it again, I just keep transferring the program files to install it again lmao)

Maybe I’ll actually get around to coming up with a permanent pseudonym to start posting my art under, and finally start sharing it outside of Snapchat where it disappears in 24 hours

#side note: I have to come up with a pseudonym because my real name is super common #I literally even got sponsored ad posts on other social media sites of a girl selling paintings under my first and middle name #and my first + middle name combo isn’t exactly common #so I definitely have to come up with something or no one is going to be able to find my art #but coming up with a whole new name for yourself is fucking hard #like I feel mad with power and want to name myself something insane but then I don’t because what if it’s too unique and I get sick of it #I wouldn’t want to have to rebrand #so I have to come up with something I’m not going to hate 10 years from now #that also sounds cool + is unique enough to be searchable and not get drowned out by a million other people posting art with the same name #if any of you have any ideas let me know lmao #because not having a good pseudonym yet is *the* main reason I don’t post my art

2 notes · View notes

ikatako38 · 11 months ago

Text

Hey all, I have some good news and some bad news.

The bad news

is that TPWCH is going on an emergency (unplanned) hiatus. This means I won’t be making any effort to work on the fic or any related work such as art and side projects, whicle I try to get myself back on my feet. This means we might miss the 2nd Anniversary Special, but I will post it eventually even if it’s late. I’m really excited to share it with you! I don’t know how long this emergency hiatus is going to be, but I think somewhere around a month would be a reasonable estimate. Keep in mind that this is when I’ll start working on things again, so it might be a few more weeks after that before you start seeing content again.

The good news

is that I’m going to be emptying out all my WIPs, notes, and any other content I can easily throw at you guys to help hold you over throughout the break! So anyone following me here should be getting a bunch of exclusive content over the next several weeks.

Also,

since everything’s getting pushed back, I think now would be a good a time as any to start Ship Wars! I’m not going to put an exact start date on it yet, because it will take a bit of work to kickstart, and I don’t know when I’ll get around to that, but once I do get it started it should mostly run itself!

So…

I feel like I’ve been saying this a lot lately, but thank you guys so much for sticking around with me through all of this. I’m painfully aware that I’ve only uploaded one and a half official chapters since April, and I know that I’ve lost a lot of readers because of that. So again, thank you so much for staying. It really means the world to me.

I’m sure the question a lot of you probably have on your mind right now is, Is Tako ever actually going to finish TPWCH? And with how things have been going lately, that’s a very valid question. To be 100% honest with how I’m feeling another the fic right now, I kind of wish it could just be done already. Or that it could just somehow write itself. But the reason for that is that I’m so excited to share with you all other parts of the TPWCH universe that are just waiting to be written! I really don’t see myself dropping the TPWCH universe anytime soon, and I really don’t see myself dropping TPWCH itself anytime soon, either. And an important reason for that is simply that… I don’t have any other ideas to write. Even for other fandoms. It’s a bit crazy just how strong of a hold TPWCH has had on me for three years now.

By the way, that’s not normal for me. Back on my FFN and Wattpad days (don’t bother going to look for my accounts, they don’t exist… yet 👀), I was usually working on 3-5 fics at once and was constantly having ideas for new ones, to where it was a struggle to keep up and I to make hard decisions about priority. I don’t know if I’ve gotten less creative with ideas as I’ve gotten older or whether TPWCH is just the first universe to be so interesting to me that I don’t have any need or desire to come up with new things outside of it.

Either way, if I have no desire to work on other things, the only way TPWCH would ever stop is if I stopped writing altogether, and that’s just not going to happen. Writing has been a huge part of my life since I was ten, and maybe even younger. It’s my most important hobby and makes me happy. If I don’t do it for too long, it’ll actually make my mental state worse.

So I really don’t want you guys to think that this is like a vacation for me, or some sort of respite from the… AWFUL chore of writing. (　ﾟдﾟ) Really it’s more like I’m grounded from writing until I can get my grades up. (;_;) The grades in this case, yes being my university grades but also my life in general because it’s been kind of a mess lately. Within the last two weeks, I fell out with two of the closest people I’ve ever been to and pretty much the only irl friends I have at this point (the Discord server will know who these people are). One of them going very badly and increasing my conviction that everyone secretly hates me. （╹◡╹）On top of that my room is slowly becoming uninhabitable, I’m not sleeping, and I’m just constantly stressed and anxious. But I’m gonna be okay. The fallings-out are very fresh and will fade with time, and just two days ago I finally got a consultation for ADHD. I now have initial diagnoses of ADHD and Social Anxiety Disorder, which I should be starting treatment for in about a month, so I’m really hoping that will help me somewhat to get back on track. And all the support from everyone between Discord, here and AO3 has always helped, and I’m sure it will continue to help. Many of the people I’ve met online through the fic have ironically been far more supportive and trustworthy than the people I’ve met irl. You’re all so real for that ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

Wow, that got really long! Thank for reading this far!

#tako’s updates

2 notes · View notes

martintmedina · 2 years ago

Text

2022 A Year in Review

Another lap around the sun and a great year officially in the books.

Every year I try and summarize my thoughts on the last year and it seems like every year I get more shit done as I evolve and grow as a person. It’s crazy to see the progression from getting to college til now in my career, I’ve been steadily putting this work in for years and don’t plan on stopping anytime soon.

Before breaking down the year need to say a major THANK YOU! I appreciate all the support over the years and every single person in my life is a blessing. This year was a really big comeback year for me, the pandemic in 2020 and that post pandemic 2021 was really weird, I feel like the isolation got to everyone and then getting back to normal was a strange transition but this year we’re all the way back.

Started the year off solid and kept it going all year working hard and running up the bag. Really glad this year was a solid year of uninterupted work and I worked harder than ever to make more money than ever. Really needed it after I lost my job and learned so many lessons from going back to being broke but as an adult. We’re all the way back and stronger after that time though. It made me a beast and really proved I can step up and work my ass off. I worked nonstop through SOBEWFF, MMW, etc all going hard week after week with no vacations I really was locked in and focused on that bag. Focused on leveling up and getting better as I keep continuously improving and growing as a person and a professional. Personally and professionally this year was great and an amazing opportunity to grow.

Even while spending time working I was able to enjoy my time at work seeing homies working, enjoying some good music, and creating some images to capture incredible moments.

Work was great did some good work for SOBEWFF, then Music Week was fantastic and the first year of F1 MIA was also a huge success. Really pushed myself to be the most professional I can be and always deliver above and beyond for clients.

Rolling Loud once again was amazing to work with the whole team over at The Flowery again. We cooked up some great content and I’m excited to work on some new stuff for the new year. We did some cool little projects throughout the year and I’m really blessed to continue to learn and grow as a creative and a professional and grateful for everyone who helps me push myself as a professional to get better every day.

Shortly after I finally got my own spot. Those that have known me for a while know I’ve been working to get my own crib to be closer to work for a long time. It’s still a work in progress but I’m really liking how everything is coming out so far. Huge shoutout to my brother Andrew for hooking it up with the jersey and Allison for the art. Still got some more decorating to do but those pieces are at the centerpiece of the office. I’m very happy with how everything is looking, even though I’ve got a few upgrades to make but it’s getting more homey by the day. It’s definitely been an adjustment moving there but by now I’m really settled into the new space and it’s really coming together nicely. It’s a new crib in a new neighborhood but really getting used to living here and enjoying the space. Close to fam and close to work it’s really a blessing to have my own space. Been saying it’s essentially my live in office which is totally true it’s like basically my office with a kitchen and my bedroom which is just for sleeping. I’m excited for my office to grow up to take more space in the apartment too I’ve still got a bunch more equipment to get and want to get some storage for gear and some more stuff to make my work better and easier.

Back on the work front, Basel was a smash. Wasn’t super wild but was very smooth and still ran it up and tons of the pics went viral. Really locked in on the grind and dialed in on my workflow. Professionally feel like the year has been a big level up for me, my work and confidence in my work has gone up tremendously. I truly believe nobody can do what I do how I do it and I showed that during Basel. Then I enjoyed some much needed family time and closed the year out great with the fam and working up until the end on NYE.

Gotta give a huge shoutout to the whole team really on go all year my brothers stepped up. Appreciate all the clients we work with trusting us. Appreciate all my peers who constantly show me respect and spread love even while we all dealing with some bs.

Speaking of teams…

ARGENTINA CAMPEON DEL MUNDO! Finally! The World Cup was wonderful and I enjoyed watching the games, getting up early, catching games after work and watching some great games with the homies. The Cup was absolutely nuts but glad the home team came out on top.

IF YOU WANT TO READ MORE OF MY THOUGHTS ON THAT READ HERE

On the personal front, really crushed it in the gym shoutout to my brother Derek we went hard but next year we’re going even harder believe that! Still getting warmed up and dialed in so as I keep figuring it out I’m continuing to keep leveling up the gains are going to keep coming. Really happy with the measurable progress I’ve made too especially as a vegan have managed to gain muscle mass, increase strength, and lose a bit of fat. Continuing to dial in especially on my diet but every day I’m making progress and really seeing the changes in front of my eyes.

This year I was very mindful to stay fully focused and present in everything I do. I have tried to improve my focus and it’s still an ongoing battle but I’m getting better every day at really locking in on the task at hand and giving it my best with my undivided attention. It’s easy to get caught up in a million things especially with how connected all our devices are these days.

I want to continue to work on improving my focus and reducing distractions which in turn helps me waste time on my phone less and frees up time for productive activities. Need to get back to my roots and connect with new people and spend time in the streets all over the world.

Very happy overall life is good in the hood and the progress is trending in the right direction. I’m ready for more!

The one thing I didn’t do much of, cause I was locked in working, was I didn’t do as much travel as I wanted. Despite the lack of travel in 2022, I’ve been working on planning some cool trips for 2023 with a couple lined up in the first few months. Also hoping that new opportunities to travel for work also manifest themselves in the future. Would love to string some gigs together for an extended trip and take this tour on the road. I love challenging myself and pushing my comfort zone and I hope to do more of that in the future both personally and professionally.

As always here’s a playlist of songs I really enjoyed:

Locked in and focused! Let’s love more! Spread good energy!

See you in 2023

marty

check out the other editions of my yearly recap:

https://martintmedina.com/yearinreview

#2022 year in review

0 notes

artxyra · 3 years ago

Text

Damian Acting Like A Teenager? Impossible.

When Damian entered the halls of Gotham Academy, the first thing he notices was the change in the dark atmosphere. It felt oddly kinder and more lighthearted. Everywhere he turns, there are whispers focus around the new girl. At first, he didn’t care about the gossip, well, that was until he met her.

It was an unusual encounter, something that he would look down on.

It was the passing period, and she was running down the halls in a hurry as he was walking to his next class, one that he didn’t particularly care for; they bump into each other, causing a standstill in the halls. Everyone wondered how the dark prince would react to their newly dubbed princess of sunshine. They expected a yelling match, which, of course, occurred, but what they didn’t expect was an eventual best of the worst of alliance ever made.

Several months passed since the two had met and several weeks since the blooming of Damian and Marinette’s friendship, and not a single student could say that there weren’t surprised.

The moment Marinette had broken down any (and all) walls that the boy had placed, she was able to make the stoic teen become his age. It started small with a joke here and there; then it progressed into card games followed by video games. To this day, Damian swears that he’ll beat her at a shooting game at one point, to which Marinette would respond with a laugh and an over-the-shoulder wink. The young Wayne swears that he has never blush a day in his life, but the photographic proof on Marinette’s phone says otherwise.

The school soon became accustomed to being Daminette’s playground. At first, the teachers were opposed to the idea, but after seeing how slightly more open Damian has become, they slowly agreed to the concept of allowing the duo to have less strict rules. That and they didn't want to be sued by the Wayne family.

Which now brings us to this moment: Marinette swings on a swing set while Damian practices his form with a katana; don’t ask how he managed to get it past security-- cause there is no answer.

“You know, maybe we should do something wild?” Marinette thinks aloud, looking up to the sky with a mischief smirk on her lips.

Damian doesn’t turn to her; he only sets the blade down to his side. “What mayhem do you have in mind?”

Marinette giggles uncontrollably.

Let’s assume that whatever Marinette had in mind would rule the yearbooks for years to come.

~☾★☽~

Since his partnership with Marinette, Damian has been hiding his characteristic change at home. Surprisingly, it was simple. A few death threats here and there, maybe sneaking out moments every so often. No one at the Wayne cared enough to pay any attention to it. It only then became a shock when Damian left for school along the lines of being late. Alfred had offered to take him to school to which Damian declined and got onto his “normal” motorcycle and speeds off.

“Does anyone else seem to think that Damian is acting strange?” Dick asks, pipping his head down from the ceiling. He’s on the chandelier again. Poor Alfred, maybe Dick should dust the chandelier for him as an apology.

Tim walks in with a large, filled to the brim, coffee mug in hand, “Which one?” He absently wonders, taking a long sip. The dark circles and bags around his eyes explain it all.

“I do concur with Master Richard; the young master has been acting somewhat strange for quite some time now.” Alfred appears out of nowhere, thus starting an array of concerns.

It wasn’t long before Jason came in shouting demands with the head of the household trailing behind him. Alfred reprimands Jason for the yelling as he hands Bruce a cup of coffee.

Not caring enough about the conversation and looking like a madman, Jason shouts, “Look, I can’t explain it, but we’re going to need Demon Spawn for something huge.”

“Uh, why would we need Baby Bird?” Dick asks, dropping onto the floor and twisting his body. “Not that I don’t mind getting Damian involved.”

“Look, there’s no time to explain,” Jason facepalms and begins to push everyone towards the door despite the lack of proper wear they have on.

After several protests and one change of clothes, the Wayne household now stands in front of the gates of Gotham Academy.

“Is it me, or does this place look less you know Gotham-y and full of life?” Tim ponders, narrowing his eyes, as he takes a long sip from a to-go coffee cup with Red Robin’s emblem.

“No, no, Timmy, I see it too.” Dick whispers as Jason struts past the gates and onto the school’s property like a man on a mission.

Bruce sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, “Come on, let’s go get your brother so Jason can stop being Jason.”

Tim shrugs before passing the gates himself, with Dick following him.

Upon entering the school, they could immediately see that it was either a passing period or free time from the number of students in the halls. Some student dared to pull out their phones while other whispers amongst themselves.

Bruce makes his way to the attendance office, where the attendance assistant, Joyce, resides sitting at the desk.

“Hello Joyce, I’m here to pick up Damian. He has a, uh, dentist appointment this evening.” Bruce speaks, hoping that she wouldn’t catch the lie.

“Well Mr. Wayne, Damian is, uh…” After lingering in her thoughts, Joyce turns to someone besides her. “Do you know where Damian Wayne would be at today?”

“Try the art room.” A feminine voice answers, followed by a series of typing noises.

Joyce turns back to the Wayne family and smiles, “He should be in the art room; it’s down the hall to your right, you should not miss it, as it’s in the only hallway that has a series of artwork posted on the walls. Before you go, please sign here."

Joyce hands Bruce a sign-out sheet, to which the man signs and ushers his wards to search for his youngest.

“They’re so screwed.” The same feminine voice speaks, causing Joyce to break out laughing.

It took a total of four different locations for the men to find the youngest Wayne.

First, they went to the art room like Joyce’s co-worker told them to do.

When they got there, Damian wasn't there, but the teacher did show Bruce a couple of Damian's artworks. Bruce couldn't help but feel proud.

While looking around the room, one of the art students told them they last saw Damian playing Pokémon Go near the gym; he was trying to catch a legendary Pokémon that spawned there.

So, of course, after an awkward eye contact with one another, they walk to the gym. Once again, Damian wasn’t there but a different student in his stead. He tells them that Damian was making ice sculptures out of ice cream at the cafeteria. The student then goes on to explain that Damian had some wicked skills with a knife.

Jason, with wide eyes, practically shouted at the student that he was crazy and that Damian would never, and he means NEVER would do something that stupid. The student shrugs it off like it was an everyday occurrence. It was Dick that had to hold Jason back from thrashing the teen. Bruce then apologizes to the instructor for their disturbance, as Tim walks casually behind Dick carrying Jason.

By the time they got to the cafeteria, it was damn near empty aside from a few students still eating. There were no signs of ice cream or the tools that would go into making an ice sculpture. Tim had to ask a few students to see if Damian was in here at some point in time. One of the workers overheard the question and answered him. Evidently, Damian was there earlier making sculptures out of ice cream before handing it out to students.

When they asked the question that has been slowly driving the four insane, the worker replies with: “Upstairs racing on these old colorful scooter board down the halls."

After three locations and no Damian, Tim wanted nothing more but to have a mental breakdown, and he would have if it wasn’t for Bruce holding him up and taking his coffee away.

So, they quickly found themselves on the second level of the school. There was no sight of Damian Wayne, though there were wheel tracks smudged into the flooring.

“Are you kidding me?” Jason shouts out into the ceiling. Thankfully, there were no students in the halls to hear it. Well, that might have been the case if it wasn’t for a teacher to open their door and shh the male. It took every bone in Jason's body not to show the teacher his middle finger.

After a beat of silence and walking down the hall, they overhear a familiar voice.

“Angel, you are desperately in the wrong here. The bear only wears one color, so it has to the color red.” Jason stops dead in his tracks and turns to railings.

The voice was too good to be true.

Looking over the staircase, they find an alcove, and sitting in it is none other than Damian Wayne himself, but he’s not alone.

“I’m telling you, Wayne. Pooh’s favorite color is yellow.” The female answers before taping her fingers as she makes her points, “He loves honey, which is by default a yellow color. He's never seen with a yellow background, and if yellow didn't clash with his fur, he would definitely be wearing it.”

“I disagree. Winnie the Pooh has been drawn on numerous of occasions with red items, not yellow. Case in point, the red balloon, his shirt." He counters. The conversation continues with banters and statements; whether it was true or false is up to debate.

This was not happening.

Tim.exe has stopped working.

Jason.exe has stopped working.

Jaws dropped, a low groaning sound.

They cannot be witnessing this. The most deadliest of the Wayne’s is currently arguing about Winnie, the motherfucking, Pooh’s favorite color.

Bruce has no words. He's practically in the same stance as his middle children. Dick, on the other hand, pulls out his phone and begins to record what remains of the conversation.

No one dares to move or utter out words. This version of Damian is the apocalypse. Nothing in the world is okay.

Slowly, the four Waynes exit the school; no one saw them leave.

Legend has it that Damian never went home that day despite being excused from his classes. When he had returned home, his family didn't utter a word to him. He was meet with either a profusely blinking, unwanted hug or laughter, as they were still in shock at what they just encountered. It wasn’t until a couple of months later that all hell breaks loose. Damian had introduced the family to Marinette.

----

A retouch version of Request #2

#maribat #mlb x dc #ml x dc #artxyra one-shots #daminette

409 notes · View notes

multiples-fandomswontkillme · 3 years ago

Text

~Metal Family headcanons~

These are like my... general hcs)? which means I didn't include my main hc that Glam, Ches and Vicky are polyamorous, married and started dating after Glam met Vicky, and absolutely everything that implies for the kids and the relationships between each member of the fam. Maybe I'll make a separate post for that or maybe not! Who knows lkfwnlfqnf

Glam

Bisexual

Glam has constant nightmares and ocasional night terrors ever since he ran away home and is an active sleep walker. Ches helped him through the worse ones when they were younger, and learned how to deal with them, always preferring not to wake him up but being with him until the episode passed. Vicky has learned how to deal with them, though she normally asks Ches for advice with it cuz she comes out short sometimes.

He has PTSD. I bet it's diagnosed too, he takes medication and goes to therapy, it doesn't mean he still doesn't have his bad days anyway. He's trying to get better.

Glam has talked to Vicky about his past, his father and his family. This is a direct contradiction of Alina's confirmation that Glam doesn't talk about it with anyone but man FUCK THAT. We love good communication in this house, Vicky tries her best to help him, but there's only so much she can do to help.

Glam enjoys gardening, cooking and making models, he also likes doing his make up, painting his nails and dressing up in fancy, extravagant clothes even if he has nowhere important to go.

He likes taking care of everyone's hair, and constantly helps Vicky brush her hair cuz there's so much of it, Dee when he gets stressed over how tangled it can get, buys Ches hair products so he actually takes care of it, and chases Heavy so the kid actually washes, untangles and brushes his hair.

This one is kind of weird, but I refuse to think any adult in the family is unarmed at any time. Glam owns a taser and pepper spray. They're bright pink and sparkly.

This man cried his eyes out while watching Coco. He's hell to watch movies with cuz he talks and predicts what's gonna happen during the movie, judges them with scores at the end and all.

Vicky

Also bisexual!

Vicky's the one who does everyone's laundry most of the time. She prefers it that way since she's the only one that knows how to wash their black clothes so the colors stay vibrant. (This is based on my gf shaming everyone but Vicky cuz their black clothes always look so muted and almost gray, but Vicky's whole outfit is always the same vibrant black colors, so we decided that neither Glam or the kids know how to wash dark clothes)

She has anger issues, if it isn't obvious. I think she also has PTSD, mainly survivor's guilt due to her surviving the accident her brother died in. She blames herself and cannot bear to talk about it, in some sort of deep denial. If she can't remember, it can't hurt as much, right?

She has scars on the right side of her back and her hip, from the road rash she got on her brother's accident, she never treated it due to grief and it scarred badly. Apart from that, the scar of the caesarean section from Heavy's birth. She doesn't really mind both of them, they happened, nothing to do about them.

She likes watching boxing competitions, brawling matches and motorcycle repairing on TV. Loves doing BBQ's and going to the pool. Also an enjoyer of teasing her kids, kissing and loving her husband at random times, spending time drinking and bonding with Ches and bragging about her family and punching anyone who thinks they're not that cool.

Not particularly a fan of make up, skirts and dresses or any traditionally femenine-perceived stuff. But has been making exceptions due to Glam and Ches being unashamed of being seen as femenine, and actually rocking the looks. The internalized misogyny is kind of slowly dissapearing.

Apart from the guns she carries in each arm (I mean her biceps, have you looked at the size of those?? She strong) she has brass knuckles on her at all times. Glam gifts her new ones sometimes, she loves having multiple choices to punch people teeth in.

Loves horror, thrillers and action movies. Falls asleep during rom-coms and dramas. Ironically, loves gossip and talking shit about people. Enjoys hearing Ches talks about the gossip going on in the nursery home even if she doesn't know who the hell he's talking about.

Rest of the family under the cut!

Heavy

Heavy is a trans boy! He doesn't know his sexuality yet though, he's still figuring himself out. When he's older, i think he definitely dated some men but had better luck with girls.

Heavy has had innocent crushes on some girls on his class before, but they never turn into anything more cuz he's not the best at expressing himself. He follows the bother-the-girl-to-death-until-she-hates-you gimmick, and unsurprisingly, it doesn't work.

I'm sorry to break this to u but Heavy totally had an among us phase, and uses so much reddit and twitch slang... You know he does.

Likes bullying and teasing his brother to death. You know that when Dee had his first romance, Heavy was ALL up in his business being a tease and a bad attempt at a wingman. He means well tho.

He's not squeamish at all. Also has great pain resistance. This kid has picked cockroaches with his bare hands and loves cats, of course the cats have scratched him. He's tough!

Grows up to be the charming himbo he was always destined to be.

Dee

I hc him as demisexual. Kind of inherited his dad's tastes for the takes no crap, intimidating but pretty kind of people.

Can't cook. He tries but he can only do basics like rice, cereal, chicken nuggets or eggs. Complicated meals always burn or don't taste like anything at all. It drives him crazy.

Dee was a quiet and very well behaved toddler before Heavy was born. He never threw tantrums or got whims. After Heavy was born though, and despite the fact he understood his brother was small and needed special care, he started craving attention often and cried and got mad at little things. Typical jealousy of the oldest sibling.

The first time Dee fell in love with someone, he didn't recognize it was love at first. He just thought his interest on the person was born out of curiosity and aesthetic attraction, but as soon as he realized he seeked validation and companionship, that he liked seeing them smile, that he wanted to protect them, that he yearned for more time alone with them and that he wanted more than what just a simple friendship implied, it was an instant 'oh hell no'. He wanted those feelings to get the hell away, but unfortunately, they were there to stay.

Canonically likes MLP, psychological and horror anime like Death note and Hellsing, so I'm deciding he also watched Death Parade, had a FNAF phase, is very into The Walten Files. This guy enjoys any kind of specially dark ARG's and knows a ton of lore of real crime, unsolved cases, ghost appearances and other stuff. Doesn't believe in the supernatural, but sure is entertained by it.

He's a mess at romance. Flirting? His attempts at compliments are hardly flattering. Giving gifts? The best he can manage is jewelry and you can kind of tell he asked his dad for help. Dates? He's so nervous he's silent for most of it, but begins getting comfortable and having fun if his partner really knows how to get him down from his negativity cloud.

Ches

Pansexual.

He's very good with kids. He has the patience of a saint and he's laid-back, chill and fun but still is an authority figure who knows how to put limits. Sure, he's gonna let the kids light up a house on fire BUT hey, now they know everything about fire precautions, burns and how to treat them AND how to get away with arson. What an educational evening, am I right?

Due to certain info from the "Goodbye" official comic, I headcanon Ches as depressed. I don't want to elaborate a lot 'cuz of spoilers, but... God, everything related to his mom fucking hurts, man. How did he deal with all that?

Ches has been Dee and Heavy's babysitter so many times he cannot count them with all his fingers. He learned how to put those kids to sleep almost immediately (Sing Bon Jovi's "This ain't a love song" and any cheesy love song in a slow lullaby style and they're out), which movie were their favorite as kids (Heavy loved 'Monsters Inc.' and Dee never looked away during 'Meet the Robinsons'), how to console them after nightmares (Heavy needed reassurance, sweet words, and to be with someone until he fell asleep again. Dee just had to be tucked in, get his nightlight turned on and kissed in the forehead). He practically raised those kids along with Vicky and Glam.

More than once, Dee and Heavy have slipped and called Ches "Dad". Ches immediately gets his shit eating grin on and answers "Yes, son?" and does a couple of dad jokes just to mess and embarrass them. He's actually very flattered and surprised at how proud of himself he is for being a father figure to both kids.

Has a scar on the left side of his forehead due to a bottle his mom threw at him when he was younger, around the time he met Glam. He hates the scar with passion, it's a permanent reminder of the fact she never cared, that's why he always keeps it covered with his headband. Gets sad about it sometimes.

Ches likes to spend his time with a group of grannies of the nearby nursing home. He genuinely considers them his friends and gossips and hangs out with all of them on weekends. Bingo, billiards, walks in the park, soap opera marathons, you name it. I even designed them, gave them names and backstories... God, i just love the concept too much. I'll make some art about Ches and his granny gang FOR SURE, you're NOT ready for them.

Carries a pocket knife on him at all times. This man grew up on a bad neighborhood and absolutely knows how to defend himself, he can be intimidating when he wants to be and will pose a threat if needed. He's fucking terrifying when genuinely mad. Just cause he looks harmless doesn't mean he is, darling.

That would be all!

#metal family #glam metal family #ches metal family #victoria metal family #chess metal family #dee metal family #heavy metal family #metal family glam #metal family victoria #metal family dee #metalfamily #metal family heavy

815 notes · View notes

aberfaeth · 2 years ago

Note

Okay. I have to know. What is word on the wind what is a young wizard?

OH ANON YOUVE DONE IT NOW <333 (made my DAY ACTUALLY. I LOVE YOU AND IF YOU READ ALL OF THIS I LOVEYOU EVEN MORE)

so word on the wind is. a novelization/dramatization of the plot of 2008 mmorpg Wizard101, a game in which you play a normal child/teen isekai-ed into a Spiral of magical worlds to learn how to do spells at the Ravenwood School of Magical Arts. along the way you have adventures such as: save the world! become increasingly estranged and isolated from your peers and teachers! Actually End A Man's Life! experience the horrors of war!

if you know me at all you know my number one passion is Making Things Way Deeper And More Narratively Coherent/Satisfying Than They Need To Be (power rangers 2017 my beloved) so while wizard101 is a fun silly game for folks of all ages i was like HEY. what if we took the Powerful Old Wizard Sends Child To Do Horrific Bidding thing really seriously (obviously i am nowhere near the first person to do this i mean i dont really read a lot of w101 fic but it does exist). anyways the Thing that sets wotw apartTM is that i picked three fellow student NPCs that exist only in the first world* and decided that they get to be the protag's friends and party for the rest of the plot! (based off the real mechanic where you can join fights with up to 3 other people bc its an mMorpg. i made sure their party build was good. i made SURE.)

so word on the wind is, in short: Madeline "Mae" Simmons/Starcatcher (the Headmaster gave her a Wizard Name) and her three friends (Duncan Grimwater, Ceren Nightchant, Regina Flametalon) go on adventures, save the worlds, bond over gained trauma, do real life murder, and fall in love (gay people<3).

fun little encapsulation of the Implications Being Taken Seriously: initially, the protag's name is coded into the dialogue, but after a little bit, i guess kingsisle got lazy? or something, because everyone gradually starts calling them Young Wizard. and thus that is how the protag is referred to in fandom. cool and useful but also super depersonalizing!

gay people snippet under the cut bc this post is so long already i am so sorry:

A girl stormed past us, red cape whipping behind her.

I watched as she paced across the length of the grass before dropping down on the ground, right behind a park bench, burying her head in her hands. Ceren’s eyebrows furrowed in concern. I tilted my head to the side, like, do you know her? But he just sort of stared at me, confused.

“Well, come on,” I said, clamoring to my feet. “Maybe we can help.”

We made our way across the court. When we got close enough, I could see the girl’s shoulders were shuddering, as if she was having trouble breathing. As we approached, she startled, jerking her head up. Her face was round, with wide, shiny eyes, and dark skin streaked with tears. Cherry red coils of hair fell down to her shoulders.

She took in a quick breath, wiping her face with the sleeves of her pumpkin orange robe. “Hi,” she said, voice wobbling. “Um—can I help you?”

I blinked. “I guess I was gonna ask you the same thing.” I knelt down on the seat of the bench, folding my arms across the backrest. “We’ll leave if you want to be alone, but… are you okay?”

The girl’s lip quivered. She let out a full-body sigh, shifting her crossed legs. “No,” she said, finally, with a small shake of the head. “I’m trying to finish this engineering assignment for Professor Baelstrom, but the golems in that tower stole my materials.” As she talked, her voice picked up, in speed, volume, and panic. “I really need those back, if he finds out I’ve lost them then I’ll fail the project, and Professor Falmea won’t let me do any more interschool studies, and I’ll flunk out of the Academy and have to live beneath the theater on Firecat Alley doing tech for those crazy elves to pay rent—”

“Woah, slow down,” I said, climbing off the bench to crouch next to her, hands held stiffly up like I was FBI Agent Dr. Spencer Reid trying to soothe a traumatized shotgun wielder. I swallowed, and tried to think of anything useful to say. What I came up with was: “Hey, at least you’ve got a backup plan.”

She laughed, but it sounded a little crazed. “Yeah. I have backup plans for everything. Except, apparently, golems stealing my steam capacitor.”

“When did they grab it from you?” Ceren asked, from behind me. His head was tilted slightly in puzzlement. “I’ve never seen them outside of the tower.”

The girl pursed her lips. “I was stupid,” she said, morose. “I thought I could grab some Enchanted Wood off of the smaller wooden golems, instead of paying Elmer for it, but they were a lot stronger than I’d imagined. They knocked me out, took my equipment.” Her breathing was becoming rapid, again, hands fiddling anxiously with the ends of her sleeves. “I don’t even like musicals! When I was ten Professor Greyrose made me play the wicked witch in a small schoolwide production and I forgot all of my lines, it was so embarrassing—”

“We’ll help you get your stuff back,” I blurted.

She looked up at me with wide, wet eyes. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” Ceren chimed in, reaching a hand out. “Those golems won’t stand a chance against the three of us.”

The girl examined Ceren’s outstretched hand for a moment before grasping it, letting herself be pulled up. I scrambled to my feet, brushing the grass off of my knees. “I’m Regina,” she introduced.

“Mae,” I responded, bouncing lightly on my toes. “And this is Ceren.” Ceren gave a little half-wave. “Should we head right in, or do you need a minute?”

Regina took a deep breath in, setting her shoulders. Her expression was dead serious. “I’m ready.”

#*YES i know about duncan in arc 3. im not looking. mae fixed him #wizard101 #w101 #wizzy fandom #honestly. honestly this is the wip i have the most written for. which is. yeah.#c.ask #THANK YOU FOR ASKING I LITERALLY LOVE YOU SO MUCH WHOEVER U ARE OUT THERE <3333333 #wotw

21 notes · View notes

tarosin · 3 years ago

Text

the great adventures of y/n and ranboo

this is an extra part to the great adventures series

summary: part two to the angst imagine (the not so great adventures of y/n tommy tubbo jack and ranboo) it’s a happier ‘ending’ please read what is written in bold

this is an “alternative ending” around 15 years into the future this doesn’t mean this is actually how the series is going to end im writing it now and including it as part of series as their friendship is already established i can confirm y/n and the group are going to have a happy ending when the series eventually comes to an end this also does not mean the series is anywhere near the end i plan on continuing the series as vlogs come out, i feel the need to confirm this now love between y/n and ranboo in this imagine is completely platonic

it had been about a month since you last streamed whereas ranboo continued to stream a few days after the fallout as he wanted to make sure you were going to be okay. even though ranboo knew this huge fallout would eventually happen, it still hurt him, especially since he knew there was no way to prevent it, the four of you in the same house mixed with the stress of being some of the most-watched content creators made living rather difficult. it was like walking on eggshells as you didn’t want to interrupt someone's stream, then there was the additional stress of obsessive fans finding out where the four of you lived, you still remember that day very vividly. you were sat in between tubbo and ranboo watching the office whilst Tommy was in an interview when you received a message from your mod.

Chris: hey y/n I received this message earlier I don’t want to scare you, but maybe get the locks changed. someone sent a message claiming this is your address *image of message from ‘fan’*

it didn’t take long for tubbo and ranboo to receive a message from their mods saying the same thing

“holy shit...”

“chances are Tommy has the message too. we shall go check around the house when Tommy is done with the interview.”

luckily no one ever showed up to the house, but the fact some people were so obsessed to the point they found your address was enough to put everyone in the house on edge. and now it was just you and ranboo in the house. you didn’t feel safe as even though ranboo promised to not let anything happen, you didn’t wanna risk it.

“we should move. there’s no point in having such a big house for two people, what are we going to use the extra space for heh? hide and seek with people who have our address. no thank you. I say we move leave this mess behind and start completely over, hell I’d feel safer in the us and that’s saying something”

ranboo agreed the house didn’t have the happiest memories attached to it anymore, it hurt walking past the hallway as it would bring back the memory of him crying into the crook of y/ns neck whilst tubbo left the house.

“let’s do it, I’ll do an early stream then we can look for houses. go take a shower. I’ll stay close to the door so you’re safe, then you can stay in my room whilst I stream, you can join me if you would like.”

“you’re being very protective all of a sudden...let me guess you got the message from our mods announcing the obsessive fans are at it again?”

“go take a shower.”

“no.”

ranboo ended up picking you up, carried you to the bathroom and turned the shower on before putting you on your feet.

“quick shower I’ll see you later.”

and with that he left the room shutting the door behind him, 30 minutes later you got changed and followed ranboo to his room ready to join him whilst he streams

“hey boo, can I join you? I kinda wanna get into streaming again.”

“I'm so glad you asked, I was going to do a face cam stream, if that’s okay?”

“of course.”

you grabbed his mask and glasses whilst he locked the door so you were both safe. “here you go.”

“thank you.”

the pair of you started the stream and it was honestly going well, you were having so much fun you forgot about all the negative things currently going on, you began to understand why ranboo continued streaming as for those 2-4 hours of streaming it felt as though everything was back to normal. 3 hours later the two of you ended stream and Twitter went crazy. tweets ranged from fans talking about how ranboo was streaming with you, how Tommy was in chat, and how tubbo was modding as people who mentioned anything about their address being leaked were banned by tubbo. the one thing that caught ranboos eye was fan art and a picture of you both from the stream captioned ‘they’re platonic soulmates your honour’ ranboo went as far to like, retweet and comment on it.

ranaltboo: glad you liked the stream it was great having y/n back, think I might make them play tattletail next stream

definitelynoty/n: isn’t that the Furby game that terrified you in 2021? bring it on boo!

Twitter went crazy over this interaction, you had finally come back to social media after months of being inactive, and it looked like you were here to stay. a month later you and ranboo moved out of the house and sold it to your aunt and her wife and their three adopted children, you explained the situation and even changed the locks for them all before they moved in.

“Please do tell us if anyone shows up who shouldn’t be. we changed the locks as you were aware- oh hello little one.”

you noticed one of their children decided to cling onto your leg

“I like your hair it’s colourful!”

“Indeed it is.”

“WOAH A GIANT!”

the little girl let go of your leg and ran to ranboo asking to be picked up, unsure of what to do he looked towards you. however, you were too busy laughing about the fact he was compared to a giant.

“I'm so sorry uh if you want to pick her up you can, you don’t have to.”

“pick me up, tall man... I want to be taller!”

ranboo ended up standing next to you with an arm around your waist whilst the child sat on his shoulders happily playing with his hair.

“ranboo do not drop that child.”

“I didn't- I didn't plan on it y/n.”

eventually, it was time to leave and the child reluctantly let go of ranboo.

“bye-bye!! hope to see you soon!”

soon enough you were at a smaller house, far away from the old house, leaving behind the negative feelings. it could only get better, a week later the pair of you had settled into the new house, it finally felt like home. you and ranboo were now streaming full time again, safe to say the two of you were thriving and closer than ever.

“so I’m thinking if I hit the sub-goal today I’ll let chat pick what colour I dye my hair.”

“make it higher, and I’ll let you cut my hair.”

“Are you being serious? oh my god!”

a few minutes later you took to Twitter to announce you were going live.

y/n: kidnapping children in the sims with ranboo psst check the subgoal.

within 20 minutes you had hit the sub-goal, chat ended up picking another random neon colour for your hair.

“right hair dye and the cutting stream will be this weekend, now let’s go back to kidnapping.”

tubbo, tommy, and jack felt awful for what happened and went back to the house where you used to live, hoping to see you there so they could apologise, tubbo knocked on the door only to be met by a young child.

“my sister watches you on twitch!”

“oh that’s lovely.. are y/n and ranboo here?”

an older woman came to the door.

“oh no, I’m sorry dear they both moved out, but they left this box and said to give it to you if you returned.”

“do you know where they moved to?”

“I'm sorry dear, I'm not allowed to tell you that information for safety reasons.”

“I understand, thanks anyway.”

they ended up going back to jacks where the three of them had been staying.

“We should open the box.”

tubbo opened the box and emptied the items onto the floor, inside was the rocks y/n handed tubbo from every trip, photos of the group, a necklace y/n had gifted to Tommy a day before the argument, and a hat y/n had taken from jack during a trip to a zoo.

“what the fuck!”

“holy shit!”

“they really kept all these in hopes we would come back?”

“and now we’re too late.”

it was now the weekend you and ranboo were ready to stream, you stood leaning on ranboo who was significantly smaller than you as you lowered the chair he sat on.

“starting stream...now.”

after the starting soon intro played, you explained what was happening to any new viewers or people who didn’t watch the stream.

“so I’m about to become Edward Scissorhands...I love that film can we watch it later?”

“yeah mhm sure!”

you didn’t know this but your ex best friends were watching and ever so often would show up in the chat.

“so boo, what are we doing with your hair today?”

“just a trim please darling?”

“This is y/ns hairdressers you get what I’m capable of!”

you ended up doing a pretty good job of cutting ranboos hair, even he was impressed.

“I didn’t doubt you for a minute!”

“mhm sure thing please don’t mess up my hair tall one!”

soon enough you had the dye on. 45 minutes later you left to wash it off, leaving ranboo to entertain stream,

“chat I think I missed some of their hair it’s okay, I own scissors, I’ll just cut it.. speaking of they did a great job, didn't they? I honestly expected them to mess up.”

a few minutes later you joined ranboo again and spent the next few hours talking with chat. tubbo, tommy, and jack stayed the entire time. they loved the fact you and ranboo were able to stay close after what happened, Tommy noticed you were still wearing the necklace he got you many years ago and spammed them chat with him tubbo and jack

Tommy: THEYRE WEARING THE NECKLACE!!

jack: so what? they clearly don’t wanna talk to us.

tubbo: shut up listen to them.

“chat why are we spamming platonic soulmates?”

“they’ve been saying it all over Twitter, look on trending y/n.”

you started to blush slightly at all the amazing artwork soon enough the stream came to an end, after saying goodbye the pair of you sat together going through fan art. unfortunately the one that caught your eye was this one twitter post where the artist had created a drawing of a piece of paper with you, ranboo, tommy, tubbo, and jack, however the paper was ripped separating you and ranboo from the others, captioned ‘it was never meant to be’ this clearly upset ranboo as he took off his mask and glasses placing them on the desk before going straight to his bed.

“boo…are you okay?”

“Are you tired of me? are you going to leave next?”

“what? no of course not! I could never get tired of you, why do you ask?”

“everyone else has left..i thought they cared about us, i knew it would happen eventually and i couldn’t stop it, i’m sorry, y/n, please don’t hate me.”

you sat on the edge of the bed looking down at the floor,

“come here.”

you watched him roll over to face you.

“you know there’s no one else who I'd rather spend the rest of my life with, right…if i hated you i wouldn’t have moved house with you. it’s not your job to fix everything and make everything better, you’re a streamer for christ sake not a therapist.”

“i guess so.. can we watch that thing you were on about for ages.”

“edward scissorhands? “

“mhm!”

you could tell he wanted to be distracted, so you agreed and put the film on, towards the end you began to get upset due to how overwhelming everything was.

“Why are you crying?”

“poor Edward.”

“come here.”

ranboo pulled you into a hug you laid there crying into his chest, he knew that wasn’t the reason you were crying, but he wasn’t about to make you tell him, luckily it didn’t take long for you to stop crying as ranboo quickly distracted you.

“ranboo..”

“yeah y/n?”

“I feel bad i didnt realise how much pressure was on you whilst everyone was arguing.”

“Hey, it’s okay, is that what’s upsetting you?”

“mhm.”

“don’t blame yourself, i’d do it all over again to keep you safe and happy..then again i didn’t do a good job on keeping you happy.”

“you did..you were always there for me even when i gave up on social media, you shared your room with me after i started receiving creepy messages from that obsessed fan, hell you even went on adventures with me even though it was clear you hadn’t been sleeping, just so we could spend time together and forget about what was happening. you mean a lot to me boo.”

“i love you.”

“i love you too bud, I’m tired.”

“go to sleep, it’s been a long day.”

“okay.”

“you just staying there?”

“yes.”

“oh, oh okay, goodnight.”

about a year later the two of you were still thriving, ranboo got you a promise ring a few months earlier.

“heh what’s this for?”

“as your best friend i promise to stay by your side and keep you safe and make sure that you’re happy, in other words you're stuck with me till the end of time.”

“boo…i really don’t know what to say.. thank you so much!”

“you don’t have to say anything!”

you ended up going out to buy him a promise ring when he started the stream and decided to take your cousins with you now that they were a little older. ranboo was doing a facecam stream when the door slammed open revealing you covering your three younger cousins ranboo not realising you were hiding them from the camera, instinctively stood up covering the camera

“ranboooooo!”

“yes you three and y/n ,what do you need?”

“we would like to watch a film!”

“Okay, i’ll go put one on, y/n will you entertain chat?”

“sure thing boo boy!”

once they left you sat fixing your hair forgetting you were wearing the ring chat noticed this and went crazy, so did Tommys group with tubbo and jack.

tubbo: that’s a ring, right??

jack: yeah looks like it.

Tommy: holy shit I always thought if anyone was gonna get married it would be tubbo and y/n, they were inseparable.

tubbo: hilarious.

jack: it could just be a ring, no one mentioned marriage tommy!

Tommy: we should congratulate them.

jack: at least let them explain fucking hell.

soon enough ranboo came back into the room,

“sorry one of them found it hilarious to steal my glasses...”

“they’re little shits i swear to god but i love them.”

you both noticed chat going crazy and both looked at each other before laughing.

“i'm sorry, i can’t take you serious in the mask and glasses!”

“i can’t take you serious with neon hair, but here we are!”

“rude!”

you and ranboo quickly put an end to the rumours,

“no we’re not engaged or married, it is a promise ring. no they’re not our children, they’re y/ns cousins they just spend a lot of time here..chat stop calling me and y/n parents and comparing us to phil that’s not..that’s not how it works okay!”

“parent arc!”

“y/n, don’t encourage them!”

“it’s a little bit funny!”

soon enough the bit came to an end and eventually ranboo ended the stream.

“hey boo look what i got you”

you handed him a little black box, inside was a ring similar to yours

“i promise to always stick around and be here for you”

“oh my god”

ranboo tackled you into a hug thanking you several times for his rings. you and ranboo were living your best life meanwhile jack, tommy, and tubbo were stuck dealing with the guilt of what happened, but they’re weren’t giving up that easy. they wanted you both back, that’s when you received a notification, tommyinnit has sent you a message request: hey y/n can we talk..please?

taglist

@dumb-chaotic-bi-energy @uselesssapphickitten @l0ver0fj0y @etheriaaly @xx-smiley-xx @hawarun @kylobensgirl @cawcaw-pretty-thing @reverse-iak @renleicrashed @augustine-is-joy @c1loudee

296 notes · View notes

keigelsss · 4 years ago

Text

A Super Sweet Secret - Gojo Satoru

Merry late Christmas ya filthy animals ;)

Mega thirst moment based on this post and I think it just fits this fucker so well. I wrote part of this at 3am and I hate it so much ... fellow Gojo fuckers come get ya food.

Warnings: 18+, my shitty writing, language, mentions of alcohol, Gojo using infinity (had to do it on em), smut, DIRTY TALK, fingering, oral *fem receiving, overstim, squirting, uh… the pet names are super self-indulgent too oops, literally every grammatical error you can think of (please let me know if I missed any warnings I don’t wanna upset anyone or make anyone uncomfy. That being said minors pls DNI!! I don't feel like blocking anyone today)

Word count: 2.25k (i do be getting carried away)

How do you go about explaining your current situation to the higher-ups if you get caught with him? Do you tell them that, instead of getting pointers on how to guide students down the right path, you’ve been indulging in some very explicit acts with the man who is supposed to show you the ropes? No. That’s not right either but in all honesty, it would have been a lost cause from the get-go. Gojo Satoru is the least traditional in his teaching methods and is without a doubt a troublemaker but his antics are a part of what makes him so charming. It’s that same charm that finally made you cave and accept a coffee date with him on the next day you both had off.

You don’t know exactly when it happened but little by little those morning coffee dates turned into mid-day snack runs, then dinner and overindulging in desserts at the other’s house. Everything took an unexpected turn when you went a bit overboard on the sake one night. The next morning you woke up naked on your couch, the sun in your face, a pounding headache and a large man clinging to your body like a koala. As much as you wanted to maintain a professional relationship between the two of you, it was so hard to not crave another taste of him. He couldn’t resist you either, one bite and he kept coming back for more.

You two are definitely going to get into some serious trouble for this.

After stressful days of exorcising curses Gojo likes to unwind with a sweet treat from his local bakery and you by his side. He’ll find it ridiculously adorable if you have a bigger sweet tooth than he does. On the walk back to his house, you both snag a pastry from the bag of goodies and laugh at the other for not being able to wait until you reached your destination. The two of you arrive shortly after but Gojo decided he wasn’t entirely satisfied...

“Hey, sugar?” he asked while removing his sunglasses, his eyes entirely focused on your movements. You started to place what was left of the little cakes in a dish that was used specifically for the sweet treats of the day, he quickly recalled how you made fun of him for the fancy crystal platter but he admitted to being a bit extra like that. “What’s up trouble?” He let out a soft chuckle and got closer, wrapping his arms around your shoulders leaning down to rest his chin on top of your head. “Trouble? That couldn’t be me.” you placed the cover back on the platter and put your hands on his arms settling back into him slightly. “You only call me ‘sugar’ when you want something from me, so what is it?”

Now that was true, he had a list of pet names for you that he liked to pull out for certain occasions and you caught onto that quickly. It’s really not fair at all how he can make innocent words sound so damn sinful when he wanted to tease you. You turned to face him now, his hands resting on either side of you. He leans down and places a feather-soft kiss on your lips, so soft it’s almost like he’s not making full contact with you.

“I thought we didn't do those things when it was just us together like this?” Your eyes fluttered open and he came back in for a real kiss, his hot tongue lingering lazily on your bottom lip but not enough to excite you. He does that on purpose. “I know but it’s just the thought of it, I can tell you're thinking about it too.” He reached for the dessert dish and picked up a small cream filled pastry, he took a bite and offered you the other half. You knew it wasn’t an accident when he got the filling on your lip and chin. He used his thumb to clean up the mess he made then licked it clean, he is actually evil but even if you do hate him sometimes you can’t find it in you to resist him.

“C’mon Y/n, don't you think it would be interesting to try while I go down on you? Just a little bit?” You bit your lip at the thought and he was already excited for your answer. He was right, the idea of him between your legs, devouring you but not quite. Being able to feel everything between the two of you but not making an actual connection. it ignited a small fire within you.

“We can try it once but I can’t promise that I'll like it.”

Truthfully that was all he needed to hear before he began to strip you of your clothes, leaving you completely naked. His large hands began exploring your body, grabbing onto any dip and curve he can find while placing sloppy kisses on your neck. He used both hands to get a firm grip of your ass, lifting you onto the cold marble countertop, you let a small moan escape you at the feeling and he placed a wet kiss on your lips. Tugging on the fabric of his long sleeve you brought it up and off revealing his defined upper body, you could drool if you didn't have some self control. “Satoru not too much okay? It’ll drive me crazy when all I want is to feel you.” The whimper that fell from your pretty mouth was almost enough to make Gojo cum in his pants, you swore you saw hearts glowing in his bright blue eyes. “Don't worry princess only a little bit. Besides you know my sweet girl always gets what she wants.”

If there was anything that came close to what you picture heaven was like, it would definitely be the equivalent to Gojo’s strong, slender fingers expertly rubbing your folds. He always found every sweet spot and applied the perfect amount of pressure without you having to say a word.

“Baby, did I make you this wet?” He used his thumb to spread your slick around, creating a delightful rhythm on your clit. Hips trembling when he grazed that one spot that practically had you gushing for him.

“Yes! It was yo- oh fuck that feels so good!” you leaned forward, resting your head on his chest, admiring the way his fingers looked so mesmerizing covered in the pretty shine of your juices. “You know you're the sweetest thing ever right? So damn delicious. I can spend hours between these sexy thighs of yours.” His breath is hot on the tip of your ear and that smooth voice sends shockwaves throughout your entire body. His free hand wrapped around your thigh and gripped below your knee, shifting the angle at which his fingers were exploring your overly sensitive hole.

“Are you gonna let me make you cum with my mouth? Let me taste how sweet you are?” his lips started to trail the sides of your neck down to your chest. He left a series of kisses on each breast, sucking lightly on your stiff and sensitive nipples. “Ah Satoru please! I want- Ooh want your tongue.” He licked a stripe across your tummy then placed a soft kiss on your belly button, he moved your thighs once more and found a position comfortable for the two of you. Your legs resting nicely on his shoulders while he rubbed circles on your hips and waist. “Look at this gorgeous pussy,” a soft kiss on your inner thigh. “So pretty.” another kiss on your swollen clit, you couldn't help but arch your back off the counter, grabbing a handful of his soft hair. He nibbled on your thigh and a sharp whine fell from you. “Remember to behave sweetheart, I'm supposed to be going easy on you.” His chuckle vibrated against your hot mound and you let out a sigh, releasing some tension from your hands on his head, allowing him to do what he wanted with your body.

Gojo’s tongue seemed to have a mind of its own, curling and sucking at the special spot that only he knew about with perfect accuracy. The buzzing sensation that you normally felt when he's down there was reduced to an incomplete static, like your nerves weren’t fully receiving the information of his movements. Now that? That was different. It really was infinity… a barrier he controlled entirely, the rolling of his tongue feeling more like a whisper of pleasure that was everything and nothing at the same time. You were right to think it would drive you crazy but in the most euphoric way possible. “Oh my god it feels s-so good! P-please don’t stop baby I’m so fucking close.”

The large kitchen was filled with desperate sounds of pleasure and the soft squelching of Gojo’s fingers inside your quivering cunt. This feeling was new but you were instantly hooked. It didn't take long for you to fall over that glorious edge with a broken moan of his name and a string of curses, making little to no sense at all. A deep groan erupts from his chest as he takes in every drop of your release in satisfaction. His gaze found your blissed out expression and he decided to ease up on that invisible veil between you, fingers slipping from your tight whole. You clenched around nothing and the loss of his fingers filling you was enough to nearly make you cry.

“That‘s my favorite flavor right there sweetheart.” he spent some time admiring the way you looked coming down from your high. The rise and fall of your breasts with every breath paired alongside the slight shaking in your limbs from how intense the orgasm was. You're a work of art to him, truly, especially like this. Opening your eyes you find his stupid gorgeous face resting on your thigh, licking his lips simply enjoying your taste. You ran your fingers through his hair one more time before softly squishing his face with your legs, letting out a breathless giggle while regaining some grasp on reality. “I w-want more, but let me feel all of you for fucks sake!”

He instantly obliged, diving right back in, using only his tongue, setting a languid pace. His animalistic groans against your over sensitive pussy were a telling sign that he was enjoying himself, probably ridiculously hard in the confines of his jeans. The thought of his cock deep inside of you was enough to get you shamelessly turned on all over again. If it weren't for his hands on your hips, rubbing easing circles into your soft skin, you would be a convulsing mess on the hard marble beneath you. A dull ache was beginning to form in your lower back, but you could care less. Gojo's tongue was working wonders on that delectable bundle of nerves of yours. His hands started trailing upwards and fondling your breasts, your spine arching under his touch as he pinched your nipples. You both made eye contact and he could tell that you were close to another release, your entire body was starting to shake. “Ye-yeah baby I’m gonna f-fucking cum.” his tongue never relenting on you. You were on the verge of screaming, your thighs were probably strangling him at this point.

“Mhm my little honeypot. Are you gonna make a mess?” he growled delicately against you.

That was also new but holy shit it had your brain short circuiting. Honeypot?! Damn you really could make a mess and that was exactly what you did. His relentless attack on your clit was blinding but so fucking delicious you didn't want it to end. You squirted all over his face, covering his neck and chest with a stream of your juices. The added stimulation of his abilities, and the shock of this new pet name clearly having an impact on your intense orgasm. it could possibly be the best you've experienced. He was aware of that fact as well. “I love when you do that.” honestly you did too. The aftershock of it all had you both mesmerized, your body just a quaking mess, panting and moaning. You struggled a bit to get air back into your lungs but Gojo's hands squeezed on your waist reassuringly. Your hips were beginning to relax and he once again found a place to momentarily rest his head on your thighs.

He huffed a small howl of amusement. You could instantly tell what he was so giddy about. “So? Honeypot?” you questioned him, not in a judging manner but out of curiosity and excitement. “It kind of just came out of me in the moment.” You couldn't help but laugh at his answer, a fitting response. You took a second to relish in the sight of your cum and his sweat tracing his brow. It will forever remain a mystery on how you managed to get so addicted to the world’s biggest pain in the ass, but here you were.

That evil little smirk made another appearance on his face while he brought himself up to kiss you, the taste of yourself was very much present on his tongue and soft lips, you screeched in excitement. He swiftly lifted you off the counter and began his trek towards his bedroom.

“Are you maybe just a bit more curious on what else I can do to that pretty body of yours?”

yeah this is trash uh if you read this sorry for the lack of seasoning in your food

tags: @bobabybo @ibukiirisha