#im not taking my paints there just sketchbooks | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

justarkive · 2 months ago

Text

THROUGH THE SMOKE | JJK

“You fell for Jeon Jungkook first, but he fell for bad habits harder.”

pairing: non!idol jungkook x f!reader

genre: est. relationship, angst, slight fluff, feeling sad today guys :( no smut today guys sorry for my freaks xoxo

warnings; death, smoking, bad habits, feels, super emotional reader.

this fic does not represent the real jungkook!

a/n: im very sorry for this yall but i read when she loved me and couldnt help but write something sad aswell. anyways! enjoy and grab a tissue lmaoo. (also for table 3 readers dw im cooking up ch10 just wanted to get this idea off of my mind loll)

wc: idk yall sorry but its short.

masterlist

You and Jungkook had been in love since preschool.

It wasn’t a cliché love story, even though it sounded like one. From the moment you met, you knew there was something undeniable between you two. Jungkook was the cute boy with the bright, innocent smile, a little too shy at first, his hair always sticking up in the most adorable way. You, on the other hand, were always loud, energetic, and full of questions. But somehow, as if the universe had arranged it, you two had been inseparable ever since.

It was your families who first brought you together, and it didn’t take long for the connection to grow. You both laughed at the same silly things, shared the same strange sense of humor, and understood each other in ways no one else could. School passed, and so did life’s little moments. From coloring in the back of the classroom to sneaking kisses behind the library, you knew him better than you knew yourself. Everyone always said, “You two will be the ones who never change, who stick together forever,” and in your naive, young hearts, you believed them.

High school came, and it was no different. You both walked the same halls, your fingers intertwined as if they had always been meant to fit together. Your friends all knew about your love, some teasing, others a little envious of how easy it seemed for you two. He was your first everything. Your first kiss. Your first date. The first person who truly saw you, all of you, and still stayed. You couldn’t have asked for more.

You were both passionate about art. You, with your paintbrushes, your sketchbooks, your endless love for creating. Jungkook with his camera, always snapping photos of the world around him, capturing everything with that beautiful perspective only he had. You spent hours together, creating things that were uniquely yours. You painted while he took photos of your work, and when you weren’t working on your art, you would lie together, talking about dreams, the future, the things you hoped for. You’d talk for hours until the world outside seemed irrelevant.

At sixteen, you finally admitted it—finally let the world know that you were a couple. Not that anyone had to guess. It was obvious. Your love was like the air, filling every room, every space between you two, unspoken yet constantly present.

But then, Jungkook started smoking.

Things started to change, slowly at first. It started with little things. Jungkook would come to see you, and the smell of cigarettes would linger on his clothes. At first, it didn’t bother you — he was just blowing off steam, right? Everyone had their way of coping. But then it started to be more than just an occasional puff. You’d find him lighting up in the car, after a tough day, or even while you both worked late into the night. He’d laugh it off, saying it helped him focus, that it was nothing serious. You’d tease him, roll your eyes, and tell him it would be the death of him. He’d smile that charming, lopsided smile and promise that he’d quit — but the promises always fell short.

And you loved him too much to force him to stop. You were happy, and for a while, you convinced yourself that the cigarette butts scattered in the ashtray were just a phase. It wasn’t until his health began to deteriorate that the reality hit you like a slap in the face. His coughing fits, the sudden weight loss, the way he could barely catch his breath after a short walk — it wasn’t just stress anymore. It was something serious. You didn’t want to face it. You never did. But deep down, you knew what was happening. And you couldn’t bring yourself to say it out loud.

Now, here you were, sitting by his side in the sterile, lifeless hospital room. The machines beeped softly in the background, a constant reminder of how little time you had left.The scent of antiseptic hung in the air, mingling with the faint smell of his cigarette-laced skin, the smell you had once loved but now felt suffocating. His once-strong body, built from years of his obsession with the gym, was now frail, his skin pale and paper-thin. His hair, once the soft, dark brown you used to run your fingers through, was now thinning. And his eyes — they were no longer the bright, big, mischievous eyes that always seemed to sparkle with some kind of hidden joke. Now, they were tired, drained.

Jungkook, at the young age of 26, was dying. He wasn’t the same boy who made you laugh in high school, the one who would spend hours talking about his dreams of traveling the world with his camera. The once vibrant, lively man you knew had become a shadow, a husk of himself, barely able to move, his breathing shallow, his eyes flickering with exhaustion.

You couldn’t believe it. This wasn’t supposed to be how it ended. He wasn’t supposed to go before you, you’d always joked.

“I’ll get you out of here,” you said, your voice trembling, more to reassure yourself than him. “We’ll go to my house, and I’ll finish that painting we were talking about. We’ll make our own gallery. You’ll take the photos for it.”

He didn’t answer at first, just stared at you with those tired, loving eyes, and you could feel the lump in your throat grow. His lips parted as if he wanted to speak, but no sound came out. He reached up slowly, his hand trembling as he traced your face, a gesture so familiar it made your heart ache.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

You smiled softly, tracing his features in return, your fingertips lingering on his tattoos, the ones you had helped design. His arm was covered in them—symbols of your shared memories. You remembered the flutter in your stomach when he asked you to help him design the first one. You had laughed at the idea at first but had spent nights sketching together, dreaming about the future you would share.

But now, the future seemed so far away, like a distant dream you were never going to wake up from.

“I love you so much, Jungkook,” you whispered, feeling the tears start to fall despite your best efforts to hold them back. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”

Jungkook could barely talk now, his breaths shallow and labored, but you didn’t care. You filled the silence with words, words he couldn’t hear, but words you needed to say anyway. You talked about everything—the future, what you’d do when he got better, when this was all just a bad dream. You didn’t care if he couldn’t respond. You wanted to believe it, to believe that this wasn’t real, that this wasn’t how your story ended.

“We were going to get an apartment together, remember?” You chuckle lightly, a shaky sound that doesn’t reach your eyes. “And we were going to take that road trip across the country, go to those art galleries we always wanted to see… We were going to be fine, Jungkook.”

He doesn’t respond, but you see his lips twitch slightly, and for a second, you think you imagined it. He always hated when you cried, when you got too emotional. He’d hold you, tease you, tell you to pull yourself together. But not now. Now, he let you talk, let you believe in the dream you wanted so badly to keep alive.

Your fingers graze his lip ring, the one you’d convinced him to get. You laugh softly, though the sound is broken, fragile. “I remember when you asked me to help you pick that out. You were so nervous about it. ‘What if it doesn’t look good?’ you kept asking. And now it’s… part of you.”

Jungkook doesn’t say anything, and maybe he’s too tired, too weak to respond. But you keep going, keep talking, as if every word you say could somehow delay the inevitable. As if you could make the universe listen.

“I thought we’d grow old together, you know? We’d be that couple, the one who never let go. You were supposed to be my forever.”

The night passes slowly. You sit beside him, never leaving his side. You trace every inch of his face, memorizing the way he looks right now, in this moment, in case it’s the last time you see him like this.

Jungkook kisses your forehead, his lips cold against your skin. “I love you.”

His eyes soften, and he gives you a small, almost imperceptible nod, as if to say he understood, as if to reassure you that it was okay, that he would be okay. But you both knew the truth. He wouldn’t be okay.

You stayed up with him all night, holding his hand, talking about all the things you had planned for your future. Even though you both knew that future was never going to come, you couldn’t stop yourself from dreaming.

His breathing grew more labored as the night went on, and you could feel the coldness of his hand against yours, the warmth slowly slipping away.

“Will we still be able to talk in the morning?” he finally asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. He’s tired. You know it. But Jungkook loved you so much he was trying to hold on. Stay up and be with you for his last night.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. What could you say? You knew the answer, but you couldn’t say it aloud. Instead, you squeezed his hand, holding onto him as tightly as you could, hoping that if you just held on, maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.

But it wasn’t.

You let him sleep, finally. The exhaustion of his short lived life of bad habits catches up to him, but you couldn’t sleep. Not during this, not while listening to his wheezing while he drifted in and out. Not while feeling his weak arms tighten and loosen around your waist like he’s clutching onto your memory in his dreams. Not while trying to drag out the night as much as you possibly could.

But at some point, you must’ve drifted off to sleep, because when you wake up, it’s morning. The sun is peeking through the blinds, casting soft light across the room. Jungkook’s still here. Still breathing, but not for long.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you sit up, taking his hand in yours, gripping it tightly, trying to hold on to the person who’s slipping away.

His eyelids flutter, and you lean down close to him. “Please.”

His eyes open briefly, just enough for you to see the smile, faint but there, tugging at his lips. He’s too weak to speak, but you see it. The love. The understanding. The goodbye.

You lean down, pressing your lips against his forehead, and it feels like everything you’ve ever known is shattering.

“I love you,” you whisper, voice breaking. “I always will.”

And then, just like that, the room falls silent.

Jungkook takes his last breath, his hand going limp in yours. And all you could do was sit there, numb, your heart shattered into a million pieces. The love of your life, the one person you had known since childhood, was gone.

Everything had gone wrong.

And all you could do was hold onto the memories—the memories of the boy you had loved since preschool, the boy who had stolen your heart and never given it back.

But now, you were left alone.

You don’t cry out. You don’t scream. You just hold him, even when the nurses come in to the still buzz of the machine, even when they try to pry you off of his lifeless body, knowing that he was finally at peace, and that you would never be the same without him.

167 notes · View notes

decayedsword · 11 days ago

Text

Drawing of Darkness (artist!reader x kc!ronin)

I LOST THE ASK BUT THIS IS FOR AURUM!! HOPING I DIDNT STRAY TOO FAR AWAY FROM UR ASK THIS TIME HEHEHEHE

(i thought id post this in the morning but hey! better late than never :P)

(/j IM SORRY LOL)

Warning for slight depictions of blood/gore, possible obsessive behavior

When you had clicked the ‘accept call’ option, you didn’t expect to be so enamoured by the devil, who peered in his swivel gaming chair, posters decorating the blood-red walls around him.

You sat there, mouth slightly agape for a few beats, simply taking in the epitome of a painting of a thousand words that was stuck behind a web camera. This was the first time you had ever thought a grotesque serial killer known for fucking up the bodies beyond repair looked beautiful—and as sardonic as it were, he looked like an angel.

Atop his burgundy hair sat a striped gray beanie with two red horns standing tall on the fabric. Piercings adorned his ears, industrial on the left and double lobe on the right. His neck was decorated with a collar imbued with spikes, and a necklace with a sword charm that vaguely resembled a cross. He wore a soft black shirt with a skull graphic on the front, a leather jacket spilling from his elbows. You don’t fail to notice the varying pins he’s stuck onto his clothes to make them feel more like him, giving his clothes his signature edge, as well as the multitude of bracelets that peek out from his sleeve.

“Aw, don’t tell me you’ve fallen for me already?”

Ronin’s voice barely snaps you out of the trance he’s put you in. You’re in-and-out of your loops when you two talk over voice call, your eyes piercing into him, trying to capture his essence into the back of your mind.

You bite your lip and curse yourself internally. There was no scrap paper lying around, and your sketchbook was laying on your bed. Deeming too suspicious to go and get it right now, you decide you’re better off trying to memorize what Ronin looks like.

When, at last, he ends the video call, you scramble for a mechanical pencil and hit your bed with a loud thump. Your hand moves on its own, drawing quick strokes in an almost-obsessive manner. You draw Ronin with such precision that you can’t comprehend that you just met him 15 minutes ago.

His eyes, his hair, the way he holds himself tried and true, his pride, his ego, his esotericism—you’ve captured it all so perfectly, you’ve captured him so perfectly.

You need more.

Days, weeks pass and you two talk more often, truths are told and dares are done, and you’ve never gotten a bad case of artist’s block since you’ve seen him. Ronin haunted your every thought. Your sketchbook couldn’t keep up with you, now half-filled with him, ranging from simple doodles to full-on full body drawings.

It’s become a habit for your hand to move across the page, fleeting yet full with passion, as you watch him through his web camera. Your eyes dart between him and your sketchbook, subconsciously biting your lip whenever figuring out how to portray him in all his rottenness.

“Y’know darl’, if I hadn’t known any better, I’d say you’re a little too quiet right now.” Ronin mutters, eyes half-hooded with a smirk on his face. “Plannin’ my death, aren’t ya? In that little book’a yours?”

His expression shifts. It’s dark and devious and you can tell he’s expecting a certain answer from you.

“I’m just bringing you to life, Ronin.” You retort, a small smile on your face. It masks your emotions. He sees right through it.

You hear him chuckle, it’s short-lived, which is a good thing. You’ve surprised him with your answer, kept him on his toes for six months. In this dance with the devil, you two prowl on each other’s every move—every step, every turn and every dip—and if you’re obsessed with him, he returns the favor and adores you with his bleeding heart.

You’re sure Ronin’s aware of how infatuated you are with him. It’s no secret, especially when he asks you about how your book’s going and he taunts you; rambling about how he’s hacked into your computer and read the copy you sent to your editor, and teases you when the main character’s a little too much like him, sinful and decaying, the devil incarnate.

Uptown has an alley they call Purgatory. Your heartbeat’s erratic in your chest as you turn the junction to enter the deserted lane. It smells heavily like iron, but you don’t shy away from it. The half-empty sketchbook rests under your arm, waiting for a butcher—the Butcher—to spill blood all over its pages.

“So, we meet!” Your head turns to find the voice, the very same voice you’ve been listening to for the past few months, bedeviling your dreams and tainting your pen. Ronin’s just—no, more—he’s more enchanting in real life than he could ever be over video call.

Your heart stutters in your chest and you stumble over your words, and he laughs, he laughs.

“D’aw. Devil got your tongue, darling?” he sneers, enclosing you against the stone wall. He’s heavenly, you think to yourself, clutching your sketchbook tighter in your arms. In all his omniscience, Ronin doesn’t miss it.

He whispers, it’s a song for the half-damned—for you. “What’cha got over there? ‘s it a gift, an offering, for me?”

You grit your teeth, and he knows he’s right. “Why did you invite me to the server?” You ask, diverting his attention elsewhere. There’s a need inside you to just observe him a little bit more. This meeting in Purgatory is beneficial, after all. If you got out of here alive, if you played by a serial killer’s rules, you’ve granted yourself Lucifer, deliciously tempting and in all his glory. You two waltz in each other’s palms, waiting to see who offers the forbidden fruit to the other first.

“I did it for you,” began Ronin, body relaxing, “You were starving, so I gave you insatiability.” His eyes are dark, darker than they could ever be. You’re lost in them, a sea of black, the constellation of the Crux in the night sky.

“You wanted inspiration, so I became your muse.” Your eyes follow his finger as Ronin gestures to your sketchbook. He knew. You knew he knew.

He shifts, bringing his face closer to yours, hiding you from the outside world, trapping you in his Garden of Eden. “You wanted love, darlin’, so I gave you love.”

You don’t wait for him to finish. Your lips crash into his—wanting and wanton, reckless abandon—and he kisses you back, exactly how you wanted him to. The Devil delivered, and who are you to bite the hand that feeds your hunger?

When his hands ghost over the sketchbook, you let them. Gently, he pries it from your arms that had once kept your secret safe. You miss his kiss when he pulls away, but you’re intent on watching him, seeing his expression when he realizes that you two are woven from the same thread, built from the same stone—the similar atrocity of romance.

His back slides against the wall, hitting the ground with a grunt as he sits on the pavement. You do the same, scooching over so your sides are touching. He doesn’t protest when you rest your head on his shoulder.

Ronin flips through the pages. There’s no emotion in his face, a hand over his tightly closed mouth, but you can see it in his eyes, a mix of mutual understanding and complete ecstasy.

On the page is a full-body drawing of him. Ronin sits on a throne of skulls and bones, his shadow forming devil horns and angel wings. There’s an inscription on the base of the pedestal, read “prince of darkness.”

The next page is a combination of doodles of him. Your hand against his face, cupping his cheeks. His lips kissing your knuckles. The muscles on his back. The look of love in his snark.

When Ronin reaches the current end of the book, he’s met with a twisted illustration. His jaw is open uncharacteristically wide as he holds a human heart above his mouth, ready to devour it. The blood drips all over his face, all over his tongue as he squeezes the organ in his hands.

He bites his lower lip, running his teeth over it. A shit-eating grin is present on Ronin’s face as he huffs out a small laugh. “Are ya obsessed with me or somethin’?”

You laugh. It mimics his—deranged and sweet, a serial killer’s.

“Aren’t you?”

FINALLY GOT SOMETHING OUT AFTER LIKE A WEEK OF WRITERS BLOCK!! HOPE U GUYS ENJOY!!!

#killer chat #killer chat ronin #ronin beaufort #kc #kc ronin #ronin #fanfic #killer chat visual novel #killer chat vn #ronin x reader #ronin beaufort x reader #asks open #ask me anything #ask #send asks #answered asks

73 notes · View notes

yukibunnii · 1 year ago

Text

scara college au ! ݁ ˖๋ ࣭‹3 ⭑

(compsci major!scara & fine arts major!reader)

this is my first time writing,, pls go easy on me😭n im literally doing this while paintingggg

♡ collegestudent!scara who is also your.. really cold roommate that's a compsci major.

♡ collegestudent!scara whose first impression on you was that he didn't like you, due to the cold and stoic expression that was always on his face. and the way he talked to you at first as if you annoyed him just by breathing.

♡ collegestudent!scara who eventually warms up to your soft personality and doesn't seem as cold as before. he now accompanies you everywhere. even to your favorite café.

♡ collegestudent!scara who has a completely different music and fashion taste from yours.

♡ collegestudent!scara who used to hate being called 'kuni' by you but had warmed up to it by now. he knows something's wrong when you don't call him that.

♡ collegestudent!scara who stays up late often and then gets sick as a result, so you have to take care of him every time. he throws a lot of cuss words at you but you know deep down he appreciates you. he actually really loves your cooking.

♡ collegestudent!scara who also scolds you whenever you stay up late sketching or painting, dragging you harshly to your bed to tuck you in. yet it's somehow okay when he stays up late?

♡ collegestudent!scara who always picks you up after your classes.

♡ collegestudent!scara who has made it a habit to have late night visits to the nearby convenience store with you. he makes sure to stay by your side at all times.

♡ collegestudent!scara who comforts you by either taking you to your favorite café and buying your favorite drink & pastry . . or taking you to an art museum/art store even though he's not interested in art.

♡ collegestudent!scara who always complains about having to accompany you to the art supplies store but goes anyway.

♡ collegestudent!scara who watches you paint when he's bored and has nothing else to do.

♡ collegestudent!scara who once heard people gossiping about you in the hallway and sent a death glare towards them that scared them away. luckily he didn't punch them.

♡ collegestudent!scara who so obviously has a crush on you that his friends tease him about it, and even has a gallery in his phone full of candid pictures of you. some of them were sent to you and were put on your instagram story.

♡ collegestudent!scara who absolutely adores your artworks but never shows it. he once found multiple sketches of him when he flipped through one of your many sketchbooks. he definitely didn't take a picture of that.

♡ collegestudent!scara who will and always admire you, from afar or not.

♡ collegestudent!scara whose favorite artist will always be you.

♡ collegestudent!scara whose soft spot will always be you.<3

755 notes · View notes

chocochannie · 2 years ago

Text

Soft touches

☆Theodore Nott x gn!reader, fluff

English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there are any mistakes!!

It was friday evening. You were heading to the library as usual. At this time, there weren't many students, so you could peacefully read. Stepping into a big dark room with many shelves filled with old books and candles flying everywhere, you smelled a familiar scent. God, how you loved this place.

As you sat at your usual seat in the back of the library and opened your book, you heard footsteps getting closer to you. You looked up and saw Theodore Nott.

You didn't talk much to him, but you were crushing on him for ages but wouldn't admit it, even to your best friend or even yourself. He was more like the quiet type of person. He didn't speak much, and you always wondered why he was friends with Draco and Mattheo. They were the complete opposite, loud, outgoing, mean, and always partying. Theo is kindhearted, he may seem scary and imitating, but that's far from the truth.

"Hi, is this seat taken?" He said, pointing to the seat beside you.

The library is almost empty, why would he want to sit here?

"Not at all, go ahead." You said slightly smiling at him.

He sat down and took out a sketchbook from his bag. You didn't know he liked to draw. You tried to subtly look at his drawings as he flipped the pages.

The sketchbook was filled with beautiful landscapes, animals, and portraits of people you've never seen before but also of his friends, even some teachers. They were mostly drawn with pencils, but some of them, especially landscapes, were painted. They were absolutely beautiful. You've been so caught up in admiring his work that you didn't see that he noticed this.

"Well.. I know it might sound weird, but could you pose for me? I mean, it's totally fine if not, but you look so pretty right now, and I'd love to capture this.. gosh, that sounded creepy, I'm sorry." He said.

It really caught you off guard but didn't fail to make you blush slightly.

"Don't be sorry. Thank you, and yeah, I could do that. Should I move?" You said hoping he wouldn't notice how nervous you are.

"Not really, just do this..." he said, taking your hand in his and moving it to your face. His cold finger tips brushing against your cheek.

His hand was so soft. His gorgeous eyes were looking straight into yours. How could you be so madly in love with him?

You didn't move a muscle as he started drawing you. His blue eyes scanning every inch of you. The only thing you could hear was the rain outside. You were as focused on him as he was on you. His dark curls falling onto his forehead, his pale skin that reminded you of the moon, his sleepy bright eyes, his soft pink lips, his long, skinny fingers. All this made you fall for him, he was breathtaking.

He finally finished and showed you the drawing.

"Here it is. It's not perfect but I hope you'll like it" he said handing it to you.

It was marvelous, he drew you exactly how you look like, added every little detail.

"You can keep it, sorry I have to go, I promised Draco I'll help him with his assignment." Right after he spoke, he rushed out of the library. You didn't even have time to thank him.

Sighing you stood up, but the piece of paper fell. You picked it up and saw text on the back.

"Would you like to go to hogsmeade on a date with me? I think im falling for you more every day."

You also think you're falling for him more everyday, if that's even possible.

Masterlist

2K notes · View notes

hxlxnaaa · 4 months ago

Note

hiiiii, i love your fics soososososo much

im a uni student for art and i was wondering if you could make a fic for rafayel comforting reader on art block ? i think he would be really sweeet about it.

thank u :3

𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐥 ─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─ 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

★ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: when faced with the frustrations regarding a lack of creativity and ideas, rafayel is quick to help you come up with a solution, and without realizing, becomes the solution himself.

★ 𝐜𝐰/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: first person pov, rafayel being proud of his gf, just really sweet, references to his anecdote 'addictive pain' (just mc taking a few art classes)

★ 𝐰𝐜: 1.5k

★ 𝐚/𝐧: i'm so sorry this took so long!! this is such a cute concept and tysm for the request, rafayel would fs be so sweet n nice ab his cutie struggling w art block. i hope you like it :,)

Frustration was creeping up through my throat, strangling the air out of me. Art was supposed to be my escape, but I had hit a literal wall. With balancing work and a social life, I had hardly found time to dedicate to my first love, and now it seemed as if all creativity had left my mind in an instant.

Tossing the sketchbook across the room that only held scribbles and scratches, I puffed out my cheeks, pressing my fists into the couch.

‘You’re better than this,’ I thought, ‘art is your passion.’

I picked up my phone, dialing Rafayel's number. It would be helpful to take a break, as I had been sitting around for hours crumpling up paper after paper, not a fruitful idea in sight. While I of course admired him as a person, I also looked up to him as an artist, even if I was often too shy to show my own talents to him.

“Hey cutie,” Rafayel's sweet voice came over the line, “whats up?”

“What’re you doing?” I hoped he wasn’t busy, cause I was about 30 seconds away from intruding into his house.

“Just working on this painting Thomas is on me about, why? Thinking about me?”

“Do you care if I come over?”

“That’s a silly question, I’ll see you when you get here.”

Click.

I rolled my eyes, ‘Yeah. Thanks.’

Sprawled out on his couch, I watched Rafayel drag his paintbrush across the canvas with little effort. I was jealous of how natural it all came to him, reminiscing on a time I was able to convey everything I pleased with that much grace, able to create anything with ease. Now my talent just sat in a corner, covered in dust, and I wasn’t even sure how to use it anymore.

“Raf.” I sat up, throwing one of the brushes lying around at his back.

He hummed a response, not bothering to turn around to look at me.

“When you run out of ideas, get art block per say, what do you do?”

“Sit in the bathtub, you know this.” Rafayel nodded his head towards the empty tub lying in the center of the room. “Yeah, but,” I walked up behind him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, “what about it brings you ideas?”

He shrugs, placing a kiss on my forearm draped loosely around him, “The water always brings me ideas. It’s easier coming up with things in a place where you’re comfortable.” Rafayel pays me a grin, “That’s why I come up with my best works when you’re around.”

“If you had to give advice to someone struggling with a lack of creativity, where would you tell them to start?” I stared longingly at the painting he was working on, craving the urge I once knew, the urge to create.

“Is that someone you?”

I flick his head, “If it was, would the advice change?”

He thinks for a moment, “If it were anyone else, I’d tell them to get a book of art prompts or something.” Rafayel cranes his head back to look at me, “You? I’d tell you to paint something you love.”

“Something I love?”

“Yeah, like food or a wanderer, I dunno. Your passions lie in what you love, so creativity for you will start there.”

Something I love.

I sat surrounded by old sketches and paintings I had made and kept throughout the years, and thought about what Rafayel said.

“Your passions lie in what you love, so creativity for you will start there.”

There were connections between all the pieces, and that connection was that they were of all the things I loved at some point or another. My favorite flower, the stray cat I had rescued growing up, Gran and Caleb, cherry blossoms when they first bloom; things that brought me joy and warmed my heart.

‘Okay,’ I thought to myself, tracing my fingers over all the papers, ‘easy enough. Just draw something I love.’

The sketchbook in front of me sat blank, just like my mind.

Something I love, something I love, something I love…

It started with a jawline, a mess of hair, wild eyes; then the sketch turned into an idea, and I was grabbing my watercolor paper and paint.

Heather purple hair, kaleidoscope eyes, fair skin adorned with carefully placed freckles and moles as if an angel had kissed him themself. His smile, I needed to capture his smile. His rosy cheeks.

I finished the painting, and grabbed another paper. His home, I needed to paint his home. The canvases that littered his space, the bathtub, the statues and vases, the tall windows that showed the sea outside.

Another paper, another paper, another paper.

The brush glided across the page as if unstoppable, using the same precision I used to fight wanderers, the trained eye, fast reflexes and grace. His hands, him painting, his laugh, everything I had memorized about him over time turned into the art that I had been waiting to spill from my mind.

Something I love.

Rafayel.

“Did you ever find that creative spark you were looking for?”

I turned around from cooking to look at Rafayel, who was standing at the island of my kitchen watching me work. His pretty purple hair was messed up from me earlier picking paint out of it, and his shirt loosely unbuttoned at the collar. With asking the question, his eyes glittered mischievously.

Rafayel himself was not the painter, he was the art.

“Yeah, I suppose I did.” I shrugged, going back to fixing dinner.

“I didn’t know you liked to do art,” He maneuvered his way next to me, poking my side, “why didn’t you tell me?”

Liked? No, art was something I adored. It was my security, an outlet. Even when everything was going wrong, my life in shambles, I always had the ability and opportunity to create. It was stability, it was love, my life and passion. I just needed to find it again.

I poked Rafayel back, “It was never something I thought I needed to share with you, plus I had gotten away from it for a while. Lost my spark.”

“Now I want to see!” Rafayel groaned, pouting, “Are you any good?”

“I took a few classes in university for fun, but not nearly as good as you.”

He went still for a second, “Art is subjective...So please show me?”

“Go into my room and my recent stuff should be in the folder sitting on my desk,” I pointed my spoon in his face, “but no messing around in there, you look at the folder and get out.”

“Yes ma’am.”

With that he descended down the hallway, and I heard the soft creak of my door opening. For a few minutes, the only sound in the apartment was the quiet sizzle of the food in the pan.

Then, it was too quiet for too long.

“Rafayel, you better not be in there snooping!” I shouted, only to get no response. A few more seconds passed by before I called out to him again, “Raf?”

“Why are you a hunter?”

I jumped, startled by his sudden appearance behind me. He was clutching the pieces I had done of him, looking down at them and back at me with awe and adoration. His fingers danced gently over the paper, analyzing every detail.

“What do you mean?” I frowned, his question catching me off guard.

“These are…I don’t even have words. They’re amazing.” Rafayel continued to stare at the watercolor paintings in his hands, flipping through them carefully.

A soft laugh left my lips, “You just like them cause they’re of you.” The compliment didn’t fall on deaf ears however, and my cheeks turned pink with his praise. For one of the greatest painters in our era to think my work is ‘amazing’? Yeah, that felt nice.

Rafayel smirked, “Well, yes. I think that adds to it.” He laid out all of the papers across the island, “I just don’t understand why you didn’t pursue this, why only take a few classes in university instead of doing it full time. You have a real talent…”

“That's a big compliment coming from the Rafayel.”

“You could do as well as me if you put this out there.” He waved one of the pieces in my face, before quickly pulling away, “No, actually, I want all of these. I’m going to hang them up when I get home.”

“You gonna pay for them?” I crossed my arms, trying to act tough. Grinning, Rafayel wrapped an arm around my shoulder and waved his hand around as if gesturing for me to see the world, “See? You’ve already got that art business mindset down, I can see the vision for your future from here.”

He looked down at me with a sweet, sincere glint in his eyes, “But really, I’m glad you found that creativity you were looking for. I would hate for you to abandon something like this.”

“It was your help,” I put my head on his chest, “you told me to draw something I love.”

Rafayel pinched my cheek, “Well I’ll always be willing to be your muse, cutie.”

#rafayel x reader #rafayel x you #rafayel x y/n #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel #l&ds rafayel #lnds rafayel #lads rafayel #lads #lnds #lnds smut #lnds fluff #lnds angst #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel smut #rafayel fluff #rafayel x mc #love and deep space #hxlxnaaawrites

143 notes · View notes

bluemoviegirl · 3 months ago

Text

UNDER THE SAME SUN CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 1 HERE

joel miller x reader

tw: death (ah oh)

summary: maybe you didn’t hate Joel before, but you sure do now. And he hates you just as much.

wc: 5k

a/n: im really excited to turn this into a full story!! ive got so many ideas lined up. again, please do comment wether you liked it, what you liked etc. it makes my day!! also cant believe i got like 80 likes on chapter 1! i still have no idea how tumblr works lol

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

Chapter 2.

It’s Thursday, two days since you went on that repair job with Joel Miller. You had thought about it a handful of times, thought about the sassier replies you could’ve given to his sassy answers, rolling your eyes every time you came up with something better.

You’re sitting on your bed with your sketchbook on your lap but your pencil is just hovering over it. Your mind is everywhere but the paper. Focus, just focus and draw something you like! Easy. Easy….. Nope. Nothing.

Instead, a different idea pops into your head. As you walk into your living room, you notice how bleak it really is. Even with the sun shining in on it, it’s just not you. At least not the you that you used to be. Maybe some paint will do it some good? Your fingers start tracing along the walls. They’re so empty. Simple plain white walls, not even a single frame hanging on them.

As if the inspiration has taken over, you start sketching on the walls. They’re simple abstract lines and shapes, simple flowers making their way through it.

After a while, you step back and look. You seem satisfied as there’s a smile on your face you can’t seem to wipe off.

You need some fresh air, you’ve been cooped up in your apartment and it’s now around 4pm.

After the sketching, the motivation to get it done tonight is too big to ignore. So you’re headed to the Workshop where they’d probably have some unused colors laying around. You put on your boots and coat and shut the door behind you.

The feel of the outside world is different from the stillness of your apartment. A sharp chill clings to your skin, slipping through the gaps in your coat. The cold air tugs at you, waking your senses, making you all too aware of the space around you.

By the time you leave the workshop, you’re lugging three paint cans—deep blue, light blue, and a pale yellow—and your arms are already burning. You jammed a couple of brushes into your coat pockets, their handles sticking out awkwardly. The buckets knock against your legs as you walk, heavier than you anticipated. Every few minutes, you have to stop and switch arms.

What the hell were you thinking?

“Y’need any help with that?” You hear a voice behind you. It takes you a moment to register that they’re talking to you. When you turn and see who it is, relief washes over you.

“Tommy,” you exhale, dropping the buckets onto the snow-covered ground. “Yes, please.”

He huffs a laugh and steps forward, easily scooping up two of the buckets. “Damn, you weren’t kidding. These things are heavy as hell.”

“Thank you, I was seriously about to just leave ‘m there.” You chuckle as you pick up the last bucket. “To my place, please.” You say nudging your head. You were about a street away from your apartment.

“It’s no problem, couldn’t let you bust your ass like that.” The two of you start walking, the sound of crunching snow filling the silence. He gives you a sideways glance. “Not that it’s my business, but… what exactly are you doin’ with all this paint?”

“I’m going to paint my walls.” You say, kicking a ball of snow in front of you. “Like, a mural kind of. Not just paint the whole walls.�� You sounded a bit unsure, you didn’t ask anyone for permission but you figured you didn’t have to right? Now talking to Tommy has you a bit nervous.

“Oh that’s cool! A mural.. I didn’t know ya were a painter.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “I mean, I wouldn’t call myself a painter. But I like drawing. Figured I’d try.” You smirk. “Worst case, I’ll just paint over it.”

Tommy chuckles. “Well, if it turns out bad, just tell people it’s modern art. Folks’ll eat that up.”

You snort. “Noted.”

“So, is it big? Like, a whole wall kinda thing?”

“Yeah, pretty much the entire side of the living room wall.” You tuck your hair behind your ear. “I already sketched it out. Hoping to get it done today.” A pause. “Wanna see?”

“Yeah, I’m real curious.”

“It’s nothing crazy, a toddler could probably draw it.” You say, you’ve always been nervous about showing your art to others, even if it was just a sketch.

“I’m sure it’s good.” Tommy replies.

As you both enter the apartment, Tommy sets the paint buckets down inside and you remove the paint brushes from your pockets.

“Well look at that, that looks great already.” Tommy immediately says, his eyes actually lighting up a bit. You tug at your earlobe, at the little hoop earring you had in. “Really? You’re just saying that.”

He turns at you as you say that and his brows pulled a bit together with a smile at his lips. “I’m serious!” He turns back to the wall. “With the paint n’ all, I can see it lookin’ real nice.”

You smiled a bit wider, his remark giving you a bit of a confidence boost. “Thanks Tommy. Oh, would you like something to drink?” You quickly say, having forgotten he’s a guest in your apartment and also someone who just helped you carry those paint buckets.

Tommy looks at the time and back at you. “Oh no I’m okay, needda get going. Thank you though.” He makes his way to the door and turns around one more time before shutting it. “It’s gonna look great!”

You chuckle to yourself as you watch him close the door. He was being very cheerful, which influenced the way you were feeling too.

Time to bring this wall to life.

Okay, it’s been three hours. You’re covered in paint and the wall isn’t even halfway done.. You look at the wall, you’re just one woman trying to paint the entire wall and having set the deadline for yourself to today. Come on, set some realistic expectations, you literally haven’t painted since forever.

You deserve a drink. You can’t even be bothered with a change of clothes, the paint stained clothes will have to do.

As you enter the bar, the familiar mix of voices and clinking sounds of glasses immediately puts you at ease. Like it’s a little approval of you wanting to relax. You take your usual spot at the bar and Knox makes his way over to you from behind the bar.

“You’ve been painting?” He asks you as he leans his palm on the wood, glancing at your clothes.

You look down at your clothes, already forgotten you wore these clothes. “Don’t even mention it, I’ve been painting my ass off for hours and it’s not even close to finished.” You sigh and smile to Knox. Knox laughs, wiping down the bar. "Sounds like the canvas put up a hell of a fight. Want me to pour one out for your sanity?"

“Don’t have to ask me twice.” You say as you look around as to who else is here. You hadn’t realized it but Tommy and Joel were there too, sitting in a booth across from the room. They hadn’t seen you and you felt a bit silly for being covered in paint now.

Knox slides over the drink to you and you two catch up about your current ‘paint project’. “Sounds like to me you just need another set of hands.” He states.

“Ugh yeah maybe. But I don’t really know if I want to saddle anyone with this task. I want to finish it tomorrow so I just have it done. Otherwise my heads just going to keep spinning on and on about it.” You bring the glass up to your lips as you watch Knox just chuckle back at you.

“Knox, a beer and a whiskey will ya?” You hear a gruff voice a couple feet from you. It’s a recognizable voice and you look over to see Joel standing at the bar.

You’re subtly (not as subtle as you think) staring him up and down, you knew many women around here thought he was a catch. You could understand why, he doesn’t speak much, but when he does, his voice is low and rough, his jaw is strong, lined with just enough scruff to make you wonder how it’d feel against your ski-

“You’re starin’.” Joel says, without even glancing your way. Not expecting that, you choke a bit on the sip of beer you had just taken, quickly swallowing down another cough and your face immediately reddens. “I was not.” You reply quickly. You notice the smallest glance to you before his eyes turn back to Knox, who has two drinks in his hands.

You focus back on your drink, immediately starting to daydream again, you could always get so caught up in that. Your mind was thinking about the wall, and what the finished result would look like. You could picture yourself bundled up on the couch and staring at the art you’ve made.

“Here ya go, Joel.” Knox says, handing over the drinks as Joel nods and is about to walk back to Tommy.

“Actually Joel-“ Knox says as Joel stops walking and turns his head to Knox.

Joel had barely taken a sip of his whiskey when Knox leaned on the counter, smirking like he had something planned.

“You busy tomorrow?” Knox asked, way too casual.

Joel gave him a look. “Why?”

Knox shrugged, wiping down the bar like he wasn’t watching for a reaction. “Just got someone lookin’ for an extra set of hands. Figured you might be free.”

Joel exhaled, already tired of whatever Knox was up to. “What kinda work?”

“Painting.”

Joel huffed. “Pass.”

Knox grinned like he expected that. “Didn’t think you were the type to turn down a favor.”

“That depends on who’s askin’.”

Knox only smiled at that, tapping his fingers against the counter. “Well, let’s just say it ain’t anyone you gotta worry about.” He slid Joel’s drink back toward him. “And if you’re feelin’ charitable, all you gotta do is show up tomorrow.”

Joel eyed him suspiciously, but Knox had already moved on, pouring a drink for someone else like he hadn’t just set him up.

Suddenly two hands shake Joel’s shoulders. “What’s taking so long?” Tommy says.

“Knox asked me a favor.” Joel turns to Tommy, nudging his hands off of his shoulders.

“What favor?” “To help someone paint.” Joel huffed again, as if it was so crazy for Joel to paint.

“Paint? Who needs help paintin-“ Tommy’s eyes shoot to you, you were completely oblivious as you had zoned out but Tommy obviously remembered helping you carry paint, and the fact you were currently covered in paint. He grins and you could almost see a lightbulb lighting up above his head. “You should help Knox out. Come on!” Tommy says, taking the beer from Joel’s hand.

Joel’s brows knit together. “What?” “Come onnn, I know you’re free tomorrow.” All Tommy could think about was that this could finally be the opportunity for Joel and you to tolerate each other. This way Tommy wouldn’t need to find someone else for the repairs. Plus, Joel could use some womanly influence in his life.

“Hm.”

-----

The next morning, you’re up and ready to start painting again. You didn’t bother changing out of your sleep clothes—a big sweater you cut the neckline off, some sweats and a pair of fluffy socks.— You still remember the day you found these socks two years ago, buried in the back of some abandoned store. It had felt like a gift from heaven.

You grab a paintbrush, dipping it into the soft blue before bringing it to the wall—

Knock, knock.

You weren’t expecting anyone.

When you open the door, you’re even more surprised by who standing there. And by the looks of it, he’s… also surprised?

“Joel?” You say, the paintbrush still dangling between your fingers as the cold breeze from outside makes it way in.

The cold morning air seeps into your apartment, making you shiver. Joel blinks at you, eyes flicking from your oversized sweater to the paintbrush still dangling between your fingers.

“Wrong house,” he mutters, already turning to leave.

But then his eyes catch on the paintbrush again, and something clicks. He exhales sharply, rolling his eyes. “Son of a bitch.”

You frown. “What?”

“Knox and Tommy,” he grumbles. “Set me up.”

Your confusion deepens. “Set you up for what?”

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m here to help you paint.”

You blink. “To help me paint?”

“Yep.”

“I didn’t ask for help.”

“I know.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then Joel shakes his head, already stepping back. “I’ll see you Thursday.”

“Wait!” You’re not even sure why you stopped him. But something about the idea of having him here, working on this with you, doesn’t seem so bad. Maybe Joel wasn’t so terrible. And maybe—just maybe—this would make the upcoming job together more bearable.

“I could use the help,” you say quickly. “There’s… uh, some corners and edges I can’t reach.”

Bullshit, you’re tall and capable.

Joel sighs again, like he’s already regretting this, but after a moment, he steps inside and shrugs off his coat.

Now you’re standing in the middle of your living room, suddenly hyper-aware of how awkward this is.

Joel glances at the wall, then at the paint. “So?”

“Right, uhm.” You hand him some paintbrushes and point to the paint. “It’s simple, just paint over the lines.” He nods.

"Let’s get this over with."

The room settles into silence as you both work. Minutes pass, the only sound being the soft scrape of bristles against the wall. You don’t mind the quiet, but it feels too heavy with Joel. Too thick.

So, instinctively, you start humming to yourself. Knockin’ on heavens door..

A few seconds later, Joel glances at you. “Bob Dylan?”

His voice startles you just slightly, and you glance over. “Yeah. Bob Dylan. You like him?”

He dips his brush into the paint again, nodding. “Mhm.” After another moment of silence, Joel speaks up again. “You sketched all this?” His tone is unreadable.

“Yeah, ya like?” You smile, hoping for a tiny bit of approval.

He just grunts. “’S alright.”

“I mean, I’ll take it.” Suddenly you feel kinda silly at the outfit you’re wearing. It’s as if he could read your mind cause he’s giving you a once-over before turning back to the wall.

You fiddle with your locket as you take a step back from the wall, checking out the way the paint is looking so far, but also quietly admiring how good Joel looks with a paint brush.

“What’s your favorite color?” You blurt out.

Joel thinks for a moment. “Green.” You both say at the same time, his eyes snapping to yours.

“I figured you’d be a green person.” You grin to yourself, feeling smart.

“What does that even mean?”

You shrug. “Nothing... Nothing at all.” You chuckle.

"You say somethin’ like that, you gotta explain it." He lowers the paintbrush, eyes meeting yours.

"Nope. You’ll just have to live with the mystery, Miller..”

"That’s ridiculous."

"Maybe." You chuckle as you continue painting. Why was this Joel Miller not that bad? It’s like his guard is let down just a little bit and he tolerated you just a bit more. And damn you enjoyed it. If it stayed like this, repair jobs would actually be fun.

After a while, you guys are done. You can’t believe it, but you are. To your surprise the wall looks.. great. The shades of blue made a beautiful pattern across the wall, the flowers being accented with the yellow really pulling it together. This felt like it could actually be your home.

Maybe you guys hadn’t chatted a lot but it did feel like you booked some progress with this potential friendship.

You wipe your face, not realizing the blue paint you’re smearing across your cheek. “I can’t believe we finished it.” You say as you look at Joel, who’s put down the paintbrush.

“Don’t think I’ll pick up another paintbrush for a while after this.” He says, his voice having a light huff to it. “Not exactly how I wanted to spend my morning.”

“You’ll live.” You reply, not bothered by his snarky comments.

You chuckle quietly, Joel having somewhat of a sense of humor made him come across more human instead of just the stoic guy he acted like. It was obvious to you that there was so much more behind the walls he put up, not that you would ever push him to talk about it. You barely knew the man.

Joel rubs his jaw as he turns to you. “I oughtta get goin’.”

“Oh yeah, of course.” You say as you follow him to the front door. He puts on his coat and walks onto the porch, turning to you again. You leaned against the doorframe. “…Thank you.. for today. Even though you were set up to coming here.” You grin as you look down to your feet before meeting his eyes again.

“Yeah well, had a free day. Don’t mention it.” He suddenly steps closer to you. Your breath hitches ever so slightly, which you quickly try to control again but are unable to when he raises his hand to your jaw.

His palm is warm, calloused, steady. His thumb swipes along your cheek, smearing away a streak of dried paint. It’s such a simple movement, but it knocks the breath right out of you. Your eyes widen just a little bit, Joel noticed, thinking he may have overstepped. He’s quick to retreat his hand and tuck it in his jean pocket.

“Some paint on your cheek.” He says, clearing his throat. You quickly nod.

“I’ll see you Thursday.” He says.

“Right, yeah. Thursday.” You manage to say before swallowing. Why did that just make you feel a bit flustered? Quit it, you’re desperate.

When Thursday finally rolls around, you find yourself lingering near the horses earlier than needed, arms crossed against the cold. Dread curls in your stomach at the thought of another trek into the woods, but—much to your own annoyance—the idea of spending the day with Joel Miller doesn’t seem quite as bad.

Which is probably why, for some unknown reason, you decided to put in extra effort today.

You had worn your hair down (something you never did when on the job). A nicer coat too, one that wasn’t as ripped, even though you’d changed four times before finally just going with it. Stupid. Dumb. And yet, here you were, tugging at the sleeves like it might somehow make a difference.

You scowl at yourself. It wasn’t for Joel. Not really. He didn’t even like you.

…Okay, maybe it was a little for Joel. But who could blame you? The world had already ended once—what harm was there in wanting to look a little nice for someone still standing in it? Even if that someone was someone who actually disliked you.

On the way to the outpost, everything was the same as last week. Not much for talking. Frankly, you didn’t know what to talk about. “The paint dried nicely.” You spoke. ‘The paint dried nicely.’ ??? Get a grip! You wanted to smack your forehead, but were able to resist. All Joel did was give you a little nod.

When you two finally arrived at the outpost, you tugged again at your sleeves. Sure, the coat looked nicer but it didn’t even fit well. It left your hands cold and you stupidly didn’t bring any gloves.

Again, as if Joel can read your mind, he throws some gloves at you.

Your head snaps up at him and he’s just stood there, waiting for you to respond. “You don’t have to-“ You say, looking at his bare hands. “M’ fine.” Joel said before heading inside of the outpost. Your lips parted, as if searching for words, before closing again.

The repair went somewhat smoothly, now that the floorboards had been removed, it was time to put in some new planks. Joel would saw them and put them into the floor. Your duty was to hammer them down with the nails Tommy had brought by to you earlier that week.

You were doing a decent job, the nails going in smoothly. You could tell Joel was satisfied because no snarky remarks were being made.

You sat on the floor for a second, admiring your nail-skills. “Honestly, I’m doing amazing.” You say grinning. “Like, I could make this my thing. Nailing nails. The nailer.” You said, imaginging people coming to you to nail things down.

You chuckle at yourself.

Joel just rolled his eyes over to you and back to the wood. “Good luck with that. The nailer.” He mumbles as he shook his head at the fact you didn’t even realize what that sounded like.

“So what did you do before the world ended? Like, job-wise?” You say, finally wanting to start a conversation. He finishes his sawing before answering. “Contracting.”

“Contracting? No wonder Tommy wanted you for this job.” You say before ramming in another nail, completely missing it the first time as you were too busy looking at Joel. Oops.

Joel saw and just shook his head lightly. “You?”

“Oh, I was still in high school.” You felt a bit dumb saying that, like you were bringing attention to the ‘little’ age gap the two of you had. Not that it was relevant.

He scoffed and parted his lips to start another sentence before being interrupted by a noise coming from outside. His eyes snap to the door and he puts down the saw, immediately going for his rifle.

“An infected?” You whispered as you stood up, also grabbing your rifle. Ignore the fact that you’d shot a rifle maybe twice. He just brings a finger to his lips, telling you to be quiet. You quietly make your way next to him, your heart racing.

You guys step outside, the snow muffling your footsteps just a bit. The snow was falling down pretty heavily, making it harder to actually see anything.

But then Joel sees it, he holds up his hand, motioning for you to stop walking. There’s a man, just behind one of the trees, gripping a knife. He’s holding it up halfway, as if he’s unsure to surrender or not when we make eye-contact.

You and Joel both raise your rifle.

“Step out, now.” Joel raises his voice. “Now.”

The man steps out just a bit, slowly, bundled in layers of dirty clothing, fingers stiff with cold, face hollow with exhaustion. “D-don’t shoot, alright?!” The man says, his voice rough.

“You alone?” Joel’s voice was flat.

The man nodded quickly—too quickly. “Yes! I—I swear to God. I was just looking for shelter. It’s real cold!”

Joel’s rifle never wavered.

“Bullshit.”

The man’s breath hitched. “I—”

“I see your tracks,” Joel cut him off. “Heavy. Means you’ve been carrying.” He gestured his rifle toward the man’s feet. “Who were you with?”

“No one!” The man shook his head wildly, his voice rising, frantic. “I mean—I left them. They’re miles back—I swear.”

You look up at Joel as you’re not even really pointing your rifle at the man anymore. “Joel, he’s obviously alone.” You say to him.

He doesn’t reply, his eyes focused on the man.

“Joel?” What is he going to do? The man just had a knife, he looked like he hadn’t eaten in days. He didn’t look like a threat. You furrowed your brows, Joel was ignoring you.

You inhaled sharply.

“Joel,” you repeated, quiet but firm. “He isn’t a threat.” You plead.

He ignored you.

The man took a step forward, his eyes darting between you and Joel. “I just want some food man, a place to sleep-“ “Don’t move.” Joel said, firmly. His rifle stayed locked on the man’s chest.

You looked at Joel again and back at the man, your brows furrowing even more. Joel’s acting like you’re not even standing here.

And then—

The man shifted his weight.

Just barely.

Just enough for Joel to react.

The gunshot shattered the silence.

You flinched.

The man dropped his knife. His mouth parted—like he hadn’t fully registered it yet.

Then he collapsed, the red immediately soaking into the snow.

For a second, you couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Your eyes widening as it hit you. Joel just killed that man. Your voice had meant nothing to him.

You turn your head to Joel, your mouth hanging a bit open, eyes widened, brows fully furrowed. He’s just standing there, reloading his rifle as if this was the most casual case in the world.

Joel exhaled, lowering his rifle. He was already stepping toward the body, as if this was justanother chore.

Something in you just snapped.

“What the fuck is wrong with you! He was—he was dropping the knife!” You took a step closer, your breath coming hard and fast. “He was surrendering, Joel!”

Joel didn’t look at you. He crouched down near the body, reaching for the knife still clenched in the man’s lifeless fingers.

All you feel is rage. He just killed that man and now he’s taking the knife as if it’s nothing. “What is wrong with you!” You yell again.

Joel just walked past you back into the outpost.

“He was going to surrender! It’s not like he stood a fucking chance if he would attack!” You yelled at him but he gave no reaction, just packing up his bag.

“I’m talking to you!” You’re about to shove him out of pure rage, but before doing so, he gets grip on your wrist, stopping you. His eyes finally meeting yours. Now he looked at you.

And you hated the look in his eyes.

Not cold. Not regretful.

Just unbothered.

“He was gonna lunge,” Joel muttered, standing. “You didn’t see it.”

“I saw enough, I was there!” she shot back.

Joel scoffed, shaking his head. “No. Youdidn’t.”

All you felt was anger taking you over. “You don’t fucking know that, Joel! He was alone! And you—you just fucking shot him.”

You sounded hysterical. But you didn’t care. It was wrong, Joel was wrong. How could everything escalate this quickly?

Joel’s jaw flexed. “And if I’d hesitated? If he was lying? You’d be the one bleeding out in the snow, not him.”

You let out a harsh, humorlesslaugh. “Jesus Christ—do you even hear yourself?” You gestured at the body still laying in the snow outside of the outpost, your hands shaking. “He was just a guy, Joel. He wasn’t some monster!”

“You’re naive.” Joel just replied. His hand still gripping your wrist tightly. It wasn’t the fact that he called you that, it was the way he said it. With some sort of disgust, contempt. Like he actually despised you for wanting another human being to live. “You don’t get it, you think ‘cause you’ve survived so far you actually know what it’s like out here? You don’t.”

“Fuck you.” You spat, forcing your wrist out of his grip. He didn’t even know you.

“No, fuck you,” he growled. “You still think there’s a choice? That we can afford to wait, or talk, or hesitate?” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “That kinda thinkin’ gets people killed.”

He walked outside, packing his bag onto the horse. You followed after, you weren’t done with this conversation. The way he was giving you no emotion back whatsoever while you were here, losing it, enraged you.

“Does it even bother you?” Your voice rough. You don’t know why you’re as furious as you are. You’ve seen many people die, you’ve been the reason many people had died. Yet the way you were dismissed, the way he was so cold. It triggered your PTSD, reminding you of a man you had tried to have long forgotten.

You step closer, voice sharp: “Who was it?”

His brows pull together, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Who did you lose to make you like this?” you spit. “Your wife? Your kid? Who was it that died and turned you into a heartless asshole?” It wasn’t a long shot, everyone has lost someone in the apocalypse.

Joel goes still.

That’s when you know you hit something.

For the first time, you sees it—just a flicker, barely a second—but it’s real anger, the kind that simmers so deep it could boil over at any second.

He quickly steps closer. Too close. His voice is dangerously low. His hands fist onto your coat collar, pulling you forward.

“Watch your mouth.”

You should stop. You should back down. Reasonable you, non-triggered you, would’ve backed down.

But you don’t.

Instead, you scoff. “Guess I was right, huh?”

And that’s it.

Joel’s jaw clenches so hard you can see the muscle twitch.

“You don’t know a goddamn thing about me,” he growls. “Not a single goddamn thing.” He aggressively lets go of your collar, making you stumble back.

And then he walks off. Just leaves you standing there, the air thick with something neither of them can take back. You drag your hands across your face as you lean back against the wall, wiping away the anger-tears that fell over your cheeks.

God, you feel stupid. Stupid for thinking, even for a second, that this morning—when you stood in front of the mirror smoothing down your hair, buttoning up your nicer coat—meant something. Stupid for thinking maybe today wouldn’t be so bad.

You felt furious, furious that there was a dead man outside the outpost, furious that you had no control over the situation whatsoever. Furious that your words didn’t matter to Joel.

But mostly? You feel humiliated and awful. You know you overstepped. It was a low blow. Especially from you, knowing you’re not too different from Joel at all. But you were still furious, Joel acted in such a cold way, it had made your stomach turn.

And that’s all it took for you to really hate Joel Miller, and the feeling might just be mutual.

#joel miller #joel tlou #pedropascal #the last of us #tlou #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction

52 notes · View notes

skunkes · 2 months ago

Text

watercolor paper experimenting with doodles

Id like to start incorporating watercolor into trad gifts and comms I send to others... but theres a difference in how different watercolor paper take watercolor vs how they take colored pencil, and I like to incorporate both...

Ive drawn cupid smunkers (named such because of the paint color name) on 4 paper types I have (but only showing 3), to try and figure it out. Specifically chose this paint color because its very granulating, and i wanted to see how colored pencil goes over it.

Arches cold press....is very good for laying paint. But not very good for colored pencil at all. I usually incorporate colored pencil into the colored areas, but I didn't dare do so, knowing it would just look as rough as the lineart here does. (This is the laziest cupid smunker i drew LOL i like the chaotic effect that came from doing it quickly) Perhaps this would be ok if im able to master watercolor, so i only incorporate colored pencil in the form of lineart, but right now I really like and almost Need to blend the 2.

canson mixed media paper takes the paint ok-ly. I heart hard watercolor edge! The colored pencil for the lines is Ok, I Suppose, but the texture is far too evident when adding colored pencil to the colored areas....one would have to cover the entire area with it (seen here) because it looks too off and obviously out of place if you just want to add colored pencil to one area....

Arches hot press....i was too scared to play with the granulation here because this paper scares me. This one is arguably the best of the 3 shown but i get Scared to put the paint down because i fight for my life with hot press, and bizarrely enough colored pencil feels strange here too...where cold press grips and doesnt let go, hot press has me struggling to keep line direction and a fine point. You can also see in the arms that adding the colored pencil to a full area still looks....off...! I guess im going to have to keep experimenting.

The paper example im NOT showing is baohong academy. The smunker came out too ugly LMAO. I LOOOOOOVE how paint looks on it. Incredibly bad for colored pencil though, even just for lines, same as arches. Would be better for ink-and-washes but as of right now i am not really an ink-and-watercolor kind of guy

-----

This is the paper from my watercolor sketchbook which is also good-bad but my favorite overall, compromise wise. It handles paint ok-ly, kinda like hot press, but it takes my colored pencils well. It still looks "rough" but its an equal roughness that blends into each other texture wise, while still accepting colored pencil without much fight.

(For example, the top on the jinx stoat is paint only, but the texture matches the areas that have more colored pencil. Cat has limited colored pencil but the texture is all around the same, and the sea smunker here actually only has colored pencil for outlines in various areas, but still has texture, which is usually what makes watercolor paper struggle with colored pencil. You can also see the texture in the watercolor swatch squares, which are completely untouched by pencil. I hope this makes sense)

Maybe i just need to get loose sheets of this paper... Even if it does also piss me off in several ways LMFAO its the only one that really lets me balance both....

#talkys #a doodley

81 notes · View notes

dreamerdeity · 9 months ago

Text

𝐊𝐄𝐈𝐑𝐀'𝐒 𝐅𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓: 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐏𝐒

a/n: Really happy to be back on tumblr! College apps have been kicking my ass but it's getting better. Don't be shy to request a matchup, a fic, or a wip for Gaza! I'm also very sorry @tinysoulmentality for not including moodboards I had no time 😭

❁ཻུ۪۪♡ word count: 2k

Keira's Fundraising Event

███▒▒▒▒▒▒ 𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . . @tinysoulmentality 's character matchup

Hi! Id like to request a matchup for jjk, bllk and aot. Im mexican and being connected to my culture is very important to me. I love reading dc comics and watching old slasher/horror movies. My favorite color is purple and my favorite holiday/time of year of Halloween. When it comes to relationships, the most important thing to me is being with someone that I know i can be myself with and that I dont have to worry about their loyalty towards me. Here are my donations and pls lmk if theres any other info you need !!!💜💜

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇: 𝐈𝐍𝐎 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐌𝐀

Ino is an interesting little guy. He’s cute, but to say he has game would be like saying that cats can fly (handsome loser :3). When he first met you, he had to do a little double take because hold on a minute. Who’s that pretty lady? He casually walks up to you and blurts out a “You’re not from around here, are you?” ft. nervous voice crack that he manages to play off somehow. The question definitely elicits a few mental eye rolls from you. Typical male-tries-to-hit-on-foreign-girl one-liner, but he makes it… work? Maybe it’s the nervous flush on his cheeks, or the hand that sheepishly rubs at the back of his neck, or the bright smile he musters up to mask the nerves.

I like to think that Ino is a very cosmopolitan person. It’s not really that he’s traveled all around the world, but more so that he has varied likes and interests spanning many different cultures. He likes to listen to old-school hip-hop and reggaeton. He’s into Italian and Turkish dramas. He sleeps well at night knowing there’s an Indian restaurant and another Mexican one down the block that can curb his cravings for butter chicken and quesadillas.

So, it’s no surprise that he’s quick to grab a throw pillow and get comfortable on the couch whenever you talk about your Mexican heritage. He doesn’t know much about Mexico apart from the fact that the food goes extremely hard, so he’s always enthusiastic to learn more about the other aspects that characterize your country and its people.

He also tries to learn some Spanish to “surprise” you but then it’s literally just a “¡Buenos días!” enunciated really badly. There’s a proud smile on his face every time he greets you good morning in your mother tongue though, and it’s very endearing, to say the least.

To add onto his culture vulture, cosmopolitan vibes, I think he’s also really into movies. The type to just drop a niche movie reference every two seconds and frown deeply when no one gets it.

Watching horror movies with him is interesting because for some reason he thinks that abruptly grabbing your shoulders mid-movie and growling menacingly would jump-scare you into oblivion, but you’re used to the genre so all it does is make you eye him narrowingly, unimpressed, ready to tell him off for interrupting a very crucial plot development.

For whatever reason, Ino gives me major horror-enjoyer vibes. He likes analog horror and you’re lucky Halloween is your favorite time of year because it’s his too! Watching The Prowler (i just really like this movie lol) under the blankets with warm, freshly-made popcorn and a pretty lady in his arms? Yeah, count him in.

One last thing, sorry to be the one to say this, but Ino is definitely the “can you draw me” person whenever he sees your sketchbook or art in general. It’s all in good nature, and he wouldn’t mind it if you say no, but if you do draw or paint him, let’s just say that that drawing will be in his wallet for the rest of his life. Sometimes he’d just randomly pull it out when someone brings you up and proudly hold it up to his company like “Uhuh, my girl drew this. Yup.”

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐁𝐋𝐋𝐊 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇: 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐈 𝐇𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐀

I think that, unlike Ino, Chigiri used to be less “out there” in the world in his youth and kept more to himself in terms of being an experiencer of cultural diffusion; It was how he was brought up. But after going pro and meeting many people, traveling to many different places etc, he’s been exposed to the world on a greater scale. That’s how he finds himself meeting you one day at a party. He was charming. Need I say more tbh? That hair, that gentlemanliness, that whole aura surrounding him is hard to resist. He knew just how to sweet-talk but actually meant every word he said.

Chigiri is one wealthy man, let’s be honest. Pro footballer? Mbappe in another font? Yeah. I think he genuinely enjoys spoiling and lavishing you with gifts if that’s your thing.

He loves hearing you talk about your heritage and if you don’t live in Mexico, I feel like if you were to even remotely express that you’re kind of missing your country he’d immediately be like, “Then let’s book a 2 week stay and you can show me all those things you were telling me about.” No biggie.

Would also rent out the entirety of Playa Sisal in advance because you mentioned (once. 1 [one] time. ) that you were looking forward to taking a dip come the vacation.

I think that there’s this stigma surrounding footballers and how they’re a bunch of players who sleep around but don’t commit. While that may have some merit, Chigiri is different. Like, have you seen him? Not to mention that he has a sister.

I feel like he values loyalty and genuine companionship as much as you do, and should you ever feel yourself questioning where you stand within his life, or whether he’s trustworthy, he would be so quick to reassure you and make you feel heard, basically quelling the doubts before they even surface. (Communicative king).

On the note of communicative king, he’s very good at praise and voicing his appreciation. The sort to genuinely encourage your creative hobbies and praise you for any work you create. He would literally not mind building a home art studio for you to promote your love for art and writing. Like, “Oh, I saw you painting the other day and you didn’t look very comfortable at your desk. Thought I’d make you a little art corner,” he’d say as he sheepishly shows you the “art corner” in question which looks more like a state of the art professional studio.

I think Chigiri himself is a very artistic person beneath the surface. He just gives off that vibe quite a bit. Picnics where you guys sit at the park and paint the scenery together? So him.

Would post your art on social media (if you consent ofc!) to his 5 million+ followers and bring you business if you ever decide to open commissions.

In terms of entertainment, Chigiri is the type to be so clueless when it comes to media because he just doesn’t have the time. Like you were shocked when he told you he never watched Star Wars. Sir, what do you mean??

It became your job to educate him on the vast world of entertainment, namely movies. He doesn’t really care what you pick as long as you’re happy. So when he’s got some free time on his hands, he’ll binge horror or DC/Marvel movies with you and even try to analyze the plot as it’s happening (don’t kill him please he’s just trying to show he’s interested).

Would buy you merch of your favorite movies and get giddy when you wear it/decorate your room with it etc.

Lastly, I think Chigiri would sulk in the corner if you insist he let you dye his hair purple since it’s your favorite color, but he literally can’t say no to you, so eventually he yields reluctantly but shockingly, once all is said and done, he figures out he actually really like how purple looks on him.

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐎𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇: 𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐈 𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍

I’m gunna be honest. I think it just makes sense for Levi to like you because black cat x orange cat trope?? Him and Hange? Him and the Eren gang in general? Yeah.

Going by your mbti, I imagine you’re not very extroverted, and I think that’s something that genuinely makes Levi let out a sigh of relief sometimes.

*glance at each other* You: “wanna leave this party?” Him: “You read my mind.”

If loyalty were a person, it would be this man. He shows it in the small things, I’d say: Leaving you short messages before he leaves for work every morning, bringing you things that remind him of you, etc. I feel like that would be his way of saying “I’ve got eyes for you only/I’m always thinking about you and you alone”.

Levi is such a meanie on the surface and I find it kind of hilarious. Like, I think you guys would complete each other's snark and sarcasm and people would not know whether you two are joking or not meanwhile yall are just trying to bite back giggles.

If I’m being honest, Levi doesn’t strike me as a very creative person. He seems more of a STEM sort of guy if we think of him in a modern au, so he doesn’t pay much mind to the arts as a field.

That’s not to say he isn’t supportive of your creative endeavors of course. You know when parents have no idea how a sport you play works but they still passionately cheer at your games regardless? Yeah, that’s Levi with your art, writing, etc. It’s all impressive to him even if you don’t think so and he’ll make sure you know that.

“I love this poem you wrote. You could be famous if you took this up professionally,” he’d say even if there was like a single sentence on the page.

Would be the type to send you anything art or writing related he gets on his fyp like “yup, she’s definitely gonna love this/find it helpful”.

This might be an unpopular opinion, but I think Levi is actually a film buff. There, I said it. Something about him strikes me as movie lover. He would be the type to drop a quote from some obscure movie from the 50s with a straight face in the most serious tone ever which makes it even funnier.

So, when you two have some free time, he loves to watch things with you while cuddling on the couch. he’s the type to read the captions before the characters actually say them and it just spoils the scene for him, and then he’d sulk as if it’s your fault, but it’s cute.

When you two are watching horror movies, he’s the type to tsk and mutter under his breath complaining about the costumes or about how if he were there he would’ve totally killed that demon in like two seconds.

#open requests #jjk x reader #ino takuma #chigiri x reader #fics for gaza #bllk x reader #levi ackerman #aot x reader

78 notes · View notes