#so i guess it is writing by hand but it’s just. DIFFERENT when you can feel the paper scratching and the ink flowing yknow

[winchesterwild78]

Broken pt 1

Master List

Characters: Jensen x Reader (wife)

Warnings: Angst, Infertility issues, Language

A/N:  Idea given to me by @cheekygirl2309. This one is a little different than what I usually write. It has angst, lots of angst to start, and infertility issues. It's going to be a short series.

Minors DNI 18+

I stood at the sink in our shared bathroom waiting and staring at the test on the counter. Another month has come and gone, another month of trying to conceive. The timer went off and with shaky hands I looked at the test, negative. My heart broke. 

Jensen and I had been trying for months to get pregnant and nothing we did was working. Frustration was beginning to take over and overshadow the possibility of being a parent. 

Jensen sat on our bed, phone in hand and leg bouncing. I walked out of the bathroom and he looked up at me, “Well?” I shook my head no. He let out a frustrated sigh and ran his hands through his hair and down his face. 

“Jens, I’m.” He lifted his hand and cut me off. I felt a pang of sadness fill my chest and a lump form in my throat. 

“Just don’t, please. Don’t say how sorry you are. It’s not your fucking fault. Maybe we should just stop trying.” Tears pricked my eyes at the harshness of his words.

“You don’t mean that, Jensen. Please, we can keep trying, we can go to the doctor and see what’s going on. Please, don’t give up on this.” 

“It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m leaving for Toronto in a few days.” I spun my head and looked at him, “What?! I thought you were home for a while.” 

“Well I guess not. We were called back for reshoots.” 

“Damnit, Jensen! This is why I can’t get pregnant. You’re never fucking home. Between filming and your convention schedule you’re not home long enough.” 

“Y/N, don’t start! I have obligations to the people I work for and with, and to my fans. You knew what you signed up for when we got married.” 

“I didn’t sign up to be alone all the time, and obligations!? What about your obligations to me, to us, our marriage? Does that mean so little to you?” 

“Fuck! I’m not going to spend the next few days arguing with you.” Jensen growled and grabbed his suitcase. 

I stood in disbelief. The tears that pricked my eyes were now falling, and my chest felt like it had a massive hole in it. 

I stood watching him pack and load up his suitcase without saying a word. As he passed by me he looked at me briefly but then looked away. No words were spoken. 

Jensen carried his suitcase downstairs while he was on the phone. He was booking a plane to leave tonight. An audible sob left my lips. 

“Jensen, are you really leaving tonight?” Without looking up he said, “Yes.” 

“Jens, please don’t do this. Please stay here. We need to figure this out.” 

Jensen’s phone went off. He looked at it and stood up, grabbing his suitcase, “I have to go. Goodbye, Y/N.” I swallowed hard. I usually drive him to the airport.

Before I could respond he was out the door, no hug, no kiss goodbye. I let out a loud sob and collapsed to the floor. He left. 

My world spiraled around me. The harsh words we spoke to each other replayed in my head. Did he really just walk out, did I lose him?

Jensen’s POV

I climbed in the Uber and headed towards the airport. My harsh words replayed in my head. The hurt on her face with another negative test and again when I left. The Uber driver was nice, making small talk, and I tried to be polite. 

My world was crumbling and I plastered a smile on my face and ran away from the problem. I’m a fucking coward. We wanted a baby, and I can’t even give her that. 

She’s right, I leave her alone too much. How can I expect to get her pregnant when I’m only home for a week at most. 

Reader’s POV

I cried, harder than I had in awhile. It felt almost therapeutic. I stood up, locked the door and crawled into bed. I grabbed Jensen’s pillow. The faint smell of his shampoo and cologne lingered on the pillow. 

I missed him so much it hurt. Was this argument the one that broke us? Will we be able to fix this and move forward?

I looked at my phone, hoping for a text, but I had nothing. He left. Left without hugging me or kissing me. He left early so he didn’t have to deal with this argument. He was done. Done with me, with trying for a baby, done with our marriage. 

I decided to send him a text. I had to lay it out there for him so he knew exactly where I stood. 

Me: I don’t know if you’ll read this, or if you even care, but I had to send this so you knew what I was feeling and where I stand. Jensen, I love you. I’ve always loved you and I always will. If you don’t want me, us anymore I get it. I just want to know. You left me tonight. No kiss, no hug. Just a cold shoulder and not so much as a goodbye. I deserve better than that. I’m sorry I haven’t gotten pregnant yet. I don’t know why I’m not, but I was willing to keep trying. I know every time the test comes back negative it hurts, but this hurts worse. 

Jensen, we made a commitment to each other and I still believe in it. I’m okay with putting trying to have a baby on hold, but I’m not okay with putting us on hold. I hope you have a safe flight, and I truly hope you still believe in us enough to fight for us. I know I do. Please call me or message me back. I love you, Jens, today, tomorrow, forever. 

I sat my phone down and curled in a ball. Sleep slowly washing over me. 

Jensen’s POV

I sat in the back of the SUV taking me to the apartment I had rented for filming. Shit, I forgot to turn my phone back on. 

As soon as I turned it on a message came through from Y/N. Arriving at the apartment I grabbed my bags and walked into my place. 

Pulling out my phone I read the texts. Tears pricked my eyes. I let out a frustrated sigh, and ran my hands down my face. 

I fucked up big time. This was one of the first tests in our marriage and I ran like a coward. No wonder she thinks I want out of our marriage. 

I looked at the time and realized it was really late. She was probably asleep but I didn’t want to just text her. I took a deep breath and called her.

“Hello” she answered groggily. 

“Hey, sweetheart. I got your text.” 

“Jens, oh. I’m so glad you’re okay. Baby I’m so sorry. I know this isn’t easy on you. You were right, I did, do know what I signed up for with your schedule and your job. I let my frustration get the better of me.”

“No, I’m sorry, Y/N. I left you alone in this, and ran like a coward. You have every right to feel the way you do. Hell, I feel lonely too, and I’m surrounded by people. I can’t imagine how you feel. Baby I don’t want to stop trying for a baby. I love you so much and I still want us and a baby. I am so sorry I spoke to you the way I did and left you instead of working through this. Say the word and I’ll fly back home tonight. I don’t care about the shoot, you’re more important to me. Our marriage is more important than the shoot.” 

“Jensen, I don’t want you to fly home. You have to stay and go to work. How about I fly to you in the next day or two? I’ll take some time off work and come to Toronto.”

“That would be amazing, sweetheart. I can book the ticket and let you know. Oh sweetheart, I am so sorry. I wish I could hold you right now.”

“Jens, I do too. I’m sorry too. Promise me we won’t do this again. If we get into an argument or have any disagreement we will talk it out. Stay and talk it out.” 

“I swear, Y/N. I’ll never run off again. I love you too much to throw this away.” 

“Good, because you’re stuck with me Ackles.” He chuckled, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

I yawned and so did he. “Jens, I hate to cut this short, but I’m really tired. Thank you for calling me baby. That means so much to me. I love you, baby.”

“Of course, sweetheart. I’ll let you get some sleep. I love you, darlin’. Good night, Y/N.” “I love you too, Jens, good night.” 

We hung up and I placed my phone on the bedside table. I smiled, pulled Jensen’s pillow to me and fell asleep. Feeling a bit better. 

I fell asleep, my heart lighter than it was before, knowing we were both willing to fight to save our marriage. 

My last thought before I fell asleep was, Now that Jensen and I have made the commitment to always keep communication open, what else could go wrong?

Tags are open, if you want to be added or removed, let me know.  

Tags: 

@nescaveckwriter @kr804573 

@k-slla @jackles010378 

@jawritter @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx 

@roseblue373 @cheynovak 

@jassackles  @chriszgirl92

@suckitands33 @arcannaa 

@n-o-p-e-never @ladysparkles78 

@smoothdogsgirl @hobby27 

@manicjk @stoneyggirl2 

@deans-spinster-witch @snowayumi 

@shadowqueen1318 @shanimallina87

@muhahaha303 @fitxgrld

@nancymcl @baby19sthings

@cheekygirl2309 @oceean

@kindollss @foxyjwls007

@lmg14 @cevansbaby-dove

@spxideyver @reignsboy19

@deans-baby-momma @deansimpalababy

@ladykitana90 @quietgirll75 

@superrey @kamisobsessed

@obliviousap @ninii-winchester

@mischiefnevermanaged89-blog @whimsyfinny

@bobbdylan @star-yawnznn

@reignsboy19 @monkey-d-hoshizora98

@depressionbarbie2023 @livingdeadblondequeen

@mandee7 @barnes70stark

@spnaquakindgdom

[martybaker]

There was only one couch

Tfw you cannot find the jayvik fic you crave so you write it yourself 🙃

I also gotta preface this with - Does it even make sense that they would have microwaves in Piltover? Do they have electricity? My quick search didn’t yield any decisive results so if you know pls lmk. Also, I don’t really know if Jayce is making any sense talking about them but in my defense, he is sleep deprived (and I am dumb and didn’t put any real research into this, sorryy)

—————————

They’ve been stuck at this problem for hours, any potential paths they managed to come up with immediately shattering after but a couple pokes of logic aimed to test the solidity of their foundations. Like bubbles popped by a child’s finger. Like heated corn kernels. Like dreams of making a difference-

Viktor’s too tired to think in metaphors.

He drops the pencil and swivels in his chair, facing Jayce who’s already draped across their shabby sofa, long legs sticking out from one end, head inclined on the armrest on the side closer to Viktor.

“What if we…err, try to like, microwave it, but I don’t mean like an actual microwave,” he waves his hands in the air as he talks, as if that would help illustrate his train of thought, “but like a device, a - an oven, that could create vibrations and …uhhh, direct the particles? Fuck, I don’t even know what I’m trying to say.”

Viktor chuckles. He doesn’t know why he does, it’s not even particularly funny, the exhaustion must have erased any common sense of his that was left. Yet it’s…comforting to see that same exhaustion mirrored in Jayce. The same dark circles, the same bone deep tiredness weighing him down, the same look of frustration after they’ve been hitting dead ends and running in circles. It’s a shared exhaustion, just like the hard work is shared. Probably should have called it a night hours ago. They both direly need the rest.

“Ovens and microwaves? That would be your hunger speaking, I’m afraid,” Viktor says, reaching for his cane, grinding his teeth to gather the energy to push himself up onto his feet.

“Nah, m’not hungry,” Jayce mumbles. “We had those sandwiches for lunch. Or was it dinner? What time is it even?”

“Too late by all accounts,” Viktor says, taking the few steps towards the couch. He looks at Jayce, who seems glued to the couch and likely is planning to spend the night there. Viktor looks towards the door, but hesitates. The idea of the track across campus to his lodgings really doesn’t sound appealing.

It’s not even that far, the university tried to accommodate Viktor’s needs as best as they could and gave him a room on the ground floor, plus the building is the closest housing to the Engineering department’s laboratories. And yet, today it feels miles away. Damn his leg, damn all the stairs, and damn his hubris for yet again pushing his body beyond its limits, knowing fully well it will backfire ten folds and render him even more useless in the morning.

Jayce notices his hesitation, damn his partner’s bright mind too. He can read Viktor too well, he guesses the reason for his histation despite Viktor’s lack of complaining.

“Oh, do you wanna sleep here? I’ll head home, no problem,” he suggests way too readily, already hoisting himself up onto his elbows.

Viktor tsks and pushes against Jayce’s chest, pushing him back down into the couch.

“Stay,” he hisses. Jayce lives off campus, it would take him much longer to get home. Viktor’s not about to kick him out. And he doesn’t care for compassion either.

Jayce knows this, yet the man cannot help but be kind and caring, and though it irritates Viktor when it's aimed at him, it is also a quality of Jayce’s that he admires. He’s kind to everyone. Meets everyone halfway. Though at times they push too far, and Jayce lets them. Too kind for his own good.

Viktor shakes his head, trying to clean it, the stacked up piles of thoughts seem to have all spilled inside his brain and are rattling around. Rest. He needs to rest.

He looks at Jayce, who is still lying down on the couch, hands raised as if in surrender, big doe eyes staring at Viktor. Was Viktor too cross with him just now? He’s unable to determine. He pats Jayce’s knee in an attempt to smooth over his own prickly temperament.

“I just…I need to take a moment. Before I head out,” he tries. He hopes Jayce won’t insist. He is too tired to come up with reasonable arguments. He doesn’t wanna fight.

But Jayce doesn’t fight, he nods, then he bites his lip and opens his arms.

Hmm.

Viktor considers.

The couch is clearly too small for one grown man, let alone two.

Still it would be more comfortable than the chair.

And Viktor’s not averse to touch. Despite perhaps coming off as such. To everyone, except for Jayce.

It is true that he doesn’t like to be touched by strangers, especially unexpectedly. But he is human and just like for anyone else, there are moments when he would welcome touch. Moments when he finds it comforting. And Jayce is a very tactile person. He didn’t hold back from putting a hand on Viktor’s shoulder the very first day they met, and he hasn’t stopped since. There was a moment near the beginning of their partnership when someone pointed out Viktor’s (alleged) aversion to touch and Jayce panicked, apologizing profusely for making him uncomfortable, and it took days for Viktor to convince him he really didn’t mind. Because that was the truth, Viktor didn’t mind. Not when it was Jayce.

Of course cuddling on the couch was an entirely different matter.

They’ve never done that before, however, Viktor wasn’t a stranger to the comfort of a warm body next to his either.

From cuddling with his parents for warmth as a kid in one too small bed, to seeking the pleasures of a lover to relieve stress, the warmth of a body next to his was undoubtedly beneficial.

And he and Jayce are friends. It wouldn’t be a big deal.

And so Viktor slowly drops his cane to the floor and lowers one of his knees to the couch, trying to figure out how to arrange himself next to Jayce.

Jayce tries to help but it takes some maneuvering, what with Viktor’s leg and their sleep deprived brains, there are a couple of winces and pointy elbows and just way too many limbs, an “Oof” from Jayce when he earns a knee to his stomach, but eventually Viktor finds himself situated with his back against the back of the couch, his head on Jayce’s chest, right leg on top.

It’s…it’s warm.

It’s nice.

It’s not a big deal.

“Okay?” Jayce checks.

Viktor hums. He can hear Jayce’s heartbeat, feel his breath on his forehead. Smell the musk, the odor of an unshowered body, but he has no right to complain, they both haven’t showered for however many hours or days they’ve been locked in here.

Jayce’s heartbeat and breathing slows, but Viktor cannot slow his racing thoughts. He can feel every point of contact where their bodies are touching. He can feel Jayce’s muscular chest moving under his hand. Jayce’s right hand briefly pets Viktor’s hair before it settles on top of his shoulders. Viktor fights against the urge to burrow closer, to inhale Jayce’s smell, to tug his hand back into Viktor’s hair.

Stupid sleep deprived brain. Viktor could have figured such close proximity to a warm body would reduce him to animal instincts. He can only be glad he’s way too sleepy for his nether parts to react as well.

Jayce feels his restlessness. How could he not, pressed so close.

“Viktor,” he whispers, warm breath tickling Viktor’s forehead and despite himself Viktor exhales and melts against that strong chest even more. “You can rest, V, I’ll wake you in a couple of minutes and walk you home.”

My ass you will, Viktor thinks, we’re both gonna fall asleep here, your right side will be completely numb and my back will be killing me tomorrow. He’ll barely be able to stand. But he���s too tired and too comfortable to say any of that now. It’s a Tomorrow Viktor’s problem anyways. This Viktor burrow’s closer against Jayce’s chest, letting all his worries and all the problems fade, falling into the sweet embrace of sleep.

[multifandomhellhole]

HEYYYY SO WHEN YOU SAY YOU WRITE FOR LEAGUE OF LEGENDS. DOES THAT INCLUDE ARCANE??? I ABSOLUTELY NWED SOME DUBCON IDEAS WITH VIKTOR CAUSE HE MAKES ME SUDDENLY FEEL THINGS

Ah HELLLOOO FELLOW VIKTOR ENJOYER!!!!

yes! I do also write for arcane!!!! I should probably tag that and update the post so people don't think im league exclusive hegefkfifk

Dubious consent warning and since this is dom reader we are the perpetrator. Nothing highly explicit till I see if I get crucified with mild.

I guess for dubcon he really is the most appealing aside from puppy boy Jayce who could be manipulated by a sunny afternoon breeze. Specifically 30 age range Viktor as that's when his ego took a plummet and so did his sharper walls and self assurance. Literally the two people that gave Viktor the time of day ended up being his endgame so that right off the bat tells you how susceptible Viktor is to tender love and care and most of all appreciation for his mind.

However this is a porn post and we will not be going into his genius but rather his pants.

I really think it'd be easy to be a perv with Viktor's belongings. Once he's focused on that HexCore it's basically free range to move about. Yes he's listening intently to his surroundings even when hyper focused as we see when he already heard sky come in, but he's not looking. You can do anything really at that point no matter what he thinks he hears. That can be from stealing pens, discarded notes, old cups he's drunk from, etc. I think you'd even get away with a bit of self gratification while viewing him from behind if you can be quiet. Even handing him contaminated things without him realizing as he could care less about the state of his tools that have had so many non organic residues on them before. Not like he can tell the difference without breaking his precious concentration. Not only that but he's hardly ever not in the lab so snooping around his room and other places he's been in is a breeze. Especially since you can hear him coming with the steel toe of his brace and his crutch on the floors and make a break for it. You might even make a break for it with a pair of boxers if you are that bold and want to upgrade to clothing. Just don't steal his crutch while he's awake 😭

We also see that Viktor is shockingly receptive with physical touch. Both from people he doesn't know that well, to people he does! He doesn't even show shock to some gestures when Jayce touches him which means that if someone is a frequent flyer in touching him, he grows used to it. I feel like that can be used in selfish ways to feel him up and even try and encourage sexual responses from him. I think it could be fun pushing how far his acceptance goes before he realizes your intentions. And I think it's just fun to slowly corrupt his brain into thinking thigh touches from you are okay in a professional setting and that ass grabs are just accidents. Plus he'd be lying if getting a spontaneous shoulder massage every now and then doesn't feel wonderful for his tension headaches. Even if your hands eventually linger on the screw heads in his spine or catch on his back and shoulder brace. Or even brush around to his neck and chest more than a few times. Especially if you play it off like he's the filthy one for responding that way, or offended he'd even think you'd take advantage of him, he won't dare get suspicious of you. just Hell he might even start returning it if you have a big enough friendly and positively welcoming energy. Even if he is initially uncomfortable/ repulsed about the whole thing, if done right and with just the right amount of feigned innocence he gradually will lose the apprehension. Time and patience is definitely a thing for conditioning Viktor where Jayce is practically pre-trained.

Anyways I think this is my first dubcon post so only two for now given I'm testing waters with what I like and how raunchy I'm willing to go! This is also my first arcane post so hi I better get a 'this is my first impression of you' comment.

[ivysprophecy]

Am I Okay? Chapter Two

a/n: hi!! so i know im a eensy bit behind on writing these because this takes place *during* part seven which is linked if you need a bit of a refresher however the next chapter will be up soon hopefully and i can tell you it will take place after part twelve! maybe you can guess what it will be ;)

warnings: i dont think there are any?

word count: 594

i kick my sandy boots off before walking through the door. trying to keep as much sand out of the house as possible.

"your house is gorgeous..." i bend over shaking any loose sand out of my hair before stepping into the kitchen. i see a picture frame on the counter. its what i assume to be a picture of his family. or what it used to be.

he told me something had happened with his dad's death and rose had left for some reason or another but...

"this is a nice picture... cute. i like the longer hair."

he looks over at me with an odd expression on his face, some mix of a melancholy tone to it. but he knows i mean well, no harm.

"thank you... but yea i was a lot younger then, i think i was a junior in high school there. making wheezie about fifth grade? sarah a freshman... different times."

"ya know she talks about you a lot. misses you. and a lot more but its not my business," all he can do is nod towards me, acknowledging what i said. "well i should be heading home..."

"are you sure? you dont have to go you know, you could stay. get dinner or something."

you chuckle running a hand through your tangly, gross hair. "im not exactly in going out attire," you gesture to your unkempt hair and bikini clinging to your skin.

"well youre welcome to make yourself at home here. im sure there are some clothes i can lend you."

"if its alright actually do you mind if i grab a quick shower? sands got me all itchy and stuff-"

"yea of course- ill find you some clothes and show you where the gust room is."

following him up the stairs i continue to take in his house, its real nice. but i guess thats how it goes when you own cameron development. or most of it.

"so just in here," he opens a door thats obviously a bathroom, "im gonna grab some clothes, sarah has a box or two left here but ill see what i can find."

"thanks so much- youre sweet as sugar," i lean up and press a friendly(?) kiss to his cheek.

his smile is subtle, but there, as he walks off heading to find the clothes previously mentioned. and its not long before i have the shower running and he leaves them outside the door before he goes to take care of himself.

after i get out of the shower i see my phones blown up with texts from sarah and the groupchat sending off a few responses before finally getting dressed. seeing he found some of sarahs jeans, but one of his shirts.

it smells like him.

and im kinda mad at myself for liking it.

i walk back down the stairs after throwing my hair up and out of the way since its still a little damp. and i see rafe watching me as i walk down and he hurriedly hides his phone in his pocket.

guess he likes me wearing his shirt too.

"you uh- you clean up nice."

i cant hide my smile and blush as i walk over to him, "could say the same about you. where are we headed?"

"i figured id let you pick where we eat."

"well im still new around here so why dont you take me to your favorite place?"

"i can do that... lead the way," he gestures to the door after grabbing his keys with a grin.

[ masterlist ]

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Keepsafes

Fandom: Batman, DC Comics

Summary: AU where Martha and Bruce survive, and they adopt the batkids.

Chapters: 4/?

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Thomas Wayne, Martha Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Harvey Dent, Dick Grayson, Cassandra Cain, David Cain, Talia al Ghul, Damian Wayne, Jason Todd, Tim Drake

Relationships: Thomas Wayne/Martha Wayne/Alfred Pennyworth, BruHarvey, BruTalia

Additional Tags: Canon Divergent AU, Hurt/Comfort, Bruce Wayne is Not Batman, Angst, Alfred Pennyworth Knows All, Bruce Wayne Only Has One Child, Bruce Wayne is Not An Only Child, Bi Bruce Wayne

Chapter Four: Fight and Flight

Gabi followed Bruce out onto the trail behind the house. “How are you doing, Bruce? You’ve been awful quiet this whole walk,” Gabi whispered. 

Bruce picked up a big branch and used it as a walking stick. “I’m just thinking,” Bruce whispered, “Be careful. You might have to hold my hand through here. There’s a cave. It’s supposed to be closed off, but—.” Bruce turned around and reached for her hand. Gabi smiled and held Bruce’s hand. “I don’t want you to fall in.”

“Thank you, Bruce. I wasn’t asking you about—. I was asking in general,” Gabi explained. 

“Not so good, I guess. I always feel like something bad is going to happen, but I’m tired of being scared about it,” Bruce confessed, “Everything scares me now…”

“Like everything reminds you of that night?” Gabi questioned as they walked around a log and over a large rock. 

“Yeah… Aunt Gabi, is it ever gonna stop being this way?” Bruce whispered. Gabi frowned as Bruce tapped a board with his walking stick. “We’re gonna go around your way.” 

“Okay… And Bruce, have you ever thought about talking to a doctor—.”

“I don’t want to talk to a doctor. I want to be prepared the next time something bad happens,” Bruce sighed. 

Gabi grew silent as she pondered Bruce’s reply, and she quietly discussed different ways to approach the issue. “Do you mind if I talk to your parents about this when we get back? I think I have an idea, but I want to see how they’d feel about it first before I tell you,” Gabi explained. Bruce nodded. Let’s go back. Okay?” 

“Alright, Aunt Gabi,” Bruce replied, still holding onto her hand as he turned around.

**

Martha listened to Gabi explain her thoughts while Thomas wrote something down in his journal. They occasionally shifted their glance to Jacob and Alfred taking turns playing tennis with Bruce. “I don’t know. Couldn’t that make things worse? Introduce him to new worst-case scenarios?” Martha asked. 

“Well, it might… But he’d be prepared for it. I know that doesn’t remove the fear, and I don’t think that part of him can be easily fixed, but I know a first aid class is a good start to giving him some of his power back,” Gabi replied, “I didn’t say any of this to Bruce. I wanted to see how you two felt about it first.” 

“Thomas?” Martha asked. “Are you paying attention?” 

Thomas looked up and nodded. “Gabi’s right. And I think it’d be a good opportunity to organize something for the community, too. Maybe something good can come out of all of this. I was writing down a list of calls we need to make if I want to make this work,” Thomas replied. Martha reached for Thomas, and he scooped her hand up and leaned forward to kiss her knuckles. “Unless you don’t want him to…”

“I—. I’m scared, too. I don’t—. Can we talk to Bruce about it first? It’ll give me some time to think,” Martha replied, “And Gabi, I appreciate all your help. I never want you to think that I don’t. I’m glad my brother married you. It’s the best gift he’s ever given me… A sister… And pretty soon, a niece or nephew.” 

“Oh, yeah! Congratulations, Gabi!” Thomas exclaimed. “I couldn’t be more excited for you. Really, I couldn’t. You’ll love being a mother. I’m sure of it.” 

“Thank you. I’m looking forward to the final trimester, so I don’t have to worry all the time. It’s so early on, but I figured you both ought to know,” Gabi smiled. Thomas set his journal aside. 

“Oh, the worrying never ends,” Martha laughed, “But it’s so worth it. It really is… And you’re so strong. Boy or girl, they’re going to be a force of nature.” 

Bruce walked over and quietly stood off to the side, waiting for an invitation to come closer. “Bruce, do you want to sit with me for a little while?” Martha asked. Bruce nodded and sat beside her, while she popped the top off of a soda and handed it to him. “Gabi had an idea. She said that you might benefit from taking a first aid class to help you feel more in control in an emergency situation, and I—.”

“Could I?” Bruce interrupted without meaning to. 

Martha looked at Thomas, and he shrugged. “Sure, lovey. Of course, but I think I’d feel better if I went with you,” Martha suggested. Bruce set his soda aside and embraced her. “That’s okay with you?” 

“Uh-huh! We can do it together!” Bruce exclaimed. Martha smiled as tears welled up in her eyes, and she swallowed hard to suppress them. “Thank you, Aunt Gabi!” 

** 

After Gabi and Jacob left, Bruce returned to school. Even before the shooting, Bruce had a difficult time connecting with other children his age. Most of them ridiculed him for being awkward, but he didn’t mind it until the children started using the shooting in the alley as ammunition to torment him. He’d been back for three days before a group of children chased him on the playground with confetti cannons, shouting Crime Alley over and over until they cornered him. They kept laughing and popping off confetti cannons until Bruce snapped and threw a punch. And he kept punching until the yard duties pulled him away from the group. 

He screamed and turned his face into the male security guard’s shoulder as he sobbed hysterically. He didn’t stop until Martha arrived with Alfred. Alfred cleaned and dressed Bruce’s knuckles before affectionately brushing a few tears from Bruce’s cheek with his thumb. “Master Bruce, I think there’s something to be learned from this,” Alfred whispered. Bruce braced up, waiting for Alfred to chastise them. “You weren’t afraid. Were you, Master Bruce?” Alfred winked, provoking a smile from Bruce. Alfred replied with a gentle brush of his knuckles against Bruce’s chin. 

Martha exited the office with a satisfied grin on her face as she reached for Bruce. He ran into her arms, and she held him on her hip. “Let’s go pick your father up,” Martha whispered. 

“Am I in trouble?” Bruce asked. 

“Given the circumstances… No. We’ll talk more after we get home,” Martha replied as she kissed his cheek. “Are we ready to go?” Bruce nodded as she set him down. He held her hand as they left the office, and Alfred drove them to the doctor’s office to pick up Thomas. He was outside talking to a man on forearm crutches. They were smiling and laughing. Thomas looked out toward the street and pointed at Martha and Bruce before waving. Martha smiled, but it was the kind of smile she'd give to someone to take the bite off of bad news. Thomas’ smile faded as he realized the time of day, and he nodded at her. 

Thomas looked at his friend, and they parted ways before Bruce and Martha crossed the street to get to him. Thomas hugged Bruce. “What’s going on? Why aren’t you at school?” Thomas questioned. 

“Can we talk about it at home, honey?” Martha asked. 

“Alright. Well, Bruce, are you okay at least?” Thomas questioned as he looked Bruce over. “Looks like you’re all there. Oh, but you’re a little scraped up in the knuckle department. Alfred’s bandaging work, I see. Did ya win, Champ?”

[followyourfleart]

𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑻𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝑭𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒔

Chapter 1 -

After the outbreak and countless heartaches, you found yourself in a settlement in Jackson, Wyoming. Much different than Austin, Texas. In your years of living there, you have built a wall to save your feelings, even if you are the teacher for the small kids of the town.

Your life was going as fine as life could go, until Tommy brought back his estranged brother and a kid, opening memories you spent years suppressing.

Word Count: 2.5 k

When you were thinking of a new neighbor, a gruff man, and his daughter living right next door was not the idea.

You remember seeing it when the two hugged on the streets. You guided a line of young kids back to the school after their short recess in the horse stable. The kids were tugging on your hands, with their missing teeth grinning up to you. Your breath had curled in the air as it became visible and soon disappeared while you adjusted their scarves.

“Tommy!”

It was enough to make you stop in your tracks. No one ever called out Tommy’s name like that unless something was wrong. And every day, it seemed like everyone stopped what they were doing when they heard it. But this time, the desperation in the voice was different—urgent, as if time had stopped, leaving only that one sound hanging in the air.

When you were watching them hug, you looked at who was death-gripping Tommy. An older man, his roots greying into his black to create an ashy shade. He was wearing multiple layers, his brown jacket covering his frame and his dark gloves gripping Tommy’s shoulders as they spoke.

The kids gawked a little bit, staring up at the obvious reunion. They didn’t speak, but soon grew bored of looking, and dragged you along. Your body followed, but your face would turn back, looking at them talking. You didn’t catch a look at his face, or at the new girl who was sitting awkwardly on the horse.

By the time you had gotten home, word had moved around fast. Gossip tends to spread quickly in this settlement in the mountains. Turned out that was Tommy’s brother, Joel Miller. The girl was only 14 years old. As you walked home, the cold freezing your nose, you couldn’t keep your mind off the pair. Strange, how fate allowed those two to meet again. A prickling of a feeling you can’t identify starts in your chest, but someone cuts off the idea.

“Reader,” It was Tommy. His jet-black hair was sprinkled with white flakes, which were quickly melted into his scalp. “How are you doing?”

You smiled, “I’m fine, Tommy. I saw what happened earlier, and I’m glad you found your brother again.”

Tommy’s expression turned amused. “I guess everyone already figured out that Joel is my brother, huh? Word doesn’t keep to itself around here.”

“I guess not.”

An awkward silence came over you both. To say you were close with Tommy was a lie. While he did save you, time had let you make your friends and meet others. You still had good contact with his wife Maria, however other than that, it was radio silence.

He broke the tension with a request “Listen, you know the girl that came with him, Ellie? Well, I want to make her more comfortable with this life, so I was wondering if you could take her in at the school.”

Your eyes widened before you almost laughed. “You know that the school isn’t a private school. We take anyone, there isn’t a process or anything like that. You could drop her off and no one would bat an eye.”

Tommy cleared his throat “I know that Reader. I just want you to keep your eye on her. She’s important… to Joel. And I want to make sure everything is good for them. Give them a semblance of normalance.”

You nod your head in agreement. You don’t miss that ‘important’ part “It’s possible she could come on Monday next week with Joel, see how things work for her age group, then put her in on Tuesday. It’s only Wednesday today, so you can give her the rest of the week to see life here.” You had to make a mental note to write that down in the shared teacher planner.

His face brightens, before he clears his throat, going back to his cool professional look “Thank you, Reader, I owe you one.”

It was the opposite. You quite literally owed him everything, as his intervention saved your life. But you simply parted ways, and you finished the trek to your home.

It was simple, a white house with two rooms and two floors, something you would have killed for before the outbreak. You run the heels of your boots against the ledge of the porch, scrapping off snow and dirt. Then, you heard talking.

Bringing your head up to the noise, you saw Joel and Ellie walking up the steps to the house next door, Tommy leading them. You had watched in curiosity. New neighbors, you suppose. The girl was looking everywhere, the large house and the railings, the dead shrubs, and the icy walkway.

Tommy caught you in the corner of his eye and waved. You returned it. Joel’s eyes followed Tommy’s sight, before landing on you. You couldn’t see his expression from so far, but you nodded to him in common courtesy. He returned it, with a small lift of his hand. Tommy then leads them both into the house.

Even with the time going by, you couldn’t help but think about them. When you were living before the outbreak, you would have spied on the new neighbors to get to know them, before actually talking. But the full snow made it harder for them to see anything, and they weren’t about to play in the snow on their first day.

So that’s how you ended up, 9:30 in the night in front of his house, with a plate of cookies.

It gave you some sort of normal, being in front of another’s house with a plate of cookies. You had never been the ‘welcome wagon’, bearing a plate of food, nor have you been given the chance. When you first got here, the house next to you had already been filled by a couple in their late 50s, now 60s. They were the grumpy kind that you would see in the movies, yelling at kids on their front porch. The chances of them showing up like guardian angels with food were little to none.

You fidget with your scarf nervously. What if no one showed? Then you would have looked like an idiot with a plate of cookies you wouldn’t even end up eating. You knock twice, adding a third for good luck.

Then, the door slowly creaks open, with only a sliver of a face present. He was taller than you, his face was covered by shadows. His face was unreadable, however, his eyes couldn’t mask the suspicion that came off him.

“Can I help you?” His gruff voice came out from behind the door.

Your words were suddenly caught in your throat, but you forced them out. You were not about to look like a fool in front of your new neighbors.

“I’m Reader. I live right next door. I waved to you earlier today…” Your voice started to die off as you tried to give him pointers on how you knew him slightly.

“I know who you are.” His voice was even and cold. You swallowed, the conversation dying. He was actively shutting this down. You attempt to save it.

“Since we’re now neighbors,” You stammer, “I thought it was only right to properly introduce myself!”

“Great.” He said deadpan.

“Here,” you push the cookies toward the crack of the door, which he half-heartedly takes “Made these for you and your daughter. Hope you aren’t allergic to anything.”

You joke with that last part, but Joel’s expression becomes colder than it already was. Guess he doesn’t joke about allergies.

“I’m gonna… yea I’m gonna go now.” You can tell when you're not wanted, and clearly, this man would rather eat his foot than continue this conversation. As you make it down their steps, you can feel his eyes still on you. A brief look back shows you that he is still looking at you through the sliver at that door before he shuts it. 

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

It doesn’t take a genius to realize how much and when a man is wanted. It’s been a couple of days since Joel and Ellie arrived at Jackson, and almost every woman has stared at him for a solid 30 seconds. You, unfortunately, had become one of those women lately.

He was strangely magnetic, even though it was clear he could care less about what others thought about him. He was more interested in Ellie’s well-being than anything else. Joel’s eyes were always on her when they were together, however, Ellie took any chance she could to explore the settlement.

This gave Joel enough time to spend time with Tommy, and they always ended up at the bar, the bar that you also ended up in during the weekends. However, it was the only bar in Jackson, so everyone ended up there.

When you walk into the bar, it’s busy. A successful raid had brought a bunch of supplies that Jackson couldn’t grow. The people were wall to wall, holding bears and glasses of alcohol. Music played from the stage, old music that you haven’t heard since before the outbreak. You shuffled through groups of people, making your way to a lone table in the back near the wall. 

“Reader!”

Tommy’s voice is loud enough to cut through the noise and the music. You turn your head, rubbing your temple. He makes his way to you, people patting him on his back. His brother follows close behind, setting his drink on your table when he gets there.

“Hey, Tommy.” You wave “How’s the night going? The only talk I’ve been hearing about is how good the raid went.”

Tommy grins. “More than great. Managed to snag a couple of books and supplies you asked for for the school.”

A waiter comes up, takes your order, and promptly smiles and leaves. You guess everyone is more than happy today “I saw that, thanks.”

Joel looks over the crowd, before taking a long swing of his beer. This was where you could see his features properly. 

The man standing before you was rugged in every sense of the word. His dark ashy black hair, streaked with gray at the temples, was unkempt but somehow suited him. A scruffy beard covered his jawline, rough and uneven, as though shaving was a luxury he’d long abandoned. His skin was tanned and weathered, creased around his eyes and mouth, hinting at years spent enduring the elements.

What stood out most, though, were his eyes. Dark and intense, they scanned his surroundings with a sharpness that made it clear he missed nothing. Those same eyes, framed by furrowed brows, carried a weight that made it hard to look away, though she wasn’t sure if it was curiosity or discomfort that rooted her to the spot.

You understood why it was so hard to look away now. He was simply, breathtaking. He was the type of older man that your mother warned you about when you were a teen but couldn’t help but stare at those modeling pictures.

When the waitress came back with your drink — a light beer to calm the nerves — you took a sip to sedate yourself. He was a man who just moved into a town after suffering years on the outside with a child on his hip. He wasn’t anything special either. Maybe it was the rugged single dad look that attracted every single woman in town.

“Hello,  Joel.” You say politely “Did Ellie enjoy the cookies I made?”

His head remained looking outward, but his eyes snapped to you. He turned, nodding “She did. Couldn’t get her to stop eating.”

“Kids are like that. They always love all this sweet stuff. We have to make sure we don’t overfeed them. Sugar rushes are not fun.” You joke.

The conversation was easier than at his house. Was it because he was near his brother? He seemed actually open to talking.

“The kids always pester me around Christmas time for sugar cookies,” You continue  “But I rather throw myself in mud than deal with over 20 high on sugar.”

Joel’s eyebrows furrow “You deal with the kids?”

You nod “I’m one of the teachers at the school. Well, it’s not like a school we went to. It’s more like a daycare for the younger kids and having the older ones supervised and getting used to working in the community.”

He keeps his hand on his drink “So you’re going to be taking care of Ellie.”

“If you want that,” You keep your mouth shut about Tommy's involvement in enrolling Ellie. Knowing Tommy, he liked to keep his good doings to a minimum “I’m sure Tommy has told you the idea of putting Ellie in a school setting. Does Monday work for heading to the school and checking things out?”

He thumps his fingers against the wood of the table. His face was one of concentration “Sure.” He lifts his head to meet your eyes “I can bring her there and have her check things out.”

As the night rolled along, the alcohol warmed up your body. The bar got even more busier, the music being drowned out by the chatter. Maria soon came as well, drinking along with Tommy. Joel remained close to the wall, on his second beer.

The night was getting long, and your eyes dropped. Fridays were always the worst, the kids were always jittery, draining your energy to the lowest of lows. 

Slip out of your chair, you head to the front to pay. You gesture toward Tommy and Maria, saying goodbye. With your hands in your pockets, you make your way into the cold night. Lights cast a glow over the snow, the mountains darkening the sky even more.

The crunch of snow under your boots was soon accompanied by another pair. Turning back, you see Joel. His breath fanned around his sharp face.

“Joel, didn’t expect to see you coming this way.” It hurt to smile, the cold freezing up your muscles.

“I live the same way.” He motioned down the road. 

‘Oh, I guess that is right’  You rubbed the back of your neck.

You slow down to match his pace. Having him just trail behind you was just strange and it wouldn’t help your anxiety of walking home alone. A silence that was present when both of you first talked fell over you both again.

The snow slightly drifted you both, the brown of your coat getting small dark dots on the shoulders. There was slight chatter from the center of the settlement, that slowly went away as you made it toward the cemetery.

Now that you were looking up at him so close, you felt like you’d seen this man somewhere. Not before you were living in Jackson, but somewhere earlier. His face seemed like it was a part of a distant memory.

When you reach Rancher Street, your house comes up first, the roofs full of snow. You slow your walk and put your foot on the first step. Before heading up more, you turn back to Joel who is watching you with an intense look.

“I’ve seen you somewhere, haven’t I.”

authors note -

I hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter!! Don't look at my past posts and realize that I haven't posted in almost a year. Oops!

Here's my a03 account where you can read this same story on a03 if you prefer that format: Writer_Spins

[igaveuponoriginality]

will solace would attract moths: part 2

i occasionally do write solangelo / pjo fan fic... (@j10writes on wattpad..) so since i made that post anyways, i wanted to elaborate...

Nico POV

Night was creeping over the horizon, and I was sat next to Will, waiting for the campfire to light. Most people weren't around yet, except for a small group of newer campers that arrived last week. This would be their first big campfire, ha.

I recalled faintly my first time at the fire, and then again, after the wars. Each had felt very different, one anticipatory and strange. The second time, I was surrounded by friends? and it had been genuine fun. This was my first campfire, however, since Will became my boyfriend.

Not that anyone else knew that, since I had coincidently run off for urgent business at Camp Jupiter not long after.

But tonight, right now. Karaoke and charades were on the schedule and I saw Percy, Annabeth, alongside Piper and Leo headed for the fire. Annabeth looked up first, shooting me and Will a wave. I smiled back, seeing Will wave, then look to me.

He bobbed back and forth on the bench, maybe from anticipation, maybe cold. You would never know with demigods.

"Excited?" He asked with a pensive smile. I smiled faintly back, nodding.

"Yeah," I chuckled, looking up to see Leo running over.

"Can I light it?!" He asked excitedly. Simultaneous shouts of approval hit the air and Leo threw his hand out, striking up a big flame in the fire pit. The fire blazed to life, wafting a blast of heat and light into our faces.

Will smiled into the fire, looking expectantly as the rest of our friends sat down among the pile of other campers accumulating. Karaoke was about to start. Jumping up first, Percy had something in mind. The Little Mermaid's soundtrack rang throughout the night, as singer after singer went up to have some fun with there own addition. Slowly, fewer and fewer people raised hands until it seemed worthwhile to switch to other games. Namely, charades, which I actually chose to participate in.

The Athena cabin won, though Aphrodite cabin came close. This didn't surprise anyone -- the theme was pop culture.

My first pull was "Stitch" from "Lilo & Stitch", which as someone showed me later, was a strange little demon creature from a movie... something I did not know. When I picked up the card, all I could really do was stare at it, -- how was this pop culture? I barely knew what pop culture was. And then...

Well, I acted out someone sewing. No one could connect my sewing gestures to an alien. Apparently, pop culture requires a bit more… context... They guessed "sewing" eventually, but no one said stitch. When the round was up, and I told them what it was, a roar of laughter rang into the air. I asked again, how that could be pop culture? And finally, Percy got up and explained Stitch didn't mean A stitch... I also decided the character stitch sounds strange.

Next I pulled "Darth Vader" which I knew from Will making me watch every single movie in the Star Wars franchise the second I gave him the chance. That surprised people more than my lack of disney knowledge. That I knew Star Wars. I won't pretend I loved it, but... it was like, 10 hours or something insane with Will. And it wasn't awful... Not to mention, for Darth Vader? I just breathed heavily, he got it eventually!

But after so many games, and so many songs, the night was winding down and I could feel sleepiness drifting over each camper -- not that it was anything supernatural, the Hypnos cabin had already gone to bed. Most campers had trickled out and gone to bed, aside from a few stragglers, me and Will included. Tucked safely into the dark of night, I pressed closer to him against the evening's cold air. Will turned to me, smiling.

"Leaving?" He asked softly. I nodded, picking my head up. Before I got up, I pressed my lips to his, getting ready to go just as quickly. Will smiled again, and then I saw the air brighten. Just around the edges, Will was glowing faintly -- and getting brighter, laughing a little as he noticed.

Not that he couldn't notice -- his skin was fluorescent.

Before I could get a word out, I saw wings fluttering nearby. Moths.

The light Will was putting off was enough to attract moths. By the time the moths caught on, so had the campers still around the first -- including Percy and Annabeth, who watched on laughing quietly.

"Will, they like you!" Annabeth smiled, chuckling. I laughed, smiled, and said goodbye as I headed to my cabin.

The memory of Will's glow, strong enough to draw moths stayed in my head even as I tried to fall asleep. The memory of the night stayed in my mind. I had learned to enjoy the campfires, but had that been fun, even? Even not knowing what Stitch was or getting stuck acting out Darth Vader (which, supposedly, "fits me very well"? Really, Percy?) was fun.

It was new, and it was nice.

wordcount: 845

sidebar: i (author) have NEVER seen star wars so if the watchtime and personality of darth vader are completely wrong to my impressions... whoopsie. haha. i have seen two of the movies, but kind of forget all of it. also saw them out of order :p

i've never written on tumblr btw.. or any fanfic in awhile so this might totally suck, idrk! it's shorter than my usual too. soo.. yeah. hope it was okay if u read lol

[lemortehomme]

Howdy friends! I've created a comic, better angels, for the BHF24 Christmas prompts! You can follow the link to read it on AO3 because I don't much care for posting multi-page comics on tumblr. (i like the scroll instead of the swipe i guess)

feel free to read my nonsense ramble after the cut lol

i have not drawn for like a year and jfc my hand hurts and that is also why beth and daryl look different in every panel as well as a mishmash of styles. apparently the yearly MIGHTY NEED to create a comic wasn't dead, just biding its time so this is a few year's worth of pages apparently

but i am glad i made it even if they look friggin' wonky it felt good to maek aert again

also way back when i first started writing for twd, i made a short little epistolary one-shot to help figure out beth and daryl, and thought about making it into a comic thing, so i made fonts for their handwriting. in the end i scrapped that idea, but i used the beth font for this comic, so that's cool because hand-lettering in krita is a gd pain in the ass

[days-until-burnout]

hellow *looks at u with big ole eyes* i am in need of more scarishbeans pwease 🥺🥺🥺 the very fluffy type 🥹🥹 as always ur writings are wonderful and i hope u have a very good timezone 🎀

(can u guess who i am LOL 😔 hint: the only person that requests scarjoel💀)

*looks at you with even bigger eyes* scarjoel for u yes OH NO. I JSUT REREAD THE PRMPT YOU SAID FLUFFY NOOOOOOOOO I FUCKED UP. FORGIVE ME 😭 i had no ideas so i pulled a prompt generator and i got "Your character has big news but no one to tell it to." forgive me _____

📧 Day 114 (d) -

Characters - Scar/Joel Words - 638 Time - 30 mins Content - School setting

Joel jumps high in the air, clutching his phone tight as he fists the air. He cheers loudly by himself, beaming when gravity eases him down, even the wind brushes his cheek and ruffles his hair. Jealousy, he holds his phone to his chest, clutching his hand on top as he feels his heartbeat everywhere. 

His face breaks, hurting with a smile. 

When he looks back at his screen, re-reading the words over and over, his heart jumps every single time like the first time. Relief, a sense of achievement, suddenly fuller. 

Overcome with feelings, he falls to his knees, the joy shattering at the edges like waking up from a good dream. The curtains fall, the rug pulled from under him. His chest tightens, suffocating his heart where it once pounded with excitement. 

When he stares at the ground under him, thumbs across his screen, his reflection staring right back. His shadow falls over him, the world dimmer without the sun warming his skin. 

The tears follow shortly after.

This is pathetic, he knows. 

Oh, how he knows. 

“Oh, hello there!” 

Joel jumps, forcing himself to not turn around before rubbing his eyes with the cuff of his sleeve. It stings and scratches, burning over the scorching tears. He breathes in and out, willing himself back to composure. 

When he finally turns around, he sits on the grass, facing the sun blocked by Scar. He finds curiosity in twinkling eyes, something nice and gentle in his expression. Scar limps over, huffing as he drops his cane, carefully lowering himself on the grass in front of him. 

“Hi, Scar,” Joel greets, gaze dropping to his phone. His reflection stares back, but harder to tell apart from the sunlight. 

“Aw, you look very sad. What is wrong, Joel? Something you want to share with your good ol’ pal Scar?”

Joel chuckles, a little bitterly. They are not friends, and never were. In another lifetime, if they made different decisions, maybe they would have been friends. Now, however, Joel can only look up to the guy everyone wants to befriend. Such a cool guy, so approachable. 

Still, his mouth gets ahead of his head, “It’s nothing.”

“Oh?” Scar tilts his head, eyebrows raised with even more curiosity now. “So there is something to share! Do tell, Joel, do tell.”

Instead of talking, Joel unlocks his phone, handing it over. 

It takes a couple seconds for Scar to read it, and somehow, someway, his expression fills with excitement, almost pride. Joel tells himself he is imagining it, because surely he is. 

But then Scar is looking at him, right at him, smiling so wide. Joel freezes when Scar pulls himself over, pulling him in for a crushing hug. And he is saying things, praise and whatnot, nice things that he cannot even tell apart. 

Just sound. Everything is sound. Just the sound of Scar’s voice spoken into his hair and neck, nice things that sound so warm and soft and gentle. 

His heart is ready to burst, already forgetting the heartbreak of having no one to share the news with. His eyes gloss, prickling with tears again. They rain down his face, hot and wet landing on Scar’s shoulder. He raises his hands, taking fistfuls of Scar’s back as he buries his face into his shoulder, trying to bite back the sobs.

Scar places a hand behind Joel’s head, running his fingers through his hairs, his loudness taming at the change of moods. He holds Joel secure in his arms, smiling into his hair, and when he speaks next, his voice is softer.

“I’m proud of you,” he whispers, chuckling when Joel curls himself further into his arms. “You have done amazingly, Joel. You should be proud,” he nuzzles his cheek, lightly brushing his jaw with his lips, “very, very proud.”

_____

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 it ended fluffy at least 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 also, i *think* i know who you might be, but i cannot be for certain. no biggie going off anon or stayin, you can if you want. it does not affect anything, i promise well, for now, that's scar day for now 😌 i wanted to do convex but didnt get aournd to it. maybe anothe rday

[click for a random day]

[laugtherhyena]

Continuing the rant-iness of last post's notes onto this one i think (I appreciate if they're read, i think I'm too self-conscious to have them in the post itself)

[wolpatinga]

[dan-crimes]

I don't personally enjoy death in my stories for one because I have no experience with it personally and for two because you can't torture a character anymore once they've died 😇

[darabeatha]

/ The process of me picking a f.go muse is basically reading from 745738483 different sources about the actual character or historical figure in question and -then- reading whatever their f.go description says; then turbo analyzing their designs

[sege-h]

Im gonna throw in my 2 cents to just say that people that hate Flynn to the point of fandom conspiracy theories already believed he was behind a bunch of things they didnt like about the franchise even when he was only working on the comics. Idk where this came from-- if it was because IDW brought him back as a writer for Sonic and the hatedom was upset they werent rid of him or what.

Point is, they already believed he wanted to have and did have more influence on Segas decisions for Sonic.

So i imagine him actually starting to write for the games and be a consultant on other Sonic properties just made them worse and louder about this.

Help me out here: Why is there so much Ian Flynn hate going around lately? I thought everyone loved that he was contributing to the games. Now suddenly they aren't. I guess that's par for the course for this series but I don't get it. He isn't perfect but I like what he's done. Am I a weirdo?

Ian Flynn has always had a lot of fans, but any creator putting their work out there is going to have detractors as well. That's just the nature of being an artist. To some extent, it's no big deal. He's not a perfect writer. Nobody is! I consider myself a fan of his work, but I've criticized plenty of individual writing decisions from him on here.

But Ian doesn't just have critics. He has his own obsessive hatedom. And the specific nature of Ian's hatedom is... interesting.

A decade ago, Ian was only the guy writing for Archie Sonic, meaning any debates over his work were quarantined within that tiny niche of the larger Sonic fandom. Only people who kept up with the comics month to month had any real reason to have an opinion on the guy, which means we're talking about merely thousands of fans as opposed to millions.

Within that group, he had some haters. You had the people who were mad about story changes made during his run, particularly things like ancillary characters getting killed off (although over the years we've learned that most of those were editorial mandates from Mike Pellerito). You had the people mad that Ian didn't push their favorite ship, with feuding SonAmy and Sonally fans claiming that he was CLEARLY biased towards one or the other. You had the people who just really, really liked one of the previous writers way more - usually Penders, as hard as that may be to believe today. That sort of thing. Pretty normal comic fandom type stuff. Again, it comes with the territory.

Unfortunately, many of those haters only got worse over time, morphing into reactionaries who constantly try to incite Comicsgate type culture war bullshit.

There are people still mad at Ian for making Sally bi and pairing her with Nicole instead of Sonic in the later Archie comics. There have been elaborate MS Paint red string conspiracy boards explaining how people like Ian and Jon Gray have apparently been destroying the franchise from the inside for years by Making Sonic Woke. (Jon gets dragged into this because people are still mad about him drawing The Slap 20 years later. Yes, really!!) There was an unhinged change.org petition trying to get Ian fired, specifically from people who were mad that the Freedom Fighters aren't in the IDW comics. There was even a very sad little fan campaign from these people trying to get Sega to move the Sonic comic license away from IDW and over to Udon, because they thought Udon would bring Sally and Bunnie back and also make them sexy again. There's a lot of this.

(Unfortunately, Penders has also exacerbated this by gossiping about Ian on Twitter and giving these fans ammo, but that's a whole 'nother discussion.)

The thing is, for years, people who only played the games or watched the cartoons had no reason to pay attention to any of this. Now, though, Ian isn't just writing for some weird spinoff comics that only the super nerds read. Now he's writing comics that are canon to the games, and ALSO some of the games themselves, and ALSO consulting on other tie-in media like Sonic Prime, and ALSO writing the official Sonic encyclopedia, and ALSO serving as part of the new Sonic Lore Team at Sega. And on top of all this, he's got an increasingly popular podcast where he fields questions about his work on all of these things, which serves as one of the fandom's main windows into creative decisions being made behind the scenes.

As a fan of Ian's work, it's been really cool to see him rise in prominence. But the dark side of this is that his obsessive haters from the Archie days now have WAY more of a potential audience of their own. Now, every Sonic fan has to have an opinion on Ian. What this frequently means is that you'll have the Comicsgate types taking things Ian writes or says out of context, attempting to get more of the general fandom to yell at the guy.

Unfortunately, there are a wide variety of Sonic fans who take the bait:

You've got hardcore fans who disliked basically any recent piece of Sonic media and are looking for someone to blame.

You've got the people who are concerned about the sanctity of Sonic's canon, who shoot the messenger any time Ian mentions a new retcon from Sonic Team on the podcast - or any time he even mentions the THOUGHT of changing anything about the canon, as we saw recently with the Sol Dimension nonsense.

You've got people who romanticize some sort of mythical artistic vision that Sega of Japan supposedly has (or had) for the franchise. To many of these fans, American contributors like Ian just don't "get" the heart of the series and are trying to turn Sonic into something different. (This "heart of the series" tends to be some mix of Japanese instruction manual lore, the cinematics from Sonic CD, the OVA, and/or the games written by Shiro Maekawa, depending on what Sonic media the fan in question grew up with.)

You've got fans of specific characters or ships who pin the blame for how their faves are depicted entirely on Ian - most vocally fans of Shadow, even though the root problem is that Sonic Team hasn't known what to do with Shadow since 2006. At best this stops at regular old criticism, but at its worst this devolves into claims that Ian has an agenda against certain characters.

You've got fans annoyed by a perceived over-emphasis on comic-original characters in the IDW comics, ignoring the obvious facts that these characters exist because the game cast is so tightly controlled by Sega, and also, you know, that people just like the IDW characters and want more stories about them.

You've got a LOT of discourse over IDW's Sonic being a hero who tries to give his enemies second chances, as if half of Sonic's closest friends aren't already former villains and rivals. Honestly this is very transparently just reheated Steven Universe discourse lmao

You'll also see people who just think they could do Ian's job better. They can't believe that THIS GUY is the American fan working on all these Sonic projects, when clearly THEY understand the characters and lore and themes SO much better than this charlatan.

All it takes is for someone in one of these categories to be unhappy about some recent piece of Sonic media, and for them to come across an out of context quote or comic panel that rubs them the wrong way, and suddenly the leftist Zoomer Sonic fans will join the latest dogpile on Ian alongside the reactionary Comicsgate types who are mad at him for Making Sonic Woke.

In general, when fandoms get upset, they tend to want a scapegoat. A person or two to point a finger at and go "THAT's who ruined the thing I love!" This tends to be based less on reality and more on which contributors are the most visible online. You'll sometimes see teenage and adult fans of children's cartoons single out a storyboarder who's particularly vocal on Twitter, blame them for every story decision they don't like, and harass them off the platform out of a sense of retribution for their favorite ship or whatever. Failing that, fans might choose to blame every nitpick, down to individual lines of dialogue and frames of animation, on a showrunner, just because that's the name they associate with the show. And unfortunately, when it comes to Sonic, Ian is now arguably the most prolific and outspoken contributor on the English speaking internet, and therefore a common scapegoat.

Some of the things I've seen Ian blamed for are truly wild. A lot of people have claimed for YEARS that he's just lying about the existence of creative guidelines and restrictions from Sega - or, as fans call them, The Mandates - even though they're just an inherent aspect of working on a licensed property. Others claim that The Mandates are real, but somehow Ian's fault. A vocal minority of fans have convinced themselves that Ian is the sole reason the Freedom Fighters don't exist in the IDW comics, even though Ian says he's been pushing to bring them back since day one.

Sometimes you'll see people say he ruined shit he didn't even work on. A few weeks ago on Twitter I saw someone claim that Ian had written a rejected script for Sonic Forces in which Tails died. I could not find a source for this for the life of me. As far as I can tell, the rumor seems to have been born from an alleged leaked script for Forces with margin notes from Aaron Webber that criticized the way Tails was written, and also an old tweet where Aaron joked that Tails would die in an upcoming episode of Sonic Mania Adventures. These merged into "Aaron Webber criticized a draft of the Forces script in which Tails died." How'd Ian get dragged into this? Who fucking knows!

It's all just a big game of telephone. All it takes is some asshole to make something up about Ian on Twitter or YouTube or a DeviantArt journal or some forum, and at least a couple people will believe it, and then it gets repeated as fact. Again, this used to be contained by the niche nature of the Archie Sonic fandom, but now there are WAY more people who are receptive to this shit.

It's just sad to me that Ian tries to be so open and honest about his work, to try to explain the rationale for certain things, to keep fans looped in on the direction the franchise is headed, and this just gives the Flynnspiracy types more quotes to take out of context and try to paint him as the devil. If it sounds like I'm being overly defensive and dismissing his critics, man... some of the things I've seen people say directly to him are just unbelievable. People will send paragraphs-long angry screeds in to his podcast that completely tear him apart, and he has to sit there and be like "Well, that's your opinion, and you're entitled to it." People literally pay for special guest interview episodes where they just rapid fire complaints about his writing at him directly to his face. I don't know how he does it. I would snap.

All of this over Sonic the fucking Hedgehog of all things.

I don't know how to wrap this up. Engaging with fandoms online is very tiring, which is why I tend not to do it. Things like this are too common. I guess, just... remember that making art collaboratively is a complicated thing. The people involved are generally trying their best given the circumstances, but they're only human. They make mistakes. But please treat them like humans. Criticism and dogpiling are not the same thing.

[inkskinned]

you said you were stuck in a time loop, which was fine. i feel like late-stage capitalism has us all in a time loop, ammiright? you came barging in at 5:33. in the morning. i hadn't even processed the idea of coffee.

but you had this look of utter panic in your eyes. terror like the ocean. you grabbed my cheeks. im in a time loop.

i don't know why in movies the first reaction is to deny it. when someone is panicking like that, it's not appropriate to ask them to calm down. it didn't matter if i believed it, what mattered was that you believed it so much that it was consuming you.

so here we are. i pour you some of the dark roast. "you look like utter and entire hell," i say.

you push your fingers into your eyes. "you always say that."

i try to think of something funny to say that i wouldn't have said on previous time loops, but jokes don't land without the proper timing (lol). "remind me to think -"

"-yeah, of a joke that only works in the future. and before you say anything, i know you're pissed i just stole your punchline." you bolt the coffee, which is wild. it's very hot. you don't seem to notice.

i blow on mine to cool it down. i both am very pissed at you and also i can't see you in this amount of panic without wanting to help. but i'm also not really sure what we are, not since i saw you kiss her like that, no offense. it just was like, kind of rude when you knew i liked you.

and besides. i'm just like, barely a person. i write omegaverse fanfiction. i love the concept of a time loop, but what the fuck am i gonna do? send an alpha in there? i open my mouth.

you point at me. "you're about to ask why me. and then say some disparaging shit about yourself. i'm just a nerd who plays dnd or something. that self-own is slightly different each time." you sigh. "i know you think you can't really help me. i don't know who can help me. i only came to you because you fucking believe me." you check your watch, sigh, and throw your head back. you cover your eyes with one hand. "i've come here on 26 separate revolutions," you say. "you have believed me every time. and yeah, i have no idea how you fit into this but i just -" you sigh again. "i just like fucking talking to someone about it."

"do you need more cof-" i start, but you're already holding the empty cup out. i frown at it. "you're not getting any more until you promise not to bolt this one like an animal."

you laugh a little and sit up, pushing your hair out of your face. "okay, that's new dialogue. but to be fair to you, i'm not usually this rude. i'm still pretty new at all of this." you check your watch again. another sigh. i guess you're cruising for a personal best in the Sigh Olympics.

i almost tell you im not an NPC but i've played enough video games to know i'm very much an NPC. i pour you another cup. "so what happens in the loop?"

"really bad explosion." you mutter into the mug. you put your elbows on the table (rude) and bury your face in your arms like an angsty teenager. one hand floats up while you talk, because evidently you literally can't talk without your hands. "i have to save the day and there's this bomb and i have no bomb training and it keeps moving, you know."

"do i die?"

you peek up from your arms. "yeah. bigtime. you keep trying to run or stay or do anything and you always super die."

"oh."

"to be fair, like, everyone dies in it though.... so you're in good company."

i hate that you make me laugh. i hate that being around you always feels tingly and strange, this electric tension between us. something that is evidently (given how you stuck your tongue down a stranger's throat literally 3 days ago) (well. 3 for me) super one-sided. i take a sip of my coffee and close my eyes.

i die today, i guess. a little spark of panic starts at the top of my hands and starts whipping up my wrists.

"shit," you say. you look at your watch and jump to your feet. "i have to go. if i can come back, i will. i am still trying to figure out when is best to do everything, you know? the order of stuff. maybe morning isn't good for us."

i look up at you and think about how you keep kissing me in the back of my car and in alleyways and in the dark. and i can never fucking get a read on you. and i also think about how incredibly panicked you look. how broken. how long have you been doing this? "i don't want to die," i say.

you glance downwards. "well, you're not really dead, you'll come back in the loop."

"but i will have died." my hands are shaking. i am trying really hard to stay calm.

you push your hands through your hair again. "i really have to go. i will have this discussion with the next version of you, though. it is like, something i am thinking about."

"but i don't get a next version," i say. i don't really have the language for this, because i haven't had 26 tries with you. i only have my memories: you, a week ago. drunk and telling me you loved me in my ear. you, kissing her anyway. you, months ago, throwing up on my birthday, whispering to me i ruin everything i touch, always, over and over. please don't ask. i can't ever fucking have that be you.

i run my finger along the rim of the mug. "i don't want to die in this one."

you seem baffled by this. "i get that but - time will reset, you'll be fine, you won't even remember we talked about this."

"but i know now." i stand up too. "i have to live the rest of this day knowing i could die. knowing i probably am going to."

"you could always die, to be fair."

i feel my hands get out of control. "earlier, you said i always say a different insult about myself. what if you're just going through different parallel universes and those are all just different - but real - versions of myself? what if you're not in a time loop, you're in a fucking universe loop?"

"if it helps, i've wondered this too. also, you're hot in all of them. if that helps."

i point at you. "no flirting. i'm trying to figure out if i die today."

"who's flirting?" you catch my wild hands and give me that long, perfect smile. like we're in this together. "i won't let ya die." you check your watch and sigh again. "well. maybe not this time."

i grit my teeth. you are so not making quips at me while i try to explain the existential dread i'm having. "does the time loop reset if i fucking kill you?"

"honestly i don't know how long it continues after i die, because i just wake up. it could be that the loop goes until the explosion for everyone, and we're all in the loop, or it could be that when i die, the loop restarts. when i die i wake up, is all."

i pull away from you and stalk into the kitchen and start doing all 3 of my dishes. "okay, first, you know i was joking. and secondly, this is exactly my point. you don't know if this is just a parallel universe. maybe in the ones where you died, the explosion happened and nobody reset and it's just you travelling." i have to stop and push the heel of my palm into my eyeball. "... how often have you died?"

i look at you. you look at me. you give me this very sad, halfway smile and a little what can ya do shrug. something in that action seems so old and weary that i want to burst into tears.

"i have to go," you say. "really. for real. there's this family of five i save from getting into a car crash. and i know it's like oh but we're all gonna die in the explosion anyway, what's the point. and..." you shrug again. "it matters to me, is all. at least i saved them for now. at least i saved anything."

you pad over to me and wrap me in a tight hug. you always seem so tall against me. i feel your cheek rest against the top of my head for a moment. for a second, it's just us, and the space is warm, and my heart is a little broken hare.

you leave me there, and i stand in my stupid badly lit kitchen with my stupid mugs. i think about you. i start texting my mom that she needs to get out of the city, but it feels pointless.

i don't know what to do. tomorrow is the same day for you. but i have to prepare to die in my today.

[luveline]

could you write bau!reader x aaron, reader is pregnant and baby is so restless and kicking a lot as reader is at her desk working and aaron is the only one who can calm baby down

ty for requesting <3 pregnant!reader, 1k

“Woh,” you mumble, almost clipping your head on your desk as you lean forward. “Oh, my gosh.” 

“What’s wrong, mama?” 

You wave your free hand weakly at Derek, the other to your bump. “Nothing’s wrong, handsome.” 

Derek laughs warmly and stands from his chair. “I don’t believe you. Come on, tell me what’s wrong. Or I’ll go get the big man and he can force it out of you himself.” 

Hotch’s never forced anything out of you, but he has kissed a confession from you before. He could do it again easily. 

You right yourself as the baby’s rampant kicking makes you feel as though you’ll pee your pants. “Derek, there’s some crazy stuff happening inside of me right now.” 

He smiles at you fondly. “I bet there is.” 

“She’s kicking the shit out of me.” Sitting up, your back twinges and relaxes, the weight of your baby bump spreading out. You’re very pregnant and the baby is extremely active. She kicks pretty much 24/7 these last few days, and it’s driving you crazy. “Do you wanna feel?” 

Derek presents his hand for feeling. You stand up, and Derek lays a hand across your bump. You don’t have to move it anywhere: the second he touches you, he can no doubt feel the baby’s aggressiveness. She’s aiming her little feet almost like she knows where your most fragile organs are. 

One rough kick has Derek taking back his hand. “She’s beating you up, mama.” 

“She hates me.” 

“She doesn’t hate you,” Spencer says, twirling in his chair to give one of his innocuous tidbits of information, “babies kick for all sorts of reasons. They kick when they’re hungry, or after you’ve just eaten because of the extra glucose shared via the placenta. Sometimes they kick because they can feel sensation through your skin.” 

Spencer stands up. You raise your brows. “You wanna feel?” you ask. 

He grins and offers his hand. You take it and place it against the baby’s restless feet, smiling at Spencer’s smile, a little enchanted by how fascinated he seems. At Spencer’s touch, she starts to kick quickly like she had been with Derek, and eventually you have to move his hand in the hopes she’ll stop. She slows, but the occasional stretch pokes at your stomach. You can see the distension of her limb even through your shirt. 

“She’s really going for it today,” you say. “Maybe I had too much brown sugar in my oatmeal.” 

“You know babies can tell the difference between hands?” Spencer asks. 

“I sort of guessed,” you say distractedly, rubbing at the baby’s kicking with the crest of your palm. “She doesn’t act like this with Hotch.” 

“Good to know he has that effect on everyone,” Derek says with a laugh. 

“I might go and ask him to make her stop. I’m gonna need a change of clothes if she doesn’t.” 

Derek laughs again, full-bellied, his arm wrapping around your shoulders in a pitying hug. “Aw, sweetheart, you’ll be okay. Just two more months and this will all be over.” 

“Well, you never know. The longest overdue pregnancy in human history was almost a hundred days, that’s more than an extra three months.” 

“Spencer!” you say, not truly shouting, but your volume escaping you as the horror of a year long pregnancy sinks in. “Don’t jinx me.” 

Your loud voice, or perhaps Derek’s roaring laughter, draws the attention of JJ and Hotch, who appear from the depths of his office with matching curious expressions. JJ begins down the steps to the bullpen, while Hotch stays at the balcony waiting for an explanation. 

“Baby Hotchner’s giving it large,” Derek says, rubbing your upper arm. 

“She won’t stop,” you complain, relieved to see your stern husband. “Can you come and set her straight?” 

You aren’t always so quick to complain to him, but this is too much. It feels as though she’s about to start doing spin kinks against your spine —it’s honestly the most she’s ever moved. When you were just a few weeks pregnant you’d longed for her to wriggle and show you a sign that she could feel you, but now you’d appreciate a few minutes of calm. 

Hotch follows JJ down obligingly, and he, surrounded by your curious coworkers and colleagues, without any hesitation (but certainly some care), slips his hand under your blouse to feel at his baby’s sharp kicking. He presses against what might be a foot for a few moments, his smile barely hidden, his palm warm. 

“She really is giving it large,” he says, the deep softness of his voice like a signal. 

The baby’s kicks soften, until, barely ten seconds later, they stop. Your spine ceases vibrating, and you can finally stand there without having to press your thighs together. 

“Thank you,” you say, holding Hotch’s elbow. He’s well and truly saved you. 

He rubs your stomach with his thumb. His dark eyes stay set on your bump. “You’re welcome.” 

“I guess baby just missed her dad,” JJ says. 

You look at Spencer. He doesn’t say anything. “No correction?” you ask. 

“No,” he says, pouting that you’d ask. “Either she missed the sound of his voice, or your reaction to seeing him has calmed her down. That’s not a big difference.” 

“It’s both, I think,” you say, paused by a big yawn. 

“Are you tired?” Hotch asks. 

“Urgently.” You let yourself sag forward toward him, gesturing for Spencer, Derek and JJ to look away. “Thanks for your help, boys, but I need something no one else can give me.” You collapse into Hotch’s chest for a hug. 

The bump is very much in the way, but he reacts accordingly, ushering your chest to his, cheek pressed gently to your forehead. “She’s exhausted you,” he teases under his breath. 

“She really has.” 

“I love how she settles with me,” he says, rubbing your back for a long, slow handful of seconds, before he pulls away enough to grin at you. “But I suppose she gets that from her mother.” 

“You’re very calming.” 

“So I’ve been told.”