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writersblockedx · 3 months

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Hi there!

I really love your fanfics!

I couldn’t use the link to submit a request so I’m sending it here !

What about a fanfic where Ried has a family but he’s kept it secret for so many years so they wouldn’t get hurt. He has a small daughter and a young son. One day at the office, he gets pictures of someone taking pictures of them with a threat so he has to come clean to the team and bring his family to the office to keep them safe and they are all shocked

Please no pressure for this fic! Love your work!!!

Securing Secrets / S.R.

Pairing - Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Summary - Spencer has always attempted to keep his family safe. So much so, they had become a secret. But when their lives are threatened, he has no choice but to come clean and ask for the help of his team. Warnings - Stalking, mentions of violence and death Words - 3.8K

A/n - I hope this is okay for you - I wrote a little more than I intended to but I still hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

It was no wonder why Spencer had kept his family to himself. When he had faced killers like Cat Adams and Tobias Hankle, he knew what humans were capable of - if he dared to even compare them to anything humane. So, he made the decision when he met Y/n to forever keep her a secret from his work. And when they started growing a little family with two children, he kept them a secret too.

Sometimes it killed him inside. As much as he loved his team, risking the lives of his family just wasn't enough for him. He had lost his first love, had his mother held captive, he wasn't about to risk his family too. He had learnt from his past - at least he thought he had done.

"Morgan, hey, no, you can't-" Y/n called towards their seven year old daughter whose sticky fingers had grasped a hold of a copy of fifty shades of grade. When she thought taking the kids on a day trip out to the book store would be easy, she hadn't imagined her seven year old reading smut. "You can't read that." She scolded before placing the book back on its shelf.

The bushy-haired girl gazed up at her mother, "Why not?" She huffed.

Her arm wrapped around Jay, their more reserved, four (and a half) year old. "Because it's an adult book. When you're old enough, you can read it."

"I am old enough, Daddy said I've got an advanced reading age!" Of course, she did - she was the daughter of the guy who could read 20,000 words a minute. Not to mention, she was going through the 'I'm old enough to do what I want' phase.

"Ask me again when you're 18, how about that?" She suggested before the child wrapped at her torso and stared up at her.

"Will Dada be home?" He asked.

Jay always liked coming home from their day trips to find Spencer already there, his head deep in another book or a case file. But days like that were rare - as much as both the parents hated such. "Erm-" Before she could give her son an answer, her phone started to ring. "That should be him." She gave the boy a smile before pulling out her mobile and seeing Spencer's contact staring back at her.

The man, from the moment they made it official, had always made sure to call her at the end of his working day. Whether he was in a hotel somewhere in the country, on the jet or if he was simply in his car, travelling home. "Hey, Spence, you should hear what Morgan wants to read-"

She could barely finish her breath, "Where are you?" He asked, his tone ever so stern that it was already making her nervous.

"The bookstore down town." She answered, already glancing around like she suddenly felt as if she was being watched. "Why?"

The girl could hear his uneven breaths on the other side of the phone, "I- Shit-" That's when Y/n knew something was wrong - her husband never swore...ever. "Can you come to the office? With the kids, we need you here."

"The office? Spencer, what are you talking about? I thought they didn't know."

"Yeah, well something's changed." Her heart started beating so fast that she wondered if Jay would be able to feel it. "Please, I need to know you're all safe."

She nodded and gazed over at her two children whom were waiting to hear about what Daddy had told her. "We'll be right over," She assured.

"And Y/n," He spoke, "In your car, in the glove compartment, there's a pistol, please, take it." What the hell had happened? Spencer could barely use a gun himself, never mind her. "I put it in there just in case and, just keep it on you until you get here."

"Okay, yeah." She didn't like the idea but, if someone was threatening them, if someone was putting her and her children at risk, she would do whatever was needed.

"I'll see you soon." Spencer huffed, "I love you."

"I love you too."

And with that, she ended the call. Only a single exhale dared to leave her lips before she stood. "Is Dada home?" Jay nagged.

She scooped the boy up into her arms, "No, but we're gonna visit him at work, okay?" Jay didn't seem happy about the idea but she'd rather the boy be safe than happy. "Come on," With her free hand, she grasped Morgan's finger tips tightly. "We need to go."

She rushed her and the kids into her parked car outside, making sure to look over her shoulder. Once she was seated in the driver's seat with the engine running, her gaze glanced to the glove compartment. Y/n needed to. Her hand leaned over, pushing it open and finding the gun stuffed behind a thick car manual. She grasped it for a moment before placing it on the passangers seat for easy access.

From there, she didn't take her foot off the gas. She was usually an ulta-safe driver. But, tonight, everything was different.

When they arrived to the BAU, Y/n pressed the button for the sixth floor and waited for the doors to glide open. With two children at either side of her, she wandered into the office. Her eyes instantly searched for Spencer. Instead, a blonde, colourful girl came running over to them. Well, walking as fast as she could in her thick heels. Garcia, Y/n assumed.

"Oh, you must be the lovely Mrs Reid," She sighed in relief when she came face to face with Y/n.

She glanced her up and down; there was no way this was JJ or Emily. "Penelope, right?"

The girl almost seemed surprised, "You- you know me?"

Y/n's face softened ever so slightly, "Of course."

"Y/n!" Her head turned from Garcia to see Spencer jogging over to her. Once he was close enough, he instantly engulfed the girl into a tight hug. "You okay?" He asked before pulling away and hugging his two children.

She nodded, "Yeah, we're okay, don't worry." When Spencer stood from hugging his kids, he gazed back over at his wife. She had grasped her hand from the back hem of her jeans, pulling out the pistol he had made sure she take. "Here, I've no idea what I'm doing with it anyway." Spencer took the weapon from her before her expression turned stern, "Now, what the hell is going on?"

Spencer's eyes instantly glanced down at their children; they didn't need to hear this. "Morgan, Jay," He spoke ever so softly to them as he leaned down, "Why don't you go with Garcia, she'll show you all her funky toys?" He glanced back at Penelope who was gleaming with a smile as she offer a hand for each child.

"Oh, yeah! I've got unicorns, fairies, fluffy pens, everything." She gleamed, trying to hide her fear for the true reason Spencer's family had been bought into the BAU. Once the kids took the woman's hand she gave one last look at the couple, "Let me know if you need anything."

The boy nodded before Garcia began leading the children towards her cave, "Someone- someone found you." He started to explain as he interlocked his hand with her, guiding the two over towards the conference room where the rest of the team were waiting. "I don't know how and I don't know who but- but around 30 minutes ago I had email to my work address. There's photos, almost a months worth."

Her brows narrowed at him, "Of what?"

"Of you."

Oh god. Despite all the effort the two had put in to keep their family personal, someone had still connected her and the kids to Spencer. And for whatever reason, they had become a target.

Spencer opened the door to the conference room, where the team were waiting. Most of them sat at the round table where they had several files and papers scattered in front of them. But at the entrance of Reid and his secret wife, they each turned. She offered them a weak smile before the man, whom she assumed was Hotch, spoke up, "Sadly we don't have much time for small talk, but we all want to help." He stood over towards Y/n and offered her his hand, "Aaron Hotchner."

She shook his hand, "Hotch, I should have known." And then she glanced around the table at the rest of the agents. Without hesitation, she named them all, "JJ, Emily, Rossi and Morgan." She smiled at each of them. "Spencer talks about you all a lot."

The boy next to her grinned every so slightly. "I wish we could have met differently." Morgan offered as he stood up, "Take a seat, we'll run you through what we know."

Y/n followed Spencer as the two sat at the round table and the tv screen in front of them started filling with papazzi-style photographs of the woman. Her grocery shopping, her at a bar with some friends, and even one from this morning: hand in hand with Jay as she led the two children into the bookstore they adored.

"You said this has been going on for a month?" How could that have been the case and she had no idea?

Hotch nodded, "We believe so yes."

"Who would want to do this?" She questioned; she wasn't exactly an interesting person. She had a normal life - as the pictures had proven.

Spencer took her hand, "We erm, we're not sure yet. We have one theory."

The tv screen clicked onto another slide. A woman's face filled the screen. A woman whom Y/n had heard far too much about: Cat Adams. "We know Adams has an obsession with Reid, and well, we know she likes to target his personal life," JJ informed as Y/n recalled the days in which Diana had been held captive. "If she somehow found out about you, it would have set her off."

"But she's in prison." Y/n pointed out.

Emily shrugged, "She was in prison when she found Reid's mother. She's- She's a master manipulator and ever since Reid first encountered her, he was the first man to challenge her." All of which Y/n already knew.

"If you really think it's her then-" Her eyes gazed over at Spencer, filled with worry, "You're going to have to talk to her aren't you?" It wasn't a question; she knew it.

Spencer sucked in a breath before he dared to nod.

It didn't take them long. Before Y/n realised it, she was watching out the window of the conference room as two prison guards held Cat by either one of her arms. She was smiling- no, she was smirking. She knew exactly what she was doing. Her eyes gazed around the office until she was forced into an interrogation room.

All they needed to know was who her contact was. Once they had a name, they could find them and put whoever that was in prison too.

Y/n stood next to Spencer as they stared at the woman through the double-sided mirror. "If she's done all this to get to you, why are we letting her talk to you?" The girl questioned.

"She always slips up in front of Reid." Emily answered - despite how much they all hated the idea.

Rossi was the first to pose another opinion, "What if we give her something she isn't expecting?" He suggested, "What if we don't give her Reid?" Surely, if the team sent in someone Cat Adams didn't expect, then maybe she would slip up just as easily - if not more so.

The older man shared a glance with Emily. A glance of which allowed them to silently suggest something; the two had an idea that wasn't yet shared with the rest of the group. It wasn't until Emily's eyes landed on Y/n that they started to understand what the two were thinking, "What if- What if we sent Y/n in?"

The girl scoffed; that must have been a joke. "You're kidding, right?" She laughed. "I mean, I'm not- I'm an agent. I'm a normal person. I can't talk to a criminal!"

"That's exactly what we need," Spencer spoke aloud without even realising, "She's expecting me, she's expecting FBI, send in someone different and it might just make her slip." Spencer turned to face Y/n, one hand gently cupping her cheek as he spoke, "Especially if we send in the very girl she's jealous of."

Y/n's head shook; she couldn't. She was with Spencer, but she wasn't a part of his world, "I can't."

"You can," His voice soothed, "You can do anything."

"We'll be right here," Emily assured.

Y/n glanced back at the window, at the criminal who had targetted her. If this was their best shot, then she might have to take it. Her family was at risk for goodness sake. Once they figured out who her partner on the otherside, all this would be over. The girl sighed, "Fine," She finally agreed. "But if anything happens, if she does anything, please-"

Spencer was already nodding, "We'll get you out of there, don't worry." He promised.

His hands fell from her skin before she glanced between the other two agents, "How do I do this then?" She asked.

"Go in there, vague questions, act better than she is, because you are," Emily mentored, "We need to figure out how she's orchestrated this."

With those instructions, the girl nodded and Rossi handed her the file. The one of which was filled with the stalker photos of herself and the kids, "See what happens if you show her these too, it might tell us a lot." He explained.

And with that, with that grace of a nod, a peck to Spencer's lips, the girl headed into the interrogation room.

Cat Adams was nonchalant. She had learnt a lot. She had learnt the best way to not let BAU agents know what she was thinking. But sending Y/n in certainly hadn't been what she expected.

The girl swallowed as she took the seat across from Cat with a very weak smile. She gazed up at the woman who had suddenly grown a sickly smile which made Y/n become nervous. She wanted to leave already, "Hi," Cat shrugged her shoulders and gazed softly at Y/n.

But the other girl was staring back with narrowed eyes, "Do you know who I am?" She questioned.

Cat leaned back and shrugged, letting out nothing but a hum. So Y/n leaned forward and placed one of the photos in front of the girl. It was just of her - no Jay or Morgan present. Just her, exiting her car as she headed to the store, "So you don't recognise this?".

She barely glanced at it, "Should I?"

"You know Doctor Reid though, don't you?"

Instantly, her demeanour shifted. But she desperately tried to hide it, "Bumped into him...sure." She shrugged it off.

Y/n thought for a moment before raising her left hand, wiggling her ring finger to show off her wedding ring to the girl, "Yeah well, I know him quite well." She said, watching as Cat's smile completely dissipated, "And he, well, he sort of mentioned you. I mean I sort of remember your name...remind me again? Carol? Cath-?"

"Cat." She cut in.

The girl faked a shock of realisation; this was exactly what Emily had asked: make herself look better than Cat. "And you don't know me?" She glanced back to her wedding ring, "Wife." She spoke.

The girl huffed and smiled to herself like something was funny, "Yeah, good luck with that."

Y/n glared back at her, tilting her head. The words from Emily echoed through her mind. "And what do you mean by that?"

Cat doesn't want to answer that. More specifically, she doesn't want to answer Y/n. "He- he's complicated, I'm sure you're aware right? Girlfriend died, no dad around, mum got kidnapped, and well, god knows everything that's happened to his team." She almost finds it funny.

Y/n leaned her elbows against the metal table, "And you were the very person who took his mother. I know you, Cat. I know all you want is to win against my husband but tough luck, it's not going to happen." The girl tried to keep up her straight face but when facing Cat Adams, it seemed to be proving difficult.

She shrugged, "Maybe not before, but now I have you." Her eyes narrowed and suddenly Y/n grew nervous; she was behind this. All of it. "And of course, you two little munchkins." Her shoulders squeezed and she smiled sickly.

"So you do know them."

"I know everything."

A shiver flew down her spine. She was behind all of this. And Y/n couldn't help but ask: "And what do you want?" Y/n had some idea. This had nothing to do with her or the kids; it was all about getting back at Spencer.

She giggled, "Well there would be no fun in telling you, would there?"

"You can't do this myself yourself," Y/n stated. Once they had the name of whoever it was on the outside, they could get over this: they could move on.

The girl on the other side of the metal table simply shrugged, "Who says I am?" And like that, it was confirmed. Not only the fact that she was behind this, but that she had partner and the outsider. And that was all they needed - for now, anyway.

With narrowed eyes, Y/n glared at the girl and started to stand from the chair. She didn't need anything else. She took a breath before turning her back, "You might want to look over your shoulder." Cat taunted.

Something of which, the girl had ignored as she continued out of the interrogation room. An exhale fell from her lips as she found herself back in the company of people she trusted. Of people she knew...with Spencer.

His hand instantly reached at her waist, pulling her close. The feeling of her skin at his releasing a relief she couldn't stop. He was safe. He was loving. He was her husband, "Are you okay?" He questioned before anyone else had the chance to speak.

The girl nodded but gave no words. What was she meant to say after a face to face with Cat Adams? "She's definitely behind this," Emily confirmed.

"She's working with someone too," Y/n added as she eased into the familiar feeling of Spencer.

"So now we know that," Y/n started as she gazed between the three agents, "What do we do now?"

"Now," Answered Rossi, "We get Garcia."

And so the group of them wandered over from the interrogation room and headed to what they called Garcia's 'cave'. And safe tp say was. No windows, just a lot of screens and several different sparkly things. Plush teddies, framed stock photos of puppies and a slingy which Jay was playing with.

"Hi," Y/n gleamed as she greeted her kids once more, "You two been good for Garcia?"

The woman stood from her chair, "They're angels," She smiled.

"We need your help now," Spencer said as they quickly entered back into the situation at hand. They didn't have time for small talk.

"Of course, anything."

And so she sat back at her chair as Spencer came to her side, beginning to list the profile they had started, "Look for names that pop up in the guest book of the hotel Montana, it's the building next to our house." Spencer informed and Garcia became manically typing. "They'll have been a guest for at least a month, cross check that with anyone from Cat's old life, work, college, high school, anything-"

"Nothing."

"What if- I mean surely whoever this person is would be using an alias," Y/n suggested.

A theory of which Spencer agreed with, "Bring up a photo of the guests who have stayed for a month."

Garcia followed: there were three. As they scrolled through high school pictures and then college- "There!"

A photo matched. A woman, same age as Cat, sickly sweet smile, fire red hair and geeky glasses. And then the name: Amy Duke. They had a name. They had everything Garcia could find. "That's got to be her," Emily confirmed.

"Garcia, send us everything." And like that, everything was go-go-go.

Y/n barely had a chance to speak before her hand was reaching out to stop Spencer from running off, "Hey," She called.

His hands cupped at her cheeks, "It'll be alright, I promise." He gave a smile which could ease her nervous a million times over. "Go home, I'll be there soon."

And like that, he was gone.

Y/n said her goodbyes to Garcia before taking her kids hand in hand and heading for the exit. She tried to not think about what Spencer was doing, about the woman he was facing. It was all too overwhelming. Instead, she focused on feeding her kids and getting them dressed for bed. It was horrible when they asked about where Daddy was - if he was coming home. All she could tell them was that it was going to be fine...even if she wasn't so sure of such herself.

She perched at the end of Morgan's bed, her door open, giving the woman a view of a sleeping Jay in the room across the hall. She didn't dare to leave her children when there was danger still looming over them. The girl watched as her daughter's chest rose and fell with her breaths. And after what felt like hours, the front door rustled open.

Y/n became alert, she flew up to her feet and wandered carefully out of Morgan's room. She lingered at the top of the stairs; what if it wasn't her husband? "Spence?" She called, worrisome.

He was already rushing up the stairs at the sound of her voice, "Hey, it's me don't worry." He met her at the top of the landing, engulfing his body around her. "It's over, I swear, she's been arrested, Cat is back in prison." Relief flooded her. "It's all over."

Her head gazed up at him, a slight grin brushing over her lips, "What a way to meet your second family, hey?" She giggled. And while the day had been horrid, there was some good out of it - she wasn't a secret anymore.

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hoshigray · 1 year

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Anon said: I hope it's okay.. wondering if you could write something for ushijima where he's married with kids and the mc is starting to feel insecure about her body and ushijima shows to her how much he still gets turned on by her (now more than ever too). Also I'm really happy I came across your blog! Absolutely love your writing! 🤗💕✨️

Omg another Ushi request!! Stop this is so cute, has me grinnin' and shit!! Tysm for the kind words, noonie, happy to have you on my blog as well~ ;w; ♡ (also, I'm so so so SO sorry for deleting your ask before, plz forgive me bc the draft wasn't finished AT ALL, lmao)

Cw: Ushijima x fem! reader - soft and then smutty, so minors DNI - reader is chubby + has stretch marks cuz I said so - kisses on body (f! receiving) - cunnilingus/oral (f! receiving) - implied breeding kink - praise - biting (Ushi nibbles on your tummy, cheeks, and nipples) - clitoral play (swiping and sucking) - ends with implied insertion - slight overstimulation - reader feeling self-conscious about their body but Ushi coming in for the rescue - you and Ushi have two-year-old twin sons!! Wc: 2.8k

There's nothing you would want to change about your life.

You already thought you hit the jackpot when you stumbled upon and started dating THE Wakatoshi Ushijima, a man you never — in your WILDEST dreams imaginable — could see yourself with. And the fact that he proposed and took you as his spouse is shocking enough. But now, as you see him on the couch with two small children asleep on his lap as the man watches the television, it's hard to conceal the smile that sneaks past your comprehension, and you silently walk upstairs to your shared bedroom.

It's been three years since you and Ushijima tied the knot, and you expectant with two boys immediately after. Since then, your life has gotten brighter and brighter by the day. Not only has Ushijima been a great and supportive unit as he has been since he first met you, but watching your sons grow into such beautiful bundles of joy never fails to make you beam with glee. And it's so cute because they're literal carbon copies of their father! Aside from being much more expressive and bubbly than their silent parent, he says they get from you.

For the past three years, every day in the Ushijima household has been grateful. Having a loving husband and two wonderful children is evidence of such. Because of this happiness you bestow and witness, there's absolutely nothing in this life that you'd want to change or replace…

...But that's a lie because there is one thing you'd wish to change. And it bothers you as you stare into the bedroom mirror.

Turning your figure to the left and right in your underwear, you're the only one here who can point out the critiques of your body that you've noticed since pregnancy. Your brows crease as you bore holes at the plumpness of your abdomen that wasn't this curvy before, the detailed streaks of your stretch marks indicating the changes your body's undergone through the years. And your appearance comes off plumper than you've remembered prior; memories of your "perfect" figure from your wedding night flood your mind.

The mirror doesn't display a "you" that you recognize. It's a "you" that has long replaced your old self — the old self who was distinct compared to now, the old self that would model cute outfits and pose with their friends, the old self that grabbed the attention of a well-renowned volleyball player and would soon bear his children.

That old self is long gone, fueling your dismay about who you're looking at as your reflection. This is you, but this isn't your body, is it? It can't be. A body like this shouldn't be able to experience the happiness you're experiencing...should it? The more you stare at your reflection, the blurrier your head is clouded with your thoughts, and an uncomfortable bob strangles your throat.

KNOCK!! KNOCK!!

You jump at the sudden sound, turning to face the ajar bedroom door. Your husband, Ushijima, entering halfway. "Can I come in?"

"Uhhh, yeah, come in!" You stutter as you grab an oversized shirt (Ushijima's) to cover up. It's funny: being together all these years and you still wish to be modest around your partner. He closes the door behind him once you sit on your side of the bed. "Put the boys to bed."

"Mhmm." He hums in response, walking to the mirror you were using, touching up on his hair before taking off his shirt. He stretches in front of the glass, and you observe him as he does so. His reflection depicts the gorgeous lean physique as his breathtaking back muscles captivate you. Even when he goes into the closet to fetch a more comfortable tee to sleep in, your eyes never leave him.

Strong. Stoic. Incredibly athletic. And a cadence that engulfs anyone in his path. There are many ways people in your surroundings have depicted your husband. And with a front-row seat, you understand what they mean. Ushijima is a rather unusual breed of man, both mind and body; it's a fact you've known before you two dated. And it's a fact that grasps your attraction to him constantly. All these years, and he's still the handsome man you fell in love with.

Makes you wonder if he thinks the same for you. Even with your current body...

"Y/n." A voice snaps you back to the present, turning to the other side of the bed to see Ushijima look directly at you. You blink with a shiver; he must've been calling for you while deep in your thoughts. "You okay?"

You cough before answering. "Ahem, yeah, yeah! Sorry, I'm fine."

The man trenches his brows. "No, you're not." He cuts you off before you can say an excuse. "This is the third time this week you've been thinking up a storm to yourself. Not to mention you've been doing it for the past few months."

"Am...Was I that obvious?"

"That, and I saw you looking at yourself earlier." It's bad enough his blunt answers shoot arrows to your heart, but to know he did see you eyeing yourself at the mirror? Your mind goes rampant thinking what he'll say next. "So, what's wrong?"

You could try to dismiss the topic again and just retire for the night, but you know Ushijima well enough to know you can trust him with what you're thinking. You sigh heavily, turning to your fingers that fidget amognst themselves. "Toshi...Do you...like my body?"

One second goes by. Three seconds. The silence gnaws you, you chew on your lip to distract yourself until the man answers. "...What do you mean?"

"Like...before I had the boys, I felt real...confident? With myself?" Your fingers now toy with the comforter covering your lower body, the awkward atmosphere eating you alive. "I'm not saying I was the most gorgeous person alive or anything, but I liked how my body looked. And now, after being pregnant and everything, I just feel like.....I don't know. Forget about it; good night!" You swiftly turned off the lamp on your bedside and patted your pillow. But before you can situate yourself to sleep, a hand comes to your cheek, prompting you to look at your spouse again.

"Y/n." The way he says your name is so calm and comforting. You lean to his touch. "Is that what's been bothering you?"

You nod, a thumb stroking the soft flesh of your cheek. "Yeah, it's just me with my stupid thoughts bullying me, really..."

Ushijima hums, his free hand freeing your lower half from the warm comforter, exposing your legs to the air-conditioned space. "You shouldn't let those thoughts take the best out of you. You're an adult; it's only natural that your body changes as you grow. And as a mother, it's not guaranteed you'll look like your old self." Once again, the man obliviously scolds you with his curt response. Although, you know he's not wrong, nodding to his words.

"I know, I know. It's just..." Another sigh leaves your fatigued lips. "Every time I look at myself, I just don't know...how can such an amazing and wonderful guy like you still want to be with me looking...different. I get it: it's just my head being mean. But still..." And you leave it at that, withdrawing your face from his warm palm.

Ushijima, though, kept his eyes on your solemn expression. He tries again, bringing his hand up to your chin to look at him. "To answer your question: yes, I do like your body. The reason why is that it's your body. I keep mine in the same condition — if not better — simply because I have a job that requires me to do so. But that's just for me, not you. I didn't date you just because of your body alone. I sure didn't propose to you for it either. I married you — all of you. I love everything about you, and that love hasn't changed since I said my vows." The hand on your chin returns to cupping your cheek. "And it won't change just because of some natural changes to your body. Otherwise, I'd be a terrible husband and father for thinking so."

"Toshi..." Just when you thought your love for this man couldn't get any significant, he always finds a way to bring it up to substantial levels. Your heart swoons to his words, making you fall unquestionably in love with him again. Now you bring a hand to his cheek, "You're such a wonderful man, you know that? So lucky to have you as my husband." He averts his gaze from yours, a sign you know is his way of accepting praise.

"I'll say this, though," the tall man places his other hand to seize your small one on his cheek, olive eyes boring into yours: a sign of honesty. "Ever since you had the twins, I think you've become more beautiful than before."

His face draws in close, and your breath hitches. "Toshi—"

"I mean it. You're so beautiful..." His lips rest on your plump ones, and you're gently pushed to your back with your head on the pillows. It doesn't take long for you to melt into his kisses, small gasps when he leaves your lips to set sweet smooches on your cheek and neck. "So beautiful for me....."

The feeling of his lips on you has you under his spell, and you mean when a hand snakes under your shirt. Ushijima lifts the material to expose your body to him; humility still runs over you as you use your hands to cover yourself. But the man before you doesn't let that happen, moving your hands off your body and onto his shoulders. "Don't do that. Let me see it all." His mouth goes back to your neck, sucking on your skin that'll surely leave marks for you to see in the morning.

He then ventured down, kissing and sucking on every piece of insecurity that caged you. Every stretch mark, from your shoulders to your tummy, kissed with love and gratitude. Your plush thighs were rubbed by his hands before his mouth came down, giving the fat above your panties a teasing bite, causing your legs to jerk. Ushijima removes your underwear, discards the lacy material to the cold wooden floor, and spreads your legs to have your bare genitalia out for him to see.

Your face is now hot from the exposition. "Toshi..." you say his name in a whisper, not wanting to get loud as your bedroom is not too far from your sons'. "Please, you don't have to—Ooohhh..." You're cut off when you feel his tongue lap on one of your nipples, licking on the bud while using his hand to toy with the other breast.

"No, I do have to." He says in between licks to your nipple before taking it wholly into his mouth; your whimpers fail to cooperate on wanting to be stifled by your lips. The heat between your legs starts to flourish, having you grind your thighs together to ease the throbbing sensation. And Ushihima notices, releasing your mound from his hand and slithering it between your soft thighs, protruding his fingers between the folds of your vagina. A sharp cry comes out of you at the sudden contact of his forefinger brushing your clit.

"Ahhhh! Toshi, right there, right—Mmmmm..."

"Not yet, Y/n," your husband coos to your ears, his voice so hot to hear. "Need to warm you up first..." He lays kisses on your neck while pushing his finger into you. You bring a hand to cover the shriek from exiting when his digit enters your chasm, your inner walls adjusting to the size. And when he inserts his middle fingers, you find purchase on the tee he's wearing.

"Oooh, hooohh...Jesus Christ, Toshi, your fingers," you whine to him. He brings his face up to glance at yours. "Feels so good, so—Ahaaannn!!"

"Shhhh, keep feeling good for me." He coaxes you with a kiss on your forehead, the pace of his fingers quickens, and the squelching noises coming from your cunt burn your ears. Your hips buck whenever his digits scrape the velvety walls, and your mind slowly descends into a lustful haze. You want him so bad — want him right now.

And Ushijima takes this time to examine your body while he works on your leaky slit. Watching your figure quiver to his touch, your mouth agape for cute moans to fill the space, and your eyes screwed to an expression of pleasure. Here is where he treasures you more than ever: having you like this with him and only him. It turns him on. It's a raunchy thought, but it's true.

Beauty stirs many images in Ushijima's mind. But nothing triumphs over the true definition of beauty when it's about you. You are the most beautiful in his eyes, both body and soul. Every time he looks at you, the memory of your first smile to him flashes before him, a moment he cherishes till his last breath and is the moment that cemented his wish to have you by his side. And now married with two bouncing boys, there has not been one instance where his light for you diminishes. If anything, it grows brighter and brighter.

However, when it comes to his attention that you don't see yourself in the same light as he does, it's only befitting for a husband to fix that. Because, in his eyes, even through all the changes throughout the years, your body still drives him insane. Especially now, when he's the reason that transformed you with his youths. And seeing you writhe on the bed with his fingers in your vulva, that switch that once flipped before has twitched something inside him...

"Ahhhn!! Nnnmm!! Toshi, Oh God..." The tall man snaps to your disheveled look, your eyes watery and lips puffy from frequent chews. "Haaah!! It's coming, I'm gonna—Ohoooo!!"

"Go ahead. Cum on me, Y/n." He kisses and nibbles your cheeks before putting his mouth on your nipple once more, sucking and lightly biting the nub while pushing his fingers in and out of your cunt at a sporadic rhythm. He places his thumb on your clitoris, swiping and grinding on the tender button. And that was the final piece for your orgasm to overtake you, the walls of your slit clamping around his digits while your body quivers with the crawl of your spine.

Your cries fill the bedroom, riding out your climax until the last tremble. Toes curl as your pussy flutters on him, and they relax when your body is sheathed with a soothing silence that calms you down from the aftershocks. Pants exit swollen lips, too distracted in your bliss to catch a glimpse of Ushijima moving downward to your southern lips, his tongue running on your slick-coated folds.

A forced wail comes out at the motion of his mouth on your chasm. "T-Toshi, stop! I'm too sensit—Iiieeee!!" Your hollers return with an ecstatic vigor as your husband drinks your essence.

"Y/n," his voice was loud enough to draw your awareness to him, licking your fluids from your inner thighs. "You drive me crazy, you know. Your body, it turns me on so much."

"Mmmm, hmmmm, r-really?" Even though Ushijima is sucking on your most delicate areas, you're able to carry on with the conversation.

"Really. Actually, I've been turned on throughout the entire pregnancy. Something about making you big and swole with a baby — the thought about it makes me go wild." He finally removes himself from your cunt, licking remnants of your fluids from his lips. He then takes off his tee, his well-built physique for your eyes to ogle.

Hooded olive eyes stare at you as he undoes the drawstring of his sweatpants, bringing them down to reveal his erection. The image of his cock springing has your sweat run to deep ice cold. You know where this is going, and you can't tell if the pulses of your chasm are out of fear or mutual excitement. "Toshi—"

"Hey, Y/n, I've been thinking" he brings you close to him, your legs spread for him. He then aligns his dick to your wet cunt, using your slick to lubricate the tip of his length before pushing it between your folds. You have to bring a hand up to conceal the mewls. "Maybe we should have another baby. Let's try a girl this time." His mind clouded with aroused thoughts; you pregnant with his child again, all big and round and swole with his child. The image sends shivers up his since. He gets so fucking turned on by it. But as long as it's you, it's all good. Even now, when the tip is finally inserted with a muffled cry from your covered lips, Ushijima doesn't want to turn back.

"Want them to be cute and beautiful like you..."

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starrrlights · 2 months

Text

Based on something in my notes app (copy and pasted too but edited to make sense) maybe oc Jay? Idk

you and Jason had became friends when you were on the streets, helping each other when needed and also just being there for each other. When he became robin, with #BruceWayneBenifits, he was able to help you more. Often letting you have sleepovers at the manor and hanging out. You both grow to have feeling for each other, and you were planning on telling him on his birthday or sum, but he died. So you never find out if he felt the same way or not (he does)

Time skip (5? Possibly 6 even?) Years later when Jason comes back alive and is less vengeful of his death, Jason frequently goes to old book stores to find good books to read. He goes to one frequently and the vibe felt off that day.

He thinks there might be a threat and keeps a good eye on everything. While browsing; surprise, surprise, you are there. Standing somewhat next to him. You obviously don't recognize him right away or at all from how different he looks. You're trying to find a specific book that a friend had recommended and just so happen to get closer to Jason little by little. (You have social anxiety)

You don't want to get to close to this person because of personal space and well, he's huge. Handsome looking, but huge, and a lot of scars. Which was kinda a hot look on him. You steal a few glances at him, hoping he wouldn't notice.

Jason does notice, since the Pit heightened his senses. (I think? I read it from somewhere that it did 🤷‍♀️) He finally looks over at you, expecting you to just be a normal Gothamite who is just scared of his size; when he freezes for a second. Recognizing the your hair and style almost immediately. He thinks he's hallucinating. There no way it was you.

You notice that he was looking at you and you almost shy at his gaze. Mumbling a sorry and returning your gaze to the books in front of you, but knowing that the book you're looking for is probably right in front of the man.

Jason panics a lot in the inside. Do you recognize him? Do you hate him? Are you afraid of him? He's you jaybird, why you'd you be afraid?

You mentally punch yourself and raised your voice a bit, taking a breath.

U: "I think that book I'm looking for is by you. Can I look?"

Oh my god, he's going to say no-

J: "Sure, that's fine."

God, if you could faint, you would. Not only looks handsome, but sounds handsome.

Jason on the other hand let's put a mental and physical sigh of relief, now thinking that you probably don't even recognize him. It saddens him a little at that thought but it was better, way better than having you scared of him.

He scoots over and you scoot closer, looking over more books until your predictions were right and the book you were looking for was right by where he was standing. You mutter a thank you and move so he can continue looking in the spot he was in.

He doesn't even register that you were moving away because he was so enchanted by you. you had grown up and matured. And damn did you look good. A lot better than he did in his opinion.

J: "I-uh, have me met before?"

Jason asked. 'Great going, idiot. All the romance novels you've read and that's what you come up with?' He thinks to himself.

U: "..I don't think so? What's your name?"

He's sweating bullets now. What does he say? Does he sat jason or use a fake name?

"Jason"

You've met many Jason's so you don't think about it. But there seems to be a familiar aura to him. But you can't put a finger on it. It's going to eat you up later but you put the thought to the side for now. Out of habit you stuck your hand out in a polite way.

"(Name)"

Jason almost said "I know" but bite his tongue and nodded, reaching out to shake you hand. Jesus, you hand fit so well with his. So warm and welcoming.

you and Jason talk for a bit more, it was awkward but it worked. You ended up switching numbers for "book recommendations". But you both were giggling like school girl in the inside because of it.

Over several months, you got to know Jason. And he reminded you a lot of Jason, your dead friend and crush. It saddened you a bit but you decided to not dwell on the past so much. You'll just visit his grave soon, again.

It wasn't long before Dick encouraged Jason to ask you on a date. Well, going out for coffee/fav drink bev and talk about books. You agreed and you did the date.

You had a great time. It was slightly awkward but it was just like all the other hang outs, but more special.

Jason asks you what your life is like because he wants to know what your life has been like since he was gone. He had asked before during those mothes about resent stuff, but he wanted to know more, like high-school years and such.

Boring, you said. Mostly the same thing over and over again. You told some funny stories and it made Jason want to genuinely smile. He makes up a few things to not have to talk about the Pit or dying. Or being Red Hood.

You go on a few more dates and finally, he takes you on a fancy one. (Using Bruce's card ofc)

You initially declined going on a fancy date, not really having the money or outfits for it but jason insisted and said he'd had one of his friends to go with for shopping if you needed it. (Steph or Cass idk, some fem friend he has.)

You ended up going shopping with his friend and got a nice dress.

You go on the fancy date and had a great time as always, a bit panic on the bill but jason pays for it all. He's a true gentleman for you and only you.

At this point, your bf and gf

I think jason would wait for about a year, you make sure things are secured and there is a lot of trust in the friendship/relationship before dropping hints that he is your not-so-dead best friend. He just wants you to know that he is back :(

One night, trying to sleep, it clicks for you. You immediately go to his apartment and knock on the door. He thanks whoever runs his life for the great full night of not patrolling that night and answers the door. You have tears going down your face and look puffy. He panics and asks if you're alright. You look at him with a confused but surprised lookin your face

U: "Jason Todd? ... Jaybird?"

He also has a look of shock on his face, happy that you finally got it but also scared of your reaction.

J: "... ... yeah. It's me."

U: "Oh my god..."

You stare at each other for about a solid minute and you break down, crying, hands to your face. He panics more and freezes, not knowing if they were good or bad tears. You reached out and hugged him tight. Feeling his out grown and bigger frame in your arms. You finally have your best friend back. And your dating him. You love him. And you know he loves you. All of your dreams have finally come true. Obv not financial ones but wvr.

It ends up with you cuddling jason on his bed or sum. idk.

Kinda long ngl, I have a good grasp of what his character is like but I may have a few things wrong. Pls tell me if something is ooc, I'd probably fix it or sum 🫶🏻😭

#writing #x reader #fanfic #fem reader in mind #fem reader #f!reader #gn reader?#jason todd x reader #Jason Todd x reader #Jason Todd #DC #is this called a blurb? idk #Live Laugh Love Jason Todd

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writingonleaves · 5 months

Text

were you sent by someone who wanted me dead? (did you sleep with a gun underneath our bed?) - jeremy swayman

pairing: jeremy swayman x original female character

warnings: swearing, pretty angsty. hopeful ish ending because i can't do sad endings, very personal but i think many can relate in their own way, cliche ish, barely proofread

inspired by + title: "the smallest man who ever lived" by taylor swift

word count: 5.6k

author's note: i'd argue almost every piece any author writes is personal, because it has their life interspersed through the words. but this one really is, because a majority of this is the exact same words i wrote years ago after a break-up. heard the bridge to this song and immediately knew i had to write something inspired by it. also trying a new format of sorts (maybe a bit meta??), so i hope you enjoy and lmk what you think!!

~*~*~

When Noelle Betsko walked away from Jeremy Swayman, holding back tears until the call dropped, she knew it was going to be a tough time for the foreseeable future.

It didn’t matter that the pandemic had forced them apart. She knew she would still feel him for months to come.

She did the only thing she knows how to do when trying to deal with things. The one thing she always resorts to as an aspiring novelist. Sometimes on her laptop when the words were spilling out too quickly for her brain to catch up, tears littering the keyboard. Usually in her old beat-up journal, scribbling in the cursive that Jeremy claimed he always loved (“It makes your handwriting unique”) with the pens he had gifted her just a few months prior.

At the age of 21, Noelle got her heart broken for the first time. At the age of 26, she’s about to publish her first poetry collection of sorts, all of the poems modeled after journal entries written throughout her life. So not really poetry, though her mother would say otherwise.

She swallows as she thumbs through the middle part of the first known and binded copy of “miscellaneous.” There are only eight entries in the whole collection that are taken verbatim from her past writing. These are the eight.

May 13, 2020 (three days post-breakup, crying in my childhood bedroom)

I don’t even recognize who I was and who you were in those writings before these pages filled with love and hope and happiness. I can’t even summon up those feelings anymore that I knew existed at one point. Those feelings of complete bliss and love for someone so deep you can’t explain it.

I’m mad at myself for not being able to conjure those feelings, because at one point, I did love you. How could something that was part of my daily life for over two years just disappear so quickly?

But now, I’m not mad at myself. I’m mad, but I don’t know where to direct that anger to. I feel a bit empty sometimes, but then frustrated the next. Sometimes I get sad, but not so much compared to the other feelings. I spent enough time being sad during our relationship.

When we broke up, on an annoyingly beautiful Tuesday in May — over the damn phone, mind you, which whatever, it’s COVID. Fine — You told me you felt like you had been putting more effort into us.

At the time, I didn’t react, but I’ve been thinking about how angry that statement made me. Makes me, actually. I was always very open with how much I gave to that relationship. How much it meant to me. How much it affected me. But I understand that with some people, sharing everything too much equates to things not meaning anything anymore. But you out of all people should’ve known that I mean everything I say.

I felt like I gave so much. I know I gave so much. When I told you I loved you, I always meant it. Every single time. When I told you I missed you, I always meant it. I wished you were right next to me at that moment. I mentally gave so much, because to me, I wanted to. You were always on my mind, always high up on my list of priorities. I never took us for granted.

I’ve been questioning if that was the same for you. Did you start becoming complacent?

The second thing you said that day that hasn’t left my head is that you knew me pretty well. And initially, I remember not thinking much of it. So I don’t doubt that; you always knew right when I was about to cry, even over the phone. You often knew when I was mad or upset, but when I look back now, you never pushed. Which is a good thing, to an extent. But it was a bad thing sometimes too. I knew you often wanted to give me space, but sometimes I didn’t want space. I wanted you to push. To try to understand. Maybe that’s unfair of me; it probably is. I should just say I want to talk about it more, right?

But if you genuinely knew me, you would’ve known.

After two years, seven months and 12 days, I still feel like I didn’t know you. Did I ever know you at all?

When people talked shit about you, I always defended you. And I still would defend you now. But lately, I've questioned what I’m even defending. All those good qualities that I thought you had, were they even real? Of course, I know some of them were, to a certain extent. But as I look back on us, there’s a lot of doubt about whether I even knew the person I called my boyfriend for so long. I know there was a point where you cared about me, but I can’t remember when.

I often felt like I was letting you know so much about my life, but you didn’t do the same. I get that sometimes a person just wants to forget about the bad and focus on the good with a person you like for awhile. I get that. But once that was happening every damn time? That should’ve been a red flag.

June 7, 2020 (twenty eight days post break-up, outside my childhood room on the deck)

I don’t understand how you can give so much to something or someone and have it not be recognized or appreciated or enough. If I wasn’t enough for you, how will I be enough for anyone?

I hope one day you’ll truly understand how much this hurt. Not just the breakup, but feeling like I was always being pulled in a direction I didn’t always want to be pulled in. Feeling I was stuck between a rock and a hard place and never ever being able to win. I hate that I settled so much in the last year. Because I should’ve demanded more, even though deep down I knew you were never going to be able to give it to me.

I think back to our past daily texts, and I just don’t get it. At one point, we both meant the things we said to each other.

Yet we still hurt each other.

This fucking hurts.

You’ve hurt me so much, but most of it wasn’t intentional, which I think is somewhat even worse. Because I’m not totally mad at you for causing the pain. You never did anything outright to cause me pain, but I still feel like you did.

Unintentional pain almost stings more than intentional.

When I asked you out that night after we were both on an emotional high, I took a chance. For once in my life, I took the leap, knowing that I could get humiliated or hurt or just straight up shot down.

Where did it all go wrong? Or, more realistically, how did we think that we could go through the wrong when it was there at the start?

I’m trying not to blame myself too much. Trying not to tell myself that I should’ve known better.

All those times, especially at the start, when I would ask you if you genuinely liked me, you always thought I was just trying to be annoying. But you never understood that I genuinely thought that way. My self confidence from the start was lacking, and you didn’t try to understand that, because I come across to everyone as confident and self-assured.

It hurt, when you would brush things off like that. I felt like you didn’t care.

And then, it got to the point where I stopped asking that question. Part of that is because I did become more confident and you did show that you cared, and part of that was because I knew it would piss you off.

The amount of things I was scared to talk about with you because I knew it would piss you off? I don’t wish that feeling on anybody.

I shouldn’t have been scared. I shouldn’t have been uncomfortable. But I was. And if you did notice like sometimes you claimed to, why didn’t you make it more comfortable for me? Was that too much to ask for?

So larger than life that at the end, you faded into just the smallest man who ever lived. Fuck you.

Was it too much to ask for when I just wanted to know why you were upset? You didn’t have to ever tell me the full story (lord knows there were times I didn’t), but was it too much to ask for something? You told me once that I’m the person you’ve told the most to. How? You barely told me anything. And when I wanted to talk to you, whether it was about growing up in Alaska or why you were in a bad mood last night, you always brushed it off. Always.

So I don’t feel so bad about feeling like I gave more effort. I gave so much of myself to you. If you really cared about me like you claimed you did, why couldn’t you show even just 1% of that care back? Or just meet me in the middle?

I could’ve tried harder to meet you in the middle, I’ll admit that. But you didn’t even give me a map or a clue how to.

I felt so fucking left in the dark. I felt left in the dark about my own fucking relationship, something that I should be completely sure about. If you really love someone and care about them, how can you leave them in the dark? How could you not even see that I was struggling to find a flashlight?

You did care about me. I know that. To some extent and at some point in time, you did care about me. But caring about someone and their well-being isn’t always enough.

Why couldn’t you have worked with me? When I was extending my hand out, why didn’t you reach for it? How can someone just be so blind? I mean, I’m practically always spelling it out for you.

Maybe I am being selfish. But fuck, I just wanted to be happy. At some point, you made me happy. When did I start making you feel like I wasn’t enough? Why wasn’t I enough for you?

It’s useless, in a way, to keep going about this. Because I know I deserve better. And we’ll both find people who are better for us. We just couldn’t be that person to each other.

I fucking loved you.

I wish it ended differently.

July 8, 2020 (fifty nine days post-breakup, in front of the lake)

I really really fucking miss you.

I do.

I miss being able to text you that i love you and not necessarily expecting a response until the next morning. I miss knowing that as soon as you wake up, you’ll text me back and assure me that yeah, you love me too.

I’m left feeling bittersweet as I look back on memories that are just splashes and not definite strokes on the canvas that used to be us.

I miss having you as a friend.

I’ve been having more urges lately to want to text you. And it isn’t even anything important. Just moments I experience throughout the day.

Do you get the urge to do the same?

July 19, 2020 (seventy days post-breakup, still in the same damn house)

It’s hard. It really is. And it kinda just hits you at random parts of the day. Sometimes I wake up from a dream that you were in and have to remind myself that it didn’t happen.

Sometimes it physically aches when I realize that you won’t ever help me put on my jacket again, or complain that my hair is in your face when we’re lying on the couch watching Brooklyn Nine Nine, or groan when I drag you up to dance with me (which you never improved on, no matter how many times I tried to teach you basic rhythm). I can’t view our song the same way anymore, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to.

The other day, I read some simple thing on Twitter. I don’t even remember what it was, but I do remember that for a split second, I could see your smile in my mind. But it wasn’t just any smile. It was the smile you gave me when you took me ice skating that first time. I remember asking you what you were smiling at, and you said that you just were taking in this moment. I don’t know if you took a mental picture that day, but I know I did. That day seems so long ago now.

In almost anything I do, you somehow pop into my mind or into the conversation. And it’s not even in a harmful way either. It’s because you were part of my life for so long. I see a dog on the street, and it reminds me of how you always stopped to pet every single one we’s see I write something in my messy handwriting, and I remember how you always used to complain that you couldn’t read the notes I’d occasionally leave around your place when you went away. I went to the doctor’s the other day, and they said I was 5 feet and 3 inches, which is just definitely not true, and I almost reached for my phone to text you, because you would’ve cackled and insisted that no, I’m 5 feet 2 inches and it wouldn’t even matter because I’ll always be shorter than you. It’s simple and minute things that make me miss you that much more.

I still can’t listen to some songs the same way anymore, but I can at least listen to them now, which is a feat in itself. I was unpacking from college and found the teddy bear you sent me the first extended time we had to be apart and had to immediately put that out of my sight. From those boxes also came photos that I had decorated my dorm room with, and to be honest, I’m glad now that I let you keep our best one. I deal with all my emotions, besides writing, by making Spotify playlists, and I made a new one earlier this week. I think it’s helping. It’s a slow process, this whole moving on thing, but it’s one that I’m trying to be grateful for, because like most things in life, you just don’t truly know until you go through it.

Sometimes, I find myself wondering how you are and how you’re healing. But, even though we’ve both changed since the day we met, if there’s one thing I know, it’s that you’re incredibly strong and stubborn. I hope that you’re finding some growth in this process too.

October 17, 2020 (one hundred fifty seven days post-break up, apartment in orono)

It’s been almost 5 months, and you still cross my mind everyday.

Why wasn’t I enough for you? Why didn’t you fucking tell me what you were thinking? Why was I the one who had to approach you just because I was just so done with the silent treatment?

But I’m not mad at you. Not anymore. The mad phase passed ages ago.

Closure is a fake word. Even a breakup as mutual and smooth as ours was still left me with so many questions that will probably never be answered.

Any breakup fucks you up to some extent. I knew it was going to mess me up even back when we were together. But not like this. Never like this.

But like anything in life, I guess you can never really prepare for what you think you might feel, because most of the time, you discover a whole new side of you that you never thought existed.

I don’t miss you. I don’t. I don’t feel that love in any way anymore.

But I did once.

You did too, right?

November 15, 2020 (one hundred eighty six days post break-up, fogler library)

I hate Halloween.

Though, it did bring me to you three years ago. I’m pretty sure I fell in love with you right then and there.

Three years later, you texted me on Halloween, five months after our breakup. The universe really, really wanted to fuck with me.

It was a tough night for you. I knew that. Because I know how you are after losing a game you should’ve won. But that didn’t mean that I owed you anything and had to respond.

We agreed on no contact if we ever wanted to stay friends. Clearly, friends is out of the picture now, but come on. A vulnerable text after a bad night because you know I would feel bad for you?

Fuck, you know how much I would hate that. You had to have known.

Just because we’re not dating anymore doesn’t mean that everything about you just disappears. I still know your tendencies. I still know exactly how my head burrows into your chest during a hug. I still know the actions I used to do that would be followed by you attacking me with a hug. I still could point you out in a crowd.

I looked for you in every crowd for years.

That stuff doesn’t just go away, no matter how much I want it to. But fuck. Fuck. Why did you text me?

I don’t regret how I handled it. I probably would’ve responded months ago. But just like you, I’ve grown these last couple of months.

It was comforting, for a split second, to know that maybe, just maybe, these past couple of months have been hard for you too. It makes me feel human. It makes me feel like I’m not crazy.

I’m glad you texted me. You gave me another level of closure I hadn’t known that I needed until then.

But fuck, dude. You know me better than that. You should know me better than that.

I hate Halloween.

November 26, 2020 (one hundred ninety seven days, at the coffee shop i brought you to when you came home with me two years ago)

I don’t regret loving you, but I hate you for what you did to me.

Or maybe not.

I hate knowing that even though we haven’t been in a relationship in a bit, it feels like sometimes, you’re on my mind the exact same amount when we were dating. I hate knowing that I gave so much of myself and my love to you, and it always felt unrecognized.

Fuck, will it ever stop hurting? Will I ever be able to have to stop myself from thinking about you? Will it ever stop?

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Happy birthday. I hope you enjoy it.

June 12, 2021 (three hundred ninety five days post-break up, in boston, visiting a friend)

Tonight, when a friend asked me about you and how I felt about how we ended, I was able to articulate my thoughts clearly. I’m really proud of myself for getting to a point where I can take the lessons I learned the few months after we broke up and acknowledge them in a succinct way without breaking down into tears. Just watery eyes and the occasional voice crack

I’m also proud that I can say that when we were dating, I lost a bit of myself. For months, it was really hard to admit out loud.

I’m proud of how far I’ve come. Sometimes, I wish I could call or text you about it, because I think you’d be proud too. And I know I’d be proud of you. I am, to be honest. I do break resolve once in awhile and check on you through various avenues.

I still haven’t seen you in person since the last time COVID made us say goodbye. Maybe I never will again. But day by day, I’m starting to accept that and be okay with it. I’m accepting that memories that used to be so painted in my mind are blurry or almost completely erased now. But that’s okay. Honestly, it’s probably for the best.

I wonder, when you think about it, if you think about different moments that I do. That’s the thing when something ends. You have to be okay with letting go of those moments and realizing that just because you forget them, doesn’t mean they weren’t important.

I don’t think I miss you. I hesitate in saying that. Because I’ve moved on and handled the aftermath of it better than I think both of us ever thought I could. When you hung up the phone for the last time, I proved to myself again that I’m stronger than I give myself credit for. I think we all are. But we don’t realize it until we’re thrown into a situation that we think we’ll never be able to overcome.

But we do. Whether it’s because we’re forced to because there’s no other option, it doesn’t matter. Because we get through. We move on.

I hope you're moving on.

And then it goes into other topics, graduating during a pandemic specifically and losing what’s supposed to be your last year of no responsibilities before adulthood. There are other poems in here that reference a past relationship, but not as much as these eight.

If there’s one thing that Noelle did change, it was taking out the details. Jeremy may have hurt her, but he doesn’t deserve someone possibly making a connection between these poems and their shared background. She’s not a famous author by any means, but she wanted to be careful.

Not that she makes that part of her life publicly known. People don’t need to know that her brother was Jeremy’s captain for two years at Maine and that’s how they met.

Noelle grew up going to rinks. She hasn’t gone to one since they broke up.

But also, what the fuck? It’s been five years since she’s dated the guy. She really is over it by now, even if his rise to stardom in the Bruins flittering on her social media feeds still sometimes has her swallowing a bit before she can continue with her day.

Brooklyn is far enough from Boston. But sometimes it feels like it’s right outside her door.

She’s proud of her first published work. She really is. People believed in her and after numerous notes swapped back and forth with her editor, she did it. She always knew she wanted to work in publishing. She never knew she herself would publish anything.

And here she is now, two weeks after the book release, in Boston, about to do a q&a and a signing. Apparently, “miscellaneous” has been on top of numerous lists and it’s flying off the shelves. Noelle can’t really believe it and tries not to think about it too much, trusting her agent with all of that.

She’s happy to talk about her work and process though. That she can handle. And she’s grateful for all the love.

After a signing at a local bookstore, she decides to walk the 20 minutes home in the Boston fall. It’s a bit brisk, but she doesn’t mind and she just wanders, belly filled with delicious sushi she inhaled for dinner with an old friend.

Of course it happens the one time during her walk when she doesn’t avoid eye contact with someone. The song playing in her earbuds fade out of her focus and she almost stumbles.

Jeremy’s eyes were always Noelle’s favorite thing about him. She thought she would’ve forgotten what they looked like by now. But clearly she hasn’t.

Her eyes quickly cast to the person next to him. It’s definitely a girl. They’re a bit too far away for Noelle to pick out details. But it’s enough. He’s walking on the side closest to the street. It’s a Friday Night in a bustling part of the city.

It hurts. She wishes it didn’t.

Even from far away, she sees his eyes blink in recognition. Noelle puts her head back down and walks faster.

(She cries in the shower when she gets back to the hotel. She had debated feeling super sorry for herself and going to the hotel bar but refrained)

She has a few free days in Boston before flying back to New York. When she wakes up the next morning, she debates on going home early. But no, she won’t let a three second glance at someone ruin her time here. She used to occasionally come here during her college days. She loves this city.

The city may be Jeremy’s, but she can make space for herself here too.

She takes her time at a cafe, people watching and eating some breakfast. As she takes her coffee to-go, she looks out the window at the bookstore she was in the night before for the signing. She almost drops her coffee.

Jeremy walks into the book store.

Now, Noelle is debating her options. What she should do is continue with her day and walk in the opposite direction. But she’s always been too nosy for her own good. And maybe a bit self destructive. She decides to leave the cafe and cross the street immediately, so impatient to where she’s almost tapping her foot as the pedestrian signal stays red.

As a writer, she’s no stranger to movie moments. The scenes written in books or movies where the timing is too accurate to be real. The situation too good to be true. But after a car speeds through an orange and she can finally walk, she stops in her tracks instead, feet glued down to the sidewalk.

Because Jeremy is right in front of her on the other side of the street. Her book in his hand. And he’s looking right at her.

The first feeling she can recognize in herself is anger. Anger at the way their relationship panned out. Anger at the way they ended. Anger at the radio silence the years following. Anger at him for everything. Angry at herself for everything.

The second feeling is, weirdly, shame, which she’s embarrassed by. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. But she feels it anyways.

The third, and perhaps the most prominent, is emptiness. Five fucking years later, and she’s brought back to the emptiness she felt immediately after they broke up. The emptiness that the person you loved isn’t yours anymore — who maybe wasn’t ever yours to begin with.

Before she can run, he’s already crossed the street to her. He looks naturally different as someone who you haven’t seen in five years would. But he also heartbreakingly looks the same.

“We should get out of people’s way,” Noelle manages to chokes out.

Jeremy laughs a bit. Her heart lurches. “Yeah.” He starts walking and she follows him wordlessly. This is his city after all.

He leads them to a bench under a tree with beautiful fall foliage. She puts at least a foot between them as they both sit down, staring out at the people passing. She can’t take the silence.

“I see you bought my book.”

“I did,” he replies evenly. “Congratulations. I always knew you would do it.”

She squeezes her eyes shut. Maybe if she squeezes hard enough she’ll forget when she originally pitched Jeremy the bare bones idea of the exact same book that’s currently in his hand. “Thank you. Congratulations to you too. On everything.”

“You’ve been watching?”

She shakes her head. “No. But, you know Seth and…yeah. It comes up during family calls sometimes.”

“Why didn’t you say hi last night?”

She looks pointedly at a couple walking their dog. “You seemed busy.”

“She wasn’t-that-it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Oh. Because that makes me feel so much better,” she spits out, before taking a deep breath. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. We broke up ages ago.”

“I’m sorry,” she gives him a look and is slightly proud of how he seems to shrink into himself a bit. “I-I know it’s five years too late. I know I didn’t handle it as well as I should’ve. But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

The thing is, Noelle always thought that maybe hearing an apology someday would make her feel better. But now that’s heard it, she’s not sure she does.

She swallows. “I appreciate that.”

“I’ve already read it, you know.”

“Read what?”

Jeremy runs a hand through his hair. “Your book. One of my teammate’s girlfriend recommended it and I asked to borrow it. It’s fantastic,” He looks down at the book in his hand. It’s like the cover is taunting her. “I wanted my own copy.”

“Oh.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For letting me off the hook with the poems I know were about me,” he scoffs, shaking his head at himself. “You could’ve written way worse.”

She can’t help but let out a chuckle. “I thought I was pretty mean.”

“Your definition of ‘pretty mean’ is tame compared to a lot of people,” he says, mindlessly flipping through the pages of the book. “You were always the kindest person, even when you shouldn’t have been..”

He puts his hand out in her direction, the hand with the book in it. She furrows her eyebrows. “What-”

“Could I get a signed copy?”

“Jeremy. What do you want from me?”

He sighs, taking his hand back. “A chance to apologize?”

“You’ve already done that.”

“Not in the way I want to and what you deserve.”

She lets out a sigh, turning to face him fully. “I don’t know if that would be worth my time or yours. I know the book just came out, but that was five years ago. I’m over it. Forgive and forget, right?”

“But do you?” Jeremy counters back. “Clearly, you don’t forget, which I deserve. But forgive?”

“We’re just going in circles now.”

“No we’re not,” he says firmly. “You’re just shutting me down because you don’t want to talk about it. I’ve had five years to prepare what I would say to you if I saw you again. You’re telling me you haven’t?”

“Of course I have,” Noelle tips her head back. “But also, what’s the point?”

“The point, is that I still love you.”

“Fuck you,” she says in a strained voice. “You can’t just-you can’t just throw that shit out there. Fuck you.”

He bites his lip, and to her annoyance, he laughs. But she listens more carefully, and it sounds very self deprecating. “I deserved that.”

“Yeah,” Noelle looks down at her feet. “So…what? You still love me?”

“I do.”

“And what are you going to do about that?”

“What are you going to let me do?”

“I live in Brooklyn.”

“I know,” she whips her head up. Jeremy looks sheepish, which she didn’t even think was something he knew how to do. “Seth mentioned it when we caught up a bit ago. I also still follow you on Instagram.”

She tries again. “It’s been five years.”

“And I’m here sitting with you and still feel the exact same way I did back then. Even more, to be honest.” He eyes her pointedly. “Any more excuses?”

Her voice softens. “You really hurt me.”

“I know. And I’m so sorry, Noelle.”

“I hurt you too.”

He shrugs. “We were young and stupid.”

“And we’re still not?” Noelle says with a snort before swallowing. “I’m not the same person you fell in love with.”

“I’m sure I’m not either. But I don’t know if there’s a world where I don’t love every version of you.”

“Even after reading the book?”

“Especially after reading the book,” he sighs. “Noelle, I know this is unfair of me. All of this. And I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to reach out. But I always intended to. And then you’re here? And I see you twice in two days? I’d be an idiot to not try. More of an idiot than I am, anyways.”

“Try for what?”

“A second chance? To be friends? Whatever you want.” He suddenly deflates. “Even if you don’t want anything to do with me. At least I’ll know.”

“Why did you never text me?”

“I thought about it a lot,” he admits. “I tried once, actually, after the high of a really good win. But it didn’t go through. I got the message.”

“The message?”

“You blocked me, right?”

Oh. “Yeah,” she lies. “I did.” She reaches into her bag for a pen and gestures for the book, which he gives to her, a curious gleam in his eyes. “I’m in Boston for two more days, including today.”

He takes the hint immediately. Eagerly. “I have a game tonight, but I’m free tomorrow.”

“Who are you guys playing?”

“Toronto. And I’m starting. Should be a good one.”

She hums non-committedly, scribbling on the inside of the front cover. She hands it back to him with a small, close-lipped smile. She nods at him to read the message.

to my first fan,

i still love you too.

xxx-xxx-xxxx

yours,

noelle

He looks up, eyes shining but a bit confused.

“I never blocked you. I just changed my number.”

“Oh.”

“And even if I still love you, I’m still mad at you.”

“I know. I’d be more surprised if you weren’t.”

She stands up, adjusting the bag on her shoulder and putting her sunglasses on. “Text me?”

His mouth splits wide into a grin. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

She backs away with one last attempt at a smile before turning down the street.

#k writes #hockey fanfiction #nhl #nhl fanfiction #nhl fanfic #nhl writing #hockey blurb #hockey writing #boston bruins #jeremy swayman #jeremy swayman blurb #jeremy swayman writing #jeremy swayman fic #jeremy swayman fanfiction #jeremy swayman x ofc #jeremy swayman x oc #jeremy swayman x reader

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daisycassy · 10 days

Text

I did it, I made the playlist! Also known as the list of Leonard Cohen's songs that make me go feral with Devil's minion feelings.

List of all songs along with my thoughts under the cut bellow

The Future - Give me absolute control/Over every living soul/And lie beside me, baby/That's an order/Give me crack and anal sex....

This whole song is extremely "Daniel and Armand explore their old and new dynamic after years apart" coded, with some old bitter investigative journalist Daniel (my beloved) sprinkled in

Darkness - I caught the darkness/Drinking from your cup/I said: Is this contagious?/You said: Just drink it up...

This is obviously about old Daniel being turned, what do you mean it is not? Look at it!

First we take Manhattan - Ah, you loved me as a loser, but now you're worried that I just might win/You know the way to stop me, but you don't have the discipline/How many nights I prayed for this, to let my work begin...

Vampire power couple? Vampire Daniel chasing his maker while being extremely capable fledling? Armand dreaming of them as vampire power couple in the 80s despite being terrified of turning Daniel? Yes all of those

Avalanche - You who wish to conquer pain/You must learn what makes me kind/The crumbs of love that you offer me/They're the crumbs I've left behind...

The pain, the tragedy of forgotten love then remebered and the reality of grapling with those emotions and memories. Also with the spice of the terror of these two

I'm your man - If you want a lover/I'll do anything you ask me to/And if you want another kind of love/I'll wear a mask for you/If you want a partner, take my hand, or/If you want to strike me down in anger/Here I stand/I'm your man...

Is this about Armand and his unresolved issues and tendency to mould himself into whatever he thinks his lovers need and want? Is this about Daniel wanting to be everything that Armand wants and needs? Is this about them being perfect for each other? Or all of the above? Who's to say

Lover Lover Lover - This one is so so perfect for Armand's identity issues, I feel like I want to copy the whole lyrics here

Master song - Devil's minion version 1, 70s and 80s. But also could make an argument for this to be about Armand and his feelings for Marius (I am his n.1 hater)

It seemed the better way - Sounded like the truth/But it's not the truth today/I better hold my tongue/I better take my place/Lift this glass of blood/Try to say the grace/...

Daniel who was turned by Armand to save him from dying, grapling with his newly regained memories, bitterness and anger at being turned against his will now, and abandoned in the past, but still loving Armand

Nevermind - Never mind/I had to leave my life behind/The story's told/With facts and lies/You own the world so never mind/...

Once again Devil's minion 2, old Daniel after getting turned

Almost like the Blues - But I've had the invitation/that a sinner can't refuse/It's almost like salvation/It's almost like the blues...

Daniel spending his life as a journalist, exposing lies and injustice and yet choosing to become the evil that is to be a vampire

My Oh My - Wasn't hard to love you/Didn't have to try/Held you for a little while...

Both of them. Because my favourite thing about this ship is that despite evrything the loving comes easily to them. But love on its own doesn't make relationships easy.

Leaving the table - If I ever loved you, oh no, no/It's a crying shame/If I ever loved you/If I knew your name...

Old Daniel grappling with the newly gained memories of loving Armand and what it means. At the same time not regretting becoming vampire at all. I don't need a reason/For what I becameI've got these excuses/They're tired and lame/I don't need a pardon...

It's Torn - You smile at your suffering, the sweetest reprieve/Why did you leave us? Why did you leave?...

Daniel remembering loving Armand, and the love coming back so so strong. The longing, the pining

Traveling light - I'm just a fool/A dreamer who/Forgot to dream/Of the me and you/Traveling light like/We used to do...

Vampire Daniel chasing his maker who turned him, gave him back the memories of their love and then disappeared.

Amen - Tell me again/We’re alone and I’m listening/I’m listening so hard that it hurts/Tell me again/When I’m clean and I’m sober/Tell me again/When I’ve seen through the horror/Tell me again/Tell me over and over/Tell me that you want me then...

Armand and Daniel during the 70s and 80s both not believing that the other genuinely loves them. The tragedy it leads them to. The endless pining

I can't forget - I said this can't be me/Must be my double/And I can't forget, I can't forget/I can't forget but I don't remember what...

Daniel left without his memories and yet remembering something, sometimes, in his dreams , in the corner of his eye. Forgetting and yet unable to forget.

Take this longing - Oh, take this longing from my tongue/Whatever useless things these hands have done/Let me see your beauty broken down...

As it says on the tin, take this longing from these men, they are sooo full of it.

#Spotify #interview with the vampire #devil's minion #daniel molloy #armand #the vampire armand #iwtv #leonard cohen #the pining playlist is here #leonard my beloved no one makes songs about love like you used to do

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thiswaycomessomethingwicked · 3 months

Note

Why do some fans of a French historical figure who died in 1793 hate Napoleon? Napoleon had great respect for him.

I thiiiiink you mean Robespierre? Though he died in '94.

(Or do you mean Marat? He was assassinated in '93... For the sake of the ask, I'm going assume Robespierre.)

If you are talking about Robespierre, well, I couldn't answer that as I am not them and I'm sure each person has their own reasons. I presume it has to do with seeing Napoleon as a figure who undid the Republic, rolled France back to monarchy, and whose actions resulted in the reinstatement of the Bourbons? But again, I can't be certain.

Another thought is that Napoleon is a deeply flawed man. Not that Robespierre wasn't, because of course he was, being that he was human like us all, but their foibles and flaws run in rather different directions so the people drawn to Robespierre are, not always but sometimes, different from those drawn to Napoleon.

Fundamentally, I'm not the person to ask as I find both figures, and the times they lived in, interesting!

Napoleon's views on Robespierre were nuanced. Which is natural, considering he lived through the revolution and his political leanings varied during that time.

I answered this previously, but I'll just copy/paste my answer from that old ask (a few minor tweaks made):

Napoleon as a young man admired Robespierre. He was friendly with Robiespierre’s younger brother Augustine and was, for a time, a Jacobin. Napoleon’s views of Robespierre shifted over time. As a young man he saw him as a moderate in the Revolution who was doing his best to end the rampant factionalism that plagued the early French Republic. He believed that Robespierre was the man best suited to controlling the Revolution and preventing its dissolution into extremism or royalist retribution.

Napoleon as an older man had a slightly different take, although he still judged Robespierre more kindly than others who were big players in the 1790s. The nutshell is that Napoleon felt Robespierre was more moderate than the other revolutionaries at the time, but his fanatic dedication to the revolution and the Republic made him go too far.

I think Napoleon, like many (though certainly not all) who lived through major world-shattering events, developed a nuanced and complicated relationship to the players who he had known in person, or knew a great deal about/was contemporary to. Especially a player who he once admired, and to a certain degree still did.

Napoleon’s takes on the Revolution are one of my favourite things to read so here, have a few.

From an account from Napoleon in Exile, or a Voice from St. Helena volume I:

Heard him express some opinions afterwards relative to a few of the characters who had figured in the revolution. “Robespierre,” said he “though a blood thirsty monster was not so bad as Collot, d’Herbois, Billaud de Varennes, Hebert, Fouquier, Tinville and many others. Latterly Robespierre wished to be more moderate; and actually some time before his death said that he was tired of executions and suggested moderation. When Hebert accused the queen de contrarier la nature, Robespierre proposed that he should be denounced as having made such an improbable accusation purposely to excite a sympathy amongst the people, that they might rise and rescue her. From the beginning of the revolution Louis had constantly the life of Charles the First before his eyes. The example of Charles who had come to extremities with the parliament and lost his head prevented Louis on many occasions from making the defence which he ought to have done against the revolutionists. When brought to trial he ought merely to have said that by the laws he could do no wrong and that his person was sacred. The queen ought to have done the same. It would have had no effect in saving their lives but they would have died with more dignity. Robespierre was of opinion that the king ought to have been dispatched privately. ‘What is the use,’ said Robespierre, ‘of this mockery of forms when you go to the trial prepared to condemn him to death whether he deserves it or not.’ The queen went to the scaffold with some sensations of joy and truly it must have been a relief to her to depart from a life in which she was treated with such execrable barbarity. Had I been four or five years older I have no doubt that I should have been guillotined along with numbers of others.”

and from Volume II:

I [Barry O’Meara] asked his [Napoleon’s] opinion about Robespierre. “Robespierre,” replied Napoleon “was by no means the worst character who figured in the revolution. He opposed trying the queen. He was not an Atheist; on the contrary he had publicly maintained the existence of a Supreme Being in opposition to many of his colleagues. Neither was he of opinion that it was necessary to exterminate all priests and nobles like many others. Marat, for example, maintained that to ensure the liberties of France it was necessary that six hundred thousand heads should fall. Robespierre wanted to proclaim the king hors de la roy and not to go through the ridiculous mockery of trying him. Robespierre was a fanatic, a monster, but he was incorruptible and incapable of robbing or of causing the deaths of others either from personal enmity or a desire of enriching himself. “He was an enthusiast but one who really believed that he was acting right and died not worth a sous. In some respects Robespierre may be said to have been an honest man. All the crimes committed by Hebert, Chaumett,. Collot d’Herbois and others were imputed to him. Marat, Billaud de Varennes, Fouche, Hebert and several others were infinitely worse than Robespierre. “It was truly astonishing to see those fanatics, who, bathed up to the elbows in blood, would not for the world have taken a piece of money, or a watch, belonging to the victims they were butchering. There was not an instance in which they had not brought the property of their victims to the Committee of Public Safety. Wading in blood at every step, they believed they were doing right and scrupled to commit the smallest act bordering upon dishonesty. Such was the power of fanaticism, that they conceived they were acting uprightly, at a time when a man’s life was no more regarded by them than that of a fly. “At the very time that Marat and Robespierre were committing those massacres, if Pitt had offered them two hundred million, they would have refused it with indignation. They even tried and guillotined some of their own number, (such as Fabre d’Eglantine) who were guilty of plundering. Not so Talleyrand, Danton, Barras, Fouche: they were figurantes and would have espoused any side for money.”

---

Quick aside, I forgot about Napoleon's scathing assessment of how Louis and Antoinette comported themselves during the trial.

"It would have had no effect in saving their lives but they would have died with more dignity."

Napoleon "Look, your death is inevitable but at least have some goddamn personal pride and dignity" Bonaparte.

#ask #reply #napoleon #anon #napoleon bonaparte #history #19th century #18th century

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boyrobott · 6 months

Text

everybody says they love me (but i'm still brokenhearted)

It's been six days now since Astro fell to the Surface, and there is something wrong with him.

Read on AO3.

It's been six days now since Astro fell to the Surface, and there is something wrong with him.

Actually, now that he thinks about it, there are a whole lot of things wrong with him, and it's probably more than enough to fill up an entire book at this point — or, at the absolute least, make for a pretty long list. And it begins with the fact that he's a robot — a real actual robot, like those guys calling themselves the RRF, or the millions on millions of old, outdated machines in the junkyard, or the new zeronium automations rolling off the factory line in the Ministry of Science this month — and he knows it's true, he knows it's real, he saw the wires and circuits under his skin with his own eyes, he saw the Core spinning slow and steady in his chest, crackling with electricity and burning blue, but he just can't get his head around it.

Every night, he lays awake long after everyone else has already gone to sleep, his eyes wide open in the dark, staring up at the splintered wooden bottom of Zane's bunk, right above his own, and he tries to figure out exactly where Tobi ends, and where Astro begins. Every night, he lays awake long after everyone else has already gone to sleep, and he tries to figure out if all these feelings swirling around inside him — the grief heavy and cold in the pit of his stomach, and the hope a tiny, tentative flicker of light in the center of his chest — are really his feelings at all, or just lines on lines on lines of code written into his brain by the man who made him, and then threw him away like he was garbage.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he was just a robot.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he was just your ordinary, average, run-of-the-mill factory-made machine. Maybe that would be okay. Maybe he could get his head around that. Maybe he could figure out what to do with that.

But that's not what he is.

He's the mechanical replica of a dead boy. He's a copy of a corpse. He's a clone, a faint echo of somebody long gone, a pale and empty and imperfect imitation that isn't even supposed to exist, and no one wants him, and he looks in the mirror, and a face that isn't his looks back at him — Tobi's brown eyes, and Tobi's round cheeks, and Tobi's spiked-up black hair, and Tobi's nose, and Tobi's ears, and Tobi's mouth, and Tobi's voice coming out of that mouth, and Tobi's favorite blue jacket on his shoulders and Tobi's favorite red boots on his feet, and this face isn't his and this body isn't his and these clothes aren't his and this brain isn't his and these memories of a whole entire life before last week aren't his and these feelings aren't his and everything he's ever had and everything he's ever said and everything he's ever thought and everything he's ever felt isn't his,because he's not even a real person!

The one and only thing he can truly call his own is his new name.

And he's spent the last six days down on the Surface below Metro City, trying to pass himself off as a Totally Normal Human Boy With Absolutely No Inexplicably Robotic Attributes Whatsoever. No, siree, just your average, ordinary, unremarkable preteen kid over here!

But here's the really crazy thing: It's working.

Astro can barely believe it, but no one has asked him any probing or uncomfortable questions, or even spared him a second look, since the night he showed up here, trailing behind Cora and Zane with his heart in his throat and his stomach tied up in knots, and nervously stammering out flimsy half-truths about his parents and his past, praying no one would dig any deeper, and so sure that he was doing it all wrong, that his posture was too stiff and too tense, that his facial expressions were shifting too fast and too smoothly until they all blended into each other in the most glaringly and unnaturally inhuman way possible, and what if he forgot to blink as much as everyone else? what if he forgot to breathe as much as everyone else? what if the truth was written all over him somewhere that he couldn't see — on his forehead, or on his back, maybe, spelled out in big bold letters saying this isn't a real person, this isn't a real person, this isn't a real person, don't let him fool you, he's a fake, he's faking, he's not a real person, he looks like he's a real person, but he's not, he's a fake, he's a fake, he's a fake!

But it's been six days now, and nobody has said anything about it.

Not even yesterday, when they were cleaning up ZOG for the Robot Games (which Astro still isn't totally sure he understands, but when he tried to ask them about it again, Zane shrugged it off and said it's a Surface thing, dude, so that probably means he'll just have to see it for himself before he really gets it) and Cora slipped off the robot's gleaming bronze shoulder, the bottoms of her shoes slick with soapy water, and he had to fire up his rocket boots to catch her before she hit the ground (because what on earth was he supposed to do in that situation, anyway? just let her fall?) she didn't call him out on it, and nobody else did, either.

And that must mean nobody saw it.

Look, he knows he can't keep this up forever, okay? He knows he has to tell them the truth sooner or later, and he knows it's better to just face the music, just get it over with, and more than anything, he knows they deserve it — after everything they've done for him, the way they welcomed him into their home and their family and their lives with open arms and no reservations, treating him just the same as every other kid around here even though they only met him last week.

They deserve to know what he really is.

And they deserve to hear it directly from him.

Seriously, what does he even have to be afraid of? Hamegg said himself that he loves robots, after all, and it's not like the other kids have any problems with them, either — they were so excited to meet ZOG just a few days ago when Astro got him back online, rushing right over to the giant without so much as a minute of hesitation, and they definitely dote on Trash Can every chance they get, petting him and praising him and spoiling him with treats of all kinds — so it's not like they're going to do a complete one-eighty and decide they hate him specifically for being one, right? Sure, he's not exactly as cool and awesome and crazy-strong as ZOG, and he's obviously not cute and charming and lovable like Trash Can, but there must be something in him they like, right? There must be some reason they let him come home with them that day in the junkyard, right? There must be some reason they didn't just walk away and leave him to fend for himself in the scrap heaps, right? There must be some reason they like him, right? There has to be something they like about him. There has to be something, and if it was enough to convince them to let him into their weird, wonderful family, it must be enough for them to like him even though he's a robot.

Right?

He really shouldn't be so nervous about this.

He really shouldn't be so afraid.

But it's been six days now since he fell to the Surface, and there is something wrong with him.

His whole body has been aching like one big bruise all day long, a dull but constant pulse of pain spreading out and out and out like ripples on a pond until every last inch of him hurts. His arms and legs feel oddly stiff, and sore, almost swollen at the joints in his knees and elbows, and when he tries to bend his limbs, or stand up, or turn his head, he—

—he creaks.

Like the rusted metal hinge on Tobi's locker door at school as it swings open. Like an old wooden floorboard when it takes on too much weight. Like a couple of steel gears grinding roughly together. Like a failing engine in a broken-down hovercar. Like a window that hasn't been opened in a while. Like the millions on millions of old, outdated machines in the junkyard. Like a robot.

And it's so excruciatingly, piercingly loud that the other kids can actually hear it, too, looking around the room with baffled frowns on their faces for a second or two before they shake their heads, shrug it off, say it must be ZOG, or Trash Can, or some new project that Hamegg is working on down in his shop, and Astro knows he really shouldn't be so nervous about this, he knows he really shouldn't be so afraid, but every time he moves, and that godawful screeching, scraping noise rings out, he holds his breath and he waits for them to work out the truth, his hands trembling in his lap and all the air in his lungs turning rapidly to ice.

He really shouldn't be so nervous about this.

He really shouldn't be so afraid.

But his secret is closer to the surface than it's ever been before, and he is so, so terrified.

That night, he lays awake long after everyone else has already gone to sleep, his eyes wide open in the dark, staring up at the splintered bottom of Zane's bunk, right above his own, and he tries not to move around too much, because it hurts, and he tries to figure out what on earth could be wrong with him.

"I-I don't know what's going on," he whispers, finally, to Trash Can — who has apparently decided he doesn't actually mind Astro all that much, because the minute they started shutting off the lights and crawling under the covers, he trotted over to Astro's bunk and curled up at the foot of the bed with a contented little whirr. "I don't know what's going on with me, Trash Can. If I can't fix it…"

Trash Can yawns so wide that his mechanical jaw pops, and gives a single, drowsy beep in response. Boy needs oil.

Astro goes dead still beneath his patched blanket, breath catching somewhere in the back of his throat. He didn't hear that right. There is no way he heard that right. There is no way he actually heard that right. "W-What did you just say?"

Boy needs oil, Trash Can repeats, slower and sleepier this time. Robots creak when oil is low. Boy creaks because oil is low.

"What?" Astro says, reflexively, even as all the air rushes from his chest in a heavy, shuddering gasp, and his whole body goes cold as ice — of course he knows that robots need oil, because Orrin's body used to groan like this whenever he was due for a refill, and ZOG drank almost two entire gallons of the stuff earlier today, and Trash Can will lap it straight from his dog bowl in the corner of the kitchen with his tiny, metallic tongue, but he's never actually connected any of that to himself, because he's not like that.

…Is he?

Boy is robot, Trash Can chirps unhelpfully, like he really thinks Astro needs the reminder right now. Robots need oil. Boy needs oil.

Astro shakes his head, and he doesn't even care about the horrible noise it makes anymore. "But I'm not—I'm not like—" he swallows, a little too hard, the word burning a hole right through the inside of his mouth until he has to shift gears in the middle of his sentence, "—that."

Trash Can whines in confusion, lifting his head an inch or two off the lumpy, torn-up mattress. Hasn't boy ever needed oil before?

"…I don't think so?"

There's a long stretch of silence then, and Astro is just beginning to think the dog must have fallen asleep, or gotten bored of him, or something, when another shrill beep rings out from the foot of the bed. How old is boy?

"Uh…" He frowns, and plucks at a loose, fraying thread on the edge of his blanket as he thinks it through, careful not to put too much strength into the motion so he doesn't accidentally unravel the whole thing. "I-I don't know. No one told me. It's been about a week since I woke up in the lab, though, and I think that was my first day."

Oh, Trash Can says, like everything makes perfect sense now, and he sits up a little, ears perked. Why didn't boy say so before? Boy is baby!

"What?!" Astro isn't actually sure if it's physically possible for him to blush, but a rush of heat definitely floods his face. "No! I'm eleven years old! Th-That's, like, practically a teenager!"

Babies are small, Trash Can chirps at him, with an air of absolute authority. Babies don't know anything. Everything is new to babies. And boy is small. And boy doesn't know anything. And everything is new to boy. Boy is baby.

And then the dog curls up at the foot of the bed again, paws tucked under his chin and eyes squeezed shut, like the matter is settled.

Astro scowls at him for a second or two — just because he's only been alive for seven days total doesn't make him a baby! — but he's got way bigger problems on his plate right now than his age, and everything it apparently means in Robot Years, or whatever. (Or… maybe it's just Robot Dog Years? Are Robot Dog Years different from Regular Dog Years? Maybe he should ask Hamegg.) He doesn't want a refill of oil to be the solution to his creaking body and aching joints — which is really kind of stupid, actually, because a refill of oil is just about the simplest, easiest fix in the world, and he could go ahead and take care of it now, while everyone else is fast asleep and no one will ever know and no one will ever find out — but it's not like he's got any better ideas.

"Do you…" he nudges the dog lightly in the side to get his attention again. "Do you really think it will help me? Oil, I mean?"

Trash Can lets out a sleepy, affirmative beep. Robots need oil. All robots need oil. Even baby robots.

Astro pointedly ignores the jab. "Right… yeah… um… Hamegg has some in his shop, doesn't he?"

Man has oil, Trash Can nods. Man has lots and lots of oil. Man will give oil. Ask man to give oil.

Astro doesn't know why he didn't expect that, but he really didn't expect that, and it sends a sharp, awful jolt straight to the pit of his queasy stomach just to hear it. "No! I-I can't do that!"

Trash Can sits up again, cocking his head to the side in confusion. Man gives oil. Trash Can asks, and man gives. Man gives oil to all robots. Boy is robot. Man will give if boy asks.

And Astro is sure he's right, sure that Hamegg wouldn't withhold a basic necessity like that from any robot who asks (even if they have spent the past six days lying to him) but his insides still feel like a writhing, hissing nest of angry vipers when he thinks about it. "No, Trash Can, I… I can't. I just can't." He tries to swallow, but there's a hard block at the back of his throat, and it won't let him. "I-I don't want him to find out like that." I don't want him to find out ever, but he pushes the thought away, shoves it to the back of his mind and locks it up tight, because that's bad, and wrong, and not fair to the man who has treated him as nothing less than his own flesh-and-blood son ever since he stepped through the door.

Trash Can considers this for a long, silent minute, his bright blue eyes glowing faintly in the dark and his tiny ears flicking back and forth, before he finally lets out another, more authoritative chirp. Trash Can knows where oil is. Trash Can take you to oil.

Before he can say anything to that, the dog jumps off the bed, and scampers out of the room — through the raggedy, rust-red curtain that divides the bedroom from the rest of the house, through the empty, darkened living room, up the stairs, around the corner, and right through the automatic door that slides open with a big whoosh as soon as it senses the weight and motion of living people in front of it.

And then, just like that, they're in Hamegg's workshop.

Even as Astro follows Trash Can over the threshold and toward the big plastic crate in the corner chock-full of tin cans, his stomach is tight with guilt, and he feels filthy all over. He shouldn't be doing this. He really should not be doing this. He should just wait until tomorrow, when he can tell Hamegg the truth, and ask him for some oil face-to-face. He should just go back to bed and come clean to everyone in the morning. He shouldn't be doing this. He shouldn't be using them like this. He shouldn't be using Hamegg like this. Hamegg trusts him, and here he is, sneaking around in the middle of the night and stealing from him.

This is no way to repay the people who took him in when no one else wanted him.

But he takes a seat on the rusted windowsill anyway, the metal cold as ice through the thin cotton of the flannel-patterned pajama pants Zane loaned him when he found out Astro didn't have any clothes except his jeans and jacket, and he pulls a can of oil out of the crate below, automatically popping up the spout just like he saw ZOG do earlier.

And then he realizes, abruptly, that he actually has no idea what on earth he's supposed to do next. Robots usually ingest it through the mouth, he knows that, because that's what ZOG did, and Trash Can, too… but… that can't be what he has to do, is it? But he really can't think of anything else to do but drink it — maybe he could open up the energy chamber in his chest and pour it in through there, but that doesn't sound exactly right, and he really doesn't want to find out the hard way that it doesn't work. What if it gums up his gears? What if it hurts the Core? What if it makes him malfunction? What if it kills him?

"Uh…" he glances uncertainly between the thick, sludgy, thoroughly unappetizing black liquid swirling around in the canister and the dog curled up comfortably beneath the window. "So… I just… drink it, then? I guess?"

Trash Can gives a high-pitched little warble of amusement — if boy is not baby, shouldn't boy know what to do with oil? — and then a quick trill of confirmation: Silly boy. All robots drink oil.

"Oh," Astro says, with absolutely no enthusiasm. "Great. That's… so great. This is great." He allows himself one last apprehensive look at the dark fluid before he finally lifts the can up to his lips, cold tin clinking lightly against his teeth, and takes the tiniest possible sip.

It tastes exactly like what it is: motor oil.

And it tastes… good.

Before he even knows what he's doing, he's already taken another swallow, bigger than the first, and then he goes in for another one, drinking it down so quickly he actually kind of forgets to breathe in between sips, and the can is more than half-empty by the time he finally pauses to drag in a gulp of air instead, though he knows rationally that his artificial lungs don't really need the oxygen at all. He takes a second to wipe his mouth before he finishes off the rest of it, and when he pulls his hand away, the pale skin is stained a sleek, glossy black, glistening faintly in the starlight pouring in on him through the open window.

He doesn't know why it hits him right then. He doesn't know why it hits him so powerfully, and so painfully, but the longer he looks at that dark, gleaming streak on the back of his hand, the deeper and deeper it begins to sink in: he just drank almost an entire can of oil in one go, and he liked it.

Because he's a robot.

Like those guys calling themselves the RRF, like the millions on millions of old, outdated machines in the junkyard, like the new zeronium automations rolling off the factory line in the Ministry of Science this month, like Orrin, like ZOG, like Trash Can. His stomach twists, clenching up like a closed fist — tighter and tighter the longer he thinks about it — until there's a horrible second where he really thinks the oil is going to come right back up again, and he's going to vomit all over the floor of poor Hamegg's workshop in the middle of the night. And then he remembers that he won't, he can't, and he already knew that, of course he knew that, but the reminder still slams into him like a speeding train, smacking him off-kilter and knocking all the breath clean out of him in a single blow.

I don't want to be a robot, Astro realizes, with a clarity so sharp it stings. I don't want to be a robot. I don't want to be a robot. And he definitely doesn't want to be a robot like this — a clockwork clone of another kid who died months ago, a messed-up mimicry of a human with wires instead of veins, iron instead of bones, coolant instead of blood, and a star where his heart should be. He doesn't want to live like this — sneaking out in the dead and dark of night to drink oil where no one can see, and hoping with every gear and cog and circuit in his body that Trash Can won't give him away, that ZOG won't give him away, that he won't give himself away, that he can keep this up for just one more day, just one more hour, just one more minute, just until he's ready to tell them, just until he figures out how to tell them. He doesn't want the rest of his life to be like this — trying to make sure his posture isn't too stiff or too tense, trying to make sure his facial expressions aren't shifting too fast, or too smoothly, and trying to remember to blink as much as everyone else, trying to remember to breathe as much as everyone else, his heart in his throat and his stomach tied up in knots as he carefully carefully carefully arranges himself into a shape so close to human that no one can ever tell the difference.

He doesn't want to live like this. He doesn't want the rest of his life to be like this. He doesn't want to pretend to be normal. He doesn't want to have to pretend to be normal. He just wants to be normal.

(He doesn't want to be different.)

#astro boy #astro boy 2009 #tetsuwan atom #mighty atom #astroboyfanweek2024 #astro boy fanfiction #astro boy fanfic #astro boy fic #astro boy 2009 fanfiction #astro boy 2009 fanfic #astro boy 2009 fic

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iwanttobepersephone · 2 months

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Oooh oooh ooh Kore I am curious, beautiful curls? What's that one all about?

It's my favorite oneeeeee!!! I'm just gonna copy and paste the whole thing from a Google doc cause it's pretty short. If you want EXTRA vibes, you can listen to this song because that's what I was listening to when I first came up with this

We start the scene in a dark, dimly lit bedroom. It's clearly night outside, around 9 pm. We don't see any source of light, but it feels as if there's a singular candle nearby lighting up the area. Halt is sitting on the very edge of his mother's bed, feet crossed under him. He's around 8 years old.

Halt's mother is across the room, we don't see her but we know she's there. She's grabbing something, and she walks around the bed and sits down behind Halt, quietly humming. (If you pay attention to the music, you'll know the tune she's humming)

She begins to lightly brush through Halt's hair, trying not to destroy any curls as she does so. Brushing curly hair, even with a widely spaced brush as she's using now, is a fickle task. Halt sits, content, happy, and staring at the ground in front of the bed. There's a fancy looking carpet, a basket half spilled under the bed, and a burgundy-red stain on the wood floors.

After a while, she begins quietly talking. She's complimenting Halt, but only about his hair. "Your curls are so beautiful, Halt" she whispers, so softly you might think she's talking to herself. "They're one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen”

Halt turns his eyes, but not his head, to look to his side. He can't see his mother any better, but it's closest to where the sound was coming from. "Thank you, momma! I don't think anyone's ever called me beautiful before!” He sounded overjoyed at the compliment, but he didn't want to move, knowing his mother would lecture him for shifting while she's taking care of his hair

There's a small silence as Halts mother sets down the brush to pull apart a knot in his hair by hand. When she finally speaks, she forces a gentle, caring voice, "No, darling, not you, your hair.”

His mother continues humming that same tune she was before. Halt stares at the floor again. Slowly, he mumbles, "why not me?” Not for the first time, I may add.

His mother continues humming. She does this all the time. When she doesn't want to answer a question, she pretends she didn't hear him. Or maybe it's because she wants to punish him for mumbling? She’s confusing like that, he can never tell what she wants. He says it again, clearer,

"Why can't I be beautiful, momma?”

"Because men can't be beautiful, Halt”

She says it so matter-of-factly, so sure of herself, Halt doesn't even question that what she's saying may not be true.

"Men are made to lie, cheat, hurt, and abuse. And people who do those things could hardly be considered beautiful, can they, dear?”

"Oh," Halt says, "I guess not”

There's another silence as the wind roars outside, And Halt feels a little chill down his arms from the draft.

"But your curls... oh, darling, they're wonderful," his mother says, "If you take care of them, well, you may just become the first man to be beautiful”

Halt turns around now, forgetting about his mothers rules on staying still.

"Really?”

"Yes," his mother sighs, "just promise me you'll take care of your curls, ok? That you'll make sure they're always nice and beautiful. And promise me you'll never be like your father, ok? Never, ever, be like your father.”

"I promise!" He said, with the full sincerity that only a young child could have

#so sorry if this is weirdly written #it was written to get it out in the world not to be good lol #rangers apprentice #ranger's apprentice #halt o'carrick #asks wooo!!!#rangers apprentice fanfiction #??????#sorta?????#my writing #Poor Halt has so much trauma #and all I'm doing is giving him more lol #I feel like I should add a trigger or a content warning on his mothers behavior but idk what #if you think of one please tell me

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wordgirlexploration · 6 months

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Now that we have two new ref line ups, allow me to share with y'all some headcanons for some of them!

Rex/Kid Math

Most of our Kid Math takes are based off of FountainPenguin's two Kid Math fics: Factor It In and AlgoRythym. We just love those fics <3

Last name is Pemdas.

Non-binary. Really I just imagine most of the aliens in the show are some flavor of non-binary and Kid Math is no exception.

Autistic and has synesthesia. Same as Becky :) Comes with the territory of being from a subject obsessed planet and gaining superpowers on another world that overstimulates the senses.

His birthday (equivalent on Earth) is Pi day

He is so, so small. 3'7" (or exactly 110 centimeters!) tall. He looks more like he should be in Kindergarten/1st grade than 3rd grade.

More of a Hexagon headcanon than a Kid Math specific one: Hexagon is a very logical planet and as a result, when they do superhero work it's always 1) track down villain 2) get rid of villain 3) day is saved! Wordgirl's way of being a superhero would baffle ANYONE from Hexagon. Kid Math is just a product of his environment.

Mr Big + Leslie

Mr Big is trans.

His orientation is queer because we can't quite pin down what it is but he's definitely not straight.

Stands at 6'5". He's not called "Mr Big " for nothing!

Sees Dr Two-Brains on the weekends ever since their team up in Invasion of the Bunny Lovers. >:3

Leslie is a lesbian. We think she and the Mayor's assistant should kiss but not sure if it's canon to Exploration.

She's only 5'5" but wears 2 inch heels so you can't immediately tell.

Leslie's last name is Little. She's Leslie Little.

Both are in their early/mid 30's. Mr Big is only a couple years older than Leslie.

Granny May

She's been a villain the longest. Being a petty pickpocket since her late teens. Her "career" as a supervillian really took off though when she met her future husband.

Her husband was a man named Walter, who she met after charming her way into some fancy event. She stole his heart and his wallet that night <3

Walter made most of her gadgets that she uses today. Her suit of armor was his wedding present to her.

They got married later than most people from their time. Granny May was very hesitant about marriage at first. Worried it would affect her crime career since she relied mostly on her charm, which works better on suckers men when they think you're single.

Note: I really could go on and on about Granny's past but I'll leave off here because we have a whole episode planned for exploring her past ;)

Granny May has always been very small. In her prime she only stood at 5'1". In her old age she's now only 4'11".

Victoria Best

Dyes her hair. She's a natural brunette but since the rest of her family is blonde it's for the best (heh) that she match her family.

Her eyes are naturally blue but have an unusual red tint to the pupils and iris.

As of Exploration, she's currently taller than Becky at 4'9".

On the aroace spectrum but hasn't figured it out yet. She's the best at ignoring her feelings <3

We have big plans for her :)

Beatrice Bixby/Lady Redundant Woman

In her mid 30's.

Beatrice herself is aroace. Her clones are not. It drives her insane when one of them develops a crush because she doesn't get it.

Her clones are not perfect copies of her. She's had to recall one or two because they refuse to help in her crime sprees.

All her clones are effectively vegetarian because they can only consume ink. Ever since she became Lady Redundant Woman, Beatrice has had to supplement her own diet with ink every now and then. She can just change out her ink cartridge, but it's surprisingly cheaper to just eat ink. Also less of a hassle.

Lady Redundant Woman herself might also just be vegetarian. We haven't figured that out yet.

Tall woman. She stands at 6'1" plus her boots make her appear a couple inches taller. She looks shorter as Beatrice because of her Customer Service Slouch(TM).

She's ambidextrous.

Todd "Scoops" Ming

Hitting him with the trans beam. Came about because of that one episode where, aside from Bob, he was the only boy in the scouts group. We think he joined before he transitioned, and then when he did come out as trans the group wanted him to stay <3 Now he's one of the exceptions because it'd be rude to kick him and also all the other scouts will defend his place with their dying breaths.

Aside from Eugene May (because no one is gonna catch up with him), he's the tallest kid in 7th grade right now at 4'11".

While currently dating Violet, Scoops is bi and has had a couple crushes before Violet. His type seems to be blondes with weird eyes...

ale: we gave him ugly shoes because his top half is the only thing that needs to look presentable.

we obviously also fixed his skintone and haircut. we love you wordgirl, you did this kid so incredibly dirty.

we made his shirt blue because he's a little older now and Raven thought he deserved to have a different shirt.

Violet Heaslip

Her eyes are an unusual pinkish-purple color. Becky and Scoops think it's really cool.

She's currently the same height as Victoria.

Back in 4th grade/beginning of 5th grade she had a crush on Becky. She outgrew it halfway through the school year.

ale: we really just gave her an all-new detailed outfit because, as we realized after we finished her, her outfit is so.... plain for an art kid!

her pockets full of flowers are inspired by a piece of fanart showing the worg kids as elementary schoolers. the doodles on her skirt are inspired by a Dear Evan Hansen lyric.

gets a beret because she's an artist <3

i gave her warmly rainbow socks because i thought they'd look like something i'd see in a Justice as a kid.

TJ Botsford

"TJ" is short for Tim Jr.

His birthday is May 4th.

He's gay but hasn't figured it out yet. Got more important things to worry about such as how to grow the WordGirl Fan Club.

ale: made his skin darker to match with his parents, and his hair darker to match with his skin. and gave him a fade because, like. look at him. he would.

Tim and Sally Botsford (Do not separate <3)

Both are in their late 30's but Sally is older by a couple years.

Tim is just a little taller than average at 5'10", while Sally is close to average height at 5'4", but wears 3 inch heels to give herself that extra height. Makes her a little more intimidating at her job.

They met in college at the ice cream parlor from Whammer Anniversary <3 it was for some get together/study group and the two just clicked.

Their wedding anniversary is October 13th.

Tim is pan.

Tim's family specifically is of Ethiopian descent. It's why his spicier meals pack such a punch.

We mostly just like Sally the way she is <3

As we've mentioned before, Sally is Afro-Latina.

Shown in the episode That's Entertainment, Sally's hair actually becomes poofy and curly when not "blow-dried." Her hair is still like this (it's what inspired us to make her Afro-Latina), but we've decided that her hair becomes straightened through normal straightening means.

ale: made Tim's hair more afro-textured for obvious reasons. also it's canon that it used to look like that. also, he's graying more.

made Tim more brown because we couldn't live with keeping him orange.

i INSISTED that he keep his horrible outfit. everyone watching me draw him hated it, however, he is my "horrible fashion sense" king.

we mostly kept Sally the same, just made her skin more skin-tone like. also, we turned that weird line in her hair into a gray streak, because she's a little older now, and we couldn't figure out why it was there.

#wordgirl #raven rambles #ale announces #kid math #mr big #leslie #granny may #walter may #victoria best #lady redundant woman #todd scoops ming #violet heaslip #tj botsford #tim botsford #sally botsford

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