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#but idk I expected it to be about the length that it was

netherfeildren · 2 days

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Notes On a Virtuous Affair

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: One would think this road ends in something virtuous—a greenness so dazzling it hurt the eyes—and not the sort of man waiting in his far out removed solitude.

He was the experienced one, you the innocent. It should have been different. Maybe it should’ve felt different. And yet, there was something in him that made you feel very much the conquering one, you the baptizing one.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Post outbreak; Jackson Joel Miller; Dom/sub undertones; Rough Sex; Impact Play; Face Slapping; Spanking; PIV sex; Ass Play; Oral Sex (m!receiving); Come Eating; Throat Fucking; Unprotected Sex; Potentially Toxic Dynamics? (haha?); Complicated Feelings; They Love Each Other in Their Own Weird Way, Ok?; Older Man/Younger Woman; Idk What This Is, I Don't Expect You to Either;

A/N: miss you guys, sorry for the disappearing act <3

Word Count: 3.1K

Read on AO3

Notes On a Virtuous Affair

Sunlight spills over everything, and the pastoral green leads you to him.

One would think this road ends in something virtuous—a greenness so dazzling it hurt the eyes—and not the sort of man waiting in his far out removed solitude.

But there’s an incongruity afoot here that only you appreciate.

The secret lies in that there’s a riddle woven through the three miles you pilgrim to see him weekly. The first, a boon, the green lush wasteland, if a thing that’s alive can be wasted. The second, an honesty, I’ll venture this distance for him. The third, a precursor, when your muscles start to tingle, your thighs, hot and itchy, nape, coated in a taste of salt. Your feet crunch along the gravel and dirt, protected by the soft leathered boots inherited from Lucy who’d died last Monday. A good start to the week, with new boots, and a thoughtful gift she’d left you, your friend, when your own shoes were so worn from all the walking you do for him. The end of the world changes death, finds good things within it.

The sun warms the bridge of your nose, and you tip your face up to the too-bright light, trying your hardest to look straight at the intensity of it. He’s very much like this too. Why would you look directly at the sun if not for the hurting it brings? Your palms splayed forward at your sides, the breeze moving through your fingers, and the world is all around you alive in this apocalypse.

Jackson is left further and further behind as you move towards him, and what no one understands, not even Joel Miller himself, is that there is something virtuous about this affair.

“I’m gonna fuck your mouth now,” he says down at you, bare as the day you were born and kneeling before his clothed and towering height. Nothing but the heavy hanging length of his cock is naked for you, the first you’d ever seen in your whole life. If he had his way, the only one you’d ever see for the rest of it. The wide head is slick and glossy, the way it bobs obscenely from his open jeans looking like the weight of it would hurt, the way it juts from the bed of hair at this groin like a threat to you.

You know now, after all his focused training, that it only hurts him when you don’t tend to it as he needs, that it’s only a threat when you fail to do the same. He’s shown you the rules of hurting, in all these months you’ve come your three promised miles to him time after time. Shown you how it comes easy, that of hurting someone you love. A running in place sort of thing. You know all the steps that will come, the exact spot you’ll tread in. The way to propel yourself forward to finally leave that same place, avoid it, if you want.

“Open wider. Won’t fit like that,” he clicks his tongue, voice a burr as he grips his throbbing flesh and with the other too big hand, also like a seeming threat, but not, he gives you a quick, softly stinging slap to the high of your cheekbone. The sound, fast and snapping like his disapproving tongue. You swallow a moan, looking up at him with that look in your eyes you know disturbs him, adoration, letting the hinges of your jaw go loose, saliva pooling beneath the cover of your tongue. “Don’t you want me?” He asks.

And you blink once, moan crossing the bridge to a laugh if your mouth wasn’t stretched wide as it’ll go. He sees it though, skipping water in your eyes and gives that half smile, the mean one, the one that says he has all the answers in the world, knows all the things there are to know, that one you like best. Good girl, and his voice makes no sound, only the shape of the words on his mouth. You haven’t been good enough yet to hear the real thing of them out loud. This tells you that you must apply yourself to the task at hand, making him come.

One heavy tap to the flat of your tongue sticking out for him first, and then he’s slicking that fat head against the surface, giving you the first real taste, salt and musk trickle down the back of your throat and you moan again, eyes screwing shut tight, cunt aching something fierce. Leaking just like the tip of his cock leaks too.

That’s the thing about this thing, the one you see very well and Joel still fails to. The two of you, as disparate as you might seem, are the same in all the basic but most important ways. Too much in common for him to look at in the eye comfortably and still do the things you do.

“Open your throat. Get me hard.” In your head, he calls you baby. In reality, only sometimes, when you’re extra good, does that happen. But in your imagination, where it matters more, he doesn't ask nice, but you are his baby.

He slides back, back, hits the end of your throat, pulls out against the wet heat of your tongue. You keep your jaw wide until you feel him harden entirely, until he stretches his neck back, tendons jumping stark, clench of his jaw fluttering with a choked groan. “Suck me,” your permission to savor him like you need to.

Hands pressed firmly to your bare knees, not digging at your soft wet like you’d like, or pawing at him as you’d like even more, you close your lips around him, cheeks hollowed and suck hard, tonguing at his slit on the pull back so that he’s bearing his teeth at you in a growl and shoving forward again hard, a snarl as the cinch of your tight throat strangles the head of his cock on every one of your swallows. Your eyes water, but he pets softly at the same spot he’d stung earlier with his slap.

A game you used to play with your siblings, who could slap one another harder until the other gave out. It’d taken a while for you to come to the realization, but eventually, you’d realized the memory of it in your mind as it exists now wasn’t innocent the way it should’ve been. That there had been something you’d liked about it in a strange way—that hurting. That the first time you’d asked Joel to play the same game with you, you’d wanted him to slap you other places just as hard until you gave out also.

The games were part of the thing. His own strange rules, like the way you couldn’t touch him sometimes—you dig your bitten down nails into the soft skin of your inner thighs—only when he said it was okay was it allowed. The way you were never allowed to touch your cunt unless he said so also. He had weird things about him, turned strange by the dangerous ways of life. Like the solitude, the house out and away, the begging you had to do for him to have you.

Sameness.

He wraps his fist in your hair, more sting, “Gonna fill your belly with my come, yeah?” His thrusts pick up pace, pulling your head back as far as your neck allows so that he can fuck your throat in full, jaw hanging wide, and you’re just the wet and willing hole you know he sometimes wishes you could always stay as.

The thick cock against your tongue throbs once, twice and then he’s spilling hot and heavy down your open throat, sweet salt against the back of your tongue while you try and breathe through his strangling, tears spilling.

When he pulls back, slipping wet and heavy from your mouth you fall forward onto your palms, breathing fast, almost hyperventilating, stinging with the forced will to remain obedient. Your spine burns beneath your skin and your sore jaw hangs unwillingly open, sloppy mouth dripping a string of semen between your splayed palms.

He crouches before you, dripping cock like your mouth, milked to heavy softness hangs long and sated between his thighs. And he pets your crown, the vulnerable shell of your ear, whole body on fire so that every inch of skin hurts without his touch, hurts worse with it.

“Good girl,” he says now with voice.

The walk seems longer some days. A thousand miles plus an eon instead of merely three. Especially on the days you’re more desperate than usual. The ones when your stomach feels full of sugar for him and the memory taste of his cock is already aching in your molars. Those days your steps are hurried, look in your eyes frenzied to get to him, to escape the things you leave behind. A too full house, your sister’s squalling, teething baby, your little brothers, and too many mouths to feed and not attention to be had, not enough mother for everyone to get loved.

There’s reasons for this game between the two of you, you’d had to come out and find your attention somewhere else.

Your love too.

And if it comes with a sting sometimes, well, so had your mother’s. You like it like this now.

The first time he’d touched your cunt: show me that pretty pussy, baby, and he’d had you from that very first sweet word, you gonna let me finger it? You’d spread wide, leaked into the cup of his palm like a whore, you’d needed to make sure he was for keeping from the first try, you see. So you’d done all he’d said, taken four fingers and only cried a little bit but whined a lot. Been all, hurts, Joel, high pitched and dragging his name out on a puppy whimper.

He’d given you that first lesson in hurt the very first time: Yeah? Supposed to. A real mean man. And then made you gush into that very cupped palm so that he could drink of your sweetness.

The third mile comes to an end, the precursor, over, his house in view. It’s all quiet and slumbering and the long grass pulls you forward with its wind blown sway. The wide door to his shed is propped open, half finished rocking chair up on the workbench that sways with the intruding gust. The grass whispers behind you, the dark woods across the field moan, and he’s nowhere while the Tetons loom in the distance.

You drag your fingers along the slats of his house as you pass, everything is so quiet, like he’d never been here. Like he’d gone and left you the way he’s promised he’d never do. Your belly feels bloated with heat, heart turned into four incongruous chambers that no longer beat in tune, memories of him rioting between each thump. Your cunt goes soft and drooling in your panties as your fear beats higher and higher, and you come to the mouth of the shed, peering into the cool darkness of this little place where he makes his beautiful things. The things that go into people’s homes to be used by people’s families to be stored in people’s memories.

The gleam of the sun does not cross the threshold, and you brace your palms on either side of the wide door, the air thrums and he’s not here—yet—you slide the toe of Lucy’s old boot across the border of sunlight into sanctuary and peek your closed-eyed face into the shade right before you’re taken bodily to the ground by his heavy weight. Palms catching splinters, his strong chest heaves into the line of your spine, strong arm at your waist to pull your breath from your lungs and your legs from under you.

He forces you belly first to the ground, other hand circling your throat in the imitation of a strangle lest you lose yourself and decide to struggle for the first time ever. But you dig your fingernails into the dirt, scratching for purchase in preparation of what’s about to come, all the fight going out of you; body, half in shadow, half in sunlight. Your bones feel salt bleached. An over abundance of sodium in the blood that renders you catatonic for him.

He nuzzles soft at your nape while his hand shoves under your dress, ripping your underwear down your legs so that the elastic cuts into your tender skin to hurt. All incongruous movement, this man is.

“Didn’t your daddy ever tell you not to go creepin’ ‘round strange men’s homes?” His voice is so deep, drawled, broken up into different notes of lust and anger and temerity. All the strange things that make Joel Miller up.

Yeah, you sigh into the dirt. “Told me exactly how it’d go for me if I did.”

You hitch your rump up then, presenting your cunt for fucking. The breeze doesn’t do half to soothe the throbbing wet. The sort of ache that’ll only be fixed by something heavy inside the hurting place. The sound of his belt quiets the disparate chambers, the beat in your ears of rushing blood is uniform now, there’ll be a wet spot in the shape of you in the dirt when he’s through. You lift your hips higher, knees scraped rough as you spread wider, face pressed to the ground and your fingers are well and burrowed in their little gouges now.

He smacks the heft of it against you asshole, spits and presses a little. He likes to scare you sometimes. Nooo, Joel, all whining stutter, but with your back arching deeper like a little babied liar; you don’t mind where he puts it, only that he puts it somewhere.

“Hush,” he soothes all nice, spanks your ass once all not— “Gonna teach you a lesson.” And shoves inside, bumping against your womb on the first try, stretching your hole too wide, too quick. And there’s no prep, no qualm. No need to hesitate when you own a thing. You swallow your animal cry, ah ah ah, you want to hear how good you’ve been out loud. He grips your hips tight enough to bruise which is what you know he wants and fucks hard and fast, each swing whistles with ownership.

He fucks you in the dirt like an animal, and this affair is virtuous.

He teaches you the truth about hurting, about ownership, about so many things that only a man like Joel Miller could teach a girl like you. And all the while he tells you that you’re too pretty to take such an ugly fucking.

The way he works your cunt, hungry, balls swinging wet so that they sting like his slaps, tip battering hard so that it aches like gratitude.

These are the things three miles give you. A whole man to teach you about the whole world.

The slick squelch of your overwhelmed cunt sounds loud, no more disparate heartbeat, no more green grassed whispers. Only the sound of his grunting above you like an animal remains. “You’re the perfect little cunt. You know that, baby?” There it is, you sigh. Start to tremble around him like that, like his good baby that you are, desperate flutters, little gash being fucked into obedience like you need. Your overwhelmed pants make little dirt dream clouds before your eyes as you start to come for him, crying his name, crying your love, crying that you’re so, so thankful.

“Don’t stop, Joel. Not yet.” And he loves it when you beg, loves it when your cunt pulls tight like a knot.

“Not yet,” he promises because he might be a real mean man, but he loves you like separating salt from blood.

Complicated and precise.

When he’s through with you, there’s sunlight spilling over everything again. It’s journey goes on and on, and his semen drips from your cunt now. He turns gentle, thrusting still, making sure it’s fucked deep, pulsing in time with your own throb. Rhythms merge between the two of you.

His rules are strange, his claims over you equally mysterious. He won’t say things out loud, won’t let you touch any real part of him, but his strange truths ring loud anyways, and when your heart isn’t disjointed, you hear him perfectly well.

When he lays you out bare and trembling across his messy bed, the groaned pains of his age and rutting in the dirt like an animal sound from him as he drapes himself alongside you. Large and hairy, feet hanging off the end of the bed, entirely real with one knee propped up so that his thick cock lays heavy and soft over the swell of his belly. Your heart beats soft and overfull now.

You watch the sun set across the planes of his chest and bask in the blue dark as the night draws breath around you. The work of meting out obedience to little girls who come searching for it is toiling, and you watch him melt into sleep, but right before he’s just gone away from you, with a single finger petting at the jut of the old broken bone in his shoulder, your whispered plea: Will you give me a falseness? You don’t call it a lie. This is a virtuous thing, after all.

Lies aren’t allowed in this house.

He breathes a deep sigh, and you watch the fan of his long lashes sweep open, staring up at the shadowed rafters of his home. You swear you can see each and every individual whisker in his thick beard, dark and gray dispersed throughout. You see every single detail.

He’d told you once there were ghosts here, in this house, and you’d learned later it wasn’t a lie. This became more and more obvious the more you got to know him.

He stares up at them now.

When he’d taken your virginity, when it’d left you the way you’d always imagined it would, covered in tears and blood and semen, you’d made that promise to each other. That you wouldn't lie, that he’d have all of you, that you’d not touch all of him. The ghost lay beside you in the damp bed of your lost innocence that day. It’d been just so ever since and over many miles of three you’d come to appreciate the realities of it. Who could be more connected than two people who always tell each other their truths exactly as they are?

“Give me a falseness,” you say again, not a lie.

“A good kind of a bad kind?”

You flip a mind’s coin, wish you could see the exact ghosts he sees— “Bad.”

He turns to look at you, this half smile he wears is your second favorite one now, the honest one, and it’s all there for you to see. All the disparate chambers of Joel, just like your heart beating in your ears. You suppose the ghosts don’t matter then.

“I don’t love you.”

And you nod solemn. Bad, like a whisper, like your game.

You smile back, the one you know he likes best, the one that looks like his.

Netherfeildren’s Masterlist

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#vic fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #Joel Miller smut #joel miller #the last of us AU

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sxulcxtcher · 1 day

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( exhibitionism - camboy , uhhh idk… )

he was the perfect camboy to say the least. attractive, charismatic and oh so slutty. his streams ranged from him fingering himself to blowjobs on toys to public jerk off sessions. he was almost a jack of all trades… almost, but he was always solo. until now.

he met you in a uni study session. losing a bet to his stream, something about him cumming too early, he promised he’d get some “loser to fuck” on camera to appease his audience. what he didn’t expect was that it was exceedingly difficult to get others to perform such intimate acts live… well that was until you two talked.

you agreed almost too happily, which relieved him. the deadline for his stream was that night so naturally, he instantly invited you over to his place.

one; he didn’t expect you to show up. two; he didn’t expect you to be such a good fuck. both of you wore masks during the stream, his two rules were “privacy first” and “no kissing.” which were okay rules. starting the stream was slow but once he got your pants off… holy fuck.

“oh… shit…” he mumbled and pressed the pads of his fingers against your length. “bigger than your toys?” you snicker, he huffs in reply as he barely wraps a hand around the length of your dick. he pulls up the bottom of his mask and slips the elastic around your cock. you can’t see him going down on your cock but god does it feel good.

his mouth is warm, you can feel his tongue piercing rub against the tip of your cock before he takes your head around his lips… “ish… sho big…” he slurs out as he chokes more of your cock down his throat. your hand grip the back of his head, as he swirls his tongue around the head of your cock. his lips pop off of your length as he pulls his mask back onto his face. “i can’t ruin my mask yet…” he coughs out, a halfhearted lie but he did want to entertain the stream…

the stream camera was shaky in your hands but that was to be expected. one hand was gripping the other’s waist while the other was holding the camera as you pounded into his messy hole <3

ass up, face down into his bed. the stream got the best view of his needy hole sucking your cock in. “can your limp ass dildos fill you this well?” you tease, he replies with a strangled moan and shakes his head. slowly, you pull out your cock… watching the camboy’s puckered hole try to pull your dick back in.

“look at this… greedy slut, you’re lucky i’m generous.” you coo and fully slam your cock into the other’s ass. he’s breathless, so full with all of his sensitive spots being abused at the same time. “m-mghff.. o-oooh..”

“heyy, you’re getting all loose now. never take anything as big as mine before?” he’s too fucked out to reply as you mercilessly pound into him, that’s okay, he did ask for this…

with the camera back onto it’s stand, it’s pointed right at the bed with the darling camboy laying on it… his legs spread open with his boypussy filled with cum, his cute cock limped to the side and glossy with his own cum <3

“don’t pass out on me yet… someone redeemed for another hour of fucking.” you were diabolical in his eyes, he’d fight back but he was way too weak to properly lift up his arms. oh well, he’d end up enjoying the next hour as well.

—

( ・∇・)

hi… idk what took over me this time… i need ideas of what to write … i have none left (*´ー｀*)

if you have any general ones i’d love to write it!! this story isn’t beta read as always.

i hope you have a wonderful day (⌒▽⌒) - 🎀

yummmmm

#✰heart offers #✰🎀 anon

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grandlinedreams · 3 hours

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|| hey remember that thing I said abt boot riding and condescending, mean Coop :)

|| notes: unestablished timeline, could be seen as pre or post s1, reader can be whatever they want, waves hand something something idk man I've got it so bad for this guy also HEY. MDNI. BIG TIME. YOU'VE BEEN WARNED.

|| warnings: pretty much pwp, oral (m receiving), cum eating/swallowing, cursing, boot riding, Cooper is mean, hair pulling, afab reader i guess

Cooper isn't sure if it's the oppressive heat, the lack of decent drinking water or food that isn't roasted radroach to blame for your attitude, or if it's something else entirely ㅡ but you've found his last nerve over the last couple hours and are determined to rip it to shreds.

Part of him says he could save himself some long term trouble and put a bullet in your head, but he won't for two reasons. One, that's a waste of ammo. And two, he likes having you around.

You're a good companion, when you aren't in such a piss-poor mood. But it's that mood that's the current issue ㅡ and so, Cooper comes up with his own solution when you get just a little too mouthy for his liking.

"Come on now sweetheart," he grunts, voice low as he watches you, "you can take it, can't you?"

Your answer is garbled for the length currently occupying your mouth, tip of him pushed far enough that it threatens to gag you. Cooper doesn't think he's seen anything prettier than the tears in your eyes over his cock in your mouth.

He groans when you swallow around him, fists a hand tight into your hair to guide you ㅡ and the way you squirm also catches his attention. But one thing at a time, and he isn't about to give you whatever it is you think you deserve until after he's done.

He tells you so, eyes glinting as you whine around him, sound silenced by the rough jerk of his hips. "Come on, sweet thing," he coos, mocking as he cups your chin, thumbs at the bead of drool that slides from the corner of your mouth, "not gettin' shit if you can't behave."

This isn't the first time he's been in your mouth, nor will it be the last ㅡ but the pitiful look on your face only furthers his pleasure as he bucks, listens as you choke and gag around him.

His head tips back as you suck, fist tightening in your hair as you slide your tongue over the underside of him, the steady pulse as his breath hitches a little. "Fuck," he huffs, "see? Told you I'd find somethin' for you to do with that mouth of yours other than bitch."

You squirm again, thighs rubbing together to try and give yourself a little friction as his already rough rhythm turns choppier ㅡ and then he's spilling down your throat with a low groan that only adds to your own arousal.

Cooper pulls free of your mouth and watches as you swallow before he tucks himself away and snorts when you give him an expectant look. "What's that for, sugar? Never promised I was gonna help you out."

Your lips part like you want to protest, but he's right ㅡ he'd never said he was going to do anything afterwards. He smirks, makes a show of debating before he crouches in front of you, tips your chin up so he can meet your eyes.

"Poor thing, did suckin' me off get you that hot and bothered?" Your cheeks flush, and his amusement grows. "I guess I can help you out. But we're doing this my way, hm?" You blink, watching as he moves to settle a little ways away, then gestures. "Well? C'mere, babydoll."

Cooper watches you, tracking you as you settle over him in his lap. He reaches for you, pulls you flush to him before he cups your face with gloved hands. "You wanna get off so bad, you'll take whatever I give you, hm?"

Your cheeks burn, betraying you as you nod and listen to him click his tongue, sizing you up before he leans to kiss you. It'd almost be sweet were it not for the way he anchors you to keep you from withdrawing, muffling your soft noises before pulling away.

"Alright, sweetheart," he breathes, "I'll give you somethin'."

ㅡ

"Come on sweetheart, I thought you wanted this."

Your cheeks blaze, a mix of embarrassment and arousal as your hips rock, bitten off whine that makes Cooper snicker as he watches you rut against his boot. The dusty leather is far from what you'd been expecting, but Cooper had been adamant ㅡ either you got off on his boot or you didn't get off at all.

He at least pushes it against you, offers that modicum of reciprocation beyond the dark, hungry way he watches you grind against the only thing he's willing to offer.

The edge of it digs against the ache of your core, makes you groan and grind down harder.

"Look at you, honeybunch," Cooper drawls, determined to keep up a steady stream of commentary and make this all the worse for you, "that needy for me you're willing to hump my boot like a bitch in heat. Pathetic."

It should annoy you, but all the insult does is send heat curling in your veins to join the needy, sticky slick between your legs as you whimper and continue moving. Your thighs ache, your head spins with the way you're panting ㅡ but you're so close.

Cooper knows it to, doesn't miss a beat as he listens to you whimper, noises arching to something more pitched before you're shuddering, rocking your hips in rough, tiny little movements before you're panting, body trembling with the force of your orgasm.

"See, sugar? Wasn't so hard, was it?" His tone and words are a playful taunt, one that has you glaring at him.

"Fuck you."

Cooper grins, eyes dark. "That's the plan, babydoll."

#ㅡmine.#fallout x reader #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard x reader

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strandnreyes · 1 year

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I think that’s what a lot of people forget: it’s supposed to be entertaining and a drama show is all about drama and not a depiction of real life. It’s not about being perfect. And yes some things may have felt rushed but we still are so blessed: We got a beautiful wedding. Heartbreaking vows. A couple who will always choose each other. Gwyn. THE SONG! A glimpse of their honeymoon. Some promising storylines for the next season and some amazing actors who did a hell of a job! Of course one could always ask for more but I am glad we got so much wedding at all. In a lot of shows it’s a couple minutes tops. So yeah. I am glad and I enjoyed the finale even though I am still reeling. But like you said that’s what makes it good in the first place.

Of course I’m always going to want more. I’m at Olive Garden and tarlos is the parmesan cheese they grate on top of the salad and the waiter always says ‘tell me when’ like no you don’t understand. I want it pouring out of the bowl and spilling onto the table. I want to drown in this. there will never be enough.

Cheese analogy aside, what we did get of the wedding was beautiful. I don’t think I’ve ever heard better wedding vows on tv and I agree a lot of tv weddings I’ve seen are very short or have lots of drama/side plots with other characters

#ask #don’t look at me I’m sleep deprived and fighting the cold of my life okay??#would I have watched an hour of just the wedding? hands down #but idk I expected it to be about the length that it was #I think having it depict real life is a good thing #but I agree that tv characters are generally going to go through more trauma/drama than your average Joe #idk maybe the shows I’ve watched previously are so batshit that I’m not fazed by this skdjsk #recently saw a clip go viral of that dog on one tree hill that ate the heart that was meant to be transplanted to Dan AKJDKAA iconic #anyway this is off topic

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mangoisms · 9 months

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weird question. but in ur opinion, what major would tim do at college? I was thinking comp sci but making him a business major would be so funny

good question! to be honest.. i want to say it’s difficult to pin down any one major he’d choose, especially because i feel like he’s not exactly academically inclined, at least if he’s doing vigilante stuff? school was always a big issue for him hence him dropping out to focus on The Mission and that seems like All He Is Doing right now thank you dc editorial. but if he isn’t… comp sci is a good choice but for me, i lean towards maybe something like mechanical engineering? or electrical engineering? kinda feel like he has comp sci in the bag already from having to learn it/having learned it in his time as a vigilante (largely due to babs im sure!)

but mechanical or electrical engineering just because of how much stuff he created for his suit when he was robin and how he was always reconfiguring redbird and messing with all of it. although where those skills and that degree could be applied is Another Question Entirely. my best guess is — and this is probably super basic — with WE? or maybe if we want to have a little fun. somewhere like kord industries. or even STAR labs. or maybe a teaching position? could see him being down for that as he gets older

a little more indulgent would be photography but even if not a major i would like to think he at least minors in it or something!

business major would be SO funny because he would be miserable the entire time. i think.

but yeah! he’s just. idk. probably hates prerequisites. probably wants to take ten classes at once. he’d really need to slow down i think which is the goal. ultimately. for me. in any case This got very long my bad <3 i’m just. fascinated by him and his mysterious future

#this is not at all a weird question anon this is a question i’ve thought about At Length #because it’s not at all clear cut on what he would study in college or what he would do as a job #working with WE is a cop out and it’s very intentional because i think he knows that too #and it’s easy. right. so it’s not bad necessarily but it’s like. Expected. and i don’t feel like it’s something he would want to do #For The Rest Of His Life. you know?#wait i hope that doesn’t come off negatively. me saying it’s a cop out. i think it’s like. subtext. known. it’s like yeah he’s working there #and he uses it to his advantage to avoid questions about the future ESPECIALLT if he’s still doing the vigilante thing #and like with the others it’s fairly easy. jason the obvious choice fandom likes is english teacher #Me personally i like him as a nurse/EMT #dick? he’s not a cop idc what dc says HE IS NOT A COP. that man is a gymnastics instructor #or maybe. social worker. had that thought at one point #damian? feel like the obvious choice is something with WE but i do like the thought of him as a vet can’t lie #cass… she does not dream of labor. i do not dream of her dreaming of labor. bruce probably doesn’t either hes totally fine with her just #living her life. doing some ballet on the side. you know. just having fun #you know??#for steph. social worker. i think.#for duke…. oh god. i don’t know. i have Thoughrs. but i’m not sure if they’re correct #first one is counselor. but then i jump to he might be the guy to major in mathematics. OR! comp sci? maybe? i think that could be up his #alley? idk. open to suggestions #open to suggestions for all of these <3 if anyone disagrees. also god sorry these tags are so long #inbox #anonymous

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oflgtfol · 2 years

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this comic kinda sucks writing-wise like i wouldn't know what the hell is going on if it was directly rehashing the show, and thus i have to use my knowledge from the show to fill in the gaps, and if you were here on my blog back during the bobf days then you know my feelings on derivative media needing to be able to stand on their own without relying on other media to not be incomprehensible garbage....... so i'll just leave it at that.

like, artistically, i love the way they depicted din's trauma flashbacks during the pauldron forging scene, but like. they don't do anything to show that he has those flashbacks because of the sound of the forge itself, from the banging and clanking of metal sounding like the explosions from said flashbacks. so it just shows the beskar melting and then suddenly my guy is going through it out of nowhere. like okay i guess.

#i'm hesitant to be too mean to the writers though because i mean like #how do you translate a 40+ minute episode into like. 40 pages?#so like. my issue here is the comic's main purpose: it shouldnt be rehashign the show itself?#and again i've also talked at length about that #like its just failed from the start. to just retell the show in comic form is frankly stupid #so i wasnt expecting stellar writing in the first place bc it's been doomed from the get-go #and also im operating under the assumption that it wasnt the writers choice to do this #and instead some higher-level decision that the writer/s were just forced to deal with. and are trying to make the best of'#but maybe im just going too easy on them #idk! since the very purpose of this comic was useless from the start im just here to see cool art #thats really the only thing new that it offers to the experience #and its like. decent art. so whatever. im ok #brot reads sw comics #mando posting #the mandalorian (2022) 1

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roughentumble · 2 years

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ok wait im thinking about a world that has magic in it, and you can place curses on people, BUT in order to curse someone you must stay near them for the duration of the curse. not like, in the same room 24/7, but definitely within proximity, you have to monitor the curse, you chain yourself to someone with your hate

#lots of potential for a dark tale about revenge and the lengths people will go to to acheive it #but also could be really good for an enemies to lovers type thing where the hate runs SO DEEP #but the forced proximity forces them to learn abt each other... slowly get used to each other.... grow to expect their presence #idk i think it could be something

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nervouslywaitingforlife · 2 months

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Tomorrow the third chapter of Falling Up/ Down/ In Love will be coming out! Friday 8th March!

Thank you all for being patient!