the townspeople before the man in yellow infiltrates the town: so we're not gonna tell each other anything. we're each on our own secret hush hush mission. zero communication.
the townspeople the second the man in yellow infiltrates the town: okay everybody listen up, here is what we know and what our plan's gonna be, in explicit and thorough details.
"Whats wrong with you!?" They say to Victor, a man who has been in something symmetrical to hell longer than everyone else, who saw his mother get eaten alive and lost his sister in the same day, who has severe cptsd and a whole lot else he has to deal with every day that has stunted his mental growth, who has survived against all odds on his own since he was a child, who knows the most about the town and despite it all has done the most to help others that have done nothing but ostracize, bully, yell at him and accuse him of being a creep while also now having to deal with his DAD being an alcoholic the only man he should have the right to depend on who he only recently reunited with after the majority of his life had gone by.
In all seriousness, that question being asked just really hurts because the things that have changed Victor, the way his trauma has changed him he has no control over. There's nothing wrong with him hes just a product of his trauma.
He has every right to be angry, I wish he'd be angry, I wish for once he'd yell back that he's trying his best and that's all hes ever done, that he doesn't want to be the way he is, that he didn't ask for these things to happen to him and how dare people yell these things at him when he tries so hard every day to do the right thing.
The one thing Victor needs the most is understanding, patience and to appreciate his worth. But instead, the only people he sees close to family, the only people he feels safe with and accept him, his parents, (kinda), yell at him whats wrong with you? To think he hasn't gone through enough!? A parent yelling that or saying that in any capacity is deeply traumatizing in itself for anyone!
(And yeah it wasn't cool of Victor to scare Ethan and Tabitha has a right to be mad but Victor didn't do it out of mal-intent, he did it because he was trying to make Ethan strong and protect him. Does that give him a right to do what he did? No, but he was confused and the last thing he needed was Tabitha yelling at him whats wrong with you.)
As if Victor doesn't ask himself that question every day because theres something he doesn't understand that makes people look at him and silently ask that question, that makes him spiral and believe its true, that maybe makes him isolate himself from others as to not be a burden, maybe the reason he tries so hard every day to work on a way to get out of here with everyone is so that he'd been seen as hero, for who he truly is instead of a creepy old man or less than human and thats a hard fucking reality to live with and then after so many years of being alone, the only people who have shown him kindness, who have made him feel normal and make that question in his head a little quieter spell it out for him and genuinely ask what is wrong with him with anger and confusion and immaturity, as if he's know, as if he can fix it, as if he hasn't been trying hard enough as it despite it never being good enough. And he doesn't know, all he knows is that for whatever he is wrong, he is a problem.
And he doesn't get mad, no, not our boy, when things look especially bad he doesn't blame anyone but himself, he thinks to himself no matter how hard he tries everything is his fault. He cries and he hurts and he gets suicidal and honestly fucking fair enough. Out of everyone who has the right to feel that way its Victor.
He has lost everything he has ever had and everything he could have had; his childhood, his adulthood, his ability to learn and make mistakes and grow into an adult, his high-school years, his first bad date, his first job interview, he hasn't even been able to think what he could be one day because every day all he thinks about is survival. He cannot relate to the residence because everyone has everything he doesn't, a life outside of fromville.
Victor is a tragic character that has every right to be wrong, to do wrong, to hurt people, to be angry out of everyone in fromville but the reason he isn't wrong is because every day he chooses to do the right thing, his best, to live another day, to find a way out, to not get in people's way unless its to help, to protect all the while being scared of everything.
He is not wrong, he is the bravest, kindest, character in the whole series and if he does get out of fromville I really really hope he can get the help he needs to process his trauma and live a comfortable life with people who understand his needs and love him, I hope he is able to go and get as much art supplies as he wants and draws happy memories instead of bad or scary ones, I hope he never has to think what is wrong with him again and that none of this is his fault.
your art style is really cool. i really like the one you did of hannah from the movie Goat. do you have a timelapse video of how you make your art.
Yeah, sure. I also post most of my speedpaintings on TikTok [ cotbaunS ], where you can find my other stuff, too, though most of it looks like gibberish and the antics of a madman from a madhouse, haha
very much at a stage in my life where if you tell me some person has a callout doc i'm going to assume an organized harassment campaign *before* i'll assume any of the evidence in it is real
absolutely enamored with robin and nancy's first meeting btw. nancy is so hostile with the fucking "im sorry, who are you??" and robin, who was captured and drugged and probably still coming down from the worst high of her entire life chirps (CHIRPS) "uh, im robin! i work with steve!" and proceeds to look at nancy exactly like this
It was hot. There was no air conditioning at The Squawk like there was at the mall or even the pitiful excuse of network of fans at Family Video. The old concrete building hosting a network of radio devices seemed intent on choking itself, and everything in it, out with heat.
Sweat dripped down her face, her arms. Robin could feel her hair sticking to her scalp, all her scruffy locs tamed by the force that is humidity.
She was wet. The building was wet. It was damp, and musty, the stale air doing nothing to provide any relief.
And well, they could open the door. Crack a open window or two. Let a cross breeze try and make its way through the building. But…
Robin whimpered.
That would defeat the purpose of this.
"You're doing so good." Nancy's voice is rough, thick. She's sweaty, though not nearly as much as Robin. Her head is tilted back, her eyes half lidded, and Robin closes her own just to avoid being seen.
It doesn't mean anything.
Really.
Robin couldn't say exactly why this started happening. The military moved quick. As soon as those fissures opened up there were trucks and then construction and then the immediate danger was gone, and they were left floundering.
Tracking the military, dodging curfew, finding places to meet. No school like the younger kids, no job like the adults. The Squawk became their saving grace when Steve and Robin managed to secure a gig. It wasn't strange for them to be there, Steve Johnathan, Nancy and Robin, outside of crawls and the morning show.
Robin rocked. She was wearing basketball shorts. They were Steve's. Even though he complained he never stopped her from wearing his clothes whenever she stayed the night. She regrets it now. They're short, and a little too baggy, and if she moves just right they slip to the side and—.
Her hips stutter.
The thing is, Steve never got over Nancy, and Johnathan never got over his jealousy of Steve, and Nancy keeps pretending she doesn't notice. And so while they were united in the desire to defeat Vecna, that desire wasn't enough for them to spend everyday together and not get on each others nerves.
The boys weren't at the Squawk right now. They were out getting ice. Both of them, because it was, according to Nancy, girl time. What it really meant was that they were both pissing her off and had to leave until they could act like normal human beings around her.
Robin didn't mind. She liked hanging out with Nancy. Even before the one on one hangouts devolved into…
"Don't hide." Nancy tugged at a lock of Robin's hair, and Robin let herself be pulled away from Nancy's neck where she tucked her head.
Nancy called it letting off steam. Her house was now host to two families, Holly had moved into her room, Johnathan was constantly underfoot, they were no closer to finding Vecna, and she never had a moment to herself. Robin supposed it made sense. Nancy seemed to be a girl of action, and right now there was no action. She needed someway to release that pent up energy.
It's just… Robin wasn't quite sure how this benefited Nancy.
Because now Nancy's hands were around Robin's hips, and her leg was pressed up into Robin's cunt, and she held on as Robin rocked. Nancy was wearing a skirt, and it was hiked up so that Robin could straddle Nancy's bare leg. Nancy's bare leg that was now soaked with sweat? slick? both?
"You're desperate aren't you?" Nancy said. "Couldn't even bother to take off your shorts."
It wasn't a fair thing to say since Nancy was the one who insisted she keep her shorts on. Robin tried to reply, but the only sound she could make was a strangled whine.
She was close.
A part of Robin wondered if Nancy talked to Johnathan like that, or had talked to Steve like that. Was she mean to them or just her? Did they like it or was she weird? She tried not to think of the fact that Johnathan and Nancy were technically still dating, even though, according to Nancy, they never really did anything anymore. She tried not to think about how it was against the 'bro code', according to Steve, to date your best friends ex. She tried not to think about how they weren't even dating. How it didn't mean anything. How it was just two girls letting off steam.
Nancy's hand slid up her shirt, and Robin tensed, stomach tightening as Nancy's hand skated lightly over her stomach stopped at the edge of her bra.
"Nancy please." Her shorts were definitely ruined. Her cunt clenched around nothing. How could she be this wet. Robin moved easily, too easily, across Nancy's leg. She hovered right on the edge, the friction she needed denied. "Touch me."
"Well since you asked nicely."
Robin let out a moan as Nancy pushed her bra up and palmed her breast. Nancy alternated between squeezing her chest and rolling her nipples between her fingers. Where did she learn to do this.
"Are you going to cum?" Nancy asked. "The boys will be back soon. You don't want them to see you like this do you?"
Robin shook her head. It wasn't enough.
"Use your words."
"I can't." She ground down harder, moving her hips faster. "It's not enough. I need you to— to— ahhh"
Nancy moved her hand down, pushing her thumb ever so slightly into the seam of Robin's shorts. It was enough.
Robin pressed into Nancy's hand, hips jerking, before slumping bonelessly in her arms. "That was great," Nancy said. A hint of awe tinged her voice. "You did good." She stroked Robin's head as she spoke, fingers running through her hair. Robin nuzzled into soaking in the moment before—.
A car door slammed and Nancy shot up. Robin flailed as she was dumped mercilessly form Nancy's lap. "I think there are some clothes in the basement." Nancy smirked, looking down at Robin. "Your shorts are kind of ruined."
Robin closed her eyes. She could hear Nancy talking to the boys at the door. Stalling. She gingerly picked herself off the floor, shorts sticking to her awkwardly. She sighed.
Short oneshot inspired by this post wherein the caption is "a lil dry humping never hurt a friendship"
Takes place during season 4. Robin and Nancy let off a little steam at The Squawk.
Also Kinkuary Day 19: infedility because technically Johnathan and Nancy are still dating.
from @mcufan1066
Ao3 link
~~~
"Fuck."
It was hot. There was no air conditioning at The Squawk like there was at the mall or even the pitiful excuse of network of fans at Family Video. The old concrete building hosting a network of radio devices seemed intent on choking itself, and everything in it, out with heat.
Sweat dripped down her face, her arms. Robin could feel her hair sticking to her scalp, all her scruffy locs tamed by the force that is humidity.
She was wet. The building was wet. It was damp, and musty, the stale air doing nothing to provide any relief.
And well, they could open the door. Crack a open window or two. Let a cross breeze try and make its way through the building. But…
Robin whimpered.
That would defeat the purpose of this.
"You're doing so good." Nancy's voice is rough, thick. She's sweaty, though not nearly as much as Robin. Her head is tilted back, her eyes half lidded, and Robin closes her own just to avoid being seen.
It doesn't mean anything.
Really.
Robin couldn't say exactly why this started happening. The military moved quick. As soon as those fissures opened up there were trucks and then construction and then the immediate danger was gone, and they were left floundering.
Tracking the military, dodging curfew, finding places to meet. No school like the younger kids, no job like the adults. The Squawk became their saving grace when Steve and Robin managed to secure a gig. It wasn't strange for them to be there, Steve Johnathan, Nancy and Robin, outside of crawls and the morning show.
Robin rocked. She was wearing basketball shorts. They were Steve's. Even though he complained he never stopped her from wearing his clothes whenever she stayed the night. She regrets it now. They're short, and a little too baggy, and if she moves just right they slip to the side and—.
Her hips stutter.
The thing is, Steve never got over Nancy, and Johnathan never got over his jealousy of Steve, and Nancy keeps pretending she doesn't notice. And so while they were united in the desire to defeat Vecna, that desire wasn't enough for them to spend everyday together and not get on each others nerves.
The boys weren't at the Squawk right now. They were out getting ice. Both of them, because it was, according to Nancy, girl time. What it really meant was that they were both pissing her off and had to leave until they could act like normal human beings around her.
Robin didn't mind. She liked hanging out with Nancy. Even before the one on one hangouts devolved into…
"Don't hide." Nancy tugged at a lock of Robin's hair, and Robin let herself be pulled away from Nancy's neck where she tucked her head.
Nancy called it letting off steam. Her house was now host to two families, Holly had moved into her room, Johnathan was constantly underfoot, they were no closer to finding Vecna, and she never had a moment to herself. Robin supposed it made sense. Nancy seemed to be a girl of action, and right now there was no action. She needed someway to release that pent up energy.
It's just… Robin wasn't quite sure how this benefited Nancy.
Because now Nancy's hands were around Robin's hips, and her leg was pressed up into Robin's cunt, and she held on as Robin rocked. Nancy was wearing a skirt, and it was hiked up so that Robin could straddle Nancy's bare leg. Nancy's bare leg that was now soaked with sweat? slick? both?
"You're desperate aren't you?" Nancy said. "Couldn't even bother to take off your shorts."
It wasn't a fair thing to say since Nancy was the one who insisted she keep her shorts on. Robin tried to reply, but the only sound she could make was a strangled whine.
She was close.
A part of Robin wondered if Nancy talked to Johnathan like that, or had talked to Steve like that. Was she mean to them or just her? Did they like it or was she weird? She tried not to think of the fact that Johnathan and Nancy were technically still dating, even though, according to Nancy, they never really did anything anymore. She tried not to think about how it was against the 'bro code', according to Steve, to date your best friends ex. She tried not to think about how they weren't even dating. How it didn't mean anything. How it was just two girls letting off steam.
Nancy's hand slid up her shirt, and Robin tensed, stomach tightening as Nancy's hand skated lightly over her stomach stopped at the edge of her bra.
"Nancy please." Her shorts were definitely ruined. Her cunt clenched around nothing. How could she be this wet. Robin moved easily, too easily, across Nancy's leg. She hovered right on the edge, the friction she needed denied. "Touch me."
"Well since you asked nicely."
Robin let out a moan as Nancy pushed her bra up and palmed her breast. Nancy alternated between squeezing her chest and rolling her nipples between her fingers. Where did she learn to do this.
"Are you going to cum?" Nancy asked. "The boys will be back soon. You don't want them to see you like this do you?"
Robin shook her head. It wasn't enough.
"Use your words."
"I can't." She ground down harder, moving her hips faster. "It's not enough. I need you to— to— ahhh."
Nancy moved her hand down, pushing her thumb ever so slightly into the seam of Robin's shorts. It was enough.
Robin pressed into Nancy's hand, hips jerking, before slumping bonelessly in her arms. "That was great," Nancy said. A hint of awe tinged her voice. "You did so good." She stroked Robin's head as she spoke, fingers running through her hair. Robin nuzzled into soaking in the moment before—.
A car door slammed and Nancy shot up. Robin flailed as she was dumped mercilessly form Nancy's lap. "I think there are some clothes in the basement." Nancy smirked, looking down at Robin. "Your shorts are kind of ruined."
Robin closed her eyes. She could hear Nancy talking to the boys at the door. Stalling. She gingerly picked herself off the floor, shorts sticking to her awkwardly. She sighed.
Agatha All Along. Another drabble Ripperdoc Rio. I guess bodymod artist also fits, though it doesn't sound as cool.
Rio muses as she prepares to do a scarification piece on Agatha
~~~
Rio does not have any scars. She can't get scars. Well, that's not quite true. She can get scars, all humans can, but due to an unfortunate quirk in the genetic lottery it is dangerous for her to do so. It's a shame, really, because scars are so beautiful.
That's the thing, with having a disorder that makes it too easy to get sick and too hard to stop bleeding. There are things, experiences, that become no longer on the cards. She's learned to make do.
It used to be a saying in the community. Never trust a tattooist without tattoos. Never trust a piercer without piercings. It still is, in some respects, but it's easier now, to make it in the industry as someone without any ink or metal.
Her work speaks for itself. As do her clients. Word of mouth travels far. Especially when you start practicing in the less traditional arts. The ones that skirt what is considered safe. Sane. Legal.
Agatha has scars. Agatha has a lot of scars. She accumulates them easily. A rambunctious childhood, a slightly less rambunctious adulthood. Some of them are old and faded. Others, newer, made with precision. They tell a story, her scars.
Rio doesn't know the story behind all of Agatha's scars. She was there for some, like the fight with the racist knitter in the subway that resulted in a needle to the elbow. She was told of others, like the one that came from balancing on a chair to reach a book that was beyond her station. Others still, were never spoken of, but she could guess.
There are certain things that leave unique shapes, the small pockmarked burns of a cigarette, the pale thin stripes of a switch.
Things that leave a mental mark just as much as a physical one.
That's what makes it special, Rio supposes, that she's been allowed to make her own mark.
It's not the proper way to do this. Certainly not the safest. She would never do with any of her other clients, but Agatha is different.
The shop is closed, curtains drawn. The only light comes from the lamp in her corner of the shop. Agatha is laid out on the table, shirt off, chest bare. Rio hovers over her, legs straddling her waist. Definitely not something she'd do with her other clients.
Agatha watches her, as she makes sure she has everything. Rio has her gloves, and disinfectant. She has all her tools within reach, each one laid neatly on the tray. All the while Rio can feel Agatha's eyes on her.
It's disconcerting, in a way, to be the sole focus of the other woman's attention. Agatha doesn't move, doesn't speak. Her breaths are slow and steady, and her eyes, blue, piercing, track her every movement.
Rio feels like prey.
She's sketched out the design on Agatha's skin already. A rune, placed right over the top of her breast. Agatha had brought it to her one day, drawn out jerkily in pen. She knew then, it was time. But still…
Rio gazed down at Agatha. Her fingers brushed lightly over the woman's chest, her nipples pebbling, goosebumps rising. Her skin wasn't unmarked. Each scar tells a story.
Rio reached forward and grabbed her scalpel. Number 10, a common, blade, but one she favored. She brought the blade to Agatha's skin. It rested there, metal slightly pushing in. Agatha didn't blink, didn't flinch. She stared straight at Rio, blue eyes unmoving.
gummygunk
blakekathryn
germansingergirl
