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corazondebeskar-reads · 3 months

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hold on easy - a "you know you never stood a chance" bonus

you know you never stood a chance series

bonus: hold on easy (a father's day/pride month special)

series masterlist

Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 2.9k

summary: joel miller spends father's day with (most) of his girls and the whole-but-broken pieced-together family he thought he'd never have. takes place about 1.5 years after the epilogue. (aka I'm a menace who cannot let these two go 😭)

warnings: discussions of father-daughter relationships, reader discusses her father, dead dads and dead daughters, grief, passing reference to era-typical bigotry, found family, implied smut but not explicit, Joel Miller is a Good Dad, technically tlou pt. ii spoilers but not really and the angsty events of the game never happen.

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

You’re in the mess hall. All of you. Your whole goddamn family, minus one absentee sister and the daughter you never met, would never claim as your own, but hold a spot for in your heart regardless. But even as that heart aches for the first little girl you raised and the first little girl Joel raised, this, what you've managed to grab a hold of and keep amidst the end of the world, is still an overwhelming feeling.

You never thought you’d have this. Not in all your lifetime.

There’s no real head of the table, not in the traditional sense, but fittingly, Maria’s sat there anyway. You sit to her left across from Alé, who is thankfully not too old at five to exchange silly faces between bites. Tommy sits beside her and across from Lulu. The girls usually sit beside one another or across, but Alé’s patience with your (almost) two-year-old has worn thin for the day. Understandably.

Joel is on her other side, coaxing food into her mouth while she tries to babble at Ellie, whose patience has blessedly not worn thin, never does, even as she tries to listen to Dina, who’s trying to tell both Ellie and Jesse about her unsuccessful attempts to induce labor that morning.

It’s been a very strange thing, Father’s Day. It was last year, too, but it was all still so surreal then. But your tiny baby is now a small person, no longer a squirming, shapeless swaddle but a little girl with her daddy’s eyes and scowl.

But Father’s Day hadn’t been a day you or Joel liked to think about, not before Luna. You’d never talked about it, no siree, not when it was a veritable landmine of trauma and easily ignorable in the apocalypse, where days and months slurred together like watercolors oozing from a dirty brush.

And now, somehow, you’re here. With people who understand your loss, a comfort swallowed down with a grimace like the crude liquor shared with Maria when you take a sharp moment to remember your fathers—a grief your flesh and blood sister had never understood, not really, having been too young when he passed.

And with this man, who has a little girl calling him daddy again, and a not-so-little girl who says “Joel” in the same fond way. And maybe he never wanted this. Never wanted his heart pried forcibly open by this swarm of incessant people who inexplicably took one look at him and saw down to his bones.

He thought he should feel worse today. That he should hurt the way he did last year, the way he had for twenty-odd years. For her. For the betrayal of loving another daughter—no, worse—daughters, like he was a greedy man unsatisfied with his first. Like he was scavenging still, out in the wilderness, tricking these nice folks into thinking he was more than a fraud and taking more than his fair share.

But he doesn’t. Something in the last year has settled in his chest. Luna grew sturdier and Ellie started to shed the flight instinct, swapping it for one of his old coats, and finding ground to hold. He must have done the same, since you look at him less and less these days like something you need to commit to memory.

And he thinks less and less these days about how Sarah would resent him for his new life when she would never have one and more about how much she would have adored her sisters. About how many more gray hairs he’d have if she and Ellie had met.

How she’d have goaded Tommy into helping her tease him to death for being “over the hill” with a baby.

So in the span of six years, you went from having no one to having a husband (the novelty hasn’t worn off yet, even if it feels a little silly), a brother and sister, a niece, a baby (shut up, she’s still one for another couple of weeks), an adult daughter, said adult daughter’s pregnant not-girlfriend, and the not-girlfriend’s baby daddy.

Suffice to say there are no more quiet days and no more empty apartments. Your home (a real home, with photographs and furniture and laughter) is full, your stomach is full, your heart is full. You feel complete and it’s even better knowing they all do, too.

At least, you thought so.

Everyone’s finished, just a few stragglers chasing peas around their plates to avoid putting their dishes away, when you catch the tail end of Dina’s story and the look on Ellie’s face. You start a countdown in your head for them to produce flimsy excuses to leave and only make it to three when Dina mutters something about her aching back and darts out of the hall to the quiet streets.

You start over and only make it to six before Ellie stands up. She’s less subtle.

“So,” she says loudly, staring at the other end of the table where you and Joel are sitting with a shit-eating grin. “We’ve all been talking, and we think there should be another kid to round out the group. Tommy’s going to watch Luna tonight, and I’ll sleep over at Dina’s so you guys can make me another sister, okay?”

Tommy groans and puts his hands in the air. “We have not been talking,” he protests while Joel splutters.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he says.

You bury your face in your hands for a moment before shooting a look at Tommy, who’s busy pleading his case to Joel’s deaf ear.

Joel’s starting in on Ellie, now, knowing she’s the true ringleader here. “I am 61 years-"

“Sixty-two,” you interject.

“I am 62 years old,” he tries again. “I ain’t havin’ any more kids.” He pauses and turns to you. “Right?”

“Right,” you say definitively, leaving absolutely no room for argument.

“Right,” Joel affirms, turning back to Ellie. “You want a baby so bad, you have one.”

“A grandpa with a toddler,” Tommy mutters, only for Joel to actually hear him this time and round in on him about conspiring.

Ellie is saved from Joel seeing how pink she’s gone in the face when he goes off on Tommy, and ducks out of the mess hall.

You don’t bring it up, but Joel does, on your short walk home. Tommy and Maria really had offered to take Luna for the night, and while you both loved your daughter dearly, you were also still, well, you.

And technically still newlyweds, even if neither of you put any stock in it. You had only agreed to the whole ordeal for the kids’ sakes anyway (and to shut Tommy up, which you’re realizing now is a good percentage of the reasons behind many things you reluctantly do). What did a bootleg marriage license from a fake local government matter at the end of the world?

But it was as good of an excuse as any to go home and fuck until you fell asleep by nine like proper old geezers, as Ellie put it.

“What the hell was she thinkin’?” Joel grumbled.

“She was thinkin’,” you copy his accent, “that it was a good distraction from her going to ‘help Dina induce labor.’”

His brow furrows, confused to the point of ignoring your mockery. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” you say with a sigh. “I’ve been tellin’ her to get that girl locked down before she pops so we can have a grandbaby.”

Joel stops in the middle of the street. “What’re you on about?”

You stop and turn slowly on your heel. “Oh, Joel.”

“Don’t you ‘oh, Joel,’ me,” he grumbles. “Jus’ tell me whatever it is.”

“You… you know they’re sleeping together, right?”

“They’re having a sleepover, yeah,” he says, but you can tell he knows he’s got it wrong. “That’s what she’s been saying.”

He’s not a stupid man. He feels like one, but you know he isn’t. He’s just a straightforward kind of man who takes people at face value. So when Ellie said she was sleeping over at Dina’s, that’s all he heard.

“Not that kind of sleepover, huh,” he says.

The look on his face makes your stomach drop. “No, yeah, I thought the same thing,” you lie. “But they’re sort of dating. Maybe not officially.”

Joel scowls at the placation. “Don’t.”

You rub a hand over the back of his shoulders. “Sorry.”

He starts walking again, tugging your hand from his back to entwine with his own. “Does she…” he sighs, closing his eyes just long enough to betray the hurt behind them. “Does she think I’d be… weird about it?”

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “You are a Texan from the 1900s.”

He looks at you, mouth agape. “Don’t word it like that. The hell is wrong with you? The 1900s…”

You laugh, squeezing his hand. “It’s true,” you tease.

“Shut it. I feel old enough already tonight.” He sighs and shakes his head. “You’re 'from the 1900s,' too. Why wasn’t she worried you’d be like that?”

“Well, probably because I told her about my first girlfriend apropos of nothing to try to get her to fess up.”

He stops again. His mouth opens and closes once, twice. “You never told me that. Did you think I’d be an asshole about it, too?”

“No. It just never occurred to me to tell you.” You feel guilty about it, now, but the truth is, you really haven’t talked about much from before. Neither of you have.

He scowls again but starts walking, still holding your hand.

“Joel,” you say quietly. "I am sorry. I didn’t think you were a homophobe or anything; I just… you know. I had one girlfriend and then one boyfriend, and then my dad passed, and, well, you know what happened after that, at least.”

He grimaces. “Yeah, I get it.” He thinks for a few minutes. “So you got her to talk because you had that to go on. How the hell am I supposed to make her feel like she can talk to me?”

You hum and think, falling into silence beside each other on the way home.

It’s not until you’re fucked out and falling asleep that you have the idea.

“You gotta give her the talk,” you say abruptly, rising up on your elbows and accidentally jabbing him in the gut.

“Wha?” he grunts sleepily, and you take a moment to admire how soft his eyes are when he’s like this.

You run a thumb over his beard, watching him get with the program. “You have to give her the talk. You know. The talk.”

“She’s nineteen. I ain’t givin’ her the talk. Reckon’ she already knows.”

“No, Joel, listen! I never came out to my dad, right? He just suspected. So he sat me down and he said ‘you may not be able to get pregnant but you can still get STDs.’ and that was that.”

He sits up a little, propping his head up on a folded arm, elbow sinking into the ancient mattress. “That easy, huh?”

“Yeah. Well, until I brought a boy home, and he had to give me the talk a second time. He didn’t quite get it, y’know, liking both, but he tried.”

Joel snorts and thinks for a minute. “You really think that’ll work?”

“She’ll be so mortified you’re talking to her about sex that she won’t even realize until it’s over. And,” you pause, having to wrestle with the way the grief feels almost fresh after so many decades buried deep, “I don’t know what she’ll feel, but I’ll tell you what. I never felt so understood until then. You know? Like… there had still been a little part of me scared that he wouldn’t love me the same. But he made it so normal.”

In the warm June twilight, tucked under the covers, Joel smiles.

“I gave Sarah the talk,” he says quietly.

“Yeah?” you prompt with a soft smile of your own. These moments are rare but less so with each passing year. Just the other day, you came home to find him on the floor with Luna, rolling a soccer ball back and forth, his gentle voice spinning a story of her sister from way back when.

“It was awful,” he admits. “I didn’t know what the hell I was doin’. I fumbled it so bad, and she didn’t look me in the eye for two days.”

You laugh. “I think that’s just how it goes.”

“I’ve never said penis that many times in a ten-minute period, and I forgot what the fallopian tubes were called. She had to correct me.”

You can’t help but laugh harder. “Sorry, I just—that’s so fuckin’ embarrassing.”

“Shut up,” he says, shoving your shoulder before wrapping his arm back around to draw you in. “Like you’d do any better.”

“I guess we’ll see,” you say, but fall quiet. There’s an ever-present shadow, being older parents. Even before the apocalypse, the chances of seeing your little girl grow up would have been slim. But now?

Joel picks up on your train of thought and nuzzles his beard against your neck, laying scratchy kisses down his path. “Stop it. You’re going to live to be an old crone and embarrass our girls for a long, long time,” he murmurs.

“And your stubborn old ass will be right beside me.”

“You’re goddamn right I will.”

Your lie-in is disturbed not by the dry heat rolling through the open window but by the cacophony of voices from down the stairs. Lazily wrapping up in a robe made from an old blanket, you wander down to find Joel and Ellie both red in the face and not looking at one another.

Ellie is staring up at the ceiling while Joel has two fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. She looks up first when the landing squeaks.

“Oh good, someone sane,” she says. “Please explain fourth-grade anatomy to him. Please. Spare me.”

Joel groans and scrubs a hand over his face. “I don’t need a fuckin’ biology lesson—“

Ellie ignores him. “He’s all—“ she puts her hands on her hips and drops her voice into a deeper drawl, “‘You need to be responsible, Ellie,’ and ‘A child is a major commitment, Ellie.’” She drops her arms dramatically to her sides. “I didn’t get her pregnant!”

“I know you damn well didn’t—“ Joel tries, but he’s growing too flustered.

“Oh, Joel,” you sigh.

“I only came over to tell you that Dina’s in labor,” Ellie groans. “I’m going back. I’ll let you know when the baby is here.” And she bolts before Joel can make another attempt.

You take his wrist gently, prying his hand from his face to uncover the flush in full bloom. Unfortunately, you can’t hold your laughter any better than you can hold your tongue, and he shoves you away with no real force or malice.

“Where’d you go wrong?”

Joel groans and sinks onto the sofa. “Right from the start,” he grumbles.

“Poor baby,” you tease with a pout. “Well, at least she knows you know, now.”

“Shut up,” he grunts. He tugs you down onto his lap, letting you run your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. Now that he’s growing it out, it curls at the ends, and he’s more than content to let you toy with it.

“I’m not doin’ it next time. I’m ‘oh’ for two.”

“Nuh-uh. It’s tradition now. Those girls will bond over the mortifying ordeal that was the sex talk with Joel Miller.”

His exasperation comes in the twist of his lips and heavy brows plus a light, scolding pinch to your ticklish side. You swat at his shoulder with the same levity, and laugh.

“Don’t worry, honey,” you croon. “I know you know what sex is.”

He rolls his eyes.

“On second thought, maybe you don’t. Maybe I’m starting to doubt you…”

His eyebrow twitches, and so does his cock. “Oh yeah?” He rumbles, the sharp predatory glint back in his eye. “Maybe I gotta show you, then.”

“Maybe you do,” you whisper. “Maybe you should prove it.”

By the time Tommy comes around to drop off Luna and tell you about baby JJ’s arrival, Joel’s proven himself several times over. Enough so that Tommy wrinkles his nose when he comes into the house, Luna on his hip.

“Open a goddamn window,” he gripes.

“Watch your fuckin’ language around her,” Joel snipes back, but they’re both grinning.

“Hang on,” you say with a frown. “You said the baby’s name is JJ?”

“Yep,” Tommy crows. “And based on how everyone over there was acting, I think y’all might be grandparents.”

Joel’s distracted by the implication, but you don’t let up.

“No, Tommy, hold on, you can’t keep giving other people’s kids new names. First Lulu and now JJ?”

He suddenly looks smug, a grin breaking across his face and a wink. “They called him JJ, not me. But I’ll let them tell you what it stands for.”

Later that night, when Ellie confesses the seriousness of her relationship, she buffers the news that she’s moving in with Dina by handing the little bundle over.

And her scheme works. When she looks you both in the eye to say, “Meet Jesse Joel,” your husband weeps.

“Happy belated Father’s Day, or whatever,” she mumbles, shifting her weight back and forth as she struggles with the burden of his emotional display.

“You little shit,” he grunts, undermined by tears and a baffled smile, and she grins.

*title from "my little girl" by Tim McGraw ("gotta hold on easy as I let you go")

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fic #the last of us fic #tlou fic #fic: you know you never stood a chance

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d1xonss · 9 months

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Desert Rose

Chapter 22 ~ Scars

✧ Pairing : Daryl Dixon x Rose

✧ Era : Season 2

✧ Word Count : 5.4k

⚠️ TW : Mentions of attempted suicide & SH scars

In this chapter ~ When Rick and Shane decide to take Randall away from their people to drop him and fend for himself, things seem to go wrong on the other end. Beth becomes suicidal after witnessing the death of her mother just days prior, leading Rose to comfort her in a time of need. However, the heaviness that followed was a lot more than she anticipated, though luckily for her, Daryl helps her pick up the pieces.

It had been about two days since they brought Randall back, and he eventually woke from his unconscious state. Since then the place had been chaotic.

The group was constantly going around and around in circles about what to do with this guy, so much so it gave me a pounding headache. Because most of the time the arguments wouldn't go anywhere. People would just repeat the same things that had already been said, causing us to feel stuck in the same place as no one really had a solution.

Until Rick just made the final decision to do what he wanted to since the beginning, take the man far away from the farm and drop him off on his own.

So now that the man was finally able to walk and balance decently on his own, Rick and Shane took a car to drive him out in the middle of nowhere, leaving the rest of us nervously waiting for their return. Everyone eventually seemed to agree with the plan despite the possibilities of him coming back, but it's not like we had much of a choice.

I for one was trying to keep myself busy all day, helping Lori with some laundry, staying to keep watch on top of the RV, I even made a run into town earlier that morning with Glenn. We had found a few different stores in a small part of town that had some useful things in them. But there was a little something else I found that I was extra excited about besides the food and supplies.

When we walked into the last store, I saw it. The perfect thing to give to Daryl. I had never gotten him something in return when he gave me my sketchbook and watercolors, but now I had something that I thought would suit him quite nicely. It was a black leather vest with stitched angel wings on the back.

In my mind, I hoped he would really like it and I had planned to give it to him later that night. Once we all knew Randall was taken care of.

Currently I was washing dishes with Maggie, occasionally talking about random things, trying to get our minds off of what was happening today. I could easily tell she hadn't stopped thinking about it since it happened either, the anxious feeling of the man somehow making his way back to her own home couldn't have been easy to deal with. But I had hope that everything would work out just fine and things would begin to move smoothly again.

She wordlessly handed me the last plate that was in the sink, water dripping off of the edges as I took the towel in my hands to dry it. She leaned her back up against the counter as she stared down at her shoes, the sound of me stacking the final plate in the cabinet brining her out of her thoughts as she glanced back up to me nervously.

"Can I talk to you about something... more serious?" she asked.

I only nodded my head as I listened, throwing the towel back down on the counter to give her my full attention as I copied her stance.

"Well, Glenn's been avoiding me lately, and he told me that when he was out there trying to fight those guys, he froze at one point. He was saying that since I told him I loved him... that's the reason he froze, and my dad had to save his life. He said he was afraid to die... thinking about how it would affect me." she finished almost a little shamefully.

My eyes widened a bit as I was a little thrown off and not expecting that, but I was still quick to respond and reassure her. "Listen, I know that it might not feel too great that he's avoiding you, but the truth is he loves you too. I don't think he should be avoiding you, I think he should be cherishing these moments he has with you, but y'know he's a guy." I pointed out, giving her a look she would be able to read.

She laughed quietly to herself as she nodded her head in silent understanding, "But he'll come around, I promise. You just gotta give him a little time." I finished.

She pressed her lips together and nodded gratefully, "Thank you." she said, "I feel like I can really talk to you ya know? I'm glad you're here."

I smiled, "Yeah, me too." I spoke, opening my mouth again before closing it back up quickly. My dumbass almost slipped up and said something about how I was glad that I stayed, but I bit my tongue before it could come out.

My eyes then absentmindedly panned over towards the tray of food that Maggie had set off to the side a few minutes ago, "Is this for Beth?" I asked, quickly changing the subject.

She followed my gaze and nodded, "Oh yeah, I was about to bring that up to her when we were done."

"Oh I got it, I was going to check on her soon anyways." I said, moving towards the counter.

She smiled gratefully, "Thank you. You know Beth really likes you. Ever since you taught her how to play those few songs on the guitar it's really all she can really talk about. I think seeing you would cheer her up."

"Yeah, I had fun teaching her, I'm sure she'll be ready to learn some more in no time." I reassured her.

Maggie nodded her head and I fully picked up the tray in my hands, walking out of the kitchen to head upstairs and into Beth's room. It seemed quieter than usual as I made my way up the familiar stairs, something seeming a little off. But I mostly blamed it on Rick and Shane's absence, still not here even after leaving early this morning.

For some reason the whole thing left a bad taste in my mouth, sensing something might go wrong out there, not necessarily with Randall. But with each other.

After what happened with the barn and the whole fight that came after that, the two had been at each other's throats ever since. It was way far off from how they used to act around each other, seeming more like brothers than friends. But something just clicked and now they almost acted like strangers. Though it was none of my business, I still noticed.

Pushing my thoughts aside, I made it up the long staircase and lingered by the closed door, knocking softly a few times before I entered. To my surprise, I heard her soft voice from the other side invite me in, causing me to open the door as best as I could with the tray still balanced in my hands.

"Hey hon, it's just me." I announced as I walked in, "I brought you something to eat, and to see how you were doing."

Her gaze panned over towards me, and my breath hitched slightly in the back of my throat. I knew that familiar look all too well. I tried to not let it affect me too much in case I was wrong, but I had a feeling I wasn't. She looked utterly broken and depressed, much more pale with bags under her eyes from the lack of sleep. She had just lost her mom, I came to find out that she was the walker Beth ran to after everything happened. I'm pretty sure I couldn't have felt worse for her after finding that out, now more than ever seeing her like this.

"You can just set it down here." she said, pointing over towards the side table next to her bed.

I did what she asked and stood there for a moment as she stared at the sandwich on the plate, "Do you want me to stay, or do you want some space."

"Some space. If that's okay?" she asked.

"Yeah of course," I said immediately, "Just...call if you need anything." I finished with a smile.

She barely gave me a noticeable nod before I turned on my heel to give her some time alone, but I couldn't just brush off the vibe I picked up. It again could be nothing, just being paranoid over something I was reading too much into. But in case I was right, I didn't just want to keep it to myself.

I ventured back down the stairs, peeking in the kitchen again to see if Maggie was around, but the room was empty by the time I got back. A sigh left my lips as I turned back around to try and find her, but I managed to spot Lori entering the house right as I was about to come down the hall.

"Oh hey, Lori?" I called out as I approached her.

She turned towards me with a small smile, hanging up her jacket, "Hey, what's up?" she asked.

My eyes glanced back up the stairs momentarily before turning back to her, slightly lowering my voice, "I just...I'm worried about Beth. She just seems a little off and I was going to find Maggie to let her know but-"

"I can tell her." she offered with a nod, "I'll keep an eye on her until she comes back."

"Yeah that would be great." I spoke gratefully, "She's just up in her room and wanted to be left alone... but I don't know I think Maggie should know."

"Absolutely." she agreed instantly, "I'll tell her the next time I see her, okay?"

I nodded, "Thanks." I said with a small smile, passing her as I moved to exit the house.

I felt a little bad not telling Maggie about it myself, but knowing someone else would keep an eye out for Beth gave me a little piece of mind. I didn't want to hover over her or pick up any overprotective instincts even though in the back of my mind I knew it was inevitable. I just wanted her to be okay.

The rest of the day passed by slowly, leaving nothing much to do around camp and everyone simply doing their own thing for the day. After not being able to find Maggie, looping around the farm a couple of times, I assumed she was back in the house at this point. So I took the much needed time to myself.

A few hours passed by with me just laying down in the yellow tent trying to relax as best as I could. Spending most of the time reading the book Daryl had stolen from me when he got hurt and it actually turned out to be pretty good, only drawing me more in with each chapter. The details were amazing and I loved the plot. I didn't plan on giving this back to him anytime soon.

I hadn't seen him for most of the day because he decided to go out hunting fairly early in the morning, leaving camp before the sun even rose. He offered for me to come with him, but I declined as I needed to go out on that run with Glenn to get some things for myself, and he understood. I just hoped he would be back soon along with Rick and Shane who continued to be gone for far too long.

Damn it was like everyone was missing today.

After closing in on the last chapter, I finally shut the book after what felt like forever, blinking my eyes a few times to adjust them. For hours I had been reading tiny words on these pages and I felt that it was time for a break. So, I placed the book back in my bag, standing to leave the tent and walked outside a little to stretch my legs, leaning from side to side as I was hunched over for many hours.

I glanced around the small camp to see who was around, before my eyes suddenly stopped on Carl sitting by the RV. He seemed distant as he glanced at the comic book sitting in his lap, barely reading over the pages as he sloppily flipped through them. A pain in my chest suddenly dispersed upon seeing him like this, knowing that he hadn't been the same since he witnessed Sophia coming out of that barn. But who could blame him?

He was grieving in his own way, separating himself from the others as much as he could for just some time alone to think. I hadn't had a proper conversation with him since that day everything went wrong, keeping my distance as that's what he seemed to wish for. But I shook my head as I began to walk over towards him, wanting to talk to him for the first time in what felt like too long.

"Hey kid." I greeted him.

He glanced up and gave me a slight smile, "Hey." he spoke as he closed the book to give me his attention.

I moved to take a seat next to him on the ground, "So, what're you reading? Tell me about it." I said.

His eyes lit up "Really?"

I chuckled a little, "Yeah, why not. Who's this?" I asked, pointing to some sort of superhero.

His excited demeanor never faltered as he went on to tell me everything that was happening in this comic book. Who all of the characters were, what their powers were, and what their mission was. This was one of the first times I had seen him get excited about something in what felt like forever, and it warmed my heart at just the sight. He began to slowly open up a little bit more the longer we talked, changing the subject a few times to talk about his favorite cartoons he used to watch before the outbreak.

I enjoyed watching him smile, it felt like it had been some time since it last happened, and I was just glad to distract him even if it was only for a few minutes. A kid his age should never have to go through half the shit that's he's been through, though he was tougher than I ever could've imagined.

After we finished talking for a while, I left him to read it in peace after that. I wanted him to have his space too, and I never wanted to overstep any boundaries, especially when it came time to grieve someone.

I found myself heading back into the house to grab something to eat afterwards, but as soon as I walked in, I jumped a little as I suddenly heard screaming from just up the stairs. I didn't hesitate for a second before I was rushing up the steps two at a time, jogging into Beth's room to see Maggie and Lori were yelling and banging on the bathroom door.

"Woah, woah, what's happening?" I asked.

Maggie's head whipped around to face me, "Beth...Beth tried to kill herself and now locked herself in the bathroom, I heard glass." she spoke quickly, continuing to pound on the door, pleading with Beth to listen.

Panic flooded through me. She tried to kill herself? And was now attempting again? I stood in the doorway frozen in shock as I felt as though I couldn't move a thing. But then my eyes quickly darted around the room, looking for something to get the door open. Lori had moved to search the room for the key, frantically looking through her drawers as fast as she could, but I spotted a metal rod sitting in the corner of the room. I didn't think twice about it as I stepped forward, picking it up in my hands before telling Maggie to move out of the way quickly and she jumped back.

Sticking the thing in between the lock and the wood, I pushed on it as hard as I could in an attempt to pry it open. There was a sudden crack after a few seconds before the wooden door suddenly flew open, revealing Beth standing there with her hand over her wrist, blood pouring out of it. Her head whipped over to us frantically as soon as she heard the door breaking, tears streaming down her face and her heart no doubt racing out of her chest.

"I'm sorry." she sobbed, and Maggie didn't waste anymore time as she went in to pull her close.

I ditched the metal rod in my hands, stepping inside the bathroom only to realize how severe the cut actually was. Blood was now running down her arm and onto the tile floor, the amount of pressure she was putting on it clearly wasn't enough. I quickly placed my hand on Maggie's shoulder to get her attention, gently pulling Beth out of her hold.

"Go get your dad, he's going to need to stitch this up." I said, trying to hide the panic in my tone.

But she caught it even though it was disguised, quickly nodding her head as she left right along with Lori to try and find Hershel as fast as possible. Beth looked up at me and opened her mouth to speak, but only a sob came out as she ducked her head, causing me to immediately shush her and bring her into a hug.

We all had different experiences with mental health, everything was dealt with differently, but I somewhat knew how she was feeling. I had been in her position not that long ago and seeing her standing there when I first opened the door, brought all the memories back, so fast it was like a tidal wave. The whole situation nearly knocked me off my goddamn feet.

After standing in place for a while as she sobbed into my arms, I slowly started to bring her back into her attached bedroom, sitting her down on the bed so she could try to relax and focus on her breathing as she put more pressure on the wound.

Hershel frantically came in soon after that with a needle and thread and started to stitch his daughter up as she cried. I stayed by her side the whole time, holding her hand to offer her some type of comfort I was able to give. Though it was heartbreaking hearing her cry, and even more heartbreaking seeing Hershel try to pull himself together as he worked. I tried to think over the right things to say to her when the time came, but I felt that there was no right thing to say. What could you say after something like this?

After Hershel was done he said he would talk to her later and soon left the room in a hurry to no doubt let a few tears fall, leaving Beth and I alone again. She slowly laid down on the mattress after he left, her cheeks still stained with tears as she tried to calm herself down, with me rubbing her back towards the end of the bed. The silence slowly becoming deafening.

"Are you mad at me too?" she suddenly asked. I could feel the pain in her voice.

I whipped my head to look at her, "Oh my God honey no, I'm not mad at all. And neither is Maggie or your dad, they just love you so much. Seeing you like this... it hurts them, you know?"

She sighed as she shook her head, "I just feel so alone in this, like they don't even understand. Nobody does." she muttered.

"You're not alone." I said with a shake of my head, "I can promise you that."

"How do you know?" she was quick to ask.

My breath caught in my throat as I thought back to my own experiences, so different, yet so similar to hers. I debated in my head for a long time in the dead silence, letting the seconds turn into minutes if I really wanted to do this. I had never dared to show anyone the things I kept only to myself, ashamed of what others might think if they caught a glimpse of them. It made me feel vulnerable, weak, and that was something that I hated, but I needed to show her that someone here understood what she was going through.

So with a heavy breath, I hesitantly lifted my shirt sleeves to reveal my deeper scars on my wrists, trying to ignore the twist in my stomach as the cold air hit my arms. Her eyes followed my movements, immediately seeing them and I watched her eyes get wider with each passing second.

"I know." I assured after the agonizing silence.

She shook her head in disbelief, "You-"

"Yeah." I interrupted her, almost like I didn't want to hear her say it.

"It was uh... at a really hard time in my life. I won't bore you with the details but someone in my life was making me feel worthless. He told me that so much I started to believe it myself, and I got really depressed. Eventually I thought that... doing this was my only option so I... tried. But I regretted it as soon as I saw the blood, kind of like you did. So I called for help and I... saved my own life that night."

She stared at me so intently, listening carefully to every word that came out of my mouth. I knew I could trust her to not say anything to anyone, just as she knew I wouldn't judge her for trying to do what she did. It was like a silent agreement that we had at that moment.

"Look, my point is I don't know exactly how you feel and I never will. But we were in the same boat you and me, we're fighters and I know you'll make it through this. You just proved that today when you stopped yourself." I said.

Her eyes refilled with tears as she looked at me with utter sadness, "I didn't realize...I'm so sorry Rose."

I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, not wanting her to see me cry as I smiled sadly, "I'm sorry too." I whispered before bringing her into a hug.

She clung onto me tightly as the new fresh tears fell down her face, sobs erupting from her lungs. All the emotions mixed with the exhaustion was truly taking a toll on her body, but I was prepared to hold her for as long as she needed. Just like I wished someone had held me.

Once her cries quieted down after a few minutes, I spoke quietly to her, "I am always going to be here for you, okay? You're never alone in this. Never." I assured as I held her tighter.

"Okay." she whispered, hiccups building in the back of her throat.

Although I couldn't see her face as she spoke, I knew now that she believed me, and knew that I wasn't going anywhere. Hell, I would be at her beck and call always if that meant saving her life. I somehow knew then that everything would be okay, maybe not at first but it would be. Beth was strong and I could see that so clearly, even if she couldn't see it yet herself, she was going to be okay.

After I knew for sure she was okay for the night, her assuring me multiple times, I said my goodbyes and walked out to send Hershel back in the room to talk to her. Nothing could've probably prepared him for the things that man had to do today, but I just couldn't get over the look on his face. It was like he had seen a ghost when he first burst into the room, and it was devastating.

After I walked out of her bedroom, I found him just sitting a few feet away outside, telling him he was good to head in, but before I could walk away he caught my arm to stop me.

"Thank you for...comforting her at a time like this. I just... I don't know what to say to her once I go in there. But just know I appreciate you Rose, thank you so much." he said with visible tears in his eyes.

I took his hand off my arm, squeezing it tightly, "Just be there for her, okay? Let her do the talking first. And it's no problem, I care about all of you so much."

He nodded and then suddenly did something I didn't expect, he hugged me. I sighed to myself before I was soon hugging him back for a few moments before letting him go after a few short seconds so he could talk to Beth. After watching him go, shutting the door behind him to leave only a crack, I made a beeline down the stairs and out of the house. I practically jogged all the way back to the tent, tears threatening to fall from my eyes as I desperately tried to keep myself together. But the moment I zipped up the entrance, finding myself completely alone, I let it all out.

Seeing Beth like that was too much for me, but I wouldn't dare let her know that. She needed me and I was going to be there for her, however it just brought back painful memories from my past that I so desperately tried to avoid. I just sat there and cried quietly as I hugged my arms around my middle from the slight chill in the night. Rethinking everything that had happened today, I couldn't help but wonder how it could've been different if I had just stayed inside that damn house. How I could've prevented something from happening if I had tracked down Maggie myself. Maybe things could've been different.

But suddenly the zipper of the tent was being opened quickly, and Daryl was making his way inside as he finally returned from his hunt. I quickly looked away from him while frantically wiping my eyes, knowing he hadn't heard me crying, not even noticing I was in here at all at first from how silent I had been.

"Oh, hey." he greeted once his eyes raised from his boots, "I was bout to look for-" he then stopped himself noticing immediately the state that I was in, "Rose? Hey, what's wrong?" he asked, coming to kneel in front of me.

I tried to pull myself together, "Nothing, I'm okay." I said as I looked to the side, basically anywhere but his face.

I couldn't look at him, I just knew I would break down if I did. I could already feel the new tears building up in my eyes as I felt him gently take my hand in his and rub the back of it lightly with his thumb.

"Talk to me." he said in a soft voice.

I didn't say anything. I didn't even know where to start, today had just been painfully long and all I wanted was to go to sleep so it would be finally over. It seemed like we couldn't catch a break. And as if it couldn't get any worse, I saw out of the corner of my eye Daryl's eyes were staring down at my wrist as he still held my hand in his. I froze with widened eyes and suddenly didn't know what to do, I couldn't move.

"Rose." he said softly while looking at the scar, moving to take my opposite hand to see the other. But I quickly pulled both hands away from his grasp so he couldn't get a better look.

"Damn it." I cursed silently as I pulled my sleeves back down harshly, wiping my eyes with them as I tried desperately not to look him in the eye. I didn't know what I wanted, for him to leave or stay, when all I could feel now was just utter embarrassment.

He made no sudden movements for what felt like years, until I felt his finger and thumb gripping my chin gently to lift my head to look at him. His thumb rubbed softly on my chin as I finally brought myself to look into his blue eyes.

"Talk to me." he repeated.

That's when the sudden floodgate broke loose, my tears only falling more freely than they did before. I couldn't stop them, there was just so many emotions I was feeling about everything, and I couldn't get all of it out before he came back, so now he was witnessing it firsthand. I felt mortified about crying so much lately, it seemed like all I was able to do, like it was all I was good for these days.

His hands then moved to my cheeks when it began to be too much, his thumbs gently wiping my fresh tears away. He leaned in close to place a soft kiss on my forehead, waiting patiently for me to start talking whenever I was ready. And I did.

I told him what happened with Beth and how she tried to end her life. I ranted about how I should've been there sooner and not just sitting in the tent all damn day, but I didn't know. I should've known, the feeling I had alone was a good enough reason to stay close, but I truly didn't know. Regrettably I also when on to explain my situation as well, seeing as I couldn't really avoid it because of what he barely saw through the darkness.

I told him almost every bit of the conversation I had with her, though it made me the most uncomfortable, I didn't want her to believe she was alone in this. Informing him also that seeing her like that brought back too many memories for me and that's why I had been crying in the first place...and then we sat there. There was just silence. He didn't try to talk one time. He just listened.

After seeing that I was done, not having anything else to say, he finally broke the silence, "Yer one of the greatest people to walk on this earth, ya know that?" he asked.

I was slightly taken aback at what he said, a scoff leaving my lips as I shook my head, "Believe me I'm far from that." I responded, no longer looking at him.

"Look at me." he said softly.

I slowly tore my eyes away from my hands and met his again, almost burning under his gaze. I almost couldn't believe how much I was cowering away from someone I truly trusted, but then again this conversation was one that I didn't want to be having with anyone.

"What ya did for Beth, bein there for her, that's the best thing you can do for her. And showin her she isn't alone through all this, it's amazin what ya did for her today...now about you..." he trailed off, looking back down at my hands sitting in my lap.

He then gently grabbed both of them and slowly rolled both of my sleeves all the way up to the middle of my arm. I tensed when he did this and he noticed, but yet he didn't stop. He raised my left wrist up to his lips, and began to leave soft kisses over every inch of the scar. Then moved to my right wrist and did the same exact thing, leaving goosebumps on my skin, but a warmth in my heart.

He held both of my hands tightly once he was done, looking back up at me as he spoke again, "Yer so strong, and ya never have to be ashamed of these. They're just marks on yer body to show that ya made it, even when things were really hard. I get yer ashamed of showin em, but you don't have to be. Not with me." he finished.

I stared at the man in front of me in awe. Nobody had ever spoken so beautifully about me like this before. Nobody had ever complimented the thing that I was the most insecure about. No one had ever kissed the places I had once hurt so badly. Nobody except him.

Tears built up back in my eyes, but this time for a completely different reason. I was quick to take my hands out of his, wrapping my arms around his shoulders to bring him into a hug as I felt I could finally breathe.

I heard what sounded like a sigh of relief come from him as he quickly wrapped his arms around me as well. Maybe he was worried about what he had said upset me, but it did quite the opposite. It made me relieved. Relieved that someone cared enough for me to not only see the good side of me but also the bad.

But with the way he spoke, and the way he was hugging me back so tightly, it almost made me question if he knew the feeling as well. The feeling of being ashamed or insecure because of something marking you from your past. And maybe he did. But I wasn't going to ask. I would wait until he felt comfortable enough to tell me, like he did for me just moments ago.

~ Thanks for reading!

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thiswasinevitableid · 2 months

Text

Cactus Gorge (Sternclay)

For the yeehawgust "chaps n spurs" prompt poll, the tied winner was "cactus blossom." This fill is NSWF and does reference violence.

Cactus Blossom Gorge is said to be the prettiest place west of the Rockies. In the spring, the cacti bloom in waves of pink and orange, leaving the air almost candied in its sweetness and the vistas like a watercolor.

Barclay’s never had a reason to be in the canyon until now; it’s a day's ride from town, is steep and treacherous to descend, and is rumored to be home to a race of monsters. So, the fact that the blossoms can be boiled into syrups that make desserts taste amazing (and sell out faster than his flapjacks) has always taken second place to staying alive.

He wouldn’t be here now if it weren’t for the fucking kidnapping.

He’d been hired out as a day cook for a party of wealthy tourists from back east. He didn’t take those jobs often, but with summer on the horizon, visitors to Kepler Desert will get scarcer, so he took the generous fee and left Moira to run the kitchen.

It should have been easy; pack a picnic and drinks, show off cooking on the campfire at dusk, then call it a day. But the group hired a guide they met at the station, rather than asking in town.

Turns out the guide was a member of the Copperhead Gang, looking for a fat mouse to lead straight into a trap.

So now he’s stuck here, five days later, arms tied except for when the bandits demand he cook something. They’ve left his legs undone, because his first escape attempt was also his last; he can afford the broken nose. If they get his fingers, like they promised they would, he’ll be fucked when he gets back home.

If he gets back home.

He’s laying on his side, in the shade of a boulder, wondering if anyone is looking for him. Mama, Aubrey, all his friends, they must be worried sick, must know what happened. The gang left the bodies there for the coyotes, after all.

But what if the sheriff and his men assumed Barclay’s body had just been dragged off? Told everyone it was a shame, that they’d catch the varmits eventually (as they’ve been saying for the last four months, in spite of there now being bounty hunters prowling the desert, looking to catch what they clearly can’t).

Dirt crunches behind him. Before he can sit up, a kick catches his upper back.

“Up. Buddy shot some quails.”

Barclay spends the sunset plucking the birds, cooking them over the fire. Sprinkles a seasoning blend over them; he intended to make these assholes eat the blandest food alive, but after they threatened to cut out his tongue since it was clear he wasn’t using it to taste, he’s been using his special mixture on sad stews and shot birds.

The leader, Bobby, snarls that he better not overcook it. Or he’ll end up like the last cook.

Barclay tries not to think about the last cook. The guy must have had friends and family, must have sat by the fire with these same copperheads circling him, hoping someone would save him.

(“Copperheads” he can hear his friend Duck’s voice in his head, “we ain’t even got those out here.”)

The meal is good enough to keep him alive, though he gets ash kicked on his shirt and nearly in his eyes for trying to snag a stray piece of skin.

Then he’s tied up by the boulder once again, eyes stinging, stomach rumbling, and hope fading.

It’s when empty plates are being scraped that one of the men says, “Where’d Mike go?”

“Powder room.” Bobby chuckles, still pleased with his idea to call the privacy granted by some stones twenty paces from camp.

“No I know, but he’s not back. Ain’t been since the start of dinner.”

“Then eat his share and shut up.”

“I’m worried-”

“Then you go check on him.”

A set of footsteps disappears into the darkness.

“Boss!” Buddy’s call is cut off, like someone knocked him out.

“What in the hell-” Another of the men, the one closest to Barclay, stands. Barclay rolls over in time to see him disappear the moment he steps out of the shrinking ring of firelight.

Guns are drawn now and Barclay curls further against the rock as bullets ricochet off stones and get stuck in cacti. A rock hit’s one of the remaining three men in the head, and when they all turn to shoot at the thrower, Barclay watches a huge, lithe figure dart past the fire, a tail kicking up sand to douse the flames.

The darkness only makes the gang fire more panicked shots. One man turns to flee, only to scream a moment later, and then there’s a horrible, clicking sound as the remaining henchman is dragged from view by clawed hands.

“Come out and fight me, fucker!” Bobby screams.

The monster is back, leaping from the surrounding boulders directly onto the outlaw. There’s a struggle, a moment of panicked, sobbing screaming, and then nothing as the creature sinks its teeth into Bobby’s neck.

Barclay is shaking, hands over his mouth, praying to anything that might listen that the thing hasn’t seen him.

The narrow head raises, then snaps his direction. Eyes, glowing eerily, faintly blue, lock onto him, and the beast stands.

Barclay closes his eyes. But the creature doesn’t move.

Or he thinks it doesn’t. When he opens them, it’s nearly to him on silent, clawed feet.

At this point he’s hiding his face in his arms, trying to do something, anything, rather than shake and whimper like a whipped dog.

“It’s okay.” The monster’s tone is cool but not unkind, and Barclay does not feel any less like a hound when it says, “it’s okay. I won’t hurt you.”

He freezes as it grips his arms, but a moment later the ropes drop away.

“Can you stand?”

He nods, lets the creature lift him until he has no choice but to take his weight or risk his feet leaving the dirt. Then the hands retreat, falling by dark-furred thighs. Barclay wills himself to look up; the monster is a head taller than him, face close to that of a wolf yet narrower, with a small mane of fur. It’s arms and legs are long, it’s tail like one of the lizards Duck is always trying to get to eat the ants who attack his garden. Short spines sit along it’s back from below it’s shoulders to it’s tailbone.

It takes Barclay a moment to register that the spines are poking through a men's shirt. No, not poking, it looks like it’s been tailored to let them through.

He looks down again; since when do monsters wear pants?

“Since I was able to get some made to fit. But I’m guessing you didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

“S-sorry.” He looks away, “I, I don’t, I can’t…” he hugs himself, “what’s going on?”

“The short version is I don’t believe in letting murderers escape justice. The longer version is I’m a bounty hunter, they’re my quarry, and your friends back in Kepler will be so glad to see you.”

“How did-”

“You’re Barclay Cobb, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah I am.” He feels like he’s speaking from far away. Like he’s about to wake up and discover he’s still tied by the boulder. He shivers; it gets so cold in the canyons at night, it isn’t fair.

“I’m Joseph.” The monster extends his hand and Barclay shakes it, “Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable for the night, Mr. Cobb.”

“You can call me Barclay. Basically everyone does.”

A smile, charming in spite of the sharp teeth, “I can manage that.”

He follows his rescuer out of the camp, doing his best to pick his way over small rocks and patches of plants without any moonlight for help. After his third, near-miss with a cactus, Joseph pauses.

“Do you want to take my hand? Night vision has its perks.”

Barclay takes the offered hand, holding tighter than he really means to as Joseph winds them through the canyon and up onto a ledge the size of a homestead. Barclay can make out the shape of an abandoned Pony Express depot; they’d tried to place one here once upon a time, only to half complete it before the express stopped running.

Joseph holds the door, allowing Barclay to pass inside. He stands awkwardly in the dark as there’s a rustling of a drawer, a thwick of a match, and a lantern springing to life.

The inside of the building is shockingly tidy; there’s a small bookshelf, a bed that’s been made as neatly as if they were in a hotel, and small wardrobe that looks like it’s been fucking dusted.

He glances down at himself and growls in frustrated disgust; his clothes are a mess of dust, sweat, spit, and blood both his own and not.

“Let’s see, order of operations…” Joseph is moving through clearly familiar motions, lighting lamps and opening doors, checking cabinets and running his claws though the fur atop his head.

“Please tell me there’s somewhere I can rinse off? Or change?”

“There’s a spring in the hillside. I have a towel somewhere, and I should be able to find you something of mine to wear.”

Barclay looks toward the back door where Joseph gestured. He can’t go out there. What if the gang isn’t all dead, what if one of them comes looking, what if Joseph isn’t the only one of his kind out here and the others aren’t nearly as friendly-

“Or” Joseph is studying his face, taking in his huddled posture, “I could fetch a few buckets of water and bring them in.”

“Please?”

“Make yourself comfortable.” Joseph picks up two wooden buckets and slips through the door. Barclay hears that same clicking, not as menacing, and the words, “here Nessa, brought you some blossoms.”

Barclay is still trying to figure out why someone like Joseph needs to ride a horse when his host returns, buckets sloshing slightly as Barclay holds the door for him.

“Here we go.” Joseph pulls over a stool, then sorts through the wardrobe, pulling out a washcloth and a bar of ivory soap and presenting them to Barclay, “there’s not much privacy so I, um” his spines ripple a moment, “I promise I’ll keep my eyes elsewhere.”

“Don’t mind if you peek, not like I haven’t been naked around guys before. But if you want a show, I might charge you.”

Fuck, where did that come from?

“Sorry, I, that was weird.”

Joseph lays a hand on his forearm, “You don’t need to apologize. You’ve been out here for close to a week, scared out of your mind and being mistreated. People say all kinds of things when they’re stressed. Or coming out of it.”

The hand retreats, the claws brushing his skin making him want to sigh and melt, to beg Joseph to trace them over him again.

The water is cold, Barclay’s skin going goosebumped after only a few minutes of scrubbing himself, but just being able to get clean makes him want to cry with relief.

When he’s done, he hangs the cloth on the little washline strung up on one of the windows, and picks up the towel Joseph left for him. He turns as he finishes tying it around his waist, and catches Joseph looking quickly back down at the newspaper he’s reading at the little table.

“I found a shirt that should work” Joseph stands, handing him the white fabric, “but none of my pants will fit you. The ones I wear, you’ll be swimming in, and the ones I have for a human body won’t fit someone as big as you.” His eyes stay politely on Barclay’s face, but the spines ripple again, “this should at least let you make a very comfy skirt.”

“Thanks.” Barclay takes the clothes, pulls on the shirt and wraps the soft blanket around his waist in place of the towel as Joseph pours them water and sets out a handkerchief with some hard tack and cured, even harder sausage.

He sips his water, finds it floral and bright, “Cactus blossoms?”

“It’s what I grew up putting in water jugs. If you don’t like it I can-”

“No, no I like it. Just surprised me. Kind of a delicacy up in town.” He takes another sip, “does that mean you, like, live down here?”

“Only sometimes; it’s often a better base camp if I’m hunting than town is. And since this stretch of canyon technically is my family territory, it does feel like home.”

Something about the way he says ‘technically” suggests a sore spot, and so Barclay flicks his gaze to the folded newspaper, looking for a new topic.

“You were solving the chess problem?”

A smile, “Yes! This was a quick one, at least for me. Do you want to give it a try?”

“Maybe after dinner. I try to solve those when it’s slow at the Lodge. I like the little mystery they’ve been running in the town paper lately, too.”

“Yes.” Joseph nods emphatically, “those are so tricky, I love the challenge.”

“Y’know they’re actually by the McElroy’s youngest? Kid’s got quite a mind for puzzles.” He snickers, “they’ve been coming to Lodge long enough I remember when his brother went through a phase where he’d only eat beans.”

“At the restaurant or…”

“Nope, period, poor Mrs. McElroy kept coming to me for recipes…”

They eat up the remainder of their dry, but pleasant, dinner discussing some of Barclay’s stranger customer requests, and Joseph’s memory of a fellow bounty hunter who seemed to survive on Parsons Cashews alone.

Joseph insists Barclay take the bed for the evening, so he settles himself on top of the quilt with the chess puzzle as Joseph snuffs out all but the nearest lamp and goes to check on Nessa one final time.

Barclay holds his breath the entire time his host is outside, afraid he’ll hear a thud and then a human face will peer through the door.

Joseph returns unscathed, tipping the last of the water into Barclay’s cup before setting himself in a chair with a book of ghost stories. The wind in the canyon is picking up, carrying blossoms past the windows as it rattles them.

Once he solves the puzzle, Barclay flips to a new page, reading the mystery for the day and solving it a bit faster than he’d hoped. Then he reads the news, then the want ads, then advertisements.

He’s considering starting the paper all over again when Joseph yawns, “I think we ought to turn in for the night. We have a long ride back to town tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Good point.” Barclay sets the paper away and crawls beneath the blankets. Joseph murmurs a goodnight and Barclay responds with the same.

Then he lays there. Wide awake. His brain plays the same song of “what if” over and over again; what if Joseph didn’t get them all? What if one escaped and brought back friends? What if Bobby was just playing dead and is waiting for them to sleep so he can sneak in and gut Barclay like a trout?

The window shakes again and he winces.

“Everything okay?” Joseph’s eyes glow up at him from the floor.

“Are you sure they’re all dead?”

Joseph sits up, “No. Because I didn’t kill them.”

“What?”

“I paralyzed them. My bite can do that, and I have enough practice to know how hard and long a bite I need to give in order to keep them out and immobile until I can round them tomorrow and take them into town. I…prefer to at least let there be a trial before someone dies. If you hadn’t been here I might have just tossed them all into the cart I have waiting and started for town, but you needed rest. And care. Besides” his smile is a little bitter, and a little ashamed, “I also don’t feel too bad if someone who murders people in cold blood loses a toe to a coyote because my bite has them too paralyzed to run.”

Barclay nods, trying to take all that in at once.

Joseph leans forward, resting a hand on his knee, “I’m good at what I do, Barclay. But even if somehow, someone slipped out of it and came here, I wouldn’t let them hurt you.”

“Thank you.” He takes Joseph’s hand, clinging to it, “fuck, I’m sorry, I know we need to sleep but I can’t, it’s awful, I keep jumping at every sound and when I close my eyes I see them leering over me or, or I see, see what they did, what I only survived because they’d seen me at the campfire.” He holds tighter, “I’m so tired. I could barely sleep because of how scared I was, or because they thought it was fucking funny to kick me awake.”

A low, rapid click, as Joseph’s tail twitches. Then he clears his throat, rubbing his thumb over Barclay’s knuckles, “Is there some way to help you relax.”

He starts to shake his head, then meets Joseph’s eyes, “What happens if you give someone a little bite?”

The spines straighten a moment, then relax, “It depends on how little. If it’s very small, it will produce a sense of relaxation and mild euphoria. You’ll still be lucid, but it might be easier to sleep if your body isn’t holding all that tension.”

“Please bite me.”

“You’re sure? I can try to think of something else, I don’t want it to backfire and leave you feeling helpless or like I’m hurting you-”

“Please” He says again, rolling onto his side, “I…I trust you.”

Joseph studies his face a moment, then lifts Barclay’s left hand. Carefully, he brings the tip of the thumb to his mouth, parting his lips. A hint of pressure, then a sting, and before Barclay even finishes gasping his monster is setting his hand gingerly back down on the mattress.

“How long does…does..” he blinks, suddenly finding his legs and neck heavy, but not unpleasantly so.

Joseph chuckles, “It happens incredibly quickly. In humans it’s almost instantaneous, but even for my kind, a bite only takes thirty seconds at most to kick in.”

“You bite each other? Like when you’re fighting?” The image of Joseph attacking Bobby comes back to him, but this time his mind lingers on how graceful Joseph was, how swiftly and smoothly he rescued him.

“Sometimes, but we love a debate more than a fistfight for settling arguments. Even if the debates take longer and can result in more bad blood in the end. But we do more biting with, um, with mates. Lovers. These mouths aren’t exactly as easy to kiss with as a human one is, so love biting takes its place.” The spines are rippling again, and Joseph is looking away from him.

Barclay reaches down, pulling Joseph’s hand up to his mouth. Then he turns it, palm up, and bites down on the soft, short fur and the skin beneath.

Joseph yips, surprised, but doesn’t pull away until Barclay lets him go.

“It’s not nice to tease, big guy.” He murmurs, tracing a line along the edge of Barclay’s beard.

“Not teasing. Was trying to kiss you. Besides, you just called me big guy.”

“It slipped out.” Joseph’s posture suggests he’s blushing, “Barclay, you’re incredibly handsome, and I’d fuck you in a heartbeat if I knew that’s what you wanted. But I don’t want you to do anything with me you might regret. Like sleeping with someone whose appearance scares the hell out of you.”

“I mean, it did.” Barclay tries to scoot closer but can’t without risking falling out of bed, “but it doesn’t now. Now I know you’re Joseph and not just something waiting in the dark to tear my throat out. And you’re, uh, It’s” he drags a hand over his face, “I almost never find guys who are bigger than me and it’s so fucking hot and it makes me feel so safe. Felt that way before you bit me, too.”

“In that case…” Joseph pulls the blanket off him, “you can bite me as many times as you like.”

Barclay undoes the knot on his makeshift skirt as quickly as his fingers allow, letting it fall open under Joseph’s appreciative gaze. A different noise bubbles from the monster’s throat, more a purr than a click, and he bends forward, tongue longer than humans lapping at Barclay’s cock as he cradles it in one palm.

“Ohhhhfuck, fuck, Joseph it, that feels incredible.” He’s heard of people paying to have wax dripped on them during sex, and maybe that’s because it feels like this; warm without being painful, smooth as it covers his skin and leaves him tingling.

“Better test it a few more times to be sure.” Joseph swirls his tongue over the head, licks lovingly up and down his shaft from every side. The claws of his free hand run with a comforting prickle along Barclay’s thigh and card through the hair on his stomach and chest with obvious pleasure.

He’s weightless, he’s in heaven, he’s getting the best head of his life.

And he’s not getting hard.

“Fuck” he groans, frustrated.

Joseph sits up, though his hand continues stroking and teasing Barclay’s cock, “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t, I think I’m too exhausted, or stressed or something, I can’t get it up, I’m sorry.”

“My sweet Barclay. That’s nothing to apologize for.” Joseph leans down, nuzzling his cheek, “All you have to do right now is let me take care of you, however feels good. Besides” the tongue drags up his throat, “who said anything about us needing your cock?”

“Fuck, yes” Barclay tries to spread his legs, but they feel as if they’re too heavy, or as if he’s too far away from them somehow.

“Oh, big guy, has it been too long?” He says it with genuine sympathy as he rolls Barclay onto his front.

“Uh huh, fuck, people get one look at my dick and they, they think I wanna be in charge, wanna be on top, fuck” he gasps, clutching for the pillows as Joseph’s tongue runs from his neck down to his ass.

“Well, they can have their narrow ideas while you and I have a great time.” Joseph nuzzles the top of his head this time with a happy sigh, “now, be a good boy and hold still for me.”

“You’re not gonna prep me?” Fear reemerges, threatening to spread through his system in a wave.

“It’s a little different with my, well, set-up,”

Barclay glances back; Joseph’s cock is thinner than a humans but a good seven or eight inches long, absolutely dripping with something golden and sticky, with short, knobbly spines scattered across it.

“They won’t hurt. Here, feel.” He rubs the shaft along Barclays ass with a hungry growl as the spines bend, soft and flexible.

“Okay.” Barclay takes a deep breath, spreading his knees wider, “okay.”

The tip of the cock presses into him with ease, whatever’s slicking its way seeming to open him as it does. Joseph wraps an arm around his middle, sets the other hand on top of Barclay’s own, “I’ve got you big guy.”

Joseph works his hips in short, deliberate thrusts, his cocking sliding deeper and deeper until he’s flush against Barclay’s ass and Barclay is nearly clawing the sheets from how good it feels. The spines rub against him, finding sensitive spots he’s not even sure he knew existed before now as Joseph’s breathing picks up.

“You feel so good, big guy. I think I might just stay here all night. If you can’t sleep, I could just keep fucking you until you’re too tire to keep your eyes open.”

“Fuck, yeah” He moans, trying to push back to meet the thrusts but finding his limbs to relaxed to do anything but keep him how Joseph has arranged him.

“Mmmm” Joseph laughs into his neck, then trills and clicks when Barclay turns to nip at his forearm, “maybe that’s my real reward for this bounty. Not the money, but the chance to demand that because I saved your life, I get to find you every night and fuck you until you’re dripping and so relaxed that all you can do lay there and let me be good to you.”

“Yes, fuck, yes, Josephohfuck” His toes curl as Joseph picks up the pace, his cock finally responding to being ground against the bed.

“That’s it big guy, let go for me. You’re mine, I’ve got you, I’ll never let anyone hurt you ever again, I take care of you, I will, ohfuck, shit” he pulses into Barclay, working his hips frantically as Barclay rocks against the quilt, desperate to cum. Eventually Joseph gets his breath back, little clicks and purrs leaving him as he whispers, “I love feeling watching you fuck my cum back into that perfect ass.”

Barclay cums with a weak cry against the sheets, Joseph rubbing his sides and doing his best to kiss his shoulders as he shakes and twitches through it.

There’s a mess on the quilt the instant he pulls out, but neither of them minds. Instead, Joseph curls around him, promising him he’s safe, telling him how wonderfully he did, and Barclay falls asleep petting soft, black fur.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Barclay steps into the morning light to find Joseph hitching Nessa to a wagon full of bleary-eyed, terrified outlaws who, upon seeing Barclay, begin begging him not to let the monster get them.

“It’s funny, what heat and liquor can do a man.” Joseph produces a silver ring and slips it over his finger. Suddenly there’s no monster to be seen, just a tall, black-haired man with blue eyes and the most charming smile Barclay’s ever seen.

“Agreed. Makes people see things that aren’t there.” Barclay steps beside Joseph, ignoring the ongoing shouts from the wagon to press a kiss to his cheek.

Joseph passes him the reins to one of the outlaw’s horses, “We should hit Kepler before sunset. I need to take these men to the jail and collect my bounty.”

“Any idea what you’re gonna spend it on?” Barclay climbs into the saddle and Joseph does the same.

The bounty hunter sets a black hat onto his head as blossoms begin dancing in the breeze, “How about taking you to dinner?”

#sternclay #agent stern/barclay #western au #yeehawgust 2024 #human/monster romance #terato

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terresdebrume · 8 months

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More fic covers | More fic recs

I mentioned I made fic cover in a recent post and it reminded me that I'd meant to make one for SJTrinity's Band of Brothers fic: Under Thunder and Rain which is THE Webgott fic, as far as I'm concerned. I've reread it something like five time in the past three months, it's ridiculous. You should read it to.

More about my thought process under the cut, with some spoilers.

So, the entire fic is amazing, of course, but the scene that keeps standing up in my mind is the one in chapter 4, where David is about to sail away on the Tusitala and Joe tries to convince him not to. I love this scene, the vulnerability in both of them, the fact that they find each other, the fact that Joe doesn't realize that it's him David was looking for in the sea. (I know David compares himself to the Shark from the Frisco chapter, but to me his fight to catch said shark is also an excellent parallel of the way he constantly has to reel Joe in and then give him some slack before he breaks the line in his struggle.)

All this to say: I had to have the Tusitala on the cover, if only because if this boat could talk it would be able to tell the tale of how Joe and David finally stop struggling and come together for good. The rain, of course, is a reference to the title and the poem David writes Joe in chapter 5, but I still wanted a bright blue sky as the background because I feel like the vivid and peaceful color are a good contrast to the way they struggle to find their way to one another (and also it reminds me of Episode 10 of BOB, where the color is back in the world and it feels like everything should be alright, but Easy is still losing men and none of them is free of the weight of the war.

The title and author name being on pieces of paper is, of course, a nod to Joe's box full of David's letters and notes, which is also featured against the title card. I wanted watercolor of a bag of groceries for the upper left corner, to further reference that first note and the fact that we don't know how significant it is until the end of the story, because Joe keeps all his cards fucking close to the chest, even if he also betrays himself in his struggle.

(Full disclosure, on my latest rereads the bits that caught my brain were

the time David asks Joe if his future wife does have a smile to die for and Joe says "yeah, it's a great smile. Drives me nuts." While running a finger over David's lips

"He wouldn't add or take away a single thing, and the people who read that book would know how fucking lucky he had been, how he had fought against it and gotten it anyways, this symphony of a life.")

Unfortunately, I couldn't find any graphic on Canva that fit the style of the rest of the cover, so I got a pastry instead. I picked the croissant because, while not extremely sweet for a delicatessen, it's very buttery, and, well: "Copious amounts of sugar and butter clearly loosened him in a way even sex couldn't achieve, because when David came and stood beside him by the stove, Joe threw an arm around his shoulder and bumped their heads together, then playfully tried to wrestle him off his feet." which I feel is also a delightfully deep insight into Joe in general.

And last but not least: the transparent text is the last note David writes Joe in the fic, standing in as the last page of Joe's unwritten book of them.

#Band of Brothers #Band of Brothers fic #Webgott #Joe Liebgott #David Webster #HBO War fic #HBO War #Matt makes stuff #Fic cover #Fic rec #15n #20n

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tea-with-eleni · 8 months

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Ludmilla Vilisevic

Pastel pencils on black paper with metallic gold watercolor, white acrylic for the brightest highlights.

My take on Ludmilla under the cut, from Ireena's point of view (aka "the least sympathetic point of view in Barovia, probably")

Ludmilla still doesn’t look directly at you, but she touches your knee. She probably understands why you fear Strahd as well as anyone. Hells, she…

“Why did you marry him?” You ask, before you can think better of it. Ludmilla slumps slightly.

“You won’t believe me, but he isn’t the same without you. It’s difficult to describe. It helps, I think, that I was alone when I came here. I wanted to learn, and he is the most brilliant man I’ve ever met. He was also lonely.” She isn’t telling the whole story. You try to drag your mind out of your past lives enough to figure out what you might be missing. The fact that you’re trying to figure something out about Strahd makes it difficult after centuries of lies and flattery and, if you believe Ludmilla, only seeing him a certain way. Ludmila seems to notice the shift in your demeanor and forces a smile. You can see her fangs. You try not to shudder. You hate Strahd, and you intellectually know that she’s a monster, but it’s easy to forget that right now.

You look back out the window. “Were you only ever alive or a true vampire?” You ask. Ludmila doesn’t answer for a long time.

“No,” she says with a sigh. “I was spawn for decades. He didn’t know how to even create true vampires; how would he? He was the first.”

Your stomach twists. “That must have been horrible,” you say. You shouldn’t. You don’t want to sympathize with her. She’s a monster. She made and sacrificed plenty of her own spawn in Vallaki. She made Doru. You should not sympathize with her.

“It could have been worse,” she says. She’s gone still. You’re suddenly conscious of how much living things move. She no longer resembles a living thing. She resembles a statue. “I did love him, after all. In his own way, he loved me. He didn’t know to what extent I had to obey him.” Her voice is flat. You watch her with growing concern until she shakes herself a little and forces another smile. She doesn’t try to meet your gaze but looks back towards you. “He learned with us. He would never make you spawn. When you were Marina, you would have been a true vampire if your horrible burgomaster hadn’t staked you. You wouldn’t have ever been spawn, not for a moment.”

It isn’t comforting, not if you think about what that means you must have done. She can tell, because she apologizes. Then, abruptly, she’s gone.

The mist is rising again outside. You shudder and retreat to the fireplace. You are grateful that there are some things you cannot remember.

#curse of strahd #dungeons and dragons #ludmilla vilisevic #brides of strahd #my art

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aralezinspace · 1 year

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Masquerade II

~Part 1~

A/N: requested by several folks, behold the result of teasing Dream at a masquerade ball- 5K of banter and filth! 🤩Hope y'all enjoy, comments feed my soul <3 tagging @fangirlmary

Warnings: smut (they get kinda rough wink)

~~Masterlist~~ ~~Current WIPs~~~

Morpheus carried us back to the Dreaming in a whirlwind of sand. The minute our feet hit the floor of the throne room, I was the one pressed against a cool pillar of stone, with Dream so close he filled nearly my entire field of vision. One of his hands remained latched onto my waist while the other scrabbled at my wrists, holding them in an iron grip and pinning them to the pillar above my head. My breath caught in my throat and a rush of heat swept through me to settle in my throbbing core. I could see every sparkle in the corners of his eyes.

Morpheus slid his nose behind my ear, inhaling deeply while his teeth scraped at my jawbone. I shivered at his closeness; there was no way he didn’t feel the goosebumps pebble my flesh beneath his fingers. He was one or two teasing moments away from completely losing control, and then there would be no stopping him from having me however he wanted- which just so happened to be what I wanted. Once that steel grip on his composure shattered, there was no going back until he was sated. One had to either buckle down and weather the storm, or hang on and go for the ride.

His mouth attacked my neck with abandon, kissing and sucking and biting around the silver chain of my necklace. His tongue laved over the indents left by his teeth; I knew my neck would be a watercolor painting of reds and purples by the time he was done. I gasped and tilted my head back, felt Dream’s smug chuckle against my skin. I cried out and my knees buckled at a particularly hard bite, his hand around my wrists holding up most of my weight.

“Exhausted already darling?” he taunted with more than a hint of arrogance. His grip around my wrists became even tighter- I knew there’d be a bruise. “Well we can’t have that. Perhaps you should take a seat.”

Another stream of sand swirled around us, and we were up on the dais of his throne. Dream lowered me into the seat with an easy, graceful strength that was beyond arousing, my wrists still firmly held in his hand and pressed almost uncomfortably into my abdomen. His cloak trailed down the stairs behind him. The soft glow from the flames at the edge made him look like the first sliver of night creeping out of the sunset. Once I was fully seated, my skirts fanning out to the floor in a waterfall of shimmering blue and silver, his hand slid up from my waist to the curve of my breast. His touch left fire in its wake as he traced where it swelled over the neckline of my gown. My chest heaved with every breath, pressing my breast even more firmly into his hand.

“Such exquisite beauty,” he murmured, his voice scratchy with lust. I swallowed hard and leaned forward, pushing back against his hold so that my fingers could brush over the bulge in the void of his trousers and give the tiniest squeeze. Pinpricks of silver burned in the center of his eyes and a soft snarl of warning ripped out of his throat. He may have been closer to the point of no return than I thought. The corner of my lips lifted up in a tiny smirk.

I decided to press my luck. I flowed to my feet and used his hold on me against him- I turned the two of us and used my momentum and body weight to push him down onto his throne. He huffed on impact, a sound that I eagerly swallowed in a demanding kiss. He freed my wrists and his hands sank into my hips like claws. He yanked, and I stumbled closer to the throne, my hands bracing on the back of it, caging his head between my arms. At the same time, Dream had slid himself forward to the edge of the seat, slotting one of my legs perfectly between his.

With an almost feral groan, he jerked his hips towards me, trying to get whatever friction he could against my leg. His eyes fluttered shut, and his pink lips gaped just slightly as he ground into my thigh. The layers of mist-like skirt bunched up more and more with each thrust. His breath came in harsh gasps, catching in his throat when he felt my hands in his hair, alternating between smoothing strokes and insistent tugs. Dream nipped at my chin in retaliation, so I just tugged a little harder. Two could play at that game.

I splayed my hands across his chest, the material of his shirt smooth and warm beneath my palms. He leaned back at my gentle insistence, letting his head tilt back to reveal his neck. I licked my lips without really thinking about it- I wanted to bite and mark that flawless marble skin, tease him with lips and tongue and teeth until the proud king begged for mercy… but there would be time for that later. I nudged his legs apart with mine and stepped closer.

“You seem terribly tense, my lord,” I cooed with a teasing smile, my hands braced on his thighs as I slowly sank down to my knees before him. My dress flowed behind me like a snowdrift flecked with silver and gold, shimmering in the moonlight of the throne room. My knees complained at the contact with the stone floor, even through layers of my skirt. I saw Dream’s eyes go even wider, grow even darker, saw his long fingers tense and clench around the armrests. The red and silver pigments in the corners of his eyes shimmered and added even more depth to the black hole of his gaze. Oh yes, he was definitely into this.

“Please,” I dangled the word temptingly in front of him. It was an insistent plea, almost an order thinly veiled with politeness, as my hands slid up his legs to the waistband of his trousers. “Allow me.” I held his gaze as my fingers slipped under the waistband and unfastened it. The slide of the void silk against the stone sent a shiver down my spine, and Dream’s ferally wrecked expression made my cunt positively ache.

Still holding his gaze with mine, I reached into his pants and gently took his cock in my hand, not moving, just letting it rest in my grasp and soak in the warmth of my skin. The tiniest choked moan slipped out of his mouth; I could tell he was trying to hold back, trying to appear aloof, trying to convince the both of us that he was unaffected by my teasing. “No need to be quiet,” I purred, “Let me hear how good it feels.”

I let go and slowly brought my fingers up to my mouth. I gave him a smoldering look through my eyelashes as I made a show of putting each one in my mouth and wrapping my tongue around them to spread the wetness. He barely breathed the whole time, but a strained groan slipped past his control. I raised an eyebrow and continued to suck on my fingers. He frowned and groaned again, louder and more gravelly. I smiled at him in praise and released my fingers.

I gave his cock a few slow, even strokes. I can only imagine how the contrast of my warm and wet fingers, and the cold metal of my rings felt on his skin. He sucked in a breath through his teeth, the muscles and tendons in his neck standing out above the high collar of his shirt.

His ragged breathing and clenched hands moved me to take some pity on my poor husband. I quirked a brow at him with a teasing smile and lowered my head, taking just the tip of him into my mouth.

Morpheus growled out a single word in a language I couldn’t understand, but the vehemence behind it told me it was probably something profane. It echoed and rumbled through the whole room like thunder. I chuckled low in my throat- I had earned my moment of pride, and I was just getting started. I wanted him to lose every last shred of control he had, to see the high and mighty façade he had to maintain in the presence of other rulers come crashing down.

I took a bit more of him into my mouth and picked up a gentle, sensual pace, alternating between sucking and swirling my tongue around flesh that felt like steel covered in the finest silk. My teeth lightly scraped over the shaft and I felt a hand snake into my hair and grip tightly, completely ruining the intricate style it had been pinned into. Between his ragged gasps I heard the small, staccato clatter of bobby pins falling to the floor.

His grip in my hair was punishing, and my scalp burned with a sharp pain that had me breathing as deep as I could around his cock in my mouth. When I couldn’t stand the burn in my lungs, I pulled off to nuzzle and kiss the patch of exposed inner thigh. I breathed deeply through my nose, inhaling his scent of musk and stardust, leaving traces of my shimmering makeup on his skin.

I gave the base of his cock little kitten licks while I recovered my breath. A small, impatient noise came from above me, and the grip on my hair once again turned insistent and demanding. I giggled at how needy he was. I’d never hear the Dream Lord beg with words, but he always made his wishes known in other ways, and made it clear he would not be denied.

He gave my hair another tug, harsher this time, a snarl working its way out of him. I looked up and laughed again, an indulgent, purring sound. His eyes were positively blazing, caught between arousal, adoration, and anger at being denied. So, besotted and frustrated. Perfect.

I took him in my mouth again, and there was no teasing this time. I knew exactly what he liked, how to bring him to the peak and make him fall over- or pull him away from the ledge. I took as much of him as I could, gagging slightly as I swallowed around the thick shaft. His wanton groan barely registered; I was too busy concentrating on his other tells- the tiniest hints his body gave that he was close. The slight twitches of his thighs, the erratic pulsing of his cock, the words that forced themselves out from behind his teeth, the clenching of his hand in my hair.

“That’s it darling,” he rasped imperiously, a king finally getting what he wanted after indulging his subject’s impishness. Just a little bit more…

I slowed my pace, letting him slide slow and slick out of my mouth. Morpheus almost choked on his groan of arousal and aggravation. I swirled my tongue around the head once more and left a feather light kiss on the slit for good measure before letting his cock slip completely from my mouth, red and dripping. He shivered at the sudden cold air on his heated flesh, and his cock twitched, as if begging me to come back. I gave him a smug, daring smile.

Morpheus surged to his feet, faster than a striking viper. In the same moment, he practically hauled me to my feet by my hair, the even sharper pain wrenching a cry from my lips. His other hand immediately had my neck in its grasp, squeezing threateningly. I choked on my next breath, a startled gasp slipping past my lips. Hiss-like breaths came in and out of his nose at a frighteningly even pace. Thunder rumbled ominously, somehow confined to the throne room. The shadows crept in, surrounded him, the flames at the base of his cloak glowing even brighter. He was the burning center of a black hole.

Oh fuck he was angry. Oh fuck I was in trouble. Oh fuck it was HOT.

His eyes bored into mine as he drew close enough for me to feel his cock pressing into my abdomen, impossibly hot and hard. “Is teasing what you wish for, my star?” I didn’t hear his strained and rumbling growl so much as felt it land on my lips, felt it resonate inside me. Ancient and eldritch with all the gravity of a collapsing star.

I squeaked in surprise as he shoved me almost contemptuously onto the throne. My head was spinning from the mix of fear and arousal- I knew Morpheus wouldn’t hurt me, I knew I was safe with him, but every time we played rough, I was reminded of just who he was, what he was, the power he had at his command.

And every time I had that realization, it shook me to the core. Now I knew how early humans felt in the presence of forces they couldn’t control, or even begin to understand. Incredibly small, vulnerable, adrift.

With a wave of his hand, my wrists were bound to the armrests with lengths of black silk, the ends fused with the stone rather than tied off. I struggled and strained against them, tiny whimpers bubbling out of my lips. There was no way I was getting out of them, and there would definitely be a mark.

Morpheus stalked toward me, his form barely distinguishable from the shadows that darkened the room. Wind gusted around us, the light from the flames of his cloak casting the angles of his face into flickering darkness. This was the Nightmare King, the most inhumanly terrifying and awe-inspiring creature any mind could comprehend.

And I held his full attention, I was the focal point of all his rage.

I barely breathed as he towered over me. With an imperious flick of his hand, the skirts of my gown vanished into mist and stardust and flecks of ice along with my cape, leaving me with just the bodice and my jewelry. A tiny noise slipped out as my burning and aching core made contact with the cold stone beneath me. He braced his hands on my thighs, nails too sharp to be human leaving indents. Shit he wasn’t playing.

“Then… you shall have it, in abundance.”

In one fluid motion, a tidal wave of darkness, my hips were yanked up and forward, straining my bound arms, and Morpheus dropped to his knees to bury his mouth between my legs.

I shrieked from the ferocity with which he attacked my core. His tongue moved sinuously inside me, his teeth scraped at my clit, I could feel his deep, heavy grunts against my flesh. It felt so good it hurt. It hurt so much it felt delicious.

I caught the smug glow of his silver and black eyes as my head fell back, thumping against the back of the throne. My desperate moans and cries bounced and echoed around the room, the vaulted ceiling above me somewhat hazy like a mirage. Lightning was coursing through my entire body. My fingers gripped the armrests tight enough to crack my nails against the stone even as my arms strained against the silk that held them captive. At the rate he was going, I was going to come almost embarrassingly fast.

Just when that bliss was two or three quick flicks of his tongue away, Morpheus stopped, just breathing against my core for a few painful seconds that seemed to last forever. His breaths bathed my clit in ghostly heat, and a shiver wracked my body from my head to my toes. I panted for breath and swallowed hard around a frustrated groan. “Fuck-” I choked.

Morpheus chuckled- deep in his chest, just a little sadistic. “Something wrong?” he taunted in a low purr. His eyes left my face in favor of staring at my core, watching another pearl of wetness slip out and stain the seat of his throne. The man knew just what his voice did to me, and I could practically see the gears turning in his mind.

“Dream-” Whatever words I was planning on attempting to get out morphed into another groan of rapturous agony. His mouth was back on me, licking and sucking and nibbling and mumbling words into my core in a language I couldn’t understand. His words vibrated with power, his voice rippled through me and my legs started to tremble. My cries became watery and almost desperate, I was so close-

When he pulled away again I screamed, an almost primal sound of frustration. “Fuck!” My arms were shaking, my lips dry and chapped from trying to suck as much air into my lungs as I could. He had promised me teasing in abundance, but this was starting to edge towards cruelty.

Dream’s eyes flitted back to my face. He gave me a positively shit-eating grin while biting into my thigh, worrying the flesh between his teeth. It was feral, almost monstrous, the red and silver around his eyes were blood and moonlight. I wanted to bite and kiss that stupid grin off his stupid face. I wanted to prostrate myself at his feet.

“Yes, my love?” He released the bit of my thigh he had been sucking on to watch the skin turn red, a low rumble of desire shivering through the base of the throne. I panted to catch my breath and swallowed hard, using those few seconds to try coming up with something witty to say, but my mind was in a haze of darkness and lust and silver mist. I could only glare half-heartedly at him.

Dream laughed again, full throated and somewhat mocking, which only made me glare harder and struggle more against the restraints. I felt the burn of tears behind my eyes, felt my glare lose its strength as my lips wobbled. Slowly, carefully, he stood and gently caressed my cheek, a sharp contrast to only moments ago. I let out a shaky sigh and leaned into his touch. “Shall I take pity on my dear wife?”

I willed myself to meet his gaze- his eyes were still bottomless pits, but there was a warmth and a softness to them that hadn’t been there a moment ago. He was checking in, making sure I was okay. I chuckled, the sound carrying just a hint of contempt. I had almost reached my limit, but was in no way ready to concede.

I swallowed hard and gave him a playful grin, baring my teeth with a little nod. “I thought you were just getting started.” Dream’s eyes lost all their warmth and once again hardened into unfeeling obsidian at my answer. The hand at my cheek wound into my hair and became demanding as he bent over to kiss me. I sat up as far as I could, as far as the restraints would allow without me hurting my arms or shoulders. He devoured my mouth with his, I could taste myself on his tongue as it claimed every crevice.

His other hand slipped between my legs, and I whimpered when two fingers lightly brushed over my entrance. “You’re positively dripping, my dear,” he crooned into my mouth. I moaned again, breathy and pleading. One of those fingers drifted upward to tap on my clit, the touch soft as a falling feather. I squeaked and jerked into his hand, drawing another self-satisfied chuckle out of him.

“Now now, my love,” he chided darkly, letting his fingers slip back to my entrance. His voice lowered even more as he murmured in my ear, “It is time for you to reap what you have sown.”

His fingers slammed deep inside me without any warning. I writhed and jerked away with a sharp cry. I sucked a breath in through my teeth only for it to come right back out as another shout when those glorious fingers stroked that one spot deep inside me that set my entire body alight.

His strokes were fast and hard, quickly fanning the flames of my lust back to a raging inferno. The underside of my skin positively burned; I was surprised there wasn’t smoke leaking out of my pores. My hips jerked and twitched to meet his movements, I could feel his bottomless eyes piercing all the way to the center of my being.

He quickly worked me back to that peak. My breaths were shallow and fast, most punctuated with a pathetic cry. I felt a tear leak out of my eye. Dream’s hand was still tangled in my hair, and his thumb immediately wiped away the little drop. “That’s it,” he rasped, “Just take it. You are so beautiful like this…”

I screamed as his fingers once again found the spot that had me seeing stars. “Dear Go- fuck!”

“Try again.” It was a command, a warning. Dream’s fingers immediately stopped, plunging into me one last time and spreading my walls. He held completely still, waiting for me to comply. I could feel my inner walls fluttering, trying to clamp together, but Dream’s incredibly strong fingers firmly held back the tide.

I breathed as deeply as I could, swallowing a few times as I prayed for my voice not to crack pathetically. I willed my tears back, tried to still my limbs that shook with pleasure and frustration. Did I concede, or test the waters one more time…

I moved my hips in a single, tentative thrust against his fingers. With a scoff, Dream yanked his hand away from my core. I wailed in despair.

Morpheus quirked a brow at me as he licked my essence from his fingers, still waiting for me to comply with his order. I moaned, my pelvis jerking towards him as if he were the pied piper and I was under his spell. “Do not keep your king waiting.” His words were taunting, but I could feel the edge of anger and threat under them against my skin.

A tiny noise of surrender slipped out before I could stop it. “Morpheus,” I whimpered, “Please…”

“Please what?” he goaded knowingly. His eyes lost some of their coldness; he apparently had had enough of the teasing and tormenting as well.

I gulped. My voice was trembling and watery. “Please let me come…”

A satisfied smile spread across his face, except this one was devoid of his previous arrogance and coldness. He pressed his lips to mine in a languid, sensual kiss. “Of course, my dear,” he purred slowly.

Another whirlwind of sand, gentler this time, and we were in our bedroom. Our clothes had vanished in transit; all that remained was the color around Dream’s eyes, and my opal and moonstone necklace. The night sky of our room made the jewels gleam, the stars reflected in Morpheus’ eyes.

I was surprised to find Dream laid out beneath me, his hands gently massaging the swells of flesh at my hips. A hint of that kingly arrogance was dancing around his face again, at the corner of his lips that were twitched up in a devious smirk. “I said you could come,” he goaded, “I never said I would be the one to make it so.”

Strong hands guided me up onto my knees then lowered me onto his cock. My face scrunched up as a cry wrenched itself out of me and mingled with Dream’s raspy groan. “Now then…” he bucked his hips into me and commanded in a low breath, “Make yourself come on my cock.”

“Fuck-” the one word was a breathy gasp as I started to move. My cunt was almost numb from the pleasure, but still ached for release. Dream still had a death grip on my hips; I could already see bruises forming from earlier. My fingers clenched in the sheets, drawing my eye to the red and purple marks on my wrists from his hands and the silk restraints. I shuddered, Dream moaned loudly as I clenched around him. My necklace moved and writhed with me, the opal catching the light and reflecting it back in small, pale rainbows.

I moved my hips faster, ground down harder. I could feel sweat beading on my forehead and pooling in my cleavage. I panted out one breathy gasp after another, my eyes began to flutter shut. Dream reached one hand up to drag his nails down my back while the other tightly held my chin between thumb and forefinger. He growled, “Look at me my love.”

My eyes shot open, and I almost came then and there.

Dream was staring at me as if he had never seen something so wondrous in all his eons of existence. He looked absolutely wrecked, eyes blown wide, hair even more mussed than usual, the shimmer around his eyes just starting to smudge. His kiss-reddened lips were parted just slightly in awe. The tendons in his neck stood out sharp and tense, while the muscles of his abdomen rippled as he continued to lightly thrust into me.

And holy hell, his eyes. Deeper than the furthest reaches of the universe, black not as in void of all color, but rather containing every color of the world mixed together. I couldn’t look away, even when he started to take some control back and urge me to move faster.

I choked, “God- Dream!” and bit my lip to keep back the sounds I didn’t have breath for. Even still, a few squeaks slipped out as I got closer and closer to the bliss that I had been so cruelly denied for most of the evening.

When that nova of ecstasy finally exploded and shattered, I screamed so loudly I was sure I wouldn’t have a voice the next day. Dream kept thrusting up into me throughout the most intense orgasm I can recall having, so strong that my limbs shook uncontrollably and I let out garbled wails as the pleasure began to ebb, leaving caramel-like warmth in its place.

I collapsed on top of him, my arms and legs too numb to hold me up. Dream pressed kisses to every inch of my face he could reach, whispering praises in my ear. His knowing hands gently kneaded into my ass for a moment before tensing into claws, holding me in an unshakeable grip. I felt him throb deep inside me, he groaned as my walls fluttered weakly around him.

Using that inhuman strength and grace of his, along with some of the residual roughness from before, he flipped us and hovered over me. My boneless body sank into the mattress, and my eyes started to flutter shut again. My mind was fuzzy, floating far above the Dreaming on the softest of clouds. “Just a little more, my love,” he murmured in my ear as he wrapped my arms around his neck.

He started to move again. I screamed, high and watery, a few tears squeezing themselves out of my tightly shut eyes. Dream pressed himself impossibly close; I couldn’t tell where he began and I ended. He grunted in my ear, the sound slightly muffled by the sheets. I wanted to thrash and writhe into and away from the sensations that were well past the line of too much, but my still-fuzzy mind rendered my body capable of only small jerks and twitches.

I whimpered pathetically, his every thrust burning and tingling and numbing. He pounded into me with bruising force- I was in the heart of the storm, only capable of holding on for the ride. My arms trembled and shook as I dug my nails into his back, holding on for dear life. Dream let out a ragged gasp as my nails began to slide down his sweat-slicked skin, biting and sucking yet another mark into my already mottled neck.

Morpheus screamed as he came, and the entire palace shuddered from the strength of his release. I weakly writhed and thrashed when I felt the flood of heat inside me. Dream sank down atop me for a moment before he slipped out and rolled over to his side. I turned my head to stare at him, and even that small motion took most of the strength I had left. As I stared at him, a giggle bubbled past my lips: he looked thoroughly satiated, almost glowing, and would have been staring at me with complete adoration and wonder were it not for the tiny, arrogant smirk pulling at the corner of his swollen lips. The red pigment on the outer corners of his eyes had smudged, leaving faint streaks across his temples.

I quickly licked my thumb and wiped the streaks away, and somehow there was still some color trapped in the creases near his eyes. He let out a soft hum at my touch and let his eyes flutter shut for just a moment. Before I could let my hand flop back onto the mattress, Dream took its weight in his fingers and brushed his lips over my knuckles. I shivered as a thrill of heat flashed through me; those courtly romantic gestures always got me.

We laid there for a long while, just breathing in time with each other and ghosting our fingers across each other’s skin. Dream briefly touched the opal and moonstone necklace I still wore and murmured, “This suits you, my love.”

I replied with a chuckle, “I should hope so, you’re the one who made it.” As my mind drifted off, I giggled again and murmured, “Cluracan should host masquerade balls more often.” I bit my bottom lip, trying to stem the exhausted, somewhat delirious laughter bubbling inside me, but it was no use.

Dream thought for a moment about my words before sighing in exasperation, but not without a smile. He gave me a look, which only made me giggle harder. Rolling his eyes, he gathered me into his arms and let me adjust our limbs until I was comfortable. I felt the gentle caress of fine sand grains on my temple, and as my heavy eyes closed, I heard Dream murmur, “Sleep well, my star. You win this time.”

#The Sandman #The Sandman fanfic #Morpheus x reader #Dream of the endless x reader #Morpheus fanfic

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fandomfluffandfuck · 1 month

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hey what should I draw, mr.s?

I'm always partial to people and adjacent things, so, maybe some anatomy practice? Shoes? Clothes with interesting textures/shine/folds? Expressions? I don't know! Or...

Don't try to draw anything.

Listen, that sounds so fucking weird, but one of my friends encouraged me to try intuitive art where you just aimlessly do shit except for what you feel is right. Inuiting it. Scribble, make circles, dashes, lines, etc., whatever, there's no wrong way to do it. Just do it. Do what feels right. It doesn't have to be representative of anything, not an emotion or story, but it can be if you want to, too. Whatever. Use an art medium you're familiar with using or not. Use kids' crayons, use expensive, nice watercolors, either extreme or somewhere in between. There's no wrong way to do it.

I thought that sounded interesting when I was introduced to the concept first, and god knows I have enough sketchbooks unused lying around to experiement in. So I just picked up a sketchbook that someone distant in my family gave me who knows nothing about art, and nothing about the art I specifically make, so it's too small of a book for what I usually do and I don't particularly like the paper within it, so I was, like, whatever, okay, I'll "ruin" this book. And I just started scribbling.

I will say I don't love love love anything I've made yet, but I don't hate it the way I thought I would as a realistic artist that is very much a perfectionist. I've really only spent, like, 30 minutes of time (tops) on the intuitive drawings when I'm already spending 5+ hours to work on my actual pieces daily. So, it's low stakes. It's easy. But. It's still so interesting. It's been so good for me, even if I don't love the outcome, y'know? The process is fun or, at least, nice and flow-like. It's a good way to start or end a drawing session, I've found.

Shit, though, I made fucking magic this afternoon on complete accident! So, okay, maybe I do like that outcome of that scribble in particular. Even if it is a little embarrassing as a mess of smeared pink and red crayons in blurry squiggles and almost heart shapes. It's chaotic, and it happened because I got stuck thinking about my old best friend, whom I knew from 1st grade until high school. He, to say the least, was not a fucking good friend as it turned out. Yet, time puts rose colored glasses on you, and so sometimes I wonder about him. Sometimes, I even miss him, though I know it isn't real what I miss. (I also might have been in love with him? I don't know even know, and that's a whole can of worms.) That being said, I tore through a page with that intuitive art and... I was truly just scribbling, not trying to make anything representative. In the end, though, I made this lighter background with a very prominent, darker scribble in the abstract shape of the first letter of his name. I didn't do that. Not consciously. So, fuck, I was astounded when I looked down at it, feeling like I was finished, to see that letter. What the shit? I hate when art does these things to me 💀💀 Fine. I'm lying. It's very cool in an indescribable kind of way.

(Did I then immediately go on to start another page and make a vaguely disturbing scribble with lots of eyes and loose teeth and bloody looking smears that I also did not intend to make look like that? Yes. Is that besides the point? Yes.) ((Also, funnier, did I make something the day before yesterday that was undeniably vagina-shaped? Also, yes. It's an adventure out here, lmao.))

Whatever you do, get out there and do it, baby!! Draw! Be meticulous or chaotic! There's no rules!

#asks #s arts

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fuckyeaharthuriana · 2 years

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Create/Bind your own book

I decided to post this on my arthurian blog as I want to bind an actual book of arthurian texts (from Mary Jones´ translations), but this can be done with anything! My first attempt was actually AO3 fanfics, and my second one was an empty drawing notebook with watercolor pages.

This is the 101 How to bind your own book, extra easy version.

What you will need:

Glue for paper (like vynil glue) + a brush to spread the glue

Paper / printer book in booklet form

cardboard (I use amazon boxes I cut down)

a ruler

pencil

a printer

paper creaser / bone folder (not necessary, you can use a ruler too)

thread (waxed thread is probably the best one, but any thread that is hard to break would work)

scissors

awl (or anything that can make holes in paper)

needles (with a big hole, curved needle would be the best one)

a material to use as a cover. I use cotton fabric so I can add some embroidery to it

gauze if you have it, but not necessary

some weights and plastic sheets (I use other books as weight, and plastic wrap = this is just to not end up with glue everywhere)

What is the process (quick overlook of what you should do and in what order):

1) Print your book in booklet format, or prepare your pages (if you are making an empty notebook) (needed for this: printer, microsoft word or a pdf program, paper creaser)

2) Add holes to all your pages (needed for this: ruler, pencil, awl)

3) Sew the pages together and glue the book together (needed for this: needle, thread, scissors, brush, glue, plastic and the weights, gauze if you want)

4) Prepar the cover (needed for this: ruler, scissors, glue, fabric, pencil, weights, plastic)

5) add the book of the cover (needed for this: glue, plastic, scissors, plastic, weights)

the end!

Now let´s start:

1) PRINT THE BOOK + FOLD

If you are making an empty notebook, simply find a paper you like (ex. for watercolor I bought A4 300gr paper) and then bend each single page in half. To bend in half you can use a ruler to check where the half is, or simply fold the paper in half by aligning the borders. You can use the creaser to make a nice fold, here is how to use it (video).

If you want to print a book, you will have to print in booklet format. The easiest way to do that is using word and organizing your document before printing. This is the easiest way to do it (how to link). Remember to add page numbers to your document, it makes it so much easier to check that everything is being printed correctly.

Ideally, you want to organize your book in booklets of 8 pages, but it will also depend on how big your paper is. If you are printing pictures you might use very thick paper (so that the color cannot be seen on the other side). For a fanfic/text, I use 160 gsm paper.

What is a booklet? (link)

Once you have printed each booklet you will have to fold it. Pages in your booklet will go inside one another, so you will fold the first page, which will have page 1 and the last page of your booklet, and so on.

You can use the creaser to make a nice fold, here is how to use it (video).

The booklet will be sewed later in the middle.

Your book will be made of small booklets, all put together.

2) ADD HOLES

The location of the holes depend on the type of binding you want to do, so you might want to check point 3 before adding the holes! Still, the best way to add holes is a pointy metal rode/a hole puncher. The holes need to be small (big enough for a needle), and the best way is to put some foam under the opened booklets so that you don't scratch the table.

You will add holes to all booklets! Like this video shows.

3) SEWING

To sew the book together there are different type of sewing tecniques, I will bring examples of the one I use, as I found it to be the easiest. Also, you can use any needle and any resistant thread, but I prefer to use waxed thread (for bookbinding) and a curved needle. You can find the waxed thread and big curved needle in any bookbinding kit!

this shows the passages till this point plus sewing, it has no words, while this video instead describes and show the type of sewing that I also do.

4) GLUE

Press your book! Leave something heavy on it before the glue!

Any paper glue works great! You can use glue on the spine of the now sewed book (all your booklets put together) to reinforce it. You can also use some gauze (like medical gauze) to reinforce the spine, like this:

5) COVER

Now you will need to create a cover (if you want)! The easiest way is carboard and book cloth (here some examples on how to create book cloth, one here and one here).

Making the cover has always been the tricky part for me, so the best thing I can do is recommending this great video!

#book binding #how to book bind #arthurian feelings #books #tutorial #sort of

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anysin · 7 months

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Fic: Mirage In The Night

For anon requester who wanted a surprise encounter with Jonah/dark!Jon, here you go! I took "Jonah" literally so this has time-traveling Jon. SFW but dark, with a compulsion scene.

Mirage In The Night

Jonah Magnus's house is a modest one, housing one servant in addition to Jonah himself. It's pitifully easy to break in without attracting any attention, and Jon has no problem following the pull of the Eye all the way to Jonah's bed chamber.

He is surprised that Jonah isn't waiting for him already; instead, Jonah is asleep, lying on his side in his small bed. Jonah should already be in his thirties by this time, but he looks much younger, his features soft and delicate, his presence almost harmless. But only almost; the Eye is already present in this man, its influence still not all the way spread into Jonah's mind, but present nonetheless.

Jon walks over to the bed, letting his feet make sound with every step, just to see if he can raise Jonah out of his slumber. But Jonah remains still, and Jon sits on the edge of his bed.

The Eye is passive, not alerting Jonah to Jon's presence. Jon sits there for a minute, two, longer, until Jonah finally starts to stir in his sleep, brows furrowing, mouth twisting into a grimace. His eyes open up, and flow wide at the sight of Jon.

Jon has to be fast. He lunges towards Jonah, who is starting to turn on his back on the bed, and grabs him by the throat, pinning him to the bed. Jonah's hands snap up, clutching Jon's wrist with tight, panicking fingers, but Jon leans over him, staring him right into those grey eyes, watching as they fill with fear.

"Tell me about your first meeting with a supernatural creature," Jon demands.

At first, Jonah's pulse is fast like a rabbit, pounding against Jon's fingers. But it noticeably, clearly calms down as Jonah's body relaxes against the bed, his fingers going loose around Jon's wrist. His eyes are still full of fear when he starts to talk:

"I was a child, and I had gone to the lake with my family." Jonah blinks fast, as if to fend off the spell that has been cast over him. But he continues to talk, his voice quiet and breathy: "There was another family there too, unknown to us, parents and their two little daughters. Our family chose to stay out of the water, enjoying the scenery of the lake. I was painting my watercolors, as I liked to do in that time. The other family was on the boat, all four of them."

Jonah's other hand drops off, but the other traces its way down along the length of Jon's arm. Jon is not sure what the touch is meant to be, but it doesn't matter; what matters is hearing what he has to say.

"Watching them from the shore, I saw that the little girls were scuffling on their little boat, and the smaller one fell into the water. The father stopped rowing, and all three on the boat tried to reach for the girl in the water. Their boat was swaying from side to side quite a bit." Jonah's hand keeps moving on Jon's arm, and this time the touch is clearly a stroke. "They were trying to pull the girl in the water back into the boat, but something was holding onto her. Something that had turned the water around the boat entirely black."

Fingers latch onto Jon's elbow, holding him tight. There is still fear in Jonah's eyes, but also that cursed curiosity, fascination.

"The boat was swaying harder and harder, and even though I should have been calling for help, my family was surely all nearby, all I could do was watch." Jonah inhales sharply, his grip on Jon tightening. "I watched as the boat swayed towards the black substance in the water, and this time it didn't return to the other side. The boat turned over, and everyone inside, the whole family went into the water."

Jonah shudders, his breath hitching just slightly. But he doesn't let go of Jon.

"Once they were in," Jonah says, "I lost my sight of them. There only seemed to be a big, black spot right there in the middle of the lake, and the boat sank into it too, and they were all gone. Soon, the water turned back into normal, too, and it was as if there was never another family there at all."

There is a harsh yank, and Jon finds himself falling on top of Jonah, still staring into his eyes.

"And according to my family, there wasn't. It was as if only I had witnessed what had happened, seen what was in the lake. I never went there again after that day."

Jonah's grip loosens, and he falls slack against the mattress again. He is a little sweaty, a little out of breath, and he doesn't try to pull away when Jon strokes his hair out of his face, as he enjoys the ripple of the story as it runs through his body.

"That was really disappointing," he says to Jonah. "What an unremarkable story. That was enough to kick off your obsession with hunting down other people's fears?"

"No, that alone wasn't. But it was the first time." Jonah's hand falls away, and while his chest rises and falls in a quick rhythm, as if after a long escape, the look in his eyes is almost- captivated. "Who are you?"

Jon told himself before that he came here to kill Jonah, get his one final answer and kill him.

"Someone you owe," Jon replies. "You'll see all the ways how."

He should have known that wouldn't be enough to sate him.

#my fic #jon x elias

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unagidevi · 6 months

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RORY CASKEY (IBVS OC SHITTY INTRODUCTION)

(i apologize for any misspellings in advance, its almost 1am)

Rory was always a flashy kid, with an interesting sense of fashion and an odd interest in circus folk. Rory adored Clowns, Jesters, and else what. It was a guilty interest, and he even did some outfit-making just to make his clown outfit. It was an easy getaway – with the facepaint – to hide the scar on his nose. He had broken his nose when he was younger, and it had been a little messed up since– the reason for breaking it was his mom, but that was another story.. The small, slender, five foot and five inches teenager with thick skin had recently moved from Florence, Italy- where he once lived in a small apartment - two bedroom, one bath - a comfy area with his father. Rory’s parents had split when he was little, as a child of divorce; he always thought that the problem was him when it came to that stuff. According to his mother, she was fine and all right without an obnoxious child in her life. When his two parents split, he first lived with his mom who was kind of a smoker, and an alcoholic. He always smelt of smoke every time he went to those schools in Italy, always accused of smoking on the grounds or burning stuff during recess. Once his father got custody and him out of that horrible place, he finally felt free. His father let him express himself as much as possible– that was until his stepmother stepped into the sudden picture. She was freaky and a bit suspicious; pretty sure she had a job as an accountant.

Father always bought her little gifts – despite getting nothing in return – back when they were close and still together. Rory was pretty sure he remembered that lady's name as Lesley- or just Les to his dad. Les was a snappy, know-it-all, Pinterest woman; his father seemed to have a type. Rory's father's name wasn’t very brought up – he only worked small jobs to keep their living up in Italy – was Kieran Caskey, a not-very-wealthy, friendly goofball who always knew everyone in their neighborhood. A job offered seemed to pop up somewhere in California, so a flight there would be a hassle, but it was decently paying for somewhere in the United States. Rory always wondered how long they would last in such a shitty place, but he concurred along with his father anyways.

The ride to the US took ages, Rory couldn’t tell if it took 16 hours or days to just arrive there. His father already seemed to manage to find a house for sale along a block, and a nice school that should fit for Rory. Rory packed as much as he could in the bags he took with him, which were his special paints his dad always stored him with, a canvas, a sketchbook with watercolors- and of course clothes and two pairs of shoes. Rory always wore these clothes with these bright colors– especially with his shirts. His favorite was by far his yellow, blue, and red button-up shirt that had colors whirling around. Rory loved toying around the mediums, mostly paint - by favorite was watercolor. Watercolor was so appealing to him in ways he couldn’t figure it, kind of as if it drew to him.

He’d been in the US for about a couple weeks now, and the school was kind of crappy. The name was Foxfield High School, which is amusing because who names a school after an animal and a field? That makes no sense to Rory, in no way possible. The bathrooms were always a mess – what do you expect in boys bathrooms? They are usually the most disgusting shit ever. He’d been called a few names, and wasn’t very social; but he had gone unnoticed by almost everyone around since he came. Just being called ‘Newbie’ or something along the lines of ‘Leprechaun’ a few times from his ginger hair and his origins. It wasn’t very amusing to Rory that he’d been called these names- besides there was a bundle of jocks that would push past him every now and again and call him ‘ginger’, or ‘laddie’, or something of that nature. They were accordingly lead by their one dumb leader who was always picking fights with the other jocks – and had very terrible ideas that USUALLY failed – called Felix Wolfe. His groupees were called The Packe, which was weird because this school had Fox in the name. The school king, which – what the fuck is a school king in the first place – was Edward Quinton. Edward shot Rory a few glares sometimes, nothing really personal, only because Rory was nosy and had to stick his nose into everything.

Today was different, it was slightly raining during the school morning, the sky was clouded and sad with grays and saturated blue tones. Rory walked the halls of Foxfield, doing his best to avoid the groups of people stacking in the halls heading towards their homerooms. The school king kind of guy approached Rory, which was unassuming and awkward for Rory due to his awkward conversations– he didn’t know whether to be scared that he was being nosy again and he needed to be told something or what, but it was strange.

“You.” Eddie spoke with an annoyed tone, Cody and Justin looking at each other with a great big smile on their faces, pretty innocent so far. “You need to come with me.” He spoke a little harshly, but nothing of hate in his eyes.

Rory just blinked a couple of times before opening his mouth to speak. “What do you mean ‘I need to come with you’?” Rory hesitated to speak, his accent still very clear in his voice.

“If you don’t come with us there will be consequences,” Edward threatened, but Rory could tell there was nothing behind that thinly veiled threat.

“...Uh-huh.” Rory responded, kind of looking to the side with his light green eyes, he decided to wear his favorite and lucky shirt today, and it was already like his luck was running out.

Edward started to walk ahead, and until Rory began walking the other guys followed close behind Rory as for no get-away. This was a very strange interaction. Justin picked inside a bag of chips, a quick snack– Rory already picked up this guy would stress eat or something, it wasn’t weird.

Cody laughed, “Oh, we are so going to do this, bro!” Cody looked at Justin who just looked back at him as he stuffed his face with the fries.

Edward shooed the jocks off after they arrived at a place with conveniently not many people around, and gave Cody and Justin a look which sent both Jocks heading for the door, guarding it as if they were some sort of knight.

“Do you know of the supernatural? The strange?” He picked at Rory, furrowing an eyebrow as his brown eyes directed at the green-eyed, ginger boy.

“Not really.” Rory shrugged, “I think you’re reading too many fantasy books.” Rory accused.

“Are you sure? Because I am pretty sure I saw you at a specific park, a specific time, walking through some graffiti on the wall.” Edward retorted quickly, his eyes a little more with annoyance as the flashy boy just stared.

“What ‘specific’ park, and time – and what are you on about?” Rory hated to admit that he did something in the open he shouldn't have, and being accused of it so quickly was weird. He really just needed to get on the other side of town for an ice cream.

“Oh my god.” Edward brought a hand up to pinch two fingers on his nose. “It’s like dealing with Ink all over again.” He muttered coldly.

Rory almost forgot everyone had a nickname from the school king- everyone but Rory.

“What’s your name?” Edward asked, pulling the hand away from his face, putting his hands on his hips.

“...Uh, Rory Caskey.” He responded with a hint of worry as he winced at the sound of his name in his own voice.

“Oh, Amusing,” A voice said, hanging around the bleachers – coming out of the back of them with a decorated bag and a put-up hairstyle. He had beautiful yellow eyes, and a freckled face.

“Really, Ink? Do you always have to show up?” Eddie grumbled, looking towards the casually-styled teenager

Conveniently, Isaac just smiled with a tilt of his head. “I was bored.” He stated simply. “Was this kid part of your intuition?” He asked so calmly, as if it was normal.

“Kind of,” Ed responded simply, “and I caught him using his powers.”

“Oh, fun,” Isaacs yellow gaze turned towards Rory. Rory couldn’t help but give a sour expression, “He’s not scary, more of a loser.” Isaac stated, “You’ll be fine.”

“...Uh huh.” Rory gave an awkward smile, his shoulders tense as he was being accused.

“As I was saying,” Edward started again, “You are the, or well - a supernatural, you’re one of us.” Eddie opened his arm to hold it towards Isaac who gave a grimace and lightly swatted his hand away, then at himself. “I’m Edward Quinton Or Error. This is Ink–”

“Yeah, thanks Error, I can introduce myself.” Isaac scoffed.

What was this? Some Disney movie? This was stupid, this conversation and all. Rory's ears felt hot with embarrassment as these guys apparently called themselves ‘just like him’. Who did they think they were?

“You said you were Rory Caskey?” Eddie tried to crack a smile. “How does Casket sound?”

“Woah, isn’t that not a friendly name.” Ink rolled his eyes, “What name is Casket? You put dead guys in a ginger boy?”

“Ink, shut… the fuck up.” Eddies hands balled up as he shot a glare towards Beamer.

“I kind of like it?” Rory spoke, it was somewhat better than something like ‘leprechaun’.

“To show you we are nothing like the FBI–” Edward started

“Or men in black,” Ink added, “I’ll show you my power, you can explain yours. Hmm?” Eddies' cracked smile only got more jagged as it felt awkward, but least to say he was excited to hear about it all.

“I thought we weren’t supposed to–”

“Shut the fuck up, Ink.” Edward glared.

Rory looked between the two, they felt as if they were an old couple fighting– not even a couple, or friends for that matter so it seemed. It kind of made Rory shutter with them bickering at each other little bits at a time. Edward took a deep breath as strings shot from the tips of his hands, and dragged a board in front of the door of said room. Rory almost jumped and froze as he watched it whizz past him and drag things so easily as if they had no weight to them.

“Now do you believe us?” Isaac accused, lifting a brow. Obviously he picked up on Rory hesitancy, but it was fast.

“Uh, sure, I guess…?” Rory responded with still tensed shoulders, even more tense with the new information. Lord, Rory didn’t like change- but he could deal.

“Now explain yours?” Edward asked as politely as possible, even if it didn’t come off as so.

Rory hesitated before looking down, “Uh.”

“He doesn’t know you,” Isaac rolled his eyes, “He won’t tell you.”

Rory opened his mouth to speak, but a small whimper came out, then he began talking– “I can walk through anything painted like. Spray Paint on a wall, a large or small canvas, anything with a wink of paint on it I can walk through.” Rory started, that had only been a very first.

Edwards eyes lit with excitement, “what an interesting power.” He whispered to himself, taking a careful mental note.

“There’s another too.” Rory started again, “I can take your memories, and place it into a hologram– but not really a hologram?” He stuttered, tripping over his words already. “They are like a screen of watercolor paint, kind of printing your memory onto real life ground.”

“Convenient, he responded.” Isaac said with a monotone voice. “And he’s already got both powers.” Isaac looked towards Edward who was taking a mental note of everything just said to him. “Do not ask this guy–”

“I’m starting a supernatural club,” Edward started briskly, “Do you want to join?” He offered. “It’s labeled IBVS–”

“A very lame name,” Isaac added. “But a needed abbreviation.”

The ginger boy shrugged his shoulders, “I-I guess?” He stumbled over his words a bit, but he agreed anyway.

“Are you dudes done there?!” Cody called, “Teachers are getting sus-pic-ious!” He said suspicious very slowly, but it was obvious what he was trying to do.

#ibvs #isaac beamer versus the supernatural #rory caskey #devs ocs #dev rambles like a lunatic #cory #edward quinton #isaac beamer

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kalechipslives · 1 year

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sorekara setting design

Here are some notes on the development of SOREKARA's style and presentation. If you couldn't already tell, SK takes a lot of inspiration from 70's/80's anime, Nobody's Boy Remi being the reference point for much of it. I've always respected Dezaki for his monumental work so I've always wanted to pay tribute to it (especially the early stuff). I don't think I was as successful as I'd like to have been, but alas! There is still more to come! So without further ado!

I was just talking about Dezaki , but now I shall talk about something completely different. To set the tone, I created the cat and the trolley setting first. The Girl's design should be plenty obvious (lol). But the background here I paid special attention to... I find the paints of Night on the Galactic Railroad to be very unique. They have a line less, airbrushed quality to them that blends in surprisingly well with the characters. I did some research and studied 児玉喬夫 Takao Kodama's work, as they were credited with setting design for this film as well as Genji Monogatari. Actually, if you look at Genji Monogatari's backgrounds, they have the exact same airbrushed quality! I had never done a background like this before (I am certainly not an environmental artist) but I think I did a fairly good job of it.

...I immediately switched gears and without thinking, went back to Dezaki works. I can't say I was very faithful at all. The night sky is easy to paint, with it's notable color spray and paint blots, but I diverged quite a bit with the watercolor textures. Shichiro Kobayashi is the artist I looked to the most, and this project made me appreciate him more than ever before. Just looking at his paints gets me emotional... The vibrant colors, the dramatic angles, you can just feel his reverence for life overflowing from the work. There really isn't anyone better. I need to study more if I'm to capture even a fraction of his skill. That being said, I did make sure to animate the backgrounds slightly with the sparkles on the water-- The reflection of light on water is my favorite to draw! Also, flowers are a very important motif (for various reasons, ohohoho). Kobayashi seemed to love drawing flowers, the paint around the edges give is a delicate look. Actually, if you look at the textbox...

Instead of full-color CGs, I opted to use "postcard memories". This was a technique Dezaki used where he would show a detailed, scratchy-lined illustration to highlight important moments instead of fully animating them. It creates a really memorable image that draws out all of your emotions! I tried to emulate them (the more single-toned ones, that is) for the game. It was 1/3 Dezaki worship, 1/3 time-saving technique, and 1/3 excuse to draw lots of scratchy lines. I love scratchy lines. This way, I could make a lot of memorable shots that were visually interesting without overworking myself.

As another note, I looked to Akio Sugino's character art when drawing. The characters don't really look like Sugino characters, but I was emulating his shading technique with (once-again) the scratchy lines. Ah, I was in heaven. Looking at his older work, the linework is hardly ever clean-- but the rough, hand-drawn edge gives everything a tactile quality and the strong anatomy makes everyone so gorgeous. It's like an engraving come to life.

Finally, the anime effects! On the left you can see soothat before his values are adjusted (very dark, isn't he?) and on the right you can see he is in-game, values adjusted with a more appropriate "anime" look. This is because anime cells are put onto a CRT screen, so they end up looking very different. I created an auto action in CSP to adjust the color grating and line quality of every asset before popping them into the game for the chromatic aberration to take effect. The lines are slightly crunched a blurrier compared to the original. It gives it a more "physical" look. The colors are fixed up-- you'll see there is no pure black. If you look at a physical anime cell, you'll see they more often than not do not include pure black. There is usually a tint of green or red in there.

The chromatic aberration filter... I don't know how noticeable it is to the average player, but the game actually has a built-in filter that creates a slight "chroma" effect to emulate the look of frames through a crt/light. This means the red + blue + green values of the entire screen are split up and adjusted to layer slightly off from each other, giving it a little visual interest. It was AN EXTREME doozy to put in, with my poor programmer coding it and re-coding it until the end. It seemed simple at first, but there are parts where the game zooms in which totally broke the filter! It made out eyes bleed! But it was repaired in the end, so blessing upon you, Sandy. You saved my life.

The reason why I looked to Ie Naki Ko/Nobody's Boy Remi specifically is because that's where I feel the most "pure" energy from. It is a show that leans incredibly hard on it's techniques to get by but because of that it really embodies what I love about old anime-- It has a selfless reverence for its subject that drives you to watch and surrender your heart. Dezaki's powerful directing, Sugino's gorgeous drawings and Kobayashi's majestic paintings come together to make a work that shines. The setting is truly at the forefront with the characters getting lost in the grandeur. That's the attitude I had with SOREKARA: "There are things much greater than us, so isn't it wonderful that we are able to see them side-by-side?" There are many animation techniques that are cost-effective while still being utterly beautiful, I would love to copy them someday but I wasn't able to go that far yet. At least not in the demo. There's still time, I suppose... Studying limited animation from old anime is actually extremely useful when creating visual novels. Understanding the placement of cells and their layering/movement has given me even more ideas for stories!

I ended up going on a rant about anime again ^^" But it's so beautiful, you must now understand my heart going into the work. I always think of my characters and their journey, of course, but before that I think of the setting. I want the player to experience beautiful and mysterious things alongside their traveling companions. There is still so much more to make. I hope to incorporate more Dezaki-style techniques in this and future works. Please remember the true message of my works.... Not that love finds a way, or that your connections can transform your world...it's that....anime is very, very cool.

Thank you for reading 🙇🏽‍♂️

#game dev #sorekara end of a journey #visual novel #vn dev #indie dev #dev diary #osamu dezaki

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