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alrightieaphroditie · 4 months

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wipe my tears away | j.m.

*:·ﾟ✧ series masterlist | previous part!

pairing *:·ﾟ afab!reader x joel miller wc *:·ﾟ6.6k warnings *:·ﾟ18+! minors please do not interact!! talk of period pain, hormonal emotions, crying, kissing, some manhandling (if you squint), sad attempt at dirty talk, period play (lightly), fingering, maybe some degradation (not really sure), clit stimulation, overstimulation, multiple orgasms (f receiving), squirting/messy cum, p in v penetration (not protected, do better!), one mention of blood… please let me know if i’m missing any major ones! an *:·ﾟthis is for the girlies who get over emotional during their periods (they are me, i am them). this is a bit longer than intended, but once i got in the zone i literally couldn’t stop, so i hope y’all will enjoy it! kind of unedited, so if anything major jumps out feel free to comment lol. i also wrote this with correct capitalization, where all my previous fics were lowercase bc i couldn’t be bothered to turn on auto caps, so let me know if y’all prefer this format! check the series masterlist for the series tags!

synopsis *:·ﾟ joel comes home to find you laying in bed, crying because of period pain. he may not be a full gentleman, but he wouldn’t let you suffer when he has a trick up his sleeve to help sooth the cramps.

The pain that begins in your lower abdomen, the feeling that radiates throughout the rest of your lower body with enough force to make you wince, isn’t entirely new. It’s a monthly occurrence, actually. One that you feel like you should be used to by now, considering it’s plagued you for more than half your life.

But the outbreak had already happened when you first got your period as a teen, and for a while, your body wasn’t receiving the nutrients it needed to sustain that kind of function. It was a double-edged sword, the way you were appreciative that you haven’t had it this bad your entire life, while ruminating on the losses that occurred due to the infection.

Because it was a different story, now.

Now, you were eating more than you could ever remember before. Jackson was a thriving community, after all. And you were beyond blessed that you were one of the lucky ones who got to reside within its gates. Now, your body was properly fed and being taken care of for the first time in years, and that double-edged sword reared in your mind again; thankful for the safe space you’ve landed upon, but God, at what cost? Your period pain took you out for days each month, making you feel like a burden even though you physically couldn’t help it.

Your toe stubbed against a chair in your living room as another cramp worked its way through your body, causing you to cry out for more than one reason. Tears filled your waterline, and a heavy sigh escaped past your lips. The rough material of your jeans was digging into your waistline, your hair felt heavy against your neck and each strand that brushed against your cheek made you want to cut it off, and you just felt so useless. Some logical part of your brain realized this wasn’t really you feeling this way, it was just the hormonal shift, but that didn’t provide any sense of comfort as the tears continued to glide down your face.

In some ways, you were lucky, as today had been your day off from helping around Jackson. Otherwise, that sense of being a burden to everyone would’ve increased tenfold. You couldn't stop feeling like a burden to yourself, though. You had made a perfectly organized to-do list that was hanging on your fridge of things you wanted to tackle today.

Your sheets needed to be washed. The floors needed to be swept and mopped, especially after the rain, as Joel and Ellie continued to trek mud through your house by accident. Maria had given you some of the spices that grew in abundance, and you wanted to make one of those simmer pots on the stove that she kept mentioning.

But doing those chores was the last thing on your mind right now, as another cramp racked its way through your body. Now, you just wanted to go lay in bed wearing nothing but Joel's shirt that you had thrown on earlier and cry while hugging a pillow.

And so, that’s what you did.

Your vision was watery as your fingers swiftly worked to unbutton your pants, your feet carrying you out of the living room and into your bedroom before you really even realized what you were doing. Once you hit your bedside, you tugged the jeans down your legs, letting them pool at your feet and leaving them on the ground as you crawl into bed, feeling about as pathetic as you probably looked. Curling up on your side, you reach out blindly and grab onto Joel's pillow, tucking it against your body and letting it provide you a false sense of comfort. After that, the tears start flowing freely.

You didn’t know how long you laid there, didn’t know how long the sound of your sniffles had filled the room or how long you pressed the pillow against your abdomen. The cramps were still relentless, and it wasn’t like you even had any medicine you could take; expired Tylenol did absolutely nothing anymore. You wish you were more used to this feeling, this pain. But it seemed like the longer you were at Jackson, the worse the symptoms became each month. You had yet to figure out the remedies that were foolproof for this feeling.

Continuous tears turned into lonely, stray droplets as you held onto the pillow. The room was silent except for the occasional sniff. You had zeroed in on an undone thread on the pillowcase, not paying attention to your surroundings, so you didn’t hear the sound of the front door being pushed open, or the sound of Joel's work boots stomping across the wooden floors. In the corners of your mind, you recognized the voice that was muttering to himself outside your room, but your eyes stayed focused on that singular thread.

The thought of it being lonely, being apart from the other threads holding the fabric together, made your eyes water again. You could put yourself in its position, the ever present fear of being alone daunting you even now, and that was enough to send the tears over your waterline, racing down your cheeks and onto the pillow once again. The hiccup that came from your inhale was the noise that had the footfalls move towards your room, and through your blurry vision you saw the outline of Joel standing in the doorway.

“What's wrong?” Through your sniffles, you could sense his urgency, his rough voice filled with nothing but concern, and maybe a little worry. His gaze swept over your body, checking for any possible injury. This was the first time he’d seen you break down to this level, and the sight of you curled into a fetal position, tears streaming down your face with his pillow in your grasp… he prayed to God that another person wasn’t involved with making you feel this way.

It would be a shame to lose his good reputation amongst Jackson because he had to beat some fucker up.

Your gaze swung up to his face, and you made yourself blink harshly to expel the lingering tears. His face came into focus, the worry lines on his forehead becoming more clear to compliment the frown on his full lips. He had a spot of dirt streaking across his forehead, and his clothes were dirty from spending the day working outside. For whatever reason, the fact that Joel had been out working in the heat for most of the day while you couldn’t even manage to get up and wash your bedsheets made your emotions spiral even more. What is wrong with me? you wondered, hugging the pillow tighter to your body.

The sound of his work bag hitting the floor echoed through the room, soon followed by the shuffle of his boots being kicked off his feet. His hands were gently pulling the pillow away before you could even register that he was in front of you now, but you felt the bed dip under his weight as he perched himself at the edge. His broad hand rested on your elbow before sliding up your arm, gently caressing your skin until he reached the side of your face. The calluses on his thumb scratched against your skin as he swiped the digit under your eye, wiping away the tears that had pooled.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” his voice was softer this time, comforting you in a way that had you feeling alright for the first time today. You leaned up on your elbows, and Joel helped guide you into a sitting position across from him, your hands holding on to one of his while his other cupped your face, thumb swiping against skin. The action of sitting up had your cramps rearing their ugly heads again, and your wince was subtle but extremely obvious to Joel, evident by the furrowing of his eyebrows.

“My uterus is what’s wrong,” the scratchiness of your throat had you coughing slightly, and you worked to clear it before trying again, voice nearly as weak as you felt. “I'm on my period.” Joel's eyes widened in surprise at your admission, but he quickly schooled his features.

This wasn’t his first rodeo; he’d been with you for awhile now, but noticed that each month your symptoms were different. Sometimes, your sudden anger at everything gave away the fact that it was that time of the month. Other times, it was your sweet tooth and your cravings that gave it away. Rarely was it your tears, though, and his heart lurched at this new response.

When your hands went to wrap around your stomach, applying pressure lightly to help ease the throbbing, his free hand came up to the other side of your face. “‘m sorry, darlin. Know that ain’t the best feeling in the world,” his thumbs were doing a stand up job at wiping away the tears on your cheeks, and soon the only sign that you had been crying was the red glaze surrounding your pupils.

And the occasional sniffle.

You leaned into his touch, eyes closing at the surprising amount of comfort that you felt from a pair of hands. You always felt at peace with Joel, though, so you weren’t surprised that his hands had this effect on you. You focused on the rough pads of his skin against the smooth texture of your own, taking in big breaths of air through your nose as your crying spell passed through you. Now you were thinking a little more clearly and felt a little embarrassed by the fact that Joel had walked in on you crying over a thread on a pillow case. Not that he’d ever know that’s what you were crying about.

“It's okay. I'm sorry if i scared you or anything,” you started, opening your eyes to meet Joel's dark gaze. You offered him a small smile. “I really just need to learn how to deal with these cramps without them taking over my day. They seem to be getting worse and worse each month.” Your hands trailed up to grip his forearms, squeezing them affectionately as a wave of exhaustion flitted through your body.

Joel's eyes squinted slightly. “Cramps, huh?” he mused, the corner of his mouth quirking up ever so slightly. In the far corner of his mind, he recalled a younger Tommy swearing by a foolproof activity that helped one of his girlfriends with her cramps when medicine didn’t cut it. He wasn’t sure he believed Tommy then, or even now, for that matter. But he knew how much you struggled with the pain, and he’d feel like a real jerk if he didn’t at least give this a go.

“Think I know somethin’ that could help with that.” He pulled your head forward, pressing a chaste kiss on top of your forehead before dropping his hands and pushing off of the bed. You were slightly dazed, partly at the display of affection but also at the quickness in which Joel was walking to the bathroom. When he came back into the room with an old towel, you couldn’t help but look at him suspiciously.

“Joel…”

“Do you trust me?” He asked, tossing the towel on the bed and leaning down to look at you, eye to eye. His demeanor was calm, but his eyes shined with a hint of mischievousness, and the smirk on his mouth was nothing but trouble. It made him look younger, almost. Like the gray in his beard and around the temples of his hair was there prematurely. You wondered if he was like that more before the outbreak, and you reveled in this glimpse of his past self that he was allowing you to see.

“Of course I do.” Your answer was absolute, eyes showing no signs of distrust or wariness as you maintained contact with Joel’s. He reveled in the sureness of your answer, in the fact that it didn’t even take you more than a second to respond to his question. The smirk became a full blown grin, and you couldn’t help but mirror it on your own face as you wondered what the heck this man was thinking.

“Good. In that case, I'm gonna go clean myself up,” his lips pressed against yours in a swift kiss before he backed away, fingers stretching to the hem of his t-shirt. “You’re gonna strip out of those panties, spread that towel out underneath you, and wait for me to come back. Okay?” One of his eyebrows notched up, awaiting your response.

“Sir, yes, sir,” you teased, sending him off with a mocking salute. It earned you an eye roll, something he had been picking up more and more from Ellie's influence, no doubt. The sound of your giggle followed him into the bathroom, where he quickly worked to discard his dirty clothes and rinse off. The thought of you laying in bed with just his t-shirt on had him adjusting himself underneath the water stream.

Meanwhile, you were working at a slower pace.

You gingerly took the threadbare towel between your hands, kneeling up on your knees to place it where you thought would work best. You were starting to get an idea of what Joel was planning, and while you’ve never done anything like this before, you weren’t absolutely hating it. After you had smoothed the fabric out, you climbed back against the pillows, hooking your thumbs under the waistband of your panties and sliding them down. The pad on the inside showed slight signs of blood, so at least you weren’t bleeding too heavily right now. Usually that came after a day or two of the cramps.

You were combing your fingers through your hair when Joel walked back into the room, pausing at the threshold while you both took each other in. His hair was damp, droplets of water occasionally dripping on his forehead, brushed back at the edges and the tops to keep it out of his face. He had been growing it out a little longer, though you knew when summer fully came around, it’d be time to clip it.

He’d changed out of a plain, gray t-shirt into another plain, gray t-shirt - clearly a staple in his wardrobe - and you had to admire the way he was filling it out. The sleeves hugged the middle of his biceps, straining against the pure muscle that had been building up. The shirt fit loose around his chest, but you could see the way it was snug around his tummy area, the small pouch of his stomach highlighted by the thin material.

You weren’t the only one who had been eating better since arriving at Jackson; Joel was starting to bulk up and you were loving it.

Having ended his workday earlier, and foreseeing spending the rest of the day in bed with you, he had pulled on a pair of flannel pajama pants that clung to his thighs and offered very little to the imagination when it came to the thick imprint between his legs. The sight of him had your thighs clenching together automatically, heat racing through your body like a fever.

And he knew it, too. You could tell by the smirk on his lips, the way his gaze strayed from your eyes to your legs. He loved having that affect on you, loved seeing how needy you became by just the thought of being with him.

He walked to the other side of the bed, his eyes focused solely on you in his red shirt, the way your legs were crossed at the bottom, giving him just the smallest peak of bare skin underneath. You listen to him so well, he couldn’t help but admire. You gave him your trust so easily, and that was one of the few things that Joel considered to be precious in this world. He'd never make you regret that choice.

Leaning up on your elbows, your body naturally turned towards him when he finally settled himself on his side next to you. One of his arms slipped behind your head, tucking you into his body as the other came up to guide your face to his. His lips were soft against your own, and all the tension you had felt from crying earlier completely disappeared.

Your hands clung to his arm as he kissed you, a soft sigh escaping through your lips. Joel took the opening to deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue against your bottom lip before dipping it into your mouth. Your mind was growing fuzzy, and you simply let Joel manipulate you how he wanted, eagerly offering yourself to him.

His mouth stayed on yours, your noses brushing against each other with every tilt of the head, but his hand strayed from your cheek. It paved a path to the collar of the t-shirt, where he fisted the material and tugged it towards himself, halfway pulling you on top of him with the movement. Your hands flung out to his chest to stop yourself from completely crashing into him, and a groan sounded against your mouth as Joel felt the tips of your fingers dig into the skin.

He soon abandoned the collar, letting his palm slide down the expanse of your torso and bunching the shirt up a little before settling it right over your lower abdomen, fingers splayed out wide against your bare skin. The heat radiating from his palm on your skin was like your own personal heating pad; the soreness that ebbed from your cramps seemed to dissipate the longer his hand rested against your skin, the action making your head spin as you focused on breathing through your nose as Joel’s tongue traced along yours.

Joel’s mouth trailed from your lips down to your jaw, down to your neck. The stubble growing on his face scratched at your skin when he nuzzled himself in the crook of your neck, causing a combination of a laugh and a moan to flutter past your lips. You could feel him smile against your skin before nipping at it gently, using his lips and tongue to ebb the slight pain away. You could feel him sucking at your skin, and you knew in the morning you’d regret the red and purple marks that would litter your skin, but right now, the feeling was absolute heaven.

“Spread those legs for me, baby.” The words were whispered against your skin, accompanied by a quick tap to your thighs. You didn’t hesitate to obey; your left leg fell to the side while you rested your right leg on top of Joel's. His hand slipped from your stomach to your upper thigh, gripping the fleshy inside as he helped adjust it higher on his body.

The cool air from the fan had you shivering as it made contact with your bare skin, emphasizing the wet slick that had formed between your legs. Joel's mouth found itself back on yours, his kiss turning punishing, almost, as his hand slowly moved down your inner thigh; his teeth were biting and pulling at your lower lip, his fingers were digging into your skin as he kneaded and gripped your thigh.

“Joel,” you mewled, stretching up slightly to angle your hips closer to his hand. You were settled in the crook of his elbow, and his arm came up to bare against your throat ever so slightly. He essentially had you in a headlock, and you were helpless to anything he administered. Goosebumps prickled along your skin, and you whined once more when his fingers brushed against the crease of your leg.

“Shh, s’okay, baby. Let me take care of you,” his words were soothing, soft. A complete contrast to the way he was handling your body, and it was all you could do but nod in response, eyes wide and trusting as they held contact with him. His pupils were so dilated that you could barely see the rim of brown, even this close.

Another sharp tap to your inner thigh had you gasping, and Joel's mouth formed into a smirk as his calloused fingers eased the spot. You’d like to blame the hormones fluttering around your body for the desperation you were feeling for Joel, but part of you knew that he simply just had this affect on you. You always grew so needy for his attention, for his touch. Being with him was the only time your brain truly shut off and allowed you to feel safe, relaxed.

His fingertips were stroking the inside of your thigh like it was the strings on one of his guitars, a slow but firm sensation that had you humming; he was playing a different kind of instrument with you. You could feel yourself growing slicker, the bubble in your chest expanding as he teased you, touched you.

“Joel, please…” you trailed off, turning your head to the side and bumping the edge of his jaw with your nose. His gaze had slipped to where his fingers were caressing your skin, basking in the suppleness of your skin that so vastly compared to the roughness of his. You felt like a dream.

“Such pretty manners,.” he mocked, grinning to himself before meeting your eyes once more. “Since you asked nicely, though…” The kiss he pressed on your nose was soft, but your focus was on how his fingers were finally crossing over the crease in your thigh, finally trailing down to your core.

The first swipe of his fingers through your folds had a small moan emit from your mouth, and a curse came from Joel’s as he felt how wet you were already. “Shit, baby,” he muttered to himself more than anything, watching his fingers as he lifted them up into the light to see the shine. Chest heaving, you watched as he brought his fingers up to his mouth, watched as he placed them on his tongue before closing his lips around the digits and sucking on them while he pulled them out.

His fingers were now wet with his spit, evident by the thin strand of saliva still connecting his mouth to his fingers. The sight alone had your toes curling against the mattress, your mouth open slightly as you watched him bring his hand back down to your pussy. Your breath left you as his second swipe was firmer, the tips of his fingers passing along your clit for a brief moment before moving back down.

His forearm flexed slightly against your neck, his free hand moving down to brush against the top of your chest. One of your hands moved to grip his arm, nails digging into skin ever so slightly as Joel’s fingers brushed your entrance, swirling around slightly to gather the wetness that had formed. A soft sigh left his mouth as he felt you, and the next moment, two of his fingers were swiftly pushing inside of you.

“Joel!” You gasped out, back arching into his touch as he pumped his fingers into you once, twice, three times before pulling them out. Joel huffed out a laugh at your whine from the loss of contact, glancing down at you to see your reaction to him circling your clit with the pad of his thumb. He was rewarded with the softest of sighs, and the sight of your eyes rolling shut while your mouth parted open.

He didn’t hesitate to capture your lips with his, his mouth against yours as firm as his thumb on your clit. The kiss was quick, and Joel’s nose brushed against yours as he pulled back ever so slightly. “Such a pretty girl, achin’ for me to fill you up. My fingers feel real nice against your pussy now, don't they, baby?”

A short and snappy nod was your form of a response, as you were solely focused on the way Joel’s middle finger was circling your clit now. Your hips bucked up as waves of pleasure wracked your body, Joel’s expert fingers bringing you relief you so desperately needed. The action had Joel smirking above you, had his hips grinding slightly against your thigh in a sad attempt at getting some friction for his now hard cock.

Joel pulled back from his admissions on your clit, sliding his middle finger through the center of you before slowly inserting it back inside you. The gasp that left your mouth was music to his ears, and he began moving it in and out, curling it up once it was fully inside your wet pussy. Head falling back against Joel’s arm, your legs widening even further as Joel picked up a steady rhythm with his one finger.

“So good, Joel,” you rasped, voice breathless as Joel’s finger curled against the spongy part inside of you that had your body jerking in response. Licking your lips, you pulled the bottom lip into your mouth, teeth sinking in as the pleasure continued to build up in your body. Your right hand moved to rest on his wrist, while the other stayed gripping his left forearm.

Basking in your praise, Joel withdrew his middle finger and, when he pumped it back inside, added his ring finger. The addition had you groaning, feeling his two fingers stretch you out slowly as he pushed them inside and pulled them out. You felt Joel’s lips press against your forehead as he worked to pick up the pace, and soon all that could be heard in the room was the wet sound of your pussy being fucked by his fingers.

“God, I could listen to you all night,” he mumbled, curling his fingers in a “come here” motion inside you and marveling at how drenched you sounded. “So fuckin’ wet for me, sweetheart. Haven’t even taken my cock yet, either, you needy thing.”

His words only sparked the fire inside your chest even more, and soon you were moaning his name over and over again in some kind of sick prayer as he filled you with his fingers. Your mouth dropped open as his thumb moved to glide against your clit, pleasure radiating throughout your body.

Your fingers dug half-moon indentions in Joel’s tanned skin as the waves of pleasure finally crested.

Your body went rigid in his hold as your orgasm peaked, his fingers never ceasing in motion as your hips began to shake against his hand. He muttered soft praises as you came, moving his arm from across your chest and intertwining your fingers with his. You gasped for air as you came down, thighs twitching ever so slightly as you soon became putty against Joel’s body.

Only then did he pull his fingers out from inside of you. He kissed your forehead once more, cupping your drenched pussy with the palm of his hand. Your chest was heaving still from the orgasm, body feeling tired once more but for a completely different reason. Resting your head back on Joel’s arm, you glance up at him, expecting him to move his hand away and maybe help you clean up.

Instead, Joel’s dark gaze was solely focused on your pussy again. Instead of moving his hand away, he slowly moved it up your center, stopping only when his middle finger brushed against your clit. He moved his hand to the side slightly, letting the tips of his other fingers brush against the sensitive nub, before sliding it the other way. His action was slow, methodical even.

“Joel,” you ventured, squeezing his hand that rested in yours. His jaw twitched, but that was the only response you got. He leaned up on his elbow, your hand moving up along the mattress as he did so. Now, your interlaced hands rested above you, on the pillow, as Joel’s upper body hovered on top of yours.

Ever so slowly, Joel resumed the movement of his hand, sliding to one side before moving it to the other. His fingers all brushed against your clit, and the overstimulation you felt had your thighs closing together.

“Keep ‘em open, baby.” Joel admonished, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. His free hand pushed away your left leg before returning back to your clit, and you swore you could feel the wetness lingering on your skin from him doing so. The roughness of the towel underneath you prickled at your skin as your hips twitched from the continued pleasure.

“Joel,” you ventured again, this time more of a plea than anything. Tears formed on your waterline when he picked up the pace, his hand firmly rubbing against your clit each time he moved it. That bubble of pleasure formed more quickly in your chest, the feeling fiery and almost suffocating as Joel’s movements were relentless.

“Give me one more,” his voice was rough, distant. “Just one more.” His hand dipped to cup your pussy once more, gliding up through your folds and moving the wetness from there up to your clit. The added lubrication and friction as Joel increased his pace had you crying out, body arching forward at the onslaught of pleasure.

Your orgasm approached much faster this time, and you could feel your slick dripping down your skin onto the towel. “Oh my God,” you whimpered, your hand painfully holding onto Joel’s while the other, which had moved to rest on his hip, gripped his t-shirt. “Oh, God.”

This time, when you came, the bubble dropped from your chest and to your stomach and your body went limp as soon as your orgasm tore through you. Your mind was a haze of euphoria, and if you were more cognizant you would have been embarrassed at the feeling of your wetness squirting out from you, would have felt heated at the way Joel praised your body. Instead, you were blissfully gone, basking in the sensation that only Joel’s fingers knew how to bring you.

Joel’s hand slipped from yours as he pulled his arm up from underneath you, and before you were even aware of the shift, he was up on his knees, moving in between your legs and tugging his flannel pants down. “Gotta fuck you, baby. Jesus Christ, you came so good for me.” His hands bracketed your head as he leaned up against your body, the head of his leaking cock pressed against your wet slit.

You hummed at his praise, wrapping your weak arms around his neck as you shifted your thighs a little wider to accommodate for his hips. You weren’t entirely sure you could handle another orgasm, but you knew you were desperate to have him inside of you. His head ducked down to yours, and you enthusiastically pressed your lips against his, enveloping his hips with your legs in consent.

With a nip at your bottom lip, he slowly pressed the tip of his cock in between your folds, gathering the wetness that had accumulated near your entrance before moving his hips even further. The head of his cock pushed into your pussy, stretching you out even more than his fingers did previously. Joel groaned into your mouth as he pumped his hips slightly, pulling out of you before sinking just the tip inside you again.

“Fuck, sweetheart. My fingers didn’t stretch out your pussy enough, huh? S’fuckin’ tight as hell around my cock.” One of his hands came to brush aside your hair, cupping the side of your face gently while his hips snapped into yours. You cried out against his mouth, the feeling of being filled so suddenly causing you to wince slightly. You welcomed this pain, however, as it quickly gave way to pleasure the more Joel rocked his hips against yours.

Joel rested his hips against yours for a moment, his head falling down to your chest as he reveled in the tightness surrounding his cock. His breaths came out in short pants, the hand laying next to your head turning into a fist against the mattress. Your hips move up slightly, seeking out the pleasure even after coming twice before, and it brings Joel in further, causing you both to curse.

“So desperate for me to fuck you,” Joel’s words are accented by short, quick thrusts up inside of you. He pushed up off of you, your arms falling to the bed beside you while your legs fall open as they untangle from his waist. His hands grip the inside of your thighs, and he leans his weight forward a little, pinning your legs to the bed.

“I am, Joel. P-please fuck me,” you beg, gripping the sheets between your fingers as your hips meet his thrusts. Joel starts off slowly, implanting you fully on his cock before slowly pulling back until just the tip presses against your pussy. His bruising grip on your thighs holds your legs open while he works himself in and out of you, eyes cast on how your slick coats his cock, the occasional red streak coloring his flesh.

A stray curl of hair falls from his previously brushed back hair, and you itch to swipe it back into place, but his pace quickens and your hold on the bed keeps you from banging against the bed frame. The sound of his cock entering your wet pussy fills the room, the indecency of it causing your skin to flush with heat. Joel’s groans start to find time with your whimpers, and soon the noises of sex are emitting throughout the bedroom, throughout the house.

Joel’s hands move away from your thighs, traveling up your stomach and pushing up his red t-shirt to see your boobs bouncing with each thrust. He admires the peaks of your nipples, the way goosebumps arise on your flesh as it’s exposed to the cool air, before bringing both hands to grip onto them. His thumbs and forefingers pinch at your nipples, the pain mixing in with the pleasure seamlessly.

Your eyes fall shut on a moan, body arching into his touch as you clench around Joel, causing him to curse. The familiar sensation of heat fills your body, that third orgasm floating slightly out of reach. You move one of your hands down to your pussy, resting it on your mound. Your fingertips brush against Joel’s cock every time he withdraws, and you moan at how slick he feels before bringing your fingers to your clit.

“That’s it, baby. Make yourself come on my cock,” Joel encourages, gaze focused on the way your fingers nimbly play with your throbbing clit. His hands squeeze your breasts roughly one last time before he leans up, gripping your ankles and bringing your legs to rest on top of his shoulders. Your thighs press against his cock as he fucks you, adding in another level of pleasure for him as he fights back his orgasm.

“Just like that, Joel. Just like that…oh!” Your cries fill the room as he pounds into you, your fingers increasing the pace against your clit. Your movements are shaky, not precise in the slightest, but you’re still sensitive and wound up from your previous orgasms that it doesn’t take much to get your third one going. With a few clumsy swipes of your middle finger against your clit, and Joel’s cock ruthlessly hammering in and out of you, your final orgasm floods through your body.

Joel curses as he feels your pussy clench around him, making his movements stagger with how tight you become. He gives a few more deep thrusts, his own movements becoming shaky and less precise, and he soon slips out of you, rubbing the length of his cock along your pussy lips as you gush with your orgasm. With a grunt, he follows soon, his own cum spurting out of his red cockhead and on to your lower stomach.

Your legs fall meekly to the bed again, and Joel’s body sags forward a little before he props himself back up with his hands. The sound of you both panting is all that can be heard as you both come down from your orgasms; you, eyes closed and mouth open. Joel, eyes open and mouth closed, nostrils flaring slightly as he regulates himself.

It takes a moment before you both get back to yourselves, but when you do, you become increasingly aware of the wet feeling underneath your lower body, which causes you to giggle. “Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t get around to cleaning my sheets today, huh?”

A snort comes out of Joel, his head shaking slightly as he moves to brush back his hair. He takes in the sight of you, freshly fucked and thouroughly spent, and can’t help but grin. He might be older, but he relishes the fact that he can still please you like this. That you actually want him to do so. Makes him feel like a god among men.

He sees the tears around your lash line from your last two orgasms, and he leans forward slightly to wipe them away with his thumb, triggering in his mind the conversation you both had before this all started. “Feelin’ alright?” His gaze moves around your body, checking to see if he hurt you in any way. He notes the red marks against the side of your neck, the cum on your lower stomach and the beginnings of many small bruises along the inside of your thigh from where he gripped them to keep them open.

He’d be more worried about those if he didn’t know how much you loved having him mark you up.

“Just peachy,” you grinned at him, propping yourself up on your elbows to take in the mess below you. Joel leaned in to meet you, his kiss soft and soothing as his lips slid against yours. After a moment, he pulls away again, awkwardly shuffling to the edge of the bed before standing up. Hiking up his pants, he moves to the bathroom to get a washcloth to start cleaning you up.

After wiping away his cum and your wetness, he gently helps you off the bed, holding your arm as your legs fumble when your feet hit the ground. His pride grows then, and you smack his arm playfully when you catch sight of his grin. “Sorry,” he mutters, pressing a kiss against the side of your head before moving to gather up the dirty towel from the bed. He tosses it into the hamper before leading you to the bathroom.

There, he draws you a hot bath, guiding you in the tub and before pulling his clothes off and joining you. It’s a cramped space, the bathtub not technically suitable for two, but you make it work. You lean your head against Joel’s shoulders, sinking into his body as his arms wrap around your middle. You know you should do something with your bedding soon, should make sure you have the guest room set up so the two of you can sleep somewhere remotely comfortable tonight, but for now, you bask in his presence.

“Thank you for taking care of me, Joel.” You say softly, closing your eyes and letting the hot water ease away any lingering soreness your body has. His arms tighten around you as you trace mindless shapes against his thighs. He tilts his head to the side, kissing your forehead before resting his on top of yours.

“Anytime, baby.” His breathing evens out with yours, stubble rubbing against your forehead as he speaks. “I’ll always be here to wipe your tears away.”

taglist *:·ﾟ @hiroikegawa

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shanastoryteller · 3 months

Note

Happy Birthday! Do you have more zagreus interacting with other gods? Thanks so much

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23

Chaos had not initially intended to help the young Zagreus as much as they had, it's simply that he's so compelling and distracting that each interaction leaves them wondering about the next.

Zagreus can shape Darkness. It's a skill Chaos passed on to their daughter but as far as they know, neither of their grandsons have inherited it.

But Zagreus, born of life death, resuscitated by Nyx's Darkness, can use it in a way that is out of reach of every other member of the underworld, including its king.

They've been tucked away between the folds of the universe for a long time, nothing quite interesting enough to keep their attention now that the flow and management of the underworld has fallen to Hades. But Zagreus is bright and interesting and doing something that no one thought could be done, almost entirely on accident and in ignorance. It reminds Chaos of what they had once achieved so long ago.

"Hi Grand," Zagreus says cheerfully, popping out from a portal he'd made himself and a fishing pole slung over his shoulder. He switches between calling them Grandmother and Grandfather but often settles just for Grand. They don't mind, and perhaps even find it slightly endearing, although they'll never admit it. They've never spoken to Hypnos or Thanatos. "Have some time to fish?"

"I suppose," they say, content to watch as Zagreus flicks his line into the rivers of eternity.

They've started creating new fish for him to catch. They wonder how long it will take him to catch on and start creating creatures of his own.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #cherryblossomshadow #hades game

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dailyadventureprompts · 1 year

Text

Monsters Reimagined: Bandits

As a game of heroic fantasy that centers so primarily on combat, D&D is more often than not a game about righteous violence, which is why I spend so much time thinking about the targets of that violence. Every piece of media made by humans is a thing created from conscious or unconscious design, it’s saying something whether or not its creators intended it to do so.

Tolkien made his characters peaceloving and pastoral, and coded his embodiment of evil as powerhungry, warlike, and industrial. When d&d directly cribbed from Tolkien's work it purposely changed those enemies to be primitive tribespeople who were resentful of the riches the “civilized” races possessed. Was this intentional? None can say, but as a text d&d says something decidedly different than Tolkien.

That's why today I want to talk about bandits, the historical concept of being an “outlaw”, and how media uses crime to “un-person” certain classes of people in order to give heroes a target to beat up.

Tldr: despite presenting bandits as a generic threat, most d&d scenarios never go into detail about what causes bandits to exist, merely presuming the existence of outlaws up to no good that the heroes should feel no qualms about slaughtering. If your story is going to stand up to the scrutiny of your players however, you need to be aware of WHY these individuals have been driven to banditry, rather than defaulting to “they broke the law so they deserve what’s coming to them.”

I got to thinking about writing this post when playing a modded version of fallout 4, an npc offhndedly mentioned to me that raiders (the postapoc bandit rebrand) were too lazy to do any farming and it was good that I’d offed them by the dozens so that they wouldn’t make trouble for those that did.

That gave me pause, fallout takes place in an irradiated wasteland where folks struggle to survive but this mod was specifically about rebuilding infrastructure like farms and ensuring people had enough to get by. Lack of resources to go around was a specific justification for why raiders existed in the first place, but as the setting became more arable the mod-author had to create an excuse why the bandit’s didn’t give up their violent ways and start a nice little coop, settling on them being inherently lazy , dumb, and psychopathic.

This is exactly how d&d has historically painted most of its “monstrous humanoid” enemies. Because the game is ostensibly about combat the authors need to give you reasons why a peaceful solution is impossible, why the orcs, goblins, gnolls (and yes, bandits), can’t just integrate with the local town or find a nice stretch of wilderness to build their own settlement on and manage in accordance with their needs. They go so far in this justification that they end up (accidently or not) recreating a lot of IRL arguments for persecution and genocide.

Bandits are interesting because much like cultists, it’s a descriptor that’s used to unperson groups of characters who would traditionally be inside the “not ontologically evil” bubble that’s applied to d&d’s protagonists. Break the law or worship the wrong god says d&d and you’re just as worth killing as the mindless minions of darkness, your only purpose to serve as a target of the protagonist’s righteous violence.

The way we get around this self-justification pitfall and get back to our cool fantasy action game is to relentlessly question authority, not only inside the game but the authors too. We have to interrogate anyone who'd show us evil and direct our outrage a certain way because if we don't we end up with crusades, pogroms, and Qanon.

With that ethical pill out of the way, I thought I’d dive into a listing of different historical groups that we might call “Bandits” at one time or another and what worldbuilding conceits their existence necessitates.

Brigands: By and large the most common sort of “bandit” you’re going to see are former soldiers left over from wars, often with a social gap between them and the people they’re raiding that prevents reintegration ( IE: They’re from a foreign land and can’t speak the local tongue, their side lost and now they’re considered outlaws, they’re mercenaries who have been stiffed on their contract). Justifying why brigands are out brigading is as easy as asking yourself “What were the most recent conflicts in this region and who was fighting them?”. There’s also something to say about how a life of trauma and violence can be hard to leave even after the battle is over, which is why you historically tend to see lots of gangs and paramilitary groups pop up in the wake of conflict.

Raiders: fundamentally the thing that has caused cultures to raid eachother since the dawn of time is sacristy. When the threat of starvation looms it’s far easier to justify potentially throwing your life away if it means securing enough food to last you and those close to you through the next year/season/day. Raider cultures develop in biomes that don’t support steady agriculture, or in times where famine, war, climate change, or disease make the harvests unreliable. They tend to target neighboring cultures that DO have reliable harvests which is why you frequently see raiders emerging from “the barbaric frontier” to raid “civilization” that just so happens to occupy the space of a reliably fertile river valley. When thinking about including raiders in your story, consider what environmental forces have caused this most recent and previous raids, as well as consider how frequent raiding has shaped the targeted society. Frequent attacks by raiders is how we get walled palaces and warrior classes after all, so this shit is important.

Slavers: Just like raiding, most cultures have engaged in slavery at one point or another, which is a matter I get into here. While raiders taking captives is not uncommon, actively attacking people for slaves is something that starts occurring once you have a built up slave market, necessitating the existence of at least one or more hierarchical societies that need more disposable workers than then their lower class is capable of providing. The roman legion and its constant campaigns was the apparatus by which the imperium fed its insatiable need for cheap slave labor. Subsistence raiders generally don’t take slaves en masse unless they know somewhere to sell them, because if you’re having trouble feeding your own people you’re not going to capture more ( this is what d&d gets wrong about monstrous humanoids most of the time).

Tax Farmers: special mention to this underused classic, where gangs of toughs would bid to see who could collect money for government officials, and then proceed to ransack the realm looking to squeeze as much money out of the people as possible. This tends to happen in areas where the state apparatus is stretched too thin or is too lighthanded to have established enduring means of funding. Tax farmers are a great one-two punch for campaigns where you want your party to be set up against a corrupt authority: our heroes defeat the marauding bandits and then oh-no, turns out they were not only sanctioned by the government but backed by an influential political figure who you’ve just punched in the coinpurse. If tax farming exists it means the government is strong enough to need a yearly budget but not so established (at least in the local region) that it’s developed a reliably peaceful method of maintaining it.

Robber Baron: Though the term is now synonymous with ruthless industrialists, it originated from the practice of shortmidned petty gentry (barons and knights and counts and the like) going out to extort and even rob THEIR OWN LANDS out of a desire for personal enrichment/boredom. Schemes can range from using their troops to shake down those who pass through their domain to outright murdering their own peasants for sport because you haven’t gotten to fight in a war for a while. Just as any greed or violence minded noble can be a robber baron so it doesn’t take that much of a storytelling leap but I encourage you to channel all your landlord hate into this one.

Rebels: More than just simple outlaws, rebels have a particular cause they’re a part of (just or otherwise) that puts them at odds with the reigning authority. They could violently support a disfavoured political faction, be acting out against a law they think is unjust, or hoping to break away from the authority entirely. Though attacks against those figures of authority are to be expected, it’s all too common for rebels to go onto praying on common folk for the sake of the cause. To make a group of rebels worth having in your campaign pinpoint an issue that two groups of people with their own distinct interests could disagree on, and then ratchet up the tension. Rebels have to be able to beleive in a cause, so they have to have an argument that supports them.

Remnants: Like a hybrid of brigands, rebels, and taxfarmers, Remnants represent a previously legitimate system of authority that has since been replaced but not yet fully disappeared. This can happen either because the local authority has been replaced by something new (feudal nobles left out after a monarchy toppling revolution) or because it has faded entirely ( Colonial forces of an empire left to their own devices after the empire collapses). Remnants often sat at the top of social structures that had endured for generations and so still hold onto the ghost of power ( and the violence it can command) and the traditions that support it. Think about big changes that have happened in your world of late, are the remnants looking to overturn it? Win new privilege for themselves? Go overlooked by their new overlords?

Art

#monsters reimagined #bandits #dnd #dungeons and dragons #d&d #ttprg #pathfinder #heavy topics #monsters reimagined

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jamil-s-wifey · 1 year

Note

If you're taking any scenario request. Maybe could I request funny/silly one where Leona and his S/O are married and live in the Royal Palace. Leona's S/O has gotten lost somehow in their own home and when found their response is "This place is too damn big I'm sorry!"

You have NO idea how much I love these types of fics! Wholesome crackheadedness at its finest✨ We love a spouse with 0 orientation skills. (I'd know, I get lost in supermarkets) This was ONE OF THE FUNNIEST THINGS I've EVER written. I hope you enjoy!

"What the actual fuck."

A turn here. A turn there.

Oh, would you look at that - the exact same vase you passed 5 minutes ago. But was that really the same vase? Or was it its evil twin, trying to further confuse you, only for you to get lost even more and die of starvation, eventually BECOMING ONE WITH THE PALACE...

God, whoever built this palace should have their head on a stake. Haha, that sounded a lot like the Red Queen of Hearts. Perhaps Riddle was rubbing off on you. You two did text occasionally since graduating from NRC.

Speaking of graduation, you married Leona. (yay!) And it's not like you weren't happy. Life was relatively peaceful. You two moved back to the palace. Arrangements had begun for you two to take over a certain part of Sunset Savannah, as something akin to a *Peerage. (They had their own name for it, you are currently far too annoyed to remember.) A lot of (semi-forced) communication set the road to reconciliation between the two brothers. (Admittedly a very long road. A road that puts Gulliver's travels to shame.) The Royal Family™️ accepted you with open hearts. (albeit a tad wary at first)

Really there was only one major problem.

The ROYAL PALACE IS LIKE A GODDAMN LABYRINTH. And that's rich, given your history of painting the white roses with Ace and Deuce in Heartsabyul's maze. So here you are, lost.

Scratch that.

Lost: again.

And all you wanted to do was find Cheka's room. You had a gift for the little cub.

"An architectural masterpiece, my ass. This is an architectural disaster. A disaster with a capital D. D for Vitamin D - what I won't be getting, because I'm trapped within these walls, where the SUN CAN'T REACH ME-"

Okay. Calm down. It's not that bad, sure there isn't a soul in sight, but you're bound to stumble upon somebody at some point, right? There had to be servants, or guards, or somebody! UNLESS! This is all an elaborate plan to get rid of you.

Aha! That must be it. The Royal Family wants you dead and they intend to make it seem like an accident! But Leona wouldn't allow that, right? He loves you! Dearly! You're his spouse, his one and only! Ah, cruel fate.

Is it just you...or are these walls moving in on each other. So this IS an assassination attempt! And you presented yourself on a silver platter. Good job, s/o. Splendid work. A royal for a few months and you're already about to be assassinated. Your name shall remain the book of "Dumbest ways to die." Goodbye cruel world-

"S/o."

Leona's voice rang through the empty hallway, "What are you doing out here."

Ah! And so tragedy was avoided once more!

"Leona, my LOVE! Thank God."

"Did you just- get lost in the palace... again?", his eyes read annoyance but his tone was teasing.

"It's not MY fault this place is so damn big, what do you need all this space for anyways? Indoor badminton? Hide and Seek or Die?"

"Definitely that last one. That's how we get rid of our enemies."

"AHA! I knew it! So this IS an assassination attempt!"

He simply rolled his eyes, pulling you towards him to wrap an arm around your waist and kiss you on the forehead.

"This isn't an assassination attempt. You did this yourself. It's called idiocy."

"You should build a better palace."

"What I should do is put a collar on you. With a tracking device on it. Like a pet."

"Oh, Leona~ Who knew you were into that~"

"Next time I'm leaving you here to rot."

"Then I'll haunt you to Hell and back."

He smirked, pinching your cheek as you were both making your way far from the cursed looping corridor.

"At least you won't be able to get lost."

"I told you, it's not my fault."

"Nah, of course not. The Palace is just cursed."

"EVIDENTLY."

You both knew this isn't the last time you'll be getting lost. And Leona was seriously considering the tracking device.

Perhaps he'd already ordered it too.

You were about to find out.

*Peerage - collective noun for titles like Duke, Duchess, Count, Earl etc. Comes from "Peers of the Realm" where one could hold one or more of these titles. It differs from monarchy to monarchy. THAT'S YOUR WORD FOR THE DAY FOLKS!

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anna-hawk · 7 months

Text

Caution: contents hot

Shane Walsh x Reader

Summary: A little coffee accident has you meeting Deputy Walsh. Rating: T (for now) // WC: 1,3k Warnings: None, except that it's a totally silly plot 😅. A/N: I wrote this a couple weeks ago, and I might just write the smut to it at some point. I just felt like posting this now, since it ends on a “good” part.

Finally, after standing in line for ages, you made it out of the coffee shop with your precious hot drink in hand and headed straight for your car. You weren’t in any particular hurry, but you’d had a long day at work and wanted to enjoy that drink before driving over to the grocery store. Sitting in an overcrowded coffee shop didn’t appeal to you, however, and that’s why you chose to simply return to your car to relax in peace.

Arriving at the car, you placed the cup on the roof and rummaged through your purse to find the keys. Meanwhile, a dark pickup pulled into the space next to yours, forcing you closer against your car as you kept searching. After finally locating the damn keys and pulling them out for a second to press the unlock button, you reached for the cup again, intending to open the driver’s door.

And that’s when everything happened very quickly.

Since you had backed up into the parking space and the pickup had driven into its own spot the other way around, both driver’s sides ended up next to the other. The person in the pickup had just opened the door to get out, while you took a step back as you did the same, only to get inside yours. Except that this step backwards had you tripping over the person’s feet, and in your flailing while you grasped for something to hold on to to stop your fall, you let go of the cup, which went flying back. As you caught yourself on the edge of the half open door of your car, you knew where the contents of your drink had landed from the loud cry of surprise and hiss of pain coming from behind you a second later.

Letting go of the door after regaining your balance, you whipped around to find a man in a police uniform pulling at his drenched shirt to get the fabric away from his skin.

“Oh — Oh my God. I'm so sorry… Shit, shit, Shit. I'm so, so sorry, sir. Are — are you — are you okay?” you gasped out, worry and embarrassment making your face burn hot.

“I… kinda. I-” he grunted, before you realized how stupid your question was and kept talking.

“No, of course you’re not fine. I just poured scalding coffee all over you… I really am so sorry. I-”

“No, yeah, I’m — shit — I'm okay,” he groaned, wincing as he pulled at the fabric over his chest.

“Really? You sure? ‘Cause — you know, you don’t really look — shit, maybe if-”

Not thinking at all in your panic, you took a step closer to him and quickly undid three of the uniform buttons to pull the shirt away from his skin.

“We need to see how badly you got burnt, maybe you need-” You suddenly stopped in your frantic rambling and stilled your hands as you realized what you were doing; standing in the man's space, with your hands holding his shirt wide open.

Letting go of him as if you’d been burnt yourself and springing away from him, you lifted your wide-eyed gaze from the man’s chest and towards his face. Which didn’t help you articulate any words, either, as his features finally hit you. Not only did you shower and burn a police officer with your drink, but you also had to embarrass yourself by almost undressing an incredibly good-looking police officer.

“I’m… so sorry,” you breathed. “I just…”

To your surprise, the man’s lips slowly pulled up into a smile. It wasn’t a mocking smile, but an amused one, which had you relaxing a tad.

“It’s okay,” he said gently, tilting his head to one side as he ducked his face slightly to look at you curiously from under his brows.

Your eyes fell to his chest as he did the same, and you grimaced at the reddening skin.

“This has to be painful, though,” you mumbled, holding your hand back from reaching out again.

He uttered a small bark of a laugh and nodded his head from side to side as he opened the shirt the rest of the way. Since your eyes were already on his chest, they instantly took in the rest of his torso without you being able to stop yourself.

“Uh, yeah, kinda, yeah. But…” He shrugged as he trailed off.

Your eyes snapped back to his face as your neck heated again with another form of embarrassment.

“I can go into the pharmacy and grab you, like, a cream or salve or something,” you interrupted, desperate to make it better.

“Nah, it’s fine. I got what I need at home. Thankfully, you hit me just when I was gettin’ off my shift and not on,” he laughed.

You cringed at the reminder.

“I’m really sorry. I didn’t expect to be this close to you and-”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright, okay? Shit happens.” He put a hand on your arm and leaned in slightly to look you in the eyes with a sincere expression.

“Still,” you breathed, his proximity making you slow with coming up with a reply. “I’d like to make it up to you.”

At your words, the man’s eyes slid to your lips, which had your eyes going wide again in surprise, since he deliberately brought his eyes back to yours very slowly.

“You don’t have to,” he assured you in a low tone that had a shiver running down your spine.

“But I want to,” you insisted, swallowing at how his eyes went from your mouth to your eyes again at the statement, this time quickly. “The dry cleaning. Let me pay for it? Can’t be cheap to clean a police uniform, right?”

The man contemplated you, as you forced yourself not to look at his gorgeous body, the dips of his hips that were visible in your peripherals calling to you. He slowly grinned and took a step towards you, which had you automatically taking a step back and colliding with your back against the side of your car. He put a hand on the roof of your car as he leaned in.

“If you really wanna make it up to me, then how ‘bout you join me for dinner?”

It took you a second to understand his suggestion. You stared at him, surprised. Was that really happening? Was he coming on to you? Just like that, in the middle of a parking lot? After you'd injured him, no less. And you hadn't even exchanged names.

“I have one condition,” you found yourself answering to your own shock.

The man smiled slowly and lifted an expectant eyebrow.

“Shoot.”

“Dinner’s on me.”

He clearly hadn't expected that, since he blinked once before he grinned and began laughing. He leaned in that bit closer, which almost had him in kissing distance. “Deal.”

“Okay… good.”

He didn't move, though, which had your heart racing and your eyes going from his lips to his eyes. When he finally did pull away, he only gave you enough space to get your door open. It was as you stared at him that you saw the name tag dangling from his open shirt.

“Be at my place in an hour… Deputy Walsh.”

You enjoyed his look of surprise, before he glanced down at the tag with a chuckle.

“Shane,” he revealed, and stared back at you expectantly, but you only got into your car with a small smile.

“The car is registered under my name,” you hinted, as you got the window down to talk to him.

Shane ran his tongue over his front teeth as he watched you with amused interest. It thrilled you to have this attention on you. Not waiting for a reply, you put your car into drive and drove out of the parking space. As you slowly made your way down the aisles of cars, you saw Shane writing something down on a notepad.

#shane walsh x reader #shane walsh x you #shane walsh #jon bernthal #reader insert #the walking dead #shane walsh fanfiction #the walking dead fanfiction

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thegingerheed · 2 months

Text

How DELTATRAVELER is the funniest UT fangame by complete accident.

Over the course of the past year, I've talked a ton about various UT/DR fan-projects and my thoughts regarding them and their writing. One fan-work I have talked extensively about on various forums and threads being DELTATRAVELLER. For a while, I didn't know exactly how to feel about this game. It felt like an enigma to me.

The game was enjoyable to play, it was entertaining to read. Yet I could never get myself invested in anything regarding the game's narrative or characters. It was as if the game was unintentionally written to obliterate (pun entirely intended) any and all chances for narrative investment in its story and characters. What the game did have over me was that it had me in histersics for the majority of its runtime. Yet, paradoxically, none of the jokes written to be funny landed for me. For a while I didn't fully know why and how it made me feel about the game as a whole. How can you say you enjoyed something a lot whilst also laughing at it and acknowledging that under any other circumstance, it wouldn't be something that you'd consider to be good?

Spoiler alert: I found that answer, which I will now be explaining to YOU in weirdly esoteric detail !!!

But before we start, let's start of with the basic premise of DELTATRAVELER for those not in the know.

What is a "DELTATRAVELER"

DELTATRAVELER is a UT/DR fangame about Kris, Susie and Noelle being isekai'd from a Post-Chapter 2 DELTARUNE into the worlds of various different video games and UNDERTALE on a quest to find a way home. The game was inspired and made off the back of "GOD FUCKING damnit KRIS where the FUCK are we!?" which was a very popular meme at the time of DELTARUNE: Chapter 2's release.

Like DELTARUNE, the game is divided and released in chapters (dubbed 'sections' by the devs). Each chapter is set in a different world and has the Shit Squad (The objectively best name for the heroes) explore, fight and eventually find that world's "grey door" which serves as the end goal for the chapter as that will take the Shit Squad to the next world after the boss of the chapter is complete. In total the game is slated to have eight total chapters with what they are based on being revealed in advanced:

Chapter 1: UNDERTALE

Chapter 2: Earthbound

Chapter 3: GG!UNDERFELL

Chapter 4: The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past

Chapter 5: TS!UNDERSWAP

Chapter 6: Mario & Luigi: Bowser's Inside Story

Chapter 7: Toontown Online

Chapter 8: The Dark (the game's finale)

Currently as of this post, DELTATRAVELER is still a work in progress with Chapter 3 being released back in December. As a result all discussion of the game of the game will be on Chapters 1-3 as those are what's out right now.

I think I should preface this post with me saying, I don't think DELTATRAVELER is a bad game, quite the opposite, actually! I enjoyed my time with it.

Mechanically, the gameplay is really well done, the physics feel very on point to UT/DR, which is surprisingly rare for a lot of UT fan-games. It felt like I was playing UT/DR and was rewarded for the skills I had gained from the collective hundreds of hours I have played these games.

Visually, I think it looks very solid and charming. Seeing various locales and characters from other games being translated into UT/DR's iconic, sometimes janky artstyle is always cool to see and it will be very interesting to see how games like A Link to the Past are adapted in future chapters.

Musically, I think the game is fine. The original songs in the OST doesn't have anything I'd point to as "bangers" but also doesn't have anything I thought was particularly hard to listen to (With the outlier maybe being Eye for an Eye. The obligatory Megalo for the Sans fight in the GG!UNDERFELL chapter. But even then, I wouldn't even call the song "bad". I just don't like it too much and that's fine! just how music taste works.)

But to get to the main point. The most intreasting thing about DELTATRAVELER to me, is the way the game is written which has proven to be quite the controversial topic within the broader fandom which is what I'll try to give an in-depth and nuanced disection of but to put a long story short, I don't think this game is written well. Most of the core issues I have with DELTATRAVELER's writing can be attributed to a single, fundamental flaw. That being how the game handles it's "tone"

Explaining Tone

In writing, Tone is a very multi-factor concept, working as the bedrock for a given work. To put it simply and cleanly, tone is basically "the vibes" of a given thing. Tone can come in a lot of different flavours. Whether that be the tone of a given scene, the work itself or even the tone of an entire series. Tone is important as keeping tone consistent with itself is one of the major factors in narrative investment. It essentially tells the audience what they can and can't expect from a work of fiction.

Let's use this as an example:

You're watching a movie, in the movie there's a scene involving the protagonist having an anvil inexplicably dropped on their head by the antagonist.

If this movie was a comedy for children and family, the tone of this scene would ensure that this be as funny a punchline as possible or the set up for a funny punchline. This expectation built by the previous events of the story shields the narrative and characters from anything that might be too ill-fitting for the "comedy for child and family tone" it's trying to go for. At most the protagonist could be expected to suffer from a Loney Toons-like knockout rather than ending in a hospital bed with a shattered skull. Or, at worst, splattered and crushed across the pavement in an intensely gruesome fashion. If that happened, it wouldn't pass the story's "vibe check" which can cause something that I'll be calling "Tonal Whiplash"

If you want an example of "Tonal Whiplash" and the effects it can have on the audience, look no further than Shadow the Hedgehog

This game, to be frank. Is fucking hilarious and this is in part due to the mere concept of the game about Shadow using a gun breaking the tone set series-wide by other Sonic games and media in the past. (Expect Sonic Adventure 2, that has similar issues to a lesser extent)

It takes a series about stopping egg-themed villain from ruling the world to trying to assassinate the president and watching as a innocent girl gets shot in the back by what is basically, the USA military. And it all tries to do this in the Sonic series' iconic, albeit rather corny writing while also intened to appeal to older kids and be "cool". It leaves the game being kinda a clusterfuck even beyond just its tone issue, in a very funny way.

Now, this isn't to say that breaking tone is necessarily a bad thing all the time. Sometimes it's intentional, a way to make a moment hit harder, surprise the audience or all of the above. However, breaking tone is a narrative risk and if it fails you risk hurting the narrative investment your audience has within your work and to top it off once tone has been broken, it can't really be put back together with a story. You'll basically be shifting the tone of the story from that point on.

An easy example of this tonal shift is UT itself with it's Geno Route.

How UNDERTALE handles it's tone

UT's tone is one that acknowledges its nature as a video game with the usage of diegetic game mechanics like SAVING and the battle system.

This has many unique effects, for example means things like death as a concept is something that is treated rather lightly within the game's tone, the game even joking about it on the occasion. It's rather pointless treating death as anything other than a slight inconvenience to the human when you directly acknowledge that they can undo it by simply not wanting to die.

This treatment of death intentionally clashes with how it's treated when you kill monsters in a Geno Route. Papyrus is a shining example of this. Being something of an emotional obstacle for the player. Designed to make the player feel shit. Basically UT's writing is effectively, unapologetically trying to guilt trip you as another test of your determination to see this run to its completion.

The emotional weight of this scene is less carried by the idea of death and more so the fact that you hurt one of your favourite characters and won't see him anymore for the remainder of the run. It's more character focused, if you've already begun to withdraw your narrative investment and attachment to the characters or if you simply just don't give a fuck, it's not gonna make you feel anything. It'd just be another monster to slay, another number to increase.

Now you might find yourself wondering. How can UT be funny and sad without it leading to side effects normally seen by "tonal whiplash"? UT is funny, sure. There's a lot of jokes, each joke told in UT is a joke told by either a character or the world. Each joke means something beyond it being a funny line. But UT can also be heartfelt, like the walk up to Asgore. It all further fleshes these characters out making them feel more deep and layered, it treats it's world and characters not as jokes to be laughed at but as people, people who can be funny, people that can be sad and down even if you and the game both know that deep down, they aren't real. Just bundles of pixels and dialogue for your entertainment which is what makes Geno's clash work.

Your attachment to the characters and world. It's sudden, yes. But that's why it hits. NPCs vanish and their absence is felt, the once lively music replaced with a slowed drone. It all feels empty. It's dark, all because you have killed the things that gave this game its "light". UT's tone is something that . The tone of Pasifist runs reinforce and bring greater impact to Geno runs and that's why it feels less like tonal whiplash to the audience.

Now, let's get to DELTATRAVELER. If we want to establish how DELTATRAVELER establishes a tone for itself what best than analysis the beginning?

How DELTATRAVELER handles it's tone

After an amusing title screen and a quick file selection, we open with Kris and Susie on a bed of flowers, the first room of UT. After a brief moment of the two getting their bearings, they stand up and Susie turns to Kris before saying "God Damnit Kris! Where the hell are we?!!" fit with a silly pose and sound effect. A reference to the meme that inspired the game's creation.

The next scene is in the very next room and it's encounter with Flowey. Here he attempts the same speech he said in UT before Susie cuts him off, gets him to spill the beans that he was actually after Kris' SOUL before getting into a battle. Where they make a joke about DR battles being different from UT battles before Susie bashes her HUD into Kris' creating a unique one that DELTATRAVELER uses before blasting Flowey away with Rude Buster.

Off the cuff, DELTATRAVELER isn't really being serious. So far it's spent the first couple of scenes essentially making jokes around the characters, world and basic premise of the game and the game will continue to do this with inclusion such as Ralsei smoking a blunt, referencing a meme of the same name and Noelle making expressions referencing both a popular SpongeBob and MegaMind memes. On its own, this isn't really a bad thing, sure I may personally find it very unfunny but the game starting off with various memes isn't even a negative in principle, it just indicates that it doesn't want the audience to take it too seriously, which if that was the intention, would be fine. The issue DELTATRAVELER has with it's writing is that it unfortunately does want me to take it seriously.

The game makes an attempt to emulate UT's writing style, attempts to have serious moments sprinkled amongst jokes. However, unlike UT, DELTATRAVELER's brand of humour is basically solely self aware memes. Oftentimes, made at the expense of its own characters and world, leaving the moments where the game actually wants to be taken serious to fall flat.

Things like Kris' nightmare during Chapter 3, where they wonder why they are cursed with our control before lamenting about how much they want to rip their SOUL out and destroy it. Before crying out that they "Don't want to die alone." Doesn't have the impact the game wants it to have, because prior to that point, the game had basically already told the audience not to take the game too seriously, thus hurting any narrative and emotional investment the player could form with this interpretation of Kris as a character leading up to that point.

The same can be said with DELTATRAVELER's Geno Route equivalent, dubbed by the devs as The Obliteration Route watching the game in one route go from, "Ralsei Dobbie! No Bitches? Vine boom!" to beating and slaughtering a beloved protagonist and watching the kid bleed out on the ground as the other fights for revenge whilst a cover of (fucking) MEGALOVANIA starts playing in another takes what should be a very climactic and emotional moment and turns it into the single funniest boss fight I have played.

And that isn't counting the various other characterization issues present throughout the route as a whole. Characters like Noelle and Susie have no real reason to help Kris with the run once they notice them seemingly going around looking for people to slaughter. DELTATRAVELER especially when the game then goes out of its way to show the player that both party members have the digetic ability to reject the player's control, to the point where they can refuse to enter battles with Kris entirely.

But they don't, they'll even attack Ness and Paula under a certain percentage of health even after Susie tells explicitly Kris to not kill them. It leads to the game putting the blame on Kris and then The Player for a situation Susie and Noelle also have established agency over. Susie can help and kill a ton of monsters yet still be pissed at Kris for what is, under the game's internal logic, still a choice she chose to follow. The game tries to remedy this via Chapter 3's talk with the trio and it's better, sure. But it still leaves the writing in this strange place of hypocrisy with the characterization to me.

One scene that sticks out to me as particularly odd being after a secret Gaster lore dump cutscene on an Aborted Obliteration run has Noelle say:

"Kris..."

"If you were serious about not having control."

"You would've done it."

Directly implying that she thought Kris should've jumped off the cliff... which is just a strange inclusion, I feel is... Done more so to enlist a reaction in the player rather than creating important moments that respects the world and established characterization.

On the topic of weird characterization, let's talk Sans...

In the GG!UNDERFELL chapter, the main antagonists are Papyrus and Sans. Papyrus, is written, pretty recognisably from his Canon Counterpart. Sans however? Is a mess and a wonderful mess, at that. They take this very edgy, unhinged approach to his character, making him into an insane killer type of character similar to AUs like Dusttale. Throughout the chapter, he tries his damnest to kill Kris and take their SOUL, talking vaugely about a gurdge that doesn't ever get elaborated on. This approach creates a dynamic between Sans and Papyrus, where Sans is basically on Papyrus' metaphorically leash. Reaching a breaking point where he kicks Papyrus off a cliff, rushes at Kris like a feral dog before being being thrown off the bridge, leading to his battle.

His battle... oh my god his battle! It was easily the best part of the game, to the point it had to have its dialogue rewritten, the reason for this being honestly something I cannot begin to accurately describe to you while also doing the scene justice. So here's a clip from Andrew Cunningham's playthrough.

This isn't even the ironic either, this was just how Sans was written. The tone takes itself very seriously, this creates this type of divide where the game has already conditioned you not take it seriously, while trying to take itself completely seriously. It's peak tonal whiplash and it makes the scene, and the fight as a whole, unintentional hilarious.

Final Thoughts

The weirdest part? I don't even care. I've spent the better half of this essay arguing the flaws in DELTATRAVELER's writing, and while I do think they are all valid positions to have, for me? I don't really care about it that much, it's these issues that make me like the game. It's really funny in a very earnest, albeit unintentional way and at the end of the day. It's entertaining to read and there is value there. It's why I am not big on the rewrite of GG!Fell Sans. His issues come from fundemental aspect of his character that couldn't be changed with a simple rewrite, nor should it have it been expected to, as a result however, it doesn't really fix his character for me, it just takes a big part of what I enjoyed from him away. It's sort of a shining example on how when creating, you do not have a choice on how other people see your work. Some jokes you might tell might land and be funny, but also to some, may be brutally annoying and that's just the beauty of the beast. There's always room to analyse, to see if what the creator wanted to convey reads back to the audience. But even if there is critical flaws with the writing, enjoyment of that writing isn't inheritantly attached to author intentions or even the quality of the content, it's a feeling, a subjective one at that. It's why I could say I don't like Sonic the Hedgehog and Kingdom Hearts for being too corny and cheesey but to others, that's exactly what they love about it, and there's a lot of value in that.

There isn't a correct way to have an opinion, a right way to like or dislike something. You like things for the reasons you like them, you dislike you dislike them and that's fine.

However, I do want to take the time in this post to address pretty plevalent fandom issue perpetuated by the wider.

In the past, the UT/DR community was, to be frank rather toxic and elitist, it still is, depending on where you look. Overtime though, there's been a shift, whether be because those types of people moved on to other things or simply grew out of that behaviour, it doesn't matter why just that it has happened. There's a lot more positivity in this community and that is great to see. All healthy communities need such things. However, I do believe that as a result of this, the fandom now is suffering from a "rubber band mentality" where we've pulled too far in the opposite direction, leading to what feels like ironically "toxic positivity".

A lot of people feel very passionate about these fan-projects and that should be celebrated. However a trend I've seen in this fandom, one which has had a net negative effect on this community, is how we as a community react to people voicing opinions/ making jokes or just talking negatively about these beloved works.

You see it a lot with works like UNDERTALE: Yellow, DELTATRAVELER, Inverted Fate, all of the big fandom projects. Everytime a critique or just a joke about a fan-work gets more than like 10K Views on social media, the entire fandom begins to fold into basically damage control, regressing into "can we just not be so negative about the super popular fandom work loved by thousands?" People that voice their opinions on these work, especially negative opinions, get dogpiled, mocked and dismissed because according to them they "don't understand the writing", "hate fan works" or are just being "bitter about works made with passion and love and should simply shouldn't engage", even when said people once taking the time to actually hear them out, provide criticism that's honestly pretty valid.

I'd understand if people were directly going after devs, commenting under their tweets, invading their own communities just to mock and be the answer to a question nobody answered. That is wrong and should be called out. Voicing how funny or even terrible you think certain scenes are on your public social media? Ultimately, that's harmless in the grander scheme of things and I feel like fans and creators should be mindful of how they react to things because at the end of the day. People are allowed to voice their opinions, they are also allowed to make jokes and laugh at the writing, they are allowed to do all of that. People want to treat fan works like works of art and I am right there with them, but if you want to do that, you have to actually start treating them like art and accept it's a completely subjective thing. People will have different thoughts about them and that's okay! The moment you start policing what thoughts should and shouldn't be expressed is when any meaningful discussion dies. This whole mentality that since it took hard work and dedication to make a fan project should be celebrated to the highest order and treated as an object of reverence, absolved from all criticism is a harmful mentality to fall into. A thing can both require hard work and dedication and also be criticised and joked about by people. These two can co-exist. One doesn't somehow counteract and invalidate the other.

For some, analysing and critiquing media is a fun thing to do! It helps you get a better understand of the medium you're analysing, what works and what doesn't. It's legitimately fun to have discussions about. Being negative about works, even if they are works of passion aren't the end of the world, especially when they are just posts made by people just minding their own business. Jokes? Shitposts? They should all be allowed, because that's also how some people enjoy works of fiction. And if you don't want to see it? Valid but there are countless methods available to ensure that that don't involve creating a "good vibes only" type of fandom environment that everyone is forced to adhere to. That helps nobody and only breeds division within this community, I think.

#deltarune #undertale #analysis #undertale meta #critique #undertale au #undertale fangame #deltatraveler

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oncewhenalongtimeago · 1 year

Text

Always an Angel, Never the God Pt 2

Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Runaway!Reader

Words: 3119

After a few months alone in the sky, you find yourself with an unlikely roommate.

Tags: Gender neutral/intended Female, Runaway Reader, Angst, Unrequited love, Requited love, Heartbreak, grief

You grind your teeth, eyes watering as a heavy booted foot pushes you down further into the wooden ship floor. The ship rocks angrily as does your dragon, struggling against the barbed netting.

“Who are you? A new vigilante?” The leading trapper, Erik son of Erik or something, asked, bending down above you. He had, coincidentally, been the one to shoot you down.

“Where is your… hideout?” He leaned down into your ear at your silence, speaking in a raspy whisper. You got the vague impression he was trying to be intimidating, though the end results were more in favor of making you blush.

You were thankful for the hard wood covering your face and, therefore, your embarrassment. Of your belongings, you were only able to manage a mask and had taken to running around ensconced in furs with nothing but a dagger to your name.

You’d recon you looked much like a wild animal, straddling your nadder bare of a saddle. You had not done too well on your own. It was hard. You had always been a team player if by team player you meant a leech on society. At least, you had been told so.

So of course you had, unwittingly, stumbled onto dragon trapping territory. Extreme sport dragon trapping territory. It didn’t help that you and your nadder hadn’t been on the same page, you two being unable to sync in the way you’d seen the other riders with their dragons, which left a bitter taste in your mouth.

He’d go left when you were trying for right, and when you finally decided to just go with it, he would change his mind and throw you for a complete loop. It was safe to say that even if you got out of this mess you never wanted to step foot on his back again.

You breathed a silent sigh of relief just as the trapper let out an annoyed one, stepping off of you in favor of yelling at his men for damaging their goods. Meaning, your nadder. Was he really yours, though? He did try and make a break for it without you.

While debating whether or not you should try at the ropes shackling your arms together, you grunt frustratedly, noticing a new tear in your garb.

After running away and getting captured, you had not expected to be kidnapped again by some insane-looking madman in a mask. Though you did look like two of a kind, so it was fitting.

Your nadder had its wings torn irreparably, so, unfortunately, you had to retire him early.

You found small comfort in that it hadn’t abandoned you on the ship that one final time, though the irony that it had led you here was not lost on you.

He visited sometimes. He took to life in the sanctuary very well.

You didn’t, a borderline prisoner before you’d been able to win over the trust of the resident feral gorgon. Sort of. She was a woman who let you see her face, more on accident than anything else. You hadn’t let her see you or hear yours. However you weren’t inclined to speak of her nicely, least of all in your head, after the number of weeks you spent trapped in a cave at her behest.

Finally, you’d been let out. Let out enough to walk more than just the short stretch of stone and greenish ice that made up your prison. The endless turquoise was beginning to make you sick.

Recently, you found a real friend in the sanctuary, and this dragon, it was truly yours. Affectionately named, fed and groomed, you two were almost inseparable. It was the kind of friendship with a dragon you’d completely missed out on on Berk.

It was hard to maintain given your captive status, but that was alright.

There probably wasn’t any social profit involved in being a vigilante, which is why you assumed the crazy dragon lady had taken to speaking at you in her spare time. About the dragons, what they ate, what she had to do. Pointedly she gave away nothing of their true secrets, not that you wanted them, nor anything of her vigilant-ing. Not verbally, though the influx of injuries both on her and the dragons spoke volumes.

She did give away her name.

You groan, rubbing your eyes under your mask as you cradle the thing to your face with the other.

“You’re quite attached to your mask,” Valka said amusedly, shifting the logs roasting in the fire with a stick, pushing them back and forth as you sat in silence. You hardly ever spoke a word, nowadays.

Her dragon, the stormcutter, stared at you with large eyes through the licking flames.

Neither of you mentioned that the only real reason you’d been able to keep your mask so long was that she’d been kind enough to let you. An allowance you’d been given on a whim. One you clung to with all the nervous energy of Fishlegs to his dragon cards.

“... I’d rather not be,” You grumble, voice raspy from disuse, “It’s stuffy.”

“Oh,” Valka looked at you, amused and maybe a little surprised to hear you speak at last, before going back to tend to her fires, “I was starting to think you couldn’t speak.”

“Funny.” You said, lifting a sharpened stick off the ground, spearing it through a slimy, gutted fish from the basket beside you. Your nose wrinkled as you heard the sharp point break skin. No amount of faux stoicism could make it seem pleasant to you.

“I have a few questions,” You grimace under your mask as she asserts herself. She can ask them all she wants, but there’s no guarantee you’ll answer.

You might, probably, as keeping secrets hasn’t always been your strong suit. She’s certainly been trying to open you up for a while. You’ve not given her any leeway before though, no reason to give her any now.

“How did you tame your dragon?” She asked, pushing a particularly thick dragon searching for morsels. Valka guides its head gently away with her spare hand before any of the other dragons crowding around them get any ideas.

You wait for a moment, still wondering whether you should follow along. Eventually, you decide to answer.

“Wasn’t me. Someone else back home did it,” You huff, “I just followed along.”

“...But not very well,” Valka hums. It’s obvious she doesn’t believe you. Unfortunately for her, that is not your problem.

She pulls a small trout off her own stick, tossing it to a crowd of young dragons, who you knew had acquired a taste for the cooked, through no fault of your own.

You should feel offended, but you know she’s right. You lean away from a wandering dragon snout as it searches you for morsels. The stormcutter, after a look from Valka, shoos it away with a large wing.

“Where are you from?”

You feel the embers from the fire as they rise, the furs of your coat becoming nearly unbearable, your skin heated up rapidly. You wrinkle your brow with annoyance as you feel a drop of sweat slide down the side of your face.

“Where are you from?” You retort pointedly.

She studies you cautiously, as if she could glean your intentions from your body language. And she very well could. Or the heat was getting to you, the wells you’d spent in solitude had finally done some real damage to your psyche, and you were hallucinating.

“Berk,” She says. You sit back, surprised, “And you?”

“...None of your business.” You wonder how long it had been since she had left. You pray she would not know you.

Valka raised her eyebrow.

“I’m serious.” You ground your heel into the dirt. It was a touchy subject, still.

“Berk, too. …Stop looking at me like that.”

Valka leaned back against the ice wall where you rested, looking out over the empty ocean as dragons flooded to and fro the sanctuary. You squinted far into the distance, as if you thought you might be able to see through it if you tried hard enough.

Your hair tugged wildly by the winds out from behind your mask as you sat, one leg extended and the other bent as you leaned back against one arm.

You probably looked as you felt, weary and unkempt after a long flight over the seas with your dragon, who clambered among the icy spike-lined wall with clawed hands. You felt refreshed yet somehow at odds with yourself still.

You cared little for your bedraggled demeanor the same way you hadn’t cared for much at all in a while. It might have made a cool picture had you not slipped and fallen onto your face on the ice just a few minutes prior. Whether you had broken your nose or not on your mask had yet to be uncovered. All that mattered was that Valka hadn’t seen.

Dragons crowed. Through the cracks in the walls of the sanctuary, the wind would whistle through if it hit the right angle. Louder than anything else were the sounds of the waves crashing against rock.

But between you and Valka, it was silent. A contemplative silence, the kind of silence you shared with others after a long thought or a hard day’s work. That’s how you knew she was going to break it.

“Why did you leave?”

You are annoyed at the prospect but are no less expectant. After the moment passes, you are not surprised. However, it feels as if you are the one who should be asking.

“Why did I leave?” You ask, “Does it matter?”

A loose chunk of ice falls off the side of the sanctuary as a large titan scrambles violently down the side, chasing after a bright yellow baby. You spot a shape through the fog, distant and blurry enough to resemble a bird though there are no birds here. You pointedly do not think of your small hut, even less of green eyes, and tiny, fading freckles.

Valka tilted her head in your direction, reaching a hand out to scratch Cloudjumper under his chin as he lowered himself towards her, “It mattered to you.”

You open your mouth, but you are only able to choke on your breath. No one has ever said something like that to you, not in a long while. You don’t understand why it’s hitting you so hard. Maybe it’s the isolation.

You blame the burning of your eyes on the biting wind.

“Why did you leave?” You ask in return, once you’ve taken time for yourself, though you have an idea. You can’t keep your voice from sounding a little bit scratchy.

You unhook your dagger from your belt, trying not to seem so attentive. Instead, you take to carving random shapes into the ice. A gronkle. A nadder.

“I was taken.” She sighs, quieter now. Lost off in memory as you both often are.

The nadder’s spikes are much too long. The gronkle looks more like a sandwich than a dragon.

“Taken?” You prompt and you begin on the outline of a fury. The result is shallow and scratchy.

It’s one of your own designs, not the same as the one Berk uses. Astrid liked the other one better, not yours, so that was the one Hiccup went with.

“I didn’t leave,” She insisted, almost as if she was trying to convince herself of the fact, “I had a son, and a husband.”

You’ve seen her by the fires, while trying to sneak out of this hellish ice maze. She talks to herself then. On particularly paranoid days, she’s slept by you, in the same caverns, so you’ve heard it. She talks in her sleep and says things she would never say awake, or had you been around. It’s all so very unsettling.

“Really?” You remarked with false astonishment. The facade is flimsy, but you figured you’d give her the benefit of the doubt. The grace to assume that you’d no idea what she was on about.

With prompting, you might have seen it earlier. In her slim form, the one she kept hidden under thick furs and thicker armor. You squint. They have the same eye color. The same hair. They both have higher cheekbones, though her son more resembles his father in that aspect. That is all.

Valka shoots you a reprimanding look. Cloudjumper, now creeping down the wall behind you, taps you on the back of your head with its tail at her behest.

Valka was of the air. Though he had the same flighty tendencies, he was very grounded, like his father, though he might either be proud or loath to admit it. He loved flying, yes, but he loved inventing and processing and routine just as much, if not more.

He did when you were close. Of course he did, he spent his whole life on it. You couldn’t really say you knew him anymore.

You didn’t pin Valka as the type to enjoy the same in any sort of manner. But that suited you just as well. You found that as time went by and as you were granted more freedoms, you appreciated it. It made it easier for you to forget. To ignore.

In the end they, you and she, she and you, were one and the same.

“But what does it matter, if you never went back?” You grumble, pushing your dragon’s head away as it nudges you towards the cliff, crooning for more flying time.

You guessed that was why she clung so viciously to the safety of her sanctuary. Why she hated other people so much, why she’d had no faith in the humanity of other people, why she’d held you here so strictly. If things could have been different, then what did she give it all up for?

Though you’d never had something else. Not even the option. You’d never been given it. Valka hadn’t been given it either, but there was a sure difference between something being there and not.

The atmosphere is silent again, tainted with some darker undertones. If you’d had to put a name to it, you might have called it grief.

“I want to leave.”

Valka doesn’t look surprised at your request. And indeed, it’s been no secret that you wanted to leave. Maybe she was glad for it, or maybe she was sad at the news.

After all, you settled into each other's presence long ago. You had a good sort of companionship.

And from that companionship, you learned a lot without even trying, just by watching. Eventually she took notice and she took an active part in teaching you the truths she learned during all her years in self-imposed isolation.

You two weren’t incredibly close but you could tell Valka was grateful for the company, grateful to have someone maybe even a little bit like her, even if most of it was spent in silence.

You still left the Drago fighting for her. It wasn’t your fight, it was hers, and you made that clear.

Neither of you brought up Berk. Ever.

You were content to just come and go as you pleased, for a while. Nonetheless, despite your freedom, you felt restricted to the small world of the Sanctuary and the empty skies around it. There was no place for you on the ground or by the seas, where hunters and trappers swarmed by the thousands and Drago’s armies grew by the day.

You spent so much time learning from her and yet it felt like no time at all. Which was why you were shocked when you’d truly learned how much had come and gone in full.

You were out slinking in the shadows, seeking shelter from a storm on the same small rocky outcropping of island that had a shipful of trappers stranded, in a rage and a panic as they attempted to recover their assets. The winds had been too rough to fly, so you had no choice but to wait and listen.

You didn’t believe it at first. It had been…

Months.

You wondered if he’d been married, yet.

Years.

The idea hurt, not as much as you’d thought it would, still not as little as you’d hoped.

Under clear skies, you found an inn, untouched by everything except grass and trees.

You asked, “What day is it?”

The large man, a burly viking scrubbing down a wooden cup with a torn old rag, had looked down at you skeptically from behind a beaten pine and stone counter.

Two years. It had been nearly two years since you left Berk. Just as Valka’s attachments kept her at the Sanctuary, you needed to go. To run.

Since you had heard it, spoken it, the urge to run, to fly hadn’t abated at all, going from a wispy thought at the back of your mind to a full blown need. Your dragon too had become antsy, maybe feeding off of your nervous energy. Eager to take off, to fly new skies.

“Are you sure?” Valka asked searchingly. You two were stationed over a heavily planted cliff over a large main pool which consisted of the main cavern within the Sanctuary, once again in front of a fire, eating your own meals as the dragons below ate and exchanged fish.

You were already packed, your mask secured as it had been for all two years you had been in this place stuck between confinement and dwelling. You almost regretted it, not telling her your name, but you couldn’t bear yourself to her knowing who she was, not truly. Not until you’d washed yourself of that particular weight.

“Yes,” One day you would, if you ever saw her again. Once you were released from the heartache and pain of your own making, “I am. Thank you.”

You started out into the pale foggy sky, mounted your beast as smooth as you’d ever done, which is to say, not smooth at all. You’d only ever managed it right when Valka was watching, anyhow. It was odd how that worked, maybe the peer pressure was finally starting to kick in.

As you took off and the sanctuary became smaller and smaller both to your eyes and your mind, as the tight bundle of chains in your chest dropped and the world opened up to you once more, you felt light, and free.

Once again, there was no one to watch you and no one to hurt for besides your and your dragon. Endless opportunity. Thousands of ways to keep going.

You wondered what your face looked like.

You couldn’t wait to see it again.

#hiccup haddock #hiccup x reader #how to train your dragon #httyd #x reader #fanfiction #httyd imagine #httyd fanficiton

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theresattrpgforthat · 1 year

Note

Hello! I’ve been following you for a bit now, and all of your recommendations have been super cool and interesting! If you don’t mind me asking, do you have any recommendations for really long indie ttrpgs? One that could match the length of dnd or CoD books, I mean. The specifics don’t matter as much, I just really like sinking my teeth into long game books like that.

THEME: Long Indie Games

Hello friend! Fear not, I have a multitude of long indie games to recommend for you!

Chuubo’s Marvelous Wish-Granting Engine, by Jenna Moran.

Length: 578 pages.

The Chuubo’s Marvelous Wish-Granting Engine RPG is the diceless RPG from Jenna Katerin Moran, author of the well-regarded Nobilis and an important contributor to Eos’ Weapons of the Gods and White Wolf’s Exalted RPG.

Chuubo’s is a special beast. I personally don’t know how one actually plays this game, but the book itself is fascinating to read. It has recognizable parts such as character skills, Health Levels, and XP, but I think I’d want to sit down with a physical copy to be able to properly read it and get a handle on how you play through a story. If you enjoy a challenge, or even just something enchanting and evocative, I’d recommend Chuubo’s.

Part-Time Gods, by Third Eye Games.

Length: 318 pages.

The gods of today are shadows of what the old gods possessed. Their power has been heavily diminished, and many choose to live a regular, mortal life, revealing themselves as gods only when absolutely necessary. The reason for this is twofold. First, fate doesn’t like it when the gods share their secrets with a mortal. Unless they are the god’s worshipper, terrible events and horrific accidents have a way of happening to the people closest to the god. Secondly, divine works attract creatures and monsters called Outsiders, created by the Source (after its capture) to destroy any god they encounter.

This is a game that’s on my TBR shelf - and it might stay there for a while, because this is another pretty lengthy book. I am very grateful for the index at the back of this book, because I think this would be pretty difficult to navigate. Part-Time Gods is set in the modern-day, but the premise behind your god-hood is very unique, so one of the first chapters is dedicated to telling you what exactly it means to be a part-time god, part-time taxpayer. The book also contains small pieces of prose set in the world, meant to give you a flavour of the genre and tone intended by the designer. I’m really interested in the concepts expressed in this game, and I hope I have enough brain space to read it in the future!

We Are All Mad Here, by Shanna Germain.

Length: 226 pages.

Jack climbing the beanstalk. The little mermaid finding her voice. Alice struggling with the madness of a place unruled by the laws of reality. The queen. The child. The woodsman. The knight. When you think about fairy tales, who do you become? Where does your imagination take you?

We Are All Mad Here is a tabletop game about fairytales and mental health, providing you with new options for the Cypher System while also creating a setting about visitors to a magical land called the Heartwood. In the fiction, only those who have had some kind of struggle that affects their mental health are able to travel to this magical land. Germain intends this to be a way to tell a narrative about mental health using allegory and metaphor. The Cypher system itself is pretty complex, and you probably won’t be able to play a game of We Are All Mad Here without the core rulebook, so it might be worth it to take a gander at the Cypher System Rulebook while you’re at it.

Coyote & Crow, by Connor Alexander.

Length: 484 pages.

More than 700 years ago, a massive disaster changed the course of history. The world was plunged into centuries of darkness, but the event also introduced the Adanadi — the Gift — a strange mark that appeared on all life. This mark would have an enduring impact on humanity. Centuries later, the Earth is healing. New, advanced nations have risen. Ancient legends stir.

Coyote & Crow is a pretty extensive and unique game, using pools of d12s pulled from your stats, as well as narrative beats such as character motivation, Gifts and Burdens to help give your character a personality. Because it introduces an alternate history and a drastically different future, the core book as a decent amount of lore to acquaint you with the city of Cahokia and the world that surrounds it.

This game has quite a bit of support out there, with adventures such as Stolen Heart, Laughter Lost & Found, and The Case of the Great Underwater Panther.

Impulse Drive, by Adrian Thoen.

Length: 242 pages.

Play a crew of misfits and scoundrels living a life of danger and adventure as they explore space and try to make their ship a home in a technicolor sea of stars. Fight dangerous organizations, investigate unnerving mysteries, and find trouble in a game that rewards you when your characters face their shortcomings. Grow your characters and ship with new gear and abilities as you discover and create the universe together, as a group.

For a PbtA game, Impulse Drive feels pretty substantial. It provides a quick primer on Powered by the Apocalypse games, and includes advice for the players as well as the GM. This might be because the game includes a lot of details about gear and vehicles, as this is a space game that cares what your party has on hand and what their ship can do. There’s also advice on changing the game, extra moves, and a roll table for mutations! If you’re looking to see how to play out a space adventure in a more narrative-focused system, you might want to check out this game!

The Shrike, by Alice the Candle.

Length: 162 pages.

The Shrike is a game about fantastical voyages aboard a skyship. It's inspired by Avery Alder's The Quiet Year, John Harper's Lady Blackbird, Italo Calvino, Ursula K. Le Guin, and utopian and dystopian fiction. It features four complete adventures (two multiplayer, two for solo play).

This indie game is on the short side of this list, but it’s definitely long by indie standards. The author has provided 4 different adventures that you can read through, which will likely spark your imagination along the way. Interestingly, the voyages are placed in the first half of the book, while the information about Solo, Co-operative. and Guided Play embody the second half of the book. I’m not sure how I feel about this layout choice, but if you’re mostly looking for a book that you can read, flipping through the voyages might be more interesting to you than the rules of play.

Games I’ve Recommended in the Past

Lancer, by Massif Press. 431 pages.

The Wildsea, by Felix Isaacs. 364 pages.

Exceptionals, by Sahoni. 253 pages.

Gubat Banwa, by makpatatag. 399 pages.

Monster Care Squad, by Sandy Pug Games. 176 pages.

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #dnd #asks #game recommendations #long games

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mentality-project · 8 months

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BBC Merlin x Reader - My Startled Stoat

Fandom: BBC Merlin

Pairing: Merlin x Reader

Summary: So, I came across this meme thing on Insta comparing pics of Merlin against stoats and the resemblance was uncanny. And then there was a comment about imagine if there was an episode where Merlin turned himself into a stoat by accident and Gwen and Gaius had to hurry to turn him back. And I said challenge accepted...

——

Merlin would’ve sighed if he could. This wasn’t exactly the result that he had intended. What was he going to do? He certainly couldn’t stay like this...

His ears perked up at the sound of a familiar voice.

“Merlin!” You called out as you walked through the part of the woods that the court physician had sent him to, “Gaius said that he sent you to gather herbs and that you were to return hours ago. Where are you?”

You stumbled as you trod over something, causing you to look down. A basket full of herbs and Merlin’s boots...along with all of Merlin’s clothes. Well, at least you were in the right place. But where on earth was Merlin?

“Merlin?” you called out again, looking around for him.

The sound of rustling cloth drew your attention back down and you got the shock of your life when a stoat popped out of neckline of Merlin’s shirt. The animal scuttled forward and came to a stop in front of you. You blinked down at it, eyebrow raised at the unusually tame behaviour. There was also something about the colouring that struck you. The creamy underbelly and dark brunette fur, coupled along with the eyes. The stoat possessed the most brilliant blue eyes that you had ever seen. You knew those eyes. They were just like -

Wait. No...

Slowly, you lowered yourself down onto one knee, peering closer at the stoat’s face.

“Merlin?” your voice had taken on an incredulous tone.

The stoat bounded forward, placed its paws on your knee and nodded. Your eyebrows nearly shot right off your forehead as you slapped a hand over your mouth.

“Oh my god...”

——

“GAIUS!” you called out as you came charging through the door, basket of herbs in one hand and Merlin’s clothes in the other, “Gaius, help!”

The physician hurried over towards you, worry etched into his face, “What’s wrong? Where’s Merlin?”

You set the clothes and boots down on the bench before placing the basket on the table and reaching inside to thrust the stoat-Merlin in front of you.

“Here.”

Gaius raised his eyebrows, looking back and forth between you and Merlin a couple of times before meeting your eyes. It was only when you nodded firmly, lips pressed together in a straight line that Gaius realised that you weren’t joking.

“Oh, my...quite the predicament.” Gaius remarked with a weary sigh.

You set Merlin down on the table with care before turning back to Gaius.

“What are we going to do?”

Gaius sighed again as he folded is arms across his chest.

“Find some way to undo what has been done, I suppose.” Gaius shot the stoat a disapproving look, “At the very least, I hope that this will be a memorable lesson as to why magic should be practiced with caution.”

Stoat-Merlin had the good grace to bow his head and look ashamed. Gaius pursed his lips before turning his attention back to you.

“I have a few patients to tend to before I can go to the library to see if there’s a book that can help us find a way to turn Merlin back. In the meantime, I suggest looking in the grimoire I passed down to Merlin. No doubt that whatever mischief he’s gotten himself into now came from there.”

You nodded and watched Gaius leave, turning to Merlin once the door was shut.

“Well? Where do you keep this grimoire?”

Merlin bounded to the other end of the table, rearing up on his hind legs to look pointedly at his bedroom door before looking back at you.

“I see...” you pressed your lips together before swallowing, “Let’s go.”

You picked Merlin up off the table before making your way up the stairs. Merlin squirmed out of your arms, paws scrabbling across the floorboards as you hesitated in the doorway. You had never been in Merlin’s room before, let alone the room of any man, for that matter. Just the idea of being in Merlin’s room felt strangely intimate. But what other choice did you have? You exhaled as you crossed the threshold.

“Where do you keep it, Merlin?”

Stoat-Merlin circled around a certain spot, making a scratching sound as he pawed at the floor.

“Hmm...” you hummed as you knelt down, tapping on the wood.

The hollow echo had you raising your eyebrows.

“Right.”

You pressed at the boards, eventually working out how to prise up the lid to the hidden compartment. You set it aside before reaching down to take out what could only be the grimoire wrapped in a linen cloth.

“You really are full of secrets, Merlin.” you murmured as the book was revealed before your eyes.

You moved to sit on the edge of Merlin’s bed, book resting in your lap as you flicked through the pages. Stoat-Merlin moved across the bedsheets in a jittery manner, almost circling you. It must be so frustrating for poor Merlin…he probably knew exactly what page and spell you needed to be looking at, but had no way of being able to communicate that to you. After a few moments you paused in your turning of the pages, sighing in frustration.

“I’m afraid I’m not of much use...I don’t know what I’m meant to be looking for, let alone where to start.”

Stoat-Merlin blinked up at you with his wide blue eyes before nudging your hand with his head. You smiled at the gesture, it was almost as if he were trying to encourage you. You and Merlin continued to stare at each other for a few minutes before you spared a glance at the book only to look back at him.

“Did you want to give it a try? See if you could do a little…you know.”

You wiggled your fingers back and forth between your eyes and the grimoire in a poor imitation of Merlin using his magic. Stoat-Merlin blinked and you weren’t sure whether or not he was thinking about how much of an idiot you were. Stoat-Merlin soon turned his gaze to the book lying open in your lap and continued to surprise you when his eyes suddenly went from blue to gold. You jumped as the pages started to move, almost as if an unseen hand was flicking through them furiously. When the pages finally settled, your sent Merlin a sidelong glance of approval.

“Good job, Merlin.” you smiled as you scratched the top of his head, just behind his ears.

Your smile widened as you watched the stoat close his eyes, seeming to be thoroughly loving the attention. The moment was short-lived when his blue eyes snapped open and he tried to shake his head away. You laughed as you withdrew your hand, more than certain that Merlin was doing the stoat equivalent of pouting.

“Sorry...now, let’s see where it all went wrong...” you murmured as you inspected the spells in front of you, “Oh, look! These pages are stuck together. Guess that’s probably why...oh.”

You trailed off as you leaned closer to inspect the mix up, “Oh, dear...interesting little pickle you’ve gotten yourself into, Merlin.”

You sighed at the forlorn look those blue eyes were giving you.

“Come along, then. Let’s see what we can do about it.” you stood with the grimoire and made your way down to Gaius’ work station, Merlin’s stoat body bounding along behind you.

—

You were crushing up the ingredients needed for the reversal potion with a mortar and pestle when the unmistakable sound of a disgruntled prince roaring Merlin’s name sounded down the hall. You froze as you locked eyes with Merlin, panic radiating off the both of you. Of all the times for Arthur to come looking for his manservant...

Abandoning the task at hand, you scooped up Stoat-Merlin and circled the spot where you stood, desperate for somewhere to hide him. In your panic, you decided to hide him in the first place that came to mind. But not before apologising for what you were about to do. You held up Stoat-Merlin to your face, looking him in the eye.

“I’m so sorry.”

And with that sincere apology, you proceeded to shove Stoat-Merlin down the neckline of your bodice. You froze as Prince Arthur threw the door open, clasping your hands together behind your back. Thankfully, Stoat-Merlin had stilled beneath your clothes. You were however, very aware of the heavy thump of his heart as it beat in his tiny furry body against your breastbone.

“Your Highness.” you greeted the prince with a slight bow.

You did a subtle shuffle as you straightened, praying that your upright body was enough to hide the grimoire lying open on the table behind you.

“Have you seen Merlin?”

“No, sire,” you lied blatantly, “I’m looking for him myself.”

“Where is he?”

“Out running errands with Gaius, I suppose. Shall I tell him that you’re looking for him when he returns?”

“Yes, and when you see him, tell to report to me immediately.”

“Of course, sire.”

You bow in farewell as the prince leaves, sighing in relief when the door shuts behind him. You gasp at the feeling of Stoat-Merlin squirming against you, reaching a hand into your clothes to pull him out.

“I’m so sorry!”

Stoat-Merlin has his head in his paws, unable to look you in the eye. You on the other hand, look at him with desperation; your cheeks aflame with embarrassment.

“I’m so sorry, Merlin! But we couldn’t risk Arthur seeing you in this state and...and I panicked…” you wrung your hands together, cheeks flushing scarlet, “at least I didn’t tell him you were at the tavern…”

Merlin’s paws dropped to his sides and he scuttled over to stand beside the motar and pestle, eager to get this over with. You pressed your hands over your face as you took a breath, willing the heat to dissipate from your face before striding over. You followed the last of the instructions; scooping out a spoonful of the paste into a bowl. You carefully measured out the correct amount of water before stirring it all together, the paste soon turning into a bittersweet smelling soup.

“Bottoms up, Merlin.” you grimaced as you slid the bowl over in his direction, hoping for his sake that the potion would taste better than it smelled.

Stoat-Merlin lapped up as much as he could before bounding over to you. You scooped him up, holding him close as you leaned over the book. You had thought it best that you be the one to read the spell out loud, seeing as stoats couldn’t talk. Hopefully if Merlin read the incantation as you said it, that would be enough to undo the mess of a spell he had made.

You didn’t notice the glow in his eyes as you read the spell, but what you couldn’t ignore was the loud, smoky explosion that happened immediately after. A yelp left your mouth as the force of it knocked you to the ground. Oh, god...the spell had gone wrong, horribly wrong. You felt heavy and pinned down, and you wouldn’t know the extent of your predicament until this confounded smoke cleared up... "Oh."

It was the only sound you could make as you found yourself face to face with a very human, very naked Merlin. You kept your eyes locked onto his and refused to let them wander as your hands found his shoulders. "The spell worked...?" "Yes." Merlin's voice sounded deeper than you were used to, it made your heart skip a beat. You didn't say another word as you pressed your hands over your face to give Merlin privacy. You felt his body leave yours and heard the sound of his clothes rustling as he got dressed. It was only when Merlin pried your hands away that you dared to open your eyes. "Are you hurt?" Merlin asked as he pulled you to your feet. "N-no." An awkward silence hung in the room as you and Merlin struggled to hold each other's gaze, both desperate to break the silence but not knowing what to say. You thanked your stars when Gaius walked in, grateful for the interruption. For the rest of the day, despite your best efforts, your thoughts continued to be plagued with thoughts of blue eyes and crushed velvet.

#bbc merlin x reader #not my gifs #bbc merlin fanfiction #merlin x reader

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rjmartin11 · 6 months

Text

Earth Angel, Heavenly Boy

Pairing: Angel!Elvis & OC!black!female

Summary: After a nearly fatal car accident, a mysterious man saved the life of a young woman who believes the young man is more than what he seems.

Word Count:???

Warnings: Car accident

Author's Notes: Okay, okay, maybe I'm officially off from retirement. I don't know. This story just hit me, no pun intended. I just felt I had to put it down.

If you enjoy this chapter and want more, like, repost, comment, and follow. If enough people like it, I'll make another chapter.

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・🪽・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

"For He shall give his angels charge over you to keep you in all thy ways." Psalms 91:11 (Bible)

After a long day at the office, all Noel wanted to do was go home, prop her feet up, and drink some wine. She was supposed to leave at five o'clock, yet Noel finds herself leaving the desk at six thirty. By the time she gets home, there will be no cooking. She can get by on just a glass of wine and a snack.

The ground was saturated with the rain from the last hour, but Noel didn't care. She was ready for that shower. The glass of wine. Her recliner. Her mystery book or mystery show. Whatever came first, she'd take it.

Driving home in the dark is never ideal, but here she is. Noel decides to play the radio to lift her spirits. She doesn't like driving when it rains, and she despises driving in the dark.

As she turns up the radio, a car swerves into her lane. Panicked, Noel tries to move out of the way of the car. This causes the car to hydroplane on the wet road. Noel tries to regain control of her vehicle, but the other car hits the backside of her car, causing her to flip over. The other car spins out of control, running into a tree.

Noel screams as her car flips and lands on its top. She wore her seatbelt, but the top half of her body's positioned out of the driver's window. She has cuts on her hands, arms, and face. Her legs are concealed under wheel. She can barely breathe.

"God... please... help," she breathes into the air with tears coming down her face.

She believes she hears footsteps, but she goes completely limp from the pain.

At the moment, her silent prayer to God has been answered. Angels, unseen to human eyes, surround the scene. Real angels with magnificent wings and a heavenly glow.

One angel in particular goes to Noel's aid. Honestly, he's not supposed to help her out of the car. His job is to watch her to make sure no more harm comes to her as they wait for the paramedics to arrive. His other job is to whisper positive thoughts of encouragement in her ear as they wait, and if her body is too damaged from the collision where her soul can't remain, he's supposed to signal the angel of death. Yet, her angel can't.

Noel's body has internal bleeding, three different vertebrae are fractured, and her right wrist and left leg are broken. She's a candidate for a new life. A new life with wings or the ethics rest, the angel can't bring himself to report this.

Angels also have a gift to see the soul of each and every human being. He sees that kind, generous soul Noel has within her. She puts others in front of herself in her career and in everyday life. She was in an abusive relationship, which removed herself from a year and a half ago. It didn't change her soul and destroy her character. It only made her stronger. Noel was loved and respected. She'd be missed.

The angel gently pulled Noel's lifeless body out of the car with ease. Placing her gently in his arms, he wraps his wings around her. Her breathing is shallow. Her pulse is weak. As he hears her heartbeat fade in and out, he knows Noel won't make it to the hospital. He sees all laid out before him. The ambulance gets to her, places her on the gurney, and she dies on her way to the hospital.

"No," he says, looking at Noel's cut face. "This can't be how it ends for you."

"Elvis!" Calls out the angel in charge. How is she!"

"Yes, Gabriel!" Elvis shouts back. "She'll live."

A single teardrop trickles down his cheek at the sight of Noel. Elvis has been around the world and has seen many beautiful women. Yet something about Noel captures him. He can't stop what should be, but for Noel, he'll risk the wrath of the Lord.

In the distance, he hears the sirens wail. He looks upon once more.

"Noel Pierce. You are a light in this world. And you will live," Elvis says, as he places the kiss of life on her lips.

This kiss is so powerful that it heals each and every part of her body. It mends all her veins and blood vessels that caused the internal bleeding. Her bones snap safely and securely into their places. Her cuts vanish, and her heart beats stronger than before.

Elvis slow moves away from Noel, giving her air to breath once more. Her vision is weak, but she opens her eyes enough to see a blurred image of her rescuer. All she captures is the blue hue of his eyes.

Elvis places his fingers over her face and says, "Rest now until the medics come. You've seen enough for one night."

Noel obeys, and her eyes fall closed. Elvis rises from the ground to join the fleet of angels to fly off to the next mission.

"Miss? Miss? Can you hear me???"

Noel opens her eyes as the medic examines her eyes. She looks around and bewilderment.

"W-what? My car..." She says.

"Miss, what's your name?" He asks.

"I'm Noel. Noel Pierce."

"What happened?"

"I'm not too sure," Noel says. "It happened so fast. The other car came in my lane and swerved. I swear the car flipped over."

"The blue car?" The medic asked.

"Yes." Noel pauses and looks around. "Where is he?"

"Who?"

"The guy that pulled me out of the car?"

"No one was here when we arrived on the scene."

Noel looks up at the medic. Her face goes numb, and her heart sinks to the pit of her stomach. He was there. Someone was there. There's no way she could have imagined that.

Taglist: @missmaywemeetagain @beeandheroddobsessions @headfullofpresley @everythingpresley @epforeverohyes @vintagepresley @pianginferno @powerofelvis @ab4eva @foreverdolly @searchingforgravity @thatbanditqueen @daffieapple @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @epsgirl @richardslady121 @literally-just-elvis-fics @eptodaytommorowforever @vintageshanny @iloveelvis @dreamingofep @aliypop @littlehoneyposts @msamarican @sissylittlefeather

#elvis #elvispresley #elvis fans #romance #elvis x oc #AngelElvis #HappyAngel

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broskiblurbs · 1 year

Text

When I Lose You (A Tom Holland FanFic)

Words: 2729

Summary: You and Tom are engaged, but a battle with cancer has other plans.

Disclaimer: ANGST ANGST ANGST; mentions of death and vomit

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Life. It’s a fragile thing. Something that can be taken in a second. You can do everything right and still not have enough time. Humans long to live until a hundred years old, but death could overcome them before another breath. In reality, how do we have the right to make plans for the future if it isn’t promised? Wouldn’t that be an insult, no, a challenge to the Grim Reaper himself? Death is horrifying and it’s coming.

This was something you found out on starry Friday night, well you imagined it would be starry if there wasn’t so much light pollution. The Hollands, a family you grew quite fond of, were having a rooftop party to celebrate Paddy graduating from secondary school. Everyone was having a great time. The loud music was causing a headache for you, but you just popped an Ibuprofen and kept pushing through. Headaches haven't been an uncommon thing for you recently, especially in the mornings. You figure it’s just the stress of wedding planning.

Tom Holland, your husband to be, currently had his arm around your waist and boasting to his best mate, Harrison, about soccer. Well, Tom would call it football. The world seemed to start spinning, so you burrow your face into your fiancé’s shoulder.

“You alright, love?” Tom’s sweet voice rang through your ears.

“I’m not feeling so well,” you answer, feeling your stomach turning inside and out.

“We can leave if we have to. Paddy would understand,” he suggested.

“No,” you respond. Sure, Tom’s little brother would understand, but you only graduate from secondary school once and you wanted to celebrate with him. “Maybe, we could just sit down for a bit.”

“Of course, darling.”

The two of you sat at a couple of loveseats where Harry and Sam Holland were sitting as they discussed bright ideas for The Brother’s Trust. The twins have been your best friends since long before you and Tom started dating. They were running down the sidewalks, for God knows what, in New York City, and Harry accidently ran into you causing you to spill your coffee all over yourself. To make up for it, they bought you a new shirt and coffee. You all have been the dream trio ever since.

About twenty minutes after sitting down, you started feeling even worse. You felt like your brain was going to pound out of your skull. The dizziness felt like you just got off of one of those spinning rides at the amusement park. The vomit, well, you were sure that was going to come back up at any moment. It was dancing its way up your throat and you knew it was coming.

“I’m going to be sick,” you announce, weakly. Tom rushed you inside, knowing you wouldn’t want to throw up in front of everyone. Harry and Sam were right on your heels. They wanted to be there for you, but they didn’t know how. You emptied your insides in the nearest trash can you can find. Tom gently rubbed your back and pulled your hair out of the way as you puke.

“I’m going to go get you some water,” Sam said and hurried on his way.

“It tastes disgusting,” you manage to say in between chunks.

“I know, love. Um, Harry. Do you think you could grab something like a paper towel or a wash rag?” Tom asked.

“Yeah, I’ll be right back.” The two of you sit in silence, other than the sound of you gagging, for a while before Tom speaks up.

“Darling, I know you hate doctors, but maybe it’s time to see one. You’re always sick and I’m worried,” your fiancé suggests. You finally manage to stop throwing up.

“No, it’s probably a bug. Nothing a little rest can’t fix,” you respond.

“But-”

“I said it’s fine, Tom,” you bite back a bit more harshly than you intended.

Before Tom could say anything else, the twins were back and ready to help their friend any way they can. They wiped the puke off your face and made sure you’re all hydrated before you make your way back to the party. Unfortunately, you never make it back to the celebration because you pass out cold right before you get to the door that led out to the rooftop.

“Y/N!” Tom and his brothers rush to your side. “Darling, can you hear me?” Sam checks for your pulse and thankfully it’s there, but weak. “Harry, call 999. Sam, get Mum and Dad.” Tears are rolling down Tom’s cheeks as he screams for you to be okay.

Your arms and legs start jerking. Your head starts shaking all around. Your lips are turning blue and you are obviously having a hard time breathing. Tom sits next you panicked, having no idea how to help you. He felt completely useless and because of that he might lose you. “Oh my god, she’s having a seizure,” Nikki, the mother, exclaimed. She immediately takes control of the situation by making sure there were no harmful objects nearby. She also turned you on your side so you could breathe easily.

“I didn’t- I couldn’t help her.” At this point Tom is hysterical.

“Hon, I know this is really scary, but right now, the best thing you could do is keep calm. Take a couple deep breaths. That’s what she needs from you.” She turns to her twins. “You two, go downstairs and direct the paramics up here. The last thing she needs is to be crowded when she wakes up.”

But, you don’t wake up until you’re in the emergency room. You are hooked up to a monitor and IVs. You have a device around your face that helps oxygen go into your nose. You will later find out that it is called a nasal cannula. You still have a headache and you feel like you’ve been hit by a bus. You see Tom staring at you. His eyes are puffy and red. His cheeks are very tear-stained. He’s just looking at you. Not saying anything.

“How long have I been out?” you ask, deciding to break the silence.

“A day,” he responds, almost emotionless.

“Are you-” You were going to ask if he is okay, but he interrupts.

“I’m going to go get the doctor.” He leaves you worried. He never acts like that: cold and distant.

A few minutes later Tom comes back with a cheery doctor. A doctor who you will get close to in the upcoming weeks, Dr. Parker.

“Good morning, Y/N,” she greets. It wasn’t morning. She’s just trying to lighten the room a bit. “I’m Dr. Parker. How are you feeling?”

“I have a bit of a headache and I feel a bit weak, but nothing to worry about,” you respond, which causes Tom to scoff.

“Go ahead. Tell her. Tell her what you told me,” he demanded. He couldn’t be completely depleted of emotion because you caught a glimpse of a tear rolling down his face.

“When you came in we ran a couple of scans: CT and MRI. It showed you have a large mass in your brain tissue,” she informed. That's when you noticed the “oncologist” on her medical jacket. Your heart dropped to your bum by the news.

“I-I have cancer?” you ask, already knowing the answer. Brain cancer has been in your family for generations. You knew it was only a matter of time until you got diagnosed, which is why you hate the doctors.

“Unfortunately, the test did come back cancerous,” she responded softly.

“How much time does she have?” Your fiancé asked. The doctor took a deep breath.

“It’s hard to say, but I would say weeks, months at most.” Her cheery smile has fallen now.

Everything you look forward to seems to be taken from you in an instant. Going to the movies with Harry and Sam to see the new Marvel movie next month. Going back home to the States to visit your mother who was not healthy enough to come visit you on your deathbed. Your wedding. Having children. Growing old with Tom, the absolute love of your life. All gone. No longer your moments. Simply wishes of a future that you don’t get to have. It wasn’t fair.

“I’ll give you two a moment and then I’ll come back to discuss chemotherapy to see if we could slow the growth.” You look at Tom who was sitting back down in the chair, his hands on his face, and staring blankly into space.

“Tom, I’m so sorry,” you apologized, crying.

“I asked over and over again for you to go to the doctor,” he whispered. “We could have caught it in time. I wouldn’t have to watch you die.”

“I-I didn’t think it would be this serious,” you replied.

“Of course you didn’t,” he scoffs, running his hands through his brown locks.

“It’ll be okay. We will figure something out,” you try. Tom jumps up.

“You don’t get it. It will have to be me who has to learn to live without you! It will have to be me who buries you!” He yells causing you to startle. Seeing this reaction seems to calm him down a bit. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t yell. I am scared. I don't know what I will do when I lose you, darling.

“I can fight this. I will fight this. It can still get better. We can do this,” you promise. He nodded his head in agreement and hugged you.

A few weeks have passed and chemo has taken the light out of your eyes. You’re not the same as you used to be. You’re always tired and ill. Your hair has been falling out, which was the biggest thing for you. You love your hair. It’s your favorite part of you.

“Tom, I’m going to have to shave it all off,” you cry into his shoulder.

“I know, but you will look just as beautiful, I promise,” he coos into your ear.

“No, I won’t! Imagine the wedding photos. They’re going to be awful,” you exclaim.

“They will be wonderful. You have nothing to worry about,” he replies.

“Will you do it?” you ask, looking up at him.

“Do what?”

“Shave it off,” you respond. He gives you a concerning look. “Please.”

The next day, Tom shaved all your hair off, which absolutely broke your heart. You cried for hours in the hospital bed. You were going on about how it wasn’t fair, you were ugly now, and that you were tired of all of this. Tom knew your time was coming. The doctors said you were getting worse by the hour and all chemo was doing was delaying the inevitable.

“Hey, look Y/N! We got a surprise for you! Ta-da!” Harry and Sam came into the room with their hair completely shaved off. They were bald just like you.

“You guys did that for me?” You asked.

“We knew how much it upset you,” Sam said.

“We thought if we shaved our heads it would make it seem less scary,” Harry added.

“That is so..” You sit there, thinking “I can’t think of the word.”

“Thoughtful?” Tom suggested.

“Yes, that’s the word. That is so thoughtful. Thank you.” You smiled, but were clearly upset you couldn’t remember a word.

“Now, it’s harder to tell which is who,” Nikki exclaimed. “Hello, dear.” She gave you a big hug. “I brought you these.” She laid out a few wigs and head scarfs.

“Oh, thank you! They’re so pretty!” You look at all the different options you have.

“We also brought you this,” Sam said as he laid out a white and black shirt.

“Oh, thank you,” you thanked questionably.

“You don’t remember it?” Harry questioned. You shooked your head. “It was the shirt we bought you when I ran into you.” You still looked lost.

“Remember, that’s how we met. Harry ran into you and spilled your coffee, so we bought this shirt in return,” Sam added hopefully.

“Oh, yeah,” you answered, not sounding convincing at all. You couldn’t remember. You had completely forgotten how you met your best friends. It only got worse from here.

A few more weeks go by and it’s clear you weren’t getting better and you were never going to get better. You had already flatlined twice, but the doctors were able to bring you back. You were even more exhausted. You barely could walk or go to the bathroom. You were as weak as ever and it felt like torture to you.

“Tom,” you call.

“Yeah?”

“I want to marry you,” you announce.

“I know and you will, darling,” he answered. He was also exhausted. He had barely slept. He hasn’t been home in weeks, not wanting to leave your side. He was afraid as soon as he left, you would die and he wouldn’t be there for you.

“No, I mean, now. Here,” you clarify.

“In the hospital?” He asked and you nod. “No. No way. You will get better and we will have a big ceremony with pink roses. Just like you wanted.”

“Tom, we’re kidding ourselves. I’m never getting better. I’m dying,” you said. This is the first time you said it out loud, which made it even more real, causing the both of you to cry. “I’m tired, Tom. I’m done.”

“W-what happened to keep fighting? We can do this. You just have to keep believing, please,” Tom begged, tears streaming down his face. You shake your head.

“I have no more left in me. I can’t even sit up in my bed without help. I don’t even remember my birthday. It’s time, and I want my last moments to be marrying you, please, Tom. Help me.” You pleaded.

“You’re giving up? What about our life together?” His eyes are now red and puffy.

“We already lived our life and it was perfect. Now, now, it’s the end. I want it to be a happy one. I want to die as your wife. Please, Tom.” You grasp his hand. He knew you probably weren’t going to live for the rest of the day. Even the doctor told him that you should be dead by now.

“Darling, I-I can’t,” he cried.

“Yes, you can. You’re the strongest person I know.” Tom is sobbing into you. “Please.”

He finally agrees because deep down, he knew it was time to let go. He called his family to the hospital. He helped put on your favorite wig, paint your nails, and put some make-up on. Once everyone got there, you immediately started, knowing the clock was ticking.

“Thank you,” you say. Tom couldn’t say “you’re welcome,” so he just nodded. The two of you shared your vows. Yours wasn’t very long since you couldn’t remember what you were going to say, but Tom’s was beautiful, yet heartbreaking. He talked about how he enjoyed the little time you two had together, how it wasn’t fair that you were being taken away from him, and that he couldn’t wait to dance with you in the afterlife. You two shared your “I dos.”

Tom kissed you like it was the last time he’ll ever kiss you because it will be. He tried to hold on to how your lips felt brushing against his. He tried to remember every detail of you: Your smile, you beautiful eyes, your laugh, just you.

“See you later,” you bid him goodbye. The monitor flat lines as your heart was too weak to beat. Tom yells in pain. He holds to your body, feeling the last of your warmth leaving your body. He sobs into your hospital gown. Sam and Harry are crying too, but not as much. They already mourn your loss while you battled cancer. The doctors come rushing in to try to save you. They try to pull you out of Tom’s grasp, so they could resuscitate you.

“No! Please, no! She doesn’t want this,” Tom begged, still holding onto you. “She told me she was ready.”

“She didn’t sign a DNR,” Dr. Parker said.

“I know, but she told me. Please, don’t do this to her,” He pleaded.

“It’s true,” Harry and Sam agreed, even though they weren’t there. Dr. Parker took a deep breath and signaled the doctors to go.

“Time of death: 18:47.”

part two here

#fanfic #my writing #spiderman #fiction #reader #marvel #celebrities #cancer #tom holland angst #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland #tom holland x you #thehollandfamily #angst #tw death

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