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katiexpunk · 5 months

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The Art of Noticing | Pairing Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: In the hushed corners of this desolate world, where whispers of yesteryears linger among crumbling ruins, you find a peculiar kind of peace; just like you did when you fell asleep in the darkroom for the first time. Still armed with your camera, even in this new world, you try to keep your heart attuned to the silent narratives of a forsaken universe. You used to think this was your strong suit; to be able to immortalize the unnoticed, to preserve the beauty around you, even in a world of darkness. That was until it almost got you killed. And Joel Miller hates you for it. Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Word count: ~6.1K Warnings: This one is full on corn with plot; plus lots of emotions. No specific age gap mentioned. References to loss, grief, death and sadness. Reader almost gets her throat slit, until Joel saves the day. I mean, canon-typical violence. Joel is an asshole in the beginning. Angst. Enemies to lovers. Lots of hatred towards a bird lol. Lots of film/photography references. Ellie is a gem, as per usual. Size kink. Reference to a gun/knife. Alcohol. Use of pet names (darlin', baby, good girl, sweetheart, etc.). Unprotected P in V. Oral (M and F receiving). There's a titty fuck. Grinding/dry humping. Fingering. Nipple play. There are no physical descriptions of the reader except that she has hair long enough to whip over her shoulder. Please let me know if I missed anything. A/N: This one has been in my WIPs for months. It started off as an entirely different story, but after going through and re-reading what I originally wrote, I hated it. I have all the feels about this one. Special thank you to @sydneyinacoma for being my emotional sexy support blanket and holding my balls on this one, as per usual. And to @papipascalispunk for originally editing the first version of this story, although it looks totally different now. Iris, you're a gem. Thanks for believing in me even before I did. I hope I make you proud with this one. Masterlist | Read on AO3

Tumbling at the edge Of disaster, This is how I lived. Oh see how the chrysanthemums Are dry now, Yet still beautiful. ~ Noelle Kocot

In the hushed corners of this desolate world, where whispers of yesteryears linger among crumbling ruins, you find a peculiar kind of peace; just like you did when you fell asleep in the darkroom for the first time. Your mother had always told you there was beauty in capturing the poetry in the often-ignored details, and she made sure you were given the tools you needed to do so. She was kind like that. Sometimes it's as if her presence still lingers vividly in your viewfinder, her radiant smile eternally illuminating your memories.

Your film helps you to hold on to the details that no one else is around to remember anymore, details you might one day forget; details like the color of your best friend's eyes, the warm hue of orange of your grandfather’s favorite recliner, and even the nearly lime green color of the fresh green tomatoes from your garden.

In a place where the larger story has faded, you still revel in the tiny tales—the vines reclaiming forgotten streets, sunlight gently embracing relics of the past, and the murmurs of tales etched into the decay. You think about the scratches carved into the dining room table of your childhood home and often wish you could once again find your seat around it.

But that reality is gone.

No longer is the girl who liked to swim or play with dolls. No longer is the girl who fought with her sister for stealing clothes from her closet, or her brother for hitting too hard.

Like many others, she’s gone. They’re gone.

She was whisked away to make room for the woman you are today; the person you’ve had to become to survive.

Still armed with your camera, even in this new world, you try to keep your heart attuned to the silent narratives of a forsaken universe. You used to think this was your strong suit; to be able to immortalize the unnoticed, to preserve the beauty around you, even in a world of darkness.

That was until it almost got you killed.

And Joel Miller hates you for it.

++++

Months after your patrol that went wrong, you bump into Joel outside the Tipsy Bison, giving him a cursory glance before turning around.

The idea of saying sorry crosses your mind, but for whatever reason, you don't. Your kindness, once a vibrant tapestry, is now a threadbare token. Besides, it’s his fault. He shouldn’t have been standing so close to the doorway. If anything, he should be apologizing to you.

You’re in a rather grumpy mood this evening, having wasted the last of your film only to overexpose the prints earlier in the day. Every single one – ruined. Sure, before the outbreak, this might not have bothered you as much, but now, finding film is like striking gold, and your stash is dwindling at an alarming rate. The frustration hangs over your head like a cloudy day. All you want to do is go home and sulk – forget about the mistake – at least if you were at home crying over your photographs, you wouldn’t be subject to prying eyes.

“Watch it,” Joel says, voice low and even, a sharp hint of annoyance behind his tone.

You stop in your tracks. You know you should walk away from this. But your temper is already on edge, sensitivity on hyperdrive, and something about the sneer of Joel’s voice gets under your skin. You spin around in a huff and toss your hair with annoyance. “Maybe next time don’t block the door,” you bark.

Joel retorts, red-hot at your audacity. “‘Scuse me? Wanna run that by me again, sweetheart?

The pet name is patronizing; you’re a real stick in his craw.

"You heard me," you snap back, punctuating your annoyance by crossing your arms over one another across your chest.

Joel turns around and takes a large stride toward you, closing the gap between your bodies so he’s nearly chest-to-chest with yours, his imposing figure towering over you, and his eyes narrow. “What’s got your panties in a twist tonight, hmm?” Joel asks, voice dripping with sarcasm and void of any genuine concern.

“You” you say, “you’re always so fucki–” before you can continue your sentence, Joel stops you by placing his large index finger onto your lips to hush you. "You've got one helluva smart mouth, darlin’," he says, voice low, almost menacing.

You freeze, looking up at him unsure of what to say as he brings his face inches from yours, the scent of whiskey heavy on his breath. The flecks of amber that dance around the edges of his irises catch your attention. As you swallow, your eyes momentarily flicker down to the thin line of his lips. Abruptly, he withdraws his hand, leaving an echo of intensity lingering in the suspended moment.

He isn’t particularly nice, but you have to admit, he is fucking hot. Since his arrival in town, he's been a magnetic force, his somber aura unmistakable to even the most casual of onlookers. A silhouette of brooding intensity, with shoulders that carve the space around him and biceps that speak of strength. His voice, a rasp in the wind, adds another layer to his already large presence.

“I’ve been told,” you pause. “Just – just get out of my way,” you say firmly, walking away as your shoulders brush against him.

"What's got your panties in a twist?" you scoff in your best imitation of his voice. You exhale sharply, fully aware of the true reason behind the agitation. You haven’t been fucked in years, and the heat that Joel stirs low in your belly is an incredibly frustrating feeling, knowing you’ll never get to do anything about it.

God damn infuriating man.

++++

As you lay in bed that night, you can't help but replay your encounters with Joel, the scenes repeat like an annoying commercial that won't leave your mind. Memories of your patrol with him keep playing on a loop, embedding themselves in your thoughts, refusing to fade away in the darkness of the night. "You could’a been killed," Joel's words still ring in your ears, the weight of his tone and the intensity in his eyes seared into your memory. You remember the sounds – the bone-crushing crunch and the grim, wet thud as Joel swiftly dealt with the raider who tried to slit your throat for your backpack, all while you were innocently looking through the lens of your camera, attempting to take a picture of a bird on a tree branch.

“I told you to follow my instructions, to listen, and you almost got killed on my watch – f’what? A picture of a fucking bird?” he said, trying to get you to see his point of view. Of course, you’ve apologized. Profusely, even, but it falls on deaf ears.

Ever since that moment, Joel hasn’t looked at you the same. You're certain all he sees is a stupid little girl, unable to protect herself. Nothing but a burden. Dead weight on his already sore shoulders.

Just go to sleep and forget about it, forget about him, you think to yourself, stirring in the scratchy fabric of your sheets.

As you drift off, you wonder what the bird saw that day.

++++

With a grunt, Joel manages to kick off his boots in the entryway, and they land with a loud thud against the floor. The worn wooden stairs creak beneath his weight as he ascends the steps, the dim hallway leading to Ellie's room. Pushing the door ajar, he finds her peacefully asleep. A small smile tugs at his lips, grateful to see her warm and safe.

Retreating to his room, Joel sheds the remnants of the day – his jacket, the weight of exhaustion, and the lingering sensation of your soft lips under his finger. As he settles into bed, the worn mattress groaning beneath him, he remembers the sound of your sweet voice; your puffy, teary eyes looking up at him as you apologized; and the sticky feeling of the blood on his hands from the man who tried to hurt you.

He wishes he would have pulled you close; and held you in the safe embrace of his arms.

He’ll never admit it, but he forgave you almost immediately, and it terrifies him more than anything in this new world ever could.

He’s already lost so much, and he’s not sure how much more he can take.

Surely it’s easier to hate you, rather than admit the truth, rather than lose you.

“Fuckin’ bird,” he mumbles before drifting off to sleep.

++++

"Come on, you've gotta be there! It's gonna be a total snooze without you," Ellie pleads, practically begging you to join her at the annual community holiday gathering.

Whereas Joel mostly acts like a grade-A jerk, Ellie is like a breath of fresh air. From the moment you met her, you’ve had a connection – you taught her the ropes of film exposure, and she's good company in a world where friends are a rare commodity. Despite your initial reluctance, you eventually cave. It’s not really your thing, but it’s a taste of normalcy, or what passes for it in this broken world, that you crave; plus, you convince yourself that you might even get a few good photos out of it.

Standing alone at the bar, you try to relax. You fiddle with the strap of your camera that rests on the bartop as you reminisce about how before the world turned to shit, you would have been quick to capitalize on an opportunity like this – to meet a nice guy, maybe have a drink or two and then end the night between the sheets.

You close your eyes and try to recall the last time you were touched, but it’s fruitless. It’s been so long since you’ve felt the gentle caress of a man or anyone for that matter.

You huff your residual irritation at the thought as you notice Joel talking with Tess in the distance. Tess. She’s rather new to town. You’ve only spoken once or twice, but you’ve gathered that she is a formidable woman with a no-nonsense demeanor, but still somehow kind.

Plus she can hunt, a welcome skill around here. As she converses with Joel, you take the time to drink in the details about her that you hadn’t noticed before. You guess she’s in her mid-40s, her hair is a mousey shade of brown with small shiny threads of gray in the mix, but she wears it well. Her complexion is soft, and her smile is nice. She’s pretty. You try not to color yourself too hard in the various shades of green as you wonder if Joel thinks the same.

“Another,” you signal to the bartender, and he fills your glass with amber liquid.

Maybe it’s the booze or the thick air from the crowded room causing your brain to go fuzzy, but you find yourself lost living out an alternate reality in your mind – one where Joel doesn’t hate you. One where he calls you a good girl, voice thick like honey, as he fucks you within an inch of your life.

Ellie’s voice calls you back to reality as she yells your name, signaling you to join her at the other end of the room. Downing the last of your drink, appreciating the subtle warmth it brings to your insides, you carefully place the glass on the bartop, shooting a subtle nod of appreciation to the bartender as you do; you grab your camera and place the strap around your neck. As you navigate the space toward Ellie, your keen awareness catches Joel breaking from his conversation with Tess, his gaze searing into you as you walk past both of them. His face is unreadable, but that doesn’t stop your pulse from quickening under his attention.

++++

After hours of socializing, all you crave is the comfort of your bed. Exhausted, you stumble out of the building, your balance betraying you on the gravel beneath your feet. Shit. You stand up, brushing off the lingering dirt from your knees, inadvertently smearing a small fleck of blood into your skin in the process. Of course, the one night you decide to wear a dress, the only one you own, you would end up injured.

“Really don’t have much spatial awareness, do ya, Darlin’?” Joel says, appearing out of the darkness, his dark and husky voice rings in your ears. It comes out a little harsher than he intended.

You shoot him a glare, half-hoping your eyes could actually launch daggers and finish him off right then and there. "Why do you always have to be such an asshole to me?" you demand, your frustration boiling over. “I’ve already apologized as much as I can, it’s fine if you don’t like me, but you could at least be cordial,” you say, voice defeated.

His mouth opens like he has something to say, but he doesn’t respond. "Right. Screw this, I'm going home,” you sigh as you walk away, thoroughly done with whatever messed-up game of cat and mouse the two of you are playing.

Joel watches you walk away, wishing he dared to go after you.

++++

Months go by, and despite the shifting atmosphere, as the crisp embrace of autumn gradually succumbs to the biting chill of winter; the air between you and Joel remains unchanged. His indifference is as unyielding as the encroaching winter snow.

“Tommy, please don’t make me go,” you beg. “He doesn’t even like me,” you cry, hoping he’ll have some sort of mercy on you.

“Sweetheart, he doesn’t like anyone. ‘M sorry, but it’s gotta be you two this time, ” Tommy replies, the sentiment of his voice echoing that there is no other option.

As you’re packing your backpack, you consider taking your camera but decide against it. Joel’s words pierce through you once more, “you almost got killed on my watch – f’what? A picture of a fucking bird?” You stash it in your dresser drawer, exchange it for a beanie and gloves, and walk out of the room to head to the stables.

Underneath the dappled morning sunlight filtering through the trees, you tread the familiar path to the barn, a soft crunch of gravel beneath your boots. The earthy scent of hay and the distant sounds of horses create a tranquil backdrop. As you approach the stables, your gaze catches Joel's silhouette – he stands, a rugged figure, in a weathered leather jacket and denim jeans with a knife sheathed at his side and a gun slung casually over his shoulder.

"Hey," you utter, your voice a gentle cadence, drawing closer to him. His gaze assesses you with a measured scrutiny, and with a subtle nod, he responds in a low murmur, "Ready?" The acknowledgment of your greeting remains absent.

Once inside the barn, you see the stable attendant readying your ride.

“‘M sorry, but you two are gonna have to share a horse,” he says, matter of fact. “Good ole bessy here has a lame foot that we gotta take care of before she’s back in commission,” he adds, patting the horse on the side. “And every other horse already has a rider for the day,” he adds. You think you hear Joel groan, but you can’t be sure.

You give the horse a friendly greeting, running your hand along its sturdy neck, a silent bond of understanding. Climbing onto its back, you settle in comfortably. Joel, without a word, positions himself behind you. The feeling of his thick chest pressed up against your back causes your breathing to hitch in your throat. Your eyes flutter closed as Joel reaches around you to grab the reins and he gently nudges the horse to go.

The rhythmic clip-clop of hooves on the path fills the air as you and Joel ride in tandem, a shared silence enveloping the space between you. The warmth of your body pressed against him, and the faint scent of your strawberry shampoo mingled with the earthy aroma of the trail, causes Joel to stiffen behind you. He adjusts his hips, subtly pulling them back, so you don’t notice.

You ride like that for what seems like an hour or more, until Joel breaks the silence, "So what’s the deal with the camera,” he asks as the horses continue their steady pace. His question throws you off. Is he being friendly?

“Oh, uh – well, my mom gave it to me when I was a little girl,” you say. Your voice goes an octave higher as you continue, “It’s all I have left of her now. All I have left of anyone, really,” you say. You bring your gloved hand up to wipe away the bead of snot that has gathered at the tip of your nose, sensitive from the cold, as you wait for his response.

“Hmm,” he adds, sensing the sadness, the grief behind your words; a hard truth almost everyone left alive has had to live. His heart hurts for you, hell, it hurts for him, too.

“Must be hard, reckon there’s not much worth takin’ a photo of these days,” he says, his head scanning from right to left to look out for any potential threats.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” you pause.

“When I was younger, I used to think the sound of thunder was just the sound of god rearranging the furniture,” you say, slightly angling your head back to look at him, “it’s all about perception, Joel.”

He peers down at you, a furrow forming on his brow as he considers your words, his eyes tracking down to linger on your lips. Before you can say anything more, your attention flickers upward to the sky, the clear blue sky has been replaced by dark, ominous-looking clouds, and a raindrop falls to your cheek.

++++

By the time you find shelter, far from the comforts of Jackson, you’re both completely drenched.

“Stay here,” Joel says, hopping off the horse and swinging the rifle over his shoulders into his thick hands. You brush away the beads of water collecting on your lashes as you watch him enter the home to make sure it’s safe. He’s gone for what feels like forever, and after he returns, the rifle is slung over his shoulder again. It’s safe.

“Alright, darlin’ – all clear, let’s get outta this mess,” he says, offering his hand to help you get off the animal. Once steady, he takes the horse by the reins to lead him into the garage for shelter.

The rain-soaked chill clings to your skin as you and Joel step into the abandoned home, seeking refuge from the biting cold. Droplets cascade from your clothes, leaving a small puddle beneath your feet. The air inside is still, the only sound is the soft creaking of the dilapidated structure, the percussion of the raindrops falling on the roof, and the whip of the wind beating against the siding of the house.

Without a word, you both start shedding your damp layers, your shivers becoming more pronounced in the cool silence. You stand in the dusty living room, clad in only your bra and underwear, as you hold your arms crossed over your chest partially to warm yourself but also to shield yourself from Joel’s eyes, slightly self-conscious.

Joel briefly walks off before he returns from the bedroom off the side of the living room, having managed to find an old blanket among the remnants of the forgotten lives of the people who once lived in the home. He holds it open wide to you, an offering, and you turn your body so he can drape it around your shoulders. Once secured, you find a little bit of relief in its thick fibers.

You turn around to face him, and he stands there, rubbing his hands together in front of him in an attempt to warm himself.

“Joel, you’re freezing,” you say, slightly taking the blanket off of your shoulders as if to offer it to him. “‘M fine, Darlin’ – I’ll be fine, keep it, you need to get warm,” he says, but you see the way his body shakes as he says it, his tender curls plastered to his forehead; weighed down by the water collecting in them.

At that moment, you witness a fracture in Joel's stoic facade, the rugged exterior showing hairline cracks. The formidable walls he's meticulously built begin to crumble.

"Joel, seriously, we can share – come here," you insist, extending the blanket open with one arm, inviting him into the cocoon of warmth. The gesture carries an unspoken understanding, a truce. You might hate me, but I don’t hate you.

Joel hesitates for a second, his eyes tracing over your skin; as if he’s committing the sight of your hard nipples and damp skin to memory.

At last, he acquiesces, closing the gap between your bodies. His hands encircle your waist, drawing you close as he wraps both arms around you. You respond by wrapping your arms around his neck, and the blanket falls around both of your bodies. With him this close, you notice the subtle scent he carries with him, a touch of rain, a dash of cinnamon, and a hint of sweat. You’re not sure how, but he smells good.

With a long exhale, he tightens his hold on you, enfolding you against the sturdy warmth of his body. You melt into him, your cheek resting on the soft skin of his chest, and your breathing returns to a steady rhythm. You both pause there, letting the warmth swallow you up; eventually, the goosebumps that once littered both your bodies, begin to fade.

Your stomach flips as you listen to the subtle pitter patterns of his heart and the rhythmic sounds of his breathing. You had forgotten how good it feels to just be held; to have another body pressed up against yours. You realize Joel must feel the same, your attention flickers to the hard stiffness pushing against your stomach.

Tilting your face up to meet his, your arms still entwined around his neck, you whisper "Joel," your voice suggestive and questioning at the same time. His name hangs in the charged air.

"Darlin'," he responds in a low murmur, and before you can formulate a response, his lips claim yours in an unexpected yet tender collision. Joel groans and forces his tongue into your mouth. The intensity surges, and he begins to pull you back towards the couch. Joel pauses when the back of his calves meet the edge of the cushions, and he deepens the kiss before sitting back, pulling you with him onto his lap, the blanket falling to the floor leaving you almost bare on top of him.

The air in the home is still cold, but you don’t care, the adrenaline pulsing through your veins and your red-hot desire for him is more than enough to keep you warm. He’s as hard as a rock under his underwear, and you hum, noting how good his cock feels beneath you. You haven’t seen it yet, but you can tell he’s big.

“Are you sure you want this? What about Tess?” you ask, grinding against his erection. Joel grunts as he gropes both of your breasts with his hands, his lips meeting yours once more.

“Fuck, baby,” Joel mutters, leaning back to look at you. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more,” he says, his hands leaving your breasts to find your hips, and he pulls you down harder onto his clothed erection. “And Tess and I are just friends,” he adds, “You’re the one I haven’t been able to get outta my head.”

Joel closes his eyes, and his mouth hinges slightly open. It has been a while since you’ve been laid, but god were you glad to see you could still render a man speechless.

Joel’s long, firm fingers find their way up your back to the clasp of your bra. He begins to unhook it. “Take this off,” he says, and you do as he says, throwing the damp lace onto the floor, leaving yourself completely topless on top of him.

“God damn, Darlin’ –”, Joel responds to the sight of you.

“Like what you see?” you say, feeling confident, and less intimated now that Joel is beneath you. Of course, he could overpower you in a matter of seconds, but in this moment, you have the upper hand. You grasp his chin, admiring the feel of the coarse hair on your fingertips, and lean down to kiss him hard.

His cock throbs against you, and your pussy drips in response. You stay there, kissing him, grinding your clothed cunt into him, enjoying the desperate sounds he makes as you do. His firm body, soft tummy, and compact muscles spur you on. You grin as you trace your hands down his smooth chest, noting the scars -- from what, who, you can only imagine – until your hands eventually make their way down to the band of his underwear.

Joel stops you, firmly gripping your chin to look at him. He pauses there and then pulls your face towards his, firmly sucking your bottom lip into his mouth with his teeth. “Mmm, Joel,” you mutter, the words leaving your lips fumbled and sloppy. Joel intensely stares into your eyes for a moment, and you stare back, eyes wide in disbelief that this is happening.

“C’mere,” Joel says, breaking the silence with another kiss, as you rock your hips against him again, the movement sending sparks straight to your core. God, you’re so fucking wet for him – a dripping mess.

Joel presses his face against your chest and works his way to your pebbled nipple before daring his tongue out to lick it. You push a still slightly damp curl away from his forehead, before clenching his hair in your fist. His breath is almost desperate as he laps at your tender nipples, alternating between sucking and little flicks of his tongue. “Joel,” you moan, pulling his face into your chest.

He growls softly, and sucks at your nipple harder, then rolls the other between his thumb and forefinger. You make a little noise in response. He trails the flat of his tongue up the valley of your breasts and over your exposed throat before kissing it, his hips lifting to you a bit as he does. He can’t wait to be buried inside of you.

“Up, baby. There’s a bed in the back room,” he says, tapping your thigh. You shimmy off of him, and he rises to full height. It doesn't take long for his lips to find you again. Kissing in a way that’s almost as violent as he is, you walk backward this time, making your way to the bedroom with Joel’s guidance.

It isn’t much, just skeletal remains of what was once a sanctuary. A duvet rests on the creaky old bed, its once vibrant pattern lost to time and dust. The room is mostly bare apart from the bed and a half-falling apart nightstand. Joel sits down on the bed and you fall to your knees in front of him. Your fingers hook under the elastic of his underwear, and his hips cant up to help you pull the fabric down and off his legs.

The cock that springs free is thick and long. You’re intimidated only momentarily until the need to feel him overwhelms you.

You spit into your palm and take his heavy member in your hand, before beginning to jerk him off. You slide your thumb across his swollen and red tip, your other hand gripping the thick, dark coarse hair against the base of him.

Joel’s eyes roll back into his head at the sensation of him in your soft palms. You bend forward and place his cock in the space between your breasts, you tilt your chin down and open your mouth so a long line of drool dribbles down to the cleft of your chest for lubrication, and then you squeeze the flesh around his length, rubbing up and down the entirety of him.

“Fuck nghh — that’s, ugh, that’s so good baby,” he grunts, his hands grabbing the nape of your neck.

And it is good. Almost too good.

“Darlin’, shit – ah, you gotta stop or I’m gonna come,” he says, his voice low.

“Maybe I want you to,” you purr, torn between making him coat your tits with come, or letting him fuck you first.

“No,” he says, voice more firm this time, “Gotta feel that perfect pussy before I do, baby girl,” he says, rising to full height, his arms wrapping under your armpits to bring you up with him. In one swift move, he has you turned and your back hits the mattress while a soft oof escapes your lungs.

Joel has a hazy, dark look in his eye as he hovers over you. His pupils are blown open wide with lust. You think he might fuck you then, but he looks down and notices that your pussy is still covered by the thin lace of your now-soiled panties. He kisses down your chest, your tummy, and his head eventually finds its place between your thighs. He plants a soft kiss on your mound, and he mutters how sweet he thinks you’re going to taste.

“Think we oughta find out,” he says, and he hooks his thumbs around the fabric and pulls them off your frame. Within seconds, his soft lips are on your wet folds.

"Fuck –,” you cry out as he licks a firm stripe up your pussy. Joel moans before making his tongue flat and massaging your clit with it. It’s so fucking good. "Taste so sweet, Darlin’, knew you would," Joel breathes, his breath hot against you.

He sinks a thick middle finger into you, and your walls clamp around the welcomed intrusion. His finger grazes against the soft spongy spot inside you that feels so good, and he works it in and out of you before adding another finger, twisting and working them both into you with precision. You’re so fucking close. You choke out a moan in response, enjoying the sensation of his long and thick fingers rubbing against your walls as his tongue makes tight circles around your sensitive clit.

You pull at your nipple with one hand and hold on to the top of his head, his hair entangled between your fingers as you attempt to hold on to him, an anchor to keep you from floating away, and he devours you.

His fingers thrust faster, his mouth firm on your throbbing bud, and he works to throw you over the cliff of your orgasm. You wail out, and the slurping groans that come from Joel are primal and filthy.

“Be a good girl for me,” he demands, his words barely audible with his mouth on your puffy lips, “want you to come,” he moans. “Come on pretty girl, I’ve got you – let me taste your sweet release.”

His dirty talk is all you need. "Yes, oh my god – Yes! Joel, fuck, I'm coming, don’t stop" you cry, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, your chest hot. Your vision goes white as you release yourself to him. Your back arches and your legs flex; your stomach feels like it’s being sucked into itself, and Joel works you through it, lapping up your come.

He rises from between your legs, his beard slick with your release, and smiles at you. As satisfied as you are at the moment, he’s the one that looks it. “Kiss me, darlin’,” he says, and his lips find yours. You savor the way it tastes; a hint of tang, but just so. You reach your hand in between your bodies to grab his cock, and he takes the hint.

“Gonna fuck you now,” he says, lining the entrance of his cock, the tip of it weeping with pre-cum, up against your wet and waiting hole. He presses his hips forward gently, and you begin to relax and flutter around him, feeling the subtle sting of an unfamiliar, yet not unpleasant, stretch.

“So big, feels so full, Joel,” you cry, “I know, baby. But I know she can handle it,” he coos, pressing impossibly deeper into you, until eventually he’s buried in you to the hilt. Underneath his solid frame, skin to skin, his cock firm inside of you, you feel your skin prickle hot and blood rushes through your ears. He fucks you equisitely, his chest crowding yours, but he bears the brunt of his weight on his forearms so as not to crush you too much.

He steadies like this for a while, before he eventually pushes himself up and grips the back of your knees. You follow his cue and pull them up, feet flat on the mattress beneath you. He folds them cross-cross onto your chest, obscenely stretching your needy hole around the girth of him.

You can’t breathe. He’s so big you swear you can feel him in your lungs. His cock drags in and out of you, making you shudder and your toes curl. The way he fucks you is so much – hard, deep, and passionate.

“You feel so good, Darlin’. Gripping me so fucking good, being such a good girl,” Joel moans.

“God, don’t stop, ugh I’m so close,” you say, eyes closing.

“Eyes open, baby. Want you to look at me while you come on my cock,” he says, as he takes your chin in his thumb and forefinger, demanding your attention.

Something snaps inside you, and your whole body tenses, and then releases in a sweet gush. “Jesus,” his blunt nails dig into the flesh of your hips before his jaw falls slack. With one more thrust, he loses himself, buried deep inside of you, your walls coaxing his balls empty. “Fuck, baby,” he growls as he empties everything inside you, finishing his climax with a guttural groan.

Joel pulls out, and you sigh at the loss of being full of him. He bends forward to press a kiss to the top of your head, inhaling sharp breaths, before falling to your side on the mattress.

You sit up onto your forearms, and a dribble of his release comes out of you. You grin down at him, surveying the damage. Joel’s complexion is pink, and his eyes are closed – he’s successfully been fucked into oblivion.

“Cmere, darlin’,” he says, eyes still closed, opening one arm open to welcome you into the warmth of his chest. You lay there, once again listening to his heart and the sounds of the rain on the grimy window in the room. You trail your index finger down his sternum.

“You know, I thought you hated me,” you say, your voice a little sad, but you know you need to get this off your chest. “I know you had to kill that guy because I wasn’t paying attention, and I really am sor–” Joel once again silences your sentence by placing his finger on your lips.

“Never say sorry to me again, Darlin’,” he says “‘sides, I’m the one who should be apologizin’, I’ve been a real asshole to you,” his voice sincere. “I just – I don’t know what I would ha’ done if I didn’t get to that guy in time, I’d never forgive myself if I lost you and could have prevented it.” His head drops to the pillow and he stares at the ceiling; your head finds it’s place once again the crook of his arm, nuzzled up against his side body for warmth.

There’s still so much more he wants to say, but he knows that he’ll have the time to do it later. He stares at the rough texture above him for a moment longer, before he quickly gets up, as if to remember something.

“Be right back,” he says and walks into the other room. He returns with a pack and pulls from it a little black container. “Found this during a raid the other day – thought of you,” he says, handing it to you. You jiggle it up by your ear and smile.

Film.

Joel Miller may be an asshole.

But he’s an asshole that most definitely doesn’t hate you.

END

Tagging moots and those who showed interest in the preview: @untamedheart81 @darkheartgatita @endlessthxxghts @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @bastardmandennis @dins-riduur-anthe @josephquinnswhore @drunk-and-capable @survivingandenduring @nosesitter @pedroswife69 @morallyinept @milly-louise @toxicanonymity @javiscigarette @planet-marz1 @anavatazes @dugiioh As always, please let me know if you want to be added or removed from my tag lists.xx

#joel miller the last of us #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller one shot #The last of us #enemies to lovers #pwp fics #pedro pascal character #joel miller #pedrohub #film photography

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taintandviolent · 1 month

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Hide & Seek - jpm x reader!

summary: You check into the Hotel Cortez for a little R&R, only to have nightmares. Some of which, are real. Run, little mouse.

warnings & word count: 3.4K! James being James, hide and seek elements, chasing, hunting, implications of murder/death.

a/n: this was a quick drabble that got longer. sorry that there’s no smut, I’m unwell enough that James chasing me is arousing enough. idea/requested by @garykingz

full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! /

On an impromptu vacation, you were going to be in Los Angeles for a week - visiting a friend for a few days. In truth, you'd taken the opportunity to get away from the humdrum of work for a little longer, wanting a relaxing escape from the drab nine to five lifestyle that you lived day in and day out. Initially, you'd picked the Hotel Cortez for its lower than usual rates, but were also charmed by its lavish interiors and intriguing history.

You'd checked in when it was sunny - a delicate, warm breeze floated through the Los Angeles streets, which was a stark difference once you got inside the doors; there was a damp chill that made your skin prickle. You chalked it up to bad air conditioning and made small talk about the weather with the lady who kindly took one of your bags. The rooms were outdated, but still possessed some charm. The lady, her name was Iris, had informed you that some of the rooms had been remodeled; this wasn't one of them.

You'd spent most of the night lazily unpacking, nursing a bottle of cheap champagne that you called up from room service. You'd called your friend, excitedly discussing the details of tomorrow's brunch at around 8 PM. When you'd finally fallen asleep, it was half past midnight and you weren't sure how long you'd slept before the horrible dreams started.

First, a haggard looking woman sat at the edge of your bed, her head in her hands as she sobbed hysterically. Though you tried desperately to comfort her, she shoved you off, muttering something about never getting out. After that, you tossed and turned, jostling that nightmare into something else. A man sewed into a mattress, gurgling and screaming for help as his body decayed, his slippery, slimy limbs clawing at the fibers, and women stood at the edge of your bed, covered in blood and laughing, angrily hissing words you didn't understand, judging you in their native tongue. The final dream was the worst, despite the unsettling nature of the last few, it was the most vivid, and the one that made your heart rate skyrocket.

Someone else was in your room with malicious intentions, watching you silently as you slept. Their inviting, persuasive energy drew you closer to them, scooting towards the edge of the bed. Your face contorted painfully in your sleep, head swishing back and forth on the pillow, sweat dotting your exposed skin.

James stood above you, watching you as frightening, troublesome visions plagued your subconscious and tormented your physical form. The Cortez effect still reigned supreme - good . Nobody slept well in these rooms unless he permitted it. And you... you, with all of your beauty, were thrashing about like a child. You were delightful, exquisite... everything he wanted in a victim. Skin flushed with fear, hair splayed out on the pillow in delicate locks. Your features, though you weren't, were vintage and reminded him of some of his favourite past kills. He leaned forward, hands reaching out your perfect, slender neck.

Cold, unsettling fingertips ghosted along the nape of your neck and you flinched away, throwing your leg from underneath the covers. When a hand came down on your mouth, your heavy lids snapped open. It wasn't a dream. A man - a very well-dressed man - hovered above you, his cool hand pressing against your lips, prepped for and successfully muffling the oncoming scream. Now realizing that you were awake, lightning fast, both arms wrapped around you, coiling around you like a snake and pulling you from your warm sheets. You let out a boisterous shriek and, surprising even yourself, wrestled free, throwing yourself back against the mattress. You climbed atop of it, standing higher than he was.

His hands slipped along the satin of your nightgown as you wrenched yourself from his arms; what a sly little thing you were . Your sudden departure from his grip surprised James, and unbeknownst to you, the element of surprise was deeply arousing to him. Ah, he’d picked a good one, yet again….

You let out a desperate yelp, tucking yourself into the corner where the walls met. “Get away from me! What the FUCK are you doing in my room?!”

“Ah, what a rarity you are! So lively!” His stance was challenging, anticipating your next move.

Your eyes peeled away from him for a split second, just to judge the distance between you and the door. It wasn’t far, not at all. Certainly, close enough that you could make it… with enough speed….

You decided to go for it; with a final breath and a desperate exertion of muscle, you leapt off the bed and charged towards the door, nearly collapsing against it. With fingers trembling, you threw the chain from its casing and unlatched the deadbolt before throwing the door open - running out so quickly that you almost stumbled into the barren hallway. Adrenaline coursing through your veins, you opened your mouth to let out a shrill scream, in hopes that someone, anyone, would hear you.

“Run, run, run!” From behind you, came his elated tone as he watched you bolt out the door, barefoot and clad in your silky, lacy nightgown. His joviality was disconcerting, to say the least.

It had been so long since he'd gotten his jollies with a good old fashioned chase. Nowadays, people were dull, heavy buffoons whose logic had diminished like their will to live, they possessed no natural instincts to hide, only scream and fall to the floor, flopping about like a dead fish. Naturally, he could’ve ended the game quickly, materializing in front of you and taking you into his arms at once. But there was hardly any sport, any fun in that idea….

So, he let you run. He let you run down the long hallway, shrieking for help. The door clicked shut, and through it, he heard your voice crack as you yelled, beating futilely on the door of some unsuspecting guest. Of course, no one would come to your aid. Everyone minded their own business in this hotel, and naturally no one would open the door to a screaming madwoman.

You tried the handle of a door. Locked. Fuck . You tried the one next to it, only to find it locked too. Shit. You took off down the hallway again, your bare feet padding against the ornately woven carpets. You hadn’t heard the door open, but didn’t want to waste any more time trying locked doors, so instead, you rounded the corner, finding that it looked just like the hallway from where you’d just come. The doors lined each side of you, seeming to go on forever. How people didn’t get lost in these god-forsaken hallways was beyond you; you nearly had when you checked in. Where was everybody? Was the hotel empty? Full?

You looked both ways and took off again, your muscles begging for relief as you ran to the left; the few moments of standing weren’t enough to soothe your aching legs. The fire burned your muscles as you ran, terror building in your stomach. You thought you heard the echo of his voice behind you…. But when you turned, there was nothing – nothing but doors.

“Jesus christ,” you whimpered, tears welling up. No. Now’s not the time to cry, suck it up.

You sniffed hard, silencing the sobs. You looked at the neverending doors, and still trembling, you tried the handle of the one nearest you. To your surprise, it turned freely. You snuck in, making sure to shut the door quietly behind you -- no more than a click of the latch.

The armoire seemed too obvious and easy of a hiding place, so you opted to crawl underneath one of the beds, albeit also obvious. The carpet smelled old, and there was a sliver of viewing space underneath the bedskirt. Watching the door with terrified eyes, you pressed your fingers into your mouth hard, silencing any breaths. The door opened moments later, and his polished shoes could be seen.

James knew you'd gone in here. He'd heard you. But where you went remained to be seen. He'd check the usual places; in hopes of finding his little escapist. His shoes moved around the bed, and you held your breath, closing your eyes. Perhaps this had been a stupid decision...

“Come out, come out wherever you are! There's nowhere to run where I won't find you!" His voice reverberated in the bathroom and your eyes snapped open, in relief. He whipped away the shower curtain, the shower rings clattering loudly on the metal pole. He peered inside. Empty. Drat.

Knowing he was momentarily occupied, you took that opportunity to crawl out from underneath the bed and run to the door, opening it as silently as possible. There was no doubt that he'd heard you again, as his footsteps clicked quickly on the tile. Directly opposite from you, there was a door without a placard, without a number. You raced across the small hallway, your breath coming from your mouth in delicate little pants. A few seconds passed as you stared at it, as though you were trying to view what was behind it. A potential option…

Nervously, you swallowed and leaned forward, trying the handle. To your delight; it gave way. Tentatively, you stuck your head inside; It was an unwelcoming empty room, nothing but cold, bare bricks inside. A strange, square shaped room that was too long to be a broom closet, but not wide enough to be a guest’s room. It looked like it ran parallel to the rest of the rooms, it too went on forever. A terrifying, bleak, unfinished hallway.

“Ahh, my little buttercup! Where have you run off to? I know this hotel like the back of my hand!. Afterall, I built it!”

Though slightly muffled, his syrupy, crooning voice was loud enough that it still bounced off the walls, seeming to come from all directions. Watching old films ardently, the Transatlantic accent was one that you found attractive usually, with its refined over-pronunciation, but this… you never pictured this scenario. Never pictured it to be…

Your head snapped in the direction from whence you’d come. The handle turned, which prompted you to shimmy inside, quietly shutting the door behind you. You were submerged in darkness and an odd moistness that made your nose itch. Wherever you were hadn't been utilized by anyone in a long time. A long, long time.

“...fuck…!” you hissed through clenched teeth. “...fuck, what do I do now ?”

If you weren’t going to die at the hands of that man, you were going to die in this bizarre, desolate hallway, starved to death, sealed away to decay like some forgotten wax figure. Pinpricks of darkness took over your vision, and you could do nothing but blindly feel your way down the hall, stepping carefully as you did, arms out in front of you to protect against any obstacles.

The floor was dusty, you could feel your warm skin picking up particles as you walked. You didn't hear him though, so he'd chosen another direction. At least, you hoped.

Your hands flattened against a surface that differed from the walls. It didn't feel like brick, it felt like another type of wood; there was bevelling on the sides. Your hands bumped into a handle, which you twisted, pushing forward. It gave with a little push and you came face first with a hotel room - one that looked similarly to your own.

It wasn't empty; a stout woman in a modest maid outfit was bent over the bed, meticulously smoothing every crease from the top sheet. She paid you no mind, though she'd surely had to have heard you open the door; the hinges desperately needed oiled.

You took a step forward. Hesitantly. "E-excuse me? Ma'am?"

No response from her. What the fuck was going on in this hotel? People dressed like they were from another time, ignoring desperate screams of peril...

“Please,” you panted, frustrated. “You have to help me. Hide me. There’s… there’s a man after me. He’s –”

Acting almost startled, she straightened up from the bed, and turned to you, waving her hands as though you were speaking too loudly. “Shhhush, shush, it’s alright, dear. Do stop breathing in such a way, you’re going to hyperventilate!”

You swallowed, wetting your dry mouth. “I’m… I’m sorry. I just, he’s… there’s a man… he tried to- to....” You scrambled. A phone. There was a phone on the table behind her. To call the police. Yes. That. Perfect. “Just let me use the phone and I'll -"

In a fluid, determinate motion, she stepped in front of the small table, blocking you from the phone. Your eyes narrowed, brows furrowing. She was too calm. Something was off about her demeanor as she dutifully approached you, hands clasped together, wringing them, and it made your teeth chatter. A small, but devious smile curled around her rouged lips.

“N-no, what're you doing....?”

The door to your left opened abruptly. The man exhaled as he burst through it, tying an apron behind his back. He first made eye contact with the maid, then with you, his dark, inky pupils widening.

“Ahhhh. Look at that, my dear.”

“No… no, no, no, no, no, no! NO! PLEASE!” You stumbled back around, falling against the door - the one you had just come from, which had swung shut. Although you'd just pushed it open moments ago, it seemed heavier than before. You put all your weight into pulling at it again, tugging with everything you had. From behind you, his dubose voice continued.

“It seems as though I’ve won this little game of yours!”

Finally, it released and the hinges let out a painful wail as you yanked it open. Although it had already begun to swing shut, you gripped the handle hard, pulling it until the lock clicked into place. You weren't sure if they were coming; you couldn't hear them talking from behind the heavy wood. You imagined they would be. Eventually.

The cool, looming darkness was all that surrounded you, but at present, it was less terrifying than what was on the other side of the door. Squaring your shoulders, you bravely took long strides back into the pitch-blackness, hoping to feel a sense of familiarity. After a few moments, you began running again, wanting to put as much distance between you and him as you could.

You only got a few yards before a searing hot pain shot up through your calf muscle as something sharp and jagged tore through your soft flesh, causing you to yelp and clumsily stumble to a stop. Though you couldn't see anything, out of habit, you gazed down in the general direction, breathing shallowly. Deprived of sight, your other senses kicked in, and you felt the warmth that oozed from the bottom of your foot and smelled the hot, irony scent of blood as it seeped through the gash in your toughest skin. Though the pain was crippling, you had to keep going.

Now hobbling hurriedly down the dark corridor, you thought you were nearing the door. With both hands out in front of you, you waited to feel something. A harrowing thought settled into your psyche, but you shooed it away, promising yourself that it wouldn't happen. Your fingertips finally felt the smoothness of wood and you pressed both hands against the door, gasping in relief. In trepidation, you tried the handle, desperately yanking it down. You wiggled it furiously, panicking. Just as you'd worried. It was locked.

The hinges howled at the other end of the hallway and you froze, holding your breath. Stupid. Where else would you have gone? He knew you were in there. Like he'd said, he knew this hotel like the back of his hand and likely knew that the door would lock. He'd probably designed it that way. Slowly, you turned your head, staring pointedly behind you.

Lights flickered on; though covered in dust, the same wall sconces that were on the outside hallways were also on the inside. You winced, as your eyes adjusted to the change in light. You spotted him, fast approaching. He held something in his hand, though you couldn't make out what it was. His crunching footsteps neared closer and closer. You spun around, pressing your back against the door. You were cornered. This was it.

“Now, now. There’s no need for that!” His voice echoed down the corridor. “Well,” he added. “Perhaps fear is... apropos. I've no intention of being quick with you.”

He was terrifying with his eloquence and debonair demeanour, albeit handsome. In a different setting, you might've accepted a drink from him, or perhaps an offer to dance. But now... with your hands in front of your chest, shaking like a cornered animal, you were anything but wooed.

He was mere inches away now, and all you could do was tremble like a fool. With a long, drawn out vocalisation, he closed in the distance, sandwiching your body between himself and the door. His fingers ghost over the curve of your thighs and hips, up to your waist, and finally, just beneath your breast. He pressed his hand underneath the weight of it, nestling it underneath the flesh. He could feel the sweat that had settled into the fabric of your nightgown, the heat that radiated off your body and most of all, he could feel your thumping heartbeat beneath your skin. It hammered away, pumping your blood through its arteries, keeping you living, breathing, panting.... quivering. Aroused, he nipped at the air, hissing through his teeth.

"Oh, don't look so surprised, my dear. Did you really think you'd be the one that got away from me? You gave me a good run, indeed. But deep down, you knew I'd find you."

No... he was wrong. You really had thought that you'd get away. You'd always considered yourself to be... smart, quick. As it seemed, that was a foolish misconception. You weren't quick enough.

He leaned down, placing his lips against your flushed cheek. His moustache tickled your flesh, his breath was cool against your ear like the first warning breeze before a storm.

“Now,” he whispered into your skin. "Where are those screams you so boldly let free before? Why, you're as quiet as a mouse now."

"Please, please don't kill me..." You murmured, pulling your face away from his. James immediately caught your cheek with his hand, pulling it back to its starting position. He stroked the skin softly, tenderly, and whispered: "Oh, but I must... you're going to make it sound so good."

With tears streaming down your face, you let out a pleading moan, transitioning into a blood-curdling scream.

"Yes! Scream for me, my darling! Scream to your heart's content!" James said, slipping his hand round your waist. "Miss Evers!" He called over his shoulder. "Ready my tools!"

You heard her call back: "Yes, Mr. March!"

Mr. March , you thought. That's his name. Mr. March is going to kill me.

You had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The only place you could go was into his arms - his cool, strong arms with their enrapturing steadfastness, their chilly persuasiveness. They gripped you so lovingly, though the threat of death loomed over you like a cloud. He hoisted you up into his arms and over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. You were light, alive and easy to manipulate.

"P-please. I was here to see my fr-friend..." you whimpered into his back, though you doubt he cared. Seeing your friend seemed like such a trivial thing now when your life was at stake. He carried you back down the hallway with ease, avoiding whatever obstacles laid on the floor.

By the time your back hit the table, your vision was so clouded with tears that you could no longer see him, but you felt the way he caressed you, and heard the way he spoke about your body, monologued discomforting facts about the human body, and how good yours was going to look once it was splayed open for the world to see.

The last thing you saw was the deep, crimson gash on his neck. Passively, you focused on it as he spoke, watching the gore as it glistened and moved with his words. You'd never thought about what your insides would look like until then. You wondered if yours looked like that, too. You supposed you'd find out soon enough.

"Please..." you whispered. "Please... don't..."

#nervous about this one but as per usual fuck or we ball #james patrick march #james march x reader #James Patrick March x reader #james patrick march x you #AHS hotel #American horror story

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dear-ao3 · 1 year

Text

yk all those posts like: _blank_ is a perfect song theres no flaws

like obviously iris by the goo goo dolls and everybody wants to rule the world is on the list. but i raise yall: the foundations of decay by my chemical romance

i cannot think of a better way for them to come back.

also the song is so good.

#from katya #not a tag

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gthiah-if · 1 year

Text

Gone to HELL in a Handbasket - 18+ Interactive Fiction (wip) - by glucosify

tags : urban fantasy (inspired by late 70s / early 80s), romance, supernatural, mystery, satanic and occult themes, cults, 18+ rating for violence, sexual content, mental illness and more

A simple pizza delivery turns sinister when you find yourself trapped with 5 other strangers in a decaying place that hides a dark history and darker secrets.

Demo here on itch.io ⋄ last update: May 2023 ⋄ word count : ~7,400 (~13,100 with code)

Only the prologue is available for now, you won't play as the main character until chapter 1 :^)

Features :

a story that (loosely) takes place in the late 70s, in NYC

custom made UI : dark, light and retro themes, mobile friendly, adjustable fonts, font sizes and weights

customizable MC : play as male, female, non-binary, touch starved, touch averse.. and choose your appearance and personality

figure out the secrets left behind and find a way out - one way or another

choose to forsake an imminent evil or become part of something greater

decide if your companions are trustworthy or simply useful for your own goal

five gender selectable romantic options (male, female, non-binary) - choose their pronouns and appearances separately / romance is optional but will most likely be a big part of the story

Romantic Options :

Mahalia / Marlon / Mars "MOONLANDER" Harris : a sarcastic and pragmatic computer operator; they’re an arcade, tech and sci-fi lover through and through

Amélie / Alexandre / Astin "ACE" Beaulieu : a college athlete with a sunny disposition who's currently feeling lost and going through a difficult time

Gina / Gil / Gera "GUMDROP" Fernández Alfonso : charismatic and resourceful, this social work student's desire to help others always seems to break through their fear of letting people get too close

Ilona / István / Írisz "IRIS" Juhász : though they lack in life experiences due to a sheltered upbringing, they possess a gentle thoughtfulness and vivid imagination

Kat / Kit / Ky "KILLJOY" Miller : a reckless straight-edge hardcore punk with a sharp tongue and an honest heart

LINKS : FAQ ⋄ TAGLIST ⋄ MASTERLIST ⋄ GOOGLE FORM (feedback & bug report) ⋄ DISCORD (TBA) ⋄ PINTEREST (TBA)

This blog will be used to post updates and anything related to the IF - answered asks, scenarios, headcanons, short drabbles etc..

started in december 2022 - first update in may 2023 - b&w image from untermyergardens.

#interactive fiction #interactive story #twine wip #twine game #if wip #interactive novel #mystery #supernatural #horror #romance #wip

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melanodis · 4 months

Note

Could I hear more about the William and Mike Doing a trice amount of cannibalism thing I'm curious?

TL;DR: Their bodies are actively decaying and they need a steady supply of remnant in order to fight it off. Fresh blood from people ridden with fear is a great source. And hey. As a zombie, it actually tastes pretty great.

Eat your neighbor. Do it. This is Hurricane, nobody give a shit.

The way I have remnant work is that every living being has trace amounts of it; be it in their blood or any fiber of their being. The essence of life, in short.

This substance can be easily, and quite possibly ONLY be obtained through killing and harvesting their blood, but it would have to be heavily filtered in order to give rise to the pure, metallic shimmering purple that remnant primarily manifests as. The amount of distress the victim was in before their death is a delicate component. Too little, too little remnant to be harvested, too much... it pollutes it into agony. There's some sort of chemical reaction that happens after death that allows the remnant to be "unbound" from the victim.

An excess of this in one's body can bring adverse symptoms such as pale skin, notably the eerie discoloration of the eyes and iris, the appearance of almost bruise like anomalies around the neck and edges of the eyes. But most importantly... the prolonging of one's life, even bringing the dead back from the precipice. The natural amount occurring in one body has none of these effects, but if one were to say... inject more, only mere drops of the pure unfiltered substance is enough to skyrocket past healthy levels.

#i forgot where i was going with this #anywya remnant is a drug and william is. well brother #arc.txt #five nights at freddy's #michael afton #william afton #ask.txt #connectionterminated13 #arcverse #i guess??????? we're going with that now...

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neonlight2 · 1 year

Note

Please can you write about the boys not wanting jaehaera to marry prompt

Thank you ❣️

Sure babe, thanks for the request, hope you like it. 🥀

Warning: incest?? (Not actually related but… adoption??), implied vulgarity/smut

Jaehaera Targaryen (OC) x House Targaryen, Hightower, and Velaryons

Masterlist:

The boys don’t want Jaehaera to get married just as much as she doesn’t…

To preface, there is no doubt every Lord AND Lady would have their eye on Jaehaera. More so when she comes of age, because as you do— and you will come to see, she does things that surpasses beliefs by then.

Along with the strife for power and wealth, many will simply be enticed by the princess. She is a striking sight to be held. Differing greatly from her family, yes. However the opposition within her beauty only makes her all the more mesmerizing… to everyone.

Her hair, longer and thicker than even the lion on the crest of the house of Lannister— whom would try and fail in humiliating rejection. It was black as obsidian and would sway when not put up. Sometimes, even when it was up, strands would fall, effortlessly finding the middle of her back.

That of which was her biggest controversy.

Her back.

Great lines, mimicking that of lighting within a raging storm, ran across her back. From nape to the bottom of her spine it spiraled and branched to vast whatever left on the sides. It contrasted her skin in every season. Turning a deep red in winter as her skin grew fair from the frosty air and decaying leafs, and white as bone as the sun’s rays caused the air to go hazy in one’s eyes, whilst sinking into flesh— making her a glowing bronze.

Many nobles found her lack of shame for them to be obscene. She seemed to like flaunting them, purposely wearing backless dresses, or ripping her tunics as to “feel the breeze against her skin”. That was the excuse that put Viserys at ease, for at least she was not simply laced by binding leather or cloth, which covered only as much as deemed necessary by Jaehaera. The decision always came down to her mood really.

Yet, as it became normal to people of court, those whom admire her couldn’t help becoming enticed by the scars. Later enticement lead to lust, and the princess was no stranger to things of that nature.

If anyone was lucky enough to even touch the princess, one would live in content for the rest of their life. To bed her was another, far too good to be described by any that had anyway… or maybe too dangerous. (We’ll find that out later.)

As Jaehaera became one with her body, controlling her limbs to her advantage in strategy of battle and manipulation, as well as the curves she had grown fond of, more took notice.

And those that had loved her before it all, well… it wasn’t long until they could no longer idly stand by.

Daemon felt as if he had been struck…

the moment he arrived on king landing soil he had at least expected his brother to welcome him home, being as that he was the one to send him to the wall in the first place. But when his feet hit the ground, and all he was comforted by was the sound of singing not too far away. Was there to be a celebration he knew not of? Daemon refused the idea of being left out of a party, and a part of him was eager to know that this mascaraed was for his victory.

News flash… it wasn’t.

He walked in, already stripped of armor, which he disposed of on the way there, and his eye grew wide. The magical purple of his iris had diminished into the blackness of his pupil. The sight in front of him was something he’d remember always; a cherished memory he wished to relive, yet was only satisfied whilst dreaming.

There she was, at least two feet taller than when he had left, spinning in circles. Her hair was let free, spiraling around with her, making those within her circle have to duck in cover or allow distance in between themselves and the Princess. She was a sight to behold, flush that traveled down all the way to her collar bone, skin glistened in a thin line of sweat from the activity. Daemon would bet that she had been like this for hours. And that was the only thing that irked him; he’d been too late to see the beginning.

While Daemon’s eyes took in all he could, the prince couldn’t help but noticed how her attire changed. How it caressed the curve of her breast, more full than before, whilst gripping her waist tight— as if to tease him. She had always been dangerous, but as Daemon felt his heart skip, he knew that she was now lethal.

“Brother! Finally you’ve joined us!”

His brother had never seemed more irritable.

Viserys was quick to beckon his brother, pulling him into a hug when able. He was definitely more drunk than sober. And it would seem he had his niece to thank for that.

“I thought it best to have a celebration for your return uncle.” Said a familiar voice, one he’d also missed and brought him great warmth.

Oh his princess.

“So this was your doing then, Rhaenyra?” He smiles, cocking his head at her coyly.

Laughing, a small blush creeping onto her face at his attention, she shook her head. “I thought to have a celebration, but Issa qēlos demanded it be done right here.” My star.

Glancing back onto the dance floor he noticed his raven haired beauty was no longer there. “Well she is a force to be reckoned with, that much I know hasn’t changed.” He stated, brows scrunched as he searched.

“Oh a lot has changed while you’ve been away Dae.”

Zipping around, he’s faced with shadow like girl. “Jaehaera.”

Raising a brow teasingly, she tilted her head to look past his shoulder at Rhaenyra. “I suppose he forgot his promise.”

Dawning on him as quick as an arrow, Daemon laughs. “Then allow me to apologize with a dance, Issa jaesa.” My goddess.

She took his hand without hesitation this time, only stopping his lead to whisper into Rhaenyra’s ear— making the pair giggle.

It would seem he’d have to catch up on inside jokes.

And he was right. Daemon’s chin rested comfortably against the crook of her neck, her head now too much of a stretch for him to place it there. As sad as he found the loss, secretly, the Prince couldn’t help but love the fact his nose was nestled close to her jaw. If he were to croon he’d feel her pulse. But he knew better than to do that in front of his brother. Especially since he’d only just returned.

“I’ve been a bit bored without you.”

“Oh? Do tell.” Daemon practically purred.

She hummed in confirmation, “Rhaenyra and Alicent have been the only people to keep me sane around here, and poor Queenie already has to deal with her own pestering suitors—,”

Jaehaera’s almost tripped due to Daemon’s feet halting at an obnoxious speed. She was just about to snip at his behavior when she met his eyes, which were anything but playful. Backing her head slightly to get a better grasp of his expression, she noticed a vein twitching at the side of his head.

“What?”

The word was harsh, force through gritted teeth as his hold on her grew more secure. His arm now wrapped around her middle, whilst his other intertwined with her own.

He was intimidating, no one could say otherwise, but Jaehaera knew better. He’d never actually hurt her, on purpose anyway.

“Don’t ‘what’ me Daemon, and don’t look at me like that. I’ve done nothing wrong.” Jaehaera remarked, pushing her body against his to make him move once again. She didn’t need her father being suspicious of their sudden stop of festivities.

“And it’s not like you’re the one being bothered by a bunch of pompous pricks.”

Shifting his tight jaw, Daemon exhaled deeply through his nose and ease back as much as he could. But his eyes had a mind of their own, jumping to every lord around, marking each one that even dared to glance at the princess as a target.

“What has Viserys said—?”

“He told me that I could do as I wish.”

Daemon’s shoulders loosened at that.

“I’m guessing you put them all in there place then?”

“All the arrogant ones,” she stated with a small smile. “Some were quite polite actually.”

Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, Daemon twirled her ferociously before picking her up to tower above all others.

“Is that what pleases you? Politeness?”

Biting her lip to surprise a giggle, Jaehaera stared down at Daemon— those amber eyes lit aflame. “Respect is nice, but I do enjoy good groveling.”

Nodding, Daemon lowered the princess slowly till they were face level. He was going to whisper sweet, nasty things to her, wanting to see her blush desperately, but she beat him to the punch.

“I do like my lovers on their knees.”

A guttural moan found itself lodged in the rogue Prince’s throat. “I’ve made you insatiable haven’t I, Issa jaesa.” My goddess.

“You and Rhaenyra alway insist to feed my ego,” she shrugged playfully, slowing as the dance came to an end.

“I’d gladly take the blame. Something divine as you should be worshipped. Settle for no less.”

“I think you just don’t want me to get married.”

“No lord nor lady here deserves you.”

And he meant every word. From then on Daemon was a menace. If anyone approached her and Jaehaera didn’t seem the least bit amused— they were done for. Even in some events where they did please her, Daemon could not help but for jealous by the loss of attention. Sure, he could share with Rhaenyra and his brother, perhaps even lady Alicent at times, but he refused to let anyone outside the tiny circle Jaehaera had made up for herself have her. He was never one to cage her in manner of physicality. It would be hypocritical of him. But he always made it known when it did displease him.

Then he was either scolded or given the attention he had been begging for. Both made his blood hot and his head fuzzy. As long as he kept those addictive eyes on him, and her hand free.

Aegon was a passive aggressive little fucker…

He would shamelessly throw himself onto Jaehaera, being the clingy bitch he is. It didn’t matter if they were at a huge gathering or in their own company— Aegon was touching her in some way or lingering in her vicinity. It had been that way since he was young. She was the only person he ever longed to be with always. And if he wasn’t it was one of two reasons:

1. Jaehaera was traveling, which much to his disappointment was more often than not.

Or,

2. He was compensating for the lack of attention she was giving him by drinking his weight in wine or surrounding himself with women who kept his mind fuzzy enough to imagine that Jaehaera was there with him.

Oh, and Aegon was by far more vulgar than his brother in his affections for her.

It shouldn’t be a shocker how dirty Aegon is. In most regard, Jaehaera was the only figure he ever looked up to and felt completely loved by.

His father thought him a waste of space, a disappointment to his mother, and he fell short completely to his siblings. Not to mention he had little to no relationship to his sister Rhaenyra nor her children— even though he did quite miss his friendship with Jace, whether he admitted or not.

The single bonding factor for his family was her. And in a way, he loved her more for it.

But then again, Jaehaera was there for most of his childhood. Which meant while he was going through puberty, she was the only woman beside his mother and his sister that was around him most of the time. And he found her glorious.

He found that the maids he haphazardly fooled around with to be nothing in comparison. Thankfully however, he did treat them respectfully in that regard. He was still a proud prick about his status, but there’s no way he’d be disrespectful to a woman— especially one he’d slept with, while Jaehaera was around.

She definitely covered for him in the beginning. After finding him balls deep in one of the older ladies of court, when Alicent had been searching for him at during a banquet, she could only laugh to herself and tease him about it later. Nonetheless, she told Alicent he was taking a piss and would be back soon enough.

He would for sure test his limits with her. At first he’d hang on her figure whilst she discussed formal business, totally unamused and making himself busy by playing with the long strands of hair falling to her back. His cheek would lay heavy on her shoulder, collecting sweat in between as time went on, and his fingers would trail. Once he let them glide delicately against her scars, liking the differing texture in skin. At first it could even be counted as innocent, which would only last for a few moments. Soon his hand would trail down, and Jaehaera would sway him hard enough to make him hiss and back off. He’d give her a “sweet” grin and speedily kiss her neck before running away.

Being that as it may, he didn’t take it to kindly when Lords would approach her. Ladies he didn’t mind, and he would admit that it was because he was rather fond of Jaehaera’s ambiguity within sexuality. He just didn’t like when there could be a legal tie involved. And if any lord was to be with her, there was a higher chance to push marriage.

Not to mention, if we’re being completely honest, he just doesn’t like when she pays attention to any man other than him. This included his brother to an extent. But most of the time he needn’t worry, because his family always seemed overly protective and possessive of Jaehaera. So he wasn’t alone in his efforts.

Although, there was an infamous spectacle involving him and Lord Lannister…

“Have you lost your mind boy?!”

Aegon blinked slowly at his father, waiting for this to all blow over, as if dismembering the son of a high lord were a small mishap.

“Father, the only one who’s lost anything is Lord Lannister—,”

“What in the seven hells were you thinking?!” Viserys bellowed

Aemond could help but scoff out a laugh, surprisingly proud of his older brother. To be fair, if Aegon hadn’t done it, he would be the one being scolded.

“Lord Lannister crossed a line—,” Aegon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. His head was pounded something fierce, and he couldn’t decide whether to blame the alcohol he had a few hours before or this whole conundrum.

“What? Did he harm your ego so far that it gave you the means to cut off his finger?”

“My king,” Jaehaera stepped forward, brushing Aegon’s side with a gentle hand to his shoulder— a gesture of comfort— without looking at him. “I will speak for him.”

Viserys let out an exasperated exhale, “You protect him too much. The boy has to learn to justify his actions.”

“Father, I only did what anyone else in this family would have.” The prince watched as his father scoffed, taking the hand Jaehaera offered instantly. His mother, Alicent stood by, inching her hand to grab the other in order to feel some relief.

Even she seemed to not believe him.

“Lannister put his filthy hand on Jaehaera.”

Everything went still. All that could be heard was a quick wince come from the tall princess.

She really wished to keep that a secret. Enough trouble had begun already.

“Father, it’s been taken care of.” Her words were meant to coo away any violent thoughts warping Viserys mind, but it hardly worked with so many around.

“You should have aimed for his whole hand.” Alicent stated, anger flashing in her eyes.

“Ali!” Jaehaera hissed, yanking away her hand.

She only received a flickering glance before Alicent shared a knowing look with her husband, then moving toward her son. Eventually kissing his cheek while muttering, “Well done.”

He smiled like an idiot for the rest of the day. Cause I’m his mind…

He still had a chance.

Aemond was possessive, and he wasn’t shy about it…

But he was far more strategic and regal in his affection or actions. Unlike his brother, he understood the importance of court.

Aemond’s touches were subtle and his words witty. He would take every opportunity to compliment Jaehaera. He would even go as far to put the thought of a ball, festival, or banquet into his mother’s head; it was all in hopes of seeing Jaehaera and spending numerous hours with her.

For most of his childhood, her presence was capricious. She came and went faster then the seasons changed. The kingdom would be lucky if she stayed for a month, for there was always work to be done across the sea. There was a rumor that if she and her dragon were to stay longer than a moon’s time then they’d turn to ash. Sadly, Aemond couldn’t prove them wrong.

But when she did come home, it was always when she was urged by her family. Of course, the request had to be occasional, or she’d discard every other one in the fire of Shykros breath or the salty mist below them. Most of the time they knew the chance of impending dance would lure her back.

One of his fondest memories with her was when she had come home two days before the timely hunt of the season, followed by a sleepless night of eating, dancing, and fucking. No one slept of their own free will; it was only until they could no longer stand or ached to move. By royal decree. Part of the few Jaehaera had set into motion.

As she spared with him, a exuberant smile etched into her face, Jaehaera practically twirled with every turn. Disarming him in few minutes, she always picked up his sword (which she gifted him) and spoke eagerly. “Again.”

Dare he say, he’d never seen her so elated during training. Sure, Aemond knew her to be playful and cunning. Perhaps a bit mischievous at time— wicked when provoked— but otherwise she was always calculated while sparring. She practiced like it was battle. As if she would die that very session. The only sign of humanity during the process was shown at the end, after her opponent laid on the floor beneath her. Sometimes if she was too far gone she’d even have them pinned, her foot on their chest and her blade hovering just above their neck.

Rare, but he’d seen it. She was ravenous and chaotic, yet so controlled. Aemond was enthralled by Jaehaera, and he made it known. (Much like Daemon in that regard.)

“Why are you so happy Fae?” A nickname he’d given her in his youth after she told him the tails of fairies and mythology. While magic flowed through his veins, he thought her the definition of magic.

“Why wouldn’t I be happy?” She quipped back, flipping her sword around her hand. “My whole family is to be under the same roof.” Jaehaera was beaming at the thought.

Aemond couldn’t help but feel torn. He loved that expression she was wearing, but what brought her happiness also meant he lost pieces of her. Parts of herself she would give away to his sister and uncle.

“Gods I haven’t seen Nyra in forever.” Jaehaera let out a proper giggle. Eyes shining bright. “Daemon will be there too no doubt. That is if his petty fit is over.”

“It’s diminish the moment he hears your attending.” Aemond said, his tone sharper than he meant. Their blades meeting briefly in the same second.

“Yes I suppose. I haven’t seen him in a month, and I know by the lack of responses to my letters of Dorne he and Nyra’s aren’t necessarily pleased.”

Furrowing his brow, he blocks her advance and lunges to the side. She pounced to the opposite. “Why is that?”

“I was propositioned five times. A valiant effort I’ll give them that.” Jaehaera laughed as her mind wandered far. “I almost said yes to one.”

Aemond couldn’t help but grind his teeth.

He knew she loved Dorne. Everyone knew she loved Dorne. She found their customs more comely than the pristine life at court. It was natural for her to fit in there.

That frightened her family to no end.

Locking his jaw, Aemond fueled his anger into his legs. And for a short time he even managed to back her close to the wall. But they never made it there.

It was quickly over after Jaehaera hit the hilt of his sword, making him stagger— she didn’t care if the sword grazed her skin. Her eyes were always on the prize. Soon enough he was on the floor. Both could only hear each others heavy breathing and the thumping in their chests.

Except Aemond’s heart was fueled by adrenaline and worry.

“I cut you—,”

“It’s alright. My move was risky. You did very well.”

“No, I should have—,”

“Aemond,” she looked down at him, tone stern and hand reached out. “You did well. You’re improving.”

Biting the inside of his cheek, Aemond nodded with a downcast expression. His hand finding hers.

“Would I lie to you?”

“No.”

“Then don’t look as if I have. It’s a happy day, and I expect you to have a glorious time. I can’t dance with moping feet.”

Sure enough, Aemond perked up. She danced with him for almost half the night. In the beginning of the banquet he had her all to himself. He would have accompanied her during the hunt, but Dameon had to fucking steal her the moment he arrived.

Aemond knew he’d have to be a fool not to count Daemon and Nyra as competitors. Seven hells, he felt jealousy creep up his spine when his own mother and siblings had her attention.

He knew about his mothers past with Jaehaera. It was the plot to most of his bestie stories as a child. The fondness of Alicent’s voice while talking about her seeped into his ears like wax on paper. Sealing a decree like a code of honor. Only as he grew older did he recognize the emotion he knew all too well within his mothers eyes. And his brother and sister were no better.

So he’d use the similarity in interests to his advantage.

If Jaehaera was on training grounds, so was he.

If she was in the library it was because he had ordered new books, told her of them, and awaited for her there. Where they would talk of philosophy, fantasy, politics, and morality. Often whilst sitting in close proximity— enough to be considered in each others laps (head, feet, hips, all were touched when in reach).

He’d ride beside as they flew through the sky. Their dragons kindred. Sometimes they’d race, sometimes Aemond watched as she do tricks— practically hanging from her saddle.

And if this weren’t enough…

He’d place his hand strategically wherever was closest to touching another person. If they were in a group, and someone’s shoulder was close enough to brush against Jaehaera’s— Aemond’s hand was there in seconds. No one but family deserved to touch her, and even then he felt limitations.

He’d see Aegon kiss her skin and cling to her “like a child”. The bastard was more cunning then he let on.

Most of the time he had the strength to let it go, but other times he simply walked over and kicked his brother in the shin.

Holding her hand was his predominant way for showing his affection. He wasn’t shameless like Aegon. He saved farther physicality for private. There he was more aggressive. Constantly grabbing what he was allowed, nudging the rules as him and Jaehaera talked by the fire in his or her room— hand creeping and molding into her thigh.

OH— and the level of obsession he has with her back is insane. Sure, before his own scar, he found them mesmerizing, but after the incident they took on an entirely different meaning for Aemond. He knew how it felt. To be marked. For all the world to see.

What people didn’t know was that her scars didn’t stop at the end of her spine. They went till the middle of her thighs, circling around them like snakes. And a few even made their way around her rib cage, just below her breasts.

Only few had seen them (cough cough– Daemon and Rhaenyra, and a few others you’ll meet), and he’d only got the chance because she needed help replacing her bandages one day after coming back from battle.

She’d never let the maesters treat them. She thought them imbeciles. And if she were to be open— as she was with anyone she allowed to see; they always asked the same question: “How did you get them?”

It was a sensitive topic for her. And the story only made Aemond feel even more encompassed by his love for her. (That’ll be a story for later.)

Let’s just say, he rubbed that in his brothers face— tastefully. No details of her tale, but enough to get back at Aegon for his vulgar comments.

Aemond always kept his eyepatch off when they were alone with each other. Simply because Jaehaera had picked out the very gem laying in his socket, and she said “You look beautiful.”

Let that sink in.

Jacaerys and Lucerys felt the same in this regard…

Both agreed that no one (lord, lady, or ruler) would be worthy of Jaehaera. It was simple as that. A shared idea amongst the whole family. She was the one thing that could unite the feuding sides.

However— unlike their cousins— they viewed Jaehaera like another mother. So while Aegon and Aemond had their own selfish ideals— along with their mother and Daemon— the boys just wanted Jaehaera to be happy.

Yes, they were Rhaenyra’s boys. But they were also her boys.

And from what they could see, and the way in which she spoke to them, she already was happy. Traveling was her passion, and they never wished to see that disappear. She was their idol, who they looked up too (other than Rhaenyra).

She taught Jace everything and anything to do with swordsmanship and whatever else he needed or wanted. The same with Luke. She treated them equally, distributing affection evenly through words of praise, tight hugs and loving pats atop their heads.

Luke never felt left out for his lack of experience in sword craft, nor was he shamed for not wanting his position. She praised him for his kindness and compassion, while others mocked it for weakness. Jaehaera urged his love of music and poetry, and often snuck him out of the palace (as well as Jace if he wished to come) to travel to foreign lands. It didn’t matter if he’d have to go to schooling with only an hour of rest. He’d do it every night if he could.

Jaehaera never once made Jace feel pressured in his title, being heir to the throne— when so many questioned his legitimacy. She would simply say, “if they call you illegitimate than I am a fraud.” For if he could defend her name with valiance and ferocity , then why could he not do the same for himself. She never denied that he was of Strong, but she never let him say that he was not Laenor’s son. Her dear friend doted more dutifully to those boys than most fathers in general. He was, in every sense she believed important, their father.

So… both were more supportive than the rest in the notion of her getting married. Secretly, they may hope she’d marry someone close to them so they could see her more (a little bias towards some suitors). But as long as Jaehaera is happy, they are too.

(We’ll talk about Laenor later, just know he’d support whatever she’d want caused they’re each others emotional support people. Besties for life.)

Viserys hated the thought as well…

and was ever so delighted upon hearing her destain for the idea as well. Hypocritical of him, he’d admit. Pushing for one daughter to marry while pending the other for as long as able; it was chaos he had a hand in. But in his heart and mind he knew it must be that way. But his word always guaranteed the very known truth…

Jaehaera was not to be touched, unless she wished it so.

***

(Definitely gonna do the girls later, but I think it’s kinda obvious that they’re somewhat the same as the boys.)

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decvyed · 1 year

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MIDNIGHT CLUB COLLECTION FEAT. POX

Hey guys, for this drop, I teamed up with @poxsims to give you guys some pieces suitable for a night out. They can be worn together as a set or separately. Make sure to get the Iris Bodysuit, Marni Jumpsuit & Marni Mink Fur from Pox HERE This drop includes the following: Boomerang Boots 35 Swatches - Slider and Non Slider CAS Versions - Female Frame Glove Mini Dress 35 Swatches - Female Frame Glove Mini Dress (Sample) 12 Swatches - Female Frame New Mesh • Med-High Poly • HQ Texture • BG Compatible • Teens to Elder • All LODs • Custom Thumbnail • Disallowed for Random Base Mesh Credit: Alokverma210 & junaidshakoor47 Boot Mesh Edit Credit: León Additional Texture Map Credit: kalisbaz Render Credit: @mxaya_g Poses by: @sciophobis DOWNLOAD TOU:

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thebnha-auhoard · 8 months

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Warning. Mad and unethical science happenings

Shigaraki scribled away, chicken feet writing that he would decode later, but the late night inspiration was too high.

Because if they could pull off his idea, than the limits of quirk would become the night sky and they would be fucking nasa in the race-.

"Tomura? You shou- w-why-"

He didn't turn to face the confused project that wandered in, it was gonna be worth the new breakthroughs he did with Kurogiri, Shigaraki knew it, and it would also be worth finishing the theoretical and calculations he was battling against.

"I'm fine, go back to sleep."

He didn't notice no new sound of a person leaving, or the watchful eye over him as he worded the perfect stasis for cells in portable devices, and the calculations of how much mass it would be needed to count as a person for transference.

Kurogiri could have sighed in fondness, but the shifting fog of clarity and clueless in his mind would not settle anymore, ever shifting and causing his head to ache and chest burn.

And yet, he would look over his ward with his life still so easily as the young teen crackled like a crow over his research.

Bright young man indeed

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia au #mha au #my hero academia au #bnha au #decay iris #decay iris au #shigaraki tomura #kurogiri #mod boreal #drabbles #ask to tag

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calpurniatypes · 2 years

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𝒂𝒏 𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒊𝒆 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒂 𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒆; 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

inspired by nancy at the end of season 4 volume one, this fic is one that i've been super excited to share with you all! enjoy; calpurnia

summary; just as you escape the upside down and are climbing the rope back into eddie's trailer, you start to fall. vecna's got his hold on you, and it's up to steve, and eddie's music collection to do the trick

warnings; like very light sexual references, blood, gore, death, you know, all the normal teenage stuff

this is not part of my steve harrington series, but if you like this fic go and check it out; my steve harrington story ; my masterlist

You and Steve were the last two on the other side of the portal, the rope hanging in between you as you stared up, through the portal, at Eddie's nasty mattress. The landing pad back in the real world.

Your eyes crossed over the dirty, ivory bandages wrapped around his mid-section. You'd been scared out of your mind when the demo-bats had torn at his flesh, suffocating him. You'd been scared out of your mind when he'd been pulled under and into the Upside Down.

You'd wasted no time in following him, diving into the water fully clothed. You'd found that Lover's Lake portal, and dove in. Nancy, Robin and Eddie following after you.

Now, it was only you and Steve in the Upside Down.

"I'll see you on the other side," he told you, giving you his signature protective look. You smiled at him, nodding.

"See you on the other side," you'd whispered, clutching the white sheets tied into a rope. Hoisting yourself up, you'd climbed and as soon as you fell through the portal, everything shifted in color. You were falling through an expanse of black nothingness.

You tried to scream but no words came out of your mouth, instead it felt as though the air was being sucked from your lungs.

Steve watched as you'd fallen into the other side of the portal. Who landed, and then scurried to your feet standing with straight posture, not moving.

Steve launched himself up the rope and into Eddie's trailer, his eyes trailed on you.

Your iris's, normally so beautiful in color, were drawn back as though something was trying to pull your eyes into your skull. Your mouth, your pretty mouth that Steve had always wanted to kiss, was open slightly.

The group was already shouting your name, and Steve pushed through the small crowd to stand next to you.

"Hey? Hey!" Steve's hands found your shoulders, lightly shaking you. "Yoohoo? Col? Stay with me? Stay with me! Col, wake up! Wake up, Col!"

Your body hit hard tile. Memories shot back up and you repressed them down, down down.

You were laying on your back, blinking your eyes open. Still in the Upside Down, and this time farther away from everyone you loved then before. You were in Hawkins lab.

You rolled over to get up before seeing a corpse several inches to close to your left. Skittering upright, your chest heaving, you placed the body.

Bob Newby.

He was nothing but decaying flesh and bones now. The smell was sickening, and you ran outside of the lab, the taste of puke on your tongue.

You threw up right as you pushed the doors open.

Your feet skittered on the ground as your felt your body move back inside of the building. Something was controlling you, puppeting your body.

Again, Bob Newby's rotting face was in front of you. Heat and pain rush to your eyes, and you blinked back tears.

"Do you remember what you did, Col?" A deep voice sounded around you, enveloping your mind.

Yes, you did in fact remember what you'd done. Bob and you had gone first together, finding your way out of the lab. You'd watched, horrified as the demo-dogs leaped onto him. You'd stared as he became ripped to pieces. Then, you'd shoved Mike out of the building, followed next by Joyce. You'd left Bob.

"Or have you already forgotten..." the voice was back again. You shook your head, again, again, again. You hadn't forgotten. How could you ever forget.

The voice, so deep, so haunting, spoke again. "When I kill someone...I never forget."

The screams of Bob's dying lungs filled the lab, and the sound of his ripping flesh, the crinkling of his bones. You sprinted out of the lab, your feet barely touching the ground as you ran through the doors.

Outside, it was not the place it was supposed to be. It was somewhere you'd never seen, red and faint and dark. Ashes clinged to your still damp clothing.

You stood on a stairway, and as you glanced around, a clock orbited midair around you. Ticking. Ticking. Ticking.

"I see you've been looking for me, Col."

You stepped down the stairs warily, still watching the space around you. "You were so close." The voice continued.

"So close to the truth. How was old, blind, dumb Victor? Did he miss me?"

You'd gone with Nancy and Robin to find Mr Creel. Why would this voice, who you assumed was Vecna, have anything to do with knowing Victor Creel? It made sense to you that Victor was connected, but why did this thing seem to have known him personally?

As you reached the bottom of the stairs, horrified, you glanced to your left, to a large stone pillar. Set into it was the dead body of Fred, his mouth open, his limbs bent every which way. A layer of sheen and decay on his skin.

"I've been meaning to check back in, but I've been busy. So very busy..."

Steve shook you again, yelling at you to wake up, to wake into this world.

He took his arms off of you as something clacked on the carpet at his feet. He bent down and examined what Eddie had thrown -- plastic cassette's, all different bands.

"Get her favorite song, Steve!" Someone was shouting. He felt a comforting hand on his shoulder that he knew was Nancy. She stood, staring at your face. Nancy was a statue, gazing at her entranced best friend. In her hands were the headphones.

Steve sorted through the cassettes, tossing them aside haphazardly.

"Steve, hurry up!" Dustin was yelling loudly, and Steve felt panic grip his entire body. Everything that had been flung on the ground was hard metal, a genre of music he didn't think would save you from Vecna.

"Fuck!" He ground his teeth together. This was taking too long. "Eddie come on! All metal!?"

Just as he said it, Steve found the one he wanted, the one he knew would pull you out from the trance. It was a Rolling Stone song, She's Like a Rainbow. An oldie but a goodie.

He turned on the cassette and attached the headphones to it before putting the whole contraption on your body.

The decision was quick, and in a moment his lips were against yours. He memorized the feeling, the plush, as he felt your body move upwards. He opened his eyes and pulled himself away from you as your body floated into the air.

You stumbled as you glimpsed the other bodies, Crissy, that boy on the basketball team, and several others. All were bent and their mouths were open wide. A leech dribbled out of Crissy's, and you gagged.

Suddenly, you felt yourself become lifted off the ground. Before you knew anything, your back was against a pillar, and Vecna was standing in front of you.

Tentacles, vines, something was wrapped around your arms, legs, and then finally around your neck, cocking your head up slightly.

Vecna took several steps until you could smell him, he was so close you could see the whites of his eyes.

"Fuck!" You yelled, pulling hard against the restraints. They didn't move.

Then, you heard it. Your favorite song, She's a Rainbow. The easy, steady beginning, the joyous beat.

You could see Steve and Nancy yelling as your body hit the ceiling of what seemed like Eddie's trailer. Lucas, Max, and Dustin were there as well, and all their voices mingled into your head.

"Col, come on! Col!"

The restraint around your neck tightened, and Vecna spoke, "they can't help you Col. There is a reason you hide from them."

Part of him was right. But part of him was terribly, terribly wrong.

"You belong here with me," he told you.

"You aren't real." You spat at Vecna, "you're not really here."

"Oh, but I am Col." Vecna moved to block your view of your friends, of Steve.

His fingers fell towards your head, as though trying to curse you. It seemed as though the song played louder, all of a sudden.

She comes in colors everywhere

She combs her hair

She's like a rainbow

Memories shot through you. Steve pushing you into his pool, Dustin and you talking to Susie, hugging El after the Mind Flayers attack. Saying goodbye to Jonathon. Lunches with Nancy at the Hawkin's Post. Memories that were kind, and tugging, warm.

Coming colors in the air

Oh, everywhere

She's comes in colors

You snapped forward, out of Vecna's grasp. You'd seemed to have surprised him. The song was played around you and you sprinted toward that light. Toward your friends.

Toward Steve.

Debree hailed down around you, and you glanced back to see Vecna standing, confused, almost.

You sprinted, stride long, steps quick.

She comes in colors everywhere

She combs her hair

She's like a rainbow

Coming colors in the air

Oh, everywhere

She comes in colors

And then you were back to them again. Steve watched as your body fell through the air. You landed in Eddie's trailer, shag carpet gruff against your palms. You searched the ground, hands wandering. Your breathing was heightened , and you were twisting around in panic, making sure it was all real.

Arms, strong arms, wrapped around your midsection, and, calmer, you leaned backwards, panting, a tear falling from your eyes.

"I thought you were gone forever." Steve whispered in your ear, and you pushed up against him, still in shock.

"It wouldn't be that easy to get rid of me." You responded, getting a chuckle from Eddie. You could feel your friends hands on your body, as though they were seeing if you were really there.

And you were. You were really there. In Steve's arms, where you were meant to be.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x you #tumblr writers

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lullabyes22-blog · 3 months

Text

Snippet - Drifting - Mal de Mer

Early morning delights...

Mal de Mer on AO3

NSFW

Snippet:

This morning, though, his focus is purely on her.

Through the windowslats, bars of butterscotch sunlight pour. The ceiling fan cuts slowly through the humid air, redolent of seasalt and their bodies. Behind the carefully-cracked window, Mel can hear the trill of birdsong, and the rustle of palm fronds, and the gentle wash of the waves upon the shore.

Pink is the conch shell sitting on the endtable, a gift from Silco's deep dives. Mauve is the bedspread spilling lazily to the carpet, a soft puddle at the foot of the mattress. Blue is the hue of Silco's good eye, heavy-lidded with the residue of sleep, and a hungry lassitude as he rolls Mel onto her back.

Gold is the paint streaking the canvas on the easel behind him: a portrait awaiting her finishing touches before she has it packed for transit. Gold, like the frame she'll choose in Piltover: matching her wedding band, and attesting to the same. Gold, like the fractaling streak that ignites behind her eyelids, as Silco fans her thighs open to fit himself between them: the fullness of him dipping into her, teasing in and out, then sinking home.

Crying out, Mel thinks: This is how it ends.

In the days afterward, she won't remember her stay at the villa except as a flurry of sketches: the sea, the skies, the sands. And, most of all, the spiky loose-limbed silhouettes, all of which have resolved into a full-color nude on the canvas.

His torso, framed by the parabola of sunset, holds a deep-sea elegance. The lithe contours are etched by the eerie palette of fading twilight. Teals, and indigos, and amethysts: each color evoked by the subtle interplay of water and shadow. His bare shoulders, caught against the coronal threads of sunlight, like sharp juts of coral. The torso, with its cobra's hood of sinew, tapering into a narrow waist. The hard cut of hipbones, showing the navel and the hair below it, then disappearing into the distorting medium of the sea.

His head is half-turned, the features indistinct: just a hint of aquiline nose, the cutting edge of jaw, and lips parted to bare a glint of teeth.

Greeting, or threat.

The eyes are what complete the piece.

They've been rendered in exacting detail. The right eye, she's captured in all its softness: the blue so vivid, it's like a drop of the ocean. A vibrant green rings the iris, and a band of gray limns the pupil. Sea and storm: fused. The left eye is a bottomless void: the sclera inked black. In the iris: a starburst of blood vessels, red lines spiderwebbing from the center, with an inlay of gold to mimic volcanic flare.

His scars, too, have been rendered patiently. The shadowy left side of his face is a latticework of crisscrossing gouges. In some spots, like the rippled sands on the shore. In others, the cragged rocks of the reef. Each contour is traced out with the precision of a goldbeater's needle. She's overlayed the scars in an impasto of cadmium red and jet black: a tapestry of violence, with a touch of decay.

In sum, it's a creature of myth. Half-submerged, and on the cusp of a choice:

Ascent, or descent.

In her ear, Silco whispers, "Where've you drifted off to?"

Mel's lashes flutter. His body, striped in gold, is a languid arch over hers. One hand, callused, cups her breast. The other, scarred, clasps her wrist loosely between the fingers, trapping it against the sheets. His body flows skin to skin with hers—achingly slow.

Mel, nuzzling underneath his jowl, breathes, "Nowhere."

"Nowhere, hm?"

His tongue whorls in the hollow behind her ear. She shivers, arching beneath him. The tip of afternoon, she thinks, is when he's at his best: the ferocity of the night's hunger faded, the frenzy of late evening's appetite yet to come.

The heat, still banked, becomes a thing to be savored.

"I was thinking," she whispers.

"About what?"

His palm, cradling her breast, traps the nipple between forefinger and thumb. He rolls it round and round. Mel's breath catches; she bites her lip.

"About—about you," she manages.

"I should hope so."

"The painting. It needs, mmmh, something."

"Something?"

"To complete it."

He gives her nipple a playful tweak, and she whimpers. His dark chuckle rumbles through her. "A title, perhaps?"

#arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane silco #silco #forward but never forget/xoxo #forward (never forget)/xoxo #mal de mer #arcane mel #mel medarda #melco #silco x mel

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poxsims · 1 year

Photo

Midnight Club Collection feat. Decayed

Hey everyone, we got together with @decvyed to collaborate on this collection inspired by racing attire. Are they practical? Maybe. Do they look good on a bike? Absolutely. We hope you will enjoy these pieces as much as we do 🖤

Make sure to get Decayed's part HERE

Iris Bodysuit

20 Swatches Full Body Category

Marni Jumpsuit

25 Swatches Full Body Category

Marni Mink Fur

30 Swatches Full Body Category

All LODs // Custom Thumbnails // Disallowed for Random // HQ Mod Compatible

DOWNLOAD

Conversion // Do not recolor or convert // Do not re-upload

You can also see all releases on our Pinterest Board HERE

Render Credit: @mxaya_g

#poxsims #sims 4 #the sims 4 #sims4 #sims 4 cc #sims 4 cas #sims 4 custom content #sims 4 cc finds #sims 4 custom clothes #sims 4 conversions #simblr #TS4 #ts4 cas #ts4 cc #ts4 cc finds #ts4cc #ts4 custom content #sims

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alexanderlightweight · 1 year

Note

Hello!

Alec's Trueblood lines possibly making him the angelic equivalent to Magnus' level of royalty in Edom.

Perhaps a young warlock gets a summoning wrong and traps an angel (well, not quite an angel) in a circle instead of a greater demon.

oooooh okay so i jumped on this like a preying mantis on a grasshopper okay! i went a little bit of a different route so Alec could finally kick some ass and Magnus is a little out of it but this is basically. i hope you enjoy!

Trueblood Shadow!heir Alec is summoned instead of an angel across time and dimensions. No one has a good time

Magnus is wondering how he’s going to get them out of this, if he’s going to be able to get anyone besides himself free and safe from the nephilim currently using Magnus and four other warlocks to try and power their ritual. They’re summoning an angel, they said.

Their faces smug as terror had filled everyone around him and Magnus had known that out of all of them, he’s the only one who will survive. No angel will risk Asmodeus' wrath by smiting Magnus, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be hurt. That his heart can’t be ripped apart as he watches warlock children shivering in fear from where Magnus’ hopes his protective magic and shield will keep them safe and invisible.

It’s the shadowhunters fault in the end, but Magnus still blames the warlocks who tries to save themselves by selling out what the nephilim considered ‘untrained power vessels’ and Magnus had arrived in time to stop the transaction and save the children, but the other warlocks he was fighting and himself were taken down. Magnus personally will let every drop of magic be drained from the adults around him and if he can, he’s going to rip it free from the array and use it to protect the children, some mere babes.

There’s a crackle of lightning and Magnus can feel the shock wave as the ritual starts, as frost fills the air until each breath crystallizes. At the sight of ice growing on the walls of the abandoned ruins they’re enclosed in, across the broken floor and up the crumbling towers.

A storm rages around them but for once, the rain no longer slips through, freezing and pausing in the air, a piece of captured starlight in crystal form, cold and bright and glittering all around him. It’s beautiful and terrifying and Magnus tries so hard not to feel fear but for the first time in a long time, Magnus wonders if he’s miscalculated.

The summoning was a success he realizes and Magus knows then that he never thought it would be, that he’d deluded himself into thinking he could hold out until Ragnor or Cat show up. Instead he watches as the world turns dark except for the icy stars and then there’s a crack, like a glacier being broken open and everyone who isn’t magically secured and bound to the array is blown back. Some of the shadowhunters remain conscious but it’s with vicious glee that Magnus watches as several of them get smashed into the stones of the decaying castle with splintering cracks of bone that echo in the hollow silence.

The being is glowing, a silver blue light that is an ethereal wisp as the being slowly floats to the ground, four large, long wings trailed out behind it. The eyes look a silver, inhuman blue, more lines criss crossing and overlapping than an iris and a pupil. It casts a long, writhing shadow that is less in the shape of the angel and more in the shape of a hungry maw.

“What is this?” It asks and Magnus is surprised by the low, smooth almost soothing timbre of the voice. Though, Magnus thinks, it would make unfortunate sense if angels were able to charm with their voices, probably why the mundanes accepted the stupid offer from Raziel in the first place.

“Great angel—” one still standing shadowhunter starts. “Forgive us for bringing you here with such disgusting methods.” He kicks at one of the, no longer necessary Magnus supposes, warlocks. “We are indeed of your divine righteousness! To help us cleanse the world of downworlder scum.”

“Are you serious right now?” the being asks and Magnus wonders if he has a concussion because he could swear the angel sounds confused. "Is that? Why is my husband here?”

And suddenly everything goes very wrong, for the shadowhunters.

Because the angel is beyond furious and Magnus watches with a thrilled sense of horror as what looked like long, soft plumage shudders and shines and turns to pure, sharp and deadly adamas. The shadowhunters all gasp and kneel in delighted awe and shadows peel from the floor to wrap around them as the angel steps out of the array, crossing over to a kneeling form and Magnus watches as two of them are beheaded with the easy flap of a razor sharp wing-tip. And then the angel spins, wings flared out and like arrows, feathers shoot out, finding the necks of every shadowhunters still breathing.

“Oh fuck, just what did they do?” Magnus is being asked next, instead of that deadly plumage in his own neck and he’s looking into eyes that look hazel under the inhuman blue. Then cool hands are pulling him up, picking him from the ground. “Magnus?” And then Magnus feels a hand against the side of his neck but instead of squeezing, there is pure ice being delivered into him, cold, powerful energy that burns as it writhes through him and replenishes his reserves. “Summoning a fucking angel, honestly. I thought we were done with this bullshit. Of all the things, I swear if this is because we ate the cup that one time, I’m going to be pissed.”

“You ate a cup?” Magnus finds himself asking which is still better than commenting that an angel swears. Especially when he's dazed and still shocked by how gently he’s being touched, by how powerful and invulnerable he suddenly feels. “That doesn’t seem very tasty.” Because it doesn't and honestly, Magnus feels disappointed, he'd rather have learned angels didn't eat or only drank ambrosia than learn they eat dishes.

“Oh gods, fuck you’re high as a kite on magical shock. Okay, babe what do I need to do, what are my priorities?”

“You’re going to listen to me?” Magnus asks because while shadowhunters might think they can command an ancient being, Magnus never once has made that same assumption.

“Of course.” He’s promised and what feels like a kiss is pressed to the top of his head. “I always listen to you—” and there is a muttered ‘mostly’ that he misses. “As long as you don’t try to convince me that the best way to get over something that makes me angry is to set it on fire, again. I’m not sure Imogen’s office can survive a second inferno.”

“They can stay. Trapped.” Magnus clarified, because he doesn’t want the other warlocks dead. He wants them strung up in front of the council and verbally and physically lashed until their blood and pain is a tenth of the terror the children they stole felt.

“Okay, and the kids? Are they safe to move? Are any of them hurt? Are they coming with us?”

“Yes.” Magnus says because he can’t leave them here and the angel he knows is better than the one he doesn’t. “With me.”

“Mkay, I’m going to send a message to Cat.” And Magnus wonders how this being knows Cat and if it’s reading his mind, “okay. I’m not going to message Cat.” But instead of a fire message he brings out some strange, eldritch artifact that glows and hums angrily at its wielder. “Okay, no service. Great. Well, a fire message won’t work since she’s still at the Labyrinth. You have enough energy for a portal?”

Magnus does, somehow but he’s still surprised when he’s led over to the hidden children and the angel helps him stay upright. Hold him as Magnus opens a portal and then keeps him on his feet as Magnus sends the children through. He closes the portal instantly and opens a new one, not wanting to take the angel to the children, even if Magnus doubts a change in portal would truly stop him.

Magnus gets through the portal and then the angel, his angel that is still following him obediently shudders, a look of shock on his face as he takes in the lair and something hopeless and heartbreaking when he turns and now in a place with proper lighting, Magnus marvels at how human it’s face is.

“Magnus?” He’s asked and Magnus nods, because obviously he is and then his angel’s wings flutter, its expression falling and it’s dropping in what almost looks like a faint, a strange, fallen image of divinity.

Magnus summons a drink and lets himself slump, still staring at the angel as he wonders just what he’s gotten himself into this time.

#writing wednesdays #writing wednesday #malec #shadowhunters #shadowunters au #magnus bane #alec lightwood #alec trueblood #lumine writes #my fics #my fanfics #my ficlets

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