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from-the-clouds · 1 year

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moonlight on the river - joel miller x reader

masterlist | song inspo

summary: Joel has been many things to you. A dealer, a mentor, a friend, a lover. Lately, it’s the latter. Sometimes he’s none of those things, or a handful of them, or all of them at once. And it’s up to the both of you to decide in the moment which things are true. Takes place during episode one of the TV series. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 2.4k warnings: angst, fluff, good ol' fashioned hurt/comfort. depressive thoughts, reader sort of has a death wish, references to alcohol/drug abuse, death, loss of family members & loved ones. implied age gap, references to casual sex, heavy petting (no smut). a/n: it's been months since i posted a fic on here! some of my best work comes when it’s 2am, i’m emo and touch-deprived and i have an 8am appointment so i stay up until 5am to write. this was actually supposed to be fully a fluff piece but the angst queen had to strike.

You wish you could drown in the pile of blankets you’ve wrapped yourself in. Wish the couch would swallow you whole, like a whale, then drag you down to the deepest depths of the ocean and leave you there until you can’t hold your breath any longer, until the cold pricks the tips of your fingers and toes, until you succumb completely.

But in some ways, you’re already existing like that, in the sea-level equivalent of the Marianas Trench. One of those sea creatures that look not of this Earth, features warped – adapting, evolving, surviving, despite your environment’s best efforts to eradicate. Your mother had once shown them to you in her old textbooks and shown you the photos of anglerfish, frilled sharks, phantom jellyfish. The memory of your mother makes you wince, and you try to think of something else.

How anyone else around you managed to put on a brave face and make their way through each day was beyond your comprehension, even though you do it, too. They probably all feel the same way about it as you do, but no one talks about the collective trauma you’re all slogging through. No one has anything new to add, and it’s foolish to believe that anyone’s insight could somehow take the pain away. Even if you have a chance to tell your story, there is always someone who has it worse.

Get in line.

Exhausted as you are, you don’t sleep much. Most of your nights are spent at the precipice of unconsciousness, and you can never quite make it over the edge, the helicopters, radios, sporadic gunfire always manages to rouse you first. When you do manage to sleep, you’re plagued with nightmares. You prefer perpetual fatigue.

A knock at your door comes suddenly, and you start, sitting up quickly – but quietly – to not alert the unexpected guest that someone might be in the tiny studio you call home. It’s well after dark, which makes you doubt that whoever, or whatever is at the door, isn’t there for a friendly drop-in or a cup of tea, not that friendly drop-ins or cups of tea ever happened.

But before you grow too panicked, your name is muttered, accompanied by another impatient rap of knuckles against the hollow wood. It’s a familiar rasp, even-toned and calm, and your shoulders sag in relief before you abandon your post on the couch.

“Joel?” you ask softly, squinting in the dim light of the hallway through the crack in the door. He doesn’t look any different, though it’s been about a month since you’d last seen him. You’re not sure what to expect, but he’s the same as always, wearing a worn, tight denim shirt and fraying jeans. He looks tired, but you can’t recall a time when he doesn’t. Everyone looks tired all the time, it just only concerns you because it’s him.

Not waiting for an invite, he steps through the small opening you allot for him and into your place, wordlessly.

“What the fuck, Joel, it’s past curfew are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“I’ve done worse,” he says, dismissively, and yanks the door from your hand to close and lock it behind him.

You don’t argue with him. You rarely do – which you think is partly why he likes you – but especially now, you don’t have the energy. And when you do, he’s too stubborn to listen.

Joel has been many things to you. A dealer, a mentor, a friend, a lover. Lately, it’s the latter. Sometimes he’s none of those things, or a handful of them, or all of them at once. And it’s up to the both of you to decide in the moment which things are true.

So when he steps forward, crowding you backwards until your rear hits your kitchen countertop and you have nowhere to go, you don’t ask questions.

His hand cradles your chin, tilting it back to look into his sad eyes, and he kisses you. For a split second, it’s chaste, and you’re almost confused, until it’s suddenly not, and his grip on your jaw tightens, his lips parting. Joel stakes his claim, his free hand winding into your hair and pulling. You sigh, closing your eyes.

He moves both his hands to cup your ass through the flimsy athletic shorts you’re wearing, lifting your hips up and against him, making to carry you to the bed, or maybe even take you on the countertop – it could be one of those days. Everything he’s doing would normally light you on fire, and there’s a primal instinct that’s telling you you like it, but for some reason, you hesitate.

Joel senses it right away. You’re not sure how. And you don’t want him to. You’re prepared to submit, even though you feel numb everywhere, because you hope for the chance to feel something, anything other than what you’ve felt the last few days. He pauses, too, pulls back.

You expect to meet his eyes when you look up at him, but they are fixed on something else. Tugging on the collar of his shirt, you try to kiss him again, but he doesn’t budge, until you follow his eyes. An empty bottle of liquor sits on the bar behind you. Fuck.

“You’re drinking again.” It’s not a question.

“That was actually from yesterday,” you say, like it would make any difference. The remnants of a hangover have been tweaking your temples all day, biting the back of your eyes. It was half empty when I got it. It was just one night. I can have a couple drinks without getting out of control. Your brain cycles through several more excuses before you decide not to waste your breath.

“What did I tell you about this?” He reached behind you and lifted the bottle, holding it in front of your face like you hadn’t been able to see it clearly enough before.

“You should talk,” you don’t like being cruel, but you’re already desperate to end the discussion. He’s probably drunk or high right now, but it’s none of your business, and you’d given up trying to save him a long time ago.

You shift your weight to lower yourself off the counter and move away from him and the once-inviting warmth of his embrace. Joel doesn’t let you make it far, reaching out to grip your upper arm and tugging you back to face him with little-to-no effort on his part. His strength always startled you, even though it shouldn’t, considering his size. It also should’ve scared you, but the manhandling mostly just turned you on. Not enough that you were going to keep letting him lecture you.

“It’s different. You’re still so young.”

“What does that matter?”

He doesn’t have an answer.

You lift your chin, squaring up to him. “That’s what I thought.”

He puts his hand on hip and studies you carefully. Despite your attitude, you’ve never liked disappointing him. He’s the closest thing you have to a father, which you can recognize is an awfully fucked up way to feel about someone you regularly have sex with, but you lived in an awfully fucked up world.

There’s a wistfulness to Joel’s expression you’ve never seen before. He chooses to change the subject, and you’re thankful until what he says registers.

“I’m leaving town tomorrow night. You might not see me again.”

It takes a moment to process, but it hits you like a blow to the gut. So hard, you’re surprised you don’t stagger backwards with the force of it. Even when it settles, you know it hasn’t even sunk in all the way.

“Well…” you take a long, thoughtful pause, and offer the only thing that your brain can come up with, “....stay safe out there, then.”

“Yeah,” he runs his tongue over his teeth and squints at you. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

Snorting, you know it’s important to remain as blase as possible so you don’t cry. Although, you don’t really cry anymore. Even when you want to, the tears never come. At some point, after watching every person you’ve ever cared for die in uniquely devastating ways, you must’ve reached your lifetime limit.

“I know you. Something’s up.”

No, you don’t! You want to scream, but that would be a lie. It’s been three years since you met, maybe one since your….arrangement, or whatever you’d call it, had begun.

How the two of you had become so close was a mystery even to you. It’s not like you were charming or charismatic, or willing to put up the innocent act. You didn’t try to inflate his ego, which most men loved. At first, you didn’t even really like him at all. That changed with time. Somewhere along the way, things just clicked.

“It’s nothing that no one has ever felt before,” you shrug. Joel has his fair….or rather unfair share of demons, and is the last person you want to complain to. Most of the time, he’s unflinchingly guarded, but he’s shared enough – secrets whispered in your ear while tangled in damp sheets, your hand on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart – to make you wonder if you have it so bad. Focusing on a fixed point, a crack in the tiled floor, you avoid his eyes.

“Hey,” his voice pulls you back. “Don’t do that.”

“I’ll be okay,” you say. “I’m just having a d-a week.” A month, a year, a life. Reluctantly, you meet his gaze.

His face softens, his hand reaching to clasp with your own, thumb grazing across your palm. “Come here,” he murmurs. He pulls you against him tightly, tucking your head under his chin, his fingers weaving into your hair.

“You’re going to be alright. You’re a strong girl.” He’s too smart to believe that, you think. But it doesn’t stop you from pressing your lips against his sternum. His broad chest is sturdy, firm, and you close down your eyes.

Neither of you speak, and one of his hands begins to stroke your back in soothing circles. You stay wrapped in his arms for a long time. Long enough to think about how you might never get to do this again, and you suddenly want him in all the ways you never had him, and all the ways you had. Just one last time.

He presses a kiss to your temple. “I can tell you’re exhausted, baby. Let’s get you to bed.”

There’s no reason to protest, he’s right, so you let him lead you to the bed. You’re already in your pajamas, and he draws back the covers and tucks you underneath them carefully.

“You’re staying,” you say. It’s meant to be a question, but it comes out like command, and although you can’t stand the idea of pleading for it, would if you had to. You’re that desperate.

You hear the clunk of his boots landing on the floor, feel the dip of his weight on the opposite side of the bed.

“Of course,” he says softly, voice barely above a whisper as he slides underneath the covers.

Joel’s arm snakes around your waist, and you’re being pulled back against his chest. You wriggle to be closer, even though it’s not possible, his nose resting on the crown of your head, stroking your hair softly. He’s being so tender, so sweet, it makes you feel sick.

“What if I don’t want you to leave?” you turn your head slightly, so you can see him out of the corner of your eye. You want to be able to remember his face, in case you never see him again. He was handsome, you’d always thought that, even despite the years between you.

“It’s my brother. I don’t have much of a choice, baby.”

Joel had told you all about Tommy. You wished you could be resentful at his leaving to find his brother, but you knew you’d risk pretty much anything for the chance to see anyone in your family again.

You shake your head. “This…sucks.”

He offers a rare chuckle, one that vibrates through his chest and straight to the ache in your stomach that started when he told you he’d be leaving. “It does. I’m sorry.”

Joel sighs, his breath on the nape of your neck, and you shiver. “I’ll miss you.” It’s a simple truth you can hear in his voice without even needing to look in his eyes.

“I’ll miss you.” You reach for his hand.

You roll over to face him, his head propped on his opposite hand, looking down at you.

“You remember everything I taught you?” he asks. “Be smart, keep yourself safe.”

Joel had proven to be a pretty valuable resource when it came to survival skills. He’d taught you how to shoot a gun, to load and reload it, how to take it apart, clean it, and put it back together. You recalled the feeling of him leaning over your shoulder, adjusting your grip to shoot at a target. And even if most of his lessons in hand-to-hand combat resulted in him having his way with you on the kitchen floor – you didn’t mind it at all – you knew enough to defend yourself.

“I do,” you answer. “And I will.”

You think of all the time you’ve spent with him the past few years. How it has made things bearable. It’s likely the last time you’ll ever see him, and you know what you’re supposed to say. But for the life of you, you just can’t say it.

Instead, you lean in to kiss him, lazy and lingering, both your hands on the side of his face, palms pressed against the scruff of his beard. You pull away after awhile.

“Tell me about what it was like. Before all this.” When the outbreak began, you were just a child. It felt like a dream, your memory so fuzzy it was hard to recall anything except the worst parts.

Joel does, and you listen, captivated, though it’s not the first time you’ve heard it. For such a gruff man, he paints a pretty picture.

It’s easy to imagine what your life might be like if none of this had ever happened. It would have been better, infinitely better, for yourself, for Joel, for everyone. It would be better, but if it hadn’t happened, you wouldn’t have met him. For some reason, something about that doesn’t feel right.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #pedro pascal #tlou fanfic #tlou hbo #the last of us #fluff #angst #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #hi please read this and say nice things to me i worked really really hard on this #writing #fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller tlou #joel miller the last of us #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst

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ao3-crack · 1 year

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(x)

#archive of our own #ao3 quotes #ao3 stuff #archive of our own quotes #fanfic #fanfic quotes #funny #ao3 #ao3 summary #I suck at summary #pls act like this is sexy enough to seduce you to read this fic #literally me every time I write a summary #please #I promise I can actually write #ignore my poor attempts at summing up my work #in a way that doesn’t give everything away but tells you enough to gain intrigue #it’s such a hard balance

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junotter · 1 year

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I think that sometimes, when she was free, Rose would stop in and say hello to herself.

#Rose Tyler #The Stone Rose #Doctor Who #tenrose #its like implied...cause yk he made that statue...#fanart #my art #doctor who fanart #ME WHEN I GO TO READ THE SECTION OF THE BOOK WHERE THIS IS FROM ONLY TO REALIZE IT LITERALLY SAYS SHES WEARING A DENIM JACKET #was gonna a quote from that but nvm #i just #rose is pink hoodies to me #sobbing please guys i worked so hard on that statue #“This makes me sad in a good way”- my friend

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skunkes · 8 months

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"describe your oc and then have them describe themself" is still one of my favorite little drawing/character exercises like this one's pretty blatant vs Showing but it's still so fun in either direction. what you say and how you say it... what you dont say + how much. etc etc

#if not you then using another oc also works #perception of self and others is always fun.#perception of character IN how they describe others is also fun #a doodley #ive also talked in general about how oc making is hard for me bc its like getting to know a stranger...its hard to get info out sometimes.#talon feels like a locked door sometimes.#anyway. i do love him i want us to be locked in a room strangling each other #who am i talking about again?#ah #anyway. no more parallels please dont look at design choices dont look at the traumas dont read into it #ive had better examples of dis but its old art i hate so i cant show it....

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lucienarcheron · 9 days

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Spirit Meets the Bones - XV

Genre: Angst/Romance Warnings: Mentions of physical abuse. PLEASE NOTE: This chapter will contain physical abuse with some implied language that may be found triggering.

shoutout to @abruisedmuse for always listening to me ramble <3

Find it all here.

The promise of death had slipped out of his mouth before he could process what was happening, and Eris’s jaw clenched as he glanced at his father-in-law, thinking of the time he had wasted playing his father’s games.

Eris had known his father would fuck around to keep him from being here when Lord Aron arrived, but he hadn’t realized the asshole had already slipped in undetected.

All the High Lord had said was, “Stay. The sight of you brings me joy, son.”

And Eris had been forced to stand in silence as his father ignored him, while Iris met with her father alone.

But if Eris pushed, Beron would only delight in twisting this nugget of information. And Eris couldn't risk it.

Although none of it mattered in the end.

Anger and a slight panic had fueled his steps, knowing his father was likely laughing his ass off after he finally released him, but it was as he set foot into the hall leading to their chambers that he froze and every single nerve in his body went on high alert. Because Eris heard Iris.

He had felt her calling for him and didn’t stop to think about how when he felt her panic course through him.

Eris winnowed directly to the front of their door and froze again, listening for a moment — his jaw clenching at the sneering of her father. To his threats against her. So many threats and Eris saw red.

Now he was crouched before his wife, his Iris, who was on the floor with bruises. Who had flinched back from him because of her father.

His wife, whom he had promised to be here with her when this piece of shit came.

He’d welcome Lord Aron warmly alright.

“Can you stand?” he asked her ever so gently and Iris massaged a hand to her throat then nodded. He held out a hand and waited as Iris watched him, her eyes looking at him with an expression he certainly wouldn’t read into now. An expression that made the beating of his heart turn erratic.

But then Lord Aron snorted and Iris flinched back, her hand shooting back to her side, her eyes snapping to her father. Eris’s hand slowly curled into a fist and he spared the Lord one look before his eyes fell back on Iris.

“I’m going to have a word with your father. Would you like to be here for this or go elsewhere?” he asked her quietly and Iris licked her lips, shaking her head.

“I’m staying.” she said hoarsely and he nodded. He had expected nothing less from her.

Slowly, Eris straightened as his father-in-law stared at him.

“That isn’t the warm welcome I expected, Eris.” Lord Aron replied then cleared his throat. “That statement is a threat.”

“Yes. It is.” Eris said simply, his eyes cataloging every detail about the awful male in front of him and his mind drifted back to every foul thing Iris had told him about her father. “Bow.”

His father-in-law blinked then flushed. “Is that necessary? We are family.”

Eris cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “Do you bow to the High Lord?”

“Of course. He is the High Lord.”

“And I am the High Lord’s son.” Eris said coldly. “I do not consider you my family, Bertillon. Bow.”

Lord Aron’s flush deepened, and he shot Iris a glare. “Look what you’ve done you stupid bi —”

A growl slipped from Eris’s lips, cutting off the lord’s rant and he held himself taut enough that it was almost painful. It took every ounce of Eris’s willpower not to rip the male apart. “I strongly suggest you not finish that statement.” Eris hissed and finally, his father-in-law had the decency to have some fear in his eyes.

Swallowing, Lord Aron shot Iris one more look of contempt before bowing his head towards Eris.

“Lower.” Eris snarled lowly.

The Lord hesitated for a heartbeat before bending at the waist.

Eris surveyed him then hummed. He glanced at Iris, still on the floor a few feet away from where both he and her father stood, watching her father with disgust. It eased his tension only slightly that her bruises had already started to fade but didn’t stop the guilt — the anger — that she had them in the first place.

His mother’s bruises flashed in his mind and Eris looked back to the second male who he would daydream about viciously shredding to pieces.

Clasping his hands behind his back, Eris spoke calmly. “I will give you one chance to answer this correctly.” he began and Lord Aron’s eyes narrowed. “Why, exactly, are you here? Other than to tell lies about your daughter.”

“I don’t have to answer you when you speak to me that way, Eris.” Lord Aron snarled and shot Iris a glare.

Eris smiled.

“Oh, but you do, Bertillon. The only reason you’re still standing where you are and not dead is because of your daughter.” he said, his tone a lethal calm and Lord Aron’s mouth twisted.

“Your father wouldn’t like that.” he replied quietly and Eris’s smile darkened.

“I suggest you worry less about my father and fix that face. I’m not one you should be looking at like that.” he said quietly. “Especially when my fire could wrap itself around your throat and I could so easily...let it burn.”

Lord Aron blanched then cleared his throat, attempting to fix his jacket for a quiet moment before answering. “I came to make sure my daughter isn’t giving you a hard time.” he replied and despite the lack of color in his face, he shot Iris another look of disdain. “I know she has the tendency to overstep her boundaries often.”

Eris blinked, feeling the very tight leash on his anger very close to snapping, his rage building and building and building. How often must he watch the people he cares about deal with this? He already had his father to deal with and now...this vermin seemed to think he could come in here and put his hands on his wife. He took a step towards the male as the room drastically heated. “Who gave you permission to come in here?”

Her father blinked. “As your father-in-law, I assumed I was welcome to come see my daughter as I wished.”

Eris let a heartbeat of silence pass, the fury whirling in his body, giving his father-in-law a moment to realize just how badly he had fucked up. A moment passed before he said too quietly and too calmly, “You assumed wrong.”

And then Eris was on him.

Fire encompassed them both as Eris wrapped a hand tightly around the lord’s neck and slammed him into the ground, hovering over him.

“No one has permission to be in here. No one.” he snarled softly. “Did my wife want you in here?”

“Let go of me.” his father-in-law hissed but a deadly smirk found its way to Eris’s lips and his grip tightened.

“Answer. The. Question.” he demanded softly. “Did she grant you permission to be in here? Because I certainly didn’t.”

“Your father —”

“Isn’t here.” Eris snapped, his fingers digging into Aron’s throat. “Answer. The. Question.”

“No.” Aron choked out and Eris’s hand heated around the lord’s throat.

“Then it seems to me,” Eris began, and it was the wrath of a god streaming from his fingertips. “That if anyone has the tendency to overstep their boundaries here, it’s you.” He spat and leaned in closer. “You forget yourself, Lord. You forget that while you are in the home of the High Lord and in his pocket, whatever permission my father gave you, doesn’t — apply — to — me.”

Eris leaned back again and whatever damper he usually had on his anger was loosened slightly so that nothing but fire could be found in his gaze.

“You made me break my promise.” he said in a deadly calm. “And then you put your hands on my wife.” Slowly, without breaking eye contact, he slid his free hand to Aron’s and with the truly sinister smile he was known for, Eris twisted his arm back and simply...snapped it.

The lord howled and a savage grin bloomed on Eris’ face.

“Yes, you should scream.” Eris said quietly. “You decided to come in here and put your hands on my wife and then have the audacity to think you’d be able to do it again. She flinched back from me because of you. And well...I don't like that.” Eris tightened his grip on Aron’s twisted arm and the lord let out another yelp. “I really, really don’t like it. So now, I’m going to break every bone in your body.”

“She’s my daughter.” her father-in-law snarled. “You can’t do this! I’ll tell your father.”

Eris let out a low laugh. “On the contrary, you can’t do anything.” he said and slid his hand to Aron’s broken one and then one by one, bent his fingers back far enough to break. Eris watched with feral delight as the lord screamed in agony, thinking of Iris’s bruised cheek. Thinking of her bruised throat.

“Consider everything I’m going to do to you as payback for everything you’ve done to her over the years.” he snarled softly and any color left on the lord’s face disappeared as the stench of his fear filled the room. “Oh yes, I’ve heard all about it. I’m going to make you regret every waking moment of your life until now.”

“Eris — son, let’s not —”

But Eris didn’t let him finish. A fist of flame slammed into Aron’s face and it sent him flying back into the table then he crumbled to the floor with a groan, his broken arm hanging useless on his side.

Eris ran a hand through his hair and rolled his shoulders back as he watched Lord Aron pitifully try to sit up. He watched him struggle, watched and knew how his cheek would swell up and that blackened eye would remain closed for a while. Delighted in the slight burn marks on his neck like a pretty necklace.

But it still felt too little. It didn’t feel like enough. He had touched his wife. His wife who he was supposed to protect and had failed. Because her father decided to overstep just like his father tried to overstep. The urge to kill and kill and kill consumed him.

His feet moved on their own, flame licking at his heels, until he crouched in front of Aron again and gripped him by his hair, yanking his head back. “Do not ever call me son, Bertillon. You are nothing to me.”

“Enough.” the lord rasped. “T-this is enough.”

Eris slanted his head, assessing him calmly. “Is it? You put bruises on my wife. You threatened her with more.” He leaned in closer as Bertillon flinched back and a wicked smirk found its way to Eris’s lips. “Did you think you could walk out of here the same way you walked in? With no consequences?”

“Eris — we can —”

“Didn’t anyone tell you?” Eris spoke and it was almost like he was in a trance as he let his fire wrap around his father-in-law’s neck once more. “I really, really don’t like it when people think they can overstep their boundaries with me, and you are too confident for your own good.”

He watched Lord Aron swallow thickly and his smirk widened.

“I - I’m sorry — let’s just —”

Eris clicked his tongue and Aron silenced immediately. “You shouldn’t be apologizing to me. You should be apologizing to Iris.”

Lord Aron’s face flushed, and he sent a glare toward Iris, who watched all this in stunned silence.

“I have nothing to apologize to her for. She’s my daughter. I will treat her as I see fit.”

Eris said nothing for a moment, simply watching the male then nodded. Tightening his grip on the male’s hair, Eris slammed him back into the table once more then pulled him closer.

“Let’s try that again.” he said calmly. “Don’t be stupid now, Bertillon. If I tell you to apologize, you will apologize.”

Lord Aron blinked a few times, the slam to his head clearly dazing him. Eris only watched him as he blinked again stupidly then his eyes flickered to Iris, his gaze hardening. “Why would I apologize when she puts me in positions like this?”

“These are the consequences of your own actions. Your mouth and hands put you in this position, you scum.” Eris snarled softly. “You are the only one responsible for your choices so apologize.”

Aron attempted to glare, barely able to with one eye swollen shut. His lip curled in disgust, glancing once more at Eris then back at Iris.

“I can say the words all you want,” he spoke quietly, his eyes never leaving his daughter. “But I will never mean them. I am sorry for nothing, you useless girl.”

Eris blinked then smiled slowly, ever so gently tugging his father-in-law’s head back, bringing his gaze back to meet his eyes. “I see.” he said softly. “I guess we’ll have to do this the hard way then.”

Aron licked his lips quickly, glancing between Iris and Eris before opening his mouth to speak. “W-wait —”

But Eris tightened his grip and Lord Aron blanched, falling silent immediately. Eris let the blazing flame in his gaze rest on Aron, his hands heating around his throat once more, taking a deep breath.

“I wonder,” Eris began, his voice as soft as a lover’s. “Where should I begin with you?”

Aron made a choking sound as Eris dragged him by the throat closer to him, watching as he turned slightly blue.

“Should I start with your spine? I know exactly where to break it so you don’t die too quickly and suffer properly. Make sure you really feel it.” he said with an unhinged smile. “What about a few burns? We can start right at a second degree then quickly go deeper. Maybe some permanent damage? I could give you a permanent facial deformity. Your physical appearance should match how disgusting you are on the inside, no?”

“Eris — wait —”

Eris slammed Aron’s head back into the table again, earning him a groan. “You know what? Let’s start with your other arm. You don’t really need your hands anyway.”

And Eris saw nothing, registered nothing else aside from his fists and his magic unleashing themselves on his father-in-law. He was vaguely aware of him snapping Aron’s other arm. Recalled briefly the feel of his nose crunching beneath his fist.

But it didn’t matter. It wasn’t enough.

He wanted his blood to fill the halls. He wanted every bone in his body to turn to dust. He wanted him to shrivel into ash.

Most of all, Eris wanted to take back every moment Iris had been alone with him, take back the panic she had felt — that Eris had felt.

The panic Eris had felt at his own father’s smug smile from earlier. His father, who Eris had no doubt, allowed this idiotic male to walk around this cocky.

A scream of agony tore through his thoughts, and it made Eris grin as a sound of bone crunching followed. The feeling of the bastard’s blood coating his knuckles as his fist collided again and again and again until —

He heard something else.

“Eris.”

His name.

A gentle hand touched his shoulder through the flame encompassing him. Flame that would burn anyone else but one —

Only when her voice said his name once more, did he pause and turn to look at his wife slowly.

She was standing before him, her eyes wide but Eris saw no fear in them, just — just concern.

“Eris, it’s okay. You can stop now.” she said softly, her hands still on his shoulder.

He blinked. “He hurt you.” Eris said simply and Iris licked her lips as she squeezed his shoulder gently.

“I know. But I think that’s enough.” she said, and her gaze flickered to her father for a moment before meeting Eris’s gaze again. “I think he’s learned his lesson.”

“He’s owed more than this.” Eris replied, his gaze locked on her beautiful face, still healing. “He made me break my promise.”

“I know.” she agreed and didn’t break his gaze, giving him a tight smile. “But I don’t want him ruining the carpet. I think you can let him go.”

Eris blinked again and the corner of his mouth lifted. He kept his gaze on his wife and when Iris nodded briefly, he nodded back. He turned back to her father and gave his swollen, broken figure a look of disgust.

“Consider this a warning,” Eris began coldly. “You are no longer related to Iris. You will have nothing to do with her or with me. You will not come near either of us. You will not ask about her, attempt to visit, or attempt to contact her at all.” He turned to Iris. “Does this sound reasonable to you, wife?”

She blinked in surprise then nodded. “Yes.”

“Good.” he said with a smile that was anything but kind as he turned back to his father-in-law. “If I find out that you even thought about crossing those boundaries, I will tie you to a column in the middle of the courtyard and torture you in all the methods you think the High Lord has tried and more. Do I make myself clear?”

The lump of flesh that was Lord Aron gave a weak nod. Satisfied, Eris stood then dragged the limp body of his father-in-law and opened their chamber door to find several of his sentries waiting there.

“Dump him in an empty room. He isn’t allowed to see a healer for a few hours. I want him to be reminded of this pain every moment until then.” he commanded. “If anyone asks, tell them it’s my business. Should they ask again, I’ll gladly pile them right next to him.”

Eris glanced down at what was left of Lord Aron and granted his father-in-law one last look of burning rage. “Consider yourself lucky to be alive, you filthy piece of shit.” he swore and crouched down to meet his trembling gaze. “This time you got off easily. Next time...there won’t be anything left of you to find. I can promise you that.”

He watched his father-in-law twitch slightly, a small whimper slipping from the male’s lips and savage satisfaction coursed through Eris’s veins. Using one finger, the Prince of Autumn pressed into his father-in-law’s throat and let a little heat surge through it. The lump that was his father-in-law made a choking sound that only caused Eris to smile darkly. “You are very very lucky your daughter wanted to grant you a little mercy. I don’t consider it in my nature when it comes to filth who overstep their boundaries, especially when you don’t deserve it.” he snarled softly. “I pray you aren’t foolish enough to approach Iris again because I will simply delight in showing you exactly how much I like to let it burn.”

With that, Eris straightened and waved a hand, watching as his sentries dragged what was left of Lord Aron.

Eris let a ragged breath shudder out of him before turning back into their chamber and closing the door behind him. He needed to calm his rage. Calm the level of anger and tension coming off him in waves. He knew the room had heated the moment he stepped back into it but was hesitating to turn around, hesitating to find Iris and see fear in her eyes. Turning slowly, his eyes immediately found his wife who was staring at the spot where her father had been, the flecks of his blood splattered on the floor.

He swallowed hard then cleared his throat and said, “I’ll have someone clean it.”

Iris’s head snapped up to him and Eris paused in place. His throat bobbed at her assessing gaze and he clasped his shaking hands behind his back. He knew he looked rumpled, wild even, and knew he was still running on a lot of anger, his body coursing with so much adrenaline at the way his magic had thrived to be released.

He had always held himself on a tight leash and this wasn’t the way he wanted Iris to see him unrestrained. Not in a way that could instill fear. Only last night she had told him she was still scared and now —

Eris waited, watching her with a look that matched the intensity of what he was feeling. He couldn’t help the cascade of emotions coursing through his body when he looked at her, cataloging how she stood. The feeling of it was about to bring him to his knees. He took a quiet breath, relaxed his shoulders, and let his hands fall to his sides as he waited for Iris to speak.

But he said nothing. And she said nothing.

Iris watched him as he watched her, and a faint sense of dread began to slide its way through his bloodstream. After a moment, she took a hesitant step towards him then froze as her gaze fell to his hands and Eris felt his heart drop. He watched her swallow then turn and silently make her way to their bathroom. He watched her go and waited for a tense moment, wondering if she would lock herself in there to stay away from him. Had he gone too far? Had he scared her?

He swallowed, knowing he wouldn’t be able to handle her avoiding him again. Not after last night. Not after everything that just happened.

He felt that dread start tingling in his fingertips and make its way steadily up his arms and his chest — he felt too much. And he wasn’t ready for something he had barely begun to enjoy to crumble.

#eris vanserra #eris vanserra x oc #eris x oc #eris vanserra fanfic #acotar fanfiction #smtb chapters #gfics #if you'd like to be tagged or removed (no hard feelings!) please let me know!#thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!!#let's see if the damn tags will work this time lol

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skeletalcat · 10 months

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THE MURDERBOT ZINE! This zine has a few pieces by me including the cover! Please check it out! PDF: LINK @murderbotzine

#the murderbot diaries #murderbot #murderbot zine #the murderbot zine #my art #martha wells #zine #uhhhhh #please go read my comic I worked really hard #tmbd #mbd

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nibbelraz · 2 months

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Does CQM sect knows how long SQH has worked for MBJ? YQY let's SQH come back (presumably because he is that good at his job?) but do they ever interrogate him? Do they have any idea that SQH has been working for MBJ for years? I just find it funny that from their perspective SQH betrayed them but in a way you could argue that SQH was never loyal to the sect. Yes, he was already part of the sect, but he was an outer disciple and while they don't know, SQH already knew he would one day work for MBJ. While he feared for his life he probably had already in his head that he would be loyal to Mobei, so he entered the sect knowing he would spy for him. From the beginning he joined the sect with dishonest notions. But other than SQQ does any other Peak Lord has any idea about this? Because honestly, how fucking scary and impressive that SQH did this 😂

I don't think it's ever stated how long they knew about Shang Qinghua being a traitor (My memory is absolutely horrible, so I could be wrong) However im sure they can pinpoint the time a demon killed a lot of disciples with Shang Qinghua being the only survivor and was missing for some days then they mightve connected the dots to how long he's been a spy for Mobei Jun. I also don't think they interrogate him either, they just kinda let him back in after all the shit that went down

Looking back into the novel, Yue Qingyuan does let him back but there really was no interrogation from what I can find

So YEAH HE REALLY JUST MANAGED TO GET AWAY WITH IT

#anyone that remembers more about the book and would like to add on please do #Ah i forgot a lot of things even if Qinghua is my favorite #when i have more time i want to re read svsss #svsss #shang qinghua #honestly though from what i remember i know qi qingqi wanted to beat his ass but i dont know if there wss any interrogation #also Shang Qinghua knew his chances he was better off being 100 percent loyal to mobei then siding with hos sect especially knowing the #og's ending so he had to try extra hard to be on Mobeis side all the way #Also even if he wasnt absolutely loyal to his sect he still did a shitton of work for them #ah but a spy would do that too i guess #i love Sqh so much #nib text #ask

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coffeeadict61 · 9 months

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Humans Are Weird: Female Rage

Report: #298

Topic: Female Rage

Rage: Violent or uncontrollable anger.

I have studied the human race for months now but today is the day I have learned to fear them. Forget their unpredictable bodies, or overly complex inventions, or the horrific moments that crowd their history. It was only today I feared for my life in the presence of a human being.

I often record anger in incident reports and the like, but women make up a very tiny proportion of that. They tend to "keep their cool" ( a human turn of phrase) better than men on average. This doesn't seem to be a natural attribute but more of a learned survival mechanism against violence and abuse. It only seems to break the surface in grief or after years of trauma. But the new astrophysics intern Colette [Last Name Redacted] showed me a new human emotion. Rage.

Our ships astrophysics department was partnering with our engineering department to design a small weapons craft to protect us from the "space pirates" or looters we keep encountering. I had created a bond of "friendship" with little Colette, I suppose little doesn't fit. She is above average height and slightly underweight, (she is having trouble adjusting to our menu due to "texture issues" which I need to educate myself on). Moving forward. She came to speak to me on a very serious matter a week ago exactly while I was on my daily rounds. This was the reason I was behind schedule, she has, and I quote, "little legs" in comparison to mine. Colette spoke of the weapons project she had been assigned too. She spoke at length about her supervisors who wouldn't listen to her. She had discovered a bug in the engine system. A four that looked like a nine or something of that nature, and believed it to put the test pilots in danger. She requested that I ask management to promote her so that her voice would be listened too. I tried to calm her worries but she was insistent so I told her I'd try to bring it up in the next meeting. That meeting was yesterday. In the six days between our conversation and my turn to give my reports for the management council, I had talked myself out of my promise. I figured that her superiors knew best and she was just ambitious and maybe she didn't see what she thought she saw. Regardless, it is the biggest regret I carry.

The test flight launched today. The entire crew was given an hour additional break to watch. Colette tried to prevent the launch, arguing with the head scientists, trying to show them test she ran digitally, but they had security pull her back. She came to find me, asking if I spoke to management. I didn't answer. The announcer counted down in human numerals.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 LAUNCH

I breathed a sigh of relief as the craft glided safely away, but Colette didn't, she didn't move an inch. The projects leader gave instructions through a radio. The experimental engines roared to life. Then, a moment of silence. Before the entire space craft was engulfed in a cloud of fire and gas. The silent explosion shook the floor beneath us as gasps and screams gave it a voice. The entire crew was killed. Many of them, friends or family of the onlookers. The onboard medic, the project leader's son and Colette's young husband. She collapsed to the ground sobbing, unable to stand on her shaking legs. I couldn't get her to move. I didn't try very hard.

Security swarmed the crowd, pushing them back from the windows and herding the grieving crowd to the different living areas. Many had to be carried. I carried Colette.

Hours later, after an emergency meeting and a meal, everyone was in bed. All but the council, security, the engineering department,and the astrophysics department. We sat in heavy silence as the project leader explained the error that lead to this tragedy. I studied him closely. No tears, just a stone cold face and a tremor in his hands. Suddenly the doors crashed open as Colette burst in. She wasn't grieving now. Colette grabbed the microphone from the leader's hand and threw it at the wall. It went straight through. Then she spoke. Shaking slightly, controlled rage gave the impression of bullets falling from her mouth with each syllable. "Murderers. You are all murderers." No one moved as we took on the weight of her statements. She spoke again but this time it was wasn't controlled. This time her rage wasn't an undertone but the message. This time she screamed it in a voice that echoed around the room and shook with each new sob.

"I TOLD YOU! I FING TOLD YOU THEY WOULD DIE! WHY DIDN'T YOU LISTEN TO ME?! HOW COULD YOU KILL THEM LIKE THAT?! IT'S YOUR FING FAULT!"

She broke anything within reach. A mug, "THEY WERE YOUR TEAM!" a chair, "WHY DIDN'T YOU PROTECT THEM?" a table, "YOUR OWN SON AND YOU STAND HERE CALLING IT AN ACCIDENT!" her voice. "IF YOU HAD BELIEVED ME AND MY EVIDENCE INSTEAD OF PLAYING F***ING POLITICS…"

She stopped. She stopped screaming, stopped crying, stopped expressing her pain. She bottled it up and wiped her face with her sweaters sleeve. She just stared at him. Taking deep breaths as he shook under her gaze. "Why didn't you listen to him? To me?" He fought back his tears and straightened his jacket. "Abe knew the risks-" Colette stepped forward and punched him hard, his nose making an audible crunch. Blood stained her knuckles as she hit him again and again. Finally I got up and grabbed her around her middle, pulling her off before she went to far. The leader whimpered and leaned on a table as she fought to get to him. To tear him apart. Finally she just stood rigidity holding onto me. "Never say his name again. You aren't his father. You're a murderer and you never deserved Abraham." She spit at his feet.

"Coward."

I pulled her out of the meeting hall, locked her in her quarters, and stood guard. I relive her plea for me to approach the council on her behalf. I cannot deny my part in the crew's death and doubt I'll ever forgive myself. Colette will surely never forgive me either.

In conclusion, I advise the guilty professionals and researchers transferred and tried. Both for the safety of our crew and themselves. Their professional licenses should be revoked no matter the outcome of their individual trials. We also need to form a mental health department and start providing dietary options for all diets and sensitivities. I also advise (though I recognize my lack of authority on the matter) that crewmember Colette [Last Name Redacted] be released of all charges and assigned a personal therapist of her choosing. As for the other loved ones of our lost crew, they should also receive support options and memorials for their lost and any other requests we can fulfil. I pray we never have a similar story to tell the next generation.

Human Observer #5743

#Humans are weird #humans are space orcs #Its a sad one folks #Sorry its long #space #Aliens #space travel #human observer #5743 #new report #Colette #please read #I worked really hard on this #female rage #gaslight gatekeep girlboss #I had a lot of coffee today

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