#item attributes

[legionofmyth]

Absolute Power: Are Your Items Powerful Enough to Change the Game?

What’s a superhero without the perfect tools? 🛠️ Absolute Power’s item creation rules let you craft gear tied to attributes and skills that bring your character to life! Whether you’re designing a tech-savvy genius or a mystic warrior, this video will teach you how to balance creativity with gameplay. Ready to elevate your game? 📺 Watch now! #AbsolutePowerRPG #TTRPG #TabletopGaming #SuperheroRPG #RPGGearCreation

Absolute Power: Book 1: System Absolute Power: Book 2: Essentials Tri-Stat Core Discover how Absolute Power’s item creation rules let you forge the perfect tools for your superhero adventures! Learn how to craft iconic items tied to attributes and skills that bring your character’s powers to life. Absolute Power by Dyskami Publishing Company provides an innovative system for creating unique items…

[kommabortsig]

Saint_Lucy_by_Domenico_di_Pace_Beccafumi.jpg

[xeneric-shrooms]

Various items you can place on trapdoors in bedrock:

Signs

Item frames

Paintings

Rails

Buttons

Pressure plates

Doors

Lanterns

Banners

Flower pots

Bells

Cake

Coral

Tripwire hooks

Repeaters & Comparators

AMETHYST CLUSTERS

DRIPSTONE

TORCHES

REDSTONE DUST

But you can't place

FUCKING

LADDERS

[dreamofmourning]

[mylittleredgirl]

quotable cards are out of control. i don’t know why this is so freaking funny to me. i’m sure henry james of all people was the only person to say “i’m here for you.”

and can we forget the famed line very specific to victor hugo:

[schrodingers-romy]

thinkin abt quirks...

[oh-meow-swirls]

The first and second phase of the final bosses music always goes hard, but 3 kinda dropped the ball. The first phase music is good, idk if it’s final boss material but it’s good! But the second phase doesn’t have the bombastic energy as 1 & 2 or even Blasters. So for me personally that’s probably why I think 3’s final bosses are forgettable

i can genuinely not remember the music for the don spiracy fight but yea the music in the ghoulfather fight is good. compared to the other games' final bosses they're just sorta. there. it's not even that they're easy or anything i mean. mckraken exists-

[emdotcom]

Criminy & cheese sticks, somebody said something nice about the effort I put into something & I think my brain short circuited?? Did people grow up with this?? How do you cope w/ people being kind

[palmtreepalmtree]

This is a really incredible image. But I fucking hate the internet. I don't think this is from 2024.

I can't be absolutely 100% sure, but this looks like it was stolen from this blog. If accurate, credit is owed to a photographer named Nicolas Lefaudeux who took them at the Cerro Tololo Inter-American Observatory in Chile in 2017. If you click through, Nicolas explains how he took the photo and layered it together.

I highly recommend clicking through to see the full shot. It is really incredible. Also, give Nicolas full credit -- this is how he describes his work in his bio:

The 2017 Eclipse was my first Total Solar Eclipse (ignoring my overcast 1999 experience that took me years to recover from) and a long-term personal project. I worked for several hundreds of hours on it, defining my setups, optimizing my scope for contrast, designing 3D printed parts for automation, making rehearsals, and developing the algorithm to make high quality HDR composites.

If true, he put in several hundreds of hours of work only for someone to copy it, rotate it, crop it, and repost it on instagram and tumblr without his credit. Fuck that.

You can order prints of the full photo on his website. And honestly, this is fucking cool as shit, and he deserves it.

The Sun’s corona during a solar-eclipse.

[wellthatsclever]

.

[gghostwriter]

Level-One Intruder

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer apprehends an unexpected but adorable trespasser Trope:It’s fluff in a meet cute type of way w.c: 1.8k a/n: I'm a liar. I said I was going to post once I get over this flu but I couldn't help myself, not at all. I just really really wanted to share this cute cute fic I wrote with you all. Not proofread. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

The brown tweed coat on Spencer’s shoulders threaten to droop down his arms as he wrangled his keys to unlock his apartment door.

There was little light on the hallway, something that could be attributed to the late hour of twelve midnight. Muffled noises could be heard from next door—a new tenant must have moved in while he was away. 

The FBI agent could feel himself coming apart at the seams from the lack of proper sleep. The latest case took eight long grueling days to solve and the team had to make do with what the small town could offer as arrangements.

His back felt stiff from curling on the squeaky sofa bed, trying his best to make himself comfortable and now, all he wanted to do was decompress with a totem of a book and sleep like the dead until his alarm clock rang for the next day. 

Dropping his satchel on the ground, silently assuring himself to get the laundry going the next day, a tiny scuffle echoed through his heavily darkened apartment.

Spencer tensed, unsure if his overtly exhausted mind conjured up the noise or if someone else found their way into his haven while it was otherwise unoccupied.

Another sound confirmed the reality causing him to draw his gun from his holster, ends pointing down, as he slowly made his way around the sofa to the first bedroom, minding his steps to avoid the sections with creaking floorboards.

He rounded the corner, eyes straining to adjust to the minimal light the outposts provide him—and nothing. 

The room was stale from lack of use and everything looked to be in the right place. The stripped spare bed looked untouched and all the windows were sealed shut. Exactly how he left it.

Another noise caught his attention.

Spencer tightened his hold on the gun and tiptoe’d to the next room—the bathroom and in there, the first real evidence was uncovered. 

His eyebrows threatened to meet in the middle as he took in the unspooled tissue roll hanging from its holder. The unused sheets of paper now sat on the green titled floor, no doubt flooded with organisms and bacteria that the naked eye couldn’t see. 

He shuddered from the thought.

Quickly moving on, he shuffled his way to the open kitchen. Right away he spotted something amiss—rather a few items amiss.

First, the lower cabinet was ajar. It was where Spencer stored his cleaning supplies and it was rarely opened as it was.

Second, his favorite Star Trek mug that he left out to dry near the sink was now precariously near the edge, threatening to break into a thousand pieces.

And lastly, the empty plastic bag of bread on the counter that he was sure had two more slices before he went away for the case.

There was an intruder and it seemed like he was hungry.

Weapon still in his hands, he slowly he crept his towards the slightly opened mahogany door of the main bedroom. He took a deep breath before rounding up to the room, pistol pointing forward to the unsuspecting guest. 

Except there was no one.

“That’s strange,” he muttered to himself, holstering back the revolver to his belt and to his surprise, someone answered or rather, meow-ed back. A fluffy orange cat with a collar on his neck.

The agent smiled. “You must be my intruder—”

Meow.

“—Now, who are you and how did you get in here?”

The cat was silent, content with rubbing his body on his black pant legs, leaving behind stray hairs that Spencer would have to lint away before laundry.

He bent down to see if there was any information hanging from the cat’s green collar. 

“Mr. Chewie. Is that your name?”

Feline eyes stared into his and blinked once. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he sighed. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d believe you could understand me but actually according to studies, cats lack the cognitive skills to interpret human language so I still don’t know why I’m explaining that to you.”

Meow.

“Nope, I’m sure you’re just responding to the fact that I am talking to you and my rambling is clearly brought by my lack of proper sleep—” a knock on his front door interrupted his musings. “—one second,” he called out, swiftly unbuckling his holster belt and placing it on top of the dresser. There was no need to frighten the knocking neighbor with a gun. 

Spencer turned back to the cat inquisitively sitting next to his feet. “Don’t move.”

As he made his way back to the entrance, opening lights as he went, he could hear the click clack of the feline’s claws against the wooden floorboards. It clearly didn’t take his order to consideration.

Spencer swung the door open as the stranger was poised for a mid-knock.

“Uh—hi,” the woman breathed out. 

“Hi,” Spencer drawled out in reply. “Can I help you?”

You rocked on your heels, fingers pulling down the ends of your oversized sweater as if it could lessen your state of undress. Spencer didn’t judge, it was early into the morning after all, nor did he stare long at your navy blue shorts and pink fluffy socks adorning your feet. 

“I’m your new neighbor and it’s not really the time to introduce myself but by any chance is there—”

“An adorable intruder in my apartment?” 

You nod, sweetly smiling. The glint in your eyes filled with apologies.

“Yes actually, I was trying to ask him where he came from but I don’t actually speak cat and neither does he understand human.” 

You laugh sheepishly, fingers gently rubbing at the side of your neck. “I’m so sorry. I hope he didn’t make a mess or bother you at all. I left my fire escape window open for a little bit to let the breeze in and he must have explored out while I wasn’t looking. So sorry again, let me just get him out of the way—”

A rustle from behind made him turn, not before he caught your eyes widening to the scene inside his apartment. Your cat kneading on his brown throw blanket before settling on the sofa.

“Mr. Chewie, what are you doing?” You squeaked out.

Spencer laughed at the outrageous tone coating your voice. It reminded him of Garcia swatting the other agents away from her tech equipments.

The cat answered back with a meow.

“No, mister. You cannot sleep here, this isn’t our home! It belongs to this lovely gentleman over here—” you flashed Spencer a smile. “Now, please get your butt off the sofa and back to our apartment.”

The feline seemingly rolled his eyes and turned his back on you.

“Huh,” Spencer observed. “The studies might be wrong after all. I think he understands you.”

You laughed, shoulders shaking from the absurdity of his comment. “Mr. Chewie might be special or at least that’s what every pet owner believe to be. I never introduced myself have I? I’m Y/N. I moved next door a couple of nights ago.”

“Dr. Spencer Reid,” he replied back. 

You tilted your head to the side. “Oh, is that why I haven’t seen you around, Doctor? Busy saving lives?”

He shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. In a way, you weren’t wrong per se. His title did let people assume his career to be in the medical industry instead of having three PhD’s under his belt. The former was more plausible given how young he looked.

The sound of a door opening and closing at the end of the hall caught both your attention. Your eyes flashed back to his, twinkling. “So, Doctor. Will it be alright if I step inside and grabbed my cat?”

He cleared his throat. “Uh—yeah, yeah. Sure, come right in.”

You sheepishly smiled before entering his sanctuary. Eyes soaking in any piece of information that represented who he was.

Spencer felt your warmth as you passed his body. The smell of warm cookies wafting to his nose, dissipating the anxiety that threatened to creep up his spine from letting a stranger into his home. 

“Nice apartment,” you complimented. “There seems to be a lot of books.”

He tucks his hands inside his pant pockets. “I like to read.”

“Me too. It’s a great hobby to pass the time.”

You sweetly smiled before swiftly scooping up the lounging cat in your arms with little protest. “Again, I’m so sorry if he disturbed you in any way and please, let me know if he made a mess. I’d like to make it up to you—as a thank you and apology, I mean.”

“It’s no problem,” Spencer watched your cheeks match the color of your socks under the fluorescent light. It suited you, he thought. “Actually, can I just ask you a question?”

“Anything.”

“Why is he—” his calloused hands reaching to pet the orange feline nestled on your chest. “—named Mr. Chewie?” 

You giggled, the sound similar to wind chimes being rustled by a gentle breeze. It settled the ache caused by his lack of proper rest. It was fascinating, intriguing, and a little bit frightening if he had to be honest.

“Well, I actually named him after Star Wars, Chewbacca, because of how fluffy he is and the name just shortened itself once I found out how perpetually famished he is.”

“He’s named well,” Spencer surmised, the empty plastic of bread flashing in his mind.

“Well, I shouldn’t be bothering you any longer,” you slowly backed away from his space. “Thank you, Doctor, and have a good night.”

With a sleepy smile on his face, Spencer watched you push open your apartment door. “Good night.”

You flashed your saccharine smile one last time before closing it behind you, leaving him feeling light and bemused for the first time in a long while.

And as he woke up to the gentle streams of the sun on his face, feeling well rested and ready to tackle the paperwork on his desk, the emotion still lingered causing the corners of his mouth to rise up into a soft smile. An after effect of your encounter that he didn’t mind experiencing. 

It was a certain type of high. 

It was something bright and puzzling.

A note and a batch of cookies taped to his door caught his eye as he exited the apartment. The  treats were in this clear, non-labelled package. Handmade then, Spencer noted.

His smile stretched his warming cheeks wide as he took in the scripted letters written on the pink post it that reminded him of your blush and your fluffy socks.

See you around, Doctor! 

Have a great day saving lives! 

- Your Nurse neighbor & Mr. Chewie xx 

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

[angelssmvse]

𝙇𝙄𝙏𝙏𝙇𝙀 𝘽𝙍𝘼𝙏

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ 𝙎𝙀𝙑𝙄𝙆𝘼 𝙓 𝙁𝙀𝙈 !𝙍��𝘼𝘿𝙀𝙍 𝜗𝜚 (smut)

𝜗𝜚 𝙎𝙐𝙈𝙈𝘼𝙍𝙔 You've always been stubborn, with a tendency to insist that everything you say or want must be followed. However, at times, you would act in a slightly childish manner, which Sevika despised.

𝜗𝜚 𝘼/𝙉 I'm pleased to present my first one-shot smut—I hope you enjoy it, and please feel free to share any requests you may have. Thank you, angels <3

𝜗𝜚 𝙒𝘼𝙍𝙉𝙄𝙉𝙂𝙎 smut! minors DNI. This narrative contains mature themes and explicit content, including strong language, depictions of violence, adult situations (smut), and elements of both humor and tenderness. Reader discretion is advised.

“Control yourself, little girl,” she says casually in response to your ongoing complaints. “You know you can’t leave this place until I fix everything to ensure your safety.” Sevika moves closer to the items you’re working on and sits next to you, her gaze locked on you.

You roll your eyes. “Before you came along, I fought against some pretty tough and dangerous people—do you really think I can’t handle this?” She scoffs, looking down as she takes a drag from her cigarette and blows the smoke in your direction. You cough dramatically. “Forget this, I’m out of here,” you declare, standing up quickly. But before you can leave, a metallic hand rests on your waist, stopping you in your tracks.

The two of you had a brief struggle before she managed to pin you down, carefully applying just enough pressure to restrain you without causing any harm. In an impulsive reaction, you bit her hand. Little did you know, this only fueled her anger further. Sevika growls, leaning closer to your ear. “Now, what the hell was that—hmm?” Her voice sends a shiver through you, causing your body to arch towards her. “Easy, easy,” she whispers soothingly.

You could feel her other hand, running gently from your waist to your ass leaving cold trails, you whimper as the air tenses. She loved it—loved to tease you and see you weak like this for her.

She began to kiss your neck leaving cute little spots on it just as a reminder later on, her kissed continue, first to the crook of your shoulders then chest, she stops looking up and smirks as she goes on, to your waist going progressively lower and lower.

You whimper as she goes down. Sevika pauses, looking up with a smirk. "I hate you," you whisper. She chuckles, "Oh really?"

You look up at her, amused. She smirks, breaking eye contact to glance at your soft, kissable lips. She moves closer until you can feel her warm breath, her nose brushing against yours, and then her lips against yours. Your hands rest on her neck, while hers encircle your waist as she guides you to sit on the nearest flat surface.

Sevika breaks the kiss and looks at you while her fingers try to find a way through your panties reaching your wet pussy, she smirks putting one finger first and then another making your heart accelerate and making you moan her name “Shhh now…” she teases you by accelerating her peace.

Right when you almost reached your climax she removes her fingers and tastes a bit of you before going down and ending up in between your legs; she starts off by kissing your inner tights, without breaking any eye contact, she wanted to see and hear everything—every movement, expression and screams you’d produce just for her, and only her.

She loved every minute of it, and sure as hell you did too.

Copyright © angelssmvse 2024 — I own only this story; please do not copy nor translate without permission or proper attribution. I give credit for the character Sevika from the series "Arcane" by Riot Games. This is the only platform where I have published the story.

[jesseisstuckinside]

@entities-of-posts The Spiral?

are you telling me americans have stores that open up SPECIFICALLY for halloween and just. dont exist any other time of the year. you people are insane

[anniebeemine]

genius 2.0- s.r x fem!reader

Summary: Spencer can't believe his son takes after him so much, maybe a little too much.

warnings: none :), slight implications of what Spencer went through in school

“Mom!”

You stilled your shoes off, barely able to close the door before your son, Sebastian, tackled you into a hug. “Mom!”

“Hey, bud,” you greeted, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

He pulled back, his chin resting on your front as he wrapped his arms around you. “Did you know that some species of sharks can live up to 100 years?" Sebastian said, his eyes bright with curiosity.

You smiled and ruffled his hair. “I did not know that.”

He detached himself from you. “Their metabolism is really slow, so it attributes to their age.”

Spencer looked around the corner and smiled. "Hey, sweetheart. How was the parent-teacher conference?"

You placed your bag on the counter and walked over to give Spencer a quick kiss on the cheek. "It was great! Mrs. Anderson had a lot to say about Sebastian." You dropped your voice as Sebastian excused himself to wash his hands. “You and I have a lot to discuss,” you grinned.

Spencer perked up an eyebrow. He served three plates, handing two of them to you. You placed one in front of Sebastian. Throughout dinner, the father son duo liked to talk. Sebastian often had a list of topics to discuss, things that he wanted to hear his parents’ opinions on. So, the two of you answered his questions every single night while he ate with one hand and scribbled down the answers with the other.

At the end of the meal, Sebastian placed his empty plate in the sink. He washed his hands and stood behind his chair for a moment. “I’m going to go to my room.”

“Okay, bud,” Spencer smiled. “Go ahead.”

You giggled as he left, brown curls bouncing up the stairs. “He’s so much like you,” you sighed, pushing some lettuce back and forth on the plate. “I’m so lucky to have two.”

Spencer smiled softly, leaning back in his chair. "What did Mrs. Anderson say?"

"She thinks Sebastian can take an exam to skip the fifth grade. He's already reading far ahead for his age group," you explained, watching Spencer's face carefully.

Spencer began clearing the table, barely responding. "That's...impressive," he said, his voice subdued. He pointed to your plate. "Are you done?"

You nodded, watching as he left everythingin the sink while he took out the garbage. You sighed and got up to finish the dishes, the clinking of plates filling the silence. After drying your hands, you went upstairs and found Spencer in Sebastian's room, thumbing through a book while Seb arranged his toys.

"Hey," you said softly, stepping inside. "Everything okay?"

Spencer looked up, his eyes thoughtful. "Yeah, I was just thinking." He rolled out of the bed, going over to his son. "Can we talk about something?"

Sebastian turned around, leaning against his toy chest while sitting on the floor. You stood by the closet door. "Sebastian-"

"I didn't mean to break it!" He blurted, cheeks pink.

You furrowed your brows. "Break what?"

"Nothing," he lied. Surely, it wouldn't be long to find the broken item. "What are we talking about?"

You told him about the meeting, praising him for being so far ahead of his classmates. "And we were wondering how you'd feel about going straight to the sixth grade."

"Sebastian, how would you feel about skipping the fifth grade?" Spencer asked, his voice calm but his eyes watching his son intently.

Sebastian's eyes widened with excitement. "Really? I can skip a grade? That sounds amazing! I want to do it, Dad!"

Spencer nodded. "We'll set up the meeeting for you to take that test."

After saying goodnight to Sebastian and making sure he was settled, you went to your room to find Spencer sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. His shoulders were tense, and you could see he was fighting back tears.

"Spence?" you said softly, walking over and sitting beside him. "What's wrong?"

Spencer took a deep breath, his voice shaky. "I'm afraid, Y/N. I spent years being tormented. I don't want Sebastian to go through that." He sniffed. "I don't want him to grow up."

You reached out and gently lifted his chin so he could look at you. His eyes were red and glassy, filled with a pain that reached deep into his past. "Spencer, I know it was hard for you, but Sebastian has us. He has a support system that you didn't have. We'll make sure he's okay."

Spencer nodded, tears spilling over despite his efforts to hold them back. "I just want him to be happy and not have to deal with what I did. The loneliness, the bullying... It was relentless."

You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close. "He's going to be okay, Spence."

Spencer clung to you, his body trembling. "I remember being so excited, just like Sebastian, and then...everything changed. Kids can be so cruel, Y/N. I don’t want him to lose his spark."

You stroked his back soothingly, your heart aching for him. "We'll talk to him about what to expect, and we'll be there for him if he needs us. We can also talk to the school, make sure they’re prepared to support him too."

Spencer pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his temple. "You don't have to do it without me. We're in this together, always."

Spencer nodded, a small smile breaking through his tears. "Together, always."

He leaned into your embrace, and you held him tightly, feeling the weight of his fears slowly lifting. "Sebastian is lucky to have you as a dad," you murmured. "He’s going to thrive, and we’ll make sure he’s happy and safe."

Spencer sighed, the tension easing from his body. "I just want to protect him from everything."

"I know," you said softly. "And we will. One step at a time, we’ll guide him through this. He's strong, like his dad."

Spencer chuckled softly, wiping his eyes. "He's stronger because he has you too." Spencer's breathing steadied, and he rested his head against yours. "You know, I used to think I had to do everything alone. But with you, I don't feel that way anymore. You've shown me what it means to be a team, to share the burdens and the joys."

As you both sat there, holding each other in the quiet of your room, you knew that no matter what challenges came your way, you would face them together.

[crumbledcastle28]

Joel Miller: Stay Down

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader (she/her; afab)

Word count: 3.2k

Summary: Joel thought he had grown accustomed to fear until he finds you covered in blood.

Excerpt: He swallowed, attempting to choose his words carefully. He had never been good with them, attributing his deficiency to a long line of likewise men before him. His brain poured for sonnets, poetry, prose that he had read in his insignificant time on this planet. Something to impress you, distract you, to take away that crestfallen look in your eye.

He couldn’t do it. He never would be. So, he used his mouth for something else.

Warnings: stitching of a wound, kissing, blood, blood loss, so much yearning, unestablished relationship, probably incorrect gun talk, Joel is scared of feelings.

A/N: This is me coping with the fact that we do not get more last of us in January. Also partially inspired by my favorite song maybe ever.

Pedro Masterlist

All my writing

Joel had found his hands becoming more and more susceptible to the cold as he got older.

They would crack and bleed, flaking dried skin within his decades-old gloves before November had even begun. This not only hurt like hell, but forced him to slow down and think about what he was doing to his body for once in his life. He had a harder time gripping the reins on a horse or fingering the trigger on a shotgun. Noticeably so. And living in a small town with a little brother foaming at the mouth to make old man jokes didn't help matters.

This is what led him to you.

He wouldn't call you a hoarder. Honestly, he would be the first to admit that you were one of the smartest people in Jackson. You had somehow become one of the most materialistically rich people in the town. You consistently managed to find the most randomly useful items on your patrols, things that people before the outbreak would never have even thought to miss.

Things like shoe insoles, ball point pens, Chapstick.

And luckily for him, lotion.

You never charged anyone for taking from what you had. Furthermore, you actively asked people if they needed anything. Even offering to scout around the area in search of specifics. Joel hadn't been around that kind of softness since...

Well, a long time.

This made him uncharacteristically nervous when he first approached your doorstep, but he knocked anyway. He had never in a million years expected to leave that house satisfied in more ways than one.

He blamed it on that stupid crinkle the skin underneath your eyes got whenever you smiled at him. He couldn't help but fall into your light.

This started a... friendship. Of sorts. He would come over when he needed you, and you would happily oblige. As time went on, the visits to yours became more and more frequent, frequent enough that the rest of the town seemed to be catching on. At least, that's what his brother had been hinting at through jabs and side comments.

"You smiled at me the other day, Joel," Tommy had said. "Actually smiled."

Joel responded with a gesture he was hoping Ellie would not pick up anytime soon.

Joel was...happy. Happy with the arrangement. He had a warm body – a fucking gorgeous warm body – to get his energy out with, and the woman inside the body seemingly had no issue with his lack of strings attached.

And yet, for some reason, this annoyed him.

There was some undetectable, bruised part of him that wanted you to…what exactly? Fight him on it? Confess your undying love for him? Pull him back into bed to cuddle?

There had to be either pheromones or crack cocaine in that honeyed floral perfume you always wore. You were beginning to drive him this insane. Unfortunately for him, the place he went when he was beginning to toe that line into insanity was always you.

Joel had checked the schedule posted in the main square, assigning every able-bodied person shifts of patrol. You had a shift earlier in the day, which usually kept you busy until noon. You would then shower, eat, and spend the rest of the afternoon doing whatever the hell you wanted.

Overtime, these mental gymnastics became muscle memory to Joel.

He huffed as he lugged his aching legs up your steps, their typical milk white now coated in an ugly muddy brown. Winter had begun, apparent by the puffs of Joel’s own breaths, and the snow in Jackson was trying desperately to keep up.

Joel balled his hands into fists as he planted both feet onto your porch, blowing into them quickly, before knocking three times. Spaced out enough, but not too much. He envisioned you smiling as you heard his signature knock, but cringed at himself internally, burying the thought instantly.

It fluttered back to the surface when he heard the pads of your footsteps somewhere in the house begin but extinguished itself when they dissipated.

He waited a few more seconds, the rational part of his brain saying that you must be in the middle of something, but the man part of his brain imagining you putting on your silky red robe he loved so much, only for him to take it off you so slowly it made his own fingers shake. He breathed in deep, the laundry detergent from his nylon coat mixed with the beginnings of December filling his nose, and cracked his neck while rocking back and forth on his heels.

His eyebrows came together when he heard another rustle, then nothing.

He knocked again.

Still, nothing,

He knew you were in there – he could hear you, clear as day, and he knew you could hear him – but for some reason, you weren’t coming to the door.

His much too weathered mind began to race, thinking of three possible explanations. One, you heard him knocking, and were ignoring him. Two, you somehow were not hearing him knock on the door. Or three, you for some reason were not able to get to the door.

Meaning, there was a possibility you weren’t alone in there, and not by choice.

“Y/N?” he asked loudly. “Y/N, are you in there?”

Nothing. A bit more rustling, maybe a slight groan, but nothing.

Joel’s fingers began to tingle, and it wasn’t from the cold. He knocked again, harder.

“Y/N, I know you’re in there,” he said loudly, “just…just tell me you’re okay.”

Silence.

He gripped the doorknob and jiggled it, hard enough for the wood to groan underneath his fingertips, but it was locked from the inside. He huffed, knocking again, his hot breaths now clouding his face. He felt an ache in his wrist.

He said your name one more time, hearing the beginnings of a voice he knew better than he should have muffled by the wood, and the door was flat in front of him before he could think twice.

He stomped his way inside, coating the ground with mud and snow, and his eyes darted around the familiar living room. His vision was tunneled, scrounging for the shape of you on the floor, draped over the couch, held at gunpoint. His heart pulsed in his ears.

You weren’t in the living room.

He stomped into the kitchen, the bathroom, the basement, nothing. All that was left was the bedroom.

There was no way in hell you were still asleep.

He practically sprinted to the room, preparing himself. He had seen what men did to women, the remnants of it anyway, and despite his state of denial, he could never in a million years handle the sight of you that way. In your own bed. In your own house. Likely one of your own friends.

He pulled open the door anyway, and was met with gold.

The room was dim except for the lamps you loved so dearly, spreading their warm, glowing, honeyed light across the room in streaks. He blinked his eyes to adjust, focusing in on your body on the bed. You were facing him, skin painted with similar golden streaks, highlighting the tears culminating under your eyes. You were sat crisscrossed, upper body totally bare, back slouched tightly, your body practically folded in on itself. Your right hand was pressed against your left shoulder blade, while your other was filled with wine-colored rags.

Blood-soaked rags.

His eyes met yours quickly, and despite their dampness, they still had that fucking crinkle.

You chuckled, your shoulders dropping up and down quickly as they always do.

“You know,” you said, voice curdled and tired, “if someone doesn’t answer the door, that’s usually them saying ‘leave me the hell alone.”

You chuckled again, this time finishing it off with a wince.

His hand slid slowly from the doorknob as he took a hesitant step towards you, his body tearing itself in half. One side begging to fold your body into him, bubbling you in a cocoon. The other, itching to tear whatever did this to you apart ligament by ligament.

Your eyes slowly drooped from humor to something like shame, like a kicked dog or a broken child, and he stepped forward again.

“Don’t,” you countered weakly. “Just…just don’t.”

You scooted away from him slightly, refusing to look at him, and applied more pressure to whatever was expelling that much blood from your shoulder. Pain was suddenly present in your face.

“You want me to leave?” he quickly countered.

You said nothing.

He walked to you, removing the hand you had pressed against your wound, and sucked in a quick breath.

“Probably the first time you’ve seen a revolver bullet in about twenty years, huh Joel?” you asked, chuckling once more.

He barely heard you.

You had gotten the bullet out, but it had sunken in deep. The skin around it was red and welting, so swollen that Joel had to guess you had already been working on it for at least an hour. He winced, imagining what kind of pain you were in, and the fact that you were dealing with it all yourself.

He swallowed grimly.

“Hand me that rag,” he said. He could tell how little strength you had left to fight him by how quickly the rag flopped into his hand.

He pressed it to the wound, and you hissed.

“Fuck Joel,” you whined, squeezing the covers of your bed so tightly your knuckles went white. He held his pressure, forcing himself to think straight.

He might as well have been feeling the pain in his own shoulder.

He finally eased his pressure, wiping away as much blood from the area as he could.

“You cleaned it pretty well,” he said softly, voice thick in his throat, so thick it was hard to speak. “But…it’s gonna need a stich or two.”

“Or seven,” you said, grabbing the first aid kit sat in the middle of the bed. You opened the bag with shaking hands, taking out the needle and thread. You attempted to begin threading the needle, but with your hands quaking so fiercely you only produced frustrated grunts and sighs. He moved to the front of the bed, the front of his body facing yours, and took the needle and thread from your hands, setting them to the side. He then held your hands in his, squeezing them slightly, before using one to tilt your chin up at him.

He sighed at the storm in your eyes.

“What happened?”

“Did you kick my fucking door down?”

“What happened?”

“I was stupid, that’s what happened.”

He sighed again. “You’ve never once been stupid.”

“Today I was.”

“How?”

“It’s how I always am.” Your voice cracked. “Thought I could pick some apples for Mrs. Lawrence down the street. She always talks about how much she loved that as a kid – a freshly picked apple. Went out too far. Felt a sudden burning in my shoulder and ended up having to take out six hunters all by myself. Six.”

A single tear dripped from your left eye, the gold from the lamps turning it to sunlight.

“I could’ve died. All for a fucking apple.”

You turned away from him again, and it took everything in him not to cup your face in his hands and turn you back to him. He had never seen you like this before. So… raw. Beaten. Trampled. Doused in self-hatred. He hated it.

And yet, he didn’t want to look away. He was slowly realizing that this was the part of you he had been desperate to see. Truth. Undercarriage. Weakness.

Human.

He swallowed, attempting to choose his words carefully. He had never been good with them, attributing his deficiency to a long line of likewise men before him. His brain poured for sonnets, poetry, prose that he had read in his insignificant time on this planet. Something to impress you, distract you, to take away that crestfallen look in your eye.

He couldn’t do it. He never would be. So, he used his mouth for something else.

Slowly, gentler than he ever had in his life, he brought his mouth to your cheekbone. You exhaled a prolonged breath, the heat of it cascading down the left side of his neck. It only prompted him to kiss you more, and more, and more. His lips traveling up into your hairline, across your forehead, down your nose, and finally onto your lips. His kiss there was tongueless, rather a soft press, and yet it meant more to him than any other one you had ever shared.

He could tell by your breathing that you agreed.

He pressed his forehead against yours, swallowing thickly. “I’m glad you didn’t. I don’t know…I don’t know what I would do if you did.”

Your stormy eyes turned into a sunrise, and Joel straightened his aching back to slowly remove his coat and boots. He placed them on the floor beside your bed, keeping his eyes on you the entire time. You watched him just the same, mouth propped open slightly.

He smirked as he set his things down. He then picked up the needle and thread while using his free hand to frame your face.

“I’ll be gentle,” he said, his thumb stroking your chin. “I promise.”

You nodded. “I know you will.”

His lips wanted to meet yours so badly it hurt, but he needed to stitch you. Quickly. For a wound as deep as the one you had, it should have been closed up hours ago.

He wouldn’t think about that now. He couldn’t.

He walked to the edge of the bed and turned you around, leaning you into him slightly to give your pretzeled back some support, and began.  

You were surprisingly unreactive when he first inserted the needle, taking it as delicately as he possibly could. It wasn’t until he began to tug the skin together that your body showed signs of pain.

“You’re going too slow,” you mumbled softly after he finished the second stitch. “Please go faster.”

His hands began to shake at your request. He didn’t blame you. Speed would make it hurt worse, but be over with quicker. He squeezed the top of your shoulder in response, threading the needle quickly and stitching over the center of the wound.

You let out a high-pitched whine, gripping onto the comforter at your side, and he couldn’t help but kiss the back of your neck.

He let your breathing steady, then stitched again, this time kissing your shoulder blade.

Another stitch, a kiss across your shoulders.

Another stitch, a kiss down your spine.

Another stitch, a kiss on your lower back.

After every stitch, he planted one. Something in him couldn’t help it.

He made his final stitch and cut the thread quickly, sealing it with a kiss on the side of your face. He tasted a mix of salty tears and heat from your skin. He watched your throat bobble as he moved away, finishing off the wound with a final cleaning. Alcohol and blood filled the air, along with undertones of sweat.

He had a feeling that last aroma came mostly from him.

He threw the needle and thread away into the small garbage can you kept near your bed before turning back to face you. You rested on the balls of your palms, leaning back to look at him as he walked back towards you. There was pain visible behind your eyes, he could see it, but they were coated in something else. Something somehow rawer than before.

“You should rest now,” he said, scruff evident in his voice from lack of use. He cleared it quickly. “You took a hell of a hit.”

You didn’t move. Joel moved to the first aid kit still sitting in the middle of the bed and used the (what had to be decades old) wet wipes on his hands. He tossed those as well, but you still hadn’t moved.

“There somethin’ on my face?”

You cracked a small smile. “Thank you, Joel,” you said quietly.

He hummed. “Don’t mention it.” He then leaned forward and scooped your body into his arms. You involuntarily rested against him, eyes fluttering already, but he set you down beneath your sheets and swiftly pulled them over you.

He laughed at your fight against your own exhaustion, pushing stray hairs away from your forehead. He pulled away from you, beginning to walk out of the room. A fierce grip pulled him backwards.

“Stay,” you mumbled weakly. “Please stay.”

He inhaled deeply. The sweet cocktail of your voice mixed with those words fucking inebriating him, so much so he was surprised he was still standing up straight. He felt physically winded.

He squeezed your hand. “I’ll be right back. Stay down.”

You smiled, loosening your grip, letting your hand fall back into the bed.

Joel walked quietly out of the room but would be the last to admit how he practically sprinted to your kitchen and scoured your cabinets like a man being chased. He found your pain meds, pouring two into his hand, and filling up a small glass of water. He gave a slow, silent jog back to your room.

He felt equally as winded when he caught the view of the setting sun between your windows, glazing over you like a statue in Rome he had once seen on a traveling magazine. The streaks of leftover tears were highlighted in the light, as well as a small crease in your brow.

That is what told him you were not quite yet out cold.

He brought the meds and water to you, tucking your hair behind your ear to alert you of his presence. You opened your eyes and practically inhaled the medicine before laying back down on your side.

Joel removed his shirt in a blink and tucked himself in behind you, ensuring your stitches were not firmly pressed against him, but pressed just enough to ease soreness. You curved into him perfectly, as he did to you. He wrapped his arm around your frame, taking your hands in his and massaging them gently.

You hummed. “Promise you’ll stay?”

He knew your voice like that better than any man in the world.

He pressed a final kiss to your shoulder. “I’m stayin.’”

Tag List: (if you would like to be added please let me know!)

@untitledarea @avengersfan25 @lexloon @daphne-turner @leeeesahhh

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Character Sheet Template

Basic Information

Name (aliases, nicknames etc.): Explain the significance or origin of their name. Do they have a story behind a nickname?

Age: How does their age affect their worldview and behavior?

Gender: How do they identify and how does that shape their experiences?

Place of birth: How has their birthplace influenced their personality and opportunities?

Residence(s): Where have they lived, and where do they live now? What does their living space look like? Describe their present accommodations.

Ethnicity: How does their ethnic background influence their interactions and experiences?

Culture: What cultural values do they uphold? Have they faced any cultural conflicts?

Occupation(s) or specialties: What are the specific duties or skills in their job? How do they feel about their work?

Socioeconomic status: Has their economic background influenced their opportunities and personality? Has their status changed over time?

Appearance

Defining facial features: What do these features say about their character? How would a friend describe them? An enemy?

Height, build, body type: How do they feel about their physical appearance?

Mannerisms and gestures: How do they express themselves physically? Are these mannerisms a result of their background, or personal quirks?

Style: How does their style reflect their personality or status?

Dress: Do they dress differently for different occasions? How do they choose their clothes?

Accessories: Are there any accessories they never leave home without?

Other visual features: Do they have scars, tattoos, or other unique markers?

Personality

Defining traits: List of traits and attributes. What are the origins of these traits? Have they changed over time?

Personality type: MBTI, Enneagram, astrological sign, etc.

Archetype: Which common tropes do they exhibit?

Strengths and weaknesses: How do their strengths help them achieve goals? How do their weaknesses hinder them?

Flaws: How do their flaws affect their relationships and decisions?

Beliefs and spirituality: Do they believe in a higher power?

Morals and values: What events shaped their outlook on life?

Hopes and dreams: What steps are they taking towards these dreams? What obstacles stand in their way?

Skills: Which skills are they most proud of? Are there any skills they wish they had?

Interests or hobbies: How did they encounter their interests? How do others react to them?

Powers (if any): What are the limits and costs of their powers? How do they balance them with “normal” life?

Intimacy: How do they feel about physical intimacy? Emotional intimacy? Have they ever been in love?

Tastes and preferences: How do their preferences shape their daily choices?

Fears, phobias, or prejudices: How do they cope with their fears? Have they tried to overcome them?

Contradictions: How do they reconcile these contradictions, if at all?

Pet peeves: How do they react when annoyed?

Habits and quirks: Are their quirks known to others, or are they hidden?

Focus and obsessions: When did they acquire this focus? Do their obsessions cause problems or provide solutions?

Possessions of value: What sentimental items do they keep and why?

Health: Do they have any illnesses or conditions?

What they like about themselves: How do these positive aspects help them in difficult situations?

What they dislike about themselves: How do these negative aspects create internal conflict?

What they admire in others: What traits or worldviews do they consider positive? What makes them notice somebody?

What they dislike in others: What traits or worldviews rubs them the wrong way, and why?

Relationships

Family or guardians: How has their relationship with family members/caregivers shaped their personality?

Found family (if applicable): What binds them together?

Pets: What are their pet's personalities?

Friends: How did they meet these friends? What are their strongest memories together?

Allies and enemies: How did they gain allies and make enemies?

Past and current partners/love interests: Have they ever been in love? Describe any partners through the character’s eyes.

Mentors and confidants: How have these figures influenced their decisions and growth?

Heroes: Do they have idols, or someone to look up to? Which behaviors or traits influenced them the most?

Trust: How did they come to trust or distrust these individuals?

Background

Upbringing or parenting style: How did their childhood experiences shape their current behavior?

Formative memories: Which memories are most vivid for them, and why?

Education: How do they view their educational experiences? What subjects did they find fascinating, and which did they hate?

Major life events: How have these events redirected their path?

External experiences: Have any world events, conflicts or changes affected them?

Accomplishments: What achievements are they most proud of?

Failures: How have their failures impacted their self-esteem and future decisions?

Disappointments: How do they cope with disappointment? Have they learned from it?

Motivations

Goals: What short-term and long-term goals drive them?

What do they want?: How do their desires align with their goals?

How do they try to get it?: What strategies do they use to achieve their goals?

What happens if they do/don't succeed?: How do they handle success or failure?

Internal conflicts: What are their inner struggles and how do they manifest?

External conflicts: Who or what stands in their way, and how do they deal with these obstacles?

What are they trying to hide?: Why are they hiding this aspect of themselves? How would they manage its exposure?

How do they wish to be perceived?: How do they work towards this perception?

What are they proud of?: How does this pride influence their actions?

What are they ashamed of?: How does this shame affect their decisions and relationships?

What do they regret?: How do their regrets shape their present actions?

What is their legacy?: What impact do they hope to leave behind?

Communication Style

Language(s) spoken: How proficient are they in each language? Do they switch languages in different contexts?

Literacy: Are they good with words, or do they struggle to get their point across?

Accent: How does their accent influence others' perceptions of them?

Vocabulary and cadence: What unique speech patterns do they have?

Common turns of phrase or catchphrases: Are they funny, morose, profane, etc.? How do others respond to them?

Emotional range: How does their communication style change with their emotions?

Body language: What are their most noticeable non-verbal cues?

Visual cues or “tells”: How do others read their true feelings?

Style of humor: What type of humor do they prefer, and how do they use it in various interactions?

Emotional range

How do they display and react to...

Affection:

Joy:

Sadness:

Fear:

Surprise:

Anger:

Disappointment:

Praise:

Criticism:

Irritation:

Antagonism:

Attacks:

Sources: 1 2 3 4 Writing References: Plot ⚜ Character ⚜ Worldbuilding