#rust and ruin tag game

[lefteagleblizzard]

ℌ𝔦𝔰 𝔴𝔞𝔶 𝔬𝔣 𝔠𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 Joel Miller x male reader

Summary: you test Joel Miller's patience one too many times, desperate to prove yourself and when a reckless act nearly gets you killed, he shows you exactly what happens when you push a man like him too far. You wanted his respect. Instead, you get his full attention under the weight of his fury, pressed face-first against a crumbling wall, held down as he fucks you raw.

Tags: Set in The Last of Us Part I. Male reader. He/him pronouns are used towards the reader. Angst. Enemies/friends to lovers. Age Gap. Protective Joel Miller. Feral Joel Miller. Some descriptions of violence. Some gore elements but not too much. Smut. Gay smut. Top Joel Miller. Brat tamer Joel Miller. Reckless bottom male reader. Size difference. Anal sex.

This was written with game Joel in mind, since I personally prefer the video game way more than the TV show in general.

ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

Words count: 5000

The streets were waterlogged veins, slick with runoff and filth. Buildings leaned like they were exhaling their last breath, brick bloated and peeling from twenty years of rain and collapse. The air hung heavy of mildew, rusted rebar, and the sour stink of stagnant floodwater. Somewhere far off, a car alarm wailed half-heartedly. Closer, nothing but the lap of murky water against concrete.

An hotel loomed up out of the sludge. Hotel Grand, half its letters rusted off the vertical sign still clinging to the brick like a parasite. Green slime clung to the lower floor. Water had swallowed the lobby up to the waist.

The glass doors were shattered. The awning collapsed on one side. Beyond the lobby, darkness pooled like oil, lit only by the glow bleeding through the grime-streaked windows.

You swam through what used to be a valet lane, breaking the surface with a breathless sigh and shaking water from your silenced sidearm. Ellie rode a warped wooden slab, her hands gripping the edges, sneakers dripping. Joel swam with one hand, the other pushing her along, grimacing every time debris scratched his arms or bumped his ribs.

He grunted as he hauled himself up the marble steps into the flooded lobby.

The water inside was of the same green tone, thick with floating filth. Soggy furniture broke the surface like dead whales, mold clawed its way up the walls in dark veins.

You walked in front of the concierge desk. Ellie followed, boots squelching. Her eyes scanned the ruin, then her face lit up. She ducked behind the desk, poked her head up and cleared her throat theatrically “Good afternoon, sir,” she said, grinning. “Do you have a reservation?”

You grinned, adjusting your wet hair and holstering your gun . “Yeah. Name’s Badass.’ Suite, preferably. Got a thing for soaking tubs.”

She snorted, biting her lip to keep from laughing. “Sorry, sir, we’re all booked. But if you’d like to wait on hold for fifteen years—”

Joel groaned from the base of the stairs, racking a round into his revolver. “Both of you, enough.”

“Party pooper,” Ellie mumbled.

You leaned down and offered her a hand up onto the higher ledge. She took it without question. Joel watched the exchange, jaw set, but said nothing. His eyes lingered on your hand a little too long.

You explored the edges of the flooded floor carefully, boots sloshing through what felt more like soup than water. Moss-covered tables leaned sideways. Chairs floated lazily past. Old room service carts lay overturned and rusted, linens eaten by rot.

Dozens and rapid splashes came from outside, in the water.

You froze, just like Joel.

Looking up from where you were, a section of upper flooring had collapsed over the years, exposing the next level up, a sharp edge jutting down like a broken tooth.

You backed up, boots hitting dry tile as you started to run.

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare—” Joel’s voice tore through the lobby, low, furious, but you were already mid-air when he barked those words, fingers scraping the jagged edge of collapsed floor and making it possible to pull yourself up, ribs burning.

You pressed yourself flat to the floor just as the front doors slammed open below. Water sloshed and footsteps thundered as some bandits stormed inside

Five of them all armed with rifles, bats and crowbars. A few had makeshift armor strapped on with duct tape and salvaged plate.

The floor beneath your elbows was warped and soft with rot, carpet peeled back to reveal splinters fattened by mold, soaked deep with twenty years of decay. Every deliberate crawl scraped damp grit along your knees, but you couldn’t afford any noises. One creak too sharp and they’d be on you.

You positioned yourself right at the edge of the collapsed floor, the ragged drop-off giving you a broken bird’s eye view of the lobby below, Joel was crouched near an overturned table with Ellie at his side, his revolver steady but his jaw clenched tight.

You spotted the first enemy slinking through the murk. Shoulders hunched, rifle out. His boots sloshed through the knee-high floodwater, one step at a time, muzzle twitching with every sound.

You watched Joel stiffen. He turned, caught Ellie’s sleeve and tugged her further into cover.

You exhaled through your nose, slow and controlled. Pulled your sidearm into position, the familiar weight of the gun settled against your palm, heavy from the custom suppressor bolted to the front. Your gloves soaked from the earlier swim and your breath drew in to further steady your hands.

Thwick.

The shot barely made a sound, but the result was instant.

The man’s head snapped back, a spray of dark red painting the mold-ridden pillar behind him before his body crumpled like a marionette with its strings sliced. The splash he made landing into the floodwater was much louder.

The others whipped around, they spotted the body and your next shot lined up.

Thwick.

The second man dropped like a bag of bricks, blood painting a slick trail across the surface of the water.

You pulled back immediately when one of them had seen the muzzle glint. The crack of a gunshot exploded past your ear and whined off the half-collapsed frame beside your head, splinters lancing across your cheek. You flattened, crawling fast across the broken space toward another patch of shadow.

“Second floor! Flank left, I got him—!”

He didn’t finish. Joel rose up behind the bastard the second his attention was on you, thick bicep wrapping around the man’s throat before he could even cry out.

His forearm flexed, bicep crushing upward. You barely heard the crunch produced by the man’s neck.

Joel didn’t flinch, he just lowered the body carefully into the water without a splash.

The others moved in, furious now, stumbling forward with rage-blind sloppiness. Ellie ducked low and lobbed a brick square in the temple of one of the two bandits, stunning him long enough for Joel to stomp forward and grab him by the throat.

You shifted to a better angle and took out the last man flanking the east wall, catching him in the shoulder first, off aim, but the second shot took him in the eye, dropping him clean.

Your cheek pressed into the warm, dust-caked floor. The reek of wet carpet and decaying upholstery crowded your nose.

Below, Joel kept his revolver at the ready, his back to a soaked pillar, scanning each flickering corner of the flooded lobby while Ellie stayed close, her knife in-hand, hunched and alert.

You exhaled slowly, hand reaching for your sidearm still warm from the string of shots you’d just landed. The silencer was hot. Burned your fingertips a little as you twisted it off to check the threading. Everything is fine and clean.

The tape you’d used to hold the makeshift suppressor firm was wet, but hadn’t loosened. You dragged a cloth across the grooves to clear the grime before pushing it back into place and clicked it securely, eyes still on the ruined lobby below. Then the mag came out, only two rounds left. You yanked a fresh one from your chest rig and slapped it in with a soft thunk.

“Holy shit. That was sick!” Ellie’s voice was clear and loud as she grinned up at you, her voice pitching higher with excitement. “Dude, you’ve gotta teach me how to shoot like that!”

You couldn’t help the grin that pulled at your lips, adrenaline still buzzing in your veins. “You got it, kid.”

“Ellie. Quiet.” Joel’s voice came in low, harsh and unforgiving.

Ellie deflated immediately, her shoulders tensing and mouth snapping shut like she’d just been caught mid-crime. Her brows twitched, but she didn’t talk back. Not when Joel was in that tone.

“There’s still more of ‘em,” he said, before his gaze cut upward straight to you, his hand flexing against the grip of his revolver like he was imagining something far less helpful in it.

“You stupid son of a bitch. You think you’re smarter than the rest of us?”

Joel’s voice cracked across the room like a rifle shot. He stood with his fist clenched at his side, shoulders squared and heaving with fury, eyes burning into you like twin wildfires. His jaw was tight, barely keeping the rest of what he wanted to say behind clenched teeth.

You stood your ground, chin tilted up, voice clipped and biting, trying to mask the dull sting behind your ribs with a poorly disguised air of confidence.

“I had the high ground.” It came out too fast and defensive. The words rang with more pride than sense, tone laced with a bratty sharpness, an edge carved out of disappointment.

You had hoped that Joel might’ve seen the good in what you did. That he’d look past the recklessness and see you not as some liability he had to babysit, but someone capable he could count on.

But the look on his face said otherwise. He saw a mistake, a near-loss.

Joel’s boot scraped the floor as he took a step closer, voice rising. “You had no goddamn idea how many were comin’,” he snapped, eyes wild. “Could’ve been a dozen more. Could’ve circled. You get your dumbass pinned up there, I’m supposed to leave Ellie to come scrape your corpse off the goddamn floor?!”

The air between you went cold from the way he said corpse, like he already saw it happen. Your throat felt dry.

Ellie stayed crouched off to the side, eyes darting between you like she’d seen this play out before.

Your voice was smaller now, but no less certain, heat still burning in your chest, jaw tight and fingers twitching from the adrenaline that hadn’t fully left your body.

“I was covering you—” you started, trying to force it out with calm, like maybe if you sounded sure enough, it would change the way he was looking at you.

“I don’t need cover from someone who don’t know when to sit the fuck down and follow orders.” His words cut sharper than any clicker bite ever could.

Your breath caught mid-chest, your teeth clenching to keep the sting from showing.

You stood there, wounded and unwilling to admit it. You wanted to impress him, earn something more than that constant, irritated scowl. You wanted his respect and attention so badly it made your hands shake.

A purposely long and loud sigh left your lips. “Fine,” you muttered, voice low, rising to your feet with the groan of old floorboards under you.

You caught Ellie’s glance, sympathetic but silent. Smart kid.

“I’ll see if there’s a way to get you guys up. Maybe I’ll find you a muzzle up here while I’m at it.”

As your eyes swept the half-collapsed upper floor, something caught your attention near the far corner of the room. Stashed behind a warped vending machine, just visible through the grime-coated glass of a shattered divider, was a folded set of portable stairs. Rusted aluminum propped diagonally on one leg.

Perfect.

You crept toward it, keeping low. The moment your fingers wrapped around the cold, corroded metal, you felt how stubborn it was, heavier than expected, the rust biting through your gloves like sandpaper.

A wet, slapping rhythm echoed behind you. Bare feet moving too fast. The sound of a body flinging itself across tile, uncaring of its own survival.

The kind of noise that made your spine stiffen before your brain could even register the threat. A guttural, snarled growl that raised every hair on your neck.

You turned but not in time.

A Runner bursted out of a side corridor and it hit you hard, shoulder first, with so much force that your feet left the ground.

Your body smashed sideways into the window to your left, the cracked glass from the neighboring hotel room gave instantly under your weight, shattering in a rush of splinters and light. A mix of glass and old rainwater exploded outward as your back slammed into the floor inside, the wind tore from your lungs.

The runner’s limbs scraped violently along the ground as it scrambled after you. Instinctively, you jammed your arm under its jaw, keeping it barely away from your neck as its head twisted, trying to sink teeth into your skin, screaming rage straight into your ears.

Your free hand scraped and grabbed something sharp and cold. A shard of glass from the shattered window that you immediately slashed straight across the side of its face, cheek to temple.

Red blood sprayed and the infected reeled back, screeching until it went still. One final spasm and then nothing.

You crawled out from under it, elbows dragging you across the other side of the room floor, breath heaving, heart trying to punch a hole through your ribs.

You staggered to the far wall, collapsed against it, eyes wide, gasping. The glass was still in your hand, palms and legs trembling.

You blinked sweat from your eyes and looked for your gun half-hidden beneath a broken shelf.

The second you grabbed it, voices echoed in the hallway. The remaining bandits were coming.

You ran fast. One room to the next. Shattered doors and tilted furniture, boots pounding across buckling floorboards. No time to think or stop.

Gun tight in your grip, trigger finger itching as the bandit came into view through the gnarled remains of a splintered wardrobe.

One shot and the silenced round punched clean through his temple. He dropped without a word, limbs scattering, weapon clattering to the soaked floor.

You caught the second one mid-rotation when he realized his buddy’s death. Two rounds in quick succession to the chest and to the neck. A third bandit appeared through the jagged crack in a doorway, a hatchet swinging wide.

You pulled the trigger once but it was now empty. As fast as possible you ducked, shoulder rolling under the wide arc of the blade, grabbing the man’s arm and ramming your elbow into his ribs with all the force you could muster, a technique you learned after observing Joel for so long.

He grunted, faltered and you plunged the butt of your gun into his skull twice before he dropped to the ground.

But then a body crashed into you from the side. The impact slammed you against the wall so hard your vision burst with white. The sound that left your chest wasn’t even human, more wheezing than scream, your shoulder bouncing off rotting wood.

You dropped your gun involuntarily, it skidded across the floor and out of reach as the bandit pressed his forearm into your neck.

“Fucking stay down,” he hissed, his breath hot and sour in your face, his fist drove into your stomach once, twice, three times.

Then came a hand to your throat, a tight pressure applied almost immediately. His fingers clamped down like steel, cutting off your supply of air. You clawed at his arms, nails digging into the fabric of his sleeve, but it did nothing.

You couldn’t even hear yourself anymore. Your vision had stopped making sense a while ago. Everything was dull around the edges, your lungs screamed, throat crushed under the force that didn’t loosen no matter how hard your legs kicked or how your nails dug at the man’s arm.

Your vision had already started to darken at the edges, oxygen choking off, but the pressure on your throat vanished in an instant.

A crack of impact tore through the room, the man’s head jerked sideways violently. There was a sick, muted thump beneath it, the sound of something soft giving way.

Your knees hit the floor, followed by your palms, sucking in air so violently it burned like fire down your throat.

The bandit staggered, half his jaw hanging loose, the side of his face caved in where Joel’s baseball bat had connected as blood poured down his chest like paint.

Joel swung again, a vicious, two-handed strike that caught the man square in the face. The bat shattered, splinters raining down as the bandit reeled back, blood gushing from his shattered nose.

You stayed on your hands and knees, gasping for breath, the world tilting sideways as you watched Joel step forward, chest heaving.

He dropped the broken bat without a word and lunged. His hands gripped the man’s jacket, yanking him forward, slamming him down onto the ground with a sickening thud, one knee pinning the man’s shoulder, the other digging into his chest and bringing his fists down over and over again.

Blood splattered up Joel’s sleeves as his fists kept slamming down. Each hit was fueled by something deep and wild. Joel’s face twisted, lips curled back in a snarl, his teeth gritted. His fists kept flying, blood spattering across his forearms, painting the broken tile beneath them red.

The bandit was limp by the third punch, his face already unrecognizable, knuckles cracking against wet meat. Blood smeared Joel’s knuckles, dripped down his wrists.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been standing there, half-slumped against the wall, ears ringing and knees buckling, but it felt like the bones in your legs were no longer yours. Joel’s labored breaths were ragged, shoulder brushing brick, his posture hunched and brutal in the aftermath of the kill.

You turned your head away, cheek dragging over the soot-smeared concrete wall, a cold smear left behind from the sweat on your skin.

Your vision swam, too many colors, none of them real. The edges of your sight bloomed in watery halos that faded in and out. The blood rushing in your ears didn’t stop and your lungs still weren’t moving like they were supposed to. Each inhale felt like trying to suck air through a collapsed straw, the burn still flaring where that bastard’s grip had nearly crushed your windpipe.

You didn’t remember deciding to move. Your feet did it for you, more stumble than stride, shoulders scraping the wall as your boots found uneven purchase on the ruined hallway floor. Your left hand hovered, ready to catch the wall if your knees finally gave out, the other still trembled at your side.

You made it to the first door. Hinges long gone. Just a splintered frame and a half-hanging panel of rotted wood that you shouldered through like a drunk man. The room inside was a snapshot of nature reclaiming disaster, walls overtaken by thick curtains of ivy, damp moss blanketing what used to be wallpaper, the floor cracked wide enough in places to let thin tendrils of green poke through.

The air was damp and fungal, your boots left tracks in the damp dust. Motes danced in the shafts of light leaking through shattered slats of the blinds. A queen-sized bed sat in the middle, the old mattress stained and gray with mold. The once-white sheets had rotted into stiff brown paper.

It didn’t matter at the moment, you collapsed onto it. The mattress sank with a groan. You could feel the damp creep instantly through your pants. You let your body drop sideways first, knees angled, back hunched, then slowly, as breath permitted, you adjusted your weight until you were upright, sitting at the edge of the bed, elbows braced to your knees, face buried in your palms.

The panting came back hard. You could hear the rasp of your own breath echoing in your hands. Every muscle in your back screamed in protest when you shifted, thighs trembling, ankles sore. Your ribs creaked when you inhaled too hard, your throat pulsed with angry red heat.

And in that stillness, one thought pushed through the haze like a flare: Where the fuck was Ellie?

You hadn’t seen or heard her.

Joel must’ve made her stay back. Probably barked it at her, harsh and firm, with that tone he saved for things that could end in blood and she would’ve listened. Because she trusted him.

God, you wanted him to really see you as someone who was capable, strong. Maybe not the strongest, not always the smartest, but brave. You wanted him to notice. But instead, you just saw that damn scowl and disappointment.

Your hands dropped from your face, fingertips brushing your thighs, legs screaming in protest the second you tried to push up. Knees quivering, calves unsteady, muscles like dead cords trying to pull you into a standing position and barely succeeding. You reached for the wall, both palms out like you were bracing for a blow, each footstep more a suggestion than a choice. When you finally got upright, you leaned into the nearest support beam hard, cheek pressing to the cool surface, one hand rising to your neck.

The door banged open behind you with the slam of wet wood on tile, your spine going stiff before your brain even caught up. You didn’t need to look to know it was Joel.

You could smell the blood and sweat and rain-soaked shirt, the copper tang of violence riding the heat radiating off his skin.

Whatever humanity had been left in them back in the lobby was gone now. His gaze burned through you like a brand, black with fury, pupils blown wide, jaw clenched so hard the cords in his neck jumped with every shallow breath. Blood dripped from his knuckles, long ropes of it trailing down his forearms, some of it wet, still warm, some already drying dark and cracked over his skin like warpaint. Some droplets of blood were caught in his beard.

“Joel—”

Your voice cracked at the edges, hoarse, so brittle you could’ve sworn it fractured somewhere in your throat. You hadn’t meant for his name to sound like fear. But it did and the second the syllable left your lips, something in him snapped.

He moved fast. He crossed the ruined floor with brutal speed, fists still flexing.

His hands slammed against the wall on either side of your face, trapping you between arms that still trembled with rage. His body closed in, caging you like prey. The blood on his skin smeared against the plaster. His forehead didn’t touch yours but it hovered close enough that every pant hit your lips like fire, his chest brushing yours with the shallow rise and fall of each breath he forced through his nose.

“This what you want?” he spat, voice a sawblade through gravel, eyes burning holes into your skull. “That’s why you keep fuckin’ pullin’ this shit?”

The words came out like punches, venom and heat.

Of course he fucking knew. He always had. In a world like this, a true survivor like him learns to read people’s body languages. He knew you were gone for him.

You spent every goddamn day trying to prove to him you were worth the risk. That you could handle yourself.

He dipped forward suddenly, a grunt tearing from his chest and your body jolted when he flipped you around, palms slamming flat against the wall. Your cheek pressed to the cold surface as his chest crashed into your back with a weight that made your knees threaten to fold.

One of his hands, calloused and massive, slid from the wall to your hip, fingers digging in hard, blood-slick and unyielding. The other came up and gripped your jaw, pulling your head to the side, exposing your neck like prey to the butcher’s blade.

His beard scratched against your throat, dragging over tender skin like sandpaper and honey, sting and sweetness, it made your hands curl into fists against the wall.

His breath was hot, still panting hard from the man he killed for you, the steam of it soaking into the crook of your neck, heating your skin from the inside out.

He grunted, low and guttural, right against your throat.

He shoved his hips forward and you felt the huge bulge pressing right against the cleft of your ass. Hard and thick. You gasped again, breath catching in your throat, jaw clenched as your knees buckled under the weight of that reality.

“Quiet now,” he rasped, voice like thunder in the shell of your ear, “s’funny how fast you shut the fuck up when it counts. All that fuckin’ attitude and now I can’t even get a sound outta you.”

His beard scratched along your collarbone now, lips brushing where neck meets shoulder, breath coming in sharp huffs.

Another grunt. He pressed his hips in harder, letting you feel every goddamn inch of the hardness grinding against your ass.

His hand was under your shirt now. Crawling across your ribs, sticky with blood and gripping your waist with bruising force.

Those hands traveled lower, blood smeared in thick streaks as he reached down and grabbed your ass hard. Fingers biting deep into the flesh, spreading and squeezing until your breath left your lungs in one short, shattered gasp.

He groaned behind you, deep and wrecked and still full of that fire that hadn’t gone out.

Joel’s spit splattered slick into his palm, you could feel the rough grooves of his fingerprints as he circled slow at first, teasing the rim.

The scrape of his beard rasped against your neck, a brutal kiss dragging across your skin, scratching a red path beneath the surface. His mouth opened against the hinge of your jaw, teeth grazing enough to warn. Breath steamed, thick with the copper tang of blood and sweat as he pressed harder.

He grunted low, a guttural sound that vibrated straight through your spine as his thumb pressed forward, circling tighter now, insistently, pushing into resistance and feeling you clench around nothing. You sucked in a sharp breath through your teeth, fists balled hard enough to make your knuckles ache.

His other hand found your hip again, gripping hard, squeezing down to bruise. His thumb breached you in one slow, brutal push, the blunt tip forcing your hole open, your breath catching sharp as you felt the stretch, raw and insistent.

He worked it deeper, knuckle grinding into your rim, twisting, pulling a grunt out of your chest that you couldn’t stifle. His beard rasped harder along your neck, biting into tender skin as he pressed a rough, open-mouthed kiss there, sucking bruises into the curve where shoulder met throat.

“Shoulda done this a long time ago,” he growled, his voice a stormcloud rumble, full of ash and threat. “Shoulda stopped wastin’ my fuckin’ breath screamin’ at you and just realize that all you needed was my cock stuffed so far down that smug throat you couldn’t say a fuckin’ word.”

His breath fogged hot against your skin as he pressed another finger in beside the first. Thicker now, the stretch sharper, the burn deeper.

You shuddered hard, hips rocking instinctively away from the pressure, but Joel’s grip snapped your body back against him, holding you flush, making you take every inch he forced inside.

“None of that,” he growled, breath breaking against the shell of your ear. “Gonna open you up good to take every fuckin’ inch I give you.”

The blunt force of his words punched straight to the pit of your gut, made your cock twitch even as your body trembled against the intrusion. His fingers scissored wider, dragging at the tender rim of your hole, making room where there hadn’t been enough.

The press of his body behind you felt like iron, solid and unyielding, decades of muscle and violence caging you in, heat rolling off him in waves thick enough to drown.

His fingers twisted deeper, hitting that spot that made your hips jerk, breath stuttering, a raw noise tearing from your throat that wasn’t a word, just heat and need given sound. He curled his fingers inside, dragging along the tender bundle of nerves again, grinding that spot until your knees buckled, hands scrabbling useless against the wall.

You could barely speak, the burn of the stretch making your thighs shake, your breath coming sharp and ragged. Joel’s free hand dragged up your side, palm rough with calluses, smearing sweat and blood in its path, then gripped the back of your neck, forcing your head down, making you arch your spine and push your hips back into his hand.

His fingers pulled free slowly, dragging wet and sticky from your hole, leaving it twitching, pulsing with the need to be filled again.

Joel grunted, shifting behind you, the scrape of his belt buckle loud in the quiet, the wet squelch of fabric pushed down over his thighs, heavy denim dragging rough along his skin.

You could feel the press of him, thick and hot.

“Breathe,” he growled, the word rough and commanding. “Ain’t gonna be gentle. You want this, you fuckin’ take it.”

He didn’t wait. His hips thrust forward hard, the fat head of his cock splitting you open with one brutal push, the thickness of him forcing your hole wider than his fingers ever could. The burn tore up your spine, sharp and blinding, breath stolen clean from your chest as he groaned deep.

“Fuck—” Joel rasped, voice breaking as he felt how tight you were around him, the squeeze of your body choking him, resisting him. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you back onto him as he shoved deeper, inch by thick inch, forcing your body to stretch and take him.

The girth of him felt obscene, too much, scraping raw inside as he pressed forward, grunting with each shove, grinding his hips into your ass until you could feel the heavy drag of his balls against your skin.

Hips grinding slow to let you feel the full weight of him buried deep, stretching you open around the root of his cock. His beard scraped against your shoulder as he leaned in, breath panting hard against your skin, chest heaving with each ragged exhale.

His hips pulled back slowly, just the head dragging out, then slammed forward again, the slap of skin on skin echoing loud in the room. He set a brutal pace, hips snapping forward, cock grinding deep, rearranging you from the inside out.

Each thrust punched a groan from your chest, made your hands claw at the wall, desperate for something to hold onto as he fucked you harder, rougher, cock driving so deep you could feel the press of him against your guts.

His body loomed behind, weight anchoring you in place, heat radiating from his sweat-slick skin, hot breath panting hard into the crook of your neck.

His cock dragged out of you slow, thick and deliberate, every inch pulling free with a wet slide that left your hole clenching. You could feel the swell of his tip flare wide at the rim, the drag of thick veins scraping raw along your insides as he pulled nearly all the way out, leaving you empty for a breathless second before his hips slammed forward again, splitting you open all over again.

“Fuckin’—tight,” Joel snarled low, voice shredded raw at the edges, chest heaving as he buried himself to the hilt, every thrust forcing the air from your lungs, cock grinding against that spot that made your legs buckle, stretching your guts around his cock like he meant to leave you gaping and ruined, filled with the shape of him.

His hand snapped up, rough fingers curling hard around your jaw, wrenching your head to the side with brutal force and crashing his mouth against yours, lips bruising, beard scraping hard enough to bite.

His tongue shoved deep between your teeth, invasive and desperate, claiming you from the inside out. His lips pressed hard, swallowing the broken moans spilling from your throat as he fucked you harder, cock grinding deep with every thrust.

Joel groaned into your mouth, voice rough and thick, tongue twisting deep as his cock hammered into you, every inch grinding against that tender spot that made your knees threaten to give. His hand gripped your jaw tight, holding you still as he kissed you like he meant to devour you, tongue fucking your mouth with the same brutal rhythm as his hips.

You could feel him swell inside you, the twitch of his cock as it throbbed thick, grinding deep as he panted against your lips, every muscle pulling tight as he barreled toward the edge.

Joel groaned loud, hips grinding deep, cock pulsing thick inside you as he slammed forward one last time, burying himself to the root, grinding hard, body shuddering as he spilled deep, filling you with the hot rush of his cum, thick and heavy, flood after flood of warmth filling you until it leaked out around the base and dripping down your thighs.

Joel’s breath stayed ragged against your lips, the weight of him grinding deep inside, his cock buried thick to the hilt, body pressed flush to yours.

The last pulsing throb of his cock inside you made your guts ache as he stayed there for a long moment, body locked solid, his head bowed forward against the back of your neck, breath heaving, beard rough and scratching as he rasped against your skin. His fingers twitched against your waist like he wasn’t ready to let go.

He dragged himself slowly from your body, the stretch of it pulling wet and thick from your hole, leaving you aching, raw and empty in its absence.

Joel’s breath hitched again as he stood back enough for the cool air to kiss the sweat streaked across your skin. His hands dropped from your waist, dragged roughly down your sides before falling away completely, leaving you trembling against the wall.

“Get dressed.” A command, not an offer. Joel shifted behind you, the sound of him tucking himself back into his jeans loud, followed by the snap of his belt buckle.

You turned your head enough to see him out of the corner of your eye. That old familiar scowl carving deeper into the lines of his face, like what had just happened between you was something he could shove down, bury beneath anger and the weight of survival.

You pushed off the wall slowly, body aching, the mess of him slick between your legs, the sting at your rim sharp where he’d worked you open. Your hands fumbled for your pants, tugging them up with fingers that still trembled, pulling cloth back over skin that felt too raw to cover.

Joel watched, but his gaze never lingered too long, never dipped back down your body. He turned away fast, grabbed his revolver, checked the chamber with a sharp, practiced motion.

“We ain’t stayin’ here.” His voice was steady now, pushing past what had happened like it hadn’t cracked something open between you both. “Too exposed.”

You nodded again, wiping sweat from your brow with the back of your hand, swallowing down the knot in your throat.

Joel lingered in the doorway, weight settling heavy in the frame, fingers flexing slowly over the worn strap of his rifle, jaw clenched so hard you could see the twitch in the muscle there, a silent warning.

“You so much as step outta line again,” Joel growled, voice rough enough to sand the edges off bone, “I’ll put you right back where you belong.” His stare didn’t waver. “Don’t think I won’t.”

Fuck if that didn’t drag up the old self, the cocky, reckless part of you that never knew when to leave well enough alone, a smirk creeping slow to the corner of your lips, small but sharp enough to cut through the tension between you.

You met his stare head-on, that grin flickering into place like a goddamn match strike. Couldn’t help it. Wouldn’t, even if you’d wanted to.

“Is that a promise?” You rasped, voice low, playful curling around the edges.

Joel’s brow twitched, the scoff that rumbled out of him spoke louder than any words.

There was a shift at the corner of his mouth, subtle as the ghost of a breeze, a smile threatening to break out. It tugged faint at the rough line of his lips, there and gone, but you caught it. That flash of satisfaction threaded through the ironclad control he tried to keep wrapped tight around himself.

He crushed it down fast, that jaw clenching hard again, eyes flicking away as he shook his head. “Always gotta have the last word,” he grumbled, voice rough, annoyed, but the edge of warmth tucked so far down you almost missed it.

It was over, for now, but that flicker of a smile said he wouldn’t mind one bit if you gave him a reason to follow through on it.

But that was just a theory you elaborated.

Time to test it.

[l1v-jzn]

„Bite The Blade” Series – Chapter 06 – Marked by Him

pairing: Ghostface!Seong-Je x Reader

genre: Horror, Thriller, Dark Romance

summary: She just wanted a warm drink and a quiet walk home. Y/n didn’t expect to wake up bound to a rusted chair in the middle of a warehouse, bruised, bleeding and being filmed. Not by strangers. Not for ransom. But as bait. A warning.

She was meant to break. To cry. To beg. For him. But she didn’t. Because something far worse came through that warehouse door. Not Baek-Jin. Not her savior.

Ghostface. Silent. Masked. Deadly. And for reasons no one understands... he spares her.

He doesn’t kill her.

He marks her.

One shallow cut across the cheek. A signature. A promise. A warning. Now Y/n isn’t just a girl caught in the crossfire, she’s the message written in blood. And when Hu-min finds her, she’s still shaking. Still haunted.

But the game has changed. Because Ghostface is watching. And he’s not done with her yet.

In a city full of secrets, alliances, and shadows with knives, survival isn’t about running, it’s about knowing who wants to own you… and who wants to keep you alive just long enough to ruin you.

taglist (only for this series): @thepoeticfirefly @kyungjunnies @hikaerys @d4ily-s-nsh1ne @miyawwn @sanaxo-o @feralmaneater @jeewhat @satorustorm @jaymiwrld @satoru2716 @heeknow @indarius @yinyangcchii @gacktsa @ruruyinn @inom17 @ellaaa505 (please just comment in here if you want to be tagged only for this series)

— All Chapters — — Next Chapter —

the air still reeked of rain, heavy and damp, puddles scattering reflections under dull streetlights. A soda can hissed as it rolled down the gutter.

Y/n zipped up her jacket tighter, arms crossed, her breath fogging slightly as she left the warmth of the convenience store behind. Hu-min already left there too, walking back home.

she didn’t hear the van at first. Just the squeal of shoes behind her. Too close. Too fast. She spun. But the world turned black.

a hood yanked down over her face—rough canvas and the scent of gasoline. Arms wrapped around her torso, lifted her off the sidewalk. She thrashed. Bit. Screamed—but the sound was choked by the fabric.

a backhand to the side of her head knocked the stars from her eyes.

boots scraped asphalt. A van door creaked open. She was shoved inside. Floor cold. Metal. Her head slammed into the wheel well. Someone zip-tied her wrists.

the van started moving before the door even closed.

"Baek-Jin is gonna freak if we bruise her too bad."

“Should’ve told him to kidnap a kitten, not a human taser—”

the guy in the passenger seat pulled out a phone, tapped on the cracked screen. It rang. Once. Twice. Then—Click. Baek-Jin’s voice came through, smooth and sharp like broken piano wire. “How is she?”

“We got her. She fought hard.”

a pause. Baek-Jin didn’t sigh—but it felt like he did. “Make sure she stays presentable. I need Baku to see her. Not her blood.”

“Copy.” Silence. Then Baek-Jin’s cold amusement crackled through. The driver chuckled nervously. “Why? You want a photo?”

“No,” Baek-Jin said, ice settling in his tone. “I want the camera rolling when Baku watches her beg.” Then the call ended.

Daesung Motorcycles — 9:29 p.m

the room smelled like oil and damp concrete. Fluorescent lights buzzed above her like a countdown to something awful, flickering just enough to make the shadows crawl.

Y/n sat in the center, bound to a rusted metal chair—ankles strapped, wrists burning in plastic restraints. Her jacket clung to her from the rain, soaked and heavy. Every breath she took echoed in her chest, too loud in the stillness.

then came the sharp yank. The sack was ripped from her head.

dim light stabbed her eyes. She blinked rapidly, vision swimming before it focused—too sterile, too wrong. The edges of everything looked jagged. Unreal.

two union boys stood across from her. One looked like he’d gone a few rounds with a steel pipe—nose swollen and crooked, cheek bruised. The other was jumpy, too thin, too young to have eyes that dull. Neither smiled. But they didn’t look sorry either.

instead, they were checking a tripod camera in the corner. Its red light blinked. Watching. Recording.

Y/n shifted in her seat. The restraints bit harder into her skin. She didn’t scream. Didn’t even beg.

but her eyes flicked quickly across the room—door, window, crates, maybe a pipe she could swing her legs toward if she broke free. Useless thoughts. But she needed them. She needed something to do with the fear clawing inside her.

“You think this’ll actually work?” Nose Guy muttered, not looking at her. “You think Baku’s gonna fold if we rough up his girl?”

the twitchy dude shrugged. “Boss says he’s soft for her. Real soft. Show him she bleeds? He bleeds too.”

“Man, what if she doesn’t even matter to him like that? What if he watches the tape and laughs?”

“Then we get orders to make her scream louder,” the twitchy dude said, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’ve done worse. She’s nothing special.”

Y/n’s breath hitched. Just slightly. She looked down, let her hair fall forward. Masked the way her jaw clenched.

but her hands—just slightly—shook against the chair’s arm.

Y/n’s voice cut through the air like a scalpel. Low. Dry. Hoarse from the hood and the struggle. “You boys always talk this much when you're nervous?” she rasped. “Or are you just compensating for your tiny d—”

the slap snapped her head sideways. Pain bloomed instantly across her cheek, and her vision fuzzed at the edges. She coughed, tasted blood in her mouth. Still tied. Still helpless.

but she turned back. Slowly. Let them see the cut on her lip. Let them see the tear slipping down her cheek—just one—but her expression didn’t break.

the camera was still rolling. Y/n’s hands curled into fists.

she was terrified. The kind of fear that eats you from the inside. That makes your thoughts race, then stop. But she wasn’t going to give them the sound of it. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

until the warehouse door screeched open, metal grinding against metal like it was being torn from a nightmare.

Y/n’s head snapped up, breath caught in her throat. Her heart stuttered.

Baek-Jin. It had to be Baek-Jin. This was his game, his twisted little stage. He was the puppet master, right?

but it wasn’t. Instead, the figure in the doorway was drowned in shadow. A silhouette. Tall. Still. The kind of still that made the hairs on the back of her neck rise.

then—a footstep, boots on concrete. Slow. Deliberate.

the twitchy dude froze. “Yo—who the hell is that?” Nose Guy reached for the crowbar leaning against the crates. “That’s not Baek-Jin.”

the camera kept rolling.

the figure stepped into the light—and the glint of something silver caught the flickering fluorescent glow. A mask. Ghostface.

not the Halloween-store version. No, this one was wrong. Custom. Sharper. Blacked-out mouth. Cold eyes. The robe was tight at the arms, moving like shadow stitched to muscle. The gloved hand holding a knife dripped rainwater.

Y/n’s lips parted. Her pulse roared in her ears.

the twitchy dude scrambled back. “H-Hey! You’re not supposed to be here!”

Ghostface tilted his head. Didn’t speak. Just moved. Fast. Like wind with a grudge.

the knife flashed and the twitchy dude went down hard, screaming, the blade slicing deep into his thigh before he could even react.

nose guy lunged forward with the crowbar, yelling—CLANG—it hit the floor, skidding uselessly across the room as Ghostface slammed him into the wall, arm pinning his throat. Blood sprayed to the floor.

Y/n gasped. The sound barely made it past her lips, like even her breath was too scared to exist. She couldn’t look away. Couldn’t blink. Couldn’t breathe.

the warehouse spun. Not fast—but warped, like the air itself didn’t know how to hold still around him. The buzzing lights seemed louder now. Too loud. Her wrists burned against the zip ties as her whole body locked up—not in pain, but in instinct.

Ghostface turned. Slow. Mechanical. Like some monstrous puppet yanked by invisible strings.

and then—he looked at her. Right at her. No words. No gestures. Just that stillness. That empty, screaming silence behind the mask.

her stomach dropped. Not like fear in a haunted house. Not like nerves before a fight. This was different. Primal. Like she’d just locked eyes with the wolf in the woods—and realized it wasn’t there to chase her. It was there to tear her apart.

her lips trembled. Not from the cold. Not from the blood. From the way her heart pounded in her chest so violently it hurt. Like her body was begging her to move, to run, to do anything but sit there in the presence of something not quite human anymore.

and the worst part? He didn’t move. He just stood there. Mask dripping. Knife gleaming and watched her.

and in that moment, she couldn’t tell if he was trying to save her... or warn her she was next.

a single tear slipped down her cheek. She didn’t even feel it. She was too busy staring into the abyss behind the mask.

and realizing it might be staring back.

Somewhere in the streets — 9:29 p.m

the night cracked open around Hu-min’s footsteps.

he was running. Faster than he could think, harder than his lungs could handle. His hood flapped behind him, soaked from the storm earlier, shoes skidding over damp pavement. Streetlights smeared across his vision like bad dreams.

his heart hadn’t stopped racing since he watched Y/n disappear down the block.

he should’ve walked her home.

he should’ve known.

the wrongness bloomed in his chest like poison—and just as he reached the front steps of her apartment building—his phone buzzed. One sharp vibration. Like a warning. He yanked it out, fingers trembling.

[Unknown Number]

:[VIDEO_002.mp4]

his pulse spiked. He tapped the screen. Static. Muffled audio. Then the camera suddenly focused on Y/n. Tied to a metal chair. Wrists bound. Ankles secured. Cheek purple and swollen.

the air slammed out of his lungs.

she wasn’t making a sound. Not crying. Not screaming. But her eyes—those wild, wide eyes, glassy with fear—told him everything. She looked horrified.

she was fighting not to cry. Not to tremble. Her jaw was clenched too tight. She blinked too slow, like blinking would give away that she was about to fall apart.

the camera jerked closer, zooming in like it wanted to drink her suffering. Then the video suddenly cut off from that part. Then beneath the video there was a message—an address, Daesung Motorcycles. Then there was another message, “You have one hour.”

the screen went black. No follow-up. No calls. No bluff. Just the timer already ticking in his mind.

Hu-min didn’t hesitate. His body turned before his thoughts could catch up. He ran.

and this time, it wasn’t fear that lit his nerves on fire—it was the brutal clarity of someone who’s lost mercy.

Daesung Motorcycles — 10:01 p.m

the warehouse swallowed every sound. The flickering light cast long shadows across the grease-stained concrete floor, playing tricks on the eyes. Somewhere nearby, a dying camera blinked red—its lens skewed on its side like it had witnessed too much.

Y/n sat in the center of the room, still bound to the cold metal chair. Her skin was clammy, her face streaked with dirt, sweat, and a fading trail of blood. The restraints bit into her wrists, plastic tightening with every tiny tremble of her fingers. But she didn’t cry. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t.

not with him still here. He stood just a few feet away—silent. Watching. Ghostface.

the mask gleamed dully in the low light, that twisted smile forever frozen in a sneer of cruelty. He hadn’t moved since finishing off the last of the Union boys. And yet, his stillness felt more dangerous than the violence before it. He exhaled through the mask—slow, measured. Like he wasn’t even tired. Like all of this… was nothing more than foreplay.

Y/n’s heart thundered behind her ribs. She tried to steel herself, to bury the fear. But it clawed up her throat, bitter and metallic.

then he moved. Slowly. Each step is deliberate—boots scuffing across the concrete like the ticking of some unholy clock. The knife in his gloved hand caught the light again. Still wet. Still shining.

he stopped just in front of her.

Y/n raised her chin on instinct, jaw clenched tight. But her eyes betrayed her. Wide. Glassy. Scared.

he crouched beside her with unnerving ease, folding his tall frame down until they were nearly eye level. The knife lifted. Not with a jolt—but with a grace that made her blood run cold.

the tip of the blade met her cheek.

Y/n gasped—a soft, trembling sound she didn’t mean to let out. But it was too late. He heard it. She knew he did.

the mask tilted, as if curious. Amused.

and then, he dragged the knife. Not deep. Just enough. Enough to break skin. Enough to mark.

a slow, deliberate line just beneath her eye. Her breath hitched. She felt the sharp sting, the warmth of blood as it welled to the surface and rolled slowly down her cheek like a tear she didn’t shed.

he leaned closer, that knife now resting under her jaw like a promise. “You’ll remember me,” he whispered.

his voice was distorted, warbled through a voice changer—but she could hear the satisfaction underneath. A cruel affection. Like she was a canvas, and the cut was his signature.

“Every time you look in the mirror…”

the knife withdrew, her blood now smeared along the edge like war paint.

he stood again, the mask gazing down at her with that permanent, grinning malice.

“And so will he,” he added, so soft it felt like a curse.

Y/n’s chest heaved. Not from pain—but from realization. This wasn’t about her. It never was.

Ghostface took a step back, slow and theatrical. His silhouette bled into the shadows like a spirit returning to the dark. And then—he was gone.

just like that. The only proof he’d been there was the blood cooling on her cheek, and the silence stretching long after.

she was still tied to the chair. Still breathing. But something had changed. Y/n wasn’t just kidnapped. She was claimed.

and whatever came next—whoever came next—would walk into the aftermath of that choice.

the warehouse loomed ahead—dark, silent, hulking like a tomb.

Hu-min’s boots slammed against the wet pavement as he ran, lungs burning, pulse drumming so loud he almost didn’t hear the creak of the metal door as he shoved it open.

the air inside hit him like a wall—stale, metallic, tinged with oil and something far worse. Blood.

he froze at the sight in front of him.

there—just a few feet in—was a body. A man sprawled across the concrete like a broken doll, arms twisted, neck at an unnatural angle. Blood fanned out beneath him in a sticky pool, soaking through the back of his jacket. His eyes were still open.

Hu-min’s breath caught, his stomach twisting violently. He stepped around the corpse, fists clenched, heart thundering.

then he saw her. “Y/n.” His voice cracked.

she was there—center of the room—tied to a metal chair, her wrists bound tight, ankles cinched to the legs. Her face was pale, streaked with blood and grime, but her eyes snapped to him the second she heard his voice. “Hu-min…” she whispered.

he rushed forward, falling to his knees in front of her. “Hey. Hey, I got you. I’m here.”

his hands shook as he reached for the restraints, jaw locked, breath shallow. The closer he got, the more he saw—her skin chafed raw, a thin cut trailing down her cheek. Fresh. Deliberate.

“Who did this to you?” he asked, voice low, barely more than a growl. Y/n didn’t answer. She just stared at him. Then at the space behind him—empty now, but heavy. “He was here,” she whispered. “Ghostface.” Hu-min stilled.

she looked down at the blood on the floor, the dead body behind him, the crimson stain still drying on her skin. “You were right,” she said quietly, her voice cracking. “It’s not just Union anymore.”

Hu-min’s jaw clenched. He cut her free, hands moving fast, breath uneven. He didn’t speak—not right away.

because she was shaking. Not from the cold. From what she’d seen.

and for the first time… Hu-min felt something unfamiliar clawing at his spine. Not just fear. Rage. He pulled her into his arms, careful, gentle.

and somewhere in the rafters above, a camera’s red light blinked out.

Ghostface was gone. But the message? Burned into both of them.

and blood—once spilled—doesn’t wash out easily.

note: ayo guys i'm back!! ✊🏻😔 chapter 6 is here RAAAAA ,

© l1v-jzn

[thehydraethereal]

𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐔𝐒'𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒 - ˏ͛⑅　 ‧̥̥͙‧̥̥ ̥ ̮ ̥ ⊹ ‧̫‧ ⋆ ⊹ ̥ ̮ ̥ ‧̥̥‧̥̥͙　 ✦ ⑅ˏ͛ -

espresso red wine ribbon bambi cal. bitch

๛ You are not here by accident. You like it when it hurts a little. Or a lot. Either way, come and revendicate your shade. How do you know which shade is yours? Well, below you wil find the types of readers I write for. And bleed for. Find out which one you are and let me know დ

๛ Remember: you are much beloved and cherished by me. ✦

๛ Find out more about your author (me) here.

ESPRESSO.ᐟreader

₁ Fast-scrolling, and emotionally masochistic ₂ Has trauma AND a superiority complex ₃ Obsessed with mind games ₄ Would genuinely punch the character back if she would get hit ₅ Sharp-tongued ₆ Gets off on power imbalance scenes and calls it “character development” ₇ Favorite color is black. Or rust. Nothing pastel. ₈ Rage buried under control ₉ Keeps her brightness on the lowest setting. Reads the worst parts twice. ₁₀ Guilt is a second skin for her. ₁₁ She’s been through shit she’ll never type out, but my fics? They speak in her language. ₁₂ Addicted to the ache. Can’t stop chasing the darker scenes ₁₃ Eyes that haven’t slept properly in weeks ₁₄ If she doesn’t feel something brutal, she doesn’t feel at all ₁₅ One hand gripping the laptop, the other ready to throw it

RED WINE.ᐟreader

₁ Elegant but unhinged ₂ Reads slowly and feels everything deeply—quotes passages religiously. ₃ Trauma romanticizer with a soft spot for broken men who lie well ₄ Loves candlelit danger, men with blood on their hands, and slow psychological decay ₅ She notices everything. ₆ Leaves long, emotional tags in reblogs ₇ Closet sadist. Emotional devastation is foreplay. ₈ Never acts while angry or sad, admirable strenght and great posture. ₉ Has old voicemails saved she’ll never play again. ₁₀ Reads in silence, like it’s a funeral. ₁₁ Violent scenes do not shock her. Gentle ones do. ₁₂ Knows how to make excuses for people who hurt her. ₁₃ A little bitter, a little romantic, a little exhausted ₁₄ Doesn’t cry often, but when she does it’s ugly and quiet and late ₁₅ Comes to dark fiction to find something she can’t say out loud: “It’s not okay, and I’m not over it.”

RIBBON.ᐟreader

Craves pretty words and brutal truths in the same breath Was told she was too emotional—so now she bleeds in private Her playlists sound like drowning in a flower field Stares at one sentence for ten minutes like it owes her something Sees love as a tragic myth but still hopes for it Too gentle for this world, too self-aware to leave it Romanticizes her pain because it’s the only way it makes sense Sews herself back together with lyrics, dialogue, and soft terror Doesn’t want to be rescued—just understood Finds beauty in characters falling apart gracefully She’s never yelled, but her silence is deafening She wants to be hurt gently. To be ruined with care. NO ONE would guess she reads fics this dark. Reads not to escape, but to understand the ache in her ribs.

BAMBI.ᐟreader

She tells people she’s okay. She even tells herself. But she seeks out fiction that makes her heart race for all the wrong reasons. She wants to be seen, but never found. She grew up too fast and too quietly. Sleeps with a light on, but only reads in the dark. Baby face, brutal tastes Soft voice, sensitive soul but dirty imagination Carries everyone else’s weight. Fiction is where she drops it. Trauma survivor in disguise. Nobody knows what she’s seen. Reads victim-coded fics because she just understands. Wants the monster to love her just a little. She thinks if she can handle it on screen, she can handle it in real life Afraid of him, but keeps reading Flinches when voices get too loud Sleeps with the door locked Kind because no one was to her Doesn't trust happy endings

CALIFORNIA BITCH.ᐟreader

Fucks instead of crying Doesn't read warnings. Loves lollipops. Will literally not be ashamed of what she wants and supports, in fact, she would scream them from a microphone and a stage Heart of the party Requests five fics, and constantly refreshes the page to see if they got posted Gets needy and wet by just imagining the character Built like a femme fatale Looks mean, but is actually sweet. Kind of a bimbo.

[boneapplet]

The Bone Orchard Masterlist

I try to post every week and will tag those that request it.

Warhammer

Primarchs

Rogal Dorn x afab!OC

From Rust and Bone: Chronicles of the Lost Primarch

pt 1 - The Fallen Son

pt 2 - The Weight of Rust

pt 3 - Cracks in Steel

pt 4 -The Shape of Patience

pt 5 - The Quiet Before

pt 6 - Stormbound

pt 7 - Old Stories, New Roads

pt 8 - Echoes in the Ruins

pt 9 - Shifting Winds

pt 10 - Silent Anchors

pt 11 - Dead Man’s Mask

pt 12 - The Long Road’s End

pt 13 - A Kind of Warmth

pt 14 - Beneath a Quiet Sky

pt 15 - What We Mend

pt 16 - The Weight of Waiting

pt 17 - Days of Ash and Pressure

pt 18 - Ash and Memory

pt 19 - What Lies in the Basin

pt 20 - The Weight of Silence

Angron x afab!OC

A Love Born in Blood

pt 1 - The Champion’s Prize

pt 2 - Visits in the Dark

pt 3 - Silent Defiance

pt 4 - The First Spark

pt 5 - Silent Kindling

pt 6 - Vows in Shadow(slight NSFW)

pt 7 - The Choice of Blood

pt 8 - Bound by Blood

pt 9 - Unwavering

pt 10 - The Weight of Brothers

pt 11 - Forged in Fury

pt 12 - The Red Concubine

pt 13 - Not Yours to Break

pt 14 - The Weight of a Name Unspoken

pt 15 - The Red Angel’s Resolve

pt 16 - Two Ships in the Night

pt 17 - A Mere Planet Away

pt 18 - Echoes of the Broken

pt 19 - Shadows of the Red Dawn

Lorgar Aurelian x afab!oc

In the Shadow of the Divine

pt 1 - A Dance of Faith and Fate

Headcanons

Legion mother cooks for her big legionnaire babies

Konrad Curze x soldier!trans!oc

Love in the Dark

Sanguinius x blind!afab!reader

Veil of Sand

pt 1 - Under Crimson Skies

pt 2 - Echoes in Dust

pt 3 - The Stranger and the Talisman

pt 4 - Names in the Sand

pt 5 - First Steps

Magnus the Red x assassin!afab!reader

Shrouded in Silence

pt 1 - The Dimming

pt 2 - The Unspoken Game

pt 3 - Tether

pt 4 - Fault Lines

Jaghatai Khan x fem!reader

Untamed Wind

pt 1 - The Storm That Walks

pt 2 - Footsteps Through the Grass

Space Marines

Blood Angels

Dante x afab!reader

Hearts of Ruin

pt 1 - A Healer Among the Ruins

pt 2 - Between Ruin and Refuge

pt 3 - Lurking in the Past

pt 4 - The Weight We Carry

OC!Blood Angel Librarian x machine!afab!reader

Servo Sanctum

pt 1 - Awakening Beneath the Ash

pt 2 - She Who Waited, He Who Fell

pt 3 - The City Watches

pt 4 - Ash Beneath Their Feet

pt 5 - Nothing Stays Buried

pt 6 - The Voices Beneath

Iron Hands

OC!Iron Hand x techpriestess!oc

Forged in Blood and Steel

Ultramarines

Demetrian Titus x serf!afab!oc

Even Space Marines Get Sick

joke images for it

pt 1 - Blessed Be the Broth

pt 2 - Small Mercies

Salamanders

OC!Salamander x OC!Salamander

Bound in Flame and Oath

Beneath the Ash, the Flame

pt 1 - Fire Finds Iron

pt 2 - Ash Upon the Wind

pt 3 - Remembrance

pt 4 - Words of Fire and Shadow

Headcanons

Word Bearer Legion mother cooks for her big legionnaire babies

Astartes making a unique whistle with their partner

Legions and their grouping at meals

Abaddon's moonshine endeavors

Space Wolves and their Den Mothers

Specialized backpacks to carry aspirants and neophytes

World Eaters vs Vending Machines

Space Wolves Neophytes acceptance into pack procedures

Marines showing off their Neophytes

Inter legion trading system

Word Bearers took all the good ink and candles

Chaos Food Items

Tzeentch Tonics

Imagines

An Imperial Family Reunion

pt 2

Homebrew Legion

Female Primarch

An old photo of the Chapter Master

Successor Chapter: Obsidian Sentinels and how they grieve

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

Predator Franchise

oc!Yautja brothers trio x scientist!afab!oc

Bloodline Unknown

pt 1 - The Fall and the Hunt

pt 2 - The Edge of Trust

pt 3 - The Threshold of The Hunt

pt 4 - Scars in the Snow

pt 5 - The Lure and the Fall

pt 6 - Below the Ice

pt 7 - Restless Watchers

[blackwall-my-tiny-husband]

Word with friends 5-19

Alternate title: Bellara gets attacked in the woods by a vicious man eating beast (it’s a good thing she’s not a man)

Word game started by @hedwigoprah and hosted this week by @davrinsleftpectoral

Rules: Use the challenge word to write a sentence or scene and then tag a few friends. Happy writing!

This week's word is :: Susurration

Definition: the indistinct sound of people whispering / whispering, murmuring, or rustling (a noun)

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

There was a rough worn blanket in the tall grass, some canteens of water and a slice of bread with some cheese and cured meat- mostly untouched sitting by a river in the forests of Arlathan. Bellara sat on one edge of the blanket, a set of gears in her hand as she messed with their alignments and working on un-rusting the little connector pieces.

She was busy. She was always busy. She was muttering to herself as she worked, if she was working, if she was busy she couldn’t think about the dull pale scars that were once dark with blight that ran up and down her skin like an extra set of veins. If she was busy she couldn’t think about how much she missed—

A gust of wind knocked one of the smaller pieces off her lap and onto the blanket. She moved to snatch it up before it was lost in the fabric but as she did her fingers brushed against the embroidered edges, the grey warden symbol repeated. She hesitated, eyes locked on the little shields with tiny griffins on either side and she felt her heart stutter.

Davrin. It had once been Davrin’s blanket, she hadn’t realized that was the one she’d grabbed two days ago when she left the veil jumper camp to go look at another set of old ruins. She breathed, forcing the air in and out of her lungs. She didn’t want to cry again, she’d cried enough over the days, the weeks, the month after Tearstone, after being freed of the blight and saved by Rook, after learning Davrin’s fate. She couldn’t keep freezing every time she came across another reminder of him.

She had a lot of his belongings from the lighthouse, she’d held all the things he’d touched tightly, close to her chest in the days after it was all over. She’d been gipping one of the small nug figures tightly when Evka had gently coached her through the pain of the joining. She’d slept under his blankets until she couldn’t take the scent of him chasing her even in her dreams- when she wasn’t dreaming of blight and darkspawn. She’d started folding them in a corner, hoping the scent wouldn’t fade, staring at them sometimes when she couldn’t sleep.

She pushed the edge of the blanket away and put the gears back on her lap, turning to look out into the trees. The veilguard was always ready to let her talk to them but it hurt and she didn’t want to bother them with this ache in her chest that she knew wouldn’t go away. It would live there next to the duller, more healed ache where Cyrian lived.

Her hands were steady, she wasn’t letting them shake just like she breathed to force the tears away. Once the feeling had mostly passed she found herself staring at the leaves and tall ferns and grasses. The susurration almost rhythmic like a lullaby. She’d closed her eyes listening to the sounds of life; of the wind and leaves and birds and buzzing of insects when she heard it.

There was a noise above the rustling of leaves. Her ears twitched as she strained to pick up on it. There. Steps. Too even to be just noise.

Her eyes popped open and scanned the forest. There were slightly less dangerous things in it with less blight, less venatori in the woods but there were still predators living here. She was fairly far out, further than the griffins usually roamed, further than where any of the other veil jumpers were headed.

With her gaze sharp she spotted movement along the tree line and she set down the artifact pieces she’d been working on, activating her gauntlet just in case and rose to her feet.

Peering between the tree arms and legs of the various once human trees she spotted fur, no- feathers and took a few cautious steps forward.

Then, bursting through the undergrowth came a griffin she knew like her own hands. Assan came clumsily bounding into the clearing, stumbling badly as he neared her, one wing twisted into an awful new shape, tail at an odd angle, and a foot that looked wrong.

Bellara was sure her heart had stopped just like her breathing at the sight. She had to blink, had to pinch herself to make sure she hadn’t accidentally fallen asleep some time in the last few minutes. Then once every test she could think of came back that she was awake, that he was really there she sprung forward. Hot tears were welling in her eyes and she didn’t care as she fell to her knees in front of him. He screeched a greeting and seemed to collapse into her embrace. Her hands combed through his feathers, probably pressing too hard into his obviously battered body but neither seemed to care. He was here? He was alive? She didn’t know if griffins could cry like elves but she thought he would be if he could.

She was trying to blink past the tears racing down her face as she pulled back to look at him. He was in the worst shape she’d ever seen a griffin, even worse than the time she’d seen Rumptail swallow a tattered bandage and been sick and weak until they’d managed to throw it up a day later. Assan’s wing was mangled, his tail was bent and probably broken, he had ragged healed gashes over his body and one near his beak on his face. He was so dirty he could have passed for a different griffon completely if she didn’t know him so well.

Her hands moved from injury to injury on the animal, nothing looked very fresh.

“Where did you come from?” She couldn’t expect an answer but she wished he could tell her. What did this mean? The group on Tearstone had told her with sad eyes and hearts what had happened. How Davrin had been stabbed, saving everyone, how he’d fallen into a blight bubble. How Assan had gone after him, how there had been no trace of either of them. Harding had told her that they’d barely gotten off the island themselves before it had gone up in purple and blue flames. That there was nothing left, not vegetation, not even blight when they’d checked later.

If he was here…. What did that mean for Davrin?

“Assan.” Bellara’s voice shook, “W-where’s Davrin?” She still knew he couldn’t speak but. He tilted his head and screeched but he didn’t look sad, he looked angry and she didn’t know what that meant. Petting over his head, soothing him she felt traitorous hope flare in her chest and she led the griffon back to her things, grabbing them and shoving them all back into her bag, letting Assan devour the food.

She needed to get back now. She needed to call Rook and the others.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

This is a prequel to my last word with friends entry (can be found HERE )

It’s part of my “I’m saving everyone wild idea” this is the catalyst that gets them looking for anything- rumor, sightings, hearsay, anything about davrin or an elf matching his description which leads to one of the crow houses hearing a target say something about an elf who freed some slaves and gave it to Rook and co so they could check out the lead leading right into the other word of the day

Gently tagging: @shadowcrow @draco-illius-noctis @therivercrow @seaglassmelody @notyourmamasdeerbat @chaosherald

[inseobts]

Wishful Gaps

leorio x male!reader

request: So for my request, can you write a oneshot featuring Leorio and a male reader in an Aladdin au please? The reader is a genie who befriended Leorio as a boy. The conflict is that the genie can't be around him for very long because he ends up with different masters. So he ends up seeing Leorio grow up in gaps, up until his elderly years. (@princeasimdiya12)

a/n: first time writing about him and it's been a long time since I last watched/read something hxh related, so I hope I got it right and that it's good

tags: male reader, genie reader, hurt/comfort, slow burn, aging

words count: 2.3k

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

You feel your golden prison shaking in the hands of someone new. A thief, probably. They always are. The scent of sand and sweat fills your nose as the cap pops free, and for a brief second, you stretch your essence outward like breath after drowning.

And then you see him.

A boy with brown hair sticking to his sunburnt face, one sandal missing, the other held together by a frayed leather strap. He holds the lamp like it’s made of diamonds. Eyes wide. Heart louder than his gasps.

You materialize before him in a flash of swirling blue smoke, a smirk on your lips even if it’s a little forced. You’ve done this dance a thousand times. But somehow, this time feels…

Different.

“Whoa,” he breathes, stepping back and nearly tripping over a rock “You’re… You’re a genie?”

You cross your arms “Three wishes. No more, no less. No bringing back the dead, no making people fall in love, and no infinite wishes. Got it?”

He blinks “You’re real.”

“Yeah” you say, flicking a spark off your fingertips “And you’ve got three shots to make your life a little less miserable. Better make ‘em count.”

But he just stares at you, mouth open.

You cock an eyebrow “Gonna wish for a mountain of gold? A palace? A camel that doesn’t spit?”

“…Do you wanna sit down?” he asks.

You blink.

“…What?”

“You look tired.”

And for the first time in centuries, you don’t know what to say.

You learn his name is Leorio.

He doesn’t wish for riches or revenge. Not yet. He lets you float around him while he wanders the back of the alleys.

He offers you half a piece of stale bread.

No master has ever done that.

“You’re weird” you tell him.

“You’re lonely” he says back. And damn it, maybe you are.

He makes his first wish on accident.

It’s a mugger, tall and mean, who corners Leorio in an alley with a rusted knife and a demand for coin he doesn’t have. You feel the boy’s pulse thundering like war drums.

“I wish he’d leave me alone!”

Just like that, it’s done. The mugger trips on nothing, hits his head, and goes limp. Leorio stares, horrified. You cross your arms.

“Told you to be careful.”

He looks at his hands like they betrayed him “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t…”

You float beside him silently for a while. Then you add “One wish down.”

Weeks pass.

You make him laugh. He teaches you card games and draws silly mustaches on walls. He talks about dreams, about becoming a doctor someday, about helping people.

Someone steals the lamp while Leorio sleeps, another thief, another master. You vanish mid-laugh, torn from the makeshift home you helped him build in the ruins outside the city.

You don’t even get to say goodbye. Most of the time it’s like this.

You don’t see him again for seven years.

Seven years. Four different masters. Two desert wars. One fool who wished for immortality and exploded a week later. But sometimes, in the quiet gaps between wishes, you think of him. The loud, skinny kid with scraped knees and a dream too big for his pockets.

Leorio.

You still remember how his voice cracked when he laughed.

You feel the lamp change hands again—rough, calloused palms, fingers careful like they’ve held fragile things before. You expect another selfish brat or greedy noble, but when the smoke clears, it’s him.

He’s taller now. Leaner. The sun has kissed his skin deeper, his jaw more defined. His clothes are cheap but clean, medical textbooks peeking out from a satchel. His hair is the same mess, though, and his eyes widen when he sees you.

“No way…”

You hover midair, mouth slightly open.

“Leorio?” you breathe.

He laughs, like thunder breaking drought.

“You’re real! I thought— I thought I made you up. Some fever dream from when I was a stupid kid.”

You smirk, trying to mask the ache in your chest “You were a stupid kid.”

His grin widens “Yeah, well. Still am. Just taller.”

You want to hug him. You want to ask if he’s okay.

Instead, you float back and cross your arms, casual.

“So, you rubbing the lamp on purpose this time, or just got lucky again?”

Leorio raises his eyebrows “You think I’d forget you?”

He pauses. Looks away. His voice goes a little quieter.

“…I looked for that lamp for years.”

That shuts you up.

You look at him and you see what the years have done. He’s still got that reckless spark, still stubborn and loud and noble in the way people grow out of when life crushes them. But he’s weathered now. Carrying weight.

Carrying loss.

“…You only have two wishes left” you say gently.

He nods “I know.”

You float a little closer “So? What’ll it be this time? A degree? A magic scalpel? A clinic made of gold?”

He shakes his head “Nah. Not yet.”

You blink “What, are you saving them?”

He shrugs “I waited seven years. I can wait a little longer.”

You tilt your head “Why?”

“Because,” he says, giving you a crooked smile, “I’ve got some stories to catch you up on. And I don’t wanna waste them.”

And just like that, the ache in your chest flares warm and painful.

You nod, softly “Then tell me.”

So he tells you about how he started studying medicine. How he got kicked out of three clinics for yelling at corrupt officials. How he punches nobles who raise prices on medicine. How he still has nightmares sometimes, but fewer now.

You float beside him on rooftops under the moon. You hover by firelight as he reads anatomy charts by candlelight. You tease him when he fumbles with surgical tools and pretend not to notice how his eyes linger on you.

You are not his to keep.

But for now, he is yours to listen to.

You stay with him for three weeks this time.

You don’t know it yet, but that will be the longest stretch you ever get.

You can tell it’s coming.

It always does.

It’s in the way the lamp starts humming low when you drift too far. In the way Leorio’s touch leaves behind sparks now. It doesn’t matter how kind he is. It doesn’t matter that he hasn’t made another wish. The bond is temporary. It always is.

But you stay anyway, because he laughs like home.

You’re sitting on the edge of a rooftop. Leorio’s beside you, chewing on some food and reading aloud from a medical scroll. His legs swing freely, and you float next to him like a lazy wind spirit, arms behind your head, pretending your chest doesn’t ache with every passing hour.

You interrupt him mid-sentence “You’re gonna make a great doctor.”

He snorts “Damn right I am.”

You pause “Do you… ever think about your last two wishes?”

Leorio sets the scroll in his lap, thinking “Sometimes.”

“Got something in mind?”

“Yeah.”

You glance over.

He’s not smiling “But I’m not gonna say it. Not yet.”

You want to press, but something about his tone silences you. So you let it go, and you sit in the quiet with him, listening to the sounds of the city below.

He leans against you, not touching, but close enough to feel the heat.

And for a moment, you let yourself believe in the impossible.

That night a drunk nobleman arrives laughing, ending up waving the lamp in the air.

You don’t feel it until it’s too late. One moment you’re listening to Leorio’s heartbeat slow in sleep, the next—Snap.

Your next master is a bastard.

A collector with too much coin and not enough soul. He lives in a palace with stained glass windows and tiger-skin rugs. He never asks your name. Just points at things and demands.

And you do it because you have to and because now the lamp is his.

But every time he makes a wish, you wonder if Leorio’s awake, reaching for you. If he thinks you left on purpose.

You don’t get to explain.

You never get to explain.

Ten years pass before you see him again.

You don’t know how. You don’t know why, but one day, you feel it. The hum. The pull. The gentle, familiar warmth of a hand that holds the lamp like it matters.

He’s older now. Beard scruffy. Wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. A long coat with patches and ink stains, a stethoscope looped over his shoulders like a badge.

And that same fire in his eyes when he sees you.

“…Hey!” Leorio says, voice rough.

Your throat closes.

“…Hey.”

The years show in the way he walks, a stiffness in his joints, a slump in his shoulders. There are streaks of silver in his hair, and his hands tremble when he holds the lamp.

But his voice… still sounds like home.

“Thought maybe this time… I’d lost you for good” he says.

You want to say something sharp. Something clever. Something to make the ache in your chest feel smaller.

But all that comes out is “You’re back.”

He laughs softly “Yeah. Took me a while. Bastard I got the lamp from thought it was cursed. Guess he wasn’t wrong.”

You float in silence for a moment, afraid to get too close.

He sees it.

“You look the same.”

“You don’t.”

“I know.”

He sits slowly, crossing his legs with a wince. You settle beside him, this time grounding yourself enough that your form feels almost real. Close enough to touch.

He doesn’t.

Not yet.

“I didn’t use those wishes,” he says after a moment “Did you know that?”

You nod.

“I thought about it. Every day. Sometimes I wanted to wish you free. Other times… I just wanted to keep you around. Selfish, huh?”

“No…” you whisper.

“Then why do I feel like I wasted it?”

You look at him, truly look at him. His eyes are tired, but still burning. The same fire. The same impossible, beautiful will.

“You didn’t waste anything,” you say “You gave me time. You gave me years, Leorio. Do you know how rare that is for someone like me?”

He swallows.

“I would’ve given you more,” he says “If I could.”

You smile, soft and worn.

“You already did.”

The stars are high when he pulls the lamp into his lap. You feel the shift in the air before he speaks, final, certain.

“I want to make my second wish.”

You go still “Leorio…”

He turns toward you.

“I want you to be free.”

Silence.

That silence is a cliff.

“You’d lose me…” you say “I’d be cast into the world without tether. No guarantee we’d ever see each other again. The magic that ties me to you… once it’s gone, it’s gone.”

“I know.”

You blink hard.

“Why?”

He leans in, voice low and raw “Because I don’t want you tied to me. Not like that. I don’t want you to disappear the moment someone else touches that lamp. I want you to choose where you go. I want you to choose to stay with me.”

You don’t cry.

You haven’t cried in centuries.

But this is the closest you’ve ever come.

“Okay…” you whisper.

He grips the lamp gently.

“I wish you were free.”

The magic doesn’t crack like thunder or explode like fireworks.

It fades quietly and final, like the last note of a lullaby.

You fall to your knees. You breathe like it’s the first time. The chains inside your chest melt like ice cream.

You’re free.

And he’s right there.

Still waiting.

Still looking at you like you’re something real.

You walk to him.

He opens his arms.

You go home.

When the magic left you, it took more than the glow in your hands.

It took the agelessness, the shimmer in your skin, the weightless way your feet never touched the ground. It took the eternal body you wore like armor for centuries. And it left you with something terrifyingly beautiful:

Mortality.

At first, it feels like a trick. You catch your reflection one morning and see the faintest shadow of a crease by your mouth. Your bones ache when it rains. You sleep longer. You eat more. You need more.

Leorio notices.

He watches you over the edge of his glasses one day while you rub your shoulder, grimacing from some old strain that never would’ve touched you before.

And he smiles.

Not out of pity. Not out of concern.

Out of relief.

“You’re catching up” he says, half a tease.

You roll your eyes “Please, I still look ten years younger than you.”

“For now,” he shoots back, smug “Give it time.”

You do.

Years pass, and your faces begin to mirror each other in new ways.

The same lines beside your eyes from laughing too loud. The same silver streaks at your temples. You wear matching reading glasses now. Leorio swears you’re just trying to be cute, and maybe you are.

It’s strange.

You once watched generations bloom and die in the blink of an eye.

Now you watch your reflection in the mirror each morning and find yourself slowly, gently changing.

Time no longer steals the people you love.

It wraps around you both like a blanket, and you let it.

There’s a day when you’re both too tired to open the clinic.

You sit on the porch instead, two old men under a faded awning, sipping tea that’s gone lukewarm. You don’t speak for a while. You don’t need to.

Then Leorio chuckles.

“What?”

“You really do look just like me now.”

You glance over. He’s right.

Same posture. Same slouched shoulders. Same deep smile lines and soft gray hair curling at the ends.

You grin “Guess I missed you too much to let you age alone.”

He hums, warm and quiet “I’m glad you stayed.”

You reach over, take his hand, and squeeze it.

“I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”

Once upon a time, you belonged to everyone.

But in the end, you belonged to him.

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

So does that mean you going to do the body swap request?

It did not as i did not want to put Jack on my blog (he's on my ao3 though cuz tagging is better there) but here we are SHRUG

Rated Mature | Warnings: It's Jack tbh thts the whole warning

To damage this skin without the proper tools is like ruining a high-quality canvas with watercolor paint for children, no matter how much being in your body is setting him off. The mirror in your room would have been nearly shattered if the hunter had controlled himself. Dressing you did not feel anything similar to undressing you.

“That bad?” If he looks towards the direction of his voice but your words, he might try to get you to stab him. Jack cannot do so as you would not harm your body but also you have no experience or skill in the tools of his artful craft.

“Maybe the Baron might laugh himself to death with the mess this is causing.” You are sitting on a seat with one leg over the other, the mask off exposing his face. Older, handsome; you said you might have found him appealing if you knew nothing about him.

How cute given he knows you find him handsome now and hate it; ah, the limitations of a moral compass.

“Nothing to say? That's a first.” You say with a dry chuckle as you know why he is quiet, he literally is hiding in the bedsheets of his bed refusing to see himself in your body. “Your body is weird. Being this tall, large hands, not to mention your fucking tongue.” You are trying to fill the uncomfortable silence he wants so badly, you normally would but you are having your own issues being in his body.

The Ripper, you are possessing the body of an infamous murderer… This body, these hands have killed countless women in Whitechapel. You hate him, disgusted by him, yet these games have caused two very unlikely people to have… You are not going to call having conflicted sex with him a bonding experience. It only pisses you off more.

Additionally, the Baron seems to love the dynamic you both have to the point of causing unwanted situations like this to see what will happen.

“You should also consider cleaning your claws. These are rusted.”

Nothing.

“Your clothing tastes suck too.”

Still nothing.

“I'm going to the bathroom to jerk you off.”

He glares at you from his bed and under the blankets, a sneer of annoyance.

“Whatever.” Crossing your arms carefully, “Old bastard.”

Hours passed, and Jack nearly started scratching your skin so you did in fact jerk off as him in the bathroom because you hate him. Luckily, the effects wore off before Jack's next match. Unlucky for you, he took it upon himself to return the favor for him.

[optiwashere]

I became completely unhinged because of the full version of this art by @forestborg so I had to write about it. It cooked my brain.

This is smutty, smutty smut, but it's also a light exploration of drow trans women as well. Drow culture has always been one of my favorite things about the Forgotten Realms ever since I was a lil DM running my fucked up version of 3E. Combine that with my constant need to trans all the ladies? Yeah.

Really though... this fic is super explicit. I'm adding this to my Kinktober series because I selfishly want that series to say 31/31 some day and this fic definitely belongs.

Rating: E for Exquisite frottage

Category: F/F

Ship: Minthara/Karlach

Tags and AO3 Summary under the break.

Tags: Explicit Sexual Content, Shameless Smut, Smut, Trans Female Character, Trans Karlach, Trans Minthara, Light Dom/sub, Frottage, Come as Lube, Tail Sex, Size Difference, Choking, Breathplay, Drow-typical Gender Hierarchy, Gender Identity, mentions of Minthara/Lae'zel, Inspired by Fanart

Summary:

A vision on the battlefield. A heart warm enough to beat a thousand times too strong for its own good. An axe with a sharp edge, though its haft is unkempt and left to rust. These are the ways Minthara knows Karlach. There is one other way she desires to know her. Or: Minthara and Karlach spend an evening in a tent together.

[setmeatopthepyre]

on repeat shuffle game

rules: put your "on repeat" playlist on shuffle and share the first ten songs, then tag 10 people.

tagged by @rcmclachlan & @a-mel0n, thanks buds!

Icaro É Libero by Mahmood an absolute banger that combines one of my favourite artists with one of my favourite myths. I don't speak Italian but from what I can tell the lyrics are poetic as fuck

2. Car Crash by Anna Nalick accidentally stumbled upon this album and proceeded to add the whole thing to my bucktommy breakup mix because ouch. it fits so well I even commissioned a gifset about it.

3. Incandescent Ruins by The Mountain Goats this one's on my 'inspiration for angsty tommy backstory' playlist. "you only see the jump cuts and the close-ups / you never get the aerial view / content to make me serve as an example / set up a sign or two on the trail / there's a lot of things that can happen / all for the want of the nail / shining on the inside, maybe"

4. Outta Time by Orville Peck "headed for the back, I meet a girl who's tryna shoot the breeze / she tells me she don't like Elvis / I say, I want a little less conversation, please"

5. Halloween by Noah Kahan a line from this song actually inspired pothos | pathos

6. Gravity by A Perfect Circle an old favorite album rediscovered recently, and this song is in the pothos | pathos mix "I fell again / like a baby unable to stand on my own / tail in hand / dizzy and clearly unable to just let this go / I am surrendering to the gravity and the unknown / catch me, heal me, lift me back up to the sun"

7. Can I come home by Highasakite "can I come home / like someone new / like someone special to you?"

8. Una Noche Más by Blanco White this one's on a couple of my bucktommy breakup lists for sure & a ton of blanco white songs are on my antarct-fic playlist just for the vibes "there was a time that we had / tell me now how you feel / 'cause what we lost through the cracks / isn't lost, disappeared / so I hope for signs / any time I lie awake / and though you're tired of it all / you said it's alright to stay / una noche más / una noche más"

9. Bones Don't Rust by The Mountain Goats this whole album is fucking stellar andddd yeah this song is on the angsty tommy list too. also this song is such a bop it should be illegal "show up five minutes early as usual / work on just a couple hours' rest / your bones don't rust / they stay hard as diamonds / they cut through steel / they still sing when they're hungry / and they ache when they're angry"

10. Change of Time by Josh Ritter godd this song. I can't listen to it just once, it always has to go on repeat. "I had a dream last night / and when I opened my eyes / your shoulder blade, your spine / were shorelines in the moon light / new worlds for the weary / new lands for the living / I could make it if I tried, I closed my eyes, I kept on swimming"

no pressure tags for @ambernotember @sugarpenchant @hubcaphalo @trombonechurchill

[lynnbecks-gaming-sideblog]

*bangs head on desk* Minecraft fishing/ocean update/mod concept again like what I did here but more in-depth (pun not intended) because I got up at like 3am and it's like 4 when I'm writing this title thing and I have nothing to do for several hours.

Anyone who makes "lol Mojang are too lazy to implement this stuff" comments will be thrown into The Machine™ for a week and forced to watch a video about the reality of multiplatform game development. Also like this is a pure hypothetical and more of a "what I would do if I still made Minecraft mods and could do something this ambitious.

The basics:

Cooked fish are now called Smoked [type of fish].

Some fish species can only be caught based on what biome you're in.

There are new aquatic mobs that can't be caught, but some can drop items that can be eaten. This includes Squid, which have a chance of dropping Squid Rings or a Raw Tentacle.

The ocean is now stratified, and also a lot deeper than it already is. It's separated into the Surface (basically just how Minecraft's oceans currently are, complete with more biome diversity), Abyss (much darker and filled with bioluminescent mobs, as well as only containing one biome), and the Darkest Depths (rarely generates and is extremely deep; contains a new boss and lots of hostile aquatic mobs).

Iron now rusts (over four stages, similar to Copper oxidising but a lot slower) if submerged for long periods of time; Rusted Iron is easier to break, but otherwise the same. Iron Golems can also rust, which makes them slower, weaker and less durable. Rust can be removed by using a Brush.

There is now a designated "ocean" village type, which uses wooden walkways (similar to how regular villages look when they generate on water), and has buildings made out of modified boats. The Villager textures look somewhat piratey, with eyepatches and stripey bandannas and stuff. There are also aquatic Illagers that use a more cetacean-like Ravager variety, live in towers that are connected to the seafloor by an underwater mountain. Also there's a new Illager variety, the Drillager (which wears a bulky diving suit with a giant drill attached, which it uses to break through blocks and to charge at its targets yes, this is a Bioshock reference).

Fishing has been slightly overhauled; while you still just stick your rod in the water and wait, there's now a Fishing Table that can be used to change what bait you're using, which increase the chances of finding rarer biome-restricted fish (more on that further down), as well as a "salvage hook" item that vastly decreases the chance of catching a fish, but increases the chance of finding treasure like Saddles, Name Tags and Nautilus Shells.

There are now Diving Helmets, which offer almost no protection (being a glass bubble-helmet) and require 8 Glass Panes to craft, but allow the wearer to stay underwater forever. If they're crafted with Stained Glass, then the player's view will be tinted the appropriate colour.

More in-depth stuff:

Sharks exist now; they're based specifically on the mostly-harmless Nurse Shark, and - being based on an endangered species - drop no items on death. They also attack small fish mobs.

Underground lakes now contain Cavefish (not based on any specific species), which are blind and swim away from (most) noises, effectively working like a sneaky "tutorial" for the Deep Dark's mechanics.

The Darkest Depths contain the ruins of an unknown civilisation, and are protected by the Ancient Guardian, based on the boss of the same name from Minecraft Dungeons (but without the shard in the top of its head). Also a variant of the Biomine spawns near Ocean Monuments.

Skeleton Sharks spawn in all ocean biomes at night; they're hostile, and move relatively fast. When on land, they don't drown, but being undead mobs they do eventually burn in sunlight. They can also spawn being ridden by baby Drowned.

There are three new types of Coral: Elegance, which is cyan and glows; Pillar, which is green and has Log/Pillar/Basalt-style rotation; and Maze, which is orange and can form Chorus Plant-like "trees" that are topped with blocks of other Coral varieties.

Biome-specific mobs (note that there would probably be more but these are just the ones I could come up with)

Icy biomes contain Seals (neutral to players, but hostile to fish; drop nothing on death have a unique baby design), Snailfish (basic ambient fish), and a new mob called the Iceshell (hostile; a creature resembling a giant Portugese Man O' War, with the "sail" being a giant chunk of ice, and the tendrils replaced by several dangling crustacean-like limbs).

Swamps contain Piranhas (hostile to any mob with 25% health or less remaining) and Electric Eels (electrify the water in a 3x3 area around them when attacked).

Beaches contain Giant Crabs (passive; can be tamed with Seagrass or raw fish, and ridden as a semiaquatic mount yes this is a Bionicle reference; their colours vary depending on the specific Beach subtype, with regular Beaches having red crabs, Stony Shores having blue, and Snowy Beaches having white).

Warm Oceans contain Frogfish (passive; come in eight colours that match up with the five vanilla Coral varieties and the new ones. They don't swim, instead walking on the seafloor; when standing on the Coral variety that corresponds with their texture, they turn invisible), Sea Slugs (passive; inflict Poison on contact) and Eels (neutral; spawn at night and attack smaller fish).

In the Nether, there are now Firefish (passive; instead of being cooked, the player has to right click on a water-filled cauldron while holding one in order to make it safe to eat), Basalt Floats (passive, but dangerous; function like floating platforms the player can stand on to get across lava, but can descend unexpectedly), and Magmateeth (hostile; giant lava-sharks that can set the player on fire just by biting them).

Abyss mobs include Anglerfish (passive), Octopi (neutral; much larger than Squid), Glowmouths (hostile; pale, shark-like creatures with no eyes and glowing mouths), Comb Jellies (passive; deal damage on contact) and Giant Isopods (passive; run away from the player).

There is probably more I could write but I have very few ideas.

[cat-esper]

I thought I'd redo my intro post and this time make it ✨pretty✨

I'm Cat [she/her | aroace] and I write sci-fi and fantasy with a dose of cosmic horror. I love mixing genres and general experimentation. Whether my work is marketable or not is less important than having fun. My absolute favorite things are found family, robots, and time travel, and I am a firm believer that platonic relationships can be just as fierce and important as romantic ones. Most of my novels are set within a shared universe I call the Starfish Saga and that's my main focus, though I do have quite a few exciting projects outside that.

I am quite shy but love making new writer friends and am open to tag games and ask games and other sorts of writerly socialization.

I have...a lot of projects. A worrying amount I try not to think about. But! Below the cut, you'll find the ones I'm focusing on for the time being, now with new and improved titles.

Books of the Starfish Saga

The Last Paladin | YA science fantasy | 12 part series

When Chelsea Seaver's parents are abducted by aliens, she embarks on a grand adventure across the galaxy--making friends and learning magic on the way--to bring them home.

Status: books 1-3 drafted

Intro | WIP tag

Incantations of the Mad Mage | YA epic fantasy | 6 part series

In order to honor her dead mentor, battle mage Arna Vaughn races against the Sforia Empire to locate six legendary magic spells that have the power to end a bloody war; whoever finds them first will change the course of their world forever.

Status: editing book 3, outlining book 6

Intro | WIP tag

Records of the Spiral | YA portal fantasy | 4 part series

Three misfits stumble into a surreal world inhabited by strange creatures and watched over by the eldritch Enochians; it's a place they belong to more than Earth and if they don't want to see it destroyed, they'll need to stop the very beings who created it in the first place.

Status: book 1 drafted

Intro | WIP tag

Music of the Spheres | YA science fantasy | standalone

Shay Finnegan leaves everything behind when he decides to become a light-wielding Paladin, a protector of the galaxy, in order to find a higher purpose and avoid the fate that haunts him with the words you will bring everything to ruin.

Status: rewriting for the millionth time

Intro | WIP tag

Red Ghost | YA contemporary fantasy | novella

Mel Black joins a ghost-killing organization in order to free the spirit of her dead friend from a fate worse than death, but saving him might just mean the end of humanity.

Status: pending edits

Intro | WIP tag

Nightland Nexus | epic fantasy | 5 part series

As tensions rise across the worlds, a group of characters seek to satisfy their own ambitions, but they'll need to team up and unite the worlds to prevent a long-dormant Darkness from awakening.

Status: world-building

Intro | WIP tag

Sundial Fates | YA sci-fi western | 10 part series

A time machine crashes on the edge of town, launching three reluctant teens into the biggest adventure of their lives. They may be able to face down alien invaders, mad scientists, and unfathomable entities, but can they face the truth about themselves?

Status: overhauling the plot/updating the lore

Intro | WIP tag

Other Projects

The Zodiac Circuit | post-apocalyptic sci-fi | duology

Rhys Valencya reluctantly teams up with an android in order to stop her own family from resurrecting the lich that almost wiped out humanity centuries ago.

Status: book 1 drafted

Intro | WIP tag

Androids Don't Rust | time travel | standalone

With human extinction inevitable, four androids are sent into the past to retrieve data for the Archive that will outlast humanity.

Status: very early planning stages

Intro | WIP tag

Robbery on the Hell Express | weird western | novella

Occasional partners and oftentimes enemies, Harlan Nye and John Callahan team up to rob a ghost train--betrayal, deadly wraiths, and a lethal race against the clock mean they may not make it out of this alive.

Status: planning

Intro | WIP tag

The Chronicles of Josephine Mercer | dark pirate fantasy | ongoing series

In a darker version of the 18th century Caribbean, mutineer and newly self-appointed Captain Josephine Mercer escaped the navy with a ship and ambitions that would see her become the bane of the British Empire.

Status: research/world-building

Intro | WIP tag

Liminal Spaces | urban fantasy | 5 part series

Caffeine fueled video game artist, Ref Sanderson, comes home one day to find his daughter is missing. Turns out, she's been making new realities in her free time. Now she's trapped in one and he'll need to learn how to enter and fabricate realities himself in order to save her.

Status: drafting book 1

Intro | WIP tag

Other Starfish WIPs I'm technically working on, in the background, that I probably won't talk about unless someone wants me to:

The Siege of Coracaltone: a space opera about cinnamon roll wizard Flynn on a quest but gets sidetracked by space pirates (waiting for a rewrite)

Pirates vs Dinosaurs: cosmic horror about, you guessed it, pirates and dinosaurs and the slow dissolving of their sanity (drafted and just waiting for editing time)

Dreams of the Spiral: a prelude to Records of the Spiral about the band Red Tape Rocket and the summer things got really weird (still being planned)

If any of them pique your interest and you'd like to be added to a taglist, let me know!

[ilysmsamncolby]

#SAMGOLBACH ::

raccoon!sam golbach !!! basically if sam was a raccoon hybrid idk I'm crazy

—

PART 1 ::

Samuel was an innocent human born into a normal family in a small town. His was like any other little boys until one day, everything changed. Around the age of 5 his father had gotten into some trouble with the wrong people. And he a debt to pay, and of course none of Sams family had enough funds for something like that. They demanded millions of dollars which of course would be impossible. So instead, these dangerous and troublesome strangers planned and kidnapped Samuel instead. They needed a test subject for their illegally bought chemicals and drugs anyway. He was kidnapped on a normal wednesday in the middle of the night, nobody noticed his disappearance until the next day but there was no sign or trace of him or those strangers to be left behind. Sam was a lost cause and his life would be changed forever over a stupid mistake caused by his ignorant father.

When they had finally returned to their secret underground lab made under a normal estate house, they threw Sam into a rusted and dirty cage like some stray animal. They screamed at him to stay quiet and that they'd feed him later. Sam had to obey, he had no choice. He was only a little boy, he had no chance against multiple grown men.

It wasn't long until they started experimenting on Sam. The poor boy went through torture. It was so bad that you couldn't even call these men human anymore. They were tortuous monsters for harming and abusing an innocent little boy. Sam had taken so many drugs, mysterious drinks and foods and had been thrown in many machines which only caused pain. One of these drinks was called "Raccoon Summoner" and of course, they tested it on the small blonde boy. And as the name suggests, a raccoon was summoned. But not in a way you'd expect. Sam *had* and *was* the raccoon. Well, he was half human and half raccoon. They loved the results so they decided to keep Sam forever and practically use him as some pet. They kept him for years and years,until he had finally turned into a teenager. Samuel had forgotten he even had a family, he only remembers his pain and suffering. He had no life but this. His future was ruined forever.. or so his brain thought. On Sam's 15th birthday, he had finally escaped. It was a miracle on how it happened. These men had gotten way too high to the point they had no idea what or where they even were. The idiots let their test experiment free without even knowing it and of course, Sam used this to his advantage. He had escaped their lair of evil and ran out of their poorly taken of house. The blonde boy ran so far he didn't even know where he was. But all he knew was that he was free. He didn't have any game plan yet, but he knew he'd find one eventually.

A/N :: CLIFF HANGER !! I hope yall enjoy this and this is only part 1!! their are more to come :P

—

TAGS ::

[burningmuses]

RUINS

because isn’t there a beauty in ruins? isn’t that why people came all the way to rome, to stare at the crumbling pillars melting into ivy, letting that living vine lift where stones could not? isn’t there something breath-taking about a burial ground, filled with moss-covered headstones you dig your nails into, pulling away with palms full of green and rust and the shadow of a ghost? because ruins are like a wounded mother, bleeding but still fighting, teeth bared. because ruins mean someone, ages ago, isn’t forgotten. here is where she walked, here is where she ran. here is where she laid under the sky and let herself feel small, feel infinitely unknown beneath a sky full of things she couldn’t name. because i am a ruin—did you see the marble of my throat, where he chipped away at it? did you see the vines that are crawling across my chest? it’s been so long since something touched my heart. did you see the cobwebs in the corners of my eyes? i’ve kept them shut for so long.

give me a reason to open them.

–by @falteringperceptions

***Kevin’s Note: This was from 2013 and from when I was a BLUE TAG POETRY EDITOR here on tumblr. Yes, there used to be editors here on tumblr that were "supposed" to sift through mountains of poetry and "TAG" them for others to read without having to search. This was also when I started the Recognizing The Voiceless (RTV) reblog blog and was deep-diving into the lesser known poetry of the day. Back then it was before Yahoo! bought tumblr and added all the BS ads you see now. There were many more writers and poets here and created the Tumblr Writing Community (TWC). It would take me hours to TAG the ten best poems IMHO…we only were allowed 10 tags and there were only ten of us I believe. All this is to say…the above piece is STUNNING to me…it was back then, and it still is today! There are stunning pieces on tumblr today, but there were sooooo many more back in the day. Doesn’t have anything to do with you poets, it’s just a numbers game really. More writers to read and more time to read them. I LOVE you all…mean it!***

[ao3feed-undertale1]

Dustverse

read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/54791143 by TheCrowGod The battlefield was a raging torrent of water and Dust was drowning. A reality-tearing ripping noise had completely shredded through the air, giving everything a static-like buzz that threatened to choke out any who were out among it. No one had expected Nightmare’s magic seals to be able to be broken– least of all by his brother, Dream. But things never really went to plan, huh? --- OG Dust Sans, upon having his SOUL fragmented when getting attacked mid-shorcut, must now go through all of his alternate selves' universes in order to gather up the SOUL fragments. However, he doesn't anticipate one key thing: He has to accept and care about himself before he can return to the Bad Sanses. Come on down and follow Dust as he gets tossed from AU to AU and is forced to learn that he's worth something. Words: 1246, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Undertale (Video Game) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Characters: Dust (OG Dusttale Sans), Ash (BS!Dust), Ruins (CV!Dust), Remnant (Quellow Dust), Flumen (A Swap Sans), Dyst (Flumen's Dust Sans), Dusty Crumb (Dust Sans), Discard (Voidface Dust), Reject (Tall Dust), Cinder (Femme Dust), Debris (Idol Dust), Wilt (Bald Dust), Sprinkle (Friendly Dust), Spread (BIB Dust), Scraps (Saejun!Dust), Husks (Cap-wearing Dust), Mote (Detective Dust), Fos/Fossilz (Dust Sans), Flecks (Time traveller Dust), Detritus (Biblically Accurate Dust), Olyu (Error!Dust), Fracture (Ivan!Dust), Serial (Killer-Dust Fusion), Dander (Bitty Bat Dust), Erosion (Eldritch Dust), Haze (Smiles Dust), Pollen (Bitty Dust), Miasma (Brother Dust), Smog (Drugdealer Sans), Atrophy (Mr Feral McStabby Dust), Talc (Limbus Company Dust), Webs (mttbs Dust), Malasie (Nun Dust), Decay (Avian Dust), Fallout (Witherborn Dust), Soot (Mafiadust), Scatter (FV!Dust), Misery (Transfem Dust), Mites (Middleschool Cat Dust), Residue (Magical Girl Duster), Fuzz (Cat Dust), Corrosion (Underworld Society Dust), Malicious (Mind's Multiverse!Dust), Specks (Glasses Dust), Heather (Heathers Dust), Plague (Pestilence!Dust), Murmur (Ghost!Dust), Crow (EtherealDreamtale!Dust), Stain (Dust!Ink), Burgundy (Dustfell Sans), Wraith (Festivalverse Dust), Rust (Friend or Foe Dust), Closure (GOD!Dust), Melancholy (Dust-Isabella Fusion), Clutter (Dust!Swap) Relationships: Bromance in some areas ig Additional Tags: Angst, Happy Ending, Dust learning to care about himself, Not Excessive Angst, Lore - Freeform, AUs, Multiverse, OG Dust needs a hug, They all need hugs, AU-Expansion, I may be writing this but credit goes to all of those people out there that have made the Dust AUs, Worldbuilding, So much worldbuilding, Clutter (Dust!Swap Sans) is just a lonely silly guy read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/54791143

[grrnettebrainrot]

Title: “Static When You Blink”

Genre: Post-apocalyptic horror / Psychological survival Word Count: ~2,000 Tone: Bleak, tense, immersive, and gradually disoriented Perspective: Second-person (gender-neutral reader)

“Static When You Blink”

You wake to silence.

Not the gentle hush of a hospital room with rhythmic beeps and distant chatter—but the heavy, hanging silence of abandonment. Of rot. Of long-emptied halls. Your eyelids flutter, stuck together with sleep and something crusted. It takes effort to peel them open.

The light overhead flickers. Cold and too-white. You can barely tell if it's real or your vision failing.

You’re in a hospital bed. That much is clear. Or at least… it used to be one.

The ceiling above you is stained brown, as if the rain seeped in and never dried. Mold clings to the corners like spiderwebs. The IV tube in your arm is brittle and disconnected. The scent hits you next—mildew, old antiseptic, coppery metal… and something else. Heavier. More organic.

Your throat is dry. Scratchy. You try to speak but only manage a hoarse croak. The sound echoes too far, bouncing through the decaying room like an unwanted guest.

No one answers.

You sit up slowly. Your muscles scream like they haven’t been used in months. Maybe they haven’t. You don't know how long you were out. The calendar on the far wall is faded, the ink run into nonsense. Someone smeared red handprints over it. Old, maybe—dried and cracking like paint. You hope it’s paint.

Hope tastes bitter now.

You swing your legs off the bed. The floor is freezing. Tiles are missing. Medical tools are scattered, rusting. A wheelchair lays on its side in the corner, wrapped in vines that crept in through a shattered window. The outside world glares in through the broken glass. Too bright. Too green. Wild.

You shuffle toward it. Your legs tremble under your weight. You catch yourself on the window frame, gaze darting across the street below.

Ruins.

Cars piled like toys abandoned mid-game. Buildings hollowed out. Nature is reclaiming the city faster than it should—ivy crawling up telephone poles, strange flowers blooming in sidewalks, trees bending in unnatural ways.

But what strikes you hardest… is the absence of people.

No movement.

No sirens.

Just wind.

You see writing—painted in limestone or chalk or maybe bone ash—scrawled across the side of the adjacent hospital wing: “WE ARE STILL HERE.” A symbol under it: a jagged spiral with teeth.

Your gut twists.

You don’t know where everyone went.

You don’t know who wrote that.

You don’t know if “we” includes you.

You make your way down the hallway. Every step hurts. You’re slow, shuffling. The door is already ajar, as if someone left in a hurry. A gurney is tipped in the hall. There are more messages scratched into the walls. A name, maybe. Warnings. Something written in looping script you can’t read—too fluid, too chaotic. Blood-like. Claw-like.

You pass a dark room and see shapes huddled in the corners. They don’t move. You don’t go in.

You reach the nurse’s station. The monitors are long dead. Someone left notes—scrawled across the walls, upside-down on the ceiling tiles. “They scream when they change.” “Don’t breathe near the fog.” “He’s still in the stairwell.”

You don’t take the stairs.

You find the elevator shaft half-collapsed. A skeletal figure lies halfway between floors. Their ID tag reads “D. Reigns.” You whisper an apology as you climb past them, even though you’re not sure why.

You reach the lobby. The front doors are broken open, glass spiderwebbed with cracks. More handprints. Deeper gouges in the walls now. One of the reception computers is still on.

You don’t know what makes you press the keys. But the screen flickers to life, showing a single file:

PATIENT 0051 – EMERGENCY COMA HOLD VITALITY EXPOSURE: POSITIVE CARRIER STATUS: UNKNOWN NOT TO BE RESUSCITATED

You stare at the name. It’s yours.

A heartbeat thuds in your ears.

You feel something under your skin. A crawling. A burning.

Are you still sick?

Were you ever just a patient?

There’s a sound from the corridor. Not footsteps. Not breathing. Something... wet. Twitching. You don’t wait to find out what it is.

You grab the nearest supply bag—half-packed, full of expired meds and a bent scalpel—and bolt through the doors.

The sunlight nearly blinds you. The wind carries a distant screech. And a laugh?

Your legs move faster than they should.

You don’t look back.

You don’t want to see what the coma kept from you.

But deep inside, something stirs.

And it remembers.

[buyersguides]

Xbox 360 Games

A Gamer’s Blast from the Past: The Best Xbox 360 Games You Need to Revisit

Dive into nostalgia with our ultimate list of Xbox 360 games! From thrilling adventures to iconic multiplayer hits, discover why these classics still hold a special place in gamers' hearts. - Check UK Prices -

1. Xbox 360: The Console That Changed Gaming Forever

Ah, the Xbox 360—a console that didn’t just dominate living rooms but also set the gold standard for modern gaming. Released in 2005, it was revolutionary, offering stellar graphics, an online multiplayer experience that felt futuristic, and a library of games so good it could make a PlayStation owner jealous. Remember the days when you turned on your 360 and were greeted with that iconic startup sound? It was like the console whispering, "Hey, let's make some memories." And boy, did it deliver. From first-person shooters to sprawling RPGs, Xbox 360 had something for everyone. This console wasn’t just about the games; it was about the community. Xbox Live became the go-to place for multiplayer mayhem, and your gamer tag was your badge of honor. If you weren’t comparing achievements with friends, were you even gaming?

2. Halo 3: The Legend That Defined a Generation

If the Xbox 360 was a kingdom, Halo 3 was its crown jewel. This game wasn’t just a shooter; it was a cultural phenomenon. Master Chief’s epic journey to save humanity became the anthem of an entire generation of gamers. The campaign was packed with jaw-dropping moments. From battling the Flood to the iconic “Finish the Fight” tagline, Halo 3 was a rollercoaster of adrenaline. And let’s not forget the multiplayer! Those late-night Slayer matches with friends were nothing short of legendary. Even today, fans hold Halo 3 in high regard. It’s a reminder of a simpler time when tea-bagging your opponent in a multiplayer lobby was the ultimate form of victory.

3. Gears of War: Chainsaws, Bromance, and Pure Chaos

If Halo 3 was the king of Xbox 360, then Gears of War was its battle-hardened general. This game didn’t just introduce us to hulking heroes like Marcus Fenix; it gave us a chainsaw gun. Yes, a chainsaw gun. Game over, right? The gritty visuals, the intense cover-based combat, and the heart-pounding co-op mode made Gears of War a must-play. Who can forget the first time they encountered a Berserker or the thrill of taking down a Locust Horde? Pure gaming bliss. And let’s not ignore the bromance. Marcus and Dom’s friendship gave the game its emotional weight, proving that even in a war-torn world, bros have each other’s backs.

4. Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2 – The Multiplayer King

Oh, Modern Warfare 2, how you ruined our sleep schedules and homework routines. This game was an absolute juggernaut, redefining first-person shooters with its cinematic campaign and addictive multiplayer modes. The campaign had moments that left us gasping (looking at you, “No Russian” mission). But the multiplayer? That was where the magic happened. Whether you were quick-scoping in Rust or rage-quitting after a tactical nuke, Modern Warfare 2 had an unmatched charm. Pro tip: Never trust anyone in Search and Destroy. Those betrayals scarred us for life.

5. Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim – Dragons, Magic, and Endless Adventures

If you’ve ever shouted “Fus Ro Dah!” in public, you’re probably a Skyrim fan. This game wasn’t just a title; it was an experience. Bethesda’s masterpiece transported players to the vast, snowy world of Tamriel, where dragons roamed and every NPC had a story to tell. The beauty of Skyrim was its freedom. Want to be a stealthy assassin? Go ahead. Prefer to scream at dragons with your Thu’um? By all means! The Xbox 360 Games offered endless possibilities, and no two playthroughs were ever the same. Even after all these years, Skyrim remains timeless. It’s the gaming equivalent of comfort food—always satisfying, no matter how many times you revisit it.

6. Fable II: A Whimsical RPG Adventure

Quirky, charming, and downright hilarious, Fable II was the RPG that didn’t take itself too seriously. Set in the magical land of Albion, it offered players a chance to be the hero (or villain) they always dreamed of being. The choices you made in Fable II mattered. Would you save the villagers or sacrifice them for personal gain? The game constantly tested your morality, and the results were often hilarious. Oh, and let’s not forget your trusty dog companion. Who’s a good boy? With its blend of humor and heart, Fable II proved that not all RPGs needed to be grimdark to be memorable.

7. Red Dead Redemption – The Wild West Reimagined

Before Red Dead Redemption, the Wild West was just a setting for cowboy movies. But Rockstar changed the game, delivering an open-world masterpiece that made us all fall in love with the frontier. John Marston’s quest for redemption was equal parts thrilling and heartbreaking. From saloon brawls to tense duels at high noon, Red Dead Redemption captured the essence of the Wild West like no other game before it. And let’s not forget the emotional punch of its ending. No spoilers, but… ouch. Even today, few games can match the Xbox 360 storytelling and world-building of Red Dead Redemption. It’s a game that feels alive, even years after its release.

8. BioShock: A Deep Dive into Rapture

“Would you kindly” take a moment to appreciate BioShock? This game wasn’t just a shooter; it was a philosophical mind-bender wrapped in a beautifully decaying underwater city. Rapture, the game’s setting, was a character in itself. Its art deco aesthetics, haunting atmosphere, and morally complex inhabitants made it unforgettable. And let’s not forget the Big Daddies—terrifying yet oddly endearing protectors of the Little Sisters. BioShock wasn’t afraid to ask big questions about free will, morality, and human nature. It was gaming’s equivalent of an art-house film, but, you know, with more guns.

9. Minecraft: Creativity Unleashed

Who knew that Xbox 360 games about placing blocks could become a global phenomenon? Minecraft may have started as an indie project, but on the Xbox 360, it became a canvas for creativity and imagination. Whether you were building a replica of the Eiffel Tower, surviving your first Creeper explosion, or crafting the ultimate Redstone contraption, Minecraft offered limitless possibilities. It was a game where the only limit was your imagination. Even today, the game remains a favorite among gamers of all ages. Sometimes, simplicity truly is genius.

10. Forza Horizon: Racing Meets Open-World Fun

Last but not least, we have Forza Horizon, a racing game that dared to break the mold. Instead of traditional tracks, it gave players an open-world festival of speed, where the only rule was to have fun. The sprawling landscapes, dynamic weather, and sheer variety of cars made Forza Horizon a joy to play. Whether you were drifting through mountain roads or competing in off-road challenges, the game always kept you on your toes. And let’s not forget the soundtrack. Few games made driving feel as exhilarating as Forza Horizon. It was the ultimate road trip, minus the gas money.

Conclusion: Relive the Glory Days

Xbox 360 Games was a golden age of gaming, filled with unforgettable titles that defined a generation. Whether you were saving the universe in Halo 3, exploring Tamriel in Skyrim, or just building a dirt house in Minecraft, the memories are priceless. So, why not dust off your old console and relive the magic? These games aren’t just classics—they’re a reminder of why we fell in love with gaming in the first place. Now, would you kindly go play some Xbox 360? Meta Description: Dive into nostalgia with our ultimate list of Xbox 360 games! From thrilling adventures to iconic multiplayer hits, discover why these classics still hold a special place in gamers' hearts. - Editor's Choice -

- For a list of our main buyers guides use the drop-down menu at the top of the page. Topics related to this article are: Games Rental Buyers Guide Buyers Guides Homepage - Read the full article