#Patch Notes- Blog Updates

[the-blankest-slate]

to-do list:

-set up tags on the blog

-Finalize backstory (To be revealed slowly)

-get icons remade (In queue)

-get more interactions up and running (please)

[waterlogged-detective]

Gonna go through the blog in the next couple days recategorizing and tagging stuff in their own tags because it makes my life easier.

Gonna involve tags: #doeposting #darcyposting #fashionposting and adding tangental stuff that isnt really aes as #vibes

[pedgito]

𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒 | Joel Miller x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | You've patched up Joel countless times before, but this is different.

author's note | i'm taking a little break to work through some series and pre-write but i needed to write a little fix it fic for my own well being. ANYWHO, if you're reading this, thank you <3 and thank you to @chaotic-mystery for the beta read, love you bitch

content warning | hurt/comfort, fix-it-fic, jackson!joel, s2ep2 spoilers, established relationship, medic!reader, wound tending, mentions of leg injury and some face injuries, old man joel using a cane, flirting, fluff, kissing, i'm going to go cry again

word count — 3.8k

He’s breathing. Alive.

You’ve patched up Joel countless times - cuts and gashes that were too far out of reach for him to handle on his own, a busted ankle from a construction project gone wrong, the occasional painkiller to help with his aching bones. He was a regular within the clinic, like most of the patrol team. And he was your favorite, which wasn’t a secret.

But, this was different.

Tommy - as hard as he tried, attempted to shelter you with the rest of Jackson’s women and children, but it was useless.

You spent the last hour patching up the towns wounded and helping lay to the rest some of the less fortunate, but brave people who had attempted to defend Jackson from the impending horde.

In the chaos of cleaning up bloodied bandages and used medical supplies, the front door to the clinic sounds, bells ringing out so deafening it makes your heart stop.

And the sound of Tommy’s panicked voice as he called out your name.

When you turn the corner to catch sight of him, it was Tommy and Jesse carrying a limp, sleeping Joel on a makeshift gurney and equally injured Ellie holding tight to her ribs as Dina and Maria supported her weight, your eyes widening in shock.

“Fuck—I—what happened?” you ask, immediately sliding the supplies off of the only semi-available operating table you had in the office - it used to be a veterinary clinic, but the town was making do with what they had.

“You save my goddamn brother,” Tommy demanded, his tone riddled with an emotional pain you couldn’t fathom, taking the order in stride as you nodded and put your own curiosity aside, slowly accessing the weight of the situation and surmising that this had been an ambush, more or less, “alright?”

You access his knee, jeans matted with blood around his festering wound, his leg tourniqueted by a belt that Tommy explains wasn’t there doing, rather the attackers. His pulse is steady as your fingers over his femoral artery once you’ve cut his jeans open further with the scissors.

“El—Ellie,” your voice shakes slightly, looking over your shoulder to catch her grimace as she hunched over further in pain, “she needs—”

“I’ve got her,” Maria assures you and Tommy, who was understandably only focused on Joel.

You don’t waste another second, working around Tommy on instinct while Jesse followed the girls to the back room, a gentle but reassuring hand on your shoulder as he passes by.

Your hands move gently over his wound, mind racing through every step of triage and trauma care as if your nerves hadn’t already been shot an hour ago. You didn’t know how many wounds you’ve treated today, but Joel’s was the worst—and unspeakably, the most important.

The wound is bad. Deep.

Frayed flesh around the spread of the bullet, a shotgun you can assume, already turning an angry red. The steps were simple, fortunately. You’ll have to clean it out, maybe even dig if the bullet fragments were lodged in deep. 

His face is a mosaic of bruises and dried blood, and he hasn’t stirred once.

That—more than the sight of the injury itself—makes something in your chest clench.

Tommy’s gripping the table tight, white knuckling as his jaw clenched in worry.

“Do I want to know?” you ask softly.

Tommy shakes his head slightly, “Ellie ain’t said much—jus’ know whatever the problem was, it isn’t one anymore.”

“He’s gonna need blood,” you explain to him as you work quietly but carefully on the wound, grateful that most of the issue was at the surface and that with enough time to heal and consistent check-ins, Joel would recover.

Undoubtedly with a limp, but you knew Joel—he’d manage.

The quiet is unsettling, though.

He should be fighting this. Groaning. Cursing. Something.

But he’s still.

Too still.

Tommy stays rooted in place like he’s afraid Joel will vanish if he lets go.

Part of you carries that fear, too.

With the attack on Jackson, everything seemed up in the air.

“I need you to keep your hand here,” you say firmly, guiding his hand to the artery in his leg, feeling the steady pulse underneath your fingertips. “Count the beats, focus. If it slows, weakens—don’t wait, tell me.”

Tommy nods, jaw still clenched tight.

He’s got blood dripping from a cut in his brow, covered in dirt and grime, streaks on his face from the tears he was shedding quietly, it was your only attempt to busy his mind.

You work diligently, more focused than you had been all evening.

Forceps clink against the metal tray as you dig out fragments, your breath hitching every time Joel twitches—barely, like his body’s fighting beneath layers of pain and unconsciousness.

You glance toward the IV stand that was taped to hell, barely holding on.

Just like everything else in Jackson at the moment – like Joel.

“I’m gonna flush the wound,” you murmur more to yourself than Tommy, gripping the saline syringe with steady hands. “Then I’ll stitch it. Antibiotics to be safe. He’ll need pain meds and I need to work on the cuts to his face, but I want his body to rest. We have morphine stored away, but I know Joel will probably refuse…”

Tommy doesn’t respond. Just keeps his hand pressed where you told him, eyes locked on Joel’s face like he’s willing him to wake.

“He still needs blood, Tommy,” you remind him, “but I don’t know his blood type.”

“I’m O-negative,” Tommy interjects.

“That works,” you assure him, nodding for him to sit as you grab the supplies to draw Tommy’s blood, unflinching as the needle slips into his vein.

It’s all rather quick, kneeling to hold the bag as it fills while Tommy stares at his brother, looking briefly over your shoulder to catch his breathing, a slow rise and fall.

“He’s gonna be alright,” you assure Tommy, “the worst outcome here is him complaining about having to use a cane, if it comes to that.

Quietly, you tend to the small head wound that Tommy has and he doesn’t even attempt to argue, eyes flickering to your briefly at the gesture, tilting his head up for better access.

You move efficiently, like muscle memory as you tape up his wound before transferring the blood and prepping the line for Joel. 

The line finds Joel’s vein without much resistance, and you secure it with shaking fingers, your breath held as the dark crimson slowly, mercifully begins to flow into his body.

“C’mon, Joel,” you whisper under your breath. “Not you.”

“He was in and out on the way here,” Tommy comments, holding the cotton ball to use the wound as he stands and you quickly return to him to bandage up and pressure the wound, “but now he’s just…still. That ain’t good,”

“It’s the body responding to the pain,” you remind him, “he’s clearly lost a lot of blood, his face is bruised—the important thing is he’s breathing and his pulse is good. Just…let me work on him. Go check on Ellie.”

Tommy hesitates, glancing back at Joel like his feet were already rooted permanently to the floor. Then his eyes shift to yours—tired, firm, unwavering—and he nods, finally stepping away. 

Just far enough to check on Ellie. 

Just long enough to breathe.

The second he’s gone, it’s just you and Joel.

–

The room feels colder without the presence of Tommy’s worry. 

You stitch slowly, methodically, carefully maneuvering around the skin until you are satisfied, constantly eyeing Joel to gauge a reaction, noticing some of his color had returned, hair damp with melted snow.

If he was awake he’d be grumbling and complaining and part of you hates how much you wanted to hear it as you bandage up his knee, assuring that bleeding was under control before you removed the belt on his upper thigh and grabbing a spare blanket to drape over his body as you move down to tend to his face, riddled with cuts and bruises.

You press a hand against his and pull it to his chest, resting gently against the fabric of his shirt. 

His palm is rough, calloused, and warm—thank god, still warm.

You clean the last of the blood from his face, wiping gently along the arc of his brow, around the corner of his eye that was slightly swollen. A bruise is blooming dark down the line of his jaw, but under it—his face is still familiar.

Still him.

After a stretch of time that feels like eternity, Maria and Tommy return to the front room of the clinic, looking fearful as their eyes land on Joel.

“He’s alright,” you assure them both, “he probably needed the rest, too.”

Tommy chuckles weakly at that, “I—we’re…we’re gonna go pick up Benji, but we’ll be back, alright?”

You nod in response, “I’m not leaving until he wakes up Tommy, I promised.”

“I know, kiddo,” Tommy says endearingly, approaching you with arms open slightly, enveloping you into a short hug that were few and far between, “Ellie’s asleep, too. Dina and Jesse are sticking around until she settles.”

The front door clicks shut behind Tommy and Maria, the heavy silence seeping back in soon after.

You don’t move far, bringing a stool to sit beside Joel.

The clinic is dim now, the lights softened by fucky wiring as the evening crept in.

You can hear Jesse’s and Dina’s muffled voice in the back—low and quiet—and the distant creak of the cot Ellie’s curled into. But here, in this room, it’s just you. 

And Joel, and the quiet hum of his breathing.

You reach up to brush a stray bit of hair from his temple, your hand pausing just above his skin.

“You scared the hell out of me,” you whisper. “If you were awake, I’d be screaming at you,”

And you know he’d only smile.

Joel doesn’t respond, but his breathing shifts. 

Not much—just enough to prove he’s still there, riding the edge of sleep and pain.

“You enjoy it, though. You always laugh, I know it’s pointless and that you’re just stubborn as all hell and I’m willing to put up with it,” you push the few strands of hair away from his face and sigh, “guess there’s a reason why you always ask for me.”

A few hours pass, the night creeping in slowly amongst the storm that roared outside.

You glance at his hand after a thorough check-up and redressing his wound for good measure, still resting palm-up where you’d placed it. Hesitant, your fingers slip into his, lacing slowly. 

You wait. No squeeze. 

But, the warmth is enough.

Then, a shift.

A low grunt, almost imperceptible.

Your breath catches. You look up sharply, eyes scanning his face. One eye twitches. His brow furrows just slightly.

“Joel?”

He doesn’t open his eyes, but his mouth moves.

“Ellie?” he asks weakly, squeezing your hand back.

Tears burn your eyes before you can stop them, relief flooding your chest in waves.

You squeeze his hand back again. Tight. “She’s okay—she’s good,” you whisper quickly, wiping your cheek with your sleeve, not that it helps.

Joel breathes out, like the tension’s finally releasing from somewhere deep inside his chest. 

You watch the slow rise and fall of him for a moment, just taking it in. Life.

Then his eyes crack open, albeit one is swollen, but hazy and bloodshot and focused on you.

His brows twitch as he looks at you.

“You cryin’?” he rasps, voice rough but teasing.

Even now, he teases you.

“You worried the hell out of me,” you tell him.

“Did I?” Joel asks genuinely, “M’sorry, darlin’.”

“Do you remember what happened?”

Joel grimaces and makes a soft noise, “S’all touch and go, right now. I’m really tired, that normal?”

“I gave you some painkillers,” you explain, “probably why.”

Joel looks around gingerly, noting the mess with an amused expression.

“Cleaned up real nice for me, didn’t you?”

“Sorry to disappoint,” you mutter dryly, shifting to adjust the blanket over him. “Next time, I’ll set up some mood lighting and put some music on for you.”

Joel groans low in his throat, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

“Nah. You singin’ for me would be good enough.”

You snort softly, “I don’t sing.”

“Shame,” he murmurs, barely audible, his eyes slipping closed again. “Bet it’d be real pretty, you got a pretty voice, know you’d sing pretty too.”

Your chest squeezes, caught somewhere between a laugh and a breath you can’t quite take.

“You’re losing it, old man.”

Joel smiles weakly.

“Maybe.”

A long pause and he speaks even soften.

“Still think you got a nice voice, though.”

–

You stay beside him. Even after he dozes back off, you don’t move—not far. Never quite letting go of his hand either. Just shift the stool closer and brace your elbow on the edge of the bed, chin tucked in your other hand. 

The storm outside has softened, now more wind than snow, rattling the windows with every gust.

You don’t realize you’ve nodded off until something shifts. A sound—low, grumbly.

“…you snore a little,” Joel rasps.

You straighten quickly and shake your head, blinking through a sleep haze as you answer him defiantly, “I do not, Miller.”

“Oh—you do, sweetheart,” Joel challenges, a subtle smirk playing at his face, staring at you through his swollen eye.

“Good to know you never stop being insufferable,” you tease him.

“Just like seein’ you laugh,” Joel admits before a silence grows, a look of subtle concern crossing his face, “How bad was it? The horde?”

“We’ve dealt with stuff like that before, maybe not at that level but it isn’t something we’re not prepared for. A couple didn’t make it, got bitten defending the watchtower—Jackson can always rebuild, we mourn, move on, you know? With you, s’different,”

Joel, for once, doesn’t know how to respond.

You see it then—that quiet, careful look he sometimes gives you when he thinks you're not watching. Like he’s cataloguing you. Not in some grand, poetic way. More like he’s memorizing how you look when you're safe. When he needs the reminder of it.

You’re too tired to do anything but meet it.

“I ain't goin' anywhere,” he says finally, voice rough but firm, “You can stop lookin’ at me like I’m about to flatline.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Joel smirks faintly. “You’ve been holdin’ my hand for a while,”

“Oh,” it started to feel like an extension of you, his touch, but you slowly attempted to retract.

“Don’t,” Joel tells you, gripping your hand tighter, shifting his head against the makeshift pillow underneath his head that you had made out of his jacket halfway through the night.

“Thanks for not givin’ up on me,” Joel says gently,

You glance over, unsure how to respond at first.

“You really think I would?”

“Dunno,” he says, voice low, “don’t really think I deserve the effort anymore from anyone…”

He trails off, but it hangs between you anyway. 

The way he says it—soft, raw—like the words snuck out before he could stop it.

You lean in slightly, brushing your thumb just once over the back of his hand.

“I’m not anyone, Joel.”

Joel looks at you again, his expression shifting.

His fingers curl around yours again. Warmer this time. Intentional.

“Five years I’ve known you—I’ve patched your ass up more times than I can count. I’ve had dinners with you, beers with you and your brother. This isn’t my attempt at gaining some good karma. I care about you just as much as the rest of this town.”

“You’re too good to me,” Joel says quietly.

–

Jackson rebuilds, but it takes time.

Eventually, you find out that the assailants were after Joel—but Jesse and Ellie had shown up at a crucial point in the ambush that saved Joel and Dina’s life, despite his extensive injuries.

And Joel, stubborn as he was, began to heal.

The first few weeks are slow, mostly bed-ridden - or office-ridden, leg propped up at his desk as he and Tommy planned out the rebuild process and you rounded your daily office visit to him for assurance that he was taking the antibiotics you had given him and checking on his wound.

It takes a few months, but he does get on his feet again.

He’s resilient, you’ll give him that. An injury that would take no less than six to eight months before the healing was done and Joel was already moving, though with some noticeable pain.

You spot him halfway down the main road on the first name where Jackson was finally starting to feel normal again, walking out of the Tipsy Bison with a pronounced limp.

You sigh to yourself, shifting the object under your arm and start down the road.

“Joel Miller.”

He doesn’t stop walking, but he flinches a little. 

He’s been avoiding you for a couple weeks now, knowing how insistent you had been about him using something to support his leg, just to give it a break once in a while.

“I will chase you down.”

He stops.

You close the distance, holding up the object in your hand.

“If you don’t use this, I’m following you everywhere, barring you from walking, and pushing you around in a wheelchair.”

He eyes the cane. Then your face. Then the cane again.

“Is that what I think it is?”

“It’s exactly what you think it is.”

He scowls. “I’m not usin’ a damn cane.”

“You’re still healing,” you tell him, “and if you care about my worries—you’ll use it.”

“That’s low,” Joel counters,

You had spent a week sanding down the cane to a smooth texture, rounding out the handle to something comfortable to grip, even polished it up. It was extravagant or crazy, but it was clearly made with love.

“Did you make it?” Joel asks curiously.

“Doesn’t matter,” You shrug.

Joel smirks at that. 

You had. He knows it.

He takes it wordlessly, wrapping his fingers around the handle and planting it into the ground.

He tests it out wordlessly, leaning his weight into it and only slightly annoyed at how it eases the weight on his injured leg, looking up at you sheepishly.

“So….should I say it now or?”

“Zip it,” Joel retorts with a faint playfulness, “it…helps, s’real nice of you, you know?”

You raise your brow. “You sayin’ I was right? Knowing you needed it?”

“Don’t push it.” Joel warns

“Say it.” you tease with a flirtatious smile that doesn’t go amiss.

Joel sighs, scratching at his jaw. “You were… not completely wrong.”

You beam, and he rolls his eyes, though the edge of his mouth quirks up.

After a beat, he taps the cane gently against the side of your boot.

“Walk with me?” he asks.

He didn’t even need to ask.

–

There wasn’t any indication of where you were walking to, but naturally you drift to your shared street, homes sitting on opposite sides of the street, but near enough that you were only a short walk away.

The cane clicks softly against the dirt road like a steady metronome to the quiet shuffle of your boots. His limp is pronounced, but less severe than it was a few weeks ago.

The streets are quieter these days. Jackson feels like it's exhaling after holding in a long overdue breath.

Joel walks with his shoulder close to yours. Not touching, but close enough that it would only take a shift. He’s never been one for words, not when the moment matters most—but his silence is full of meaning.

Or, maybe he is just savoring the peace.

“You really made this?” he asks again after a few paces, like he needs to be sure.

You nod shyly, hands shoving into your coat pockets.

He’s quiet for a while, but then, “It’s real thoughtful of you.”

“I was gonna carve your name into it, actually,” you joke, nudging him gently with your elbow, “but Tommy said that was a bad idea.”

Joel chuckles low under his breath. “He’d be right.”

Through your sudden shared laughter, your knuckles brush.

It’s nothing, but it feels like so much.

As you approach your houses, Joel turns to you.

“Do you need anything?” you ask him gently. “I can stop by later if you need some pain meds or anything? Or yell at you for not resting up at home like you should.”

Joel huffs, shaking his head. “Always lookin’ for a reason to yell at me, huh?”

“Only ‘cause you keep givin’ me so many,” you tease.

He looks at you for a long moment, eyes scanning your face in the too quiet dark.

“You stayed the whole night,” he says finally, like he’s been holding it in for a while.

“I told Tommy I wouldn’t leave until you woke up.”

Joel nods once. He shifts his weight on the cane, hesitating just slightly, before adding, “I heard you—talkin’ to me.”

“You did?” you ask, your voice quiet. “Well, that’s…embarrassing.”

Joel’s gaze drops to your hand lingering close to his—he hadn’t even realized he’d reached out until it was too late, his hand dwarfing your own in a gentle hold of your fingertips. 

It’s a small touch, but it grounds him.

You flinch slightly at the touch, feeling the heaviness of the moment

“You can let go,” he says, looking back up at you.

You smile faintly. “I don’t want to.”

Joel hums thoughtfully. “Seems I don’t want to either,”

And in that soft hum between houses, under the stars beginning to peek through the roaming clouds overhead, Joel leans in, his cane shifting a few inches behind you as he leans his weight into it to reach you, his lips pressing against yours in a quiet, tender moment of vulnerability under the dim street lights.

“Never got to thank you properly,” Joel admits.

“Is that your way of saying thank you?” you ask curiously.

“Can be,” Joel responds mischievously, a smirk tugging at his lips as you pull back to look at him.

“I think you can do better,” you challenge him, nose brushing against his own.

“You’re damn right,” he agrees, using his free hand to curve around the back of your neck as he pulls you in, stealing your breath away with the second press of his lips.

When he parts, you can’t help but giggle against him, an indescribable feeling tightening your chest.

“Yeah…that’s—” You breath stutters as you nod, “that’ll do.”

Joel chuckles softly, his thumb grazing your cheek.

“Good, ‘cause I got a lot of thankin’ to make up for.”

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Resources PDFs

As requested: https://www.writersarchive.com/

The documents contain sensitive themes and topics (e.g., related to death).

Some notes are from my old files, which may include outdated information. Others were made in response to a request. I also included a few references that are still in my queue & drafts.

Choose which tips & notes are most appropriate for your own writing. Some are just quick references. Thus, more research may be needed for your written work.

Updates may be made in irregular intervals for added material and/or corrections.

All PDFs are free. You can pay what you want/can here. There's a very small fee to keep the site up. But please don't feel obligated to, especially if you're in a rough patch at the moment—been there (+ it is the holiday season after all, which I know can be a tough time). Writing has always been a safe space for me, so if these references help you as well, that would be more than enough for me.

Thank you to everyone who had been so encouraging about this little project.

And thank you especially to @beforeyearning for creating the site ily (please follow his blog, he's a very talented writer).

[petalruesimblr]

Phantom's Keep

Sim File Share (currently slow due to Simblreen traffic. I will upload a few days after the event so check my Downloads page for updates.) Dropbox

Welcome to Phantom's Keep, where the only thing spookier than the décor is your Sims' cooking skills! This charming little castle boasts one bedroom for all your witchy needs and a secret door that leads straight to the potion pantry - because who needs a grocery store when you have bat wings and eye of newt? Perfect for those late-night spellcasting sessions, just watch out for the occasional ghostly roommate. Get ready for a Halloween treat that’s simply to die for!

Price Furnished: 131,371 Price Unfurnished: 62,298 Lot Size: 20x30 Lot Type: Residential Store Content: Click here CC Used: Click here File Type: Package Min. Required Game Version: 1.42 Packs Needed: The Sims 3, World Adventures, Pets (Wallpaper), Generations (Wallpaper and Stairs), Late Night and Seasons

Hello and welcome back to my blog!

As a final treat for this year's Simblreen (@simblreenofficial), I'm excited to share a house inspired by the spirit of the season! While the name of this lot may be a nod to Danny Phantom, unfortunately it isn't a replica of Pariah's Keep. Instead, it's designed to be a home fit for a modern-ish witch and I've included as many Halloween-themed CC items as I could.

I had a lot of fun building it and I hope you enjoy exploring it! If you missed the first and second treats, click the #Simblreen tag to check them out.

Click on the ’Keep Reading’ below for more information and pictures on this lot.

I’ve been considering getting the Supernatural expansion pack but something has always held me back into doing it and working on this house has made that temptation even stronger. Since I don’t have the pack, all witch-related objects are purely decorative. You can replace them with Supernatural objects like cauldrons, wands, etc. which can be stored in the hidden witches' potion pantry in the tower.

As a reminder, 📣 please note that the store content and CC included in the lot are not included on the download file. The lot may seem a bit sparse from above based on the floor plan pictures but this includes around 79 CCs. These are not required and will be automatically replaced in the game but if you want it to look the same as in the pictures, you can always go to my WCIF Navigation page, where I’ve compiled a list for those interested in downloading them separately.

I placed three fog emitters outside the house to create an eerie atmosphere, especially at night and as long as your game is patched to 1.42 or higher then you won’t need the Ambitions expansion pack for this to be available. However, the Generations and Pets expansion pack are required due to the build items used in the lot as stated in the Details section above.

If you want to check and/or remove the fog emitters, enable “testingcheatsenabled true” and “buydebug on” after.

This lot has been play-tested and let me know if you experience any problems on your end!

[tenna-the-tv]

HE’S GROOVY! AND NEVER GLOOBY!

So, I have finally been updated on the workings of modern day technology! (I still don’t know what an “email” is, but just roll with it!)

I suppose I should introduce myself! I’m Mr. “Ant” Tenna, or just Tenna for short! I don’t really care about pronouns, just use whatever!

I’m not exactly sure what else to put here? Well, hello Tumblr!

IT’S TV TIME!

(ooc stuff under the cut)

GENERAL INFO!!

This blog runs on a queue, so it might take a bit for your asks to be posted! This means a maximum* of 50 posts a day from 8am-10pm EST due to tumblr constraints. Once I reach 50 posts in queue, I will close the askbox until the number is back down to around 35.

*some asks will be answered off queue if they’re related, time limited, or important. do not abuse this caveat.

Some tags! All posts will be tagged with roleplay. Quiz show is for posts with polls (aka quizzes in Tenna language) and item collection is for any post that contains picking up items! I might forget to tag so if you notice one of these posts without the right tag then lmk!!! All potentially triggering content will be tagged so the both “x tw” and “tw x”

Mettatenna is canon to this blog, but feel free to send Spamtenna or any other shipping asks! Just know that Tenna will not know what you’re referring to

Also uhh other roleplay accounts PLZ INTERACT AAAAAAAAAAA sorry if i mischaracterize bro he’s so me fr..,,,,,…

Feel free to send roleplay asks! This is my first roleplay account so uh be nice please !!

Self shipping (with Tenna specifically) is fine just know he will NOT know what ur talking abt,,,

Other blogs + links!

any asks to Mike should be directed to @morse-code-mike !

one of my friends made a google doc containing all the posts on this blog if ur new here or just want to look back at certain stuff!! They also have docs for @/ask-tenna and Mike’s blog, you can find THEIR blog with all the patch notes and docs at @the-tenna-docs-updates

my fanart blog for the Tenna Askblogs is @tenna-askblog-fanart !!!

here’s a list of a bunch of other Tenna blogs if anyone wants to check those out!!!

and finally here’s a discord server that someone made for deltarune askblogs n stuff!!!

[y010isaghost]

updated D!Void ref, patch notes below:

he finally found something to replace the rose, but it might turn out to be just as bad for his psyche if not worse…

made the colors more accurate to what i envisioned so hopefully it's more clear that his jacket's color is referencing Saddy now

distributed the pink just a tiny bit more over the entire fit

got rid of that line along his arm up to his neck in favor of more stitched scars. the deviation symbol will still appear in his A.C. form, but through a different method

planning to update the pictures in the ask blog's intro soon-ish

[jay-joy-bee]

The Bee Save is BACK! Total cc-free overhaul of all worlds: Builds with real personality and townies with history, relationships, and more!

I'm so fucking proud of myself for getting back to this project after a year of a neurological disability taking over my life and becoming really disillusioned with all my hobbies. Now updated all the way through Tomarang!

Welcome to The Bee Save!

This is a total redesign of the Sims 4 worlds and townies. The lots come in new and interesting architectural styles not explored in the base world, and the sims inhabiting them are stylish and have full personalities. New world descriptions, community lots (a bowling alley! an ice rink/diner! a movie theater!), and everything else you would want when you open up the game. It also includes plenty of multi-generational families spread across the worlds.

This is a pack-integrated save file: All packs (except Journey to Batuu and the dust kit) are utilized across the worlds. There are eco-friendly and industrial neighborhoods outside of Evergreen Harbor, lifestyles outside of Mt. Komorebi, vet clinics outside of Brindleton Bay, and more. Because of this, items or CAS details may be replaced or deleted by the game if you do not have all the packs.

Version 2.0 Changes

The hospital, police station, and science lab are all built now. If you want to download them for previous saves using this file, they are on the gallery. Username is the same as my Patreon.

No more kleptomaniacs...because apparently they just steal stuff.

Version 3.0 Changes

Updated for the Cottage Living; Henford-on-Bagley rebuilt and repopulated

Minor build fixes & changes

Version 4.0 Changes

Updated for My Wedding Stories; Tortosa rebuilt and repopulated

Some friendships and relationships restored from previous known issue; still investigating, but I've been able to fix some of the major problems

Version 5.0 Changes

Updated through For Rent pack and February 2024 patch

All builds intended to be apartments/townhomes from the beginning are now residential rentals!

DOWNLOAD INSTRUCTIONS:

To download, simply place the attached file in your saves folder. THIS IS NOT A MOD; IT DOES NOT GO IN YOUR MODS FOLDER. Read it, then read it again if you aren't familiar with downloading custom saves. If you already have the same slot filled, you can rename it to a later number as long as it has the same amount of digits. You may have to scroll down when you open the game and hit 'load game' in order to find it.

Remember to adjust your gameplay settings when you start up. As it is, the save file has autonomy and aging off.

Please note: This is an integrated pack file. If you do not have certain packs, certain CAS items and objects will not appear.

Enjoy this major passion project of mine, and consider supporting me on Patreon if you want to provide feedback, give suggestions, or just support the thousands of hours that went into this save!

-

DOWNLOAD HERE  (Patreon/Google Drive, free)

If you'd like to support the save file without subscribing to my Patreon:

Venmo: @jayjoybee

Paypal: jberghu@gmail.com

@maxismatchccworld @mystickylightcolor

Please tag any CC blogs or creators who may be interested!

[horrorvale]

HorrorVale Development Blog: End of Year

Hello, citizens of HorrorVale!

As the year draws to a close, we (or more specifically me, Dustin) wanted to put together a little blog to talk about HorrorVale! How launch went, what our current and future plans are, and more!

(Note that this blog post does not receive audio, so if you respond I cannot hear it.)

Dream Colosseum

First, before I start talking about HorrorVale's Launch, I want to discuss an upcoming patch.

Currently, we're working on a massive patch for HorrorVale that will include the following:

Even MORE bug fixes

Brand new optional dialogue for every single party member in the game for main story cutscenes

More skill re-balancing

Other minor things and scenes I still wish to include

But most importantly... The DREAM COLOSSEUM!

I originally didn't think many people would bother with the "Secret Bosses" in HorrorVale, but since so many of you enjoyed them and also desired to get more opportunities to mess with party combinations, I decided to punish you horribly!

The Dream Colosseum is a brand new feature that will allow you to fight Bosses you fought previously, now all scaled up to End game stats, with new moves and quirks, and all very difficult.

If you've fought the "Last Secret Boss", now you get to imagine what a Dream Colosseum version might be like.

It will require you to 100% the game to access, but won't give any unique rewards outside of a cosmetic change to Alice's bedroom so people don't feel compelled to torture themselves for completionists sake. Naturally, there won't be any new trophies either.

Right now we're working steadily on this update, and hope to have it out very early next year.

Now that that's out of the way, let's talk about how launch actually went for HorrorVale...

HorrorVale Launch

After 8 years in development and 5 years since announced, HorrorVale finally released on October 1st, 2024.

This reception has been tremendous.

Leading up to release, I was anxious but overall feeling pretty good about launch. There were minor things I wish I had included or changed, but knew that delaying what was otherwise a feature complete game would be extremely silly.

I actually intended on releasing these things as a patch in the first week of launch, in the hopes of catching most people before they get too deep in the game.

...What I did not expect however, was the unfortunate discovery of several bugs, some of which were game breaking.

What made these bugs especially frustrating is that most of them were NEW bugs, created from me adding things right before launch, or fixing other unrelated bugs.

Due to these bugs and the massive influx of new fans, comments, reviews, and more I found myself extremely overwhelmed, and it ended up being probably one of the most stressful 2 weeks of my life after launch.

In the end, everything worked out and I was quick to patch the game...

...Multiple times.

Still, despite these issues the reception was overwhelmingly positive. Certainly some critiques here and there, but the general response was that the game was so enjoyable that even the most egregious critiques could be brushed aside. All of the wonderful things I've read by people who had fun in the world I created... It truly means the world to me. The... Underworld you might say.

I'm sure some people are also interested in how the game actually DID. Good reviews and positive reception are one thing, but this is also a product being sold, so how did it DO!? Did it SMASH RECORDS and become bigger than UNDERTALE? Did it FLOP???

Well, to be honest I'm not entirely sure!

Which is a strange thing to say, but it's difficult to gauge "Success" when so many factors can change what that means. For a AAA game, success means something very different to a small indie game with a publisher, which also means something very different to a ragtag team of people with no real budget, no publisher, no marketing, and especially no notoriety whatsoever. Not to mention as first time developers we have little to compare it to...

But that being said...

As of right now, HorrorVale has sold...

1,000 COPIES!

That's an INSANE amount of people. If all of you were in a big room crowded around me, I would be very scared.

That's 1,000 new citizens to HorrorVale that have entered its gates.

If we gauge success purely based off "did it make back what you invested in it?", then HorrorVale was absolutely a success!

However, unfortunately it did not necessarily meet the expectations we had.

Going into the launch of HorrorVale, I had 3 goals in mind.

To make back what I invested in it (out of pocket, not including Patreon earnings)

To pay Matt, the composer full royalties for the HorrorVale OST (since he created the entire 170 track monster soundtrack for FREE.)

To be able to devote myself full time to Game Development

Of these three... Only 1 has been achieved so far.

While I generally try to avoid discussing topics like these, I feel like it's important context for the next piece of discussion. The future of HorrorVale.

HorrorVale: Act M

HorrorVale: Act M is a small side story featuring none other than Mothman himself! This spinoff game was greenlit thanks to HorrorVale fans reaching our Wishlist goal for the main game. This game will tell the story of HorrorVale from Mothman's perspective, giving you new insight into his side of the story, as well as elaborate on events leading up to and following that story.

I think there's something really special waiting for you in Act M, and I want to use it as an opportunity to experiment with the HorrorVale formula based off of feedback from the main game.

No matter what, this project will begin development and it will be in your hands....

...At some point.

Which is where the previous topic comes into play, because naturally how long Act M takes to make is dependent on the time I have free to work on it. HorrorVale sales could certainly pick up, and I might one day be able to devote myself fully to game dev, but for now Act M will have to follow the same development process as "HorrorVale", which means it's difficult to give an estimate of how long it'll take to make!

What I can say for sure, is that Act: M will be much, much shorter than HorrorVale. Don't expect a 50 hour experience! I'm aiming for something more like 8.

And yet, you might be asking yourself dear reader...

"How can we help?"

Indeed, you asked yourself that exact sentence and in the voice of the King from Zelda CD-I no doubt.

Which brings us to the next topic!

Patreon Revival

My original plan after HorrorVale launched was to completely retire the HorrorVale Patreon as it seemed unnecessary at that point, but since:

We did not reach our expectations of sales so far

Several fans expressed a desire to support the game in some way because of the Steam Early Access debacle

I thought it made sense to keep it up and give it a little makeover.

Now fully dedicated to "Act: M", you can expect Monthly Progress Reports here, just like the main game!

Not only that, but we've added a brand new "Cryptid" Tier, that will allow you... Yes YOU! The ability to design a Creepy, Scary, or Starry for Mothman to fight in Act: M! We don't want Mothman to just fight all the same enemies as Alice! He'd naturally encounter foes she never even knew existed. This is your opportunity to help the game out and get to be a part of it as well.

(Please note that in order to participate in this reward, you must be 18 years or older and willing to give all rights of your design to Batworks Software.)

(Also please note that Mothman will kill your beautiful creation with a crossbow and it will hurt very badly.)

Since as of now I can't "live" off of HorrorVale sales, instead my plan is to put it and Act: M Patreon earnings towards Act: M itself and Mystery Future Project. This will help ensure a smooth development cycle as possible. If you're interested in helping out the HorrorVale universe, now's your chance!

Of course, forking over your hard earned candy isn't the only way to help though!

Just enjoying the game and telling your friends about it is a MASSIVE help. Without a marketing team, word of mouth is a tremendous help to us, and it's thanks to that that we're here at all!

Closing

In closing, I just want to say thank you to all of the HorrorVale fans that have supported us over all these years. The love that HorrorVale has been shown has been one of the greatest experiences of my life. As long as I'm able to, I'd like to read every comment and message I can, but I fear that if the game does get bigger one day I won't be able to see them all. Just know that the love you've given Alice and her friends mean the world to me.

Wait Stop Right There What Do You MEAN "Mystery Future Project"???

That's all for now goodbye!!!!!!

*The device he was speaking from explodes spontaneously*

[veneritia]

when comes the dawn monthly update {3.31.2025}

THE STATISTICS

the draft -> ????*** words written this month -> 5,027 words average word count per session -> 503 words words written this year -> 12,382 words

*** I've had to do some editing/revision so I'm not sure what the actual draft count is. I'm still working on assembling the scenes I've written into chapters so I can get a more accurate count

STORY NOTES

Fenice has been updated with a new ability: ghost vision. Now she has the opportunity to commune with her ancestors. This is not as fun as it sounds when your ancestors consist of kinslayers and their unfortunate victims.

Since Fenice is born with this ability I had to go back and update the earlier chapters to reference and make use of it more which led me to discovering--

how many Act 1 scenes I've completely skipped writing???? Last year I tried writing out of order to help with writers block but wow I left sooo many gaps. And since I'm having a little bit of a block writing some of the more intrigue heavy sections in the recent chapters, I decided to try and go patch up those holes while I try to get over this block.

Also decided to forgo splitting the book into the traditional 3 acts, but instead splitting it into multiple smaller acts

Made some slight tweaks to the reilma-imperessa/imperessor title so that it's something specific differentiate regular imperial heirs from ascended heirs

Aretos is getting a...small change in his backstory, specifically in relation to Fenice, which I hope will add a fun little facet to their dynamic with each other

The King's Game has been renamed to the Agonia

EXCERPT

“A triumph!” Fenice flicked her eyes towards the voice—gone hoarse from endless shouting. Standing atop the railing of her balcony, Saphynia cheered and crowed at the crimson river forming in front of Kaelstanopoli’s western gate. She’s dressed in her muddied and dented armor, helmet held above her head to shield her glass eyes from the sun. “When was the last time we had a proper triumph?” Saphynia’s gravelly laugh clashed sharply with her jovial attitude, cracked lips splitting into a wide grin. “Ah, I remember my own triumphs…to ride at the front of the army, to bear the golden laurel, to be marked in the purple— what I wouldn't give to be there again.” “Did you not celebrate five in your lifetime?” Fenice murmured. “Three of them within the span of a month, too.” Saphynia pivoted on her heel to stare down at her, feet dangerously close to the edge of the balcony, the long braid of her dark hair whipping around her. “Five glorious triumphs, but only five! Enough to whet the appetite but hardly enough to satiate it.” “I never imagined the Iron Queen to be unsatisfied with her victories.” “Ah, child, you know too little. Perhaps you will sing a different song when you’ve experienced the thrill of the entire world knelt at your feet.”

THE BLOG

View the worldbuilding post for The Agonia here. I'm pretty proud with how I fleshed out the history, and it became a pretty chunky post lmao. It includes historical events such as The Decade of Blood and The Era of Three Crowns

Aretos' birthday is April 1st!

I'm planning for the next wip post to be about the imperial titles used by the vi Aetiers but I'm not set on how exactly I want to do it

TAGLIST (ask to be +/-)

@bloomingwrites @writinglyra @zmwrites @trapped-inadystopianovel @inky-duchess @aalinaaaaaa @seasteading @kaatiba @lazulis-stuff @serpentarii @sourrcandy @charlesjosephwrites @marrowwife @forever-and-almost-always @halcionic @caninemotiff @socialmediasocrates @zorya-km @smolandweirdwriter @floweryprosegarden

[plounce]

rob plounce's ffxiv fic reclist

this will update as i continue to find stuff i enjoy. (it also exists as a page on my desktop blog!)

disclaimer: this is just stuff i’ve read that i’ve enjoyed! i have my own favorite characters and pairings, so my reclist skews heavily towards those. i’m not super into in wolshipping, so there won’t be much of that, sorry! i have not read everything in every pairing and character tag, so don’t take this as a comprehensive guide. these are just things that i liked and think are worth reading.

fics are noted with wordcount, pairing (or as gen), and rating (e = explicit). * means it's been recently added to the list.

spoilers ahoy!

scions

flight of an anorak (17k+, G) gen - urianger childhood backstory fic with transfem urianger! incredibly well-characterized urianger narration. breaks my heart (due to Baby Sadness) and brings a smile to my face (due to Baby Joy) with every update.

lost and found (8.8k, T). gen, light moenuri - you know how moenbryda’s parents basically adopted urianger after they basically abandoned him? this fic is about that. also urianger autism :)

while eating (2.2k, G) gen - more baby autistic urianger with bastard parents. sob. at least moenbryda’s parents are there.

foster (1k, G) gen - pre-canon, thancred overhears fourchenault and louisoix talking about him.

second impression (4.8k, T) gen - fourchenault is a bit more of a classist bastard than in canon and is a dick to thancred, but gets past it. mostly. thancred does his best.

the stars in their abundance (2.7k, T) gen - pre-canon from the perspective of g'raha’s mom in corvos!

cross (1.1k, G) gen - minfilia and thancred clean up the mess of thancred’s possession.

your song, carried onwards (4.9k, G) gen - thancred’s rescue of alisaie from the WoD in the hvw patches.

a stranger in the woods (4.3k, E) thancred/marcechamp - you know, the guy from tailfeather in heavensward? they hook up. thancred gets taken care of.

dust in your eyes (8.8k, T). background ships include wolchefant, wolcred, and haurchefant/urianger, but is mostly about thancred being a sad bastard who is always too slow, too late, and trying to be his best self but not totally succeeding. and haurchefant being a great guy. good character stuff.

how massive is the spirit in us (2.2k, G) gen - ryne character introspection… makes my heart hurt.

testing the waters (1.8k, G) gen - thancred teaches ryne to swim.

the shimmering light (2k, G) gen, light thanuri - urianger settling into the bookman’s shelves. fun il mheg worldbuilding.

almost crystal, almost ascian (10k, T) gen - minfilia and the exarch meet up a few times over the course of a century. their parallelisms. the horror of being “minfilia.”

off the hook, provisionally (974, G) gen - y'shtola talks to the exarch in the wake of 5.0 about his deception.

among the shelves (5k, G). gen - the twins and ryne hang out and talk about the other scions.

portentous news (842, G) gen - urianger’s first morning on the moon in the middle of endwalker.

adventures in unlikely friendship (23k, T) gen - wol+cred friendship! i really like these. the bozja one is delightful. passively-suicidal bestiessss

void parsley sojourn (4k, T) gen, light thanuri - urianger hotboxes the rising stones. very charming depiction of urianger as a weed nerd. makes me laugh and smile every time i read it!

there is (maybe) an ascian among us (11k, T) gen, minor side pairings - post-endwalker, the scions try to get to the bottom of a conspiracy about thancred, who just wants to grill for gods sake! comedy.

two scions walks into a bar… (26k, T) gen, but eventually thanuri - a series where the author intended to just analyze and write about thancred & urianger’s relationship as gen, but then slid into shipping lmao. covers ARR-early STB with a bit of post-SHB. great character work for both of them!

respite, despite (25k, T) thanuri - urianger pining from pre-5.0 to the close of endwalker… good pining, good urianger misery, good romance. wagh!

erasing all the lines in the sand (30k, E) thanuri - mutual pining, miscommunication, coparenting! bookman’s shelves fic.

(in parantheses) (9.9k, M) thanuri - thancred's rescuing of minfilia, time in the first, and the mental stress that emet-selch gives him due to ascian trauma during shadowbringers. also getting together with urianger.

sleepy-eyed soldier (4.6k, M) thanuri - elidibus puppetting ardbert's body brings thancred’s ptsd over having his body used by lahabrea roaring back to the surface in the form of nightmares and hypervigilance. (mind the CWs)

trouble in paradise (2.3k, E) thanuri - transfem urianger!!!! :D :D :D great kind-of-an-asshole thancred character work. hurting each other but trying to fix it.

sole conundrum (412, G) thanuri - pre-edw garlemald scouting mission. urianger autism :D

three of swords reversed (3.2k, T) thanuri, moenuri - urianger dealing with grief over moenbryda and thancred in the later half of endwalker.

another sunrise (5.8k, T) thanuri - post-edw wanderings - urianger deals with a mystery, sudden solitude, and a crisis of doubt! ends happily.

take root in this barren soil (and grow back stronger) (7.4k, E) thanuri - thancred shares what the training regimen of a sharlayan spy entails, not expecting urianger to react so strongly.

to wander is a dream (46k, M) thanuri - post-edw. i don’t tend to enjoy hanahaki fics but this fic is so so so good. thancred being an emotionally stunted asshole, urianger being the world’s most beautiful martyr (for better or for worse), lots of fae stuff, both of them struggling to not be repressed.

why do we forbear? (9.3k, E) thanuri - modern au fake dating, which would usually not appeal to me but this one’s real cute. (currently unfinished)

to care for those we love (11k, T) ryne and her parents, thanuri - ryne drags thancred to the bookman’s shelves and does her best to administer first aid in urianger’s absence. each chapter is from one of the trio’s pov - i’m usually not super into 1st person, but this fic uses it really effectively in imparting each character’s mindset. it’s very sweet!

*to care for those we love (11k, T) waters family, thanuri - ryne drags thancred to the bookman’s shelves and does her best to administer first aid in urianger’s absence. each chapter is from one of the trio’s pov - i’m usually not super into 1st person, but this fic uses it really effectively in imparting each character’s mindset. it’s very sweet!

*an ordeal, shared (6.1k, T) waters family + minor rynegaia & thanuri - canon divergent au where FRU happened and ryne was possessed by mitron. ryne deals with the psychological aftereffects of possession, and she and thancred go on a camping trip.

*waters of thanalan (78k, M) wolcred + thanuri + wolgraha - thancred accompanies a miqo wol back home to visit his family after endwalker. probably THE BEST thancred characterization ive ever read, bar none. just a great perspective on his neuroses and flaws and how unreliable a narrator he can be. great seeker worldbuilding as well. (also, transfem urianger!!)

ancients

on call (2.5k, T) hythades - emet-selch goes out of town, and hyth is asked to step in for a soul-seeing duty. and he futzes with emet-selch’s office.

mail run (840, G) hythades - “A young archival intern keeps finding completely legitimate reasons to do all the deliveries to a very specific Bureau of the Architect clerk. For no reason at all.” young love!

as stars to a sky (1.8k, T) hythades - little vignettes about life in the pre-sundered world.

the seat of destruction (13k, M) hythades - canon-divergent au where hythlodaeus is the one to take the seat of emet-selch, and the sundering still happens. my favorite ascian!hyth work.

affective memory (9.3k, T) hythades - pov from the shade of hythlodaeus as he wanders around emet-selch’s reconstructed amaurot.

for good health and opportunity (14k, T) pre-emetexarch - emet-selch visits the crystal exarch numerous times over the course of a century. frenemies!

*sonnet 116 (6.3k, T/M) hythazem + hythades + venazem - dysfunction junction in the ancient world. divorce abounds. kind of gave me emet-selch advanced misogyny brainworms. transfem hyth!

other characters

“nero tol scaeva did nothing wrong”… (5k, G) gen - a bunch of job npcs try to arrest nero for driving without a license. goes about as well as you might think.

biohazard (1.1k, G) gen - nero hates valens’ ass. not because he has “morals” or anything he just thinks valens is a dogshit project manager.

left in the dust (3.9k, T?) cidnero - ARR nero finds amnesiac marques working in the lichyard. miserable little man.

adrift in memory’s fog (16k, T) cidnero - cid’s frequent bouts of amnesia have led to a patchy memory - enough where he forgets that he and nero were betrothed as teenagers. (trans cid!)

the troubled envoy (1.3k, T) gen - maxima’s diary entries during the stormblood patches, including his thoughts on his weird boss.

the last abandonment (1.9k, M) gen - maxima wanders the ruins of garlemald and reflects on his time in the garlean left. by the same author as above - i really rec all their maxima fics.

this cathedral where your face stains the windows (2k, G) ysayle/igeyrohm - “Someone had to teach Ysayle summoning.” great ysayle heresy stuff + toxic yuri.

this blessed day (80k, M) gen - lucia’s journey from a captured garlean spy to aymeric’s right hand. lucia……

cadavre exquis (6.4k, T) gen - emmanellain helps pack up haurchefant’s things at camp dragonhead ft ishgardian homophobia and an underground queer zine scene.

the lantern jar (19k, T) cirisadu - OH MY GODDDDDDDDDDD. this fic is so good. cirina and sadu growing close. lots of development of steppe spiritual traditions and beliefs.

duet (13k, T) estivrtra - estinien encourages vrtra to live more fully as a dragon. cool dragon stuff.

a view of you (14k, M) estivrtra - estinien gets fatally wounded, and vrtra keeps him alive via a great sacrifice (sadly unfinished, but what’s there is a great read)

veteran advisor (15k, E) vrtra/estinien/gaius - really great gaius character work here where he and allie are on vacation in radz-at-han, and the impact that has on both of them. but also? it's mostly about big!varshahn getting railed. good for him!

this home wrested forth (2.5k, T) gen - sidurgu from DRK quests and alaqa from WHM quests meet up and deal with some gridanian wrongdoing.

a fervent desire (111k+, E) sanson/guydelot - an incredibly in-depth retelling of the BRD quests. great work developing these characters and giving them really in-depth motivations!

and love you shall find (9.8k, E) sanson/guydelot - BRD quests, but what if sanson journals as an accommodation for short-term memory loss?

there are also... my own ffxiv fics. if you so choose to peruse.

[neptuniadoesstuff]

Dragon Concept Arts Part 01

Some concept Art for the redesigns of my sorta older tribes that did need some redesigning. For now imma focus on redesigning the tribes that mainly exist on my main Fan Continent, Arkterrah. (Plz note not every dragon in these fantribes of mine will look like this, this is just what theyre pictured as for reference. )

Also reason why there is no concept Art for the Gaiawing is bcs I already drew a Official ref of what a Gaiawing would look like normally.

Anyways here are the "more readable" notes for these guys (Plus some extra stuff):

Techwings (top left): 1) Eyes having a glowing ring, 2) the strange pastel parts on their body glow neon, 3) the strange tube like structures on their body are called conductors & can create electricity + glow, 1x) Royal or Royal descendants have extra conductors on their wings & tails, common Techwings don't, 2x) Royal or Royal descendants can & only have paws on their legs, Common techwings dont.

Florawings (top right): 1) Eyes always have 2 tones, one being the main & the other being the color of the fronds, 2) Every Florawing will have fuzzy eyelashes, no matter the gender, 1x) Every Florawing will have their colors be based on flowers, herbs, leaves, fruits, & vegetables (but also occasionally tea), 3) Are fluffy but also very chubby, 4) The extremely green patches of fur on their body (neck & legs) have the ability to grow herbs & flowers + even photosynthesize to the point they don't rlly need to eat,

WiP

Some extra notes that aren't seen on the pics but I wanna write out:

Techwings have abnormally freakishly long ahh tongues & love the taste of minerals.

WiP

(I got lazy lol- Idk very sick atm so I might not update this until I get better + I'm stupid)

Anyways uh.... Yeh sorry for the late post. Uhhhh kinda didn't have much time + I kinda forget about this so very sorry tbh. Just wish yall can enjoy these weird drawing/concept pieces of what my tribes Normally look like.

All of these tribes are mine. (Yes I did make them, it's been a long time I think like 3 is years ago since I first made em but hey they still exist today)

Art is mine.

Program: Ibispaint x.

Bubs' TOS: Plz don't repost/steal, trace, or recolor my art WITHOUT MY PERMISSION! If you do, I'll take yur femur and pelvis.. SO, DON'T THINK ABOUT IT! (The PNS on my blog's pinned post clearly means "Please No Steal" plz follow that rule.) If you do post my art on anything like yur blog or somewhere else (With my permission) PLEASE CREDIT ME!

[pedgito]

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒 | Joel Miller x reader

↝ other fics | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

part two– summary | It's a shitty situation, dependency brimming unspoken and one wrong move puts your life in danger and once again, you find yourself owing everything to Joel.

content warning | DDDNE — DUBCON, coercion, selective mutism on readers behalf, graphic depictions of violence, injury tw, attempted sa (briefly), brief mentions of pregnancy and procedures to prevent it, mean!joel, unhealthy coping mechanisms for trauma, all angst no fluff but a lot of emotion, smut (bc without it who am i), sex riding an adrenaline high after life or death situation, joel fucks you against a tree, showering together, weird domesticity, guilt-riddled joel, bed-sharing, unprotected piv, creampies, lots of progress made here i promise

author's note | part three will more than likely be out by the end of this month i promise! also thank you to everyone who's shown this story so much love, it means so much to me. this chapter is about as light as this story gets...so....sorry? <3

word count —9k

part one | part three | strangers masterlist

They argue about you like you’re not standing a few feet away.

“She needs a job,” Tommy tells him, “Rules, Joel. Everyone pulls their weight—how this works.”

“You act like I don’t know that,” Joel gripes, “but what are you expecting her to do? She don’t talk, she refuses to go anywhere without me. She sure as hell ain’t gonna be much use workin’ the stables or fixin’ fences when she’s so goddamn skittish.”

Tommy shrugs, “Patrol, then.”

Joel’s eyes narrow, “Like hell,”

Another silent standoff you were more than happy to stay out of, the nylon of your coat scratching against itself as you take a couple steps back in the fear of an impending blow up.

“Give me another option then,” Tommy argues, “You just said she won’t leave your side—”

“She ain’t ready for that,” Joel says rather defensively, your brow furrowing at his disdain over the idea, ignoring the fact you were on the run for several weeks, surviving on your own—this was different.

Admittedly, you had clung to Joel.

He was safe, comfortable, and had become a strange sense of home in an unfamiliar place.

As much as he tried to act like it didn’t affect him, he’s grown used to your presence. Though, he’s set a hard boundary with you—no touching, keep your distance, and always make yourself known. You were always quiet, eerily so, and Joel hated that.

Tommy attempts to decipher Joel, staring at his brother, “You don’t think she can do it,”

“Both,” Joel admits, both of their eyes flickering toward you briefly, expressions unreadable.

“I think she’ll surprise you,” Tommy admits.

Joel shakes his head in a lazy disbelief, not believing an ounce of what Tommy is trying to convince him of, “We’ll see—but she’s with me, no one else. Not even Ellie.”

“Figured that,” Tommy retorts, “You’re goin’ out pretty far, we haven’t hit the lodge in a couple weeks. That alright?”

Your body tenses at the mention of it, but neither of them notice. Joel’s hand curls into a fist and flexes open, a nervous tic you’ve noticed about him when he was trying to steady himself, he nods silently in response.

When you both arrive back to the Miller home, Joel begins packing his bag up, already half-stuffed and switching out a few things. He tosses you a tattered bag, old and well-loved before he’s pointing toward the basement.

“A couple pairs of clothes, extra pair of shoes, nothing that ain’t a necessity—I’ll stock your pack with the other stuff come mornin’ before we head out,”

You had a night then.

There was only one lodge near Jackson that you could remember. It was the last time you saw them.

The men in tailored gear, embroidered with a gold patch that designated their status amongst the group. 

Trackers, seekers—they handled the recruiting, though often forced. They were glorified kidnappers, taking young men and women against their will if they were unfortunate enough to cross their path, but they also managed the hunting.

If someone escaped, they never came back in one piece.

Whether that was a shattered mind or a missing limb, it was never good.

The lodge was empty when you found it, just at the crest of winter when you had snuck in, fitting yourself into a sizable gap in the flooring covered by a wooden panel.

The men had been on your tail for days, tracking you through the miles of forests behind you and into the town.

Luckily, they were unsuspecting at that moment.

Your misfortune came later, but the lodge was a warning.

They were near, always near—you had no idea if they were still searching, even after a few weeks of settling in.

It was the unknown, the looming presence, that terrified you. 

They had an obligation to follow demands but most of them did it for sport.

It was never anything but a game.

—

Sleep is fickle that night, scratching at the rusted metal of your bed frame until it was caked under your nails, the soft hum of electricity above as it moved through Joel’s house, his soft footsteps as he woke, gentle as he strolled barefoot, eventually trading it for heavy footfall as his boots went on—it was early dawn when the tap came to your door, feigning sleep as you hid under the sheets.

Joel gives you a few minutes, pacing beyond the threshold.

His patience reminds you of the kind you used to wish for back when everything was different, back when you were nothing but a prisoner—you were pushing it, though. Even Joel’s patience would wear thin, making your best attempt to delay the patrol before he’s opening the door with a click, the key shoved into the mechanism before the door creaks open.

“Get up,” he barks, “we’re already late and holding up the rest of ‘em,”

You moan tiredly, barely audible, shuffling under the sheets, only for them to be ripped back in an instant.

“You’ve got about five seconds,” he warns, snatching your pack off the floor as he stands over you, daring to pry your eyes open to take a peek at him, “or I’m rippin’ you out of that bed,”

He catches your eyes as they open and his brow is cocked authoritatively, making your body move despite your apprehensiveness for the entire situation and Joel eyes you skeptically, stepping around you as you move with little enthusiasm.

“If you changed your mind, I can talk to Tommy,” Joel says with a tone that makes your chest tighten with fear—both of abandonment and helplessness, “I’m sure he’ll find somethin’ for you to do here while I go and—”

You stop in your tracks at his words, coat on and shoes barely slipped over your heel as you’re approaching him with immediate worry, shaking your head furiously as you grip onto his bicep, eyes pleading.

He’s always direct with you now, making sure your eyes connect with his. He’s learned to read you through facial expression and emotion, settling with the fact you weren’t going to speak to him, whether capable or not.

“Alright,” he sighs, and you shrug slightly but not enough to break your hold, “then hurry up.”

His voice carries the weight of a thousand other mornings like this, where silence and glances fill the space between you. He’s grown comfortable, surprisingly. He didn’t like how normal your presence had become or how you seemed to settle into his life easily.

“Probably make a few stops along the way,” Joel explains, “I took myself off patrol duty for this,” he means you, this, the burden of your situation and disruption, “the lodge is far but usually out there we aren’t dealin’ with much, less infected in the cold and all.”

But not people, you think.

He sees you tense at the mention, coat shrugging over your shoulders.

Last ditch effort. Anything.

Just change his mind.

You reach for his palm as he extends it face up, examining you carefully.

You tap your pointer finger into the center of his palm before pointing it at the floor, the hand holding his wrist tugging insistently.

Stay. A finger into his palm.

Here. A finger to the floor.

You repeat it a few times until he seems to understand through the silent communication.

“Stay..stay,” he begins, deciphering your message, “we’re not—no we’re not stayin’ here.”

Your face falls, instincts turning to drastic measures as you drop his hand, invading his space in a way he’s been careful to avoid, hands curling around the side of his face and the soft brush of his beard itching your palm before you’re leaning forward to press your lips against his own, eagerly pulling him toward you.

Joel’s quick, though. He rips your hands away, fingers tightening around your bicep harshly.

“Don’t try that shit again,” he growls, “ain’t no fuckin’ choice in you stayin’ here.”

You try to yank away from him but it was pointless.

“Are you gonna listen or do I need to drag you out?”

Your jaw tightens and you slackening under his grip and while he could let you go, he doesn’t.

You stumble behind as he pulls you with him, up the stairs, around the hall and into the living room until you’re standing at the door and he’s releasing you to jab a finger in your face, flinching with every flick as it grows closer, making you go nearly cross eyed. 

“You give me even the slightest amount of trouble while we’re out and I won’t hesitate to leave you behind,” Joel threatens, that sinking feeling of regret swirling in his gut the moment your expression softens.

She fucking trusts you, he reminds himself.

As slippery as that slope could be, he’s got a responsibility. 

You nod shakily and the tightness of his grip pierces your soul, immediately submitting to his hold as he jerks you to face forward and reaches around to grab the knob, chest pressed against your back as you step outside.

A swirling wind greets you, whistling its own kind of warning as Joel drags you through the brittle, dried grass. Your boots crunch against the frosty ground, doing your best to keep pace with him, breath puffing out in frantic clouds. Cold air bites your skin and the crunch of your boots, now on gravel, fills the silence between you. It’s tense. 

You follow him to the stable as he releases his grip on you, to the weapon compound, close at his side as he steers the horse to the front gate, looking rather apologetic to his brother who seems to sense the situation between you and Joel and quickly averts the watchful eyes of others with his voice, calling off the list of locations and names like a roll call.

“Get on,” he orders, softer now but still edged and you oblige, feeling a hovering touch of his hand over your thigh as you climb onto the horse and lean back, making room for him to climb on.

Joel’s arms snake behind him to wrap yours around his jacket before he grabs the reins and clicks his tongue. The horse hesitates, feeling your combined weight, then lurches forward. You cling to the saddle as Joel steadies you with a firm grip, holding you close as Jackson fades from view.

The solace you’ve come to appreciate slipping through your fingers, even if temporary, made the pit in your stomach grow rapidly.

The landscape stretches out in muted colors. Bare trees reach like fingers, tendrils to the gray sky and frost clings to their branches. Joel’s silence feels like a wall between you, and you bite your lip to fight the chill that’s creeping into your bones, shrugging the hood of your coat over your head as you bury your face in between his shoulder blades, eyes peeking over.

It’s a strange kind of comfort for Joel the way you settle into him, close and warm. 

As much as he tried to keep his distance, there was always a loophole.

“You gonna explain what that was back there?” Joel asks, knowing his questioning is pointless, the roar of the wind and the bumpy ride making it nearly impossible for any type of silent communication, “I don’t want you doin’ that anymore, thinkin’ you need to act that way to…I don’t know—do whatever you’re wanting to do,”

The landscape rolls by like a somber, black and white film strip; broken fences and abandoned cars sprouting from the ground, dead infected and rotting animals, houses abandoned. It wasn’t as normal now, living in a lively place with such a dichotomy only a ride away, reminding you just how temporary your life was in this world.

“Were you scared to leave Jackson?” he asks curiously, trying to decipher what he could.

You hesitate, unsure how to answer. It was a yes and no question—safe was anywhere with Joel, but you were still weary. You don’t answer immediately, so Joel assumed that wasn’t the problem.

“Is it the weather? Don’t like the snow?” you shake your head almost immediately, uncaring for the elements, finding that dying from frostbite or heatstroke were both equally miserable.

“The lodge?” he asks after a long, drawn out silence—the ride was still long, more difficult as the snow began to pick up, falling in thick sheets, “Is there somethin’ out here you ain’t told us?”

You shift slightly, the leather of Joel’s jacket creaking beneath your cheek. The question hangs heavy, like the snow. It’s too much to explain, the knot of reasons tangled inside you. You press your face into his back again, wishing you could dissolve into him and stay there. You feel his sigh before you hear it, learning the way his body works through touch and sound. It’s not disappointment—it’s understanding. 

But, that frightens you too.

Joel makes a few short stops along the way, simple checks on smaller lookouts that don't even require you to get off the horse, keeping watch as he was in and out within a couple of minutes, eyes always on you no matter where he moved.

You can sense the way his anger lingers in his face and the stiffness of his shoulders but his instinct to protect is stronger, shoving the sturdy emotion aside to traverse through the heavy storm until, hours later, the lodge comes into view, your heart hammering in your chest.

Your fingers tighten around the lapels of his jacket and he looks down, watching the way you strangle the fabric under your grip, shifting slightly on the saddle as he slows to a stop just inside the lodge before Joel helps you off the horse and ties him, leaving you for a moment that feels nothing short of a century, frozen in your spot as you hold your bag close to your chest.

“At some point you gotta start talkin’,” his voice startles you as it comes from the shadows, jacket stripped as he kneeled down at the fire pit near the center of the room, working quickly to warm the place up, “it ain’t about inconvenience either, it could get you killed.”

You move silently and sit nearby, eyes downturned and lips pulled tight.

It’s impossible to explain, the way your throat constricts at any attempt to speak, like a knee jerk reaction as you anticipate the strike of a hand or foot, a lash at your back or the hot prick of a cigarette into your skin. 

You still felt it occasionally, the phantom pain.

Your bottom lip trembles as they part, desperately wanting to make the attempt but knowing your body won’t let you out of self-preservation. Joel doesn’t see the struggle, but he can see your fingers fidgeting, restlessness laying in wait. 

“Did you bring your paper and pen with you?” Joel asks, sounding fatherly in a way that hints of a life lived and lost, “You can’t just ask the way you did this morning for no reason, I want answers,”

You nod obediently, riffling through your bag for the items.

Joel waits until they're in your hand and the fire crackles to life before he asks his first question.

“Is it the lodge? Is that why you wanted to stay in Jackson?” he asks, watching you scribble down a swift answer.

Yes. But, more.

He leans forward on his knees and into your space to read the scribbled note, sighing tiredly.

It isn’t what he wanted, obvious in the roll of his eyes.

“Explain,” He says tensely, “Stop bein’ so damn cryptic, I don’t like that shit,”

They followed me here. I hid. 

Joel’s face contorts in confusion.

“They followed you that far?”

It was their job. Bad men, all of them. They enjoy it. I hid and they didn’t find me. That time. I was worried they might find me again. They didn’t that time.

Joel examines the concentration on your phase as you write out the words, taking the notebook as you gently shove it into his palm, large fingers wrapping around the notepad.

“Who is they?” Joel asks, “You keep writin’ they,” his fingernail scratches over the word, leaving an indent in the paper, “We’re tight about patrols out here, we woulda saw ‘em. You sure it wasn’t someone else? Maybe just some random raider? They stroll through from time to time lookin’ for shelter.”

No. Not random. They wore emblems, gold and threaded to look like an anchor. There are men we serve, higher-ups. Then ones that follow a code, like an army. The men after me were hunters. Trackers. Do you understand? Not for animals.

“Sick fucks,” Joel says mostly to himself as he reads over your writing,

Don’t leave me. Please. I will do anything.

His earlier words echo in your head, seeming to cross his own mind at the same time.

You shove the notepad at him hastily, hands trembling slightly,

“Don’t get worked up," Joel says, voice a little gruff, "I’m not leavin’.”

Safe. He writes it out underneath your own words. 

Thick. Heavy. 

He nods.

Suddenly, as Joel feels around in his pocket as he stands, he comes across an object Tommy had handed him before he left, careful as he approaches you and reaches for your hand, pressing the solid weight of the object into it.

It was your knife, cleaned up and sharpened to a dangerous point.

Joel makes a noise of warning, fingers tight around your wrist.

“This ain’t yours to keep,” Joel explains, “jus’ while we’re out here, in case you come across an animal or something, it comes right back to me when we leave, understood?”

Begrudgingly, you nod.

“Put it away,” he instructed, watching as you closed the knife and stuffed it into your pocket.

You couldn’t explain it, but the frustration in him still simmered, unsure if it was because of you or not. Joel was a sorrowful man, carrying enough guilt for a thousand men—it could be that he was just having a day, desperate for a moment to himself.

It comes a while later after you’ve both settled in and the place was filled with warmth, “Keep watch, don’t wander—I’ll sleep for a couple hours then take over, got it?”

You nod quickly, perched on the wide, open window as you watch the snowfall. 

Something about it was oddly therapeutic, looking over to watch the scowl on Joel’s face soften as he fell into a deep slumber, leaning half reclined against a wall with his jacket balled up by his head to double as a pillow.

Hours pass without incident, thankfully. Joel said two, but it was already four and he was still sleeping, snoring now as he’s slumped down into a more horizontal position, growing slightly restless as the storm had calmed and the sun was shining overhead, desperate for a few moments of fresh air now that you were here, feeling comfortable enough in the quiet and with Joel’s presence that you could step out for a moment and breathe, putting on your shoes and coat quickly as you slipped out the back door of the lodge and watched a pair of birds on a branch as they hopped beside each other, chirping quietly.

You can’t remember the last time you’ve felt this calm or relaxed, glancing over at Joel sheepishly despite his obliviousness. 

You inhale deeply, letting the crisp, post-storm air fill your lungs. 

The lodge is silent behind you, save for the faint sound of Joel’s snoring. The fresh air feels like a relief, a moment of stillness that you hadn’t realized you needed. That you deserved.

Your eyes follow the pair of birds a moment longer, chirping softly to each other.

It’s peaceful—almost too peaceful. 

A small prickle of unease creeps up your spine, but you shake it off.

It’s just quiet. 

Nothing’s wrong.

Then—

You feel your throat swell.

The snap of a twig.

You freeze. The birds flutter away, startled. Your breath catches.

You don’t have time to turn before an arm locks around your chest, a rough hand clamping over your mouth. You couldn’t scream even if you wanted to.

“Oh, easy, ea-sy,” the stranger coos with a sickening softness, “don’t wanna wake him up, do ya?”

The faceless attacker holds you tight, something sharp and jagged at your back as he guides you backwards, further away from Joel.

Your pulse pounds in your ears as you struggle, but he’s strong. 

He reeks of sweat and damp clothes, his grip unyielding.

"You people think you’re so damn careful… but you’re just easy pickings if you ain’t watchin’,” he sounds so smug and amused, greedy as he dragged you further and further away, feet stumbling out beneath you as you fell into the snow against him, a grunt shooting from his chest but ultimately it was followed by a spine-chilling chuckle, a hand slipping underneath the material of your shirt and over your abdomen, “been camped out here all day watchin’ you both, thought you were a dime, though–couldn’t pass up the opportunity,”

You twist sharply, managing to get free, clawing at his arm as you shove it away. He grunts in irritation but grabs at your ankle, yanking you back down as you fall to your ass, silently groaning at the pain.

"Feisty," he mutters. "I like it. Ain’t much fun otherwise."

You’ve fought for your life plenty of times and this was no different.

It shouldn’t surprise you that misfortune met you at every turn, allowing yourself to fall into a false confidence only to be disappointed once more as the man looms over you, a shadow of menace. You kick wildly, connecting with his shin. A low snarl escapes him.

“Little bitch,” he hisses, shaking his leg as if to brush off the sting. 

But, it gives you a moment to scramble backward on your hands and heels, snow biting at your palms as you shoved your hand into your pocket to find your knife, watching as he stalked toward you in a pure rage, opening your mouth in a scream you know will never come, but then he’s tripping, scrambling to catch his bearings over you.

The tip of the blade slices through his guts like butter, feeling the bile rise in your throat at the sensation and the warm spread of blood over your hand, desperately trying to force his weight off of you, but his hands finds your face, thumbs reaching for your eyes in any attempt to injure you but then there’s a shot ringing out, startling the both of you.

Simultaneously, the man jerks violently, his hands going slack around your face as he falls with a gurgling choke. Blood flows down his neck and onto you, drenching your clothes in a way that makes you want to crawl out of your skin.

You scramble to your knees, backing away without looking toward the gunman as you panic, wiping the blood from your skin and into the snow, desperate to rid yourself of the thick fluid before Joel’s invading your space, fingers tightening into your coat to yank you upright as he shoves you back against a tree, blinded with pure rage.

He had saved you. He was angry, sure. But, he saved your life. Again.

“Are you fucking stupid, girl?!” he asks, his tone tight and harsh, met with a meek nod.

“Wrong answer,” He snaps, “I said two hours, then you wake me. I said not to wander and you did—so answer me again, are you—fucking stu—”

He doesn’t register that sting of your teeth in his bottom lip until your hand curls around the back of his neck, tongue spearing into his mouth as his mouth parts in surprise, your fingers tangling into his hair as you pull him into the kiss. 

Thank you, it breathes.

His grip slackens for the briefest moment before turning to steel again, fingers knotted in your clothes, twisting and pulling you closer. The violence of him feels like a lifeline, like something sure and solid in this brutal world. He’s safe. 

Safe.

He shoves you harder against the tree, rough bark biting through your coat as his teeth gnash against yours, tangled breaths turning to steam in the cold.

Your head spins, heart shuddering up into your throat, and you lose yourself in the way he feels, like fury itself. His hand moves from your clothes to splay over your belly, warm and forceful where the knife was just seconds before on your attacker who lay lifeless on the snowy ground.

You can’t stop thinking. 

The coppery taste of blood lingers everywhere: on your clothes, on the dead man, on Joel’s mouth now. The snow around you is red-stained as his hands roam over you, your own hands mirroring his unspoken neediness as you tear into the belt of his jeans, feeling him undo your own in tandem, unable to look one another directly in the eye at that moment, desperate for connection by other means.

He shouldn’t be allowing this, but the urge to consume your gratitude is stronger.

His thumb fumbles with the button of your jeans, and you’re practically writhing to get them off, burning up despite the chill. You sigh internally as he manages to get them free, yanking them far enough down your thighs before he’s turning you against the tree.

The world fades around you; it’s just him, just you, each breath mingling as he frees himself from his pants. You feel his heat press against you, insistent, frenzied, somehow apologetic as it fits between your thighs.

You feel his fingers fit between your legs and spread between your folds like instinct but you’re shaking your head, hand clawing at back of his neck as you arch your ass into him, a silent plea for him to just fuck you instead, needy as you bring his mouth to yours with a distinct hunger, swallowing up his ragged breaths as he rubs his thumb and pointer finger over the head of his cock and through your slick before he’s stretching you open with little grace, mouth open in a silent gasp as your free hand grabs at his hip.

“Fuck,” he breathes into your mouth, words dissolving into a groan as he sets an unrelenting pace. The tree bark is rough against your skin, but you don’t care, the rawness of it only adds to the frenzy growing between you. Hastily undressed and filthy, the kiss-smudged blood across his face smearing into yours.

He’s practically holding you up like this, his grip slipping over your hips as his mouth finds your neck, biting down just enough to bruise or draw blood of your own, not entirely sure.

His thrusts breath raw desperation, nails clawing at bare skin as he hisses into your neck.

There’s nothing soft about it, no measured rhythm, just a brutal need for each other. 

Joel is acutely aware of the way your body is responding to him, silent sobs racking your chest as you pull him impossibly closer, “I gotcha,” he says, “I feel you, you’re gonna give it to me, aren’t ya? S’right there, I feel it,”

And he wants it more than he was comfortable admitting to himself, the satisfaction of filling the insatiable need you had craved from him.

His hand snakes over your mouth, smothering sounds that would never surface, but the gesture is heady, biting at the skin of his palm until you knew it would sting.

Desperation blurs into pleasure, and you feel it shuddering through you like an electric current and the world comes rushing in again all at once: the cold air nipping at sweat-slick skin, branches clawing at your chest like a bitter, jealous lover. It’s hard to tell, the way you both are clawing at this for dear life, but you think this is maybe as close as the two of you have ever been, filthy and frantic and burning up together as you come, feeling Joel pull out in enough time to spill into his fist, low and drawn-out grunts that had you cunt pulsing, resting dissociatively against the tree.

It was the most human you’ve felt in years.

“Get inside,” Joel says suddenly, pulling you back to reality—surprisingly, his voice is calmer.

And for once, you don’t argue.

–

Joel watches you change, trading the bloodied clothes for fresh ones and wiping you down in between, a silent but intimate gesture that neither of you outwardly address, eyes scanning his face carefully as he taps at your chin so he can wipe underneath your neck.

And you don’t speak about it.

Joel doesn’t even acknowledge it.

He takes care of the body, stays on watch despite your quiet persistence to help

But, as your hand trembles at your side as you approach him beside the fire pit, his fingers thread into your own, a heavy weight holding you down until it stops shaking. You can feel the small tremor on his own, harbored for different reasons. But, it calms him too.

You felt like there was finally equal ground to stand on.

–

When you arrive back in Jackson a couple days later, Joel relays information about the raider with some omissions, only suggesting that there be more frequent checks, but as you and Joel settle into a routine, things become almost…too easy.

He’s always expectant of your knife the moment you approach the gates, handing it over without problem, but just as easily sliding it into your own as you settle into your patrol spot for whatever rotation you both ended up on, still increasingly weary around others that weren’t Joel, you find a similar protection with Tommy, though not entirely comparable. 

Tommy only took you out so far as to teach you how to shoot and clear out infected that were a safe enough distance they couldn’t do any real harm, only swarms passing through.

Joel still hasn’t initiated any touch with you since that day, but his actions are increasingly more intimate despite his body language around you—though, that doesn’t mean he stops you.

Maybe it was how he justified his own righteousness, that he was absolving himself of the guilt that he had knowingly allowed you to attach yourself to him, almost selfishly.

With Ellie’s growing independence becoming more and more obvious, Joel leans toward your odd connection and the ease it brings to his routine.

You’re shivering over a cup of coffee one morning despite your layers and blanket wrapped around your shoulders, the chill making your bones ache.

“You can sleep up here, you know,” Joel tells you, “the couch is comfortable, s’close to the fire, too.”

You shrug nonchalantly, sipping softly at the strong brew.

“Sleep up here,” he tries again, a command, your hesitation curling around the steaming cup as your eyes connect, nodding hesitantly.

His mug scuffs the counter as his fingers curl around the ceramic, his hip settling into the edge as he leans into the surface and you meet him with an honest gaze.

“Are you only agreeing because I’m tellin’ you to?”

Sheepishly, you nod.

Joel doesn’t harp on it, though. It was a small battle won, less worry of you catching frostbite or a cold down in the basement, your presence more apparent as you move into the neutral living space, there when he wakes and when he retires for the night, quiet and somber.

Then, there was an instance with the shower that became routine. 

Your skin caked with dirt and re-opened cuts crusted with days old blood, a particularly rough run-in with a group of infected that Joel had dealt with mostly, you trailing close behind and taking out the few stragglers.

Joel always opted for privacy anymore—save the moment at the lodge when you had shed your blood stained clothes and Joel had to make sure none of it was your own, but your body was exhausted as was your mind, losing your footing as you stumbled into the sink and made a soft noise that Joel’s never heard before.

He’s never heard anything from you, really. 

Only your breathing, heavier in moments of anxiety or despair, but soft as you slept.

You were hunched over the tub and half-dressed, your head pounding as the blood rushed there, eyes squeezing shut as you bit at the inside of your cheek and Joel’s presence is there, but far, hovering near the door as he just needed eyes on you to confirm you weren’t hurt.

As the door closes and you’re pushing back to your feet, you yank it back with a similar strength and Joel watches your hand reach for him, curling in the fabric of his shirt as you silently plead for him to come closer.

Help me, your eyes plead.

Quietly, you guide the shirt over his head and his mind finally catches up, reaching behind you as he turns the water on until the bathroom was smothered with steam, his eyes wondering anywhere but you as you both stepped in naked under the stream, guided by Joel to turn away as he washed you in silence, careful and methodical, leaning into his touch as his fingers curl around the back of your neck to wash your hair.

It happens once or twice again, based around the frequency of patrols and whenever the house was empty and though Joel is hesitant to your touch, eventually he gives in, eyes usually closed as you face him, hands tugging through his dirtied hair and over his chest, a low rumble as your fingers curl a little too low, grazing over the curve of his ass before his fingers catch your wrist and his eyes pry open, shaking his head.

Eventually, his resolve fades.

He tries, but your persistence is steadfast, growing needful to his proximity in every facet of your life and the kisses are shy at first, gentle presses to his shoulder or arm, occasionally over his chest or neck, his hands hovering but never touching without necessity. 

He doesn’t like to talk, either. But, he became familiar with the scar on your lower abdomen, just above your pelvis and thick, the skin clearly marred but not like the others on your body.

You always guide his hand away out of discomfort, unsure how to explain without using words.

Though, given what you’ve told him and the behaviors you’ve exhibited, Joel can make a guess.

He blurts it out one night as you shower until the water grows cold.

“They take something from you?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

You nod slightly, hands curving over his shoulders to dig into the muscle and knead, his eyes downturned and dark, intimidating as always.

The doctors performed a salpingectomy on many, including you, unsafe and at risk of death given the environment and lack of understanding, there was no telling what kind of damage they had done, but the most important part was that reproduction was null, some sick and twisted belief to keep women obedient and available. 

You don’t remember much, but it was years ago.

Your face heats as you mimic a pregnant belly, ignoring how his hand guides over your breast with the soapy rag as you lock eyes with him, shaking your head.

His face twitches emotionlessly, nostrils flaring, “I’m sorry,” and he means it.

Joel remembers the harsh accusation he’d thrown at you, assuming your motives without understanding or knowing, but this—it gives him perspective. 

–

A few hours later, you wake from a night terror.

It was dark, pitch black and quiet, but you couldn’t move.

Your mouth opens to scream but nothing comes out, thrashing against invisible bindings until you come to, Joel’s hands locked around your shoulders to keep you still, shaking you back to reality.

“Hey, hey,” his voice is an instant drug that soothes, eyes ripping open and searching frantically until they land on his face, “breathe, kid—you’re here, not there,”

Joel knew—of course he did.

He stays until you calm, pushing up on your hands to sit up and reaching for his arm as he stands, repeating the same gesture in his palm that he’s come to understand, crystal clear.

Stay, you gesture.

“Okay,” he agrees quietly, but you’re pulling him closer, fingers curling against his sides and Joel shakes his head, giving you some resistance, “nono—ain’t enough room for that, alright?”

Your grip tightens, begging.

Joel exhales through his nose in defeat, his hands twitching slightly where they still hold you. 

He doesn’t even need to ask, your footsteps following closely behind his own as he turns, padding back toward his room down the hall, slipping into his bed and under the sheets without a word, the weight of him next to you enough to settle your anxiety.

The second time you crawl into his bed, it’s after another nightmare. 

He doesn’t say anything—just lets out a tired sigh and shifts over, leaving space for you. You don’t touch him, not at first. Just tuck yourself into the blankets, facing away, the tension in your body easing just enough for sleep to take hold.

Then, it happens again. And again.

Every night, the same thing. 

You slip in, quiet as ever, and Joel tells himself it’s fine. That he can keep his distance.

But, you always end up entangled by the time you wake.

Your cheek pressed into his chest. His arm curled protectively around your waist. 

His breath in your hair.

Him, around you.

Joel knows he should stop this. 

He should tell you to stay in your own damn bed.

That it ain't right.

That he can’t be what you need him to be.

One night, he’s not asleep when you slip into his bed.

He feels the mattress dip, the hesitant pause before you settle in beside him, close but not touching. Joel keeps his eyes shut, breath steady, pretending he doesn’t notice.

But, then your fingers ghost over his wrist, then around his waist, your knee shifting between his thighs as you curl into him and nuzzle against his neck, lips pressing into his pulse point.

He stiffens. Feels you hesitate, then try again, pressing a kiss into the sensitive skin of his neck.

"Kid," he mutters, voice low, warning.

He can feel the neediness in your touch, eyes flicking up shyly to look at him as he bows his head to look down at you.

"You do everything I tell you to," he murmurs, and he’s right—voice rough with sleep. "If I told you to go back to your own bed, would you listen?"

Silence.

Then, your fingers tighten slightly where they’re wrapped around him. A slow shake of your head to answer his question and a sigh from him that follows, it shakes the room.

It’s defeat.

Your lips brush against his jaw first, tentative, testing. When he doesn’t stop you, you press again, slower this time. Then lower, over the rough stubble of his throat.

Joel lets out a slow, shuddering breath. His hand finds your waist, fingers curling tight before forcing himself to loosen his grip.

His fingers twitch against your waist, the calloused pads pressing firm into the soft give of your skin. His breath is heavy, slow, controlled—because he has to be.

“Shouldn’t be doin’ this,” he says, but it’s weak, “can’t be.”

A hollow protest. 

You don’t say anything, just tilt your head, lips tracing along his pulse, feeling it thrum beneath your mouth, slow and steady. He’s always so calm, a constant beat that never skipped or faltered.

He exhales sharply, his grip tightening. “Christ,” he breathes, head tipping forward until his forehead brushes against yours. “You don’t listen worth a damn, do you?”

You shake your head again, more deliberate this time.

His eyes flick to yours, dark and searching, like he’s looking for something—one last excuse to push you away. 

But there’s nothing—he’s guilty for the need of this too.

And then you’re pulling him down, lips pressing against his, soft but insistent, and any last restraint he had left crumbles in an instant.

Joel groans against your mouth, deep and wrecked, his hands still hesitant to touch, only allowing it as you initiate, dragging his hand to your waist and down, under your thigh until he’s hiking your leg over his hip.

His lips part, teeth grazing your bottom lip before he kisses you again, harder, deeper, like he needs this just as much as you do. Like he’s just as desperate for it.

He is.

Joel pulls you closer, his hands gripping at your waist. His lips are slow at first, searching, but when you whimper against his mouth, something inside him snaps. It’s a sound he hasn’t heard, the first he’s ever heard, surprising yourself as the sound slips out, throat immediately collapsing on itself in fear, awaiting the hands that wrap tight around your throat and suffocate.

Instead, his hand fists in the fabric of your shorts, curling around your hip as your core drags over his groin, his quickly hardening cock pressing against the inside of your thigh.

"You don’t even think twice, do you?" he rasps against your lips, his breath warm and unsteady. "Just do whatever the hell I tell you without arguing?”

You nod, fingers threading into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. You nod, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. With your muteness, it meant Joel’s eyes had to be on you, constantly waiting and searching for communication.

It made you feel special, the way he was attentive to you at all times.

Your thumb drags over his lip as you pause for a moment, letting the weight of his words sink in.

His eyes darken, something unreadable flickers across his face, and his hands still for a moment too, resting heavy on the bare skin of your leg.

“That ain’t always a good thing,” he tell you, but he’s already leaning back in, following the push into his shoulder as you raise your leg over his abdomen to straddle him, pressing him into the mattress as you grind down into him.

Somehow you know he’ll follow, that he won’t resist. 

He’s guilty, too—doesn’t ever think twice when it comes to you. That’s what eats at him the most—how easily you give in to each other. How willingly.

Your hands skim down his chest, nails scratching lightly over the thick hair there, down to his stomach, lower—until he catches your wrist, shaking his head.

"Slow down," he murmurs, voice strained, rough around the edges as your hips moving at a leisurely pace, glancing down to admire the thickness of his shaft as the fabric hugged around him, leaving no part of him to imagination, the thick trail of hair that disappeared beyond his waistband, "You don't gotta—"

You shake your head, mouth hung open in silence as your eyes fall shut.

A groan rumbles low in his chest as he lets go of you, hands falling to his side as lets you use him, slowly realizing what this moment was for you.

A reclamation of your own pleasure and autonomy, using his body for release that did nothing to benefit him outside of the wonder that bloomed into his features as you move more frantic, fabric bunching up higher at your hips as you chase your high, working toward the crest of your orgasm that you just couldn’t reach, face scrunching up in annoyance as you start to hit as his chest with soft blows, seemingly frustrated.

Joel knows what you need, skin against skin, flush connection.

You look up at him with a pout that pleads, screaming out.

And this time, he doesn’t stop you as you shift, a fury of limbs as you remove your shorts with impatience, tossing them to the floor as you tug at his sweats, his cock bobbing heavy and free, just far enough down his thighs that you can see how his balls tighten at your touch, taking a moment to admire him this way, his face contorted into something unreadable as your thumb slides over his slit, leaking with precum and his tip a blushed red.

Joel lets out a strangled breath, his head tilting back against the pillow as your fingers wrap around him, slow and deliberate, dragging over the length of him with just enough pressure to make his stomach tense.

He breathes slowly, his hands twitching at his sides, like he’s resisting the urge to touch you. 

To guide you. Teach you.

But he won’t—he lets you take what you need, lets you move at your own pace. 

You shift upwards, lining yourself up with him, the heat of your slick cunt teasing against his length, dragging up and down as you shudder at the feeling, the head of his cock sliding against your clit, the shlick of your bodies as they move against each other.

His jaw clenches, muscles taut as he watches.

Your fingers curl against his skin, nails pressing into him as you take all of him, inch by inch.

He finds himself waiting for a sound, silently begging for it, curious if you would sound as wrecked as he did, grunting when you’re seated fully, the burn mixing with pleasure so intense it makes your head fall forward. 

Joel’s breath stutters. His hands find your waist with your guidance, squeezing tight, like this was your attempt in trying to get him to ground himself too. He doesn’t move, doesn’t thrust up into you—just lets you adjust, lets you take him however you want. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, voice wrecked. “You feel that?” You nod, biting your lip, rolling your hips experimentally. A pleasurable ache growing in your gut. He groans, low and guttural, his fingers digging into your flesh. “That’s it,” he breathes. “Take what you need.” 

And you do.

You start slow, your hands braced against his chest, feeling the taut muscle beneath your palms as you roll your hips, testing, searching for something you’re not sure of. The stretch is deep, almost too much, but it’s what you want—what you need.

Joel’s hands grip your waist, like he’s holding himself back, like if he lets go, he’ll take over. 

But he doesn’t. He just watches, dark eyes hooded, jaw tight as you find your rhythm.

He exhales through gritted teeth, watching the way you move, the way your body trembles every time you take him deeper, your breasts shifting under your shirt as you bounce, finding himself speaking before the words filter, like his pleasure has a mind of its own.

"You always listen so well, don’t you?"

Your breath hitches at the praise, the smallest whimper slipping from your lips, and Joel's fingers tighten on your hips, not guiding you, but steadying you, anchoring you to him. You’ve never made sounds like this before, not even by accident.

With him, the fear of retaliation has begun to ease. Each noise that slips isn’t met with anger or rage, but astonishment, eyes widening in wonder.

“You like that?” he asks, voice rough, like it’s been dragged down a gravel road, "Doin’ what you’re told?"

You nod frantically, grinding down harder, desperate for more.

For him, you think. Only for him.

Give me safety. I’ll give you everything.

He curses under his breath, his restraint fraying at the edges. "Fuck—look at you," he groans, his fingers digging into your flesh now, a warning, his own control slipping. "Takin’ me so fuckin’ good."

A shudder runs through you at his words, your walls fluttering around him, making him hiss.

"Keep goin'," he murmurs, lifting up slightly as he settles on an elbow, the thumb of his free hand stroking your skin, the tension in his body betraying how much effort it takes to stay still, “I feel ya, how bad you need it,”

Your fingers reach for him, prying his grip from your waist and guiding his hands up, over your body, pressing them against your breasts, your stomach, anywhere you can, until he gets it—until he stops holding back. He rises to meet you, arms wrapping around your waist similar to how you had cornered him on the couch in the basement, but the implication is different.

A deep, guttural groan escapes him, and then his hands are moving on their own, sliding down to grip your ass, to spread you wider as he thrusts up into you, slow but deep, pushing a broken moan from your throat.

"Yeah?" he rasps in surprise, voice strained. "Is that what you wanted?"

You nod helplessly, nails scraping over his chest as you try to keep up with his pace, but Joel doesn’t let you. He takes over now, fucking up into you with long, deliberate strokes, each one dragging a whimper from your lips.

More sounds, he needed more sounds.

"You gotta tell me," he pleads, his grip almost bruising now. "I need to hear it."

You open your mouth, but all that comes out is a breathy gasp, your head falling forward against his shoulder, and Joel growls, wrapping the arm around your back tight to keep you pressed against him.

"Say it," he demands, voice thick with need as he looks up at you, "Tell me what you need. I know you can—you’re doin’ so good," It was such a stark contrast, the praise.

Your lips part, voice shaky, barely above a whisper and broken, your voice foreign to your ears as it leaves your mouth

"You."

Joel freezes beneath you, stilling for half a second, something unreadable flickering across his face before it’s gone, replaced with something darker, something deeper.

He wants to fucking ruin you and build you back up watching as the tears form in your eyes, knowing what the action meant, the energy and bravery it took, he doesn’t push it aside.

His chest rises sharply against yours, breath stalling like he’s not sure he heard right. His fingers twitch against your skin, gripping tighter, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

You feel the weight of it, the shift in the air. 

His pulse hammers against your palm where you press against his throat, his body locked beneath you like the words had cut him deeper than any knife ever could.

Your voice.

You’ve never spoken before.

Not to him. Not to anyone.

And now, with your body wrapped around him, shaking, desperate, it’s him you ask for. 

Him you need.

His name is on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t say it. 

You just press closer, urging him with slow rolls of your hips, hoping he understands, hoping he doesn’t make you say it again—because you don’t think you can.

And then, Joel moves.

Slowly. Carefully.

His hands roam, sweeping over your back, your waist, fingertips ghosting over the curve of your ribs like he’s memorizing you, feeling you breathe. His touch is softer now, reverent, as if the moment itself has changed, evolved into something neither of you expected.

You nod to an unasked question, pressing your lips against his cheek, his jaw, anywhere you can reach, trying to coax him back, trying to keep the moment from slipping away.

His hips snap up, slow but deep, dragging a soft, broken moan from your throat that makes his grip tighten. A noise barely audible.

"That’s it," he breathes, his voice thick with something you can’t explain. His hands guide you now, steady but unrelenting, moving you with him, driving deeper, harder, every roll of your hips pulling another sound from your lips, another shudder from your body.

He drinks in every noise, every gasp, every trembling sigh like it’s the most precious thing in the world. Collecting them all and committing them to memory.

"Keep talkin’ to me," he mutters, voice ragged, desperate. "Let me hear you."

But, you can’t.

The pleasure is too much, coiling tight, pulling you under, and all you can do is cling to him, gasping against his throat as your body starts to shake through your orgasm. The energy it takes to speak, the courage bleeding you dry. You’d lost your voice again.

Joel feels it—your unraveling, your breaking, the way your walls flutter around him—and it undoes him completely. Your hands cradle your face, tilting his head back so you can see him, his dark eyes burning into yours as he thrusts up hard as he spills inside of you, not entirely thinking as he does it.

"That’s it, baby," he praises, “Keep squeezin’ me, I’m right here,”

And for a long moment, neither of you move. 

The only sound is his ragged breaths, the pounding of your heart.

His lips brush your collarbone, his breath warm against your skin.

"You," he murmurs to you, soft, like it means something to him too.

Maybe it does, you weren’t sure.

–

He reaches you this way, through connection and touch.

Sex or something similar, the intensity of the moment clouding your thoughts and relaxing your worry, and his too.

It was a give and take with each other, distracting Joel from his constant stream of troubling thoughts and worries, still never approaching you—it was always under your guidance.

Maybe it’s selfish. Maybe it’s wrong. But every time your hands find him, every time you press yourself into his space, silently asking for comfort, for connection, he gives in.

The moment you touch him, the constant, gnawing dread in his mind quiets.

Just for a little while. And selfishly, he needs it.

Your fingers trail up his chest, light, uncertain, tracing the scars like a map. Joel watches, his breath slow and steady, his muscles tense beneath your touch—but he doesn’t stop you.

He never does.

You cornered him in the kitchen this particular night, his hands curled over the edge of the sink with his head hung, chest heaving like he had just woken up from his own nightmare, sneaking out of bed but not quite enough that you wouldn’t notice.

When you press your lips against his skin, soft and searching, he exhales like he’s been holding it in for too long. 

Like you were the answer.

"You sure?" he asks, his voice rough, low, but there’s no demand in it. 

No expectation. 

Only restraint. 

He’s not sure how much longer he can hold back, between the constant time spent together and the nights spent inside of you, allowing your greediness to take hold.

He pushed his own aside, stuffed until it was boiling over.

You nod, and that’s all it takes.

His hands find your waist, pulling you against him, guiding you the way you he needs, the way he knows you need too, his grip firm, like he’s holding something fragile—something breakable.

That's what this was, after all.

A delicate balance. A silent understanding.

You give each other this, and in return, he gives you himself, as do you—fully, completely, no barriers, no walls.

When he moves it is slow and deliberate, when his mouth finds your throat and his fingers grip your neck, guiding you against and up on the counter, fingers spreading underneath your top before it’s torn over your head, it was all the same. His palms curve around your neck, pulling you toward him as his lips capture yours in a surprisingly tender kiss, lips parting immediately as his tongue licks along your own, mirroring his touch as you spread your legs to make room for him. 

You don’t need anything else but this.

Only this.

Only him.

Only you.

But, there’s that gnawing in Joel’s chest that makes him out to be the monster he knows he can be, taking advantage of your trauma and pushing your limits, using you like you’ve been used before.

He’s no better, he thinks.

If anything, he’s worse.

[johnnyshrine]

★ // New Update Time, wahoo!!

Fellas, I'm going to spoil one of the upcoming offerings, you ready? . • ☆ . ° . I am building a Discord server!

This server will have cool features such as: opt in for pings for new offerings right as they drop, access to a bunch of Johnny emotes, and potential WIPs of things I'm cooking.

While making a hub for my own work is nice, that isn't my main purpose here.

A big reason why I started this shrine was because I had a newfound obsession in JoJo and I needed to express it in some way, or else I would explode. Sharing the art I make has been great! But admittingly, Tumblr is not very intuitive when it comes to holding conversations or making friends with similar interests, which is something I know I'd like more of; maybe others feel the same way?

I'd love to carve out a place where creatives in the JJBA community could come together and just chill, talk about our interests, share their work, gush about ships, and just have fun. There'll probably be an emphasis on Johnny, Gyjo, and Steel Ball Run as topics in the server because of myself and the audience I've attracted, but other JoJo parts and discussions are welcome!

I will be making the server 18+ only. Nothing against minors, but I'm an old man who should be making friends with other adults.

I don't have an exact date for the launch, but the server will be launching sometime before April so that we can all come together and discuss JOJO Day, which is fast approaching!! So keep your eyes peeled, and feel free to let me know your thoughts about the server in the replies! I value any input and suggestions.

★ Spring Cleaning

// Additionally, I've been doing a bit of upkeep to spruce up the shrine. Please check out the new blog layout and updated pinned post! Here are the patch notes if you're curious:

★ Patch Notes 03.20.25

// Tagging

★ Changed #shrineofferings tag to #offerings ★ Corrected every post that didn't have the proper tags. Everyone can now view all offerings and updates from newest to oldest on the blog using the tags.

// Pinned post (View here!)

★ Added a SBR spoiler content warning ★ Changed some of the verbiage and order on the pinned post so the text is less wordy and flows better ★ Added a link to my carrd for people to find me elsewhere ★ Made the pinned post look overall prettier aesthetically :)

// Theme (View on desktop!)

★ Fixed any broken links and buttons ★ Added a proper bio ★ Added some art to sidebar/explore panels ★ Added code to put 075's pixel sprite to the bottom right corner because I thought it was cute. :)

I plan on sprucing up the theme as time goes on by making specific graphics in the form of offerings, but I at least wanted everything functional!

That's it for now, thank you for reading! :D

[restingwithineywa]

As I mentioned on my old blog, I found Alma in a new spot!! I've played close to 1100 hours on the game and I've never seen her do this before!!!

There was a minor update, nothing written in the patch notes, so I don't know if that added new NPC routes or just minor things under the hood but this is new!!

She spent quite a while picking up glowy mushrooms off the resistance floor and then getting sucked out of her hands again. Yes, I was stalking her when I noticed her route changed and watched her get into position here. The only time I've seen this was in the Kame'tire hideout by the planters with Ri'nela or another Na'vi

I've long suspected Na'vi/Avatar characters have separated routes to the human NPCs when wandering. Avatar Alma and Human Alma are telling of that bc when human, she doesn't do the Na'vi routes (when human in the kinglor base, she was bound to a single spot and animation) any more and Avatar Alma wandered a lot. In the Kame'tire base, she never wandered in her avatar since she was story-locked in the gurney until the avatar died, but as a human, she strictly followed human NPC animations and routes.

tho it's funny watching the two clash. Kinglor Base, Ri'nela took Alma's route to crouching by the stairs and Alma herself stopped when her pathfinding had to reset to an available NPC spot before she moved again.

Ri'nela was also in this exact NPC spot but I didn't record it, but I got some photos for ya!

tbh, it's great watching the NPCs and seeing which characters have repeated or shared animated rigs/routes. Some you need to fast-travel to reset them, but others you can wait out.

For Example, Dani here mirrored Alma's human Animation when entering the Wandering Clan Main quest, tbh, i didn't record Alma doing this. A few other general NPCs have also done this exact sequence but i forgot to record them.

Another is Alma, Anqa and Alex. I didn't photograph Anqa doing this at the time but she did this in the Kame'tire base, just like Alma is doing. They look about as if checking on something and 'note' it down on the tablet. It's funny to watch.

RUN motherfuckers run!

It's fun watching NPCs run to their routes lol Anqa after talking to So'lek after taking down the drill site, and Pryia running after Share the Burden quests

I love finding new things :)

Like this guy holding his kuru, i bet Na'vi do this when nervous or scared to self-comfort :)

[feartoxinjelloshot]

I would love to know some backstories of the Rogues in your Batman AU

this is a very broad question considering how many rogues i have in my au, so i'll start out by linking some of them which i have elaborated on before to various degrees, and if you have further questions about them feel free to ask specifically:

POISON IVY

SCARECROW - SCARECROW - MORE SCARECROW (his backstory is kind of convoluted and scattered around. i get a lot of asks about him)

BLACK MASK (somewhat outdated - i intend to update it at some point)

MAD HATTER

KILLER MOTH

NINA & DEIRDRE

CALENDAR QUEEN

PROF. PYG

and here's the cliff notes on some obvious players not mentioned above - again, if you want more specific elaboration, or anyone else i forgot, feel free to ask:

THE JOKER: i guess this is a bit of a spoiler if you like ambiguity, but i've said it on this blog many times already so there's really no point in being coy about it - the joker in my au is an extra-dimensional eldritch creature who, quite literally, eats chaos to survive. it possesses the body of an ACE chemicals employee named Jay Doe after it influences them into jumping into a vat of acid where "the veil between worlds is thinner in that unstable substance" (per writing of mine). the joker is obsessed with the balance between comedy and horror that generates the "food" it needs to survive in our dimension. very few people in-universe are aware of the joker's origin or the true extent of its abilities. it is a genuinely unlikable creature bur very lonely at its core, as it is the only one of its kind on earth and cannot easily exit back to its old dimension. Jay Doe's soul is still around, though kept separate from the body via storage in the joker's personal pocket dimension, the "funhouse" (mainly used for storage to enable looney-tunes esque physical gags, but can be put to much more sinister use. this funhouse is also where the joker puts jason todd.)

HARLEY QUINN: Harleen Quinzel was a fairly average woman who made a comfortable salary at her job working as a psychiatrist at Arkham State Hospital. She was also deeply miserable. The constraints of the cookie-cutter life and career path she was forced into by the expectations of her controlling mother and other adults around her instilled a pervasive repressed need to escape from her own life and "do something wrong". She encountered the joker during one of his on-and-off stints in captivity at Arkham and immediately - and unwillingly - became infatuated with the sense of unique nonconformity he seemed to embody. The following affair between them was less about the joker's manipulation and more about harley grasping for power in the only way she knew how (through the joker did inarguably have his own part in it, because he liked harley and saw her as a potential cure for his lonliness). Eventually it culminated in her own descent into the same acid vat that had "transformed" Jay Doe, but rather than possession, harley emerged with a... heightened sense of clarity about herself and the world around her. The acid also had some malignant effects on her, gradually causing her skin to rot and fall off her body. She compensated by sewing herself back together with colorful patches of fabric. I wrote a rather long fanfic about harley and the joker's relationship (and following breakup) for 2023's nanowrimo, which sadly has not been released yet because i am still editing it. hopefully one day soon it will reach the public.

THE RIDDLER: The riddler's conception is a little fuzzier than other backstories I have, because I'm still working on it, but the main gist of it is that Edward Nygma (born E-------- Nashton) spent many years essentially singlehandedly raising his younger brother, William Nashton. They lived alone with their father (their mother having left the picture years earlier) who was a chronic deadbeat, physically abusive, an alcoholic for good measure, and altogether put very little effort into raising his own children. Edward was a very strange child from the get-go and over time and circumstance his asynchronicities developed into a compulsive need for control and structure. He turned to his most genuine talent - puzzle-solving - and put it to work where it seemed most logical: computers. Edward became a very dedicated and effective hacker, largely by his methods of viewing code as a literal cipher or riddle that he had to untangle to "win". He gained a genuine reputation for the obscure and highly guarded databases he was able to gain access to, which generally served to inflate his ego. Meanwhile, two things: one, the more stress he was put under, the more his obsessive worldview began to take over other parts of his life, especially interpersonal ones - especially his interactions with his father and other antagonistic figures in his life. he became convinced that if he could "solve" the "pattern" of their behaviors, he could escape their abuse or in a sense control them. Two, these insecurities expanded to target his deeply protective instincts over his little brother, who around the time Ed was, say, sixteen or so, in a completely random accident, got hit by a car while crossing the street with Edward (who was spared) and later died from his injuries. Edward's father blamed him for this event, despite Ed having no possible control over the situation. The trauma of his brother's sudden death caused Edward's psychological state to degrade quickly and devastatingly. He began to devote his "puzzle-solving skills" largely to esoteric coping mechanisms, and expressed that if he could "find the pattern in the world around [him]" he could prevent an accident "like that" from happening again, to anyone, ever. His obsessions later expanded to focus upon the Batman, who at the time was less of a public figure and more of a local ghost story - the ultimate mystery for Edward to solve, and prove everyone else wrong, and finally win.

CATWOMAN: Selina Kyle's backstory is fairly straightforward compared to the above tales and hasn't been tampered with very much since its original conception. She grew up very poor and in an unhappy household; as a child she spent a lot of time with her kid neighbor Effy Lynns (later Firefly), who was also in a bad familial situation, and they began to view each other as siblings. As adults they moved into an apartment together. Selina was never very well off, but scraped by working odd jobs over the years, most notably a job at the local animal shelter, which she was genuinely happy at - unusual luck for her. She liked it so much, in fact, that she was trying to save money up to finally finish her degree, so that she could start to pursue a career as a veterinarian. During this time she also lived in an apartment above a chain pharmacy. Her "criminal" career was kicked off when her she learned that her downstairs neighbor, an elderly woman who she was fairly close with, had been denied by insurance to receive insulin due to a gap in coverage and, as she couldn't afford a trip to the emergency room, was in danger of dying. As she lived right above a pharmacy, Selina saw the workers going in and out every day and knew what the code to the back door was. She also knew which breaker would turn the power to the security cameras off. Well, her neighbor was too grateful to really care about where she got the medication from, and Selina asked for nothing in return, except to call if she needed help again. Was it against the law? Sure. Was it a crime? No. Selina never faced any consequences for her actions that day, and was instilled with a (perhaps unearned) sense of confidence - she had learned how easy it was to steal. Her ambitions expanded somewhat worrying quickly, though she resolutely stuck to ethical targets - chain stores, corporations, and eventually the homes of the ultra-wealthy. If asked, selina would say - truthfully so - that it was a genuinely good-hearted attempt at redistribution of wealth. What she was less willing to admit was that there was a significant element of adrenaline-seeking and even kleptomania to it that she wasn't ready to confront in herself. She was doing all the right things for all the wrong reasons. The only harm, she supposed, was to herself.

FIREFLY: Like I mentioned in the previous entry, Firefly is the eventual vigilante identity* of Effy Lynns, Selina's adopted sibling. Effy worked for many years in an oil refinery to make ends meet. It was hard, grueling work and the floor workers were treated badly in many respects. One day they were involved in a factory explosion that left them with third degree burns on the right side of their face, neck, shoulder and chest, along with blinding them in that eye and reducing the hearing of that ear. It was later made known to them that the accident was only allowed to occur because of the gross negligence and poor working conditions of their wealthy supervisors. They were also let go by the factory due to not being able to work any more, putting them in financial strife. Understandably, this series of events was a snapping point for Effy, and, inspired by Selina's nighttime activites, they adopted a fire-themed vigilante persona to enact public revenge against the corporate conglomerates that were ruining theirs and other people's lives. Effy's backstory is fairly vague and subject to change, since it's more recent than the others and therefore less developed. I haven't decided if their suit is their own invention or if they collaborate with some other source to design it.

*"Firefly" is actually just their full first name. Friends and family call them Effy more often. They start to embrace use of their full name when things go off the rails, though it only becomes known to the public after their (hypothetical) eventual apprehension.

MR & MRS FREEZE: Victor Fries and Nora Selvam met at a scientific convention in England in their twenties. Both of them had immigrated with their families in their teens, Victor from Russia and Nora from South India. They clicked immediately and were married a year later. Their story together doesn't deviate very far from typical batman canon, with the notable exception that in my version of the story, Victor is the one with an incurable terminal illness. Per usual Victor and Nora work together to attempt to push forward the research on Victor's illness, moving to Gotham somewhere in the process. Over time they both get more desperate, facing their own respective demons: Victor becomes desolate and even suicidal, hopeless as to his own future; Nora becomes erratic and fixated, determined to prove her husband wrong and save him. She takes unreasonable risks for the sake of the research and Victor does nothing to stop her. Victor poses the idea of putting himself in cryostasis until a cure can be invented, not really believing in the idea, mostly just wanting to die in the ice. Nora, though, latches onto the idea and begins working on designs for a stasis machine. She overworks herself to the point where she can no longer recognize dangerous flaws in its internal structure. When the machine is "complete" she has Victor come to the lab and offers to demonstrate the effects of the pod on a butterfly for him. He accepts, curious, and she does, but upon the subsequent unfreezing of the butterfly, it lies cold and unmoving. Frightened and demotivated, they get into a heated, emotional argument, which distracts them fatally from the stabilization alarms sounding on the cryostasis machine. The world turns white. When Victor returns to consciousness his skin is blue and bruised, like a frostbitten corpse, and every breath feels like ice stabbing through his lungs. The lab is encased in an explosion of unmeltable ice, kept supernaturally cooled by the malfunctioning power core of the machine. The lab becomes the only place that Victor can survive in without a cooling suit. The ice in the room is so thick and deep that he can't even see Nora's body inside. But she's in there, somewhere. She has to be. Right...? (Somewhere overhead a butterfly flaps by the skylight.)

TWOFACE: this is another story that is subject to change in the future, because i haven't decided on the exact details, but, Harvey Dent grew up with a physically and emotionally abusive father and an absent mother, as per much of his usual canon. He met Bruce Wayne when they were children and despite going to different schools, coming from different family backgrounds and living very different lifestyles, they made fast and inseparable friends with each other and were joined at the hip for much of their teenage years, even going to college together later in life. As his childhood progressed Harvey became increasingly and uncomfortably aware of "another him" in his head* - an alter, though he had no idea what that was at the time - who called itself Alastor**. Alastor served as Harvey's protector, facing their father's physical abuse instead of Harvey. Harvey was deeply ashamed and resistant to the idea of self-perceived mental illness and did everything he could to feign "normality", i.e. pretend that Alastor didn't exist, or at least that they were the same person. Bruce, being so close to him, had something of an idea that there was something going on with Harvey that he didn't know about - but Harvey was extremely resistant to the idea when Bruce attempted to bring it up, so he left it alone for a long time. Alastor did not have this hesitancy, Thus Bruce and Alastor met and knew each other to some degree without Harvey's knowledge. Despite his generally antagonistic views of almost everyone outside of the system, Alastor developed a begrudging "tolerance" (fondness) for Bruce as Bruce would treat him well in a general sense, having no reason to resent him, especially in their youth. Harvey's adult life also generally follows typical canon: he went to college with Bruce (and a young Thomas Elliot) where they remained close until Bruce suddenly dropped out and effectively fell off the earth, leaving Harvey to complete his studies and attend law school alone. Harvey nor Alastor ever really forgave Bruce for his disappearance and even when he reappeared in Gotham several years later, there was an awkward wedge between them. In his law career Harvey saw significant success, graduating from public defense to assistant DA to District Attorney at an admirable speed. His willingness to call out and prosecute the corruption in the city led to targets being put on his back, but he wasn't deterred and eventually started a campaign for mayor, promising to help make the city into something better. His campaign - though controversial - was ultimately successful. Unfortunately, the attention he attracted by his political outreach included that of a career criminal called the Joker. The Joker, being purely an agent of chaos, did not care about Gotham's politics by any means, except where they were funny to him - and watching Harvey Dent grapple his own brain for control was very funny indeed. Having been entranced by Harvey for several months, the Joker decided he was going to make a laughing-stock of him, on the day of his mayoral inauguration. The Joker broke into City Hall and, with a generous measure of spectacle, tied Harvey to a chair in front of every news camera he could find and ripped the left side of his face off. The Joker's abilities allowed this to be a largely harmless, albeit very painful, process. Harvey's career as mayor was over before it had begun. He escaped, humiliated and panicking, into the depths of the city, where he was not seen again for several months.

*Harvey probably has several other less distinctive alters, but Alastor is the most significant one and the one Harvey is most capable of recognizing.

**I wanted to give harvey's alter a name that wasn't just an altered version of harvey's own name. "Alastor" was taken from a fanfic i read a long time ago and have since hopelessly lost track of. Per google: "In Greek mythology, Alastor is an epithet of the god Zeus, meaning "avenger" or "defender of men". Alastor was also the name of a spirit or force that punished wrongdoing and upheld fairness. The name also symbolizes memory, as it conveys the importance of not forgetting wrongs." In canon, I imagine harvey read about the epithet in a book as a child and was influenced by it. Thus, i suppose Alastor is technically an introject.