#i think i have a different version of this in my drafts

[tinytownn]

the weight on my shoulders –

pt. v - wife number five pt.2 series masterlist

[post-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader]

word count: 8.5k

summary: joel gets caught in trouble, forcing him to flee the boston qz. a few days into his trip, he takes refuge in an abandoned shed where he finds you–scared, starving, and struggling to survive. despite his better judgement, he takes you with him on his journey.

content: violence and descriptions of death, pretty much no actual tlou lore (except the infected, joel's outbreak day events, and jackson), mentions of religion and cults??, i mention child death for like four sentences idk, tw youre from indiana sorryy, age gap (27 and 49), slow burn??, no use of y/n

a/n: this story keeps running away from me i swearrr like every chapter ends up differently than how i drafted it, but i hope you guys enjoyyyy (i think i like this version better :)) there was originally going to be a lot more cult involved stuff this chapter but i ditched it for cows lol, i feel like i've made u guys go thru enough trauma

September 18th 2025 -

“If you’re up for somethin’ a little risky.”

Joel’s words replayed in your mind as you sat on the bed, huddled in the darkness. The quilt beneath you stayed twisted beneath your fingers, the iron bedframe creaking as you nervously tapped your foot.

Something in the air was seeping into your skin, telling you that these two couldn’t be trusted. If you hadn’t been watching their every move, you wouldn’t have been so inclined to eat the dinner they prepared. Joel hadn’t been that convinced though, his stomach audibly growling now and his untouched dinner plate long discarded into the trash.

The subtle noises of discomfort were the only signal to each other that you were even there. You would gently rock the headboard, swaying to ease your anxiety until Joel would let out a soft grunt in annoyance. You could hear his stomach churning and the way he would shuffle or fake a cough in hopes you didn’t hear.

There was definitely a lantern somewhere in the room, but the light wouldn’t tell you anything you couldn’t already feel. The room had been tense since the moment you walked in. Hand splayed across your back, Joel ushered you in with some newfound urgency. You could feel his fingers tremble slightly through your dress and his anxiety began to seep into you.

“We wait here until they go to bed,” he had whispered.

Although you were in the room now, his head was still on a swivel and you could hear his clothes rustling as he looked around. You nodded along, unsure if he could even see you through the darkness. Either way, he continued.

“When I went downstairs with Samuel,” his voice was even lower now, like just saying their name would attract their attention. “There was a keypad that locked most of their supplies behind a gate. Pretty sure I can find the keys and some gas cans.”

Dipping to one side, you felt Joel push himself off the mattress. His footsteps echoed softly in the room, the soles of his boots heavy against the hardwood. Each step and each moment of silence filled you with even more anxiety. Was he still trying to figure out the plan?

“How do we get the code?”

Although your voice was barely above a whisper, Joel stopped dead in his tracks at the hint of your voice. You couldn’t see his face and even if you could, you were sure it wasn’t one you wanted to see.

Usually Joel oozed with a seamless confidence, one that was just effortless in nature. He was a strong man, gruff, the type of person people didn’t mess with. And if they did? He made sure they regretted it.

You didn’t know what he was like before the outbreak–probably never would–but whatever secrets Joel Miller buried so far down, turned him into a man ready for conflict, bloodshed, and violence. Whatever came his way.

Now, he stood in front of you, thankful to be shielded by the dark. He knew you could probably feel it in the way he moved, hear it in his tone, but he couldn’t stand the thought of looking this weak in front of you. He was always good at hiding how he truly felt, no matter how tense things got. 

So what was so different now?

He had foolishly let his guard down. Like everything he had instilled within himself had gone out the door the second Samuel started his smooth talk. Something about the way the man spoke so casually, as if nothing had ever happened, Joel didn’t even notice that his gun had gone missing–at least not at first. One moment he was helping with the generator, begrudgingly following the stranger he couldn’t quite get a grasp on, and then he was happily chatting about his brother. 

Reality had only struck him when his eyes met yours, that piercing and unforgiving stare. It was only then that he realized how swept away he had been, that he had forgotten everything he had told you and that silent promise as you two split up. It was only then, when he shoved his hands into his pockets that he realized how light they suddenly were. It was only then that he patted down his empty pockets, his earlier suspicions coming to life, and a wave of nausea and defenselessness swallowing him whole.

It had been so long since Joel had a proper conversation with another man. One with meaning and no underlying favors. So when the whole facade of that friendly conversation came to light, Joel had felt like a fool for even believing him for a second.

He didn’t realize it then, but over the course of dinner while Joel did nothing but berate himself for his mistakes, he had realized the effect you had on him. That hope you carried that he had endlessly scolded you for, whether he knew it or not, began to slowly seep into his way of life–an unfamiliar optimism clouding his view. He saw that you were more than just dead weight slowing him down–a poor decision made in a lapse of clarity–but rather a glimmer of hope he hadn’t seen for decades. 

That toothy grin you’d give him even after hours of arguing, the way you told him to keep the bag of candy as if that was the most obvious thing in the world, and how every time you would pull something from the backpack that same bag was balanced on your legs so it didn’t get scuffed. He had never told you the full meaning behind the candy, that it was actually Sarah’s favorite, but you still kept the bag as clean as when he found it–not even a tear in the plastic.

Despite all that, he had done nothing but push you away, but something in his gut kept him tethered to you. An invisible string ravelling around the coils of time until it ran out of thread, tying you two at the hip. Months of being so close had definitely taken its toll, arguments and petty bickering almost a daily occurrence, but none of that would stop how you looked out for each other. 

Underneath that string, tied so tight around your wrists the flesh tore wide open for each other to see, there lay a promise–a type of promise only created in the bonds formed within this wasteland of a world. It wasn’t something spoken about or written down in some sort of contract, but rather something hidden in small glances and sighs. The way that even now, within the darkness you could both read each other's motions, each slight sound a signal to an entire language only you two could understand.

That’s why, when those words left your lips, as simple as they may have been, something in Joel’s heart crushed a little bit.

For the first time since you had met, you were lacking confidence in him.

He could hear it in the way your voice shook, that slight tremble in your words and the discomfort that hung in the air. How normally you’d be anxious, fiddling with the hem of your clothes, desperately trying to cling to his words. Now, you sat rigid, almost as if his lack of words took over your entire brain, ceasing any motor output.

Feet planted in place, almost as if quicksand was pulling him under, Joel stood frozen–contemplative. “The code is the easy part,” he huffed out a sigh, jamming his hands into his jean pockets. “I saw it over his shoulder when we went to the basement. What’s gonna be a problem is flippin’ the right switch to power the damn thing.”

Uncertain, you leaned forward on your palms, the bed creaking beneath your weight. 

“That breaker box ain’t got any of the switches labeled so it’s just goin’ to be a guessin’ game. I’ve worked around plenty of these to know there’s some sort of order to ‘em. He flipped the switch for the kitchen on the top right, so I can work from there…” He paused for a moment, like once he said these last words things would be set in stone. “If…if I flip the wrong switch, I need you to keep them distracted.”

With the risky part of Joel’s plan now splayed out in front of you, you couldn’t help the way you shuffled uncomfortably in your seat. It’s not like you had ever needed to use a breaker box before, but it wasn’t like you had never seen one. You knew the mass amount of switches on one of those things, let alone a building this big. 

Although you knew it was useless, you looked towards where you could sense Joel was standing, hoping for some sort of comfort–grounding–within his presence. But as usual, he was a wall. An impenetrable force, especially when it came to you, void of anything other and a carnal need to hunt and protect. Sure, he gave you those glimpses of nostalgic wonder, something softer deep within that icy gaze. 

But none of that was there now.

He stood there just as still as you. You could hear it from the silence in the room. No nervous shuffling of fabric, no creaky floors under pacing feet, and no scratching of hair through anxious fingers. Just the absence of noise simmering deep into every corner of the room, itching at your skin, deep within, tugging at your vocal chords.

“Distracted?” you squeaked.

“If they stay in their room, it should be fine.” You could hear him shift his weight, the floor boards creaking beneath him. For a split second, you were unsure if he was breaking or widening the distance, and you think he was unsure himself. “If I flip the wrong switch, or they hear me downstairs, you get their attention any way you can…Do whatever you have to. You understand?”

His words were stern again, an ounce of that confidence regained in his tone. Then, a sliver of the moonlight cast on his face through the window, and your perception of him in that moment shattered. 

His lips, cracked and dry, were drawn into a sullen pout and trembling ever so slightly. Head dipped low, his shoulders were hunched over in a reclusive, almost regretful stance. You hadn’t seen this look on him since that day in the bodega, that prized bag of Swedish Fish clutched in his hands. His eyes reflected this distant longing, dull and bleak, like he was impending a fate he was dreadfully succumbing to.

The look took you aback–confused you. Since the moment you stepped into this town, that bubbling anxiety had only grown and grown into a full blown panic that you had to hide beneath the layers of this dress–its pristine fabric and untattered edges a mocking reminder of your situation. Still, while the plan had its risks, you had the upper hand of strength and strategy. Confusion racked your brain, that solemn, lost of hope look on Joel’s face not adding up, until…

“Do you have the knife?”

You quickly got on your feet, nodding your head instinctively although he couldn’t see.

“Yeah it’s right…” Your heart dropped. Slithering your hand into your boot, sinking your fingers into your sock, you were only met with a damp washcloth–the sliver of soap you had saved for Joel still safely packed away. 

Replaying your memories, you tried to retrace your steps, figure out where you could have possibly left your only weapon. Joel had pressed it into your palm while bandaging you earlier between hushed warnings and stern whispers. You had clipped it to your waistband, still attached and folded on the bathroom counter. 

So focused on wrapping up the remainder of your soap, you had forgotten to take it with you.

“Fuck, it’s in the bathroom. I’ll go get it-”

“Don’t bother,” he interrupted. “It’s already gone. Looks like they did some plannin’ before we even thought about it.”

You shook your head, stepping closer to Joel, almost face to face. “ What do you mean? Don’t you have your gun? My bow?”

Standing so close, you felt his arm brush yours as he shuffled uneasily. “Don’t have it.”

You opened your mouth to question him, ask how he could have lost track of them, but the sounds of distant chatter and creaking floorboards echoed down the hallway. Joel reached out, grabbing your wrist painfully tight, sucking in a quick breath. He could probably feel your heartbeat thrumming, both of you held painfully still, not even moving to breathe.

Then, the soft click of a door, its heavy groan humming through the walls. 

Step one of the plan had begun and there was no time for questions–only action.

“Are we doing this?” you finally asked when Joel’s fingers eased up, your skin pulsing where he was once holding.

He was already walking towards the door, taking slow and deliberate steps so as to not make any noise. “Do we have any choice?”

You didn’t answer–not like he gave you any time to–and he slipped through the doorway. Shutting your eyes, you held your breath once again, trying to listen for Joel’s footsteps. It was subtle, but you could hear the creak of that grand, white door and the way it hinges squeaked open. 

Not having seen the basement, you didn’t know how long all of this would take, but you knew sitting in this room waiting for something to happen would only make you restless. Slow, careful steps carried you to the door, slipping through the crack and into the moonlit hallway.

The small window at the end gave way to some light making the room not as intimidating as before. You could see a couple doors down another cracked door, the warm glow of a lantern spilling across the floorboards and painting the walls.

Assuming they were still awake, you decided to make your way to the bathroom, hoping Joel's suspicions were wrong. Tiptoeing onto the tile, the bucket you had used lay untouched in the corner, the water foggy and soapy. The pile of things you had left neatly folded on the counter though, were nowhere to be seen, only a stray sock misplaced on the ground.

“Fuck…” you whispered, a shot of anxiety like a bullet to the chest.

Still cautious, you peered down the hallways, the door still cracked, pouring light along the baseboards. Breath held, like the air had a tightening grip on your throat, kept the room silent and only when you slipped through the doorway, that cool checkered tile underneath your feet, did you exhale. 

There was a window above the sink and two on the opposite wall, the room not as dark as the bathroom–moonlight spilled in from the two windows, the light bleeding onto your skin, exposing you to anyone who entered the room, but you didn’t care–there was a small ounce of comfort in that moonlight. A wave of detachment washed over you, ridding you of your senses, anxieties, fears–the reason you were even standing in this room completely beyond you–oblivious to your own intentions.

Then, a soft humming resonated through the floorboards, something so soft, so quiet that typically you wouldn’t have heard it. That rhythmic vibration sparked some sort of signal back to your brain, a chill running up your spine, and fear took its grip again.

Rushing to the counter where you had helped cook just hours before, you could have sworn the knife block was next to the stove–Liz had handed you one to help cut vegetables from that very spot. You squeezed your eyes shut, as if this was some sort of a lapse in your vision, that if you opened your eyes it would reappear, but it never did. No matter how many times you reached to pinch your arm, you were still standing in that kitchen, still in that stupid dress, and still defenseless.

If they had predicted your moves this far, how long would it take before they caught onto Joel? 

What if they already knew?

Fear churned waves through your stomach, a fiery heat creeping up your neck, and your hands clammy–you felt entirely nauseous. Without your bow or even a hunting knife, what were you supposed to do if you had to distract Samuel and Liz? 

With shaking hands, you rummaged through the drawers–some wooden ladles and spoons, an entire drawer dedicated to junk and old tea packets, and mostly just empty moldy drawers–not even bothering to close them, the handles one good tug away from falling off. The cutlery was limited, but taken care of, all polished silver delicately placed and organized in their trays–you grabbed the only butter knife.

Time couldn’t be wasted. Rushing back into the hallway, the first floorboard let out a groaning creak–a subtle reminder that things were still real and you weren’t just floating in some sort of dreamlike state. Carefully creeping down, just as you had before, you could see the bedroom door with that light still warmly glowing.

You cursed every part of your body for being so loud–your heartbeat thrumming, breaths coming out in deep huffs, and those echoing footsteps the adrenaline couldn’t help but slam to the ground with each step. You were stupid for even getting this close so unprotected and you felt stupid for even letting yourself get this unprotected–only a butter knife clutched tightly in your fist to save you.

“Everythin’ will be fine.” That familiar voice rang through the doorway, smoothed over like honey–something sinister catching in a crack in his voice at the end. “You just make sure that man eats breakfast. Even without his gun I’d like him knocked out ‘fore I kill ‘im–he ain’t goin’ down without a fight.”

“I don't think she’s goin’ to want to come back to Utah…not after somethin’ like that.” Liz’s voice was more firm now, less submissive than before. “You really think she won’t suspect anythin’?”

“Well, it’s too late to turn back now. We’ve been here for three months, Liz. If we don’t come back with another wife soon, Graves ain’t gonna be happy with me.”

“Who cares about Graves? Ever since his father died he hasn’t been actin’ right…and you know it. He’s sendin’ us out here to kill people–and what he’s doing with these ‘wives’? This is the fifth one, Samuel. This isn’t what they started the community for, he’s taken it all too far. We can just take the truck and ru-”

“That’s enough, Elizabeth.” If you couldn’t hear every breath, every slight movement and footstep, you would have thought Samuel was right next to you with how loud he spoke–cold and icy, freezing the blood in your veins. “We can’t just leave the community–our family–after everything they’ve done for us. Do you remember how they found us? Do you need me to remind you?” 

You could hear quick, heavy footsteps and Liz suddenly gasped. “I can throw you outside with those things if you think you can make it out there by yourself. Is that what you want?”

Before you could even think or back away, the door was being pried open, the warm light turning into a blinding spotlight, and you stood there awaiting your fate like a deer in headlights.

“Samuel, please! No, no, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean–”

Tears were streaming down her face, pleads choked out between her sobs. Samuel had her arm in a tight grip, a bruise probably forming under his hold. This lovers quarrel, domestic dispute, or whatever the hell you had walked in on suddenly froze in time. 

Like a switch flipped, Samuel’s eyes turned dark, his shoulders slumping down, like he no longer had the weight of the facade on his shoulders. He let go of his wife and she stumbled back into the doorframe, a sob escaping her lips as she lunged back towards her husband.

Fear held you in its deadly grip, fingernails slashing at your skin, digging deep and pinning your feet to where you stood. Thoughts raced through your mind, millions a second, screaming a cacophony of noise so loud that you couldn’t even think.

Then, almost as if time had skipped, jumping forward before you could fully process your next actions, you were on the ground, knees on either side of Samuel’s waist, covered in a pool of blood. You sat frozen, hands shakily gripped to the butter knife that sat plunged into the center of his neck, blood spurting all over your face and dress. 

His hands desperately tore at your skin, clawing beneath the surface, breaking the skin at your wrists. He tried to reach your neck, wriggle around and push you off of him, but he was too weak. You could see Liz in your peripheral, she was on the ground, her mouth opened like she was screaming, but all you could hear was a deafening ringing as time replayed excruciatingly slow: Samuel charging at you, his heavy hands on your shoulders as he pushed you to the ground, the body numbing pain that seared through you as your body hit the floor, and how, almost like it had a mind of its own, your hand plunged the knife anywhere you could hit.

It was only now, that your vision cleared and that weightless feeling of flowing adrenaline had fled–gravity taking its hold on you and the knife sinking so deep your knuckles met skin–you could see the sporadic slashes all throughout his body.

Samuel had made the mistake of rendering you completely defenseless, with only your hands to protect you. His rage left him blind and careless–what would soon be a fatal mistake. 

Though your mind felt blank, numb, you could still hear the familiar voice that guided you through the noise:

“Swing fast and don’t stop.”

Joel had muttered those words to you one night while going through what was supposed to be a ‘shortcut’ through a thick and dense forest. The night had crept faster than expected and as the groaning of infected grew near, he handed you his knife, gun clasped tightly in his hand with a wavering brow.

You were terrified that night, you were still injured, the bandaging on your leg soaked with puss and sweat. As uncomfortable and in pain as you were, all you wanted to do was sleep, not thinking you had the strength to run even if your life depended on it, but Joel looked right through you and said those words so confidently as if he knew that even in the tensest of moments you would be able to do exactly as he asked.

You never did end up using the knife that night–or at all. Joel whispered for you to stay back while he surveyed the scene and you anxiously picked at your fingers behind a tree until he came back, fresh blood staining his shirt and a careless nod.

“Let’s go. It’s all clear.”

And it was always like that.

Despite never needing to use your weapon or get into any real conflict, Joel was always hinting and preparing you for it. Each target practice, every hushed warning, and all those ‘what if’ plans were getting you ready for this very moment. 

He saw that innocence the very first moment he saw you, that determination to live despite the terrified look in your eyes. He knew–he hoped that if he repeated himself enough, despite how tough or unpleasant he had to be, that his voice would carry your body to fight even when your mind resisted.

And your mind was resisting.

That fateful moment, that fatal swing, the way Liz cried and screamed for her husband, reaching in the air towards him, but cowered in fear in the doorway as something outside of you, outside of your control, slashed her husband in the very room they slept. 

Your eyes were glued shut, unable to open if you even tried, like your mind was censoring a sight it knew you didn’t want to see. Maybe it was the promise you made to Joel, a completion of the plan that had driven you to strike, maybe it was his words that subconsciously trained you to be a merciless killer just like him–a skill you had seen him effortlessly perfect and shamelessly rely on–or maybe it was all you in blind anger and fear that acted in taking this man's life.

Even though this was the world you lived in now–one where killing was frequent and necessary, death always looming around each corner–it wasn’t the one you grew up in.

It was a world that went still when your classmate in the first grade, Daniel Rodruiguez, went missing and was found dead the next morning. A world that honored Daniel each year over the school’s loudspeakers and with a memorial in town that was always covered with photos, toys, and flowers. You had seen glimpses of that world sometimes–graves with the remnants of flowers and some sort of makeshift headstone or cross–it always made you think of Daniel and sometimes the twisted thought that you were glad he was dead and didn’t have to be here in this awful new world, body covered in blood like a scene from Carrie. Sometimes you were even a little envious of Daniel.

Especially in times like this.

Because Daniel didn’t have to make choices like the one coming at you, full speed like you were standing on railroad tracks and the train was inches away from your face. In your shock, the faded memory of Daniel and of that night in the woods played like one of those movies of your life that people say they see before they die–and honestly, it felt like you were the one dying.

Liz had collected herself–or completely shattered in front of you–and grabbed Joel’s gun that was hidden in the nightstand. Her eyes were wide, puffy, and red, her hands shaking around the handle, weighed down uncomfortably as if she had never held a gun before–she probably never had–your actions being the fuse to her lapse in character.

“What have you done?” she shrieked, gun aimed directly at you.

You looked up at her, mind blank. Because what had you done? Sure, it was self defense and that conversation you overheard couldn’t have been any clearer on their intentions, but the guilt that hung heavy in your chest told you otherwise. It told you that you were a killer, a ruthless being that murdered a husband in front of his wife without a second's thought. 

There was a clomping sound down the hallway, that grand door making its familiar echoing creak, and for a second you forgot Joel was actually here and not just a voice guiding you in your mind. His footsteps were unusually rushed as he made his way down the hall, abandoning his usual stealthy technique in a frenzy. 

He was downstairs, successfully through the gate and rummaging around for keys, picking any lock he could find when he heard a thumping. His shoulders tensed, but he didn’t stop his search–with two gas cans and a duffle bag of emergency supplies, he was so close to being out of here. You would be able to handle it.

It was uncomfortably quiet for a moment and he almost decided once again to abandon ship and rush upstairs, but the thudding continued again and for some reason that comforted him–to know that there was some sort of fight happening, one that he was confident you could win or at least scuffle through for the time being. 

Then there was a scream.

A scream so loud that every instinct in Joel’s body was telling him to turn and run, that nothing but trouble could be around that noise and attracted to that noise. But he knew that you were also up there and possibly the one screaming.

Joel had automatically assumed that it was Liz screaming, but as he rushed up the stairs, he realized he had never heard a true, body chilling scream from you. He had vowed to keep you safe and that he did. So could have things gone so wrong the one time he left you? 

His feet weren’t taking him upstairs fast enough and his mind raced with guilt as he thought through the night. He had never found his gun downstairs where he expected it to be and your weapon being gone as well showed that these two were more prepared than he had expected. He felt sick, rage bubbling in his stomach for even thinking this plan was a good idea, for even putting you at risk like this.

A blinding light illuminated his destination at the end of the hallway, a looming lump of something hidden in the blurs of his vision laying out into the hall. Using the wall to guide him, his calloused fingers gripped the doorframe, knuckles turning white as he gasped at the scene.

That lump of something was Samuel’s legs and the blood that pooled around it and the rest of his limp body. On top of him, legs straddled around his waist, was you, hair soaked and matted, shielding his view of your face. He could see you were shaking, trembling like a leaf in the wind, hunched over his body with your arms outstretched over his face. He fought to keep himself grounded, using everything within him not to pull you from the scene, drive off in the truck, and forget about the whole thing, but the barrel of a gun–his gun–was staring him dead in the eyes.

Liz stood only a few feet away, hands not even on the trigger, the lack of confidence in her stance giving way to her distress. 

Joel warily lifted his hands to his head, palms splayed wide for her to see. “Woah there, I ain’t got a weapon, okay? But I’m sure you already know that.”

She didn’t waver, whether it was from some sort of confidence, anger, or pure shock, she stood her ground, gun still pointed right between his eyes.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen!” She screamed to no one in particular, her words crying loud enough to maybe reach the God she muttered to under her breath while clutching that cross necklace–the same one tangled around your fingers, coated with blood on Samuel’s neck. “Samuel was supposed to leave with me and none of this would have happened! I never wanted to leave Utah, I knew nothing good would come out of this! What have you done, what have you done, whathaveyoudone?”

Her whole body was trembling, the sounds of her shifting her weight audible against the floorboards, and the gun unsteadily swayed in front of Joel’s face. She kept blabbering on, her screams growing incoherent, her eyes glazing over with an unbridled fury. You had watched the scene unfold from the very moment Joel walked in, but something–maybe that subconscious Joel you always seemed to have crawling in the back of your mind–told you to keep still and wait. You weren’t quite sure what you were waiting for, your mind was still mostly blank while simultaneously being busier than a highway at rush hour, but for a split second, something flicked in Liz’s mind, like a moment of realization shared between the both of you, and you found what you were waiting for.

You hopped to your feet, the body that had just felt so heavy you couldn’t even lift your head, now weightless as you sprung towards her. Bloodied butter knife still clutched in your hands, you charged towards her, rushing to beat the clock, as her fingers scrambled for the trigger. Joel, almost as if he could read your every thought, ducked down the second you moved, and a bullet went flying through the wall behind him. 

Before she could fire off another shot, you had her tackled to the ground, more clear minded than the last time. At first, you took this levelheadedness as an advantage, but as soon as that gun slipped from her hands, clacking against the hardwood as you pushed it away, her face turned back to that helpless, distress gaze. 

The knife you once held so confidently felt slightly slack between your fingers, and for just a moment you both looked at each other human-to-human in a moment of pure survival. Stripped down to nothing but the situation in front of you–the story of how you got here, who this woman was, who you even were all void and irrelevant in your mind in this moment–only pure guilt and fear hung in the air between you two now, sloshing together in one big jumble of mixed emotions and decisions. 

Knife shakily held to her throat, just where it met her husband’s moments ago, blood dripped down to meet her necklace, pooling in the hollow of her neck. The movement didn’t come as swiftly to you as they did earlier, the jarring dullness of the knife making you sick as you barely applied pressure. 

Before you could even continue, there was a thick hand on the back of your neck, pulling you backwards and off of Liz. In the scurry, Joel had grabbed his gun that you had slid out into the hall, now back in its rightful place–confidently gripped between Joel’s fingers, steadily aimed with precision. 

His eyes–and gun–were focused on the woman on the floor, for a second you thought he was going to shoot her, and for a moment, he thought the same. You couldn’t decide if you wanted him to or not, but eventually after a long moment of collectively held breaths, he sighed and lowered his gun without a word. His eyes glazed over for a second, like his mind was replaying some distant memory, all three of you somewhere far off in your minds.

Then, he draped an arm over your shoulders, heavy with the weight of the room. He ushered you out into the hallway, stepping over Liz and shielding you from peering back at the sight. You leaned into his chest and were internally amused when he shifted his shoulders, blocking your view of the doorway like you would want to see that again, like it wasn’t already burned into your memory and playing on loop.

The descent downstairs was silent, not even the house daring to creak as you two walked into the basement. Joel kept his gun in the hand that was draped over your shoulder, the other grabbing a duffel bag and slinging it over his arm so he could carry the two gas canisters. Everything was set up on a table, so he could grab it without letting go of you–his silent way of reassuring you. 

A light buzzed above, flickering from time to time, filling the silence that hung between you two. It wasn’t necessarily an uncomfortable or awkward silence, no lingering tension needing to be filled, but rather a mutual understanding that the events of today were ones to be unspoken.

Eventually, Joel found the keys to the truck hanging on a small hook in the garage, the light even dimmer than in the basement. The truck was old and dusty, once a bright shade of red that caved to time and was now a sun faded orange tinted with rust. The silver handles were chipped and cracked, barely hanging on as Joel hauled the door open and lifted you inside, it wasn’t a necessarily tall truck, but with the way you leaned against him–the weight of your thoughts and body too much to bear–he figured you could use the support.

When he slid into the driver’s seat after piling items into the back, he clicked the keys into the ignition, the engine roaring to life. It had been years since you had heard or seen a functioning vehicle that wasn’t chasing after to kill you and you had forgotten how comforting the low hum of the engine was, the gravel crackling beneath the tires.

It took some effort, but the garage door creaked and hauled itself into a partially open position, the sound attracting loads of infected to the area. Typically you would have been terrified at the sight of that many infected, but it was all soon behind you as Joel pressed the gas, leaving the town in a cloud of dust. 

Tilting your head to the side mirror, there was still a small view of the old building–those pillars standing proud and unassuming of the horrors inside. The thin road ahead of you merged off onto a bumpy exit, one lined by trees and unattended signs that had vines creeping along the posts and grime coating the edges, leading to a more open highway that Joel had to weave through abandoned cars and random debris along the four lanes that led to the city. 

The truck ran smoothly, the excessively rumbly engine to be expected with a car this old and it was good noise to accompany the silence of the out of commission radio. The both of you drove for a while, mostly in silence other than basic comments about your surroundings.

“Look, there’s some horses.” The comment had surprised you at first, but as Joel slowed down the truck, there were a group of horses running around, playing amongst each other in the overgrown roads beneath the bridge you drove on. 

There was one horse, more distant than the rest, that sat beneath one of the trees that lined the road–a large oak tree whose branches hung over the powerlines and tangled between them–finding comfort in the shade it was resting, watching the rest of its group frolic about, not worrying about joining–knowing this wouldn’t be the last time they would all get to do this. 

You envied that horse.

Shaking that feeling from deep within your bones–that feeling of existential dread–you turned to Joel, his eyes waiting on yours while the truck stilled on the road. He let the moment linger, your eyes on his, his eyes on yours, while the clomping of hooves and whinnying and neighing of horses in delight rang through the windows you had just now realized were open.

Your breath stilled, for in that moment–for the first time since you stepped in that alleyway in that godforsaken town–you felt some sort of comfort, a feeling that everything was going to be okay.

When your eyes finally flickered away, his unyielding gaze too much to bear, he shifted back into drive and slowly took off again. He didn’t want to break whatever serenity that moment had caused, so he kept silent, not wanting to ruin the moment with his lack of way with words.

“Cows,” you had mumbled out next under your breath when you had caught a glimpse of a group of cows grazing in a field a little while later, the words had just slipped out, the only thing that made its way into your mind besides the couple, and that light down the hallway, and that stupid dress, and that godawful look on Liz’s face that just wouldn’t leave your mind.

Once again, the truck slowed to a halt, shifting into park as you admired the view. This time, you were merging onto an exit, some town you didn’t know the name of, but didn’t question how Joel knew just where to go, the means of your destination still uncomfortably vague. The roads were surrounded by a grass patch and some foliage, a group of spotted cows stood and lay alongside–one just a few feet from the truck.

There was some rummaging on Joel’s side of the car, but you didn’t care to look over your shoulder, the weight of the night unbearably heavy. The sunrise was rolling in, the peak of the morning coming to a start, and the early morning birds began to chirp their peaceful melody. 

Given the view, you should have felt at ease, some sort of peace, but the blood dried to every inch of your skin, itching, peeling, flaking, was not only uncomfortable, but a constant reminder of what you were running from in this truck. You felt like you hadn’t moved in ages, like the very thought of how to move was even too much for your body and so it had been permanently cemented to this seat, like you had been there forever and knew nothing but.

Noises of opening doors and rummaging through boxes blurred in the background, not even knowing if Joel was trying to talk to you, get you go somewhere–like you’d be much help anyway–you just focused on the cows and the yellows and blues and oranges that all melded together to create the sunrise. 

“C’mon, turn over here.”

His voice shocked you, but your body sat rigid, like it was aware of his presence before your mind. You weren’t sure when he had opened the door, or if he really did–maybe this was all some sort of daydream and he was still in the driver’s seat chugging along. You felt numb, nothing felt real, and that figure that might be Real Joel kept talking to you, but you couldn’t hear him anymore–his voice a distant echo.

He must have noticed that absent look on your face, the glaze over your eyes, because he gave up any attempt at words, knowing he wasn't getting through to you. Instead, he placed a warm hand on your thigh, centering you, grounding you, and bringing you back to reality from whatever far off place you had been in. 

The guilt and horror was eating you alive from the inside out, nipping away at each nerve, each fiber of your being until you sat there, a lifeless shell. It was brief, that quick electric shock that shot through your body and tingled in his absence, a feeling you hadn’t felt for a long time, one that brought you back to a time before all of this. He didn’t give you much time to think though, with a damp cloth in hand, he began (not so gently) scrubbing at your face.

One hand was placed firmly on the back of your head, his finger entangled with your hair as he supported your head. You leaned into his palm, putting most of the work on him, but he didn’t seem to mind, just kept that same rhythmic pace as he washed the blood from your skin. He worked quickly, not aiming for perfection, but his eyes diligently scanned your face, ears, neck, trying to get as much off as possible.

The warmth from his hand radiated through your body, that tingling sensation coming back each time he adjusted his grip. When he got to your ears, he clamped his fingers down harder, applying some more pressure as he grabbed you to tilt your head. His fingers, brushing the underside of your jaw surprised you and with a small huff of air you slightly jumped back.

He didn’t stop scrubbing, his eyes still focused on the side of your head. “You tell me if I’m hurtin’ you, okay?"

You hummed in response and kept your gaze low, more towards Joel’s shoes, so he couldn’t see the light tinge of pink on your cheeks. You didn’t like how you felt under his touch, the comfort it brought you before turning uncomfortable, making you squirm in your seat. It was like he was staring right through you without having to even look in your eyes and with each scrub of the cloth he was peeling back the layers of your skin until you sat beneath him, raw and real.

He had seen you at your lowest, hunched over a man, blood pooled along your skin and matting your hair, the breath taken from your lungs with deep heaving breaths, and not even the slightest look of remorse in your eyes. Sure, the guilt was eating you alive now, but in that moment you jumped without thinking, only to try and do it again–the conflict of your morals and survival instincts waging war in your mind. 

When the blood was mostly gone from your skin, only a reddish hue staining some crevices, the dried flakes still under your nails and clinging to your hair, you finally felt clean again. The dress you were wearing was completely dried now and there was so much blood on it that it seemed as if the dress was always that color, always that deepened brown, until you looked at the back and saw remnants of that emerald green peeking through.

Joel must have noticed you looking down at it because without skipping a beat he said, “I got some clothes for you in the back.” He paused for a moment, maybe hoping you would say something–give him some sort of approval. “I can drive somewhere better for you to change, but I thought you’d like to get out of that dress.”

You had never heard Joel talk so much at once, let alone fumble for words, but here he was, in front of you grasping at every word like if he said the wrong one it’d spit bullets through your skin. You felt bad, you truly did, the look on his face was something unreadable–a mix between guilt, regret, and grievance as if he had lost something or someone back in that house alongside Liz–his eyes screamed for a response, something to tell him you were alright, but your body physically couldn’t muster another word.

“Y’know you did the right thing,” he whispered, eyes shifting between somewhere on your face and the dashboard behind you. “Listen I…I don’t know what happened back there, but we had a plan and you went through with it. All I’m tryin’ to say is that if I were in your place I would have done the same thing…probably worse things.”

That last part came out so hushed that if you weren’t inches from his face, you wouldn’t have heard it. His muscles tensed and the arm that rested above you, leaning on the doorway, slapped the top of the truck with a loud bang. Backing away with a nod, you thought he was just going to round the truck and continue down the road, but instead, he warily outstretched his hand towards you. 

Confused, you tilted your head, but gently placed your hand in his, at least giving him the comfort of your company rather than your words. His much larger hand clasped yours gently, like you would shatter if he held any harder, and he led you towards one of the cows that lingered alongside the road.

With a loud huff through his nose, the cow seemed apprehensive at your presence, but despite your hesitation, Joel pulled you closer. 

“He ain’t gonna hurt ya,” he chuckled softly, moving his hand further up to encase your wrist, gently tugging your hand towards the cow’s nose. “They like bein’ scratched on their heads where they can’t reach.”

When your palm met the soft fur, your fingers instantly curled around his snout, scratching his nose as he nuzzled into your hand. The cow closed his eyes contently as your fingertips grazed along his fur, soon bringing both your hands up to cup his face. When you were done petting him, your hands now coated in oils and fur–a much more pleasant feeling compared to the blood–he let out another loud huff, this time followed by a moo as if he was saying “Thank you!”

The corners of your mouth twitched until they fully curled into a full smile, your hands eagerly going to pet the cow again. 

“You ever pet a cow before?” Joel’s voice sounded hesitant to be asking a question, not wanting to make you feel compelled to speak.

Without thinking though, you shook your head. “You’d think being from Indiana that I’d have more run-ins with ‘em, but I lived more in the city.”

Surprised you had answered beyond a nod, Joel cleared his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets as he racked his brain for what to say next. He didn’t know why he had felt so pressed to speak, but something in the back of his mind kept telling him that this was his fault, the way you had broken into a million pieces right before him, and he was going to put you back together.

He wondered for a moment why you hadn’t mentioned you lived so close, and that conversation with Samuel earlier had him convinced you had ties to Missouri, but he knew better than to dig up the past–especially at a time like this. So, he stuck to what he knew, to keep to the present and what was currently keeping you more grounded than he knew how to get you.

“Had lotsa buddies with farms back in the day, they had some really beautiful animals. Knew a guy with one of ‘em big ol’ long-haired cows, she was real pretty.”

Joel had his hand trailing along the back of the cow, focusing intently on her while he dug back deep to that memory. You kept your eyes on him, picturing the animal alongside him, weaving your fingers deeper into the cow's coat to try and imagine such long fur.

It was then that you realized how grounded you were in the present, both your body and mind working for one cause while you actually focused on something currently happening instead of your mind buzzing back and forth through different events of the night. 

The sun was fully over the horizon now, sun spilling onto Joel’s face as he faced your direction, looking at the field. The morning light cast something softer across Joel’s face, maybe it was that early breeze or the peaceful twittering of birds that made him look so relaxed–his shoulders finally not held in that tensed hold, the wrinkles on his face slight and natural instead of being so creased and forced by his worried brow, and the corners of his lips twitched into that same carefree grin, but this time he didn’t wipe it away or try to hide it. The sight was a pleasant one and it made you want to imitate it as if just replicating his posture would make you feel the same comfort he displayed. 

You didn’t know what in the field had him so enraptured–maybe a couple of cows playing, some birds flying high in the sky, or just the picturesque sunrise–so turning around to see a plain grassy field with the sun too bright to see much of anything, you turned back in confusion. It was only then that you realized Joel hadn’t been looking back out at the field, but rather at you, finding comfort in the ease you both had in this moment–able to push back the events from that house for just a moment and relish in the present.

“Thank you,” you mumbled for nothing in particular.

You felt grateful for him in that moment, each electrifying touch, hushed word, and shared laugh brought you back to a comfort that was hard to find in this world. Joel didn’t question your words, only humming in response as he flicked his eyes away and back towards the truck, a silent question of if you were ready to go back.

a special thanks to my taglist ♡ @anoverwhelmingdin @lowrisemiller @iamawkwardandshy @lanadelray1989 @worlds-we-write @princess76179 (message me to be added or removed)

[mxtxfanatic]

@silver-cyn I said I would get back to this ask in light of edits to Xie Lian and Feng Xin's final conversation before the latter leaves, but I couldn't do it until after Hua Cheng's birthday. Anyways, I finally remembered (lol)! This is the edited conversation between the two:

风信惊道：“……你疯了吗？你为什么要这样说？” Feng Xin, alarmed, said, “...Are you mad? Why would you say this kind of thing?” 谢怜道：“你错了。我没疯，我只是突然清醒了。然后发现从前的我才是疯了。” Xie Lian replied, “You’re wrong. I’m not mad, it’s simply that I’m suddenly clear-headed. Only after did I discover that it was the former me that was mad.” “……” 谢怜道：“你走吧。” Xie Lian spoke, “Leave.” 风信还没反应过来：“什么？” Feng Xin still hadn’t managed to react, “What?” 谢怜道：“我说，我不需要你了，你走吧。” Xie Lian said, “I’m saying that I don’t need you anymore; leave.” 说完，他就摔门了。 Finished speaking, he simply slammed the door.” 两个时辰后，屋外才传来悉悉索索的动静，和低低的说话声。 After two shichen, only then did the rustling noise of movement come from outside along with the sound of low voices.

—Chapt. 164: 无名鬼供奉无名花 / A Nameless Ghost Consecrates a Nameless Flower 1, me

Now in my response to the original ask that addressed the draft version of this convo, I said that this moment showed the limitations of Feng Xin's "friendship," that he saw himself more as a follower than a friend and that is why he leaves. I stand by that assessment given these edits, but I think that this edit actually makes this scene worse. Now, let's look at another scene from Book 2:

...现在肯定不好受，一心想找他解释，但找了一圈都没找着人，倒是风信追了上来。他一来就道：“你肯定有事瞒我！” It would certainly be hard to take, now, so [Xie Lian] wanted to find [Mu Qing] to explain, but after searching all around and not finding the person, Feng Xin actually caught up. As soon as he arrived, he said, “You’re absolutely hiding something from me!” 谢怜就怕被他看穿，道：“再问绝交。并且你将会讨不到老婆。” Xie Lian, frightened by his piercing look, said, “Ask me again and I’ll break off relations with you. In addition, you’ll never marry a wife.” 风信喷了：“你跟我绝交！绝交第二天��乐举国上下百姓都会知道一件事：太子殿下穿衣服的时候被自己的袜带勒晕过去。” Feng Xin spat, “You’ll break off relations with me! Break off relations and the whole nation of Xianle will know this: when His Highness, the Crown Prince was getting dressed, he was strangled into fainting by his own garters.” 谢怜最不喜欢别人笑自己这点，顿足道：“我哪有那么娇气！” Xie Lian was least fond of others laughing at him for this, so he stomped his foot and said, “Where am I so delicate!” 风信道：“好好好你没有。你还在找他啊？我正要给你说，我问了道童，他好像下山了，没准是回家去了。” Feng Xin said, “Alright, alright, alright, you aren’t. You’re still searching for him? I was just about to tell you that I asked a Daoist child, and he appears to have gone down the mountain. Maybe he went home.”

—Chapt. 57: 神武大街惊鸿一瞥 / A Glimpse at the Grace of Shenwu Main Street 3, me

Notice how Feng Xin responds in Book 2 to Xie Lian threatening to cut off their friendship: he immediately brushes off Xie Lian's threat and calls his bluff. Feng Xin is 100% capable of talking back to and ignoring Xie Lian whenever he chooses when they're still teens, but he gives no similar pushback to Xie Lian telling him to leave in Book 4 years later. The difference can only be what Xie Lian feared: Feng Xin no longer sees Xie Lian as a friend but as a duty that must be fulfilled until he is freed of it. Xie Lian "freeing" Feng Xin of this duty (that "need" in "I don't need you" can also be translated as "required," but that's awkward phrasing in English) could have been an opportunity for Feng Xin to step up and say, "You may not need me, but I want to stick around to help you." Feng Xin decidedly does not do this. He packs his shit, says goodbye to Xie Lian's parents, and speaks not another word to the man he assured for years he cared about above all others.

What makes this scene worse than the draft version, for me, is that this shows that Feng Xin only selectively views himself as a follower. When things are easy and nothing is being challenged, Feng Xin can call Xie Lian's bluffs and ignore threats to their friendship. But when real hardship hits them, Feng Xin does not lean into affections to maintain his relationships and step up to the plate to support his loved ones but, instead, turns to scapegoating "duty" as a chain that keeps him bound to people he'll eventually come to see as burdens to him. Feng Xin did not want to stay, so the moment Xie Lian severed that "chain" himself, he wasted not another word on his "friend" to convince him otherwise.

In short, Jian Lan was 100% right in her reasoning for why she dumped him and refuses to rekindle their romance.

[kowtownart]

After giving it more thought… i think Birb and Tenna definitely had a thing back in the day.

Which makes it that much more funny that they’ve been reunited by my silly ass-

(*Love how this posted instead of saving to my drafts, thank you Tumblr*)

Lore/story ramble under the cut, plus a little piece of art!

After the SNEO fight, the majority of Birb’s memories became corrupted. In an attempt to save his system, the majority of those memories (older, mostly from his BS era and before) were deleted.

Though this left many gaps about who he was and the people he had met (and fallen out with), he could still recall bits and pieces. One of those being the business partner he had worked with so many years ago.

After leaving Cyber World with Birb, we settled in a house filled with friends and other versions of himself. (i consider this canon to mine and Birb’s story bc it makes me happy :3 ) Months later, i decided to take a trip back to the Cyber World, only to find that it had already closed.

(In my version of things, my sona kinda goes along the same paths as the Fun Gang. They’re still going through their things, but somehow i keep stumbling upon the dark worlds that open! Maybe i work as a janitor at the school and discover Castletown at some point? I’ll have to think about it more hehe)

Anyways- after exploring the town, and worrying about finding a way back, i notice the tell-tale smoke coming from Kris' house. Of course i rush over, throwing the door open and jumping down... down... down...

Eventually i wake up in yet another world. This time TV themed! After meeting Tenna, who is very surprised and excited to have yet another contestant join his show. We play a slightly different version of the 'Legend of Tenna', and i eventually catch up with the Fun Gang.

Following the end events of the chapter, i offer to take Tenna home with me, though i have to promise Susie that he'll visit Castle town from time to time.

I really want to think about how Tenna and Birb meet, because i'd hate to move someone in without even talking about it to him. I figure that Birb and I would talk a lot about it, Tenna staying in Castle Town until things are settled.

Birb is a very jealous little fella sometimes, especially with someone he thinks could steal me away with his looks alone. So i could see a few small fights breaking out before things finally simmer down between the two.

Once that's settled, then there's the issue of Birb being Spamton... the same Spamton that had abandoned Tenna so long ago. He looks and acts so different, they might as well be a different person entirely.

[forbiddentaako]

more monochrome practice I suppose

[aliusfrater]

i like to think that kid sam younger than seven didn't like to get his hair cut and john found out when he took sam to get his first ever haircut but the second the barber was touching his hair for too long he had a horrible meltdown. he hadn't cried much since he could speak so not knowing what to do to help him calm down it took john ages and the combination of both the actual experience plus the effect ruined haircut for him. when john tried again for the first time in five years just before sam started 2nd grade, despite being obviously uncomfortable, john was really surprised sam took it well. when john time traveled in 14.13, sam's hair length was the first thing he took notice of outloud and was one of the first things he and sam spoke about one-on-one; "i haven't seen your hair this long since you were seven but it fits you more than ever."

[ceiling-karasu]

Hi, just want to let you know that I’ve always enjoy reading your tags, it’s a lot of fun reading your clever insights and observations on my arts. I really appreciate them.✨

Your art improve amazingly over these past few months and I’m looking forward to the direction it will take in the future. I also admire your dedication when it comes to writing, finishing 30+ chapters series is definitely not an easy tasks and I think that’s really cool. \(^^ )

Thank you very much! I'm looking forward to completing another 30+ chapters series in the future.

I really like your art and how the color schemes seem to match the personalities of the characters. They always look so crisp with the right amount of style on character positioning.

I always thought it was really cool how you managed to have so much detailed backstories and world building, alongside managing to create pictures and comics to go along with the chapters and stories you write. It has been really inspirational!

Although, funny, enough, I have been thinking about asking you if you had any preferences on sources to start researching universal aviation codes and the differences in between civilian and military planes, jets, helicopters, and airships, and which you think might sound better when used by militaries vs civilians. I think I am going to have to do a lot of studying on IATA, ICAO, PAT, Mode-S, VFR, and transponders, as well as codes used in towered vs non towered airports. I feel like I am going to have to do a lot of study on aviation and plane/jet/drone schematics for future chapters.

[twocutlines]

anyway

[automaticcomfort]

forgot to put the numbers sheet music on my hard drive again </3

[nevada-wrytes]

Chapter 5 - A Black Heart Laced with Neon Green Ribbons

Content Warnings: mentions of violence, cemeteries, and death

Link to the previous chapter and link to the next chapter

Part Two: Curses

There was only so long one could ignore a growing pile of “jobs” and “responsibilities” and “duties” before someone came in and pushed the stack over.

Raven was met with such a situation as he powered on the obsidian tablet that most citizens of the Underneath used to communicate (because cell phones, as they say, were for losers). Immediately, message upon message began popping up, most from annoyed clients who demanded a discount for late services. He ignored them all, even some warbled garbage sent by an unknown sender, but stopped when he got to one name in bold.

Boss (derogatory): Come see me.

A time and place were not specified, yet Raven knew exactly what it meant. He had no desire to go back to the Underworld, much less the City of the Dead, and he definitely did not want to meet with him.

With an weary sigh, Raven took a sip of his drink, finding comfort in the puffs of steam that curled out of the teacup.

Usually, cafés were uncomfortable places filled with too much noise and movement, but this one was nice. It was owned by an old friend, although she wouldn’t like to be called that, who took pride in preserving the ancient space as it had been a hundred years ago in the midst of the Roaring Twenties.

Raven liked the effect that the dark furniture and dim lighting cast, it felt both mysterious, edgy, and easy to disappear in. Among the swamping leather sofas and bursting bookshelves, he was just an ordinary guy enjoying a cup of tea. Maybe he’d pick up a book or put on a record. Life was simple, it didn't matter that Dahlia was dead. It didn’t matter that she was the fourth girl (along with two other guys) who’d met an untimely demise all because they decided to fall in love with the wrong person. Him.

Maybe it is a curse. Maybe he accidentally pissed off some deity and is unknowingly passing the misfortune on to some poor mortals. The fortune teller from before did seem especially ire with him...

Whatever. Now was not the time to genuflect. The glowing red text on the obsidian tablet in his lap provided an excellent distraction.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he muttered to the air as he stood up and dusted himself off. He stuck a wad of cash under his used saucer and turned to leave.

And was met with a very dirty, very prickly, broom to the face.

"Heyyyyyyyyy Margie," he casually said, emphasizing the nine Y’s at the end of ‘hey’ to prove his casualness.

The woman behind the broom, an older lady that looked like she was straight out of a boxing match, stared him down. She was taller than him, larger than him, and had biceps that looked like they bench pressed willowy teenage boys just like him.

If it wasn’t for the affectionate tilt of her mouth and the crow’s feet around her eyes she would have given even him a scare.

“Get the hell out of my café you rat." Although there was no real anger behind her words, Raven put his hands up, and backed away slowly.

“I mean no harm, Margi— I’m just stopping by— love what you’ve done with the place by the way.”

“Hmp.” Margi folded her huge biceps over her chest. “Am I s’posed to assume all of that’s true?”

“Ughhhhhh..”

Raven needed a way out of this conversation that contained the least amount of fists to his face. Luckily, Margi saved him the trouble of formulating some brain dead reply.

“What do you want.” A statement, not a question. “You know I don’t serve any criminals no more.”

Raven tried a laugh fit for a guilty man. “Criminal? Who— me? Pfftt..”

Margi gave him a Look.

“WELL ANYWAYS,” he began, as if being louder would erase the awkwardness of the subject, “ignore the details— do you, by any chance, still exchange demonic currency?”

៴

Like every other heartbroken teen, Raven had spent the past few days wallowing into tubs of lemon sorbet and Tinkerbell reruns. He didn’t actually cry, but just the thought of it was enough to make even the most waterproof mascara run.

However, just like any coming of age film, there has to be a point where enough is enough, where maybe the best friend comes in to pull the protagonist out of their moping by the hair and gets them to snap out of it. Unfortunately, Raven has to be his own best friend in this case, and pulling yourself together was much more difficult alone.

Regardless of if he enjoyed it or not, there was work that needed to be done, so he slapped on some kick-ass eyeliner and put on some kick-ass boots to go thlunking through the cemetery— because that was a normal thing to do.

Raven had a complicated relationship with cemeteries. He appreciated the lengths people would go to honor their loved ones, maintaining graves even generations later when there was no one left alive to remember the kind of person the body in the ground used to be, but grave sites also brought about a sort of stillness within him that he absolutely hated.

Even the air was calm, despite it being night and definitely much creepier when the corroded angel statues looked at you with weeping eyes. He felt like he could breathe again, for the first time since— Mother knows how long.

And if he could stay and recharge for hours, Raven felt, with no doubt, he would have enough will to charge into Hell itself and bring back Dahlia, and Rose, and Martin, and River…

Maybe he hated cemeteries because they reminded him of the people he lost. If he looked around, how many of the graves were there because of him?

His chunky boots slammed into the hard packed earth as he walked, a comforting thump in the silence. It had stopped raining ages ago, but the grass was still wet and now that the coolness of the night set in, condensation seemed to hang in the air like wet laundry strung out to dry.

The place was silent, not a rustle of wind or chirp from a cricket to break it up. That was why the voice boomed across the mossy gravestones like an uppercut.

"Oh my my! Don't we have a special guest here tonight!"

A young girl appeared out of the fog as if xe was a hallucination. She sat on top of a giant mausoleum in the center of the cemetery, swinging xer stockinged legs freely. They made hollow thumps when they hit the stone, giving the impression she was moreso a wooden doll come to life rather than a person.

And she did look like a doll, with a tiny figure and ruffled dress consisting of only the colors black and neon green. However, what xe lacked in intimidation factor, xe made up for by carrying a huge metal club that was also swinging at her feet.

Raven stepped closer, near enough to see her delicately painted face.

"Hello, Arcane. Still on gate duty I see."

The girl opened her mouth in what could have been a grin, if someone learned how to smile by listening to instructions of how to move your face muscles rather than seeing the real thing happen in person. Xer teeth were black as coal, and so was her tongue.

"Oh you would like that, wouldn’t you~” She started in a sing-songy voice, but then, after Raven raised a brow, xe cleared her throat, cheeks flushing.

“Nah, I'm just filling in for this Jack kid. Heard you were coming back and just couldn't wait to see ya."

She pushed off the building and dropped down next to him. Or.. not quite right next to him, because she was floating in the air a short, safe distance off, something that requires way too much energy just to remain on eye level with him.

Raven snorted, spirits and their vanities, and tossed her a sack of newly acquired gold.

Arcane snatched the gold out of the air before he had so much of a chance to blink, and began counting the coins. The next few moments were silent, other than the sharp click of metal being dropped back into the bag.

Although Raven really hated his job, one of the few benefits was learning how to read people— and finding a way to use that to his advantage.

Arcane was a wrathful entity— a spirit given flesh with the promises of cold revenge— or something else along those lines. What that meant was she had a passion, but unfortunately xe also had a big, big contract with some Guardian of Death in the way of that passion. So, the sooner she paid off xer debt, the faster she would be freed into the world to wreck as much havoc or despair as she so pleased.

And that, friends, is a very good bargaining chip.

“How many do you have patrolling the perimeter?” In less than a moment Raven had reclaimed her spot on top of a mausoleum as if it were his throne, forcing Arcane to turn quickly if xe didn’t want xer back to him. She looked stricken.

“What? How did you- how did you know that?” The wobble in her voice betrayed her as she clutched the sack of money to her chest like a shield.

Raven tilted his head. “You think I wouldn’t know? Come out, come out, wherever you are, demons.”

A shadow condensed in the corner, spitting out a humanoid beanpole who began frantically signing to Raven, some stuff about begging for mercy which was complete overkill since it’s not like he would actually kill any of them.

“Ah, just Neroli? I was expecting a bigger army for my visit.” He began signing too, now that he needed them both present in the conversation.

Raven didn’t know much about Neroli other than the fact he was some sort of low-tier entity like Arcane, but he did know that the two of them together had a special affinity that he so desperately needed.

"I want a quiet entrance into the Underneath, one that doesn’t appear on any radars, and I know you two can do it. I’m willing to pay handsomely, by the way.”

Arcane sniffed at the ‘handsomely’ part. Xe’d already counted the money and knew it was jack shit compared to what others would pay. That's why Raven was very much counting on his fear factor to get him what he wanted.

"Can't you already portal directly into the City-" Arcane began the accusation with an irritating huff, but was cut off by a warning nudge from Neroli.

The boy looked ready to lay his life on the line for Raven, probably as a thank you for not ending it so soon. (Again, Raven wasn’t going to, he needed them both alive, or, in whatever in-between state they were in currently.)

"Will you open the gate or not?" He forced his voice to sound terribly bored with this conversation, regardless if his entire body was screaming for them to say yes. If he wanted things to go smoothly in the City of the Dead he needed to get in (and hopefully out) quick.

Luckily, neither of them sensed the urgency, and after a private conversation, Arcane begrudgingly agreed.

"Fine, we will. But don’t spread the word that we can be bought for cheap, ya hear?"

Raven agreed with a polite smile, and once the deal was brokered, they all eased back into comfortable familiarity. Arcane switched back to her haughty personality and Neroli poked fun at xer whenever he got the chance. Raven, too, joined them as if they were old friends, enough to keep everyone laughing and chipper until he was through the gateway and in the bleak gray lands of the Underneath.

Tag list: @thebonecarver @victorfrankingstein @confused-as-all-hell @iambecomeyourvillain @brekkercookie @fallen-from-olympus @purpl-cryptid @reyyya @thecurlychameleon @naz-yalensky @thesexypanda-boo @kazoo-the-demjin @twelve-kinds-of-trouble @crime-mastergogo

[gaypiratebrainrot]

writing rough drafts of original stuff is the hardest thing for me bc my perfectionism will cut me off at the knees but i am doing so good at it right now and well on my way to achieving my goal of being a shitty first draft machine which is great bc once i am drowning in shitty first drafts i can turn the perfectionism back on and just make everything better

[inlovewithaspiderguy]

where are you old skip westcott centered marvel oneshot of mine

[heyheycaitalin]

Not to sound like a weirdo or anything but

How do you know when someone genuinely likes you? Platonically.

Not like they just like me as a coworker because I'm dependable and a hard worker and "phenomenal at customer service". They're not just being nice or polite. They just like me as a person.

How do I know they like me enough to talk to me and stay friends with me even if I live 8 hours away and they might only see me a couple times a year? He doesn't have social media. But I want to be close enough friends where I can visit for his birthday next year. I want to know if I take a vacation and visit for a week, he'll honestly be excited to see me.

[lindewyrm]

his brain is 1 big clump of mycelium

thee one single thing i think would improve caduceus as a character (only 1 thing bc hes so slay i love her forver) is if the lichen growing on him thing was like More. make him an ecosystem. you know how the blightstaff is described as oddly damp and growing lichen and fungus and alive? that but on a person . lichen through his fur

[gf2bellamy]

I had this idea while watching CM i just know you’re THE person to ask!! So i’m picturing established relationship with later seasons Reid and reader sees a pic of early seasons maybe his FBI badge or smth ? And she’s like gosh i wish i met you sooner and Spencer thinks she wouldn’t have liked him back then and she’s like bitch ???? i have this feeling that people started to find him more attractive after the prison trauma and i just want to give some love to early seasons reid like baby i would have smashed u in season 1

badge — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: established relationship, post!prison spencer a/n: hii !! loved this idea sooo much <3 because yes ! i would've literally thrown myself at s1 spencer

Spring cleaning.

It was something you had insisted on, and Spencer was reluctantly going along with it. You loved his apartment, with its cozy clutter and towering bookshelves, but there was a fine line between charmingly lived-in and needing intervention. Currently, you were seated cross-legged on the floor beside one of his many bookshelves, sorting through stacks of old files, loose papers, and, of course, more books than any one person could reasonably own.

Spencer was across from you, carefully removing each book from the lower shelf so he could dust beneath them.

You pulled out a well-worn novel, only to find four more identical copies tucked behind it. You held one up, raising an eyebrow. “Why do you have five different versions of the same book?”

Spencer barely glanced up from his task as he answered, “They’re all different special editions. That one—” He gestured vaguely toward the book in your hand. “—has annotations from the original editor. The one next to it has a foreword by a critic I like, and the third has alternate chapter endings that were cut from the final draft.”

You shook your head, amused. Only Spencer would need multiple copies of the same book. Flipping through the pages, you noticed scribbled notes in the margins.

“I haven’t read that one in ages,” Spencer admitted, suddenly abandoning his dusting to scoot closer to you. His knee bumped against yours as he leaned in, his fingers gently taking the book from your hands. He opened it to a random page, and his expression softened as he traced his old annotations with his fingertip.

A small, nostalgic smile tugged at his lips.

You watched him. His hair had fallen into his face again, obscuring his eyes as he focused on the text. You reached out, brushing the unruly strands behind his ear. He barely seemed to notice, too absorbed in the book, but his free hand caught yours, lifting it to his lips to press a quick, absentminded kiss to your knuckles before returning to his reading.

You bit back a laugh.

Of course.

You had come here to clean, and now Spencer was going to reread an entire novel instead. By the time you finished unloading the second shelf, he’d probably be done with it. You reached for a file that had been tucked between stacks of books on the second shelf. Curious, you opened it slowly, peeling back the cover to reveal its contents and then you froze.

"Oh my god."

Spencer, still absorbed in his book, didn’t even glance up as you carefully pulled out what you’d just discovered.

His old FBI badge.

You stared at it, lips parting in amusement. The photo showed a younger Spencer, his hair meticulously gelled to the side, so much more tamed than the unruly curls he had now. It was shorter, too, neatly styled in a way that looked almost foreign compared to the man currently sitting on the floor beside you, lost in his reading.

You didn’t even realize Spencer had finished his book until you felt the faint tickle of his hair against your cheek as he leaned over your shoulder, peering at what you were holding.

“What are you looking at?” he asked, voice warm.

You grinned, twisting to face him as you held up the badge. “Your old FBI badge.”

Spencer blinked at it for a second, processing, before his eyes widened slightly. “Give me that,” he said immediately, reaching for it but you’d predicted that reaction, and you yanked it out of his reach with a laugh.He didn’t even try to fight you for it, just slumped back with a sigh, though the faint pink tinge creeping up his neck betrayed his embarrassment.

“You looked so cute,” you teased, scooting backward just enough to keep the badge safely away. But Spencer wasn’t having it. In one swift motion, he hooked his hands around your ankles and dragged you forward until you were knee-to-knee with him again.

"No, I didn’t," Spencer insisted as he stared at the badge held between you.

"You totally did," you grinned, tracing the edge of the picture with your fingertip. Spencer had stopped looking at the badge entirely, his gaze instead fixed on you, the way your lips curled in amusement, the softness in your expression as you studied him.

"Your lips are still all pouty and pink," you murmured, tapping the photo where his mouth was set in a firm, professional line. Then you glanced up, only to find real Spencer mirroring the expression, his own lips slightly pursed.

"See?" you teased, meeting his eyes.

Spencer shook his head, but there was no real annoyance in it, just fond exasperation. "I wish I’d met you sooner," you said softly, your thumb brushing over the badge before your gaze flickered down for a second.

He stared at you like you’d just spoken in riddles. "You wouldn’t have liked me back then," he muttered.

Now it was your turn to look at him in disbelief. "Spencer, you look adorable," you insisted, holding the badge up again for emphasis.

"Adorable," he repeated flatly, as if that only proved his point, like adorable was code for not worth liking.

So you doubled down. "Attractive. Handsome. Pretty. Hot," you added, each word punctuated with a pointed look.That finally cracked him. A smile tugged at his lips, and he shook his head, but his ears had gone pink.

"Spencer," you pressed, bumping your knee against his, "there’s no way I would’ve missed out on that." You jabbed your finger at the photo for good measure.

He chuckled, finally tearing his gaze away from the badge to focus on you instead. His fingers brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering just a second too long to be casual.

"Don’t deflect," you accused, pointing a finger at him.

"I’m not deflecting, I’m reprioritizing," he countered, but the way his thumb traced your jawline betrayed him.

You pouted, hard, and Spencer’s eyes flickered down to your lips like he was physically restraining himself from kissing the expression right off your face. (Which, given the way his fingers twitched against your skin, he absolutely was.)

"I’m serious, Spencer," you insisted. "I would’ve literally asked you out the first second I saw you."

Spencer raised an eyebrow. "You stuttered for six seconds straight when I asked you out," he reminded you, grinning when your mouth fell open in embarassement.

"That—! That was different!" you spluttered, swatting at his shoulder. "You caught me off guard!"

"Mm-hmm." His grin widened.

"Point is—" You waved the badge between you like a white flag, refusing to let him derail you further. "—I would’ve adored you, Spencer. Any version of you."

Your voice softened at the end, and just like that, his teasing expression melted. He exhaled a laugh, shaking his head like he still didn’t quite believe you, but when he leaned in to press his lips to your forehead, the badge forgotten between you, it was answer enough.

(And if he stole the badge back when you were distracted by his smile? Well. You’d let him have that one.)

[h00f]

T4TM (Theseus4TheMinotaur)

lost wax cast bronze, patina & paste wax

2023

(process photos & info under cut <3)

my minotaur boy!! pls click on the photos for higher res! my thesis is focusing on trans men and creatures (how original ik) and this was last semester's final. i spent a lot of time looking at sculptures of the theseus/minotaur story, and yknow? a LOT of them are erotic! i'm pretty sure i saw some of them on tumblr a decade ago, and that's led to this now!

as you'll notice, the minotaur has a big t-dick! i wanted to give him breasts and an enlarged clitoris to present a very masculine trans figure. the boy on the bottom is also trans because i say so . the piece is about looking up to older, bigger, hairier trans men and seeing something awe-inspiring and beautiful. the minotaur was locked up by a cruel father for being different, and i think modern adaptations tend towards a sympathetic asterion (his name in one version)

making this piece was. so much effort. it took me about 3 months to get it all together - from clay model (plasticine) to 3D print to silicone mold to wax cast, and finally bronze pour into the shell mold. and then a TON of filing, sanding, dremel-ing, and various other metalworking techniques that probably took years off my life.

i started with sketches and made theeeeeee ugliest model ever:

then used a 3D scanner to get it digital, then spent a goooood month or two making him pretty in blender! then i spent an agonizing few weeks trying to get it print-ready, and fiiiiiinally did

^^^ an early resin printed draft of the model - you can see in the final that i added lots to theseus after some feedback, but sadly the nosering broke off every time i cast it so i just. let that be <3

then came the moldmaking, and then the wax dipping!! the yellow stuff is shell mold (ground up ceramic bits and algae soup, sticks to the wax, then silica sand in varying sizes on top) which gets the wax melted out, and bronze poured in!

then it's all metalworking, cutting stuff off, and working with hot metal. they don't tell you about all the bronze dust and how annoying it gets wearing a respirator AND goggles. but it is for me health, me boy. here's him all cleaned up before the patina:

and then i spray him down with various chemicals to make it "patina" (aka rust) in pretty colors. wait a few days, then apply paste wax to seal it and give it that shine!

then we get what you see above!!! the blue was actually unintentional, and i'm still not super sure why it looks that way.. but it's pretty so idc <3

thanks for reading!! if you ever have any bronze/casting questions, don't hesitate to message me! <3

[k0mmari]

Endless Abyss(kinda)! SY AU

First things first, this is very much inspired by this post by @/rainbowsmagicandshit and @/allpiesforourown, HIGHLY recommend reading that fist just to get a glimpse of where I started off, but do note I have accidentally deviated from the original idea a bit, so uh, oops ig.

This was born out of a mix of different ideas (as usual), so think of this as ‘The AU where SY is a demon, and also the Endless Abyss, and also my excuse to have Binghe possibly make a harem consisting entirely of SY’s’, or, as I like to call it:

As per usual, Shen Yuan has died. It happens to the best of us, and of course, he died while reading the glittering piece of trash that is Proud Immortal Demon Way.But, as he is in the process of getting snatched away by the System, something goes wrong, and the System has to quickly redirect itself and it causes SY to get knocked out of course.

His soul scrambles to find a new host, and it manages to find someone suitable enough. When SY wakes up though, he isn’t greeted by the sight of a roof, or a forest, or anything remotely familiar; instead, the moment he regains consciousness, he’s senses are flooded with as much information as possible. It’s like a computer with too many tabs open, but in this case, you can see all the tabs at the same time and all of them are playing the most obnoxiously loud videos possible, in fact, everything feels so overwhelming even thinking becomes too much.

What SY doesn’t know is that he has transmigrated into the body of a Titan, an almost extinct godly demon race that only existed in the confines of Airplane’s first drafts, and it turns out shoving a human soul into the body of a deity doesn’t bode so well, since what the human mind is able to process doesn’t even come close to what a Titan is able to feel. So because SY can’t get a hold of his own mind, his control of his own body is also not great, and he is completely unaware as his newly acquired body goes on a rampage.

See, SY is currently in a very old version of the Demon Realm, so old in fact, Heavenly Demons still rule over the Realm. It really is quite a shame that SY wasn’t in his right mind at the time, and instead of being able to observe how ancient Heavenly Demons governed demonic society, he instead accidentally set on a path of destruction, with the casualties being anything that had the bad luck of standing in his way. In fact, the destruction got so bad a few of the Heavenly Demons rulers, who notoriously hated each other, settles on a temporary peace agreement and joined forces to stop the mad Titan.

SY, in his frenzied state, didn’t even notice as hundreds of years went by as the Heavenly Demons tried to stop him, and also barely noticed when they finally managed to chain him down and cast him away to be forever banished to the Endless Abyss. His body, once so tall it grazed the clouds, was torn apart, with each of its different parts sealed away in various locations as an attempt to diminish the Titan’s power. It worked, actually, and unbeknownst to the demons, SY slowly began to get his thoughts in order; the event that finally pushed him to coherency was when a few of those Heavenly Demon rulers got greedy, and while sealing away SY’s body parts, attempted to harness his power for themselves, and tried to create legendary weapons out of his flesh and bone.

Most of them failed, a Titan’s power to overwhelming for even a Heavenly Demon to handle, but one of them succeeded, and created a powerful sword made from the Titan’s own heart: Xin Mo. Unfortunately for the creator of Xin Mo, it didn’t take long for them to fall into madness and eventually succumb to Xin Mo’s power, casting themselves away to hold onto the sword forever in the same valley SY’s hands were sealed; but it is as they say, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure, and while Xin MO’s creator perished, they managed to take enough power away from SY for him to finally be able to think.

It had been a thousand years at this point, and SY’s first coherent thought was that he desperately needed a break, and that in all these years, he hadn’t managed to get a single glimpse into the world of PIDW, and what a waste! Specially since he was now in the most interesting area Airplane had managed to create, he was itching to explore the world. Of course, in his current state he wasn’t exactly able to move (having his limbs cut off certainly didn’t help, but apparently it had been so long since he was imprisoned that his Main Body had started to fuse with the Abyss? Really, more of a slight inconvenience than anything), but he also had become tired of his Titan body with it’s Titan feelings, and so he decided to split his consciousness and create a small army of human sized avatars who were later dubbed his ‘Watchers’, who’s sole purpose was to explore the Endless Abyss and send their findings back to the Main Body (in bite sized, easy to understand thoughts).

It is the first years of his Watchers wandering about that SY finally understood what had happened to his body, and figured out that Xin Mo was a product of his flesh. He figured that since demons tried to use his body for malicious purposes before, with one even succeeding, he decided that one Xin Mo was enough, and came up with a plan: He was going to piece his Titan body back together as a means to prevent anything of the sort happening again, but he was immediately going to seal the Titan body away again, as to not have to deal with it’s overwhelming power.

As the Watchers were sent to locate his body parts again, one of their first findings were the hands, which also meant the resting place of Xin Mo itself. How lucky, he thought! He could just take the hands away and maybe leave one of the Watchers guarding Xin Mo so when Luo Binghe eventually comes to retrieve his sword, SY at least can catch a glimpse of his favorite protagonist! He wasted no time, and while his avatars tried to unseal his hands, one of them went to move Xin Mo, just so it was out of the way, and in doing so the sword retaliated and ended up disintegrating the poor Watcher. What a rude sword, going against its own body.

Fine! If Xin Mo was going to be difficult so be it, and SY formed a new plan: before reuniting his Titan body back together, SY send his Watchers to keep an eye on as much of the Endless Abyss as possible and the moment Luo Binghe fell in, he would turn to hugging the protagonist’s thigh and help him survive the harsh environment as long as Binghe took Xin Mo. Well, it should be no problem, right? Binghe was fated to get the sword one way or another, and SY is sure his involvement will be small insignificant enough that it won’t be much more of a side quest for the future Demon Emperor!

Now, if he were a half human, half Heavenly Demon teenager who just got pushed into hell by his teacher, where would he land….

*

So, as you can see, this is mostly more like SY’s origin story lol, but I’ll probably write Binghe’s first meetings with the Watchers sometime soon (hopefully).In the meantime though, enjoy some more of the bonus sketches I did while figuring out the AU, and of course, if anyone has any questions or thoughts about this, feel free to send them to me!