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preciouslandmermaid · 1 year

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and i'll break all my rules for you (joel x gn!reader)

note: Reader is only 4 years younger than Joel. GN!Reader & they/them pronouns used where needed, but otherwise no other terms are used. Takes place prior to the video game & tv-show (pre-canon).

(Not beta read, no use of Y/N). 💛 Feedback/reblogs always appreciated 💛

summary: You are paired with Joel for a smuggling run to the Massachusetts General Hospital outside of Boston. Despite Joel’s initial stoicism and penchant for antisocial behavior–you find yourself breaking all your own rules for him.

warnings: canon-typical violence, mature language, mild hurt/comfort, mentions of drug use/addiction, a sprinkle of quiet yearning

🍄🍄 READ ON AO3 🍄🍄

“They’re a doctor, Joel.” Tess says, “a real one.”

“Non-military?” He asks dubiously.

You settle your hands on your hips, “I’m not a narc if that’s what you’re asking.”

Joel scoffs, “thought most of you were snatched up by FEDRA. How’d you get out?” His tone is sharp-edged and suspicious. Maybe even accusatory if you listen close.

You bristle. This smuggler has no right prying into your past. Rule #1 of staying alive: you don’t let people get close (and most people in the QZ know how to follow that one).

“I got lucky.”

“Joel.” Tess folds her arms across her chest, “we need them.” She gives him a weighted look. There are a thousand words in that single look. It speaks to their trust, their history, and you instinctively look away. You let Joel and Tess silently discuss your ability to run this job.

Eventually, he bends against the category-five force of nature that is Theresa "Tess" Servopoulos and says a gruff; “Alright.”

Joel isn’t a talker. And that suits you just fine. You don’t need words to complete this job unless those words are “Look out, someone’s gonna shoot you in the face.” Although, you rather like to think you’d be quick on the trigger if someone did try and shoot your face. (Getting shot would break Rule #2 on your guide to survival).

You make your way through the tunnels with your heart in your throat. Your sweat pools in the middle of your back. Your shirt sticks to your spine and beneath the straps of your backpack. It’s been minutes, you think, but it feels like hours.

You’ve never been outside of the QZ.

You open your mouth to ask Joel what to expect and then snap your jaw shut. He’s not a talker and you’ll see for yourself soon enough. You remember the world before it ended. You remember movie theaters, bad karaoke, and smoke-filled restaurants. You remember brightly lit grocery stores, loud playgrounds, and quiet libraries. You thought it would never end. You thought there would always be cars, concrete, and pop music.

So much for that. You bite the inside of your check. Now we’ve got FEDRA and ration cards and a fungal infection that desires full-scale invasion.

Joel says, “watch your head.”

He holds a rotted plank up and you crouch beneath it. When you pass him, your nostrils twitch with the scent of his body odor, but it doesn’t smell gross. Which is surprising considering showers are a rarity and you’ve stood in line for jobs with your nose and mouth plugged to block the stench.

The thought is quickly forgotten when you step outside for the first time in twenty years.

You exhale, “Holy shit.”

The world is a jungle. A cacophony of concrete and lush, vibrant wilderness. There is decay, there is destruction, you can see the iron gridwork of collapsed buildings like they’re its ribcage. But there is also beauty. The sky has never felt more open. It’s bluer, you think, than you’ve ever remembered. A shade of blue reserved for summer afternoons when you were small. The overgrowth of plant life sprawls like tiny capillaries over walls and chain link fences and through gaps in the rubble. The sunlight cuts through open rooftops and reflects rainbows off the broken windows.

You glance sidelong at Joel. He rubs his mouth with his hand. And although he’s looking at the horizon, you doubt the view has any effect on him. You suspect he’s mentally planning your next steps.

As if to prove you right, Joel points to a narrow alleyway, “we’ll take this route.”

You shift the weight of your backpack and nod.

~~~~~~~~~~

You shimmy through narrow alleyways and climb across wooden planks. It takes several minutes before it finally hits you. You’re surrounded by silence. The QZ always contains some level of background noise whether it’s FEDRA and their trucks, or people talking, or crackling fires. You hear every step you and Joel take, every rustle of the breeze through the buildings, every shift of your clothing, every beat of your heart. You stare at the back of his head. His hair is thick and streaked thinly with silver strands.

“Is it always like this?” You ask.

“Is it like what?”

“Like this.” You fall into step beside him and wave your arm, “this quiet.”

He glances at you. The furrowed line between his eyebrows deepens. “Could be quieter.” It’s a pointed yet passive aggressive statement.

You bite the inside of your cheek. It’s quiet enough, you figure, to ask the question that’s been gnawing at your stomach since yesterday morning.

You ask, “what is your problem with me?”

Joel shifts his shoulders in an almost-stretch. “I don’t have a problem with you, doc. I just…” He glances sidelong at you, then away, his scowl etches into the lined grooves of his face. “It’s odd, alright? It’s odd that a doctor doesn’t work for FEDRA.”

He sniffs. “I don’t trust it.”

I don’t trust you. That’s what he means to say, and you’re not even surprised by it. You don’t trust him either. You trust him to complete this job. You trust him to survive (with or without you). You don’t bother trying to give him explanations as to how you’ve avoided FEDRA’s grasp. Truly, it was pure, dumb luck. You fell through the cracks. An authoritative regime liked to shoot first and ask questions later and their bureaucracy was shit. FEDRA wasn’t asking folks for their resume, and it was easy enough to lie once you were in the QZ. You’d rather be a coward and survive, then a hero and get yourself killed.

That’s why you had rule #3: Always run if shit goes sideways.

You shrug, “There are other medical professionals hiding out in the QZ. Not everyone jumped at the chance to be a FEDRA dog.”

Joel doesn’t reply.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Joel explains quietly that you’ve got to cut through the library to reach the hospital. You’re not thrilled about the enclosed space, but what can you do?

The air is rich with gray dust motes and dead fungal cells. You and Joel step quietly (so silently a librarian would be proud!) through the dilapidated shelves and collapsed aisles. The magazines on the front desk are rotted into pulp. It smells of decay and damp mold and soggy newspapers. Many of the tables and chairs are snapped in half, chewed by termites, or broken by passing survivors for kindling or weapons.

The large hole in the ceiling has allowed every element of weather to permeate the library into a tomb of dead literature. If you close your eyes, you can imagine the ink running rivers through the aisles, around fallen rubble, and spilling down the stone steps. The children’s section of the library is muted in color. All the bright stuffed animals are chewed, stuffing crawls out of their eye sockets, and vibrant plastic toys are covered in grime.

You touch a shelf in passing, letting your fingertips graze the water-logged spine, and imagine the pages crumbling within. Your heart squeezes like a vice.

Mechanical textbooks, poetry, and biographies, and books on tape and DVDs–gone. As if they never existed. And now children are taught in FEDRA schools, taught to shoot, and taught the FEDRA-version of history.

Something snags in your chest, and you instinctively turn your face away from Joel’s so he can’t see. Your eyes prick with tears. You’ve seen bodies piled to burn, you’ve seen civilians shot down in the street, you’ve seen horrors upon horrors and lost everyone you’ve ever loved. You shouldn’t be crying over dead, lost books.

But it feels like a piece of humanity that is irrevocably lost.

The future opens like a black void, like a pit, like the mouth of hell beneath your feet. What’s the point in completing this job? You ought to just take the meager supplies you have and keep walking into the abyss. Maybe you’ll find something better or maybe you’ll be eaten–consumed–by the infected. Maybe that would be better than this. This pretense of a life worth living. It wasn’t even life. It was purely survival. Your breath stutters and you clear your throat despite the sharp, cold glass lodged inside of it.

“Hey,” Joel’s tone mirrors that of a cowboy trying to soothe a spooked horse. “Where’d you go?” He steps in front of you, snapping his fingers and it breaks your zoned-out focus on the books. You shake your head.

“‘M fine.” Your words string together like a children’s beaded bracelet.

“Keep your head on straight, doc.” He admonishes. “We’re almost there.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Hell breaks loose in the sound of a scream.

It doesn’t make sense that raiders should be here so close to the QZ. But, they are. Joel grabs your arm and jerks you sideways into one of the cavernous divots formed by two bookshelves that fell into one another. You crouch-walk through the make-shift tunnel with cold, stagnant water dripping onto your head and shoulders from the shelves.

The raiders run through the library while hollering profanities at one another. Their faces are covered by gas masks or simple cloth face-masks and ski goggles. You count the footsteps and watch the elongated shadows cross over the mossy walls. It’s a small group. Hopefully they just run through and keep going.

Joel’s breath is warm on your cheek, “there’s three,” he whispers.

You nod minutely to signal that you’ve heard him, but you don’t trust your voice to speak. He cranes his neck to peer around the shelf and you watch the tendons shift on his dusky throat. He glances over his shoulder toward you and lifts his index finger to his lips. His dark eyes are pensive, hard, and focused. Like two chips of dark amber, like pieces of obsidian.

You wait, listening, your body crouched and muscles stiffening. The raiders have moved to the south section of the library. You can hear them rifling through things–furniture is moved, either smashed or kicked over, and book pages flap wetly as they are tossed aside.

Joel leans close in again. So close you feel his body heat radiating from him. You smell his sweat again. Your heart threatens to break free from your ribs.

He whispers into your ear, “this place is already picked clean which means they’re probably looking for an old stash. If we take the second floor we can sneak past ‘em.”

You carefully follow Joel’s steps. He’s drawn his revolver, but you keep your own piece holstered at your hip. Your palms are slick, and you don’t trust yourself to hold a gun properly. If these raiders see you–you’re going to run. No question about it.

Joel grimaces, his face taught in concentration, as his shoulder slowly pushes open a rusted, stairwell doorway. Every sound he makes feels like a gunshot, like a noose tightening around your throat. You glance around, paranoid and cautious, before Joel makes a quiet sound in his throat.

You meet his eyes. He flicks them into the created narrow space of the doorway. He wants you to go first. You angle your body to the side, your chest brushes against Joel’s as you pass, and side-step through the door. The touch doesn’t even register until after you’re in the clear and even then–your mind cannot process anything beyond the potential for death, the threat of the raiders.

Your sticky palm holds the door handle and Joel follows you into the stairwell. You muffle your relieved sigh behind your fist. You climb the stairwell like mice trying to avoid an angry housecat. The stairwell is metal and rusted, but it holds your weight and doesn’t creak too much. Joel takes the lead.

His eyes are constantly checking you. They are brief, passing glances. You’re not sure who is more paranoid at this point–you or him. Although, it’s probably you.

You keep checking over your shoulder as if the raiders will appear like ghosts behind you. What will you do if they find you? Where can you run to in this cramped, tinnitus-dangerous stairwell?

Your foot slips as the rusted step gives way. Just your luck, right? You swallow your gasp of alarm, your shout of terror, and your arms windmill to regain your balance.

Joel’s hand shoots out and catches you effortlessly by the wrist. He pulls you forward with surprising, wiry strength and onto the step he’s standing upon. Your cheeks burn. He releases your wrist, nods, and you keep moving.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun has almost fully set by the time you manage to escape the library. The sounds of the raiders on the floor below echoes in your eardrums. Joel led you through the destroyed second floor (which was arguably worse for wear than the first floor). He guided you over wooden planks, and through bookshelves, until you finally climbed out through a broken window and onto the roof.

The warm air tastes so, so sweet.

You plant your hands on your knees, breathing heavily, your sweat drips down your face and over your spine in sticky, moist rivers.

Joel taps your shoulder and signals with a tilt of his head that you need to keep going. At this rate, you’ll reach the hospital by nightfall. Not an ideal situation, but what choice do you have? You have a job to do. You can’t turn away and run back to the QZ with your tail between your legs. The job runs bigger than just you and Joel, and you steal a moment to wonder if Tess told him the details. You push the thought from your mind. There is no use in speculating about Joel and Tess’s relationship. Once the job was done you’d never work together again unless fate played its tricky hand.

Your flashlights cut sharp, white lines through the deserted and overgrown streets. The hospital is derelict and dark. It poses like a forgotten specter over the street. Alongside the destroyed cars and police vehicle, there is an overturned and torched ambulance near the ER entrance. If you were to shine your flashlight into those cars, or the doorway, you have no doubt in your mind that you would find corpses. A chill shivers across your damp skin. You hope there are no infected inside, but it’s a risk you’ll have to take.

You lead Joel around the side of the building and shine your flashlight up toward a broken window. Wordlessly, he situates himself near the brick wall and laces his fingers to hold your foot. You grunt in unison as Joel boosts you into the window. You awkwardly grip the window ledge, avoiding a large piece of glass, and shimmy your torso up and over.

You land and grumble, “fuck.” Your boots crunch on scattered, broken glass.

A quick cursory glance around the room reveals two skeletons sitting upright in their beds. Their clothes and blankets have rotted and are pocketed with moth-eaten holes. Their eye-sockets bloom with dead and ashen fungus that spreads like spidery roots across the wall behind them and stretches toward the ceiling. Their wrists and ankles are secured to the beds with thick, leather clasps. You shine your flashlight over their bodies and golden, empty bullet casings glitter on the floor. Shot dead. There’s no telling when they died–were they shot on day zero? Or did some scavenger pass through and shoot them out of fear or pity?

You take off your coat, bundle it into your arms, and sweep away some of the glass. You pull a rope from your backpack, tying it on a metal bedpost, before you drop it to Joel. The hewn rope cuts into your palms and fingers like woven splinters as you hold it steady.

You release a silent sigh of relief when Joel crests over the window and joins you. Something akin to relief uncoils in your stomach when you see him. It’s not like you expected him to bail or anything. Joel doesn’t strike you as that kind of guy. However, being alone in the hospital, even for a few seconds…is unnerving. You are safer with him beside you. It’s not sentiment or tender, warm feelings creating that thought. It’s pure, survival-based logic.

“The stash is just across the hall.” You whisper.

Joel nods gruffly.

You pull your pistol from its holster and force your arms not to shake as you walk toward the door. It creaks. The hinges are flecked with rust. A constellation of acrid, gray dust plumes and swirls in front of your face. Your flashlight beam bounces over fallen IV poles, and wheelchairs, and gurneys. And corpses. Dozens of corpses. You listen, and breathe, and push the door infinitesimally wider. The hospital yawns and stretches and rises like an old alley cat to meet you. A hundred memories tug at your shirtsleeve and beg for your attention. You tell yourself you cannot indulge in reflection. You must focus on the task at hand. You have to survive this.

You tentatively step across the hallway with your heart lodged in your throat. The ten or so steps it takes to cross the hall feel like a hundred. You are only aware that Joel is following because you can hear his breath. You intentionally mirror him - his inhale and exhale - and a semblance of calm radiates across your worried nerves.

The closet winces open.

The handle of a mop barrels toward you. You inhale sharply through your nostrils.

You catch it before it hits the floor.

Your eyes lift to Joel’s, and he gives you a look that seems to say– “Nice one.” You cannot decide if his look is sarcastic or not. You weasel yourself into the janitor closet and push your fingers behind the plastic bottles of glass-cleaner. You bite the inside of your cheek. What if it’s gone? You don’t know what you’ll do. You don’t know what you’ll say to Tess.

After some blind searching, your fingertips finally touch a plastic bag taped to the underside of the shelf.

Thank fuck.

You tuck the bag of mixed pills into your backpack. You quietly slip from the closet and dip your chin toward Joel.

He raises both eyebrows then whispers, “is it all there?”

“I think so.”

You and Joel return to the first room. Together, you brace the door with whatever spare furniture you can find. Two chairs meant for visitors. An IV pole. Two cheap, wooden nightstands. You hate how flimsy it looks. How vulnerable. An infected could easily break through that.

“That's all we got.” Joel says. “I ain’t risking moving the beds.”

You massage your hand over your neck, “yeah, no shit.”

“We’ll move at first light.”

“Fine.” You remove a ration from your bag. A sense of unease and doubt gnaws at your empty stomach. “Joel…?”

“Hm?”

He looks over at you with an inquisitive, yet chagrined expression. He hears the question in your tone, maybe even wants to answer, but likely hates all this talking. Realistically, you think you and Joel have said less than 50 words to each other. You tear a corner of the ration off with your teeth. It’s chewy and gritty and too salty.

“We’re good here, right?” You ask slowly, your voice sounding far too small for your liking, “I can’t shake the feeling that the raiders followed us.”

Joel shifts his weight. He is silent for a few seconds, his face closed off, his gaze on the fungal skeletons eternally resting in their deathbeds.

Finally, he says; “I’ll keep watch.” He glances at you, “get some rest.”

You doubt you’ll manage anything more than a few fretful minutes, but it’s better than nothing. You don’t want to be jumpy and anxious from a lack of sleep. At this sudden thought, you try to catch Joel’s eyes again.

“What about you?”

He shrugs one shoulder, “I’ll be fine.”

His answer annoys you. You’ve spent the entire day climbing through rubble and avoiding raiders. You brought him to the hospital. You got the stash. You followed through on your end of the bargain and yet…

“You really don’t trust me huh?”

Joel snorts, “not really, no.”

Offended, you cross your arms, “have I done something specifically or is that just your general asshole attitude to everyone?” You ask, snappish.

You know it’s hypocritical. You know it is. You can’t help it. Whether it’s adrenaline wearing off, or hunger, or tiredness that is the cause for your tone doesn’t really matter. Your skin itches with restlessness. Hasn’t Joel been paying attention? You’re not a smuggler like him. You’ve never been outside the walls! You risked your life for this job.

Joel cuts you with his dark gaze. “It’s my attitude toward everyone, yeah.” He replies coldly. “But especially to so-called doctors who somehow aren’t dead or with FEDRA.”

You roll your eyes.

“Oh sorry!” You pat your pockets dramatically, “I don’t have my credentials on me.”

He sighs. The weight on his shoulders deepens. He pinches his brow. Your harsh flashlight illuminates his torso and face in blue-white. His flashlight emits a halo of light. The dark, spidery-fungus frames Joel like two membranous wings. For a passing moment, he appears like a martyr, a patron saint of little patience and years of quiet agony.

“I trust Tess.” He says, “she said we needed you because you knew where this stash was…but you wouldn’t say how you knew…and you wouldn’t tell her where it was or why you needed to go. So, I’m standing here, and I’m thinking that I could’ve done this job with Tess. And if I did then we’d be back in the QZ by now.”

He continues, “you’re inexperienced, you’re jumpy, and it’s a miracle you haven’t stepped on a network yet.”

You flinch.

“So, yeah, doc. I’m having trouble trusting you considering you haven’t done a damn thing to earn it.”

You turn away from him. You’re too old to be sulking, but dammit (and damn him!) you are. Did watching his back not count for anything? Your success in moving stealthily? The fact that you didn’t lose your fucking cool at any point?! Your nostrils flare. You won’t jump over hoops and climb mountains to earn his trust. And why should you?! He’s kept you alive at this point but the same could be said for you. You don’t expect his whole trust, not even half of it, but you expected something. A shred of trust. A scrap.

You settle against your backpack as a pillow and zip up your coat all the way to your chin. The minutes unhurriedly pass in awkward, tense silence.

You realize, bitterly, that you trust him. It’s not fair that he doesn’t trust you in return. A second realization crawls into your mind. And it’s somehow worse than the first.

The fact that you trust Joel (just a little bit!) means that you’ve let him in. You care what happens to him. You want him to survive. Hell, he’s not even a friend! Yet, you don’t see him as baggage or a liability. You don’t see him as a simple asset to your own survival. And yet….and yet…he’s earned a tiny, tiny piece of your trust.

You’ve broken rule number one: don’t let people get close. You always assumed that rule functioned in a primarily receptive way. As in, other people getting close to you and not the other way around. Your eyebrows draw together in annoyance and frustration. Silence stubbornly stretches onward while Joel watches the door and you watch him.

Quietly, you admit, “I used to work here. Not during the outbreak, though. Like, years earlier.” You stubbornly close your eyes to hide Joel’s face from your view, “an ex-resident told me about the pills. She wasn’t able to…obtain…them before they fired her.”

You flick your tongue across your dry lips.

“We were friends.”

You wonder what happened to her. You wonder if she’s alive in some other QZ. You wonder if she’s clean, or if she’s happy. Finally, you wonder if she’s dead. You try to remember the color of her eyes and are met with a void. An empty lot where a memory lived and then was evicted by your mind to make room for something else.

“She asked me to get them for her…but I never did.” You clear your throat, “we stopped being friends after that.”

Rule number one is officially and monumentally fucking broken.

Joel is so goddamn quiet that you suddenly fear he hasn’t been listening. Your eyes snap open. Joel is looking at you–his brow furrowed, his lips gently parted. You’ve seen this expression on his face before. He’s pensive and calm. Usually, this look is reserved for when he’s planning routes of escape.

He asks softly, “you thought she’d come back for it?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug, “she was technically banned from the hospital, but she could’ve had someone else do it or…” Your eyes trail upward to the spore-marked ceiling, “gone herself wearing a disguise or something? I don’t know.” You say while laughing weakly.

“And that’s why you wanted to come.” He guesses.

You nod. “I knew there was a chance that I could be wrong. I didn’t want to risk anyone else for that.”

Joel’s mouth thins, “just me.”

“Yeah,” you smile, “just you.”

You sense the fragile truce between Joel and yourself. Satisfied, you close your eyes again and try to settle into a semblance of rest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Joel shakes your shoulder. Hard. Your mouth instinctively opens to groan or wince and Joel’s hand snaps over your mouth. You groggily blink at him, tugging at his coat sleeve, glaring, but Joel’s expression is pleading. His eyes are big, and sorrowful, and deep, dark brown like roasted coffee. His index finger presses to his lips. You tilt your head and try to speak against his hand. His fingers press a little harder into the meat of your cheek.

A clicking noise echoes down the hallway.

A sour taste of fear floods your senses. Your grip on Joel’s forearm tightens and your eyes widen as if they could somehow absorb all visual stimuli and discover a way out of this new mess. Joel slowly pulls his hand away from your mouth. His eyes side-glance to the window. You’re lucky you had the foresight to clean up some of the glass after your first entry.

He doesn’t need to tell you twice. You establish a new knot onto the hospital bed leg and toss the rope out of the window.

Joel jerks his chin to the blossoming, rosy dawn that spills like silk into the room. You peel your jacket from your shoulders and drape it over the broken glass on the windowsill. You’d rather not accidentally slice open an artery while there’s a clicker loose in the building. You squeeze the rope in your hands. Rule #3: Always run if shit goes sideways. You throw your leg over the ledge.

The rope pulls taunt against the bedpost. The metal scrapes against the linoleum. You and Joel share an identical ‘Oh, fuck!’ expression.

The clicker runs through the hallways and knocks over who-knows-what along the way. Always run, always run…You freeze on the ledge. Joel moves toward you. Unthinking, unbidden, your hand drops the rope and grabs Joel by the arm.

You pull him. The world tilts sideways. A sense of vertigo rushes through your body before the ground hits you. All air is forced from your lungs in a painful, tense wheeze. A field of twinkling white stars dance in front of your eyes. Your ribs ache. You suspect more than one of them is bruised from Joel’s weight falling onto yours.

Did it count as breaking rule number three? You ran, but you ensured Joel’s safety as well as your own. Joel lifts you to your feet. His grip is steady and sure.

“C’mon.” He whispers urgently before pulling you with him.

Who are you kidding? Rule number three is definitely broken.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You have the shittiest luck in all of Boston. You and Joel make it nearly halfway to the library (which you are planning to go around) before a raider literally runs into you. His body collides with yours, but he’s faster on the draw with his weapon.

His heavy automatic gun swivels and points to you and Joel.

“Hold it!” There’s a tremor of terror in his voice. You glance around. He’s alone. That’s weird. The raider is wearing a FEDRA issue body vest, camouflage pants, boots, and a visorless motorcycle helmet. His ammunition is strapped over his chest like he’s in a bad 80s action movie.

His watery brown eyes notice the backpacks, “Drop your bags! And any weapons!”

“Easy.” You say, your arms raised, “we’re just passing through. This doesn’t have to get violent.”

“You’re right!” He snaps, “it doesn’t! So, drop the fucking bags and whatever else you have!”

You’re not sure what exactly clues you into the raiders’ next move. Maybe his eyes flick to Joel for a nanosecond. Maybe, you think, he sees Joel as a bigger threat (which is rather misogynistic of him but whatever).

Your feet move before your brain has time to catch up.

The bullet bites into the meat of your leg and you eat a face-full of dirt and gravel. The tiny, jagged rocks burn as they scrape across your skin and rip your palms and chin. You try to pinpoint the pain radiating through your body and roll painfully onto your back. Your lungs are wheezing for air. You prod your jeans with your fingertips to find the bullet entry point. Thank God. The femoral artery and vein isn’t punctured. You’d be dead otherwise.

Your wet bloodied fingers crawl along your thigh and finally find the hole. The relief is minor compared to the pain you’re in. You dig your finger and press against the bullet hole in an agonizing, guttural cry. It feels like a clean shot, but you can’t be sure. Your rule number two (don’t get fucking shot!) has been officially broken. And you did it to save Joel. Your world goes blurry with pain and tears. The muted gray scenery takes a moment to re-focus.

And when it does–you see Joel on top of the raider. His knuckles bloom carnation red. His chest heaves with labored, deep breaths.

“Good.” You murmur, “my risky move paid off.”

“Your risky move nearly got you killed.” He snaps before crouching beside you.

“That’s a weird way to say thank you.” You apply firm pressure to your bullet wound, “he was gonna shoot you.” Weirdly, the thought makes you want to laugh. You bite down on the hysterics bubbling inside your chest. It’s adrenaline. Your body is in shock. You tell this information to yourself like a meteorologist explaining the weather. It helps a little.

Joel scowls. “I had it handled, doc.” His hands shake as he digs through his bag. You decide not to draw attention to it.

Your eyebrow ticks upward toward your hairline, “were you going to glower him to death?”

“Enough.” He holds a rolled bandage in his hand, “let me see.”

“I can walk.” You start to protest and flinch when he reaches for you. “We gotta move out of here.”

“You need your hands.” Goddamn, you think, Joel is a stubborn sonofabitch. You reluctantly pull your hand away from your thigh.

“Clean through?” He asks while wrapping your thigh in gauze.

You wince. The pressure is necessary to halt the bleeding, but it still fucking hurts. “I think so. Yeah. Yeah, hopefully. ” A clean shot without any gun shrapnel or broken bones will be a miracle.

He says, “we’ll get a better look at it later.” You look away from your wrapped leg and meet Joel’s dark gaze. He holds your stare for a beat longer than you expected. You’ve never had much time to look at him–really look at him–and you realize he’s got a handsome, weathered, and tired face. Something inside your chest flutters.

You look away before he does. “Yeah, alright.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Wincing and breathing heavily, you manage to limp your way through the streets and caved-in buildings. You cling to Joel for support when needed until he finds a safe spot to rest. You help him push an old refrigerator in front of a doorway and black spots dance in front of your vision. The pain radiates through your leg like fire. Your face glistens with sweat.

But before you can topple over, Joel catches your shoulder in his familiar, steady grip. One moment he was standing on the opposite side of the fridge and the next moment he was next to you.

He murmurs, “easy now.” And guides you to sit down and extend your leg. You breathe harshly through your nostrils and squeeze your eyes shut.

“We have to stop the bleeding.”

You hear Joel’s bag unzipping, “I know.”

“There’s a kit in my bag.”

“Okay.” You hear your bag being unzipped. “I see it.” He says.

“Apply pressure and…” You realize distantly that you’re slurring your words, “sterilize the needle…”

“I know.”

You feel his hands on your thigh. His palms and fingers encircle the painful space. You can feel the heat of him, the heat of his touch, his bodily warmth. Your eyelashes flutter open. Joel is so close…his head is bowed, his expression grim and focused, and a little sheen of sweat dappled his wrinkled forehead. Joel pours disinfectant onto his hands and briskly rubs them together. Your blood-soaked bandage is pulled away.

He shines a flashlight into the pulsing, wet wound. Some of your blood has clotted around the entry point in thick, dark red clumps. Your fingers twitch. You want to clean and care for it yourself. You want to stitch it up. But, that would risk too much infection. Your hands aren’t clean. You have to trust Joel and trust that the injury won’t kill you.

“Here, bite down on this.” He says while handing you a faded, colorless cloth bandana. You shove the fabric into your mouth and bite down at the first sharp sting of the needle poking through your skin.

You reach out and clutch Joel’s shoulder for support. Your fingertips dig into his muscles. Your arm trembles as you squeeze him. Your vision goes soft and blurry with tears. The needle bites and bites and bites until your skin is pulled together again. Your sense of time is completely distorted as you walk between worlds on the verge of passing out while crying out in pain.

Joel mutters quietly, “don’t worry. I’ve got you, okay? I’ve got you here. You’re gonna be alright.”

You think you mumble, “I know.” but you can’t be sure.

When Joel is finished, and the wound is wrapped, the strangest thing suddenly happens. Neither of you move. Your hand remains on his tense shoulder. His hands are applying unnecessary additional pressure to your thigh. Your ragged breath syncs to his. Your eyes burn with tears and sweat that’s dripped from your brow.

Something magnetic draws your gaze to his. He watches you with intensity and something else–something hot and sharp and dark.

“Are you mad at me?” You ask breathlessly.

“You did a stupid thing.” He deadpans.

“He was going to shoot you.” You enunciate every word.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do!” You rush out, your eyes bright from exertion, “I saw it in his face. He was going to shoot you and then me because it would’ve been easier to rob us.”

Joel replies, “he was a scared kid.”

“Fine!” You spit out, “maybe he wasn’t going to shoot us. Maybe he was just going to alert his buddies and then they’d rob us, or kill us, or capture us for their sick amusement. Either way, I don’t regret it Joel, and neither should you!”

The skin under Joel’s collar flushes red, “You got shot!”

“Yeah, well, I’m not dead!”

Joel jerks away from you as if you’ve slapped him. His hands leave your leg, and he pulls the pocket of pills and tiny, injection vials from your bag. You scowl at his coldness, his distance. He scowls at the plastic baggie.

“I recognize some of these…”

You sigh and lean your head against the wall, “not everything in there is for pain.”

“What else is there?” He says while holding a tiny vial of morphine close to his face, “besides this I mean.”

“Antibiotics.” You say, “my friend would sell them…y’know…to people who couldn’t afford it ‘cause of the scam known as the American healthcare system.”

He nods absentmindedly while procuring some pills for you. And he passes his water bottle to you as well. You take both pills (after visually confirming that one was a low-dosage pain medication, and the other was a general antibiotic). You sit in silence while watching the tense rise and fall of Joel’s shoulder out of the corner of your eye.

You say, “I’m not sorry, Joel.”

Joel chuckles under his breath, “yeah, I know.”

He shifts his body and settles next to you with a loud, heavy sigh. His hands are smeared with your blood, the color bright like red poppies or dark like fresh cherries, depending on the angle of the light.

“We have to wait till nightfall to re-enter QZ…” He says and although there’s gruffness to his tone you think you hear warmth in it too (or its the drugs). “In the meantime, you ought to rest.”

“Mhm, yeah, alright.”

Your head lolls sideways and your temple lands on Joel’s warm, solid shoulder. To your surprise and secret delight–he doesn’t push you away. He doesn’t relax or lean into you either. Instead, he’s more like a warm statue. But you don’t mind. You broke all your goddamn rules for him, and you can afford to be a little self-indulgent after the past two days. It won’t kill you.

You’re going to have to establish some new rules once you return to the QZ. (And yes, rule number two should probably remain the same).

Your thoughts drift and carry you into a dreamless, gray void.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Joel folds his arms across his chest, unsmiling, and watching you. Turns out–you are a doctor. (Or at least, you were before the known world ended). You crouch beside a sick kid–obviously the kid is not infected, but sick with something that looks like pneumonia based on how hard the kid is trying to breathe. Their skin is glassy with sweat and every few seconds they cough like they’re going to lose a lung.

Tess gravitates to his side. Her hands slide into the back pockets of her jeans.

She says, “I didn’t even think to consider they were getting the drugs to help other people. I figured it was just more opioids.”

Joel sniffs, “yeah.”

“Did they tell you anything?”

He frowns and shakes his head, “not much.”

“Well, they’re honest. They gave me our agreed upon cut and then some extra.” She glances sidelong at Joel, “would you work with them again?”

He watches you as you talk quietly with someone’s mother. Your expression is smooth and there’s a practiced and comfortable ease in the way you move, the way you talk. Outside the QZ, he considered you a goddamn liability. A nuisance. But, then you took a bullet for him. You dragged him out of a window to flee from a clicker. You risked your life to help these civilians (who probably don’t deserve it). You lean against your cane and walk toward him and Tess.

Joel rubs his jaw and his stubble is scratchy and rough beneath the pads of his fingers. He recalls the weight of your head on his shoulder. He recalls your eyes bright with strain, wide with fear, sparkling with amusement, and narrowed in annoyance. He wants to answer Tess’ question before you reach him.

“Yeah,” answers Joel, “I would.”

#joel x reader #joel miller x reader #joel x gn reader #gn!reader #last of us fic #last of us hbo fic #joel tlou x reader #tlou fic #tlou fanfic #joel x you #joel miller imagine #tlou fanfiction

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smalllady · 1 year

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Places in Mass Effect 2 - Zorya "Mud, sweat, and spores," is how Blue Suns mercenaries characterize the planet that gave birth to their home office. This lush garden world is known for its heavy plant and fungal life, creating spectacular jungle zones over much of its eight contintents. Depsite persistent problems with rot and rust, Zorya attracts investors and corporations from all throughout the galaxy, since it has exploited only a fraction of its potential resources. The Blue Suns dominate security contracts on Zorya, so much that residents describe them less like a monopoly, and more like a conquering regime. Colony Founded: 2160 Population: 148 million Capital: Thun Orbital Distance: 1.8 AU Orbital Period: 2.4 Earth Years Radius: 6247 km Day Length: 28.4 Earth Hours Atmospheric Pressure: 1.22 Earth Atmosphere Surface Temperature: 33 Celsius Surface Gravity: 1.0 G

#mass effect #mass effect 2 #smalllady gifs #meedits #gamingedit #vgedit #dailygaming #gameplaydaily #places in mass effect

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parniathedevil · 6 months

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RESIDENTTALE MASTERPOST

Mine story:

• A long time ago, humans and monsters lived on earth, until the war between them, humans were able to imprison the monsters underground with 7 human souls and magic,Humans had a very strange hatred of monsters that this hatred caused the birth of a black red flower, this flower was infected and had a fungal virus called "MOLD"

Humans found this flower so that they could use its power to make biological weapons and experimental work,But one day, a little girl escapes from the laboratory prison and falls into the basement, the monsters accept her as a friend and child, but after 15 years, Asriel became king and got married, but his wife fell ill, and the girl and the royal guards They go to the surface of the earth and steal that flower for the king, but that girl is killed by humans

° Characters ref:

[Sans] [Alphys] [Frisk] [Chara] [Undyne] [Papyrus] [Gaster]

[muffet] [grillby] [Asriel/flowey]

[Omega flowey][mettaton and blooky]

Another characters

[gaster's followers] [Tammie]

[Asgore and Toriel] [monster kid]

[Annoying dog] [Mariel] [melody] [Lolth]

Fanchild

[Sasha] [Alleye] [Paulina] [Blaze] [Flame]

RESIDENTDUST [genocide run?]

[soulless]

More characters

<wip>

RESIDENTTALE [future of shadow]

Comic <wip> cover

[teen Sasha] [teen Paulina]

[Teen Alleye] [Avia/RT!HATE]

EVENTS

• jungle trip

[part 1][part 2][Part 3]

• ResidentTale anniversary

[2022-2023][2024]

• Prid month

[2023]

Role play:

-also i roleplay with @susartwork/@sus2text snd in Discord

Fanarts:

#reisdenttalefanart

#undertale au #undertale #masterpost #residenttale comic #ResidentTale #undertale multiverse #undertale au fanart

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clovercrafted · 1 year

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“Ideas for Minecraft mods even though I have no idea how to make mods “

🌸 new biomes, including caves, nether and end biomes. Yes there’s very comprehensive biome mods, yes I do want more.

🌺 seriously imagine; crystal caves where you have crystalline stalagmites and stalactites, higher chance of finding geodes (including new varieties of geode), fungal caves with new varieties of mushroom (imagine glowing mushroom light sources too, would probably only be found under mushroom islands), volcanic caves that are covered with magma blocks and naturally spawning basalt in the overworld, Ice Caves with Actual Icicles

🌼 for the love of god block parity. All stone types having their own bricks, not just certain ones, cut gold and iron, copper and gold bars and chains.

🌷 unique plants for all the biomes! Like I’ve mentioned this before but a couple flowers or plants for all the older biomes would be lovely. Hibiscus for jungles, bluebells in birch forests, other colours of roses and poppies and daisies, savannah should get a special type of grass, deserts getting flowering cactus, mangroves and swamps having water lilies. Little things that bring life to the world

🌻 speaking of life a couple varieties of older mobs! Muddy pigs, cows with a couple variations of pattern, a few varieties of wolves/doggos! If there’s over 1000 tropical fish variants then there should be a few for others. Also the losers of the mob votes (I can guarantee that that’s been done)

🪷 I’m a huge fan of all the little peaceable decorations, blease just keep adding more

#clover sprouts #minecraft #mineblr #I’m gonna like teach myself how to make models for this game and make some stuff but #fuck me if I know how to get it into the game

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duckapus · 4 months

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They Weren't Lying, That Kingdom Sure Can be Mushroom

Good news, the scanner isn't having any issues in this Zone and they know almost exactly where the Seed is.

Bad news, the further in you go the denser the forest gets and they can't fly through the mushrooms, so yet again it's time to go on foot. This time the away team consists of 4, Mario, Meggy, Tari, Lil Coding, Juliano, Toadsworth, Eggman, Cubot, and surprisingly enough Bomberto, who apparently has experience traveling through dense hostile forests and jungles. Kamek, Marcy, Root and Sig stayed behind to protect the ship, and Toadsworth is coming because this Zone includes the location of Peach's current castle, and between that and the theme he has his suspicions for who the trigger character might be.

As they slowly pick their way through the fungal undergrowth, it's clear that their two least likely members had other reasons to come as well; apparently Bomberto and Toadsworth were old...well, not war buddies since their respective Kingdoms were obviously the ones at war with each other back then, but more just that they kept running into each-other and were largely amicable despite being enemies, as evidenced by them regaling the rest of the group with tales of their youth to pass the time, commenting on and correcting each-other's take on events with fond amusement. A lot of the group is either mildly interested or just ignoring them to focus on the mission, while Lil Coding and Cubot are listening with rapt attention and Mario is bored out of his skull.

At one point Tari leans towards Meggy, "You know, I can't help but wonder if there might have been Something going on between them back then."

"You also thought Bob was my ex-boyfriend for multiple years."

"Fair enough."

Soon after this, Bomberto cuts himself off mid-sentence and stops dead in his tracks, "Wait. You hear that?"

Everyone else stops and look around nervously, before 4 answers, "I... don't hear anything."

"Exactly. There's animals 'round 'ere same as any forest, an' if they've all gone quiet at once..."

The implications gradually hit everyone, and they look out into the treeline, readying themselves for whatever might be coming.

They don't have to wait long, as desaturated, yellow-tinted Piranha Plants with long stems the color and texture of overripe bananas lunge out of the mycelium undergrowth, massive jaws snapping at whoever's closest and clouds of spores shooting out from the ones in the back like they're trying to use their usual breath attacks (one of which ends up blasting Eggman right in the face).

Thankfully, Piranha Plants aren't exactly that hard to fight, so the only real advantage they have over the crew is sheer numbers. Even Toadsworth manages to hold his own, beating them back with his cane and in one rather impressive display managing to stab one that tried a low approach clean through to the ground with the thinner end.

Still, there are a lot of Piranha Plants, and it's only a matter of time before 4 gets unlucky and finds himself pinned, staring into the approaching maw of a Plant until-

*BLAM!*

The Plant's head explodes into debris, soon followed by several others as a red and tan figure leaps into the fray and dispatches several of them in seconds with a shotgun.

As the remaining Plants retreat into the forest and the spores settle, the group is met with a familiar face.

"Shroomy!?"

The ex-demon-hunting boyscout, completely free of any signs of conversion, waves to them with his usual cheery grin, "Howdy fellas!"

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

As the group continues, Shroomy tells them what he's been up to lately. Apparently, neither of his personalities are compatible with whatever mindset triggers this Zone's conversions, and his skill at combat has so far protected him from what he's taken to calling the Moldy Piranhas. He's been spending his time exploring the forest, which he's dubbed the Toadstool Tangle, and guiding any other survivors he meets to Floyd's Zone. After all, even if becoming a depressed ghost isn't exactly pleasant, it beats the alternatives of mushroom trees or mind-controlled evil robots.

The group explains their own situation to him, and he's pretty sure he's got a good idea of where they need to go. The good news is, he knows a (relatively) safe route to get there. The bad news is, when they do make it there, they definitely won't be able to reach the seed's most likely location without a fight.

As they're traveling, Eggman and Juliano find themselves lingering towards the back, inexplicably worn out. While for Juliano that's fairly normal, Eggman isn't exactly out of shape (despite what shape he happens to be), so it's a bit of a mystery...

At least, until he has a brief coughing fit that results in a scattering of spores on his glove that was not there after he'd brushed himself off following the fight. He looks at the spores with confusion that rapidly morphs into horror, and he looks around to make sure no-one saw. Unfortunately, Juliano is looking right at him with a difficult-to-read expression... and then he pulls the collar of his sweater down a bit, revealing a patch of sickly green skin just above one of his scars, and the two share a Look of understanding and resignation, and come to a silent agreement not to say anything yet.

Soon enough, the group reaches a clearing, one with a towering structure of fused mushrooms that vaguely resembles a castle.

"Okay guys, this is the place. Now, I'm pretty sure that the thing you're lookin' for is up in that window at the top," he points up and sure enough, there's an opening just below the cap of the highest mushroom, the one in the center, "but to get up there, we're gonna have to get past the guard."

"What guard?"

There's a strange, high-pitched roar, and a massive yellow-and brown thing comes climbing around the central tower.

"That guard."

[Alright, I'm shit at writing fight scenes, this post's been giving me enough trouble already, so I'm just gonna say that this is Petey Piranha's converted form, which I've dubbed Moldy Draco Piranha, and they do manage to beat him, including the Absolutely Necessary finisher of Mario grabbing him by the mushroom on the end of his tail and flinging him into the distance]

4 takes a moment to catch his breath, "Well, glad that's over. Now we just need to grab that seed."

Mario raises his hand, "I'll handle it. I'm the best jumper, and I'm... pretty sure I know who's up there."

4's a bit confused by this, since he assumed Petey was the trigger character, but he shrugs it off, "Alright man, go for it."

As he heads towards the castle, Toadsworth follows him, "Erm, Master Mario, if it's not too much trouble would you mind giving this old man a boost up? I'd like to see her as well, but I'm afraid my jumping days are long behind me."

"No problem," He kneels down so the old toad can get up onto his back, then after making sure he's secure starts making his way up to the window.

And, sad to say, they find exactly what they thought they would.

"Oh, my..." Toadsworth drops down from Mario's grip and limps forward, stopping just in front of Peach and reaching up to gently cup her cheek.

Her eyes open just a bit, painfully slowly, and she looks down at him while ever so slightly leaning into his touch, "toads...worth?"

"Oh, princess." He tries his best to hug her, which is a bit awkward given their height difference and the bulb on her arms, "I'm so sorry I wasn't here with you."

"...glad...you're...safe..." she does her best to reciprocate the hug with what little mobility she has, then looks up to see the other man in the room, "...ma...ri...o..."

He gives her a sad, lopsided smile, "Hey Peach. This sure brings back memories, huh?"

She huffs in what's probably intended to be laughter, grinning back as best she can, then looks down at the bulb. It glows for a brief moment, then slowly opens to reveal an orange Wonder Seed, "loo...king...for...this?"

He nods and puts the seed in his hammerspace, then gently brushes aside some of her hair so he can look her clearly in the eyes, "I'll save you, I promise."

"...I...know. you...al...ways...do," she looks down sadly, "...ev...en...af...ter...all...I've...done..."

"Hey, you're getting better. We both are. No beating yourself up in here, alright."

"I'll...try..."

The three of them take a few more moments together, before Mario and Toadsworth have to go back to the others. While most of them can pick up on the melancholy surrounding the two, there's no time to waste.

"Alright, we're more than halfway there! Back to the ship everybody." as the group heads out once more, something seems to be amiss, "Uh, Eggman, Juliano? We gotta go."

Juliano shakes his head, "Sorry 4. We're a bit...stuck." He gestures down to his and Eggman's legs, which are already part mushroom and firmly rooted.

"Oh...oh no."

"Boss! This...this can't be happening!"

"Unfortunately it is, Cubot. I'm afraid that spore cloud from earlier did me in."

"Then, why's Juliano converting? He didn't get hit at all during the fight!"

Juliano looks a way, and Mario sighs, "It's guilt, isn't it? The trigger mindset is deep-seated guilt. You're converting the normal way because of all those issues you keep hiding."

"...yeah, that's about the shape of it."

As everyone's processing this, Eggman clears his throat, "Cubot, seeing as I'm now out of commission, there's something we need to do."

"Huh?" he's confused for a moment, then realizes what Eggman means and reels back, "No, I-I'm not ready for that! You know what I'm like, I'll just screw it all up."

"Probably, yes, but we don't exactly have any alternatives. You're the last sentient underling I have left."

"I...alright." He hovers directly in front of Eggman and 'stands' at attention, "I'm ready, sir."

Eggman nods and also stands at attention, pulling up something on his tablet, "Let the record show that on this day, I, Doctor Ivo "Eggman" Robotnik, have been rendered unable to lead the glorious Eggman Empire. As such, I transfer my position as supreme ruler to Advisory Unit SA-56 "Cubot," until such time as I am able to resume my duties. Cubot, do you accept your new position, with full knowledge of all the responsibilities and privileges it entails?"

"I accept, Doctor."

"Then from this day forth, unless and until I am cured of my current affliction, you are now the leader of the Eggman Empire...such as it is at the moment." he hands over the tablet, "try not to screw it up too badly."

"You got it boss!" He puts the tablet away, then wrings his hands nervously, "Uh, could I..."

Eggman thinks it over for a moment, then sighs, "Oh, why not. Just for a few seconds though, you really do have to get going."

And so creator and creation hug, while what's left of the main crew says goodbye to their (technically if you don't count Bob's weird "actually centuries old" thing) eldest member, as well as to Shroomy, who decides to stay behind to continue his guide services, as well as look after Juliano, Eggman and Peach in case Drako Piranha comes back with a vengeance.

Next stop, one of the most dangerous Zones in the kingdom: Metal Madness's Robotropolis.

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untilteddocument · 4 months

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After-Action Archive Caves of Qud - Puff It Forward

Welcome again, one and all, to the After-Action Archive! My earlier post had me taking a detour to prepare for upcoming challenges, and while those preparations had little to do with this particular leg of the journey, there are connections.

I'm starting to make these regularly enough that I guess this could count as a semi-full LP outside of the beginning quests, so...whatever, highlight reel, LP, whatever it is, here it is. With that in mind, it's time to see with eyes only half-clouded by reality.

Barathrum's plan to answer the mysterious invitation to the top of the Spindle will require much, and he's made no secret of that. However, the preparations I took care of last time were useful, but irrelevant to those more immediate concerns. See, what was needed to advance Barathrum's aims wasn't force of arms, but discernment and exploration, because circumstances have moved him to rely on someone he would have preferred to leave be.

If Barathrum considers Pax Klanq to be brilliant, I have no doubt that they live up to that description. More relevant to me, though, is "reclusive". Those directions have precious little to go on, though I do have an idea about the first, at least.

The Rainbow Wood is a vast fungal forest bordered by the jungles on the west and Lake Hinnom in the east. I've never been there, but I imagine it would put all the fungal patches I've run into on my journeys thus far to shame. The information I gather from the other Barathrumites tell me little I truly absorb, but one tidbit piques my interest.

That...is interesting. On the plus side, at this point in time I'm actually on relatively good terms with oozes in general, so maybe these sludges won't be a problem, and fungual infections aren't a problem for me thanks to my Regeneration mutation. Ualraig and Indrix have it as well, so they'd be fine, but Esther does not. A large group might be cumbersome for this quest anyway, so I decided to go alone.

Travel from Kyakukya (closest town I have to the Rainbow Wood) wasn't too onerous. With what I've got, travel in the jungle is hardly dangerous, and my Wayfaring skills made getting there faster. Soon enough, I came in from the north, seeing that the shortest distance to the center would take advantage of the pinched-in sections to the north and south.

Despite my skills at travel, the thick fungal canopy and the vast stretches of mushrooms swallowed my sense of direction almost immediately.

The Rainbow Wood definitely earned its description as a fungus forest. They were so thick in places that getting around was far more involved than the jungle, even, and aside from the mushrooms, there were those lakes of primordial soup. They were safe to swim through, but that wasn't the wrinkle. Like Iseppa described, the primordial soup gives rise to special oozes, born where it and any other fluid intersect...and seeing as the Rainbow Wood is thick with giant weeps, fungi that secrete various liquids ranging from sap to lava, there's no shortage of these things around.

Speaking of Iseppa's warning, it got me to wonder. If it's "worse when they drink"...does that mean that they get stronger if they consume different fluids? That would make sense, and explain why this place would be dangerous to anyone on hostile terms with these things.

That gave me an idea, though. Through my travels, I'd gotten a hold of enough spare material that I could offer some freely to the Mechanimists in the Six Day Stilt.

Bit of an aside here: the main sect of the Mechanimists - there are at least three sects in total - believe that technology comes from the Argent Fathers shaping the Kasaphesence, a primal force/deity, into artifacts. Being divinely-crafted items, the church claims that mortals are unworthy of them and should give them up. This did raise my hackles a bit, but I looked at the reputation I would get from giving up various items. Most of them offer very little, and these include medical supplies, chairs, backpacks, and so on. The ones that they want people to give up are usually elaborate high-tech weaponry, and there's not even any compulsion to do so. No roving bands of Mechanimist enforcers, just a statement of their beliefs, and if people come by, they are welcome. I found this refreshing, and definitely puts them in contrast with the Putus Templar. Anyway, back to the story at hand.

By increasing my standing with the Mechanimists, I was able to trade some of that cachet in so that Eschelstadt II, High Priest of the Stilt himself, could give me some pointers on...persuasion.

Seeing as these sludges were rather new to things, it was easy to convince one that it should pal around with me.

After all, I had all these neat bags full of liquid in my pack and I was willing to share.

A monosludge is not exactly putting the fear into anything just by its lonesome, no. A triskaidecasludge, though, is a resilient ball of limbs that can easily flatten anything that gets too close. Each of those pseudopods inflicts a different effect, on top of being classified as cudgels and therefore able to stunlock enemies with points in the relevant skills. At this point, those masterwork fullerite mauls are mostly there to take up space; if all its "hands" are occupied with equipment, the sludge grows new pseudopods to suit whatever new liquid it drank up, and more limbs means more attacks.

With my new friend in tow, I made my way onward and inward. The heart (presumably the center) of the Rainbow Wood wouldn't be far, if I had my directions right enough. Thankfully, it seemed I did. It didn't look too different from other regions of the forest, except, of course, for the thing that made it important.

That's kind of a leading question, isn't it? In any case I'm just happy that this doesn't end in eating actual divine meat...unless that name isn't being poetic?

Whatever, down the hatch.

Aside from the apparently-fantastic taste, it was necessary due to a certain effect it had on our perception. Namely, it offered the Shimmering effect, which let me see half a dimension over, but the disorientation of this did reverse-favors for my quickness.

Thus impaired but empowered, I was able to see the next step, the so-called coral path. Bricks seemed to materialize from nothing, tracing a route back north. Fighting the drift of consciousness, my sludgy companion and I made our way among the towering mushrooms and I-am-doubly-grateful-that-they-are-neutral-to-me-now sludges, eventually coming to a stop at the room where Pax Klanq had secluded themself.

I hesitated before speaking up, afraid of interrupting the process of genius. Seeing them work as they did felt akin to being a neophyte again. Barathrum's esteem seemed well-placed.

After a few seconds that lasted way longer than that, I hailed them.

...Come again?

...Fair enough, they didn't stutter. Still, I came here for a reason.

Okay, I have to know.

...yeah, that'd do it. Back to business, then.

Honestly, this could go several ways, none of which strike me as appealing.

...Well, okay, maybe one, in the abstract, but I don't think Pax Klanq is my type. Kind of got a grown-up Jimmy Neutron vibe going on.

Oh, you have got to be kidding me.

Ugh, fiiiiiiiine.

Friggin' asshole, got some friggin' laundry list...

...friggin' gotta puff spores all over the place, razzin' frazzin'...

...spore-puffing so-and-so, got me puffing spores like some friggin'...

"KlAnQ pUfF oN yOuUuUuUuUuUuUuUu" friggin' jackass...

...got me diving into the bowels of the friggin' earth fighting friggin' magma crabs, lost my friggin' shield to friggin' lava, almost died, but noooo, gotta puff, right? Razzin' frazzin'...

There. I did it. Friggin' jerk...

Sigh.

Well, I hope Barathrum appreciates that I took one for the team.

On the plus side, I got to see some sights, get some experience, even met some good merchants. I lost something of sentimental value (the shield, not my innocence. I don't give a shit about that), but in the end it was a thing that could be replaced. On to the next adventure.

#after-action archive #caves of qud #long post

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mythicmint · 5 months

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A Treatise Regarding the Myth of the So-Called "Dark Seldarine" and the Misguided Interpretation of the Drow by Surface Dwellers

Recently I was struck by the urge to rewrite some mythos of the drow and their associated pantheon in D&D, and decided to frame it like an academic paper since that's what I'm mostly familiar with. While writing I was also seized by the need to detail a few of my ideas for drow society while incorporating current dnd lore revamps, and so now that's in there too. I took several pretty sizable chunks of inspiration from Kismet's Dungeons and Dragons, this blog by Timothy S. Brannan, and the WoTC article detailing new lore for their video game. Also I'd like to say thanks to the people who write and maintain wiki pages-- your hard work is infinitely appreciated lmao.

Also I don't know how to format Tumblr pages yet so this might turn out weird, and also be warned because this is,,, really long. Any tips regarding a more efficient format for this would be gladly welcomed lol!

This is part 1 of this post, part 2 can be found here!

A Treatise Regarding the Myth of the So-Called “Dark Seldarine” and the Misguided Interpretation of Drow by Surface Dwellers (pt. 1, the Society)

Background Information

A Brief Overview

While this treatise is meant to share the drow perspective of the myths of the “Dark Seldarine”, this author first considers it important to provide the reader with brief background knowledge of the drow and their society. The author considers this knowledge to be crucial for understanding the depth of these myths, and in turn crucial for acknowledging the damage that false myths have done to the world’s perception of the drow. As the author is a drow themself, they know this pain intimately from previous attempts to spread their theories. Discussion of the drow and their history in the following pages shall be brief, with the majority of this paper being reserved for a retelling of the myths that lay the first foundations for the drow pantheon. A note before we begin– the pantheon that most surface dwellers refer to as the “Dark Seldarine” is named nothing of the sort. Out of respect for the deities of this pantheon, the author shall only refer to them using the name they have chosen, which is the Gwierante. Pronounced {guh-wee-ront}, the word loosely means “Those Betrayed” in a language now long dead.

Who Are the Dark Elves?

The dark elves, more often called the drow, are a subrace of elves that primarily reside in the hostile environment of the Underdark. They live here due to a multitude of factors that make survival outside of their home immensely difficult, leading to settlement in the Underdark being the lesser of two evils. Like the high elves have two regional branches, the drow have three– aevendrow, udadrow, and lorendrow. Popular belief states that lorendrow and aevendrow live above ground, to the far south and north respectively. This is false, and is a misconception born from the drow’s secrecy as well as the unique ecology of the Underdark in these regions. The aevendrow originate in the far North, where they live amongst glaciers and permafrost. As a result of this, aevendrow tend to have lighter gray or blue skin that reflects their icy home, and shorter ears to retain heat. Residing in the far Southern portion of the Faerünian Underdark are the lorendrow, occupying the vast subterranean jungle of this region. These drow have close bonds with the nature around them, similarly to our wood elf cousins, and those who have heritage from the southern jungle possess a natural resistance to heat. The most common mental image when one thinks of a drow is the udadrow, who live in the temperate regions between the extremes of their sister branches. These drow live surrounded by stone and fungal forests, and are the most well known group to individuals on the Sword Coast. While these subspecies of drow all differ, all are forced to remain in the Underdark.

The Underdark

The Underdark is a continent unto itself, and thus cannot be discussed in full in a paper of this size, let alone by an author of this speciality. Mythos states that the Underdark was made during the forming of the Prime World, before it was split into the infinite orientations of the Prime Material Plane. The dark tunnels left behind by the primordials were soon occupied with encroaching aberrations from the Far Realm, seeking to lurk away from the sight of the surface’s many gods. And here they thrived– magical radiation that remained in the subterranean caverns was an ample food source for these creatures from the Far Realm. For the majority of time, the Underdark was not just hostile, but downright deadly to any attempting to live there. This was the case until the gods of the Gwierante fled here to escape the sunlight of Corellon. The deities pressed back against the aberrations, forcing them into the deepest caverns of the region, now called the Deepest Dark. Once the gods had dominion over the upper portions of the subterranean caverns, they spread flora and fauna from their former home of Arvandor, piercing the imposing dark with bioluminescence.

But though the caverns were now more welcoming, they were still far more hostile than any environment of the surface world. The cavernous spaces are so large as to support their own weather systems, but this precipitation is frequently acidic from the porous rock, or boiling from subterranean magma flows. Though the gods had spread life, very little was capable of extended survival– flora was limited to fungi, mosses, and a few species of grasses. Fauna was primarily composed of giant arthropods, deadly predators, and occasional deep rothé. What little could survive here, however, diversified intensely. The ecology of the Underdark is like nothing seen in the World Above, but remains immensely hostile to individuals trying to live here. But after the Crown Wars, when drow were cursed to never again walk in the sun, they had no choice but to retreat into the caves. They were welcomed by the Gwierante pantheon with open arms, embraced when they had been so cruelly turned away from the Seldarine. Over time spent in their new home, the drow split into the previously mentioned subraces as their physiologies adapted.

The Northdark, homeland of the aevendrow, is defined by its existence as a frozen expanse that never thaws. This area is known for having subterranean glaciers that are as vast as the caverns they occupy, to the point of cities being carved out of the ice. Flora is rare in the Northdark, with the exception of lichens, ferns, and buried mycelium. Aevendrow have learned to prepare many of these species so that they are safe to eat, but as a race are primarily carnivorous. Qalipu rothé, a subspecies of deep rothé with thicker fat, are uniquely adapted to survive in the sub zero environment of the Northdark, and thus have been domesticated by the aevendrow for their wool, fur, and meat. Also found in this region are: giant bats, cave seals, and deep whales.

On the complete opposite side of the Underdark lies the isolated Southdark, a massive underground jungle. This region is humid, with heat waxing and waning according to the flows of magma in the area. The Southdark is believed to be the only region wherein trees can be supported, which is thought to be linked to the oppressive heat allowing the seeds to germinate, and an adaptation to use faezress in place of sunlight. Thus the ecology of the Southdark is very similar to that of surface jungles, with the addition of giant spiders. The region has many established trade routes to other regions of the Underdark, as it is less a grouping of tunnels and more so several giant caverns with small doorways between.

Between the Northdark and the Southdark lies the Middark, the largest of the regions, and the area that most closely borders the Sword Coast. The Middark is primarily stone and magivorous plants, with large bodies of subterranean water. The caverns of this region are linked by small, often dwarven made, tunnels, which connect the drow cities that occupy them. Spiders are the most frequently occurring fauna, due to the reverence that the drow treat them with, and the most frequent flora is forests of giant fungi. This region, despite its hostility, is believed to be the most heavily populated in the Underdark. Primarily it is drow that live here, but one can also find duergar and deep gnomes.

Drow Society

On the surface, drow society is viewed as brutal and violent, a place of slavery and savagery. In reality, this is a dementation of the truth. The fact of the matter is that drow society is entirely constructed around survival. The brutal environment of the Underdark necessitates prioritizing the survival of its people and their children. Atop this, the drow cannot escape the Underdark for extended periods of time, even if they avoided the sun. Bound by a curse cast during the Crown Wars, the entire race is tied to the magical radiation of the Underdark, known as faezress. The drow’s reliance on this lingering magic has forced them to remain in this brutal environment, fighting for their lives day in and day out. But by using the very magic they are bound to, the drow have made bastions of cities in scattered locations throughout the Underdark.

Surface raids are conducted infrequently due to the strain it puts on the drow’s bodies, and are typically only performed for the sake of gaining supplies, rather than outright murdering. While this practice is not ideal and many cities avoid doing it, it is often necessary for survival. (The author would like to state that anyone who thinks this practice proves the race to be evil needs to think long and hard about barbarians and pirates.) Slavery, while once practiced in the past, has not been in effect for a very long time. What surface worlders tend to see as slaves are in fact necromantic constructs, resurrected and maintained by the clergy of Kiranslee. These constructs are used only with permission from the deceased individual, and are kept in good condition. They are treated with great respect– drow view them as active sacrifices from deceased community members, giving their bodies in death so that those still alive might worry about things other than physical labor. Not everyone wishes for their body to be used, and as such the clergy of Kiranslee just as frequently applies death rites to prevent the body from being revived. The bodies of clergy members and children are forbidden from being used as constructs, as it is believed to keep the spirit too distant from the gods. Fighters, merchants, and travelers are the most commonly seen constructs, as well as occasional magical practitioners. While most drow would perform in death simply for the respect of it, their families are also given penance for it, adding an additional layer of motive.

As a tie-in to the importance of survival, drow as a culture consider their history to be priceless, and work hard to maintain it. This can be seen in the practice of children taking their mother’s name between their chosen name and their house name, allowing for heritage to be tracked through the matrilineal line. Drow names also have great meaning– simple names, or “child” names, are gifted by the parents and carried from birth until the individual becomes an adult at 100 years of age. At that time the individual chooses a new name to be known by, oftentimes chosen to reflect aspects of themself. Names can also be rewarded or taken away in extreme situations. For example, the name of the author is Dr. Iraezyr dal Linthrae von Do’ Iryn. Iraezyr means “Mystical Sage”, and was chosen by the author when they began to study the multiverse and its stories. The house name is that of House Do’ Iryn, translating to Walkers in History, and like many house names shows the professions that the family is known for. Between the chosen and house name is the term dal Linthrae. Linthrae is the mother of the author, her name translating to “Genius Seeker”, and the prefix dal means “from; born from or the child of”. Most if not all drow carry the names of their mothers with them, as a sign of respect for going through the difficulty of birthing them, as well as a way of carrying their history as previously mentioned. As drow society is primarily matriarchal, this also makes it much easier to track and remember family members now gone.

The survival rate for any species in the Underdark is incredibly low, the drow included. This is made worse by the low birth rate that they share with their fellow elves, and as such children are immensely important in their religion and society. To kill a child is a crime deserving of capital punishment, and oftentimes death. Criminals and traitors facing the death penalty are sacrificed to the Gwierante, so that the gods may exercise proper punishment. Many other cultures, especially those of the World Above, consider this to be a brutal way of life, but for the drow this is a quick and just way to rid their homes of dangerous individuals. In Lolthite factions, criminals who are sacrificed often are brought back as driders– half drow and half spider, brought back to live out their lives in punishment. Driders are exiled from drow society for their crimes, forced to live on the edges of society in fear and pain. Only the goddess Lolth is capable of transforming individuals into these monstrous creatures, and members of Gwierante faith are sworn to either shun or slay driders they come across.

Drow society is officially a theocracy, but in everyday life mostly functions as a matriarchy. The governing bodies typically consist of a council of Matron Mothers discussing problems from the city and surrounding areas, who are often joined by various other officials; clergy members, sages, and skilled warriors. Judiciary duties are carried out by an Illiante, a council of high priests that symbolically represent the Gwierante deities and act according to their wills. As both systems are based in group sources of power, many issues brought up by the drow people are resolved democratically. Local bodies of government also frequently involve the temples of worship in the area, as they are dramatically involved in everyday drow life.

As life in the Underdark is frequently made easier by the blessings and interactions of gods, worship is an everyday part of life. Most families worship the Gwierante as a whole, with some individuals worshiping one deity more than the others. Festivals celebrating the gods and the drow’s continued survival take place biannually. Religion, and the stories that can be learned from the myths associated with it, are deeply important to the drow, to their history, and to their collective identity as a race banished from the surface.

part 2

#dungeons and dragons #dnd drow #drow #dnd worldbuilding #lolth #corellon #dark seldarine #dnd homebrew #homebrew lore #gwierante #I know that's not a tag but its just in case I write more about this stuff lmao #drow society #d&d

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