#all that remains

[daryltwdixon]

Summary: Being raised by a survivalist father meant learning two things: endure at all costs, and trust no one. And you lived by those rules, even after he was gone, surviving alone in a world that never gave second chances. But enduring becomes far more complicated when a familiar face returns, burdened with a fierce young girl and a mission that was never meant to include you. When you're forced from the only home you’ve ever known, survival is no longer just about the next meal or the next breath—it’s about who you become when there’s no way back. You’ve spent years believing your father’s lessons—that needing people is a sign of weakness. But as the miles stretch on, as survival becomes more than just a fight for the next day, one truth becomes harder to ignore—you can’t live by your father’s rule of trusting no one anymore.

And one man makes following that rule damn near impossible.

Themes: Joel miller x reader slow burn romance, post-outbreak, grief, healing, angst & longing.

Warnings: canon-type violence, death, depictions of grief and trauma, age gap romance, suicide (referenced, not graphic), intimacy and eventual smut. 18+ only MDNI, but I can't control what you do so discretion is advised.

Other: reader is afab, long hair (enough to grab, put up in a ponytail) may be mentioned. no other physical characteristics. graphics do not reflect character description, only used for vibes. Follows Season 1 of The Last of Us. Blend of show and game canon. Picture Joel as you prefer, but I will be mentioning Pedro Pascal's brown eyes. No use of Y/N. In the beginning of the story, time hops are not canon.

mood boards: Bill's Daughter | The Road So Far | You & Joel | A Lonely Day | Her Peace | Teaser Trailer

Prologue

Before: 5 Years Old

Before: 10 Years Old

Before: 15 Years Old

Before: 18 Years Old

Before: 20 Years Old

Before: 23 Years Old

Now: 25 Years Old

Chapter 1: Joel and Ellie

Chapter 2: Escape

Chapter 3: The Envelope

Chapter 4: Fungus Ain't That Smart

Chapter 5: Kansas City

Chapter 6: The Climb

Chapter 7: Turret

Chapter 8: Strangers

Chapter 9: Spotlight

Chapter 10: Into the Water

Chapter 11: The Suburbs

Chapter 12: Fight and Flight

Chapter 13: Breaking Point

Chapter 14: One Month Later

Chapter 15: Jackson

Chapter 16: Thresholds

Chapter 17: Thinking of You

Chapter 18: Betrayal

Chapter 19: On the Road Again

Chapter 20: The Basement

Chapter 21: David

Chapter 22: Capture

Chapter 23: Blood and Fire

Chapter 24: What Comes After

Chapter 25: Waterways

Chapter 26: What Was Lost and What Was Taken

Epilogue

Ever After

Four Years Later

more coming soon

Hey, you beautiful, amazing people.

I don’t even know where to start, but thank you. Seriously. From the bottom of my heart: to everyone who read, liked, reblogged, screamed in the tags, sent me messages, or just silently followed along—you made this story so much more than I ever imagined.

Every comment, every reaction, every little freak-out over a scene made my day (and honestly fueled me to keep going). The way you connected with this story, these characters—it means everything. Writing this was one thing, but experiencing it with all of you? That was the best part.

So, to everyone who stuck with me, whether from the beginning or just recently—thank you for being here. Thank you for caring. Thank you for making this so special.

I love you all. Truly.

[chrissy-kaos]

I remember, don't lie to me

You couldn't see that it was not that way

Swear I never gave up on you..

[sarvyl]

"As much or as little as you want. No one tells you how to mourn."

[floppycacti]

If I could choose one video game character that breaks my heart more than anyone else, it would be Hawke. However you decide to run through the game, Hawke loses everything.

Before the game even begins, Hawke loses their dad.

Then they lose their king. They lose their home.

Then their sibling dies.

All of this wrapped up into a little bow right after just the PROLOGUE of the game, right? In act 1 they then proceed to work so incredibly hard just to be able to make a name for themselves, to keep their family safe: their mother, their last remaining sibling safe.

Then they lose the sibling. Whether or not you choose Bethany or Carver, whether they go into the deep roads or not, Hawke does lose their last sibling. Either to the blight sickness in the deep roads, to the gray wardens (and then are left just waiting to know if the sibling is even alive for god knows how long), or to the gallows. Carver joining the Templars, and Bethany being taken to the circle respectively.

In act 2, Hawke loses their mom. You as the player are just forced to watch her death on screen, dying in Hawke’s arms. Then, what? Hawke is left alone.

And In act 3 they’re forced on the run again! Lost and on the run with nowhere to go, half of the world hating them and the other half holding them so high up on an impractical pedestal.

Dragon Age 2 may have been rushed, may reuse so many assets, but it will always hold its own in the dragon age series. Dragon Age Origins broke my heart, but Dragon Age 2 ripped it out of my chest, stomped on it, lit it on fire, put it through a meat grinder, and then put it in a box wrapped with a ribbon.

Hawke hurts my heart in a way that no other video game character has ever come close to.

[shiaawtheharmless]

This Is What Is Left

The Fall Of Snuckeys

[lemonadedbee]

AAA i really wanna draw so much more art for this story and develop it but school and other projectssss aaaaa

anyway i hope you enjoy some cool looking Silas hehe

the oc and the story

[spicywarl0ck]

Hey. Happy Friday.

“Its okay, I couldn’t sleep anyway.” looks like fun. And as I seem to be on a FenHawke kick recently and your list states you're also a FenHawke fan I think I have to go for them.

Happy Friday, and thank you for the ask! I know it's been a while! I'm still trying to work my way out of writing block and light burn out. But I had so much fun writing one of my favourite ships <3 @dadrunkwriting Before reading this: Mention of loss (Dragon Age 2 canon story line) Pairing: Fenris/male Hawke Length: 782 Rating: T

Fenris couldn’t sleep that night.

His body had been tossing and turning for hours, crumpling his bedsheets underneath his feet as they started to wrap around his legs. The flames had long given way to the dimly burning ambers, leaving the fireplace cold and abandoned as a whisk of chilly air touched his exposed shoulders.

He sat up in bed, his white hair a wild mess as his green eyes stared motionlessly at the wall.

Hawke wouldn’t go out of his head. The image of the man, bent over the lifeless body of his mother had burned itself into his mind. 

He had seen Hawke being vulnerable often. There had been the incident at the Deep Roads with his brother, the guilt written all over his face when he pushed Carver into becoming a Grey Warden to prevent his death.

Yet, they all knew they had only postponed the problem, and that Carver’s cure might also be the one thing killing him one day.

And then there had been Bethany. Hawke rarely talked about her, but Aveline mentioned the gruesome death of his sister and how Hawke blamed himself ever since. It had happened before they even entered Kirkwall, which had been years ago by now but even Fenris could see that the weight and guilt were still heavy on Hawke’s shoulders.

A sight escaped his lips when he finally freed himself from the sheets as he sat up.

There was no use attempting to sleep, and he secretly knew what to do but Fenris also hesitated. He and Hawke weren’t exactly on good terms at the moment. Sure, they tried not to let that one night come between them, but Fenris couldn’t help but to feel guilty whenever their gazes met.

It had been him leaving Hawke behind that night and things between them had never been the same since then.

But he couldn’t let that stand between them. Not tonight. Not while Hawke sat in this big estate, alone because everyone from his family was either dead or gone. How could he allow himself to leave Hawke alone in that? He who had lost so much himself and who knew he destroyed the slightest chance of happiness by walking out that one night?

Fenris got dressed in a matter of seconds, not bothering to fix his messy hair or to get his full armour on before he walked out. It wasn’t a long walk from his home to the Hawke’s estate, but he felt more nervous with each step.

Was it inappropriate to show up at Hawke’s doorstep in the middle of the night? Would Hawke even want to see him or would it only add more hurt?

His eyes focussed on the Amell crest as he paced in front of the wooden door, his heart pounding fast. This was ridiculous. He was stalling for no reason, his discomfort getting in the way while everything he truly wanted was to be with Hawke.

Yet, all of his thoughts halted when he knocked at the door.

It took ages until someone answered, or at least he felt that way as he waited in the dark of Hightowns streets, counting the minutes until he heard the sound of approaching footsteps, followed by the creak of the door and Hawke’s face.

He looked tired while every fibre of Fenris's body fought against the instinct to touch the man.

“Fenris?” Hawke looked startled, his hair equally messy as his while his body was clad in a burgundy tunic. “Is something the matter?” he added swiftly as concern replaced the confusion in his amber eyes.

Fenris snorted. Showing concern for others while being deeply hurt was such a Hawke thing to do.

“No. Nothing happened. I just…” The elf paused, searching for words as he partially lost his courage.“I’m sorry. I know it’s late. I shouldn’t have bothered you.” he added swiftly, chastising himself. What had he thought? That he of all people should comfort Hawke? He was probably the last person the mage wanted to see.

 “No. It’s alright. You’re not bothering me.” A smile crept up on Hawke’s face. “I couldn’t sleep anyway,” he added, the shadow’s under his eyes telling as much. “Do you want to come in? Have a glass of wine?”

“Yes.” As curt as the elf’s answer was, he noted the relief washing over Hawke’s face before he stepped aside to welcome him in.

There wasn’t much he could do for Hawke and he knew there was nothing he could say to make up for the man’s loss. But he could be there for him and listen, just offering his presence.

And maybe they would be fine eventually. 

[diphylleiatravel]

Things we left behind

El mundo se vino abajo, la sociedad tal y como la conociamos desapareció y todo el mundo empezó a quejarse y a decir que los demás eran crueles y de poco fiar. Que las personas eran egoísta y que ahora todos eramos simples recursos.

Sin embargo nosotras ya vivíamos en modo supervivencia incluso antes de que todo acabara.

La falta de dinero, el color de nuestra piel, nuestra poca expeciencia en el mundo y nuestro caracter explosivo nos convirtieron en personas vulnerables. Todos nos decían que hacer y como comportarnos, pero tu y yo nos encontramos en aquel mar de locura y desesperación para crear una alianza. Un camino.

Jamás me hicieron dudar de que ayudarte merecía la pena.

Empezamos solas pero lo terminaremos juntas.

@remains-rpg

@julesrraccoon

[icherylwallace]

Aporte para la dinámica del mes de Tumblr: All That Reamins. @remains-rpg

My dreams have fallen no more to share now remains the end

[daryltwdixon]

Summary: You fight to survive while David closes in, the fire spreading as your last chance to escape burns away. Meanwhile, Joel is tearing through the town, leaving no one standing as he gets closer to finding you.

warnings: PLEASE HEED WARNINGS. DAVID SCENE. Scary/violent Joel!!! threats of s/a!!!

a/n: so sorry we're taking all of Ellie's trauma and dumping it on fmc

Joel

He knows his knuckles are bloody. He’s just not sure whose blood it is anymore.

The man beneath him gurgles on his own breath, barely conscious, his face an unrecognizable mess of blood and swelling. Joel barely registers the pained moans, the way his own fingers throb from the repeated impact. There’s nothing but the pulse of rage in his veins, steady, unrelenting.

A voice shouts from behind him, panicked. “Jesus Christ, stop! ”

Joel exhales sharply through his nose, flexing his fingers as he straightens. The man beneath him slumps sideways, too broken to move, still sputtering wet, gurgled breaths through split lips.

Joel grunts, pressing a hand to his side where the wound still screams at him. Doesn’t matter. He pushes to his feet, stepping over the barely-breathing heap at his feet, and turns to the other man.

This one is tied up. Arms pulled back, wrists bound tight. Feet lashed to the chair legs, chest heaving with each quick, panicked breath. He won’t be moving anytime soon.

Joel grabs the knife you left him and a chair, planting himself directly in front of the man.

“Now,” he says, his voice rough, deadly, “the girls. Are they alive?”

The man shakes his head frantically, “What girls? I don’t know no girls.”

Why did they always do that? Pretend they don’t know? Like lying was going to do them any good. Like it was going to save them.

In one fluid motion, he lifts the knife— and slams it down into the top of the man’s knee.

A sickening crunch, the squelch of metal sinking into flesh, and then a scream.

The man lurches forward in agony, his body jerking violently against the restraints, his legs spasming as he tries—fails—to move away from the pain.

Joel leans in close, his breath fogging in the cold air between them. He slaps the man’s face once—not hard, just enough to force his eyes open, to force him to look at him.

“ Focus, right here,” Joel says, his voice low and steady. “Or I’ll pop your goddamn knee off.”

He’d do it. Wouldn’t think twice.

The man gasps, sweat slicking his forehead despite the cold. His body shakes violently, his teeth chattering, his breathing uneven. “Alive,” he stammers, barely getting the word out. “They’re alive.” His breath shudders. “The one—the one is David’s new pet.”

Pet.

Joel goes still.

That awful word lingers in the air, curling around his ribcage like something poisonous, something dark.

“The older one, the p—pretty—”

The man swallows, eyes darting wildly over Joel’s face, realizing too late what he just said.

Joel twists the knife in his leg without hesitation.

The scream is hoarse, raw, breaking apart on the man’s tongue. He thrashes against the chair, but Joel just leans in,pushing the blade deeper, twisting slow.

“ Where? ” he growls.

The cold fog of his breath coils between them, but Joel doesn’t feel the cold anymore. He doesn’t feel anything anymore.

The man whimpers, his jaw clenching against the pain, but he hesitates—so Joel twists the handle again.

“The town!” he chokes. “It’s a lodge! It’s—it’s in the town!”

Joel stares at him for a long moment, then wrenches the knife free in one brutal yank. Blood pools red on the man's jeans, as he cries out, his head falling back as his body convulses from the shock of pain. 

Joel’s expression doesn’t change. Calmly, he lifts the blood-slick knife and presses the hilt of the handle against the man’s lips.

The man flinches, eyes wide in terror, but Joel leans closer, his voice cold and steady. Slowly, he reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. He takes his time unfolding it, letting the silence stretch, letting the weight of inevitability settle over the room like a thick fog. The map opens in front of the man’s trembling gaze, but Joel doesn’t hand it to him. 

“You’re gonna mark it on the map,” Joel says, “And it better be the same exact spot as your buddy points to.”

The man hesitates, his entire body trembling. Joel doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, just watches—waiting. The silence stretches, thick with menace.

Finally, with a shuddering breath, the man leans forward. His lips tremble around the handle of the knife, blood smeared across his chin as he tilts it just enough to tap the map with the slick, crimson-stained tip.

Then, with a wet gag, he spits the knife onto the floor, his breath coming in sharp, wheezing gasps.

“Right there,” the man gasps out, his breath coming in sharp little sobs. “You can verify it—go ask him, he’ll tell you. I ain’t lyin.”

Joel tilts his head slightly, considering the man’s words. He doesn’t speak right away, letting the silence stretch uncomfortably as he eyes the bloodied map. Then, as if coming to a decision, he steps around the chair with deliberate, measured movements, his boots crunching softly on the blood-slick floor.

The man’s breath quickens, his head twisting to follow Joel’s movements, panic flaring in his eyes.

Joel stops behind him, looming like a shadow. The man barely has time to choke out a wheeze of protest before Joel’s arm snakes around his neck in one fluid motion.

His forearm presses tight against the man’s windpipe, the crook of his elbow locking into place. Joel’s other hand clamps down on his wrist, securing the hold as he leans his weight into the man.

The man thrashes, his legs kicking wildly, the chair scraping against the floor in a desperate attempt to free himself. Joel doesn’t flinch. His grip is unrelenting, his body steady as he tightens the chokehold with practiced precision.

The man’s body jerks, legs spasming, chair rattling wildly against the floor. Joel doesn’t flinch, doesn’t hesitate. He just holds, his grip unwavering, his biceps flexed tight like a vice.

The thrashing slows.

The body goes slack.

The other man, now awake and still slumped on the floor, watches in horror, his bruised and bloodied face draining of color. His breath is shaky, his words tumbling out in panic.

“What the fuck? He told you what you wanted! ” The man shouts back frantically, shaking his head. “I ain’t tellin’ you shit, man! ”

Joel just looks at him, exhaustion creeping back into his body as he breathes deeply. 

“That’s okay,” he murmurs, reaching down to pick up a metal pipe from the floor, testing the weight of it in his hand.

His dark eyes flick up, locking onto the man in a stare so cold it could freeze fire.

“I believe him.”

The man barely has time to scream before Joel swings.

The pipe connects with his skull in a brutal arc.

You

The door bursts open, crashing against the wall as two figures storm inside. You flinch back against the cold iron bars, dread sinking deep in your stomach.

James and David. And from the look on their faces, they weren’t here to talk.

David moves fast, striding to the cage with purpose, his grip sure as he wrenches the door open. The screech of metal barely registers before hands are on you, dragging you forward.

"No!" you scream, scrambling back, but there’s nowhere to go. "No! Please!"

They don’t care.

Their hands clamp around your arms, lifting you like you weigh nothing. You twist, kick, fight, but it doesn’t matter. They haul you onto the butcher’s table, slamming you down hard. Your breath stutters, panic clawing its way through your chest as David leans over you, his bloodied arm braced against your shoulder.

The butcher knife gleams in his hand, raised high above your head.

"Stop! Stop! STOP!" you scream, voice cracking under the sheer force of it.

Nothing.

Desperation pushes the words from your mouth before you can think. "The girl—the little girl—she's infected!"

David’s hand stops, the blade hovering midair. His breathing is steady, but his grip tightens, his eyes narrowing as he studies you.

"That where you got that bite?" you ask him, glancing down at his own arm. The dried blood is smeared along his sleeve, the wound jagged, unmistakably human. Small, like a child’s.

James shifts uneasily beside him. "David, they've been here for hours. Everyone infected dies within a few hours of being bitten, there's no way—"

"Go check her. I swear it," you say, voice breathless, desperate.

David’s fingers twitch against the hilt of the knife. His gaze flickers to the door, then back to his own wound, brows knitting together.

Now or never.

Your fingers wrap around the handle of the butcher knife still buried in the table beside your head. Before either of them even registers the movement, you rip it free and swing.

It sinks deep into James's neck.

The sound is wet, sickening, flesh giving way under the force. His body jerks violently as he chokes on the blood bubbling up his throat, but you don’t stop to watch. You throw yourself off the table, legs almost giving beneath you as you stumble forward.

Gunshots ring out, deafening, but you don’t stop. You tear through the door, sprinting with everything you have, your lungs burning as bullets punch into the walls behind you.

Where was Ellie? Would you reach her in time? What had they done to her?

The only thing you knew for sure was that you had to keep running.

Joel

Trudging through the knee-deep snow, Joel pushes forward against the howling wind, his body stiff with cold and exhaustion. The blizzard is relentless, whipping sharp gusts of ice into his face, but he doesn’t slow. The town appears through the white haze, its buildings standing silent and lifeless, stripped of the warmth and movement that once made it livable.

No fires. No voices. No signs of life.

His boots crunch against frozen ground as he moves down the empty street, scanning for anything—any sign of you or Ellie. Every door he passes is locked, every window dark, until finally, he finds one that gives under his grip.

The air inside is just as cold, but at least the wind is gone. He flicks on his flashlight, sweeping it across the room, taking in the empty shelving, the dust, the quiet. It looks like storage. Nothing unusual. But then something catches his eye, and his stomach drops.

Two backpacks, slumped against the far wall.

One bigger. One smaller, with a decorative chain dangling from the zipper.

Yours and Ellie’s.

Joel’s breath leaves him in a slow, heavy exhale. What the hell?

He strides forward, kneeling to grab them, fingers clenching tightly around the straps before slinging them over his shoulder. The weight of them makes something cold settle deep in his chest.

Moving deeper into the building, his boots echo too loudly in the empty space. Then he sees it—streaks of blood on the floor. Fresh.

His flashlight follows the trail, his pulse hammering in his ears. His grip tightens around his rifle as he steps forward, pushing open another door.

He sweeps the beam of light ahead, following the source.

Callus.

The horse lies motionless on the ground, dark blood staining the floor beneath him. Joel turns away from the sight, jaw tightening. He had been a good horse. He had gotten all of you through miles and miles, through danger, through the worst of it. And now��

Joel swallows hard and keeps moving. Then, he stops dead.

His light catches something hanging from the ceiling.

Butcher hooks.

Bodies hang upside down, drained of blood, limp and lifeless. Human bodies.

His stomach turns violently, and for a moment, he thinks he might throw up, but he forces himself to breathe through it, forces himself to look.

None of them are fresh. None of them are you or Ellie.

His breath returns in a sharp, ragged inhale, his hands flexing around his rifle. He didn’t have time to process this.

He had to find you. He had to find you now.

You

The dining space you slip into is dim, the day outside slipping into darkness as you stumble through the door. Lantern light flickers weakly against the walls, casting long, wavering shadows. You race to the opposite door, grabbing the handles and pulling with all your strength.

Just as it opens, a body slams into you, sending you sprawling backward.

David.

His hands are on your neck before you can react, squeezing as you thrash against him. You lurch to the side, toppling the lanterns by the door. The glass shatters, spilling flames onto the carpet, and the fire ignites with alarming speed.

Luckily, it’s enough of a distraction, and you wrench free from David's grip, diving behind the tables, your breath coming in panicked gasps.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he calls, his voice maddeningly calm. “You can still make it up to me.” He shuts the door behind him, locking it with a deliberate click. “No way out. I’ve got the keys.”

Your stomach twists as another voice calls out, startling you.

Then, movement. A soft, strained sound—almost a groan.

You turn your head just enough to see past the overturned chairs, past the flickering glow of fire spreading along the walls. And that’s when you see her.

Ellie.

She’s slumped in a chair, arms yanked behind her, ankles bound to the legs.

Your breath catches, a cold wave of panic washing over you.

She’s tied up. She’s here.

David follows your gaze, his expression softening in mock sympathy. “She sure fights hard to stay alive for someone who’s infected, huh?”

Your eyes dart to Ellie. She looks unharmed, barely bruised. Relief washes over you, but it’s short-lived. You duck into the kitchen, out of sight, searching for something— anything —to use. Your fingers wrap around a knife in one of the drawers, and you crouch behind the counter, your breaths shallow.

“I’ve changed my mind, you know,” David calls out, his voice soft, coaxing. “Like I said, you can make it up to me. I don’t want either of us dying today.”

The heat clings to your skin, the fire roaring louder as smoke begins to fill the room.

“I can teach you,” he says, and your heart seizes as you realize how close he is. His voice is gentle, coaxing—almost tender.

“We can be together. I’ll show you the way. I’ll protect you.”

Then, casually, like it means nothing, he adds, “The little girl, Ellie… she can stay too.”

Ice floods your veins.

You don’t want to know how he learned her name.

Your breath shudders out, but you don’t respond.

He calls your name instead, rolling it over his tongue like he enjoys the taste of it, his voice sickly sweet.

And then you see him ahead of you.

You don’t hesitate.

With a sharp cry, you lunge, driving the knife deep into his gut.

“Fuck!” David shouts, stumbling backward and shoving you away.

You dive behind the counter again, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. Ellie starts to stir, her head lolling to the side as she blinks into consciousness. You had to get to her. Untie her. Get the hell out of here.

The crunch of glass underfoot draws David’s attention. “Not so sneaky now, are you?” he snarls, his voice dangerously close. You leap out of the way, darting toward Ellie.

Her eyes snap open as you reach her, and she looks at you in wide-eyed horror. “What the fuck?” she whispers. Silently, you press a finger to your lips to silence her.

Carefully, you kneel by her chair, working quickly at the knots binding her. “Are you okay?” you whisper, barely audible over the crackling flames.

Ellie nods, her gaze darting to your face. “Your head—”

“I’m fine,” you cut her off, your fingers fumbling with the rope. “We need to get—”

“LOOK OUT!” Ellie screams, her eyes going wide.

You spin just as David grabs you, yanking you away from her.

You hit the ground hard, the air knocked from your lungs. His hands are on you again, scrabbling for purchase as you kick at him wildly. One kick connects with his wrist, and his knife goes skittering across the floor.

But he’s too strong, climbing on top of you and keeping you down as your lungs burn with smoke and panic.

“Stop! No!” Ellie screams, her voice breaking.

“Knew she’d make a great trap,” David says, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you’d fall for something so silly. You buck and thrash, but he’s too heavy, his hands locking yours above your head.

“Oh,” David murmurs with a sick grin, his face so close you can feel the warmth of his breath—tangy and repulsive. “Wasn’t it clear enough, honey?”

He presses your body down with his, grip bruising, a suffocating weight on top of you. His eyes glint with sadistic glee as he leans in closer, his voice dropping to an almost intimate murmur.

“I like when they fight,” he says, the words curling in your ears like poison.

Bile rises in your throat, your stomach heaving with revulsion. Tears stream down the sides of your face, warm trails cutting through the dirt and blood smearing your skin. You continue to buck and thrash against him, your body fighting even as your mind screams in panic.

His grip shifts slightly, one of your hands slipping free—but not because you’re winning.

His hand moves to his belt, the sharp click of the buckle snapping open. The sound is deafening, louder than the roaring fire, louder than the pounding of your own frantic heartbeat. Your body screams in terror, every nerve alight with desperation. Your hand that’s free scrapes against the floor above your head, and your fingers graze something solid. Cold, metal— the knife.

Adrenaline surges, hot and fierce.

You grip the handle, your knuckles white as you lift it with every ounce of strength left in your body.

He doesn’t notice.

Not until the blade bites deep into his neck with a sickening crunch of flesh and bone.

David roars, the sound guttural and inhuman as his body jerks to the side. Blood spurts from the wound, hot and sticky, spraying across your skin. 

But you don’t stop.

The fire is in you now—burning hotter than the flames licking the walls around you. You scramble on top of him as he clutches at his throat, his eyes wide with shock and fury.

Your arms rise and fall, the knife sinking into his chest, his neck, his stomach. Over and over again, the blade finds flesh, spraying blood that coats your hands, your clothes, your face.

Your screams tear through the air, raw and guttural, blending with the crackling fire and the wet, sickening sounds of the blade meeting his body.

Years of rage pour into every swing—years of fear, loneliness, grief, and helplessness. Every time you’ve been scared, every time you’ve been hurt, every time someone you loved was taken from you, it all comes pouring out.

David’s struggles weaken, his arms twitching feebly at his sides. Blood pools beneath him, soaking the floor, thick and dark.

Still, you don’t stop. You can’t.

You hear Ellie’s voice shouting for you, maybe it’s your name or for you to stop, you have no idea. It’s like your underwater. All you know is that he can’t hurt you. Can’t hurt Ellie. 

Hands grab you from behind, strong and unrelenting, and you scream again, your voice raw and desperate. Your muscles seize, your mind snapping into panic. Another one?

You twist violently, throwing yourself off of David’s lifeless body as you turn to face whoever had grabbed you. One of his men, surely. Come to finish the job.

Your vision swims, tears and blood blurring the firelit room as your thoughts race. Was this it? After everything? All the fighting, all the blood spilled—you’re still going to lose?

But the grip on you doesn’t tighten. It doesn’t hurt.

“It’s me! It’s me! Hey!”

The voice cuts through the haze, rough but familiar, and the roaring in your ears falters.

Brown eyes come into view, steady and intent, grounding you like an anchor in a storm. Your whole body trembles, the firelight flickering around you, but all you can see is him.

Joel.

“He—” you choke out, your voice cracking as tears spill down your face in hot, messy streaks. “He was going to—”

“I know,” Joel says, his voice thick and hoarse, every word laced with an urgency that breaks something inside you. “I know, baby girl. Come here.”

He drops to his knees with you, his arms wrapping around you so tightly it feels like he’s holding you together, keeping you from falling apart completely. His hand presses against the back of your head, cradling you to his chest, the other curling protectively around your trembling body.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice low and steady, as if saying it enough times could make it true. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you. You’re okay now.”

You sob into him, the sound raw and jagged, your fists clutching weakly at the front of his jacket as if he might vanish if you let go. His scent—wood and sweat and something achingly familiar—grounds you in a way nothing else could.

“I thought—” The words catch in your throat, choking on the weight of everything you can’t say.

“I know,” Joel says again, pulling you even closer. His voice wavers for just a moment, a crack in his armor that only you can hear. “I’m here now. It’s over. You’re safe.”

Your fingers curl tighter into his jacket as sobs wrack your body. The fire roars around you, the heat blistering, but all you feel is Joel—his arms, his voice, the steady, unyielding presence of him.

“You came,” you whisper brokenly, your words muffled against his chest.

“’Course I did,” he breathes, his lips brushing against the crown of your head. “I’ll always come for you. Always.”

For a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. The fire, the smoke, the terror—it all fades, drowned out by the steady thrum of Joel’s heart against your cheek.

He pulls back just enough to cup your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing the tears and blood from your cheeks. His dark eyes meet yours, filled with something you can’t name—something close to love, close to desperation.

“Let me see you,” he says softly, his voice breaking. “You’re hurt—look at me.”

But you shake your head, your hands clutching at his wrists. “We need to get Ellie,” you whisper, your voice trembling with urgency.

Joel’s jaw tightens, his gaze flickering toward the flames. He nods, his hands never leaving you.

“We’ll get her,” he says, his voice resolute. “We’ll get her, and we’ll get the hell out of here.”

But for a moment longer, he doesn’t move. He stays there, holding you like he’s afraid to let go, his thumb tracing slow, grounding circles over your jaw. It soothes the rawness in your throat, the tremors in your hands—but the fire is rising, and Ellie is still tied to that damn chair.

Then, through the crackling flames, you hear her voice.

“Joel?!”

Her shout is hoarse but strong, cutting through the suffocating heat. The sheer relief in it sends a fresh surge of urgency through your veins.

You scramble to your feet, Joel right behind you, both of you moving as one.

Her wide eyes lock onto the two of you, flickering between your bloodstained clothes and the fire eating away at the walls. Her face is flushed from the heat, but she’s alert, unharmed.

Joel is already at her side, his hands working quickly at the ropes binding her. “You okay?” he grunts, his voice raw but steady.

Ellie nods quickly, wriggling against the restraints. “Yeah— yeah! Let’s get the hell out of here before any of those crazy fucks comes back.”

Joel gets the last of the rope undone, his hands shaking slightly as he grips her shoulder. “Can you run?”

Ellie scoffs, though there’s a slight tremor in her voice. “Duh.”

“Then let’s go,” Joel says, standing and pulling her up with ease. “Now.”

The fire has spread fast—too fast. Thick black smoke curls toward the ceiling, swallowing the room, the heat clawing at your skin. The building groans around you, wooden beams splitting as the flames eat their way upward.

Joel grabs Ellie’s hand, then reaches for yours, gripping it tightly.

“Stay with me,” he growls over the roar of the fire.

You don’t let go as the three of you run.

Bursting through the burning wreckage, into the icy cold, into whatever comes next—together.

[fuckyeahmhawkefenris]

Sooo I made a bluesky account to see is there's more to "social life" than tumblr...

Frankly, to me it looks more like a junkyard and it's hard to get used to new surroundings and formatting i'm slow and hate it, but I did manage to find a few things that I don't recall ever seeing on tumblr.

Gotta catch 'em all

(I'm collecting links to those artists original posts. For now navigation there is hell for me)

[remains-rpg]

If somehow the lord gave me a second chance... I would do it all over again.

All That Remains Primer Aniversario. Gracias, supervivientes.

Endure & Survive.

[tombofmemories]

I miss actually being able to find band posts when I searched for them on here. Instead it’s just unrelated garbage, if anything pops up at all. 🤗

[cha0s-tonight]

[lemonadedbee]

Einar

The quiet kid of the group but very loving and great listener. He has been found and adopted by Oleg and Kai, ever since Einar has been always around even he does like his own space and quiet. He's more the observent and logical guy.

After Oleg's death he decides to dedicate his life to protect others from the same fate and from Necromancers and their undead solders. Now loner once again he travels through the country to defend.

After few years he once again meets up by accident with Kai and Silas, resolving in joining their cost.

The story description/premise

Toyhouse page

[frankiebirds]

maybe (definitely) reading into it but oughhhh having thoughts about spencer saying "close enough" when rossi says the odds of something must be "a billion to one". and then later when morgan is on the phone with hotch when they find katie's body and he says "i don't really know which river this is, hotch." while reid is standing right next to him. and come on. reid definitely knows. but he says nothing. because it doesnt matter. because it didnt matter.