#sketching out some ideas but i liked this

[soupdweller]

you guys know the film City of Lost Children (1995)? no? WELL I HAVE MADE AN AU OF IT-

+ some close-ups:

further AU lore and sketches under the cut!!

THE LORE: - much like the film - it takes places in a rusted steam punk portside town. - most people get by but a crazed scientist is said to be running things behind the scenes. - a series of unsolved child disappearance have started to plague the town.

SUN: - day-time performer/entertainer at the local carnival! - shares a body with Moon; and the two...used to be close... - can only see out of his right eye- but would die before letting anyone know his blind spot. - deceptively stronger than he looks. - courteous guy who definitely is not hiding any ulterior motives!

MOON: - night-time performer at the local carnival. - can only see out of his left eye. - ???? - ???? - ????

YN: - local handyman - puts on a cold front but has grown a soft spot for one of the neighbourhood street urchins. i'm sure nothing bad will happen to them. - untrusting and loathes owing people favours.

i've been working on this since November so have a stupid amount of concept sketches:

i changed a lot of stuff in the final designs, but i still like the older ideas :')

[pedgito]

𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 | Jackson!Joel Miller x reader

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summary | Your postcards become a personal journal during patrols with Joel.

author's note | a little late, but this is my entry for @jolapeno's dear-uary! i had very little idea what i was going to do initially, but this kinda turned into its own thing. i hope the postcards are a nice addition to the fic, they were quite fun to make.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, jackson era joel, patrol partners, quiet!reader, enemies to lovers, one instance of choking, mentions of violence, angst, mean!joel, voyeurism, forced orgasm, thigh riding

word count — 7k

“It’s the fifth time I’ve came back and she’s been sleepin’,” Joel gripes a handful of feet below as you feign resting, trying to relax the sneer that threatened to cross your face, annoyed with the exhaustion that never left but loathing the man who couldn’t seem to give you a break, “or writing in that damn book, ignoring us.”

“I’ll talk—” Joel interrupts Tommy once more, with emphasis on the amount, but Tommy reels him in, squeezing down on his shoulder as you peek through one eye over the railing, scoffing under your breath, “I’ll talk to her, alright? S’awonder what a simple conversation can fix, Joel.”

His approach comes later during shift change as the night slowly melted into dawn, the sun rising on the horizon in waves of orange and purple, creating a cotton candy sky, hearing Tommy’s voice carry as he greeted people along the way before the scuff of his boots stopped behind you, you turn to peer up at him sheepishly.

“Not a good look, y’know?” Tommy says redundantly, “I’m not tryin’ to gripe you out, but Joel—”

You nod knowingly, waving him off as you toss your pencil and notebook aside, adjusting your jacket over your shoulders as you sit upright, rubbing the sleep out of tired eyes.

“You can always put me on kitchen duty, hell I’ll take—”

“No—no, I’m not moving you. You havin’ trouble sleeping in the singles?”

The apartments, the singles—it varied, depending on who you asked. A place for the younger, single survivors in Jackson. With the constant sound and rumble of life within the walls, you should feel safe, a subtle semblance of home, but sleeping alone was hard. Trapped within four walls, drowned out by the eventual silence as night fell, it left room for the nightmares.

It was easier here, surrounded by others, sounds to help keep you grounded, the fresh air despite the stale smells and faint fumes of rotting corpses. You couldn’t explain it, but it was easier. Besides, it wasn’t like you were being completely negligent—even Tommy knew that.

“I have trouble sleeping in general,” You feed him a half-truth, “I’ll keep it together, though. As long as it keeps Joel off your ass and mine, I wouldn’t be thrilled to be on the receiving end of one of Joel’s outbursts.”

“Tantrums, more like.” He jokes with a smirk, his teeth peeking out under his thick mustache. “I really don’t mind if you’re dozing off a bit, s’long as there’s others keepin’ watch. Maybe–just maybe, try and keep up the act when Joel’s coming and going.”

“Can do,” You agree with ease and Tommy smiles, pointing lazily toward your notebook.

“I’m curious, though—whatcha got goin’ on in there?”

Your brow furrows until you look over your shoulder and surmise what he’s referencing, picking up the notebook carelessly and flipping through to show him–it was a mix of random doodles and sketches, some vulgar words scribbled in by a mix of immature men who you’ve come to befriend with reluctance on the job, a detailed log of everyone’s schedule as they leave and return, random details of weather patterns, things you’ve noticed along the skyline toward the inner city, several months worth of information that Tommy nods at, thoughtful as he looks over the pages.

“Don’t let ‘em give you a hard time,” Tommy tells you, folding the cover closed.

“Yes, sir,” You say endearingly, mostly as a jest at Tommy’s expense, knowing he despised the word, making a face as he turned on his heels to leave.

“Shit makes me feel old,” He gripes, shaking his head in a mix of disdain and amusement, “stop it.”

You smile at his annoyance as you tuck your belongings away into your pack and trade your rifle off to Jesse, who seemed more than eager to take your shift with bright, well-rested eyes and a grin of his face as greeted you both.

As you expect, there is little sleep to be had as you hit your bed, tossing and turning as you fiddle with the ripped hole in your bed sheet or spend time counting the stains on your ceilings—mold spots and holes, signs of a building that was on the way out, but hanging by a thread.

Tommy wouldn’t condemn the place unless it was in shambles, finding use of just about anything if it still had enough life in it. 

And you follow Tommy’s instructional plea—even if it killed you to appease Joel, who seemed just as critical if not more as he rode up on his horse every few nights.

Their shifts weren’t always regular and Joel often picked up extra patrols when someone else couldn’t, complaining entirely too much for someone who seemed like they couldn’t stand living within the sanctuary of Jackson, like he’d rather tough it out on his own.

Ellie blamed it on his inability to let himself settle—Jackson was home, his family was here, and physically he could exist, but he never seemed quite present.

You catch Ellie on a shift change as Tommy and Joel approach, trading out your jerky for her sandwich as she hurriedly tucked it away like she was going to get caught doing something she shouldn’t, snorting softly at her actions as Joel scowled, pulling at the reigns of his horse as he drew near.

The call of your name has you perking up, peering around Ellie’s head at Tommy with a less than enthusiastic look on his face, rifles held between both of the brothers grips.

“I’m askin’ for a huge favor,” Instantly you knew, posture slumping slightly as your boots sunk into the snow, “Cindy’s sick—caught the same bug that’s been goin’ around. Can you cover another shift? I’ll owe ya.”

“Seems more like you’re telling me,” You retort, stretching the beanie down over the back of your head to cover your ears, the cold biting at your skin, “—it’s fine, I’ll do it.”

“Thank—“

“But I want the weekend off.”

“Done.” Tommy agrees without problem.

The patrol box wasn’t all that bad anyways, insulated enough that you weren’t freezing your ass off, enough room for two people, it could be worse. It was better than walking the strip of the barricade, shivering until you couldn’t even feel your toes.

Wyoming winters were brutal, but it seemed like the end of the world had found a vengeance to fight back with, giving you the harshest versions of every season. A blizzard was expected within the next few weeks and those were never ideal—extra patrols, doubling watchmen, curfews. It sucked.

You find yourself sketching out the same tree line you’ve drawn a hundred times, wispy tendrils and thick trunks that wove together like a web, time drifting by with ease as the night swallowed up the day, the thick blanket of snow reducing both the noise and allowing a soft illumination as you peered off into the distance, almost mesmerized at the glowing orb that seemed to grow closer and closer. 

Tommy and Joel were the last ones out, everyone else having returned back hours prior, keeping in mind that they had taken the furthest patrol out north, so it wasn’t all that surprising.

But, it doesn’t take long for you to realize that Joel and Tommy are not alone, horses trotting quickly toward the gates as a small group of raiders followed closely behind and shot of rifle rounds with no exact target, whizzing by your head as you opened the door and ran to your own rifle, sliding to the wall for cover as you quickly loaded your gun and swung it over the ledge.

It wasn’t often that you had to use it outside of training and target practice, finding that Jackson had always been relatively quiet—except for now, as the brothers tumbled to cover as shots fired from your left and right, a few of the attackers succumbed to their flurry of wounds.

You watch as one raider attacks the brothers head on, short-lived as Joel attacks him with his fists, a hand bunching into the front of the attackers shirt before he’s crushing his skull in with pure rage and strength, eventually ending up with his hands around the other man's neck while he choked on the blood that spilled from his mouth, the light in his eyes slowly fading.

There’s a straggler on the outskirts, though, blending in as he slid through the tree line and attempted to attack Joel from behind, you quickly aim down your sight through the scope of the gun, following a straight and calm line as the man approached, stepping a few feet away from Joel before the bullet slices through his head, falling to the ground in an instant. 

Joel’s head whips toward you, your head peeking over the scope as you examine the body before looking over at him, seemingly stunned but the expression was subdued, quietly mouthing something to his brother who wasn’t as good at hiding his shock. 

Either you had made the right choice in saving Joel’s life or he was going to twist this on you, somehow proving that you could’ve killed him with your carelessness, letting a shot ring out so close to his head.

The dread you were feeling does come to fruition as Tommy knocks on your door that weekend, your soft voice welcoming him inside as you perched against the alcove in your room, a small ledge tucked against the windowsill. 

“I ain’t here to lecture you,” Tommy begins, cutting through your doubt, “feel like I’m constantly askin’ so much of you but Joel and I can agree on one thing. You’re a damn good shot.”

You scoff at that, almost a laugh. 

He leaned against the wall near the small kitchen tucked into the corner of the apartment, arms crossed over his chest.

“We lost James,” from what you recalled, he was a young kind, inexperienced, reckless too, “poor kid never fuckin’ listened, got shot before he could even get his gun out.”

“Why are you telling me this?” You ask bluntly, looking up at him through a downturned gaze, picking at the chipped paint by your feet.

“We’re down a person. I want you to take over.”

“I thought this was a council decision. Some prestigious thing, putting people through tests before they could—“

“It’s the least of my worries. Maria’s close to her due date too, that storm is creepin’ in. We ain’t got time to waste, we’ll be doubling patrols soon. Are you in or out, kid?”

Tommy’s face screamed desperation, sunken eyes were a telltale sign of lacking sleep, stress rifling his features. He had a lot on his plate, the weight of Jackson on his shoulders, his burgeoning new family growing within a few weeks. You had a soft spot for him unfortunately and it was always your downfall.

“I’m in.”

—

“You listen to every word I say,” Joel tells you, snaking by the others loading up their saddle bags, side stepping the horse’s head as he crowds you into the small space of the stall, “Every single word, got it?”

He’s never been friendly—cordial, maybe. But, Joel wasn’t the type to ask or suggest. It was always order and demand, his harsh tone constricting the words to instill an edge that had your brows furrowing down into your lids, face scrunching up in annoyance.

You agree regardless, nodding your head as you clip the saddlebag closed.

“I need to hear it.”

“Got it,” You retort, sarcasm laced around your tongue, “Every single word. You say run, I run. Jump, I jump. Good enough?”

Joel shakes his head slightly at your tone, looking off toward the entrance of the barn at his brother who was deep into a conversation, displeased with the idea of being paired with you.

But, he was the only one Tommy trusted to train you properly, even if it meant several hours together with a good chance you both might kill each other. 

With Joel, you were safe from everything else but him.

“Yeah, thas’ good.” He relents, turning on his heels before he finishes his sentence.

The weather was only just beginning to pick up, the winds whipping your loose hair over your face, pulling them from the tie you had pulling the majority of it back, hood snug over your head. You hear the distinct sound of leather rubbing against itself as Joel tightens his grips on the reins of his horse, settling beside you quietly as Tommy called off everyone’s posting.

You were assigned to the ski lodge far north, the furthest they patrolled but for good reason. It kept the raiders at bay, staking claim so far out and keeping them away, for the most part. Plus, it gave them an early jump on any of the migrating groups of infected, finding that they often moved in hoards during the colder months, picking off the stragglers that wandered in.

The trip is cold, lips dry and cracking by the time you reach the lodge, but relatively easy. 

“Tie ‘em up,” Joel instructs coarsely, waiting to latch the door closed as you tie the horses up to the makeshift post in the foyer, his foot holding the door open as you step past him, shoulder brushing his elbow as his eyes track the touch silently, clicking the lock into place.

“Beds are up there,” Joel pointed toward the right corner, couches lined with sheets and pillows, “s’better to sleep down here with this weather, place don’t keep out the cold that well unless we got a fire going and even then…”

“I’ll be fine,” You assure him tensely, stripping your jacket off your shoulders and slinging it over the back of a nearby chair, pack falling slack against the floor, leaving you free to wander around.

“Sign us in,” He points vaguely in the direction of the bar, an old leather booklet resting against the wall with a pin tucked around a page, his voice carrying as you walk further away, “I’ll start up a fire.”

Joel was like a ghost, almost forgetting he was there until he’s approaching behind you, that familiar grimace on his face as he finds you scouring through the book, curiosity getting the best of you—it was harmless, but Joel thought otherwise.

“Is this gonna be an issue?” He asks, eyes widened slightly in an expectant manner, waiting for your response.

You wrestle with the urge to roll your eyes, neatly writing your names down into the book, checking quickly at your watch before you snap the book closed and shove it aside.

You move to walk around him, but his palm flattens out against your collarbone, shoving you back into place—he wasn’t letting you move without an answer.

“No,” You answer casually, pushing his hand away gently, “Are you gonna explain how any of this works?”

“We take turns,” Joel says, mirroring your early actions as he strips off his couch, the warmth of the fire already spreading throughout the room, “I’ll take first shift ‘til morning, then we swap.”

“And if we see something?”

“You wake me up,” He tells you, “otherwise, don’t.”

It was a simple but lethal instruction, a warning.

This was going to be absolute hell.

Luckily, the conversation dies out and you wander toward the small gift shop attached to the bar. It was mostly picked through besides the small plush bear sitting alone on the shelf and a revolving carousel of postcards, aged from both weather and time. You spin them around careful, mindlessly plucking a few that still seemed in good enough condition before you’re shoving them away in your bag, ignoring the creak of a chair as Joel sat with his rifle in his lap, leaned back as he stared out the long expansive window that covered the wall, just on the edge of cliff with a substantial drop.

It had a beautiful view, breathtaking, really. But, looking in his direction only made you feel more and more unsettled, taking your seat beside the fire quietly.

“Should get some sleep,” He suggest without turning his head over his shoulder, your eyes glancing in his direction, “don’t need you fallin’ asleep on patrol here.”

And normally, you could find yourself falling asleep easily given the situation. But, you were on edge, fearful, something twisting in your gut that kept you from relaxing. You’ve heard the stories about Joel, how ruthlessly he killed and maimed. A man of action rather than peace.

You pull a single postcard from your back to distract yourself, hoping that it might help lull you to sleep eventually.

And you wished it had gotten easier, but the more you were paired with Joel, the more tension it seemed to cause, always unspoken—Joel never reacted, barely skirting the idea that this was becoming a problem, the lack thereof with communication, speaking only when you absolutely needed to.

His questions were always odd, like a robot attempting to make small talk—and often, it was observations, one-off statements that shouldn’t have bothered you as much as they did.

But, they did.

“Sleepin’ with that knife ain’t safe.” Joel told you on a crisp, stormy night at the end of January, the tail end of it peeking out from under your pillow, one eye peeling open to look at him with disdain.

“Says the man who sleeps with a rifle on his chest.”

Joel chews at his bottom lip, looking down at the bulky weapon in his lap before he ignores your retort, focusing his gaze on the book in his grip, something he’s read through about a hundred times, attempting to give himself a different view, flipping through the pages mindlessly.

“Where’d you learn to use a gun like that?” He asks suddenly, cutting through the silence again.

Another question, one you could leave unanswered. 

“We’re not put in the watchtower without gun training,” You tell him, “seems kinda self explanatory, Tommy trained me himself.”

“That kinda shootin’ isn’t taught.” Is all he replies with—almost like an accusation. 

“I think you’ve forgotten that QZ kids were born with a gun in their hand.”

It was an asinine exaggeration, but still wholeheartedly the truth. You knew every part of a gun before you could even confidently tie your shoes, it was unfortunately second nature when you had a gun in your hand, similar to a knife. Your grip tightened around the handle as you closed your eyes, succumbing to sleep eventually.

You wade in and out, peeking through bleary eyes and always find Joel’s eyes on you, whether purposeful or not, he was always watching. Even as you wandered, no matter where you were—maybe it was his own strange way of hoping that it provided you comfort, that he was always watching out. But, it never made you feel safe. Not really. And, in turn, you find yourself doing the same thing.

He’s more relaxed when he’s sleeping, the familiar scowl non-existent as he snores alongside the crackling fire or roar of wind, his boots untied and loosened but never off, never too comfortable. Joel always slept with his arms crossed, sitting up or lying down, occasionally mumbling in his sleep as he whimpered, his face contorting in the only sign of emotion you see from him outside of anger and annoyance.

You scribble out your thoughts on a postcard to pass the time.

He never asks about the stack of postcards in your bag, remaining blissfully ignorant. It was an unspoken agreement, that prying wasn’t something either of you were going to make an attempt at—you could simply exist around each other, no baggage or stories to be traded.

For now, at least.

–

It was nearly four months of patrols when Tommy lays his plans out and surprisingly, Joel doesn’t seem displeased and truthfully, things had become easier with him than anyone else.

You didn’t have to put on an act for him.

He could tell when you were exhausted or irritated, giving you space with a silent pass of the sandwiches he had picked up before leaving, retreating to his own corner, though his eyes still lingered.

It had taken a few months, but you did feel that safety with him that Ellie often talked to you about—his steadfast personality, knowing that if something were to happen, he’d handle it. 

But, he’s still a mystery.

“Ellie told me ‘bout that time you killed a group of raiders tryin’ to attack her,” You start the conversation bluntly, biting into the steak sandwich, “You like knives more than guns?”

Bold, he thinks. That’s fuckin’ bold.

“Guns are loud,” He replies, “Knives aren’t.”

You think back to the incident at Jackson with another set of raiders, witnessing Joel kill a man with his bare hands and think - maybe he preferred neither, if given another choice.

The prospect shouldn’t excite you or even entertain you, the brute power he holds.

But, it does.

You make a soft nose of acknowledgement as you nod your head, noticing the subtle glint in his eyes as he revisits the memory with Ellie, his face twitching at the sight of the broken glass slicing through a poor kid’s neck, right along the jugular as he choked on his own blood.

“You kill anyone?”

“A few—just…for survival.” You weren’t sure why you lied.

Joel wasn’t threatened by you in the slightest and lying wasn’t going to change that.

You’ve been lucky enough to avoid it until recently, bouncing from place to place until you landed in Jackson. It had been your home for a while now, so long that you didn’t like to think about it, staying in one place for such a long period of time. 

Joel sat a few feet away in the small house nestled on the mountain, a cool breeze stretching through the open window as Spring had taken hold, flowers blooming over the edge of the windowsill where they threatened to creep in.

His feet were near your head, resting against the ledge of the window as he leaned back in his chair, tapping his knife against the wooden leg of the chair as you pretend to sleep, shifting slightly as the blanket drifted down your body, layers shedded and crumpled by your feet, leaving you in a thin top and and jeans as you turned to your stomach, moaning softly, content.

He’s been less shy about his stares, or oblivious, his gaze lingering when you would catch him in the act—but you count the second in your mind from the moment you catch him through your squinted gaze, his eyes drifting along your body curiously.

Ninety-five seconds.

It was a new record.

And you dream of him that night, it wasn't the first time.

But, this time felt different. Usually the dreams drift away the moment you wake, like a distant and distorted memory, but this one is vivid and lingering as you watch Joel, who had caught you in the midst of your wake but he'd fallen asleep shortly after.

Some fucked up and empty part of you wishes it was reality.

-

You end up at the same patrol a month later, the heat of summer creeping in.

You hadn’t been paired together in a couple weeks and Joel seemed lighter as he stepped beyond the threshold of the house and stripped off his pack, busying himself with a quick sweep 

Wiping your hand over your forehead, skin damp and sweaty as your pack falls to the floor, you sigh, fanning yourself with your hand as Joel catches a subtle glimpse of your obvious discomfort.

“Did Tommy ever fix the water?” You ask with a slight hint of annoyance, more than willing to douse yourself in a bucket of cold water to get some relief, “Please say yes.”

Joel chuckles at that, a small sound that you would have missed had you not been paying direct attention to his response.

“Yes, a couple weeks ago,” Joel answers simply, sinking lazily into the couch, allowing himself a moment of well-earned rest after the long ride here, “go on—I’ll cover the first watch.”

It was all the encouragement you needed. 

And the shower is marvelous, leveled at the perfect temperature to let the cool water wash over your skin, cleaning off the thin layer of dirt that had accumulated from Jackson to here, listening to the faint footsteps as Joel traversed the house, assuming he was setting things up in the bedroom—doors opening, floorboards creaking, the sounds were like a comfort. 

Joel doesn’t talk unless he absolutely has to, more settled in the idea of just existing around you—he knew it brought you a semblance of feeling safe, but he was forcing himself to keep that distance, remaining vigilant to the eyes that constantly watched him, occasionally catching himself doing the same.

Even now, it was like a trance, his head bowed as he passed the bathroom, noticing the small crack in the door as he heard your melodic hum filter over the sound of water, singing a song that reminded him of before, his favorite.

Was it your favorite too?

He doesn’t mean to, not really, but then you’re turning your body away from the shower-head, eyes closed and head tossed back as you washed your hair, the gap in the curtain from this angle giving Joel a perfect view of your body, the pristine slope of your breasts down to your stomach, a few faint scars he followed before his eyes landed on your pelvis, the trimmed patch of hair nestled above your cunt, feeling his throat swell as he swallowed.

The faint creek of his footsteps gives him away, he knows, but you don’t react.

It wasn’t until the midnight hour rolled around, falling asleep on your shift, that Joel sneaks out of the house—sometimes he just needed the silence in nature, no birds chirping overhead, the faint distant growl from traversing hoards that didn’t carry out this far, if he closed his eyes, it was almost as if everything were normal, like he was back at his house in Austin, enjoying a moment out on his back porch.

Unfortunately, Joel was a paranoid man; your quiet footsteps catch him off guard, only feeling your presence as you arrive at his back, turning on his heels in an instant as his hand latches around your throat, tackling you against the ground with his knee digging into your stomach, your face pinched in pain as you throw weak punches at his chest, gasping for air.

He seems trance-like, eyes glossed over as you struggle to breathe, vision blurring around the edges as it begins to tunnel, you muster as much strength as you can to wheeze his name.

“J-oel. Joel, s’me.”

Your voice, broken and strained, seems to break him out of his deadlock grip on your throat, dark eyes snapping back into a soft chestnut, his face softening as much as it could while still remaining hardened, scrambling away from you without a word. Like you had attacked him.

You let out a flurry of coughs as you roll to your side, massaging your throat as your sounds come out raspy and weak, feeling slight pain as you swallow and attempt to rise to your feet, seeing Joel hesitate from your periphery for a moment, considering helping you.

“Coulda fuckin’ killed you,” Is the only thing he offers.

“Yeah,” You respond bitterly, “Almost fucking did.”

“You got a habit of sneakin’ up on people like that? The hell were you thinking?”

He rubbed a hand over his graying beard, the other hand cocked against his hip as he kept a safe distance, watching you pick the clumps of dirt and grass from your hair. 

He’s angry. Angry?

Why the fuck was he angry?

“I was worried—you like to leave at night,” You explain through a strained tone, a tic in your jaw as you clench down, eyes sinking into a scowl as you challenge his expression, “the last thing I need is finding you dead and having to explain that to Tommy.”

A tense silence stretches over, a slow and powerful breath through his nose before he relents and stomps past you, leaving you in a similar position to his earlier, watching his figure trail toward the house as your head turns back toward the sky, covered in stars and picturesque.

The kind of sight you wouldn’t believe if you weren’t seeing it in person.

Joel liked simple pleasures, a moment of silence and a place to sit with himself, and you had disrupted it - the only true moment he had alone all day, to sit, to think. The guilt settles in quickly, lingering for a moment before you decide to make the walk back toward the house.

–

What you aren’t expecting to find is Joel, sifting through your bag, items sprawled out on the floor and the thick cards fitted between his calloused fingers, covered in filth as he read over the notes you had left over the past few months, internal thoughts that you wouldn’t dare let slip.

He'd broken the one unspoken rule you both had kept with each other.

Some of them were slightly more embarrassing than others, forbidden to see the light of day until now, meticulous notes about the details of his face as he slept, how you found the rhythmic sound of his breathing comforting or even more damning, how the more aggressive side of him did the exact opposite of what it should.

It excited you. Turned you on, though the cards held more flourishing details about why and how. Because even then, moments prior as his hands pressed against your throat, there was a brief moment of exhilaration, excitement. 

Your breath catches in your throat as you scramble, stumbling toward him and reaching for the cards he holds easily out of reach, a hand pressing against your shoulder and squeezing tight enough to hold you back.

“You wanna explain this?” Joel asks, the type of tone that made you want to shrink.

Your mouth parts for a moment before you find your voice, brow knitting in frustration as you reach for the postcards once more, failing, “Those are private—why are you snooping?”

“You left a mess,” Joel explains away, the items of your bag spilled on the hardwood floor, chuckling as he continues, “Huh, private? Ain’t much privacy to be had when you’re writing about me.”

You can feel your heart racing, knowing if Joel moved his hand an inch further down he would feel it too.

The stack had to be at least twenty postcards thick, some innocently tame and just a means to let your thoughts and feelings flow, most of them answering questions Joel had asked you earlier in the night that you had refused to answer, giving him nothing to work with.

The ones he does recite are damning, tossing them to the floor as he flips through the stack before reading off a particularly recent one from earlier that night, his confidence slowly flagging as the words leave his mouth.

Shower. Watching me.

It felt good.

“Goes both ways,” You sneer, pushing his hand away and making one final reach for the cards as you successfully pry them from his grip, stuffing them away in your bag along with your other spilled belongings.

Joel’s expression shifts slightly, staring down at your kneeling figure as you avoid his gaze. His boots scuff against the floor as he crowds you against the wall, nowhere to run when you rise to your feet. Attempting to scare, to provoke.

Daringly, you challenge him, “I’m not the only one watching, Joel.”

His eyes narrow, searching your face for any sign of a bluff. For a brief moment, you almost expect him to deny the obvious—lie, lie, lie.

But, even he couldn’t deny the strange connection; or, affliction, that had riddled you both.

You could blame it on the close proximity built over months of isolation, often paired together over your willingness to work efficiently and without issue as time went on—Tommy was used to people butting heads, arguing, favoring one person over the other.

With you two, he could send you off for a patrol and not have to worry about things being left behind or forgotten.

You were innately quiet, even in Jackson, never wanting to ruffle anyone’s feathers or stir up trouble—that was left for the rowdy teens and few and far between drunks. Joel almost suspected you as mole for a brief time upon your arrival in Jackson, a worry soothed by Tommy over time.

But now, he doesn’t know what to think. He can’t figure you out and he’s not really sure he wants to, but you’ve got the kind of look in your eyes that calls out to Joel, silently.

He’s never met someone so controlled, knowing when to keep to themselves and when to bite back; it strings, that bite. He feels it in the way your jaw tightens, attempting to shove past him.

He glances down, noticing the knife tucked away in your left hand. A low, threatening chuckle releases from his lips as his hand grips your wrist, holding it up between your bodies.

“What’re you plannin’ to do with this? Stab me?”

“M’not against it,” You try to keep the strength in your voice, but it wavers slightly.

“I know that look,” Joel challenges, “You ain’t ever killed like this—s’too close, too personal.”

He knocks the knife away with a quick jerk of your wrist as you stumble back against the wall, praying he didn’t hear the small gasp slip from your throat as his chest presses against yours.

“So, you like watchin’ me sleep?” Joel asks in a taunting tone, “Enjoy jottin’ down all those dirty little thoughts thinkin’ I wouldn’t see ‘em?”

“They weren’t meant to be seen. They were private,” You retort, feeling the weight of his body as you exhale, lashes fluttering at his hot breath as it ghosts your face, reiterating, “Private, like my shower? Or, how about all the times I’ve caught you watching me? You know, we could go back and forth about this all night but frankly, I don’t mphh—”

Joel’s hand claps tight over your mouth, effectively silencing you as your face contorts in frustration, hands curling around his thick forearms and fingers, attempting to pry his hand away.

“Look at me,” He goads, repeating it more menacing as you fight against his hold, nodding in satisfaction when you finally relent, “Yeah—now and don’t you fuckin’ lie to me, you left that door open because you hoped I would, right? Stop tryin’ to act so innocent, girl.”

It ignites a fire in you, the demeaning monaker that transforms into enough strength to fist your hands into his shirt and shove him into the reclining chair positioned behind him, a heavy grunt releasing from his chest as you stumble over his boots and into his lap.

“Don’t call me that,” You seethe, not amiss to the immediate instinct of Joel’s to catch you, thighs bracketing his right leg as his hands squeeze your waist, keeping you upright.

Joel speaks your name, almost taunting, “S’that better? Or is that little crush your harboring hopin’ I’ll call you somethin’ a little sweeter?”

You feel the weight of his thumbs as they curl into your belt loops, body swaying with the motion as you take a seat on his lap, ass pressed against his knee and you watch as his chin gradually moves to rest against his chest, his eyeline following your movement.

“Don’t call me anything,” You retorted, his eyes flicking up under a heavy gaze.

Joel was simmering with a controlled rage, his hands squeezing at your hips as he jerked you forward suddenly, your hands grasping onto the back of the chair over his head, the friction at the seam of your denim as it rubbed against your clit, nestled between slick folds that couldn’t hide the arousal you were feeling, how the heat that radiated off of Joel made you sick with want.

“Alright,” He agrees, “then go on ‘head, get off me.”

Something tells you it is definitely a trap.

A moment later, you can feel his fingers gripping around your backside, digging into your ass as he pushes your hips backwards once before slowly guiding them forward, your sneakers scuffing against the hardwood as your lips parted, a silent breath slipping out.

“Go on—get off,” He taunts, the double-entendre making your brain go fuzzy.

“Joel,” It was a weak attempt to tell yourself and him this was a bad idea, but with the pleasure swelling in your core, it comes out more relaxed - you moan his name and Joel hears it.

“You ain’t good with words, but you can show me,” He remedies, the subtle movement as you grind against his leg, denim on denim but you’re almost positive he can feel how wet you are through the fabric, or how the shared heat was almost sweltering, “rub that pretty pussy on me.”

You have half the mind to snark at him, but think back to his eyes on you on the other side of the bathroom door, how he had admired without guilt, no truer words having left his mouth.

Guiltily, you lean against him, forearms resting where your hands were previously gripping, aiding in the quickening pace of your hips as you breathed softly into his ear, one of his hands slipping under the fabric of your shirt, palm spread wide over your back as the chair creaked with the shifting weight.

Your breath hitches, a sharp gasp as Joel’s calloused fingers rub against your spine. The friction against your clit is overwhelming, intensifying with every roll of your hips under his guise, the desperate need for release building in your core, quietly aware of the weight of Joel’s cock through his jeans, hard and neglected.

Your hand slowly moves toward the button on his jeans, ghosting over the swell of his cock before his fingers grip your wrist and return them to their original spot, “This ain’t for me,” He reminds you, “Keep goin’—show me how bad you need it.”

His words spur you toward the ledge you were teetering on, movements increasingly more wild and frantic, soft noises gradually becoming louder as his hands roam your body, the one on your back remaining as a constant while the other roams toward your front, squeezing gently at your breasts through the flimsy bralette, his thumb brushing pointedly over your nipple as you moan.

“Fuck, I’m c—close,” You warn him, blindly finding his hair with your right hand, squeezing at the strands as he grunts, head tilting back against the chair as you moan brokenly, a sob escaping your mouth.

His voice carries you through, his voice enveloping every point of your existence as your orgasm starts and crescendos, “That’s it,” He coos, “s’alright, let it out.”

You obey, weak whimpers cry into his neck as you hide away, hips grinding lazily through the aftershocks as his arms wrap around you silently, holding you steady as the sound of your ragged breath fills the room alongside the quiet chirping of nocturnal animals.

“Gonna write about this later?” Joel teases, whatever hostility he was holding earlier now non-existent, clearing his throat as you lean back, ignoring the obvious thick and permeating tension that was blanketing you both, still unaddressed.

“S’not funny,” You respond, climbing off him unsteadily before you turn your back to him and gather your belongings into a pile and shove them back inside your pack, “You weren’t supposed to see ‘em.”

“We’re partners—you think keepin’ secrets is smart?”

“It’s harmless—and what about you?” You begin, suddenly settling back into your own quiet rage, “Sneaking around, watching me? I notice shit too, Joel.”

Joel sits in quiet contemplation, his permanent scowl growing deeper as his knuckles rub at the spot where your cunt previously was, “Alright—new rule.”

Your eyebrows raise in anticipation, never really prepared for what Joel ever had to say.

“I ask questions, you answer ‘em. For every one you answer, I’ll answer one too.” Fair enough, you think, but then he continues, “It stays between us, alright? And if you want something—ask for it. No sense in bein’ shy ‘round me anymore.”

Not after that.

Baby steps, you say to yourself. 

The thick air between you seems to open, like a weight off your chest.

“Alright,” You reply softly, “I can do that.”

Joel leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes intense as they lock onto yours. "So, those notes. How long you been writin' 'em?"

You smile with a newfound giddiness, though still mostly subdued, biting at your cheek to stop the spread of your grin, shaking your head as you lock down at the stack of postcards stuffed into your bag.

“Only since we got paired up,” You admit, “every other night or so. When I can’t sleep.”

Which was often.

He grunts, processing the information as you fiddle with the strap of your pack.

“Is it my turn?” Joel nods quietly, shifting back in the chair, ignoring the slowly waning bulge in his jeans that he would surely deal with later, “Well—how long have you been watching me? Or, well–why?”

“That’s two,” Joel chastises, but there was no real bite behind it, “Since you came to Jackson, figured you weren’t good—”

You know what he means—mistrusting, suspicious. 

“Does it bother you—that I do? You scared of me?”

You shake your head shyly, avoiding his gaze.

It was the darkest, most sinister parts of Joel that drew you in.

“I think you’d be terrified of the things I like about you, Joel.”

Joel doesn't respond outright, but his subtle grin is enough confirmation for you. He knew exactly what you meant.

[jesterofthecourt]

I was going to color it but *sigh* here's your guy

also, Kyoya, Kyoya in my sketchbook,

[bonefall]

Oh I actually love Angelshade as a name for that grim sibling, it invokes a sort of angelic facade for something darker underneath to me, y'know?

While we're on the Snowtuft subject- is there a Snowtuft-kin motif? I feel like there's already a lot of focus on how being related to Snowtuft affects his descendants, so it'd check out. Is Snowtuft channeled by anyone once he goes to the Dark Forest?

I figured it was best to start with Snowtuft himself, so I did some sketches trying to find something for him to pass down through the generations. Most folks tend to give him a "poof" of fur on the top of the head, but I like manes so much that I kinda wanted to avoid "defaulting" to them, y'know?

A bundle of sketches later, I did some ear tufts in a way I think would be fun to play with. So, for now, the official "Family Trait" the Snowkin Lineage carries is these distinctive "ear puffs."

I might revise these, though. Blackstar has the iconic black hood and points which would also make for a great family trait, but I couldn't think of how to work that back into a line of cats who's pure white. Maybe I'll put colors on their paws and muzzles, and the "ear tufts" will sort of split away from the line that leads to Blackstar.

(Since Blackstar doesn't have the tufts, which is kind of the point.)

Design and extra stuff;

Lilyfur's ear fluffs are actually based on the yellow center of a lilypad flower, and I couldn't help but give her little lilypad eyebrows.

Even though they look like pacmans <3

If I go with the idea of points, she'll be having pale yellow paws and a tail.

The family's fur is extremely thick and oily. Most of them are very smooth and well-groomed, Snowtuft's kind of unkempt in comparison.

I've seen Silk/Angel described as "The Chad Cat from Rise of Scourge" so I felt like it was a crime to leave out his ridiculous jawbones.

I also made his eyes super light to match canon. If I ever did alter his colors, I'd want to make those pale orange.

EDIT: Oh, and, lastly, Snowtuft is actually not channeled very often. He is the sort of spirit who would massively disappoint the one who went through the trouble and blasphemy to do so, because he doesn't remember the parts of his life he wanted to forget.

You can remind him of those parts of his life, but the more that comes back to him, the more upset he will get until he's just kind of crying about it. It's extremely uncomfortable for someone who's definitely trying to get in touch with him because they think killing babies is cool.

[spideyson-stuff]

I like to think that Peter is a genius, but also just a 14 years old

Like, he LOVES helping Pepper with the "boring" press problems, and he had in fact already given several good ideas on what to do to make Sl even more popular, he can create several incredible inventions and fabulous studies that are taught in colleges and revolutionary theories in less than 1 week.

But one day Tony will find him on the couch playing "Dress to Impress" on his tablet while listening to Sabrina Carpenter "Taste" at full volume on headphones and getting angry about having lost 10 times in a row

And then suddenly Tony and Pepper remember that even though Peter had created a revolutionary way to increase the company's profits 3 days ago he's still a silly teenager that deserves some time to himself

(Plus, Pepper steals Peter from Tony's lab sometimes to help her with agency issues with social media because Peter is Gen Z and knows how it works)

Pepper has seen Peter surrounded by papers with various drawings of clothes, suits, project sheets and book pages, she honestly didn't know if he was simply doing whatever came to mind for inspiration or if he was summoning some kind of supernatural paper demon

One day Tony walked into Peter's room and saw a pile of romance mangas, im the moment he tried to open one Peter pulled it out of his hand as if his life depended on it and said it was nothing important

Tony thought for a moment that it was pornography but one day he secretly saw them when Peter wasn't home and discovered that they were just teeth-rotting romance Peter was just embarrassed because there were a lot of kisses in the book, and slightly sensual scenes that Tony honestly doesn't think are really sensual

To top it off, one day they both found a book of sketches that Peter had before he met Tony and used it to design his first suit, they found several ideas for suits but they also had some sexual drawings of people touching and kissing each other, it was honestly so sweet that it didn't even seem sexual so they decided to pretend they didn't see it or Peter would probably never be able to look them in the eye again

[indieyuugure]

Hola, Indie! Espero que estés bien ☺️. Tengo una pregunta: cuánto tiempo te toma hacer los comics que responden las preguntas de tus fans y los "cortos" (como el que Leo fue envenenado por el beso de Karai, y el de Rapha buscando regalos de Navidad con Casey)?

Lo menciono porque hace un mes o dos puse preguntas para Splinter y Donnie y hace poco mandé uno en cómo reaccionarían las tortugas y Splinter cuando Abril comenzará a salir con Casey por su relación de hermanos y padre e hija, pero tal vez no fueron tan interesantes como para dibujarlos o comentar de ello.

No me molesta ni nada eso! Solo lo menciono 😅.

Hasta hace unas semanas te iba a preguntar cómo te organizas al hacer comics por semana ya que supe que lo hacías por tu cuenta, pero vi tu publicación de tu decisión de dos semanas (un sábado no y el otro si) y respetaré tu decisión ya que te ha ayudado descansar.

Translation from Spanish:

“Hey Indie! Hope you're doing well ☺️. I have a question: how long does it take you to do the comics that answer your fans' questions and the "short" ones (like the one where Leo was poisoned by Karai's kiss, and the one where Rapha was looking for Christmas presents with Casey)? I mention this because a month or two ago I put up questions for Splinter and Donnie and recently I sent one about how the turtles and Splinter would react when April starts dating Casey because of their brother-sister and father-daughter relationship, but maybe they weren't interesting enough to draw or comment on. It doesn't bother me or anything! I'm just mentioning it 😅. Until a few weeks ago I was going to ask you how you organize yourself when making comics per week since I knew you did it on your own, but I saw your post about your decision of two weeks (one Saturday no and the other yes) and I will respect your decision since it has helped you rest.”

I’m doing good!

Honestly depends, I can usually do those in about a day or so, but I’ve done some that take more like 2-3 days (like the one with Leo and Karai). I don’t really do those anymore because I’d like you guys to see how the comic itself evolves.

I’ve also had people express that since we’re getting into the real meat of the story that they’d prefer I kept spoilers to a minimum or at least marked them as such so they can be avoided, which I 100% agree with.

If you’d like to request to see concept art of something specific then I can see what I can do, but as far as short comics go, it has little to do with time and interest and mostly to do with wanting you guys to experience the story as it comes out. :]

I organize everything the same way I did while I was doing once a week, I’ve just doubled the time I give myself to complete each task.

So now I give myself 2 days for sketching pages which includes paneling, rough dialogue writing and placement, and preliminary sketches of each panel (just to get the ideas down so I don’t forget). Then the next 10 days I use to finalize each page with an average of half a page per day. Anything not completed by Thursday and Friday is put at top priority and I work to get it done before Saturday morning.

Good question! :]

[turtledork02]

oh ... the angst of ratchet ... horrific (beautiful)

i really love learning about your au! it's really good! and your art style is so yummyy!! like fresh crepes

will your au be told through art and story? or just art? or just story?

and what does team prime do on a daily basis? like looking at energon mines and sniping any decepticons that get too close, i understand that, but anything other than that?

oh! and are there going to be any different kind of bots beside autobots and decepticons? any predacons or insecticons?

also, thank you for all the art with some of the asks! i think it's so cool when creators make art for asks, even tho they don't have to. it's super sweet. you're a pretty rad guy!

I unfortunately have a habit of torturing my favorite characters lol-

Also thank you for the compliment on my art!! Have a Miko sketch!! *kiss kiss platonically*

I plan on telling the AU through both art and story!! Although I probably will not write the start of canon plot until I get all the character sheets out, just so that I have time to flesh out the characters and ideas more fully.

As for what Team Prime does on a daily basis! Before they met the humans, they were pretty bored actually lol. They took a lot of time to learn earth culture since they had little else to do. Ratchet and First Aid learned human medicine, and are very skilled at it now! Bumblebee learned about street racing and does that for fun. Sometimes he brings Arcee and/or Wheeljack! Optimus and the others know about it but let him do it so he can have some fun. Wheeljack makes new bombs, inventions, and such on when he’s bored and not working on his studies. Arcee has a training room with holograms that she uses a LOT. She punches things a lot. Optimus does a lot of reading. Like a lot. He has read so much earth literature now and he loves it. His favorites are Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, and several of Stephen King’s works.

By the time Jack, Miko, and Sari join the Autobots, the plot starts picking up speed. From there they will be interacting with Decepticons a lot more and trying to protect earth.

And yes, Insecticons and other Cybertronian species will exist! I’m still figuring out who and where. Predacons will probably remain a memory from the past. They are not really that relative to my AU plot, as much as I love predacons. As for Dinobots, though.👀

Thank you so much for all the asks!! I’m so glad you’re enjoying these!! They have been giving me a lot of motivation to draw, which helps me flesh out my characters more! I really appreciate everyone taking interest.

[irlplasticlamb]

hello👹 could you show us more “abandoned” artwork—pieces you started but no longer intend to finish? your process is so fascinating to me

thank you SO MUCH!

here’s some random stuff i probably won’t finish!

emperor geta, was supposed to be a matching piece to my caracalla art but i don’t think i’ll ever finish it up!

rhaenyra with hair based on that one folio society artwork that got revealed a while ago! i just don’t like the pose that much in the end

my version of bill cipher + pines twins in the first one / ford pines in the second one! good ideas but mediocre execution and i just can’t be bothered to fix these up hahah

joost klein artwork! :D i loved the sketches but every time i tried to do lineart they just looked awful so i basically gave up SDHHDVEUG

knight-queen rhaenyra / septa-lover alicent! good concept but i hate rhae’s armour and atm i just cannot be bothered to figure out anything better RIP

[disgruntled-detectives]

Some ramble that has been on my mind lately.

I’m a huge fan of John Finnemore’s writing and sketches. If you don’t know who he is, he’s an English comedy writer. He’s born and raised in the UK. And he has a radio sketch show called “John Finnemore’s Souvenir Programme” it’s a hilarious show and I highly recommend it. It’s made me laugh and honestly been a bright spot in dark times.

Occasionally, he has what he calls “meta sketches” where one person from the cast (there are five comedians in the JFSP cast) will address him about something in another sketch or make fun of him or something. And in one sketch, he pokes fun at Christianity. In the following meta-sketch, a cast member asks why he always makes fun of Christianity but not any other religion. And John responds with that Christianity is the religion he knows. He was born and raised in it and while he’s not a Christian, he recognizes how Christianity shapes British culture and always has. And it wouldn’t feel right to make fun of a religion he isn’t part of, and knows nothing about.

Then he says “actually the only other religion I know anything about is Judaism. And actually I’ve been thinking of a sketch idea based on a man I saw in London on a Saturday at a crossing patiently waiting for someone else to press the button so god wouldn’t he cross with him for working. And he’s perfectly right to believe that, but you can’t pretend there isn’t something a little funny about that.” And the sketch moves on.

This is the thing I’ve been thinking of. He said “the religion I know anything about would be Judaism” and then immediately in the *very next sentence* demonstrates a fundamental lack of knowledge about Judaism. In that “god would be cross with him for working” in that one sentence, he demonstrates so *clearly* the cultural Christianity that permeates western culture.

Because mostly…Jews *don’t* (can’t speak for all Jews obviously) believe G-d would be “cross at us” for violating the laws of Shabbat. We follow the laws out of a place of love. Not fear. We follow the laws because we believe they are part of the covenant G-d made with the Jewish people. We don’t believe in divine retribution. Like an orthodox Jewish woman I used to follow when I had TikTok said in a video, “if we break a commandment we don’t believe G-d is gonna strike us down or anything. We just acknowledge that we broke the commandment, say sorry, and then move on and try not to do it again.” And she has answered that question *numerous times* in numerous videos.

And Christians and former Christian’s have demonstrated time and time again that they fundamentally do not understand this. I was raised Christian. Catholic to be exact. And let me tell you, it’s fear. Not love that drives a lot of their rule following. Fear of going to hell and spending eternity being tortured and separated from g-d is a very real thing. They legit have something called “mortal sins” and missing Sunday Mass is one of them.

Because Judaism is a religion of orthopraxy. Not orthodoxy. In Judaism, what you do matters far far more than what you believe. You can be an atheist and an Orthodox Jew. Hell, I don’t eat pork. Do I think G-ds gonna be mad at me for eating bacon? No. Of course not. I don’t even really know if I believe in a G-d like that. I sorta flip flop between agnosticism and like a pantheist view. I don’t eat pork because I am a Jew. And it’s a commandment I chose to take on. Because I love being Jewish. Not out of fear.

Now I’m not saying this to hate on John Finnemore. Like I said. I am a huge fan of his work. I absolutely love Cabin Pressure, and JFSP, and Double Acts and just about anything else he’s written. I’m just saying this because it is clearly demonstrates the cultural Christian lens through which that people here in the west, including former Christian’s and now atheists like JF see the world.

So basically what I’m saying is that just because Judaism was the religion that Christianity sprang from, and you grew up Christian or even just in a Christian country in the west, does not mean that you know anything about us. It’s so easy to think you understand what Judaism is about because you’ve read “the Old Testament” and seen Fiddler on the Roof or something. And yet get even incredibly basic facts about Jewish worldview wrong because you haven’t grasped that Jews see the world completely differently. (Not to mention that 2000 years separate the split from Judaism of Christianity and Judaism developed and evolved on its own ever since. It’s a total and separate religion. But Christians tend to think we’re the exact same we were 2000 years ago. Which is why their minds are *blown* when we say that to us, Jesus is as irrelevant as Thor is. We literally do not care about your special boy. He may have been a Jew, but like…he’s a dude that lived over 2000 yrs ago.)

So basically what I’m saying is that if you are not Jewish, or at least put in serious work to learn about us, from us, you don’t actually know about Judaism like you think you do. Cultural Christianity permeates everything here in the west, and it’s a lot to unpack and unlearn.

[glasgalahad]

HSR NPC Rᴇᴅᴇsɪɢɴ - Cʜʀʏsᴇᴜs Lᴇᴏ.

"Show some respect, Deliverer. Chryseus Leo was the top advisor in Castrum Kremnos, one whose wise counsel helped my tribe win many battles, and thwart numerous schemes. If only the Chrysos Heirs could benefit from his wisdom..."

-Mydeimos of Kremnos, The Undying, The Last Prince.

↠ This is what happens when I officially run out of ideas.

Overall, I'm loving Amphoreus so far- the dark, brooding, gritty nature of the place reminds me of Belobog, and the music is absolutely divine- I've been listening to the tracks on repeat the past few days lol. The boss showdown with Nikador was also absolutely masterful, and each visual depiction of the Titans insofar are such unique spins on the mythos. Plus, there's some awesome new characters to look forward to! *cough* Phainon, mostly/hopefully *cough*

The single biggest (and only) disappointment insofar for me has been the lack of creatures- or, more specifically, the lack of creature designs that I like. To be honest, between Mem, the Chimeras, and Dromas, they all look...really out of place, with Mem in particular being pretty ugly, in my opinion. I don't feel like the super-saturated, big-eyed mascot aesthetic works- it just doesn't blend well at all, and feels like more of a cringey stray Penacony element.

As for what brought this piece about, Mydei's brief back-and-forth with Chryseus Leo during the story quest was an interesting concept- I love the idea of a lion serving as an elder to the people, and couldn't help but imagine it in a more tangible sense. So that's where this came from, and it was a pretty interesting challenge to try and expand on! I referenced shapes from Castrum Kremnos architecture, as well as pulled some specific forms/elements from Mydei's design.

This was an absolute blast to work on- I love doing creature concepts! Let me know what y'all think, and if more stuff like this could be interesting.

Side note- yes, I'm still working on these WIPs + a couple OC sketches- I decided to push this one forward (alongside my Phainon/Mydei WIP's) since I've been having a blast exploring Amphoreus so far, and want to keep that energy going~

____________________________________________________________

Be sure to check out my previous HSR illustrations!

If you want to find me in-game, my handle is Glas- UID 621208255 / America Server

GʟᴀsGᴀʟᴀʜᴀᴅ 2025 | Mᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ʙᴇ ᴜsᴇᴅ/ʀᴇᴅɪsᴛʀɪʙᴜᴛᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ᴄᴏɴsᴇɴᴛ.

[cheapsweets]

So, here we have a pair of Vannjerv (water wolverine), enjoying the sunny summer day in the fjord they call a home;

When we had a mammalian apex predator that lived in or around a fjord, I was already starting to conceptualise some kind of cetacean, then the large claws or talons completely upended that idea. I settled on a kind of large otter or amphibious wolverine (large claws, apex predator). The first thing I did was sketch out the skeleton, based on a wolverine skeleton with strong elements of eurasian otter, sea otter, as well as polar bears, in order to get the basic anatomy.

In terms of the sexual dimorphism, I imagine the males are bulkier, with heavier claws and jaws; while the female in the picture is snacking on a fish she just captured, the male is slower, but his powerful jaws also mean he can eat shellfish more easily. The claws are just as much for climbing the rocks and trees around the edge of the fjord as they are for catching prey.

I am slowly, slowly getting better at drawing fur. I'm sure that some of the difficulty there is down to my medium of choice, but I'm starting to get a better understanding of how the fur flows (obviously, the wet otter-like fur provides its own challenges, and I tried to resist giving too much texture to the slick fur of the one in the water).

The water itself has little to no texture too, because most of the reference pictures I saw of fjords in the summer were of perfectly calm water. Had fun experimenting with how to represent the shoreline too!

Interesting challenge so far... on to the next!

Playing Exquisite Biome (and drawing the results)

So, I had a lot of fun with the BestiaryPosting challenge from @maniculum (thank you again for running that!), and since it ended I was hoping to keep up some kind of regular drawing… That didn’t happen for a number of completely valid reasons so I figured I’d give myself a bit of a push.

With that in mind, I’m going to set myself a round of Exquisite Biome to complete – Exquisite Biome is a solo or collaborative game by Caro Asercion of creating an ecosystem and populating it with the creatures that inhabit it. It descends from a lineage of journaling games such as Alone Among the Stars, or Voyage, and I only found out about it thanks to the tireless work of @haveyouplayedthisttrpg (so, thank you! 😊 )

Exquisite Biome uses a normal deck of cards to generate first, the environment, then one of three creatures in turn. The first round generates the first creature, and so on. The fourth round is where you put all the creatures together and see how they coexist and interact.

I’m giving myself a fortnight for each of the rounds, and rather than writing or journaling, I’m going to be drawing – once each round is finished I’m going to post the next set of prompts, and so on until I’ve finished the game. Although I’m doing this primarily for myself, if anyone does want to take a go (within the two weeks, or outside it) send me a message or @ me and I’ll try and collate them all together (whether that’s drawing, writing/journaling, or anything else!

So, first, we draw two cards to establish the environment;

8 of Hearts means that the Environment in which our creatures live is a Glacier or Fjord, and the current season is Warm and Wet.

Interesting combination to start out with – this probably indicates summer (with a lot of precipitation) in an arctic or sub-arctic environment (though it could equally be a glacier high in the mountains, or a fjord in a previously glaciated region). Obviously if we decide to go with a fjord, that might mean aquatic or semi-aquatic animals too! This is a lot more freedom than I’m used to!

10 of Diamonds means that we have an environmental detail of Low Altitude (okay, scratch what I was saying earlier about a glacier high in the mountains!), and the Time of Day we are looking at is Midday. So whatever creatures we are looking at are probably diurnal.

So that’s the framing, now we need to generate our creatures!

We find out about our creatures by laying a spread of three cards. You can do this separately for each creature, but normally to speed things up, you will lay out your three cards, then change the order of the cards to generate the subsequent creatures. That’s what I’ll be doing here.

So, taking a look at our first creature, we have (a lot of red cards!);

For our General Description, we have the King of Hearts; our creature is a Mammal, and is an Apex Predator! Snazzy!

For our Distinctive Feature, we have the Two of Hearts; it has Broad Claws or Talons…

For Habits and Personalities, we have the Jack of Diamonds; the creatures Live in Small Groups, and exhibit Sexual Dimorphism

We also have the option to draw an additional card for a scene prompt, but I’m probably going to skip this (if anyone is interested, I drew the Jack of Hearts, which indicates Pursuit or Defence.

So, I’ll be posting up my finished piece at some point over the next two weeks, and I’ve scheduled the next prompt to post around this time in two weeks!

[rapturebin]

son of flesh

[hotdogmchiggin]

Company Mandated Fancy Fits on the Tulpar 😏

Also had to include the REAL star of the show (and a bonus)

Based off of this and this. Thank you very much joetastic for being inspirational 👍

The REAL reason this is late

[umblrspectrum]

happy solvermas

[your-sweet-cookies]

In other circumstances, managing to piss off Kimura by denying him having his way with things would've been a nice achievement for the young woman, one from which she'd even manage to derive some satisfaction. But the heavy air settling now between them within the small studio apartment room, prevents Misaki from sketching the slightest victory smirk. A feeling of slight unease tell her that maybe pissing off the loan shark wasn't the best of ideas, not tonight at least, and the sensation solidifies itself with the loud thud of his palm against the dark wood, causing the door to slam shut. There's silence now. One that could remind of that of a grave even, but even with the anger radiating from the pulsating hand planted on the door, only millimeters away from her own head, and the loud echo of the creaking door slamming like that on itself, Misaki doesn't sketch the slightest reaction. No grimace, let alone the smallest of flinches. The young woman just stands there, facing him with her almost ice cold eyes, the intense deep blue of which feels like it could pierce right through the man's intimidating figure.

It almost feels as if someone froze the moment in time with how still they both stand there, tension so thick within the room that you could cut it with a knife. Besides, it's almost impressive how even in such circumstances, with him looking down on her, Misaki can still maintain her proud stance, no readable sign of fear anywhere on her perfect features. But even if she were to be frightened by Kimura's wrath, Misaki still wouldn't give the man the satisfaction of seeing her cower before him. No. The only thing Kimura would ever get out of her is an intense feeling of disappointment, disgust and disdain towards his callous person. "Again, I never asked for you to buy anything for me and I doubt you'd be getting me something anywhere near to a 'gift' just for the sake of it. So I ask of you again: what is it that you really want, Kimura?" The glare, still as sharp as it did moments prior when she propped open that door to kick him out, signals that his actions had no effects on her and Misaki goes as far as to cross her arms at her chest in a defiant pose to signal that she's not intimidate nor impressed by his poor attempt at asserting his dominance over her. "Yes, I do know that. You've made sure to make it known many times before that you spend your evenings indulging in sinful and debauched acts with all sorts of women. So I am fully aware of the fact that I don't mean jackshit to you other than a money bag you can milk dry for cold cash." Misaki rolls her eyes again at him, slightly annoyed now at his comments.

The loan shark's always like this: acting and talking as if he was making her a favor of sorts, while at the same time, treating her with the least amount of care and interest in the world. Kimura only got angry when there were other man showing interest in her, but when she was at his table, catering to his needs, the loan shark never paid Misaki any mind. Or at least that's how the young woman felt, seeing him chatting and laughing with the other hostesses, his hands all over them and his eyes only on their pretty faces and figures as if she didn't exist there too. It was almost insulting towards her... "So why don't you just go there then? Have Sakura, or Mia or one of your other 'sweethearts' put on this dress for you, instead of bothering me, if it's that easy?!" Misaki's on the verge of just lashing her frustrations out at him at this point, being fed up of his nasty attitude.

But right when it looks like she's about to just explode, the young woman closes her eyes and brings one hand to her temple, rubbing it slowly as she heaves a long sigh. "Fine, you win! I'll put on that stupid dress, but afterwards you better get the fuck out of here!" It hurts her pride to just give in like that. But Misaki knows he's not leaving her much of a choice. As much as she hates admitting to it, Kimura is one hell of a stubborn mule, capable of arguing with her for the whole night if it meant he has the slightest chance of having things his way (and even if he wouldn't, he'd still not take 'no' for an answer). So since she values her peace of mind and the night's valuable rest she desperately needs to get in order to make it through tomorrow's university lectures, Misaki decided that choosing the path of least resistance would be the best option she has at this point in terms of reaching a silver lining.

Defeated and annoyed, she grabs the box back from his hand and pushes Kimura's burly body out of her way. "While I did agree to try this on, I do not consent to putting it on with you in the room! So you better stay the fuck here until I come back! Understood?" Misaki hisses at him and makes it clear that she doesn't want him anywhere near herself while naked, as she exits into the adjacent bedroom, closing the door behind herself. At least, she knows he won't try peeping up on her, especially now as she'd made it clear that she does not want his eyes prying up on her in her most vulnerable of states. That... That she can appreciate somewhat about him, even if for the most part she despises his guts to a T.

The dress is actually very beautiful on her body once she finishes putting it on. What a real pity though that she had to be coerced into trying it on... It almost makes her sad that she probably won't be getting the chance of ever enjoying something like this on her own. "It's pretty, but it's probably going to end up in another woman's wardrobe... Knowing him, he's probably just using me as a makeshift mannequin to see how it'd fit on a real woman..." Misaki sighs and it would be a lie to say the thought doesn't make her heart twinge. Eventually she finishes freshening herself up and returns to the main room, stopping before Kimura's figure. "There, I put it on! Now are you happy?" The young woman raises an eyebrow and crosses her arms once more in pure irritation.

@hellsdogs

Sometimes he enjoys the attitude : it adds a little je ne sais quoi that keeps him engaged, a sharp edge to their interactions, a spice that, at times, even turns him on. Other times, though, he’s just tired of it. Still, it makes sense that she’d react this way. Kimura has been nothing but a piece of shit to her. They’ve been circling each other at the club for a while now, him watching over her and the money she makes, while being his usual asshole self, taking the other hostesses home just for fun. So why the hell should she trust him now? Not that Kimura is the kind of man who asks for trust. There might never be trust between them. She does what she has to in order to survive, because he’s ruined her life, and if she ever gets the chance to put a knife in his throat, he fully expects her to take it. The dress comes flying back at him. He catches it with sharp reflexes, irritation flickering across his face. But leaving? No, no, no. That’s not happening.

A scoff escapes his lips when she declares she’d never let him touch her. He’d be a liar if he said he hadn’t thought about it, many, many times. She’s a beautiful woman, and he’s a dog of a man. But, no. What she doesn’t know, what no one knows, is that he’s been where she is. Broke. Unable to afford anything decent. Back when he was younger, he’d dreamt of wearing suits, of dressing sharp enough to be noticed. Now, with dirty yakuza money, he finally can. It’s a small, twisted victory. Still, his pride won’t let him say that out loud. Because admitting it would mean acknowledging that his heart might not be entirely cold, and he’d rather let her believe he’s just another piece of shit. He folds the dress carefully, treating it like the piece of art it is, and places it back in the box while she’s opening the door for him to leave. His head tilts to the side, irritations till. He moves toward it, pressing a hand against the wood, closing it back with quiet finality. His palm stays there, and he’s close now, his gaze bearing down on her. "I know you can’t afford it," he says, his tone steady. "So, I bought it for you, out of the coldness of my heart. Yes." His voice darkens. "You know, iif I wanted to fuck I’d be inside some girl in Shibuya right now. So, I’m good." He holds the box out to her again."I’m not leaving until I see you in that dress."

[paintedcrows]

Assorted Gravity Falls doodles!