#tales from the quarantine
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#film#youtube#comics#frazer brown#theatre#tftqcomic#redcabincomics#talesfromthequarantine#red cabin comics#tales from the quarantine#twin peaks
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TALES FROM THE QUARANTINE is a truly global
creative event with 400 contributors to the project
from 60 countries. Featuring work from Artists,
Writers, Illustrators, Letterers, Colourists,Designers,
Filmmakers, Performers, Composers, Musicians,
Painters, Dancers and more.
Tales from the Quarantine is a 200 page anthology
from redcabincomics created and curated by
frazerbrown
Featuring hundreds of creatives from around the world
including some of comics BIGGEST names, including
Emmy ®, Oscar ®, Ringo, Hugo and Eisner award
winners & nominees.
A creative reaction to the events that unfolded in 2020.
With all NET profits donated to our chosen charities.
PACKED with guest appearances from beloved
characters and industry first digital extras - this record
breaking anthology is not to be missed.
Everyone has a tale to tell, these are theirs’
www.talesfromthequarantinecomic.com
www.redcabincomics.com
#comics #comicbooks #marvelcomicsfan #comics
#comicbooktiktok #dccomics #marvel #mcu #books
#booktok #bookworm #bookclub
#comics #comicart #comicbooks #tftacomic
#comiccon #comicartist #comicsforsale
#comicstrip #comiccollector #comic #Youtube
#comicbooks#youtube#redcabincomics#comics#tales from the quarantine#charity#comic panels#frazer brown#web comic#comic
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🎉 WORLDWIDE PRESS RELEASE ®: Embark on a terrific tropical trip with Red Cabin Comics ®' this summer ®
Introducing the TALES FROM THE QUARANTINE: SWIMSUIT SPECIAL ®, a homage to the golden era of 90’s comic book speculator bubbles . Join beloved Red Cabin Comics ® characters and special guest stars ® as they soak up the sun in exotic non specific tropical locales, indulging in thrilling games of baseball and basketball while rocking their hottest summer fashions! Featuring stunning pin-ups and posters crafted by top talents in the comics industry ®, including multiple EISNER AWARD ® (attendees) Reggie Rumblebrush, Penelope Puddlejot, Winston Whimsywood, Beatrice Blotchbloom, Monty Masterstroke, Felix Featherquill, Gwendolyn Graphitegiggle, Harold Haphazard, Marigold Mirthmaker and GOLDEN GLOBE ® (viewer) Woodbury Thunk. This is the summer event you won't want to miss. Secure your copy today with preorders available using:
PRE-VIEW CODE: 098N0T-A-R33LPRDCT.
Retailer Discount: APR-4OOL5
Mark your calendars for the release on 1/4/25 it's going to be legendary! 🏖️📚🌟
#film#youtube#comics#frazer brown#theatre#tftqcomic#redcabincomics#talesfromthequarantine#red cabin comics#tales from the quarantine
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you know what it is. i talk about how vain he is and how he only talks about himself and that is the impression a lot of people have of him and it is the impression i favor leaning towards. he has a very coded way of self-disclosure; he often seems like he's trying to impress people but i know him to be not-the-most-assured in a lot of ways. when i first complimented him on his poetry and told him how much i liked a few pieces (and i loved some of what i read before i knew his last name, so when i read his poetry i did not assume the person whose poetry i so loved was, well, that retired male model i met in passing every now and then). when i told him that. he was very moved by it.
and i do talk about how vain he is; i do say he only talks about himself; but every now and then when he does say something about me it is not at all hidden that he does admire me. some of what he says that seems to coded to impress me or to get my validation, i know he is doing this towards me because he thinks im this smart poetry girl. and i am? i am that, he's not wrong. i think it makes me feel hopeless to think that he really does respect me and care what i think of him because i'd rather he didn't. i'd rather him be this charming but shallow pretty boy which i think he has been seen as by a lot of people throughout his life. despite that he is hardworking, despite that he has (or at least tries very hard to have) an intellectual side. perhaps what he says about himself is so often coded to please me even while it is fishing for my attention, and i want to see that as a reflection of his own self-regard but i don't know that it is.
i don't know that it's not, but i don't know that it is either and as neither of us is very frequently vulnerable with the other, it's not fair for me to say which is the case. or even that there's a "which" like it can't be both. i don't know that he admires me; i don't know that he sees me as this girl who is (or at least used to be) very charmed by him. i do know that he always comes to me and asks me about poetry because as far as he's told me, i'm the only one who has ever cared about his. for all i know that could also be bullshit, but then why should i assume it is either? i'm quite unfair to him in my assessments of him. i do have to admit, he has never actually seemed to have a disrespectful or unfair assessment of me.
#he told me today i was 'exquisite' basically#i think sometimes he's very shocked by my general lack of ambitions. while i do have all this artistic knowledge#i'm like some sort of poetry guru to him. which does make me laugh a little#his estimation of me is overstated.#im a fairy to him! a strange creature he doesnt understand#like how rochester used to call jane eyre a fairy. except we're both pretty good-looking#tales from diana#i dont call myself good-looking often either but i know other people see me as that. so. it is what it is#thats another piece of the puzzle is back in 2020 during quarantine he was... well he still is#but he WAS initially very flirty w me and sort of asked me out 'if we ever get out of this' (quarantine)#whether he sees me as some pretty smart girl who's 8 years younger than him. well.#thats probably exactly what he sees me as#although im not pretty enough or smart enough. or hell even young enough anymore#god we're both old now.#i do promise you reader i won't marry him
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okay yesterday I fell into the pit of despair but I’m hoping today will be better!
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Come to Bed
Summary: based on this request - a text from Azriel was meant to go to you, but went to his entire family instead.
Author’s note: I loved this idea this was so fun and definitely very on brand for the inner circle tbh
Az: Come to bed :(
It was a short message. Azriel had been sick for two days now, and since meeting you, he can’t remember how he’d just go on during his sick days.
He used to go to work just fine while sick. He’d wear a mask and keep his distance, but he’d be able to go no problem.
But ever since you came into his life, now he was too spoiled when he was sick to go anywhere or do anything. You had insisted that your cuddles would heal him, along with the various soups you made him eat every day.
Honestly? It was a little awesome. If it weren’t for how shitty he felt, that is. You rubbed his back until he fell asleep, whenever he got up to shower you washed his sheets, and you brought him medicine every few hours. He didn’t have to lift a finger, and he was soaking in every moment of your attention.
But now you were downstairs, talking with Elain about something or another. You had told him what for before you left, but his feverish haze had made him forget. He woke up alone, having dozed off in your absence, and all he wanted was you to come back. He had just texted you to come back to bed when his door creak opens.
Azriel pops his head out of the nest he made to find Cassian crawling up his bed on top of the covers, wrapping his arms around Azriel, and spooning him over the covers.
Azriel coughs, “what are you doing here?”
“You asked for me to come to bed.”
Azriel’s head hurts trying to figure out what he means when his door opens once more to Rhysand strolling through the room, lying on Az’s other side.
“Ah, come on Azzy. It’s just like when we were younger,” Cassian tells him, his body heat helping with the chills taking over Azriel’s body.
Azriel sniffles, “we were like eight years old.”
“Well, Cassian hasn’t matured much since then,” Rhysand chimes in, staying on the bed but not too close to Az. He’ll provide some level of comfort with his presence, but he’ll be damned if he lets his brother get him sick.
“Why are you two here?” Azriel croaks, every word hurting his poor throat.
Rhys opens his phone to show him the family groupchat they had, the last message coming from Azriel saying, “Come to bed :(“
Azriel groans reading it, “I’m sure you could guess I sent it to the wrong person.”
Cassian chuckles, causing vibrations through Azriel’s back. He’s too weak to fight Cassian off of him, and the weight of him actually feels nice. Maybe Cassian would make a great weighted blanket after all.
“I never second guess any texts I receive. I assumed you missed me, it has been days since you’ve seen my glorious face.”
Cassian and Azriel continue bickering while Rhysand watches in amusement.
Mor comes in shortly after, bringing a warm cup of tea for both herself and Azriel, handing one mug to him while lounging across the foot of the bed. The tea soothes his throat, and he hates to admit it, but he does appreciate the presence of his family. He had been quarantined for days, trying to keep to his room as much as possible. He had grown quite accustomed to his big, invasive family. Your company was more than enough, but he did miss Cassian’s daily debriefs of his day.
Feyre comes in, taking residence next to Mor, as Cassian tells them all ridiculous versions of how he managed to destroy that building in the Summer Court. Each tale more ridiculous than the last, with Feyre even adding her own absurd version of events.
“I heard that a dragon flew in and Cassian fought it off with his bare hands and the only damage was that one building!”
Their laughter rings in Az’s ears as he closes his eyes, dozing, but not truly asleep.
You were shocked walking back to Az’s bedroom to find both of his brothers, Feyre, and Mor all lounging in bed with him. Azriel perks up at your figure in the doorway, somehow knowing you were there despite his resting state. His voice crackles from his sore throat, “save me?”
You walk in, squeezing yourself between Rhys and Azriel, and your boyfriend melts in your arms, falling asleep quickly as his family still chatters around you.
The next time Azriel wakes up, it’s dark outside, but he’s still cuddled to your chest.
“Hi sweetheart,” you tell him, setting your book down. He practically purrs at you running your hand through his hair.
“Sleep well?”
He presses his face back into your chest. “I would have slept better if they weren’t all annoying.”
You laugh, leaning over to kiss the crown of his head.
“Poor baby with a loving family,” you coo, and he huffs.
“They’re not loving, they’re annoying busybodies. Except Feyre. She hasn’t gotten that bad yet.”
You smile, untangling his hair with your fingers.
“They might be annoying busybodies, but they love you and you love them.”
He squeezes you a little tighter. “I’m sick. I only have so much love to give and it’s all going towards you.”
You laugh, your hand moving down to stroke his back. He relaxes in your embrace, your fingers soothing his clammy skin.
“Okay, you can wait until you’re feeling better to love them again.”
“Deal,” he tells you, eyes growing heavy once more. “Just - don’t tell Cassian. He’ll get upset.”
#acotar fanfiction#azriel x reader#azriel x you#azriel fanfic#azriel fluff#acotar writing#azriel x y/n
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Terrans
Humanity.
Listen well, for this is a tale of warning and of caution.
When humanity was first observed, many of the council thought they should be eradicated. A tumultuous and violent species who revelled in the destruction of their own kind. It was a close thing, but the council voted and humanity was allowed to develop - under the condition that none were to contact them until they were deemed ready.
Humanity never gave us the chance to do so.
They progressed their technology in timeframes yet unseen. They went from discovering electricity to landing on their own moon in a matter of decades - doing so with primitive technology, but it was a feat nonetheless.
From there they developed their own world - the space around their home planet Terra became a field of haphazard signals and messages, a bombardment of signals that interfered with our observational machinery. Due to this we weren’t ready when humanity ventured into the stars truly for the first time. They blasted themselves out of their atmosphere with controlled explosions of all things, their technology was nowhere near discovering antimatter coupling yet. Despite this they reached the edge of the quarantine zone within a matter of years, and we were discovered.
Despite our initial thoughts, humanity reacted very differently to us than expected. They didn’t wage wars on us, didn’t lay claim to our planets. They met us with unrestrained joy at finding others in the universe. They told us of their numerous attempts to reach out to us, and showed us some of their works of fiction that depicted how they imagined us (though they seemed to hide some others for reasons we couldn’t ascertain).
Humanity was welcomed into the stars, and they became commonplace. Their biology was baffling and their behaviour bizarre, but we accommodated them and they taught us how to work with them.
Centuries passed, and though the initial explorers were long gone, humanity had become a part of the council as low ranking members. Their species had become mostly peaceful, lowering their internal wars to less than skirmishes. Humanity’s violent and cruel nature seemed to have been tempered by the stars.
We were wrong.
From beyond the councils borders, beyond the observable space in the void, a threat appeared. They blasted through our sensors and demolished our border colonies in hours. Our intel on them was near zero due to the ferocity they annihilated our kin.
They reached the inner borders of the council, and the elder members prepared for a bitter battle. To our surprise, humanity asked to join the defence. They told us that their kin had settled on some of the border colonies, and that many had lost loved ones. We allowed humanity to join our last fight, even if we didn’t expect them to affect the battle.
We were wrong.
Many of my comrades who survived the battle have sleep terrors to this day. Not of the void settlers, but of the humans. The cruelty and viciousness we thought had disappeared from their culture came back with a vengeance. Who we had seen as scientists and farmers for centuries, comrades we had known for decades - they showed us that monsters don’t come from the void.
The void settlers never stood a chance. The council was barely able to get in formation before the battle was ended. If the void bringers tactics were ferocious, then the Terran’s were monstrous. For every ship they lost, every life they sacrificed, the void settlers lost a battalion, a planet’s worth of lives.
This loss brought the void settlers much shame and anger. They made a mistake that haunts me to this day. They used their speed to reach Terra before the council could relay to the humans the threat. Humanity watched as Terra split, as trillions of their families and non-fighting members were eradicated.
The fighting ceased. Humanity seemed to have frozen. Their fleets stopped dead in space and their communications went silent. Where humanity had been surrounded by wavelengths and frequencies that interfered with some technology still, the space around them became eerily silent, as though the death of the planet had killed even those off world.
The void settlers continued their attack on the council and disregarded Humanity. No need to worry about a broken opponent… Right?
They were wrong.
The Terran’s weren’t dead, or even broken. It was later revealed that the freeze had been due to grief. Humanity had lost its home world, but worse than that it had lost its peaceable citizens. The ones who should have been safe from the conflict.
All of humanity had watched, and all of humanity had grieved. But they were not broken.
The void settlers learnt this very soon.
Humanity descended on them in ways that made the last defence seem like a diplomatic discussion. We though we had seen the worst of humanity in our early observations. WE. WERE. WRONG.
Humanity has a saying “Hell hath no wrath like a woman scorned”, but the council has adapted it: “The void hath no wrath like a Terran without a home”.
The void settlers were routed from every planet they had taken. They retreated to the void leaving behind their technology and supplies, not even taking the time to recover some of their teams. But the humans didn’t stop.
In a move that the council had forbidden for millennia, the humans flew into the void. The entirety of the Terran race disappeared into the blackness beyond space and wasn’t heard from for longer than we had known of them.
The council mourned their losses, but viewed their final act as something done out of the madness of their loss. The Terran’s were remembered as warriors, as fighters, but also as family. They became known to those of us who’d seen them fight as “The angels of Death”.
I never expected to see a Terran again, assumed that the void had devoured them and their destructive grief with them. But one day a vessel I was onboard, tasked with assessing possible colonies to rebuild in the border planets - it detected something.
The frequencies and wavelengths of data that had only ever been human in nature. They were coming from the void.
The council watched as humanity emerged unexpected for the second time.
The flagship docked with our observation vessel, and the leaders came aboard to see us. I vaguely recognised the captain. Their features so slightly similar to the grief driven warrior we’d watched descend into the void. We asked what had happened, and the captain responded with the most chilling visage I had seen since the first footage of the void settlers. Their baring of their teeth was savage and joyous. So similar to the expression we saw at first meeting, yet so distorted. In that moment I saw what could have happened if the Terran’s had waged war on us.
“We won.”
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Cross Guild romance AU -
Buggy makes his own explosives, which doesn't sound all that important until you sit back and think of the ramifications and knowledge required for that. Buggy is damn good with chemistry, math, physics, and I bet he was the brain to Shanks's brawn on the Oro Jackson; he'd probably have been all over Crocus whenever he could to learn more about anything and everything.
Crocodile and Mihaw don't really put the two together, given that they see Buggy primarily as an idiot and coward. It's when an epidemic spreads on the island that some odd things click into place-
Buggy has forgone the big costume, is in comfy and sturdy clothes. His face is painted minimally, hair tied into a tight bun, bandana on, and he's working side by side with the medical professionals. He's elbows deep in checking vitals, organizing charts, and even synthesizing medications. More members are sick than not, and they go under a near-quarantine lock down to handle the illness. Between working in the medical tents and taking care of his people, Buggy has also had a hand in organizing for resources to be sent and delivered.
Neither Croc nor Hawk had even considered some of the balls Buggy has gotten rolling. They both have very strong immune systems, so they rarely face or think of illness or sickness as something to prepare for or to account for, but this just exploded one day seemingly without warning, and the clown had a plan in motion by eevening.
It's at this point that they begin to wonder if maybe there's something more to their Chairman than they first thought...
((Bonus points, they catch Buggy coming back from a long shift at the medtent, sent off by the other's to get some rest, so he's just at that sweet spot of tired enough to lose filter. They ask about the medicines, and Buggy goes on a mini infodump about chemicals, hormones, enzymes, antioxidants and antibiotics, mentions that he and a few others already have a few batches baking, and sleepily chuckles about how "the simpler ones seem to work well so far, thank goodness. I was worried... *yawn* that I'd have to dip into my supplies for my testosterone... *falls asleep at the table*.
Croc just becomes the Spiderman meme of "TRANS???" when Buggy wakes up))
I LOVE this is an understatement, this is so good!!! I love Competent!Buggy so much!!! Why can't the clown be a fucking genius while being clown-failure babygirl he is?
Buggy having a plan by evening is because he has so much anxiety, I mean, look at the poor clown! It's always the things that he didn't think of that happens that gets him in trouble. But this, he can do this. I also love the headcanon, that Buggy learn a lot of things from Crocus, so he has this in the bag!
It would be funny if Buggy could be fine in a really bad pandemics, but the flu and whatever the happened near Laugh-Tale is his biggest sickness problems. What am I saying, back to this cool ask!
Buggy being competent because he doesn't want his crew to die or get really ill, not because he needs them to work, but because he wants them healthy and happy. Buggy forgoing the pillow onesie for something better, and not taking that much time on his makeup is so good, that just shows how he priorities his Nakama before himself is so cute! I have a headcanon that Buggy has a least a Field Medic degree or a Nurse one. Mihawk and Crocodile watching at the sidelines is what I see them doing, because like the clown's being competent and they see there's not much they can do in this.
Yes, on Buggy rambling on and on about things he does, I want Buggy to infodump so hard. Like really really hard, Buggy could go on and on about things that interests him for a while.
Buggy is every gender and nothing at all to me, and the spiderman meme with Crocodile is the only one pointing at Buggy while Buggy is confused and sleepy, while Mihawk is just there on the sidelines. Is really funny to me.
#one piece#cross guild#cross guild polycule#buggy pirates#buggy the clown#sir crocodie#dracule mihawk#buggy the star clown#buggy the bombastic clown#hawkeye mihawk#mr. 0#buggy the genius jester#buggy x mihawk#buggy x crocodile#buggy the flashy fool#crocodile x buggy x mihawk#crocbug#hawkbug#captain buggy#red haired shanks#ideas~4~stories says#ask
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Page 42
Next 💜 Back 🖤 First
(Author Notes)
Panel 1: Finally, Relvin returns with the country doctor, a tired-looking woman of late middle age. She does a cursory examination of Imogen, who can hear her thoughts (as well as everyone else’s) the entire time.
Doctor:
Another one. There’s the rash all right. Throat inflamed. Fever. Same symptoms. Don’t know how I’m going to find the time.
Relvin:
She’s got to get better -- wonder what it’ll cost -- got a little put by -- poor kid hate to see her lookin’ so done in -- should crop off all that hair of hers it’s sappin’ her strength -- pity though
Laudna:
What’s wrong what’s wrong with Imogen can it be cured? Is she all right? Is she in pain? Is she going to die? She looks so miserable what can I do to help?
Panel 2: Focus on Laudna, who is looking worried and uncomfortable. Everyone’s thoughts cloud around her, although only Imogen can hear them.
Doctor:
So this is the one everyone’s calling “witch” and saying is the start of it all. I don’t put much stock in wild tales but she seems to have some malady, all right. Don’t have time for it now.
Relvin:
how to ask that one to leave maybe if I offer to see her home that’ll get the point across
Laudna:
Maybe I did cause this and I just didn’t realize it should I leave I don’t want to leave her I can’t lose her she’s all I have —
Imogen:
Laudna. Laudna, it’s okay.
Laudna:
Delilah did you do this Delilah if you’ve harmed Imogen -- don’t say things like that don’t start shut up SHUT UP DELILAH
Panel 3: Imogen cuddles up to Laudna as she moves to sit next to her. Rising, the doctor gives Relvin the diagnosis. Lost in his thoughts, he is caught off-guard.
Laudna:
Do you need anything, darling?
Imogen:
Just you.
Doctor:
Despite what y’all may have heard in town, there’s no hexin’ at work. Just a nasty outbreak of scarlet fever makin’ the rounds. She’ll need care. Which of you will be providing it?
Relvin:
What even is she she don’t look fey or elvish exactly but there’s something not quite right about her kind of unsettling to see Genny hangin’ on her like that all the time I mean I’m glad my lonely girl’s finally found a friend but did it have to be that friend wonder what kinda grave did she dig her up out of shoot is Imogen readin’ my mind right now???
Panel 4: Relvin hastily steps forward and raises his hand.
Laudna:
I will!
Relvin:
Now, we wouldn’t want to impose on you. I thank you for your kind offer, but I’ll see you home now, little lady.
Imogen:
No! Don’t go, Laudna.
Doctor:
It’s probably best if all you three quarantine together.
Relvin:
All right. You know best, Doctor.
Relvin, internally:
Dammit.
Panel 5: Laudna hugs Imogen, cheered up by the prospect of quarantine together, which provokes a wan smile from her.
Laudna:
Oh, a sleepover!
#critical role#critical role fanart#critical role comic#imogen temult#laudna#relvin temult#imodna#southerngothic#imogen x laudna#comics#mintywolf#a long road home
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Christopher LLOYD and Christopher Walken in Macbeth (1974)
#film#youtube#comics#frazer brown#theatre#tftqcomic#redcabincomics#talesfromthequarantine#red cabin comics#tales from the quarantine#william shakespere#Shakespeare#macbeth#christopher walken#back to the future#christopher lloyd
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This year is all about positivity for us at Red Cabin, with lots of love, comics and charity! :
Our variant covers (pictured here) were distributed to all pre-orders and backers in January - February 2023 (15 months ago)
We despatched our PREVIEWS/DIAMOND variant cover pre-orders in August 2023 for distribution to stores by our distributor.
We despatched multiple donated copies as part of our comic store initiative (announced as an ‘opt in’ way back in ‘22) to be sold at 100% profit for stores as a contribution to those recovering from the knock on effects of the previous pandemic years.
The multiple variant tiers have been despatched and fulfilled since late 2022/ early 2023. 17 months ago.
We believe we have rectified any missing or lost orders that may have arisen for variant covers at this point. If you believe you have a missing variant pre-order please check your Kickstarter updates in the coming days as we will be closing this tier permanently, we will include instructions on how to rectify any remaining issues.
We will be selling and donating remaining stock as outlined in our plans relayed to both contributors and backers from the beginning of the project.
We will be ‘vaulting’ some of our variant covers soon, with some great charitable plans for our remaining stock for those that missed out. Including donations and charitable sales through a third party website (with all profits sent directly to our chosen charities) more on that soon.
SOME of these variant covers will then be taken out of active circulation with remaining stock heading to a very good organisation for charitable distribution.
We have a lot more updates on the way.
Stay positive in ‘24
TEAM RED CABIN
#comicbooks#youtube#redcabincomics#comics#tales from the quarantine#charity#comic panels#frazer brown#web comic#comic
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boston holiday. / a joel holiday ficlet
pairing: joel miller x f!reader ( the last of us )
word count: 1.5k
summary: You're decorating for the holidays in your Boston Quarantine Zone apartment. A begrudging Joel Miller gets involved.
tags: domestic fluff, pre-tlou, explicit language, holiday decorating in the apocalypse, set 6 months after 'seeing you / seeing me'
credit: dividers by @saradika
welcome to the third day of the twelve days of amymas 2023 !!!
“The hell’re you doing, girl?”
Only two people have the key to your place.
One of them is Tess Servopoulos.
Giving Tess a spare key was necessary — or so she's claimed, since according to her, she can't trust you to stay out of trouble for longer than twenty minutes.
(She isn't wrong.)
However, you’d love to argue that somehow you have become the saint in this duo.
Ever since that week at Miller's place, every deal has gone smoother than running water. For the last couple of months, you've been clean. Unseen. Invisible.
Tess, on the other hand, has always been a bad influence.
The older woman opens her mouth, starts a Boston-wide battle, and boom — sleepover for two at your place.
(After saving your ass, you'll hide her away from wandering eyes without question. Curfew punishments be damned.)
The other person that has the key to your place, well —
The other is the salt-and-pepper man watching you in mild horror as you teeter on the arm of your dilapidated couch.
(You just haven't seen him yet.)
Joel Miller has been known for his subtlety, his silence, but not around you.
Not when he holds the key to your place; a recent development.
He tends to simply show up when he wants.
You don't mind that — usually.
But his bark scares the shit out of you in the middle of stretching high, your bare toes barely touching the arm of your couch.
The hell're you doing, girl?
Hoping to tack this starting string of garland to the ceiling suddenly becomes you fighting for your life.
"Ah—!"
The surprise intrusion causes you to falter, ankle losing its balance.
You wobble once, violently twice, before falling backwards.
Joel wastes no time — he slams the front door shut, not bothering to lock it behind him, and rushes to the couch.
Like some fucked up apocalyptic fairy tale, he catches you well before you hit the ground.
Joel Miller, the reluctant hero.
For a moment you stay suspended here: feet barely touching the ground, the older man’s arms wrapped around your torso.
Joel's weather-worn face twists in a concerned scowl.
All you can do is cheekily smile.
“Hey, Miller.”
“Don’t fucking hey me,” he snaps. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
“To be fair, I thought I could reach it.” He stares, so you supply: "The ceiling. I thought I could reach the ceiling."
“You’ve got the tallest goddamn ceilings in the Boston Q-Z,” Joel argues in return, setting you down to properly stand. You hold onto the sleeves of his flannel shirt until you get your footing. “Ain’t no way in hell you were reaching anything.”
He lets go of you to stare at the ceiling like he's ready to pick a fight with it, before dropping his chin.
The man stops moving when he picks up the fallen string of fake green vines strewn across your scratched hardwood floor.
The question is silent: what the hell is this?
You cross your arms over your chest, wishing you had a better excuse.
A funny one that doesn't make you look so childish, especially in front of Joel Miller.
Still, you're a bad liar around him, so you choose to stare at the garland instead of him when you confess.
“I was trying to get the holiday spirit going.”
When you blink up to Joel, your suspicions of confusion are correct: he stares back like you’ve sprouted a second head and become a clicker in the flesh.
A beat passes.
Then another.
“The what now?”
You playfully roll your eyes and walk away towards your radio. Hovering over it, your fingertips reach to toy with the dials until white static takes over the apartment silence.
That radio is the only reliable device in your endless collection of junk, though it's had to go through some repairs this year.
Thanks to Joel it still works, though he won't let you thank him.
(Not verbally, anyway. There are always loopholes in the middle of the night.)
“Every year I do this,” you explain, turning each dial with care until the local radio station comes over the airwaves.
"You... decorate."
Clearly he's unimpressed.
"Yeah," you reply. "Between leaving the Q-Z and scavenging the nearby neighborhoods, I find junk all the time. Snowman trinkets and elf knick-knacks and other stupid shit no one ever touches because it's all useless. I keep all of them in a box until the holidays. My collection's actually grown exponentially over the years.”
Two boxes full, actually.
Forgotten treasures of other families, now kept sacred on your mantle.
“Sounds like a waste of time,” Joel scoffs.
“It is,” you agree once you find the right channel before standing at full height with a tiny smile, "but that time makes me happy, so I’m happy to waste it. What else am I supposed to do between jobs?”
He considers those words, if just for a moment.
Joel scrunches his nose and eyes in a way that says he's debating on being mean.
You don't expect him to get it.
He's been through shit, but so has everyone in this quarantine zone.
(So have you.)
The Eagles croon in the background — not exactly holiday cheer, but any vinyl or CDs of the greats like Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra singing holiday songs are probably nonexistent from the decay of time.
Besides, you can’t imagine many others are trying to keep the holidays afloat in the quarantine zone. Some families, sure, but not many.
Too much heartbreak. Too much loss.
But you've had enough sadness, so you try to bring a little light to your humble abode.
"Don't worry about it, Joel," you add after an uncomfortable amount of silence passes. "I know it's stupid. There's a fresh bottle of stored whiskey in the—"
All words die on your tongue when some kind of winter miracle happens:
Rather than tossing the garland string to the side, Joel turns on the heel of his boot and away from you.
"Joel?"
He carefully slips off his shoes, revealing worn-white socks, and steps on your couch cushion.
With care, he reaches for the ceiling.
A strip of his bare lower back reveals itself in his stretch.
“What are you... doing?” you inquire, stepping around your couch to face him.
He doesn't look down, determined to stare at the white canvas of your ceiling.
Searching.
Your line of sight is in direct contact with the dark happy trail poking from his shirt, causing your face to burn.
“What’s it look like I’m doing?” he retorts.
“You said it was a waste of time.”
“You dying because you wanna try and stick some stupid tree shit up on your ceiling is more of a waste of time. You got tape or something?”
“Seriously?”
He peers down at you.
“Do I look like I’m kidding?" he retorts. "Get the damn tape.”
You have to try not to smile too wide when you step away, rummaging through your box of supplies.
Truthfully nothing in this box is worth keeping — none of it will save your life in the apocalypse — but your mental sanity thanks you for it every year.
After finding a roll that’s still sticky, you return to the couch and hold it up for him.
Joel grunts in gratitude, focusing his efforts solely on the line of green above him.
He manages to press the start of the decoration in place, holding the bottom of it to you.
“You want big loops or little?”
“What’ll stick better, Miller?”
He gives you a warning look. “Joel.”
A smile spreads like wildfire against your lips.
“...what’ll stick better, Joel?”
That seems to satisfy him.
“Hell if I know,” he grumbles, “just tell me what you prefer and I’ll do it.”
Something stirs in your lower belly as he speaks.
Joel didn’t have to do this.
He didn’t have to do any of it.
You were perfectly fine with keeping your need for holiday cheer to yourself, but he’s stepped in without so much as a fuss.
He’s had a hard life. Tess has alluded to the fact that he was once a father before.
You can only imagine how much he hates this, but he’s still trying.
For you.
It’s not a favor you will easily forget.
Your fading candles burn out in the background as the two of you go through every part of your assorted holiday decorations, popping open a bottle of smuggled whiskey to keep yourselves dehydrated.
You direct. Joel places.
After some time you both get too tipsy to put the finishing touches.
(Too busy slow dancing in the middle of your living room to the ballads of Patsy Cline.)
Making jokes.
Enjoying warmth.
Choosing life.
It’s the first night Joel Miller ever sleeps at your place.
You both stay in bed long after the sun rises.
.
#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller fluff#tlou fanfiction#tlou fanfic#tlou fic#tlou fluff#the last of us fic#joel miller fic#the last of us fanfiction#the last of us fanfic#holiday fanfic#holiday one shot#holiday fluff#twelve days of amymas#amywritesthings#fic: boston holiday
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For the "Pinepaw kills Asphodel AU". Pinepaw discovers that his sister has been going to see Wild Rose, to try and help her as she listens to her tales. Asphodel catches the sickness and Pine decides to kill her far from camp to avoid the infection. He also goes into temporary exile as a way of quarantine.
I don't think Pinepaw would do that, but the angle of a CWD plague is interesting - especially as that disease typically takes a long time to present its symptoms and kill its victims.
In the canon plot, the timeline doesn't really work out, unless they stole Pinepaw as a baby for some reason. However I could actually talk about this idea a lot more, but not yet (it's spoilers).
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I was such a fuckboy when I was 20. An aroace woman but a fuckboy.
#rereading my diary from that time. these character arcs were insane.#i don't really remember half of this#but i remember stuff that happened but i just didn't write down#what an era#tales from diana#what happened was i watched that girl defined video How to Recover from Being a Desperate Flirt & god fixed me#no. what happened was quarantining in a global pandemic. hope this helps
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that time shelley and byron made a macabre bet and it may or may not have cursed them for decades to come: a tale
at christmas dinner in 1821 byron and shelley were complaining about when they would inherit their estates — byron from his hated and estranged mother-in-law, shelley from his hated and estranged father. like the dramatic rich poets they were, byron made a bet with shelley of £1000 that his 70-year-old mother-in-law would die before shelley’s 68-year-old dad, and shelley readily accepted the bet convinced he would win.
by some stroke of fate, byron’s mother-in-law actually died almost exactly one month later. byron quickly inherited his part of the fortune but he refused to pay shelley, which everyone found annoying and awkward. especially since shelley had just given byron a fancy case of gold napoleonic medals for his birthday. byron was known for being charitable, especially with friends, so it isn’t clear why he refused to pay shelley but it’s possibly because he had been very drunk at the time whereas shelley had been very sober (as was usually the case when byron hosted dinner parties).
ANYWAY, to the point. to make things more morbid (because we’re talking about byron and the shelleys here), byron’s daughter died unexpectedly 3 months after his mother-in-law, and then shelley died less than 3 months after that in a wrecked boat named after byron’s poem don juan. its original name was ariel after shakespeare’s the tempest (a play about a boat wreck…!) but byron renamed it don juan as a prank which pissed shelley off, probably partly because historically it’s considered very bad luck to rename a boat.
meanwhile, percy’s father (who he was so sure would die soon) outlived him by over 20 years, dying at age 91 (which was ancient back then). this was to the great annoyance of mary, her son, claire, and everyone else shelley had named in his will, who were all intently waiting to inherit the money from his dad, who prevented execution of the will due to being a general asshole and hating all of shelley’s friends. to heighten the irony, shelley had also left lord byron £2000 in his will (more than twice their bet) and named him an executor. however, byron died two years after shelley, so he did not live to inherit the money from shelley’s dad.
to heighten the irony further, one of the reasons that byron died of a fever in 1824 was (in his own words & speculation beforehand) because his immune system never fully recovered from an illness he got after swimming for over five hours at percy shelley’s funeral in 1822. * shelley died from drowning (as he often predicted he would) after his boat don juan was wrecked during a storm.
and if all this wasn’t insane enough…
*as an aside: that last part may sound especially insensitive of byron, but he wasn’t the only one swimming at shelley’s funeral! it was a beach side funeral pyre (as shelley died in a boat wreck, & italian quarantine laws forced them to cremate him where he was) on one of the hottest days of the year. all attendees were severely sunburnt, exhausted, & drunkenly delirious after being out multiple days in a row looking for the bodies, burning williams the day before (shelley’s friend who also died), & mourning. byron was also famously known for his swimming talent — he actually pioneered open water swimming & competitions are still held annually in his honor — but that day in the water, he went drastically overboard (no pun intended) likely from his emotional disturbance!
#to be fair they didnt need to be cursed#they just did it themselves#rich fuckboy goth poets#lord byron#percy shelley#mary shelley#sir timothy shelley#the romantics#romanticism#history#funny#bizarre#rich people#poets#writers#literary history#the geneva squad#geneva squad
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i just reblogged that post about saying nice things abt prev but i wanna send an ask too, so: thank you for being one of the only people to be correct about the winchester mystery house and sarah herself!! so many people spread the stories of her being weird/crazy/whatever when she was just. a woman who suffered some tragedies and liked architecture.
i went on a tour of graceland recently and was intrigued by how they barely talked about elvis as a person, whereas winchester tours are basically a trap where you think you're getting to explore a weird fucked up house but actually you're going to hear about how wonderful sarah winchester was for an hour and if you say anything mean about her design skills one of the tour guides will push you out the door to nowhere.
i go through your winchester tag sometimes when i'm nostalgic and missing the house (i got laid off during quarantine) and it's just nice to see that even people who didn't devote years of their lives to the house can genuinely understand and appreciate it.
I'm so glad it's gotten better! Someone once anonymously told me the guides had to sign a contract saying they would only stick to the story made up by that ridiculous carnie family that bought her house in the 1920s, and even though it was an anon and therefore unverifiable...I believe it, sadly. For Profits often are more about...well, profit. As opposed to history. But it's good to know the guides care about getting the truth out there.
In Sarah Winchester I see a woman whose character assassination for being different(tm) has carried on after death. It's not that she was perfect- far be it from me to lay perfection at the feet of a white 19th-century gun fortune heiress -but she seems like a genuinely caring person in many ways, about her workers and her community. She was an unattached woman of means with an unconventional hobby (architecture), though, and that seems to have made wagging tongues nervous. During her lifetime that meant claiming she thought she'd live forever if construction never ceased (it did, several times), and after- well. The tale of the mad widow fleeing from invisible ghosts has come to prevail.
It feels unfair to me that she should forever be remembered by what her detractors said about her, instead of her own triumphs and setbacks, merits and flaws. And that her beautiful house, where she poured so much love and attention, should be so misrepresented. I'm glad people are trying to fix the narrative.
#sarah winchester#ask#winchester mystery house#lakesandquarries#spoiler alert for those who didn't know: she was NOT trying to hide from ghosts of Winchester rifle victims#she was just passionate about architecture and had the money to make that her Hobby#it's widely believed among historians that the 'doors and stairs to nowhere' are remnants of house sections destroyed in the#1906 earthquake and never rebuilt#the 'seance room' I've been told is just an attic storage room converted after her death- she would have held seances in the parlor#with tea to follow#like a normal Victorian
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