#I like to wander on foot and forage things

[from-the-clouds]

texas sun - joel miller x f!reader - vol. x

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chapter summary: an old friend finds you at your lowest point, and you're confronted with ghosts of the past. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 5.7k chapter warnings: HEAVY ANGST. Grief. Time jumps. Referenced death of family members and romantic partners. Canon typical violence. Blood mention. As always please dm if you have questions. a/n: I took a week off to get my shit together. I hope you are still with me :) Also, please pay attention to dates in this chapter.

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-March 7, 2022-

You hobble forward through the snow, dragging your right foot behind you for as long as you can until you’re forced to use it to step forward. Every time you have to bear weight on your ankle, you try to mentally prepare yourself for the pain, to convince yourself it’s not that bad. But each time your injured foot comes in contact with the ground, you realize your imagination didn’t do it any justice. Still, you try to keep the noises you make in response down to nothing more than sharp inhales. Despite the fact that the boy trailing a few steps behind you always keeps his eyes cast down, he sees everything, and the last thing you want him to notice is the severity of your injury. 

Both of you have more important things to worry about. 

It’s a forgivingly warm day, and by forgivingly warm, you mean not freezing. Snow still covers the ground, so tightly packed that in some areas you can walk on top of it, but in others you have to forage a path – it’s nearly above your knees. Without the support system of the group you had just been with, there was no way you’d be able to make it in this weather. This was the plan – head South, for warmer weather. But still, you’ve no real destination or purpose, you’re kind of wandering aimlessly through the woods and mountains, with nothing to direct you but a cracked compass. 

Despite the pain you’re in, you find the discomfort a welcome reprieve. If you’re focused on that, you’re not thinking of her. Of what you’d just lost, which would spiral into all the things you had lost, and so on and so forth. If you let yourself go down that path, you wouldn’t be able to come back, despite your future looking more and more uncertain each day. 

The boots that crunch behind you echo your own footsteps, so when they come to a sudden halt, you turn to look at him. He puts a finger to his lips. “Did you hear that?” 

His head tilts towards the wind. It’s hard enough to hear already, between the rushing river to your left, and the whistling of the breeze through the pines to your right. It ruffles his dark hair and you watch him – but it’s hard to tell what he’s thinking when his eyes are obstructed by a pair of Rayban Wayfarers perched on the bridge of his nose. You’d found them – along with the aviators you wore – on a road full of abandoned cars about three days back. Or was it…four? You’d have to look at your journal. Either way, you’d known they were necessary to avoid snow blindness, especially now that the sun was out. 

After a few moments of listening, he shakes his head. “I thought I heard horses.” 

Whether he did or not doesn’t matter. “We should move back towards the woods,” you advise.

He frowns, but doesn’t argue, and you abandon the easy path in favor of what’s safer, but also much, much, harder terrain to move over. Now, you have to move slower, but the pain is just as bad as before. 

You’re not sure how much time passes before you lose your footing over some gnarled tree roots, and it sends you to the ground. It hurts, and because you weren’t prepared for it, sharp cry you let out can’t be held back. 

“Shit!” 

Within a second, the boy is kneeling at your side, brow furrowed in concern. And you’re reminded, with him hovering over you, that he’s not a boy anymore.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine,” you say rapidly, rolling onto your stomach to push yourself up to a seated position. 

“No you’re not,” he crouches down, gesturing to your foot. One of his hands lands on your shoulder, keeping you from trying to rise to your feet.  “You’re clearly not.”

You lift up your pants to tighten the cloth you’ve wrapped around your ankle – a makeshift compression sleeve – even though you know it’s not going to fix the problem. It’s main purpose, really, is to hide the majority of the bruising and swelling. It makes it easier for you both to stay in denial of how bad the situation really is. “I twisted it. It’s fine.”

“It’s fucking broken,” he insists. “You know it is. We can’t keep going like this, we need to rest, and food. You need to ice it and actually let it fucking heal-”

“Ethan,” you hiss. “Just where the fuck are we going to do that?”

Wherever you are is incredibly remote, you hadn’t been able to find a reliable shelter since you first started running away. 

Your nephew frowns again, his head dropping. “You’re right. We’re fucked, aren’t we?” 

“We’re not fucked,” you say, even if you don’t believe it. “We’ve seen worse.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know....this is pretty fucking bad, right?” 

There was something equally tragic about almost every situation you’d been in since the beginning of the outbreak, so it’s honestly hard if you’re actually doomed or not. 

“I mean we survived….that,” you gesture towards the general direction from which you’d come, even if it’s a week’s worth of travel away. 

“Maybe we’re still not out of it.” 

“We are. The worst is over.” Despite your own doubts, you try to remain determined for his sake. 

Ethan only sighs. He doesn’t argue with you, and rarely does. It doesn’t mean he agrees with you. Even after everything you’d been through, he’s sensitive – and incredibly introspective. 

This conversation was getting filed away to bring up later. There’s a lot of things you know he wants to talk about, but he knows now is not the time for those conversations.

“Let’s keep moving,” you decide. “Hopefully we’ll find shelter soon, and when we do, I promise, you can rest.” 

“You can rest,” he corrects.

You hum your affirmation, and he stands. The thick pelt that’s draped over his shoulders shifts when his hand reaches out to help you up. There’s still blood that stains his clothing, and it’s caked under his fingernails. Yours too. It’d be nice to clean yourself off properly, but with the unpredictable temperatures, you’re not interested in diving into the river and risking hypothermia.

The second that you rise to your feet, you can see you are – as Ethan predicted – fucked. 

There’s four, hulking figures cantering towards you on horseback. You turn to look into the woods. “Fuck, we have to-” you fumble for the revolver strapped at your hip, and Ethan lifts his rifle, but it’s too late. Before you can even draw your weapons, or comprehend an escape plan, you’re surrounded. 

“Don’t even fucking think about it,” there’s at least two guns trained directly at you. “Hands up.” After everything that had gone down, you’re out of bullets, so even if it might’ve been a good bluff, a gun would only get you so far. 

You both obey, but Ethan subtly shifts his weight so he stands in front of you. “Hey kid. Step away from mom or we’ll shoot you both.”

The words come from the man on the horse directly in front of you. Probably the leader, if you had to guess, and clad just like his counterparts. They’re all clad in muted tones, handkerchiefs obscuring their mouths and cowboy hats casting shadows over their eyes. There’s a dog seated obediently at one of the horses feet. 

You don’t say anything as Ethan steps away. This wasn’t the first time you’ve both been cornered like this before. And hopefully not the last, you think, before realizing just how grim of a wish that would be. Either way, he knows what to do. Silence is an incredibly effective card to play when you have absolutely nothing to offer. It allows you to bide your time, to strategize, to listen.

Once Ethan is an appropriate distance away, he raises his chin in defiance. “What brings you to the area?” 

“Nothing. We’re passing through,” you answer. Maybe that would be enough. Maybe the only thing you really can use as leverage right now is just how down on your luck you actually are. Unfortunately, you have found that even when you have nothing to give, there are still things that can be taken.

“What’s with all the blood?” another man asks, this one to your left. “You in some kind of trouble?”

“Only the usual kind.”

“Infected?”

“We aren’t sick.” 

“We’ll see…” the third man whistles to the dog at his feet, which trots forward with a low growl to sniff at your shoes. 

Neither you or Ethan have been bit, so you know you’re in the clear, but that doesn’t make things any less hopeless. You exchange a sidelong glance with your nephew as the dog sniffs at you, and you glance to the only cowboy who has been silent the whole time, the one at your right. He clears his throat, adjusts his hat, and you catch a glimpse of his eyes….just for a second. The dog backs away.

“Looks like you aren’t lying,” the cowboy in front of you sounds almost satisfied. “Both of you, take off those glasses.” 

You sigh, glancing over at Ethan. 

“Don’t look at him, just do it.” 

You do, pushing them off the bridge of your nose and up into your matted and tangled hair. Pointedly, you turn to look at the men surrounding you. Revealing your face is always a risk, and you’ve made plenty of enemies who would recognize you. But you’re out of options.

“Where are you headed?”

“South,” you say. “Just trying to get out of the cold.” 

“If think this is cold, then you must have not been in the area long enough.”

Actually, I have, asshole. Is a decade long enough? You keep the commentary to yourself. 

“Any friends nearby we should know about?” 

Your stomach twists. No. But he doesn’t deserve the story. Not when all you want to do is forget every second of the last week. “Can you just tell us what you want from us?”

“Answer the question.”

“Hold on,” the man to your right speaks up for the first time, and you turn to look over at him. “What’s your name?” His voice is muffled by the bandana.

Hesitantly, you give him your first. 

The man pulls his handkerchief down around his neck, pushes the brim of his hat back. Now, you can see him clearly. He looks familiar, but it’s not someone you know from this lifetime. His long, dark hair pokes out from where it’s slicked back behind his ears. He looks far too young to be the first person that comes to mind. But….maybe. 

And then he repeats your name, adds your last himself. How does he know?

You tilt your head to the side, squint against the sun. 

“....Tommy?” 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Huddled at the far end of a couch, you’re still trying to make sense of the situation when Tommy settles into a chair that he pulls alongside you. 

“Let me take a look at your ankle.” 

“It’s fine, really,” you insist, even though all your efforts to refuse help since you’ve arrived have been futile.

It’s the most normal-looking community you’d seen in a decade. Completely self-sufficient and self-governed – no FEDRA, no Fireflies. Hell, you’d just showered under warm, running water – had watched the blood and dirt and grime swirl about the tiles before disappearing down the drain. And now, despite the temperature having dropped since nightfall, you are perfectly warm in a thin gray sweater, thanks to the central heating and a fire crackling in the fireplace. It seems far too civilized to be real. 

Your eyes flick behind Tommy towards the stairs, and you register the sound of the water running above you. Ethan. For the past few days, he hasn’t left your sight once, such a force of habit that leaving him alone puts you on edge. If something happens, and you’re separated….

“He’ll be fine,” Tommy assures you, almost like he can read your mind. You focus back on him, but don’t have anything to offer in response. He sighs, lowers his voice. “Whatever happened to you, I want you to know that you’re safe. And can trust me. You know that, right?” 

You study Tommy. Of course, you want to trust him. But he is a man, after all. A man you haven’t seen in a long time. You had been betrayed so many times by people you thought you could trust that it was no longer something you could give so easily. The sincerity in his expression, the conviction with which he speaks, however, causes you to soften. “C-Can I?” 

“Of course,” Tommy says. “We knew each other….before.” 

“I know, I know.” You nod, wearily, and take in the room. “Guess it’s just….a bit of a shock.”

“I get it,” he sympathizes. “But I’m here to help. If I wasn’t, all this…” he gestures around the living room of the once-empty house he’s letting you use for the night. “...would be a huge waste of time and resources.”

You offer a small smile, feel some of the apprehension fade, and allow him to examine your ankle. When you’d gotten a glimpse of it in the shower, you really couldn’t deny the severity of the situation. 

“It does look like it could be broken,” Tommy says as he begins to wrap it in a bandage. It’s so sensitive, you can’t even watch, trying not to wince. “Tomorrow, I’ll get the doctor to come by and take a look. But for now, we’ll ice it and keep it elevated. Maria’s coming by later with dinner and some medicine that should help with the discomfort.” 

You nod. To be real, the whole situation seems too surreal. There is something interesting about this situation – that right after one of the most traumatic events of your life, someone you knew from before was there to help. It wasn’t nothing. 

And you’re aware that there are a thousand questions that hang between you. It’s overwhelming, you don’t know what one you want to pick, or if you even want to. So you keep it simple. “Who’s Maria?” 

Tommy maneuvers a pillow under your foot and gingerly rests an ice pack on top. “She only kind of runs the place. And….she’s also my girlfriend.”

“How nice,” you say, earnestly. 

“Yeah….” Tommy smiles to himself. “Yeah, it is nice. I have a life here. It’s been awhile since I’ve felt that way.”

His candid nature further helps you relax. If you can trust him, and he feels safe here….maybe you are, too.  

“Look, I’m sorry, but I have to ask…” Tommy begins, rubbing his hands together and looking over his shoulder. “But uh….the kid….Ethan…is he….”

You tilt your head.

“Is he….Joel’s?” 

“Oh,“ your eyes widen. You register that a less hardened version of yourself might have laughed at the misunderstanding. But not now. Something twists deep in your gut at the implication. “No, no. No. He’s not mine. He’s my nephew. My brother’s son.”

“Okay,” Tommy looks almost relieved. “Sorry, it's just. He’s so young and you sort of look alike and-”

“It’s alright, Tommy,” you say. Because you can see why he thinks that. You are old enough to be Ethan’s mother, and people constantly assume he’s your son. Most of the time, you don’t bother to correct them. No one needed that information. Ethan was only a child when his parents passed. The two of you were all that remained of your family, and if it weren’t for him, you probably wouldn’t even be here. -“I get it.”

It’s been awhile since you’ve thought of Joel, of Sarah. It seems cruel, but it’s really just a matter of self-preservation. For some time, right after the outbreak, you had tried to find them. But you weren’t willing to abandon Ethan or Vincent, and there was only so much you could go. You kept losing people, and then started to avoid thinking about them entirely. Those memories became a distraction. You had more important things to focus on. Staying alive. Only when things were quiet would you let yourself indulge. 

“He’s still alive,” Tommy’s voice cuts through the silence. 

It almost feels selfish to be relieved that Joel’s alive.  Because anyone who remembers what it was like before has survived, against all odds. And it’d be impossible to meet anyone who hasn’t traded over part of their humanity to last this long. 

Despite that, you aren’t surprised. Joel was practical, smart….a protector. You remembered a hot summer night, the way he’d made some guy harassing you and Sarah cower and retreat with all his friends. It would be terrifying to be on the receiving end of that rage. What kinds of things was he capable of? Maybe you’re just projecting. 

“And Sarah?” You think of her, her sweet smile and quick wit. 

Tommy’s head drops, he shakes his head once. 

“No….really?” It’s such a stupid question to ask. As if he’d make such a terrible joke. 

At first, you’re overwhelmed by the anger you feel. It grips you tight around your throat and you struggle to breath as Tommy continues. 

“It was the night everything went down. The military had these orders to kill all civilians….we all got split up. Sarah and Joel were cornered by this soldier. I shot him but…. I got there too late…she, uh….yeah….” 

The anger dissipates quickly. Because you know all too well that it’s not useful. You’re completely powerless, it won’t fix anything. So all that momentum and energy comes screeching to a halt. You’re left thinking of Joel, of what that loss must have felt like. What you’re feeling now probably isn’t a fraction of what he felt. And you feel terrible. 

“No,” you choke out, the frustration fizzling into grief. “She was so-”

All that time you’d spent with her, all those years ago, yet you still can see her so vividly. 

Something you’ve always longed for is the ability to know, the second you meet someone new, just how much they are going to change your life. You think of Sarah, standing timidly at the end of your driveway, asking to use your landline. That was it. Then, she was always over at your place – eating your snacks, sprawled out on your couch watching television, asking for life advice as if you were qualified to give it. In the end, you’d probably learned more from her than what you had to offer. It wasn’t fair. Not to her. Not to Joel. Not to Tommy. Or you. 

“I know, it’s-” Tommy starts, but he doesn’t finish. You understand. What is he supposed to say?

You’ve been a fortress, held together by nothing but sticks and plaster, and this is the blow that takes you down. It’s not just Sarah, it’s everything you’ve been holding back for the past week. That you’d hidden from Ethan because you didn’t want him to worry. But you can only take so much loss, pitching forward to sob into your palms.

You don’t cry like you used to. The tears come, but you don’t make any noise, save for the shaky, staggered inhales your body forces you to take to self-regulate. There’s a hand on your shoulder, and a weight settles next to you on the couch. “I’m s-sorry,” you manage through a faltering breath.

Tommy doesn’t say anything, but he wraps his arms around you. Something in the back of your brain reminds you that this could be a part of some long con. But you’re sick of listening to that voice. You lean into him, and accept the little bit of comfort, because you can’t remember the last time it’s been offered to you. So much time spent being strong, but you’re only human, and no one is built to endure this much without breaking. 

“Where is he?” you ask Tommy, once you’ve finally managed to pull yourself together, his hand still between your shoulder blades. “Is he here?” 

“Last time I saw him, we were livin’ in the Boston QZ.” Tommy shakes his head. “But it’s….been awhile since we’ve spoken.” 

They had always seemed close, but you don’t press, because you get the impression it’s painful to talk about. You wonder what kind of man Joel must have become after losing Sarah. What else would he have to fight for? You know how loss has changed you, too. How all of this has changed you. For better, and for worse. 

“I bet he would be glad to know you’re still here,” says Tommy, patting your back.

“Sure,” you say. “But it’s been a long time.”

“It has been. But you took good care of him and Sarah,” Tommy says. “So there’s a place for you here. If you want to stay, the house is yours.” 

“Tommy, I can’t-” You aren’t really sure why you are refusing. It’s all so much. And it doesn’t even make sense to do it, because where had you been planning to go to begin with? You’re just stubborn. You know if you stop moving, everything will catch up to you. 

“You don’t have to decide tonight. But at least wait until you’re back on your feet.”

“Is that…a joke?” you glance towards your ankle, relieved to find some remaining proof of your sense of humor, something you’re pretty sure you can’t go on without. 

Tommy seems to share this relief, smiling gently. “It wasn’t intentional.” 

There’s a lull, then: “Maria was a lawyer, too. She could use your help on the council.”

You sniff, wipe at a stray tear that falls at the mention of your old life, the job that you were constantly complaining about. Everything had been perfect, and you had taken it for granted. “I don’t know how much of that stuff I even remember.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re family,” Tommy speaks definitively. “Maybe not technically. But eventually…you would’ve been.” That makes you ache, and he goes on. “It’s the least I can do.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-April 10, 2024-

The wind rustles the leaves of the trees, through the windchimes that hang off your back porch. The sun is on the horizon, you can tell because there’s a red glow behind your eyelids. Huffing, you fold your body forward over your feet, pulling yourself towards the floor by the backs of your ankles, before stepping back into a lunge. 

The sound of a door sliding up interrupts the quiet, then two plates hit a glass tabletop. 

“Breakfast.” 

You open your eyes. Ethan’s head is tilted as he glances over at you. “I can’t believe you still do this shit everyday.” 

“Old habits die hard.” You push yourself up off the tattered blanket you’ve been using as a yoga mat and roll it up. “Gotta stay limber.” 

It’s the truth. You’re in your forties now, and have spent the last twenty years under constant physical and mental stress. If there’s anything you can do to reverse the damage and be a little kinder to your body, you’re going to do it.

You put your hands on your hips and look at the omelets he’s prepared. “Wow,” you say. “You know, you’re becoming quite the chef.”

“One of us has to.”

You ignore his dig to take a sip of the tea he’s prepared you. “What are you doing up so early?”

“Patrol. I have to leave in like 20 minutes. Are you going out today?”

“Tomorrow,” you correct, sitting in the chair across from him. “But today I have to meet with Eugene, and then I told Maria I’d look after the baby while she gets some work done.” 

“Makes sense. Tommy told me they’re hardly sleeping. How is she?” 

“She’s doing good. But…there used to be this saying…It takes a village.” 

Ethan considers this. “I still don’t know how you and dad looked after me all those years.” 

“You were five years old, not five weeks. At least you could walk.” 

“That’s still young. It must’ve been hard.”

“It was but….” you shrug. “We made it.”

Ethan looks into the backyard, like he’s contemplating the past two years you’d spent in this house. “You think this is it?” 

After Tommy had brought you to Jackson, you’d never left. Will it last? Is really what he’s asking. It’s easy to feel jaded. The last place you’d been before Jackson had housed you for almost a decade. It hadn’t been nearly as nice as this, but it had its appeal. Today, you feel hopeful. “It’d be nice if it was.” 

Ethan seems comforted by your answer. “I don’t remember much…from those days. Back at the beginning of everything.” 

“That’s probably for the best,” you say. There are so many things from that time you’d erase from memory if given the chance. Some things never felt less jarring, even with time. 

Ethan looks down at his food. “I miss them. I wish I got to know them better.”

You think of your brother, of Elizabeth. His parents. “You knew them,” you assure him. “And they loved you.” 

Ethan studies the divots in the glass of the patio table. He’d grown up to be a spitting image of his dad. In fact, if Vincent were still alive, you would’ve found a way to give him shit about it. I knew you were self-absorbed, but don’t you think cloning yourself is a little extreme? But he’s not here, so you whisper those sorts of things when no one else can hear you, and hope that somehow he can. 

He finishes his last bite of food and stands, towering over you, tall and lanky. When he reaches to collect his plate, you stop him. “I’ll get it. Don’t want you running late.”

“Thanks,” he leans down and gives you a quick hug. “I’ll be back before dinner.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The sun is about to set when he returns. You’re back from Maria’s, mellowing out on the couch with your knitting while listening to an old comedy album you’d found the last time you were on patrol. 

“Hey,” you crane your neck to see him kicking off his boots in the foyer. Taking your shoes off when you walk in a house was a habit that had taken some getting used to. Before Jackson, you’d been so used to sleeping in your clothing, your shoes, knife and gun curled by your side, ready to grab at a moment's notice. The first week you’d lived here, you and Ethan had slept on the couches in the living room and refused to separate. 

In general, there were a lot of things that had taken some getting used to while you were settling in. But humans have a natural instinct to put down roots. It was only a matter of time before you’d start to thaw out. And boy did you thaw. 

For a long time, you were resistant to staying. At first, it was just for the night, then, it was until your foot got better. Your foot got better, and then you wanted to put on some weight. Then one day, you were sitting in the Tipsy Bison, sandwiched in a booth listening to Tommy brazenly flirt with Maria while watching Ethan joke with the kid his age working at the bar. It had been three months, and you didn’t want to leave anymore. 

Twenty years of running, of not knowing when your next meal was coming from, or what could be lurking around every corner. It was a different kind of exhaustion, and the second that you felt safe, it all caught up to you. All you did for the first two months was sleep. 

You woke only when Maria dropped by. Like Tommy had said, Maria had been a lawyer before. A prosecutor, however, so the work was different. You’d had a good laugh over the fact that you were raised by a ruthless criminal defense attorney with questionable clientele, because that was her worst nightmare. She was always enthusiastically telling you about things happening amongst the town council, and would even ask for your expertise. When you were done sleeping off the exhaustion, she’d extended you an offer to work for the town council. 

Not leaving your house for weeks you assumed would earn you the reputation of the town recluse. But when you started to participate in community affairs, no one gave you any grief. That was probably thanks to Ethan, who from the beginning, fit right in. He was desperate for a social life outside of you, and more importantly, with kids his actual age. 

Between helping Maria on the council, and Eugene with his….business…you didn’t go out on patrol too often. But you were glad you and Ethan had managed to find some sort of normalcy in Jackson. Even though you’d never admit this to him, the last group you’d lived in had some…..questionable traditions. 

“Did Tommy come by already?” Ethan asks as he strolls into the living room and practically throws himself down on the couch. 

“No,” you say. “Was he supposed to?” 

“He said he was coming over tonight because he has a surprise for you or something?”

“A surprise?” you ask. “What?”

“I don’t know,” Ethan says, sounding slightly annoyed by your questions. Sometimes, you still get glimpses of the fifteen-year-old boy he once was. He had always been well-behaved, but those sorts of things slipped through on occasion. 

“Hmmm,” you return to your knitting, but don’t think much of it. It’s not like Tommy coming over is out of the ordinary. If it wasn’t him walking through your front door, it was Maria, and you and Ethan were over at theirs several times a week as well – whether it was for dinner or to help out with their new baby. 

You think about what Tommy had told you when he first encouraged you to stay. He’d called you family. At the time, you didn’t think that was true. But now, it was. Maybe you weren’t bonded together by blood, but you’d grown to care for each other as if you were. Opening your heart used to feel impossible, painful even….but all the people who had helped you at your lowest had proven otherwise. Shutting them out only made things worse. After everything you’d been through, all you had left were the people you cared about. What else was there? It was stupid to do anything else but love. 

There’s a knock on your screen door, and Ethan is the first to practically jump off the sofa. You don’t get up right away, figuring that Tommy will stroll in shortly. 

Instead, you hear more voices than you were expecting, the screen door closing behind Ethan, his muffled “Nice to meet you.” 

The sun is setting, and the last thing you want to do is go and meet someone who's new to the community to make small talk. But then you hear Ethan call for you. You need to be a good member of the community and keep up appearances. Begrudgingly, you lift yourself out of the sofa and walk down the hallway to your front door. 

You slide into your sneakers, pull on your pair of aviators to protect from the intense light of the sun on the horizon, stepping onto the patio. 

“What’s up?” you ask, stepping out onto the patio next to Ethan, and Tommy is to your right, though you are hardly aware of him as you focus immediately on the man standing in front of you.

You recognize him instantly. It doesn’t matter how much time has passed. It doesn’t matter that his hair is more gray now than it is brown. It doesn’t matter or that the lines on his face are deeper, and his shoulders slump under an invisible weight. There’s a scar on his temple that hadn’t been there before, and his eyes, once warm and sparkling, seem impossibly cool and distant. He’s hardened by the world, and so are you.

“Joel?” 

It’s a stupid to pretend like you don’t know that it’s him. Like you need the confirmation. And you lower your sunglasses, just in case you’re seeing something you want to see, and not what’s actually in front of you. 

When you meet his eyes, his jaw clenches, and something unrecognizable flashes in his eyes.

“How are-” you step forward, and you’re not sure why. 

What were you expecting, a hug? A kiss? Some grand reunion, like you hadn’t lived separate lives for two decades, like you hadn’t loved someone else in the meantime. He probably had, too. So it’s not like you’d be able to pick up where you left off and forget all the things that happened. It wouldn’t be possible, but you have an instinctual urge to wrap him in your arms, to press your face into his chest as you did so many times before. You’d tilt your head back to kiss his neck, his jaw, and to feel his stubble scratch your face – you’d do it anyway, because you don’t care if it hurts you. 

Joel steps backwards just as you move closer. There’s a young girl hovering behind him, the same way that Sarah used to. But it’s hard to see much of her from where you are standing. His eyes flicker between you and Ethan, and then he turns on his heel and walks down the pathway without a word.

“Ellie!” he calls out, and doesn’t even so much as glance over his shoulder. It’s the first time you’ve heard him speak, and his voice gruffer, a bite to it that didn’t exist before.

You don’t call out after him, don’t trail after him down the street like the girl or Tommy does. But you do stare after him until he turns the corner and disappears from view. The only evidence he’d been standing in front of you at all is the pounding of your heart and a sick feeling in your stomach.

-

-

-

[justagalwhowrites]

Yearling - Ch. 12: Animals

Joel makes sure Bambi stays safe from Simon. A continuation of Yearling ch. 1-11 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Canon-typical violence (torture and death.) No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ Only 

Length: 5.5k 

AO3 | Chapter One | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

August 29, 2023

The howl was distinctive. Three shorter cries and one longer one. 

You knew what that meant. 

Your morning rounds to collect prey from traps had been fruitful - netting you two rabbits so far - and you’d been able to forage for some vegetables and roots, too. It was getting to be late enough in the summer that you knew you needed to start preserving more. Winters were harsh and lean. You no longer struggled like you had 20 years ago, back when you were barely out of your teens and still trying to figure out how to safely cook let alone survive an apocalypse, but it still took conscious effort to not starve to death when the cold weather came. Today’s harvest would help with that. 

But only if the intruders on your land didn’t try to take it from you. 

You clicked your tongue at Nike and gave her ribs a gentle squeeze before urging her into a trot and then a canter toward the source of the howling. 

It didn’t take you long to find, responding to the howl with your designated whistle, starting low and ending high. The dog howled again and you were able to tell where she was, finding her before too long. 

Your other dogs had beaten you there. It looked like Ruger, one of your Belgian Malinois, had been the one to find the three men and one horse who had wandered onto your land. She was standing, teeth bared, in front of them, keeping watch for her sisters. Gattling, the other Bel Mal - both from the same litter, given to you a few years back by a man who’d taken up breeding and training attack dogs at the end of the world - had them at the back. The herding dogs - Venus and Juno - were at their sides, pushing the men closer and closer together. 

You raised your shot gun. 

“Who the fuck are you and why’re you on my land?” 

“Why don’t you lower your weapon,” the man on the horse smiled. “Then we can have a nice, civilized conversation.” 

“Don’t need one,” you replied, giving a short, sharp whistle. The dogs pressed closer. Ruger snarled. One of the men on foot jumped. You whistled again, the dogs’ attention back on you. 

“Ruger, Gattling,” you said. “Savvy.” 

They took off, back toward the cabin and your horse paddock. The men watched them run for a moment. 

“Assuming you’re Texas?” The man ignored the remaining dogs at his feet, using the name you’d picked up in decades of trading with passers by. “Heard you trade for horses, was wondering if you had some you’d be willing to part with and what the going rate would be?” 

You looked him over, the horse he was riding. You knew that horse. 

“Looks like you already got one of mine,” you said. “But I know you didn’t get him from me. What did you do to Jennifer.” 

Your gun was still up, leveled at the man on horseback. 

“Got the horse off a girl who got bit,” he said before he smirked and shook his head a little. “She sure was a pretty thing, though.”

You adjusted your grip on the gun and bit back a snarl. You’d liked Jennifer, she was a sweet girl. She’d left the Kansas City QZ as it falling apart, too young to remember much of life before the world ended. She’d reminded you of yourself at the start of the end of the world, figuring out how to be on her own while learning how to survive. She’d stayed with you for a few weeks after she’d stumbled upon you when she got separated from a group. You taught her some things, like how to trap and track animals, what to avoid when foraging. She’d left looking for a settlement you’d heard rumors of near the coast. You’d always hoped that she’d made it. Apparently she hadn’t. You didn’t know if it was infected or the men standing in front of you that did it but it didn’t matter. You knew you didn’t trust them. 

“When.” 

“Few weeks back,” he said. 

“She who told you about me?” You asked. 

He smirked. 

“Not exactly,” he said. “Been looking for you for a while. You’re a hard woman to find.” 

“Plan to stay that way,” you said, finger drifting to the trigger. “I’ve got four rounds in this, don’t remember the last time I missed. You can turn, go and forget you ever found me. Or, I can kill you. But you’re not leavin’ with another of my horses. Up to you.” 

The men looked at each other for a moment before the man on the horse gave you a nod. 

“We’ll be on our way.” 

He tipped his hat to you and you kept your gun trained on him. You gave another whistle and the remaining dogs backed down and you watched them until you couldn’t see them on the horizon anymore. 

It was just two weeks before someone found you again. 

His name was Mitchum. 

July, 2026

Joel’s hand was on your skin when you woke up. 

You’d drifted back into consciousness instead of shocked into it, your body relaxed and enveloped by his. His breath was warm against your head, his nose in your hair. His fingers were pressed into your skin, making little indentations on you in the shape of him and you were acutely aware of his hips and stomach and chest, his legs curled around the back of you. 

It was an odd feeling, strangely connected and disconnected to your body all at once. You could feel the blood moving through your limbs and the heat of Joel against you but your skin was almost numb. You weren’t in pain, in spite of being slammed into Ares’ stall door and thrown to the ground. You didn’t want to move, didn’t want to disturb this quiet peace that had settled over you. 

But as you slowly settled back into yourself, you realized something. There was an unfamiliar sensation between your thighs, slick and cool. You frowned and slowly slipped your palm into your shorts. You delicately traced your slit before bringing your hand in front of your face, fingers glistening. 

You stared at them for a second. You were wet. Something over night had made you get wet. 

It had been years since you’d last been wet because you wanted someone. Everything had been protection, your body trying to preserve itself, to make it hurt less. This was different. You weren’t sure how you knew but you did. Your face got hot. 

There was a tightness in you, you realized as you became more aware of your body again, a heat that you weren’t quite sure what to do with. All you knew was that Joel didn’t feel close enough to you. 

Just as you were thinking that, considering pressing yourself back against him so you could feel the outline of him more clearly to see if that eased the ache, his grip on you tightened and he gave you a gentle squeeze. His breathing shifted against you and he pressed his face closer to you. You quickly pressed your fingers into the leg of your shorts, wiping them clean. 

“Joel,” you said softly. 

He adjusted at your back. 

“Mornin’,” he sounded tired, only half awake. You swallowed past the knot in your throat. His nose nuzzled into your hair. You hesitated for a moment put pressed yourself back against him, the aching tightness in you easing at the contact.You focused on the feel of him for a moment, all firm but gentle. You weren’t sure how long you lay there like that with him when his hold on you loosened. 

“You OK?” His voice was gruff but tender, quiet. You pressed yourself back a little closer and his hand sank deeper into your flesh. You nodded ever so slightly. “Good.” 

His hand spread a little more against you and your smaller hand went over the top of his, a low, soft whimper slipping from your lips. 

“Bambi,” his voice was low and warm. 

“Yes?” 

“Should…” he took a deep, shaky breath against you. “Should go find Maria.” 

“Yes,” your voice trembled as you said it. 

“S’it OK if we stay like this another minute?” he sounded strained. You pressed your hand against his and he gasped quietly. “I just… I want…” 

“Yes,” you breathed, cutting him off. 

He held you like that for a few minutes, both of you silent outside of your quiet, needy breaths. 

“C��mon,” he said eventually, pulling his hand away from you. “Should get moving.” 

You separated from him slowly, reluctantly, and went upstairs to get changed. 

It felt like you should be grateful for the distance. A chance to reset your mind after it had been clouded by his proximity all night. But, even as the heat and tightness in you faded, you still felt like he was too far away. You wanted him closer. 

You shook yourself mentally and checked the bruise at your side before you gently cleaned between your legs. You put on Joel’s most recent shirt over a t-shirt before heading downstairs. 

“Ready?” Joel asked, sitting politely on your couch. 

“Yeah,” you nodded. 

“I can’t figure out Ben’s role in all this,” Joel said, his hands in his pockets as the two of you walked through the hazy dawn toward Maria and Tommy’s. “Simon’s a piece of shit but…” 

“I met him once,” you cut Joel off. “Before.” 

He turned to look at you so quick it made you jump a little. 

“He hurt you before?” He asked, his voice low and dangerous. 

“No,” you said, though you weren’t sure that was entirely true. Someone had told Mitchum where you were. He was on the last group to come through. “But he wasn’t happy with me then, either. He and his buddies showed up on a horse I’d trained, they either took him from a dead woman or cut it away from her. So I told them they wouldn’t get any horses from me. They didn’t like that much.” 

You hadn’t remembered him until that morning, just an ominous familiarity hanging over you whenever you looked at him. But you knew him. He’d been one of the two men on their feet, your dogs had nearly taken him down at the ankles. 

You didn’t tell Joel about your suspicion, that he’d sold you out to Mitchum when you’d refused to give him a horse.

Joel nodded slowly as the two of you came up to Tommy and Maria’s front walk. He knocked on the door and you could hear the shrieking toddler laugh from inside somewhere. You smiled at the sound. 

It took a minute for Maria to open the door, William on her hip. 

“Not a great morning,” she said, a little frazzled. “What’s up?” 

“We got a problem,” Joel said, his hand going to your lower back as he stepped a little closer to you. “Can’t wait.” 

***

Joel fought to keep himself under control as you told Maria and Tommy everything that had happened the night before. How Simon and Ben had cornered you in the stable, how Simon told Ben to watch how he marked you so they could pass your death off as an accident, how they’d trapped you in the stall, willing to wait for one hoof to come down on your body in just the right way. 

He clenched is fist. His blood was hot. Someone had tried to hurt you, pulled you away from right beside to him and tried to kill you. 

“Know where they are now?” Maria asked, her face hard. 

“If they got a lick of sense they took off,” Tommy said, his arms crossed over his chest as his eyes raked over you again and again. “No way they stayed in town.” 

Maria nodded. 

“Joel, Tommy, go out and bring them back,” she said. “You’re two of our best trackers, I trust that you’ll find them. And when I say bring them back, I mean bring them back. They’ll face trial and punishment assuming they’re found guilty. You’re not judge, jury and executioner here.” 

“They ain’t gonna come quietly, baby,” Tommy frowned. “May not have another choice…” 

“Don’t get yourselves hurt but do what you can,” she said. “Take some horses and track them down as best you can. If you haven’t found them in two days, come back.” 

You wrapped your arms around your waist and clenched your jaw and Joel stepped a little closer to you. You leaned into him. 

“Lemme grab some stuff,” Tommy said to the two of you. “Meet you at the stables in half an hour.” 

Joel walked you to the stables and you insisted you were fine to be in there alone, already going about the work of getting his and Tommy’s horses ready to go. He reluctantly left you to it, going home to quickly pack a bag of his own before going back to you. 

Being that far from you made him uneasy. He was certain Tommy was right, that Simon and Ben had left town. But it made him nervous. You were in danger and he was leaving you alone. He was about to leave you even more alone than he was now. It felt wrong. He should be close to you, protecting you. 

But this was better, it would keep you safer. He knew that. He just had to convince himself of it. 

You were finishing saddling up Tommy’s horse when Joel made it back to the stables. He wordlessly started working on his own, the two of you putting the tack on together. 

“I’m gonna go check their houses,” Tommy said, mounting his horse. “See you up front in a few?” 

He gave Joel a meaningful look. Joel narrowed his eyes at him. 

“See you there.” 

Joel gave Tommy a moment to get out of earshot before he turned to you. Your arms were crossed tightly over yourself again, your eyes wide and doe-like. You looked afraid. It made Joel’s chest hurt. 

“Hey,” he said gently. Your wide eyes met his for a moment before tracing over his face. “Nothing is going to happen to you…” 

You frowned, your eyebrows knitting together. 

“What?” Joel frowned, too. 

“You think that’s what I’m worried about?” You asked. “Joel, I don’t want you going out there and getting hurt because of me, I…” 

He stepped closer to you and you went silent, looking up at him. 

“Bambi,” he said softly, looking into your eyes, into you. “Nothin’ is going to happen to me.” 

“Joel…” 

He completely closed the distance between you and you dropped your arms to your sides so the front of you was just inches from the front of him. His hand slowly, delicately, came to your face and cupped your cheek, his thumb against your cheekbone, his fingers wrapping back and down around the column of your throat. It felt like he was holding the entire world in his palm, your wide eyes soft and earnest. 

“Not going to let anyone hurt you, Sweetheart,” he said, voice quiet. “I’m going to take care of you. I’m going to keep you safe.” 

He leaned his head toward yours, slowly and deliberately, giving you every opportunity to pull away, You didn’t take it. Instead, you stayed stock still and your breath caught in your throat with a quiet little gasp when he pressed his lips to your forehead, his nose in your hair. He kissed your soft, smooth skin for what felt like an eternity but nowhere near long enough. Joel pulled back from you ever so slightly, his forehead dropping to your own, his nose brushing yours. You closed your eyes for a moment, your breaths coming in shuddering little pants, your lips so close to his it almost hurt.  

“I will protect you,” he whispered. “I promise you I will.” 

Joel met Tommy at the main gate, feeling your eyes on him as he rode away, and the two of them set out, silent, into the foggy morning air. They started by circling the city, finding the footprints in the mud that gathered around the fence that surrounded the town. 

“Fuckers,” Tommy muttered, looking up and Joel as he did. “Think we can track ‘em?” 

“I’m not comin’ back ’til we do,” Joel said, his voice dark. 

The tracks disappeared into the woods and, once the two of them were far enough away from Jackson, Joel looked at Tommy. 

Joel had come to admire his little brother in the years since he’d come to Jackson, not that he would admit that. 

For a long time, he’d felt like more of a father to Tommy than a brother. Joel was just six years older than him but, once their parents had both died, it felt like he had to step up. Sarah was barely a year old, Tommy was just 17 and on the verge of flunking out of high school. He had to pay the rent and put food on the table and make sure his brother didn’t drop out and keep a baby alive. It was like he was treading water at best, damn near drowning most of the time, but he’d kept it together. He’d all but begged Tommy to join the military, do something that would keep him out of prison and keep his feet on the ground. 

And then the Gulf War started and Joel spent years horrified that he might have gotten his brother hurt, gotten his brother killed. 

Tommy came back different. Instead of getting picked up for shoplifting, he started getting picked up for brawling. Joel had to bail him out again and again, ended up on the hook for Tommy’s rent after he cosigned for his apartment, needed to help him figure out a new car after Tommy wrapped his around a tree. Eventually, he told Tommy that he needed to get his shit together. He could either start working contractor jobs with Joel or he’d be on his own. Joel couldn’t keep letting Tommy derail things for him and Sarah and it killed him to give him that ultimatum. 

But Tommy managed it. Mostly. He still wound up in trouble sometimes. Joel still had to make sure he was actually fucking eating real food and not just jerky and candy from the gas station or pick him up at the jail after a scuffle. But he was getting close, so damn close, to having the life Joel knew he could have if he just tried for it when the world ended. When Joel’s world ended. When Sarah died. 

Things devolved then. Tommy was his only reason for living, for a while. There were times he wasn’t enough to stick around for but Joel just kept on living, anyway. He often wasn’t sure why. 

They did bad things then, when Joel stopped caring. They hurt innocent people, killed innocent people, helped people even worse than them gain power and control in the increasingly dangerous and chaotic hellscape that had once been the United States. A lot of people suffered because of them. But they’d survived. For better or worse, they’d lived. 

Joel wasn’t sure why, for a while. He supposed it was stupid to believe there was a purpose for it all, like the universe was suddenly going to succumb to reason after everything that had happened, but it felt like there had to be something. 

Now, he knew why. 

He had Ellie, of course. And now you. That was reason enough. But Tommy… Tommy had managed to actually make something of himself in spite of everything. He’d found Maria, made a place for himself in Jackson - and actually made the damn place better - and he’d become the father that Joel always knew he had the potential to be. 

It threw Joel a bit, sometimes, that Tommy was the one who looked out for him. The one Joel needed to come to for help. He didn’t like it, that loss of control. But there were times he still needed his brother.

Times like this one. 

“I know what Maria said…” Joel began but Tommy cut him off. 

“They ain’t comin’ back to Jackson.” 

Joel was silent for a moment. 

“You know what you’re sayin’, Tommy?” 

“I’m sayin’ that we’re going to handle this shit the way we used to,” Tommy said. “Wasn’t always right but it was always a way to protect what matters. And she don’t just matter to you, Joel. She might be your girl but I care about her, too. She already feels like family. She might be a pain in the ass but she’s my pain in the ass. Anyone wants to fuck with her will have to go through me. 

“Besides. Can’t have men like that around Maria and William and Ellie. Ain’t safe. I’m sure they’ll put up a decent fight ‘fore we kill ‘em. Won’t even be a lie, then.” 

Joel nodded once. 

“Good.” 

They tracked the men through the day, the two of them clearly hadn’t stopped after fleeing the day before and it was close to nightfall when Joel started noticing signs of them slowing down. Footsteps were dragging through the brush and the mud, leaves were crushed or stripped away from places where branches had been grabbed for support. 

Joel was on edge, the hair on the back of his neck on end when Tommy gave a short whistle. When Joel looked at him, he indicated with his eyes what he was concerned with. A tree just off the trail, a lower branch snapped like someone too big had tried to use it to leverage themselves up. Joel nodded slightly and only once. They had to be close, very very close. He slung his rifle off his back and tucked it against his body where he could quickly aim and fire it. He had the sense that it wouldn’t be long until he needed it. 

Joel was right. 

It was only a few minutes later that, with a desperate wail, Simon leapt at Joel, a knife clutched in his ruddy hand. Joel reacted quickly, swinging the butt of the rifle around and slamming it into the man’s head. He dropped like a stone to the ground and Joel and Tommy quickly dismounted as Ben charged forward. Joel raised his rifle and shot him in the hip, the man screaming and falling to the ground, writhing in pain. 

“Stick with him,” Joel said, nodding to Ben. “This one’s mine.” 

Simon was still shaking off Joel’s hit when he dropped a knee to the prone man’s chest, ripping the knife from his grip and pressing it to his throat. 

Part of Joel knew he shouldn’t take any pleasure in this. That hurting and killing someone - even someone like Simon - should take something from him. And it did once, what felt like long ago. But it didn’t anymore, not when hurting and killing would keep you safe. He liked keeping you safe.

Simon’s hands clawed and Joel’s arms and he ignored it, cocking his head slightly as he looked at the man below him. 

“You got a few options here, Simon,” Joel said, his voice flat. 

“Fuck you,” he spat. 

“Not one of ‘em,” Joel replied. “You ain’t making it out of this alive, you decided that for yourself when you put hands on her…” 

“Your obsession with that fucking cunt…” 

Joel curled the hand not holding the knife into a fist and brought it down quick and hard on Simon’s face, making him cry out. Joel felt the man’s nose collapse below his knuckles. 

“You only got so many breaths left,” Joel said, flexing his fingers, knuckles stinging. “Wouldn’t waste ‘em making shit worse for yourself. Cooperate and I’ll give you a quick death. Don’t and I’ve got all night.” 

“Fuck you,” he panted through gritted teeth. “And fuck her, too.” 

Joel sighed and grabbed Simon’s nose roughly between his fingers, making him cry out. Joel twisted it sharply, harshly, to the side, almost pulling his flesh apart. He could feel the cartilage moving under his touch, the gush of blood, the thrashing of the man below him. It was satisfying, this form of justice. He was doing something, he was making sure that he wasn’t going to fail with you. It felt, maybe not good, but right. 

He released Simon’s nose and grabbed a fistful of his hair, forcing him to look up at Joel. 

“Haven’t done this in a while,” Joel said, a little breathless. “Thinkin’ I should make the most of it, what do you think, Tommy?” 

Joel looked over at him. He was standing over Ben, gun trained on him. 

“Just thinkin’ that we needed somethin’ fun to do tonight,” he said. 

Joel smirked. 

“Just thinkin’ that, too.” 

“Wait,” Ben said, his hands up by his face in surrender. “Wait, please, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, I just don’t want to die here, please…” 

Tommy looked at Joel who shrugged. Joel had no intention of letting him live. Neither did Tommy. Ben didn’t need to know that. 

“We can work somethin’ out,” Tommy said, gun still aimed at the man on the ground. “Answer my brother’s questions and we’ll talk.” 

“You workin’ with anyone else in Jackson?” Joel asked. 

“No,” Ben said quickly, voice panicky. Joel bought it. He was answering too fast and was too afraid for it to be a lie. “No, it was just us, just the two of us, I thought it was too far but…” 

Joel looked down at Simon. 

“That true?” 

Simon just panted for breath and glared up at Joel. He thought for a moment and pulled the knife from his throat and put the tip of it against his eye, a fraction of an inch away. 

“Asked if that was true,” Joel said. “Better have a fuckin’ answer.” 

“It’s true,” Simon said quickly. “It’s true, it’s true. There wasn’t anyone else involved, just us, please…” 

“Anything you left behind that’s going to hurt her?” Joel asked, looking back toward Ben but keeping the knife near Simon’s eye. 

“No,” Ben said quickly. Again, it rang true. “No, we thought… we figured the horse would do it and it wasn’t like we’d planned it for long, we thought it would look like an accident, please I’m begging you…” 

Joel delicately pressed the tip of the blade into Simon’s bottom eyelid. His breathing picked up but he stayed still as a tiny bead of blood appeared on the knife. 

“He telling us the truth?” He asked. 

“Yes,” Simon said quickly, eyes shut tight. “Fuck, yes Miller, we just decided to, please…” 

Joel nodded before pulling the knife from Simon’s eye. 

“Why’d you do it?” He asked as the man slowly, cautiously opened his eyes. “Why did you decide to go after her?” 

Simon looked afraid now. Like he finally, truly understood what was about to happen. He swallowed and Joel watched his throat working, aware for a moment that it was one of the last times his body would perform that function. 

“I didn’t have shit after the outbreak,” he said, starting to hyperventilate. “Everything I knew, everything I loved was gone and then I had my place here and she took that from me. She fuckin’ took it and she disrespected me at every goddamn turn and I just…” 

“She didn’t take a damn thing,” Joel was talking through gritted teeth. You hadn’t even wanted Simon’s fucking job and he’d tried to kill you for it. “You lost it by being a fucking idiot and you tried to take it out on her.” 

He seemed to recognize then that there was no merciful way out of this. There never had been. His face twisted into something rage-filled and hateful, snarling up at Joel. 

“She doesn’t belong here. She’s barely even fucking human, she’s more like those goddamn horses! She’s fucking feral and I was the only one willing to try to break her…” 

Joel let out a roar as he brought his fist down on Simon’s face again and again and again, until he was barely breathing, his features nothing but bloody pulp. 

“Joel,” Tommy said as Joel panted, his hand damaged and coated in red. “Just finish the fucker.” 

Joel nodded once, pulling his knee off Simon’s chest and sitting back on his heels, thrusting his knife low in the man’s stomach. Simon managed a grunt of pain but nothing else as Joel dragged the knife up through his innards until he met his breastbone. He stood up, looking at the man’s mangled body. 

“He’ll die slow,” Tommy’s gun was still on Ben. 

“Better than he deserved,” Joel said, stalking over to Ben and jerking his head so Tommy stepped to the side. He went down on one knee near Ben’s head, a perverse proposal. “Another few questions, just for you. Then we can talk about a deal.” 

There wouldn’t be a deal. 

“Please,” Ben whimpered, blood coating his stomach now. His skin was pale. 

“You knew her,” Joel said. “From before. That right?” 

“Yes,” he nodded quickly. “Yeah, I did. Traveled with some guys for a bit, heard she’d trade for horses. She wouldn’t trade with us, pissed off the others, made life fuckin’ difficult for a while and I didn’t think he was going to try to kill her, please, I swear I didn’t think it was going to go that far, I promise I won’t even look at her again, please.” 

“Before,” Joel said, fighting to keep calm, remembering what you’d told him that morning. It felt like so long ago now, waking up next to you, feeling you in his arms. You trusted him. You trusted him to be near you, to touch you, to protect you. You didn’t trust anyone else but you trusted him. “Before you came to Jackson, when you tried to trade with her. You do anything to her then?” 

“Told some folks where to find her,” he said. “That’s all.” 

Joel nodded. 

“Anyone else you know outside Jackson know where she is?” He asked. 

“No,” he said quickly. “No, haven’t talked to anyone since I got here. Please, I promise I won’t…” 

Joel thrust the knife into his throat before he finished his sentence, his eyes going wide in shock before he went limp. Joel watched Ben’s blood pool on the dirt, soaking into the soil at first before collecting in a thick puddle, dark and warm on the ground. He pulled the knife free and wiped it on the man’s jeans before he stood, putting it away. 

Tommy looked up toward the darkening sky for a moment. 

“Head back about half a mile then stop for the night?” he said. “Put some distance between us and the bodies ‘fore the animals get to ‘em.” 

“Yeah,” Joel nodded. “Sounds good.” 

Joel and Tommy agreed on a story as they set up camp for the night, one that was almost the truth. The two men jumped them. They’d had no choice but to shoot them. Unfortunate but Jackson would be safe. 

Getting back to town was faster than getting out of it, no longer needing to actively track the men and instead just find their way back home, and the sun was still up when they reached the gates. 

Joel wasn’t expecting you to be at the stables when he got there. It was late enough that you should be at the mess hall for dinner or home and he had every intention of settling his horse down as quickly as he could before finding you but he didn’t need to. You were curled up in a corner of the stables near the tack, your eyes closed, head resting against the stable wall. You were in the same clothes you’d been wearing yesterday. Joel frowned. Hadn’t you been home? He unbuckled his saddle and put it away before kneeling next to you, taking your face in his large hand the same way he’d done the morning before. You startled, eyes shooting open, afraid for a moment before softening when you realized it was him. 

“Joel,” you gasped it, throwing your arms around his neck, your whole body following, nearly knocking him down. He hesitated for a moment before he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close to him. “I was so worried, I didn’t… I’m so glad you’re back.” 

“Me too, Sweetheart,” one of his hands went to the back of your head, holding you gently. 

“Did you…” you began, but he cut you off, still holding onto you. 

“They’re dead,” he said. Your breath caught for a moment and he pulled you closer. You were soft and warm and whole and alive. He’d kept you safe. He hadn’t failed you, not this time. “Not going to hurt you again.” 

“Joel…” your voice trailed off, sounding sad. He pulled back from you enough that he could see your face, your eyes searching his. He brushed your hair back. 

“C’mon,” he said softly. “Let’s go home.” 

Next Chapter

A/N: FERAL JOEL

FERAL JOEL

FERAL JOELLLLLLLL :D

And everything else about this chapter, too 😌 Seriously, these two are sooooooo close to stuff happening. So so so so so so so so close, I promise they are.

I do have an alerts blog! Follow and subscribe to get an alert when a new chapter is posted. I will only post each chapter once so you're not being spammed, promise! 😊

Thanks for enduring the slow burn of it all, everyone, and thank you for being here. Love you!!

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[pinknipszz]

golden girl

↷ ˊ- neteyam/metkayina reader | (i.), (ii.), (iii.), (iv.)

“golden girl, golden smile, please don’t go, please stay a while”

neteyam had grown used to the marui, though he’ll never admit it aloud, especially not when he had spent the first few nights twisting back and forth and grumbling quietly to himself. he couldn’t avoid his father’s stern lecture the following morning, but if he could disturb jake’s sleep to spite him, then so be it. but ever since the tidepools, something in him changed. it started with simple things like the marui.

now, the woven floor felt nice under his feet. if neteyam looked closely—which he would have never done before—he could see each braid of dried leaves from a nearby palm, realizing that only someone who excelled in their craft could create such intricate patterns. briefly, he wondered if you were also well-versed in weaving. surely you were. how could a wonderful woman not be?

perhaps his growing fondness for the family marui—and inevitably you—is why he decided to opt out of today’s lessons. sure, he felt a pinch of shame. neteyam was never such a coward back home, but the sea made him vulnerable, dragging him in and swallowing him whole. 

he paid the price for letting his mind wander. in the midst of thinking about you and what you could have been doing on this beautiful day, he felt a sharp pain run through his finger. “shit.” neteyam hissed, dropping the arrowhead he was carving. he brushed off the dust that collected and inspected the small cut. it wasn’t all that bad, certainly not something he should stop working over.

he resumed his work and ignored the ache as if nothing had happened. it was clear that he hadn’t learned his lesson, either, letting his mind wander back to you. if you saw the wound on his finger, would you fix it for him? would you rub a salve over it and tell him what it’s made of? would you bring him the next time you forage for plants to make some more? 

“you look happier these days.”

neteyam blinked and looked up from his seat on the floor. his mother stood at the foot of the entrance with a basket full of fruit hanging from her hip. she said it so matter-a-factly that he knew not to question her implication. neteyam dropped the unfinished arrowhead and rose to his feet, bringing the basket inside and stealing a peak at its contents. “what makes you say that, sa’nok?”

she huffed. “do not play dumb with me.” though, the glare in her eyes softened at her eldest son. the move had been hard for all of them, she knew it well. the grief, the heartache of being ripped from your home. so when she noticed that her son was finally growing accustomed to their refuge, a weight had been lifted off of neytiri’s chest. “why don’t you join the others outside?”

“it’s because he found a girlfriend.” lo’ak teased, suddenly appearing from behind her, and neytiri gave him a look. he walked past their mother and into their home, ignoring the wet footsteps he left in his wake. so they went swimming again, neteyam thought as he watched lo’ak rummaging through his things for a dry rug. “you better watch it. and dry yourself before you touch anything next time.” 

lo’ak stuck out his tongue and reached over to tug his older brother’s ear, his face smug knowing he had the upper hand. neteyam hissed and swatted him away, though it didn’t go unnoticed to anyone that he didn’t deny it. “mind your own business skxawng.” the word teetered towards a growl. but lo’ak simply shrugged and left once dry.

an awkward silence stretched between them, before his mother broke it.

“why didn’t you tell me, ma evi?” it was an honest question said with such softness that was nearly unfitting of neytiri’s usual nature.

neteyam cleared his throat, painfully unconvincing. “we aren’t together, ma. she’s just a friend.” he emptied the basket she brought and ignored her pointed stare.

neytiri wasn’t stupid. sure, she sometimes lost track of her children’s antics in between adjusting to their refuge and learning from the tsahik. her children were many, all of whom were different. some required more attention, especially tuk, but that didn’t mean she cared less about her eldest. she didn’t even need a name to know who he was referring to. but she let it rest. for now. 

neytiri made quick work of the fruits she picked, peeling and chopping with skill. neteyam continued to shape the arrowhead meanwhile. 

“why do you make a new arrowhead?” neytiri asked without looking at him, her face twisted with concentration as she carefully peeled the skin between the grooves. neteyam watched her for a moment, knowing that she did that for jake, who found the fruit’s skin bitter. “i figured i’d put the scrap to good use.” he said. “it was the right size and length. i might need it one day.”

neytiri hummed. “you plan to fight with just your bow?”

at that, neteyam’s actions came to a full stop, and he looked at his mother with wide eyes. “you don’t?”

“of course i do.” she huffed. “i have an honor to live up to.” neytiri moved the cut fruit to a clean bowl and wiped her hands. then, she reached for the next. “but you and i are different. if you find yourself in battle without a bow, or your ikran, what will you resort to? you could have used the forest to your advantage, even without a weapon, but the same can’t be said here.”

neytiri watched a small realization wash over her eldest son. pleased, she continued in silence and left him to soak in his thoughts. 

she was chopping up the last fruit when you unexpectedly came over, flashing a kind smile and apologizing for the intrusion. neytiri reassured you that it was anything but that, before ushering you inside. you greeted neteyam and explained to them that the day’s lessons were coming to an end, and the others would be coming home shortly. 

there was a little accident with lo’ak, you told them. he lost control of himself under a wave and found his foot wedged between the coral. you nearly chuckled at their exasperated expressions, so similar in every way, that leaned more towards annoyance than concern. when you turned to leave, believing that you overstayed your welcome, neytiri pulled you back in. she insisted that you stayed.

you found yourself enjoying your conversations with her. she was one of the fiercest women you knew, something she surely takes pride in. she spoke with certainty and confidence, and she chided you like a mother when you politely refused the fruit she offered. 

something shiny glinted in the corner of your eye, and you briefly pulled your attention away from neytiri. “what are you holding, neteyam?” you tilted your head at the boy who hardly said a thing since you arrived.

he looked down for a moment, before looking back at you. “it’s just a spearhead i’ve been working on.”

(masterlist)

[montammil]

June of Doom Day 20 - "I can handle it."

| Scrape | Panic Attack | Neglect |

Characters: Lawrence, Marshall

Only neglect by Marshall's old parents, but it still counts to me lol. I like writing stockholm syndrome as you can probably tell XD

CW: Stockholm syndrome, parental whumper, carewhumper, panic attacks, bone breaking, blood, anxiety, self-consciousness, insecurites, past child emotional abuse, infantilization

...

Marshall had no idea he fell right into Lawrence's trap, and hard too. It took a few months, but in that short span of time, Lawrence showed him the truth.

It was time to accept the reality that no one would save him or give a damn that he was even missing. Not even his biological parents. They didn't love him. How could they love someone so overly dependent and stupid?

But Lawrence loved him. And that was the only thing that mattered.

Now that he had Lawrence's trust, that also meant more freedom. He was allowed to play out in the backyard alone, and in front of the house as long as he didn't go into the forest or into the road. That was more than enough for Marshall.

To his surprise, he actually liked being a kid again.

He had no big responsibilities, he could read all day, watch TV, or sleep if he wanted to. He still had chores around the house, but they were easy tasks.

And unlike his real parents who would yell if he forgot or did it wrong, Lawrence always helped him, guiding him through the steps without any harsh remarks or punishments. It was nice having someone who was patient with him for once.

Life was good.

His thoughts wandered as he worked outside planting some of the seeds Charlotte had given him from last time they visited.

For once, he wasn't obsessing over escaping Lawrence or wishing he was home, it was about his new home. He felt guilty living here rent-free, doing nothing other than the bare minimum.

He had to earn his keep. That's what he learnt from his real family.

A memory replayed in his mind. Lawrence mentioned how he loved huckleberries and cloudberries, but the forest was too dangerous for him to bother foraging.

It didn't matter to Marshall if it was safe or not, he had to make Lawrence happy somehow, and that'd be the perfect gift to show him his gratitude. Lawrence was still on a work call, and he usually stayed on those forever, so he had time.

Marshall grabbed the basket he normally used for gardening and climbed over the gate and rushed to the trees, navigating through the thick brush of the woods.

He had ran through these woods so many times that he remembered where a lot of the berry bushes were, even if he couldn't remember which berries they were.

The forest was quite nice. It smelled like dew drops and earthy soil. He didn't like the familiar feeling of being out here just a couple of months ago, when he'd escape and Lawrence would hunt him down. But that didn't matter. He wasn't a captive anymore, he was voluntarily there. He was lucky to have someone like Lawrence take care of him, and he never wanted to take that for granted.

After a half hour, he spotted a bush filled with deep purple berries. He was thankful he knew his berries semi-well from being sent to wilderness camp when he was a kid. Not some fond memories, but it was finally starting to pay off.

Marshall bent down and started picking a few of them.

A small part of him wondered why he was doing this when Lawrence told him never to go into the woods. But it would be fine. And Marshall could even plant a few seeds in the garden for him.

He hoped he would like his gift. He really, really wanted to impress Lawrence.

Lawrence was all he had now, and he refused to fuck this up.

He filled the basket, almost to the brim, and headed back to the house. He just had to get there before Lawrence realized he was gone. He got up from the ground and took a step forward when he heard a loud metal noise clamp together below him.

It took him a moment to process what he was seeing. It was a bear trap. It bit into his foot, a red gash cutting through his skin.

It was a miracle he didn't scream, but only because of the shock that swept over him.

He stumbled and dropped the basket, letting the berries roll onto the grass.

Marshall lost balance and collapsed forward, groaning in pain as the pressure against his injury increased tenfold. He choked on a sob. He tugged his leg forward, but that just caused his foot to bend in the direction of the trap. He finally yowled out in agony. Tears streamed down his face as he tried pulling himself backwards in an attempt to free his foot.

Nothing was working, and the more he moved, the worse the pain got. Blood dribbled onto the dirt from the wound.

He fell onto his side and clutched his heart. It pounded rapidly beneath his palm. He gulped down air like he was drowning, but tried to do the logical thing and pry the trap off him. He whimpered and scratched at the metal, but he couldn't get it to budge.

And it was only getting tighter the more he moved.

Marshall went to the last resort. "Lawrence!" he cried. No response.

What if by the time Lawrence found him, he was mauled by an actual bear, or died from starvation? What if Lawrence was so disappointed in him, he just left him here to rot?

Marshall's breathing increased at the horrifying thought.

"Dad!" he tried again. His voice was much more broken and hoarse with his second attempt.

All over some dumb berries. He was going to die here alone for the most pathetic reason ever.

It was getting darker outside. Marshall struggled for thirty minutes before giving up when he only made his injury worse, opting to bury his head in the red and yellow leaves scattered on the ground. His face was red and splotchy from all his crying.

The cold seeped in through his clothes, the sweat dripping down his spine.

He curled up on his side, hugging his arms to his chest. He gave up fighting, just like he gave up everything in his life. If he just had listened to Lawrence, none of this would've happened. He began to cry again, but this time just from pure fear.

Would this be it? Would this be how he died? He really couldn't do anything right, could he?

Marshall couldn't tell how much time had passed, but eventually the sound of footsteps trampling the dead leaves interrupted his thoughts.

He lifted his head to meet Lawrence's horrified expression. He was panting heavily.

"M-Marshall, oh god." The blond rushed to his side. He made sure to step around the other traps littered in the grass. Marshall's vision was too blurry with tears to realize Lawrence had been crying too. "Don't move, I can handle it. You're okay, baby."

He crouched beside him. Lawrence unclasped the trap and gently slid his injured foot out of it.

His eyes widened in horror when he saw the amount of blood that oozed out of the wound, most dried by now. The grass beneath him was soaked with red liquid.

"Oh, Marshall..." he whispered. He touched the swollen, inflamed skin around the wound, checking if the bone was broken or not. Marshall hissed.

Lawrence's fingers trailed up to his face, which was completely ashen white.

It took a second before he realized Marshall was hyperventilating. His eyes were unfocused, not paying any attention to his surroundings. Lawrence cursed under his breath and gathered him in his arms. He was saying something, but Marshall couldn't understand what over his own breathing.

Marshall whimpered and tried pulling away, but Lawrence shushed him and cradled the back of his head.

He didn't even realize they were back home until he was lowered onto the sofa. His breaths still came out in rapid spurts, and Lawrence cupped his face.

"I need you to focus on your breathing. Look at me, kiddo. Can you do that for me?" Lawrence asked. Marshall whimpered and blinked hard. He focused on the blue of Lawrence's eyes. "There you go. In and out, slowly."

He obeyed him. The younger man took deep inhales through his nose and let them out in one breath, just like how Lawrence showed him whenever he was nervous or scared.

It took several minutes, but his heart rate returned to normal, though his foot hurt like hell.

Marshall sniffled and looked away. Lawrence grabbed a first aid kit from the drawer, his eyes trained on the younger man the entire time.

"I'm so sorry," he sobbed.

The blond took a seat next to him. "Don't apologize, just stay still for me." Marshall swallowed and watched him clean the gash. Every time he'd let out a gasp from the sting, Lawrence would pause and give him a few seconds to recover, softly shushing him every time he whined. It took awhile, but eventually his foot was wrapped securely in gauze.

Marshall's lip trembled again when he realized something. "The berries..."

"The berries?" Lawrence checked his head for any bumps, but the younger man brushed his hand away.

"I just wanted to pick berries for you," he croaked. "You--you mentioned how you liked huckleberries, how your mom would make you huckleberry pie, and I just...thought maybe I could get them for you as a surprise. Because you do so much for me and I do nothing in return. And now I just made your life harder. I'm sorry. All I do is mess up everything!"

He broke down. Lawrence took him into his arms, brushing his hair away from his face.

Marshall fought him at first, but after a few seconds of the gentle embrace, he relented, hiccuping and clinging onto him tightly.

"Oh, sweetie. You do more for me than you could ever imagine. You're the only one I need. Those berries mean nothing to me if they're the reason why you're hurt. It's not worth it." Lawrence pressed a kiss to the side of his head. "And for the record, you make my life so, so much better. You don't mess up everything, not at all."

Marshall shook his head. "Not even my real dad could love me, why would you? I'm worthless." He knew Lawrence hated when Marshall referred to his past life at all, let alone calling his biological dad his 'real' dad.

But Lawrence didn't have the heart to get upset from his wording. "Stop that." He pulled away so he could meet his eyes. "That man is a monster. And he doesn't deserve someone even a fraction as amazing as you. You're not worthless. You're loved, so much." He kissed his forehead. Marshall closed his eyes and leaned into the touch.

When Lawrence pulled away, he asked, "Am I in trouble?"

"No. But this is definitely a learning experience." Marshall nodded. "Never, ever, go into those woods again. Do you understand me? I can't lose you like that, I won't forgive myself if something else happens."

"Sorry. I was just trying to make you happy."

"You make me happier than you could ever know," Lawrence said. He wiped his tears away with the pads of his thumbs. "Just listen to me. That's all you need to do. Can you promise you will?"

"Yeah, I promise."

Lawrence held his pinky up. Marshall linked them, giggling at the childish action. It was nice being treated like a kid again. He really missed those days.

"Now," he started, "Dinner, bath, and then bedtime for you, young man." His voice was more jokingly stern, even if still serious. "Doctor's orders."

"If you were a doctor, I think you'd have a million lawsuits."

"Excuse you! What's that supposed to mean?" Lawrence threw a hand on his heart dramatically.

"It means you're the worst."

"Me? The worst?" he gasped. He reached down to tickle his sides, making Marshall squeal with laughter. "If you weren't injured, you'd be facing the full wrath of this tickle monster!"

"Nooo! St-stop, please!"

Lawrence pulled away. "Fine, but only because I'm a great dad. But once you're better, keep one eye open when you sleep." Marshall stuck his tongue out at him and Lawrence playfully did the same before disappearing into the kitchen.

Marshall relaxed into the couch and smiled to himself. For the first time in his life, it felt like everything was going to be okay.

[tieflingfingers]

Foraging for Ripened Fruits

What and who: Soft Dom Astarion smut, Character Study, Half-Drow Bard OC. Summary: Thomasin goes off to forage for a meal for camp, but Astarion pops in to remind her of a bet she lost. Realizing he's rehashing an old promise, she reluctantly agrees in hopes of enjoying his company. Warning/Content: 18+, Reimagining of first sexual encounter. Post bite-scene, part of series. A lot about two elves that are bad at feelings. Partial mentions of past traumas that inform their current actions. Word Count: 4,174 Ao3 Link

Thomasin wandered off the beaten path. Unknown thickets and brambles were an easy trek though. From a young age, the half-elf had been taught a labyrinth of knowledge about living off the land. A library of resources left to collect dust with each decade for she’d become dependent on ship crews and city streets with passing years. Now to only blow off those dusty tomes to reread with fondness.

Although, camp was just thankful she could identify a meal.

There was escapism in placing a floral handkerchief and guidebook in her wicker basket. Buckling her skirt at the waist to watch the length sway at her feet. Perhaps she’d find the same little blue flowers dancing along its hem. Handfuls of berries. Bitter leafy greens. Hidden roots revealing hearty starches to soak in broth. Dirt, crisp and cool, compressed beneath her boots. Patches of grass where plants raised their heads to the sky, bathing in sunlight and twisting at its joints.

Pinched between her thumb and forefinger was a leaf whose colors were difficult to distinguish.

She narrowed her vision and wracked the encyclopedia embedded in her memories.

Poisonous markers found themselves hazier and hazier as the years went on. Rhymes recited to know danger by its features. Whether speckles and lines were meant to be fine. Whether pinks and blues sent you praying at the pews. Or was it yellows at the tips? Spikes and spines? The longer this troubleshooting ran through her filters, the more she felt the urge to laugh. What a thing to have a lapse of judgment on. Poisoning the camp on the off chance their stew was more savory than usual.

Just as absurd stakes set in, the leaf was flicked away from her fingertips. The ball of her foot spun in the dirt, twirling in whimsy to head another direction. Skirt in tow. Light dramatics to match the melody humming from her lips.

That was, until the sight of another in her presence. Astarion had created a habit of startling her for his own entertainment. Knowing the windows of calm and isolation meant her propensity to be skittish. Thomasin scowled, immediate embarrassment melting into frustration.

“In the gods’ names, Astarion! Make your presence known or I’ll start sharpening every shard of wood in our vicinity.” She took a deep breath to calm herself from offering more creative threats.

Astarion couldn’t help but clutch his stomach in self-satisfied laughter. When they approached conflict, Thomasin was no stranger to deescalating those with sharp tongues or unflinching convictions. Her own proclivities for chaos even pulled the group into a few hi-jinks. She always wiggled her way out of things unscathed for the most part, from his short experience.

And so, how could he not take advantage of such a glaring pitfall? A gap exposed in her armor? Only for his own amusement, of course. Each of his steps became looser, bouncing with their weight, partaking in one of his favorite activities. Peacocking.

“Is it not hilarious that you’re more frightened of me than those giant bandits we encountered? Although…” He placed a hand upon his chest. “Maybe it’s a bit of a compliment. Thank you for that. I have felt quite the masculine energy in me with all this newfound freedom.”

Thomasin snickered. “Glowing. Don’t look a day over three hundred years old.”

“Excuse me, it’s not my fault you hop around here like a scared little fawn.”

“Okay, fine. What are you doing out here anyways?”

“It is a curse to simply be, I don’t know. Bored? The woods aren’t as magical as druids like to make a big fuss about. ”

Finding his answer lackluster at best, Thomasin continued to search her surroundings. Like a puppy gnawing at her ankles, he followed her trail, preparing quips to throw over her shoulder. Watching her pluck foreign fruits from mysterious branches. He’d offer an agreeable “hm” and “ah” in half-hearted acknowledgment as she conjured up ways to poison Cazador.

Nothing worth pocketing for later though. Scary flowers? To defeat the reign of vampiric terror? Child’s play. Absolute yawn.

Thomasin turned to be greeted by his eyes wandering about the flora with little thought brewing within. She found his predictability charming.

“You’re not even listening,” she said.

“Bah, nothing but accusatory language. I am immensely interested in what the leaves are up to. Which herbs are the biggest gossips or whatever,” he followed up. Almost too immediately. “I did have something to bring to your attention though.”

“Hm? Another confession? Lycan blood also in your veins?”

“Oh, I’d be unstoppable with Lycan blood in me. Imagine? A dinner of champions– Although I wouldn’t want to spoil my snack.” He inched toward her, keeping just enough distance to offset potential rejections.

Thomasin arched her brow, leaning back and compensating for the closing quarters between them. “Are you going to kill me now?”

”This is a peaceful coup, on my heart, I swear it.” One hand raised, chest puffed and proud. “Consider this a midday snack. Don’t be a sore loser now. A deal is a deal.”

Thomasin slipped into momentary bemusement, attempting to recollect what bet they made. The prize seemed obvious at least. His glances failed at subtlety and she’d catch his eyes dart to the clavicle peeking from her neckline. Not the most bizarre way she’d been objectified, but it still took some getting used to.

It was all uncharted territory. Even if she felt flustered, she had to press it down. Blushing admitted defeat. Docile defeat wasn’t in her vocabulary nor her nature.

He twirled his hand about, gesturing to matters as casual as the weather. “You cannot tell me my winning hand at cards is suddenly incorrect, Thomasin. I love delusion as much as the next man, don’t get me wrong. I mean, Karlach and Wyll could read you the contract as if straight from Avernus itself. Just a light nibble of thy neck.”

Thomasin wanted to retort. Yet, she had been around the campfire those long nights. She was aware of exchanges lightening the load of their gold pouches. The glory of riches on the line. Opportunity to watch Karlach drunkenly arm-wrestle Wyll or Astarion throw daggers at glass bottles with precision. Irresponsible banter around the fire was prime for it. Even if the night was hazy at this point, vague stipulations of a retired magistrate couldn’t be disputed. He was right. She didn’t think her hand was that bad, from what she could recollect, but he was right.

If anything, the length he waited was more of an oddity. The bet went unredeemed for a long while. Weeks even. They had been busy though. Shooing the feistier of goblins and gnolls into early graves, resolving power struggle after power struggle. Hunching over hastily cooked meals and soothing aching muscles in lakes. Perhaps flirtation here and there, but the sweet nothings had been there for comic relief. Cheeky remarks to remind them of normalcy.

“Fine, fine. C’mon,” she said, amused by his persistence.

The half-elf tugged at her skirt, sweeping it into the direction of a cushioned patch of wildflowers and clovers tucked beneath a tree. Her basket slipped from her hands, cradled by clovers.

Astarion grinned at Thomasin, following in suit, pinching at the bow helping fasten her skirt to her waist. He studied her shape like many times before. Quietly, but nevertheless. The drapery of her blouse and how it tucked in along the small of her back. Her sleeves pushed up to her forearm, billowing fabric tapered, cuffed, and buttoned.

She flicked her view up from her under her lashes. The stitches of her linens had folded into themselves to reveal her shoulder, her fingertips pressing into her clavicle as if she’d gather more answers from touch alone. She was a peach, carefully cut into slivers for his enjoyment. To drip and glisten down his palms. To sticky the already unspoken laws of the platonic.

“I caught you staring earlier. I-Would that hurt more? My shoulder?” Thomasin glanced down at the grass for a split second to consider her options, meeting him again with a quick answer. “Actually, that’s a lot more hidden than the neck.”

It’d been ages since one of Astarion’s conquests felt like less of a chore.

He was quick to slip into his role. Rehearsed as often as a shopkeeper stocked their wares, he turned on the “pursuer”. Sexual conquests and their success were a promise of relief. As much as he would never admit, he had dug into his filing cabinet of archetypes he’d approach. Whether she was a romantic, a bookish sort, or looking for sexual wanderlust. The complexities mixed with their constant travels made for rocky waters though. Talking alone wasn’t going to work.

This made him toss and turn at night. Feeling like the ground could crack under his cot every reverie and swallow him up. A man not suited for more than being hung up like a rug, heavy with dust, to be beaten and displayed as usual. He didn’t want to think about that.

“Perfect,” he finally spoke up.

Astarion gingerly pulled her wrist in to close distance once again. The chimes of nervous giggling made his ears twitch. As if it ignited something ingrained deep in the recesses of his mind. Was it an internal monstrous instinct? Was it a matter of preying on vulnerability? The promise of a quick and easy night in most circumstances. He hoped that maybe, just maybe, it was a positive emotion he couldn’t distinguish yet. No matter how benign.

He scouted out the landscape of her skin, although it wasn’t long before he noticed how quick her breathing was picking up. Despite her best efforts, his sense of hearing betrayed her act. The cold touch of his hand slid up under her jaw to guide her attention to him. “Your heart is beating out of your chest.” He asked, his words quiet but tentative for her response. “Does this frighten you? Shall we not keep going?”

Thomasin couldn’t answer with honesty. The anticipation of stinging pain brought forth memories of their last exchange. As much as mild affection was as sought after as a hot meal, she couldn’t deny the way his last bite felt. The half-elf bounced between its warm embrace and its cold isolated depths.

“Oh? Maybe a little…I don’t know. Go slow. Remember how Karlach said she’d throw you to the goblins if you accidentally kill me,” she said, downplaying her racing thoughts.

She knew to keep her wits about her. A woman grandfathered into the art of being a commodity. Her hands had been adroit at distraction en masse or individual consort. Easier dealt with when jaws slackened. Those equally alert, still capable of negotiating. Those were the ones to take with caution.

Astarion debated his next course of action. The consequences of a plan diverged gnawed at him, but luck had been on his side. Divine intervention that he might be able to leech off one more day. He forced himself to commit to the move, nestled in the crook of her neck planting his lips upon her skin. A kiss. Tender and hesitant. He could feel her process the change, an inkling of a whimper escaping her.

Another, applying slight pressure this time. A pause to gauge her reaction and then another. The affection felt like a physical weight lifting from his shoulders, clicking something in his brain. Until his sleeve was strained by her grip, sudden and uncertain. He glanced up at her, suppressing the urge to express his fear. That be may have muddied the waters of what ethics were left in him. That he may have read her body language wrong and he was still swimming rigid circles in an overwhelming ocean.

”Thomasin. Use your words,” he said, rising to meet her gaze again.

She let the silence linger, not knowing exactly what would be the best answer. What would be the most appropriate. And so, in times of high stress, Thomasin did what she knew best. Impulsivity was at least one answer.

Thomasin reached out for the nape of his neck. Sometimes giving into the soma, rich in delights and vices, was the only means of relief. The corporeal body hungered for finger foods and bite-sized delicacies. To imprint oneself into another’s skin. To find solace in desire.

Before she realized, they met in a kiss.

The half-elf’s cheeks felt the buzz of his laughter against her lips. One of the few displays of pure joy she had ever witnessed, not born from slaughter or rightful revenge. She could feel him relax for only that brief instant. Rare was a chance to enjoy sins without the looming threat of vampiric lords, and so Astarion had latched on. Twisting and shifting, subtle yet effective at slipping into the lead. His hands veered off course, groping at every curve, tender flesh hidden away under thin linens. Grumbles and mumbles. He exchanged his thanks for her body heat and traced along her thighs in their clumsy shuffle. Finding the hem of her skirt was only half the battle. The urge to toss her into the grass felt like a warm haze throughout his skull. Never let yourself sink too deep though. Always have one foot in the door of composure.

Thomasin tilted her hips forward out of instinct. Fidgeting against greedy hands and the covetous cursed pressed up against her undergarments. He had crept his way to the delicate floral embroidery lining her underwear. Whose stitching was preyed upon by his touch. Pulling the cloth aside to slip digits right against her clit, he felt her grasp around his arms for support.

Their foreheads were mere inches apart, exchanging inaudible but palpable tension. One couldn’t avert their focus from the other. But why would they? He was reveling in his victories, the way he locked her into a vulnerable position, finding himself enraptured by the noises that left her lungs. A surrender in her panting.

“You should have told me it would be this easy to break you down,” Astarion teased.

The satisfaction from any inkling of power was powerful in itself. His mind, clear and direct, whilst hers wavered. Thomasin welcomed alleviation though. She would strike down his ego with the fearsome sword blow of one thousand men another day. A safety net was being created in ribbon. The same tied precisely at the ends of her braids, flowing wherever their rhythm took them. What a strange feeling that welled up in his chest. Over a woman he could compare to thousands of others he slept with before. Surely, if he tried. She was half-elven of no noble blood.

Perhaps it was the promise of a bloodletting. A high he continued to chase after their last exchange weeks prior. Regardless, his eyelids grew heavy. That was, until he felt a tug at his waistband. Between the two, she had begun to untie his trousers, earning some pause.

”Now, now, hey.” Astarion’s words would've sounded casual if there weren’t for the tinge of concern in its abruptness.

His fingers slipped from her thighs, index and middle sneaking their way to her mouth. An act of indecency graced upon her tongue. Although Thomasin had not a single hesitation. Her own jaw had slackened. Her own mind clouded by the undivided attention. Sampling the fruits of his labor, attentive to his next move.

“You get distracted far too easily, darling,” he managed, despite his own voice at the edge of devolving, betraying him with his own lust. “All you need to do is tell me when you’ve had your fill. Until then, I’ll have mine.”

His eyes dialed in like daggers to the plum-stained lips wrapping around his fingers. The thought of succumbing now screamed at every aspect of his being and enveloped his loins. He blinked the interference away, a string of her saliva ever so delicate in the way it clung and snapped upon his exit.

He followed Thomasin's quiet desperation. One that spoke up in a whimper as his knuckles found themselves tucked under her jaw once more. The pressure was light, but firm, wrapping around her neck and bracing her against the tree. Just enough give to allow her shallow breaths.

”Would you like to lift your skirt for me?”

Light glinted off her cheekbones as she smiled, struggling to remember the last time she felt such an intensity coloring her cheeks. Her posture wobbled and waned, but the weight of the realms were no longer her responsibility. Fistfuls of linens were balled up in her palms as asked of her. Simple instructions. She clutched them against her chest, bare and adorned in the same blush.

Her compliance meant he was onto the next act. With a great thud, Astarion planted his boot upon one of the many hearty roots growing from the oak. Thick and sturdy, weaving throughout the soil. Using his now elevated knee, he positioned her for leverage. Her freckled thigh to be placed atop his and help widen her hips.

“How could you have traveled all these years? Met so many people, played so many silly little games, and yet you’re so bad at cards.” Astarion’s snuck back into her waistband once more, interrupting the scoff Thomasin let out by her heavy breath. “All those folks out there? Falling for your feminine wiles, no? Letting you win?”

Without warning, Thomasin felt the undeniable pressure of his fingers inside of her. He had positioned his feet in a firm stable stance and balanced her body with the weight of his own, pumping into her at a steady pace. She was locked in place, but couldn’t fathom a complaint.

Time lingered. Her legs began to tremble. Her eyelashes fluttered.

“Or are you losing bets on purpose?” he said. “It sounds like you should take your own advice. What was it you told me? ‘Watch out for men with sharp tongues and charming dispositions.’ But, alas, you’re not a woman of your word.”

He leaned in, quickening his pace. Such feverish passion that even Thomasin had to continuously acclimate to whatever he decided was her next venture. One of the bundles of her skirt fell and draped the two, her free hand opting to grab onto the back of his head instead. Her rings intertwined with his curls in aimless desperation. A gesture that made him let go of the powerplay upon her neck and join in the embrace.

“A sound that could lure a million sailors to their deaths. I could listen to you whine for centuries,” he purred, keeping the half-elf at bay whilst refusing any mercy. His name stretched its syllables from her lips, thick like honey. Urgent and stifled, yet strung out like another composition. It made Elvish infiltrate his vocabulary. Internal needs even he had never been allowed to unpack. “Hinual sreea, tell me. Your body belongs to me.”

Thomasin cracked a smile through her fatigued disposition, throwing her head back and fighting the urge to shout every Drow profanity she knew. “It’s yours— by sweet Eilistraeens. My body is yours. In the name raggath, please.” Thoughts consumed by the curl his knuckles and each stroke punctuating the last.

Little was left to upkeep in his performance. He had dissolved Thomasin’s intuition and judgment, free to shed his own anxieties. That was, until he realized what he was having trouble steering his own motives. Astarion simply watched her in a sort of awe. The way her body writhed. Scarred, freckled, silver tinted skin glistening from exhaustion. There was beauty in the crass and resilient. Something breathtaking. Like unattainable dusky silk, admired through storefront windows, awaiting to be torn into.

Needle-point teeth dug their way into her shoulder. Scraping under epidermis and into her veins, Astarion indulged, zeal twisting itself around her like ropes of sprawling ivy. Nothing more than waves of confusing ecstasy and questionable faith for the two. No god or goddesses in existence, only the light headed leap of faith toward her orgasm. Eilistraeens would want this, surely.

Before Thomasin could figure out his next move, she was riding every wave that crashed. It made her gasp. An audible panic as the puncture startled her. But the emotions were quick to mellow, pain much more manageable this time around. The intensity of blood purging seemed to be dampened by its coinciding pleasure. As if each corresponding sense knocked into one another, overlapping and tripping over themselves.

From the corner of his eye, he watched streams of blood spill down her shoulder, pooling where their bodies met and settling on her chest. “Decadent little thing,” he whispered in Elvish, as if the comment were more of an internal monologue leaking out. If fate would allow it, if the stars aligned, he would’ve kept going for eons. Dinner and a show. Her body lent an intoxication that made colors brighter. Sounds enticing, words processed as if eternally wading through molasses. Her yelping in pain and its subsequent laughter of thanks. The way her thighs tried to cling upon one another as his fingers buried deeper inside.

The conflicting sensations pummeled her nerves, shocking through her limbs in a way she hadn’t felt in years. Every movement became involuntary and overstimulated.

“Astarion, please. Enough, enough, enough!” She couldn’t help but choke out each word.

Astarion swallowed the last of his meal, licking his plate clean in such a primitive manner. Being fed after fasting for ages unlocked a rudimentary part of his brain. The elf swallowed hard, lips stained with the taste of copper, a thin red veil coating his mouth. Per her request, he gave her mercy from his selfish play. The bombardment simmered into a kiss to exchange their spoils within a sloppy rhythm. The direction of his mind seemed to have pivoted. Now his body couldn’t get close enough to hers, as much as he tried.

The inside of her eyelids shone a red velvet curtain. A shade not unlike the almost blackened hue of blood trailing down her chest. Catching shimmers of its highlights and plush, as if lit by bulbs of light in her mind’s eye. Enveloping everything until she was enraptured by pure endorphins. Cushioning the blow of her feelings until there was nothing more but pleasant horizons and hands to hold. Coziness in the desire of being wanted and the ephemeral homestead created for a bit. Until Astarion tore back the curtains.

Her eyes shot open. Reality rapid in its arrival and sunshine forcing her pupils to re-adjust. Thomasin fell victim to gravity’s disposal. Her body was propped up languid against tree bark. Its surface skid along her flesh until she could lower just enough to ease herself atop a bulbous protruding root.

The conclusion wasn't her untimely demise. Astarion wasn’t dragging her off to the guillotine, but that meant there was a different ending to this. He hadn’t thought that part through. The elf had thrown himself backward shortly after her pleas, taking enough steps away to collect his thoughts, chest heaving with the pulse of vitality coursing through him. Enough to power him into an entire night of mania if he wasn’t careful. With his back to her for these few brief seconds, he could think. His hand ran through his hair, dislodging tangles in the midst of his now disheveled facade.

“Are you okay?” Thomasin eventually said.

Her voice made his ears perk up. The question grounded him, the material realm known for being all too punctual. He palmed his mouth to wipe away any lingering blood and tucked his shirt back into his trousers posthaste. What little grooming he could conjure up before turning around. He grinned back at her, toothy and elated. Polar opposite to the disorientation on his expression not a second before.

“You think something is wrong after that performance?” He promptly gave two claps. “Would be offensive to not applaud.”

Despite his avoidance and fidgety demeanor, Thomasin decided to not pry. Her own knees were buckled. Emotion scrambled. What words she had uttered would be her own to contend with later, she proposed and shoved aside.

“I’m never going to hear the end of this,” she said, humoring him as she buttoned her blouse back up.

Astarion scoffed. “Gods, no. As if your gambling woes are going to become my problem. Encouraging your bad decisions is far more fun.”

Thomasin laughed, weakened by all their efforts, and proceeded to unhinge her jaw to speak. By the time she made a noise, she noticed he was already starting to walk back up the trail.

“Wait, you don’t want–”

“Nothing you’re going to dig up here is of my tastes, love! Still, grand efforts!” he cheered, volume rising as he went further and further along. “Dig up an old bottle of vintage and maybe I’ll bite my tongue! Good luck!”

And like that, she let him leave uninterrupted, rolling her head back and letting out a deep sigh.

[broken-clover]

Bison must have snuck up on Baiken he knew she'd kick his ass. (Also how fucked up is it that getting her fave stolen is. Like. Barely in the top 10 most traumatic things to happen to Baiken? Like seriously.)

He had to lend the woman some credit. After decades upon decades of magical duels, he couldn't remember the last time someone had outright punched him in the face.

And don't get him wrong, it very much had hurt. A lot. Even after a quick healing spell that he'd mastered ages ago, there was still an echo of soreness on his cheek. Maybe it was his own fault for assuming someone without a face would be easy to handle. The other two hadn't exactly sit still, but they were easy enough to assist with a bit of pulling and patience. The moment he had reached out for her (seemingly only?) arm, she'd wound it back and swung so hard that he'd heard something crack.

For safety's sake- hers and his own- Jirachi had found a place for her to settle in the furthest spot away from him that he could that didn't also risk her blindly wandering outside. Even if the enemies weren't plentiful, the lava was even moreso, and the ground was unstable enough when one had eyes to see with. Stepping outside without the utmost care would be a death sentence.

That he'd found a relatively secure spot in such a wasteland was itself a blessing he hadn't foreseen. The little pocket of ground was only slightly cooler than the sweltering heat of outside, and it was nothing more than bare minimum, but it was something he could work with. Still far better, far safer than letting them wander around freely.

Unfortunately, while the cave offered safety, everything else had to be supplied by him. Supplies were running low again. Errands needed to be dealt with. Carefully, as to not startle the woman and thus earn another broken nose, he fluttered around where she stood in a wide berth. She only continued to do as she'd done before, turning in circles on tank-treads. The turret atop her head swiveled idly, but it hadn't fired at any point since he had found her. Jirachi assumed that the lack of information made her deem it too risky to fire.

(And, he mused, she didn't require machine weaponry in order to be dangerous, anyway)

"I'll be back soon," he announced. None of them so much as turned their heads. Could they even hear him? For all his magical prowess, he knew little about how it felt to lose a face.

How terrifying, he often thought to himself. How isolating. Having most senses stripped away so abruptly. They must have still been able to feel, if they reacted to his touch, and maybe the could indeed hear after all, but even with that luck, they saw nothing, said nothing.

He disliked leaving them alone for too long. Who knew what could happen while he wasn't around? As unlikely as it was that a monster would wander into the hollow, the chance was never zero. He sped through his tasks as quickly as he could manage, foraging for supplies and getting whatever he couldn't find from the nearest settlement at the foot of the mountain.

(He hoped, once again, to catch sight of a scarred, bespectacled face among the market-goers. Still no luck)

Bindles in hand, the great mage once more ascended the crags and headed back toward the hollow. None of its denizens had moved much, if at all, since his departure hours ago.

Only upon his return did he get any sort of reaction. The pink-haired one jerked to attention as soon as he stepped inside, brandishing an unused weapon shell. After a moment, the sage realized she had felt the loose gravel of his footsteps being kicked up.

"It's only me," Jirachi said, arms raised in resignation despite the belated realization she wasn't able to see the gesture. He placed one of the bags on the ground in the hope that the vibration would make it clear what it was and what he'd been doing. "I just went to get supplies."

Of course she said nothing, still mouth-less. Several minutes ticked by. Her hand eventually found the bag on the ground. She ran fingers through it, and, finding nothing of concern, sat back down.

"Thank you." All bags but the one in her grasp were brought over to the burnt stump he'd dragged in ages ago. Though none of them could eat, he still sought to ensure they stayed hydrated in the heat, as well as keeping clean from the dirt all the back-and-forth movement kicked up.

As he sorted his things, he repeatedly grew distracted by the woman across the nook. She was quite a lot jumpier than the other two were, more alert by leaps and bounds. The blue one jerked back when touched, but her movements were stilted and uncertain. The red one had more of a reaction, but his attempts as a counterattack were so meager and flimsy it was pitiable.

"I don't understand how he could have been able to take the face of someone so resilient..." Jirachi almost chuckled at the thought. "Hmm...it is strange. Was it some sort of surprise attack? I would expect such cowardice from the Dark Lord, but still..."

It would explain the aggressive reactions. Unless she was always like that? It wasn't like he could ask.

(It did give him hope, though, that upon having her face returned, it would be a very short time before the Dark Lord was dealt with)

~~~~

HARD agree, Baiken has seen a stunning amount of shit and probably could handle most of this plot herself if not for the plot not playing fair.

[the-feral-one]

TEAL MASK LORE

(because I really want Okidogi to be likeable!)

A really long time ago, Okidogi was a regular mon. He was still a big strong dog, but he didn't have any special title. Day after day, Oki would go to help the residents of Kitakami's only village, getting excited about providing assistance to those in the apple orchards, and when they had their occasional festivals.

Things changed when the man and the ogre came to the region.

As Oki continued to assist in the village, he couldn't help but notice that, while the residents treated him with respect, they were showing the opposite to the man and the ogre. Oki kept his distance, even as he saw them get ran out of town and into the mountains. Once the sun set and all his duties were completed, Oki went into the mountains to look for them, choosing to wear a poncho and mask to help hide him from unwanted onlookers.

Oki kept going until he reached a cave within the mountainside. Upon looking into it(and being very careful), he managed to spot the man and the ogre sitting around a campfire, and he heard the tales that they were telling each other.

Before Oki could leave, he was spotted by the ogre. Oki wanted to interact with the ogre, but quickly found himself running off, as he didn't want to be seen as a threat by the man. As he ran away, he dropped his mask.

The ogre picked it up and showed it to the man, who became interested in its design and the materials it was made from. After studying it for a few hours more, the man decided to find time to go foraging for resources to try making his own.

Meanwhile, Oki rushed back to the village. He hoped that nobody would notice him doing so, but that was not the case. Oki had been seen taking one of the village's festival masks by several residents, and he had been spotted heading up into the mountain from afar. The village residents were quite disappointed with him, and told him that he was forbidden from setting foot on the mountain path, and that he wasn't to touch the masks, save for village festivals. Oki agreed as he looked downwards, feeling shameful. He then decided to head for where he stayed within the village until he was called upon by those wanting his assistance.

Oki got back to what he did best the next day, but as he picked apples and carried them to the village, he couldn't help but look up the mountain and wonder about what the man and the ogre were doing. He wanted so much to visit them again, but became irritated when he remembered that the village residents had made it forbidden for him to do so. Oki decided to put his thoughts to the side and continue helping the apple farmers. When his duties were completed, Oki wandered around the village, the thoughts from before soon becoming all he could think about.

Soon, Oki found himself breaking the rules that were set out for him. While the village residents were distracted during a festival, he took a mask, wore a different poncho than before and ran off towards the mountain. He ran up the path until he reached the cave. Oki waited for the man and the ogre to notice him from inside it, but soon found out that they weren't there. Thinking that they were at the festival, Oki turned to go back down...only to see the ogre coming towards him. Oki raised his mask upon seeing the ogre, and the ogre did the same.

Oki half-expected the ogre to be afraid, but was surprised to see that they weren't. The ogre showed excitement upon seeing him, making him surprised when they wanted him to play. Oki obliged, holding hands with the smaller creature and dancing with them. Both of them laughed and sang as they danced, until Oki lost his balance and fell over, but even that didn't stop them from laughing. Their actions were brought to an end when the man showed up. Upon seeing Okidogi, the man prepared to battle him, pokeball in hand. Okidogi agreed to battle, as he did like to fight. The ogre stood back as the battle commenced, with Okidogi getting quite aggressive with the man's Pokemon - Ninetales, Breloom, Gyarados and Dusknoir. Eventually, the man's team overwhelmed Okidogi, forcing him to give up. After the man recalled his Pokemon, he went into the cave. The ogre stayed behind, going up to the weary and beaten up Okidogi and offering to heal him. He agreed, and, as the ogre healed him, he got to see that they were quite gentle, and he got to know that they were a Grass-type, and that their name was Ogerpon. Oki gave his name in return.

Soon, Oki had been healed as much as possible by Ogerpon. He said his thanks to them...moments before he noticed the sun rising and beginning to panic. He grabbed his poncho and mask(he had taken them off before the battle) and threw them on before rushing away. Ogerpon watched as the big dog ran down the mountainside and out of view.

Oki managed to get back to the village by using a shortcut so he wasn't spotted by the locals. He rushed to his own residence and proceeded to pass out on his bed after taking off the poncho and mask.

A few years and a lot of festivals later, and the arrival of two unknown troublemakers to disturb the peace in Kitakami...

Oki continued to help with duties in the village during their arrival, but he was soon made quite curious about them. He asked around the village about who they were. He eventually got answers to his question. The bird was named Fezandipiti, and the monkey was named Munkidori, and that they had come from somewhere very far away. Oki decided to keep his distance from them, even when he found himself becoming suspicious...especially when Fezandipiti started giving him the side-eye...

Oki kept looking at them with suspicion as the village residents started showing them more and more respect. He wanted to interfere, but found himself ignoring them to continue his duties. Soon, Oki found himself unable to ignore them, and decided to speak his mind. During a town gathering, Oki stood and ranted about how these two strangers had wandered into the village out of the blue and how he was quite upset about how the locals were deciding to instantly shower them with respect when they had only shown up a few days ago. The village elder interrupted the frustrated dog and told him to either be quiet and sit down, or to leave. Oki growled as he turned and left.

As Oki started to go up the mountain path again, he was being followed by the two newcomers. They stayed out of sight whenever Oki turned to see if anyone had seen him. The newcomers watched as Oki interacted with the man and the ogre, seeing how both of them were learning to see Oki as a friend and as a guardian. The big dog was quite pleased about his new accomplishments.

Before he left, the man said that he was going out of the region on a personal trip, and needed someone to take care of Ogerpon. Oki showed him a happy look and a thumbs up, agreeing to his suggestion. Oki stayed with the man and Ogerpon until the man had to go. They bid him farewell and, after Oki got to know about that night's festivities, decided to to accompany Ogerpon. He showed them the masks that the locals were wearing but was surprised to see that the man had made his own. A blue one, a red one and a grey one, alongside a teal one. Ogerpon let him take his pick, but didn't let him choose the teal mask, as that was theirs. Oki picked the grey one, and, after putting on his festival poncho, he donned the mask and let Ogerpon hold his hand as they made their way to the festival.

But, as they made their way down the mountain, the newcomers were close behind them...

[mouse-witch]

Week 0:

Many Felicitations,

I have arrived safely in Lastbarrow, and it is everything our administrators said it would be and more. I had no idea just how much of the world was out there. I know Professor Westcott tried to teach me how large mountains were, but nothing could prepare me for the sight of the one the village sits at the base of. It seems as if it wants to overtake the sky! I feel silly now for thinking they were no taller than the towers in High Rannoc, but the academy was the only world I knew of, and that world was the smallest it could be.

Still I shall try to forgive myself for being naive, Professor Ardunn always tried to remind me that inexperience was not the same as ignorance and I shall do well to remember it. The kindness of her guidance, stern as it was, has carved itself alongside the memories of the kindness of you all. And so I have resolved myself to write frequently of my time here. Mayhaps the correspondence will make the distance seem less so.

The village itself is welcoming, quiet, nestled between a swath of forest and hills leading up to a snowy mountain. And a river port on the northwest corner, which helps keep the local industry flowing. There apparently is a decent trade to be made among miners and loggers and any business adjacent to that. And while not boasting of any sites for tourists, Lastbarrow does see its share of foot traffic of the ley wanderer.

The administrators at the local hall of governance, they call them ‘Dorfhaus’s here, we’re very kind in pointing out key locations on the map AMIHR provided me, not just the cottage the last witch held, but the best places in the surrounding area to forage for reagents. They also pressed upon me how grateful they were of my coming, there hasn’t been a village witch in at least 30 years, and their doctor is close to retiring. It will surely take some time for me to fully establish and integrate myself, but their appreciation for my presence solidifies that it was a fortuitous moment when I nibbled on that artifact, no matter how much it pained me to leave my Nest.

I received little information about the prior witch who lived here, Sidonielle De La Rein, but her cottage was nice enough, even if it was beset with a plague of dust. Large stone hearth, a well that still runs clear, quilts tucked away in a cupboard that have been miraculously saved from moth-ravage, and best of all- a large hazelnut tree! Growing right through the glass kitchen.

I felt guilty going through her belongings, but it wouldn’t do to start this new chapter amidst such a level of mess. Besides there were few things that felt truly ‘personal’. There were journals of course, but the writing has faded from age. I managed to gather a few notes about easier ways of distillation, but even that was a chore in itself. All leftover ingredients were spoiled or dried to ash. But the jars were easily washed, and they’re lovely beside. Different colors and facets of glass, and intricately shaped pottery- I can hardly wait to fill them and arrange them precisely how I like.

The first night there was the apex of the moon cycle so I made a point to visit the Lunar Tower even though I was quite exhausted from cleaning. I couldn’t very well miss my first opportunity for attunement as a witch just because I wanted a quiet night in. I can almost hear Azura’s voice echoing across the Rutile Dormitory, telling how things ‘must be done’.

Once the cleaning was finished, I had plenty of time left in the week I gave myself to set-up, so I decided to use the days to take my time exploring the local scenery, remembering to note down areas particularly rich in reagents and other vegetation. I might not have collected as much as I would have liked to start out with, but anything is an improvement over nothing.

While I was out investigating the local crypt, which in fact was the first mine established in the region that was turned into an ossuary when the vein was depleted, I found some of the fairer folk use it’s halls as a reoccurring market. I didn’t think to find out the schedule, but I did trade a bit of ribbon for a wheel of cheese. I should like very much to visit again if I am not too busy.

I shall officially be operational first thing in the morning, and though I know I should settle down for rest, I cannot shake the anxiety I feel. If I still had whiskers they would be twitching like mad!

What if no one uses my services? I suppose that would mean no one was ill, which would be a blessing for them but a curse for me.

What if too many call upon me at once? I possess neither the capability or amount of hands for that level of work.

But I suppose my biggest fear is what if I don’t fit in? I know a witch is required for any township to thrive, but ‘needed’ and ‘wanted’ are two different things.

I know missing the comfort of the academy and those I know is expected, I felt similar after my transforming incident, but it doesn’t lessen the sting of unfamiliarity. I hope these letters will be a balm to that feeling, not just for me but for any you might be experiencing as well.

-Sincerely,

Tilly

[chrysaliseuro2024]

Tunisia Day 2

First stop was Testour. A town with a heavy Andalusian influence. It was rebuilt in the 1500s by Muslim and Jewish refugees fleeing from the reconquista in Spain. Their style of buildings including roofs are still very noticeable today. The town has a 400 year old mosque whose clock rotates backwards and its minaret is adorned with two Stars of David. The town is considered a beacon for peaceful coexistence.

It’s also well known for its cheese market and lots of the little shops were selling cheese. I wouldn’t call the main street quaint it was pretty loud and full on with everyone going about their business though the side streets including where the mosque was were more tranquil. After a bit of a tour from Anis we had some free time where we wandered up and down, stuck our head in a small museum and downed an ice cream - it was pretty hot - late 20s.

On to Dougga Archaeological site. A well preserved Roman site said to be the best preserved in Africa but also with Berber, Punic and Byzantine connections. It really was impressive for 2000 years old. Large site with all the typical Roman buildings - theatre, houses, public baths, rest rooms, forum, market, cisterns, temples including a well preserved Capitol building. There would have been mosaics and sculptures also but most had been moved to the Bardo museum in Tunis for preservation purposes. Also fascinatingly a wind rose which enabled the direction of the wind to be assessed. A series of concentric circles with markings of the 12 directions of the wind. A wind sock would have been set up in the middle. It was well worth visiting and very interesting.

It was on to lunch which was in a tiny rough and ready little cafe in Teboursouk. Barbecue lunch with bread served by a Bedouin looking chap. Merguez sausages which were great if quite spicy with salad, eggplant dip, grilled chicken and sort of home cooked chips which were v tasty. Sausages were the highlight (for me) in fact the experience was the highlight. Our quasi toothless and very kind and friendly host with one other elderly gentleman sharing the place and having his lunch. We loved it. Did the job and great to mix things up away from “flasher” establishments.

On next to Kairouan. A 2 hour drive. Our driver was really pretty good and reasonably risk averse. He did put his foot down on the open road and often we’d be doing 120, occasionally slightly more typically around the 100 mark but no overtaking on corners. Also careful with traffic coming in the other direction. Bearing in mind that typical traffic volumes in Tunisia out of the city are pretty low. On the open road you might encounter a couple of cars going in either direction per km (often far less the further away from town). We never felt unsafe.

We arrived at La Kasbah Boutique Hotel around 4.00. It had a pool which Liz headed straight for. I had a nose around town which was reasonably bustling. A little market winding down and a Medina which we were visiting the following day so I gave a cursory look. Fairly basic town at least in the “business” centre. Lots of blokes sitting at basic looking cafes as ever, plenty of cats foraging, a bit of rubbish on street corners. Water melons piled up on street junctions for sale and a general hubbub of cars and people going about their business. Fascinating.

Dinner than night was smorgasbord. Nothing flash thought pastries excellent. We tried to get a rose wine to no avail. All were local brews. Did try a half bottle which I had to polish off as it would have likely given Liz a migraine. Even I could feel a headache coming on - it was on the rough side. Was forced to leave a little in the bottle 😢. Not many people in the hotel either just a smattering really at dinner.

Post dinner Liz retired and I did a quick flit around town which was much the same without the produce being sold. Market and Medina were shut down. Plenty of blokes (possibly the same ones as earlier) sitting staring at passers by and their coffees (also possibly the same coffees as earlier as the trick seems to be to never finish the tiny cups). Plenty of cars moving around and noise. I must say I felt very safe. Headed home after about 30 mins.

.

[elkenbulwark]

@melanchorose cont.

Standing around a farming village the party had wandered into in the hopes of selling off a few pocketed goods with naught to do but look like a sore thumb while he waited, Birvor found himself with the need to fiddle once shifting his weight from foot to foot lost it's novelty. Ever since Ren had decided to pick up the art of doing things incredibly slow in the hopes it would cause the hovering half-orc to kindly fuck off and explore the concept of personal space, Birvor found himself alone with his thoughts a bit longer than he preferred. Thankfully he still had the beaten up lute he'd originally mistaken for a severed arm while out foraging for bloodied projectiles, in desperate need of tuning as it was.

He'd all but strummed a few chords to the tale of tongues, adjusting as he went when one frailer string decided it did not fancy the grab of grubby, vitiligo tipped fingers and snapped to spank the back of his hand. After a grimace begot a little shake of his hand to chase the sting off, that was when he noticed the half elf nearby. Great...was there no end to the scrying eyes of the world? At her adamant insistence that she was simply doing anything other than turning up a corner of her mouth at him, Birvor huffed in easily earned resignation. With Ren off scroll shopping, there wasn't much point in getting riled up to the edge where his rage was easier accessed for a quick intervention between lost nobles and cutthroats.

"See, now I know you're havin' a go. This face look like it got the means for smirking, does it?" He wasn't going to attempt the deliberate unbalancing of lips either knowing he'd just end up pricking himself with his own tusk. The half-orc didn't press the issue since she's going on and bowing like she was finishing up with a performance of her own while he settled for tucking the fussy lute under an arm. Mild curiosity was followed by a quirked brow.

"Well you're somethin' proper. The whole introduction for free?" Conveniently forgetting all the holes he kept finding in his pockets after these quaint interactions, Birvor gave the back of his neck an awkward rub while brandishing the lute by the neck to show her the instrument with the same rough and tumble care a dog might bring back a duck. "Oh, uh- I'm nothin' of the sort. Just had too many flute lessons so the house I was part of could feel a smidge more pretentious." Yes, because even the body guards had to be well cultured or some shit. And it wasn't like distractions had to be good ones, which is primarily the best use for a mangled lute in the hands of someone who loved a dirty, bloody story.

[wolfofwinchester]

8. name two or more things your muse can’t leave the house without.

25. what do they do when they are deep in thought?

𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚌. 𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚕 𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚎 // accepting!

8. Your grandmother is a packrat, Elizabeth.

I can name several, actually. The woman never goes anywhere without her snack sachets, which are little sheer green bags filled with a variety of.. well, snacks! There's sweet and savory things ranging from small cuts of dried meat to what she calls 'sugar pearls', beads that have a very smooth, shiny surface and taste of sugar, spearmint and lavender. There's freshly foraged mulberries and steamed dandelions, and candied honey suckles to boot.

She never leaves home without her mother's broken pearl necklace, either. Keeps them wound up close, often clutching them like a rosary during travel and fiddling with the cracked pearls. She rubs them when in deep thought, something all of her progeny have seen. She's very protective over them, but would not mind letting them hold onto it and look it over. It's like her personal faith item, too. Doesn't catch attention, but there's been so much energy put into it with prayer that it counts.

Claudia also carries a silver dagger in her boot or up her sleeve, and three hatchets have their own hems sewn into her innermost petticoat layer. She never leaves home without her axe, either. It's always to be found close-by, let that be in the carriage, or in the lovely suitcase Tanaka carries around for her.

And lastly, because I was debating back and forth whether or not to mention it, is her green cloak. I count it as part of her wardrobe, but I figure it's loose enough to be counted as something she brings with her and also optionally leaves off as well. It's her cloak she's entirely dedicated to Brigid, and she considers it to be her own personal mantle. This is the biggest religious item you will find on her person outside of her mother's pearls, and it's her very own. It's very warm, makes the wearer feel quite safe.

If this woman ever has to be forced at gun point to unload everything she's carrying, she's going to take a while. She'd carry her whole room on her, if she could!

I've always used this gif to describe her and the junk she keeps on her person. It's so accurate.

25. Where is your mind now, Countess?

One leg crossed over the other, foot tapping at the air. elbow propped and fingers mustached over her lips. Claudia's mind has a terrible habit of wandering, and deep thought is nothing unusual. She has this long, eerie stare that's unnerved plenty of folk, and she doesn't seem to care if she is staring at anyone when she zones out, either. Definitely adds a bit to her "odd woman" reputation, especially when folk report that her gaze follows them when they've moved from her line of sight, even though she is not looking at them at all. That feeling doesn't quite lift until they're completely out of the room. Generally, it's nothing personal. She's just pinpointed them as her focal object. However, to those who hold it meaningfully.. they'd swear it follows them even when they're scuttled a great distance away.

Her children and grandchildren have held her gaze plenty of times, but it's so much softer. It's difficult for them to feel it's spooky or eerie when she's practically raised them, but Edward might have the odd complaint now and then. Where others feel trepidation, the children have always been able to snap Claudia back to reality easily.

[feyrevelry]

THE SUBTLE DIP in Rein’s ears caught Sylverian’s attention, and guilt twisted in his chest. Have I hurt him? The thought lingered uncomfortably, but Rein gave him no time to address it, instead launching into a flurry of statements that grated on Sylverian’s nerves.

“What do you mean??” S ylverian cut in, his voice sharp and incredulous. “Do you intend for us to wander into the wilderness on foot, Rein?” He put a mocking emphasis on his name. “Am I supposed to forage berries and sleep under the stars like some vagabond?”

Before he could say anything else about how everything of what Rein suggested was out of the question, Rein’s outrageous accusation made his jaw drop.

He gasped, his aquamarine eyes burned with indignation as he held Princess Bonbon closer. “Steal———?? Do I look like some lowly thief?!” he sputtered in offense. “Her name is Princess Bonbon, and she is MY dog! How dare you accuse me of something so vile!”

Without waiting for an apology, Sylverian spun on his heel and stormed ahead, chin held high. “Unbelievable...! And for your information,” Sylverian called out without turning back, “I am exceptionally skilled in a great many things!!”

Rein bit his own tongue, but those words hurt him. His small pointed ears angled downward slightly. And his breath stopped for a moment, eyes beginning to gloss before he blinked it away. The other was mad. He'd hoped Sylverian didn't mean it, but man did that comment hurt him. Rein was a terrible liar and that meant the lies told on his face, as well. He was a decently easy to read person. Probably his biggest flaw.

He was snapped out of his own head when the man began to explain where they were headed. He didn't have an issue, but, "A ship we can-? We have to pay to ride ships or rent our own, Sylverian. I told you. The money is for food and clothes. Water is available by river and pond, and ship cost is something you'll have to work for." He sighed, "B-But... I can help teach you where to get started. For a job. What are your skills. What can you do?" He asked earnestly.

The barbarian saw the dog, at the same time as Syl got his name wrong and groaned a bit, "Rein. Like a horse's Reins. Horses are strong and noble. Not that I was... Ever allowed to touch them or play with them, but..." The thought of the creatures seemed to ease his mind.

"You're allowed a dog?" He asked, walking over to the creature and scratching under her chin, gently, "I don't want royals coming after me because I helped you steal a fancy dog." He chuckled softly, "She's going to be expensive to care for. Dogs aren't cheap. Another thing you pay for, but... I can... I can do the hunting. As long as you keep her away from the woods while we travel."

[briarworthandoleander]

I once came across a Glavenus and 2 chicks while I was out foraging for ores. They were so young, their blue armor hadn't come in and hardened yet, nor their blade tails. What was interesting was even though their tails weren't sturdy yet, they still used them to spar with each other and smack things, attempting to cut through trees and rocks, only to give them a good whack. The parent was also performing several of the common Glavenus tail attacks on rocks and trees, and the chicks tried to mimic them only to stumble and trip because they haven't gotten the proper footing yet. It was amazing to see how Glavenuses tail techniques are so much like hunter sword theory, they need to learn footing and posture, all from the parent. I wanted to stay and watch more, but the adult caught my scent and glared my way, so I made a swift exit.

Glavenus is an interesting monster to be sure.

It takes about 15 years for them to fully mature and master swinging around their tails - and there's a variety of styles all dependant on the area they grew in and their parents style!

Due to Glavenus being a nomadic monster like Deviljho - it makes sense that where they are born does have effect on how they learn to hone their techniques and skills.

The parent may be born in a desert biome - which means the ground is soft underfoot and requires extra grip and kick off; but if their offspring is born in a jungle - then the child has to adjust to the softness and bounce of foliage, and the constant struggle not to trip over roots. So the two learn the "same" technique - but not the same skills to pull it off, which means there's a variation when the offspring comes of age and wanders for itself.

It's fascinating!

-

Leo Briarworth

[fanartfunart]

A fic where Ocarina of Time is a big time loop, instead of splitting the timeline. (post MM) Link meets Sheik in the Lost Woods. (some big OoT Spoilers)

A sequel to Time & Time Again (It isn’t 100% required to read it to understand this tho)

Ao3

--

The woods were unusually quiet. He heard no laughter or song of the Korkiri. It made it harder to travel through the Lost Woods than usual. But he knew his forest. Link traced his fingers along the rough bark of some of the trees. "This way" the forest whispered. It was difficult to understand, like catching the fog. But the forest knew him. The forest was kind to it's children.

He kept his eyes trained on the canopy, hoping for some fresh food to bring back to the village. As long as it wasn't magic, he imagined the forest wouldn't mind. It hadn't actively tried to stop him. It clearly understood his intentions.

He heard a soft rustle in a nearby bush. He pulled out his sword, inching closer. The stranger to the forest heard him in return. Sheik lept out of the bushes, blocking his sword arm and sending him flying backwards with a kick. Link barely managed to shift into a tumble and regain his footing.

He took in a breath, analyzing his opponent. (No, his old friend.) Blood rushed in his ears. A drum of battle he was all too familiar with. He felt like a tightly coiled spring, either about to snap or leap away. He smothered the realization he had started automatically looking for weak points. (It was Sheik, not an enemy. Not a demon or monster.)

The Sheikah meanwhile, had shifted into a ready stance, eyes widening as he actually looked at Link. They stared at each other. Tense. Sheik was looking at him as if just waiting for him to strike.

A familiar feeling crinkled against his chest and into his throat. Uncomfortable and raw. Sheik was scared of him. Sheik was created to fight and hide. Of course he expected Link, a stranger by all accounts, to attack. Link sheathed his sword with a sigh, forcing himself to loosen his posture. The grass swayed against his feet, soothing, reassuring.

It was quiet for a moment too long.

“Lost?” he asked.

Sheik tilted his chin up, as if affronted by the implication, “...No, of course not.”

"Ah, of course not.... I will have to see you in town later sometime then." Link said, beginning to walk away. Careful to be slow enough for Sheik to have plenty of time to make his choice.

"Wait!" Sheik, raced after him, eyes flickering around the trees, “What are you doing out here? These woods aren’t the safest place to be wandering.”

Link glanced backwards at him, shrugging, “Gathering things for the villagers in Kakarikio.” He hitched up his backpack higher on his shoulder. He could feel the blond’s eyes watching him, analyzing him.

“Who are you?”

“A traveler,” Link said.

“Oh, how specific,” he muttered sarcastically. Sheik was suddenly in front of him, walking backwards. Red eyes flickered across his face. “I thought you looked like that to get me to lower my guard but... you-” Sheik poked his nose. Link leaned back, ears flicking involuntarily.

“What was that for?” Link huffed, ignoring the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. “My face is my actual face, yes.”

Sheik grabbed his hand, looking at the glow of the triforce. Link frowned at his hand. That hadn't happened in a long time. He barely registered they had halted. Just the ominous thump in his chest as he stared at the glowing force. Sheik looked up at him, “Link?”

He jolted his head up to look at Sheik. His red eyes were wide, expextant...hopeful. He nodded, “Nice to see you again, Sheik.”

“Are you- ....From the future?” Sheik whispered, eyes tracing the scars on his face with a light frown.

“Er...” Link hummed, “Yes and no? This is my second time around in this particular part of time. Grew up the normal way this time though.”

Sheik gasped, “So you did it? You won?”

Link just smiled and started foraging again. Sheik followed him.

“How? Are you here to help? You know what happens, right?”

“I don’t think learning too much about your future is particularly wise, oh carrier of the Triforce of Wisdom.”

“But if you help can’t we get this over with so much faster?” Sheik grabbed his arm, pulling him to yet another halt. He stared into his eyes, searching, “You can’t tell me you’re just here to gather things.”

“I tried to stop it from happening before, when I was a child. It didn’t do anything. If anything it made things worse...” Link sighed, “Your people need outside aid, your Highness. I can’t...won't help defeat Ganon this time, but I can gather supplies.”

Sheik let go of his arm, and to his surprise, tugged down the face mask. “You know who I am.”

“Yes, Sheik, don’t worry about it. I won’t tell.”

Sheik looked down at the ground. “Thank you,” he whispered.

He shrugged. "Besides. I think I prefer your hair like this. Very adventure-chic. Or should I say adventure-Sheik?”

The blond gasped, blushing. He punched his shoulder. (It bruised a little, admittedly.) “That’s horrible.”

“You’re one to talk. Don’t you have some poetry to recite for Mini Me?”

“Mini?” Sheik giggled, “You both look basically the same.”

“I gotta call him something.” Link shrugged, “The phrase ‘my younger self’ is a bit long.”

“Try harder.” He hummed, “Besides, my poems are brilliant.”

“Never said they weren’t.”

Sheik shook his head with some sense of amusement. That amusement faded as he glanced up at his face again. “...Are those...”

“From Ganon? No.” Link said, “I had a very interesting little adventure all on my own in Termina.” He glanced in the direction of the other country, wind fluttering through the leaves. “Most of the scars from Ganon disappeared when I was sent back in time.”

It was Zelda’s voice, not Sheik’s, that spoke next. “I... I’m sorry. That I roped you into- all of this. You deserved a... kinder childhood.”

Link stared at the ground. He took a moment to find his voice, “...So did you.”

Zelda stared at him, eyes round and wide. Her hands fidgeted, clasped in front of her. Lost for what to do or say, she tugged up the face mask. Sheik bowed gently, “I thank you for everything, Link of the Future."

“Grasshopper.”

“Huh?” Sheik blinked.

“If you needed a name to differentiate me and the kid. That’s the name he knows me by.”

Sheik snorted, “I’m not calling you that."

Link shrugged. His ears flicked as he picked up the light bell like ting of a fairy. The specific tone he'd know anywhere. "...Did you need to find the Forest Temple?"

Sheik glanced around, quiet for a moment, "I can always use magic to get there.... If I was lost. Which I'm not."

"But you want to do that cool entrance, right?"

Sheik shuffled his feet, "You think- thought it was cool?"

Link just chuckled, "Follow me," Link said, walking ahead.

"Seriously did you think it was cool? What did I do?"

"You already have it planned why would I tell you what you're going to do?"

"What if it's different and what I actually did was cooler than what I think I should do?"

"That makes no sense."

"Just tell me and I'll tell you if that's what I originally had in mind. Do you still remember my poem?"

"It was 7 years ago from my perspective. You expect me to remember exactly what you said and did?"

"....But you remember it was cool."

"Never said that."

"You implied it strongly."

Link laughed, and the Forest giggled with him. A chorus of rustling leaves. It remembered him as well as he remembered it, it seemed. He traced a finger along bark as he watched the forest unfold itself for him. "Sorry," he hoped to say through the gentle touch, "Sorry I took so long to come home."

[vickyvicarious]

Ace Attorney Daemons - Detectives (+former detectives)

Animal species and reasoning behind each choice under the cut, as well as links to other groups of characters!

Dick Gumshoe - Akita dog. Gumshoe’s daemon was one of the first ones I figured out. He had to be a dog, because he just exudes that energy, and there’s a nice bonus for this dog in particular since it’s the same breed as Missile. Akitas are stocky, strong dogs, and males can often weigh up to 100 pounds. Gumshoe’s a big guy. They tend to be aggressive towards other dogs and have a strong prey instinct, which isn’t quite as fitting for Gumshoe, but he does have a tendency to get up in peoples’ faces sometimes especially when first meeting them - and in any case, with careful socialization they aren’t as aggressive. Akitas are very loyal and eager to please, bred as guardians and hunters, and they have a strong work ethic. Once Gumshoe is on your side, he’s there for good, and although he isn’t necessarily the cleverest man, if you put him to a task he will work tirelessly at it and has multiple times saved the day with his efforts. There’s a famous myth about an Akita named Hachiko whose owner died; he would wait every day for his master at the train station he usually took home for nine years. This felt very fitting for Gumshoe to me, and really the number one reason I chose this breed was for that reputation of enduring loyalty and love.

Ema Skye - Coconut octopus. My first thought was that Ema needs a daemon that uses tools. Her passion for forensic investigation, and using scientific tools in particular, demanded it. Coconut octopodes are famous for picking up coconut shells and carrying them around as mobile homes, or wearing them as ‘hats’ to provide protection from predators. In order to move about effectively in this manner, they also walk on only two legs, which is an unusual and notable behavior. They’re a relatively small species, but still have the usual octopode abilities to change color and release ink. The ink especially made me think of Ema’s luminol, so I loved that. But octopodes in general are very intelligent and in captivity are known to escape their tanks and play pranks, or throw things out of their tanks when annoyed, which is great for Ema. This species spends a lot of its time hidden and darting out to get food; when it does hunt it tends to ‘forage’, wandering about and catching whatever is handy, rather than stalking prey. Ema works with a lot of different people and is in general very adaptable, but as an adult she’s generally a bit more withdrawn/not interested in socializing with everyone all the time. She also snacks all the time so I liked the ‘foraging’ for that.

Jake Marshall - Mule. My initial thought for Jake was actually a coyote, and I’m still a little torn on this one. I knew whatever he ended up with had to be something to fit his whole Wild West theme, which both do. Still, while I think a coyote would be fitting too, in the end I leaned more towards mule for a couple of reasons. First, Jake’s cowboy act is mostly that - he’s actually from LA and there’s no indication he’s ever been to Texas, let alone grew up on a ranch or anything. The stereotypical image of a cowboy is of course riding a horse - so this would be another example of him not quite matching his whole attitude. (Because yes, he would saddle up his daemon and ride her around town.) However, many people actually prefer mules over horses. They’re very intelligent and sure-footed, have excellent endurance and resilience, are relatively calm, and in general are known as an example of 'hybrid vigor’, often gaining the best of both their parents’ traits. When treated well, they are actually quite trainable and willing to work. However, they tend to have a stronger sense of self-preservation than horses and can balk when asked to do something dangerous. Also, if given a negative environment or one without enough mental stimulation, they can develop bad behaviors and be hard to manage. I think all of this fits pretty well for Jake - as far as we know, he was a willing and eager detective, and did his job well at the time. However, since getting demoted he lost all motivation for his work, and developed a lot of bad habits. He also is surprisingly astute and confrontational - if it weren’t for the handprint locks, his break-in would have worked completely, and he realized that there was shady stuff going on and confronted Lana about it.

Angel Starr - White Bengal tiger. Angel may act sweet, but only ever for so long. She’s a hunter at heart. She has a lot of boyfriends, all of whom are useful strategically; Bengal tigers are a polygynous species, with one male mating several females. Though she certainly seems like she can work well with others when needed, Angel strikes me as more of private person. She will spend time with people but not necessarily open up deeply to them, and tigers for the most part lead solitary lives. They are also stealthy predators, often waiting till dusk and camouflaging themselves. They also tend to quietly approach their prey from the side or the back - all of this ‘ambush and stealth’ style seems a fitting match to the way Angel plays sweet and then abruptly lashes out with such ferocity. Originally, I just gave her a regular tiger, but then I thought about it a little more and I actually like the white morph for her. It matches her color scheme and fur jacket, which is a nice detail, and white Bengal tigers are very rare in nature and considered very beautiful. Angel uses her beauty to disarm people, so it just seemed fitting.

Shi-Long Lang - Northwestern wolf. Lang Zi says, “Obviously he’s a wolf! There was never any doubt!” I mean, the amount of wolf references is off the charts with this guy. Wolves, of course, are pack animals, which fits his huge team of subordinates that he clearly knows well. Northwestern wolves are the largest wolves in the world, which is another great reference to that. They’re a bit stockier than some other wolves, adapted to high altitudes, and packs often hunt large prey like elk. Lang goes after some pretty major targets, so that’s a nice nod too. Wolves are intelligent and playful, with complex social dynamics and distinctive howls. They are excellent hunters and can travel for long distances after their prey, as well as just roaming large territories. I mean, I could go on, but of course he’s a wolf so it’d all just be reiterating what we already know.

.

Feys, Misc. Lawyers, Prosecutors, Witnesses, Wright Anything Agency, Villains

[gruesomejack]

The moment he spoke, Rabbit found himself stuck somewhere between soft and awestruck. Lashes lowering just a little, he smiled for him. "No." He said and moved against his better judgment, bringing a hand up to touch his cheek. The man's skin was warm; he could feel the stubble on his jaw, and as he traced his fingers down to his neck, he paused over his pulse. The nervous beating beneath his jaw had the smile on his face spreading. "Not at all. You're very much alive."

Glancing over the man, he hesitated before slipping an arm underneath him and gently pulling him to his chest before lifting them up off the ground. There was a nostalgia, holding him like this. "Do you know who I am?" There was hope in the words despite knowing it was a longshot that he remembered any of their time together. A quick twitch of emotion touched his face, and he decided to backpedal, "Of course you don't. I don't think there are many people that do..." If there were any left at all. When was the last time he was prayed to? The hunters and foragers in this forest were not the ones he catered to many years ago. Any stone altar left for him was grown over or destroyed. He was less a god now and much more like a lonely ghost haunting the green.

Rabbit started to move, carrying towards the direction he wandered in from. It would be a bit of a walk, and he didn't want him to struggle through it on an injured leg. If he could get him to the forest's edge, he knew he'd be safe. "...You should watch your footing." He told him, "You walk this place like you know it well." And maybe he had, but time had changed things. "You shouldn't let confidence blind you."

He was here again.

Rabbit watched him quietly, eyes soft. It was remarkable. Physically, this man was a near perfect match of the one from his memories. His presence felt the same too-- Quiet, but with an anger boiling under the surface, just waiting for something it could be directed at. That wasn't a bad thing! He remembered him having a strong sense of justice that Rabbit admired deeply.

Flopped on his side in the grass, his eyes moved as the man did, simply following along as he found things to photograph. Would it be so terrible if he introduced himself? The idea was daunting. He wasn't quite sure what he'd do if their connection had truly been lost to time. It was just safer for both him and his heart to enjoy him from afar.

Rabbit was nearly asleep in his sun patch. The small animal he chose to linger as twitched sleepily, pink nose wriggling as he slowly drifted into a dream. Soft lips and curious hands moved over warm skin-- The start of a deep, but short lived love between two eternal souls. Watching him leave had been the hardest thing he'd ever done in all the years he'd protected this place, knowing although they were eternal, his lover's body was not and he could not and would not expect him to rot beside him. Still, every brief moment of rest was consumed with wonder. Where was he? What had become of him? Had he lived well? Was-

SNAP.

The crunch of rusted metal digging into bone startled the forest into silence and roused the god from his relaxing. The pained cry had him on his feet, the white hare kicking off from the grass and sprinting. The rabbit stopped, its red eyes wide as it assessed the scene in front of him. Caught in an abandoned trap, he watched the man struggle and choke down on his agony.

There was no thought to it. The creature scrambled closer, its tiny body shifting and stretching until the god was revealed in striking form. Towering and inhuman, but purposely familiar. Long ears and red eyes, he was as much a hare as he was a man. Again, he changed, simply making himself a little smaller to get a little closer in proportion to the man trapped. Approaching his side and lowering himself to his knees, he said nothing as he pried the mouth of the trap open. With gentle hands, he took the mangled leg in his hand and pressed his palms over the wound. A soft warmth radiated from his skin, closing the open flesh and stopping the bleeding. Running his hand over the man's leg, he frowned a little. "If there's a break, you'll have to see a professional..." He told him, his voice low and quiet. "But at least you won't lose anymore blood."

@purposefully-lost