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vulpixisananimal · 1 month ago

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[A:3 C64]

[???] |???| <???>

<<< <<< <<< <<< <<< <<< <<<

[You were watering the small plants outside the greenhouse, listening through the closed doors as you cared for each stem. You liked sticking near where the action was, just in case you were needed. Usually, it was easy to see into the greenhouse, but, not today it seems.]

|You were happily digging up some dirt with your comically oversized shovel for your little body. But that didn’t matter! This was your garden! You had a nice sun hat, and antlers! You wanted a big shovel, you got one. The plants were really restless today, though, why’s that?|

"-An Islander you say?"

[The voice is muffled by the greenhouse. Again, usually it’s as easy to look through the greenhouse glass as looking through your own glasses! But now it's like there is fog you can't get through. You felt the body talking, responding.]

"Yeah! They raised me. If it wasn'---t----em--"

[You pause watering the plants, stepping back, shaking your head. Something's not right. . . Starsdammit. You bang on the greenhouse door. You need to see what's going on!!!]

|Is everything okay? You walked up to them. You want to see too, what's going on?|

[Now's not the time, you're, trying to focus on what's going on. You bang on the door. Try to open it.]

|Shh, I’m listening. . .|

". . --uld help, after all, just let me take a lo-- a--"

[What are you doing you idiot. What's going on?!? You knew something was up and you shouldn't trust those two, what was that dumbass doing!!!]

|I'm scared, you're scaring me, what's going on?|

[S-sorry, kiddo, I'm sorry I'm trying to remain calm. I just. . .]

". . . -Deal."

[You feel your body shake someone's hand.]

|. . . . . .|

[. . . . Do-]

[In a blink your mindspace had been invaded. There was a man standing in your garden. He wore a tattered school uniform of some sorts. His hair was a mess, and his body was covered in scars. He was looking around, crouching to see the plants. Who are you! What are you doing here?!?!]

(You turn around. . . Oh! Hello! I didn’t expect to see company! Don’t mind me, I’m just doing some spring cleaning.)

|Get, get outta here!! The plants don't like you, you, y-you BATFACE!!!|

[Why are you here?!? Explain yourself!!]

(No, no I don’t think I will. . . You think for a moment, ah part of the deal was. . . Yes, to help them get stronger and clear up their head! And that meant that, well, sorry, but that means you need to go.)

[In an instant you feel the world warp. The garden you had spent so long to maintain was being, changed, unearthed. Vines were overgrowing.]

|I'm scared.|

[What are you doing?!?!? WHY are you doing this!?!?]

(It won’t hurt, I promise. Just relax, it’s just a long, long nap.)

[You feel the earth open up beneath you. You fall into the dirt, the world closing in around you. You open your mouth to scream. Nothing comes out. You can't escape.]

[You're buried alive, in your own mind.]

[. . . . .]

[. . . . . Can, anyone else hear me?]

[. . . . .]

[. . . . You're getting sleepy.]

[. . .]

[. .]

[.]

>>> >>> >>> >>> >>> >>> >>>

[Your hand pierces the topsoil for the first time in what feels like months, years, even. Yet at the same time it was like only a few moments passed! Your whole body, head, mind, soul, all felt so tired and dead and exhausted and. . .]

[. . . . The garden. . .]

[Your plants, so carefully tended to, all dead. The gardens were all overrun with mint. Mint that was slowly dying. You look around, everything was a mess, and the sun was gone. Maybe that's why the mint was finally dying. . . Wait.]

[A few feet away there's dirt trying to move. You pull yourself out and walk over. With a hand you find whatever's in the dirt. Please be okay please be okay please be okay- Jasmine!!! Are you okay?!?]

|Sniffle. Alex. . . Alex my garden. . .|

[I'm sorry Azzy, stars I'm so, so sorry. I don't know what happened I'm, oh stars. . .]

|Are, a-are we gonna be okay?|

[. . . We're going to be okay. We can rebuild the garden, okay?]

|Okay. . .|

[. . . I need to go check on the greenhouse. You'll be okay, Jasmine, okay? I just need you to do something for me, okay?]

|O-okay?|

[Can you try and find Altiare for me?]

|M’kay! I c’n do that!|

[Alright, good luck, talk soon. You walk to the greenhouse. There was a lock on it that had long since rusted. You force the door open.]

[You cover your nose and mouth as soon as the smell hits you. It was metallic, bloody. You smelt rotting, and fertilizer. Metal, rot, fertilizer. Someone died here.]

[. . . . .]

[. . . You step inside.]

[You bolt upright in bed gasping for air, startling someone at your side. You're in your room, YOUR room. The one in your guardians house, not your dorm in Jouvente. The person, two persons, beside you are confused. One tall girl, one kid, both dark skin, similar jewelry.]

". . . Oh thank Change Ramos you're okay." [The taller one sighed.] "We were getting pretty worried there!"

[. . You blink.] "I. . . What. . ."

"Y'got hurt or, uhm, something like that, in 'Frins head." [The kid responded.]

[What? You don’t remember that. Or remember coming home, or a ‘frin’, or who these two were! You look at the two of them, then rub your head. Names, names names name names! You never had any memory problems before, why now- RIGHT. That ASS.]

“PERCI!” [You jump up out of bed.] “Where’s that sonnofa-!! I’ll beat his ass so hard he’ll WISH it was only stars he’ll be seeing-”

“LANGUAGE!!” [The taller one shouted.] “Listen so would I but lie DOWN! You just recovered!”

“From what?!” [You walk to the closet and look for fresh clothes.] “In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t know who you two blinding are!”

“. . . Oh Change.” [The older one put her head in her hand. The smaller one walked up to you.]

“. . . You feel okay?” [They ask.]

[You pause for a second, looking at them.] “Well, apart from losing. . .” [You look at a calendar on the desk.] “. . . five months of memory? I’m feeling pretty good!”

“Five months?!?” [Tall one again.] “We only met you like, three months ago!”

“And in that time I guess I finally went and changed.” [You grab some clothes, and go to a mirror, looking at yourself.] “. . . not my style, but. . . Not bad. So, I'm not Jasmine any more? Alright. What about you two?”

“Pétronille (she/her). Just Nille’s fine.” [She walked over to you.]

“Boniface (they/them). Or just Bonnie.” [They pouted.]

“Bonnie and Nille, got it.” [You hold up a vest- wait.] “Bonnie? One of the saviors?”

“Uh huh!!” [Bonnie nodded enthusiastically.] “Only the crabbin’ best outta all of ‘em!!”

“Langu- oh forget it.” [Nille shook her head.] “Yeah, we’ve all been traveling together, us three, Mirabelle, Isabeau, Odile, and Siffrin.”

“Heh, glad they’re all still-”

“CRAB!!!” [Bonnie jumped and ran to the door.] “IF YOU’RE FINE THEN ‘FRIN AND THE OTHERS ARE IN TROUBLE!!”

“AH CRAB!!” [Nille ran to join her sibling, then turned to you.] “Listen, ah, I know you don’t know me but I know you! We gotta check on the rest of our party now! Five minutes to get ready and meet downstairs! We’re probably gonna be fighting that sonofacrab, alright?”

[You grin back.] “Make it three minutes.”

[Those two left the room. The logic was already connecting in your head as you got dressed. Ramos makes a deal with Perci. Perci locks you and others in the ground. Ramos lives life, no need for imaginary friends. Somehow that actually affects your memory. It’s just daydreams, so why would it affect your memory? And why did being buried alive feel so real? Stars. . .]

[You use your bandana to tie your hair into a ponytail. Well it was probably some craft that affects the head, and your head then interprets that in your daydreams. So maybe if you’re daydreaming and someone crafts you, and buries your imaginary friends alive, that affects you? So what-]

|AAAAALEEEEEEXXXXX|

[You look over in the greenhouse, Jas? What’s up.]

|TTTHHHERES A BIG BUG!!!|

[. . . What?]

|THERE’S A BIG BUG AND NOT A NORMAL BUG!!|

[Is it dangerous?]

|I DUNNO IT LOOKED AT ME THEN RAN AWAY!! IT LOOKS COOL!|

[Change, well, I can’t help with that right now just, run if it seems angry at you, okay?]

|M’KAY!! IMA MAKE FRIENDS WITH IT!!|

[You’re done getting dressed, you grab Ramos’ tonfas and hook them to your belt. Stars, you're out of practice. You couldn't hit the broad side of a barn with these. You walk over to the desk and look for your favorite pen. You twist the ink cap, and a thin, sharp blade springs from the front; a hidden knife. You twist the needle back in and put it in your pocket.]

[You take one last look at yourself in the mirror. Ramos. You’re Ramos now, huh? Not Jasmine. Not Alex. Ramos. Ramos is your name now. . . Eugh, that didn’t feel right. But, fine. You walk to the door, muttering to yourself; you’ll be alright, you’ll be alright, you’ll be alright.]

[Ready.]

>>>

[While You, Nille, and Bonnie were running to the library, they caught you up to speed. Ramos, mind craft, got controlled, turned into a sadness, saved, joined them, the inn stuff, fighting Merlon and Perci; it was a lot to take in, but you took it. Good thing too, because you didn’t have much time.]

[You knew these streets like the back of your hand. Jump over this fence, take this backroad, skip over the creek here. And in no time, you were at the library entrance. There was a housemaiden struggling to stand, that’s Mirabelle. Isabeau was knocked out on the floor, and there’s a cloaked figure kneeling on the ground, who by process of elimination, must be Siffrin. You grimace at Isas unconscious form, but you had to move quickly!]

“FRIN!!!” [Bonnie yells. Siffrin turned, eye wide. You dash past them.] “‘OZ IS OKAY!!”

“T-they’re-” [You can see the look of relief on his face.] “Oh stars above-”

“What in the-” [Merlon was taken aback as you dashed towards her.]

“Hey, Merlon.” [You hold out your paper sign, and swing. Before pulling back at the last second, instead you stab with your pen, [Page Turner!] Merlon doubles over in pain.]

[You take the chance, and run past into the library. You ignore Merlon yelling after you, where was he?!? WHERE. WAS. THAT. BITCH!?!?!]

[Like a hunting dog finding prey, you found him, an old lady sitting across from him. Both were catatonic to the world. You dash at him, and grab him by the back of the head-] >>> [-WHAM. WHAM. WHAM.]

“ARE YOU FUCKING SORRY YET?!?”

[You throw Perci back, taking a second to breathe. STARS your heart was beating a mile a minute! At least your body was kept in good shape. You hear the old lady stand up behind you.]

“Hey! Lady!” [You turn to look at her, grinning.] “You alright? You can have an existential crisis later but if you can still fight I’m gonna need you.”

“You. . .” [She’s staring at you, dumbfounded.] “. . . Ramos?”

[Your smile spreads to a grin.] “The one and only!”

“I highly doubt that.” [She grabbed her notebook and walked around the table to join your side as Perci got up.] “Not just a few hours ago you were catatonic.”

“Funny, because for me a few hours ago I was still in Jouvente!” [You laugh.]

“What?!?” [She looks at you in shock.]

“You blooded animal!!” [Perci finally got up to a knee, holding his nose, broken. His mask was slipping.] “How DARE you!!”

“Ha ha.” [You roll your eyes.] “Well at least he matches how he looks in headspace now!”

“So he does.” [The lady comments, smirking.] “Well, Ramos, it’s good to get reacquainted! My name is Odile.”

“Charmed!”

[The library entrance doors blast open, Merlon running in and was next to Perci in a blink. Behind her, Bonnie, Nille, Isabeau, Mirabelle, and Siffrin were all following. The later three were all still hurt from their earlier battle, so you should finish this quickly.]

“Look at me. Look at me Perci.” [Merlons concerned yet commanding voice boomed through the library. Perci looked up at her, she grabbed his nose, and with a twist and some craft put it back in place.]

“MOTHER OF-” [Perci yelled, then stood up fully, glaring at you in hatred.] “Why are you all being so DIFFICULT!!”

“Dear.” [Merlon turned to look at the five who had gathered on the opposite side of the room. The Monets were pinned.] “We should leave.”

“TH’ CRAB YOU ARE!!!!” [Bonnie yelled.] “WE’RE GONNA BEAT YOU TO A CRABBING PULP!!!”

“Let’s go! Everyone!!” [Nille called confidently to the others.]

#DOUBLE TROUBLE HEHEHEHE #music in text!#isat #in stars and time #art #isat au #isat art #siffrin system au #sifstem #isat fanart #isat spoilers #isat oc #isat ramos #isat nille #isat bonnie #isat odile #ramos #isat merlon #isat perci

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breelandwalker · 2 years ago

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Pink Moon - April 6 2023

Prepare for the blooming season and make sure you take those allergy meds - it's time for the Pink Moon!

Pink Moon

Named for the appearance of spring flowers, in particular the early springtide ground phlox, the Pink Moon often coincides with the first bloom of the season, with trees and fields in flower and a profusion of color returning to the world after the long bleak greyness of winter. Despite the name, the moon itself does not turn pink to match.

The April full moon is also sometimes known as the Paschal Moon, being the first full moon after the spring equinox. The Christian Easter holiday, which has a floating date, occurs on the first Sunday after the Paschal Moon. Alternate European names for the Pink Moon include Egg Moon and Budding Moon, and some modern pagan traditions call it the Awakening Moon. Indigenous names for this moon include Breaking Ice Moon (Algonquin), Budding Moon of Plants and Shrubs (Tlingit), Moon When The Ducks Come Back (Lakota), Planting Moon (Tunica), and Frog Moon (Cree).

Farmer's Proverb: A full Moon in April brings frost. If the full Moon rises pale, expect rain.

What Does It Mean For Witches?

The Pink Moon is a time for reconnecting with yourself and the world around you. The world is giving a good yawn and stretch after a long winter's sleep and so can we! Get outside if you can and get some fresh air. Explore your area, especially if there's something or someplace new you've been meaning to try. Revisit old haunts and discover what's changed since the last time you were out and about.

Take a moment to assess your current goals and mark your progress. Celebrate your growth and learn from your setbacks. Assess your boundaries as well. Are you making enough time for yourself? Are you letting things or tasks or people intrude where they shouldn't? Is there anywhere that you should be standing firm but aren't? Balance dedication to your work with playtime and relaxation. Remember that you are not required to set yourself on fire to keep others warm. Take time to care for your own needs and address those "I'm Sure It's Nothing" health concerns you've been putting off.

What Witchy Things Can We Do?

By the time the Pink Moon comes around, there's either one more cold spell working its' way through or the first true warmth of spring beginning to appear. If the temperatures are rising to sunny pleasantry in your area, it's the perfect time to start planting your garden.

Whether you have a few pots on a patio or a fully-planned plot or just some well-beloved houseplants, get your fingers into the dirt and transfer those seeds and sprouts to a nice fertile home. You can work various kinds of magic as you do, for growth, fertility, prosperity, tenacity, resilience, protection, whatever seems needful. If you grow your own plants for your magical practice, you can also bless them for their intended purposes. If you don't garden (and not all of us do), you can grab your field guide and pruning scissors and go foraging.

For a fun and easy full-moon spell, set out some gallon jugs of potable water to make Pink Moon Water. This will be excellent for watering your garden...and yourself! (Rainwater isn't safe to drink these days, and water collected from wild sources is dicey even if you boil it, but drinking water works just fine.) You can also cast spells for creativity, change, fertility, happiness, adaptability, and growth. Use whatever methods resonate with you and remember that the most important component of any spell is the witch who casts it.

The earth is blooming, so let's bloom with it!

Happy Pink Moon, witches! 🌕🌸

Further Reading:

Pink Moon: The Fascinating Full Moon of April 2023, The Peculiar Brunette

Pink Moon: Full Moon for April 2023, The Old Farmer's Almanac

Everyday Moon Magic: Spells & Rituals for Abundant Living, Dorothy Morrison

(If you’re enjoying my content, please feel free to drop a little something in the tip jar or check out my published works on Amazon or in the Willow Wings Witch Shop. 😊)

#Pink Moon #lunar magic #moon magic #witchcraft #witchblr #pagan #full moon #lunar calendar

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madsims4finds · 1 year ago

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Sooo Paralives and the Brainwashing EA has done

It's funny. Paralives launched a gameplay video that looks really good, along with some announcements. One of them being that they won't be offering paid DLC. I was watching Satch on Sims and him, plus a few other people, seem to think this is a bad move.

No shade, but it's easy to tell people who don't really game and all they play is the Sims. Like EA got yall so brainwashed that you actually think you're SUPPOSED to be getting charged for base game features.

His concern was wanting a different world to play in or different aethitics. Who said we can't get that for free? We may not know what all features Paralives are going to offer, but what rule says that they can't give us another world to play in for free? I mean literally, there are so many games that do free updates and only offer DLC if it's a niche theme that not everyone would be into, or if they're adding ADDITIONAL gameplay that has no resemblance to what's already in the game.

Only EA removes base game features just to sell them back to you later. Or expect you to buy a multitude of different DLCs that have the exact same theme or niche. Now don't mind me while I gripe on this point a little.

Growing Together and Parenthood should have been one generations themed pack.

Discover University and High School Years should have been one pack focused on education.

All of the occults (vamps, wolves, witches, ghosts, aliens, mermaids, plant people) all should have been in ONE paranormal pack.

Features from Dine Out should have been included in Get to Work. There was no need for that to be seperate DLC when they both relate to active careers.

For Rent and City Living should have been one pack.

Simple features that should not be locked behind a pay wall, and I'm not even talking weather. Like why do I have to buy DLC just for my sims to have access to a hot tub (Perfect Patio), an ice cream maker (Cool Kitchen), a popcorn maker (movie night), for them to have the ability to carve a pumpkin or have different holloween costumes, when Holloween is a holiday that comes in the base game with base game ability to trick or treat, etc. (Spooky Stuff), I have to buy Vintage Glamour just to have a butler (if anything the butler should have been in get famous along with everything in the luxury stuff pack. These are all things that should just be base game that they force you to buy DLC to have access to.

And speaking of weather, I do feel like packs like seasons, pets, laundry day, bust the dust, and my wedding stories should all be base game features. Yeah I don't care if we're used to paying for stuff like seasons and pets, things can and should change. These are all life basics, why am I paying extra?

Now I'm not all negative. There are packs that actually make sense. Get Famous makes sense. So does Island Living, Strangervile, all the vacation packs (jungle, outdoor, snowy). Hell, even Journey to Batuu made sense. Yeah, hear me out. These are all OPTIONAL packs. Stuff that not everyone is going to play with but they each bring something different to the game. Now whether any of these packs are filled to the brim with playable content, thats another story. But at least the concept makes sense.

Okay, off my soapbox and moving on.

I will forever and always use No Man's Sky as an example of a development team that chose integrity over money. That team has been releasing update after update for YEARS. Significant updates too. Updates that completely change the gameplay mechanics, adds brand new features to the game, or updates/changes the look of the game. All for free. Yes, it's normal. Not normal in the sense that these companies should be releasing broken games or not delivering on promises to begin with, but at least they weren't money-hungry assholes about it. The amount of updates that game has, quite a few could have been paid DLC and they didn't do that. Now if they started releasing DLC with specialty ships or different cosmetic features, I would have no problem paying for that cause it's optional.

Paralives knows what they're doing. As long as they are focused on making the base game everything it's supposed to be, I don't see why they couldn't sell the type of optional DLC that makes sense in the future. But I'm certainly not going to say that they're making a mistake by not having paid DLC right now.

I can definitely see them adding things like weather, a new life stage, or new clothes/build objects for free and that's dope. I'm excited about Paralives more so than Life By You. But either way, I'm just glad EA has competition in the life simulation genre now that isn't just about farming management.

#life sims #paralives #sims 4

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knightlycowboy · 2 years ago

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Shouldn't - Joel Miller x Reader (Part Three)

Featuring: interrogator!Joel <3

Your trip through Lincoln turns into an all-out war. For Joel, it's the internal battle that's the worst.

I've decided this will be five parts in order to get this thing up sooner. Half of part four is already written, so hopefully it'll be up Sunday, March 19th to make up some of the loss of TLOU being over.

Masterlist ->

AO3 Link♥

WC: 8.5k

WARNINGS: Torture (Joel giving), violence, blood, depictions of gore, kidnapping, threat of violence against a child, hurt/comfort, angst.

TAGS: Hurt/comfort, angst, whump, Joel being who he is, mentions of sexual activity.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“We’ll be passin’ by Lincoln tomorrow. I don’t know anything about it, but I’m hopin’ it’s as much of a ghost town as the rest of the Midwest.”

“We haven’t seen a city in a year,” you bite your lip pensively.

“Philadelphia,” Ellie comments with a raise of her eyebrows.

“But,” you optimistically hedge, “that was a major east coast city. We shouldn’t have a serious problem in Lincoln. Shouldn’t,” you emphasize when Joel tsks.

You continue, “We gotta find some food. It’s nearly spring but I don’t even know the last time we saw a rabbit. We have to check out the suburbs, at least.”

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The sky is deeply blue. No clouds insulate the earth, and the wind injects icy air into your bones. Ellie is a walking sweatlodge in the layers you and Joel forced her into, but you can’t stop a shiver every now and again.

More than once do you look to Joel wishfully: the formidable, sultry desert of a man. He saunters slightly ahead of you now, his rifle cradled in his arms. His wavy hair flutters and you fight a crude smile at the remembrance of pulling it this morning as he moved inside you. Your lower back bears a scrape from where he'd pushed into you against the rock. You smile to yourself at the sting of it. Any tangible reminder that the things you two do are real is welcomed.

Soon, however, your eyes refocus on the tendrils of an unfolding city. The trees become more purposefully planted as the suburbs thicken. It’s mile upon mile of dilapidated house after crumbling apartment block. You’re barely inside the outlying district and yet it's depressing. Cities are always depressing.

Down an alleyway between formerly-beautiful, massive homes, you catch sight of an unbroken window. You motion to your adult companion and he nods. The house sits upon a concrete block, probably concealing a basement, so neither one of you can see through the window. Underneath it, Joel crouches and clasps his hands, palms up.

“What? Seriously?” You chuckle in a whisper.

“Just do it.”

“Ellie’s smaller." You turn to her, “Peek in. And be careful.”

Happy to be involved, Ellie eagerly sheds a coat. Planting one foot on Joel’s thigh and another in his hands, Ellie wobbles as she fights for balance, grabbing his shoulder. She steadies and peers through the corner of the glass, cupping her hands around her eyes.

For a long moment, you admire Joel’s easy physicality, his willingness to be a literal stepping stone for Ellie. He catches you staring, and you smile shyly at him. The corner of his lips quirk and he narrows his eyes in recognition, but then, tapping her ladder’s shoulder, Ellie carefully drops.

“Just a bunch of old-ass furniture. It’s the living room, I think.”

“It look ransacked?” Joel asks, subtly wringing out his hands.

“It looks like a fucked-up museum.”

You smile. “Perfect.”

Breaking in was the wrong word. The patio door was unlocked and undamaged, sliding somewhat noisily on its track. Two plates of rotten, unidentifiable food sit on the round, blue table cloth. The small, galley kitchen to your right is clean, all things considered.

Your boots noiselessly cross the linoleum to fling open cabinets and dust flies in your face, but you choke down the cough.

Ellie stands guard outside on the back porch, and Joel anxiously plants himself halfway along the track of the sliding doorway, unsure if he should leave her or you. His eyes follow you as you cautiously open the fridge, though you already know that anything inside would've perished long ago.

You're right.

Shrugging, you turn back to the graying, handsome man and stage-whisper, "Nothin'."

Joel motions with his fingers for you to come to him, and your stomach knots. His serious brown eyes have you tripping over your own feet, and when you're within arm’s reach, he slides his hand to the top of your spine, fingers curled partially around the back of your neck. Goosebumps blossom where he touches you and something flickers to life in your core.

"We'll try another place," he murmurs in your ear, then guides you out the door in front of him.

Damn, okay. No reason for that to have affected me so much.

An hour later, after two more failed scoutings, Joel picks the lock on the most promising house you've yet seen. Entering from the side yard, Joel steps into a garage. His heavy boots are less stealthy than yours - soft thuds rebounding in the concrete room. Ellie reclines against the house with her arms folded, silently resuming her role as lookout, so you follow Joel. To your elation, inside the garage is a red, four-door sedan. Joel’s head swivels to you and he casts a pleased, cocky smile.

He trains his weapon on the garage stairs and begins to advance into the house with you on his heels. He whips open the door with one hand. Total silence greets him. Gun first, he proceeds into and down the narrow hallway.

At the end of the hallway to the left is a kitchen stuck in the 1990s. A barn red and forest green color scheme covers every inch of the space, accented by roosters in every format: a cookie jar, window valances, salt and pepper shakers, and even a painting. A ceramic dish shaped like - what else - a rooster sits on a shelf next to Joel. He chuckles with satisfaction as he plucks the car keys from the bowl.

Your attention is caught by something else: you move toward the walk-in pantry.

“Remember when you told me to stop crying over trash?” You poke at Joel. He doesn’t reply, unsurprisingly, so you continue, “I miss what life used to look like. The little things, you know? Flavors of soda and terribly-decorated rooms like this one. I miss the dumb shit.”

You leave out your exact thoughts. He knows what you mean. He knows you mean that the small, fun decisions have been erased from the world. You’ll never again eat M&Ms until you get sick. He’ll never again nurse a glass of his favorite mid-shelf whiskey and pass out to a rerun of Whose Line is it Anyway?

You reach the full-size pantry door; the knob turns easily. But the hinges stick, so you jerk it open. Joel lunges for your arm and yanks you behind him when he sees the infected sitting on the floor.

Cordyceps snake up the wall and onto the ceiling where a broken bulb dangles. The… thing was long dead; a husk of a human body, it was no longer a threat. But you wouldn’t be eating anything from that pantry, that was for sure.

Joel still holds you firmly behind him. You try to shirk from his grasp but then you realize his other hand is digging into the flesh over his heart.

“Joel? Joel, are you okay?” You twist powerfully underneath his arm to get in front of him. He looks ashen.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” The fear in your voice is palpable.

It only makes Joel feel worse. He shakes his head sharply. Joel turns away and presses his palms onto the counter. You stand there frozen, unsure how to help him.

“A- are you having a heart attack?” You ask, your voice cracking.

“Don’t - know. Don’t think so,” he chokes out and hangs his head.

You rest your hand on his shoulder, your thumb rubbing soothingly, “You’re scaring me.”

He’s quiet. He takes several deep breaths, expanding his lungs and pushing out the panic gripping his chest. Joel remains hunched for several too-long moments, and you’re about to speak when he beats you to it.

“‘m fine.” Joel straightens and brushes past you to the smaller cabinets above the countertop. He opens three before he gets lucky.

Without a word, Joel grabs the aluminum soup cans and tosses them to you. As he stalks past, you take hold of his leather sleeve.

“Don’t shut me out,” you implore him.

He pauses, his gaze trained anywhere but at you, and then he loosens your grip and gently pushes you in front of him. Down the hallway, out into the garage, and out into the side yard.

“What are those?” Ellie asks excitedly, starting at the faded red and white labels.

“Chicken noodle soup,” you answer flatly, too preoccupied with Joel’s behavior to enjoy the spoils.

“‘M’m! M’m! Good!’” Ellie quotes from the can. She looks up at you cheekily, “Is that what you guys were in there doing?”

“Ellie,” you gasp. “Oh my god.”

Joel wipes a hand over his face.

“No?” She laughs.

Crouching, you zip the cans into your pack. From your position, you look up at Joel and shade your eyes from the bright sun.

Several hundred miles lies between where you stand and where you want to be. It’ll be around a month before the three of you will reach the far end of Wyoming unless you’re able to start that car. In that month of walking, there will be no more major cities.

In short, a few cans of chicken noodle soup will not be sufficient.

“We really need that car inside, honestly. Carrying the amount of food that we’re gonna need would be so difficult. I think we need to risk the city.”

“I don’t wanna start it ‘less we’re ready to leave,” Joel asserts. “If it does work, it’s gonna draw attention.”

“If there’s anyone to give it attention. This place is creepily empty. But I agree with you. So, try the city for food?”

Joel reluctantly nods.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

As it turned out, food wasn’t hard to find. Within the span of a few hours, you spot a food pantry. A square, brick building, Joel hammers at the rusted padlock on the front door with the butt of his rifle. Grunting a final time, it falls.

The building’s entryway is narrow and dark. Joel’s flashlight guides you down the passage; at the end, to the right, is a restaurant-like setup: a dining area and a kitchen.

Inside the old soup kitchen, Joel finds an entire room dedicated to canned goods, corn chips, and jarred fruit. It used to provide meals for those in need and it would do so now. It's a fucking miracle.

Joel reverently picks up a jar of peaches and unscrews the lid. His eyes linger over your profile before he covertly inhales. The first time he met you, he had smelled peaches. Sweet, home-y, good. He knew it made no sense; you were dirty and so was he, but Joel couldn’t drop the vivid association.

“Fill your bag, Ellie,” you instruct and look over your shoulder at her.

Ellie stands wide-eyed at the most amount of food she’s ever seen. She wanders over to the chips.

“Holy shit. I don’t even know what to pick.”

You smile joyfully, “Whatever you want.” Your eyes catch on some ancient cookies, “Not those, though.”

Joel’s lips tug into a hidden, resistant smile at your parental nature. It was something he'd always admired in you.

“Make sure you take some of the vegetables, Ellie,” Joel orders as he carefully bags his peaches.

“Okay, Dad,” Ellie taunts without looking at him.

Joel snaps his head to her as though she called him a slur. He says nothing.

Since you’re not facing Joel, you’re unsure of his reaction and you freeze. You hadn’t told Ellie what he had confided in you. Guilt and responsibility for your sister’s hurtful statement lodge in your stomach. Unsure how to proceed, you follow Joel’s verbal cue (or lack thereof) and ignore it.

Ellie moves like a woman possessed as she ransacks the shelves, voraciously reading the label on every single can and bag of snacks before shoving them in her backpack, completely unaware of the wreckage her words had caused.

The sound of the front door’s hinges squeaks into the tense silence. All three of you whirl to face the direction of the sound. A moment later, a teenage boy carrying a gun and a radio waltzes into view. The boy makes eye contact with Ellie before hurriedly bringing his radio to his mouth and aiming his gun barrel at your head.

“Food stor-” the boy’s shrill warning is cut short when Joel fires.

Ellie jumps and clamps her hands over her ears as the deafening noise rings in the metal room.

The teenager collapses as arterial spray paints the cabinet beside him. Choking, he pushes the button on his radio again and garbles unintelligibly.

Joel makes a horrible guttural sound, pissed that he didn’t end it quickly. Joel strides closer and fires again at the boy’s head. The kid goes limp as chunks of his brain matter cling to the stainless-steel appliances.

“Let’s go,” Joel barks, angry about Ellie’s comment, the boy, and now your useless immobility at the horror before you.

“Okay, okay, okay,” you repeat as a mantra to rise above the shock.

The kid is older than Ellie, probably seventeen or so, and clearly part of a larger, well-equipped group but it was no less difficult to watch him die so horribly. You push Ellie forward, hating that you both must step over the young man’s scattered body.

Joel is already at the front door, ensuring that whoever the kid had radioed was not just outside, when the two of you reach him. You place your hand on his arm to let him know you’re there, and he grabs it.

Pulling you with him, he jogs down the car-riddled street and into the nearest alley. Over the next wordless few minutes, the three of you search for a safe place to hide for the growing night.

Occasionally, the sounds of a shout or screams touch your awareness. You’re not sure if they’re real or if your worried mind has decided to play games, and you’re too afraid of the answer to ask Joel if he hears them, too.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The drip of water is steady and lonely. Cold, damp, dark. This backroom is a depressing place to sleep.

Not that anywhere else would’ve been much cheerier, you amend.

The city had been utterly destroyed. Buildings had been blown apart by god-knows-who while bones and rusted guns litter the streets. It had been a hasty decision to hide inside this bank. Joel was sure he’d heard rapid footsteps approaching when he all but shoved you two into this building.

A steel vault, disused even before the outbreak, sits open in the corner. Though money was of no use now, you’re mildly disappointed to see that it’s empty.

Would’ve been fun to see money again. It’s been such a long time since I’ve touched a dollar.

Joel concerns you.

He is distant and short in his responses. Berating yourself over your optimism, you remember how vehemently he had maintained his emotional wall while you three trudged from the coast. He’d only cracked when you’d been in danger. A pang of some unidentified emotion zings through your gut.

You close your eyes but open them instantly when the image of the teenage boy’s head ripping apart replays. Joel had been too agitated to tell you to look away, but really, you should’ve known better. What else was Joel going to do? Patch the kid up after the first shot? Hope he didn’t communicate with his group again?

The boy’s gun was on me, you remember. Joel might’ve saved my life. Again.

Ellie curls up facing away from the rest of the room, while Joel fiddles with random items from his backpack, making more noise than you’ve ever heard him make before. As he hastily wraps a long piece of duct tape around the toe of his boot, you sit beside him.

He stills and sighs. He doesn’t want to talk.

“What’s wrong?”

His eyes are hard. “Everything's great.”

“I’m sure it’s- I know it’s all… really hard, but I offered to help you,” you softly tell him.

He shakes his head, “I don’t need your goddamn help.” Though his voice is quiet, his tone guts you open. “You think you’re helping me, but you’re makin’ things worse.”

“Wh- what’d I do?” You recoil in shock. “Tell me what you need then, since I’m doing it wrong.”

Joel doesn’t answer. He heaves himself to his feet, crosses the room with an angry stride and wrenches open the door. He’s gone before you can say another word.

“Damn, what got into him?” Ellie props herself up on her elbow, watching the older man leave.

“I have no idea,” you whisper a lie.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Joel broods just outside the door. The atrium of the bank was once spectacular. The building was historical; the original crown molding and a sky-blue mural still adorn the ceiling, darkening with age and neglect. Though the sun has set, the pale light of dusk provides enough light for Joel to see the desks where bank representatives would’ve held appointments.

Joel slumps down in one of the chairs, bracing his arms on the desk in front of him. His odd panicking that morning has been weighing on him. Sure, he knew beginning to care for you and for Ellie would be a difficult road.

But he hadn’t anticipated that. How could he? How could he have known that seeing you near danger would cause spikes of terror to stab at his chest? That he’d be unable to breathe, unable to think? He’d yanked you away from a harmless fucking corpse, for god’s sake.

He wasn’t even protecting you when he pulled you away. He was protecting himself. His losses. Joel can’t go through it again. He’s not sure he actually has gone through it in the first place. It sure feels like he’s still drowning in it.

Joel sits, ruminating, for a long while before he returns. When he does, he’s grateful that you and Ellie are asleep. Joel notices Ellie clutch her blanket closer, and he shrugs out of his jacket. He tucks the jacket over the girl, careful not to wake her. Then, Joel Miller stands and sighs from the depths of his soul.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The screaming is what wakes you. Ellie’s heart-rending, terrified screams zing around the small brick room. You bounce up in a single motion - immediately awake and alert.

Across the room, where Ellie is curled on the floor, a clicker hunches over her. She kicks at it, keeping it away from her until, in a breathtakingly horrible moment, her shoe glances off the clicker’s side and it falls upon her.

Feeling no fear for yourself, you fly across the room, gun in hand. You won’t risk shooting Ellie, so you drop next to her and aim up at its flowery head. Ellie’s forearms brace the thing away from her face, but it’s stronger than she is.

You fire and the thing goes semi-limp. The gunshot reverberates, deafening you all. Weakly, the clicker swings its limbs in an attempt to subdue its attacker, but you fire again. It jolts violently and you kick it forcefully off of your sister. It finally rolls away. Dead.

In shock, Ellie crab-walks until her back meets the brick. One had never gotten that close to her. She’d seen them, of course, even shot a few. But you had never let one get within ten yards of her. She could smell its earthy, putrid stench. Your arms cling around her shoulders as you verbally assure that she’s safe.

Dimly, you become aware that Joel is standing against the far wall next to his bed roll. His gun is out, but he looks far away and uncertain.

You push Ellie’s hair out of her eyes, her ponytail askew from the struggle. “You’re okay. You’re okay, El.”

She swallows and nods, burying her face in your arm for a moment before she scoots out of your hold. She moves as far away from the creature as she can in the tiny, dim room.

Your heart thunders in your chest as the adrenaline leaves you. Shaking, you return your gun to its holster and look over at Joel.

"You okay?" You're careful to remove all inflection. You step over to him. The look on his face is worrying.

He doesn’t answer, but his chest heaves.

“Joel,” you try to snap him from his trance. “It’s dead.”

He finally looks at you; and there it is. In his big, emotional, brown eyes, you see the storm. You see the problem. He cares too much.

Fuck. Now I get why I couldn’t help him, you think ruefully. Though it breaks your heart, you can’t save him. He was right. You’ll only make things worse.

Unable to see him like this, and knowing he didn’t want that either, you squeeze his arm and turn away.

“Okay. Can’t stay in this room now, but -” you squint up at the slit of a window, “it looks like it’s dawn, anyway. Let’s just go. Get out of here.”

Joel - finding something he can do - leaves the room to check for friends of the clicker while you pack up the food you’d managed to find the night before. Ellie’s attention follows Joel out the door, and she absent-mindedly rubs her arm.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“Back to that house? I think it was down that way - we make a left, then duck through that old pet store, then out the back door and make another left,” your final word sounds more like a question, and Joel automatically answers.

“Yeah, reckon so.”

Sun glints off of disused high-rises and the light changes rapidly over the ramshackle city. With the weight of your pack, you soon begin to pant with exertion. Ellie’s hand sweats in yours as you march, but after the events of the past day, you weren’t going to be letting go of her until she was in that car.

A shout echoes down the concrete and glass corridor of the city’s buildings. Ellie, still shaken from earlier, whimpers at the sudden sound.

A rough hand grabs your free one, pulling you forward.

“C’mon,” Joel hisses. He’s looking behind you.

Seven dirty-looking men and two women advance on you from the side street. Two of the men and one of the women wear the same green jumpsuit - a uniform?

“Hey! Fuckin’ stealing from us?” The same man shouts angrily and silences any doubt about who these people were.

Dust and pieces of asphalt fly into the air as the group takes potshots at you three. Ducking, you shove Ellie in front of you.

“Go, go!”

The three of you slip behind a burnt semi-truck, then down another alley. Joel’s hand grips yours as if you’ll disappear.

“Left, Ellie!” You scream as she runs ahead.

The sound of chasing footsteps and shouted instructions shoots fear through your chest. Joel rounds a corner a split second before you do, and a bullet cuts the brick just above you. You shriek and Joel grabs the back of your head, pulling you into a running crouch.

Through the maze of alleyways, Ellie manages to navigate back to the road you’d found the house with the car.

“I can see it!” She yells.

“Joel, you got the keys?” You’re entirely out of breath.

He rips them from his jacket pocket and calls Ellie’s name. When she turns, he tosses the keys to her, “Start the car, kid.”

“What are you doing?”

“Shooting at them,” he answers, slipping the rifle from his shoulder.

Ellie sprints down the street, the blue house only three blocks away. Pumping her arms, she doesn’t even feel the pain in her right.

Joel backtracks to the alley you’d come from and positions himself. You join him. Sweating and pensive, he looks at you with warring emotions.

“Go with Ellie. Both of us don’t need to be here.”

“Shut up,” you snap.

The woman in the uniform appears first. Her curly hair is kept in a messy bun. That’s the only thing you internalize before you shoot and kill her. A wail goes up from one of her companions, and vulgar promises fly loose from the men’s mouths. The group stops just out of sight - unwilling to walk into the obvious ambush.

“Stay the fuck back,” you yell.

“Won’t bite you, girlie,” the other woman jeers.

Her voice is overlapped by one of the men talking to the group, “We could use the two girls.”

Joel's cheek twitches and he pushes his forearm against your chest, forcing you out of sight. He goes intentionally quiet.

After a significant beat, a man peeks his head around the corner, curious about the silence and Joel’s bullet enters his left eye.

“You’re dead, motherfucker. You’re fucking dead,” one of the survivors screams. Mumbles, curses, and the sounds of guns being checked and reloaded fill the concrete alleyway.

Joel ignores their threats against him.

“You’re gonna run. Ellie can start the car, but she can’t drive,” he reasons with you. He fires a few shots into the empty alley to remind the group of his presence.

He wasn’t optimistic. You would be faster than him. One of you could make the distance before those fuckers got line-of-sight, but it wouldn’t be Joel. Age and years of hard living took their toll.

You laugh humorlessly. “I’m not leaving you here, you asshole.”

“Okay, well, what’s your plan, smartass?” He asks viciously. “You think they’re gonna stay there ‘til we get gone?”

“I don’t know, Joel, but I’m not fucking leaving you here. What are you bein’ so self-sacrificing for?”

“I wasn’t gonna stand here forever,” he levels you with a guilty look.

“You’re- you were going to ditch us?”

“It’s a win-win. I make sure they don’t follow you, then I… go my own way.”

“That’s a win-win?” You can’t hide the hurt in your voice.

The jeers have stopped. You peek around the building and see most of the crew stalking down the path.

Wow, not the brightest.

Your argument with Joel stalls as the two of you fire upon your pursuers. Several people fall. Whether they’re killed or maimed, you’ll never know. You grab Joel’s collar and drag him backward with you. He has no choice but to run.

You run through brambles and weeds and dirt-covered front yards, leaping over bushes to avoid the aim of any survivors. But no gunshots ring out. The blue house grows in your vision as you close in on it.

A breath-stealing minute later, you realize something as the yard comes into view.

Ellie isn’t there. You bust into the garage to find the red sedan sitting untouched. Backtracking into the yard, you whirl around, searching. A flash in the grass catches your attention. Squatting, you retrieve the car keys. Nothing is clicking in your mind. Nothing makes sense.

She should be right here.

“Where the fuck is my sister?” Your voice shakes.

Joel, having been several moments behind you, sees you crouched in the grass with the keys in your hand, and immediately a switch is flipped inside him.

Ellie is gone. Joel will find her. His crime of failing to act during the clicker attack can be atoned for.

He sprints back toward the group. Dazed but full of adrenaline, you stand and run after him.

It’s quiet now. No one, save for four bodies, is present in the alley. Joel motions a different direction, and you follow. He was right, walking down that way would’ve been stupid.

The road you'd come from earlier was a main thoroughfare, so most of the side streets and alleys fed into it. Joel picks one and hides behind a large, scrubby hedge at the end of the row. He cranes his neck around the corner.

In the distance, seven people travel away from you. Two of them seemed to have come from the direction of the blue house. One of them, much shorter than the others, is being jerked forward every few steps.

Ellie.

You dash out from behind the bush to rush the group, despite their increasing distance, when you're held in place by a hand gripping your wrist.

"Gotta get closer," Joel rationalizes.

“Joel, we need to go now. We can't let them get wherever they're going. She’s just a kid, Joel! She’s my sister," your words string together in rushed panic. Desolate tears fall from your eyes.

Joel grabs your face, “I know. Look at me, baby - I know. We’ll get her back; just trust me.” His warm, determined brown eyes provide a stable place for you to land.

You touch his hands on your face and nod. He kisses your forehead quickly.

Risking exposure momentarily, you two sprint past several cratered buildings before finding cover behind a truck. Trailing behind the group like carrion, you make slow progress. They’re still several blocks ahead of you. As you get closer, it’s obvious that Ellie fights hard; she refuses to go quietly.

Fear twists your stomach, but rage twists Joel’s mind.

You’re closing in - so close, you can hear your sister cursing her kidnappers’ mothers, when the world goes black for a moment.

You feel small pebbles from the asphalt embed themselves in your palms. A jolt in your shoulder tells you that the ground has welcomed you. The buildings around you tilt and double. The faint sound of yelling and the dull sound of punches being thrown reaches your ears.

Fighting nausea, you close your eyes and lie still for a moment.

Maybe several moments.

The noises have stopped.

With a herculean effort, you sit up. A sharp, throbbing pain dings your skull. Curious, you raise a hand up to the back of your head and - oh, god - thick, crimson liquid coats your fingertips.

“C’mon, baby,” a man with a concerned southern lilt breathes. A gritty hand rubs your cheek.

Joel? You wonder. Or maybe you say his name aloud, you’re not sure.

“I got you,” Joel raises you by the upper part of your arm.

“What happened?” You clutch your aching head.

“You were blindsided,” Joel’s voice ices with hatred, "by a fuckin' coward."

“Where is he?”

Joel doesn’t answer; instead, he pulls you back in the direction you’d come toward a busted plate glass window.

And away from Ellie, you realize.

“Joel. My sister,” you protest.

He doesn’t speak, just continues his warpath. He helps you through the massive opening, glass crunching underneath boots, and your eyes are instantly greeted by a duct-taped man sitting in a barber’s chair. Tape covers his mouth, but you can tell his nose is irreparably broken. He’s conscious and his eyes follow Joel as if he were the man’s greatest fear.

“You were out cold,” Joel frowns. “I couldn’t leave you and I had to deal with this piece’a shit.” He looks away from you to admit his next words, “I lost sight of Ellie.”

He had made an impossible choice, but you’re upset anyway.

“She’s a child, J-”

“I fuckin’ know that. I know. I didn’t choose between you, I dealt with the immediate problem. That was this,” he points his knife at the man, “an’ you bleeding in the street.”

You wince as you touch your head again. It hurts like hell, but you’re certain it’s just a gash and a concussion. Both hopefully minor.

“Why’d you leave him alive?” You glare at the man.

“He smashed that bottle over your head so I rushed him; took me too long to get him down and by then, Ellie was gone.” Joel approaches his captive, growing larger and more menacing with each step. “But he’s gonna tell us where they took her.”

Without asking a single question, Joel plunges his hunting knife into the man’s hand, pinning it to the chair. The tape around his mouth prevents the shrill tone, but his scream is audible anyway. Joel leaves the knife inside the man’s appendage while he pulls half of the tape off his mouth.

“Where'd they go?” Joel asks calmly in his gravelly baritone.

“I don’t know them, man, I’m not with them,” he cries. “Listen, my name’s Steven, I don-”

“Wrong answer,” Joel replaces the tape before sawing his knife through the man’s hand, effectively tearing it in half.

Nearly passing out, Steven hyperventilates in pain. Grime and sweat roll down the man’s face. Joel wipes the bloody knife on the man’s shirt.

You collapse in a seated position to the debris-covered floor, weakened by everything that has occurred since you decided to come to this fucking city. Your eyes seek wretched solace in Joel. He looks confident. In control. In his element.

Twice now he has weaponized his brutality towards those who had hurt you; it’s difficult to reject or put name to the feelings it invokes. You watch with an intensity you should be disturbed by as Joel stabs his knife into his victim’s other hand.

“Lie to me again and I’ll rip your goddamn tongue out,” he promises, his voice somehow both hoarse and strong.

You know you should be horrified. You know this is theoretically wrong. But, like the others you watched receive Joel’s wrath, you can’t find it in you to care.

“All this over a-” Steven wheezes, “a girl I didn’t even touch?” He continues babbling for a moment before Joel answers him.

“You did touch her,” Joel wrenches the knife - still inside the guy’s hand - in your direction. The man wails. “Answer my fuckin’ question.”

“I don’t know, man,” Steven pleads. “I’m not in good enough with them.”

Something glints in Joel’s eyes which makes Steven continue hysterically, “But I do see them by the school a lot.”

“The school. Where?” Joel pulls steel from flesh and a gasping cry issues forth from Steven.

“D-down the road a half-mile, make a - a left at the gas station, then follow that road for five, maybe six, blocks.”

“Guards?”

Steven closes his eyes and whimpers.

“Any fucking guards?” Joel demands, looming ominously over the bloody man.

You clench your legs together in a rush. Too much had happened. Too much damage to your mind and your brain - nothing is processing correctly. Truthfully, you’ve never felt so safe, so cared for. Like a brand or a wax seal - heat, pressure, damage - the lengths to which he was willing to go for you and Ellie intensely bonds you to him. Nothing you feel now can you ever admit to Joel. You want him to heal, to stop his violent catharsis, not indulge it.

“Not now, too many of them died over the winter!” Steven screams. “There’s maybe sixteen or seventeen of them, but you killed some and I don’t know anymore - I don’t! Don’t fucking kill me, please.”

From the moment Joel saw your blood on the cold road, this man was dead. And he would be the first in a series to find out just how gray Joel’s morality is.

Joel turns away. He walks over to you and crouches, taking in your battered appearance. His heart lunges against his chest. He was going to get your sister back and he was going to make every single one of them pay for it. The flickering fear of failure lurks in his chest, but it’s stifled by his righteous indignation at the sight of you.

“You okay?” His fingers brush a lock of dirty hair from your face.

And you’re struck by his softness. The dichotomy of his easy violence and his gentle care is what pierces your soul. He would do anything for you and Ellie. Joel would slip back into the violent man he’d been and he would face his haunted memories. You knew which of those was the hardest for him, too.

You simply nod, cow-eyed and dumbstruck for the moment. Two thoughts cycle in your mind, and you voice the only one you can: “We need to go get Ellie.”

He also nods, then stands.

“Why?” He steps toward the man and indicates you.

“T-told you, man, I’m not in good with them. I thought killin’ someone they were after would help my shot.”

Joel’s knife thunks into Steven’s thigh. He pulls it out just as quickly.

“Why?” the dead man shrieks. “I told you everything I know.”

“I know you did,” Joel assures, but his near-mocking tone is not meant to comfort.

With all his strength, ignited by the memory of your bloody face as you fell to the ground, he plunges the knife into Steven’s chest and twists. A sickening sound as though the wind had been knocked from Steven fills the empty room.

Wiping the blade clean with Steven’s shirt, Joel turns uninterestedly from the expiring man. He holds out his hand for you and you instantly take it. He hauls you to your feet.

“’s go get our girl,” he murmurs into your hair.

You nod vehemently and follow him out onto the street. His steadying presence aids you through the pain in your head and your heart.

Trusting Joel entirely with navigation, he takes you through a park adjacent to the gas station his unwilling informant had mentioned. In the stark light of mid-morning, the rusted swing set and playground pierce your heart, reminding you of outbreak day. You'd told her your parents had asked you to pick her up, but that wasn't true. You had snuck Ellie from school because you were lonely.

It comes as no surprise to either of you: torture could get information, but how reliable the details were was murky. In his haste to get Joel gone, the man had underestimated the distance between the gas station and the school.

As the two of you jog along the sidewalk, Joel almost hopes to come across someone. Inside his chest is a riot of anguish and a desire to let it possess him. He had never lied to himself. Joel never felt more at peace than when he was exorcizing his grief through violence.

“I see it,” you pant, “I see the flag pole.”

The school is a single-story, T-shaped, brick building. Thankfully, you don’t have to cross the street to get to it. One man stands on the steps leading to the glass front doors with the very same gun Joel carries so faithfully.

You frown deeply - why only one guard? These people must know you would come for your child. A potentially paranoid explanation that you hate instantly jumps into your mind: because whatever they’re doing to her is more interesting.

As if you could physically stop the thought, you smack your forehead. Then you meet Joel’s eyes and see the exact same thought reflected back. He looks grim.

“How do you want to do this?” You ask Joel determinedly.

“We take out the guard, then go in.” He answers as if he’s simply picking up a kid from school.

“That’s not enough of a plan for me,” you state. “We split up to look for her.”

Joel is immediately shaking his head. “No.”

“Yes. One of us will find her. It’ll be faster if we split up. Whoever gets her, gets out, and we’ll all meet at that park.”

“Goddammit, I said no.” Joel growls, grabbing your jaw.

Worry and sorrow color his face. But you both know you’re right, and you continue speaking as if he's not looking at you like he’s losing a piece of himself.

“I’ll meet you at the park at -” you squint at the sun, “at noon, I guess.” You’re pretty sure that gives you both just under an hour.

His fingers are frozen on your jaw in desperation; the look in his eyes becomes unbearable, so you shoot forward, pecking him on the lips, and then take off around the side of the school.

Joel fights the stampede of his heart by tearing his eyes from your shrinking shape and focusing on the guard.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“We haven’t hurt her,” the short, red-headed man states. His palms face Joel.

“That’s great. Doesn’t help you,” Joel raises his rifle.

“You shoot him and you die,” another man to Joel’s left shouts.

The space is set up like a conference room. A long table, likely from the cafeteria, sits in the center of the cluster of offices. The red-headed man stands at the head of the table as if he's expecting The Last Supper, and Joel’s newest problem emerges from an office to his left.

Joel’s attention shifts to the massive wooden monolith to his right. It had been the front desk, which meant it was taller than usual and sturdy. It would be the best cover he could get in this clusterfuck.

Faster than he thought he could, Joel rolls onto the ground. In frustration, the gunman fires a few .22 rounds at Joel’s moving form. Slouching underneath the desk, Joel feels and hears the satisfying thunk, thunk, of the smaller bullets lodging in the thick wood.

“Coward,” the man jeers.

A different male voice speaks. The redhead. “We want to negotiate. We want our food back. The girl for the food.”

Joel could roll his eyes. Did they think he was that stupid? He had killed at least six of their people on his way inside this building, and probably more - definitely more depending on how they felt about ol’ Steven - and the very first one had been a kid.

“Where’s the girl?” Joel calls out.

“Where’s your other girl?” The gunman retorts. “You the one who taught her how to shoot?”

Joel’s eyes narrow. Against all reason, he had been hoping they’d forgotten about you.

“She shot my fucking wife, you son of a bitch,” the man continues, shaking in rage. “I’ll kill that girl in front of you. She your kid? I hope she is.”

Joel’s not entirely sure which girl this guy means now, but either one is a sore subject, so he pops around the wooden structure as low to the ground as he can, and fires off several shots.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“I’m kind of offended,” your lighthearted tone sounds almost shrill to your ears. “Only two guards on your cell?” Cell is a little much. They’d placed Ellie in a classroom and stood outside of the door. You’d picked them off before they even saw you.

Granted, your gunfire had alerted the rest of the building and rained hell down on Joel when he started shooting right after you in a wholly separate part of the building.

Ellie doesn’t acknowledge your joke. That’s how you know your blustery attitude isn’t working. She wasn’t a toddler anymore. Shaking off or pretending the pain wasn’t real was not going to work here.

She falls into you, her arms locked behind your back. You kiss the top of her head.

“Th- they were going to take turns with me. They told me how. They told me how you’d find pieces of me. I hit them, I made one bleed but -”

You cut off her flow with a shh. “That’s not happening. We’re going to get the car.”

Peeking out the door, the sound of gunfire coming from the other section of the building, you see another man run toward the fight. You shove aside your abject terror for Joel. Ellie needs you.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Joel hadn’t been quite as quick as he thought. He winces at his thigh. The denim is torn and bloody from the bullet wound through the right side of his leg. Since it was a goddamn .22, the shell was probably still inside his flesh, too. His only ray of sunshine was that it hadn’t hit his femur nor an artery.

Joel covers his head as more splinters from the desk fly past. The sound of the gunfire was deafening. Three more men had appeared from behind each of the closed office doors. If Joel’s count was correct, and so was Steven, there should only be five or six men left. He figured one would be guarding Ellie, so what he had to deal with here was likely the rest of the crew.

Breathing ragged, he holds his rifle close to his chest, waiting for his moment. It comes: a pause in the firing and the sound of two - maybe three - men reloading. Joel kneels on his good leg and pops his head and weapon above the desk. He fires upon the man who threatened to kill you in front of him, and watches with satisfaction as the man’s chest blows blood like confetti.

Hurling curses and non-words, the other men scramble to finish reloading, ducking behind doors and walls for cover.

The red-headed man is the closest to the one Joel just killed, and he seems off somehow. But Joel’s attention is diverted as a body comes crashing around the far side of Joel’s shelter.

The human kamikaze comes from Joel’s right, that’s his only excuse for failing to hear the large person’s strides. The bald man barrels into Joel, knocking him over, but he fails to knock Joel’s gun from his hands to the man’s mortal mistake. A single gunshot.

Two down. Three left.

Joel rolls over the now-dead bald guy and examines the room from this new direction. One of the men is hiding behind an office door. A very flimsy, particle-board door. Joel grins briefly and fires through a material he had touched every day in a previous life.

A loud thud comes as the body falls to the floor.

“Stop!” A voice Joel’s already heard several times screams. “Stop. You’ve killed enough of us.”

Joel makes a sour face to himself. To his count, there were three of them left - red-head, his friend here, and whoever was guarding Ellie. That didn’t seem like enough dead.

“No, I haven’t.”

“All we wanted was our food,” the man bellows. “You can have your little bitch.”

“Where is she?” Joel takes great care to keep the pain out of his voice.

To his vague surprise, no answer comes. Joel peers around the wall of the desk. A shadow moves inside an office, but Joel doesn’t think he can shoot through the table legs and wall that divide him from the unseen man.

Right before feeling a searing pain in his side, Joel wonders where the red-headed man went. But then he violently rolls, buckling the very same man’s knees. The redhead falls upon Joel and shoves the barrel of Joel’s gun out of range, gripping the barrel tight. Struggling but strangely weak, Joel punches the man in the nose, breaking it spectacularly.

The man only grunts and spits his blood onto Joel. Joel grunts and swings the gun at the man’s face, but it glances off his chin as the would-be target wildly tries to wrest the gun away.

Footsteps on the thin, industrial carpet alert Joel to the advancing presence of the last man. Allowing the redhead to pull the gun - still in Joel’s hands - upward, Joel uses the confusion to twist the gun to his left and pull the trigger in the direction of the final man.

A piercing scream shreds Joel’s ears as the oncoming person turns out to be the other woman from earlier. She falls to the floor clutching her stomach.

The redheaded man seems as though his brain has malfunctioned. The man is motionless for a fleeting moment and Joel’s jaw clenches in preparation. He understands who he has just killed. Now both men would be fighting for the same reason. A terrible roar is followed by a punch across Joel’s cheek, then another across his jaw, and nearly a third before Joel manages to overpower him.

Using his weight against him, Joel sacrifices the gun, dropping it to the floor, to violently shove the man to the side. Joel gets to his feet, unwilling to turn his back to pick up his gun. Instead, he draws his knife; a wicked grin curls from the depths of his adrenaline-soaked mind.

Driven by grief and hate, the redhead lunges for Joel and slices at Joel’s defensive arm. Joel realizes for the first time that his dueling partner has a shiny, sharp object in his hand.

How’d I miss that?

Joel bulldozes the man in the chest, lifting him off his feet, then pummeling him to the floor. Joel feels a sting to his upper back, but he shoves his knife into the screaming redhead’s chest once, twice, three times.

He sits back on his haunches, then falls to his ass, panting. In the silence, Joel slowly returns to his pained body. His thigh, his shoulder, his forearm, and … his side? Gingerly raising his shirt reveals a half-inch hole in his flesh. He looks up at the body before him and squints at the fucking letter opener in the man’s hand.

Joel’s head thunks onto the wood frame behind him and he shuts his eyes.

When he reopens them, mere slits on his face, the sun blazes through the huge window across the room. It must be noon, but Joel’s body refuses to obey his brain. Unbearable pain smothers him - pulls him down. He lets his eyelids close again.

But… it’s too quiet in this building. His eyes shoot open wildly this time, and he bares his teeth, grunting, as he crawls his way up the furniture to his feet. For all he knew, you and Ellie were dead in the corridor. Or worse.

Using his rifle as a semi-crutch, he hobbles out of the office space and down the linoleum hallway. Two bodies lie at the end, their clothes not the color he remembers you and Ellie wearing, but his heart rate skyrockets, anyway.

Joel softly calls your name, then Ellie’s. As he gets closer to the bodies, he frees a breath at their appearance.

Men. Not the girls.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

One of the swings on the playground moves in the wind. The area is deadly quiet, and it terrifies you. The one time you want to see a human being, you don’t.

“He said he’d be here?” Ellie demands from the backseat.

You had pulled the sedan behind a tiny building containing the park’s bathrooms. The position gave you the perfect view. Alternating between wincing at the position of the sun and searching the grounds, you tap your fingers on the steering wheel and don’t respond to Ellie.

The choice before you was starkly unpleasant. Leave your sister and go find Joel, take your sister to go find Joel, or leave without him.

He was going to leave us, the miserable part of your brain dredges up his choice earlier. Maybe he wants us to go. Maybe it’d be… better…

Better for him. You know it wouldn’t be the case for you. Or for Ellie. She has yet to stop craning her neck in every direction looking for Joel.

“You have to go find him,” Ellie insists eventually. It’s well-past the time you told him to meet you.

“I’m not leaving you alone again.” You state, though you had been considering just that.

“I’ll come with you.” She argues, but you hear the underlying fear of returning to that place.

“Absolutely not.” You veto.

“Then I’ll stay here. I’ll be okay. There’s guns in here. Or I can hide in the bathroom and lock the door, if you think that’s better.” Ellie opens the car door, making your decision for you.

“Ellie!” You hiss.

She pulls a handgun Joel had given her from her bag and nods at you. You fling open your car door, but she’s inside the bathroom before you can rush around the vehicle. She deadbolts the heavy door.

“Go find him. Please.”

Continue ->

#joel miller #the last of us #tlou #my writing #pedro pascal #ellie williams #joel miller fanfic #the last of us fanfic #tlou fanfic #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #my fics #whump #joel miller whump

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cruelfeline · 10 months ago

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The plants have gone into their pots!

It's kind of underwhelming, all said and done. It always seems like a lot of plants when I load them into the car; once their arranged on my patio-porch, then don't seem nearly as impressive. Thoigh they'll do some growing, provided I remember to water them!

NGL, it's always kind of a bummer to be reminded how much I hate gardening. Especially because it should - theoretically - be something I love: being outside, planting flowers, growing things, breathing the fresh air.

But it's the perfect activity to really call attention to how ungainly and clumsy and just... ill-equipped my body is for even basic physical activity. Soil spilled everywhere, pots knocked over, legs cramping, somehow managing to cut or bruise or bang something despite trying to be careful. I can never seem to do the thing with the sort of finesse and accuracy and competence that seems relatively easy for everyone else. Really reminds me of how much I hate my body.

Ah well. At least the flowers are nice. I guess.

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dominimoonbeam · 2 years ago

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Don’t Run - 3

story tags: mobsters, dark themes, bad childhood, arranged marriage, reference to past violence, reference to past murder

earlier chapters here!

DON’T RUN - THREE

It didn’t take Freya long to get bored in the apartment.

She’d spent the night in the guest room, but she hadn’t unpacked. She locked the bedroom and bathroom doors when she showered in the morning. He wasn’t back but she still wasn’t taking any chances.

After drying her hair and redressing, she walked around the empty apartment again. The rugs were soft and the furniture expensive, but the walls were bare, and the tables were decorated in bobbles that broached modern art. It looked like the stage for a play.

She would have doubted Adi lived there at all if it weren’t for the bedroom that was clearly his. She hadn’t gone so far as to open the drawers or the closet doors, but there were a few houseplants in this room and the dresser had an open case of watches that looked like his style. Which was to say, expensive. They looked expensive as hell.

Freya took note of them. Maybe she’d take them when she ran.

The table beside his bed had another small plant in a white pot, under the base of it was an envelope. It had been opened, but she’d have to pull it out from under the pot to get a look at it.

Freya backed out of the room. She wasn’t ready to go through his belongings yet. So far, they hadn’t crossed any lines with each other. He wasn’t exactly her enemy, not any more than he had been since they were born, at least.

She did open all the drawers, cabinets, and cupboards in the rest of the house though.

She found the guns, tucked away in just about every corner of the house. She memorized them too, options to take when she left or when shit hit the fan. If he attacked her, she could run like she was trying to hide in that closet at the end of the hall. There was no reason for him to know she had found that gun under the linens on the top shelf. There was no reason Adi Ellis would expect her to use it.

The sun came up over the buildings and light poured into the apartment through all the big windows on that side.

Freya forgot her plans and her situation for a moment.

She opened the sliding door and stepped barefoot onto the balcony. The wind was cold this high up, but she didn’t care. A few more steps and she touched the wide railing and looked out at Everton. She had never been that high up before. Never spent a night in the city either. It was loud, car horns and voices rising to her ears even that early in the morning. But when the sky turned pink and orange, light spilling between the buildings to reach for her, she didn’t mind the sounds of the city at all. The windows on the buildings lit up, gleaming sunlight, doing their part to guide it through every alley shadow.

Maybe she would run away to another city. Someplace big like Everton. Or someplace bigger than Everton. She stayed on the balcony until all the pinks were gone and the sky had turned blue. She leaned against the railing and watched the people below coming and going. She couldn’t make anyone out at that distance, even if everyone in Everton weren’t strangers to her, but she made out the awning over the front of the building. Every time a car pulled up, she wondered if it would be Adi, but knew it wouldn’t be. His car had been pretty distinct. She smiled at that. Good. It would make her husband easy to see coming.

Freya pushed away from the railing and stretched, only then noticing the arrangement of furniture on the patio running the full length of the living room, with a hot tub in the corner.

Her stomach growled.

She needed breakfast and coffee.

She closed the sliding door when she went back in but was quickly thwarted by the fancy coffee machine in Adi’s kitchen. She fiddled with it long enough to seriously consider just eating the espresso beans.

He had no food either. Just liquor and protein shakes. Who the hell was this guy?

At least she had a solid excuse to go outside now. One that wouldn’t look like she was running. Wouldn’t want to tip him off early.

She pulled her denim jacket on and stepped into her ankle boots. She hesitated at the door. She didn’t have keys. Could she just leave it unlocked? The building seemed pretty secure and there hadn’t been any other doors on his floor. She went back to her room, grabbed up her backpack, and then headed out.

She jabbed the button for the elevator and waited. It arrived and she stepped on, but then there was the problem of the buttons. There were none. How—

The elevator began to descend. She focused on the numbers dropping rather than the metal box she was in. The counted the floors as they whooshed by, mumbling them aloud under her breath to try to blot out the sound of soil being tossed onto the outside of the box she was in. It wasn’t real. She wasn’t in the ground. In fact, she was still several floors off the ground level…

Just when her nails bit into her palms and her breathing grew tight, the doors opened.

Freya stepped out into the lobby a little too fast, surprising the man at the front desk.

He blinked at her before collecting himself and offering a polite, “Good morning.”

She walked up to the desk with a smile, her heartbeat coming back to normal. “Good morning. If I leave to find food, will I be able to get back inside?”

The man was in his mid-forties, salt and pepper beard trimmed tight and hair in perfect order. “Of course, ma’am. But if you’d like food delivered we can always send out for it.”

“Oh no, I’ll go on my own,” she said quickly, before he could explain how. The last thing she needed was no excuse to leave the tower. She had shit to do. “My name is Freya.” She offered her hand over the counter.

He looked surprised but didn’t leave her hanging. His shake was quick but firm. “Yes, ma’am.”

She tried not to laugh. She was definitely a fish out of water. “And your name is?”

He colored a little. “Miles. Frank Miles, ma’am.”

“You can just call me Freya.”

He looked skeptical.

She glanced toward the glass doors and the two men in suits standing out there. They looked like bouncers, but this wasn’t a nightclub. “If I want coffee and something to eat, do you recommend that I go right or left, Miles?”

“On foot? Right. A couple blocks and you’ll be surrounded by cafes, ma’am.” He paused for only a few seconds before adding, voice low like maybe it was inappropriate to explain. “One of those men work for your…Mr. Ellis. He’ll drive you anywhere you want. We also have a grocery service in the building to have anything you want delivered.”

Freya straightened and looked at Miles. Oh, he knew things. Did he also know the conditions of her marriage? Was it public knowledge that their union had been arranged? Did the people of Everton know her by name or reputation? “Thank you. Which one?”

He didn’t point but he described him.

She nodded, about to leave when she leaned back. “One more question and then I’ll be out of your hair. The elevator… How does it work without buttons?”

A smile got away from him before he could stop it. He took a step back and gestured to his desk, inviting her to peek. Freya leaned up onto her toes and over the counter. A little screen showed the inside of the lift. “It’s a security measure, ma’am. We know what floor you live on and send you up.”

She whistled and dropped back to her heels. “What happens if the power goes out or something?”

“In that case, the lift would return to the lobby and I’m afraid everyone would have to take the stairs, ma’am. But power outages are rare on this side of town.”

“Where are the stairs?” she asked, maybe a little too hopefully because his eyes widened a fraction.

Miles gestured toward the elevators. “The door is discreet, but it’s just on the other side there.”

Freya nodded, her morning already fruitful. Now if only she could get some actual fruit… “Okay, I’m off, Miles. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck, ma’am,” he said with a little smile.

She pulled her backpack on and headed for the front door, surprised when one of the two men out there opened it for her. The other looked instantly dubious. The Ellis thug. She held out her hand to him. “Freya.” No need for the last name, especially since she wasn’t sure which one she was supposed to be using.

He frowned hard at that hand but took it. His shake was not as warm as Miles’s had been.

“I’m not going to give you trouble but I am going to walk down that street to find a café,” she explained, pointing when she had her hand back.

He continued to frown. “When do you expect to be back?” he asked, like he wouldn’t be trailing her or sending someone else to do the job.

“When will Adi be back?”

He didn’t have an answer for that, so she shrugged and started walking.

Ezra didn’t mean to meet Freya in line at his favorite café.

He didn’t even know it was her at first.

It was early and he’d left Adi still asleep in his bed. He’d gone for a jog and then stopped in to get a coffee before heading to his gym.

She stuck out in a way that was hard to put his finger on. She wore a cotton dress with tiny buttons up the front, and her hands were buried deep in the pockets of a well-worn denim jacket. Everton was full of different sorts of people and styles, and yet, there was something about her. Maybe it was the way she watched everything and everyone like it was all new, or how she scrutinized the menu on the board behind the baristas while the line shuffled along.

He found himself wondering if she’d be able to pick something by the time she got to the front. What would she get? He would guess maybe matcha or something sweet. She picked up a yoghurt cup with granola and eyed the pastries inside the glass cabinet.

Ezra suddenly wished he was wearing something other than sweats and a tank top. Would be great if he wasn’t sweaty too. What were the chances of seeing her again? Not bad if she made this place a regular haunt. There were a ton of people he saw every week. But there were many more he saw once and never again.

“Did you forget your wallet or something?” she asked.

He didn’t answer at first, wondering who she was talking to until she looked over her shoulder and through the dark waves of her hair at him. “What?”

She smiled, the gesture easy but with something sharp at the edges of it—something familiar. “You’re staring. I figure you’re either planning to mug me or ask me to buy your coffee.” She didn’t sound offended either way and definitely not worried. That should have been a giveaway too.

Ezra should have realized what he was dealing with. He’s spent his whole life in the company of criminals, but the thing about her that he couldn’t place, disguised the things he should have. He laughed. “Sorry. I promise I’m not mugging you and I can buy my own coffee.”

She turned a little more, really looking at him. The line shuffled forward and she took the step backwards. “Is there a park or a gym around here?”

He smiled. “Both actually. The park is that way,” he pointed, “and the gym is just around the corner. You’re new to town?” He hoped she’d say yes and not that she was just passing through.

“Very new,” she confirmed. “This is my first coffee here.”

He whistled. “Good instincts. This place is my favorite and I’ve been to every café in Everton. Second best is a bakery in old town called Connie’s but you’d have to hop on the subway to get there. Do you live on this side of town?” It was mostly high-end buildings like the one Adi lived in and a few older ones like his own. Other than that, it was businesses. She could have just as easily in the area for a new job.

She nodded. “Yeah. Just down the street.”

“I can give you some tips if you want? Point out the best places in the area?”

She smiled. It was fragile, something skeptical in her eyes, like she wasn’t used to kindness without an ulterior motive. Really, that should have given her away to him too. Adi used to look like that when they were kids…he still did with most people. “Right now? You’re not busy?”

Ezra shrugged. “Already ran. I can do for a walk.”

She considered it. It was her turn to order and their conversation paused. She got black coffee in the largest cup size, to go. She paid with cash from her pocket and then bagged the yogurt while he ordered is flat white.

“I should warn you,” she said. “If you’re trying to lure me to an alley to mug me or toss me into a van, I’m a lot of trouble.”

Ezra laughed, shoving his phone back into his pocket after paying. “I don’t doubt you and I give my word, I will never toss you into a van.”

Her smile warmed. She held out her hand. “Freya.”

Ezra lost his smile for a split second, and she saw it.

Her smile fell too, and that felt worse than the shock of realizing who she was. Freya Morgan. The mob princess Adi had married last night. The one he’d dumped in his apartment before coming over to Ezra’s. The one that was absolutely not to be trusted, up to no good, and gunning for the Ellises.

Her hand began to drop and her gaze flicked away.

Ezra caught her hand, pulling it forward and shaking it. “Ezra Laurent.” His name meant nothing to her. Why would it? But her hand squeezed his before letting go.

Her coffee order came up and she grabbed it. “I can find my way around on my own, but thanks for the offer,” she gave him a thin smile and an out.

He probably should have taken it. “Hang on.” His to-go cup came up and he took it, taking a couple quick steps to catch up to her. “I’ve lived here my whole life. It would be a waste not to share my wisdom.”

Freya huffed a little, a cautious smile returning to her features. “Wisdom? Really?”

He opened the door for her. “Definitely! I know which restaurants are barely passing code and should be avoided at all costs. You’re going to reap the benefits of every food poisoning I have suffered.”

She laughed. “Shit, way to make that charming, I guess…”

“I have a lot of skills, Freya. Finding the upside is only the beginning.” And damn if he wasn’t right, making friends with Adi’s wife while he still had the man’s scent all over him had to be some sort of twisted form of finding the bright side of things.

He realized this might be his first and only chance to talk to her before she knew about him. He and Adi were no secret. They’d been best friends since they were kids and more than friends almost just as long. They weren’t dating, not really. They weren’t exclusive or planning their futures or anything. But they’d never had a future without the other either.

Would Freya care? It wasn’t like the marriage had been any more her choice than his. But Adi hadn’t been able to tell Ezra anything about what she thought or felt about it, because the dumbass hadn’t talked to her about it. Hadn’t really talked to her much at all. He’d literally married her, taken her to his apartment, and fled.

From what he’d gleaned, Adi either expected her to be plotting against his family or crying her eyes out.

Freya didn’t seem to be doing either of those things. She took a tentative drink of her coffee and when it didn’t burn her tongue, she took a big drink and sighed like it had been ages since she last had a cup.

He thought of the espresso machine in Adi’s apartment and hid a smile against the lip of his cup. Did Adi’s place even have food? Usually not… He made a mental note to point out the grocery stores to her in the neighborhood.

Adi woke up alone in Ezra’s shoebox apartment.

He rolled off the frameless bed, stretched naked, and then made his way to the tiny shower. Even half-awake, he was aware that he had abandoned his luxury skyrise apartment to a stranger and crowded Ezra. Crowding Ezra was, admittedly, one of his favorite hobbies. It was also one of the only places he had ever felt at home.

Ezra’s apartment was one room with a half-kitchen and a bathroom with a shower that could barely fit one man at a time.

Adi had jokingly told Ezra to move in with him more than once. It wasn’t really a joke but he didn’t know how to ask him in any real way, so it came out like a joke—like it was just because Ezra’s place was shit and it was such an inconvenience to Adi to be there.

They lived so close that Adi could have gone home to shower. He couldn’t even pretend Freya was the reason he didn’t. He liked Ezra’s place more, not because of the bones but because of the soul. He knew that if he could get Ezra to move in with him, his apartment would end up cluttered with artwork and pictures. There would be magnets on the refrigerator and books left lying on the coffee table.

Ezra had said they were a bad fit because of that—because he would make a mess of Adi’s perfect home. He even threatened to get a dog if he moved in.

The idea had been one of the most thrilling of Adi’s life, and Adi did not have a boring life. The idea of that mess, of Ezra’s mess, officially rooted in his home, had been so good that he could barely speak. And he hadn’t. He’d let that conversation turn into a fantasy like any other that got too close to serious.

It was almost laughable now, how his aversion to anything serious had somehow led him to being married to a fucking stranger when he might have been—nope. Not thinking about that. He and Ezra were friends. Good friends. Friends who fucked.

He got out of the shower and dressed. Soft gray slacks and a white t-shirt. He always had some clothes at Ezra’s.

He was just getting ready to go when his phone chimed.

E: I met your wife.

Adi blinked at the message, smirking and typing back one handed on his way out.

A: haha

He locked the door and headed toward the stairs.

E: lunch today?

A: Depends. Are you bringing my wife?

E: do you want me to?

Adi stopped on the steps between the second and first floor. He stared at the screen, suddenly not sure Ezra was joking.

A: Are you serious?

E: I can ask her if you want…

A: No.

A: Knock it off. I’ll see you at 1.

Adi tapped his screen and brought up his contacts. He called Gil and held his phone to his ear, pushing out of the building and onto the street facing the park. Gil answered after only one ring.

“Sir?”

“Where is she?” Adi asked, to the point.

“She went out for coffee and a walk,” he reported, voices and car sounds in the background. There was a palpable pause and he knew the man was trying to decide what to say. “She’s with Ezra but I think they met by chance…”

“You’re not tailing Ezra,” Adi snapped and then paused, making himself take a breath. No, nope, don’t get mad. Everything’s fine. No one was accusing Ezra of anything. In fact, Gil was explicit trying not to lead Adi to think Ezra had done anything wrong. Maybe that was what chafed? The way Gil assumed Adi would turn on his own friend? And why not? How many times had shit like this gone down with his old man? How many broken relationships and bodies had been buried with the word traitor on Harmon’s lips?

But Adi, despite all outward appearances, was not his father.

In a calmer voice he said, “Ezra does whatever he wants. It’s a small area, it makes sense they’d run into each other.” In that all things made sense when they were the worst-case scenario. But maybe it wasn’t the worst-case… Adi needed to know what the Morgan woman was up to, didn’t he?

A terrible idea formed.

Adi Ellis loved terrible ideas.

“Keep an eye on her. Let me know if she meets with any of her family or, I don’t know, buys a gun.”

Gil huffed what sounded like a barely stifled laugh.

“Thanks, Gil,” Adi said before hanging up. He rounded the building toward his own street. His phone chimed with reminders and texts from a secretary reminding him about his reminders. It always grated his nerves because he had never been late for anything in his whole damn life. He wasn’t going to be late today.

His office was only a handful of blocks away, but he ducked into the garage under his building to get his car. The yellow Lamborghini was not subtle, but Adi was not a subtle person. He had discovered young that there was no hiding who he was when he had tried sneaking out with Ezra and some friends. He’d worn Ezra’s clothes and they’d used fake IDs to get into a club. He almost got kidnapped that night. He would have been if Ezra hadn’t been there.

The wrong people would always spot him. Better to make sure everyone knew and that everyone was looking. If someone jumped Adi, the whole world would probably see it from the phones of every stranger in the area. It would at least give Grayson a good starting point for his search. Wherever that Lamborghini was, was probably the last place Adi had been.

He tried not to wonder what Ezra and the Morgan were talking about. What were they doing? Weird, to realize that Ezra now knew his wife better than he did. Assuming anything she was saying to him was the truth…

Thinking about what she could be up to gave him a headache.

He didn’t realize until he was getting out of his car and walking into the building that housed their more legitimate business offices, that he hadn’t had any coffee yet. Maybe his headache wasn’t entirely because of the Morgan… Maybe.

#don't run #honest liars series #adi/ezra/freya #own work #mobster trio #romance #dominimoonbeam #clover down

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naturecpw · 1 year ago

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Snake Plant Sansevieria (also called Snake Plant) Dracaena trifasciata ‘Laurentii’ Adored by generations of houseplant owners for its ease of growth, this variety won the Award of Garden Merit from the Royal Horticultural Society of the UK in 1993 and is still popular today. This species is native to areas of Western Africa and is often enjoyed in planters in decks and patios in addition to its common use as a houseplant. It’s relatively slow-growing, especially in low-light conditions (which it tolerates well). Its vertical growth makes is perfect for small spaces, as well as contemporary/modern decorating schemes. One of the most forgiving and durable indoor plants you can grow, Laurentii Snake Plant (botanically Dracaena trifasciata ‘Laurentii’, formerly Sansevieria trifasciata ‘Laurentii’) features mint-green leaves banded with horizontal dark green stripes and golden-yellow leaf edges. It typically grows 24 to 36 inches tall indoors. It is grown and shipped fresh from our farm direct to your front door. Easy to grow houseplant and perfect for houseplant beginners. Variegated foliage adds a distinctive look to your home all year long. Excellent for homes and offices.

it’s among the easiest to grow and care for. So much so that it doesn’t need sunlight, the artificial light found in the typical office is perfectly fine. It can go weeks without watering, and it tolerates low levels of humidity.

You might have never seen a snake plant flower as it’s quite rare. However, it is possible for you to experience it if you follow the right steps. Let’s have a look at some tricks on How to Get a Snake Plant to Bloom!

How to Get a Snake Plant to Bloom (Highly Fragrant & Rare)

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Do Snake Plants Flower? The straight answer to the question is, Yes! They do! This happens once annually, usually during spring or summer, if the conditions meet. However, it is still extremely uncommon but possible. You also have to bear the fact in mind that if you have grown Sansevieria trifasciata ‘Hahnii,’ then it won’t bloom, no matter what.

Snake Plant Flower Appearance Snake plant flowers grow around tall spikes or stalks. The stalks grow up to several inches or feet tall and are full of small, lily, or honeysuckle-like, tubular, cream, green, or white narrow-petaled clusters of blooms–all this depends on the type of snake plant. According to the variety, some cultivars have white with a hint of mauve or lavender. Some species show off bright red blossoms. Some varieties of mother-in-law’s tongue do not have a flower stalk, and they directly blossom from the base in huge clusters.

Snake Plant Flower Smell The snake plant flowers are highly fragrant and emit a spicy vanilla-like scent that you can’t compare with anything. The blooms also produce sweet-scented nectar, so much in fact that it can drip down the stalk! Flowers close in the daytime and open up during the night. The fragrance becomes very strong after it gets dark.

How to Get a Snake Plant to Bloom? There’s no guarantee that the snake plant you have will bloom. However, there are certain factors that might help it flower. The best way to make snake plants bloom is to keep them in a root-bound stage and expose them to a lot of sunlight. Most people keep this in extremely low light or shade, which will prevent the plant from flowering. Keeping them outdoors or near a window that receives some direct light can induce flowering. When the plant is watered less and is kept in good light, it grows quickly, thereby filling up the pot in no time. When the roots have no more space to grow and the pot gets filled with them, the plant flowers to propagate itself. Generally, new and young snake plants do not flower. You will have more chances of flowering with an aged specimen. Keeping the plant in a slightly stressed state, along with low fertilization, can also trick it into blooming flowers. Avoid keeping the plant in shade for a longer duration of time. Always make sure that the plant gets a minimum of 3-4 hours of direct sun each day. The best bet is to keep it near an east-facing window. Do not overwater the plant in any case.

The Bottom Line These pointers will certainly help it bloom, but these serve no surety that doing this will make every snake plant flower! It seems certain conditions force this amazing houseplant to bloom, or you can say these plants have a mind of their own when it comes to blooming.

#Snake Plant #Youtube #House Plants #Air Purifying #Plants

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health-development-hritik · 9 months ago

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From Seed to Serenity: My Medicinal Garden Kit Experience

I've always been drawn to the idea of cultivating my own natural remedies. Fresh herbs not only add a delightful touch to cooking, but many boast a range of health benefits as well. However, starting a garden, especially one focused on medicinal plants, can seem daunting. That's where the Medicinal Garden Kit – BRAND NEW!Deliverable comes in. Here's a look at my experience with this fantastic kit.

A Complete Package for Budding Herbalists

The Medicinal Garden Kit is a fantastic option for anyone interested in growing their own medicinal herbs, regardless of experience level. The kit arrives neatly packaged and includes everything you need to get started: a variety of organic seeds, enough potting mix to fill several containers, plant markers for easy identification, and a comprehensive guidebook. The guidebook is particularly impressive, offering detailed instructions on planting, caring for, and harvesting each herb. It even includes recipes and suggestions for using the herbs in various ways.

Diverse Selection of Beneficial Herbs

One of the things I love most about the Medicinal Garden Kit is the curated selection of herbs. The kit features a variety of popular and versatile medicinal plants, such as chamomile for relaxation, echinacea for immune support, lavender for stress relief, and peppermint for digestive issues. This diverse selection allows you to explore the world of herbal remedies and discover which plants resonate most with your needs.

Easy to Grow, Even for Beginners

As someone who wouldn't necessarily call themself a green thumb, I was pleasantly surprised by how easy the Medicinal Garden Kit is to use. The guidebook provides clear, step-by-step instructions on seed planting, watering, and maintaining healthy plant growth. The kit even includes helpful tips for those with limited space, suggesting container gardening options for balconies or patios. Within a few weeks, I had a thriving little herb garden flourishing on my windowsill.

Fresh Herbs for a Healthier Lifestyle

The most rewarding aspect of using the Medicinal Garden Kit has been the ability to harvest and utilize my own homegrown herbs. There's a certain satisfaction in brewing a cup of chamomile tea made from the chamomile flowers you've nurtured from seed. Knowing exactly where my herbs come from and how they've been grown gives me peace of mind. Plus, having fresh herbs readily available has encouraged me to incorporate them more into my cooking, adding a delicious and healthy touch to my meals.

A Gateway to a Sustainable and Holistic Approach to Wellness

The Medicinal Garden Kit is more than just a collection of seeds; it's a gateway to a more sustainable and holistic approach to wellness. By cultivating your own medicinal herbs, you're not only empowering yourself to take charge of your well-being, but you're also connecting with the natural world in a meaningful way. Whether you're a seasoned gardener or a curious beginner, the Medicinal Garden Kit provides a fun and rewarding experience that allows you to nurture your body and mind from the ground up.

#plants #nature #seeds #healthcare #vegitarian

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fashionlife-19 · 2 years ago

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Home and Garden Furniture Ideas

Home and garden furniture will be furniture that can be involved inside as well as outdoors. Certain individuals have selected to encase an enormous porch in glass or screen, carpet the floor with indoor - outdoor carpeting, outfit with a chimney, and introduce roof fans alongside a climate control system. The porch region can be adjoining the house or discrete. The plans of the room or construction visit site here can come furnished with a kitchen separate than that of the primary part of the house. This region would require home and garden furniture to outfit the environmental factors. While looking for plants for this area, you would in any case decide on house plants however perhaps that of the bigger assortment.

Home and garden furniture can be produced using wicker and wood. Metal and plastic garden furniture can be utilized, yet would probably be viewed as unseemly to enhance this area of your home. You would need furniture that is easy, however then again you don't need the furniture mismatched for the locale by the same token. You will maintain that it should mix with the environmental elements you have made. The encasing of the back deck region persuade guests that this is only an additional room in the house. You will believe that the room should radiate the look of relaxed comfort. A room where to unwind and have some good times. Home and garden furniture fabricated from wicker have a classic appearance. The effortlessness of the plans inclines to the relaxed look of heartfelt, comfort. Since the home and garden furniture developed of wicker is made for the outdoors, care and support ought to be a lot more straightforward, less difficult undertaking. Counsel your retailer for those requirements.

Wicker is likewise developed to be durable. It is a wise interest in store for your home. The wicker built home and garden furniture arrives in a wide scope of style, plans and colors. Alongside the range of colors you will have the choice to pick one of the dining sets, or from a group of sofa, loveseats and chairs. Wicker tables will finish the look of your discussion region of the room. You likewise have the choice of a yard swing a comfortable, close seating for lovers and companions young or old.

Home and garden furniture is likewise available a variety of wooden pieces or sets. If you have any desire to have the option to move home and garden furniture, you might need to peruse the teak wooden furniture lines. Teakwood is notable for its lightweight and strength. Its regular completion is a brilliant color. Wooden home and garden furniture like the wicker home and garden furniture is additionally worked to be sturdy and durable. Wooden home and garden furniture is likewise available in a similar furniture pieces as the wicker furniture from the dining sets to the discussion sets included with loveseat or sofas. The patio swing is additionally one of the choices available in the wooden home and garden furniture line.

#youtube

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books-of-the-great-leviathan · 2 years ago

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Chapter 23- Alois

***

He stood in the hall for what felt like hours, waiting for a glimpse of Cereza, but when she came into view she was ringed by Falcii. Her head was lowered, and her hair hid her face.

"Princess Cereza-" he called, but she was round the corner and gone without so much as a glance. Maybe she hadn't heard him. Maybe she didn't care. Heat pulsed in Alois's face, and shame. It was thanks to him she was her sister's prisoner.

"May I speak to her?" he asked one of her Falcii guards.

"Her Majesty the queen has ordered they speak to no one."

"I won't be a moment-"

"No one," the Falcii repeated, her eyes hard under the visor of her helmet.

Alois reminded himself that he was a prisoner here, too, even if not officially, even if for his own safety. No one in this Palace, this city, this country would let him forget who they thought he was. He might be a bastard, no true blood of the Belmont line, but that was how everyone saw him, even if they learned the truth.

That was the hardest war to end, he thought, the one that never really worked itself out, the one he'd never truly conquer, not even if he became king.

King, he thought, and shivered, despite the muggy heat. He'd left the cool, pale halls of the residential wing and emerged through a colonnade of arches into one of the many garden courtyards of Valeris Palace. It was an undefined space of lush greenery and elegant pathways, fountains and entwined statuary, firework starbursts of late-summer flowers. Whitebrick steps led to canopies of hanging golden lillem-chain. Birdsong spangled the air, and somewhere in the maze of plants and statues Alois heard a little boy's laughter and the off-key twang of a stringed instrument.

He followed the sound, coming to a little patio, where Marin and Adele sat on the lip of a fountain. Adele had a balalaika, a Buyani instrument she'd never held before, judging by the clumsy way she picked at the strings. Marin giggled each time she fumbled a note, and Adele grinned, and whispered to him, playing with his curls.

Alois leaned against a statue, watching. So many times he might have been resentful of his little brother, but never was. All he ever wanted was for Marin to be safe, sheltered from their father's anger, from all the terrors of the world. Maybe he'd grown up softer than befitted a son of Estara, but there were worse things to be than soft.

Adele glanced up and saw him. "Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't realize..."

"And I didn't want to disturb you."

"I'm afraid I'm not very entertaining," Adele said. "I'm not much of a musician when it comes to this instrument."

She set it down. Marin began picking at the strings, humming along to the notes.

Alois nodded at him. "He looks happy." "He is, I think." Adele rose and joined Alois. The two of them regarded the little boy. "He seems better than he has been in months. He eats more, he talks more. He plays with the other Palace children. Still, I know he's grieving."

She shook her head, lashes lowered. "King Daval was many things, but he was still Marin's father. He misses him."

"It's easy to forget the worst parts of a person once they're gone."

She smiled a little. She looked better, too- her cheeks had filled out, her frame no longer brittle and sickly.

"What will you do?" Alois asked her. "You're safe here, for now, but Estara is your home, and Marin has a birthright."

"A birthright he doesn't understand."

"You can't say you don't want him to be king." Alois paused. "You know he's the rightful heir to the Estaran throne."

She nodded. "Daval was once a boy like him, until the burden of a crown was placed on his head. I don't want my son to end up like that."

"Marin isn't Daval."

"Neither are you," Adele said quietly.

Alois clenched his teeth, his throat tight.

"I have a family. They hold power," Adele told him. "And your mother's family held power, too. You would have support, if that's what you wanted. Both you and I know Estara can be made better, and I want it so. But I don't want my son on the throne, with those burdens, those teeth at his throat. I will not let him be shackled by them."

"You want to protect him."

"Yes."

"So do I. Which is why he needs to become king."

She looked up at him, blue eyes bright in the sun.

"I can't...I can't lie for him," Alois said. "If it comes down to it, I will announce him as the heir. I'll reveal the truth about my parentage. This war was built on secrets. I won't have the future of Estara built on more."

Adele nodded, slowly. "I understand," she said.

"Alois!"

Adele lowered her eyes at the approaching footsteps. Alois turned to see Isabella coming down the path, her brow furrowed and eyes bright.

"Your Majesty," Adele murmured, bowing her head.

"Queen Adele." Isabella nodded to her and to Marin. "Prince Marin. Forgive the interruption, but I'd prefer to speak to Alois alone."

Adele glanced at Alois, who nodded. She gathered up her things and took Marin's hand, ushering him away.

Isabella let out her breath, not looking at him. Her shoulders were stiff, the lines of her face tense.

"How are they?" Alois said.

"My brother and sister are well."

"I'd like to see Cereza-"

"Later. They're not what concerns me now." She paced ahead, her hands behind her back. "They weren't the only prisoners taken last night. The Royal Witchhunter came with them."

Heat flashed through Alois's skin, but he remained frozen in place. The fountain burbled, water arcing through shafts of muggy sunlight. Pollinator beetles droned in thickets of flowers; a bird with a long, curved beak flitted down to rest on the head of a statue, feathers bright as blood. Alois forced his breathing steady. All came to him overloud, overbright. It took him a moment before he could speak again.

"Azare?" he said.

"Not so dead as Lapin thought, it seems. She tells me he made a declaration at his capture. A demand for bata razir."

"Ritual duel," Alois translated.

"An ancient method of judgment in Estara, if I remember my lessons."

Alois nodded, his mouth dry. Why would Azare call ritual duel? Why would he risk capture by coming to Lapide at all? "The Witchhunter came with Luca and Cereza?"

"As far as I can tell. He hasn't said much. Lapin entreated me to allow the duel to commence." She gave a humorless laugh. "Seeing those two slaughter each other may do wonders for morale. I'll need it for the wars to come."

Alois shook his head. "You've seen what Acier's capable of. This blockade won't stop him. The soldiers on those ships are just more fuel for his army."

"They're loyal to Lapide. They know there's a cost for peace."

"And you'll buy your vengeance with their loyalty?"

"Just like you're looking for yours?"

Alois fell silent. Vengeance. Would he have taken it against Acier, if he could? Would he have killed Daval himself, given the chance? Maybe. Anyone was capable of anything; he knew that. Capable of terrible acts, yes, but merciful ones too.

"Then tell me, Alois, if you seek to educate me," Isabella said. "Shall the Witchhunters have their barbaric little fight?"

Alois blinked. "Do you think you know better?"

Her eyes snapped to his. "Maybe I do. Maybe when-"

"When what?"

"When I stand victorious," she said. "When Estara understands which way the winds blow. Don't you see? Lapide has won this war, Alois."

She faced him with a hard grin. "And when I sail my navy into Pavaloir's bay, we'll show Estara the dreams of Daval Belmont are well and truly dead."

"With Lapidaean flags flying. With bolt cannons hot. That isn't a declaration of peace. Do you understand? That's just the Bloodmonger's empire without Daval Belmont to give them hope."

"You can't survive without me. Not as king."

Alois's heart hammered, his face hot. He should stop. Should he stop? No. For once in his life, he was sure. "Would I be a king, then," he said, "answering to you out of fear?"

A muscle twitched in Isabella's cheek. "I know what's right for my country."

"You once told me you wanted my help. Not united under an empire, but as allies. I want a different world, too. A better world. But it must be together, united, or this war will keep going on. Again, and again, until the stars fall into the sea. Is that what you want?"

The look in her eyes was faraway. Alois saw the longing there, the purity of it. "For Lapide, Alois. Anything."

The heat pressed down on him, heavy as chains. His mind raced; his palms were slick. He'd been wrong about his father and had paid for it. He wanted to be wrong about Isabella, too. Could he risk lives on whether or not he was?

"Allow it," he said.

Isabella looked round at him sharply. The red bird alit from its statue in a clatter of wings. "Allow it?" she echoed.

"Let Azare and Lapin fight. Besides, he has her cornered. It's not a challenge called lightly," Alois said. "If Lapin doesn't complete bata razir against Azare, she's a coward in the eyes of Bellana herself."

"And if Captain Azare wins?"

"He won't." Alois paused. His pulse was in his wrists. "Where is the Witchhunter?"

"He's imprisoned below."

"I want to see him."

"Alois-"

"I want to," he pressed. "I...I need to."

The look in Isabella's eyes softened. "I understand," she said, drawing near, taking his shoulders. "Be careful."

She paused for a long time and searched his face, her gray eyes bright in the afternoon sun. "And what about you, Alois?" she asked quietly. "Can I trust you?"

His smile felt like a knife in his guts. He didn't think he could answer her, but somewhere he found the words. "I want what's best for us all, Isabella. You can trust in that."

***

The steps wound down and down into pale rock corridors, vaulted and echoing, empty cells staring back at him the deeper he descended. Alois was under the Palace now, and the weight of the rock above him seemed to press at the air, crushing it from the corridors. It hadn't been so long since he was locked in one of these cells, since he was a prisoner of these pale walls.

His palms were slick. He kept his hands in fists by his sides and nodded to the guards as he passed them. He couldn't shake the memory of Isabella's eyes, her grip on his shoulder. Was he betraying her, like Enzo Acier? Had he already betrayed her by doubting her?

No, he told himself. He couldn't question himself now, like he always had before.

Ahead, a lantern burned by a cell, its door flanked by a pair of Falcii. They gave him a short bow as he approached.

"I want to speak with the prisoner," Alois said.

"Best of luck, Highness," one of the Falcii said. "Witchhunter's not spoken more than a handful of words since the lock fell."

The other cast a dark look into the cell. "I can think of a way or two to make him talk, if the fancy takes you." She spat at the foot of the bars. "No fair day with the Bloodmonger's hound still breathing."

Both Falcii retreated.

Alois went to the bars.

Azare leaned against the back wall of the cell, facing out. His eyes were closed, his hands cradling a clay cup of tea. The rest of the tea set was spread before him on a mat; a feather of steam drifted from the teapot, the herbal scent of its contents drowning out the murk and grime of the holding cells.

Alois stood, his face hot. He wanted to turn and run, but his legs wouldn't move. He stood rigid, fists clenched at his sides.

In the cell, Azare opened his eyes.

"Prince Alois," he said.

Alois forced himself to look the Witchhunter over, and what he saw unsettled him. He was as changed as Adele, though not for the better. He looked ragged, weary, his uniform replaced with grimy linens and leather. There were new lines at the corners of his eyes, a scrape on his jaw, a fox-paw of bruises at his throat. Maybe that was what so unsettled Alois. He looked more human, more real, than ever before.

This man condemned you to die, he reminded himself. He's the reason your father hated you. He's a traitor, and always has been. That's all he is to you, nothing more.

Alois flicked his eyes over the manacles at Azare's wrists. "I see the queen trusts you about as much as she does her brother."

"I can't blame her." Azare paused. "You're...well, Prince Alois?"

"You should know more than anyone I'm not a prince."

Azare let out his breath, setting down his teacup. "How long have you known?"

"The king told me before Acier killed him."

Azare lowered his head, but Alois still heard the catch in his breathing. "I'm so sorry," Azare said at last.

"Are you?" Alois snapped. "Do you really think he would have rolled out festivals and fireworks at your return? He always knew about you and my mother, that you'd made a fool of him and a bastard of me. He always knew you were my father. "

"I'm sorry you had to see him die. Alois," Azare said carefully. "I-"

"You what?"

"I want you to know-"

"I know enough," Alois said. "I know you plotted my death with the king. I know you didn't stop him when he sent me into the ork's jaws. All those years, Azare. For so many of them I didn't have my mother to protect me. All I had was you. And you-"

He cut off. His mouth trembled.

"I wanted so badly for someone to help me," Alois went on, his voice tight. "And I wanted more than anything for it to be you. When I was a little boy, I would pretend that I was your lieutenant. Did you know that? I'd snap twigs off orchard trees for my sword, and everything I feared I'd fight until I felt, for just a moment, that I was safe. But the monsters were fighting at my side. The monster was you."

"What I did," Azare said, "the ways I betrayed you, I can never atone-"

Alois gave a harsh laugh. "Finally the truth."

"And you can never forgive me. You shouldn't forgive me. But I loved your mother, and I loved you. I thought...I thought Estara's victory was worth any cost. I was wrong."

Shame flooded Alois. He turned from the bars. This had all been a mistake. There were no answers here.

"I wish you had died out there in the Great Blue," he muttered.

"I should have. I wanted to," Azare said. "Death with honor is better than life with shame. That's the Estaran way. But if I'd died, I could never put right what I schemed with Daval. I could never put right what I did to you."

Alois squeezed his eyes shut, forcing tears back, then faced Azare again.

"You claim you loved my mother," he said. "You claim you loved me. How do I know you're not lying to me again? What do you want, Azare?"

He advanced on the Witchhunter, unable to hold back his tears. "Forgiveness? Your lofty titles returned? For me to run to you and throw my arms around you and call you father?"

"No."

"Then what? What?"

His fists were clenched, poised to fight. Azare stared at him, then without warning he laughed. Alois blinked. He'd never heard the Witchhunter laugh before.

"What?" he said again, confused.

"You look so much like Margaux when you're angry. She had quite the temper. Saints, she could be terrifying."

Alois shook his head. His fists fell. "I...I didn't know."

"Few did. Even I can't claim to, not really."

"What was she like? What was she really like, I mean?"

"She was...angry. Lonely, I think. Between moments she would stare into shadows, like she was remembering, or searching. I don't know what for."

Alois remembered the shrine, the way he'd felt peace there, the serenity with which his mother had knelt at the feet of the nameless goddess. "Even with you?"

"Especially with me. She wanted a life she could never have, not without destroying what she and so many others had so carefully built. I wanted the same. I would have done the destroying myself, but there was duty to think of. Loyalty."

Azare had a faraway look in his eyes.

"But she was kind, too," he went on. "She loved the common people, those strange and forgotten. Rock folk and seers and heretics alike. And she was proud. Of you, especially. She'd be so proud of you now."

"Don't mock me."

"I see nothing to be ashamed of."

Alois felt his face crumple, fresh tears salty on his lips.

"Alois," Azare murmured, reaching out.

Alois flinched back. "You think a few apologies can make a good man out of you? Get away from me."

He turned, away from the cell, away from Azare. The lamplight seemed to burn in his vision, and he stumbled, breathing hard. His hand shook as he pressed it to his eyes, and when he took it away the light was gone, and the cell. Nothing was left but murk, a haze eating away at the world. Alois blinked, but it didn't go away.

His heart hammered, but it was a distant thing. He put out his hand and pressed it to the cool wall. Is this what I was most afraid of?

He breathed, and closed his eyes, and when he opened them the haze had lessened. It was still there. It always would be.

"Alois," Azare said, behind him. Alois didn't turn. "The queen trusts you, doesn't she?"

Alois nodded.

"I saw the monster," Azare said. "Without Sirin, it would have killed us all. Luca. Cereza, too."

Alois shuddered at the sound of her name. He heard Azare approach, heard him stop an arm's length away.

"It's coming," he went on. "Even now. I know the scope of Daval's weapons. So do you. This monster, this broken god, is worse by far. Sirin can't hold it off forever. The effort almost killed her the first time."

"Why should I care if Queen Isabella blasts the monster out of the water?" Alois said. "What has the Great Leviathan ever done for us?"

"It broke Princess Cereza's curse," Azare said.

"You don't know-"

"I know she died, Alois. She died, and it gave her life again. It brought her back."

Alois turned before he could stop himself. He looked at Azare again, harder, taking him in. There was more to him changed than he'd thought, something in his eyes.

"It brought you back, too," he said, quietly. "Didn't it."

Azare reached out, fast, and caught Alois by the wrist. Alois flinched; the Falcii tensed, but Azare just leaned in, his eyes narrowed.

"They found more in the Great Blue than a way to break the curse," he said quietly. "It takes blood, and sacrifice. But it's worth it. You know what's right, Alois. You always did."

Alois pulled his hand from Azare's, feeling the guards' stares on his back. "I've had my fair share of liars, Witchhunter," he said. "If you're smart you'll find a way out of Lapide before I suggest the queen feeds your neck to the noose."

He turned and left Azare, left the cell and the guards, left the reach of the lamplight. As soon as he was alone, he opened his hand.

A single black feather rested in his palm, downy and delicate. He lifted it to the light. Ripples of iridescence fanned over its surface. A witch-feather. No treasure of antiquity, either. This feather was new, as if fresh-plucked from the wing.

He remembered how Luca and Cereza had strained to reach the balcony, how Cereza had searched the stars. He remembered the night sky, the clouds coming, as if with unnatural swiftness, to cover the moon.

Blood, Azare had said. Blood and sacrifice.

They had a witch.

A chill crackled down Alois's nerves. He needed answers, real answers, not from Azare, nor from Isabella. He needed the truth, and though it struck him to his core with fear, he knew where to find it.

Alois unhooked an unlit lantern from a cell and snapped its mechanism, coaxing its flame to life. He turned- not toward the stairway out, but deeper into the prison, fighting the knot in his throat with each step.

#grave of the great leviathan #tales of the great leviathan #original fiction #fantasy fiction #serial novel #chapter 23

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