#thoughts of horses help him cope

[unaarista]

Wild, white horses They will take me away

[foldingfittedsheets]

A basic human skill that people usually lock down around the age of three or four is impulse control. To conceptualize an action and it’s consequences before taking it. Maybe considering how that action affects other people. We then refine it through most of our childhood.

When I was a teenager my hold on this ability became… tenuous. I became a volatile and dangerous creature.

It’s probably not unique to me, but I had a perfect storm in terms of mental upsets. I had just mastered enough basic social skills, so I finally had a strong group of friends when my dad suddenly needed to move for work. Ripped away from my support network, blooming with hormones, I was dragged to Arizona. I was always a child of forests and mist and suddenly everything was hot, dry, and extremely pointy and aggressive.

Additionally to being abruptly transplanted I found myself an object of affection in a way I’d never been before. Lonely and desperate to make friends the only people who wanted to spend time with me had romantic designs. I just wanted to figure out my shit but I had a baby lesbian flirting with increasing aggression in art, a soft boy making heart eyes at me in biology, a senior nerd asking if I wanted to play Halo at his house and could he hold my hand?

Reader, I snapped. I didn’t want this romantic attention but I also didn’t want to be alone. My brain coped the only way it knew how, by simply cutting out decision making. Any action was the right action to take.

It started with the boy in biology. I’d stolen his pencil out of mischief and to my overwhelming fury instead of trying to steal it back he just softened his eyes and chucked me gently under my chin, a gesture so overtly sweet and romantic that I saw red.

I stabbed him with his own pencil.

I honestly and truly have no memory of it. It happened as fast as a snake striking and I was instantly filled with terrified remorse. Unfortunately that manifested as psychotic giggling.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t- I don’t know why- I’m so sorry!” I said, while hysterically laughing. I ended up having lodged some graphite in his palm and had to tweeze it out with my nails while apologizing furiously. (It’s very important to note here that he forgave me and we’re still friends)

That was weird, I thought. Why didn’t I think before I stabbed someone?

The next event was equally catastrophic, and I had even less reason to do it. In gym with two girls I was tentatively befriending, we were warming up running laps. I started racing one of them. At breakneck speed we were sprinting around the gym.

This time, there was a blip of thought before I fucked up. I should get the other girl! I have no idea why or what the plan was but I turned on a swivel and body checked the other girl. We both fell down in immense pain. I think that’s the moment I broke my tailbone. Her knees were horribly bruised and she looked at me in bewildered pain. “Why did you do that?!”

I had no idea. I apologized and helped her up, both of us hobbling like newborn horses, bruised and hurting.

By this time there’d been enough social upheavals that I was reduced to spending time with some girls I had nothing in common with and low key disliked. Sat at a table listening to this girl talk about how she wanted to be a stripper when she grew up I thought, You’d better put the cap on before you throw it.

I then chucked my empty water bottle directly at her face. It bounced off her forehead with a bop! that would have made a sound mixer weep at its perfection.

All eyes turned to me is startlement. I stared back at her, stunned by my own action, just as confused as everyone else at the table as to why I’d done that. One of the girls to my right said, “Were you trying to hit that fly?”

“Yes!” I lied, “I’m sorry, I thought I could hit the fly!”

Everyone laughed at my antics and I joined in rather than admit I had just chucked something at her for no reason.

Things did start to improve after that. I solidified a friendship with the girl I’d raced (who I developed a massive crush on and ten years later would go on to date). My outbursts turned more whimsical rather than aggressive. Like accosting a girl leaving the cafeteria to look deeply into her eyes and say with great compassion, “It’s going to be alright.”

My new friend and I snuck into the van that delivered our cafeterias baked goods and lay giggling in the back. When I’d impulsively hopped in she’d joined me and made it a game.

After a year in Arizona I broke down crying to my mother, an act of great desperation, and we ended up moving back home. My impulse control returned to normal teenage levels and life resumed in a happier state of mind.

[kastalani123]

Mmmmmmmm, but what if Estelle grows up without knowing about the Greek myths being real?

What if Sally and Paul look at Percy, who's hesitant to hold his baby sister for fear of drowning her with blood-drenched hands, who eventually holds her like she's made of glass because the Destroyer is afraid of breaking her, who shoves his face into his pillow to keep his nightmares from waking her up–

What if Sally and Paul look at Percy, seventeen years old with the world resting on his shoulders since he was twelve, and ask, "Do you want her to know?"

And he wonders. He thought it'd be a given, that she'd grow up surrounded by monsters and magic, that he'd make fish made of water swim around her to make her laugh, that there would be no secrets as to his life's horror.

But he wonders. He thinks that, maybe, she won't have to grow up afraid of her own shadow. She's mortal, after all. There is no ichor in her veins. There is no guarantee she will be Clear Sighted.

There is no reason she can't live a normal life.

There is no reason she has to be woven into the Fates' tapestry beyond the barest of mentions.

He wonders, and he decides no. No, this one person, this little bundle of giggles, this reason that motivates him to learn healthy coping mechanisms, this little sister of his — she will not be forced to grow up so fast. She will not hesitate making plans for her future in fear of never making it that far. She will not suffer scars from things other than risky bike tricks and tumbling down a hill.

This one person that he can protect, for once in his life. This one person that he will protect, from both of his worlds.

Oh, it's not that she doesn't know anything. He makes sure she knows as many myths as possible, as many ways to protect herself as she can learn, as many people and places that can help her if she ever needs it. She grows up with bedtime stories about winged horses and giant dogs and a number of human-animal hybrids. She dreams of a brother with a scarred lip and a girl who loves too much and a sister who usually thinks of her sibling before herself and a boy who can tame dragons, and sometimes it's like her dreams are real, like she actually knows the characters from her brother's stories. She learns to recognize unfairness and abuse, to stand up for those who cannot stand up for themselves, to make things right even if she has to force unwilling hands to do what she wants with trickery.

She knows so much.

But she never climbs a wall flowing with lava. But she never picks up a sword and dons a set of armor. But she never learns her loved ones' scars don't come from unfortunate accidents. But she never flies through the sky on helpful wings. But she never dives into the depths of the ocean in a bubble of air. But she never gets lost in a house that's always changing its layout to suit its occupants' needs. But she never watches her home in ruin. But she never runs from an inferno consuming the world around her. But she never cradles a friend's body as the life drains from their eyes.

But she never stops being an ordinary mortal.

[crumbledcastle28]

Joel Miller: Stay Down

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader (she/her; afab)

Word count: 3.2k

Summary: Joel thought he had grown accustomed to fear until he finds you covered in blood.

Excerpt: He swallowed, attempting to choose his words carefully. He had never been good with them, attributing his deficiency to a long line of likewise men before him. His brain poured for sonnets, poetry, prose that he had read in his insignificant time on this planet. Something to impress you, distract you, to take away that crestfallen look in your eye.

He couldn’t do it. He never would be. So, he used his mouth for something else.

Warnings: stitching of a wound, kissing, blood, blood loss, so much yearning, unestablished relationship, probably incorrect gun talk, Joel is scared of feelings.

A/N: This is me coping with the fact that we do not get more last of us in January. Also partially inspired by my favorite song maybe ever.

Pedro Masterlist

All my writing

Joel had found his hands becoming more and more susceptible to the cold as he got older.

They would crack and bleed, flaking dried skin within his decades-old gloves before November had even begun. This not only hurt like hell, but forced him to slow down and think about what he was doing to his body for once in his life. He had a harder time gripping the reins on a horse or fingering the trigger on a shotgun. Noticeably so. And living in a small town with a little brother foaming at the mouth to make old man jokes didn't help matters.

This is what led him to you.

He wouldn't call you a hoarder. Honestly, he would be the first to admit that you were one of the smartest people in Jackson. You had somehow become one of the most materialistically rich people in the town. You consistently managed to find the most randomly useful items on your patrols, things that people before the outbreak would never have even thought to miss.

Things like shoe insoles, ball point pens, Chapstick.

And luckily for him, lotion.

You never charged anyone for taking from what you had. Furthermore, you actively asked people if they needed anything. Even offering to scout around the area in search of specifics. Joel hadn't been around that kind of softness since...

Well, a long time.

This made him uncharacteristically nervous when he first approached your doorstep, but he knocked anyway. He had never in a million years expected to leave that house satisfied in more ways than one.

He blamed it on that stupid crinkle the skin underneath your eyes got whenever you smiled at him. He couldn't help but fall into your light.

This started a... friendship. Of sorts. He would come over when he needed you, and you would happily oblige. As time went on, the visits to yours became more and more frequent, frequent enough that the rest of the town seemed to be catching on. At least, that's what his brother had been hinting at through jabs and side comments.

"You smiled at me the other day, Joel," Tommy had said. "Actually smiled."

Joel responded with a gesture he was hoping Ellie would not pick up anytime soon.

Joel was...happy. Happy with the arrangement. He had a warm body – a fucking gorgeous warm body – to get his energy out with, and the woman inside the body seemingly had no issue with his lack of strings attached.

And yet, for some reason, this annoyed him.

There was some undetectable, bruised part of him that wanted you to…what exactly? Fight him on it? Confess your undying love for him? Pull him back into bed to cuddle?

There had to be either pheromones or crack cocaine in that honeyed floral perfume you always wore. You were beginning to drive him this insane. Unfortunately for him, the place he went when he was beginning to toe that line into insanity was always you.

Joel had checked the schedule posted in the main square, assigning every able-bodied person shifts of patrol. You had a shift earlier in the day, which usually kept you busy until noon. You would then shower, eat, and spend the rest of the afternoon doing whatever the hell you wanted.

Overtime, these mental gymnastics became muscle memory to Joel.

He huffed as he lugged his aching legs up your steps, their typical milk white now coated in an ugly muddy brown. Winter had begun, apparent by the puffs of Joel’s own breaths, and the snow in Jackson was trying desperately to keep up.

Joel balled his hands into fists as he planted both feet onto your porch, blowing into them quickly, before knocking three times. Spaced out enough, but not too much. He envisioned you smiling as you heard his signature knock, but cringed at himself internally, burying the thought instantly.

It fluttered back to the surface when he heard the pads of your footsteps somewhere in the house begin but extinguished itself when they dissipated.

He waited a few more seconds, the rational part of his brain saying that you must be in the middle of something, but the man part of his brain imagining you putting on your silky red robe he loved so much, only for him to take it off you so slowly it made his own fingers shake. He breathed in deep, the laundry detergent from his nylon coat mixed with the beginnings of December filling his nose, and cracked his neck while rocking back and forth on his heels.

His eyebrows came together when he heard another rustle, then nothing.

He knocked again.

Still, nothing,

He knew you were in there – he could hear you, clear as day, and he knew you could hear him – but for some reason, you weren’t coming to the door.

His much too weathered mind began to race, thinking of three possible explanations. One, you heard him knocking, and were ignoring him. Two, you somehow were not hearing him knock on the door. Or three, you for some reason were not able to get to the door.

Meaning, there was a possibility you weren’t alone in there, and not by choice.

“Y/N?” he asked loudly. “Y/N, are you in there?”

Nothing. A bit more rustling, maybe a slight groan, but nothing.

Joel’s fingers began to tingle, and it wasn’t from the cold. He knocked again, harder.

“Y/N, I know you’re in there,” he said loudly, “just…just tell me you’re okay.”

Silence.

He gripped the doorknob and jiggled it, hard enough for the wood to groan underneath his fingertips, but it was locked from the inside. He huffed, knocking again, his hot breaths now clouding his face. He felt an ache in his wrist.

He said your name one more time, hearing the beginnings of a voice he knew better than he should have muffled by the wood, and the door was flat in front of him before he could think twice.

He stomped his way inside, coating the ground with mud and snow, and his eyes darted around the familiar living room. His vision was tunneled, scrounging for the shape of you on the floor, draped over the couch, held at gunpoint. His heart pulsed in his ears.

You weren’t in the living room.

He stomped into the kitchen, the bathroom, the basement, nothing. All that was left was the bedroom.

There was no way in hell you were still asleep.

He practically sprinted to the room, preparing himself. He had seen what men did to women, the remnants of it anyway, and despite his state of denial, he could never in a million years handle the sight of you that way. In your own bed. In your own house. Likely one of your own friends.

He pulled open the door anyway, and was met with gold.

The room was dim except for the lamps you loved so dearly, spreading their warm, glowing, honeyed light across the room in streaks. He blinked his eyes to adjust, focusing in on your body on the bed. You were facing him, skin painted with similar golden streaks, highlighting the tears culminating under your eyes. You were sat crisscrossed, upper body totally bare, back slouched tightly, your body practically folded in on itself. Your right hand was pressed against your left shoulder blade, while your other was filled with wine-colored rags.

Blood-soaked rags.

His eyes met yours quickly, and despite their dampness, they still had that fucking crinkle.

You chuckled, your shoulders dropping up and down quickly as they always do.

“You know,” you said, voice curdled and tired, “if someone doesn’t answer the door, that’s usually them saying ‘leave me the hell alone.”

You chuckled again, this time finishing it off with a wince.

His hand slid slowly from the doorknob as he took a hesitant step towards you, his body tearing itself in half. One side begging to fold your body into him, bubbling you in a cocoon. The other, itching to tear whatever did this to you apart ligament by ligament.

Your eyes slowly drooped from humor to something like shame, like a kicked dog or a broken child, and he stepped forward again.

“Don’t,” you countered weakly. “Just…just don’t.”

You scooted away from him slightly, refusing to look at him, and applied more pressure to whatever was expelling that much blood from your shoulder. Pain was suddenly present in your face.

“You want me to leave?” he quickly countered.

You said nothing.

He walked to you, removing the hand you had pressed against your wound, and sucked in a quick breath.

“Probably the first time you’ve seen a revolver bullet in about twenty years, huh Joel?” you asked, chuckling once more.

He barely heard you.

You had gotten the bullet out, but it had sunken in deep. The skin around it was red and welting, so swollen that Joel had to guess you had already been working on it for at least an hour. He winced, imagining what kind of pain you were in, and the fact that you were dealing with it all yourself.

He swallowed grimly.

“Hand me that rag,” he said. He could tell how little strength you had left to fight him by how quickly the rag flopped into his hand.

He pressed it to the wound, and you hissed.

“Fuck Joel,” you whined, squeezing the covers of your bed so tightly your knuckles went white. He held his pressure, forcing himself to think straight.

He might as well have been feeling the pain in his own shoulder.

He finally eased his pressure, wiping away as much blood from the area as he could.

“You cleaned it pretty well,” he said softly, voice thick in his throat, so thick it was hard to speak. “But…it’s gonna need a stich or two.”

“Or seven,” you said, grabbing the first aid kit sat in the middle of the bed. You opened the bag with shaking hands, taking out the needle and thread. You attempted to begin threading the needle, but with your hands quaking so fiercely you only produced frustrated grunts and sighs. He moved to the front of the bed, the front of his body facing yours, and took the needle and thread from your hands, setting them to the side. He then held your hands in his, squeezing them slightly, before using one to tilt your chin up at him.

He sighed at the storm in your eyes.

“What happened?”

“Did you kick my fucking door down?”

“What happened?”

“I was stupid, that’s what happened.”

He sighed again. “You’ve never once been stupid.”

“Today I was.”

“How?”

“It’s how I always am.” Your voice cracked. “Thought I could pick some apples for Mrs. Lawrence down the street. She always talks about how much she loved that as a kid – a freshly picked apple. Went out too far. Felt a sudden burning in my shoulder and ended up having to take out six hunters all by myself. Six.”

A single tear dripped from your left eye, the gold from the lamps turning it to sunlight.

“I could’ve died. All for a fucking apple.”

You turned away from him again, and it took everything in him not to cup your face in his hands and turn you back to him. He had never seen you like this before. So… raw. Beaten. Trampled. Doused in self-hatred. He hated it.

And yet, he didn’t want to look away. He was slowly realizing that this was the part of you he had been desperate to see. Truth. Undercarriage. Weakness.

Human.

He swallowed, attempting to choose his words carefully. He had never been good with them, attributing his deficiency to a long line of likewise men before him. His brain poured for sonnets, poetry, prose that he had read in his insignificant time on this planet. Something to impress you, distract you, to take away that crestfallen look in your eye.

He couldn’t do it. He never would be. So, he used his mouth for something else.

Slowly, gentler than he ever had in his life, he brought his mouth to your cheekbone. You exhaled a prolonged breath, the heat of it cascading down the left side of his neck. It only prompted him to kiss you more, and more, and more. His lips traveling up into your hairline, across your forehead, down your nose, and finally onto your lips. His kiss there was tongueless, rather a soft press, and yet it meant more to him than any other one you had ever shared.

He could tell by your breathing that you agreed.

He pressed his forehead against yours, swallowing thickly. “I’m glad you didn’t. I don’t know…I don’t know what I would do if you did.”

Your stormy eyes turned into a sunrise, and Joel straightened his aching back to slowly remove his coat and boots. He placed them on the floor beside your bed, keeping his eyes on you the entire time. You watched him just the same, mouth propped open slightly.

He smirked as he set his things down. He then picked up the needle and thread while using his free hand to frame your face.

“I’ll be gentle,” he said, his thumb stroking your chin. “I promise.”

You nodded. “I know you will.”

His lips wanted to meet yours so badly it hurt, but he needed to stitch you. Quickly. For a wound as deep as the one you had, it should have been closed up hours ago.

He wouldn’t think about that now. He couldn’t.

He walked to the edge of the bed and turned you around, leaning you into him slightly to give your pretzeled back some support, and began.  

You were surprisingly unreactive when he first inserted the needle, taking it as delicately as he possibly could. It wasn’t until he began to tug the skin together that your body showed signs of pain.

“You’re going too slow,” you mumbled softly after he finished the second stitch. “Please go faster.”

His hands began to shake at your request. He didn’t blame you. Speed would make it hurt worse, but be over with quicker. He squeezed the top of your shoulder in response, threading the needle quickly and stitching over the center of the wound.

You let out a high-pitched whine, gripping onto the comforter at your side, and he couldn’t help but kiss the back of your neck.

He let your breathing steady, then stitched again, this time kissing your shoulder blade.

Another stitch, a kiss across your shoulders.

Another stitch, a kiss down your spine.

Another stitch, a kiss on your lower back.

After every stitch, he planted one. Something in him couldn’t help it.

He made his final stitch and cut the thread quickly, sealing it with a kiss on the side of your face. He tasted a mix of salty tears and heat from your skin. He watched your throat bobble as he moved away, finishing off the wound with a final cleaning. Alcohol and blood filled the air, along with undertones of sweat.

He had a feeling that last aroma came mostly from him.

He threw the needle and thread away into the small garbage can you kept near your bed before turning back to face you. You rested on the balls of your palms, leaning back to look at him as he walked back towards you. There was pain visible behind your eyes, he could see it, but they were coated in something else. Something somehow rawer than before.

“You should rest now,” he said, scruff evident in his voice from lack of use. He cleared it quickly. “You took a hell of a hit.”

You didn’t move. Joel moved to the first aid kit still sitting in the middle of the bed and used the (what had to be decades old) wet wipes on his hands. He tossed those as well, but you still hadn’t moved.

“There somethin’ on my face?”

You cracked a small smile. “Thank you, Joel,” you said quietly.

He hummed. “Don’t mention it.” He then leaned forward and scooped your body into his arms. You involuntarily rested against him, eyes fluttering already, but he set you down beneath your sheets and swiftly pulled them over you.

He laughed at your fight against your own exhaustion, pushing stray hairs away from your forehead. He pulled away from you, beginning to walk out of the room. A fierce grip pulled him backwards.

“Stay,” you mumbled weakly. “Please stay.”

He inhaled deeply. The sweet cocktail of your voice mixed with those words fucking inebriating him, so much so he was surprised he was still standing up straight. He felt physically winded.

He squeezed your hand. “I’ll be right back. Stay down.”

You smiled, loosening your grip, letting your hand fall back into the bed.

Joel walked quietly out of the room but would be the last to admit how he practically sprinted to your kitchen and scoured your cabinets like a man being chased. He found your pain meds, pouring two into his hand, and filling up a small glass of water. He gave a slow, silent jog back to your room.

He felt equally as winded when he caught the view of the setting sun between your windows, glazing over you like a statue in Rome he had once seen on a traveling magazine. The streaks of leftover tears were highlighted in the light, as well as a small crease in your brow.

That is what told him you were not quite yet out cold.

He brought the meds and water to you, tucking your hair behind your ear to alert you of his presence. You opened your eyes and practically inhaled the medicine before laying back down on your side.

Joel removed his shirt in a blink and tucked himself in behind you, ensuring your stitches were not firmly pressed against him, but pressed just enough to ease soreness. You curved into him perfectly, as he did to you. He wrapped his arm around your frame, taking your hands in his and massaging them gently.

You hummed. “Promise you’ll stay?”

He knew your voice like that better than any man in the world.

He pressed a final kiss to your shoulder. “I’m stayin.’”

Tag List: (if you would like to be added please let me know!)

@untitledarea @avengersfan25 @lexloon @daphne-turner @leeeesahhh

[timkontheunsure]

Some of the reasons I think Stolas is on the spectrum

(finally getting around to popping this on up too).

He has special interests & misses social cues while being happy in them.

It not really normal to be happy reading legal documents when someone's life is on the line. But Stolas is just vibing that he gets to help with his love of words. Yay him!

Stims

He stims when both happy & sad to help regulate his emotions.

His happy stims are:

*clapping when he gets to take Via to the circus, because he thinks they can enjoy it together.

He also does this with contract reading.

*He hopps up and down when his dad gives him a new books. Also when getting ready for his date with Blitz. He's just so happy he needs to hop.

His sad stims:

*are bang his head again and again about the engagement.

*He self sooves with chest strokes when Blitz says his outfit is too much.

*He hand rubs and wringing his hat when worrying about Via in LA.

Special interests

The there's that Stolas info dumps on the playdate with Blitz all about his books and about plants.

Stolas also feels he has to explain why Blitz horse joke was soo funny. And why's it so funny?

Because it's accurate. I love his little cutie.

But he's also kept up his love of plants as a major hobby now he's an adult. When most people tend to swap interests as they age.

Side bar

His comfy resting hand position is t rex hands. This tends to be an autistic thing. Also works well as an owl.

Sensory issues

Stolas appears to also have some sensory issues too. When his a child he appears to be struggling when Mr Butler touches his hair out of nowhere.

But he's fine with Blitz doing it when they're kissing. This shows a lot of trust between them.

I think it's likely sensory issues are the reason why he swaps into his comfy, very old robe, as often as he can too.

Specific communication issues

While Stolas is very good at some communication styles, he's pretty bad at others.

When the audience think it's another joke about wanting to keep a puppy; he immediately knows Blitz's is panicking the studio. And tries to get to him.

However he doesn't get that his dirty talk is way OTT, because he's mostly likely coping it from the erotica. Not lived experience.

Speaking of erotica.

There's obviously a rule that reading is allowed at the diner table. But Stolas doesn't get This book isn't appropriate to read there.

Another rule he appears to follow more rigidly than most probably would; is that when you get an appointment you wait till you're seen.

Ozzie's ment to met Stolas at noon, but doesn't make it till 4 pm because of problems with work.

Stolas is only a couple of days out of the hospital and is probably feeling horrible.

But he sticks around a minimum of 4 hours to be seen, because he feels he has to.

(I'm assuming he also got taught you turn up earlier rule, but this just a guess).

Stolas genuinely wants to do something Via will enjoy, and he's fine taking Via to stylish occult when she asks.

But didn't get it till she's crying and sad that she wasn't enjoying Loo Loo Land.

"I take it you are.. not having fun." She needs to spell it out. Sarcasm isn't easy for him to interrupt.

His was obviously thought taking his daughter and his lover out to a theme park would be a good way to introduce them.

It's the sort of plot that only works on a novellas. And that's probably when he got it from. (Probably worked great for Gabrielle and Alejandro).

These are examples of him Masking, and not understanding why it didn't work.

Stella's being dangerous to be around = take Via out somewhere for her to have fun to blow off steam.

Wanting your lover and daughter to like eachother = ask IMP to tag along as the completely unnecessary bodyguards.

He doesn't really get that flirty with his affair partner, in front of his kid while going through a divorce isn't a good idea...

He also struggles to understand when his flirting comes off as condescending too. With "ittybity imps like you" or calling him Blitzy in public. He's most likely him coping language from other goeita.

But Stolas is very good at knowing when knowing when Blitz is fine being picked up, when to reassure him with face stokes, or how to calm Blitz down from a panic attack in just a few seconds.

So it's not that he's just never learnt these skills. It's just that some communication skills are harder for him than others.

But if you disagree that fine. 🙂 I just wanted to put down some of my thoughts why I think he could be.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Hi, do you think that Harry's personality was altered to fit with Ginny's in HBP? I can put my money on the fact that the Harry Potter from OotP would not put up with any of Ginny's bullshit. He wouldn't even talk to her if he could help it let alone date her.

If jkr wasn't on her trojan horse to make hinny endgame, Harry probably would not date anybody in sixth year. Not with Sirius's death, voldemort's horcruxes, his disastrous relationship (really, it's a stretch) with Cho the previous year and his new found obsession with Malfoy. His brain could only hold so much.

Hi, like, Harry's personality definitely changed in HBP, but I don't think Ginny was the only reason (Ginny's personality also changed from OotP, for the worse if you ask me). Harry's personality change between OotP and HBP isn't all that bad. Last time I read the book, a lot of it can be explained by his trauma response (his sass and even less self-preservation than before).

What is a little odd about HBP Harry is that he is way calmer than OotP Harry and tries harder not to annoy Ginny, even early in the book, before he supposedly realises his crush. Which is in stark contrast to Harry with anybody else and in any other book. Harry isn't scared of calling out people for bad behaviour, even people he likes (Lupin, Ron, Hermione, etc.), and who is outright rude to Ginny late in OotP. Basically, the transitions in Harry's opinions and behaviour towards Ginny didn't change naturally and go against how he usually reacts to people. Because you're right that OotP Harry would not try to appease Ginny when she gets all worked up over Fluer, he wouldn't care what she thought, and we don't see the summer between OotP and HBP when he supposedly changed his whole treatment of Ginny — which is a problem.

As for whether he'd date at all after Sirius' death... it can go both ways. I actually think it's very possible Harry throws himself into a relationship with Ginny — who he sees as a normal and safe dating option, she represents normal teenage life, and not being the Boy Who Lived — because of his trauma and Sirius' death and everything going on with Voldemort.

I mean, we are told pretty explicitly he sees his time with Ginny as a break of normalcy from his eventful life. It's a distraction and a coping mechanism:

“It’s been like . . . like something out of someone else’s life, these last few weeks with you,” said Harry. “But I can’t . . . we can’t . . . I’ve got things to do alone now.”

(HBP, Ch30)

So, I don't think that's inherently out of character, actually. What is, is Harry thinking he loves Ginny as much as he does, without knowing her and being chill with a lot of her behaviour he would have called her out for before:

“She’s a damn sight nicer than Phlegm,’’ said Ginny “And she’s more intelligent, she’s an Auror!” said Hermione from the corner. “Fleur’s not stupid, she was good enough to enter the Triwizard Tournament,” said Harry. “Not you as well!” said Hermione bitterly. “I suppose you like the way Phlegm says ‘ ’Arry,’ do you?” asked Ginny scornfully. “No,” said Harry, wishing he hadn’t spoken, “I was just saying, Phlegm — I mean, Fleur —” [...] “I wouldn’t go in the kitchen just now,” she warned him. “There’s a lot of Phlegm around.” “I’ll be careful not to slip in it.” Harry smiled

(HBP, Ch5)

First, Hermione and Ginny should lay off Fleur. Second, how come Harry finds Ginny's comments about Fleur funny after he just spoke in Fleur's defence? Why is he regretting having talked? He doesn't regret it when he speaks up to defend people he cares about or to say what people need to hear when it's the truth, even in HBP and DH. Ginny is the only exception, and we don't see what made her that exception in the books. Especially when Harry repeatedly shows he cares for Ron and Hermione more than her.

“And Ginny, don’t call Ron a prat, you’re not the Captain of this team —” “Well, you seemed too busy to call him a prat and I thought someone should —” Harry forced himself not to laugh.

(HBP, Ch14)

You're telling me Harry would find this behaviour funny, JKR? He would if he didn't like Ron, sure, but Ron is one of his most important people, more important to him than Ginny (as proven time and time again in DH), and he knows Ron's insecure enough as is. Harry would not stand for the Ron slander, even if it's from his sister.

Harry looked over at Ron, who was hunched in a corner, staring at his knees, a bottle of butterbeer clutched in his hand. “Angelina still won’t let him resign,” Ginny said, as though reading Harry’s mind. “She says she knows he’s got it in him.” Harry liked Angelina for the faith she was showing in Ron, but at the same time thought it would really be kinder to let him leave the team.

(OotP, Ch26) - Harry likes when people show faith in Ron's abilities! Wild that he's a good friend!

For context, Harry to Ginny in OotP when he's stressed over Sirius and annoyed with her:

“Hi,” said Ginny uncertainly. “We recognized Harry’s voice — what are you yelling about?” “Never you mind,” said Harry roughly. Ginny raised her eyebrows. “There’s no need to take that tone with me,” she said coolly. “I was only wondering whether I could help.” “Well, you can’t,” said Harry shortly.

(OotP, Ch32)

But I wouldn't say Harry won't talk to her if he could help it. He likes Ginny in OotP but not more than Fred and George. He finds some of her comments amusing and thinks she's alright. He doesn't hate her, far from it — but he doesn't see her as a romantic interest, he sees her as Ron's little sister. He's actively surprised she has any interest or talent in Quidditch and finds it unlikely. OotP Harry doesn't think very highly of Ginny, nor is he super interested in her as a person:

“You and Fred and George,” she said impatiently. “We’ve got an- other Seeker!” “Who?” said Harry quickly. “Ginny Weasley,” said Katie. Harry gaped at her. “Yeah, I know,” said Angelina, pulling out her wand and flexing her arm. “But she’s pretty good, actually. Nothing on you, of course,” she said, throwing him a very dirty look

(OotP, Ch21)

“Well, that was a bit stupid of you,” said Ginny angrily, “seeing as you don’t know anyone but me who’s been possessed by You-Know-Who, and I can tell you how it feels.” Harry remained quite still as the impact of these words hit him. Then he turned on the spot to face her. “I forgot,” he said. “Lucky you,” said Ginny coolly. “I’m sorry,” Harry said, and he meant it. “So . . . so do you think I’m being possessed, then?”

(OotP, Ch23)

And even the "best" hinny scene in OotP in the library (in quotations because that scene is really weird), Harry isn't really telling Ginny what's bothering him. He tells her he wants to talk to Sirius, but not why (Which is his doubts about James and what he saw in Snape's worst memory. He doesn't tell Ron and Hermione about it either, but it is an example of him not being more open with her than with Ron and Hermione. He isn't).

It's not all out of character in HBP, and Harry could get to a point where he treats Ginny and her comments the way he does, there's just nothing that happens in the books that justifies it — hence why it's so jarring. We didn't see Harry's emotions evolve to this point; they just sorta appear, and are really weird when they are there (god, I hate the chest monster).

[dragon-kazansky]

Bridgerton shade of blue

Benedict Bridgerton x Female Reader

Benedict bumps into you, quite literally, at a ball while trying to escape his mother's attempts to find him a partner. You decide to humour him with a dance, not realising just how entwined you would become with him. It seems the universe will find every excuse to push you and Benedict together, no matter how much you fight it.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Warnings: Sexual themes at the Granville studio. Nothing explicit.

Season one

Chapter Eleven - Ruse to ruse

♡♡♡

Colin had brought you here, so he saw to it that he saw you home, though Benedict was a little reluctant. He kind of wanted to do it himself, but there wasn't time to argue and dawdle.

Anthony and Benedict would see Daphne home, Colin would take you, and Simon would need to go home and prepare himself for his future with Daphne.

Colin was good at riding. He handled the horse with perfection. You were home before your mother was even properly awake. He helped you off the horse, and you thanked him quickly, going around the back of the house knowing the servants would be up already.

Colin rode away before he was seen.

You dodged some maids as you returned to your room and quickly dressed down to make it look like you had been in bed the entire time.

You were lucky to get back when you did. A mere ten or fifteen minutes passed before your maid came into the room to wake you. You stretched and rose from the bed, relying on your acting to fool the poor girl into believing you hadn't been awake since before dawn.

She seems none the wiser as she tells you breakfast will be ready shortly and that your mother was awake.

Once you're up and dressed, you can act naturally. Everything that happens now is just the course of things. Daphne and Simon shall marry, she'll become a duchess, and Violet can set her sights on her next daughter, Eloise.

You enter the dining hall and see your mother already there, starting her breakfast. You join her with a smile.

"Good morning, dear."

"Good morning."

She seems none the wiser as to what you had been doing earlier that morning. For that, you are thankful. You tuck into your breakfast and pretend nothing had happened.

You've barely eaten when the butler comes in and announces you have a guest. You glance up at your mother with confusion. However, she looks thrilled.

"A caller?"

You don't even get to answer before she's up and heading toward the door to see who it was. You stand, too. Your mother returns moments later being followed by Benedict.

You look at him in confusion this time.

"Mr. Bridgerton, how delighted we are for your visit," your mother coos.

"An innocent visit, I assure you," he replies.

Your mother looks at you and tilts her head in his direction.

"What brings you to our door?" You ask, looking at Benedict.

"I thought I'd share the news. Daphne is engaged to the duke. She told mother this morning." He speaks slightly strained. Of course you already knew this information.

"How wonderful!" Your mother cheers.

"Yes. Very. Is she happy?" You ask, playing along.

"I'm sure they both will be." You catch the change of tone in his voice.

Silence settles between you both.

"Don't mind me," your mother says, returning to her seat at the table.

You sigh softly and turn to Benedict. "I'll show you out."

Your mother calls your name and then says, "so soon?"

"I'm sure Mr. Bridgerton was just delivering the good news in person. After all, they are my friends, mother."

You didn't give her time to answer before leading him out of the dining room. Benedict followed you to the door.

"What are you doing here?" You ask.

"I had to make sure you got home alright," he says softly.

"Colin brought me home."

"I know..."

You sigh softly and look up at him. "How is your mother coping?"

"She is pleased Daphne is marrying the duke. However, it would seem that Cressida Cowper may have seen them in the garden that night." He explains.

"Oh dear..."

"I'm sure all will be well, but we must keep our wits about us for now."

"Then why did you come here?"

"I told you. To make sure you got home."

"Do you not trust your brother?" You ask.

"Of course I do," he replies quickly. "I just wanted to see you."

You smile and then chuckle. "You worry too much. You should go home and be there for Daphne. She will need all the support she can get right now."

He sighs softly and nods. Benedict does leave immediately. He just looks at you. You're unable to read the expression on his face as you stare back at him in confusion.

He soon snaps out of his daze and takes his leave. You watch him go.

When you return to the dining room, your mother looks at you. "Why did you show him out so soon?"

"Mother..."

"He could have come with good intentions."

"He just came to tell me of Daphne's news," you say, sitting down once again.

"He may want to court you."

"Mother, I can assure you that my future husband will not be a Bridgerton. That will never happen."

Your mother grumbles. "You never know."

You look down into your tea cup and see your reflection in the hot liquid. "No, mother. I do know."

♡♡♡

Daphne was to be married within the week, so you hear from her when you visit her family the day after the duel.

Violet was all a buzz with the news, truly believing her daughter was marrying for love, but everything you looked to the eldest Bridgerton daughter, you could only see the anxiety on her face.

Poor Violet would never know what really happened.

Eloise excused herself from all things wedding related, so you accompanied where you could. Daphne was grateful to have a hand to hold when her emotions became too much sometimes.

When she was fitted for her wedding dress, you held her hand. When her mother went through gloves and veils, you were stood there beside her, your arm hooked with hers. When they discussed nightdresses, you stood beside her and kept her company.

Daphne was glad you were there. She surely would have lost her patience had you not been.

When you returned to their home later that day only to find out from Anthony, the special license had been denied, Daphne reached for your hand again.

The conversation was cut short when Violet entered the room to greet Lady Danbury.

"Now, this is far too grim a mood for the celebration I was counting on," Lady Danbury said, looking at everyone. "What on earth is the matter?"

"Anthony?" Violet looks at her son.

"We have been denied our request for a special license," he tells them.

"What?"

"The archbishop did not see a need." The duke added.

"It is not the archbishop," Lady Danbury says. "It is the queen. Perhaps she has taken your rejection of her nephew to heart, or perhaps she is simply bored. Either way, it does not bode well for your daughter's social future, nor any of the Bridgertons for that matter."

You feel Daphne squeeze your hand.

"Surely we must be able to do something?" Violet asks.

"Give her what she wants. Attention. Appear before her yourselves and make a personal appeal. But she will not respond to begging, and she can sniff out even the faintest whiff of insincerity, so do not lay it on thick. Tell her you are in love, plain and simple and true."

Daphne and Simon look at each other. Daphne looks like she could cry.

"You can do that, can you not?" Lady Danbury asks them.

Daphne nods her head. Then Simon gives one firm nod also.

"Good. Now, where is the dinner I was promised?"

Violet chuckles and leads the way.

You let go of Daphne's hand and follow her mother. Anthony accompanies you, and the happy couple follow.

♡♡♡

Benedict returns to the studio of Mr. Granville. He has chosen to sit out dinner with his family, not knowing you were there.

Henry answers the door.

"Bridgerton! I am so glad you came."

"I dare not miss it," Benedict answered.

"Please, come in."

The two of them head inside.

"Make yourself at home. I would show you around, but host duty calls." Henry smiles and walks on ahead.

The studio is much more lively tonight. There are people everywhere. Benedict walks down the hall a little bit and peers into one of the open doorways. The room is full of pretty women dressed in as little possible dancing around. He keeps on walking and peers into another room. There are people sketching in this one.

"What are you doing here?"

Benedict turns around to find a woman looking at him.

"Apologies. Have we met?" He asks.

"We need not to have met," she says. "You are a Bridgerton, yes?"

Benedict, of course, would not recognise the seamstress.

"I see my reputation precedes me."

"Not exactly a virtue."

"Anything that gets me your attention is a good thing, I rather think."

"You should go, home to your brother, perhaps."

Benedict scoffs. "But I'm receiving far too warm a welcome here."

They later find themselves on the stairs enjoying each other. His lips on her neck and collarbone as his large, warm hands explore every curve of her body.

She takes his hand and leads him down the stairs and through the crowds. He hurries forward to find them a room, opening a door only to find Henry Granville and another gentleman enjoying each other up against the wall.

Henry's eyes land on Benedict as he stands there, watching them. Slowly, Benedict steps out of the room, closing the door behind him.

"Bridgerton," Genevieve whispers.

She's sat with a young woman nearby. She uses her finger to gesture him over. He walks over immediately, sitting between them and kissing the young lady. He then turns and kisses Genevieve, too.

He enjoys his evening with the pair of them.

It was safe to say, this man had no intention of settling down any time soon.

♡♡♡

The dinner passes by rather quietly. There is a slight tension between Simon and Daphne. Violet and Lady Danbury carry most of the conversation, and you join in when possible.

The only other Bridgerton's at the table were Anthony and Eloise, though the latter made it clear she would rather be anywhere else.

You find yourself a little disappointed at the lack of Benedict. Anthony just told you his brother had gone out. He knew not where. You didn't bother digging if he didn't know.

"What about you? Are there any prospects this season for you?" Lady Danbury asks, gesturing to you with her wine glass.

You look uo and find yourself a little stunned at the question. "Oh, um. I had some callers. Though not many. Very few came back a second time." You look down at your dinner.

"Worry not. You're still young. Your time to shine will come," she winks at you.

Violet looks at Anthony, who furrows his brow at her. When she nods her head at you, he shakes his head with wide eyes. Violet gives him a firmer look.

You look up, and she quickly smiles at you.

Anthony sighs and turns his head toward you. He keeps his voice low. "Whatever my mother says, do not buy into it."

"Hm?" You look at him with confusion.

"Anthony," Violet calls. Both of you look up at her. "Why not keep her company tomorrow?"

"Mother..."

"It would surely make her happy." Violet smiles brightly.

"Lady Bridgerton, there is no need," you try and steer her away from setting her up with one of her sons.

"I'm sure he won't mind."

"You're busy, no?" You ask quickly, turning to the young Viscount. "You mentioned some ledgers or something."

Anthony nods quickly. "Yes. Exactly. Those ledgers."

Violet sinks in her seat a little. Disappointed in her son. She can't help thinking you'd make a wonderful daughter-in-law. You would suit the Bridgerton name quite well, she is certain.

When dinner is over, Simon is very quick to leave. He speaks very little to Daphne as he exits the house.

Anthony sees you out.

"Shame Benedict wasn't present," you say absentmindedly.

"You seem rather close to my brother."

"We are friends. Fret not." You smile at him.

"I have no idea where he wanders off to so late at night. Nor do I care to ask."

"What you men do in your free time is your own business," you say.

"What could you possibly know what men get up to?" He asks, looking at you.

You just give him a sly smile, one Anthony simultaneously hates and loves. You're a cheeky one.

"Goodnight, Mr. Bridgerton."

"Goodnight."

He waits until you're in the carriage and then heads back inside his house. He walks starlight past his mother, who is gearing up to talk him into courting you, he is sure.

Violet watches him disappear upstairs.

♡♡♡

The next day, Daphne and Simon appear before the queen. You know not what is said in that room, but you are to gather later that Simon Basset made the most romantic speech known to man.

He declared his love Daphne in front of everyone in that room.

The queen gave them her blessing.

It worked.

♡♡♡

@callmemana - @lilscast - @imgondeletedis - @benedictbridgertonss - @clownsdiehard - @wxnterwidow333

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@cosmixstar - @bree3parchen - @berrnuu - @luckily123345 - @charmainemaclendon

[hazelfoureyes]

⟢Alastor x Cupid FemReader Tasked with making a demon believe in true love or you can’t return to heaven, things immediately go off the rails when you hurt yourself and Alastor catches one of your most troubling arrows; Mania

˚₊ · »-♡→ Week 1 and Week 2

˚₊ · »-♡→Week 3 and Week 4 smut💦 (keep reading)

Alastor lets you leave the hotel! Together! For soup. Later, your plans to make Alastor lose his obsession backfire. But like, in a hot way so you’re not that mad about it. A+ for effort?

˚₊ · »-♡→Week 5, Week 6, Week 7, and Epilogue smut💦

「warnings/promises: smut, I once again misuse a fucking prayer in a sacrilegious way, soup, spoon feeding, Angel texts, so much cum, bondage, tentacles, just good ole fashion fucking in the radio station, not quite dubcon but Alastor doesn’t really listen, hell has twitter and lets be real it’s just normal twitter, giant Alastor, Horse Luci」

Minors DNI ♥️ 🧹lovingly

You finally managed to leave the hotel. It was of course with Alastor at your side, microphone pressing into the small of your back like a third arm. It was as if he worried you’d just turn around and run.

He opened every door, pulled out your chair, and when your left hand shook and dropped your food he took on the task of feeding you. It was embarrassing, to say the very least. The sinners in the restaurant staring, a brave few filming or typing furiously on their phones.

You got a buzz on your own cell, a gift from Angel when he realized Alastor wouldn’t let you speak with others alone. 

He texted a link to a post on some hell site, to a photo of you right then, at that exact moment, being spoon fed by the radio demon. You considered smashing your head into the table until you blacked out. If you got up and left would you make it back to the hotel before someone realized you weren’t a sinner? You were absolutely terrified of someone noticing you as heaven sent.

Heaven kicked? Heaven thrown. Yeah that one felt right.

“You need to eat. You can’t heal like this.” Alastor sounded concerned, but you fought the urge to care. 

He hadn’t apologized to Husk, but Husk did say Alastor seemed to avoid eye contact which was basically a gift to him. Alastor had come to your room to dress you the next day as he always did, neither of you mentioning the day before. The hall was magically pristine by the time you left.

A tiny sliver of you thought he felt embarrassed. But decades of experience told you that Mania didn’t afford embarrassment, the stricken couldn’t be truly manic if something like that was holding them back.

Maybe it had been such a shallow cut he hadn’t gotten the full punch of Mania?

Another attempt to feed yourself, slowly bringing your spoon to your mouth, “You know when I heal I am going to finish my task and leave, right?” 

An odd laugh, a non-existent tear wiped away, “Adorable. No. I promise you, that won’t happen.”

“Alastor.” You put the spoon down with a clink.

“I love when you say my name. May I offer you more reasons to hold it in your mouth?”

“Al-,” you groaned, “I can’t stay forever.”

He hummed, a show of pretending to think about what you said, “Wrong! You can. And I argue, you will.”

You tried again with the spoon, regretting soup. Your appetite had been shot for awhile and it seemed easy enough. Wrong. Again. There was a constant tremble to your hands since arriving. Perhaps experiencing pain for the first time was rattling your body so much that it couldn’t cope. “Why would I ever do that? This is literal hell.”

Alastor leaned over, taking the spoon from you with ease and bringing it to your mouth, “Because I’ll make you understand it’s where you belong. They didn’t appreciate you,” his grin widened, “Not like I do. Like I can, if you’d let me.”

Annoyed and flustered, you took the help to eat. “Thank you.” A spoonful, “How can you say that though? I’m the one and only Cupid.”

“Actually, no. You’re not. You are just the current incarnation. They’ll replace you.” 

You regretted telling him that. They could. Just replace you, that is. There was nothing stopping them. You stared into your soup, lips curling down.

“Don’t look so defeated. I’ll make you happy, for eternity.” 

Your eyes rolled. “When do you plan on starting that eternal happiness?”

You didn’t look at him when you said it, but you could see his hand slow, then become completely still. Had you wounded him?

He pivoted, “Doesn’t Cupid have wings?”

Another spoonful, “Of course.”

Alastor waited while you took a drink, determined to make you eat the entire bowl, “Where are they?”

A pause. Where were they? You hadn’t realized you couldn’t feel them. They weren’t everpresent, but their weight still sat between your shoulder blades at all times. Always. Normally. But now? 

“You don’t know? That’s troubling.” Alastor read your face with ease.

You shot him a look. Stop doing that. Stop replying to unspoken thoughts.

“Apologies.”

Another text before you could snap at him.

You slid the phone away from Alastor, face red. “Do you think, honestly, if you’re capable of it, that I’ll ever be able to go home?”

His hand came to your neck, running over your collarbone, “For the record, I’ve never once lied to you.” You rolled your eyes, fine, okay, “With your heavenly body, even as weakened as you have been here, I’d say just a few more weeks.”

You turned the phone face down.

“Good…that’s good. If you plan on winning me over, your countdown has started.” You pushed the soup away, appetite gone. The idea of never returning to heaven made you nauseous. He slid it back to you, face stern despite the smile he wore.

The walk home was quiet, your stomach full of unwanted soup.

No, not home. The hotel. 

He usually spoke a lot, clearly loving the sound of his own voice. His hand replaced the staff, settled on your back as he guided you. You could feel the warmth through your clothes. How could he be so hot and not be sweating? Another sinner thing?

The thought hadn’t left you by the time you came into view of the hotel gates. Maybe you had been replaced. How would you know? Maybe that was why your wings were gone. Surely there was some way to communicate from hell.

You found Lucifer as soon as you returned, unbothered by Alastor’s presence, “I need to speak to heaven.” 

Alastor was saying something but you had gotten quite good at tuning him out. Lucifer snapped back, the men quickly devolving into arguing again.

“Lucifer.” You said it with your chest. 

His apple topped cane whirled, a golden circle appearing with a crystal clear image of heaven’s glowing gates through its center.

A loud noise erupted behind you, a high pitched static wail, familiar tentacles flailed and a long shadow of a growing Alastor stretched across the wall. His back was bent into the lobby ceiling, perhaps three stories tall now.

The sounds of magic popping as Lucifer shapeshifted accented the sounds of horror with that of whimsy. You approached the portal, those black tendrils slithering around your ankles but you easily slipped out of them as their owner's energy was pulled to full demon Lucifer slamming into him.

Almost, you could see it. 

A monstrously large hand came down, shaking the hotel and knocking various objects off their perches in the lobby. Charlie and Vaggie, someone else you’d come to enjoy the company of, flew down the stairs.

The common area was filled with the sounds of yelling and breaking glass. You crawled over his hand as Alastor’s fingers curled around your body gingerly. He tried to pull you from the gateway but while he slowed, Lucifer now a flying horse kicking him in the face, your outstretched hand strained to enter the portal.

Your fingers grazed the doorway, the air around the lobby fizzing and warping as a desperate screech tore from Alastor’s wide and impossibly thin chest. The grip tightened around you. A static whine threatened to pop your eardrums.

As your fingertips pressed past the ring, they stopped. Something impenetrable and unseen between you and heaven. 

Alastor must have noticed it too, his grip loosening as you clamored on hand and knees to the portal. Your palm ran over the doorway, searching for a hole or seam to rip. Just under your skin was your home, bright and clean and painless. A tiny ‘no’ fell from your lips, smacking at the barrier with your open hand.

Alastor returned to his normal, still terrifying, height. Lucifer came forward, their fight losing motivation, his small hand on your shoulder as you sat on the hotel lobby floor. He closed the portal and apologized, “Sorry kid. Let’s try again when you finish that task, okay?”

Alastor’s arms went under your back and knees and lifted you off the ground. You didn’t resist or argue. Your eyes were unfocused, vision blurry with tears, as you were carried past the others. Vaggie looked ashamed, which was odd given she had more character than half the archangels could muster together between them.

There existed permissions for who could enter the heavenly realm, a list meticulously kept. They’d removed you from that roster. They’d locked the doors behind you.

You felt good. The final week of your first, and hopefully last, month in hell was marked with taking off your sling for the first time.

A good three day wallow in a metaphorical cave helped you emerge with renewed vigor. Of course they locked the gates behind you, otherwise you’d just go home. That made sense. That made sense.

That had to make sense. 

Deciding to take a risk and attempt to expedite your homecoming, you and Angel made plans. Like a teenager in a party movie you snuck out of the hotel when Alastor was asleep. Well, so you assumed. You weren’t really sure what he did behind closed doors.

Angel brought you somewhere he felt people would be receptive to discussing love and talking to angelic beings, and admittedly also very high. 

Sling off but still being as gentle as you could, you leaned across the small standing-only table to talk-shout with a rather cute aquatic demon. An eel? Or maybe some kind of water-fond lizard? It didn’t matter, his glasses were cute, both of you a little drunk,  and you quite good at saying the right things.

And all of the right things were said, and you felt maybe if nothing else you’d enjoy your first demonic lay, when the power shut off.

Everyone filed out, bummed and bothered to find most of the neighborhood shrouded in darkness.

Angel tapped your shoulder and pointed up the hill to the hotel, radio station a glow with a red light, “Ya know, I wouldn’t be surprised.” Nothing to do but to stare, you stayed quiet and angry while he flagged down a taxi knowing the trip would be fast without traffic lights, “Guess Daddy Dead Eyes is calling you back.” 

Anger grew and grew in your chest as you were charioted home.

Jesus, to the hotel. Stop doing that.

You burst into the radio station tower, Alastor barely reacting. Until, that is, you marched up to his desk.

Pinned before you could react, his body pressing into yours as your ass ran up onto the desk.

“Sneaking out like a child?” His voice was low, soft, unnatural. “Why do you intentionally torment me?” 

 “I have done,” you tried to move but only succeeded in rubbing your stomach against his crotch, “no such thing. You’re just possessed.”

He responded by pressing forward, no accident, as his eyes narrowed on you, “Correct. I am a man possessed.” When he rolled himself into you, an alcohol primed groan escaped your mouth. 

“I thought you didn’t care about those things,” your eyes flashed to his lap pushing into you and then back to his glare.

“You’re my exception that proves the rule. If you’re so desperate for attention there’s no need to leave the hotel to find it.” His smile was poisoned by the simmering anger in his eyes, “Dear.”

It was the alcohol and annoyance at losing a chance with glasses-man, Jake or Jark or something not worth a scrabble move, that made you sneer a reply, “Not yours. I am a divine creature, demon. Your body would just filthy me.” Nose up, feeling absolutely better than him in every sense, you pushed him off and left. 

That was easy. Wow. 

Proud of yourself, you made it to the elevator before you realized— illusions. Perhaps his illusion was the idea sex with you was worth the effort, more so than others. He said it himself before, he didn’t care for such things. Perhaps if you could show him it was as boring and unattractive as sex with anyone else could be, maybe you could shatter his mania with disappointment.

You pulled a u-turn and heel-toed right back into his station. Giving him no time to react this time, you climbed onto his chair and straddled him, “On second thought, try your worst. Let’s get it out of your system and move on.” You ground your hips down. He only smiled up at you, amused. Taking his hands you set them on your waist, giving him permission to handle you, “Claim me. Make everyone know I’m yours.” He didn’t move. You were starting to feel embarrassed, had he goaded you just to make you look stupid? He would.  But your kind invented the tension before sex between enemies, “If you can.”

That did it. His hair visibly stood on end, “It is not a matter of ability. It’s about-”

“If you can’t, that’s fine. No need to start lying to me now. But don’t say I never gave you the opportunity.” You smirked, hoping he enjoyed a taste of his own sardonic medicine, and lifted yourself off of him.

His hands came to life on your hips, helping you rise and then flipping you onto your stomach. Your arms pushed radio transmitters and various old timey fuckery away to make room for yourself.

Those talons slipped up the center of your bottoms and crooked into your underwear. Long and strong, his fingers felt you. “Is this a perk of a heavenly body or is this,” two fingers dipped into your already wet and relaxed entrance, “all for me?”

You fought the urge to respond with anything other than malice, “Don’t flatter yourself.”

In heaven no one needs preparation, no one needs lube or required stretching to keep things whole and fun. You would love to say that quality followed you down, but unfortunately, like perfect health and angelic wings, it had not. 

You decided to chalk it up to the alcohol. Always an easy excuse to offer yourself.

Alastor’s hands pulled away and up, finding the place just above the Rosie’s Emporium clothing tag and ripping the bottoms and underwear clean in half.

You bit into your hand to keep your excited shriek to yourself but unfortunately couldn’t stop your legs kicking up. His laugh echoed off the many windows. 

Why couldn’t he be worse at this? Why couldn’t Alastor be clumsy and meek and awkward at sex? No, the menace you’d gotten almost used to was confident and commanding, you felt yourself twitching in anticipation. People have a misconception that Cupid was a chaste and wholly emotional creature, which was false. First of all, Cupids varied based on the incarnation. Just like other heavenly creatures their personality was varied and unpredictable. 

Personally, you weren’t suited for the job. If you were honest. Why couldn’t your quiver just be full of Eros and Agape? Even of those two, sexual love was more your speed. Romance was fine and lovely but perhaps you’d gotten a little jaded. 

Luckily for you, fucking Cupid was something many winners had on their afterlife bucket lists and you rarely found yourself with an empty bed.

Your attention was stolen back, Alastor’s clawed hand grabbing at the flesh of your thighs, “Oops.”

Focus. Why were you doing this again? Your system was metabolizing the alcohol now, and with the air cooling off your exposed sex, everything was awash with lust. Did you want to diminish his mania or were you just horny?

Would it really be so bad to admit you were both?

Deep breath, you remembered. Boring. Banal. The plan was to be motionless and not provide him any satisfying sounds. Don’t touch him, don’t try to push back on him, no tricks or fancy shit. The sooner he was over this you could make someone trust in love and fuck off home. 

Seconds turned to a minute, your ass in the air as Alastor’s hands pawed at your skin. You wanted to ask what the hold up was, but you didn’t want to give away how much you were needing him to just fuck you already.

“Do you miss flying?”

You looked around, were you so drunk you missed an entire chunk of conversation while thinking about how to hide thirsting for his dick?

“Yes…?” True statement.

“Allow me to help with that.”

There was a moment you half expected to be chucked out the window, but almost worse than that, you heard him seat himself in the chair again before your body was picked up and off the desk. “Alastor! I don’t-,” Hands flailing, feet moving around the best they could, you struggled against the familiar tentacles he had command over. “I do not allow it!”

Your hands batted at them fruitlessly. One came under your knees and folded them to either side of your chest before wrapping around your waist twice, a second across your chest like a seatbelt snug and secure. Had you been on the floor you could almost be mistaken for taking a deeply devout praying stance. Only your arms were free to move, the position making you open and incapable of taking back any semblance of control. 

“Alastor!” Stretching, you could almost reach the edge of his work table, but your fingers and toes curled in as you were seated on something hot and stiff. Your lips quivered, desperate to keep silent as you were pulled down onto him. Reaching back your hands found his stomach, raking your nails across the skin in need of anything to grip. 

When you heard him chuckle to himself, you knew you were already losing. Plan backfiring entirely. You pulled your hands back to your center, taking ahold of the tentacle nestled between and across your chest. 

“Heavenly Father,” his voice was quiet but sure, your eyes so wide you worried you’d get stuck making a permanent face of utter shock and despair, “bless us and these thy gifts which we receive from thy bountiful goodness, through your name, our lord.” You were lifted off his lap, Alastor’s swollen tip dragging along your unstretched walls as he said the Lord's prayer, “Amen.” Pulled back down before the second syllable even reached your ears, you cut into your bottom lip as a scream bounced around behind your teeth.

Heathen.

“I would think you of all people knew how to finish a prayer.” Alastor chided, “What will heaven say?”

If heaven knew you were being impaled midair on an overlord’s cock, they’d create a second hell for you to rule. Population of none. Except maybe some horny nuns.

As he found a pace he seemed happy with, slow and long draws out of you, you realized how fucked you were. Looking down, you could see one of his hands was settled at the base of his cock, those long fingers draped down his balls. The other hand was unseen and unfelt. 

“Alastor.” You tried to sound stern.

“Oh I doubt heaven knows my name. Not yet at least.” He sounded unbothered, almost unaffected. “Not until I’ve spirited away their little angel of love.”

You were almost insulted at how easily he could speak despite being buried so far into your wet, hot cunt. Maybe you had been spoiled in heaven, people usually so turned on by the idea of you that they were coming undone as soon as you were wrapped around them or in them in whatever way you decided.  

A broken chant of “be bored, be bored,” in your mind as Alastor hummed, that mystery clawed hand falling at your back. Biting your lip, you tried to think about anything other than how full he was making you. Did the glasses man at the club have a cock as thick as Alastor’s? Would you have been as satisfied as you were now? Every down thrust made the tuft of fur at this base press against your ass. Soft. You wanted to grind against it, the idea pulling a wanton moan out.

Fuck. Failing to distract yourself because you got distracted. It was so hard to think about anything else than your body being pushed open again and again. The blood on your lips was sweet, licking them clean before finding a new spot to bite down on. Quiet.

“Ah, are you giving me the silent treatment?”

Could this son of a bitch read minds? Could sinners read minds?!

 If you didn’t reply, that was confirmation. But if you did reply, you were breaking your goal of not talking.

“Just…,” you took a deep sigh, knowing this was going to be rough, “I’m not really feeling like making any noise.” A shrug, the best you could manage at least while bound and held aloft in the space above his lap. Pretending this was normal and boring was a feat. “I’m not a vocal person during sex. I prefer to just lie there and get serviced. Don’t mind me.”

That sounded awful. Perfect. 

“Oh? Well then, I guess I’ll not worry myself.” You could hear the smile in his voice. Less perfect. He began to hum a little tune as your body, partially upright, was now being tilted forward at a 45 degree angle from his lap. His cock was bending in you, head pressing harshly up into your walls. 

Heart beating so fast you felt a dizzy spell hit you, that renewed anticipation almost as arousing as the sensations.

His humming continued like he was reading the paper. You’d never ridden a roller coaster, but you’d seen many people do it before and this was surely the same feeling; right at the peak before the drop. When the ride operator stills you and lets you stare down at the height before you. Your stomach was flipping, excitement tinged with fear. 

You were pulled off his dick until you felt the bell of his red tip get just outside your entrance. Was he going to pull out entirely?

No. He pulled you down by way of shadows and fucked you just a couple inches into your cunt. His head was dragging out past your tight hole and smashing back in, directly hitting your g-spot. The spongy bundle of nerve endings was dented with every thrust.

You weren’t used to having your entrance stimulated so much, the skin luckily becoming slick as your own wetness was fucked out of you. 

“That feels weird, please.” How quickly you gave up. “Stop pulling out like that.”

A considerate sigh, “But you’ve gotten so wet, my dear. You’re dripping down my thighs already. I don’t think you want me to stop.”

Could you cum like this? You felt like you could, maybe if you just…you quickened your breath, faster and faster. Your stomach heaving, you felt the crescendo of pleasure. 

“On second thought!” He stopped.

Your toes wiggled, hands gripping the tentacle on your chest. Quiet. Shh. Don’t argue. Boring. Don’t care. The building orgasm waned, you felt your blood pressure lower. This really was hell. 

Alastor’s head was just sitting in you, burning hot and throbbing. You were sure you could feel his heartbeat. 

You two were locked in a standoff. Someone had to let on they were enjoying themselves; Alastor releasing pent up frustration with your attitude toward his affections, you chasing down a rare penetration-only orgasm. 

An idea struck you, a way to hopefully antagonize him and bruise his pride enough to force him into your hand (pussy), “Thank God. I think it’s almost my bedtime.”

Alastor’s smile strained, a twitch coming over his left eye. A trap. But the idea of letting you down and off of him seemed far worse than the small defeat you were offering. “Allow me to rock you to sleep then, sweetheart.”

Success! Shit! 

You reached out, the angle of your punishment allowing you to grab the edge of the table and grip. Alastor’s annoyance translated to an inhuman pace, him pulling you off entirely from his cock before bringing you back down. He was positively slipping in and out of you, your lower lips puffy and soaked around him. This degree of wetness was something you couldn’t remember feeling outside of marathon sessions. 

When your hands tightened, a shock of pain tore down your arm, a scream bringing Alastor to a sudden stop. “My collar…” Pain was apparently not a kink you enjoyed, though you briefly wondered if heaven allowed it at all. 

You couldn’t even fuck properly. You couldn’t do anything right. All you managed to do was fail. A sting to your eyes as the air hit your welling tears. Did humans feel this pain often? Your body was righted and turned, you looked down to Alastor’s face as you were brought to him. He looked so soft, usual smirk a sweet toothless smile, “I told you to keep the sling on, didn’t I?” He looked happy.

Your arms found his shoulders and your head came to his chest, “Shut up and finish already.” He didn’t release you from the binding, instead pulling the right arm under the hold of his slender tendril to keep it safe and out of the way.  His hands were both at the base of his cock while you were gently riding him. Well, “you”. He was still using his powers to manipulate your body on and off of him. Alastor’s fingers were spreading your arousal down his shaft and along his tightening balls, if you had looked at his face you’d have seen a weakened man there, furrowed brows and lust drunk eyes. But you didn’t look, trying to hide the same expression on your own features. 

Left hand free, no need to hold yourself up, you made lazy, and you hoped subtle, circles around your clit. You weren’t sure if this was a total failure or not, but you could finish and say something good came of it. You, specifically. 

Things were quiet, though. The loudest sound in the room was the wet pop coming from where his body was meeting your sopping hole. His breathing was fast and soft, sighing when he bottomed out. Another bite to your lip, a few more deep hits to your cervix, and you enjoyed a small but satisfying release. The hand on you stayed through, riding out tiny waves of pleasure as you twitched around him. When you felt his release you sighed, you did it. You think. Maybe. Regardless. 

As he slowly lifted you, you considered if your legs could hold you—

Up you went and back down you fell as he took a new, quicker pace.

“A-Ah-lastor?! You,” you bit your tongue, “already finished?”

You had made a mistake earlier that you hadn’t even realized. But Alastor had been holding it between his sharp teeth, “How many times?”

Absolutely no idea what he was talking about, you gasped out a reply, “What!?”

“How many times should I fill you before you’re too filthy to return to heaven, do you think?” He couldn’t be serious. “Three? Five? You see, the advantage of using my tentacles is that I don't get tired.”

Oh, but he was serious. 

The battle was entirely forfeit somewhere around the third time he flooded you with his seed.

“These aren’t the usual screams I enjoy from my studio, but I’m not averse to them.”

 When he felt you’d learned whatever lesson you were supposed to be taking in by the pump full, you were finally removed from him. He covered your lower half with his coat around your waist. It would be lying to say you were surprised to find his wide shoulders and small waist wasn’t just an illusion of his well tailored, yet oddly torn, coat. He was annoyingly attractive. Who gave him the right?

Your legs gave out when you tried to stand, warm hands pulling under your armpits to get you back on your feet. As much as you wanted to push him away, you were still a little tipsy and your legs still getting used to full blood flow. His arm held out for you to use for stability, you took it and wobbled silently to the floor you both lived on. Before you left the elevator you looked down and saw a line of white dripping down your inner leg. Took longer than you expected, honestly. 

When you turned to the right to go to your door, his arm came around your waist and shepherded you to his room on the left. You shot him a look, asking what he thought he was doing. 

He laughed, “Oh, after tonight’s little escapade, you’re moving!” He opened his door and gestured for you to enter, “Welcome home, my dear.”

What was worse than a failure? A catastrophe? This was that. 

“Now come on, we need to get you cleaned up.” A hand patted softly at your ass before ushering you inside.

He did just that, wiping you down and undressing you before settling you into his bed. Exhausted and sore, you decided to argue after sleep.

When you awoke, you checked your shredded bottoms for your phone. Nothing. 

An answer was found when you mentioned it to Alastor, who asked what you were searching for so early in the morning, “Perhaps someone at that venue you enjoyed has it? Too bad you can’t go back and ask.” He was resting his back against the headboard, you realized he’d unbuttoned his shirt quite a bit. “Oh well!”

How was he always making you scream?

ᡣ𐭩ˋ°•*⁀➷ masterlist

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar , @straows , @alastorssimp , @angelicwillows , @b-o-n-e-daddy , @one-and-only-tay , @asleeponelmstreet , @tremendoushearttaco , @mutifandomkid , @sapphirecaelis , @itzzzkiramylove  @saccharine-nectarine , @viannasthings , @looking1016 , @ultimate-duck-king-lucifer , @blakeaha , @astraechos , @reath-solia ,

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan

@faeoffaith , sailorsmouth , @jeannyjaykaydeh , @jyoongim , @cosmic-lavender , @saturn-alone , @lustylita , @radio-darling , @kaylopolis , @dickmastersworld , @leviskittywh0re

@asianfrustration13 @alittletiredcry @sirens-and-moonflowers @alastorssimp

[podcastenthusiast]

KCD Fic Recs

Will update as needed. After I've actually played kcd2 I'll likely expand this considerably. Mostly hansry.

Lavender's Green by DiscretionaryLigatures

After their victory at Suchdol, Henry and Hans live happily ever after-- but how? When social pressures assert their claim, can the lovers build a life for themselves?

astra inclinant, sed non obligant by audentesfortunaiuvatt

Their horses slow with the incline of the rolling hills, and Hans can’t help but steal glances towards Henry more often than he dare admit. His hair is fairer in the sunlight, his eyes brighter, his smile more radiant. The beauty of all the wildflowers in the meadow are nothing compared to the rider beside him, swept up in his own tales of a simpler time. This is surely what the poets meant when they spoke of longing, of devotion, of something so much greater than yourself. Of love. _____ Days at the Devil's Den in the aftermath of Suchdol and the freedom to explore something new.

Mandrake Schnapps by Ashertmarn

There’s no flattering way to mention that there are times that it feels like there is something rotten beneath his skin, that the only way to get it out would be to peel it off. So he doesn’t. Henry doesn't have the words for why his nightmares are as often about sex as they are about bloody battles, or why dancing with pretty girls sometimes makes him feel like he's dying. And if he doesn't understand it himself, how can he possibly expect anyone else to? or Five times Henry doesn't understand that what Doubravka did to him was wrong, and one time Hans helps him realise it was.

Rosehip Tea by Ashertmarn

After everything, Henry and Hans find some space for themselves away from everyone. There's a lot of work to do if they want it to be habitable by winter, which is lucky, because Henry needs the distraction. Distraction from the dreams, which are terrible. And the thoughts, which are worse.

Sharpen Your Knife by Ashertmarn

Godwin doesn't blame Henry for turning to drink, he's certainly been through more than enough to warrant it, but when it starts causing problems, it's Godwin that has to step in. But Godwin's no saint, and with his own demons nipping at his heels, what help does he truly have to offer?

To Distant Isles by jef379

After Suchdol, Henry finds himself unable to cope with the quiet, and unable to reconcile his feelings for Hans with his duty to Lord Capon. Picking up the bottle feels as natural as picking up the sword.

Henry’s Saviour Schnapps [Translation from chinese] by sweetpea2022

"If you could, would you ever go back to a certain moment in the past?" Henry had asked Father Godwin this question more than once. A drunk Godwin would tell him, "Tempus fugit, et non revertitur." (Time flies and never returns.) A sober Godwin, on the other hand, would say that he wouldn't mind squeezing the bathhouse mistress’s tits in Uzhitz one more time. And yet, for some reason, out of all the moments in his life, Henry kept returning to one endless sunset in Nebakov—Hans Capon, twenty years old, leaning against the railing on the second floor of the fortress, golden hair gleaming in the setting sun. From that moment on, every angel Henry ever imagined bore his likeness.

A Father’s Claim by Too_Many_Rooks

When his injured, exhausted son had burst into Pirkstein’s hall after disappearing without word into Vranik, the last thing Henry had said before collapsing feverishly into his arms had been a furious, bewildered, begging whisper of ‘father?’ His son was battered and bruised, but not broken. As it always was, with Henry. God above, as it always would be, he’d prayed, over and over again, sitting vigil at Henry’s bedside; for the first time in either of their lives being allowed the simple domesticity of sitting beside his sick child, worrying, and waiting for him to get better. —- Henry and Radzig, after Vranik, after learning the truth, having a vital conversation before they both ride to war.

Before the Battle by Too_Many_Rooks

Radzig seeks out his son in the quiet moments of preparation before they march on Pribyslavitz, to give Henry some advice before his first pitched battle, and to soothe the new kind of worry that's never plagued him before a battle before, that doubtless comes from leading his one and only son into a baptism of blood, and fire.

Aspects of Henry by Too_Many_Rooks

How Zizka comes to know the remarkable young man under his command, and how, through the eyes of others, and through his deeds, he begins to see Henry in all his varying aspects; a noble's bastard, a blacksmith, a healer, an assassin, a warrior, and most of all, a traumatised boy thrown to wolves, struggling to survive.

His Liege Lord by msunitedstatesjames

In which Henry and Hans debate what comes next, who seduced who, and whether there's any point in locking the door. *** "Hans had gone very still at the mention of Radzig. Henry's liege lord. Hans forgot sometimes that Henry didn’t truly serve him. Or rather, he did, but it was only a temporary arrangement. As soon as Radzig needed Henry for something more urgent than protecting the ward of his friend, he wouldn’t hesitate to whisk him off somewhere to do what Henry did best. (Which was, apparently, everything.) And there was very little Hans could do about it."

miserere mei, Deus by eyes_of_the_lamb

Then Capon clambers into bed with him, extinguishing Henry’s last flicker of hope that this was a bad joke after all. There’s a bit of a shuffle while Capon gets comfortable and Henry stews in the curious sensation of a warm body pressed back-to-back against his. He’s slept with girls before, and Mutt, and once, years ago, he even shared a hayloft with Matthew and Fritz… but this is different. This is Capon. Sir Hans Capon of Pirkstein. Henry’s lord.

Henry and Hans share a bed at Trosky Castle. Twice. And a beast wakes in Henry, one he thought chained and abandoned to the dark long ago. Disturbed, newly unsure of himself, and afraid he can't be the protector his lord needs, Henry seeks aid from an unexpected quarter: Lord von Bergow's silver-tongued swordmaster. Set during the canon storyline; spoilers through Nebakov.

lingua canum by eyes_of_the_lamb

“How did you…” Hans trails off as Henry rises to his feet, every movement taut as stretched leather. The birds screech in the trees; Henry turns his back to the fire, to Hans, and gazes across the overlook into the forest below. His gloved hands are in fists by his sides. Morning light glints faintly on the rusted rivets of his brigandine. Here it comes, whispers a faint voice in the back of Hans’s head.

Henry tracks down a poacher in the woods. Unrelated: Lord Hans Capon is experiencing possibly the lowest moment of his life to date. One thing leads to another, someone takes a sword (?) wound in the thigh, and everything gets more complicated. Set during the canon KCD 2 storyline; spoilers for the Bird of Prey quest.

Not In Blood But In Bond by gondolinarchivist

When Henry swings off of Pebbles in the courtyard of Pirkstein, dusty with travel and tired from the road, it is not his lord, or even his lady, who greets him first. “Hal!” Heinrich, his little child-voice high and excitable, outruns his nurse as he dashes to Henry. “Hal, Hal, Hal!” - Alternate title: A Day In The Life of Uncle Hal A little snapshot into how Henry navigates his life, Hans’s marriage, and most if all, Hans’s little boy.

Whatever It Takes by MovingPen

After single-handedly freeing Hans from Maleshov, Henry realizes there are fewer and fewer lines he's not willing to cross. [In which Henry is an exceptionally skilled killer even though he doesn't want to be, Hans gets a glimpse of the horrors carried out in his name, and they both take a well-deserved rest.]

but time makes you bolder by Brittnodo

Henry and Sir Radzig find common ground in uncommon circumstances, and bond over tumultuous stories of love and quiet sacrifice. (Or, Henry and Hans are painfully obvious in their affections and Radzig decides a father-son road trip is in order before he loses his mind.)

by a heel by rednightmare

[Podfic here]

God’s truth: It does not occur to Henry until the moment he spies Hans’s heel hanging over the edge of the hangman’s block at Trosky that Birdie of Pirkstein could ever die. My take on For Whom the Bell Tolls. KCD2 spoilers for said quest. One shot, canon outcome with an established relationship flair

With Horn and Leash by rednightmare

It is Henry’s first winterhunt, and wolves are howling in the fields. Hans cannot understand why everyone is so afraid. A KCD1-era deep dive into the issue of class and what it means for Hans & Henry's present as well as their future. Hansry, established relationship. Implied Bianca/Theresa.

Pray The Sun May Rise by isnt_it_pretty

Henry should be the one standing here, triumphant in his long-await victory and finally laying to rest the spirits of Skalitz he carries on his shoulders, but Henry is god-knows-where, trapped in von Bergow’s hands, and so Hans will do it in his stead.

Lavender by isnt_it_pretty

Falling off the damn cliff did a number on him in more ways than one.

Ad Pacem by onlystars

Hans doesn’t do it to spite Hanush. That’s just an additional pleasure. Or: All roads lead to Constantinople.

Infaustus by vrisadefer

To young lord Hans Capon of Pirkstein, no matter whether he was the son of a village blacksmith or a noble's bastard, Henry was no more than a dog. The moment the dog dared to disobey, all he was good for was to be kicked, and all he could hope for is that the lord, in his infinite noble wisdom, wouldn't deem him rabid—and put him down. Let it be so, then. If he was an unruly dog, hungering after something he had no right to, then he was already damned. God can't help him. His soul was already lost—the leash to it in different hands than God's. Henry tries to bury all the conflicting feelings about his lord somewhere deep. But was born under an unlucky star, after all: the world won't let him keep these things buried for too long. A study of Henry's state of mind after Laboratores until For Victory!; exploration of his own fears and desires he struggles to understand. Canon compliant, extended: filling in the gaps. Misunderstood religious misery, self-discovery, shameless dog motif, power imbalance and crossing the class divide; two absolute fools in horrible, horrible love.

Omnia Vincit Amor by goldenhart

Love conquers all: let us, too, yield ourselves to love. The Lord of Rattay is married. His beloved watches from afar.

The Art of Courtly Love by goldenhart

Rattay, 1409. A loyal knight-at-arms returns from battle, sick at heart of bloodshed and war. His lord tries to ease his sorrow, if only for the night.

Prayer Before Morning by rednightmare

[Podfic here]

At Christmastime, even Hans must go to church. Because he is still Hans, he brings Henry along. Winter-themed sugary fic with a hard shot of lordship angst. One shot. KCD2 SPOILER-FREE.

In Spring by rednightmare

Spring cannot last forever. Eventually, he will grow up. An exploration of the end of Lord Capon’s extended adolescence, and the animals left unhunted. Vignettes, one-shot.

Wildflowers in Bohemia by gondolinarchivist

The Lady of Rattay, and a girl who had once laughed in Skalitz. What does the story look like when Hans and Henry are women, born into a world where they are not free to live, or to love, as men are?

The Kind That Burns by sk3l3m4n

Henry thinks he might have a fever. It’s the only reasonable explanation for the deep churning whirlpool of nausea in his stomach, not to mention the sweating and shivering he’s desperately been trying to hide all day. All week, really. Ever since he and Hans rode back into Rattay, a lord and his loyal servant once again. No longer on equal footing, at least not in the public eye. Henry knows it’s not an intentional slight on the part of his friend, but there’s a guilty kernel of resentment in his heart for having been abandoned so Hans can marry someone else. ‘Someone else’, he sounds like a fool. Even if the lord hadn’t been promised to Jitka of Kunstadt, it’s not like that would’ve freed him up to walk hand-in-hand with Henry. Things just don’t work that way.

Lost in the Trees by rednightmare

In the monastery, among the monks of St. Benedict, Brother Gregor learns how to live a life of God. Request fill: Henry uses his time in the monastery to reflect on his life—as it is, and as it used to be, and his relationship with Lord Capon.

All water under the bridge by neodyymi

Henry lay back against the hay, hands folded across his chest, eyes tracing the beams overhead. The silence held – not exactly awkward, but still thick with all that hadn’t been said. Beside him, he could hear Hans breathing, slow and shallow, and somehow he knew that sleep wouldn’t come easily for either of them that night.

The Torment of a Scorpion by Dovahbeeotch

Hans learns that Henry hasn't been entirely honest about what happened during his time in Trosky's dungeon, after Nebakov. A conversation they probably should have had sober, in hindsight.

You Are My Hammer and Weapon of War by Ashertmarn

Henry used to care when he killed people. Now he doesn't. Hans reckons with the question of who's to blame.

rainfall by rowanisawriter

“Baths tomorrow morning,” Hans says. “And you can finish telling me about your monastery adventures. And why it took you so goddamn long to finish your task and return to m—to Rattay.” Henry takes another sip. “Alright, Sir Hans.” In the dim glow of light at their table, he can see freckles across Henry’s nose, and some peeling along his hairline from a healing stretch of sunburn. Details he’s missed over the past few weeks. He reaches for him without thinking, then lets his hand drop on the table between them. Henry watches this display with an unreadable expression. A stillness. Outside, the rain continues to fall, loud and clear. “We must drag Gregor out of you,” Hans tells him. Henry nods. “Yes. We must.” Gregor returns from the monastery on a rainy day.

Hair O' The Dog by Dovahbeeotch

Hans has horrendous habits, destructive whims and above all, the power to do whatever the fuck he’s inclined, whenever the fuck he’s inclined to. Henry is keenly aware that he falls into the broad canopy that is ‘Hans’ destructive whims’. That night they acted on impulse, on lust and in Henry’s case, on greed. 

in some other realm (you are waiting for me) by eldritchcow

Hans dies at Suchdol and wakes up at Rocktower Pond.

Blooming Within by NormieTown

A weird sickness, said to be a curse from Satan planting a seed inside different folk. Only love can treat it as demons fear pureness. There has been records of forced marriages established to save the dying yet none of them worked. So, Henry's only hope is finding the person he loves and being loved back. Defeated, Henry sighs and glances at Hans. OR: Hanahaki AU, Henry yearns for Hans so much he nearly suffocates from his feelings (literally)

"Tys původ všeho dobrého" by Kubbitus

"You, the origin of all things good." - Translation of the title. - Lyrical poetry by Fridrich Bridel. He's very young. Pavel thinks he might look younger than he actually is, but even so. His eyes are huge, and they dart about with a fear Pavel can't quite place. It's the look of a student caught out at a lesson, but it's also the look of prey, and also the look of a predator that doesn't know what it's doing. Pavel has survived many a year through sizing up other men quickly, and something about this one makes him pause. It's oddly charming, and Pavel likes him immediately. A retelling in full of Henry's time in the monastery. Or at least how it went in our hearts.

my voice will haunt you by Brittnodo

Skalitz burns but one less victim is claimed. Rattay thrives but the walls are closing in on its heir. Lost in their own ways, Anna and Hans find common ground in uncommon circumstances, and bond over tumultuous stories of love and loud sacrifice.   (Or, a world where Henry’s mother survives, Henry and Hans are still painfully obvious in their affections, and Radzig still is about to lose his mind, but at least he has company this time.)

in manibus tuis by eyes_of_the_lamb

"Shall we?” “We? What d’you mean, we?” “I mean exactly what I said, you pedantic peasant.” Capon smirks, pleased at his own wordplay, though the smile doesn’t touch the uncertainty in his eyes. “I’ve had more than enough of sitting on my arse. If Zizka’s sending you somewhere, I’m going with you.” Hans Capon and his squire ride out side by side to track down Hynek the Dry Devil's old band. It'll be just like old times: wine, women, and song. Surely neither of them have changed since they set out from Rattay to deliver a message together. Surely their ironclad bond of friendship isn't starting to crack and give way to new, tender feelings neither of them have the words or inclination to describe. It's simple brotherly affection that makes them so loathe to leave each other's side, even for a moment. Right? Or: what if the middle act of Kingdom Come: Deliverance 2 was a 2-player game?

daffodils and daisies by ladyredms

The following are isterik fics:

In the bloody aftermath of Brother Gregor's stay at the monastery, Lucas can't avoid suspicion, nor the weight of his own guilt. His prayers for salvation won't bring it - but they lead him to a path that might one day find it.

The Kingdom of the Ring Finger by Domoda

1404. The night before Lord Capon's wedding, Henry is exiled from Rattay. The reason is never given. 1423. After nearly twenty years, Hans Capon reappears on Henry's doorstep with a very strange request. It's been a long time. How much has changed, and how much stays the same?

Desideria by vrisadefer

Had those hands that now dispense charity not killed and maimed, and gored, and stolen, and choked the last mortal breath out of the bodies of fellow men? Had that brow that now furrows over brewing soothing and healing decoctions not furrowed over deadly poison, too, and potions that bring pain and suffering and rot? Had those eyes that now look up at holy altars with reverence not looked at others with rage, and jealousy, and vile lust? Had this heart that now pounds in his chest like a bell of the monastery not hungered after things forbidden? Had it not rejoiced in dealing pain just as much as it had in helping others? Henry casts aside the Benedictine habit after ten strange and sacred days among monks and hymns. Then, to infiltrate Vranik in the service of his liege lord, he puts on a mask—one of cruelty, corruption, and violence— and it proves to slip on a bit too easily. He wears it well—and the comfort of it terrifies him. An expansion of Henry’s time in Vranik: facing his own dark desires while vying for Erik’s favour—and then facing his worst fears the moment he loses that favour, suddenly and irrevocably.

Se Probare by invictus6

After the mysterious Ištván Tóth raids his village, Erik, a 17-year-old peasant, is swept up in war and politics, learning how to navigate his new dangerous lifestyle while his relationship with Ištván evolves from hesitant servitude into blasphemous fixation. (or: Kingdom Come: Deliverance, from the perspective of Erik rather than Henry.)

Nunc scio quid sit amor by Lamina2505

By day, Istvan led a band of outlaws and mercenaries – broken men like him, orphaned by war, disillusioned by God. By night, they burned villages, looted merchants’ caravans, and killed without songs or banners. There were no righteous causes left, no sides worth dying for. Only the steel of a sword on his belt and the clink of stolen coins in his pouch brought him some comfort. Then God or the Devil himself sent him the boy.

Kiss Me on the Mouth by Leo_is_alive

Istvan and Erik discuss Henry and Erik grows rather needy for affirmation. Istvan is glad to assist- though, Erik seems to want something different than usual. AKA erik blows istvan and the old man tries to not pass out

Heavy heart by ONeophyte

Usually, Istvan was far more talkative. Not chatty, but always ready with something to say — some sharp little truth, some quiet wisdom to share with a friend on the road. He liked to say, for example, that war had two hands. One takes, the other gives — one will catch you by the throat no matter how you squirm, and the other you must reach for yourself. Or that every goodbye always ends with a reunion — over wine, or in the Devil’s pot. And that only fools call Death a homewrecker, when there’s no better procuress to be found.

Aegri somnia vana by neodyymi

To Ištván's great satisfaction, Erik turned toward him, a drunken smile spreading across the boy’s face as their gazes met. Erik’s striking eyes, dark as the void yet clouded with the warmth of honeyed mead, still held a sharpness that betrayed his ever-present awareness. His broad frame, slightly hunched from the grueling hours of battle and travel, seemed almost regal in the flickering firelight. As subtly as he possibly could, Ištván nodded towards the stairs, leaving his fine wine half-finished. Knowing all too well that his Erik would soon follow.

Without Asking by vaultboywholived

They laugh. They curse. They fuck like they’ll never get the chance again. And beneath all that — something steadier. Something like love, if either of them were brave enough to name it. But they don’t need to. Not here. Not today.

high hopes by rowanisawriter

“I’ve never had any hope for a good king, or a fair war. Or for the sun to shine each morning. Or for good harvests. I have hope in you. Every day. And we fight in these battles for your future. Tell me you understand.” “I understand.” The war gives Erik bloody cuts and sweaty sore muscles, stinging eyes, bruises the color of leather. Istvan gives him armor of pure white.

War-torn Dogs by henerich

Erik’s alive, and he can’t eat. The last thing he had today was his mother’s breakfast. An exploration into the early days between Erik and Ištván.

death's other kingdom by rosenrote

"I abhor your mercy. It does not become you." These strange times Istvan comes to know tenderness. Character study two-shot.

[scoobydoodean]

Hello<3

I was wondering if you had any thoughts on how fandom misconstrues Dean's relationship with alcohol?

There is so much emphasis on making him out to be a violent mean drunk, but I mostly remember that he drinks and like passes out when he's grieving or stressed (iirc) (s6 PTSD, Soulless sam, when Cas dies, etc.)? It's weird to me because Dean isn't the only character to go through this. Bobby relies on drinking too. He's exactly as gruff as Dean can be. He also had an abusive father. Yet I don't usually see people judging Bobby for that (if they exist, I haven't seen them at least thank God).

I get frustrated when people say things like the MoC was a direct metaphor for alcoholism just because it made Dean sooo violent and angry, etc. And, it's like an unrealistic understanding of alcoholism irl and also of Dean himself and his actual actions and context. I just get weirdly defensive of him over it lol.

If you've already hashed this out I'm sry! At the end of the day, it's all just interpretation ig, but I wanted to know your take on it cause ik you'd look at dean with a good faith lens.

<3

One could say I have had thoughts on how fandom misconstrues Dean's relationship with alcohol. One could even say I have spawned extremely funny multi-day fandom-wide disk horses on this subject simply by giving my opinion on my own blog when an anon asked me to.

I'm tracking Dean's relationship with alcohol (and other substances bc I was too lazy to make two separate tags) through #dean and drugs during my rewatch if you care to peruse, but I think you and I are of a similar mind on this.

Prior to season 4, Dean has a very average relationship with alcohol. In season 4, Dean starts using alcohol as a coping tool to help him fall asleep because he's having nightmares about hell. By season 6, alcohol is also a coping tool for depression and stress. He drinks to deal with nightmares, he drinks to cope with hell trauma, he drinks after soulless Sam watches his sexual assault with a smile, he drinks after Cas swallows all the souls and Death blames Dean for everything, he drinks throughout season 7 to cope with Cas's death and Bobby's death. I'm up to 8.01 and have yet to see a single occasion where Dean drinking and Dean being violent co-occurred. What I do see is Dean drinking when he is sad, alone, or scared.

I'll continue tracking—I'll eventually get back into the MoC arc where Dean is drinking heavily again, and obviously Dean + drinking + anger + violence are all going to happen at the same time in MoC seasons. However, correlation does not equal causation, and while someone can choose to believe that Dean's drinking causes him to be angry, I think the literal answer in season 9/10 is that Dean's been cursed by the father of murder, and on a more metaphorical level, the Mark of Cain quite overtly represents Dean's resentment toward Sam which Carver spends his entire run laying out in great detail. This is why the whole Carver run culminates in Amara (a Dean parallel) being unleashed to take revenge on her brother, and why the MoC is a brother murderer curse to begin with. Alcohol is set dressing. It shows us—just as it did in the past—that Dean feels sad, alone, and scared (in this case, of what the MoC could lead him to do—which also isn't dissimilar from the original reason Dean started drinking—after hell to cope with the trauma of not just being tortured but torturing others—the fear that he'd been made into a monster).

Looking at the matter holistically, I don't personally see Dean as an angry drunk. I see him as a sad drunk. If anything, I think he hopes that alcohol will drown his anger and violent urges in the MoC arc, or at least slow him down, while also being the traditional tool he uses during boughts of depression (which he is very much experiencing during the MoC arc to the point of suicide). I also think outside the outlier of season 9/10, the narrative supports sad drunk Dean far better than angry drunk Dean.

[sirensdollesque]

"ill always be here"

rating:fluff

the argument seemed to stretch on, what was supposed to be a discussion between your parents on something you're older brother did had turned into a what seemed, never-ending fued between them. somehow your name had to be put it, which didn't make sense, you hadn't done anything and this was a problem that didn't include you.

you'd finally had enough, as much as you didn't wanna let it to you, it did. you'd had a long day, beyond exhusted and you really just wanted to get home and relax but it seemed that wasn't in the card today. what was just a small discussion ended with them going back and forth and yelling, and after the long day you'd had and your name being brought up without you being remotely relevant to this, you'd had enough. your eyes were teary and the only thing that came to mind that you thought could help was chris.

chris was in the kitchen, a Pepsi sat on the table next to him and his phone in his hand, whatever zone he was in was interrupted with the sound of knocking on the door.

"oh hi baby- woah, what's wrong?" Chris could visibly see your eyes teary and the tears marks that painted your face, he brought you inside and shut the door his focus returning to you. "I'm sorry, my parents have been fighting about something my brother did and my mom involved me with no reason and I've just had a really long day and this is probably really stupid-" "hey, you are not stupid for having emotions, that argument didn't involve you and your name should've have been brought up." Chris held you close, your tears wet his shirt and you were sniffling, by now he had moved you two to the couch your body loosely wrapped around his.

you turly don't know how long you'd spent crying into chris' chest, but by now your tears had stopped and the only sound were your sniffles and chris whispering sweet nothings to you, making sure you knew that what you felt was valid.

"thank you" your voice was soft, horse from the now dying burn in your throat, "what for sweetheart?" "for being here, letting me cry into your chest." you looked up at chris, his eyes met your and he placed a soft kiss to your forehead, "dont gotta thank me sweetheart, I'll always be here for you, weather you're crying or laughing to me."

torispeaks🌾- wrote this to cope cuz I'm #goinginsane and it's loosely based on real events

tags- @secretlocket @sturns-mermaid @freshloveee @ch6rm @chrisissobabygirl @immaqulate @strnilolover @submattsgf @joces-wrld @throatgoat4u @jensturnss @sweetshuga @oopsiedaisydeer @theyluvivi @stvrniolostan @lyingonchris @courta13 @moth-feeet @stvrniolostan

[paulyenvol6]

Heavy Hearts

Joel passes a group of raiders who are assaulting a girl that lives in the attacked village and decides to save her.

Contains: mentions of rape and sexual assault, trauma, angst, anxiety, panic attack, very caring and empathetic Joel

I'm not a psychologist and don't know how a person that has been sexually assaulted typically copes so please don't be mad if you don't like the way I described it.

Wordcount: ~3.80k

Masterlist

Usually Joel wouldn't have stopped.

Usually he wouldn't have even looked.

In situations like this he just tried to pass the group of raiders praying that they wouldn't notice and rob him as well because he was on his own after all and although he was a skilled fighter, he wasn't able to take a whole pack of them. So when he passed a camp or village where he could hear the raiders from afar Joel usually avoided it and quickly made his way past it.

But today it was different. It wasn't a very large group of men, maybe 5 or 6 and Joel hadn't been able to notice them until he was already close to the few houses. Once he did he immediately stopped and hid behind a tree.

"Shit," he cursed to himself and since he had a horse with him he knew that he needed to be very careful now so they wouldn't see him.

At first Joel watched them for a moment and then decided to try and back out until he could take the way around the forest which was a long diversion but it was better than to get killed by them.

He was just about to leave his hiding spot when he heard another noise. A high-pitched anxious voice that stood out compared to the laughter of the men.

He hesitated. Out of mere curiousity Joel narrowed his eyes to make out what was happening at the camp and it didn't take long for him to understand. The raiders were kneeling and standing around a girl and obviously intended to claim her as their prize. This wasn't new to Joel as raiders usually took from villages whatever they desired which included young women and to survive in a world like this one had to grow immune to their suffering.

And yet Joel hesitated again. His brain worked hard while he didn't take his eyes off the scene for one second. As much as he felt for the girl, he couldn't risk his life for her. There were four men around her and he couldn't be certain that he would be able to take down all of them. He had worked too hard, had sacrificed too much to be at this point in his life now to throw it all away for a girl. An innocent girl.

Joel's eye twitched and he chewed on his bottom lip. Her screams cut through the air like knives and each hit him in his stomach with so much force that he almost fell back. He couldn't do it. Jesus Christ, he couldn't save her. This was the destiny of so many women and girls and as horrible and sad as it was, Joel wouldn't change the world by saving her. So many more girls would get raped and assaulted even if he helped her.

He felt his foot getting numb which made him realize that he was already sitting here for way too long. He slowly rose to his feet while still observing the men. He couldn't see a lot but it looked like they were trying to take off her clothes which she tried to prevent. She kicked and shouted for someone to make them stop and Joel couldn't help but feel like her words were directed to him.

There was a thunderstorm inside of him; the urge to hit those motherfuckers who had grown so evil and vicious that they had fun raping girls but the rational side of his brain told him to turn around and never look back. And yet Joel hesitated again.

Maybe he thought that he would find a solution to his dilemma if he only waited for long enough. But then when he heard another heartbreaking sob from far away his emotions took over and he saw red.

Blinded by rage Joel swang himself on his horse and made his way to the house. It was so stupid that he immediately regretted it but now he couldn't turn back. Luckily the raiders only noticed him when he jumped off the horse as they were too busy groping the girl but when they did one started screaming and the other men immediately let go of the girl.

Later Joel couldn't remember the fight very well. This happened often, his adrenaline was so high that he felt like he was in a drunken state and his body and mind were disconnected. All Joel remembered was him shooting the first two of them instantly but then one of the guys managed to knock the gun out of his hand and kicked him in his stomach.

What followed was a messy fight that involved a lot of dirt but in the end Joel was able to take another of them down. At this point though the fifth raider that had been inside the house until now had joined his friends and Joel had to face two more men. It was an exhausting and draining fight, but eventually Joel found himself lying on his back surrounded by two dead and three unconscious men.

One of them had driven a little knife into his thigh but it was nothing that wouldn't heal after a couple of days so he forced himself to his feet well-aware that at some point three of the men would wake up again.

Only now did he perceive the girl for the first time. She was uncontrollably sobbing, had formed herself into a ball and covered her eyes with her arms. Her clothes had been torn off and were hanging loosely around her body. Joel sighed and watched her with a numb feeling. She was young, incredibly young and looked so vulnerable like this. He didn't want to terrify her in any way but knew that they had to leave quickly now so Joel approached her.

"Hey," he whispered while towering over her.

"N-NO," she screamed and tried to move away from him.

Of course. He should've known that it wouldn't be easy to get her to trust him after what she had just gone through. Joel quickly took off his jacket and put it on top of her body.

"Take this," he said but it seemed like she didn't even really listen to him and instead just repeated the word 'No'.

Joel exhaled loudly not knowing what he was supposed to do now. Obviously he couldn't leave her here because then his whole saving plan would've been for nothing but he also couldn't force her to come with him especially when she believed he wanted to harm her a well.

When he heard a noise behind him he remembered the urgency of the situation. One of the raiders had let out a moan and Joel snapped back to reality. Without giving it a second thought he placed one hand under her knees while his other wrapped around her shoulder and then he lifted her from the ground. The girl screamed and kicked with her feet but Joel knew he had to do this now. He wasn't going to hurt her, he was going to save her and he was going to make sure that she could see that.

He swiftly ran to his horse and managed to heave her into the saddle. She was fighting him but seemingly was too exhausted to get off the horse on her own so he had enough time to climb on it as well and took his seat behind her. Then Joel gave his horse the signal to move and tightly wrapped an arm around the girl's stomach so she wouldn't fall down.

"It's okay, it's okay. You're safe with me," he tried to calm her as she was squirming and sobbing so hard that she didn't even seem able to properly perceive her surroundings.

"N-No, please. No, let me go," she cried and scratched his arm that was around her body.

"I saved you, I killed these men. You're safe now. I'm not gonna hurt you."

At first he didn't know if his words even had any effect on her but soon her sobs became more quiet although it also could be a result from her growing extremely tired. Soon her body only occasionally shook and her head had dropped to the side.

"It's okay, I got ya. I promise you, I won't harm you," Joel whispered.

He didn't know if she had heard him or if she believed him but she stopped fighting until they arrived at his house in the midst of the forest.

Joel stopped his horse, climbed off it and then lifted her to the ground by her waist. She let it happen but her glossy eyes gave away how traumatized and far away she was. Her wobbly knees immediately buckled and Joel could only just prevent her from falling to the ground. His hands wrapped around her shoulder and he carefully pulled her with him inside of his house. Perhaps she had already gotten used to the thought of another man assaulting her now because she didn't even complain when Joel sat her down on the couch. Only that he of course wouldn't.

He quickly brought a blanket so she was finally covered and put it on top of her. Then he rushed to the kitchen to search for any food he could give her and actually found some dry and hard bread, milk and an apple. His heart was beating fast although he wasn't sure why. He had helped her and they were safe now so there was no reason to be nervous.

But when Joel looked at her again he knew what gave him anxiety. He didn't have a lot of experience with comforting someone let alone help someone who had gone through something comparable to what she had experienced. How was he supposed to communicate with her without scaring her? She still believed that another predator had just brought her into his home and he somehow had to convince her of the fact that he wouldn't hurt her.

Joel closed his eyes while forcing himself to breathe steadily and then made his way to the middle of the living room. The girl had actually wrapped the blanket around her body but twitched when she saw him. Joel immediately lifted his hand to signalize her to stay calm while slowly approaching.

"It's okay." But she pressed herself closer to the backrest and Joel could see her trembling lip from far away. She wasn't crying anymore but her face was still drawn with so much fear that Joel was scared to make one wrong step.

"Alright. I won't come any closer than this, promise."

He actually stopped but put the food he had brought on the sofa table.

"I have something for you. Are you hungry?"

She didn't answer him and just stared at him with eyes round as coins.

"That's bread over here and I have some milk and an apple. Take it if you're hungry."

Still no answer and now Joel didn't know what to do. Was he supposed to talk to her? Would that soothe her? Or should he leave her alone and vanish into his room? But what if she still assumed that he had nothing good in mind and fled from his house right into the arms of the raiders.

He would try something else, Joel declared and slowly sat down on the ground. Perhaps she would feel less intimidated if he wasn't towering over her.

"What's your name, little one?" he asked trying to make his voice sound as gentle as he possibly could.

"I promise, I don't wanna hurt ya. I know that you're very scared right now but you don't have to be scared of me."

She seemed to actually listen to him this time which Joel considered a progress. Her eyelids fluttered and her pupils searched frantically for any sign of danger on him, but Joel reassuringly showed her his hands.

"I don't have any weapon with me. See?"

He could almost hear her brain work behind her forehead measuring if she could trust him and Joel noticed how her hands clenched around the blanket covering her. A little sob left her mouth but this time only a few fresh tears ran down her cheeks and Joel felt like he still had her attention.

"It's okay. Let it out."

He sat patiently looking down to his hands so she wouldn't feel intimidated by his eyes on her until he felt brave enough to ask her for her name once more.

"What's your name?"

She slowly opened her mouth but at first no sound was escaping so Joel nodded encouragingly.

"S-Sophia," she whispered with a croaked voice but he managed to understand her.

"Okay, Sophia," he said gently and felt very helpless.

But then, and he didn't know why because it was solely based on a feeling inside of him he started to speak again and watched her with warm eyes.

"I had a daughter once. She was around your age." Silence.

"Her name was Sarah."

Her eyes wandered over his face but she still didn't show any reaction so Joel didn't know what drove him to tell this girl about his daughter that had nothing to do with any of this but something about it felt right.

"She had an obsession with insects and snails and all these disgusting animals, it was insane. You know, for her eleventh birthday she wanted to build a snail-hotel and collect them for it but her party guests were so freaked out that it ended in chaos." Joel laughed quietly. "But she hated hiking so she would always demand of me to drive into the forest to search for her animals which I wasn't a fan of."

At this point Joel wasn't thinking about what he was saying anymore and leaned his head back against the armchair.

"I always said: If you want to chase after your little animals and want me to come with you then you'll at least walk there. And then she'd say that she didn't chase after them but saved them."

Joel chuckled and then snapped back from his daydreaming when he looked into Sophia's big eyes that definitely looked a little more calm now.

"My name is Joel, by the way. Joel Miller."

He thought that it was only appropriate to finally introduce himself as well and he could actually see Sophia slightly nod with her head if he hadn't imagined it. And then the girl slowly sat up on the couch and watched the food on the table in front of her.

"C-Can I have a-an apple?" she whispered.

"Yes. Of course," he answered immediately and jumped to his feet which made her jolt.

"Sorry. Just… Take whatever you want."

Her shivering hand reached for the fruit and she touched it almost as if it were made of glass. Joel felt weird watching her every movement but he didn't know what else to do so after she had taken a first bite he decided to just ask her.

"Do you want me to go away? I could go to my room and give you some peace."

She bit her lip questioningly and then shrugged with her shoulders.

"I-I… I don't know, I…"

Tears welled in her eyes again and Joel wondered if he had said something to upset her.

"Okay, it's alright. Just tell me whenever you want me to leave."

She nodded and took another bite of the apple which gave Joel relief and the next few minutes were filled with the sound of her chewing and her heavy breathing. When she was done Sophie questioningly searched for his eyes while holding up the core of the apple.

"Just put it on the table," Joel said and then carefully thought about his next words.

"I… Is there anything I can do, Sophia? Anything to help you? I'm not good at this stuff as you see, but… I wanna help you."

She sniffed and wrapped the blanket tighter around her upper body.

"I-I don't know… I d-don't even know w-what happened," she said but her voice broke at her last words and she started to cry again. His instinct was to approach her but of course he didn't want to do anything that could trigger any more discomfort in her so he hesitated.

But then something happened. Something in her eyes shifted and she slowly lifted a hand.

"P-Please…"

Joel didn't understand at first but soon realized that she was reaching out for him. Still he wanted to make sure he didn't interpret her gesture wrong and frowned.

"Do you want me to come closer?"

Sophia gave him a pained look but then nodded very slightly. Joel didn't know why she reacted like this, he didn't know if he was handling this situation correctly but right now he wanted to serve the girl and her wishes and so he followed her demand and very slowly in order to give her time to speak up in case she changed her mind walked towards her.

He felt awkward standing in front of her and looked to the spot next to her. "Can I sit down?"

Sophia nodded again while trying to make the tears stop that continued to run down her face and even moved to make space for him. Joel sat down, immediately looked at her and felt a sting in his chest. Being close to her he became even more aware of how terrible this girl must be feeling. Her eyes were red and he could see multiple scratches and traces of dirt on her face. Only then did he realize that he hadn't even asked one of the most important questions.

"Are you hurt?"

This time it took her a little longer to reply again but to his relief Sophia shook her head. "N-No. Not r-really."

"But I can still give you a salve for the scratches if you want. Might've some medicine left," he quickly stated while looking at her profile.

"What happened?" she suddenly whispered while still staring into the empty space. Joel chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully before he exhaled.

"Do you really wanna talk about it?"

Her head turned so suddenly that he almost twitched.

"I need to know."

What was he to do now? It seemingly was her wish to learn about it but despite not knowing a lot about trauma and how to deal with it, Joel couldn't imagine that talking about it right after it had happened was very healthy.

"Look, I just don't wanna trigger anything," he therefore told her but Sophia let her head fall back against the backrest almost as if she was frustrated which made Joel sigh.

"Do you want me to tell ya? You sure?"

"Yes," she breathed.

And so he began to tell his side of the story but couldn't bare looking in her eyes while doing so.

"I passed the camp 'cause I didn't notice the raiders at first… And then I wanted to turn around and go back but… I… I saw what was happenin' with… you an' so I changed my mind, you know and attacked 'em. I killed two of 'em and the others were knocked out an' yeah, I guess that's it."

During his last words he felt strong enough to glance at her again. She looked like she was thinking but then bit her lower lip.

"And then?"

"What do ya mean?"

Her pupils danced hectically and Joel could see her eyes getting wet again.

"What happened after that? I can't remember."

She pressed her hand on her eyes trying to prevent herself from breaking down again.

"No, no, it's okay. I'll tell ya everything. Just look at me."

She slowly lifted her head and gave him a doubtful look while her hands grabbed the blanket again.

"I gave you my jacket. And then I lifted you on my horse and we came here to my house. You were kinda unresponsive the whole time."

She looked so sad suddenly that Joel once again asked himself if he had chosen the wrong words. Then Sophie brought her thumb to her mouth to nibble at it while sniffing loudly.

"I don't know what to do."

It sounded so heartbreaking that Joel unconsciously reached out to soothe her shoulder but quickly let go of her as soon as he realized.

"Sorry, I… You don't have to do anything right now. You just have to eat and sleep. Everything else we'll figure out."

"I don't wanna sleep," the girl disagreed at once and Joel tilted his head.

"That's okay. But if you're tired you should try an' get a few hours of sleep at least."

Sophia shook her head and seemed panicky all of a sudden.

"Please don't leave me. I don't wanna be here alone, please. I'm scared."

Joel sat up straight and folded his hands in his lap.

"I'm not gonna leave you. I'll be right in the next room. And you're safe here, I promise."

But his words seemed to only upset her further because she watched him with wide eyes and looked very pale.

"But I don't wanna be alone at night, please."

Joel sighed still not sure if he was serving her right by staying with her under these circumstances but she seemed so certain of what she wanted right now.

She couldn't possibly trust him like this already and although he obviously knew that he would never harm her in any way, he still wondered if he might scare her if he stayed with her. She was in an extremely vulnerable position right now and probably felt so horrible that she might get attached to any person that took care of her. But if it was her wish? If she would only feel worse if he left?

"Are you sure?" She nodded. "You want me to stay here?"

"Yes," she said quietly and glared at him looking almost shy.

"Okay. But you can still tell me to leave whenever you wanna be alone, alright?"

"Yes," she repeated and then moved slightly closer to him.

"Can I… Can I hold your hand?"

Joel almost teared up at her words and felt like his airways were blocked. In addition to that the heavy weight on his heart seemed to double in size but then he nodded.

"Of course," he breathed with a husky voice and offered her his hand which she enclosed with hers and then rested her head on top of them.

Neither of them said something for the rest of the night but Joel was busy with listening to her steady breathing.

He didn't know whether she had fallen asleep or was way too upset to even feel tired but he just stayed like this all night.

At some point his hand that Sophia gripped so tightly felt numb but even then he didn't pull back.

He just watched over her until with the first light of dawn Joel also felt sleep washing over him.

[justagalwhowrites]

Yearling - Ch. 31: Warmth

You cope with the aftermath of patrol. A continuation of Yearling ch. 1-30 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Fall out from canon-typical violence. Plot points from TLOU2. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ Only 

Length: 8k

A/N: Hi y'all. This does have a continuation of the spoilers from TLOU2. Again, I'm so sorry for not warning about these further in advance. If you have any questions, feel free to shoot me a DM (or you can always yell in the comments or in my asks. I don't delete things if they're not the kindest so I'll leave whatever you want to send my way up, I totally get it.) Thanks for being here ❤️

AO3 | Chapter One | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

It shouldn’t be this hard to stay conscious when the world is ending. 

You’d had the thought before, in the early days of the outbreak. When you were trying to find someplace safe and had no idea where to start, when you were just riding and riding and hoping you’d be alive to see the next morning. 

But now was different. It wasn’t your life, it was Joel’s. His was so much more important than your own and the fear of losing him was keeping you awake. You’d nod off for a second - you thought, anyway - only to jerk back awake when your grip on his wrist slipped and his pulse wasn’t a constant - if weak - drumbeat below your fingers. 

You weren’t quite sure how long you’d been on the floor with him. Things were fuzzy. You’d lost a lot of blood, you were familiar with that sensation now, you could identify it even as your mind was foggy. You still weren’t entirely sure what had happened. You remembered Joel screaming - you didn’t think you’d ever forget that horrific sound - and running to find him. You remembered watching as that girl swung the golf club down on his body. It wasn’t until you were already in the room, fighting for control of your gun with someone who looked like he was about Ellie’s age that you realized this was probably a mistake. You’d charged in without a plan to get backup, you were hugely outnumbered, no one knew where the fuck you were. You should have at least gone back for your horse, you were pretty sure she could have fit down here and you could have used sheer size and weight to clear the room. 

But they were killing him. That’s all that could force that sound from someone, life and death, and you couldn’t risk it. If there was a chance, even a tiny one, that you could save him, you were going to take it. Even if it killed you, you were going to take it. 

The threat was gone now - or you hoped it was, at least. Gatling was still on guard. You could feel how tense she was behind you, her body engaged and ready to strike. If they came back armed to the teeth before help arrived, though, you’d be finished. 

Joel’s wrist, the one you’d been holding, relaxed some and you forced yourself to sit up. 

“Joel?” You managed, adjusting your hold on him. His whole arm was limp now. Your heart beat faster. You released his wrist and pressed your fingers into his neck, where you liked to kiss him and feel the vital thrum of his pulse through his skin. It was faint but it was there. You adjusted yourself, propping yourself up on your elbow as your cut side screamed in pain, and you ran your fingers through his hair. You took comfort in the fact that you still could do that. While the rest of his body had been brutalized, Joel’s head was intact outside of where it looked like someone had landed a punch on his cheek near his eye, a bruise blossoming on his skin but no blood shed. It was like the girl had been saving his head for last, like she was trying to draw it out, make sure he was alive and awake while she hurt him. It turned your stomach. 

“You’re OK Joel,” you held face gently in your hand. “Gonna get you out of here, get you back to Ellie. You’re OK.” 

You stayed propped up like that for a while, just talking to him and running your fingers gently through his hair and feeling his breath on your skin until you were too weak to hold yourself up anymore. You collapsed alongside him then, trying to shield his body with yours as much as you could in case the people came back. 

Just a little sleep. That’s all. That’s what you needed, just enough rest to be able to think straight. Then you could figure out how to get Tommy and Joel back to Jackson. 

“Gatling,” you managed before you passed out. “Guard.” 

You woke up to snarling. 

Your head was swimming and you could feel the strength of the dog at your side, her body pressed back against you as she growled and barked. You tried to get your bearings as quickly as you could, fumbling for the rifles you’d brought to Joel’s side. 

“Bambi!” You recognized Ellie’s voice. “Bambi, call off Gatling, she won’t listen to me, we can’t get close enough…” 

“Gatling,” you gritted your teeth, your cut side burning and pulling as you tried to sit up. “Down.” 

You felt her relax and she gave a little whine before curling up against you and giving you a lick. You managed to prop yourself up on your uninjured side, eyes fighting to focus as Ellie, Jesse, Julie and Gene came in. Ellie ran for Joel, Gatling giving a little whine as she tracked her with her eyes.

“Jesus Christ,” Gene said as he got a good look at Joel. 

“He’s alive,” Ellie said, her voice cracking. “I thought…” 

“I know,” you adjusted so you could see him, check on his bandages. Your side protested, damaged skin pulling painfully. “But we have to get him to the doctor, we have to move him now…” 

“I don’t know that we can,” Gene knelt next to Ellie, looking Joel up and down. 

You frowned. 

“The fuck do you mean you don’t know.” 

“I mean,” he said gently. “We need to move quick, already been here too long, and we only have so many hands. I don’t know that he can make it back to Jackson and we should focus on…” 

“Fuck you,” your teeth were clenched, sweat starting at your temples from the strain of sitting upright. “We are not just gonna leave him out here…” 

“If we can save you and Tommy?” Gene said. “Then that’s what we should do. That’s what he’d want.” 

“Fuck you!” Ellie looked murderous. “Bambi’s right…” 

“C’mon,” Julie’s hands gently enveloped your shoulders. “Let’s try to get you up…” 

“I’m not going!” You wrenched yourself out of her grip and cried out in pain, a gush of blood coming from the wound at your side. “I’m not going without him, I’m not leaving him here!” 

Julie’s hands were on you again but you pulled yourself free, forcing yourself to your knees. 

“You’re gonna get yourself hurt,” Gene warned, moving for you, too, but you ignored him. 

“Gatling!” You managed through clenched teeth. Her head sprang up. “Guard!” 

She jumped to her feet and jumped between you and Gene. 

“Bambi,” he said cautiously, hands up, as your dog snapped her jaws and snarled at him. 

“I’m not going anywhere without him,” you were panting for breath. “You can’t make me, not with her like this. She’ll kill you and I’ll fuckin’ let her. Take him. Now.” 

Gene looked back at Jesse, who was helping Tommy sit up. He just shrugged. Gene looked back to you. 

“Fine,” he said. “But you gotta give us some space to work, can’t move him with her like this…” 

You struggled to your feet, using Julie’s shoulder as leverage, and you limped to the wall, all but collapsing against it. Gatling stayed on you, staring Gene down, seeming to trust Julie as you leaned against her. 

“She’s guardin’ me,” you said. “Won’t bother you over there. Move him. Do it.” 

You watched as Gene, Jesse and Ellie got Joel off the floor and out of the room. There was a perverse spot on the ground where his body had been, his blood pooled there. There was so much of it, so much it didn’t seem like there would be any left inside of him. You remembered, suddenly, Justin on the night of the outbreak. How you’d tried to put his blood back inside of him in the hopes that it would save him. How could you save the man you loved if all his blood was on the floor? 

“He’s alive?” Tommy asked from his place propped against the wall. There was a streak of blood down his face. 

“He’s alive,” you said. He closed his eyes and nodded, leaning his head against the wall. 

“Thank you,” he said, quietly enough that you could barely hear him. “I can’t…” 

“It’s OK,” you said. “We’ll get him back. He’ll be OK. He will.” 

You weren’t sure you believed it.

Jesse came back down and helped Tommy up before stopping near the door, keeping a safe distance from you and Gatling. 

“We got him on a horse,” he said. “We gotta move.” 

You gave him a nod and watched him get Tommy started on the stairs before you looked down at Gatling, her body drawn tight, ready to spring into action. 

“Gatling. Heel.” 

She looked up at you, muscle relaxing, and licked her lips. 

“You’re a good girl,” you said, trying to imbue as much praise into your voice as you could manage. “You did real good.” 

She wagged a little uncertainly and watched, waiting to follow you. Julie looped your arm around her shoulders while hers slipped around your waist and she helped you toward the stairs, taking it slow. You had to stop and rest once, not able to breathe, the warm gush of your blood when you pulled the air down low in your lungs making your head spin. 

“Think you can make it?” Julie asked, concerned. 

You nodded, wincing. 

“I’ll make it,” you said. “I know, we have to move.” 

She held you a little tighter and the cold air burned your lungs when you made it outside. Joel was draped over Ares, Gene mounted up behind him. Tommy was on his own horse, blood still on his face as he stared blankly at Joel’s limp body. 

“You can ride with me,” Julie said but you shook your head. You weren’t about to not be in control of a horse, not in this situation. You needed to have the power if something went wrong. You couldn’t trust anyone else to make Joel a priority if there were infected or raiders or, worst of all, the people who had attacked him to begin with. You needed to be able to move to protect him. 

“I’m fine,” you said through gritted teeth, even though you knew getting on Renaissance was going to hurt something fierce. “Don’t need to be slowin’ us down any more by putting two of us on a horse.” 

She went to protest but you pulled away from her and swallowed the sounds of your pain as you went to Renaissance and pulled yourself onto her. You called Gatling onto your saddle, too, and she settled there, still on high alert. You guided the horse to be alongside Gene and Joel and stared Gene down, almost daring him to fight you on it. 

“I want to get everyone back,” he said gently. “But if it’s not everyone, I want as many as I can get.” 

“Then let’s go,” you bit out. 

The ride back to Jackson felt long, longer than it really was, you were sure. Every step Renaissance made was painful. It was hard to stay conscious when you’d lost so much blood and the pain was blinding. You were terrified that something was going to happen, that someone was going to pick now to attack people from Jackson and that you wouldn’t be strong enough to save Joel. The thought was constant and overbearing, hollowing out your chest and making your stomach clench. 

By the time the walls of the city were in view, you were barely able to stay on your horse. Dina had ridden ahead to tell the doctors and the council what was happening and you were thankful for it as your head spun and vision grew spotty as you neared the gates. You were too out of it to notice that someone was there to catch you as your strength started to give out.

“Woah there!” You vaguely recognized Ryan, a guard you regularly saw when he went out on patrol, stomach turning as he lowered you to the snow. “Hey Doc! Got one here!” 

“No,” you shook your head, words starting to slur. The blood on your clothes was cold against your skin. “M’fine… Joel, need to help Joel…” 

“They’re getting him,” he said, looking down at you. He had a nice face, you thought. Pleasant and calming. “You got him back here, it’s OK. We’ll get you taken care of, it’s alright…” 

“Joel,” you closed your eyes. At least things were warmer here. It hurt less. “Need… Joel…” 

“We’ve got him,” Ryan said. His voice sounded so far away. “It’s alright, we’ve got him.” 

You barely remembered nodding before you passed out. 

You were warmer when you woke up. 

Sound came first. It took a moment before you could open your eyes but you could hear the muffled sounds of bickering not far away. For half a moment, you thought you were in Joel’s bed. That he and Ellie were in a tiff just outside his bedroom door, going back and forth about some harebrained scheme that one of them had latched onto. You thought about pressing your face into the pillow and trying to go back to sleep, hoping that Joel would come in once one of them wore the other down. He did that sometimes when he woke up before you, bringing you a cup of tea and setting it on the nightstand before wrapping around you, pulling you into his broad chest and burying his face in your hair or your neck, kissing you and breathing you in until you stirred in his arms. 

And then you remembered. Waking up next to Joel. Going on Patrol. The storm. The blood. 

You tried to sit up before your eyes were open, side pulling and head spinning. 

“Hey guys, she’s waking up!” 

Your eyes had never been heavier but you forced them open anyway, already reaching and groping to figure out where you’d ended up. 

The room was bright, the bed soft. It was the third time you’d managed to dodge death and awoken, confused and lightheaded, in Jackson’s clinic. The other bed was empty.  

“Joel,” you started trying to get up but two small hands held you in bed and you frowned, ready to fight whoever was holding you back, but it was Savvy, her eyebrows drawn tightly together, curls springing in every direction. 

“Mom, you have to be calm, you’ll rip your stitches…” 

She was here. She was with you, willing to talk to you, touch you. The sound of her voice, all gentle concern, made your chest tighten. You just looked at her for a moment, seeking out the minute changes in her since you’d gotten a chance to see her - really see her - last. You thought she might be having her last growth spurt. She looked a little longer, her face a little thinner. There was a scratch on her cheek that you wanted to kiss like you did when she was little. There were tears in her eyes. 

“Savvy…” 

“I was so scared,” her voice cracked. “I thought you might be dead, I thought…” 

“Oh honey,” you pulled her against you and held her to your chest, one arm looping around her waist, the other hand cradling her head to you, the wet of her tears on your neck. You kissed her temple and tried to keep the tears that were starting to cling to your eyelashes from falling. “It’s OK, you’re alright, I’ve got you. Don’t have to be scared, you’re OK.” 

“I’ve never seen you like that,” she sniffed from her place against your skin. “You’re always so strong, you’re never hurt, not like that…” 

“I know,” you said softly, rocking her gently. “I’m sorry, Honey, I wish you hadn’t seen that. I promise, I’ll do everything I can to make sure you never see it again and we can talk all about it but baby, I need to know where Joel is. Is he here? Is he OK? Is he alive?” 

She sniffed and started to pull back from you as the door opened, Ellie, Tommy, Maria and Dr. Livingston coming in. They moved slowly, cautiously. Like they were worried you would startle if they behaved normally. Tommy looked washed out, Ellie exhausted, both with grim looks on their faces. Your arms went limp and Savvy sat back from you, looking between you and them. 

“No,” you shook your head, a lump growing in your throat. “No, no, you’re wrong, he’s not…” 

“He’s alive,” Dr. Livingston said gently. “Barely. But you got him here just in time, it was very very close while we worked on him…” 

“Where is he,” you tried to get up again but Savvy held you down. “I need to see him, just for a second, please…” 

“He’s still unconscious,” Dr. Livingston continued. 

You frowned, looking between everyone. 

“That’s bad,” you said, reading their expressions. “Why… How long has it been?”

“We’ve been back about two and a half days,” Tommy said, his arms crossed over his chest. 

You nodded slowly. That made sense to you.

“He was hurt bad,” you said, looking between them again. “He lost a lot of blood…” 

“He did,” Dr. Livingston said. “But… well, we’d normally expect to see more from him by now. He’s breathing on his own - we don’t have the facilities to keep him alive if he can’t - but that’s the best we can really say for him. He’s… he’s unresponsive.” 

You processed what she said for a moment.

“You’re sure?” 

She nodded, her mouth a thin line. 

“Are you…” You had to close your eyes and focus for a second. None of this came easy or naturally. It was utterly unnatural, thinking of Joel in that way. He was so strong, so vital. He couldn’t just stop being like that. He couldn’t just fade away into nothing like that. “Are you saying he might not wake up?” 

“The longer he’s like this, the more likely it becomes,” Dr. Livingston said. 

“But he’s still alive,” you said, looking back toward Ellie and Tommy again, looking for that reassurance that you weren’t crazy. They knew him, they knew that he wouldn’t just disappear from his body like that. “He’s still breathing.” 

“He’s alive,” she said. “But he might be brain dead, we have no way of knowing right now, no way of scanning for brain function like we did before… I’m so sorry, but you have to consider the possibility that…” 

“Take me to see him,” you cut her off. She looked at Maria, worry in her eyes, like she thought you might be unstable. “Please.” 

Dr. Livingston sighed. 

“You’ve got a fair few fresh stitches and you’re still down plenty of blood yourself. We’ll have to take it slow.” 

Ellie and Savvy helped you stand up and you could feel the wounds on your leg and stomach protesting the movement. For a moment, you thought you might be able to count the number of stitches in your skin because the way it pulled and strained. You hissed and clutched the girls’ hands, squeezing their fingers so hard that you could only hope it didn’t hurt them. 

They helped you across a short hallway to a room that was almost identical to the one you’d been in, just with one fewer bed, giving people more room to work. Joel was there, flat on his back, his arms down straight at his sides over the top of the blanket. But he looked strange, unnatural. 

It took you a moment to recognized the part of it that was wrong. His chest rose and fell, the worst of his injuries hidden by the quilt. He looked like he was sleeping. But it was off. He never slept like that, straight as a board with his arms at his sides in that way. It wasn’t like him, it wasn’t the way his body arranged itself when he was relaxed. Even when he wasn’t curled around you, he slept on his side or, if he was on his back, his hands were folded and resting where his chest met his stomach. He napped on the couch that way sometimes, when he was sleeping lightly, waiting for you. You could come in and press a kiss to his forehead and he would open one eye and cock a smile at you, just big enough that his cheek would dimple. 

But if your lips touched him now, you knew he’d be still. He wouldn’t look at you like you made him happy just by existing. His cheek wouldn’t dimple. 

You made your way to a chair near the head of the bed and lowered yourself into it slowly. His skin was pale, his face totally lax in a way that wasn’t peaceful and was, instead, like an echo. 

“Oh God,” you breathed, one hand going to your lips. 

“We’re doing everything we can,” Dr. Livingston said gently. “We have ways to get him fluids and nutrients but… it’s nothing long term. We’ll just have to hope he makes a turn for the better.”

You nodded, not able to stop looking at him. His body was so empty, so unlike him. 

“Can I stay with him?” You asked quietly. You weren’t sure when you’d started crying but you were. 

“Sure,” she said. “For now. But you need rest…” 

You just nodded. You’d fight that battle when the time came. 

The doctor left you with the girls, Tommy and Maria. Joel’s family and yours. All the people you had in the world in this one, small room. 

“I was going to go home and get changed, take a nap…” Ellie said quietly. “Can I bring you something?” 

“One of his shirts?” You asked. 

“Sure,” she said. You heard the door open and she paused. “You did everything you could, Bambi. We all did.” 

You nodded, not willing to argue with her. 

“I think Tommy and I will get out of here for a bit, too,” Maria said. “Give you some time. We’ll be back in a few hours unless I can actually get my husband to get some real sleep…” 

“He wouldn’t be sleepin’ if it were me,” Tommy said, voice sharper than you were used to hearing. 

Maria sighed. 

“Come on, honey,” she said. “You need rest, too.” 

The room was quiet for a moment, so quiet you could hear the sound of Joel’s shallow breaths. You wanted to put your head on his chest and listen to the life inside him, reassure yourself that he was still in there somewhere, but you didn’t want to hurt him. You’d already done enough. 

“Mom?” Savvy’s voice was soft. “Is it… can I stay? For a bit?” 

You managed to pull your eyes away from Joel to find her, standing to the side, her arms tight over her chest. 

“Of course baby,” you said, looking for another chair. She found one first, moving it to be beside yours. She settled in there, taking a deep breath and letting it out in a heavy sigh. She was looking at Joel, her face drawn. “How have you been?” 

She shrugged noncommittally. 

“Alright, I guess,” she said. “School is OK. Math is stupid.” 

You laughed lightly once. 

“Math’s not stupid but… I know what you mean. Wasn’t ever my strong suit. I liked history best. And music, of course.” 

“Course,” she smiled a little. “I like Ellie and… I like staying where I have been but… I missed you. Missed home.” 

You swallowed the growing lump in your throat. 

“I missed you, too,” you said, voice wet. “So much. More than anything.” 

She nodded slowly, not looking at you. 

“I heard the doctors and some other people talking,” she said hesitantly. “What they were saying… It’s not the first time they’ve seen you hurt like this.” 

You waited for a moment, to make sure she was done. 

“It’s not,” you said. 

She nodded again. 

“How did you end up here?” She asked quietly. 

“I…” You sighed and tried to find the best way to phrase it. “I’d wound up with some bad people. I got hurt. Joel found me when I was in real bad shape. He brought me here. He saved me.” 

“When was that?” 

“About two years ago,” you said. 

“So you weren’t just here the whole time,” she said, more like a statement than a question. 

“No,” you said softly. “I wasn’t.” 

She nodded again. You could see her processing the information, her eyes slightly squinting as she did, so like her father used to do. It still tugged at your heart, bits and pieces of a man you’d loved still alive in his child. 

“I’m still not sure how I feel,” she said, gnawing on her lower lip. “But… I don’t want to keep being mad at you. I miss you. I’d… I’d like to find a way to see you. At least some. For now.” 

“I’d like that,” you said, sniffing a little. “I’d like that a lot. As much time as you want, honey, I’m here.” 

“OK,” she smiled a tight lipped smile at you before looking to Joel. “Do you really think he’ll wake up?” 

You sighed, looking at him, too. 

“I don’t really know anything about medicine,” you said. “But… I do know Joel. And I don’t knot that there’s anything that can keep him from taking care of the people he loves. And I know he knows Ellie needs him, you need him. And I…” your voice cracked. “I need him. He’s strong. He can pull through.” 

She nodded and slowly, gently, rested her head on your shoulder. You froze for a moment, not wanting to disturb her. But, eventually, you had to take a breath and she stayed there beside you, keeping vigil over the man who had become her guardian. 

Savvy ended up staying until after dark. Ellie came back only about an hour and a half after she left, bringing some clothes for you. You immediately put on the shirt, pressing your nose to the collar and breathing in Joel’s scent. She told you then that Savvy hadn’t left the clinic since you’d come in, always at your bedside, nearly ripping off the doctors’ heads when they dared suggest that she go home and get some rest. 

Ellie got her to go home that evening, though, after she gave you a delicate hug that, you thought, might be one of the best ones you’d ever gotten. Dr. Livingston wanted to keep you there for another few days, not something you were going to argue with since you weren’t about to leave while Joel was still there, anyway. She did make you move back to the other room and you gave up the fight quickly, waiting until you heard her leave for the night before going back across the hall, anyway. It was tricky, walking on your own when you were still healing, but you made it without any more blood leaking from you. You pulled your chair close to Joel and looked him over, tracing one finger over the soft skin of his cheek. He still looked so unnatural in this position, so unlike himself. You ran your fingers through his hair, arranging it just so, before you gently took his hands and put them at the base of his chest, one on top of the other. Not quite right, but better. It felt like his body was more his that way. 

“I’m here, Joel,” you said quietly, wanting more than anything to be able to curl up in his lap. “I’m here.” 

You sat on the floor next to the bed - not able to get comfortable enough in the chair to doze off - and rested your head on the mattress near his hip. This wasn’t exactly ideal, either, your stitches itching and pulling as you settled in, but you didn’t care. You had to be close to Joel. Some pain was worth that. 

The next day, you were shaken awake by a frustrated Dr. Palmer who was taking over so Dr. Livingston could get some rest. 

“You are bound and determined to be your own worst enemy,” she muttered, forcing you back to your own bed. She checked you over, reluctantly told you that you were healing well with no sign of infection. The second her back was turned, you were back in Joel’s room. 

Ellie, Tommy and Maria came by again, all of you sitting in near silence, watching Joel, waiting for him to do something - anything - to indicate that he was still in there. 

The next day was less quiet. You were in your usual position in the seat by the head of Joel’s bed when Tommy and Ellie started getting into it. It didn’t sound like a new argument and, you realized, the bickering you’d been only vaguely aware of as you regained consciousness was probably them. 

“I’m not going to sit around here and fucking wait forever,” Ellie snapped. “I’m going out there, I’m going to find them and I’m going to kill every last fucking one of them.” 

“We need to wait,” Tommy said, voice strained. Ellie didn’t seem to care. 

“Wait for them to get further and further away?” She snapped. “Wait for them to come back with more people? No, it’s too big of a fucking risk. I’m going out there.” 

“Need to wait until I can go with you,” Tommy snapped. “Need to wait until we know…” 

Tommy’s voice trailed off. 

“Until we know what?” Ellie demanded. “Until we know whether or not they successfully murdered him? No, fuck that, I’m going to beat the shit out of her with a goddamn golf club, make her fucking feel it…” 

“No, you won’t,” you cut her off. 

“I won’t?” She asked, brows raised, almost daring you to argue with her. “You’re not my fucking mom, Bambi, you don’t get to tell me what the fuck I do or don’t get to do.” 

“You ever killed anyone, kid?” You asked, chin resting on your fist as you watched her. She just blinked at you for a moment. “And I mean people. Real people, not infected.” 

“Yeah,” she said, though her voice was less sharp. “Yeah, I have. Two.” 

“Alright,” you replied. “You torture them? You like killing them?” 

She was silent and just looked at her feet.

“That’s what I thought,” you looked back to Joel. “You’re not going after shit, kid…”

“I’m not a fucking kid!” 

“You’re his kid,” you shot her a glare before looking back at Joel. “And he wouldn’t want you murdering and torturing people for him.”

“But…” 

“No,” you said. “If… If he… If someone needs to handle it, it will be me and Tommy. We can take them and we can make it hurt. You’ll stay here. Not gonna just let you turn into a killer for him, he’d never forgive me. He’d never forgive either of us. One of the last things he said to me was to look out for you and you better goddamn well believe that’s exactly what I’m gonna do. You’re not going any damn place.” 

She stormed out but Savvy came that evening. She brought a deck of cards and the two of you played Go Fish like you used to when she was little. She told you Ellie was cooling off but she thought she’d be OK. 

“I don’t blame her,” she said, arranging some cards in her hand. “If someone did that to you, I’d want to kill them, too.” 

You looked at her for a moment. 

“I wouldn’t want you to,” you said gently. She looked at you over the cards, skeptical. “I mean it. You hear that something bad happened to me, you take it and move on. Don’t hurt yourself thinking that will fix it. It would only make it worse.” 

The day after that, Ellie brought you your guitar. It made Dr. Palmer look nervous but you promised to take it easy and that music was how you relaxed. 

“Just don’t get all worked up and play Freebird,” she muttered, leaving you alone with Joel and your instrument. 

“Why is everyone so obsessed with Freebird?” You asked a silent Joel as you delicately arranged the guitar on your lap, dodging the stitches in your stomach and leg as you did. “There’s better shit out there…” 

You played for him whatever came to mind. The song you’d written for him kept cropping up. So did the songs you’d played with him, slower and gentler things that you tried to pull from memory, even Take on Me because it got stuck in your head. 

“Do you think he can hear me?” You asked Dr. Palmer that afternoon. 

She stepped back from him and sighed for a moment, looking at you as though she were going to gauge her answer around your demeanor. 

“No one knows for sure,” she said eventually. “But… if he could hear anybody, I think it would be you.”

By the end of the second day with your guitar, your whole body was sore and tired but you didn’t move to go back to your own room. Both doctors had given up on forcing you. You nearly ripped their heads off when they suggested you go to your house for a day or two, try to get some real rest. It was bad enough that they’d surrendered to your stubborn need to be where you could see Joel at all times, no longer willing to fight over what they thought was better for you. 

It was quiet, dark. You weren’t entirely sure what time it was but you thought everyone in town besides those on watch were at home. You were as close to home as you got now, home could only be where Joel was. You weren’t sure how to find home without him now. 

You played the song you’d written for him one more time, soft and slow, before propping the guitar against the wall and sitting delicately on the edge of the bed, careful to not disturb him. You adjusted his arms a bit, putting them where you knew he would rest them if he could move them on his own. You gently brushed his hair back. His patchy beard was getting long in spots and you wondered if Ellie could bring scissors and a razor the next time she came so you could trim it for him, keep it how he liked. You drew the shirt of his you wore tighter to yourself and just looked at him for a moment. He was so beautiful, even like this. You needed him so badly, needed him to be OK. You needed to be able to wake up next to him again, kiss him on your way out the door again, make love to him again. He couldn’t be gone, not now. Not like this.

“Joel,” you said softly, barely even a whisper. “I know… I know I should probably tell you that if you need to go, it’s OK, that we’ll be OK but… I don’t think I can. I don’t know how to do this without you, I don’t want to do this without you. I need you, I’m not sure I can be a real person without you. If you’re already gone then… then knowing you was one of the best things that ever happened to me and I’m thankful for every goddamn second of it. But if you’re still there, if you can hear me… I need you to come back to me, Joel. Just… please. Don’t leave me, don’t leave the girls, I just… I will do whatever you want, just stay. Just come back to me. Please.” 

He was still below your touch but you leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead, anyway, his skin soft and warm. A tear slipped from your eyelash and fell to his cheek but you didn’t move to wipe it away. You had the odd thought that maybe he would absorb it, that his skin would soak up your salt and your sadness and then, even if he didn’t come back, at least he’d have part of you in him when you put him in the ground. You wondered if you’d be able to join him. You slid off the bed and tucked your legs up against yourself, crossing your arms atop the mattress and resting your head there, drifting off to the sound of his breathing. 

***

All Joel really knew was that he was somewhere warm and soft. Warm and soft and kinder than where he’d been before, though the memory of just before was fuzzy. He remembered you, waking up with you, being inside of you, kissing you goodbye. He remembered watching Ellie ride off with her friend for their patrol. He remembered laughing with his brother about something but didn’t remember what. Everything after that was a haze of blood and pain. 

But he was warm now, somewhere that was familiar but he was having a hard time placing it. Grass and trees and a park bench that was more comfortable than it had any right to be, the sound of birds and cicadas on the air. But there were no other people. None that he could see, anyway. 

He heard voices now and then. There were some he knew were familiar but he couldn’t quite place. Others he’d have known anywhere. You, Ellie, Savvy, Tommy, Maria. It was a haze, he could make out the tones and the melodies of your speech but not the words. But that was OK. He knew all of you were close and that was enough. 

There was music, too. He would have recognized your playing from anywhere but it still seemed so obvious from wherever he was. But your music sounded sad, some kind of longing in it that wasn’t there when you usually played for him. He wanted to fix it, wanted to come from wherever he was and make it better. He just wasn’t sure that he could. But he kept hearing the song you made for him. That song was clearer than any other, so present he almost thought it was the version of it you’d recorded for him. But it wasn’t followed by the words he’d come to know so well in the months without you, the ones you’d added to the end of the tape that he listened to every night since you left. Every night until the one you came back to him. 

Come back to me, Joel. 

“Dad?” 

Joel looked around for a moment, heart pounding. He knew that voice, had heard it inside his head so many times through the years. But never like this, never this close. And then Sarah was in front of him, her curls a halo around her head, skin almost glowing in the golden sun. 

“Baby girl.” 

He realized where he knew this place from. It was a park in Austin that he took her to all the time when she was a little girl. The skyline was at his back if he could turn to face it, a playground down the hill to the right. She’d loved the open field, though. She loved being able to just run and run and run with nothing to hold her back. He tried to make himself get to his feet but he couldn’t. She just smiled. It was warm, gentle but more knowing than he’d remembered it being. But then, maybe he’d forgotten. Because otherwise, she looked exactly the same as the last time Joel had seen her, down to the clothes. Except her purple shirt wasn’t bloodstained now, her ankle wasn’t hurt. She was whole, healthy, the way she always should have been.

“Long time no see,” she sat beside him on the bench and he was able to reach her then. He reached for her slowly, cautiously, but he didn’t need to worry. She reached back, putting her arms around his neck. He held her, close and tight. She was warm and soft but the heat wasn’t coming from her. Instead it was like she was part of the place where he was, warm like the sun. She pulled back from him before too long but left a delicate hand on his knee. He tried to memorize her, make sure he knew the precise constellations of her freckles and the way her lashes framed her eyes. She looked him over and smiled that beautiful smile of hers. “You’re getting old, old man.” 

“Yeah,” he laughed a little, still not sure what to say to her. “Yeah, I know, baby girl. I know.” 

“I’ve missed you,” she was still smiling but it was sadder now. “A lot.” 

“I’ve missed you too,” he said, his voice wet. “So, so much. You have no idea how much…” 

“I know,” she said. “I’ve seen. You’ve been through a lot, Dad. So much. I wish I could have been there, I wish I could have helped you.” 

“That’s not your job…” 

“I know,” she said again. “But I still wanted to.” 

“How are you?” He asked. “I want to know everything, everything…” 

“I’ve been good,” she smiled. “I met your friend Tess. I like her. I liked her before, too, but even more now. She’s a lot like you, I’m glad you had her.” 

“How…” 

“Dad, I would love to tell you everything,” she cut him off. “But we don’t have time.” 

He frowned. 

“No,” he shook his head. “No, we didn’t get enough time before, but we should now, we…” 

“We will,” she reached out and took his hands. “Eventually. But not yet. You’ve gotten old, old man, but not old enough. You’re not supposed to be here yet. You still have a lot to do. You have people who need you, people who love you. They really, really love you, Dad. You need to go back for them. You’ve been here long enough.” 

Don’t leave me.

He looked up, looking for where your voice was coming from. Sarah just smiled. 

“She needs you,” she said. “And you need her.” 

She was right. He could feel that in every inch of him. He wanted to be next to you, wanted the life that he could have with you that had been so close when he’d left Jackson that morning. Just you and him and your girls. He wanted it so much it hurt. But how could he leave his daughter? His baby girl, the first baby girl he’d held, the first one he’d failed. How could he leave her again?

“Baby girl, I love them, too but I can’t just leave you here alone…” 

She smiled gently. 

“I’m not alone, Dad. And it’s OK if I’m not your whole world anymore,” she gave his leg a squeeze. “It’s OK if you have another purpose. I want you to be happy. Her, Ellie, Savvy… they make you happy. They’re your purpose now. You deserve that. Go be happy. I’ll be here when you’re done. We’ll have time then, too. I promise.” 

Just stay. 

“Go be with them, Dad,” she said. “Go be happy. We’ll be together when it’s time.” 

Just come back to me.

“I love you so much, Sarah,” he said, reaching out and holding her face in his hand. “So, so much.” 

Please. 

“I know,” she smiled. “And I love you too.” 

There was a wet spot on his cheek but he wasn’t crying. He frowned, touching his skin there, a tear clinging to his finger when he pulled it away. The place he was glowed brighter. Sarah’s face was somehow further away though neither of them had moved. He could feel himself fading from here, going back to where he was before. Part of him hurt with that, clinging to Sarah so hard that it seemed as though he was going to leave that part of him behind. But the rest of him was bringing him back, desperate to get to you, be beside you. That’s where he was supposed to be. He knew that now. He was always supposed to live. He was always supposed to flinch. He was always supposed to find you. 

“I’ll see you around,” she said. “Take care of yourself. Take care of them. I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

He didn’t have a chance to say goodbye.

Everything hurt. 

It was sudden and sharp, the place where he was abruptly dark and cold. He wasn’t sure he could move much, every part of him impossibly heavy. But he forced his eyes open, at least. He was flat on his back and in a bed. It took him a moment to realize where, but the fact that there was medical equipment near his head narrowed it down. He heard a soft, sleepy sound and forced himself to lift his head enough to look for it. It didn’t take him long to find you there, head resting near his waist. He smiled to himself. Part of him was just relieved that he hadn’t dreamed you coming back to him, relieved that you’d want anything to do with him at all now. 

He forced his arm to move, the limb unnaturally clunky, every motion pulling and tugging on damaged skin but he didn’t really care. He rested a hand on your head, smoothing your hair down, thumb brushing against your forehead. You startled and jerked awake, sitting up quickly and blinking sleep from your eyes. His hand fell to your arm when you did and looked around for a moment before your eyes fell on him, the glow of the moon on the snow illuminating your face in the dark. You frowned for a moment, your brows knitting together. 

“Hey sweetheart,” Joel managed, his voice dry and cracking. 

“Joel!” You scrambled to your feet, taking his hand and clinging to it as you did. “You’re here, you’re alive, you’re…” 

“I’m alright, baby,” he said gently. You sank slowly onto the bed at his waist, clutching onto his hand. “You OK?” 

“I’m OK,” you nodded quickly, your voice wet. “Tommy’s OK, Ellie’s OK, we’re all OK. I was so afraid, Joel. I was so afraid. I thought you were gone, I thought I lost you…” 

“I know,” he winced as he reached the hand you weren’t latched onto over to cup your face. “I’m so sorry, baby. Wasn’t tryin’ to go anywhere…” 

You lifted his hand to your lips and kissed his knuckles before holding his arm to your chest, clinging to it like a child does to a security blanket. 

“How are you feeling?” You asked, looking him up an down. “I can go wake up a doctor and…” 

“M’fine sweetheart,” he said, brushing a thumb over the arch of your cheekbone. “Don’t… don’t go anywhere, need you close. Just…” He did his best to shift himself so he wasn’t in the middle of the bed, wincing as he did. “Just be here. Let me hold you, OK?” 

“I don’t want to hurt you…” 

“You won’t,” he said gently. “Need to feel you. Just stay with me, baby. Please.” 

You sniffed but nodded before you moved gingerly to slip into bed beside him. You lay your head gently on his chest and he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, giving you a squeeze. It took a moment but he felt you relax against him, body molding to his own. He turned his head enough to brush his lips against your forehead. 

“I can’t lose you, Joel,” you said softly. “I can’t, I need you to stay.” 

“I’m here, baby,” he whispered, holding you as close as he could, everywhere your body met his a welcome distraction from the pain. “Not going anywhere.” 

Next Chapter

A/N: Yeah, sorry, I can't bring myself to kill Joel lol I love him too much, I need to let him have all the beautiful things he deserves to have.

Thank you so so much for being so patient with this chapter. I promise, I didn't intend to leave you hanging for weeks on end and I feel so bad that I did. Thank you for still reading and for being here. I feel like I've messed up a lot on how I've handled this fic lately - between not understanding how many folks didn't know the TLOU2 stuff and not giving proper warning and then posting that last chapter and not having this one lined up and ready to go - so thank you for not ditching me and this fic. It really does mean so much that you spend your time here with these characters.

Thank you again ❤️ Love you!

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[saishu-harachi-thegatorlord]

My predictions for the rest of DRDT!

(mostly my general thoughts after this ep)

(Spoilers for Ch2 Ep16!)

Okay so- First off, Levi’s fate!

If he doesn’t die from this, then he’s almost certainly going to die from trying to assists somebody else. As mentioned in the voice trailer, he’s willing to do anything to help his classmates, even if it involves him getting hurt. I can see him dying without anyone specifically targeting him, or someone being targeted because they know Levi will save them. Although that might not be so reliable depending on the recovery time needed…

Okay, next up Arturo- He’ll probably finally leave J alone, busy with making sure Levi doesn’t, y’know, die- Plus the whole breakdown he had in the trial, and his secret being revealed.. He’s gonna need some time, I think-

Teruko! Ohhhh my god where do I even start with her- She won’t die, obviously. She’s told us that multiple times, we’ve seen the proof, there isn’t a way that she can die. And that’s her curse, more than the bad luck is. So she could hypothetically get away with murder, although I don’t think she will actually kill somebody. She could get away with it, since she’s like- one of the only competent people in trials, and all it takes for Charles is for him to either be murdered or witness a murder, and he’s unable to assist. So Teruko is the only one the people here are relying on, which leaves them vulnerable if she is the blackened. Also- Teruko finally broke down and cried! It makes sense, after what she’s seen, and what she’s ended up inadvertently causing- The voice actors for Teruko and Ace (and levi) this ep >>> The new Teruko sprites were so cool, and I’m pretty sure I saw one that mirrored Min-

And now- MonoTV!! I don’t know if my theory about there being no mastermind is accurate, but after this episode- It could be! And so I’ll take that- Wasn’t expecting it to sound like Mai, at all, but that’s really interesting- Pretty sure XF caused this killing game, or at least created MonoTV-

Whit! His new sprite is fascinating considering he has no other serious sprites- And his concern for Charles, too! (..also, more fuel for the time loop theorists?) If Charles dies next chapter.. Whit will either completely break, giving up the happy persona he has, or, he ends up going so far into coping that he ends up going manic in the trial- Either way, fun development for a guy who’s only really made jokes or known a concerning amount of things about hanging-

Charles! He- isn’t doing well right now, since he saw Levi’s injury- Whit did attempt to shield him from that at least, so points towards the Charwhit (platonic or romantic, whatever you prefer) dynamic developing further! If someone like Teruko was going to commit murder, she’d probably go for Charles first. Since he is the only one besides her that really helped in the trial, and if he hadn’t gotten involved after ep11, everyone would have been executed by now. Definitely the biggest threat if Teruko is the blackened. But she might not even want to take him out if she commits a murder, because after all, she won’t die from an execution-

And finally- Ace Markey! The blackened himself! hhhh oh my god where can i start with this- Ace still cares about Levi! He knows that it’s pointless, he was searching for any reason to be mad at him, even if it made him a hypocrite for condemning another murderer. But, even after that was revealed- He was willing to get executed so Levi wouldn’t die. He yelled at Arturo for saying that he couldn’t save Levi, for being a coward, and isn’t that ironic- Also! His friend’s name gets (re)revealed! After the QnA where his name was first revealed was deleted, Taylor’s name makes an appearance on one of the gravestones in Ace’s execution! I loved the fact that his execution was themed around his fears, since he was established as a guy who had, well- a lot of fears, since the first episode he appeared in. Definitely more interesting than the cliche of ‘horses’ (not that there’s anything wrong with that idea at all-) Uh- I have a lot of thoughts about Ace rn but I’m way too tired rn to type them all out- I’ll probably add it to my p2 of this!

Okay so- I’ll probably put the rest of my thoughts in another post, since it’s 2am for me right now-

(i will be so surprised if anyone reads all this im so sorry it’s long-)

[luunaz]

Poisoned feelings [Caleb] fantasy!au | part 2

pairing: Caleb x reader

type: fluff, but maybe angst🌸🍂

warning: mention of blood, death

part 1

summary: Dark spirits have always been a common occurrence for elves and humans. They hid in forests and caves and attacked lost travelers at night. They have never been a threat to the kingdoms. Until a letter came from one of the elven villages asking for help. The villagers suddenly began to die from an unknown disease, but after death they were reborn into monsters and attacked everyone who got in their way. Gradually, the disease spread throughout the Western Lands of the kingdom. The elf King Jormir decided to form an alliance with King William of Firnhold and request military support. King William sends young Captain Caleb and his squad to Lunariel to help contain the monsters. He will have to figure out what is the source of the disease and whether it is possible to stop the epidemic. And will he be able to cope with the conflicting feelings for the woman-elf he must protect?

an: That's the second part. It turned out to be bigger than the first one. I'm a little worried about posting this. I would appreciate any feedback ~

Masterlist

It was early in the morning when Caleb approached the palace garden. Here he must wait for the healer, with whom he will go to the Western Lands. Knowing how unpunctual elves are, the man expected that the elf would not appear soon. He was completely lost in thought, thinking over his next actions after they arrived at one of the villages.

The morning air was still fresh and humid. The rays of the rising sun sparkled in every dewdrop that covered the garden. A light mist enveloped the whole of Lunariel. Even a warrior as battle-hardened as Caleb couldn't help but admire the beauty of the morning elf city.

Suddenly, Caleb felt a light touch on his shoulder. He turned around quickly, his hand on the hilt of his sword. His heart skipped a beat for a second when he saw you. You were standing in front of him in light trousers and a tunic on which floral patterns were embroidered with golden threads. Your hair was down, and you had a silver diadem on your head. A soft smile spread across the charming face.

He had never felt anything like this in his entire life. It even seemed to him for a moment that all this was insidious elven magic, that it was impossible to experience such strong feelings in the first seconds of acquaintance. But Caleb felt it. He felt like there was some kind of connection between two of you. Strong, burning, destructive. If he could, he would stop time to stay in this moment with you for as long as possible. You were close enough to him. So much so that he could smell the floral scent of your perfume.

— Are you Captain Caleb? — You asked.

— Yes, it's me. You must be the healer I'm supposed to accompany? — Caleb tried to answer calmly, although it was difficult to calm the excitement that caused your appearance.

You nodded.

— I think we can go now, — you said, heading out of the garden. Caleb followed you. His heart was still racing and his thoughts were confused. How could you have bewitched him like that? He had heard before that women-elf were beautiful, but he did not expect that he himself could fall under the spell. In the end, he decided that his main goal now is to protect you as a healer. The feelings he felt were just a temporary weakness that would disappear soon. Especially since you were an elf.

You walked through the narrow streets of the city right to the main gate. Ornate streetlights illuminated the cobblestone road brightly. The silence around was broken only by birdsong. You and Caleb haven't said a word the whole time. He was completely lost in his own thoughts, not even noticing your agitation.

Caleb's warriors were already waiting for you at the big white stone gate. They bowed to you and greeted the captain.

— There is your horse, — Caleb said. He checked to make sure the saddle was properly tightened, and then extended his hand to help you saddle the horse.

— Thank you, Captain. I can handle it on my own, — you smiled at the man and walked past him. With a quick movement, you saddle a horse.

You took one last look at Lunariel's palace, which was illuminated by the rising sun. The tall and sharp peaks of the watchtowers could be seen through the morning mist. The white walls of the palace turned golden, which was pleasantly combined with the blue domes. Who knows when you'll be able to see Lunariel next time.

The journey to the western villages took several days. Caleb decided to take his time, because he understood that such a campaign would be much harder for you than for him or his soldiers. He was very courteous and caring to you along the way. Sometimes he was even too caring, so you had to remind him that you were not just a woman, but a healer who was being trained for military campaigns. Caleb just grinned, arguing that the king had ordered him to keep a close eye on you and protect you. That's what he's doing.

What was amazing was that the two of you found a common language so quickly, as if you had known each other for many years. It's possible that this was due to the fact that you both had a light nature. But despite this, it seemed that Caleb was still keeping his distance between you. One moment you're having a nice conversation about the past, and the next Caleb suddenly withdraws into himself and remains silent. This change in mood bothered you a little, but you decided that he just needed more time to get used to you.

— To be honest, I've never been so friendly with any elf, — Caleb began the conversation during one of the stops. The men were gathering branches around them to light a fire and cook food. You were sitting by a tree and picking through the herbs. Caleb sat next to you, watching your actions. There was something about you that attracted others and made them trust you. Caleb was no exception. He felt calm around you, like he was at home with his family and friends. And he wanted to know everything about you: what you're into, what you love, what you hate, how you spend your free time. His curiosity completely got the better of him when he was around you.

— There have always been a lot of misunderstandings between humans and elves. To be honest, I haven't talked to people that much, — you said.

— Why?

— My father forbade me. Even during the royal receptions, when King William came to visit us, I couldn't talk to people for more than five minutes, — there was a note of irritation in your voice.

— Wait, is your father King Jormir? — Caleb asked, surprised.

You nodded. Were you really the daughter of the one Caleb despised the most in the elf kingdom? Should he hate you now? Or should be more wary of you? But he just couldn't. He looked into those charming eyes and felt only an incredible attraction. You're definitely an elven witch who just took the captain's heart.

— Why don't you like elves? — You asked. Your question snapped Caleb out of his thoughts and caught him off guard. He didn't want to tell you about it, not now and not under these circumstances.

— I'll tell you about it later, if you want to hear it. It's not such a funny story, — Caleb said. Not wanting to continue this conversation, the man got up, bowed to you and left to check on his soldiers.

When you reached the first village that was affected by the spell, you were horrified to discover that things were going worse than you expected. Half of the houses were burned down, and piles of charred bodies lay in the streets. The voices of the elves could not be heard, even the singing of birds had stopped here. The village head greeted you and took you to a small white stone building. The massive wooden gate opened after the village head knocked a certain number of times. The lamps illuminated the sparse interior. Several wooden tables and benches stood in the center of the large hall. The elves who were still alive were sitting there and minding their own business. Some of them turned around when you entered.

— These are the survivors, — the head said quietly. His voice sounded tired, as if he hadn't slept in days.

— Did everyone else get sick? — Caleb asked. With a gesture, he ordered his soldiers to stay outside and be on their guard.

— Some residents were infected with the disease, and some were simply killed by monsters. We decided to burn the bodies to stop the spread of this dark magic. There have been no more such cases, but the villagers are still too scared to return to their homes, — the elf turned around and looked at his fellow villagers. Although they looked busy, it was clear from their looks that they still couldn't get over the horror they had to go through.

— Did you burn everyone who got sick?

The elf nodded at your question. You thought for a moment, but then you turned to Caleb.

— I want to examine the bodies. Maybe I'll be able to see something.

You left the room, Caleb and the elf followed you. A disgusting smell filled the streets of the small village. Destroyed houses and furniture scattered everywhere made you feel helpless. Your heart ached every time you passed by the places where entire families were killed a few days ago. Caleb was tense. He watched every movement and listened carefully to every sound. He was ready to fend off a sudden blow.

You approached one of the bodies that were stacked near the houses. They were no longer people, they were monsters. Their faces were frozen in agony, and their pale eyes seemed to reflect the anger and fear that filled these streets at that moment. The black blood dripped and soaked into the ground. You've never experienced anything like this. The dark magic that the elves fought against several millennia ago, when you were just a child, was not like the one that struck these poor inhabitants. When you were just training to be a healer, you had to heal warriors attacked by dark spirits, but at that time, dark magic corroded only certain parts of the body and the disease could develop for several years. But here…

— What happened to their rings? — Caleb asked, raising the arm of one of the monsters with his sword. There was a silver ring on his finger, which was covered with some greenish spots. You carefully took it off and took a closer look. Each elf had his own silver ring, which absorbed the aura of its owner. If the ring was getting dark, it meant that the elf was about to die. It always darkened gradually, but this ring was covered with spots. It was as if it was infected like its owner. Everyone who faced the disease had a similar situation with rings.

— They shouldn't get so dark. I can assume that it's all because of the dark magic that entered their bodies and distorted their aura, — you replied to Caleb. You put the ring in a small canvas bag. — I'd like to examine the bodies of the victims. After that, we will go to other villages.

The bodies of the elves killed by these monsters were not affected by the disease, but it was clear what a nightmare they faced before death. His neck and arms were covered with bites and lacerations. They must have tried to pull the attackers away from them, but to no avail.

You called Caleb over to you and said quietly, so that the head of the village wouldn't hear you:

— I do not know what this disease is. I've never encountered anything like this, — you glanced at the elf who was standing behind Caleb. He looked worried. His eyes were looking at you hopefully. You understood that he was waiting for a ready-made solution from you, which you could not offer him.

— Can you make a cure for this? — the elf asked, noticing your long look.

— It will take me some more time to develop a cure. But I will prepare a decoction for you and other villagers that will help you protect yourself from the disease.

The elf's lips twitched in a smile after your words. He visibly relaxed. Caleb looked at you in surprise.

— The best thing we can do for them is to calm them down. I'll make a decoction for them that will help them relax a little, — you whispered to the man.

Caleb nodded. He understood that panic would only worsen the situation. While you were preparing the decoction, the man ordered the villagers not to leave the village and not enter the forest. To do this, he left several of his soldiers in the village to keep order. Until the situation becomes clear, it is better to keep everything under control.

[maluustrawberry]

Red like fire...{Part 1}

(Frollo X Edith X Phoebus)

Warnings: Some prejudiced speech, use of the word "Gypsies" (But only in Frollo's speeches since we know what kind of character he is.) Age gap, Frollo being Frollo.

Synopsis: Frollo needed a new captain to help him with the problems with the romani, but he didn't imagine that the captain would be a woman, causing many disagreements between the two of them since the arrival of the captain.

A/N: I swear I thought of this story when I was taking a shower, Lol. I decided to post this while part two of "Undesirable encounter" yet being made. And I was also surprised that there wasn't any Phoebus fic, so I thought I'd do one. This time I won't use "Y/n" I thought it would be better to create a character, but you can imagine yourself in her place and I hope you like her. Enjoy!!

Love and lust. The feelings that show the true nature of man, even man who calls himself "holy" and "righteous". These feelings drive us to commit so many crazy things just for attention, a look or even a touch. Especially when that feeling comes from someone who has repressed it for so long, hiding their true desires and monstrosities for fear of experiencing sin.

Frollo, the judge, needed help dealing with the Romanis who were entering Paris. He suspected that there was some kind of "nest" in which they were hiding and that they were spreading out from this hiding place. To help him with this task, the judge decided to call in a captain of the royal guard who was in a nearby town and who was free of missions at the moment. Luckily, he found someone, but he had no idea that the captain would actually be a woman...

Her name was Edith Chapelle, and she was the first woman to become captain. When she received the letter from the Judge of Paris, she immediately packed her things and rode her gray horse, Hermes, into town. Of course, it wasn't very common in the 15th century for a woman to hold such an important position; she was forced to deal with a lot of nasty comments and nicknames and, of course, being called a 'witch', but she managed to cope very well.

She began her career as a captain when her father, a former captain, was called up for a war, but was ill and had no male son to replace him, so Edith took his place. The impression was horrible at first, but, being clever, she gradually gained the respect of the men and put them in their place.

Unfortunately, only her surname remained on the list, which often confused the men into thinking that the captain was a man because she bore her father's surname. And as soon as she arrived, it was always a break in expectations for everyone, along with some people's thoughts about her. For Edith, it was no different with that judge.

After riding for a long time until she arrived in Paris, she began to pass through the city, a little lost and, of course, receiving looks of strangeness and disgust. Even with that, she could tolerate it. “Is it possible that, in such a big city, no one has ever seen a woman wearing pants and armor?” A small laugh burst from her lips at the thought.

She was looking for the Palace of Justice and tried to look at the map, but the city had changed a lot and the map would be of no use at the moment.

"Come on, it shouldn't be so hard to find," she thought to herself as she led the horse through the city streets and along La Cité, near Notre-Dame. The woman gazed in awe at the great cathedral, it was still as beautiful as the last time she had seen it, and a small smile appeared on her face as she remembered the good times she had had in this city, especially at Notre-Dame. She let her thoughts take her away and suddenly her horse grumbled and tapped its legs impatiently on the ground:

“Calm down, Hermes.” The redhead tried to calm her animal by patting the side of its neck. “I guarantee that when we arrive, you'll have your carrots. We just need some information...”

The woman commented as she looked around and got off her horse, looking for someone to ask for information. It was a bit difficult with the Parisians passing by and ignoring the visitor, if not, they just gave uncomfortable looks or the mothers whispered in an unobtrusive way to the little girls, who stared curiously at the woman. “Don't look, child, that's disgraceful. Such a poorly disciplined woman.”

The captain noticed a colorful cart near the cathedral, which attracted the attention of some children, who were enchanted by the music that a man in the cart sang while using his puppets to tell a story. Perhaps he was someone who empathized with children and could help her.

She walked over to the cart while carrying her horse on a lead, and the man soon stopped the story. The children also looked at the girl and the approaching horse:

“Good morning.” She greeted everyone with a small smile. “I hope I'm not in the way.”

“Not at all, miss.” The man spoke, being friendly and relaxed. The woman could tell he was a Romani from his different skin color and the ring hanging from his ear. “My stories are for all audiences.”

“Oh no, no, I just came to ask for information. I'm new in city.” She explained, not noticing the children stroking her horse, and what luck that Hermes was a very peaceful animal and liked children. “Can you tell me where the Palace of Justice is?”

“It's not far from here. Unfortunately, I can't take you there, but just go straight up that street and turn right, you'll get there easily, there's no mistake.”

“Thank you very much, sir.” The girl thanked him, noticing a hat with some coins on the counter of the Roma's cart, and took some out of her pocket and put them there. “I hope this helps.”

“Thank you, miss, won't you stay for a story?”

“I appreciate that, but I have to get to the palace, I should have been there hours ago.” She joked. “Maybe another time?”

“I understand, dear, see you later.”

She said goodbye to the Romani and pulled Hermes' leash, taking him away from the children and following the path to the palace. The captain decided to walk through the streets this time, to stretch her legs a bit and to avoid attracting so much attention on her horse.

Following the Roma's instructions, she arrived at the place and was in front of the palace. A shiver ran through her body as nervousness and anxiety took over. The place was huge, and what caught the woman's attention most were the tall towers of the palace; they weren't as tall as those of the cathedral, but they seemed to give a great view of the city. The redhead took a deep breath and walked up to the palace. There were two guards at the entrance, next to the large doors:

“Excuse me, gentlemen.” She spoke and the men looked her up and down with contempt and doubt. She was a little taller than the men and that was enough to bruise their egos a little, after all, the woman was 1.74 tall. “I came at the behest of Judge Claude Frollo.”

The guards looked at each other, holding back their laughter, and one of them asked mockingly:

“And what would the judge want with a woman?” When the guard said this, this time the redhead took on a serious tone with a little anger in her voice, and then spoke.

“Summon her as the new captain of the guard, perhaps?”

She took the judge's letter out of her bag and unfolded it, showing it to the guards. They read it and were stunned, they had to read it more than once to make sure they understood it correctly and that it wasn't a forgery, but they knew very well that it was the judge's handwriting and his own seal on the letter. One of the guards cleared his throat and spoke:

“H-He's in the main hall, ma'am. Do we have permission to put your horse in the stable?”

“I'd be grateful if you would.” The small smile returned to her face and she handed Hermes' lead to one of the men.

The guard opened the palace gate and the captain entered. The door was closed behind her and she looked around, analyzing the place. The main hall was even larger inside, and soon she heard voices in the next room, the judgment chamber, and followed the voice. It was two men, but one of them had the most authoritative, deep voice that would give anyone goosebumps.

When she arrived at the judgment hall, she saw a tall, old man in the robes of a judge talking to the guard, but the conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the captain. Nervousness hit her hard when she saw all the attention on her and the judge's deep judgmental gaze, seeming to analyze every detail of her soul, but she maintained her posture and spoke:

“Good morning, gentlemen, excuse me. Mr. Judge Claude Frollo?” She asked and the man frowned slightly.

“Yes...” He answered a little uncertainly and put his hands together. “And you are...?”

“Captain Edith Chapelle, sir.” She quickly introduced herself, bowing slightly and the judge's eyes widened slightly, not believing he had hired a woman. “Reporting for duty as ordered.”

“... Is this a joke?” It was the only thing that came out of the judge's mouth after so much shock and disappointment. “I didn't hire a woman to take care of the job.”

“Well, it's in the letter you sent me, Your Honor.” She handed him the letter and the older man took it and looked at it as she spoke. “I know that my military record only contains my surname, but...”

“Go away.” He spoke and she frowned, not believing it.

“Sorry?...”

“There's been a mistake.” He handed her the letter, his expression hard, serious and with hatred in his eyes. “I didn't hire a woman for the job and you should have this information on your military record.”

“Sir, I've come all this way...” She tried to explain herself, but he quickly interrupted her.

“If you knew how to get here, then you know very well how to get home.” The judge spoke with contempt and turned away as he spoke. “A woman, being a captain? You don't seem to know your real role in society and you're playing at being a soldier.”

“I know my role very well, Your Honor.” She spoke as she walked up to him, who stopped and stared at her with contempt, that look would make anyone shut up, but she insisted. Stubborn as she was.

“I can punish you if you continue with this stubbornness, Miss Chapelle.” He spoke, but she continued.

“Punish me for what? For being a woman?”

“Look how you talk to the Judge of Paris, woman...” The guard butted in and the redhead immediately cut him off with an authoritative and serious tone.

“I didn't ask you to talk! Put yourself in your place before meddling in a matter that hasn't even been mentioned!”

That tone made the guard quickly shut up and walk away from the two of them with his fists clenched, which shocked Frollo, he had never seen a woman with so much control and even more so insistent. The guard left them alone and she continued, it was amazing that she wasn't afraid of the punishment that would follow, as if she had a great passion for her work:

“I'm doing my duty, Your Honor. And my role is to protect the cities and justice, as I was trained to do.”

“Put yourself in your position as a woman...” The older man approached, and his expression, along with his gaze, was capable of intimidating anyone, including the captain. But she stood her ground and didn't back down. “You should be at home looking after your husband and children. In fact, I doubt that you have a husband, and if you did, he would certainly be ashamed.”

These words would surely make anyone give up, it wouldn't be worth it, but Edith continued, despite feeling upset:

“Even though you don't know my gender, you've seen my work and my achievements as a captain in my military record, and I think that's why you summoned me, isn't it? So what difference will it make, knowing that I'm now a woman?”

Claude Frollo remained silent, absorbing everything the woman said and obviously he had no more arguments for it. To his disappointment, she was right, and anyway if he were to call another captain it would take longer than necessary and he needed to do his duty as a judge. From start to finish, she showed a mature, responsible and stubborn demeanor, and she seemed to have a way with words and a certain authority:

“You've shown yourself to have an extremely irritating but endearing stubbornness and you have good posture. I hope I'm not mistaken about that, Captain.” Frollo said the word "captain" with a certain disdain, but Edith ignored it and looked hopefully at him, her hands trembling with anxiety. “I'll give you a chance, I won't tolerate any mistakes and if you commit any disobedience... don't want to imagine what comes next...” A small smile came to the judge's face and it caused the captain to shiver, it was a wicked smile that caused discomfort.

The short-haired redhead nodded and he turned away from her, starting to climb the steps to the upper room of the palace, she soon realized that she should follow him and so she did. Frollo gave Edith this chance, he thought it was ridiculous for a woman to think she could do the captain's job better than any man, he was sure she wouldn't last two weeks, but he couldn't deny that he was curious to see how far she would go, it would be satisfying for a man like him to see her so weakened and show that he was right all this time.

They reached the top floor and walked out onto the open balcony of the palace, and soon he began:

“I hope you know what you're doing, Captain. I must say that you've come to Paris at a dangerous time, and you'll need a firm hand to deal with so many pagans. Do you think you can handle it?”

“Dealing with pagans? What do you mean?” She asked and he gave a small smile.

“Gypsies, Captain. Gypsies live outside the normal order and are always breaking the law, stealing, taking children from their mothers and defiling our Christian city with their pagan ways. And they have to be stopped.” Frollo explained as he looked out over the city.

“Wait a minute, are you telling me I've been summoned from the war to arrest Romanis?” She asked incredulously, thinking he was joking, but at the judge's slight glance, she recovered. “I mean... it's just that I've never received a mission like this before...”

“Everything has a first time, Captain, and I'm playing my part as a judge in cleansing the city of evil.” Edith found the way he spoke strange, did this man think he was a God or something? Always feeling superior to everyone else? “Come with me...”

She soon obeyed him, walking with him through the palace of justice and heading for what seemed to be his office. It was a very well organized room, with several books on the shelf, a desk full of papers and a map of the city hanging on the wall of the room. The judge continued as he closed the door behind the captain:

“For twenty years I've been... looking after the gypsies.” He spoke as he walked to his desk. “One by one, yet with my success they seem to have sprouted. I believe they have some refuge, a 'nest', so to speak.”

Frollo sat down at his table, but the woman remained standing as she listened to the explanation, the judge gave a small smile as he noticed that she was just waiting for his order to sit down, it seems that she had been educated very well as a captain and recognized who her leader was, she had passed his little "test":

“Sit down, Captain.” At his command, with a small smile on his face, the redhead obeyed and sat down. Frollo continued: “Moving on, I need you to find this gypsy hideout and capture any you find wandering around the city.”

“If I may, sir. What should we do if we find the hideout?”

Frollo continued with that wicked smile, leaned his elbows on the table and put his hands together. Edith watched his movements and soon realized what he meant:

“Sir, I wasn't trained to kill innocent people.”

“But you were trained to take orders...” That smile wouldn't leave Frollo's face, with this information he knew she would give up, or at least he thought so. “And 'innocents'? Do you think that pagan race is innocent?”

“Just because one Romani has committed crimes, doesn't mean that everyone should be punished for it.”

“Don't you see that it's in their blood to be sinners, my dear?” He asked calmly.

“Yes, just as it's in the blood of every human being. If you do this, you'll be breaking a law, you'll be causing genocide, and from what I read in the law you should only kill if someone commits a crime and you have proof of the crime committed. You don't want to lose your job, do you?”

This woman was dangerously clever and had a sharp tongue. The judge's expression became serious again and his right hand clenched tightly into a fist, but in a discreet way, as if he were controlling his desire to break that sharp woman's neck, he certainly underestimated her quick thinking and tough mind. Then he had a different idea of manipulating her:

“You're a clever woman, Captain, I have to confess.” He commented as he analyzed the papers in an attempt to disguise himself. “And you've given me an idea, I think it's best just to arrest all the gypsies and when it comes time for the trial I'll draw the conclusions as to whether they deserve the death penalty or not. Since you care so much about these gypsy scum.”

“I care about justice, and about our work.”

“How thoughtful of you.” He spoke sarcastically.

“And what will happen to those who don't get the death penalty?“

“They'll be free, simple.”

That was very strange. Edith was about to retort, but kept quiet. She had already said too much, and at least he hadn't forced her to bathe in the blood of innocents. Then she returned to the subject of the mission:

“Do you have any suspicions about where the safe house is? If you don't mind, I'll need a new map of the city. Mine is old and Paris has changed a lot since then.”

“So far we've had no leads, Captain. And as for the map, I'll arrange it. You have full control of my men and you'll have to put them in line. Any more questions about the service?”

“Is there anything important you want to tell me?” As she asked this, he shifted in his chair and leaned his body slightly on the table, clasping his hands together.

“I'm only going to tell you one thing; remember why I summoned you... you must not show any compassion to those pagans. And I'm going to demand at least some information about the mission when the day is over.”

“I'll keep you informed as soon as possible about the hideout, sir.”

“Very well, you're cleared. Your service begins tomorrow and I expect good results.”

“Yes, sir.”

Edith nodded and got up from her chair, the judge's gaze on her at all times as she made her way to the office exit. And now he was analyzing the woman, noticing her height and physique. She definitely didn't have a strong body suited to fighting. Her arms, even hidden by armor, looked as thin and delicate as any woman's, and her shoulders weren't that broad. Her legs, which were long and with thick thighs, looked very nice underneath the armor, and, of course, he couldn't help but notice those wide hips.

The judge quickly pushed these thoughts aside and sighed as soon as she left; he had never met a woman like her before and was intrigued, but at the same time felt contempt for her. He was going to make this woman's life as captain a living hell...

*****

Edith left the palace of justice, and as soon as she left, she breathed a sigh of relief after so much tension with that difficult judge. She went downstairs and went to the stables to get her horse to leave. She needed to find a place to stay in the city and it was a good thing she had money for accommodation and knew a place, she just needed to make sure it still existed.

It was dusk, and riding to the place, Edith observed how the town looked. Soon her thoughts were dominated by Frollo, that judge was no ordinary man, he always seemed to be driven by hatred and punishment, he wouldn't be easy to work with, that much she knew. She had nothing against Romanis, and she wasn't one to judge someone by their appearance. The redhead had a bad feeling about this, worrying about the Romani people and, of course, worrying about the city being in the hands of such a cruel judge.

Riding through the city, she passed some familiar streets until she came to St. Michael's Bridge, hearing the sound of the river passing under the bridge. As she passed the place, she was surprised that the small apartment was still there after so many years. She still had images of the House of Falourdel in her mind from when her father used to pay for lodgings there when they would visit Paris. Edith got off her horse and left him waiting in front of the apartment:

“I won't be long, Hermes, I promise.”

She spoke before entering, the bell ringing as soon as the door was opened. The same lady who had attended to her father when she was a child was there at the counter. Edith was genuinely surprised to see that this old woman was still alive. "Maybe she was so grouchy that not even hell or heaven wanted her there…" Edith bit her tongue to keep from laughing at the thought:

“Which room?” The old woman asked, exactly, without a 'good afternoon' or even a 'what do you want?' Edith frowned, one thing she hated was rudeness, but she let it pass.

*****

Managing to book a room upstairs and a stable for Hermes to stay in, the woman entered the Santa Carta room, which was not in the best condition. The walls were almost falling apart, the bed was rusty, the window was broken and there was a faint smell of mildew coming from the walls. It had been a long time since the place had been renovated.

Tired from her trip, the woman locked the door, left her things in the corner of the bed and took off her armor, feeling relieved and more relaxed after taking off the tight, uncomfortable metal. She began to clean her body with the damp cloth and finally put on her nightgown.

She wanted to walk around the city before nightfall to get to know Paris better, but she was too tired having come all this way and had a long job the next day, so that judge managed to sap her energy. She lay down on the bed and sighed, snuggling down to sleep and get ready for her first day at work tomorrow.

Continue?...