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livingemkayde · 10 months

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ch vi. bruises

joel miller x f!reader x unrequited!tommy miller (no outbreak AU)

chapter six of chaser

warnings: 18+ minors please dni. ooof okay where to start, smut unprotected p in v, mentions of bruising from sex? fighting like actual real life fist fighting, rough but sweet sex, grinding, lowkey some cockwarming?? kinda unwanted kissing, tommy being annoying and somewhat overbearing, and unwanted touching, but not sexual. caroline. just, caroline. because she deserves her own warning for this one. no use of y/n.

summary: everything comes to a head at tommy's birthday party.

a/n: this is genuinely the longest part/chapter thing i've ever written so enjoy. tommy is really annoying in this one, im still deciding if he's going to have a redemption arc. sorry this took so long. as always, i love you all so much. MY TUMBLR LITERALLY SHIT ITS PANTS WHEN I TRIED TO EDIT THE TAGLIST SO IM SORRY IF YOU GUYS GOT TAGGED LIKE 400 TIMES.

if you would like to read more of mine: masterlist!

“What’s goin’ on?” Joel says, almost a whisper. You’re still not sure if he’s talking to you or Tommy. You can't take your eyes off Tommy’s gaze. From the looks of it, Joel’s question makes Tommy more angry and way more confused. “Joel,” you say, trying to look for any indication in Tommy’s face that he’s not going to go bat shit crazy. “‘S fine. We’re okay.” But Joel doesn’t listen. Because he’s Joel Miller and maybe you can’t see it right now, but you can hear the concern dripping off his tone—an indication that he won’t ever leave. Not now. So he stalks towards you both and you try to shake your head no, and he doesn’t listen.

You can almost remember it like it was yesterday.

A few weeks back, the first time you invited Tommy in for a drink after dinner. Sarah was asleep back at the house, Joel was doing — god knows what. The sun was set, the mosquitoes were probably out, and there was a quiet, even maybe too quiet silence when Tommy pulled up to your house.

He had asked what the rest of your plans were for the night.

You had said nothing much, not knowing it was an invitation — he stayed till 2 a.m. that night.

But it was okay. Because he made you laugh and you enjoyed his company. He was interesting. Tommy told you about how he never wanted to go into contracting in the first place. About his broken bones, his all time biggest regrets, how he was smitten with his old high school flame turned mean cheerleader until graduation.

It was the first time you ever realized he was — well — his own person in the sense. Not just Joel’s younger brother. But Tommy. Tommy Miller.

Maybe in another life Tommy might’ve even been good for you. A perfect pair — a match. He wasn’t mean and brooding and he certainly didn’t have 12 years on you.

And he made you smile. And he was genuinely—genuinely interested in your life. Your post grad prospects, college, books, and even how you played soccer just like Sarah when you were younger.

But when he leaned in that night, closer to you than ever before. You froze. Like genuinely frozen, and you couldn’t even dare to look down to his slowly approaching lips, let alone how his arms caged you in.

“First kiss?” you remember him asking.

You had just stuttered out nonsense, not wanting to breathe too hard and run the risk of pushing your lips flush with his.

“I — um —” you nervously laughed. You couldn’t even think—not in the way you should—not when the first person that comes to mind when Tommy says, kiss is his brother.

He had leaned in closer then—more tentative. Like you were a scared deer in headlights or a frightened kitten and he was inching forward, wanting to move closer.

But you didn’t really do — anything.

And he had pulled back a bit, gave you a teasing look and a ruffle on the head and continued with the conversation.

In all honesty you were scared that he might've been inching forward to kiss you. The small fear settling through a slightly erratic heartbeat and nervous laughs.

You were scared then, but can’t really remember the last time you’ve felt this kind of fear.

Hurt, discomfort, shock, maybe.

And although it was being quickly replaced with anger, you don’t remember this feeling — this kind of fear. Not even the kind you get from watching a scary movie — where you can feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins and then dissipating when the screen goes dark, and the lights turn back on and all you have to worry about is if the scary nun from the big screen will appear in your dreams.

You can remember all the last times you’ve gotten mad, sure. Mainly at the Miller brothers.

But never fear — well, not until right now.

Because whoever that Tommy was is definitely not the same guy staring back at you right now, with a bruised fist, an angry look swirled with hurt marked permanently on his face and one emotion that you can definitely place behind his eyes — jealousy.

Some hours earlier.

You spread colorful tablecloth over the mismatched tables in Joel’s backyard. The string lights are being hung up, Joel stands on a ladder towards your right, the sound of a hammer echoing through the small backyard.

You pick your phone out of your back pocket, checking the time. You also find it in you to check Tommy’s texts again, but no other messages have been sent since last night. You look down at your phone — at the messages — and sit against one of the tables.

Yesterday:

You: can we talk in person?

Tommy Miller: I’ll see you tomorrow at the party?

You hadn’t seen the text until this morning, when Joel and you found it in yourselves to get out of bed, have a shower, and start setting up for the party. So when you saw it, you would be lying if you said your heart didn’t skip a beat.

You’re a bit nervous at the prospect. You did not want to talk to him at his party—honestly just trying to text him so that the air would be cleared for the party.

But his words echo in your mind.

“Just think ‘bout it before you say no.”

You let out a cursed sigh.

Tommy had to know. Right?

If he knew the dreaded ‘no’ was already braced on your lips he had to know. That this thing between you and Tommy would never work out. That you’re way better as friends. That it would ruin everything — the dynamics of it all — that you were smitten with his brother and you guys had just slept together for the second time without Tommy’s knowledge and that—

“Alright?”

Joel stands in front of you, dipping his head to see a scowl marked on your face. You quickly — maybe even too quickly — forget about the messages, hell, forget about Tommy.

Because Joel looks handsome. He’s always handsome, you’ve thought since the moment you met him at the bar. There’s something intoxicating about him, his arms, the curve of his neck. His brooding nature does him justice — a uniqueness about him that makes you want to uncover more, learn more, see more.

You remember last night—very vividly through small ebbs and flows of sleep. The moonlight seeped into your skin as you both rolled around in gray sheets.

It makes your cheeks heat a bit at the thought.

You remember everything. Every little detail. You don’t think you’ll ever forget.

You tuck your phone back into your pocket.

“Yeah, sorry. ‘S just…” you trail off, he nods his head in understanding, coming closer to you.

He braces his hands on either side of your body, caging you in. Your faces study each other’s mere inches apart.

“Tablecloth givin’ you trouble?” Joel teases in a soft whisper, looking down at your lips, then back to your eyes.

“Funny,” you say with a grin and run your tongue over your lips.

“You need help, baby, all you gotta do is ask.” Joel’s small smile plays on his lips for a fleeting second. You miss it as soon as it’s gone.

“Duly noted. But I’m not the one who’s been hanging up string lights for the past hour.”

He pats your ass a bit, teasing you and pushing out a playful sigh.

“Perfection takes time.”

Joel’s beginning to dip his head to kiss you, but you find it in you to bite back.

“And yet the left side’s still lower than the right,” you whisper, pulling your head back slightly. He turns quickly to look at the fence, but gives you a harder slap on your ass when he realizes the lights are, in fact, straight.

Joel chuckles, pushing off from the table, you turn back around to continue fixing the cloths, and look back at him over your shoulder.

He’s looking back at you too.

“You’re killin’ me,” he says, and you smile to yourself when you turn back around.

You look around the backyard and check your phone for the millionth time since the party started. You can hear Sarah running around, screaming a bit while jumping into the pool. But your brows furrow when you find that Tommy still hasn’t texted you.

You spot a tuft of red hair swinging through your vision and spin to find Janet Baker squeezing through the crowd.

“Janet!” you say, approaching her quickly. You’re happy to see her—Tommy didn’t invite many people you’re familiar with.

“Hey, Doll. Thanks for the invite!” she says, pulling you into a quick hug, but when she sees the look on your face, her mouth drops into a frown. “Sweetie, you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry. I—Tommy didn’t…I don’t really know anyone here,” you reply while sheepishly looking around the small, bustling backyard. It’s the kind of feeling you try your best to avoid. Like everyone is in on some secret joke that you have no clue about. Or everyone knows each other and you can’t even put faces to names because you don’t know any names—like right now.

“‘S fine—I’m happy to see you made it,” you let out a defeated chuckle.

“‘F course, baby. Charlotte really wanted to see Sarah,” she nods towards the girls in the pool, Charlotte’s red hair looking strikingly similar to the woman standing in front of you. Janet seems to be on her second drink of the afternoon, you saw her tipping back a solo cup out of the corner of your eye earlier.

“What are you drinking?” you ask her, nodding at her cup.

“Someone brought a fancy lookin’ wine I popped open,” she says, giving you a sly smile. “Why don’t we get you a drink? You’ll like this,” she says, you don’t have much time to react, she’s already pulling you towards the drink station.

You both settle into a comfortable silence, looking around the backyard while Janet pours your drink.

“So,” she says, giving you a wink.

“So…” you echo, sending a nervous laugh her way.

“Who’s that girl,” she nods towards Caroline while passing you a cup, you take a big sip, Janet fills it back up to the top without a second glance.

“Caroline,” you say looking at her and Joel. They’re talking to some other people, a small group of them congregating by the barbecue.

“Caroline…” Janet tests out on her tongue, willing you to continue.

“Caroline—Joel’s,” you can’t help but chuckle. “date. I guess.”

“That bother you?” she says, finishing the bottle of wine while the two of you walk back towards the edge of the pool so she can watch Charlotte and Sarah.

“Nope,” you say, and it’s not a lie. Sure, it might be a little weird to see another woman clinging to his arm after yesterday. But you know now. And that’s all that matters.

“Joel can—” you laugh again, “—Joel can do what he likes.”

Janet stops walking suddenly. You tear your gaze away from Joel and look at her with a confused furrowed brow.

“Sweetie…” she says with eyes that look way too knowing for your comfort or peace of mind.

“Janet…?” you say, though her gaze just intensifies.

“You mean to tell me it happened since I last saw you?”

Your eyes widen, a shocked look crosses your face and you quickly try to replace it with a bad mask of confusion.

“W-what? I—”

“Don’t lie to me, doll,” she warns, and she looks like she really means it.

“Janet…” you say in a not as effective and halfhearted warning tone back.

“Don’t you dare,” she wags her finger—a final warning.

What has gotten into you and why can’t you find it in yourself to lie to this woman?

“Don’t te—” she gasps, “Janet, I mean it. Do not tell anyone.”

She shuts her half open mouth and makes the my lips are sealed motion across her face. You laugh while stealing a glance at Joel.

“I told you,” she whispers to you in a hush, joining your eyeline towards Joel.

You stay silent for a moment, just taking everything and everyone in—but at the same time just looking at Joel. when you finally break the silence you’re a bit shocked at your question. You’ve never talked about Joel like this with someone who actually knows him. Everything has always been a secret—like you were supposed to be ashamed or something. You never were.

“How did you know?” you ask, hushed. You’re not sure she’ll even hear you.

“Would love to say it was intuition, sweetie—but—it was him. It was written all over his face.”

You stayed with Janet for the better portion of the hour, all through silent peaks at your phone to see if Tommy had texted you. When it was getting to the point where people were getting curious, you’ve just about had your limit.

You approach Joel quickly, you don’t miss Caroline’s stunned face but you really can’t be bothered with—that—right now.

“Joel?” you ask, pulling at his arm a bit, he excuses himself from the group and follows you towards the backyard's edge.

“Where the hell is your brother?” you whisper.

“He’s not here?” he asks, the same hushed tone also pushing through his voice at your question.

“No! I called him, but he’s not responding,” you pipe back while pulling out your phone. Though the lack of notifications from Tommy—just as before—tells you enough.

You both look at each other for a fleeting second. But the same worried look is probably etched on both your faces — fuck.

“This fuckin’ guy,” Joel mutters under his breath while pulling out his own phone and then putting it up to his ear.

You pace around the small area you and Joel are in, observing the unfamiliar faces.

“Nothin’,” Joel grovels, taking a peak over the fence towards the street to see if Tommy's truck has pulled up. “I’ll try ‘im again — just — you should mingle,” he says, still looking down at his phone.

“‘S fine. I don’t really know anyone here anyways,” you say absentmindedly, looking through your phone for Tommy’s contact and putting your phone up to your ear.

You hear yelling and shouting from the entrance to the backyard. You slowly lift your head, reluctant to tear your eyes away from frantic texts.

You spot him, in all his glory. Tommy Miller. Two hours late to his own birthday party—though he looks like he couldn’t care less, hugging old friends and new ones. He spots your eyes in the crowd and you can’t even be bothered to smile, a frown is almost permanently placed on your face—Late to your own birthday party?

He nods his head toward the house, a silent invitation to talk when he’s done greeting the guests. You nod back and turn to Joel, Tommy turns to everyone else.

“He’s here,” you say, pulling Joel out of his own phone, he does a double take towards the entrance and huffs out a groan.

“Goddamn idiot,” Joel says, running his palm over his eyebrow.

“I’m gonna go—” you say, nodding towards the house, towards Tommy.

“Yeah. Alright,” he replies, though he looks a bit concerned and unfocused, looking towards Tommy, then back to you, “You need me, ‘m there.”

“‘M not telling him about us on his birthday and It’s Tommy, Joel.”

Tommy—harmless.

Though Joel’s look sends a sweat to your palms for some reason. You don’t know why he’s worried.

It’s Tommy. It’s fine.

Right?

You hope as much as you make your way through the crowd. You beeline for the house and slip past the sliding doors into the kitchen where cups and bags of chips lay open and equally sprawled.

You can hear the door slide open and shut again behind you as you try and salvage the mess.

“Baby,” Tommy says, rounding the corner and coming close to you, “‘M sorry. The concrete guy was supposed to drop off the shipment tomorrow but he came today and needed a signature—”

“Tommy, it’s okay,” you almost have to will yourself to say. You also have to remember it’s his birthday.

He looks down.

“‘S okay. It’s your birthday. Happy birthday,” you reassure with a small smile.

“Looks great out there,” he says, fiddling with his phone in his hand.

“Thanks.”

You’re suddenly a bit nervous. You hadn’t really thought about everything that had happened when Tommy being late to his own birthday party was blanketing all the drama. But he’s here now, and you have no idea what to say. Maybe it would be better to not say anything at all—not address the fact that he asked you out, or you and Joel. But that guilty gnawing feeling eats you alive the longer you stand in silence.

“Joel helped you?”

“Yeah. I went shopping yesterday and dropped off the stuff here then we set it up this morning,” you say, nodding towards the backyard and then your car parked out front.

“You went shopping on your own?” he almost sounds offended.

“I wanted to go on my own.”

Tommy doesn't look convinced.

“Really, T. ‘S fine,” you brush off, leaning back against the kitchen counter and crossing your arms. He stares at you from the other side of the kitchen.

“Caroline here?” he asks, a hesitant look on his face as he switches from looking at the ground to your face—almost like he’s looking for a reaction.

“She’s out there somewhere,” you nod, keeping a neutral face masked with a small smile. “You should mingle. Just wanted to make sure everything was alright.”

But he doesn’t move, he just keeps fiddling with the case on his phone again, looking down to the floor—his feet.

“I— you said you wanted to talk in person.”

Shit.

You both look at each other, waiting. A game of cat and mouse.

“It can wait, T. Enjoy your party,” you say, gesturing to the crowd outside.

“Is it about—is it about what happened Friday?”

“Tommy,” you say, almost warningly. This situation is shitty enough as is. You really don’t want to spoil everything—even if there’s nothing left to spoil.

He doesn’t say anything. His thumb fiddling with his phone is the only sound coming from inside the kitchen. He looks at you, waiting for you to continue. Almost unbearable. You crack way quicker than you’d hope to last.

If he wants it like this, at his own birthday party, then so be it.

“Fine. I just—I wanted to…” you scramble for words but they jumble in your mind.

“I’m—” you fall short again. “About what you said. What you asked me. I don’t think that it’s…something I want. I’m—sorry.”

“You don’t think it’s something you want? Or you know that—”

“Tommy,” you say, giving him an awkward stifled laugh. Like he’s being childish with his response. Because he is. “I don’t—I’m sorry.”

He turns away from you suddenly, towards the window above the sink and just stares at it for a long time. You can see his chest puffing. When he finally turns back around, it’s different. It’s the Tommy you know.

“‘S okay,” He says.

Maybe he’ll get over it quickly—you hope.

“Are you okay? I’m—I mean I hope that this doesn’t change anything since I’m still gonna be around—” you lift your arm up to run a ragged hand across your forehead and through your hair, you don’t even notice that your shirt riding up, “— I just don’t want it to like—”

“What is that?”

Your eyes snap to Tommy’s, confused. You think he might be looking out the window again but his eyes trail to you, but lower. Like he’s looking at your hips—because he is. You’re still confused for a second, before examining your shirt, looking for stains or anything out of the ordinary. But you don’t find anything, your top spotless.

“What? I don’t—”

“No—” he takes a couple quick steps forward, into your space, you try to find his eyes—yours blown out with confusion and shock but his are trained and laser focused to your waistline.

“What’s—” he tries to pull up your shirt, you shove him back out of reflex. “You’re hurt, what happened t’you?”

He almost pins down your hands to see your skin under your shirt, dipping his head to look at your waist and hips and you suddenly know. You know there are hand shaped bruises littered across the skin of your waist, turning it deep purple. Handprints that match Joel’s exactly—almost like they’re burned into you. You saw it this morning. It’s why you didn’t bother to put on a swimsuit and decided to keep a top on instead.

What’s even worse is you know Tommy saw it too.

“Tommy!” you’re yelling now, fighting his grip.

You slip up, unable to get a good hold on his wrist like he now has on yours and he pushes the shirt up to reveal the bruises.

“What the hell is that?”

“Fucking—get off!” he backs away with your second shove, a different kind of look on his face. “Jesus,” you huff out, yanking your shirt back down.

You both stand there. A pregnant silence between you. You can almost hear the gears turning, he stares blankly. Putting it all together. Like maybe you’re not hurt, but you wanted it—wanted it from another man. Somewhere in the back of his mind he might keep wishing someone hurt you so he didn’t have to feel so betrayed. So when he asks, it’s like he doesn’t want to admit that it’s true—the quiet possibility of someone else in the picture.

“Who,” he says slowly, pointing down to your waist, “did that?”

“Tommy—” you say, but footsteps cut you off, you both turn your head to the entrance of the kitchen as Joel rounds the corner. He looks out of breath and his eyes flicker from Tommy and his finger pointing down at your waist then back to you.

“We alright in here?” Joel stands, hesitant, his fingers play with the bottom hem of his shirt in an anxious way. Like he doesn't know what he’s just walked in on—you’re not entirely sure you know the answer to that either. You aren’t sure if he’s talking to you or Tommy so you stay silent, waiting for the man in front of you to respond.

“Yup,” Tommy replies, too angry to be believable.

Joel looks at you but he doesn’t say anything. Not out loud.

No. You try to say with your eyes. We are definitely not alright in here.

“Joel,” you say, trying to look for any indication in Tommy’s face that he’s not going to go bat shit crazy. “‘S fine. We’re okay.”

But Joel doesn’t listen. Because he’s Joel Miller and maybe you can’t see it right now, but you can hear the concern dripping off his tone—an indication that he won’t ever leave. Not now. So he stalks towards you both and you try to shake your head no, and he doesn’t listen.

He stands beside you, putting a flat sprawled palm on Tommy’s chest and silently tries to push him backward. But Tommy breaks first, pushing Joel’s hand off him, staggering back while looking at you and Joel.

And maybe he gets it then, you think. Because Tommy lets out a deep chuckle—like you’ve got clown makeup on. Like he’s never seen anything more funny. He’s a lot of things but he is not fucking stupid. So he looks past Joel to your eyes. To your face, almost covered—ridden—in guilt and he can see everything.

“Really?” Tommy says, not sparing Joel a glance.

“You put your fuckin’ hands on her?” Tommy says, almost at a whisper which makes it all the more intimidating. You can see Joel’s back puff, his anger rising. But you also know Joel would never hurt his brother. Not on purpose.

But you’re scared. You’re really fucking scared in this moment because Tommy is entirely too worked up and you know whatever excuse Joel is going to say won’t help.

“Easy,” Joel says, his voice cutting through the tense silence.

You’re sweating. The hot summer of July in Austin getting to you. They stare at each other for a long time. Like at the kitchen table, like when you all first met. But this time, Tommy breaks, and his eyes flicker to yours, he takes a tiny step to the side so he can see you better.

“Is this why? Is this why you’re fuckin’—jesus, fuck. ‘S this why he went to get you a tire?” you stand, you can’t really say anything, your stunned figure doesn’t move.

“He hurt you,” Tommy breathes out, his voice almost breaking if he wasn’t so angry. You shake your head.

You both know that the bruises aren’t from hurt. That they’re far from it.

“He didn’t,” you reply.

“No, no, baby. He’s—you’re—” Tommy almost looks like he can’t believe it, shaking his head, switching between you and Joel. The look you give him shuts him up, and makes him back away, until Joel unclenches his fists and relaxes his shoulder a fraction.

“I didn’t really want to tell you like this, I was—”

“Fucking my brother?” he bites back, interrupting you.

That makes you a bit mad. You’re not in love with his attitude, nor his tone. It’s not like he has any right. It’s not like either of them do.

Joel moves to speak but you do it first.

“Don’t give me that,” you say, almost laughing, though the situation is not funny, not in the slightest. “We’re not dating, Tommy. We never were.”

Caroline strides in at that, looking at the scene unfolding in the kitchen. She stops short of the three of you, her mouth slightly agape. You roll your eyes, fucking perfect. Let’s just bring the party in here instead. You’ll give it to the woman. She has impeccable timing.

“Needed some napkins…” she trails off, holding the empty napkin stand in her right hand up so everyone can see. “I—I can come back.”

“Did you know?” Tommy turns to her, gesturing to you and Joel.

“Tommy,” Joel says from in front of you, a warning. Tommy ignores him.

“Did you know?” he asks again, Caroline stares back shocked. But she does consider it, rolls the idea around in her head before speaking.

“Them two?” Tommy nods. “Her?”

Okay. You really don’t love that tone. You silently chastise yourself for thinking she was nice at the bar when your first instinct was that she was a bitch—because she is. You were waiting for her snarky undertones or spoiled takes to show. You knew it was coming, you just didn’t know when.

“No, ‘f couse not.” She’s almost laughing, like it could never be possible. It hits you harder than you’ll ever admit. “She’s — you’re…young,” she says, looking at you.

Tommy gestures to you and Joel like he’s saying, well believe it, because it’s true.

Joel moves faster than you can comprehend. He’s got a tight grip on Tommy’s arm. He probably doesn’t even have to say anything, Tommy knows what’s happening. But Joel warns him anyway—again.

“Quit,” he growls. You’d guess this might be the point where Tommy usually backs down. But this situation is far from usual.

“Or what?” Tommy bites back. When Joel doesn’t respond he continues. “You gonna mark me up? Leave me all black and blue?”

Tommy doesn’t stop there, you try to move past Joel but he stops you, turns his head to you slightly, a hardened look in his eye.

“Oh, I forgot you’d probably like that, huh?”

Joel remains frozen for a couple fleeting seconds before whipping around and pushing Tommy into the back counter. You’re rooted to your place, you don’t even care that Caroline is still in the corner, holding the fucking napkin holder in the air.

“What’d you say?” Joel barks in Tommy’s face.

“Look at her fuckin’ stomach, dude!” Tommy throws the words in his face, pushing him back slightly and making a vague gesture in your direction, it causes your feet to move towards the brothers before you can think.

Joel backs off then, sneaking a tiny glance at you out of the corner of his eye, like he really is thinking about the marks he left on your waist. He had seen them this morning, ran his fingers over them too, and saw how the notches matched the curves of his fingers perfectly. But you kissed him, and told him it was okay. That it was more than okay. Maybe even whispered that you liked it between muffled groans. So when a glint of guilt flashes in his eyes it makes your heart break more than it already has.

“She said no,” Joel says, looking back at Tommy. A tense silence follows—like you’re not sure if Joel is going to continue or Tommy is going to bite back.

“Get back to your party,” Joel growls after a while. You bite your lip.

Tommy looks at Joel with unwavering eyes. His glance turns towards the window where he can see the bustling crowd—can almost hear the laughter. Then he looks down to his hand, outstretches it, undoes his gnarly fist, and when it curls back up again, you finally bite.

“Tommy!” you say, moving closer. But it’s too late. Joel’s figure knocks to the side and his hand instinctively grabs his face, his nose, his eye. Maybe the worst part about it all is that Joel doesn’t even look remotely surprised, or that he wants to fight back—he just stays there, a little hunched over when you yelp in shock and Tommy groans, shaking out a now bruised fist.

“Fuck,” you almost yell, your body doesn’t know what to do between bending down to see Joel’s face and looking at Tommy—at his face—because you don’t recognize him.

Joel almost huffs out a laugh, and to shut him up, to get him to bite his tongue, you speak again.

“Okay. We’re done here,” you say, pushing Joel towards the entrance of the house, towards your car.

And Caroline is there, pushing Tommy towards the couches and for the first time, you’re grateful for her.

The ride back to your house is silent after a short and quick bicker about who can drive. You think Joel might want to sit in the driver's seat so you can’t see the quickly forming bruises on the left side of his face but you make a decent argument, enough to settle him in the passengers—looking out the window.

You send Janet a quick text, asking if she can watch Sarah for a few hours. Brother emergency. Janet replies back and says the girls haven’t gotten out of the pool since you left. It makes you smile a bit, despite it all.

When you park in your driveway, you hop out quickly, Joel following closely behind. He waits there, right behind you, when you pull out your house keys, and waits when you unlock the deadbolt and waits when you push through the door.

“Make yourself at home,” you say, nodding towards the couches and dropping your keys in the bowl.

You disappear into the kitchen and brace your arms on the counter, your head hanging between your shoulders. You let out a deep, ragged breath and try to control your heartbeat.

“Fuck,” you mumble, shaking out your wrists, grabbing two advil from the bottle on your counter, a glass of water, and peas from freezer.

Joel’s sitting on the loveseat, looking down at his hands. You don’t say anything. He doesn’t either. He just takes the water and pills from your hands and swallows it silently. You extend the peas to him, he thinks about it for a while and when you shake them again, huffing, saying—just fucking take them. He finally obliges.

You get a good look at his cheek when he turns to set the water down on the table and you have to stop yourself from gasping.

“Joel,” you murmur, reaching for him, bending down, he stops you, grabs your wrist, then grabs your hand. But he’s gentle. Not like Tommy. Joel’s gentle.

“‘S fine,” he says, and winces when the peas touch his face. “‘M fine.”

You settle in between his legs, looking down at him. He’s got one hand on his face, holding the peas, and the other, wrapped around the back of your thigh. He doesn’t even want to look up at you. It breaks your heart.

“‘M sorry,” you say quietly, his hand on your thigh trails upward. He plays with the hem of your shirt and lifts it enough to take a peek at the purple that lies there.

He doesn’t say anything, just sits there, running a gentle, ghost-like touch across the bruises.

“He — saw it. I don’t…” you look down to your stomach. You can see the shape of his fingertips so clearly. It’s no wonder Tommy reacted how he did. “It was an accident.”

He doesn’t nod. Doesn’t shake his head. He tosses the peas onto the table and pushes the cotton of your shirt up further, to where he can see all of it—all the black and blue there.

“Are you mad?” you whisper, hesitantly, as he stares at his own hands, his own branding.

“‘M sorry,” he mumbles.

“Don’t be,” you say, begging, “Please.”

“He did that cause—,” you breathe out, taking his chin in your pointer finger and thumb and getting your first good look at his cheek, “—it’s-’s my fault, I should’ve—”

“C’mon. Don’t do that,” he says, cutting you off, nipping your apology in the bud, “I should be the one who’s sorry, this is — I hurt you.”

You shake your head.

“You know that’s not—you know that I—” you stifle a short chuckle.

“That you what?”

You let out a couple hot breaths, looking down at him, the purple around his eye slowly taking shape.

“That I liked it.”

Joel bends forward then, and you gasp. The dull scratch of his beard is the only thing keeping your eyes open. He trails his hot breath across your stomach, and leaves gentle kisses on your sides, on your bruises.

“Joel,” you mumble, and you hate how your voice sounds so breathy, maybe even desperate. You tangle your hands in his hair, grasping at the nape of his neck he pulls you down, closer, so you’re slotted in his lap, straddling him. Joel pulls back and looks at your face, brushes the fallen hair from your eyes.

“I meant what I said,” you start, he furrows his brow, “Still—mean it.”

From the look in his eyes he knows what you’re talking about. The words you slipped into his ear last night.

‘S you, Joel — it’s-’s always been you.

“But if this is—if Tommy—” you cut yourself off, correcting your words, “If I messed it up—”

“Sweetheart,” he says. Your heart pulls, you almost put your hand on his cheek, but you see the rising skin and settle for his shoulder. “‘M not goin’ anywhere.”

“Are you sure?”

He pulls you down further, so you’re flush against him. He studies your eyes and rubs at your waist, your hips. It sends a little fire down between your thighs.

“‘M here—‘M…I’m right here,” he mumbles, and shakes his head. Like he’s telling you no to any silent thoughts of doubt that might be floating around your head.

And then he pulls your head down to kiss you.

It’s needy, and hot and everything you want at this moment. He’s everywhere and you can feel his growing arousal between your legs. You both needed this—you think. After everything, after—fucking—Caroline and Janet Baker and Tommy Miller. You both needed each other so bad that when you grind down onto him he lets out a little desperate groan into your mouth that spurs you on.

Joel slips his hand under your shirt and finds the hardened peak there. He pinches it and rolls it between his fingers, it sends your hips forward and suddenly he’s sitting up, and shucking your shirt off.

He grabs your hips and moves you against him, your most vulnerable spots grinding against each other. Giving you both blown out eyes and puffy lips and panting breath.

“Sh–it,” you gasp when your shorts catch on your clit perfectly.

“Pretty,” he says, grasping at your tits, at anything he can find while you grind against his length. “fuckin’—pretty like this.”

You claw at his belt and before you know it, he’s lifting you up so you’re on your knees and he’s pulling his pants past his hips. You get the memo and take your shorts off, tossing them behind you. When you sink back down onto his lap, you can feel his cock slip between your wet lips down there.

“Fuck, Joel,” you say, gliding along his cock, soaking it. You can feel all of him now—grinding along his hardness—the girth of him fitting perfectly between your swollen lips.

“Angel,” Joel pants out, through sloppy kisses. You look at him. He’s got a desperate look on his face. Like he couldn’t wait just like you. Not even to get upstairs to your bedroom or to get all his clothes off. Like he’s been wanting this all day. Just like you.

You move up and reach down, feeling the wet mess you’ve both made down between your legs. You find his cock, hard and wanting, and position it at your entrance. The head sinks past your walls, enveloping it somewhere deeper and you both groan at the feeling.

You sink down on him slowly, you’re by no means physically ready to take him. But you can’t wait any longer. He kisses you, and down to your neck, making it easier to ease yourself down onto him, and when you finally reach the end, and you’re seated fully in his lap, you both gasp.

Your walls clench around him, eliciting a quiet groan from Joel somewhere near your neck. Your eyes roll back in your head, your forehead drops onto his shoulder. You both just sit there, waiting for the other to make a move.

It’s kind of like a game.

See how long you can both relish in each other’s warmth — the first person who moves loses.

Your walls tighten again and he lets out another groan, “Jesus,” he mumbles, nipping at your neck. You’re slowly adjusting to him, relaxing around him. It makes you shudder.

You realize he’s not really touching you. He’s got his hands on your thighs, but they’re just resting there. Not squeezing or gripping your hips like you know he so desperately wants. Maybe he’s scared, you think. From everything that’s happened today. From the consequences his touch barred.

But you didn’t care about the consequences. You liked his touch, needed his touch, just as much as he needed something to hold him back down to earth, anchor him to you—in you. And afterall, you just want him to feel good. Feel better.

“Touch me,” you gasp out, reaching down to his hands.

“Am touchin’ you,” he forces out, panting near your ear. His thumb absentmindedly pushes down on the skin of your thigh a fraction harder and then eases up, like he’s saying this is the best I can do.

“No, Joel,” you moan, rock your hips a little, moving first, moving frantically and suddenly, “touch me,” you say into his neck, reaching down to usher his hands to your hips, your waist, you.

Joel gets it then, the silent permission. The it’s okay, and grips you harder, but not as hard as you know he would like. It’s good enough for you because he moves your hips, rocking you up and down onto his length—having enough of the senseless grinding.

“Fuckin’ good—” Joel groans, your hands fly to his shoulders, his hair. “You feel good.”

Your legs grow tired, he can tell. You try your best, but you’re sweaty and tired and fucked out, and when he hits a spot deeper inside you that makes you moan out, louder than before, and you almost collapse onto him. He ruts into you a little. Meeting you halfway. Fucking you deeper—maybe even a bit faster.

Your legs ache and you feel a sheen of sweat wash over both of you. And Joel’s eye is fucked up, his cheek too. Tommy is sitting back at the house—or god knows where—with a possible broken hand, Janet baker is watching Sarah instead of you or Joel, Caroline is still back at the house, and everything is a fucking mess, but it’s so right. He feels so right. He’s — he’s right.

You’re close then, the coarse hair on him inching you toward your climax. He knows, he can feel it from the inside. You don’t even have to say it this time, your question for his permission. He can see it already braced on your lips but he shuts you up with a kiss, a sloppy one, where he sticks his tongue into your mouth and your walls tighten around him again.

“Yes,” he says with a moan into your mouth, “yes, yes—ah.”

“Fuck,” you say tightening around him, becoming breathless and boneless, but Joel holds you up. He always does.

He grips you tighter, like how you know he wanted to, and you relish in the feeling. His thrusts become desperate and you brace yourself on the back of the couch so he can rut up deeper, chasing after his own orgasm. You can’t really breathe. Not when he’s everywhere.

“Shit,” he says, rocking into you.

Joel cums hard, holding onto you, wrapping you up in his arms as he groans somewhere near your temple. You let it spread through you, the mess of it all. He keeps you locked in his arms, even when you think he might pull away.

He finally pulls you off him, when he says it becomes too much and you sit on his lap, playing with his curls. When you both settle from your panting you can’t help but ask.

“What are we gonna do?” you say quietly to him.

“I dunno,” he grabs your hand and gives it a quick kiss. The bruise on his face is turning an ugly shade of purple. And the peas have gone warm, creating a small puddle on the coffee table. And your phone keeps buzzing from the entryway.

“We’ll figure it out,” he says, running a hand on your thigh.

taglist! comment or message me if you want to be added. kisses!

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luvly-writer · 3 months

Text

XOXO

Ch. 18 Nothing happened in the way i wanted

-•-

Author’s Note: I find it so funny that whenever I come back I release like five chapters then disappear, I love that 😭

Warnings: Mentions of SA and predatory behavior. Beginning of angst.

Taglist: @w31rdg1rl @mxtokko @loonymoonystuff @grandstrangerphanthom @1lellykins @cangosleepnow @dreamspectrum @its-maemain @tamimemo @nightw-izhu @trasshy-artist @gabriiiiiiii @pank0w @writing-for-the-hell-of-it

Masterlist:

-•-

Thud Thud... Thud Thud... Thud Thud...

I could feel my heart in my throat. I took the napkins and kept on twisting them in my hands. I feel Grandma's gaze on me and her hand on mine, stopping me from fidgeting.

"Mona, you are going to be okay. You have constantly gone against your father and you will win once again. Plus, I am right here. Your father won't intimidate me," she reassured you with a smile and a wink. You were both sitting in one of the family rooms in the Vanderbilt manor. You had arrived early and had been served coffee. Your father had been taking his sweet time in arriving, always one for theatrics. You remember a time when this sort of dramatics was used in playing around with your sisters. Charlisse always wanted to be a dragon or a pirate; Aurora presented herself as the princess, the unicorn, I always wanted the mermaid and the adventurer. Our father was always the narrator of our little ploys and we would present them to our mother. He used to be so warm and caring and loving sometimes..but when I got to middle school, after my grandfather's death and the beginning of my sisters' competition for CEO, he grew colder and harsher. I would love for my father to go back to the way he was before...

Snapping me out of my daydream, my father enters the room and sits across from us.

"Margaret." he said curtly and my grandmother looked at him dead in the eye, "William...You look terrible," she responded, causing me to snort a little. Grandma was never one to hold back on my father. She was right though, my father looked horrible. He had eye bags and his clothes looked crumpled, something highly unusual for William Vanderbilt. "It's been a rough few days, Marge" he responded and turned to me.

"Y/n.." he acknowledged me softly and I squeezed my grandmother's had tightly before answering, "Father."

"Shall we?" he gestured to both of us and I nodded. He cleared his throat and began speaking, "Before anything...I am sorry, my sweet dewdrop, for everything I've put you through these last few years...I know this in no shape or form begins to excuse anything I've put this family through but I do want you to understand the big why of everything and maybe we could begin a journey where you could forgive me. I love you, sweetie, I do. Your sisters and you are my pride and joy, my greatest creation, and my proudest achievement. I am deeply sorry I have neglected you all these years in the name of the family business and image. A few years ago, when you were in middle school and my father died, in his will he left very clear and strict instructions on what had to be made. Were they not to be followed, everything that we owned would have been put at risk. You see when I was younger, I was much like you...I had a passion for music and it flowed through every breath I took, I wanted to pursue it freely yet my father disregarded it because someone had to take the mantle of the family business. I rebelled for some time and did whatever I pleased, I had the freedom to do so seeing as the family lineage was important to the old man, and me being an only child, I wouldn't be at risk of getting disowned. The old man...he was....furious and pulled some strings so that no matter what, I would fail so that I would end up back home and submitting to taking the mantle. His plan worked and to avoid risking history from repeating itself, he left clear instructions for you girls so that no one stepped out of line. One of the clauses was that everyone was to be part of the family business, the second was that you all had to be married, and if by the time you were 20, you weren't married, it was the board's obligation to find you a suitable husband. The third was that you all had to keep the best image possible so that you wouldn't drag the family name to the ground...the same way I did years ago...My lawyers have been working on ways to invalidate the clauses for years, Clarisse and Aurora knew how to play within the clauses but you...I'm afraid that with your mother's free spirit and my temperament and rebellion, you proved to be a force too difficult to control. No one knows that more than me. I got so lost trying to not lose everything and please my father who is already in his grave, that I forgot the most important thing, my family. I am so sorry for all the years I have mistreated you, Charli, Rora, and Mom. You deserve so much and it took you showing me how much I am acting like my father to reevaluate my behavior these last years. I promise, I will do my best to mend and better all my wrongs."

You were stuck to your chair...honestly...fuck your grandfather. Everything made more sense now, why you always visited your grandparents when your grandfather was gone, how you'd see your other grandmother more often when he died, why he was never mentioned, the drastic change in your father's behavior after his death...

"I knew there was a reason I never liked the man," said your grandmother with a huff as she took a sip of her glass of wine. This made you and your father laugh.

"What about the clauses...do I still fall under them?" you ask. It was the one thing that still worried you...was Morris still in the picture, did you still have to take a place in the family business, was marrige still an obligation-

"No. A few days ago, my lawyers called me. After retting a meeting with the board after New Year's and discussing the clauses, they were finally able to find a breakthrough. Everyone took to voting and decided that the best outcome was to proclaim them invalid. What are a dead man's wishes but silent demands? You are free, I spoke to Mr. Morris. Which speaking of, I want to clear the air that he was the board's decision. They were pressuring us to choose him seeing as he used to have a clean record." He answered.

"I still don't get why you would allow that roach of a man near your daughter, William! This is worst that a disgrace, he was disgusting!" Margaret grumbled and my father agreed with her.

"You said he had a clean record?" I asked focusing on that weird part.

My father nodded, "Ah yes, a few weeks ago, some information was leaked to our members of the board about sexual assault allegations and predatory behavior in Mr. Morris. After we hired some private investigators, we found most of the information to be true. Tomorrow the board is releasing an official statement of apology directed to you. I am deeply sorry, my dear. I do promise to be better." he said taking my hands in his a giving the a squeeze.

"I am free.." you say softly, and both your grandmother and father smile.

"You are. No competition, no family business, no arranged marriage, you are free to be your own person, kid" he assures. "I am very proud of you, dewdrop. I talked with your grandmother over the phone. Once you finish college this may, both of your trust funds will be officially released to you."

"I can open my art gallery!" you say tearing up and both of them nod proudly. "Time to share the good news with Tim, Mona. I bet he is going to be delighted," Said your grandmother.

Shit...Tim...It has been weeks since you'd answered a message of his. You knew it was unfair to him, to just ghost him out of the blue. You had a good reason too...well as far as good reasoning goes. You hadn't talked with him ever since spending Christmas with him and ignored all of his invitations for New Year's...Your conflict must have been visible in your face because your grandmother rand father looked at you concerned.

"About that..." you say and take a deep breathe.

-•-

You were finally going home to your apartment after the very long day you had. You had confessed...Not to Tim, no... your family. After explaining the whole thing to your grandmother and father, they were conflicted, to say the least. As they were battling with being proud for outsmarting the entire family and media, disappointed for your lying, and concerned for your well-being, your sisters and mother had arrived and were filled in the entire thing. At first, no one wanted to believe you. They reassured me that they couldn't believe it was fake because they swore the love between the two of you looked real. No one could act that well, yet you were in denial. As everyone sat for dinner, they all agreed on one thing, Tim and you were meant to be and clearly in love, but neither of you was seeing it. Your sisters and mother were insistent in your talking with him, but you were in denial. Your father and grandmother tried a different approach by saying how much they approved of him and how he would make a great addition to the family. Still, you saw no sense. You loved Tim, that is true, but you appreciated him as a friend too much. He was your friend, the one who you learned to trust and tell everything, he was the one who had your side any time, he was the one that showed you every movie you had missed, every game you had never played, every story you didn't know. Sure it had only been two months since you met, but he became such a strong part of your life that you weren't sure you wanted to ruin by confessing how much you loved him. Tim was your friend, he was just helping you out, he knew how to play a part well because he had practiced with his double life, he was just playing a part for you. He wasn't...he....didn't...love...no, you didn't even want to think it. Tim was a good guy, Tim loved to help others and he always gave his best for others, that's why he was so convincing, because he is Tim. He is pure and devoted to a good cause. He was Tim, your Timmy, your friend, mine. He was everything, the closest thing you had to twin flame and you didn't deserve and you shouldn't tarnish the purity of that relationship.

Snapping out of your thoughts, you noticed you were about to pass his apartment complex and noticed his lights were on. You told the driver to stop. You were putting an end to this. The driver parks in front and you tell him you will be quick. You step out of the car and run to the lobby. Having been recognized there, they let you up without a problem. Finally, in front of his door, you knock roughly and call him out.

Lo and behold there is Tim Drake in all his glory when he opens the door. He looks more tired than usual, is the first thing you notice. Ever since the two of you started talking, you have been helping him get a better sleeping schedule and his eyebags have lessened by a lot. But now, weeks later, you can tell your absence took a toll on him. His eyes showed he was conflicted. Anger, relief, sadness, tiredness, and something else you couldn't quite put a finger in. (Admiration and love, sweetie, that's what it is)

"Just when I was enjoying my inner peace..was wondering when you'd deem me worthy of your presence again," he said and you flinch at the slight snark and glare he gave you.

"You are angry, rightfully so" you start and he cuts you off, "Really, what gave you that impression?"

"I have a good explanation"

"That so?"

"My father set me free.." you say and his eyes soften a little

"Which means.."

"I don't have to get married, I won't be forced to be part of the family business, I won't have to deal with Morris anymore" you say softly and he nods, pleased.

"That's good angel, still don't get why I had to be ghosted for it. We started this together we should end it together" he stresses and I look down

"I know, its just that...that means that"

"That?" he preassures

"We are over." I finally look up, trying to keep my tears at bay, "And I've been trying to find a way to tell you."

-•-

extras:

Grandma calls Y/n “Mona” because of Mona Lisa

William calls Y/n dewdrop because of her obsession with mermaids when she was a kid

I changed the time line a little bit. Tim and Yn know each other from high school (Gotham Academy), having both been each other’s crushes, but the formally met on November. Spent the last of November and all of december together. She stopped talking to him after christmas and ignored him until the second week of January which is this chapter.

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emmy-everafter · 8 months

Text

We're Gonna Need a Bigger Pentagram

I'm excited to finally reveal the fic I've been working on for this year's @grishaversebigbang --and just in time for spooky season! I was paired with four incredible materialki who created some truly excellent art to accompany the fic. You can check out their work here:

Art by @crypitick

Art by @polekands

Art #1 and Art #2 by @idkchatie

Art by @discountscoobyart

Without further ado, here is the first chapter of We're Gonna Need a Bigger Pentagram!

Fandoms: Six of Crows, Shadow & Bone (TV)

Rating: T

Relationships: Crows as found family (with minor Helnik, Kanej, and Wesper)

Modern/Housemates/Magic AU, Nina POV, Supernatural chosen family shenanigans with a side of humor

Ongoing (Ch. 1 of 6)

Summary: Nina Zenik is a vet med student who's almost done with her clinical rotations... but she's also secretly a very powerful witch. When someone brings a cursed, injured werewolf into the animal hospital, Nina decides to try to save his life, despite the bitter hatred that exists between wolves and witches. She enlists the help of her housemates, Jesper (who's also a witch), Inej (who's fae), and Kaz (who may or may not be a vampire). But breaking this curse requires more than Nina bargained for, and time is running out. Can the Crows save the werewolf before it's too late? More importantly, can they do it under the nose of their all-too-human housemate, Wylan? And--perhaps the most important question of all--will Nina finally get some decent waffles?

Read the first chapter (3k) below or on AO3.

Chapter 1: Why did it have to be werewolves?

(CW for non-graphic mentions of blood & injury, harm to an animal, brief references to drugs [anesthesia, weed])

The thing about werewolves, Nina thought, risking one more glance over her shoulder at the slab of fur trembling in her backseat, was that they didn’t exactly sedate easily.

Although that was probably a good thing, she supposed. If this particular wolf had gone down after the first two tranquilizers, then perhaps she never would have been called back to help, and then she would have been too late to do anything. Did you hear about the wolf? Park ranger brought him in. Hit by a car, probably. Too bad we couldn’t save him. So weird how his body seemed to reject every medication, every suture. Oh well, c’est la vie, back to the horses and the goats.

But he hadn’t gone down, and one of the techs had thundered past, shouting at her to come quick and give us a hand!

When Nina had arrived in the operating room, she knew immediately that this was no ordinary wolf. She could feel the prickle of magic tingling up her spine, could smell the supernatural on him. He was stretched out on a table, a mountain of silvery-gray fur, enormous and blood-soaked, still thrashing feebly even as three techs tried to hold him down.

She froze, staring at the shape of his muzzle, the slope of his ears—just a little off, nothing to notice unless you knew what to look for. His head had flopped over, and for a long moment the werewolf made eye contact with her. Nina let out a soft gasp despite herself, despite the fact that she’d seen shifted wolves a handful of times before. She knew that their eyes always looked so unbearably human, and yet—it caught her by surprise, the moment of recognition when he noticed her, the heartbreak and terror and pain in his expression, the shame.

Nina felt her heart shatter, just a little.

“Zenik, grab the tranq!” one of the techs had shouted at her as the wolf seemed to regain more of his energy, breaking away from her gaze to thrash more earnestly.

She hadn’t bothered to think it through. While there was still some part of her that recoiled like a hissing cat at the presence of a werewolf, some part of her that screamed danger! at the sight of his gleaming fangs that had probably killed countless witches in the past, those instincts had been overwhelmed by the pain in the wolf’s eyes and the knowledge that if she didn’t do something right now, she would have to watch him die.

Her decision was already made, one hand already surreptitiously weaving the spell as she picked up the syringe with the other. She needed to work quickly if she was going to have any chance at all.

She didn’t know much about werewolf biology. The packs were notoriously private, protective of any and all information regarding their own species, but what she did know was that it was incredibly dangerous—impossible, even—for outsiders to treat wolves in their shifted forms. Only pack healers had any hope of actually helping in these sorts of situations. And, of course, the fact that this wolf was shifted right now was another complicating factor in and of itself. It wasn’t a full moon, which meant that something had gone terribly wrong for this wolf to get shift-stuck—some kind of spell, she guessed, judging by the oppressive feeling of magic roiling off his body.

If her colleagues—regular, ordinary human vets who had no idea the supernatural world existed at all—tried to help the wolf, she was certain he’d end up dead in less than an hour. But of course, she’d reminded herself as her enchantment began to take hold, I don’t know how to safely help him, either.

The wolf had finally slumped down onto the table, unconscious… followed by all of the humans in the room, each pausing in the middle of whatever they’d been doing, still standing but otherwise out cold.

Nina had shaken out her wrists, cracked her neck, and started weaving the memory glamour. Her first thought was to make them forget the wolf had come in at all, but that would mean trying to account for the lost time, as well as finding the park ranger later to erase everything for her, too. Removing memories was always trickier anyway—you ran the risk of leaving a gap, an itch that the brain longed to scratch and scratch until it found an answer. Her coworkers might not remember the wolf, but some of them might have an unshakeable sense that something had happened, something strange and noteworthy they couldn’t quite recall, and that meant people might start asking questions, poking and prodding.

No, it would be easier to convince everyone that the wolf had died from his injuries not long after arriving, that his body had already been picked up by wildlife services, that all that anyone needed to do now was complete the requisite paperwork.

It would be quick, shoddy spellwork either way, and she’d probably have to fudge some records in the database during her next shift, but figuring out a plan to save the wolf came first.

The moment the glamour was complete, she’d whipped her phone out, putting the call on speaker so she could keep her hands free.

Genya picked up after three rings. “Hey, what’s up?”

“I need a favor,” she’d said without preamble, maneuvering a trolley over towards the wolf. It had probably taken four people to lift him up onto the table, but Nina had magic and gravity on her side.

“Okay…?” Genya sounded nervous, and given the wild sorts of favors she’d asked for in the past, Nina couldn’t really blame her.

“Can you get in touch with your contact in the Drüskelle pack? Someone brought in a wolf today—one of theirs, most likely—and I can’t do much to help him when he’s shift-stuck like this.”

Genya had taken a moment to process all of that—a shifted, injured werewolf, brought into the East Ketterdam Large Animal Hospital as if he were no different from the farm animals and racing horses they usually treated—then finally said, “I can try.”

“Good. I’m bringing him back to my place. Have them send a healer there.”

Genya hung up right before Nina’s spell slipped under the wolf’s enormous weight, causing him to fall the last few inches down onto the metal trolley with a loud crash. Even unconscious, the wolf whimpered in pain.

“Sorry,” she’d whispered, before turning her attention to the problem of getting to the parking lot without being seen.

And that was how Nina had ended up driving home as fast as she dared with a werewolf bleeding out in her backseat.

Her sleep spell was fairly strong, but she had no idea how long it would last on a creature this large, so she renewed the enchantment at every red light, just in case.

She also called Inej, the normally melodic timbre of her housemate’s voice sounding tinny and distorted when routed through the car’s speakers.

“What’s wrong, Nina?”

“What makes you think anything is wrong?” She drummed her fingers nervously on the wheel and fought the urge to look back at the wolf again. He was still breathing—she could feel it—but she wanted to check anyway. Just in case.

“If nothing was wrong, you would’ve just texted.”

“Maybe I wanted to hear my best friend’s voice.”

“Nina,” Inej sighed, “just tell me.”

Nina huffed in response. “Fine. Look, is everyone at home?”

“I think so? Well, Jesper had some meetings but he’s on his way back here. He said he was gonna stop and pick up pizza for everyone.”

“Okay, if he gets back before me, I need him to start weaving some soundproofing spells in the basement. Go ahead and grab my bestiary and bring it down there, and my potions kit, too. And we’re gonna need lots of towels, as many as you can find. You’ll have to keep Wylan upstairs somehow.”

Nina hit another red light and bit her lip to reign in a frustrated groan. This is taking too long.

“It’s Thursday. Wylan’s probably planning to do his laundry tonight,” Inej replied.

“You’ll just have to think of some excuse. Tell him the machine is broken or something. But he can’t be down there.”

“And why is that, exactly?”

Cars streamed past in front of her, racing endlessly through the intersection, their light still green, Nina’s still red.

Fuck it. She raised her hands over the steering wheel and mumbled the incantation under her breath, improvising the words a little to fit the magic to the stoplight—it was technically a spell meant for turning an ordinary light on and off, but she thought it might work.

For a moment, nothing happened, and Nina worried that perhaps the stoplight mechanism had too many switches and circuits or too many digital parts for her simple spell to have any effect. She’d never been great with technomagic—as a heartrender, blood and bodies were her specialty—and the more something was computerized and complex, the harder it was for her to navigate. But then…

One last flick of her wrist, and the light for the cross traffic went yellow.

“Nina?” Inej’s voice was sharper now, closer to a warning. “What’s going on?”

Green light. Fucking finally.

“Soooo,” she began, her car surging forward again, “I may or may not be bringing work home.”

“If this is another goat, Nina, I swear…”

Nina winced. Once, she’d snuck a dying goat out of the clinic when her coworkers had decided there was nothing left to be done for the poor creature. And when it came to a human understanding of veterinary medicine, perhaps they were correct, but Nina knew she could save him with the spells in her bestiary and the power of her blood magic. She’d known her housemates wouldn’t exactly be thrilled about the situation. What she hadn’tanticipated was Jesper getting attached.

So now, Milo the goat lived in the shed beside the greenhouse, to the immense displeasure of everyone in Crow House except Jesper. When he stayed in his pen, Milo was tolerable, even adorable, but when he escaped—as he did at least two or three times a month—he became a menace, eating anything he could get his nasty little hooves on. So far, Milo’s list of victims included some of Wylan’s sheet music, one of Nina’s astrological grimoires, a pair of Inej’s pointe shoes, three pairs of Kaz’s ridiculously expensive gloves, multiple waffles, an entire carton of wontons, and some of everything that Jesper and Nina grew in the greenhouse out back, including an unholy amount of weed.

“The good news is, it’s not a goat,” Nina said brightly.

Inej heaved a resigned sigh. “And the bad news…?”

“The bad news is that it’s a werewolf.”

“Nina!” Inej groaned.

“He’s dying! And shift-stuck! What was I supposed to do?” Nina took a turn a little too hard, and in the backseat, the wolf slid and hit his muzzle against the door. Shit.

“What can you even do? You can’t treat a shifted wolf.”

“I know!” Her fingers clenched around the wheel. “Look, it’s temporary, okay? I’ve already called a friend who has contacts in the local pack. They’ll send someone to help and then it won’t be our problem anymore. We just need to keep him stable until the healer comes.”

Inej was quiet on the other end for a long moment. Eventually, she said, “Fine. I’ll see what towels I can find.”

Nina blew out her breath, relieved. “Thank you. I’ll be there in fifteen. It might be good to have some blood on hand, if Kaz has any. And make sure Wylan…”

“Yeah, I’ll keep him upstairs,” Inej interrupted. “See you soon.”

The call disconnected. Nina pressed a thumb to her temple where a headache had already started to build, rubbing the pad of her finger into the skin and releasing a small thread of magic to chase the pain away.

She knew Inej was irritated with her, but at least Nina could trust that her best friend would be on board with helping an injured creature. Inej was kind like that—compassionate, always empathetic with the pain of others. She wouldn’t just let the wolf die, even if taking him in was inconvenient in a number of ways. And Jesper probably wouldn’t mind much either. He was always down for Nina’s wild and unexpected shenanigans, as long as no harm came to his friends or to his precious hats. If all went well, Wylan would never know anything was happening. But Kaz…

Kaz is going to absolutely hate this.

The situation ticked off almost every box on the list of things Kaz didn’t like: last-minute surprises, strangers in his space, unnecessary risks, sticking his neck out for other people, making Nina happy. And while most decisions in Crow House were made democratically, Kaz remained resolutely in charge of the chore schedule, which he enforced by subtly reminding his housemates that he could drain all the money from their bank accounts—and possibly all the blood from their bodies—in the blink of an eye. Nina had a feeling there would be a lot of toilet scrubbing in her future.

She was only a few minutes away from home when her phone rang again.

“I managed to get in touch with the pack,” Genya said when she picked up.

Immediately, Nina could hear something cautious in her tone, something grim. “And?”

“They’re not sending anyone.”

“Why the hell not?” Without meaning to, Nina found herself nearly shouting.

“Nina…”

She didn’t have to see Genya’s face to know what expression she wore in that moment—Nina had seen it too many times during her years with the Grisha to ever forget, not just from Genya but from everyone. Zoya’s infuriatingly calm voice echoed through her head, shaming her, as always, for being too fucking much, for acting recklessly from a place of emotion rather than trying to be reasonable. Slow down, Nina. Get ahold of your anger. Control yourself.

And as always, it only served to make her even more enraged.

“They’re the only ones who can help him! Are they really just going to let one of their own die?”

Genya sighed. “Yes, that’s exactly what they’re going to do. In fact, I think it was their goal all along.”

“What?” she screeched, stomping on the brakes in her anger.

Luckily, there was no one on the street behind her, although the wolf did slide forward a bit on the backseat, letting out another heart-wrenching whimper of pain.

“The guy I spoke to was being cagey about it, but I think I pieced most of the story together. The wolf is called Matthias Helvar, and the Drüskelle exiled him from their pack about a month ago.”

“Why?” Nina made no move to start driving forward again, not trusting herself to keep control of the car in that moment.

“I’m not sure. It sounds like he broke pack law, screwed up badly enough that they not only kicked him out but also cursed him.”

Cursed? Nina glanced over her shoulder at the shivering, unconscious wolf, covered in congealing blood that clumped in his fur and stained the fabric of the seat below him, and she suddenly understood.

“That’s why he’s shift-stuck,” she murmured, shocked by the cruelty of it.

“From what I gather, it’s some kind of… werewolf reversal? Where he’s only in his human form on the full moon and stays shifted the rest of the time, instead of the other way around. Apparently, he followed one of their hunting parties down to Ketterdam and was trying to sneak into their camp. When they chased him off, he ran onto the highway and got hit by a semi-truck.”

“So they already knew he was injured?”

Genya’s voice was quiet when she replied, “Nina, they left him for dead.”

Nina knew all too well what it was like to be betrayed and abandoned by the people who were supposed to be your family, but this… She shook her head, angry tears pricking at her eyes. This wolf—this Matthias—had been exiled, cursed, and left to die on the side of a highway by his own pack. Surely, no transgression against Drüskelle law was awful enough to merit that kind of punishment, right?

Faint memories of her lessons at the Little Palace began to trickle in—diagrams in textbooks illustrating the cold, draconian hierarchies of the Northern packs, lectures about wolf culture that devolved into tirades about the Drüskelle’s violent attempts to destroy not only the Grisha organization, but all witches everywhere, fueled by their hypocritical ideology that saw werewolves as the next step in evolution but witches as an unnatural abomination to be cleansed from the earth like a plague. The wolves are not like us, she remembered hearing, over and over. They did not come from the Other Realm but instead began as humans, and like humans, they cannot be trusted.

Nina had spent the past few years trying to unlearn the prejudice and cynicism instilled in her at the Little Palace, with varying levels of success, but now, she wondered if perhaps they’d been right about some things.

“What are you going to do?” Genya asked.

“I don’t know,” she replied, trying—and likely failing—not to sound too murderous. “I’ll figure something out.”

“Just remember that he’s a wolf, Nina.”

“Does that mean he deserves to die?” she snapped in response.

“No, but he probably thinks that you do, just by virtue of existing as a witch. He may not want your help, and even if you do somehow manage to save him, he might very well kill you in your sleep instead of saying thank you.”

Nina knew she was probably right, and yet… This is why I left—so I could help everyone, not just the people that the Grisha think are worth saving.

“I can handle myself. And I’m not going to sink to their level. Unlike some people, I’m not obsessed with only protecting my own kind.”

With that, Nina hung up and disconnected the phone from the car’s bluetooth, and then, for good measure, put her phone on silent and tossed it into her bag in the passenger seat. She knew she wasn’t being fair, especially since Genya was one of the only people in the Grisha still willing to help her now that she’d gone independent. But it was hard not to be angry when she could hear Matthias’s heartbeat fluttering dangerously just a few feet behind her, could feel his nerves sparking with pain, knowing that his own family had let it happen, caused it to happen, because of one mistake.

It was hard not to relate—even if that meant empathizing with a damn werewolf.

A sudden honk behind her reminded Nina that she was still stopped in the middle of the road.

“Alright, I’m going! Saints.” She finally lifted her foot from the brake and got the car moving again, squeezing the wheel tightly to stop her hands from trembling. Her headache was already coming back—she’d probably need to take one of those human painkillers when she got home and conserve her magical energy for… well, for whatever it was going to take to help this wolf.

Maybe Matthias wouldn’t want her help. Maybe he would try to attack her (although in that case, she could always sic Kaz on him). Maybe she wouldn’t be able to do anything at all and the wolf would die in their basement amongst the piles of Jesper’s dirty laundry and Inej’s sweat-soaked practice mats.

But Nina Zenik had never once backed down from a challenge. She’d been top of her class in vet school for three years in a row and was the best heartrender the Little Palace had seen in more than a century—even Zoya had admitted it. And if there was any chance at all of saving this wolf, nothing in this realm or the next could stop Nina from trying…

Not even her housemates.

#gvbb23 #gvbbfic23 #gang11 #grishaverse big bang #my fic #six of crows #shadow and bone #nina zenik #inej ghafa #matthias helvar #kaz brekker #jesper fahey #wylan van eck

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joz-yyh · 23 days

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Love Host - Ch. 7

SUMMARY: The fugitive reporter is reunited with his jeep, but things are never that easy, not for Miles Upshur. No beta. Read at your own risk.

RATING: M (blood / gore / death / violence / swearing)

PAIRING: Walmiles (WalriderxMiles)

WORD COUNT: 3,113

READ ON AO3: Here

A/N: Hey ya'll, it's been awhile. I've had this in my WIP folder for over a year, but thanks to the kind words of tumbler users @is-gw and @drwernicke, I found the motivation to finish it. Dedicating this chapter to you both! Hope it was worth the wait.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————–——

The white-knuckled grip Miles wrings upon the steering wheel somehow squeezes tighter, making the leather squeak, skin pinching under the strain.

He can't help it, becoming more manic, pressing further and further into the dashboard like some crazed getaway driver, laying hard onto the gas, the speedometer pushing past 80 mph.

He glances to his right, the state map he picked up from an old fashioned gas station about 10 miles back is spread out onto the passenger's seat, hastily drawn symbols and magic marker lines indicating the specific coordinates Waylon had given him.

This was it, the final stretch. A few more strips of asphalt and he'd reach his destination whether he was ready for it or not.

Up ahead, Miles finds remnants of an old car accident, winding tread marks of burnt rubber spiraling out across the road, stray pieces of metal swept into the shoulder of a bent guard rail.

He pulls off to the side next to it, the rumble of the speed strip jostling his tire shocks, his brakes screeching to a halt because he's thinking about a million other things right now, but not about how to park outside the white line.

Thankfully, no one's around to see the embarrassing stint, the secluded mountain side looking safe and serene to the unsuspecting tourist, but an investigative journalist knew better. This was the perfect place to stage an ambush.

Miles takes a few stabilizing breaths, preparing himself before he exits the car. He stands, lingering by the driver's side door, huddling around it in case he has to jump back inside, waiting for any obvious threats to make their move.

Nothing happens, just clear skies and empty roadside.

Nerves still tingling with goosebumps, the anxious reporter leaves the safety net of Trager's four-door sedan, jogging over to the trail of wreckage, old tire impressions tumbling down into the ravine below.

He can see it, there in the woods, bright red coloring hidden behind shaved pine trees, a distinct trail leading from matted reeds into dense underbrush.

As much as Miles wants to sprint down, the human host forces himself to be cautious because the last thing he needs is to do something stupid like trip and break an ankle.

Steadily, he descends the slope, retracing the wheel’s path through the overgrown grass, ducking past branches until he's under the cover of trees, the sun blotted out, everything going a shade darker and a degree cooler.

His beloved jeep remains his beacon in the shadows, running towards it’s familiar guise, climbing over fallen tree trunks and the brown crunch of decaying leaves.

He's almost frantic in his pursuit, as if the flashy hunk of metal will disappear the moment he touches it, a cruel mirage of his mind, but his jeep is real, it's here and he can feel it.

His needs a minute to settle, to accept the reality, his body no longer fixated with surprise attacks, relaxing as he runs his hand along the jeep's frame, taking note of all the various scratches and dents that he can't remember being there before.

So much had changed in just a few short days and neither of them, man or machine were quite the same as they once were.

“Hey, remember me,” Miles says to the oversized keepsake, getting a little choked up by the reunion, “I can’t believe you're still in one piece.”

His bandaged fingers slide over the sporty door frame, following the seam of interlocking parts down to the door handle, tugging it open.

The seat’s been moved, a noticeably tighter fit as he wedges his legs inside, adjusting the position so it's more comfortable to his height.

His flashy press pass is right where he left it, dangling faithfully from his rear-view mirror, burnished by a ray of light.

The reporter smiles, bittersweet, turning over the flimsy plastic in his hand, his grip on the ID growing heavy.

The emotional brunette folds himself over the steering wheel in awkward hug, a horrific memory coming back to haunt him in true PTSD fashion.

Miles wouldn't be here now if it wasn't for O'Neil – just another civilian reporter assigned to the same mission he was, caught in the crossfire, blown away by the indiscriminate bombs of war.

It could have just as easily been Miles who died that day, years ago, during his tour in Afghanistan, but it wasn't and now he's stuck reliving the event, watching the rookie from behind the viewfinder of his camera, there and then suddenly not, taken by an explosive wave of dirt and smoke, no body to be found, nothing left of him except for his rundown jeep.

He'd seen so many lost souls, innocent lives sacrificed to feed the campaign of big oil and wealthy politicians, but this young man's violent end hit differently than the rest, a razor blade of barbed wire coiled deeply around his heart.

He hopes O'Neil is proud of the work he's done, that he's watching from somewhere, that he knows how close Miles is to crucifying the vile corporation that started it all.

There's a tug at the back of his mind, a treacherous dark sea, not quite his subconscious (he's learned to tell the difference), but the Walrider – it vies for his attention, warning him of a threat.

“What is it," Miles asks dazedly, looking up from his latticework of crossed arms, wiping at the melancholy sting in his eyes.

His symbiotic partner supplies him with snapshots, images of black combat boots and riot gear flickering across his eyes, a tactical team forming a perimeter around the woods.

The hairs in the back of his neck are standing on end, his nerves firing like pistons, his stomach dropping.

"Oh God," Miles whispers, nanites skirting his vision, "they’re here, aren’t they?"

The reporter is losing it, becoming a panicked, irrational mess.

“I knew they would be. I knew, and I still couldn’t stay away. What … what does that mean,” the host rambles, feeling his emotions break down into all the stages of grief.

“I am sorry for bringing you out here," Miles tells the machine, convinced that this was their last stand, that he had to make some poor amends for all his mistakes, "I am sorry for everything.”

The Walrider manifests itself, bony phalanges gripping its host's tear-stained cheeks, forcing the man to behold the eerie gleam of its eyes.

Captivated, Miles stares back, searching the abyss, the Walrider trying it's damnedest to convey an emotion that it’s not equipped to express.

“How many,” the host asks, his tone a terrified reservation.

The nanties bristle, swirling in urgent, jagged loops.

“Oh God," Miles breathes, the dread building, his voice doused with buckets of ice water, "too many."

With a painful sigh, he holds the machine in a similar embrace, stroking along the creature’s cheek, joining their heads together. It helps him think, clears away the hysteria.

“What should we do,” he asks after a beat, feeling so fucking pathetic for relying on his demonic counterpart for guidance, that he still not grown enough to handle this shit on his own.

Forget the self-depreciation. Focus. They need a plan, some means of escape.

Utilizing his jeep was a possible strategy, but that's assuming the engine still runs and he manages to Dukes-of-Hazzard his way out the woods and up the ravine.

A word flashes before the human's mind, the Walrider offering an idea.

'REVENGE.'

Miles understands the concept all too well, holding an intimate connection to the first act of vigilante justice they committed together, his partner offering him the same satisfaction again.

Miles doesn't need any more convincing. His blue eyes harden, borderline arrogant.

“Alright," the rebel declares, seeking the entity's affirmation, "you ready for this?"

The Walrider trills in his head, the nanites bursting from his veins with heady anticipation, muscles bulking with superhuman strength.

It's a good enough answer for Miles, his lips pulled back into a toothy grin.

“Lets show ‘em who they’re fucking with," Miles roars, eyes drowning in a sea of onyx, irises flaring into molten rings of gold.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t black out like he has in the past.

Maybe, it's because they've had more time to assimilate to their new way of life or maybe it's because Miles is more stable than he was before (unlikely as it is), but whatever the reason, the Walrider gives him complete control of their subplanted body.

Miles only has two eyes, but somehow his sight compounds into a crystal ball of surveillance monitors: helmets, rifles, tactile gear closing in around him, subtle clacks of movement showing a group of mercenaries laying in wait ahead.

If this was how the Walrider saw the world, why did it have to be so head-spinningly complicated?

Walmiles raises his hand, the nanites assembling along it, forming a giant stygian blade. With one effortless swipe, he slices through the armed forces, severed torsos thudding like timber, trees raining down upon the clearing, shaking the earth beneath his feet, crushing the dismembered bodies they once resided by.

Miles only has a moment to reflect on his homage to b-movie slasher flicks before he feels another psychic tug, their shared consciousness directing him towards another raid of enemy gunmen.

The freelance demigod in a jacket goes down the line, annihilates the hired hands one by one, bursting their insides like bloody fucking party balloons.

Another team approaches from his left, 9 o'clock.

He sends a swarm of nanites hurtling in their direction, burrowing into the mercenaries flesh like bullets, their death thralls echoing up into the placid blue sky, scaring away the birds.

He can feel the soldier's minds, read their blood: terror, confusion, helplessness and Miles pushes it all down, takes control of one of the surviving merc's trigger fingers and aims the rifle at what remains of his comrades in arms. Once the deed’s been done, the man-made killing machine pops his puppet's skull wide open, a signet bouquet of gorey brain matter, the lone merc's headless, lifeless body crumpling atop a growing pile of corpses.

It's quiet. It almost feels like it's over, but it's just the calm before the storm.

A ricochet bullet whizzes past the jeep's hood, shattering one of the headlights.

The sound distracts the murderous brunette, having narrowly dodged a bullet one or twice before, more war flashbacks coming to flood his psyche with devastating consequences.

A second shot rings out, the bullet hitting it's mark, Miles pierced through the chest by the precise aim of a sniper.

Suddenly, his confidence plummets, their synchronization interrupted because Miles is caught in an erroneous loop of relieving his own death, terrified that he'd failed his mission not once, but twice.

“Am I … are we …?”

‘Dead’ is what he wants to ask, but all he can do is look down at his hands, watch as they tremble, his vision fading at the edges, going blurry.

The Walrider takes over, becoming the dominant personality, sailing through the air in a swarm of nanite clouds, tracking the bullet's trajectory back to it's source.

The soldier attempts to shoot the dark angel down, but it becomes exceedingly apparent that he can’t, abandoning his post to run.

The Walrider catches its prey, squeezes the life out of the foolish villain that dared to injure it's precious host, crushing the vile human's neck under its claws.

Another shot, gouging Walmiles through the shoulder, from behind. Just how many snipers did Murkoff pull in for this job?

The Walrider gladly applies the same tactics to silence this menace as well, nanites beating like giant wings.

Miles recovers, insists on wrestling back control, “Stop, we need him alive.”

The Walrider remains skeptical of it's host's judgment, holding the second sniper by the collar, bringing him towards an intimidating stare of cracked, oozing flesh.

“I want you to do something for me," says the warbled voice, the Walrider and Miles speaking together as one singular being, "Tell the ones who hired you, I am coming for them. Tell them, I am going to burn their lives to the ground, that there will be nothing left after I am done because they'll all be dead.”

Miles pauses in his speech, staring into the young marksman's eyes, assessing how human they are, “You got all that?”

The soldier is too scared to speak, merely nodding his compliance.

"Good. Off you go, then,” Miles instructs, letting the man drop, shoving him towards his objective, “And be sure to leave the gun.”

The sniper stumbles, regaining his balance, still coming to terms with what the fuck just happened, running off to deliver his message.

SHHHWWOOOOOOMMM!!!

The booming speed of a jet sails overhead, poised for an airstrike.

"You gotta to be fucking kidding me with this shit,” the host snarls, annoyed that Murkoff would send in goddman fighter jet of all things just to take him out.

Mitigating damage indeed.

Miles runs, jumps as far away as he can, an explosive missile detonating a few hundred feet away, setting the woods ablaze, a shield of nanobots protecting him from the conflagration.

He lies flat onto his stomach, hands laced behind his head, waits for the danger to pass before he makes another move.

“Christ, almighty, please tell me my jeep is OK,” Miles pleads into the surrounding hollow of dirt.

He's never been the religious type, but it doesn't stop him from praying that his beloved bucket of bolts is still intact, spared from the destruction.

He sorts through the disaster of dancing flames to find it, a whorl of nanobots snuffing out a path and thank God it's still standing, left unharmed (for the most part).

He pats the vehicle free of the surrounding orange embers, laments over the burn marks bubbling the paint, but that was purely cosmetic amenity in the grand scheme of things.

“Holy shit,” Miles pants in relief, leaning against the hood, allowing himself a well deserved reprieve.

He's hobbling as he maneuvers, feeling just a bit achy and sore from his new set of matching gunshot wounds, stifled by the heat of the forest fire still rampaging on around them, sweat mixing with the blood and ash on his face.

“Now what,” he asks out into the open air, having no clue where to go from here.

The Walrider’s conscience swipes across his mind again, another suggestion that could just as easily be mistaken for his own thought process.

The machine searches his memory bank, shows him a grainy reel of a strong man lifting a barbell.

“Can you really lift something like this?”

Another old movie clip of a floating car, minus the futuristic wings.

“Have we done this before?"

If they have, he has no recollection of it, the Walrider demonstrating its strength, nanites wrapping around the automobile, transporting it back up onto the road.

As he watches the superhuman display, tires gently resting back upon the black turf of the highway, Miles almost doesn't have words, (the keyword there being almost).

"Oh, well, that was easy.”

The machine can't appreciate his excellent comedic timing, but that's OK, he can laugh at his own joke.

“Lemme just go grab my stuff," Miles tells his chivalrous paralysis demon, clambering up the hill the old fashioned way despite having the ability to “fly” above it instead.

He retrieves his duffel bags, Miles transferring them to his jeep, starting up the ignition, but of course it has one last fatal flaw: it's out of gas.

“At least it's out of the ditch,” the journalist sighs, slumping back into the driver’s seat, needing a vacation after suffering through this exhausting debacle.

It's fine. He's sure Trager's car has a dodgy siphoning hose hiding somewhere in the trunk he can use.

—---

“So, what are you thinking,” Paul Marion asks, plucking at his gums with a toothpick, having just finished his lunch, "Did we get him?”

"Hard to say,” Glick muses, leaning down to drag her fingers through the soot, grinding it between her thumb and forefinger. “Upshur certainly did some damage. It's interfering with our readings.”

“I imagine he would,” the blonde haired agent replies, watching gray smoke filter up from the charred ground, “judging by the state he left the asylum in.”

He's just glad they don't have to go rifling through the crime scene (there were other people for that), the fire now extinguished thanks to an airdrop of sand, but that meant a stark film of contamination hung over their investigation.

His female counterpart is silent, framing a scenario in her mind based on the reports. The body count, time table, and radiation readings told her it was possible Miles was dead, but her job was never that easy.

“We using the usual cover story, then,” Marion asks, leaving the toothpick to hang between his lips, shoving hands inside his pockets, taking in the great outdoors, “stupid drunk teenagers lit a campfire in the woods. Let it get out of control?”

Pauline doesn't offer an answer, an underling assisting with the clean up approaching them in light of some recent development.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” the grunt agent cuts in, “a witness has come forward.”

“A witness,” she parrots with snarky red lips, her fine brows curved into speculative intrigue.

“Golly, you mean to tell me someone actually survived this mess,” Paul whistles, chuckling to himself, stepping up to his sleek-suited partner.

“One of the ground team says he has a message from Miles Upshur,” the grunt confirms.

“Oh, this keeps getting better and better,” Marion grins, radiating sarcastic anticipation, wondering what kind of juicy gossip they were about to hear.

“You'd better let me handle this,” the she-devil with a gun insists, leaving her partner in the dust.

“Not enough clearance, huh?”

“Hmm, something like that.”

“Any word on Park,” her yellow stouted partner asks, hoping to entertain himself with this nugget of info while she's gone.

“No, still in the wind,” Pauline sighs, “He’s covered up his tracks pretty well so far, but he’ll mess up. They always do.”

"Ma'am," the lowly grunt accosts, reminding Ms Glick of the lone survivor waiting to be interrogated.

"What are you gonna do with him,” Marion persists, fishing for more intel.

"Take him back to HQ for questioning,” she hisses, frustrated with Marion's pestering, “He might remember something that will give us a clue. Upshur and Park were accomplices before. Maybe one can lead us to the other.”

“Love the way you think, miss piggy,” he taunts, watching her stalk away, fists clenched.

“Don't make me shoot you in the mouth too,” Pauline scoffs.

#outlast #the walrider #walrider #miles upshur #walmiles #my writing #the pauls #outlast fanfiction #love host #outlast whistleblower #paul marion #pauline glick #blood and gore #violence

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silver-rings-and-rabbits · 11 months

Text

I've just finished chapter 9 of Open Heart Second Year and wanted to share my thoughts at the halfway point (ch 10-11 are another world entirely). It's a long post and probably repeats all the arguments that have been made since the original release...but I'm gonna post anyway.

When Second Year started, I couldn't decide which romance route to take. I genuinely restarted the first chapter several times, but EVENTUALLY I settled on Ethan. And...I got bored. He was there all the time and I just didn't feel anything like I did in book 1 (the opera scene had me in a chokehold for a while). Meanwhile, Raf had apparently broken up with MC and had a new partner which was leaving me intrigued on how it would go (sweet naivety before I saw the ch 10 draft). So during the first hiatus, between ch 8-9, I replayed the whole lot for Rafael.

The difference is stark. For two people who aren't allowed to be together, MC and Ethan sure ended up spending a lot of time alone together. They sure held hands a lot. MC sure had a lot of extra flirty dialogue. Yet Rafael appears briefly every couple of chapters to talk about how he would risk his life for another (I should have seen the signs sooner) then disappears back to his new partner that we still know nothing about. Most of the pining for Rafael was in my imagination and personal interpretation of the scenes.

Players were willing to justify this with 'Ethan is our boss' and 'we work on the same team so obviously they will spend time together'. Bryce and Jackie are our best friends or partners, Jackie is our freaking ROOMMATE and we don't see them at all?

Furthermore, we have two brand new characters in June and Baz and barely spent any time with them because Ethan had to be front and centre. I would have happily spent diamonds to get to know either of them one-on-one. But no...

An idea: instead of Ethan having a professional diamond scene every chapter (patient's house visit, visiting the art gallery, making a pictagram account), this is where June or Baz come in. Especially if Ethan also had a personal diamond scene in the chapter. Open Heart was popular because of its diverse cast after all (including Ethan, yes, but there was someone for everyone in book 1).

FURTHER furthermore, one of the 'plots' of this book was MC teaching their own intern, Esme Ortega. And we had a diamond scene to take her with us on Diagnostic work, a diamond scene to mentor her around six chapters later, and...a few quick scenes of MC giving her some work to do. That's it. Because even though being a mentor is part of MCs job, it's not nearly as important as Ethan's screen time.

I've played all four romance routes, and obviously Ethan's had the most content (his romance route v platonic route is night and day!!). Raf's route was completely empty to the point where it made sense to me that MC was in the hospital with Ethan all the time because they didn't want to spend their free time sitting at home nursing a broken heart. But Bryce and Jackie's routes had no reason for that. There's almost no reason to play the chapters without them and it's no surprise their fans started dropping away. All the signs pointed to one LI being killed off, but the other two didn't have anything to hope for either so why stick around?

Chapter 8 is the baseball game and we get to spend time with Bryce and Keiki, AND practice baseball with some friends. Probably the most friend group content we saw since the chapter 5 music festival. I enjoyed being rude to Landry (again, my MC is too stressed and upset at this point to spend energy being nice to him) but I didn't like how my response to him determined how the two sides interacted. Just because I'm rude to Landry doesn't mean I don't want to meet Sienna's med school friends at Kenmore. We then get to go back with Ethan for dinner or go home alone. I don't suppose it would have killed PB to put some kind of friend group scene in as an alternative? They did in book 1...

Chapter 9 is where the emotions really pick up as we have Kyra's cancer getting worse. Man, I love well-written angst. When MC is overwhelmed and has to calm down in a supply closet they are discovered by...June. Who at this point is becoming the villain (despite the fact this plot line would have only made sense if you were romancing 1/4 LIs).

Another idea: we get to choose which LI discovers us, just like in book 1! We could have a rare moment of softness with Jackie because it kills her that she can't help the situation. It could have been the catalyst for Bryce to look into radical gore-tex surgeries as a last resort. Or we could have had a painful heart-to-heart with Rafael, maybe MC being standoffish because he's their ex or open and desperately wishing Raf could comfort them as before. The possibilities are endless, but we can't waste time (or money) on those guys.

Speaking of Rafael, this is the infamous chapter ending:

Like a punch in the heart. But possibly what hurt more was the fact that chapter 10 opened with - of all things - a time jump to a few days later with the Senator coming to Edenbrook!! Because that's the Diagnostic team which is the only thing that matters! In fact, Rafael isn't mentioned until around two thirds of the way through when the narration - of all things - casually mentions that he is in fact moving to BRAZIL. More fool me, I thought he was just moving to another state, but no. Another freaking country. There is no way that would have been an easy conversation, especially on his romance route, but it's yet another conversation that happens OFF-SCREEN for the reader to be hastily informed later.

Book 2 began with a recap that omitted Rafael completely, despite the fact his superhero complex was going to be 'plot point' of book 2. Luckily he does appear in the next recap but this scene has been retconned with him saying 'I'm moving to Brazil' (if I remember to get a screenshot of that later, I'll post it).

PB tried to justify all this with 'Open Heart is a mature story...exploring themes of heartbreak and loss' (and some players will still believe that), but it never was. If it was, we would have seen the break-up between MC and Rafael, we would have been able to talk with Raf about his suspension in detail and how it was affecting him, and we would have SEEN THIS VERY CONVERSATION. But all the resources went into Ethan and his parents, Ethan and his morals, Ethan cooking a chicken.

I get it, he was a big moneymaker. I myself contributed once upon a time. But that doesn't justify throwing out the rest of your characters. (My school sold out my year group to get some money, and in doing so lost all credibility with a generation of girls). Like I said before, Open Heart was good because of ALL it's characters that we had grown to love and PB now wanted to chuck those out. Unless a LI had absolutely 0% interest, you write for them or you don't put them in the story (and we all know where that leads us: single LI books). Why alienate Bryce, Raf and Jackie romancers when, for all you know, they might be Sam Dalton's biggest fans? (The biggest book I can think of that was releasing at the same time as Open Heart). This whole thing was a stupid, stupid decision by PB and it has nothing to do with Rafael.

I hope there were people on the OH team who knew this was a bad idea from the start. I hope the higher-ups started sweating at the reactions to Sora and the ending to chapter 9, and I hope the smart ones on the team felt unbelievably smug about being right.

#open heart #playchoices #rafael aveiro #i really hope to get this out my system soon #three years is long man #long post

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indirys-wp · 5 months

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Far Horizons - Ch. 1 (Tsu'teyXfem!oc Avatar fic) regular posts on wattpad

Introduction to my fic I've been regularly updating on wattpad. Just wanna get a feel hereee; my wattpad user is indirys :)

WARNING: mentions of violent things that might be uncomfortable for some readers.

THE cities on earth were nothing near what she'd been told they'd once been, somewhere around seventy years or so in the past when they didn't meld into one another to form mega urban areas that stretched a crossed states. She'd been told that once, cities had only ranged within a certain mileage in any direction, with some definite end that eventually turned in what they called suburbs and country.

Things that remained as words alone now. Those no longer existed on earth. If any area was not occupied by living spaces or corporate facilities or any other necessary establishment, they were used for facilitating the production of food. If it could be called that. Most of the "food" grown in these areas was so genetically modified and typically lab grown that it brought a different slew of problems to the worlds population in the form of health risks and shortened life spans.

Such congested living brought worse dangers. Being a woman was far from safe, not if you couldn't afford proper protection. The black market alone brought the risk of being kidnapped to have ones organs taken, while the human-trafficking 'industry' had grown bold enough that the UN no longer fought against it. Corporations ran earth now and laws were often far too grey to entirely justify.

Ruth would have rather found herself dead than remain on earth for the entirety of her life. Somehow, the 'most hostile environment known to man' was more preferred than the shell that humanity calls home still.

The last tether she had to her home was long gone by now with the death of her grandfather, who'd passed shortly before she was due to ship off for her six year long trip a crossed the stars.

The only significant figure in her life, Ruth had nothing else to fight for, nothing else to put all of her focus and efforts to stay afloat toward. She still grieved for him every day, but the transition to life on Pandora had been almost effortless because of his absence.

Ruth could remember the suffocating dreadfulness of living in the cities of earth. Cramped, heavily trafficked, dirty beyond belief and not a hint of fresh air or true green in sight. Those factors alone had been enough to convince her getting through college was worth it, that the years she spent busting her ass even in high school would send her somewhere better. It had been the truth.

After graduating at the age of seventeen and immediately pursuing her dream of a doctorate in biology and picking up complex xenobotany, somehow, someway, Ruth Carson scored a gig with the Avatar program, one that ninty-nine percent of trainee intakes failed. The program funded by the Resource Development Administration.

Nightmares of her life on earth had chosen to appear in her sleep the night prior.

Whenever the memories of the life she left behind came up, she'd often wake to a feeling of dread, thinking she'd somehow never left earth for Pandora.

She sat up from her pillow with a groan, the rough, not-so-much to her liking bedsheets gathering on her lap. She rubbed away the sleep from her eyes and gazed with squinted vision around the small room she'd called home for a little over three years.

As barren and dull as the living quarters she'd been given had been when she first arrived, she'd managed make it hers. A few gifts from the Na'vi made it more colorful, including a tapestry, a decorative piece of jewelry far too large for her human body to wear and a few drawings the children from Grace's school house had given her, drawn in crude crayon. Little gifts she cherished more than any of her other personal belongings.

Pulling away the sheets, Ruth forced herself from the bed and padded along the cold floor over to where her sink stood against the wall, a small mirror reflecting her face as she flicked the light on.

Green eyes, ash blonde hair. As much as she was appreciative of her jovial looks at the age of thirty-three and often stressed, Ruth lamented her desire to be in her avatar body. For good.

Her other body was far stronger, more lithe and attuned to the moon she now called home. Her contract with the RDA called for a five and half year trip both ways to get to and from Pandora, as well the minimum six year length of her work on its own.

She was still trying to find a way to never leave. The extend her stay on the moon indefinitely, if that were a thing. Corporate was strange about its rules, apparently.

After promptly washing her face, brushing her hair and securing it into a braid, Ruth donned her typical outfit of any workday: cargo pants, usually of the black or green variety, a t-shirt, and her lab coat. She found that the tactical boots the army grunts wore were far more comfortable than she'd ever expected, therefore she'd tactfully acquired some for herself.

Just as she was beginning to leave the room, she halted at the doorway as her eyes caught the photo she cherished yet lamented over. A picture with a handful of the Omaticaya children, grinning and embracing her as they'd taken a photo at the school Grace had started.

It was closed now. She didn't like thinking about it.

Continuing out into the hall of the dormitories, Ruth navigated the many halls that would eventually lead her to the bio-lab, where she worked everyday.

Along the way, she snatched a mug of creamed coffee and a muffin from the cafeteria before finally making her way into ambient glow of the tech and other light producing items in the lab.

They were supposed to launch some new avatars that day, she recalled after the debrief the day prior.

"Dr. Carson?" An unfamiliar voice said, causing her to turn mid-sip of her coffee, the lip of the cup still against her lips.

It was a tall lanky man, brown hair and weird-looking beard. At his side, a man in a wheel chair looked up at her. Military cut and all, she immediately knew this guy had to be prior service, if the USMC symbol on his t-shirt hadn't already given it away.

"Yes?" She asked, lowering the coffee cup. The one standing was likely one of the new arrivals, but the wheelchair bound one she unsure of.

"Norm Spellman, I'm one of the new lab intakes. I've read your studies on Pandoran fauna and other. . ." He paused as the man at his side gave him a look as if to cut the long introductions and gushing admiration. "Sorry. We're both avatar drivers. We were told to report to you," he stated, referring to him and the man in the wheelchair at his side.

"I don't recall hearing about a paraplegic in the manifest," Ruth muttered as she set her coffee and muffin on the nearest flat surface and crossed her arms. She looked between them both with raised brows.

"Sorry for the inconvenience that I'm not my brother," the man in the wheelchair said icily to her. Fair enough. "He couldn't make it."

A stroke of worry hit Ruth as she finally realized it had been Tom Sully that had been projected to arrive today. They'd been colleagues in school, but after he'd chosen to pursue becoming some deeper training that included a more intensive dive into xenolinguists, Tom stayed back on earth for a while longer before she went into cryo and made her trip through the stars. She had been vaguely informed at one point or another that he had a twin brother. Ruth hadn't seen him since.

"What happened to Tom?" She asked more gently this time, after internally regretting her prior rudeness.

"He was jumped. Didn't survive the scrap," Tom's twin replied bluntly, lip thin.

Hit with a wave of momentary sorrow, Ruth collects herself and nods with a frown. Her heartbeat reflected her reaction to her old friend's death, quick and dizzying. "Tom was a great guy. Top of our class. My condolences…?"

"Jake," he finished for her, finally giving her his name.

"Well," she sighed. "I'm Ruth, as you already know. Feel free to use it, but Carson works fine as well. Now, as for the avatars," she beckoned them to follow her deeper into the bio-lab. The change in subject would hopefully change the atmosphere that had settled over the three of them.

They made their way toward the massive embryonic tanks that held the large bodies of the avatars that were for Jake and Norm, which they would be taking out for their first drive likely by morning.

Stopping near the tank that held Tom's avatar, Ruth frowned as she gazed on its features.

He'd been a good friend to her in the years they were in school and the sight of Jake being the uncannily identical twin he was made it harder to believe he was actually gone.

She watched a moment as Jake looked at the floating body, entirely intrigued by what he saw. She couldn't blame him, it would be expected of anyone. The first time anyone saw what Pandora had to offer was amusing in itself.

"Looks like him," Jake half muttered, a look of grief clouding his eyes as he watched the body twitch in the synthetic amniotic fluid of the tank.

"Looks like you," Ruth corrected him. "This is your avatar now."

Jake turned to look up to her. "I take it you have one too?"

Ruth grinned, pleased as she thought on it. "Of course. I'll be meeting you two on the outside once you've run through all of your diagnostic tests. After that, we'll take sometime to get you familiarized with everything." She crossed her arms, her shoulder resting against the glass of the tank Jake's avatar floated in. "Now tell me, how does a marine end up in a multi-billion dollar program? Did you pursue a degree or something? Was there a particular reason beyond saving the money they'd spent on this avatar to bring you out here?"

Jake shook his head. "I was a dumb drunk before they approached me. I was told I can link with Tommy's avatar, I guess. Probably just didn't want to waste the money, like you said."

Ruth nodded as she began to realize what he meant. "Identical DNA, all that nonsense. It checks out." Jake nodded with a weak smile before looking back to his avatar.

Ruth sighed, saying, "Either way, Jake, you're the only one that can link with this avatar. It's up to you now not to let this five-billion dollar project go to waist," he gave her a look that suggested she'd put the weight of the world in his hands and she smiled. "Consider yourself very lucky, marine. But go get some rack while you can. I'm sure that flight in early this morning was rough. The change in atmospheric pressure can have some affects on you. You'll get to have your fun tomorrow."

"For sure, Doc," Jake nodded. "I'll see you in the morning. But I'll hopefully be blue."

"You'll need a link chamber for that, guy," she jabbed jokingly and smirked before retreating toward the direction she'd left her coffee and muffin, beginning to leave Jake where he sat in front of the giant tank. "I'm just interested in you meeting Grace."

"Who's Grace?" He asked after.

Ruth chuckled as she began to disappear further into the bio-lab. "Oh, you'll see."

•••

EYES fluttering open, Ruth sat up in the cot she'd put her avatar to sleep in the night prior.

Today, they'd be integrating Jake and Norm into the avatar bodies. She was curious to see how they'd react, particularly the marine. Someone who had no training whatsoever for anything he was about to participate in. Some part of her was amused to see how things panned out.

She grinned to herself as she pushed herself up, shoving her long braid to her back and stretching her long limbs before swinging her legs to the wooden floor. She snatched her boots as she got to her feet, making her way to where she would change into day clothes. With her tail flicking behind her, she strode down the rows of beds of the other avatars, sighing contently.

She was always far happier in this body than the other. It felt familiar. Felt right.

Upon exiting the sleep shack, to her surprise, she finds that Jake, still in his medical gown, is just a crossed the small lot with Grace once she steps out into the light of day. A rough start indeed, it seemed. His tail was flicking in excitement before he caught sight of her. She smirks, wandering over. His ears peek at her presence, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Someone seems excited," Ruth chuckled to Grace, who shared the same amused expression. "And still in a gown."

"He came running out from the medical bay within minutes of completing the link like a damn lunatic," Grace exclaimed to Ruth with a smirk, the beads of her braided strands of hair clinking against each other at her cheeks. "What a maniac."

Ruth recalled her first link with her avatar, the most exciting moment in her life. The exhilaration had been unlike anything she'd ever experienced. She couldn't blame Jake, yet he had decided to run out half naked.

"She was not excited to meet me once you left the lab," Jake said to Ruth, a shit-eating grin on his face.

"I'll admit I'm quite pissed to see Selfridge decided to send a grunt to my avatar program, but I suppose preventing the waste of viable resources works for now," Grace exclaimed with a roll of her eyes.

"Now you see what I meant about meeting Grace," Ruth taunted Jake. She looked him up and down, gesturing to him. "How does it feel? Your new body." She was sure it was liberating to be walking again.

"Amazing," Jake replied grinning, an enthusiasm about him she hadn't seen the day before. Already, there was evident difference in his demeanor. Like a fire had ignited again inside him after so long.

"Dr. Carson here is going to help get you get situated for today," Grace told Jake as she crossed her arms, gesturing with a nod toward to other woman at her side. "I'll help out Norm."

"We've just got to do a few things to get you attuned to your new body," Ruth told him. "I'll get him taken care of, Grace. Come on, Jake."

Leaving Grace to take Jake back toward the avatar dorms, Ruth brought them to the jungle hut she'd just woken up in. As they entered, she lead him toward the storage room that had all of the extra avatar clothing and items, specially made considering their size.

"So, how did you know Tommy?" Jake asked as she began rummaging through the folded clothing, finding male specific shirts and pants for him to keep, along with underwear, socks, and two pairs of boots. She grabbed a few other articles along with a backpack before turning back to him.

"We were in the avatar program together. Different classes and I was ahead of him but we still trained together. I graduated before him so I was due to leave earlier," she sighed as she put the large pile of clothing into his arms, yellow eyes turning toward the ground. "I shipped off well before he did. I expected him here yesterday, actually."

Jake frowned, ears pinned back as he nodded. The use of his physical features betraying how he felt. "Yeah, me too."

"Tom was a great guy. I'm truly sorry for your loss," Ruth said to him sincerely.

Jake shrugged. "After almost six years in cryo, the time has passed. So will the grief."

"Time passed is not grief processed," she told him gently, to which he simply gave a tight nod.

She understood he likely wasn't up for talking on his brother much. She couldn't blame him. When he grandpa had passed shortly before her ship date, she'd grown numb too. And dealt with the grief in due time.

"To think, a marine in an avatar body," Ruth breathed a laugh to lighten the mood. "Never thought I'd see that combination. A deadly one at that. Perhaps you'll make an effective guard while we're in the field gathering samples."

"A five-billion dollar body guard?" Jake smirked as Ruth returned the smile and made her way past him into the hall. He followed.

"What other purpose would you have?" She asked as she strode toward the door leading outside. "Get yourself out of that gown. We've got things to do, marine."

Making her way toward the wrap around porch of the hut, Ruth left Jake smiling where he was, smiling while gripping his pile of new avatar-sized clothes.

•••

SURPRISED with Jake's efficiency in mastering the functions of a body he'd spent less than a day in, Ruth took him through an assortment of obstacles to help him gain awareness of senses and balance he didn't have before. She always marveled at the small, minute differences between the hybrid avatars and the Na'vi, their stride and movement, the five fingers per hand and toes per foot. His muscle tone would grow more than the average Na'vi over time thanks to the intermingled human DNA, helping him appear less lanky and small.

Ruth had watched Jake scale a rock wall, take a few laps around the exercise track and run through some basics of the fauna and flora of Pandora before they would venture beyond the safety of the barbwire walls and automated defense systems in the coming days.

Perhaps she was getting too much of a kick out of getting to tell a military dog what to do considering the real work would start tomorrow. They'd fly out to the field sites to gather some more sample and run some tests, with Jake pulling his watch over them for safety. She did appreciate the piece of mind.

Dinner had been leisurely, the avatars gathering under the dining pavilion where dinner was served by some of kitchen staff, humans. Ruth remained amused as she watched Jake look down on those serving their food, likely still intrigued by the height difference between them and normal people.

Grace was sure to introduce both Jake and Norm to everyone during their first dinner before they would put the avatars in the safety of their cots. Afterwards, dinner would be served again, only this time to their human bodies.

Showing Jake and Norm to the cots that would now be designated to their avatars, Ruth crossed her arms and leaned to one hip. Her tail flicked behind her in slight impatience as she waited for them to get situated.

"Waking up will be the same as when you initialized the link. Just clear your mind. Falling asleep works too. After that, we'll get you out of the link room and headed to dinner."

"Second dinner," Jake smirked as he lied his head the pillow on his cot.

"What time tomorrow will we be leaving for the field?" Norm asked her from where he lied halfway up on a propped elbow, the excitement evident in his sparkling yellow eyes.

She smirked. "0630, be at the bio lab ready to link. Afterwards, you'll get all your stuff ready here and we'll catch a flight out. Simple as that."

Norm nodded in excited understanding and Ruth bid them both a good nights rest before making her way toward her own cot. Once lying with her queue arranged comfortably for her to sleep, she found herself finding the most comfortable spot to doze off before finally drifting to the darkness that would send her back to her human body.

#avatar the way of water #avatar fic #tsu'tey te rongloa ateyitan #tsu'tey x fem!oc #james cameron avatar #avatar oc #farhorizons #wattpad

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bonesandthebees · 1 year

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The heat’s melting my brain a bit, so I’m just going to skip most of the rest of the chapter and pray I find the energy to go back to it at some point, because there’s some great mental shifting in there, my brain’s just not having it.

Anyway, the political reveal. This one is very interesting for a few reasons. 1. It catapults Wilbur straight into political mode. That’s been his life for 10 years and he’s instantly able to put together what Schlatt’s doing. Of course this is because Wilbur knows how he works. He probably knows his thought pattern better than anyone else with all the vision meetings and Schlatt brushing him off. It’s also a fun way to give us more exposition. We get to know something serious is happening, but we don’t know what.

2. The Deathlings plan to make use of this. Whether it’s using the chaos or making new allies. This is an opportunity for them. And 3. Wilbur doesn’t care. He’s supposed go be Clara’s vessel and aid the empower for the good of the country, but Schlatt never listened and now Wilbur doesn’t even have the opportunity to tell him should he get a vision about this. He feels no responsibility. In fact, he’s so angry at Schlatt he feels no guilt or worry. It’s such a stark difference to the first chapter, where Wilbur was constantly stressed out about the Deathling attack and Schlatt not listening.

Now the question of course is what would happen if he got a vision. If it’s one that’s good for the Deathlings, he’s probably going to keep his mouth shut and maybe have a crisis. Though the real crisis would be if he gets a vision that’s bad for the Deathlings (if Clara would even give him one of those). That would be full mental mayhem. The question would then also be if the Deathlings would believe him if he did somehow tell them. Or if they would think it was a ploy to get them to not attack. It would be fun, but this is all speculation, so alas, you can not answer.

Also, genuine question now that I brought up chapter 1. Do the Deathlings know that Wilbur had a vision of the night of the ball? I know he had a big explosion about Schlatt not listening, but I don’t remember if he brought up that specific vision. Actually, I’m not even sure if Tommy knows that. Tommy is the only one who knows about the vision the night Wilbur ran, I think? Which is part of why he’s so confident Wilbur won’t run without a vision. Though he can never be sure Wilbur didn’t have one. (At least, that’s what Phil would argue in that situation.

-🌲

I'm so sorry you're suffering in the heat spruce manifesting cool breezes for you soon

YUP wilbur actually does know his politics in this! he's been involved with them for the past ten years so of course he's got a pretty good idea of how this stuff works, and more importantly, he knows how schlatt works. I've definitely been wanting to get more into talking about the political situation outside the temple, but I just haven't been able to until we got to a point where phil felt he could say that to wilbur and not put things at risk. but even then, he's not telling wilbur everything.

the deathlings are certainly going to take advantage of this situation :)

wilbur doesn't even realize the choice he's making by not caring about what's going on. technically, according to his duties, clara wants to keep their country as safe as can be and it's wilbur's responsibility to see that through. wilbur not caring is just another sign of how much he's changed since he got there.

yes that's all very fun speculation but nothing I can comment on </3 good thoughts though!

yes, wilbur actually did let it slip that he had a vision of the ball at one point! it happened back in ch 11, when wilbur, niki, jack, tommy, and techno were all chatting and techno started grilling wilbur about what was going on in the palace. and yes, in that conversation wilbur did explicitly say he had a vision about the night of the ball and schlatt refused to listen to him about it. however, you're right about tommy being the only person who knows that wilbur had a vision when he tried to kill him. no one else knows that except him.

#ask #spruce anon #through a glass divine

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annwayne · 1 year

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The Red Logs: Return to the Temple Ch. 15

Chapter 15: The Mess

Last Chapter <- -> Next Chapter

Fem!OC X Crosshair

Word Count: 2225

Fic Summary:

There are benefits to owning a clone bar. Underworld lords don’t threaten you to pay for protection. Clones are great company. And the drinks taste great. However, there are also risks to owning a clone bar. Like, for example, becoming the fuck buddy of a special clone task force member so your life gets threatened when a Separatist puts out a bounty for your capture in order to use you as blackmail. Also your sleep schedule gets wrecked. But Anya Tougt is a little more capable than an average bar owner.

Ao3 Link Here

Warnings apply to whole fic:

Canon typical violence, descriptions of panic attacks, alcohol, swearing, 18+ themes (eventual smut), trauma, religious trauma parallels, mild gore

Authors Note:

Laughing at the title of this chapter. Didn't even see the double meaning when I picked it. Got another chapter finished so another chapter gets published. Even though I had told myself I wouldn't post another chapter till the whole fic was finished, well I didn't expect there to be another chapter to write. So in my defense, I've got yet another chapter to write before the fic is done... Also yeah, there will be a series. This story is no where near done. (Well, this part of the story is near done but-you know what I mean.)

25 BBY. Unrest has sent several Jedi Masters and their Padawans out into the galaxy, but Tali requested we stay on Coruscant. When I asked why, she told me she doesn’t agree with making Jedi into enforcers. But, isn’t that what we’ve always done?

Eventually, I found the mess hall. Bacta always made my stomach flip, but for a place to hunker down away from Kenobi I was willing to stand the stench of what they considered food on these ships. The clones left me alone, though their confusion was tangible through the force. The thought snapped my spine up. I hadn’t noticed emotions so strongly through the force in years. A glance through the clones confirmed that none of them were overtly high emotionally–something that’s easier to detect. Now it was tangible. Almost visible, but not like looking at something with my eyes. More like looking with my mind.

“Annie,” A voice calling out to me pushed away my thoughts. “We’ve been looking all over for you!” Wrecker waved at me as I glanced up from my hands to see four men walking my way. “We stopped by the general’s quarters, but he had no idea where you went.”

“Neither did I.” Irritation crossed my arms and brought a furrow to my brow. But then Wrecker’s expectant look forced a smile on my face. “Am I right to guess that you had a hand in this new look?” With flourish, I stood and gestured towards the new armor on my body.

“Yeah!” Wrecker grinned ear to ear. “If you’re going to be working with us, you shouldn’t look like a reg.”

“Oh?” Behind him I caught Tech’s hazel eyes watching me before flicking back down to his tablet. While the effort was appreciated, I hadn’t told Tech I was completely on board with his plan. He didn’t look back up. “So, Tech told you…?” I slowed my words hoping one of them would fill in the details I was unaware of.

Wrecker sat across from me, while Tech took the seat beside me.“That you asked Obi-Wan for assignments with us more often! In a way, that makes you our Jedi!”

“Not that we need one.” Crosshair sat beside Wrecker, giving his brother a light shove with his elbow in jest.

Hunter sat down beside him, exhaustion clearly written under his eyes. He said nothing, instead opting to shovel mush into his mouth. All the others had a similar tray of food before them.

“Already eat?” Crosshair asked.

I shook my head. “Bacta makes even the most appetizing food unappetizing…” With one hand I waved towards their trays. “That’ll require a stronger stomach.”

“So you came to the mess to sit around?” Again, the gravelly voice questioned me.

Beside me Tech shuffled. Wrecker watched me between bites. Hunter didn’t pay us any attention.

“Wanted to stretch my legs.” My arms crossed as I leaned back on the thin bench that made up the seating at the table. “Don’t usually feel so stiff after a night in the bacta tank.” I rolled my shoulders for emphasis.

The clones exchanged glances.

“What?” I leaned forward and uncrossed my arms.

“You were in the tank for three days.” Beside me, Tech answered with that attentive voice he gets when someone doesn’t know something. “Did General Kenobi not inform you of the complications with your healing?”

“What?” I had rushed off to the refresher for a bath before either the medical droid watching over me or Obi-Wan could get a word in. When I finally got out… “We had other things to discuss.”

“How’d you think we had the time to get your armor painted? Took two days of free time to do it.” Wrecker grinned at their accomplishment. “Another day just for Tech to round up the pieces.”

The lost time started to dawn on me as I recalled my stiff joints and the extra strong scent of bacta. “Complications?” The question was more or less rhetorical, but Tech was at the table.

“You were much worse off than I estimated.” Tech’s eyes avoided my own as a thin frown set on his face. “Due to your lucidness, I thought the injuries did not cut so deep. Looking back, I realize I saw the signs of deep injuries and I dismissed them. Apparently force users have a significantly higher pain tolerance than the other members of their species.”

“Tech.” Thanks to his modifications, there was finally emotion in my altered voice. “You didn’t know.”

He shifted his gaze to his tray. “Yes.”

Before I could try to reassure him further, Crosshair spoke. “Not that it mattered, she’s perfectly fine and got to sleep through half the journey back. Seems like a bonus to me.” He held his spoon out, pointing it at me, but gave a smirk to his brother.

“Some of us like to use our time more productively than just sleeping.” Tech shot an annoyed look at the sniper, but lifted his shoulders from their slouched position.

“Speaking of, commander, now that you’re healed you should join our training.” Hunter finally joined in the conversation. “We only have a few days of travel left, so we’ll have to make the most of it before we land.”

“Wait, you’re not leaving The Negotiator?” The surprise in my voice was not subtle. Each clone gave a shake of their head as I scanned the table for their responses. “That means you’ll be on leave when we get to Coruscant?” Again, I scanned. This time they nodded.

“We usually go on a few missions before going on leave again, but considering the complications of this one Obi-Wan specifically requested we be given time off.”

Helmets were really useful. “Oh, That’s good, that you get a break, I mean.” My eyes drifted with my swirling thoughts till I was looking at nothing in particular. What was that Jedi up to? “When’s training?” I asked, slowly pulling my eyes back into focus as I turned to Hunter.

“In a few hours, when the ship goes on Night Shift.” Hunter answered.

“We like to use the gym when it’s empty.” Wrecker added.

“Two and a quarter hours, to be exact, Annie.”

I nodded my head in response, still mulling over the implications of Obi-Wan giving the batch leave immediately. No chance I’d be able to go home right after we land on Coruscant. The council will likely require a debriefing. That means Crosshair would probably beat me to the bar. I won’t have time to get Stinky, fill in Jayas with whatever lie I’ve yet to come up with and–

“Have you got your room assignment yet?” Tech’s question cut off my spiral of thoughts, though part of me felt he didn’t even notice my change in mood.

“No.” My lips pursed under my helmet. “I left before Obi-Wan could say…”

“No worries, I’ll check the ship’s system.” Tech tapped away on his data pad. “If you’ve got a room assignment, it’ll show up here.” He tilted his screen towards me, showing me a list that looked like a mess of numbers and letters.

“Thanks, Tech.” I slid closer, trying to get a better view of the datapad.

Across from us I could feel someone staring. I glanced up to see a reticle aimed at me. Crosshair had finished his meal and was now sitting with his arms crossed while Wrecker talked to him. He didn’t look away when I caught him staring. Instead, the sniper twirled the toothpick resting between his lips. My head tilted down, an involuntary action as I attempted to guess what the sniper was thinking.

“Deck 3, Room 371.” Tech, once again, snapped my attention.

“Now I just have to find it.”

“Actually, that is why I asked in the first place. Since you are still unfamiliar with The Negotiator, I wanted to offer directions.” Tech swiped his screen, showing me what looked to be blueprints for the star destroyer. They didn’t help with my understanding of the ship.

“Didn’t you need to sync the nav system?” Before I could answer, Crosshair questioned his brother.

Hesitation parted Tech’s lips. “...Well, yes. But that will take me no more than an hour.”

“Tech.” This time Hunter spoke. “Last time you said that we were nearly three hours behind departure. Just enough time to finish before training.” Hunter’s soft expression clashed with his commanding tone.

“Leave the Commander to me, I’ll make sure she gets home in one piece.” Again, Crosshair met my gaze. Despite almost always wearing a glare, this piercing look dug deeper than usual. Movement beside me turned my head. Tech glanced between the toothpick wielding clone and myself. A look of uncertainty furrowed his brows together.

“That’s fine.” I answered in a tone that did nothing to help Tech understand my thoughts. All I could do was hope this was about something other than my identity. Even still, my stomach turned in fear.

With my acceptance, Crosshair stood, carrying his tray to the nearest bin. I followed, leaving Tech to watch us exit the mess. We matched stride in the halls, passing clones and a few droids, until we turned a corner into a less traveled corridor. Only our footsteps and the various sounds of the ship echoed down the long hall. Until, “My brother is off limits.” Crosshair spoke, but kept his head straight forward.

Relief escaped in a sigh. Then the confusion set in. “What?”

“You seem to have left an impression on Tech.” That earned a side glance. “He’s the one who orchestrated your new gear and has been pitching your involvement with our squad since you’ve been in the bacta tank. His attitude about you has significantly changed since your time in the escape pod with him.” There was a hint of accusation in that last sentence.

“Hold on,” I took an extra step forward and turned to face him. My movement forced him to halt, landing him a few centimeters from me. “You haven’t explained what ‘off limits’ is.”

A silver eyebrow shot up and the clone gave me the most confounded expression I had seen on anyone before. “Fucking, Annie. Don’t fuck my brothers, especially Tech.”

My helmet did not help me this time. “No! You think I want? From him?” That earned a frown from Crosshair and glare to match. “He’s not my type?” Unfortunately, my words weren’t muffled by the foot in my mouth.

Crosshair sighed and stepped around me, continuing our path to my quarters. His pace was faster than before. After a moment of internal screaming I chased after him.

“What I mean to say is, while Tech is handsome and most likely perfectly good in bed, I have not thought of him, or Hunter, or Wrecker, in that way.” Now I was the one forced to stop.

Crosshair turned suddenly, staring silently at me. His toothpick twirled slowly.

“What?” The scrutiny of his gaze was wearing through my patience.

“Tech, Hunter, or Wrecker.” Crosshair lifted the toothpick from his lips and pointed it at me. “But you didn’t say anything about me.”

“We weren’t talking about you.” I answered too quickly.

His smirk, that stupid pretty smirk I could get lost in, grew. “Uhu.” He returned the pick to his mouth. “Well, so long there’s no issue.” Crosshair turned on his heels, yet again leaving me behind to silently scream.

“There isn’t!” I called after him.

Luckily our journey was over.

Crosshair stood in the doorway while I entered the small room. It was stuffy, like a rarely used supply closet. My things laid on the bed, evidence that even Obi-Wan had a limit I pushed past. As I zipped open my bag, Crosshair followed me into the room. The slide of automatic doors pulled my head up.

“If you aren’t trying to get in my brother’s bunk,” The sniper cocked his head at me. “Then why’s he taken such an interest in you?”

My eyes returned to the contents of my duffel bag. “Me?” To my surprise my personal datapad had been returned to me. This had to be some kind of breach of security, right? I tucked it to the side. “You’d have to ask him about that.”

“I’m asking you.”

Footsteps neared the bed. My spine crawled. Before Crosshair could reach me, I turned on my heel. “Why? I told you nothing has happened or will happen between Tech and I. What more are you fishing for?” The words came out breathy.

Only a nose from me, Crosshair looked into my visor, seemingly trying to replicate the expression of an emotionless helmet. My question gave him pause. After what felt too long under his reticle, Crosshair spoke. “You’ve worn a bucket the entire mission. At first I thought you were smart; a Jedi wearing head armor for once. But then it didn’t come off in the ship. Or while we trained in the cargo bay. You never took it off.”

Anger and fear welled up in my chest and scratched at my throat. How could one bartender playing spy put me through hell? This wasn’t my life! I shouldn’t be here. I… I answered.

“Don’t ask me to. Not yet.”

Authors end chapter notes:

Is Crosshair being a presumptuous ass thinking Annie is into him? I mean, we know the answer but technically he doesn't. They weren't talking about him!.. right? 😏 Let me know your thoughts if you have any! Thanks for reading :D

Dividers by Djarrex

Tag list: @midnight-sun-01

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starcrime · 1 month

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hc that charlie is a nickname/petname maniac and loves making up and using anything but people's names to refer to them. and it's like 128479178 times worse when he's dating someone bc he makes sth new every hour and it's cute yes, but also incredibly annoying (to him that's all the more reason to continue)

some of charlie's favorite nicknames/petnames

neil - nelly, puck, periwinkle, peri-twinkle

todd - teddy, toddles, wallflower, blondie

knox - knoxious, knoximus, oxy, for-the-streets

steven meeks (boyfriend!) - stevie, steph, meeksy, space boy, freckles, dimples, dork, cherry bomb, lovey, pup, it

pitts - pittsie, gerry, george, peachy

cameron - cam, dicksie, carrot-top

chris - chrissy, cheery, smiles

ginny - ginia, geeky, virgie, vee

on a similiar note, charlie LOVES being given nicknames and or petnames, like he swoons everytime he hears someone make up something new for him

i take headcanon and one-shot requests btw

#dead poets society #dead poets fandom #dead poets headcanons #hellton boys #charlie dalton #ch: for years i've been risking nothing #steven meeks #meeks x charlie #dalmeeks #starlie #neil perry #todd anderson #knox overstreet #richard cameron #john keating #mr keating #chris noel #ginny danburry #i2maz

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yeahwhatdidisay · 2 years

Text

The Body Series Book 1: Ch 9 'Whispers'

18+ please!! minors DNI (For other chapters) [Prev. Chapter] [Next Chapter] [First Chapter] [Ao3 link]

Summary: The day started out rough but slowly turned began to get better. Thanks mainly to your best friend, Layla. Unfortunately, like they had been lately, your day caught up with you. You only have yourself to blame.

Pairing: Steven Grant x F Reader, Marc Spector x F Reader, Jake Lockely

Warnings: Angst, mentions of alchohol and hangovers A/N: I think I have some explaining to do. Many apologies for taking so long to post the next chapter. I've been struggling with the work load I've had to endure this year and to top it all off, I lost someone close to me at the beginning of September and it really hit me hard. It's taken me a while to come out of my haze and I feel like the chapters I'd written before have gotten so much better after going over them this past week.

So with that said I'm hoping to get back onto my regular schedule of a chapter every one to two weeks.

Thank you to all the readers who stop by and especially those who leave such kind and lovely comments. You are all greatly appreciated and I am humbled by your kindness.

You slowly opened your eyes the next morning to soft glints of the early morning light seeping into the room. The dim light that comes just before the sun actually rises, basking the room in its soft glow.

Normally this would have been something you would have enjoyed but the pounding headache currently keeping beat in your head made this a less than ideal experience.

You closed your eyes and rolled over, placing your hand over them to deepen the dark you needed to help them from straining.

However, even with the piercing headache you were thankful.

You imagined how much worse it would have been if it wasn’t for your healing ability. Although, you still wished it was completely healed like a wound or a broken limb would have been.

The one thing your healing ability could never fully heal by the time you woke.

A hangover.

Slowly you moved your hand and opened your eyes again, your back now facing the window. With your eyes adjusting to the dim light you began to feel another ache begin to grow within you.

The ache of realizing what you had tried to initiate the night before…with Jake.

Technically nothing had actually happened but you knew you couldn’t ease your guilt with a technicality.

You had been willing to put everything on the line.

You couldn’t explain away how you had acted and you couldn’t deny you would have taken it further if Jake hadn’t stopped you.

What made the whole situation worse was you never once thought of Marc or Steven during it.

You hugged the pillow beside you and tried your best to rationalize.

‘I hadn’t seen Jake in such a long time, of course I couldn’t help but focus on him!’

‘He was ignoring me so I put all my attention on trying to keep his?’

‘It was all the alcohol’s fault!’

You buried your face into the pillow and let out a deep groan before pushing yourself up.

Nothing made what had happened okay. It couldn’t be explained away and your guilt in the whole matter couldn’t be taken from you. You were at fault! This may not have fully been your own doing but you hadn’t tried to fight it in a long time.

What made the whole thing worse and ate away at your chest was if given the same chance, minus the alcohol, you still would have pushed and you wouldn’t have contested it going further. On top of that, Jake wouldn’t have had a reason to push you away.

You raised your eyes away from the pillow and stared at the glints of light that shined on the ceiling and the wall beside you.

What were you doing?! This wasn’t you! Risking everything you had, everything you loved… but that was it, wasn’t it?

You thought about what Jake had said. Were these feelings only because they shared the body? Was that how it happened with Steven and Marc?

You’d loved Steven and cared for Marc before it grew into love. Even before you realized how deep it was… right?

You thought back to the time before you and Marc had decided to start dating officially. How you were both just friendly after finally meeting. How you had enjoyed being around him to the point it grew into a little crush before it ballooned into deeper feelings.

You felt that even if ‘that night’ had never happened you would have ended up together in the end anyway. ‘That night’ just put that outcome on the fast track.

Is the same true for Jake?

Or was all of this based on lust? Did you actually care for Jake or did you just yearn for him on a strictly physical level?

Did he actually have deeper feelings for you or was he right? Was all of his feelings just because he shared the body? Were your feelings only because of the same reason?

And why was it so important that he remained hidden from everyone?

This whole situation was beginning to become too much for you to handle and the only person you could really talk with about it was the other half involved in it. The person you weren’t sure wanted to have anything to do with you.

‘What am I doing?’ you repeated in your mind as you pushed yourself up out of bed and stopped in the kitchen for some water on your way out to the balcony.

The sound of people below starting their day echoed through the streets and up into the sky. You leaned over the edge and watched as some of them made their way to the market down the street to open their stands and shops.

The early morning air, still cool from the night, began to push and sting at your cheeks.

‘What am I going to do?’ you thought again, walking over to one of the chairs she had on the balcony.

How could you fix this? How could you look Steven and Marc in the eyes knowing you had these feelings for their third identity? An identity they knew nothing about. You might as well have been cheating. This was cheating.

“I need to talk to him…” you whispered just as you heard the sliding door open.

“Good morning…” Layla groaned, her voice hoarse from lack of use. “What’s with the sour expression?”

You shrugged.

“Just…looking how I feel I guess.”

“Well that makes two of us.”

She reached out and handed you a cup with what looked like an egg yolk and some spices in it.

“What’s this?” you asked, your voice sounding just as hoarse as hers was.

“It should help with our hangovers.”

You took the cup as she filled it with a clear liquid.“Go ahead and down it but whatever you do, don’t smell it before.”

You looked over at her and plugged your nose before downing the cup's contents in one go.

This was followed by the most god awful guttural sound to match how you felt in that moment. A shiver pushing up through your spine then out to the rest of your body.

“What the heck did you just give me?! Are you trying to poison me?!”

She smiled and downed her own cup, making pretty much the same sound.

“No…not poison…” she said with a scratchy tone, “just using the hangover cure Marc taught me. I think he called it a ‘prairie oyster’.”

“Of course Marc would be behind that!” you complained, shivering one last time before downing as much water as you could.

Layla laughed as she did the same.

“So…what’s on the agenda for today?” you asked, trying to not dwell on the taste that lingered in your mouth.

“Up for more partying?” Layla laughed.

“I’m never drinking again!” you exclaimed.

“Thank the gods! I don’t think I’ve ever let loose like that before! You’re a bad influence on me!”

“Oh please! I’m the guest! You were the mastermind of last night!”

Layla shook her head in denial then started laughing, taking the seat beside you.

“Okay, I secede. What do you say we take it slow? Then, maybe, go to the market down the road later?”

“I think that’s the perfect plan.” you said, leaning deeper into the chair.

At least you won’t be alone with your thoughts for a little while longer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The two of you did literally nothing for the rest of the morning.

You spent the majority of it sitting on the balcony. Talking, sharing, and laughing the way you had the night before, drinking some coffee you both had made and trying to eat the toast that accompanied it.

Unfortunately your stomach’s still weren’t ready for real food yet.

The only other time you both took a break from your morning conversations was when you got up to get your phone from the guest room. You returned a few minutes later, looking down at the messages you’d received with a soft smile on your face.

“The guys?” Layla asked, already knowing the answer.

You nodded.

“We got a few scolding texts from Marc and a couple worried voicemails from Steven.”

“Did you respond last night?”

“I texted Steven letting him know we were okay and sent the middle finger emoji to Marc. He just responded with the angry face emoji then texted ‘be careful’ and a heart.”

You showed Layla the messages and she couldn’t help but laugh.

She missed this light conversation between the two of you and couldn’t help but thank all the gods that you had returned to being yourself.

As the day went on you both regained a little more of your strength and finally decided now was as good a time as any to venture into the market.

Something Layla quickly regretted considering the market seemed extra congested that day.

The two of you ventured into the crowd of people, being pushed this way and that. Trying your best to casually enjoy the small shops and stands when you came across a vender selling small statues of various gods, prints of famous works of art, and animals.

As you scanned over everything you zoned in on a small statue of a cat that seemed to be by itself in the far corner of the table it rested on. Where most of the statues had multiple copies layed out this was the only cat statue of its kind.

This detail wasn’t the main reason the statue had grabbed your focus. No, the main reason you were so interested in this cat was because of the slightly hunched pose it sat in and the sour expression that rested across its face.

You picked it up and held it in your hands, smiling down at its bothered face.

‘It looks just like him…’ you thought.

“Araa’ ‘anak muhtamun bitimhal quatatay alsaghirat alghadibati.”

You looked up to see a kind older man staring back at you from behind the table.

“I’m sorry…I don’t speak Arabic…” you replied, even though you were fully able to understand him.

You’d grown used to pretending that you couldn’t understand most languages. Another perk from your avatar abilities.

“Ah… I see you find interest in my little angry cat.”

“Oh! You speak English…yes. I think his sour face is kind of cute.” You laughed.

“Yes, you would be the first to think this.” The man chuckled. “I have had that statue for a long time. I believe my youngest ordered just the one, but he has remained on my table for what seems like an eternity.”

You smiled at the man and looked back down at the cat.

“Well today is the day that comes to an end. How much would you like for him?”

The man thought for a moment then reached out and closed your fingers around the small statue.

“I believe I was only holding the statue for when you came to claim him. He has always been yours. Perhaps, if you were to show him some kindness his expression will change.”

“But that’s my favorite part about him.” you replied.

The man let out a deep laugh and nodded.

“Then he truly is going to the one who deserves him. May you be forever blessed in your choices.”

You nodded and thanked the man over and over as you walked over to Layla who was looking at some dresses and purses in a nearby stand.

She looked over and saw the little sour cat in your hands.

“He looks angry…where’d you get him from? Are you sure you didn’t pay too much?”

“Not unless you consider free too much. I like his angry face…he reminds me of someone.”

Your voice became hushed until it was barely audible at the end of your sentence.

Layla watched as you looked lovingly down at the little figurine. Then a sudden and familiar pit began to form in her chest.

She’d felt this pit before, back when you had pulled away from everyone but had managed to explain it away to herself. Taking it as an assumption with no ground to stand on, but now that it had returned she began to question her notions again.

Your smile slowly faded as you lightly touched the cat in your hand.

The pit in Layla growing bigger and pushing her nerves to fire the longer she stared at your expression toward the little figure.

You put the small cat in your bag and wiped away at your cheek for a moment before smiling over at your friend.

“Find anything you like?” you said, not noticing how intently Layla watched you.

“Yeah…yeah. What do you think?”

Layla held up a scarf, opting to keep her questions to herself for the time being.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The walk back to Layla’s apartment was a quiet one.

The sun was now setting after a nice dinner at a local restaurant. Or at least as much of the dinner the two of you trusted to stay down.

Which still wasn’t much.

The mood throughout the late afternoon had noticeably shifted as well.

Layla went from being her usual light self to coming off a little more guarded. The two of you still laughed and enjoyed the conversation, but it was far from as easy going as it had been.

Now, though, it was obvious something was wrong.

“So…are we going to call this a night in?”

You lightheartedly tried to start up another conversation once you both made it back to the apartment. After the long awkward walk home you hoped you could regain the mood of earlier.

“We can watch a movie, any movie! Even one that isn’t in English. I don’t mind reading subtitles…your choice! Ooo, maybe that one you were telling me about earlier today! You know the one with the little boy and his father going off to….”

“Is there someone else?”

Layla’s voice was soft and quiet. Almost as if she didn’t fully mean to say the question out loud.

Your heart sank instantly.

“What? What are you talking about?”

Layla began to shake her head and looked down to your feet. She was hoping if she brought this up she would be able to keep her emotions in check, but feeling them bubbling within her she knew that wasn’t going to happen.

“Is there someone else?” She repeated, “Is that why you pulled away from all of us? Were you cheating on the guys? Are you still cheating?!”

Her voice began to raise and become more stern. She looked deep in your eyes as she asked the last two questions. You were sure you looked like a deer in the headlights but quickly regained yourself.

“Where did this come from? If this is some joke I’m telling you right now, it isn’t funny!”

“Yes or no, Y/N. Is there someone else?”

Layla was no longer being kind. She had reached her conclusion. A long and well thought out one and although she hoped you would put her assumptions to rest she was ready to stand up for her friends…against another.

You took a breath, ready to deny it all. Ready to keep your secrets like you always had but the look on her face broke your heart more than you anticipated.

She looked at you with anger, yes, but also despair. Her eyebrows were turned up and her face was stretched in a way as if she was pleading for you to put her worries to rest. To assure her these worries were just a big mistake and nothing more.

You turned and looked down at your hands which were now grasping tightly onto your bag straps. You could feel your body begin to tense and slightly shake and a lump began to form in the back of your throat.

You could keep secrets, but you didn’t want to lie. Especially not to Layla.

“N-no…yes…no…” you began to stammer.

“Which is it, Y/N? You either are or you aren’t, it’s not that hard of a question to answer!”

You turned to Layla, whose face was now completely filled with anger.

“I…I’m not…no I’m not but…”

“No! The answer should be no! Just no! There shouldn’t be any sort of continuation to the answer! You should be able to say ‘No, I am not cheating on the two people who I’m supposed to care about the most!’” she yelled.

“Layla…I, I can’t…it’s complicated and I…” you whispered.

“No! You don’t get to explain this away! All I want is the truth! Tell me the truth, Y/N.”

“I … I want…you don’t understand. You haven't been around and I…”

“No, you don’t understand!” Layla’s voice broke and her anger gave way to frustration. “You didn’t see how your actions affected the guys! They were sure you were going to leave! They were so sure they had done something to make you want to leave. So much so they fell back into that dark place they were when I found them! Losing themselves more and more often but it was you! This whole time it was you going off with someone else! How could you do that to them!?”

“I didn’t! I wasn’t…I would never…I…”

“Then why can’t you say there isn’t anyone else?” she interrupted.

She was right. The memories of how worried the guys were and realizing that they were putting themselves through hell just as much as you were. You knew all the details and they were left not knowing. Thinking they were the ones to blame!

Your whole body began to shake and you began to tear up. You brought your hands up to your mouth and you could feel your breath break into a soft sob.

You wanted to tell her. You knew you couldn’t tell her everything but you wanted to tell her what you could.

Layla’s breath broke too. She let out a deep sigh and placed her palm on her forehead.

“Listen…I’m sorry. I know I, I just didn’t want to believe that you could do something like this…but I get it. Marc and Steven come with…baggage. I can see the want to gravitate toward something ‘normal’.”

You shook your head.

“It-it’s not that…I want to explain everything but I…”

You lifted your head, ready to admit that you were an Avatar. Ready to just let her know that the someone else was another part of Marc and Steven but you lost your nerve when you saw Khonshu standing in the corner of the room behind Layla.

He shook his head and raised his finger up toward his beak, signaling for you to remain quiet.

You could feel the hurt and shame give way to an anger that rose within you. You returned your focus to Layla and could only stare apologetically.

“I’m sorry, Layla…I can’t. I just…I can’t…”

You turned and quickly rushed out of the room and toward the guest room.

‘Damnit!’ Layla thought, following you through her apartment just far enough to have the door slammed in front of her.

She raised her hand to knock on it but stopped herself, instead lightly placing her open palm on the cold wood.

‘You messed up, Layla, you messed up big time.’ She thought.

“Y/N…I’m sorry, just…I think it’s better if we don’t…let’s just get some rest. We can talk in the morning. I’m sorry.”

You stood on the other side of the door, wiping away the tears you allowed to flow out of your eyes.

You wanted so badly to explain. Let Layla know what was happening but the ever looming presence of the moon god made it clear you weren’t free to do so.

Layla’s footsteps began to echo from the other side of the door, becoming fainter until you finally heard the door to her room close and shut.

You slid down the wall and buried your face in your hands again.

It was then that you let yourself go and began to sob into your hands. This situation had gotten so much worse and out of hand.

Layla knew…something, and the fact that you had been unable to confirm or deny anything made it almost unbearable.

She must think that you’ve been cheating on Marc and Steven the whole time! Going out behind their backs with some random man! From work? From the university? Someone you met on your walks home? Her mind must be racing!

But she wasn’t exactly wrong.

How were you going to explain this away?

You lowered your hand and saw Khonshu, staring down at you from where he had materialized on the other side of the bed like he had the night before.

“I see I’ve come at a bad time…” Khonshu said, standing on the opposite side of the bed.

You sat silent, the anger on your face being something that he had seen often from you but hadn’t seen in a long time.

It had been so long, in fact, that its appearance caught him by surprise.

Khonshu stood and said nothing. He moved his head from side to side, looking the most bird-like you’d ever seen him.

“I’m sorry, Little Bug…we’ve been summoned.”

You stood up and tried to dry your eyes and cheeks as best you could. You took Khonshu’s extended hand, instantly materializing in your own flat back home.

You hung your head and hugged yourself as you scanned the flat around you. The room smelled like Marc and Steven which made the ache in your chest hurt that much more. All you wanted to do was hug them and apologize for being such an awful person.

“Don’t worry, Little Bug. Marc and your idio…Steven have gone to work.”

You sighed at Khonshu’s usual inability to remember not to call Steven an idiot in front of you but you didn’t contest like usual. This made Khonshu worry.

“I figured that’s where they’d be…” you whispered instead. Taking a moment to wipe away at your eyes again.

“What happened?” Khonshu asked.

“Human stuff…” you answered, “Nothing you could fix, or even be interested in.”

“I could try…” he said.

You looked up at him and let a faint smile grow across your face. Khonshu’s answer warmed you. Masking over the anger you felt toward him.

In all the years you’d known him he had never even tried to pretend to be interested in anything having to do with your ‘human troubles and worries’. He was a proud, immortal god who didn’t have time to worry about such trivial things, but he was willing to try at this moment.

You also knew none of this was his fault. You needed somewhere to direct your emotions and the god became the focus of what had turned to anger.

“Thank you…” you replied just as Thoth appeared before the two of you. Materializing between blinks.

“I asked for one thing! One thing and the two of you decide to disobey me!”

His voice boomed through the room as if it were a cavernous space. Echoing around you and feeling as if it could pull you apart at any moment. “I asked you to do nothing and yet you defy me and do as you wish!”

You straightened up but hung your head, averting your eyes. Partly because of the shame that overtook you and partly to keep him from seeing that something else may be wrong.

“Don’t blame the girl. She did what I asked to keep the body safe.”

“She still chose to defy me! Regardless of the reason, there must be a consequence for disobeying my orders!”

“Wait, Khonshu only sent me to find an artifact like he’s always done.” You said, instantly regretting doing so and returning to hanging your head and averting your gaze.

“You used your higher abilities for a task that wasn’t of my own decree. You of all people should know your higher abilities are not to be used whenever you please! Add to this offense the fact that you were working for another god while using those abilities! Would you like me to continue?”

You shook your head as a reply.

“She didn’t know I was sending her to retrieve that particular artifact, Thoth. I was also the one who coaxed her into using her higher abilities. If anyone is to be punished it should be me and me alone.”

You looked up at Khonshu then over to Thoth, who looked as if he was thinking over what Khonshu had said.

His gaze was to the floor. His hand rested under his beak and his eyes began to take on an angrier stare. It was slight and subtle but in that moment you felt the fear begin to creep in.

You never feared Thoth.

He was not one of the gods that could be described as ‘vengeful’, but you had also never seen him angry. You wondered what a punishment from him could entail. Would you lose something precious to you? Would you need to atone for your actions on a different plain? Would you be able to see the people you cared about?

“I can’t be lenient and ignore the punishment for defying my word lest you both choose to defy me again.”

The panic inside of you began to bubble up to the surface as you instinctively took a step back from the two gods. You needed to think quickly before it was too late.

“Wait,” you interrupted, hoping to stop Thoth from making a decree that couldn’t be undone, “I know where the whispers are coming from!”

“What?” Thoth replied.

Khonshu looked over at you, surprised. He wasn’t expecting that type of information to come, especially at a time like this.

“Have you been further disobeying me, Scribe?”

“No, no…I was helping out at an excavation site. They’ve unearthed what they think is a tomb or a shrine of some sort and I heard the whispers coming from within it.”

“Was there any writing?” Thoth asked.

“Yes, but most of the tomb is buried deep within the side of the mountain and the part that was unearthed was too damaged to read. I was able to make out ‘APO’ though.”

“Hmm…” the Ibis god hummed.

“Take us there.”

“What? How, I…”

“Imagine the location and take my hand again.” Khonshu instructed, reaching out his hand to you.

The instant you took his hand you found yourself high up on the ridge overlooking the site. You could see the last of the archeologists cleaning up their tools and areas as they began to light the lanterns around them.

“It seems we have come at an inopportune time.” Thoth stated. “You two will wait here for the humans to clear.”

“Yes, Thoth.” The two of you replied in unison.

“And as for your punishments…”

He took another moment to continue thinking before announcing his decision.

“My Scribe, you will no longer be able to tap into your higher abilities without my explicit permission. Aside from your added strength and your suit, your healing abilities and the summoning of your fog form will be the only added abilities you may use. All else must have my permission.”

“I understand…”

“And you, Khonshu. I will add only 300 years to your punishment, rather than the 1,000 you deserve. I would thank my Scribe for sharing the added information she found. It’s what saved you both from a harsher punishment.”

“Understood.”

“I do not wish to have this discussion again.”

With that Thoth disappeared leaving the two of you alone to wait for the people below to clear out of the excavation site.

You took a seat at the edge of the peak, bringing your knees up and resting your crossed arms on them along with your chin.

Khonshu continued to watch you beside him, neither of you speaking while you continued to wipe the tears away from your face.

“Little Bug?”

“Yes?”

“Did I do something to make you cross? I hadn’t seen that angered expression of yours for a long time.”

You let out a breathy laugh and shook your head.

“No…you didn’t do anything. I just needed someone to be angry at and you were the only other person in the room other than Layla.”

“I see…”

He looked off into the distance of the darkened desert. He felt he was starting to understand your ‘human emotions’ a little more.

“Is this about Jake?”

“Kind of…yes.”

Khonshu again returned to staring down at you when he thought of something that could possibly make you feel better.

“Will it help to know why you shouldn’t reveal him to the others?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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