#I carve my heart out and I hope someone else might look back and see something familiar in the bloodstains. IS SUCH A LINE!!!!
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To be anything was enough. To be anyone was enough.
the growing-up itch by k.c cramm + evan “buck” buckley (9-1-1)
#i know only like 2 mutuals will care abt this post but#ive been working on this for like 3 days sob#anyways its abt the desperation for any type of love and attention buck could get#i originally wanted to webweave the part that was like#[See me know me want me hold me.#Feeling known even if known in pieces — known broken known bruised — felt as good as the hands of the divine.#I craved adoration and if I couldn’t have it then I would leave claw marks on the walls as proof that I was there at all.]#but alas#but the growing up itch is soooo good pls read if u get a chance bc#I carve my heart out and I hope someone else might look back and see something familiar in the bloodstains. IS SUCH A LINE!!!!#god but buck hes soooo#he can fit so many issues in those long legs#he literally just wants someone to look back and see something familiar in the bloodstains of his carved heart#okay tag time#evan buckley#evan buck buckely#9-1-1#evan buckley webweave#9-1-1 edit#buddie#<- ish
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after that episode i need all the joel fluff i can find, like i need an overdose to make up for the heart wrenching pain i am in at the moment
i'm right there with you, babe :( one order of pure fluff coming right up. i did set this in my Unexpected Expectings universe, but it's still lovely on its own I think
gif by @a7estrellas
Talking Shop
Joel Miller x pregnant!reader
Joel Miller masterlist
She keeps Joel company while he works on a crib for their baby, but she's not really interested in the woodworking.
warnings | 18+ pregnancy, that's it, this is just sweet and simple
...............................
“Are you even listening to me?”
“Mmhmm.” Joel cocks an eyebrow, hands on his hips as he shoots her a questioning look.
“What’d I just say then?” She huffs, slumping back onto her palms where she’s sitting on his workbench. So maybe she hadn’t been listening to him waxing poetic about woodworking, she was a little distracted by the push and pull of his muscles under his sun-drenched t-shirt as he worked away at sanding more wood for the crib. For their crib.
“Um, something about towels?” He smirks at her, shaking his head as he shuffles over to stand between her legs. It’s a warm day in Jackson, summer wrapping up the town in bright rays and heat, and she feels a little dizzy looking at the sweat-darkened neck of his t-shirt, taking in the scent of cedar sawdust and musk that could only be her man. He rests his palms on her thighs, squeezing lightly.
“Not quite, mama. I was saying that I’m gonna use dowels to put the crib together. It’s safer, and sturdier. Gonna last a lifetime that way.” She hums, bringing her hand up to scratch lightly at the scruff along his jaw, basking in the way he leans into her touch.
“I was pretty close. Cut me some slack, huh? You’re a little distracting, Miller.” He chuckles at that, dipping down to steal a kiss that she chases after, deepening it in a way that has him groaning low from his chest. He pulls away with a smack, a dopey grin settling on his face.
“Oh yeah, I’m the distracting one.” She goes to reply, but is cut off by the feeling of a quick flip in her belly. She gasps, and Joel’s face crumples in concern, but she just takes his hands, guiding his palms to rest over the swell of her stomach. The flip comes again, but this time, Joel’s eyes widen, a breathy laugh leaving his lips as his eyes dart between her equally amazed expression and where his hands are resting on her belly. Another flip comes and he lets out a deep, rumbling laugh, his eyes crinkling up and a broad smile stretching across his face.
“Is that– is that what I think it is?” She giggles, nodding lightly.
“At least someone’s excited about all your woodworking talk.” As if on cue, another kick comes and they both laugh. Before she can figure out what he’s doing, Joel is already sinking down onto the floor with a groan.
“Joel, your knees–” He shushes her, his face now level with her belly.
“Listen, kid, your mama might not think it’s very interesting, but when you get here I’ll tell you all about dowels and bevels and fretwork. Gonna have you carving before you can walk.” She can’t help but laugh, running her fingers through his hair as he grins up at her.
“Lemme tell you something else while I’m down here. Your mama is an absolute menace–” She scoffs, tugging just a tad unkindly at his curls to get him to stand back up.
“Alright, I think that’s enough talk for one day.” He chuckles, stealing another chaste peck from her as his palms come back to squeeze at the plush of her thighs.
“Just telling him the facts, darlin.” She huffs at that, bringing her palms to rub over his chest.
“Still hoping it’s a boy, I see.” His grin is back as he shrugs.
“Just got a feeling, I guess.” All she can do is shake her head, pulling him in by his thin t-shirt for another kiss.
It is so definitely not a boy.
#joel miller#joel miller fluff#joel miller blurb#joel miller x you#joel miller x reader#the last of us#tlou#tlou fanfiction#unexpected expectings
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be still, my foolish heart
authors note: this is probably a little silly but. us too much girlies (gn) have to stick together <3
summary: all your life you've felt like too much. joel never seems to notice.
warnings: reader's love language is physical touch and they like to talk and they prefer fuzzy blankets but nothing else specific is mentioned
You’ve been told you’re too much.
It’s a particular feeling, when those words land–especially from someone you love.
Your head gets a little foggy, mind spins a bit. The wheels begin to turn in your brain, modify your behavior. A wall comes down, cuts you off just a little more from whoever stands in front of you. Lists of things you can no longer do–lest you push this person further away–form.
Rejection. Rejection of some fundamental piece of you.
But, now, you’ve carved out a spot for yourself in Jackson all on your own. And, you’ve kept it that way. No friends, no family, barely an acquaintance–well and truly alone.
By yourself, no one can tell you you’re too touchy, they can’t say you’re dumb, can’t begin to speak the words too much.
It’s better that way. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.
If, sometimes, late at night when you’re alone in bed, loneliness curls around your spine like a second skin, that’s nobody’s business but your own.
It's all fine, your life, until the day you meet Joel Miller.
He steps into your store on a particularly good day–which is the first problem.
Watching what you do, what you say, is always harder when you’re excited.
You know of him which is to say you know his name. He walks around Jackson like a ghost too afraid to step fully on the Earth.
You can’t say you blame him.
You also can’t blame yourself for the crush you’d harbored for him.
“Welcome in.” You smile. “Can I help you with anything?”
Joel shakes his head, tight smile on his face.
You nod. “If you change your mind–”
“Actually–” He interrupts you and you can see the moment he kicks himself for it.
Your smile doesn’t fade, all too aware of how it feels to intrude on someone else’s words.
“You were saying?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know what I’m looking for here.”
“Maybe I can help you figure it out.”
“Ellie–my daughter–she…she wants a blanket–for her birthday, but…” He trails off.
“But?” You prod, trying not to be pushy.
“I’m not exactly Martha Stewart.”
You quirk a brow. “Did she sow?”
Joel tilts his head. “You know, I can’t remember.”
The both of you laugh, and a little thrill runs through you that you had made the stoic Joel Miller laugh.
“I can show you what I have right now. Something might catch your eye.”
He perks up. “You actually have some?”
“Oh, yeah.” You nod. “Got some new ones in the other day.”
You step out from behind the counter, just stopping yourself from running your fingers down his arm as you watch around him.
You hope he didn’t catch the movement.
Your fingers want to thread through his, pull him along behind you, but they don’t.
“These are the quilts,” you gesture to one stack, “and these are the fuzzy ones.” You add, almost under your breath, “My personal favorite.”
“Yeah?”
You nod. “The quilts have always felt a little scratchy. The seams…” You shake your head. “Oh! They’re also harder to tuck yourself into–with how stiff they are.”
“That makes sense.”
You turn towards him, eyes alight. “You might like a fuzzy one, too!” You reach out, hand landing on his belly and fingers lightly scratching–an absent-minded expression of affection. “The winter and everything, if it hurts your joints or your aches, having something extra could be nice, you know. Oh! We also have heated throws.”
Joel’s eyes flick downward, glance at your fingers. You pull them away like you’ve been burned.
“Sorry,” you murmur. “I’m sorry.”
“S’okay.” He nods, and you almost believe him. “You were sayin’ about heated throws?”
You shake your head. “I should really let you decide for yourself.” You start to step away, go back to the counter and your quiet little life, when Joel’s fingers curl around your wrist.
You feel like a fool–at the first sign of friendship, you'd burst, a jack in the box barely closed.
“Darlin’,” Joel shakes his head, chuckles lightly. “I like listening to you talk. I like your touch.”
“You did?”
“I’ve seen you around, you know.”
Dumbstruck–for once in your life–all you can say is, “You have?”
He nods. “Always seemed like talking to you, being close to you, would be like being near the sun. You seemed warm,” he murmurs. “I could use some of that.”
Because you have to hear it–you’ve always had to have it spelled out–you ask, “Are you saying…what it sounds like you’re saying?”
Joel grins. “I’m saying I like you.” His tongue peeks out, licks his lips, and he looks you in the eye. “I want to spend more time with you. That somethin’ you’d be interested in?”
You want to bite him, suddenly, and the thought makes you smile. “I’d be very interested in that,” you hum.
“Yeah?” Joel smiles, something like shock on his features.
You cross the room, throw your arms around his neck and squeeze. “Yeah.”
Joel Miller had seen what most would call too much, and he had simply wanted more.
That feeling–and the feeling of his arms wrapping around your waist–heals something in you that was broken long ago.
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Madly in love
(Amber Freeman x fem! Carpenter! reader)
Summary: After being attacked two times by Ghostface, you find out your girlfriend is one of them. The moment you think everything is over, she talks to you, and the story take a whole new turn...
a/n: In this it's not Amber who attacks in the opening scene, it's Richie (I know according to the timeline and all it's impossible but I didn't how to do otherwise TT)
Request is here :)) hope that's what you wanted
Warnings: blood, injuries, death
(English isn't my first language, I'm sorry if there are mistakes or if something doesn't make sense TvT)
“Y/n can you try and convince your girlfriend to come over? I don’t like to be alone a night..”
“Well you’re not..? I’m here too”
“You know what I mean”
“No I don’t”
You took two plates out of the drawer and set them on the kitchen’s counter.
“Come on you don’t like it either. We get bored way too easily, Amber would find something fun to do” Tara said, filling two glasses of water
“You’re not wrong… I’m gonna try something”
You took your phone out of your pocket, turned around, took a picture of your upper torso, and sent it to your girlfriend.
Her answer was quick, as you expected.
“She's getting ready” you informed the brunette
“How did you- I’ve been trying for twenty minutes!”
“Let’s say I gave her two good reasons to come”
You winked at your sister as she opened her mouth wide, understanding what you did.
“Y/n!”
“What? You told me to convince her!”
“Not like that! Really you-”
You both jumped when the phone rang. Unknown number.
Tara answered.
“Hello?”
Everything seemed alright, so you went into the living room to grab some chips, texting Amber about the situation.
When you came back, Tara looked panicked.
“What’s wrong?”
She put the phone on speaker and showed you a video of Amber brushing her hair in her room.
“Oh hello there. You didn’t tell me your sister was with you Tara.”
“How do you know I’m-”
“I know many things about you, Y/n. To answer your question, I suggested we played a little game. Stab movies trivia. You wouldn’t want your girlfriend to die, would you?”
“Wait no! I’ve never seen these movies and neither does Tara! Choose something else, It Follows, The Witch-”
“Warm up question, who is the protagonist of the Stab movies?” interrupted the person on the phone
“U-uh…”
“Sidney Prescott! It’s Sidney Prescott!”
“Good, you see you know the movies. First question-”
“Wait we got it right! It should count!”
Once again, he didn’t listen to you.
“Who wrote the original book that the Stab movies are based on?
“It’s um the chick from tv!” Tara said
“‘The chick from tv’ is not gonna cut it, Tara”
“I-it’s Gale Weathers! It’s Gale Weathers you motherfucker!” you said, trying to call 911 at the same time, hands shaking in fear
“Correct. Amber might live to see the sunrise. Unless you finish typing 911, then she has no chance of survival.”
You froze, finger hovering over the last 1.
“Question two: Who played the dumb bitch at the beginning of Stab 1, who answers the phone and gets carved up by the killer?”
“Fuck you.” you spat
“Is that the answer you’re going with?”
Tara opened a new tab and Google the cast of Stab.
“A non-answer counts as a wrong answer. Time’s running out. Tick-tock tick-tock tick-tock..”
“Heather Graham!” Tara suddenly said
“Correct. You pulled that one out. Now for the final question: who was the killer in Stab 1?”
Your sister answered quickly.
“I know this one, you fuck. It’s Billy Loomis! I got you asshole!”
“Oh, I’m sorry Tara, but that’s just not correct.”
“What…?”
“The correct answer is Billy Loomis and Stu Macher. There are two killers in the original Stab.”
“No no we got it right! You said killer not killers!” you said
“Don’t play on words Y/n. I’m afraid someone’s got to die now.”
You felt your heart drop as a knife showed in the video. You didn’t think twice and grabbed a knife before running to the door.
“Y/n!”
Tara followed you, and just as you opened the door, let out a scream. A Ghostface was standing right in front of you. He tried to stab you, but Tara pushed the door on him, resulting in him just cutting your abdomen.
You help her close the door, punching him in the face so he backed up a little.
“Lock the door!”
“I’m trying!”
The blood on your hands made it difficult to press the buttons on your phone so you handed it to Tara.
Systems armed.
“The police are on their way asshole!” she yelled
All systems disarmed.
You looked at each other in fear. Tara pressed the button again.
Systems armed.
You backed up in the kitchen.
All systems disarmed.
Systems armed.
Then the landline rung again. You were the one who answered this time.
“Hello..?”
“Bonus question Y/n.”
“Please stop…”
You put him on speaker again.
“Do you think I could make it inside your house before you could rearm?”
That’s when you saw a dark silhouette behind your sister.
“Tara behind you!”
She didn’t have the time to move before the Ghostface grabbed her and sunk his blade into her stomach.
He threw her on the counter. You punched him as strongly as you could, but he was quick to grab your hair and slammed your head on the said counter. You felt your nose break on the spot.
You hissed in pain as he pushed Tara to the ground. She kicked him, only for him to break her leg right after. You took the nearest object, a coffee pot, and threw it on his head.
He grabbed your arm and twisted it harshly in the wrong direction, breaking it at the elbow, before sinking his knife in your stomach and pushing you on Tara.
You both screamed in pain and tried to reach the door. Ghostface stabbed you both at least 3 times, and when Tara turned on her back and held a hand in front of her, the blade passed through her hand.
You kicked him in his private parts, hoping it would hurt enough so you could escape before getting killed, but it only took him a second to stand up again.
You were less than thirty centimeters away from the door when he grabbed your feet and pulled back. You could see the police’s lights reflecting on his mask as he raised his knife, ready to kill you both.
<><><><> ♡ <><><><>
When you woke up, in a hospital room, you were surprised to be alive. You turned around a little to quickly, searching for your sister. She was in another bed beside you, already awake, in the phone with someone.
“Yeah okay of course…”
She turned to look at you and smiled a little when she saw you were awake. She took the phone away from her mouth.
“It’s mom. Do you to talk to her..?”
You shook your head. Tara pulled the phone closer to her.
“No Y/n’s not awake yet. …. Yeah I’ll tell her. …. Bye”
She hung up before turning back to you.
“How are we still alive..?” you asked in a weak voice
“I don’t know…” then, after a little pause “I texted Wes and the others, they should arrive soon”
Indeed, they arrived ten minutes later, all worried.
Amber rushed to you, concern written on her face, while the rest of them sat hesitantly around your beds, not wanting to hurt you by hugging you.
Your girlfriend wanted to take your hand, but noticed your broken arm and froze.
Before she could sit beside you, you asked her to help you move your bed next to Tara’s.
“It would be easier for you all to sit around us, and I’d like to be close to my beloved twin”
They helped moving the beds quickly, understanding your need to be close to Tara. Even though you were twins, you didn’t look much alike physically.
Amber sat on your bed next to you, her left hand making its way to your hair. You tilted your head slightly up so she could kiss you, which she did softly, before resting your head against her.
You talked a little, before your older sister came in, to your surprise, followed by a guy. Almost immediately, she knelt next to Tara and you.
"How are you feeling?" she asked
"You came.."
"Of course I came" then, turning to the guy "This is my boyfriend Richie”
You greeted him with a little smile, and so did Tara.
Sam introduced everyone to her boyfriend, before Amber spoke.
“Look guys, they are really tired. Maybe we should give them some space”
They all agreed and started to leave. Tara looked at you, seeking your approval to her silent question. You nodded slightly, understanding what she wanted.
“Not you Sam” she said
“We want you to stay” you continued
“Okay” Sam smiled a little “If it’s okay with you, I could sleep here tonight..”
“I’d really like that”
“Me too”
Everyone was gone now, except from Amber.
"Do have your extra inhaler?"
"Yeah, I'll be fine"
"Okay, be safe Tara…” Amber looked down at you “You too baby…”
She kissed you softly. Sam looked at you with wide eyes. Amber and you had been dating for three years now, but how could she know, as she’s been gone for five whole years?
“Call me if something’s wrong..”
“Will do”
“Okay, bye, I love you baby”
“I love you too”
You smiled at her before she excited the room, followed by Richie.
As soon as the door closed, you started to tear up. Both you and Tara.
<><><><> ♡ <><><><>
After Ghostface attacked you again at the hospital, you all decided it was time to leave Woodsboro.
"Can we at least stop at Amber's house? I have to say goodbye, tell her we're leaving..."
"Y/n, I'm sorry but it's just not safe"
"Why? You don't- you don't think she's the killer, right?"
"... I don't know..."
You looked at her in disbelief.
“She would never do that..!”
"Guys I don't find my inhaler..." Tara suddenly said
"Are you sure? I think I saw it before we left the hospital.."
You helped her search in her bag with your valid arm.
"I have an extra one at Amber's. We have to go pick it up, her house’s on the way”
Richie and Sam argued for a while, before he gave up and drove to your girlfriend's house.
"Welcome to act 3"
You were too shocked to say anything. Your girlfriend just shot Liv in the head and revealed herself as the killer in front of everyone.
They all started to run away, and you were about to do the same, but Amber grabbed your hand and pulled you into an empty room.
"Baby I- I'm sorry for everything... for lying to you, for hurting Tara, everything... He forced me to.. He said he would kill you if I said anything..!"
"'He'? Who? I don't understand I-"
"Richie! He's the other one..!"
She started to mumble nonsenses, completely panicked.
"Amber stop I don't understand anything- Amber! My love!"
You grabbed her face and kissed her to shut her up. When you pulled away, she looked at you, confused.
"You don't hate me...?"
"I should. I really should. My sister almost died twice, I almost died too, our friends.. our friends died. But I don't. I don't hate you. I am still madly, deeply, completely in love with you"
You felt her relax almost instantly at your words. She wrapped her arms around your waist and hugged you tight. You ran a hand through her hair.
"It wasn't me... The Ghostface that attacked you at your house.. It wasn't me.. I wouldn't have laid a hand on you.. I swear.."
"It's okay my love, you're okay..."
You pulled away after a moment. Amber handed you her knife and took her gun in hand. Before you could take the weapon, she was hit from behind by a crutch. She was so surprised she fell on the floor.
You didn't expect Tara to use her crutch this way, so it took you a second to react.
"Tara stop! It's not her fault- Tara!"
You grabbed her waist and dragged her away from Amber.
"What are you doing? Let me go Y/n! She tried to kill us! Twice!"
"I know. But it's not her fault I-"
"Not her fault? Y/n I know you love her but you can't find her excuses! She literally killed Liv in front of us!"
A scream came from the kitchen.
"Can we talk about this later? We need to get rid of Richie before someone else dies. I'll tell you everything after, but I need you to trust me for now"
She stopped struggling against you and nodded slowly. You let go of her and walked to Amber, taking the gun from her.
"Stay here, I don't want you to get hurt more"
"No I'm coming with you."
"No you're not. Call the police and hide. Please.."
She hesitated, but finally agreed and went upstairs with her phone.
You went to the kitchen, where Richie threatened Sam, Gale and Sidney. They must've arrive when you were talking with Amber.
"What took you so long?" he asked his accomplice
"They fought back"
Amber pushed you in a corner of the room, not too hard, scared she might hurt you. He frowned a bit. Shit, you thought, he's understanding.
You reached for the gun you hid behind your back, but Richie was faster than you and shot you in the leg. You dropped the gun and fell on the floor, holding your thigh.
Right after, Sam threw herself at Richie, who tried to shoot her, but only managed to shoot you again, in the stomach this time. Sam bit his arm and ran away from the kitchen, before he followed her.
Sidney grabbed a kitchen knife and stabbed Amber when she tried to get close to you.
The next minutes were a little confused. You were bleeding on the floor, trying to recover, when you heard Amber screaming. That brought you back to reality pretty quickly.
You got up painfully, and saw Gale, gun in hand, ready to shoot Amber.
"No no no! I'm sorry about Dewey!"
"Fuck you."
Just as she was about to pull the trigger, you stepped in front of your girlfriend.
"What the hell? Move!" Gale said, pissed
Sam entered the room with Tara and looked at you with wide eyes.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
"Sam-"
"Y/n you can't protect her this time! We all saw her!"
"I know but-"
"Move. The fuck. Out of my way." Gale interrupted you
"She's right, move Y/n." Sam added
"Can you listen to me for a second?!"
No one said a word, and Gale put the gun down with a sigh.
"Thank you." you stayed in front of Amber, just in case, and continued "I know she's one of the killers. But, he manipulated her. He groomed her into doing this. She's a victim too."
"She told you that?"
"Yes. And I believe her."
"Y/n for fuck's sake! She's lying again."
"I know her better than you. All of you. We've been dating for three years, and not once she lied to me. Not once she hurt me. Not once she raised her voice at me. Not once. So yes, I believe her. I love her. You have to trust me. Please..."
You were not one to trust someone without a good reason, and your sisters knew it. They looked at each other, and Sam sighed.
"I trust you"
<><><><> ♡ <><><><>
Eight months after these events, everything seemed back to normal. Your sisters didn't hate you for protecting Amber, even though she killed people. They even said they would try to forgive her.
When Amber knocked at your door that night, Tara was the one who opened the door.
"Y/n! Amber's here!"
When you arrived downstairs, you saw them hug. That made you happy.
"Where are you guys going?" Tara asked
"Can't tell you, it's a surprise"
Amber winked at you playfully when she saw you arriving.
"You're beautiful tonight baby..."
"You too..."
She was wearing a black dress with flowers on it, and a leather jacket on top of it.
"Have fun" Tara said, smiling at you
"We will"
You took Amber's hand before going out of the house.
"So, where are we going?" you asked
"Like I said, it's a surprise, so I'm not telling you"
"Oh come on!"
You pouted, but she didn't give up.
You walked for twenty minutes, before arriving to a house you had never seen before.
"What's that?"
"You'll see in a minute"
You climbed on the roof, where a telescope and picnic were waiting for you.
"Happy anniversary baby"
You had always dreamed of watching the stars with her. You talked about it many times, but never actually did it. It was the best gift she could've found.
She led you to the blanket on the floor, making you sit on her lap. You were quick to crash your lips on hers in a feverish kiss, locking your arms around her neck, her hands on your waist.
You made out for a while, until your lips were all red and swollen. Her lipstick was all messed up, and so was yours. You both laughed and tried to take the makeup off your faces.
After a minute, you reached in your pocket and took a little box out of it, which you handed to Amber.
She opened it, curious. It was a little black box, with a red rose on top of it, kept behind a plastic glass. There was a little drawer under it, with a necklace in it, with a heart shaped pendant.
"Baby..."
"Look in the little orb in the middle of the heart"
She was a little confused but did as you told. She gasped as she saw it. Inside the orb, "I love you" was written in 100 languages.
"Happy anniversary my love"
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Turtle Doves | Joel Miller
Part Four
Chapter Directory
Series Summary: In which two broken souls connect so deeply, that if one should perish, the other would surely die of a broken heart. (slow burn, timeline changes. After TLOU1, before TLOU2, assumed knowledge of infected, uses elements from both show and game)
Series Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, death, and sexual content.
Also cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. Link to my masterlist for everything else I’ve posted!
a/n: Hey y'all, I just want to ensure you that Joel will be showing up very soon!! I've just got a little bit more foundation to lay, thank you for being so understanding!
I make a vow that I will find and I will put an end to this serial killer.
The rain hadn't ceased throughout the night. In fact, I think it only started raining harder. The ground beneath my feet splashes with each hurried step I take. During my night-long planning, I had decided on going to James first with this information. I started second guessing if going to FEDRA would be the right thing to do, I began thinking that maybe if I reported it I would become the primary suspect and be charged with the crime. Though I know I am innocent, FEDRA doesn't always do a great job of investigating things. Plus, if the investigation gets messy, James might want to also take a break from smuggling until things die down.
I climb the stairs to James' place and knock heavily on the door. My weight nervously shifts from my left to right as I wait for him to answer. To my surprise, his wife opens the door, seeming to be shocked to see me on the other side. I must look deranged. I didn't sleep, I'm soaked from the rain, and I know my face isn't hiding my stress. Thankfully, she lets me in without a question. James' wife Theresa knows the business we're in and has no interest being involved, she typically leaves us alone.
"James!" She calls him out and gives me a curt smile before retreating to her bedroom. I give her a nod of gratitude and wait by the front door for James. He walks around the corner only seconds later, eyebrows shooting up once he sees me.
"What's goin' on?" His voice is serious. He knows that if I bothered to show up here, especially after our last conversation, that something is wrong. I rarely ever come by his place, mainly out of respect for Theresa. I swallow hard and take a breath.
"I found a body last night on the way back from area two. Young boy, maybe mid teens." I say, trying to keep my collected composure. James pulls out a chair at his kitchen table and motions for me to take a seat, a solemn look on his face. I shrug my backpack off and place it by the door before I go to take a seat.
"Was he infected?" He asks, lacing his fingers together on top of the table. I shake my head,
"No. No signs of infection. James, he was cut open, guts on the ground. And someone had carved the letter 'T' on his forehead. Whoever did this, it's almost like they're proud of it, they want people to know who did it." I say, voicing some uncertain conclusions I had reached throughout the night. He scowls and looks to the table's surface as he thinks. I hope he knows what to do, I really don't know what the right call is.
"You report it?" He asks, gaze coming up to my face.
"No. I was going to this morning but decided to come by here first. Get a second opinion." I adjust in my seat, my wet clothes clinging uncomfortably to my body. He nods his head in understanding.
"Go report it. That boy belongs to someone, the least they'll do is inform the family. They deserve that much." He says, giving me less than I was hoping for. Although, I don't exactly know what answer I came here looking for. Appreciative of his time, and feeling the need to get to a FEDRA post, I stand from the table.
"Might want to tell people to hold off for a few days, operations could be busted if they go out looking for the killer." I tell James and pick up my bag by the door. He nods,
"I will. Be careful out there Noelle, don't go doin' anything stupid." Opening the door, I give him a nod before I leave. I feel bad for intruding on his time, when I really shouldn't, he bothers me all the time at my place. However, I'm thankful he confirmed my plan of action.
James has been my number one confidant and partner for years now. We both ended up in the Boston quarantine zone fairly early during the outbreak. After I had been hauled away from my family, FEDRA placed me in a holding camp out near Philadelphia before moving me to Boston. James and I were placed on border patrol together when I first arrived, and we hit it off immediately.
Once rations started wearing thin and the hunger got to be too real, we got into the smuggling business together. Well, James got into it first and then brought me in once he realized how profitable it is. He had met another duo that were pretty heavily involved in not only pill smuggling, but arms dealing as well, and they let us take on a lot of the drug runs so they could focus on their guns. I never met them personally, but now they're both gone. James told me they had been offered a job and they were headed out of the QZ; they never returned and it's been about a year. So James and I had to step up and we began controlling most of the pill trade. James does more of the sourcing, and I do more of the running.
I reach the FEDRA post quickly and am pleased to see there's no line yet. It's early enough in the morning where people are probably just now getting ready to head towards their daily duties. The heavily armed soldier looks down at me as I approach him.
"The only extra duties we have today are in the sewer." He states, assuming I'm here for extra work. It's not uncommon for people to work two daily duty jobs, it brings in more ration cards. I shake my head,
"Not what I'm here for sir." I answer respectfully, knowing this soldier is not one I'm familiar with, and should be treated like a ticking time bomb. He just raises an eyebrow at me,
"What are you here for then?" He asks. I feel my heartbeat in my throat as I answer him.
"I was going to visit a friend on the west side of area two this morning, but I found a body. Young boy, stabbed to death in an alley." I keep my voice quiet, wanting to keep this between me and the soldier. Eavesdroppers would spread this news like crazy, and I know that's the last thing this investigation needs.
This piques the man's interest and he pulls me aside, leading me into a FEDRA building and into his makeshift office. He sits me down and pulls out a pad of paper and an old pen, writing down every detail of what I give him. My altered story doesn't seem to raise any alarms in him, and he buys whatever I tell him fairly easily. Once I tell him everything I know, he dismisses me. As I leave, I get an uneasy feeling in my stomach. Something tells me that FEDRA isn't going to solve this.
I resume my daily duties as I'm assigned, and luckily I was placed on graffiti cleanup again, so my day should be simple. Hours pass and I feel my eyelids growing impossibly heavy. After I'm done here today I'm most definitely resting tonight. Well, the best I can anyways.
After I've completed my duties, I return to my apartment and collapse on the couch. I kick my boots off on the floor and sleep overtakes me before I realize what's happening. However, even in sleep I am unable to rest. Images of the boy's body invade my dreams, turning them to nightmares. I wake with a start, a clap of thunder outside waking me from my demented slumber. Yawning, I rub my eyes and look out the window. The sun has disappeared, and of course it's still raining.
My mind is alive and my thoughts drift back to the boy, whether I'm awake or sleeping I can't seem to escape the murder. I'm convinced FEDRA isn't a reliable enough entity to solve this, they've proven over the years that they'd rather punish people for curfew violations than spend any time or effort on the real crimes being committed in the QZ. And if they do punish someone for a harsher crime, half the time they just place the blame on whoever is most convenient. If FEDRA won't solve this, then who will? The question weighs heavily on my mind and I'm unable to stop myself from pulling my boots back on and tucking my gun into my waistband.
The storm raging above is enough to cover the sound of my footsteps and the moon is still full enough to illuminate the ground a little, but is dimmed from the clouds. My feet carry me back to the alleyway where I found the body, but the boy has since been removed. I'm not entirely sure what I came here expecting, but I'm glad FEDRA was able to do the bare minimum. The spot where he was found has been washed clean by the rain, leaving little to no evidence and the smell of death no longer lingers.
Raindrops constantly fall on the spot, and my mind begins working. If I'm right, and the killer wants to be recognized for what they did, why would they stop at one victim? Surely they know FEDRA won't make a spectacle of this unless they find who did it, or who they're going to stick the blame on. No, it doesn't seem likely they'd stop until they get the recognition, or whatever else it is they're looking for. And, the brutality and branding of the victim shows they want to be noticed, they want to be feared.
The storm provides the perfect setting. The sound would muffle screams or struggles, the water would wash away blood and any other evidence. The storm and the QZ curfew is the perfect cover for someone who doesn't want to be caught in the act. My body freezes with this realization, the killer could be out here right now.
Once I'm able to move from my frozen state, I grab my gun and start walking around the back alleyways. If I'm right, the killer may prey on anyone they cross paths with, committing crimes of opportunity.
Methodically, I begin canvassing the alleys, taking care to watch for FEDRA soldiers and anyone else who may be lurking. My heart races each time I look down an alley, and slows each time I'm met with a dead end or an empty path. I'm not sure if part of me wants to find something or not.
I reach the south side of area five, having already searched through areas one and two. Area three is right in the middle of the QZ, it's too risky to search and I'm sure if there was anything to be found, FEDRA would find it. Area four is full of FEDRA apartments, and is also too risky to search.
So, I decide to put my gun back in my waistband and head back to my apartment in area one. I quickly come to terms that there's nothing out here to be found and that I searched as thoroughly as I could. It's both a relief and a disappointment. I would have loved to put down the killer on sight, so that they may never harm someone again.
My jacket is soaked through from the incessant rain, and my clothes feel heavy from the water. However, I can't seem to be upset about it. If wet clothes was the price to pay to find a killer, then I'd gladly pay it every day of my life. While I didn't find anything, or anyone, I can find solace in the fact I was out here for a good reason.
I try to make my trip across the QZ back to my apartment quick, not particularly enjoying being out past curfew for the second night in a row. Truthfully, this decision was borderline stupid. If FEDRA is openly investigating this case, they could be out in droves tonight. However, I can't seem to recall seeing a single soldier during my time out.
I pass through area five, backtracking the route I took to come here. Sure, there's a shorter way to my apartment, I could cut right through the middle of the QZ, but that's too big of a risk to take right now. I pass by alleys without looking, knowing they're empty.
Area five turns to area two and the rain finally starts slowing down to a light drizzle. Hopefully the storm is passing by and the sun will come back out in the morning.
However, my mundane thoughts about the weather are interrupted as I hear a cough to my left. I whip my head around to the sound and gasp when I see someone crawling on the ground, army style. My feet move before my mind can comprehend what's happening and I crouch beside the injured girl. She reaches out to me and I take her hand, observing the state she's in.
It's apparent she's been attacked, she's bleeding from several different places. There are large, deep gashes on her forearms and on the sides of her torso.
"Help us." Her voice is strained and rough. She grips my hand tightly and I try to assess how I can help her.
"It's gonna be okay honey. Here, turn over so I can help." I say, trying to roll her onto her back. My hands shake as I take my bag off and find my flashlight. I tuck it between my shoulder and head so that I can clearly see what's wrong.
The girl's breathing turns ragged and the shining light of my flashlight shows me why. The poor girl has been slashed, similarly to how the boy was. It looks like the knife must have hit her lung, she's choking on her own blood. I move my hands to try and stop the bleeding, but deep down I know there's nothing I can do to save her. I can't save a punctured lung.
"Shhh it's okay. I'm here, I got you sweetie." I say with tears streaming down my face. All I can do now is to comfort her as she passes on. My bottom lip trembles as I cradle the girl's head in my lap, listening as she chokes on her own blood and takes her last breath.
A sob shakes me as her body goes still. I move the girl's hair out of the way and am frozen to my core. On her forehead is carved the letter 'T'.
I stare at the letter carved into her precious skin as tears fall freely down my face. This sick, twisted monster struck again, right under my nose. Another young person dead and for what? It's like a sick game to whoever is doing this.
Gently, I place the girl's head on the ground and stand from my spot. The girl's words strike my mind once again, she said the word "us". Frantically, I look to my left and right to find someone else. And unfortunately, at the end of the alley, I see another dark form, unmoving.
With heavy steps I approach what I know to be another deceased teenager. To my horror, I'm correct. Bending down, I move the second girl's hair out of her face to see the same branding on her forehead.
As I crouch in front of the third victim, I take note of her injuries. She's been stabbed to death as well, her jugular looks like it was cut. Her death was likely quick.
The two girls in the alley look alike, possibly sisters. My heart sinks as I realize another family is going to receive the worst possible news. And my heart races as I realize these bodies also have to be reported in the morning.
Knowing there's nothing more I can do for these two girls right now, I reluctantly gather my things and head back to apartment for another sleepless night of thinking.
Once I reach my apartment, I resume the posture I had last night; constantly pacing back and forth. I'm sure my neighbors underneath me are furious, but they'll just have to live with it. Different possibilities and courses of actions run through my mind without pause all night long about what I could've done differently and what I should do now.
Surely I can't be the one to report these bodies. If I did, I know FEDRA would lock me up and sentence me to death. Someone else is likely to report them, they're not completely hidden away like the first victim was. So, hopefully I can count on someone finding and reporting them tomorrow, the family deserves to know.
Maybe tomorrow I can track down one of my FEDRA contacts and see if anything is really being done to avenge these kids. I have a bad feeling that this isn't going to stop until the person responsible is caught. If FEDRA doesn't do anything about it, it's only a matter of time before it falls to the vigilantes to take care of. With that thought, an idea crosses my mind, but it's more of a promise.
I make a vow to myself that if I find out FEDRA isn't taking this seriously, that I will find and I will put an end to this serial killer.
Part Five
#joel miller#joel tlou#joel miller tlou#pedro pascal#joel miller x oc#joel miller fic#joel miller fanfic#the last of us hbo#the last of us#tlou hbo#tlou fanfiction#tlou fanfic#tlou#joel the last of us
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"For you, Rollo." One of the gargoyles slips something into his hand. When Rollo unfurls his hand, he finds a fistful of flower seeds in his palm. "You like gardening, don't you? Maybe you can plant these and watch them grow into something beautiful. Then you can look at those flowers and your heart will be at peace."
I really like the idea of flowers as symbolism for character growth and development 😌 I was thinking a lot about that connection and What Else Can I Do? from Encanto while writing this.
Anyway, stan gargoyle 🫶
Rollo recognized the gargoyle as soon as it had hopped up to him. A 10-degree difference on the wings, the 1-centimeter scratch running along the head. There was no mistaking it: this gargoyle was the very same that had caught him upon his defeated descent from the bell tower.
"Y'know, we're always up here. You can talk to us if something's botherin' ya."
Suddenly the flower seeds in his palm felt heavier than lead. A metallic taste coated the back of his tongue.
“I picked them up from the pesky birds that visit the bell tower," the gargoyle rambled cheerily. "The other day, a whole family made its nest in my mouth while I was still sleeping! Can you believe that?”
Rollo cut straight to the point.
"How did you know about the gardening?" he managed, in spite of the dryness that consumed his throat. His usual perfect, practiced poise came through.
The gargoyle laughed, low and gravely like the rock he was carved from. "It's been three whole years now. There's not a day in the year when you skip out on polishing the Bell of Salvation, cleaning us gargoyles... or watering the campus flowers."
He bristled. "You act as though you know me."
But no one does.
Not when he had stowed all his secrets away in that diary. Away from his classmates, away from his parents, away from the world. All the turmoil and hurt and anguish, banished to the pages.
Troubles rooted deep, not meant for mortal eyes.
The gargoyle's answer was a simple one. He tapped his temple and grinned. "I may not know what's going on in your head, but I know that you have a big heart. It's a good foundation. Fertile soil for flowers to grow—if you'll let them."
He nodded, indicating Rollo’s hand.
The seeds.
The start of something new.
Rollo curled his fingers back around them—a cage for the seeds, the bars stopping just short of crushing them. “… Heh. Hilarious. I hadn’t realized that stone was capable of comedy.”
If the gargoyle was offended, he didn’t show it. He slowly inclined his head to one side. “Yes, yes, I can see it now. A plant pushing through the dirt, rising through the roof and to the skies. That’s the sort of flower you’d be.”
“You think rather highly of me.”
When you’re fully aware of what I am capable of.
“I do. That's just the sort of person I've come to know you as, someone we can rely on. I’d trust you with the clothes right off my back if I wore any clothes!!”
The gargoyle chuckled at his own bad joke, elbowing Rollo in the ribs to encourage him to join in. The best he got was a stifled wheeze--more of a result of the jab than actually finding humor in his words.
“… Hey, Rollo. When these flowers have blossomed, I hope you'll be able to look at them and feel a little more at ease."
"I cannot make any promises as to how I will feel about the flowers, whether they've reached full maturity or not," he warned. Stern, pragmatic--as always.
"That's fine," the gargoyle replied with a patient grin.
One day, those feelings might change. Until then... I’ll watch over you as you, too, grow into something beautiful.
#twst#twisted wonderland#Rollo Flamme#twst interactions#twisted wonderland interactions#disney twisted wonderland#disney twst#Rollo birthday takeover
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The Lamb is reminded of how close their old enemies are now.
They weren’t sure how much time passed, the lighting inside the temple was always off. Dyed a deep red, forever keeping the interior aglow no matter the Sun’s position outside. All they could hear was the steady rise and fall of the racing wind outside that the morning brought.
A headache was gnawing on the Lamb’s skull, having found them slumped over the altar. A modge podge table cover of scrolls and ink splattered parchment scraps lay beneath them, no doubt staining their wool. Empty ink bottles littering the floor around their hooves, as well as the half drunk bottle of wine they were gifted by the Lighthouse Keeper in Pilgrim’s Passage.
They tapped the quill against their current scroll, looking through their current progress for the hundredth time. This was the worst part of godhood, they found. No longer could they rely on an ancient eldritch being breathing down their neck and whispering to them exactly what to write, how to eloquently string their words together in a harmonious passage. They were good at coming up with new sermons on the spot, they only needed a vague outline to work off of, but actual scripture just stumped them. The flowery language they tried to write with left them dizzy and tired, and that was if they weren’t struggling to come up with something to jot down in the first place. The curse of an empty slate, Narinder had called it.
They leaned back with a drawn out sigh, reaching down to tip back a few generous gulps of wine. Tart blackberries seasoned with sweet spices rolled over their tongue, the back of their throat tingling as a quiet flame was stoked. They should see if they couldn’t get someone else to write this. Surely Plimbo knew someone? He always knew someone. Or maybe Forneus, she seemed a master with the type of prose expected of a God’s writing.
The heavy doors of the temple creaked open, to their annoyance. Was it too much to ask for quiet doors in their dedicated house of worship?
The Lamb looked down the carved stone floor, swallowing a final mouthful of wine. “Shamura?”
The spider stepped through the heavy doors, a cloak carefully draped over their shoulders. “Leshy said you’d be in here,” they noted, pulling down their hood.
The Lamb pulled away from the altar, eager for the break. “What can I do for you?” They asked, hopping off the stage.
They looked around the temple, their eyes tired. “I’d heard you had a successful run in Darkwood.”
The Lamb nodded. “Yes, I don’t think I’ve ever gotten through it so fast before, to be honest. Made for good time.” They tapped their hooves together, considering Shamura thoughtfully. “I should be able to make my way to Anchordeep next, should no further delays crop up.”
Their eyes finally met the Lamb, flickers of hope washing out the dull exhaustion. “Truly? Then you are..?”
The Lamb nodded. “Yup, he’s next.”
Shamura closed their eyes and stilled for a moment, their hand pressed above their heart. “Good, that’s… that’s very good.” They looked down to the Lamb once more, concern softening their features. “You should be careful. The waters grow cold this time of year. Many stay away from the deeper valleys of the sea, and you would do well to keep their example.”
The Lamb knickered, scratching the back of their head. “I’ll be careful. I’d rather not face the embarrassment of dying to frostbite.”
Shamura tugged a small sack from their belt and offered it to them. “This might help, trivial as it might be. It’s a new blend Almer came up with. It’s an interesting mix, has a good aroma. And I know for a fact my dear brother will despise it.”
The Lamb’s ears flicked with curiosity. Narinder always wound up stealing their tea, no matter how much they babysat their mug, he always managed to sneak it past them. It’d almost become a game at this point, yet another in their endless teasing, but it would be nice to enjoy a full mug for once without choking down boiling hot water like the cult was on fire.
“Thank you! I’ll be needing it,” they signed, before tucking the pouch away. As they shifted, something thick pressed against their back, reminding them of its presence.
“Oh! Right, I got you a gift as well, fresh from Silk Cradle. I stopped by there for some stone today.” They pulled out the package and nimbly untied the rough twine. Pushing the cloth aside, they pulled out an off-white lump, and handed it over.
Shamura took the carefully wound ball of spider silk, their claws gentle like it was a child. They pulled out a piece of string, holding it up for a better look, the starlight color of the string somehow still shining through despite the red lighting.
“Ah, yes, yes hello.” Their pupils dilated, further highlighting the string before them, bringing it closer as they examined its quality. Slowly, their gaze grew unfocused, and the grip grew slack. The Lamb tilted their head curiously.
“Shamura?” They reached a hand out when Shamura just… changed, right before their eyes.
Their spine straightened, their chin tilting up, the red glow of the temple coloring their eyes. They were unnaturally stiff, their limbs jerking, their eyes endlessly roaming the temple walls. There was almost a snarl curling around their fangs.
“Many-legged creature, stalk through the night… wrapped in web, yet still they fight…" Their gaze darted to the Lamb, and they instinctively stepped back. There was something familiar in Shamura’s expression, an uncaring clairvoyance they’d seen only a few times before.
“In my silk, I snared a crown.”
Despite their earlier twitching, Shamura smoothly leaned closer to the Lamb, and they backed further away, dread clawing up their spine. The shadows around them lengthened, bringing a chill that wicked away the stifling heat from the countless lit candles. The red glow of the temple dulled, darkening and taking on a purple tinge.
“To their faith, irrevocably bound.”
The two sets of eyes drilled into the Lamb, splitting away all the layers of protection, ripping down all their walls and plunging within, ripping out the soul, holding it aloft for the entirety of the empty temple to behold.
They lifted a claw, and placed it on the center of the Lamb’s forehead.
“I wrapped a precious thing in web and nestled it deep in the bosom of Silk Cradle… but where? When?”
Their head tilted up, their shaking pupils focusing on the red eye of the crown enshrined within the stained windows. Ever staring back.
“And what?”
“Stop.” The crown shook with the pent up energy, the Lamb’s red fleece fluttering with power. Their eyes rolled back, leaving milky white narrowed on the towering spider before them, unnaturally sharp fangs glistening in their snarl. Red globs of viscous liquid bubbled through the floorboards around their hooves.
Shamura studied the quivering creature before them for a beat, when the moment seemed to pass.
They wilted, their shoulders drawing down, the intensity of their focus rapidly vanished, and a slow line of black ichor made its way down their features. Black stains began to blossom on the bandages wrapping their head, and they stumbled to the ground.
The Lamb’s eyes returned to normal and they shot forward, catching Shamura before they fully collapsed. “H-hey, whoa! Are you ok? What’s happening? What’s wrong?”
“Visions… always… worst of moments…” They pinched the space between their main eyes with a pained groan, their hushed tone barely rising above audible. The Lamb had to lean in closer just to catch what little mumbles they managed, despite their instincts rearing away with a scream to run.
“You… you mentioned something in Silk Cradle. Is it… causing this?” The Lamb pressed, and Shamura shook their head, gently massaging the flesh under their bandages.
“No, no… I am…” their ragged breathing finally began to steady. “This is simply a symptom of past mistakes.”
The Lamb glanced up to their bled through head dressings, biting their lip worriedly. “If there’s something we can do-“
Shamura suddenly heaved themselves to their feet, their legs shaking under the sudden weight. “No. I have managed this setback so far. You mustn’t lose focus now.”
“But-“
They lifted a hand, halting the Lamb’s protest.
“After.”
They offered assistance, and the Lamb hesitantly accepted. “I can bear the wait knowing Kallamar’s just around the corner. When he is home, I will accept your aid then.” They leveled the Lamb a look, endlessly exhausted. “Please…”
They grimaced. “I… very well. But I want you to rest in the meantime. This ,” they gestured to the drying streaks of blood and ichor on their fur, “is worrying.”
Shamura took a shaky breath, and nodded. “Y-yes, I think I agree. I shall rest these coming days.” They started to turn away.
“Do you need help getting to your home?” The Lamb asked, and they shook their head.
“I’ll be fine, thank you.” They paused at the door, staring intently at the carved wood. “Apologies, for this episode. I didn’t wish to rattle you.”
The Lamb clasped their hooves together, putting on a bright smile. “What are you talking about? You didn’t scare me. I was just surprised, is all.”
Shamura glanced back once, their steady gaze probing the Lamb’s. “Of course. I’ll be on my way, then.”
The door squealed shut behind them, leaving the Lamb alone.
The smile dropped.
With shaking legs, they managed to stumble over to the wall, where they leaned their weight against the solid wooden pillars. They drew a shaky breath, and another, but nothing slowed their racing heart. They let their head fall back, closing their eyes. The candlelight flickered through their eyelids, twisting with shapeless shadows. Their mind conjured up faces in the twisting dance, old remnants of the past they were starting to give up on burying.
How long could memories haunt a god? Judging by what they’d seen from their predecessors and their own personal experience, they weren’t sure they liked the possible answer.
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re: raine and hunter bonding over their belos-flavoured trauma, how do you think they discuss palismen?
this is brought by the reveal that raine's violas, like the head of it, is their palisman. but that viola has been smashed open TWICE. we know from owlbert that having a staff cracked hurts, so having what is essentially 90% of your body ripped open has gotta hurt. (hypothetically it might not work the same way but shhh)
palisman are an extension of the self, so to me its a representation of how raine has worked themself to the bone for this revolution, literally becoming a tool of progress. parallel this with hunter and flapjack, as the latter allows the former to be something more than a tool of the empire, a real boy with hopes and dreams.
both of their palismen were hurt by belos, in different ways.
im thinking that if the fox didn't have a staff pre-belos, it was among the first things hunter made when he got his carving technique down. something something moving on something something if not for flapjack at least for someone else.
does this make sense? i am but a seething pot of Themes and Connections
OUGH GOD YOU'RE SO FUCKING RIGHT ABOUT ALL OF THIS. I'M TRYING TO THINK OF SOMETHING USEFUL TO ADD BUT THIS IS ALL SO GOOD I WANT EVERYONE TO SEE IT IMMEDIATELY
i'm really liking the idea of raine's palisman getting to spend some time running around doing silly fox antics and getting into low-stakes trouble once belos is gone bc they've been in disguise for so long that getting to be silly is a Relief. in parallel to raine getting to breathe and relax for the first time in Ages after making sacrifice after sacrifice after sacrifice and being tortured for fuck only knows how long.
also very fond of the mental image of raine's fox often scampering off to be a nuisance to hunter specifically. probably others too like eda and luz and darius and the CATS but hunter more consistently than the others. and the concept that the fox has been left without a staff after damage to the viola is making me crazy
because i IMAGINE that raine's fox keeps gravitating toward hunter out of concern and recognition of his grief, the same way the other palismen do. and i imagine that hunter ranges from irritable to grudgingly accepting of this, because it's very difficult to resist a cute creature who keeps winding around your legs and/or neck like an obnoxious cat. and then upon realizing there's no staff, hunter's entire annoyed demeanor vanishes Immediately, like:
hunter: ...you're hurt??
the fox: ...UH OH. WE AREN'T SUPPOSED TO SHOW EMOTIONAL VULNERABILITY. I GOTTA GO RUN BACK TO RAINE RIGHT NOW IMMEDIATELY
hunter: WHAT. YOU GET BACK HERE YOU LITTLE-
and then hunter chases them all the way back to raine, whereupon the convo is just like
hunter: WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ANYONE YOUR PALISMAN IS HURT?????
raine: NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS
hunter: ARE YOU FOR REAL RIGHT NOW. ARE YOU SERIOUS.
raine: OKAY LOOK I. FORGOT TELLING PEOPLE WAS AN OPTION. WE'VE BEEN MANAGING FINE FOR A WHILE. MY HEART STILL SEIZES UP WHEN THEY CLIMB ON MY HEAD WHILE I'M OUT IN PUBLIC WE'RE MANAGING
hunter, clearly having an epiphany: okay but. you guys shouldn't be dealing with stuff alone. there are people who'd want to know
raine, clearly Deeply pained about being called out: i wish this was not so obviously something you need to hear yourself so i could argue with a child instead. ok. perhaps you are right.
hunter: yeah. i am 🥰
and then yeah hunter carves a new staff when he's confident enough. i think it would take a while bc he'd be nervous about screwing it up but raine and their palisman are both incredibly patient so that's fine
incredible content thank you.
#this is all nonsense. but is also canon in my heart#replies#toh#hunter toh#raine whispers#toh fambly
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the comet ep was a DELIGHT! 💗💗💗 class clown sam kirk. uhura singing!! spock’s pep talks. both aliens had super cool looks, too. and the open flame on a starship is just the 23rd century equivalent of the yule log on tv and can’t hurt me 😌 (i was stressing out about that)
i was 🤨🤔 throughout at pike’s strange absence of respect for the alien religion. like of course he’s going to still do what needs doing, but the “lol are they for real?” attitude seemed so at odds with his whole deal as a person going into season two. not to mention everything about the epic red angel journey we all just went on!! so it was a relief to see a little flicker of that return at the end with uhura’s reveal. the depression and flashbacks are obviously a result of The Trauma; the casual flippancy might be too?
not to be all disco-brained but i miss pike, spock, and michael all being in the same room so bad. like i SO BAD want pike to have the chance to have a five minute heart to heart with michael about his fate, especially the captain burnham she becomes!! because like WHO ELSE could be better for this?? she saved the galaxy and spent so long alone waiting for discovery and then had to go through her own journey…….. like PLEASE.
speaking of the future, i am very curious, only because every single named object and almost every person on the show so far has been an easter egg why none of the cadets pike will save have familiar names. (please correct me if my lore is insufficiently deep)
AND… jumping back an episode… absolute gut punch that the shuttle in the pilot ep was called the stamets because the disco crew are all dead and engineers are naming ships after them. i hope someone in starship assembly carved a little 🍄 somewhere on the hull for his mycelial engineering theory that dare not speak its name.
i’m going to put these season one snw posts under my trekathon tag.
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Ten Random Lines
I was tagged by @mostlyinthemorning @hippolotamus and @rmd-writes, thank you, lovelies!
Rules: pick any 10 of your fics, scroll somewhere to the midpoint, pick a line (or three), and share it! Then tag 10 people.
I used a random number generator to pick fics because I cannot be expected to make actual decisions right now.
1) yeah I’m afraid (but I’ll follow you anyway)
But what if someday, it’s not enough? There’s something inherently nerve-wracking about promising forever to one person when you can’t possibly know what forever will be.
2) the same deep water as you
“I asked, though.” Rachel’s eyes go wide and he hurries to explain. “Not if he had a fiancée or whatever, but about his history.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing. I mean, he said to lock that box back up and I guess we just…never unlocked it.”
3) if I’m not beyond repair
Out in the hall, he leans against the wall and allows himself one moment to be upset. There was always a chance that David wouldn’t want him here, he knew that when he came here. He knew the hope that he had that David had left him as an emergency contact on purpose was small and distant. He knew that David must have stopped loving him a long time ago; David was the one to call things off, after all. Patrick knew all of this, and yet, he still came. Because despite everything, he still loves David. And he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to stop.
4) carve your name into my heart
But even if he hasn’t said it, he knows it. It's a new feeling, assaulting all of his senses. He can see it in the way they look at each other, Patrick’s eyes soft and wide and so fond. He can feel it in the casual (and not so casual) touches, a spark that never seems to diminish. He can hear it in their voices, tender and breathless.
5) love you in moderation (do I look moderate to you?)
David lets himself get lost in the sensation of Patrick’s hand in his hair, Patrick’s taste in his mouth, Patrick all around him, engulfing all of his senses. Patrick is chanting David’s name over and over, mixed with deliciously obscene moans and whimpers as David takes him completely into his mouth. David thinks he could stay like this forever, the feeling of wanting and being wanted in return burning hot in his chest.
6) Persistence of Memory
David remembers thinking that he had never, never, been so comfortable with someone that he could let go this much, this easily. At least not while sober. He remembers rolling onto his side, wiping away tears from Patrick’s face with a thumb and planting a soft kiss on his forehead. He remembers thinking that this must be what it’s like to love someone with your whole heart.
7) Logging Off
Did you happen to give the password to anyone else?” Patrick asks.
“No!” Alexis responds. “Oh, except I might have given it to Twyla when I was staying with her?”
“I told you not to share it!” David yells.
“Well, first of all, David, no, you didn’t, and second of all, how am I supposed to Interflix and chill with my girlfriend when she only gets the Elm County public access channel?”
8) don’t second guess your feelings, you were right from the start
He can feel the blush just thinking about it, heat spreading across his cheeks. What kind of horribly unprofessional businessperson is he that he gets a full hard-on while giving his business partner a hug? Oh god, he hopes David didn’t notice. What if David thinks Patrick went into business with him just to fuck him?
9) wish I was the moon tonight
Hi, this is Patrick, and welcome to Brewer’s Baseball History. Tonight, I’ll be taking you on a journey through the Toronto Blue Jays’ first winning season, the season of 1983.”
David could not care less about the Blue Jays’ 1983 season, but the man’s voice is mellow and comforting, which is precisely what he needs right now. The recording is thirty-five minutes long, but David doesn’t make it past the first five minutes before he’s drifting off to sleep.
10) standing on my little island with you
“We have to stop meeting like this, David.”
David yelps and nearly drops the book he’d been reading the back cover of. He hadn’t expected anyone to sneak up behind him deep in the fiction stacks, and he really hadn’t expected it to be Patrick, of all people.
“Mmkay, I don’t know what that means?” David says, once he regains his composure and turns around to see Patrick leaning casually against one of the shelves, his hands shoved deep in his impossibly tight pockets. Had his smile been that nice the last time? David doesn’t remember that, and he definitely doesn’t remember the stupid, weird fluttery feeling he gets in his stomach when Patrick laughs. What the fuck?
Tagging @rosedavid @alienajackson @jettestar @likerealpeopledo-on-ao3 @blueink3 @mr-writes and anyone else who feels like sharing!
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FFXIV Write 24: Vicissitude
Characters: Y'zel Tia, G'raha Tia, Erick Gage, Zoisette Vauban, Meya, Claudien. Y'shtola Rhul, U'rhan Nuhn
Summary:
'That's when the sound came in
He could finally see
He felt the changing of the seasons
All of his senses rushing back to him'
Body - Julia Jackman
Rating: T, for Tia
Notes: None
It seemed even Labriynthos wasn't immune to the shifting of the seasons. While remaining atherically controlled, the seemingly endless perfect summer was drawing to a close, ushering in a cool wind that aesthetically rusted the greenery into a brilliant autumn. Harvest season was upon the Gleaners and taking any opportunity to occupy his thoughts from anything that wasn't G'raha related, he joined his Gage Acquisition and a couple Scion friends that had come to their aid.
Proximity to the Annex aside, he'd hoped a bit of rigorous labor might mute the aching of his heart. Yet there was something about be present in the changing of the seasons, as artificial as it was, that made him reflect on the failed relationship.
"We were really doomed from the start. Our hearts wound around other people. Empathy alone cannot control the vicissitudes of the heart. I think we might have been loving the parts of ourselves we see in each other that we struggle to on our own..."
Y'zel flipped G'raha's words over in his mind. How could he argue? They both longed for someone else even when together and in the wake of it, both were at least able to find peace with it. G'raha had already found some hero that was far more excitable than Y'zel could ever be...and the eclipsed Miqo'te had finally managed to stop looking at Ioh'Juhn with ivory-tented glasses. He had to embrace that truth.
Still, enlightenment was never as advertised. His freedom came with a new lonely world.
Sighing, he nestled into his thick woolen sweater and watched quietly from afar as Erick and Meya walked and together, the Hyur carrying a barrel of cider while the Miqo'te broke off a piece of a lightly sugared doughnut and fed it to him. Beyond, U'rahn watched the couple then carved into an apple from his basket and offered it to Zoisette and his Scion cousin as they breaked for tea. Once we'll received, he joined them then pointed to his face and closed his eyes, only to receive a slice of lemon instead.
Y'zel fluttered his ears a in amusement as U'rahn let out a yelped and nearly flipped the table running off...though still followed it with another sigh, knowing well it was his own fault he wasn't having fun. As continued to watch, a stray pair of steps caught his attention as they drew closer.
"Ah. I'm sorry...but are you perhaps the son of Y'lem Tia?"
Y'zel turned at hearing his father's name. Standing beside him was a tall dark skinned Hyur with eyes like rubies. "I am. Did you know him?"
The man nodded then held out his hand. "I was a student of his in Dravania when I was a lad. The research he was apart for the Antitower and aetherial sea is still referenced here at the Aitiascope. He really helped me love the study and the Nbolo family of Old Sharlayan has donated much in the ways of funds for continued research. And your freckles..." he started before leaning down. "Y’z...Y'zel if I'm not mistaken?"
The Miqo'te was taken aback. Rarely did his reputation proceed him. "I'm sorry, but have met?"
“Briefly. We were boys and you got lost looking for your father at the library…I held your hand and we walked around the entire place until we got tired and crawled under a desk and fell asleep together. Shortly after though my family returned with everyone else to Old Sharlayan and I never saw you or your father after that. I was saddened to hear of his death…I felt relieved though when I heard you’d been found in the wake of the Dragonsong War.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t remember you…though thinking on it I do remember that happening. Still, I was rather young.”
“No apologies are necessary. I am a five years your senior, so the memory sits with me a little better. Not to mention that my happier times were away from home and dedicated to studying,” the man mused before sticking out his hand. “I am Claudien.”
Y’zel nodded, tail swaying before reaching out to take it. As their hands collapsed around one another, the Miqo’te stumbled, the familiar ringing of the Echo hitting his ears. “I love you…I love you…” he heard voices whisper, familiar yet strange.
“Easy there,” Claudien breathed out before helping him to his feet. Hand on Y’zel’s face, he flushed, rubbing his thumb across his freckles before parting and clearing his throat. Their eyes met, mutually searching for answers to what was happening to them before they broke apart.
Y’zel clutched his chest, heart racing and face flushed, ears pinned as the ringing faded. “Sorry…I am gifted with the Echo. It throws me off balance…”
“That is…certainly something…,” Claudien responded, staring at the hand he touched the other with, “…I’d very much like to invite you to dinner at The Last Stand sometime, if that is amendable to you. And, if it’s not a bother, perhaps on a different occasion have an audience with your Warrior of Light friend. I’d love to get their assistance with something.”
Y’zel looked to the other, trying to calm himself. “Right. That would be nice…Though, are you certain you wish to speak to U’rahn?”
He looked back as the other laid on the ground, a second lemon wedge on the ground, seemingly have been tricked for a second time by the ladies. “I know the other two. They might be a bit more fruitful for whatever you have in mind.”
Claudien nodded, looking on concerned to the Nuhn, “Perhaps so…”
#Y'zel tia#g'raha tia#erick gage#meya ganajai#zoissette vauban#y'shtola rhul#u'rahn nuhn#final fantasy xiv#ffxiv#final fantasy 14#ffxivwrite2022#ffxiv oc#ffxiv miqo'te#ff14#ffxiv endwalker#gage acquisitions and allies
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hi long time no see (I think??? time has not existed in a normal linear fashion for me lately lol) ❣️ anon here, I still exist, I still love Him. apologies for incoming long message, I got emotional mid writing oops
but fuck, man. I can't remember if I sent anything in, but I fucked up big. I gave up on chasing Him a while back. I loved Him so much, but I had no way of being there with Him as much as He deserved, so I let Him go. I was embarrassed and so sad and I felt like He deserved better than me. we just... drifted apart again. just like highschool. and I was kind of okay with that. I missed Him dearly, but He was doing pretty well from what He shared, so for my own heart's sake, I stopped looking for Him.
decided to hop onto Facebook to find a picture of someone else to share with an in person friend and my heart absolutely dropped. He is with someone else now. I know that's exactly why I let Him drift away but I know He doesn't really like her like that! she's so not His type in any way. I know Him so well, even through all this time, He wouldn't change that much. I worry about Him so much and I miss Him and I hate myself because I can't reach out because what if He does like her. what if they are happy. I doubt she likes Him nearly as much as I love him, but He is with her now, and not me. I missed my chance, and now they've moved. He's not "10 minutes from home", but neither am I. we are now over 1300 miles apart and I hate it
I miss Him so much. I just want to crawl up somewhere and die every time I remember. it feels like my heart has been carved from my chest. I miss Him I miss Him I miss Him
If I can't have Him, I at least hope He's actually happy with her. I love you, peachy. I'll love you from here, but gods does it fucking hurt right now. I know I don't have the right to be hurt, but still.
Hey!!! It has been a long time!!! And ooh babe I'm so sorry to hear that :c
Your feelings are more than understandable, I've felt the same thing before. I know you feel like you don't have the right, but it doesn't change that it hurts still. You can't help the way you feel about a situation.
And, hey, I know this might not be exactly what you wanna hear but it's all too true sometimes. Maybe it just wasn't meant to be between you two. But, that doesn't mean there isn't your meant to be somewhere.
For now, at least, let yourself feel how you feel. Try and patch yourself up, and you don't have to do that alone, you know. Anyone close to you can always help in that healing, y'know? And just try to process as a first step if you haven't already done that. Remember to be easy and kind on yourself, even if that feels like the hardest thing in the world.
It's not okay right now, but it will be. Maybe take some time to get into something new, or rediscover something you lost a passion for to help keep your mind off of things for a while. (It wasn't for a situation like this, but for me it was rediscovering a passion about dolls that I had lost touch with some years ago!)
And, kinda opposite direction, you can just. Vent about it. Even if it isn't to someone else, just writing it down to get it out of your system might help, or drawing an artistic rendition of it. Or, similar to writing it down, write a letter. You can do whatever you want with it, but a suggestion from someone who is a practitioner of witchcraft, burning it to release those feelings might soothe the soul some. (You can always keep a copy, if you want, which might not be quite as effective but it'll still help something.)
And again, it's not okay right now, but it will be. I promise.
-mod star who sincerely hopes you feel better from this sooner rather than later
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Phrase from novel ‘Just Haven’t Met You Yet’
🌷Everyone is moving on, growing up.
🌷I love men who can play the piano, it has to be one of the sexiest skills
🌷Grief can make people behave in peculiar ways
🌷No job can be perfect
🌷Objects can be powerful conduits for memories
🌷People don’t want to be bitten into like an apple, to show you their core in one conversation. Sometimes you have to peel the skin away slowly
🌷People do crazy things for love all the time
🌷Maybe we don’t have enough words to express sympathy, but we have fifty ways to describe a cup of coffee.
🌷It’s about having the right to choose, you can choose to put on a pinny and be a fifties housewife if you want, you can choose to travel to Peru and join a commune or enlist in the space programme and be the first woman on Mars. You can live how you like, but the point is we should have the chance to choose, not get railroaded into a role sociey dictates us.
🌷People have believed in fate for longer than they’ve believed the world is round, it will never go out of fashion
🌷When you are with someone for a long time, you grow into each other, like adjoining trees with tangled roots. It’s hard to extricate yourself and find the part that’s left who you were before
🌷I wonder for a moment if true love really is worth the risk ?
🌷 If you believe in fate leading you to love, do you also have to believe it is fate who leads love away? Are we all just floating in the sea, completely dependent on the tide and the univere to steer us to a happy harbour, or do we have oarse? Do we have a chance to steer ourselves to shore?
🌷Don’t hope or fear,but seize today, you must! And in tomorrow put complete mistrust, all any of us have is today
🌷Most of us will never be the best at anything we do, it isn’t a reason not to do it
🌷I should stop overthinking things I can’t change, focus instead on the potential of the day ahead
🌷Sometime things aren’t meant to last the long term, flashes of lightning rather than slow-burning coals
🌷Love is not all about the grand gestures and the cutie meets,that’s the shiny book cover, not the story inside.
🌷The human heart is like a flowerbed, once the first blooms die, there’s room enought for something else to grow, but it will never be quite the same as the first flower, the initial thrill of seeing what your heart is capable of.
🌷Men are like woodworm, once they’ve wheedled their way in, they’re almost impossible to get rid of. Even when you’ve had the wood treated, the holes are there to stay
🌷Maybe life’s more about carving out happy chapter than finding a single happy ending
🌷Sometimes it feels better not to look backwards, to let the past stay in the past
🌷I can’t risk my whole future on a ‘maybe’
🌷Some people bring out the parts of yourself you like the most, I like the version of myself I am when I’m with you
🌷There’s no point worrying what the future holds or looking back on the past. Today I am happy. Today I feel lucky. Today the world is a good place to be
🌷I know life will bring its challenges and nothing is forever, but I hope we might be happy today, and for as many todays as we are lucky enough to have
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Cork in Verse | Ana Spehar Interviews Cara Kursh
Cara Kursh is from the west of Ireland and has been in Cork for the last 8 years. She hosts a monthly spoken word night called Sling Slang and has previously hosted music nights and open mics around Cork over the years. She is a singer songwriter who will be releasing her single 'Lonely Alien' on the 3rd of March. She will also be releasing her album "Moth in the Moonlight" in the upcoming Summer. Her music has been described as being "rooted in the personal, and each song a visceral journey through the creative landscape of her mind."
You are organising Sling Slang, a spoken word night. Can you tell us more about that?
Sling Slang is a monthly spoken word night in Maureen's bar in Cork city. It comprises of two guest poets, my friend Richard Pierce is the MC, there is a communal poem written line by line by the guests on the night and an open mic as well. It’s a nice intimate little evening of sharing and I find it so rewarding being able to hold a space to see people share their words and selves amongst what is always, a receptive respectful audience. Every night seems to be so different, and I always have such an afterglow after it’s on.
Is there a common theme, structure or style that you find yourself leaning to in your poetry?
I am mostly a songwriter and usually write while listening to music. When it comes to my poetry, I find I can jot down a poem very quickly, in quite a free form, after I feel like something has had an effect on me. I do this to try and capture the feeling I had at the time. They are kind of like time capsules that bring me back to something that I felt or was registering in that moment. In ‘A mucky throne’, I wrote that as I felt anxiety going into a philosophy talk, and in the philosophy talk we were discussing how you can hold this idea about a golden life that you are striving and failing to achieve which can cause anxiety and trying to carve happiness by appreciating the life you have, can be the antidote for that. An ‘Aithnionn Ciarog Ciarog eile’ came from a moment when I felt a little bit alone, and a yellow ladybird landed on me while I was walking around town. It made me think of the people in my life that I feel are my kin, and how sacred I feel these connections are, and how they help me feel like myself. I went into the nearest cafe and wrote that poem after the ladybird landed on me to try and capture what I was feeling then.
Do you show your work in progress to anyone?
I tend to share the progress of what I’m writing almost instantly after I’ve written anything. I used to care so much about how other people would perceive what I had written, I wouldn’t share anything. I think sharing my works in progress is a personal rebellion against the me that wouldn’t share anything for years out of a fear of judgement. I hope that doing this might help others do the same, as I know so many people that don’t share their creativity for fear that it isn’t perfect. If only one person connects with what I’ve shared and fifty people cringe, I still feel it’s a win!
Would you look on writing as a kind of spiritual practice?
I definitely would see writing as a spiritual practice. I feel sometimes if I can succinctly try and describe something that is stuck in my gut, the release of that feeling/emotion can bring me such clarity and connection to myself. Even if sometimes what I write might possibly not make sense to someone else, I think writing things down creates a golden thread between the rational and spiritual sides of myself, which I get a lot from.
What are you reading at the moment?
I am currently re-reading ‘Steppenwolf’ by Herman Hesse at the moment!
A Mucky Throne
What is in this current feeling,
A knot, a lump
In throat, shoulders, heart.
Friction like velcro.
Worry like lemon
Juice curdling my milky way.
My universe is static and still,
As I try to fight invisible obstacles.
Chasing my tail.
My story wasn't created before me,
My essence has been imbued
In me & by me.
The building blocks
I've used to make my tower;
I am the brickmaker & the bricklayer.
When I see my tower I make sure to protect it.
By warding off other shapes I feel
Aren't intended for it
I reject the reality of a golden tower
As I sit on my grey throne
Nursing my insecurities.
In my dreams
I can see a tree.
Branches outstretched
With an infinite periphery,
A seat made just for me.
The throne is not gold,
It has roots, branches and muck.
Singing serenely.
Aithníonn Ciaróg Ciaróg Eile
A beetle recognises another beetle,
amidst a busy crowd.
Amidst all that is
dizzying, distracting and loud.
When I am around these beetles,
I can feel the sense of their depth.
We are all linked underneath,
far below, by sea bed.
To see someone and know someone,
And to be recognised, is magic.
It's easy to trick myself into
pretending that I don't need it.
Real connection like the din
of a hidden jungle drum,
underneath layers of concrete.
I want to support, and lean on,
My spotted ciaróg kin.
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Covet chapters 56-59
Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions
Chapter 56
“Yes, I definitely smell the gargoyle in you, but…” She sniffs again. “I was referring to something else. Something much more ancient. What were your parents?”
I’m so surprised by her question, I answer without thinking. “My father was a warlock, but my mother was just a human.”
Her eyes narrow. “Hmm. Was she now?”
This is the second time Grace’s mom has been brought up by outside people. This is 100% going to become relevant.
He just laughs a little and presses a hand to the small of my back as he guides me to a giant redwood on the outskirts of the market, a huge wooden sign hanging from a branch that proudly proclaims: Soli Tree.
Chapter 56 summary: Hudson keeps pressing the giant, who eventually says that the giant’s window occasionally dabbles in her husband’s old work. She might be able to help them out. Since they’re on the subject of young love, the giant turns to Grace and asks if this is the girl. She sniffs Grace and asks what her parents were. She hesitates for a moment, but eventually lets it pass.
The group leaves the treehouse, and continues on to a giant market. Hudson asks their host about the tree the other giant had mentioned. Their host says that the jewellery found in the soli tree is for eternal love, so you’d better be careful. However, this only disheartens Grace in their quest to remove the unkillable beast’s chains. Jaxon suggests that they should split up to “cover more ground”, which is his way of dealing with their host so that Hudson and Grace can go do what needs to be done. Despite the fact that their host has a huge crush on Jaxon, and this means he’d have to be alone with her.
Chapter 57
I just hope I don’t end up with tire tracks on my heart.
Chapter 57 summary: They find the soli tree, and it’s filled with jewellery, exactly as described by everybody else. They see magic cuffs, but more in the size of a regular human, and not for the unkillable beast. Hudson tries to ask who made them, if she does any custom work, but when he pushes the sales lady too hard, Grace has to step in and stop him.
They then do this bit where they’re looking at rings, and Hudson buys Grace one using giant money. Grace keeps telling herself over and over that it’s nothing but the mating bond, but I’m not sure that it’s working for her.
Hudson then tells Grace to play along and trust him, and Grace pretends to throw a tantrum over being able to get a cuff.
Chapter 58
“I hope she’s nice,” I whisper as we finally reach the stairs at the bottom of the tree. But before we can so much as begin to scale the first step— which is several feet off the ground—the very unmistakable sound of someone weeping drifts down the stairs right at us.
Chapter 58 summary: Hudson’s plan is to examine the cuffs that the widow made, and find the artist’s name on it. Which they get. Hudson insists that these cuffs aren’t quite right, but the sales lady is distracted by new customers showing up.
The two of them leave, and Grace feels weird with the promise ring Hudson had bought her. She wants to ask what’s been promised, but decides not to. Instead, they wander the market as they look for the others. The giants keep giving them free food samples. Which normally wouldn’t be a problem, but giant portions are HUGE. (Grace said that a cupcake was the size of a 3-layer cake to human eyes.) So she eats so much that she ends up getting a little sick. (Hudson can’t eat because he’s a vampire.)
They meet up with the others, except for Macy and Jaxon, who are still distracting their host. They make fun of Grace’s promise ring, except for Eden, who only seems more than a little sceptical about the entire thing.
They head out to the residential area, and are impressed with the foresight of the giants to carve rooms into different sections of the giant trees. They reach the tree where the lady lives, only to realize that the treehouse is sick… but not in the way that you’d think it would be. As they approach the door, they hear crying from inside.
Chapter 59
Apparently, Falia has decided to come to us.
Chapter 59 summary: They try to climb the stairs to the front door, but they all keep getting shoved back down by the stairs themselves. When it’s Grace’s turn to try, she touches the railing, and realizes that the tree is emotionally linked to the widow, and the tree is crying out with the anguish of being separated from her mate for so long. Grace wonders if this is what’s going to happen to her if she and Hudson have to be separated.
Grace suddenly starts to doubt why they’re there. She’s more concerned with the wounded feelings of a grieving woman than in saving Hudson’s life.
But then the woman comes out.
#Crave series#Covet (Crave 3)#chapter 56#chapter 57#chapter 58#chapter 59#Grace (Crave)#Hudson Vega#bad foreshadowing is bad#Jaxon Vega#Macy (Crave)
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RP Mini-Solo 11: 'Broken, Battered, Bitter, Bitchy...Vengeful'
Just another night...just another dingy little hotel room a few miles away from the outskirts of Mystic Falls. Every night...I move further and further away from that town...trying to put as much distance between it and myself as inhumanly possible. I have no idea when I might be returning...but I know that I'm not ready to set foot back in that place just yet...not after everything that I've recently been through. I sit on the edge of the bed...turning my head to glance over my shoulder at the young dead guy laying sprawled out behind me...throat savagely torn open...blood still oozing from the rather large and ragged holes in his neck. He's got wavy dark hair and blue eyes...just like my total bastard of an ex husband...well...maybe not quite as blue...but close enough. Over the past few nights...I've taken up the habit of killing anyone who happens to look like him...both human and vampire alike...whether I crave vampire blood now or not. I'm making no distinctions at this point. Maybe it's better that I don't try to patch things up with my ex boyfriend at the moment after all. I might snap his neck...drain him dry...rip his heart out...tear his head off...or possibly all of the above...for no other reason than having the same damn face. On the floor a few feet away sits a small cereal bowl...with pictures currently burning it it...torn up into little itty-bitty pieces...old vacation photos from a life that could've been...but never was...and was probably never meant to be in the first damn place. I don't even know why I bothered to keep the pictures from Nassau and Bora Bora this long. Honestly, I didn't even know that I still had them. I just sort of...found them in my purse after I left Damon's house...along with pictures of my ex boyfriend...some of which are actual photos that I still held onto in my wallet...and other pictures that I still had on my phone. No matter how much I wanted to delete them after I got married...something deep down inside me told me that I shouldn't...like some small part of me even then knew that this new life wasn't going to work out for me. Reaching a hand over towards the small bedside table...I pick up a long piece of wood...along with a big...sharp knife...and start whittling away like crazy. I swear, if I 'ever' see my ex husband again...in Mystic Falls or anywhere else...I'm going to shove this stake that I'm currently carving right through his heart...or possibly up his ass. How dare he. How dare he lure me in with shiny and expensive gifts...the flowers...the clothes...the jewelry...promise ring...engagement ring...wedding ring...bracelets...necklaces...etcetera....and the promise of forever...and then just decide that he didn't want me? Decide to dump me like yesterday's garbage? I never wanted any of those things. I only wanted someone to hold me and to give me cuddles...someone to love me...and it turns out that I had that someone all along...and I freaking blew it. I know that I shouldn't feel any emotions...especially with my humanity currently off...but one is managing to slip through the cracks of the stone wall that I have around my heart. Rage. Pure...unadulterated rage. I hate him. Pure and simple. I've never hated anyone this much before...not even Wes...and he's the one who captured me...tortured me...and turned me into a 'ripper'. Nope. I don't hate anyone on this whole entire 'planet' as much as I hate my ex husband right now. I've been broken...and battered...and now...I'm vengeful. I hope he enjoys his time on the 'Other Side'...after I ram this stake through his chest. Or...maybe I'll get lucky...and he'll go straight to Hell...where he can rot for all eternity. It would serve him right. After I finish my work on the stake...I place it back on the bedside table and get to my feet...walking to the door...deciding to go out again...pausing as I place my hand on the door handle. I turn my head and glance over my shoulder one more time...a frown transforming my features as I stare at the large...fairly fresh...puddle of blood staining the bed sheets a deep...dark...red. Screw it. I am SO not cleaning that mess up. I'll just leave it and let someone else deal with it. I honestly don't give a crap. It's not really my problem. But damn...the sight of all of that blood is making me 'really' hungry again. I feel my face go into total vamp mode instantly as I let out a feral growl. I turn my head back around...turn the knob...and disappear into the dark night. Maybe I'll get lucky...and run into my ex husband before the morning. I'll show him what being a 'ripper' really means. And anyone else who looks like him...had better get the Hell out of my way...or be ready to face the consequences.
(END)
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