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concernedlily · 2 years

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cousins wip 4

pt 1

pt 2

pt 3

“Porsche,” Korn says and waves him to the seat on the other side of the small table set up on the lawn. It’s a good choice, Porsche thinks; it’s about the only place of the whole tower that could be considered neutral territory, given everything that’s happened between Korn and Porsche, and Kinn and Porsche, and Gun and Korn, and everyone and everyone, everywhere else.

“Hello, Uncle,” he says pleasantly and gets a considering look back. He remembers Korn inviting Porsche, as his son’s committed boyfriend, to call him Papa, and feels sick.

He slips into the chair and settles himself. Don’t show fear, don’t give them the fucking satisfaction even while there’s a gun pointed at your head and an arsehole on the other end of it.

“Thank you for coming,” Korn says. There’s a decanter of whisky on the table between them, two heavy crystal tumblers already with ice next to it, and Korn gestures to it. Porsche nods and Korn pours them both a glass. Whisky at three in the afternoon doesn’t seem so healthy but Porsche doesn’t know if Korn’s supposed illness was ever even real, like his death wasn’t. It’s not Kinn’s brand; it tastes peatier, more aged, and Porsche sips it slowly. He needs a clear head to deal with Korn.

“I hear that you and Kinn have parted,” Korn says.

Porsche had promised himself he wouldn’t get riled, would stay as quiet as possible, not give anything away that Korn could use later, but it’s too fucking much. “Of course,” he says, not trying to hide his disdain. This fucking family. Would he have been like this, if his mother had stayed; if he’d grown up in a place like this, a brilliant diamond with a dark fracture at the core?

Korn sips his whisky calmly. “I understood it wasn’t mutual.”

“We can’t be together,” Porsche says through gritted teeth.

“You still blame me for allowing it to happen,” Korn says and Porsche stares back up at the pond, his eyes burning. He can hear himself, pleading with this man not to have just burned down his whole world. How could you do this to us?

“Yes,” he says flatly.

“The truth might never have come out,” Korn says, like all that matters is whether people know. “You made Kinn very happy. Can you blame an old man for wishing to see his son happy?”

The time Porsche saw Kinn at happiest was in the forest. Just the two of them, Kinn free of the weight of violence and danger and building his father’s empire, living simply and talking together over an open fire in the evening. He says nothing.

Korn leans forward, watching Porsche in a way that makes the back of his neck prickle and his thighs tense, ready to launch him into action. “Can you work with him?” Korn says intently. “He still needs your loyalty. The main family still needs the minor family.”

“He has all my loyalty,” Porsche says.

Korn sits back slowly, and Porsche is furious about being the one to put that look of approval on his face, but he’s not going to play games with this. He doesn’t care what Korn’s planning, what anyone else says or thinks: he’s going to make it clear to anyone who asks, he’s still Kinn’s in the ways that matter to their world. He’s going to be the family Kinn always should have had, caring and reliable and protective, even if the ring on his finger that makes him Kinn’s family isn’t the one he’d imagined.

“The main family is grateful,” Korn says. He’s smiling, that trust-me-I’m-harmless smile, a little tilt to the corners of his mouth.

“I don’t need gratitude from the main family,” Porsche says crisply. “I need money, men, and a signal of the main family’s support our clients and business partners can understand.”

That much has been clear from the few conversations he’s managed to have so far with people in the sphere of influence of the minor family. Nobody has been outwardly difficult, but it’s been made clear nobody is going to bother much to listen to Porsche until they’ve seen some kind of sign he’s not going to be knocked out of place as fast as the main family put him into it. It’s a paradox: he needs to establish himself separately to the main family, but he can’t do that without relying on them to legitimise him.

Korn looks at him in a new way, apprising him in a way that makes Porsche both bristle and suspicious. Korn looks almost surprised to see Porsche has more to him beyond kicking ass and being a piece of ass. Like he didn’t expect to see Porsche trying to make this work, or maybe just didn’t think he could.

It makes him mad enough to tip his hand. “And I want my mother,” he says clearly. “As soon as the minor family is stabilised, I want to bring my mother to live with me.”

“No. She stays with me,” Korn says and it’s the first betrayal of the ruthless mafia lord he must have been in his prime, a flash of anger in his eyes and disbelief that Porsche would dare step out of line that he masters almost as soon as Porsche sees it. So different to Kinn, who uses anger to cover his fear and uncertainty. The smile is back a moment later and he says in a more pacifying tone, “I hope you can understand, Porsche. I know Nampheung looks well enough, but her medical needs are extensive. I know them well. She receives the best care here.”

It’s been seventeen years and she doesn’t even know her child, Porsche wants to scream at him, but he bites his tongue. He doesn’t have anywhere safe to put his mother right now even if he got her; there’s no point challenging Korn outright for her before he’s ready. “Of course, Uncle,” he forces out. “Thank you for caring for her.”

Korn nods, his face blank. He glances at his bodyguard and Porsche does too. He knows Kasem, although not well, he’d never been on Kinn or Tankhun’s teams. He’s solid, well able to take care of a man who doesn’t leave the house so much, but he’s not going to be fit to head up the whole bodyguard operation like Chan did. Kasem steps forward now and Porsche stands up, taking the hint.

“I was sorry about Chan, Uncle,” he says. “You must be missing him.”

“Thank you,” Korn says, politely, not even twitching from his relaxed posture in the easy chair, and it’s even worse than that previous brief glimpse of what’s in Korn’s cold heart. Chan had served him for decades, run his whole security, died for him, and Korn is just - there’s nothing, at the thought of his faithful bodyguard. Nothing at all. There’s a void inside the man and it hurts to think this is what brought up Kinn. Porsche has no idea how he came out with such capacity to love, such softness inside him yearning for recognition and to be met with care and gentleness back.

They’d been so close to getting out. Porsche had thought he was so close to getting Kinn out of here.

“We both have much to rebuild,” Korn adds, watching him keenly, and there’s nothing left to do but bow, to the exact degree necessary and no more, and leave.

***

Porsche’s next couple of days are spent stuck in an airless room, thoroughly swept for bugs by Arm, with a computer not linked up to the network. He sits around a table with the money men, who put spreadsheet after report after bank statement after accounts for money laundering businesses after lists of expenditure in front of him. Once he’s looked at them all dutifully, comprehending almost nothing, Red - who is either their self-appointed leader or the actual supervisor, Porsche isn’t sure - talks it through in a way he can understand. There’s a Powerpoint presentation.

The upshot is that there’s money coming into the minor family that none of the formal records can trace and none of the secret records Arm found on Vegas’ and Gun’s machines and in their offices mention either. The minor family has been making and spending millions of baht not so much under the table as digging a hole down from the cellar, and wherever it’s coming from probably isn’t going to be very happy with the return on investment that is their business partners gone and Porsche in place and clueless.

“I need to report this to the main family,” he says. Given that Pete had found records easily on Vegas’ computer for side deals, Porsche is betting that this was Gun’s matter, and that makes it likely that any useful information about it has died with him. Even if Vegas wakes up co-operative, if Vegas even wakes up, he probably won’t be able to add anything useful.

“It’s done,” Gear says briefly and Porsche ducks his head, running a hand through his hair. Of course, he thinks, with a sinking feeling: he’s reliant on Gear, but Gear isn’t his, not really, not the way Porsche was Kinn’s or Chan was Korn’s; of course Gear is reporting back to the main family and Porsche was stupid for not realising it before.

He wonders suddenly whether Kinn came up with giving him Gear, or whether it was Korn’s instruction; or more insidious, Korn dropping hints to his son until Kinn wouldn’t even recognise he’d been gently led to giving Korn what he wanted and thinking it was all his own idea.

Still. “Thank you,” he says, firmly. If Gear is reporting to Korn Porsche isn’t going to give him anything to report other than that Porsche is loyal to the core, honest with the major family in all their business.

And if at some point things start happening that Gear doesn’t know about to report at all, then that’s Porsche’s business.

#kinnporsche #kinnporsche fic #my fic #like that through all eternity #spot the bit that got edited out of the previous part and dropped in here!!#and that's why it's not on ao3 yet

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jackshiccup · 4 months

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affectionate chin tilts my beloved.. (perhaps in the same universe as my college/long distance au)

#jackshiccup art #my art #hijack #frostcup #jack frost #hiccup #rotg #httyd #art consistency … idk her #snotlout’s not homophobic he’s just pissed theyre still dancing around each other <33 #hes on his last straw i think …#i say theyre not even dating yet but jack is clearly wearing hiccup’s college hoodie he he he #idk why modern au has such a hold on me rn… i have sock’s fic to thank i think #everyone go read can’t smile like you mean it by sockhead_42 on ao3 this is a threat #ALSO SHOUTOUT TO YENICH i love her modern snotlout hairstyle i just had to emulate it 🥹#and still obsessed w hannah brushes weeee #noooo its 3.30am.. ok toodles 😴😴#my first art of the year and its hijack GO FIGURE #tumblr i will grill u for killing the quality ☹️

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thetomorrowshow · 11 months

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Joel thinks it’s stupid, really.

Once they figure it out.

Soulmates, Grian messages them all. I think it’s soulmates.

Which makes sense, with the random pains shooting through his legs that he feels on occasion. He’s sharing a life with someone—or, three lives—and they feel each others’ pain.

Which is dumb. Because Joel doesn’t need or want a soulmate, and he doesn’t care much for the idea of having to share his life with someone and make sure they’re safe. He’s not here to be babysitting another player.

That’s what he would be doing, he’s sure. Babysitting someone. Not that everyone would be, of course—there are some players that he knows instantly will be paired up, because if such a thing as real soulmates exist, they would be them. Grian and Scar. Scott and Jimmy. Bdubs and Etho.

No one for him.

No one for Joel because he’s always been a loner. For as long as he can remember he’s been on his own in these games—in the first one he had his cottage on the hill (so long ago that he can barely remember what it looked like, he can only remember it burning and the flames licking up at him and melting his skin and the smell of his hair and he has to put it out—), and in the games since, he’s been alone. Alliances that last little more than a week, here and there, and somehow he always ends up at Grian’s side at the end of things, but he’s never actually teamed up with anyone else.

He doesn’t want a soulmate. He doesn’t want another player going through his things, walking through his space, just being near him when he’s angry and needs time alone to cool off.

But there’s a morbid curiosity, he supposes. Because he can’t help but wonder who on earth the universe would think to pair him with.

So every person he sees, he socks in the arm (and if he hits a little harder than is considered friendly, he can blame it on adrenaline).

He actually witnesses a soulmate pair find each other before he finds his own.

And, strangely, it’s Bdubs and Impulse.

For a moment, he thinks that can’t be right—he can envision Bdubs with Etho, or Cleo, but not Impulse. And while Impulse is easygoing enough, Bdubs is a wildcard. Impulse’s sense of order is going to be completely upturned by Bdubs and his harebrained ideals.

Maybe. It’s not like Joel actually knows either of them very well.

And then they’re all mining together, and Etho trips.

And Joel feels his knees sting.

Joel doesn’t want to settle down anywhere, at all ever, but after a bunch of fooling around with Grian and Scar (soulmates, just as he’d predicted, of course), he starts. . . .

Not laying down roots. He really ought to get something started, just like everyone else, but that’s just it: everyone else has something started. Everyone else has planted crops and fenced in some animals and set out to get building blocks.

Prime opportunity for raiding some new farms, and to his surprise, Etho absolutely agrees.

For a moment, Joel can forget that they’re linked—he’s just hanging out with a group of friends, laughing at Jimmy, stealing a bit of wheat when nobody’s looking, the norm. Then Etho takes an absurd amount of damage—Joel definitely doesn’t fall back against the crafting table they’ve set up for making armor, definitely doesn’t gasp and clutch at his chest, like he can stop his heart from leaping out of it—and he’s rather rudely reminded that his life isn’t solely his own.

Oh, he hates this already.

Etho calls an apology, but Joel can’t see him through the woods—if they die here and it’s Etho’s fault, he’s never going to forgive him, soulbond or no—so he heads forward, only to find Etho panting beside an enderman in a boat.

“Tricky getting him to walk into it,” Etho says offhandedly, and this could be ender pearls for them if they play their cards right.

Ender pearls are perfect for quick escapes, and if they decide to go with Scar’s absolutely insane plan of trying to take over that outpost, he and Etho are going to need an escape.

He swings with his axe at the angry creature. Easy. Easy pearls, the thing stuck in the boat like a sitting duck.

And then he swings again.

And he hits the boat.

Within seconds, he’s dead.

It’s dark at spawn, and Joel can barely keep from crying in frustration. The enderman had been in the blummin’ boat! All he had to do was hit it a couple of times and they were set!

“I’m so sorry, Etho,” he says, and he hates it. He hates that he has to say that.

He’d been worried about having to babysit another player, keep his lives safe in their hands, but here he is, having stolen a person’s life from them.

He lost Etho their first life, smart Etho who would never mess up killing an enderman in a boat, and now he has to own up to it and live with it.

“I know I messed up first,” Etho says, his eyes crinkling a bit in a way that, combined with the flat tone of his voice, tells Joel he’s definitely frowning. “But I think you messed up way worse there.”

Joel’s familiar with anger—very familiar—but it feels foreign coming from Etho. He ducks his head, runs back through the darkness to wherever it was that they’d died. Something akin to shame is curdling in his stomach, and it’s his fault that they died and Etho’s being weird about it and not yelling, meaning he’s the type to go all cold and calm with anger.

They gather their things from Impulse and Bdubs, then mess around a bit with boats—and maybe he’s just hiding it really well, but Etho doesn’t seem angry, it’s the strangest thing and Joel almost dreads the moment they’re alone together—before joining Grian and Scar on that horribly stupid plan to take over the outpost. It fails, of course, but no one gets seriously hurt and they get to lure a bunch of Pillagers into Bdubs’s stupid little house that he’s building for Impulse.

They hop around for probably a week, never alone, just watching everyone else start on their bases, before they finally set down a couple of chests and furnaces and get to work.

And Etho . . . isn’t mad.

In fact, as Joel starts laying out the foundation for his—their base, Etho comes up beside him, silently surveying, hands in his pockets.

“I don’t blame you for us being Yellow, by the way,” he says casually, and Joel almost chokes on his own spit.

“Sorry, what?”

Etho shrugs. “It was going to happen to one of us at some point,” he says. “And in my eyes? Better you than me, ‘cuz now I get to tease you for it.”

Is that. . . .

Was that a joke?

Etho leaves, and Joel’s left alone with his thoughts and a bunch of wood planks.

He’d thought Etho was boring. He’s always been the quiet, redstone-y kind of guy that Joel can’t stand—not that there’s anything wrong with that! Joel just needs somebody fast-moving, on his level, ready to burn down a building without questions or hesitation.

It’s just one joke. Anyone can make a joke, that doesn’t mean anything about their personality or character. For instance, Joel makes jokes all the time, and he’s a total jerk.

Etho can’t be likable. Sure, he was fine to wander around with for the past couple of days, causing general chaos, but he’s a bore and likes redstone. He won’t be able to keep up with Joel.

But Etho hovers there while he works, occasionally giving little suggestions to the build, and after he wanders off for the afternoon, he comes back with his eyes crinkled over his mask and bragging about some wool farm he’d built.

He doesn’t need help to build this ship. He doesn’t need to depend on anyone to get wool. He especially doesn’t need to depend on Etho, all dry looks and gloating and frowns.

Joel works alone. He always has.

But his indifference to Etho isn’t making him leave, so Joel decides to do what he does best.

Be annoying.

“I’m his biggest fan,” Joel boasts to anyone who’ll listen. “You guys know I looove redstone. Just like Etho. He’s perfect.”

Grian gives Scar a look. Scar doesn’t notice.

“We’re very happy—we have a lovely ‘Relation’ship, you know. I wouldn’t be surprised if we’re the best pair on the server, actually.”

Scott gives Cleo a look. Cleo does notice.

“Etho’s probably the best at everything in the world. He’s so good at . . . redstone. And . . . all the stuff you do with it. That’s why we’re practically made for each other.”

“I’m gonna be honest with you, you sound kind of. . . .” Jimmy trails off, glancing over at Tango for support.

“Like you’re compensating for something? Unhappy? Inadequate?” Tango suggests helpfully.

“A-absolutely untrue!” Joel sputters, then clears his throat and turns away, nose high. “I’m going to get back to working on me and Etho’s perfect ‘Relation’ship, thank you very much.”

“You’re short!” Jimmy calls as parting words. Joel ignores him.

In total opposition to what he’s been spending the past couple of days declaring, once he finishes the bedroom space of the ship, he places his bed and Etho’s bed on opposite sides of the room.

“You stay over there, and I stay over here, all right?” Joel says that night, pointing to their respective beds. “I’m not a cuddler. I don’t like people in my space.”

“But Joel, I thought you were my biggest fan!” Etho wheedles. There’s a glint in those crinkled eyes that tells Joel he’s heard the stuff Joel’s been saying.

Which is frustrating, and immediately takes all the fun out of it. He’d wanted Etho to be mad about his obnoxiousness, to refuse to speak to him, to mock him in return until their partnership inevitably dissolved.

But Etho—his eyes are crinkling, the way they did back when they first died and when he finished the wool farm and then later, when Joel showed him around the ship’s process and he silently nodded before walking off.

“It’s okay, Joel, I know you love me even if you need space,” Etho tells him now, mirth clear in his voice, and Joel realizes that maybe that look isn’t one of anger or disapproval, as he’d first thought. Maybe Etho is . . . smiling.

That’s not good.

It’s not good at all, because if Etho likes him, then Joel. . . .

Joel has to at least try to like him back, doesn’t he? It’s not like he’s the worst guy to be around, after all. He was actually a lot of fun in that first week, running around and stealing and bothering people together.

Maybe he was wrong.

As it turns out, when Joel decides he can like Etho, Etho becomes a whole lot more likable.

Etho’s brave—he goes out and enchants his stuff, and Impulse tells the story of them being chased by no less than three Wardens and Etho somehow surviving (Joel’s heart skips a beat in his chest at the most tense moments of the story, and Etho casually slugs his shoulder when he looks up to check his soulmate’s okay). He’s strong—not everyone can just run around the Deep Dark all day in full armor and live to tell the tale.

And he totally gets Joel’s sense of humor. He snorts at Joel’s contrived puns, mocks Martyn’s house relentlessly, finds Jimmy’s failures just as hilarious as they actually are.

Joel can’t remember, in recent memory, ever having someone like this. Someone he actually enjoys the company of, someone whom he appreciates and who appreciates him in turn. Someone to talk to, to listen to—and while Etho is a bit quiet, it’s not because he’s boring and isn’t thinking about anything. Joel thinks he just forgets to speak sometimes, and will gladly talk about anything if Joel asks him to.

Sure, he’s had friends. He’s always gotten along with Grian and Jimmy and, really, everyone on the server, when pressed. But none of them are Etho, exactly.

Which is bad. It’s bad because Joel is getting attached, he’s getting complacent, he’s getting happy—

That’s dangerous. This is a death game.

And maybe all that emotional-friend-love stuff works for the likes of Scott, but that’s just not Joel’s modus operandi. He can’t—he can’t be like that. He can’t get close.

“Redstoners and builders don’t work out together, you know,” he says to Etho early one morning. They’d both risen before the sun, for some reason (anxiety, perhaps, as more players become Yellow and fire proves to be a very useful tool) and had decided, without discussion, to sit in the crow’s nest, legs swinging in the air.

Etho hums quietly in that way that means he’s listening, the way he always does when Joel comes over to bother him. Patient, mellow, waiting to see where he’s going with it.

“Seriously, it never works,” Joel continues. “Their brains are too different. You’d think they’d work well, ‘cuz they cover different bases and all that, but it’s the opposite. They just butt heads all the time. It never works.”

“What about Bdubs and Impulse?”

Joel shrugs. “I mean, they both know a good amount of both, right? That’s different.”

There’s a smile to Etho’s voice when he speaks. “Tango and Jimmy?”

“Only if you’re calling Jimmy a builder,” Joel snorts. “In which case, you’re dead wrong.”

Etho makes a show of thinking—he props his chin up on his hand, taps his finger against his cheek. “Hm. You must be right. I can’t think of any other redstone-builder pairs.”

For some reason, something painful sinks through Joel’s stomach. He swallows it back, lets triumph color his tone. “Exactly. They’re too different.”

Etho drops his hand, lightly elbows Joel in the ribs. “Except for you and me, of course. We’re the exception.”

Joel’s mouth goes dry. He clears his throat. The pain vanishes, healed over with hope, surprise, a desperate need for attention filled—and he can’t even make himself disagree and argue, like he’d intended. Instead, all he can do is repeat it.

“We’re the exception.”

As he goes about his day, he barely even processes his actions—Etho thinks they work well together. Etho thinks they’re a match. Etho likes him, and his company, and his building skills, and his humor, and his bluntness, and everything about him.

And Joel’s really starting to think that he likes everything about Etho as well, as hard as he’d tried not to at the beginning.

They go down to the Deep Dark together the next day, and Joel’s trying very hard to ignore whatever his feelings may be on Etho. They can just—they can just be friends, right?

Friends who install proper stairs, of course. The way down takes forever.

“Creeper, behind you!”

Joel spins around, axe up, ready to defend—nothing. Etho huffs a little (again something now familiar that Joel had once taken to be a sign of disapproval), eyes crinkled almost all the way shut when Joel whips back around to him.

“Just kidding.”

“Oh, you cheeky devil—we need to trust each other,” Joel says, no real anger behind the way he shoves Etho lightly.

His palms seem to burn at the contact.

“I just need to make sure you’ll pay attention to me,” Etho says, and Joel has to wonder for a moment if he’ll ever have the problem of not paying attention to Etho again.

He doesn’t think he’s properly ignored his soulmate once all game, and in recent days, he can’t seem to pay attention to anything but Etho. He feels like he’s constantly thinking of him, wondering whether or not he’ll like the touches on the ship, wondering if he’s safe and who he’s with and if he’ll come home all right.

He hopes, a little enviously, perhaps, that Etho has similar worries.

“I am paying attention,” Joel says, and it’s perhaps the most honest thing he’s ever said, in all the games. “I always pay attention.”

When Etho responds, the mirth feels forced, and for a moment Joel feels almost as if he’s seeing Etho without his mask on. “You won’t ignore me in our ‘Relation’ship?”

“No, no, no. I never do.”

It’s true.

It’s so true, it hurts.

Joel—he doesn’t trust people. He can’t. And he’s sick of having to tell himself it again and again, but this just isn’t meant for him.

And then he forgets about it all, because they go into the Deep Dark and it’s bloody terrifying.

(Well, mostly forgets. Because he does walk behind Etho most of the way through the city and Etho—well. It’s a good angle for him, is all.)

That night, Joel lies in his bed on his side of the ship, and stares at the other side of the room. Etho’s sleeping—he hopes, at least—curled up on his side, a blanket pulled up over his head despite the summer heat.

Etho’s always cold, it’s practically his trademark. He’s always got that coat of his on, and gloves, and a mask.

He doesn’t wear the mask to sleep—Joel’s caught glimpses of his face while getting into bed, but he always looks away quickly—, but Joel has no clue if he wears the rest of his ensemble. Just the covers alone ought to be sweltering. Imagine a coat on top of all of that.

If they shared a bed, Etho would have to do away with that extra blanket. Joel could maybe tolerate a bedsheet, that’s it.

If they shared a—where did that thought come from?

But . . . well, Etho’s asleep. And thought isn’t a crime.

So Joel lies there, staring across the room at his soulmate, and wonders. Wonders about what it feels like to hold Etho in his arms, whether his elbows and knees are as bony as they look. Wonders if his hair is quite long enough to grasp between his fingers. Wonders if he’d still be all smooth words after Joel pulled down his mask, grabbed his jaw, and kissed him on the mouth.

Joel falls asleep a little red in the face, and the next morning when Etho does that silent crinkly-eyed laugh, he can’t help but stare and turn red all over again.

He pushes it out of his mind, and it’s through a feverish haze that he even gets through the week, even as they sneak around looking for sugarcane and messing with Scar and running from a Warden on the surface, of all places. He’s really quite occupied, but none of it quite computes when Etho’s right there, being devilishly handsome with that quirked eyebrow and white hair ruffled by the wind.

And the night after they’ve run from the Warden, Joel comes in a bit later than Etho—he’d been out gathering wheat a bit longer—to find that his soulmate has pushed their beds together.

His brain short-circuits as he blinks at the sight: Etho, one hand on the back of his neck sheepishly; the other still holding the blanket he’d been throwing across both beds.

“Is this all right?” Etho asks. Joel turns his blinking gaze toward him. “I just. I wouldn’t mind a bit of cuddling.”

There’s something in the way his eyebrows raise that tells Joel Etho knows exactly what he’s saying, exactly how Joel feels. The part of him that realizes that, that knows that Etho knows, wants to clap and holler and kiss that sexy man.

The rest of Joel, the main part of him, is trained to survive.

“Sure, whatever,” Joel shrugs, trying to affect an air of nonchalance. Etho can’t know. Etho can never know—and not that Etho can’t know just because he has a crush and it’s awkward, but because liking Etho is a weakness and Joel doesn’t have weaknesses, thank you very much.

And if Etho’s shoulders slump a bit at the response, Joel pretends he doesn’t notice.

And then the problem is, Etho doesn’t stop.

Joel makes it clear that he wants his space in bed, and Etho doesn’t encroach on that. But he does steal bites of Joel’s food, and sling an arm around his shoulder when they’re visiting the others, and boop his nose playfully when Joel starts to get angry at Grian for hoarding the sugarcane, and slowly look him up and down with a wink whenever he gets up for breakfast—

It’s maddening. It’s maddening, and every single night Joel lies there stiff as a board, inches away from Etho, trying to not let his thoughts wander to where they have so many times before.

He’s right there.

Every time Joel gets away on his own, he lets out a short, frustrated scream. And then he jumps off a hill that’s maybe a bit too high, if only to try and get Etho back for his teasing.

The fishing rods are possibly the stupidest thing they’ve ever done.

Not surprising, seeing as Grian’s at the head of this whole thing.

But Joel’s never been one for playing things safe, so he stabs the hook through the back of his shirt (he tugs on the line a few times, just to make sure it’s secure), then waits for Grian’s signal.

The first time is thrilling. The first time he flies up into the air, lands hard and laughs from the sheer adrenaline. Then he hooks Pearl, and Pearl hooks Etho, and they go up—

And Joel knows he’s in trouble for a split second before he’s dead on the ground.

He wakes up gasping, and there’s fire in his veins, there’s fire spreading all across his body and he wants—he needs to kill Pearl, needs her blood—

He rolls out of bed, scrambling for his chest and spare stuff, and then he hears someone else roll out of bed with a groan.

Joel turns, and Etho’s there, hungry fire in his eyes, and Joel needs him.

He practically tackles Etho, yanking down his mask—his lips are pink and soft and hot against Joel’s mouth, molten and perfect and everything he needs to stoke the burning inside—

Etho pushes him off (gently, somehow), and holds up a hand. Joel, somehow, manages to hold himself back. Etho’s—Etho’s right there—

Etho takes in a deep breath, and when he looks up, his eyes are crinkled in that perfect way and he’s smiling.

“Took you long enough,” he teases, and Joel lunges for him again.

Their next kiss is slower than that.

After they kill Pearl, and the pounding bloodlust in his head has quelled a bit, Joel leads the way back to the ship. He leans against the railing—and Etho leans next to him—and they kiss.

It’s lazy, Joel thinks he would say. But not lazy in the way he might be with a build—skipping details and panning over mistakes—, lazy in a comfortable, staying-in-bed-late kind of way.

He kisses Etho, lazy and lovely, warm in the evening sun. And he really, really doesn’t care if anyone’s watching.

Let them watch, he thinks, with an almost vicious pleasure. Etho’s mine.

That makes something deep in his chest silently purr, almost, and when he pulls away to breathe, he clears his throat in a contented kind of way (not a growl, not a purr, but the closest he can get without outright embarrassing himself). Etho perks up at the sound.

“I forgot to tell you, I figured out what that sound you make reminds me of,” he says, and even the excited way he speaks sounds lazy and perfect.

Joel clears his throat again—and yeah, he does do it a lot, come to think of it. “Yeah? What’s that?”

Etho sighs a little bit, tips his head onto Joel’s shoulder. “A tiger. Have you ever heard a tiger chuff?”

Joel laughs at that—his soulmate thinks he sounds like a tiger chuffing, and it’s the most stupidly adorable thing ever.

“Why are you laughing?” Etho asks playfully, nudging Joel. Joel doesn’t answer, just chuckles and clears his throat—or, chuffs like a tiger—and plants a kiss on Etho’s head.

“We could go threaten Scar,” Joel offers after a moment. His blood is starting to boil again, and he knows from lonely experience that only violence can scratch the itch.

Well. Probably only violence. He does notice that it’s a decent bit quieter when he’s aggressively kissing Etho.

Etho stands up straight—taller than Joel when he does that, which is blummin’ obnoxious of him—and slowly, gently, lazily kisses Joel. It’s warm and measured, his tongue teasing at Joel’s slightly parted lips, and it seems to Joel that he only pulls away when he’s memorized the feel of Joel’s lips.

“That sounds like a good date,” he murmurs.

Joel grins, and Etho grins back, his eyes all crinkled, and Joel takes off at a run to swing himself over the opposite railing and climb down the ladder.

Etho catches up moments later, mask fixed back on his face, and Joel pulls out his spyglass to check out where the residents of that giant cake-thing are.

They’re right beside it, as it turns out.

“Scar’s holding a flint n’ steel,” Joel warns, shoving his spyglass in his pocket. “He already took down the Ranch, we might want to be careful of that.”

Etho only scoffs. “If the ship burns, everything burns.”

Unsurprisingly, Joel finds he agrees with that—not that he can ever imagine disagreeing with Etho. He nods.

“If the ship burns, everything burns.”

And after everything burns, they burn too.

They’re dying, Joel had come through the portal to find lava and pain, and he screams for Etho to turn back but even if he had they’d still be dead—

He doesn’t even have the chance to glance back at his lover before he burns.

He drifts for a little while, the bitter disappointment of his loss somehow distant when compared to the loss of Etho. The next game will start eventually, and when it does, there’s no way of knowing that Etho will even be there. After all, it’s picked up new players and dropped others as time passed. Joel can’t even remember the original line-up, it’s shifted so much and so many times.

When he lands in the next game, he doesn’t even check his comm before punching apart a tree.

The gimmick isn’t soulmates again, he knows instantly. He’d grown so accustomed to the pull in his chest of Etho that it aches now to not feel him.

(Or maybe that’s just his heart. Same difference, really.)

So Joel tries to put Etho out of his mind and move on with his life. They were never meant to last, anyway. That’s the thing about redstoners and builders—they never work out.

He knew that. He knew they never work out, and he tried to do something with Etho, anyway.

It had been fun while it lasted, of course. It had been . . . perfect, even.

But Joel’s always been a loner, and now that he’s got that Green-life clarity, he can go back to it.

He takes down another tree and has a crafting table and some basic tools put together when someone clears their throat behind him.

Joel jumps, spins around—

Etho’s there, leaning lazily against a tree, and—his eyes are crinkled in that way—

“Miss me?” he teases, and Joel barely has time to drop his wooden pick before he’s storming over, pushing Etho against the tree, tearing his mask down—

The kiss is hard and messy, teeth clicking together and lips sliding apart, and when Joel pulls away to gasp in some air, Etho’s cheeks are flushed and lips bruised and he’s still got that blummin’ smile.

“Right,” Joel breathes.

“Wanna build us a house while I go mining?” Etho offers, and forget whatever loser thoughts Joel had been moping about with! He’s got Etho, there’s no need to be on his own anymore.

Maybe they can even win it, this time. After all, they’re together from the start here. No more acting like an idiot about wanting to be alone or whatever.

Joel watches Etho head off into a cave, stone pick hefted over his shoulder, and can’t help the way his heart skips a beat.

Etho’s his, and when everything burns, they burn together.

#double life smp #traffic smp #trafficblr #smalletho #THE SMALLETHO IS ROMANTIC!!#BEFORE YOU CONTINUE READING THEY MAKE OUT A LOT!#double life fanfic #mas writes #061323 #this will be uploaded to ao3 under the title 'when everything burns'#idk why but after a dlsmp rewatch i had a bad smalletho itch #dlsmp #again this was queued in december #so while i very much appreciate comments and will love you forever #i won't see em immediately #and also i'm not back yet from my break #but lmk what you think!#love you guys

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tyciel · 1 month

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officially introducing my geto teacher au *puts on my party hat* *cries into my hands*

#geto suguru #maki zenin #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #my art #teacher geto au #theres lore! to this whole thing #i'll gradually create more relationship profiles like this for everyone else too #but here's what i have drawn out so far #this will eventually be satosugu #... youll see #maki before the horrors #whoever let maki buy those boots is not her friend #im writing a sort of prequel to this au on ao3 rn but you wouldnt be able to tell theyre the same au yet #jjk au #idk why im yapping so much in the tags. shutting up now

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reignmaefall · 8 months

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War is upon us (ao3 is down), everyone please stay safe wherever you are (dont resort to wattpad) <3333

#ao3 #ao3 is down #this means war #its a joke #dont hate me its a JOKE #if wattpad is all you have thats cool tho #because its just a joke #lol look at me rambling #i should probably stop now #why havent i stopped yet?#that was the last one promise

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nacrelysis · 10 months

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can't help but think like, bro. if you wanted to attack the archive, good job i guess?

but if you actually wanted to erase the queer + nsfw + queer nsfw content that ao3 houses...good fucking luck, dude (sarcastic).

people are always going to create. people are always going to be exploring the meaning of humanity or morality or any complex emotion through their art.

governments and groups alike have tried to censor literature in history. that sort of sentiment has indeed led to book burnings and regimes and horrible ways of attempting to control the human mind. but do you know what it didn't do? it didn't fucking stop those writers. it didn't stop their responses. it didn't stop efforts to restore and preserve after the worst had passed.

like, if that is your unironic objective for this whole situation. i don't know what to tell you. lol. humans, we are always going to create. queer people, we're always going to have pride in our identity and expression. authors and artists and creators, we are always writing and drawing and creating for ourselves, for our inquiry, and for our communities.

if ao3 really goes down for a prolonged period of time, people will find other ways. if you take away one website, people will move to others. if you take every one of those down (and i hope it drives you bankrupt doing so), then, eventually, people will create their own archives. online. in real life. of course it won't be the same. and it'll be difficult. but, i guess my point is that we won't stop.

like imagine telling a human to stop making art. lol. companies will stop doing something if it doesn't make a profit, but we aren't creating for money. what we're creating for, our causes and motives and passions, are things a cyber attack/acts of hate will always fail to stifle and take away.

#ao3 #ao3 ddos attack #ao3 cyber attack #ao3 down #i am tired yet this would not leave my mind #i guess this post is just here to like #maybe help someone feel better or less stressed about this whole situation #but it really does make one think huh #about the things that truly drive society and why money isn't always one of them #and the value of art in resistance + expression #WELP it is late and it is what it is #apologies for any typos or miscommunication i am eeby and needs to sleeby #why does hate push down anyways if not because it knows we'll only stay down as long as they keep the boot on our necks #lmfao

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cerealboxlore · 1 year

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Captain Marvel & The Switched Minds Trope

Have y'all ever seen that episode of Justice League Unlimited where Lex Luthor switches minds/bodies with the Flash and a whole bunch of shenanigans happen? Yeah, I barely remember it, I need to do a re watch of the show some time, but it gave me a neat little idea.

What if that trope was used for Captain Marvel, with one of three people

Batman

Black Adam

Mr. Mind

If Captain Marvel switches bodies with Batman, imagine the hilarity if it happens while they are out of costume. Billionaire Bruce Wayne suddenly being mind/body swapped into the body of 10 year old homeless kid Billy Batson, and each of them having to navigate a day like that. Bruce wouldn't be happy, but at the very least he'd get a day of returning back to his childhood, getting to be a kid for just a little bit again. Or. We could go for the route where they mind swap while in costume, and Batman in Captain Marvel's body tries to investigate who his secret identity is, all the while hating that Captain Marvel in his body and making himself look like a fool in Gothom. (Which then results in a Batman (Captain Marvel) in Fawcett and and Captain Marvel (Batman) in Gothom. Ohhh, and the delicious angst of when Batman says shazam and finds out about Billy Batson!

If Captain Marvel switches minds with Black Adam, there are just so many fun and dark opportunities to show off just how malicious Black Adam can be once he has his hands on the powers of the Champion of Magic, even if just temporary. He'd wreck havoc and become a tyrant, striking terror into the world and earning the concerned and anger of the Justice League, who are under the impression this is still the real Captain Marvel. Black Adam won't even try to lie and attempt to remove them from his path, but when his fist is met with his own, Black Adam will learn the true meaning of never underestimating your opponent, especially yourself. Could definitely bring in some possibilities like showing off how strong Billy Batson is and a cool identity reveal.

As for Mr. Mind, I'm really interested in seeing a mind swap happen with him. Seeing as how their bodies and selves are drastically different, and how his mind control powers could be a factor in this. Kinda like that Kafka situation, if i remember the name right, there could be some amazing parallels of written well enough.

Billy in Mr. Minds body trying to warn the JL of Mr. Mind's plans, but, he is but a worm. He'd have to rely on using Mr. Mind's monstrous powers to relay the information needed, and maybe get the help of a certain pair of supersons (Tiny worm and tiny super powered children team up). Mr. Mind in Captain Marvel's body would be....

A threat.

Oh, there's also the option of Billy swapping bodies with Lex Luthor. Haha. Now THAT would be a rollercoaster of fun.

Anyways, that's all my thoughts for now, and just me saying that I really want to read/write a fanfiction where Captain Marvel (Billy) mind swaps with someone. Might not have expressed everything that I wanted to say correctly, but it's late right now and I am full of oatmeal, so I'm quite sleepy.

Please send me y'all's thoughts and opinions, I love it when y'all include your own things!

@wolfsbanesparks

especially you wolf, I was gonna send this as an ask to you but it got way too long in the end

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grecianheart · 1 year

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I'm a good person, I don't deserve this

#ao3 #why hasnt Tumblr fallen apart yet #is it only me #am i all alone

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eye-of-the-tigerseye · 1 month

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Stronger than any U.S. Marine (on my lunch break while ao3 is down).

#why is this so hard #like i do other things #i can read the real book thats in my bag #and yet #ao3 #archive of our own #ao3 down

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warlocksorcererorwgatever · 3 months

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Hear me out. Arthur loved Merlin purely because he is who he is, he was so fond of him without knowing most of the reasons why he should be, but Merlins love for Arthur was always tainted by destiny, he wouldn't love him even half as much without knowledge of this invisible strings that tied him to Arthur, he did love him immensely, of course, but this love wasn't as pure and natural as Arthur's love for him

#Merlin #not merthur #Merlin bbc #merthur #i love affection so strong that you can't tell wether it's platonic or romantic #i have a short fic like that btw #or #and also i completely adore the way tagging works on tumblr and ao3 #arthur pendragon #bbc merlin #oh #and and and and english is such a weird language you have so many useless words and yet only one that means and in Ukrainian we have three #separate words that mean and #for us to use according to rules so it's sound prettier #why do y'all only have one #create another please #so yeah i love how tagging works here #i just wrote a whole another post #My post

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an-eldritch-peredhel · 3 months

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Chapters: 1/? Fandom: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Finwë/Míriel Þerindë | Míriel Serindë, Finwë/Indis (Tolkien), Indis & Míriel Þerindë | Míriel Serindë, Finwë/Indis/Míriel Þerindë | Míriel Serindë, Míriel Þerindë | Míriel Serindë & Vairë the Weaver, Fëanor/Nerdanel (Tolkien) Characters: Míriel Þerindë | Míriel Serindë, Finwë (Tolkien), Indis (Tolkien), Vairë the Weaver, Fëanor (Tolkien), Fingolfin (Tolkien), Nerdanel (Tolkien), Maedhros (Tolkien), Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Romantic Soulmates, Platonic Soulmates, Parental Soulmates, Non-Traditional Soulmate Dynamics, Ficlet Collection, Unreliable Narrator, just a lil bit, Mythology - Freeform, Just the first chapter, Angst and Tragedy, Character Study, Relationship Study, might be more accurate, Additional Warnings in Chapter Notes, im sorry for tagging gen alongside relationships, but different chapters have such wildly different focuses, so picking multi or other wouldn't really do it, Other Additional Tags to Be Added Summary:

The Peoples of Arda are often born with promises inscribed on their skin. Whether the result of spirits splitting, a survival advantage, the inexorable will of Eru, or any other theory the scientists and theologians and philosophers can come up with, when you meet who you are marked for, they will change you. It doesn't change the world, though, and this is still Arda Marred.

#my writing #silmarillion #silm fic #fanfic #soulmates #guess who's alive with a new self indulgent fic 😎#i've been taking a break from tumblr and i don't think i'm ready to come back yet but the draft was about to delete on ao3 so i decided sure #i'll post this at 1 am #why not

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blackashbluephoenix · 7 months

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Contribution to the Suits Marvey fandom for the day:

1. Mike and Harvey biking through Central Park together

2. Any vacation Harvey takes Mike on after they're commited to eachother needs to have bike trails for them to explore.

#marvey #harvey specter #mike ross #mike x harvey #Yes I'm writing the fic tonight #shocked no ones done this yet but I have raided Ao3 #and there's NOTHING #like we see posters in his apartment and in his office- Mike loves to Bike #And Harvey hits the gym every morning #So why can't one of their things be a bike ride some mornings

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silv-paru · 4 months

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FUCK CANON ALL MY HOMIES HATE CANON

#holby city this is for you #i hate soap opera with a passion #you have no idea #and yet #did i just inflict myself several bloody long seasons of useless drama just to catch a glimpse of lesbians #you bet i did #anything for the sapphics #they have so little screentime together why do i do that to myself #and when they're *finally* happy all the bloody drama comes right back again - i can see the writing flinging itself from a cliff #why do soap always want to kill every character they have?! and then pull a 'ahah not dead' card when fans are upset #anyway #save me ao3 #thank you for existing fanfiction #don't know what i'd do without you #holby city #berena

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laurel-finch · 3 months

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'I Don't Bite' S1.Ch09: Gamble

Summary: The reader learns more about herself with a new friend's help... Referenced Episodes: None. CW: Minor gore (hunting for food). Word Count: 4015 Recommended Song: Go Your Own Way -- Fleetwood Mac Previous Chapter -- Masterlist -- Next Chapter

I told myself it would only be a few days, that traveling with a stranger would just distract me. The first night I laid awake thinking was this really the best option for me? Two days with Calliope turned into three. Three turned into five. Five turned into a week. A week and a half later, the two of us were still traveling together – sometimes I had a hard time understanding why.

"You know, you could at least smile for once," she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. She pouted from her place on a fallen tree, a fire whirling at her feet. I chuckled softly and leaned further into my backpack, stretching my feet out in front of me.

"I do smile," I countered playfully. I crossed my arms over my chest and stretched out languidly. It was chilly out and I brought my feet closer to the fire in the hopes of warming them.

"But only like that," she said, gesturing towards my face. I frowned and pulled my eyes from the fire, taking in her dower expression. "You never, like, actually smile. You know, where your cheeks hurt because you've been smiling so much."

I dropped my gaze back to the flames, eyes downcast. “I’m just tired, Cal.”

She sighed. We fell silent for a few moments and I enjoyed the sounds of the forest. It was late now and the moon was high in the sky casting a weak glow through the trees. Its milky glow splattered the ground like someone had dipped bunches of grass in white paint.

"Do you want to go hunting tonight?" she finally inquired. "We could hunt something together if you feel up to it."

I shrugged and nudged some tinder closer to the fire with my covered toes, using my boot to press the twigs over the edge of the stone pit and into the flames. The fire sputtered encouragingly as it devoured the kindling. "I'd rather watch you hunt again, if that's alright."

She huffed again. "When are you going to help me bring in the food, huh?" she teased, a smirk growing on her features. My brows twitched downward in a frown. This wasn’t the first time she had subtly pushed me toward changing forms.

"When you stop being so damn good at hunting," I quipped back. "Seriously, you make it look like art."

Her face flushed and she ran a shy hand through her dark hair, hiding her face from the light of the fire. Calliope had a unique way of hunting. It was more like tracking and then a sudden, swift attack. She could down an animal in one blow, and when she tore at its skin it was as if she was shredding a pre-existing seam. Nothing like when I hunted – blood always got everywhere, all over the fur of the animal and all over me.

She made it look effortless and minimized the mess. It was almost impossible to tell that there had been a kill in that very spot. It was even more impressive each time I saw it.

Despite her bulky, fluffy malamute form Calliope was incredibly fast. Hell, sometimes I thought maybe she could rival my own speed. She could certainly rival Marcus's and she wasn't even a pure-blooded wolf. I assumed that came from years of living on her own.

"Have you ever wanted to join a pack?" I asked her. She was caught off guard by this question, looking rather confused and shocked by it. She stiffened, bottom lip quivering for a split second before she broke into an uneasy smile.

"I mean... not really? I've never really thought about it, honestly,” she answered in a warbling tone. I turned my head to face her as she suddenly stood on the downed tree, walking up and down its length and balancing with spectacular precision. "I don't know, I've never met many others like me, so I've never thought about being in a big group of them." She turned around to face me, arms extended wide to keep balance. "What about you? Do you have a pack?"

I hummed contentedly in acknowledgement and leaned my head against my bag. "I do… you’d like them."

She paused as she met my eyes. My gaze was steady, expression unreadable. I believed my words, they would like her, and she would probably like them. If she wanted to visit… I wasn’t opposed. "What are they like?" she asked, hopping down from her log.

"They're... warm. And funny. I can count on them to be my family, my friends, and I have a sneaking suspicion that if I asked them to, they'd help me bury a body," I joked.

"Why are you away from them if you care about them so much?" She sat down beside me, the grass faintly crunching beneath her. She leaned forward and propped herself up with her arms.

I bit down on the inside of my cheek. Right, the question we’d both been dancing around. My skin prickled and I shivered at the feeling of a warm sensation on the back of my neck. Like warm breath fanning my skin, demanding my answer. "... I was hunting with a few friends," I finally answered uneasily as I rolled my shoulders and pulled my jacket around me.

"... Hunting?"

"Yeah," I mumbled back. I sat up and sat beside her, pulling my knees to my chest. My hooded gaze scanned the treeline, feeling as if I was being watched by someone other than the woman seated beside me. "Hunter friends. Humans. It was supposed to be a short hunt, but..." I cleared my throat and stared at the earth beneath my dirty shoes.

"Something happened?" I glanced at her from the corner of my eye, her blue eyes locking with mine. Her eyes never changed color, seemingly a permanent manifestation of her furred self. I wondered if maybe she always kept it right on the surface out of necessity. "It's OK if you don't want to talk about it!" she said hurriedly. "I totally get it, sensitive topics and all that." She fell backward onto the grass, her limbs stretched out and fingers groped, tearing at the little green shoots, a few old leaves getting tangled in her hair.

"I killed someone." Her eyes widened and she looked as though she wanted me to continue. She eventually grew frustrated with my silence and sat up with a groan. "A human. I just… I got scared and I lost control.”

She was silent and I could feel her eyes on my face, gauging my reaction and waiting for me to continue. I leaned forward, plucking at the blades of grass around my legs.

It wasn't necessarily that it was hard to talk about. It was just... if I told her about it that would mean I'd have to recognize what I had done. It was always in the back of my mind. How do I fix this? How do I stop it from happening again? What will I do if it does happen again?

I didn’t like the honest answer to any of those questions. Thoughts of my mother swirled, her panicked frenzy that drove her over the edge and led to her death. I didn’t want that to be me.

I pictured myself staring down the barrel of Sam or Dean’s gun.

So much had changed over the past few months. I had become something I never wanted to be, and now there were others dependent on me – me, someone who could hardly rely on herself. How was I supposed to lead my pack when I never had any intention to do so, and certainly no experience?

I envied Calliope. She was so... free. Unapologetically herself. She didn't have to worry about what a pack thought about her, or if she was doing it right. She wasn't scared of her wild instincts taking hold and potentially hurting someone she cared about... again. I wanted to be like that, free to be myself and learn who I was, as a skinwalker and a leader. That was the whole reason I avoided contact with others like me in the first place.

Maybe I cared too easily?

I jumped as I felt her warm hand touch my shoulder. I turned to her, expecting to see pity in her pale irises. Instead, I saw affection and understanding. I felt something warm slip down my face. I reached a calloused hand up and brushed my face, my hand coming away wet.

"Shit," I whispered as I frantically brushed away the stray tears. "Sorry, I didn't even realize-"

"It's OK," she interjected. "We’re all eggs sometimes. We crack." I tried to laugh, but my giggles turned into sobs. She wrapped her arms around me and I leaned into her embrace without thinking.

—

"Are you sure you're OK with me following you like this?" I asked the bouncy malamute standing before me. The sun had barely risen and my eyes were still sticky with sleep. Calliope yipped and bounced around in a circle before facing me and flashing me a doggy grin. I flashed a small smile back. "I'll take that as a yes."

She yipped again, bounced high into the air, and bounded off into the woods. I jogged behind her and she would occasionally check over her shoulder to make sure I was keeping up.

My human form was not as well-conditioned as my wolf form. As a wolf, I felt that I could run forever, as I was built just for that. As a human, I lacked balance and precision in my running. I felt clumsy and wasn't nearly as fast.

Calliope howled and dashed madly into the woods. I assumed she had picked up the scent of another animal. I couldn't blame her for leaving me. I smiled warmly and watched her fuzzy figure disappear into the woods. She would come to find me soon. Until then, I slowed my pace and buried my hands into the pockets of my jeans. The knees were scuffed and torn from a lot of wear – they were perfectly fitted to my wolf form, blending perfectly with my skin when I shifted, and incredibly comfortable.

I momentarily pulled my cold hands out of my pockets and drew my old jacket tighter around me. It was barely spring in Montana and still freezing.

I was ecstatic when I saw crocuses budding for the first time under a thin blanket of snow. The little purple and yellow flowers were so delicate. The fact that they could bloom in these harsh mountain conditions amazed me.

I heard an excited yip in the distance and my content grin widened. I suppose that meant Cal had found something to hunt. I wouldn't be surprised if she came barreling towards me in the next few minutes, keen on me helping her track whatever she had found.

I walked towards the distant yip, my feet falling on the dried leaves and pine needles that littered the ground. The Rocky Mountains were nothing like back home; there was little to no humidity here, and the temperatures always stayed rather low compared to Alabama. Here, you could step into the shade of a pine tree and feel the temperature drop ten degrees.

I heard a howl towards my left. It jarred me, making me jump. Calliope was still a ways off, but I hadn't expected her to have moved so far in a short period. Her howl wasn't the same excited whine I had heard before. This one was different, but I couldn't quite place it.

I wished I could be out here running with her. A race against Calliope would have been an impressive sight, with her speed and finesse matched with my raw power. I cracked a grin, imagining the feeling of my paws pounding against the forest floor.

I had tried earlier that morning to shift but to no avail. Granted, I had felt my furred form closer to the surface this time, but my hackles had barely protruded before I was exhausted. Despite Calliope's kind words, I still had that barrier, and I wasn't sure how to overcome it-

My skin chilled, save for the warmth at the back of my neck, like a puff of hot breath. I shivered. An unwanted image pressed into my mind and my brows furrowed, my head spinning. Divots in the ground, like claw marks.

The hell..?

I placed a hand on my temple, my head pounding now. It felt like something was clawing to get in. I stumbled and clutched at my face. This felt like… when I first met Marcus and Caeden.

I heard a whisper distantly in front of me. My eyes widened and, to my shock, I could feel them filling with that familiar molten gold color.

Come, it said, demanding this time whereas before it had been coaxing.

Come.

My golden eyes flared as I marched further into the woods, picking up the pace with each whisper. In a few short seconds, I was sprinting through the woods, chasing an invisible presence. This time I was going to find those damn whispers.

See.

I ran harder now at this new word, my feet pounding against the ground. I nearly tripped over a root but somehow regained my balance and plowed forward once more.

Go, it said. It sounded frantic this time, whatever it was. I could feel my hackles rising, the fur waiting to burst forth. I hardly took note of it. My mind was set on finding the source of this whisper.

The whispers got louder and more frantic until it felt like they were almost screaming. My head was pounding at this point, trying to understand what it was saying. It sounded like one voice echoing or distorted by water.

It really was screaming now, screaming the word 'go' over and over until that was the only word in my mind. Not the thought of finding it. Not Calliope.

Go!

I burst forth into a clearing and the screaming suddenly stopped. I blinked away rapidly forming tears, caused by the aching pressure in my head. It was silent for the first time in minutes.

Something was wrong.

I heard a scream mix with a roar, a ferocious, rage-filled roar that made my stomach curl and brought another shiver down my spine. My feet were moving again without my permission, carrying me in the direction of the not-so-distant scream.

Once more I heard a high-pitched wail, filled with terror. My eyes widened and suddenly my legs were carrying me faster than they ever had in this form.

I felt like I was flying again.

The trees thinned and I could see a river ahead of me. It had a shallow bank lined with thousands of small rocks and the occasional reed springing up from the water. The trees hung low over the bank, and a wide sand bar stood in the middle of the shallow yet raging water.

On the bank of the sandbar, I saw Calliope, a monstrous grizzly standing above her, one heavily clawed paw raised.

I howled and pushed my legs harder, passing massive, muddy paw prints on the bank that surely belonged to the grizzly. I sprinted through the water, my feet barely touching the riverbed before I was taking another step, and the water doing its very best to knock me off my feet.

The water rose higher, up to my mid-thighs, as I struggled to run through the coursing current. Calliope snapped her jaws at the bear, bullying it into distancing itself. The grizzly snarled in rage, curling back its black lips and showing three-inch fangs.

I screamed in rage, pushing forwards and practically swimming through the water shallow but turbulent at this point, my feet hardly touching the bottom. I trudged up the bank, the water sinking lower now and I took large, sweeping steps. Calliope's eyes locked on mine for a split second. The bear lunged at her, attempting to sink its sharp teeth into her shoulder.

I clambered up the bank as I felt the familiar feeling of fur sprouting along the ridge of my spine. My nails elongated to claws and my teeth grew to sharp points.

And then it all stopped. Fur bristled on my arms, thicker than my usual body hair, but nowhere near what I needed. I inhaled deeply and closed my eyes, ears deafening save for the constant roaring of the river. I struggled to ground myself, to keep hold of my instincts. I felt eyes crawling across my skin, watching my every move.

The grizzly whirled on me as I came pounding across the rocky bank towards it. It stood, reaching its full height as I collided heavily with its chest. My fangs sunk into its meaty shoulder in a way that was vastly unpleasant compared to my wolf form. I roared and dug my teeth further into the beast's shoulder, my fangs sunk into muscle and tore. The bear swiped a paw at me and snarled.

I jumped back, narrowly avoiding the raging grizzly's paw. As the bear righted itself, Calliope tugged herself to her feet and pounced onto its back. Her claws and teeth dug into the animal's thick flesh, too much for it to take out on her own.

I shouted Calliope’s name frantically as the bear rolled, attempting to sink its broad jaws into the much smaller figure on its back. She fought to hold tight, blue eyes on mine and curled tail lashing. I backed into the water, rising to waist level quickly. She huffed as she clawed at the things skin and then finally leapt free.

Calliope’s paws skittered on the river rocks and she dove muzzle-first into the river. I followed as she plowed through the water, the bear roaring on the embankment behind us. We ran as far and as fast as possible from that scene, not looking back until the grizzly's roars faded into the distance.

—

My whole body curled forward as vomit sprang from my throat in painful waves. Calliope’s hands stroked my back in a soothing manner as I heaved into the grass of our small campsite. My body trembled in response to the sharp, sudden stimulus. My ears rang as whispers licked at the back of my mind. I choked and clutched my stomach as I felt the prickling sensation of fur receding into my skin and my teeth withdrawing into my gums.

Calliope’s frantic words finally reached my ears as the torrential wave of illness slowed. “I’m sorry, I- there was a cub, a- a baby, and she was really, really territorial, I didn’t know-”

I laughed, wiping my mouth with my sleeve. I'd have to wash this coat later – it was drenched with dirty river water and now with bits of vomit, though that wasn't the worst thing its fabric had seen.

Cal scoffed and swatted at my back, then smoothed the mark at my groan of protest. "You could have died!"

I laughed harder, cackling now, and threw my hands up into the air in joy. I fell backward onto a large patch of fluffy grass and held my stomach. Calliope watched me like I was insane. The sudden rush of endorphins in response to my vomiting and the sheer adrenaline of the chase had thrilled tears in my eyes and a smile on my lips.

"That-" I wheezed as I struggled to regain my breath, "- was awesome!"

"You and I have very different definitions of 'awesome,'" she grumbled as she flopped down beside me.

"That's the closest I’ve gotten in weeks!" I exclaimed, throwing my hands up in triumph, the oversized sleeves of my coat rolling down my arms. "Not only that, but I didn't kill the bear!"

"Did you want to kill it?" she questioned, her brows furrowed in confusion.

"No!" I laughed and flashed her a wide, confident grin. "No, I didn't!

—

"Do you really think they’d like me?" Calliope questioned in a soft tone, worry written across her delicate features. I clasped a hand onto her shoulder, now decorated with a small messenger bag that I had purchased for her in a small city. It was decorated with turquoise beads and a western style chevron pattern – fitting for Montana tourism.

I lifted my head and furrowed my brows as I walked beside her through the edge of town. Her eyes were fixated on her dirty, worn out shoes as we plodded slowly down the sidewalk. Her skin was freshly cleaned and she smelled sweet, a mix of strawberry shampoo and her signature wintery scent.

A single day in the small city had settled my nerves enough that I found myself willing to pursue true civilization again. Family, friends, hunting. Slowly, of course, but it felt like the first step of many. Maybe I could do this.

“My pack?”

“Yes.”

“They’d love you,” I answered with a small smile. I placed my hand on her shoulder in a comforting gesture. She fiddled with a strip of paper in her hands, a train ticket to somewhere in the Midwest. She frowned and ran her thumb over the city name.

“Could I… visit someday? Just to see what it’s like? To see you again?” she asked as she lifted her head to meet my gaze. Frosty blue glazed over with worry and fright. I placed my other hand on her shoulder as we came to a stop a few yards from the station. I held her at arm's length and fixed her with a firm stare.

"They'll love you," I said definitively, as if our minds were already made up. I trusted her, and I knew they would too. "If they give you any trouble, tell them to give me a call. I'll charge my phone up as soon as I can, just in case." I knew they wouldn’t, not when she smelled so much like me now. Not when I smelled like her. Her wintery scent, subtly melted to reveal the scent of warm earth and belonging. My rich earth blanketed in frost, like a warren built for comfort in the cold.

She looked up at me with pensive blue eyes, a slight nervous flush to her cheeks. “I wish you would come with me.”

“I will, eventually,” I assured, squeezing her shoulders. She dragged one hand from her ticket and placed it on my wrist. "I still have some friends I need to apologize to. But don't worry, I'll come home soon." This time I smiled reassuringly and she grinned back.

She hummed quietly in response, swallowing nervously as the word home slipped from my lips. "... Don't be too long. God, I feel like I'm missing you already," she said with a laugh. She threw her arms up and beckoned me in, a hug I gladly reciprocated.

"Take care of yourself," I mumbled quietly to her. "And don't let Marcus mess with you too much. I have a sneaking suspicion that he'll love to pick on the newbie."

“I’ll try my best," she giggled. "I'll see you soon,” she said as she took a few steps back and waved shyly. Her hands gripped the straps of her backpack as she swiveled daintily on her heels and dragged her tired feet toward the train station.

I sighed as I watched her go and picked at my nails nervously. I buried a nail between my teeth, clenching down firmly with my teeth as the train approached. I wanted to go with her desperately. My lovely friend, soon to meet my family. A new addition to my pack. A ragged huffed escaped me as I pulled my nail from my lips and dusted my palms off on my jeans.

It was too soon. I had other business to attend to first. An apology deep in my gut that needed to be ripped from my lips. I clenched my jaw in worry as I began the long trek back to the familiar arms of Sam and Dean.

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