#Like i know there's new characters and new plot and everything and like again I've seen it but my brain litterally ignores it
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luckyartdrawer · 2 days ago
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100 Follower Milestone Poll! 🎉🎉🎉
Heya lovelies!!! This blog hit 100 followers oh my goodness!!!
I really can't believe it, it's so awesome to see you all here! <333 Whether you're new or old around here it doesn't matter, I am electronically hugging and/or patting all of your heads in great thanks! ✨💖✨💖✨💖✨
To celebrate, I have some options in a poll for y'all to choose what you would like to see for this milestone! I HIGHLY suggest reading the explanations of each option below the break! It clarifies some important details. Its down there so any of y'all just scrolling by won't have to worry about a wall of text! <3
Please feel free to vote even if you aren't following me!!!
Poll Options explanations:
Drop early chapters of EYED / Dreamlike: This is a Moon-centric x reader fic I've been working on for several months now and I originally planned to start posting it when I finished it or got really close to doing so. I dropped a sneak peek of it here! I find myself currently on a standstill on it's later chapters, which is why it hasn't been finished yet, but otherwise I am reallllly happy with it's messaging and pacing. (Rn I have plotted out 15 chapters but it's looking like it could be longer with how I write oops-)
The first chapters have been pretty polished at this point, so if people are really curious about this one, I don't mind to start posting the chapters up to a certain point. If this wins, I'll post the first 3 chapters for 3 sequential days, then 4 and 5 will come out in the next week, and then the last week I'll post ch. 6 for no particular reason mhmm yup I am not planning anything nefarious-
Drawing requests: This would be my first time doing something like this, and while I know I can pop out some bangers for y'all I also don't want to dig myself into a hole and leave y'all waiting for a long time. 😅So if this wins, I'll take the first 10 requests and draw them out! If I feel capable of doing more I may open some more slots for y'all, but I need to test my speed and my capabilities here first. Expect some lovely rendering bc I love it so, but I won't be doing backgrounds (besides simple colors) for the sake of my sanity.
Drabble requests: Most of ya here probably see me as only an artist, but I do write and actually started out as a writer first for this fandom hehe. ✨ I've been doing well recently with short stories so as long as y'all want em, I can hopefully dish em out at a reasonable pace! I, again, haven't done something like this before. So if this wins, I'll take the first 10 requests, but I feel more confident that I can do this at a reasonable pace, so if things go well I'll open up 5-10 more slots for y'all!
Rendered drawing of a dca AU: Hehe, my forte /J. I've drawn some whacky crossovers, cute sillays, and horror stuff at times, but some of y'all also know I love soooo many AUs in this fandom, hehe! I definitely do not mind drawing AUs, there are MANY I haven't drawn for, but I will be avoiding drawing other's specific AUs. I love making fanart, but this is going to thank y'all for being here, so I would like to keep from using someone else's AU -- it would feel like I'm stealing them e3e.
Plus, this is from me to thank you! And so will the goobers! I'll try to be as detailed as possible with both the characters and location <3
If this wins, I'll set up another poll to last for 3 days. It'll have some general au options like Mer, then I'll list out some crossovers I have done like Submas! Sun/Moon, and I'll add my own AUs! There will also be an option to suggest an AU/crossover! (Please don't be afraid to do so, as long as enough people have an interest in the option, or even if it doesn't win I may still make it if I really like the suggestion! <333)
Rendered drawing of Biblical dca: This means the drawing will be as realistic to the original as I can get it! Gonna do my best to do material rendering and all mwehehe! Though, I may make him extra polished/shiny to not only play with reflections, but to also say how sparkly y'all make me feel hehe ✨✨✨
If this wins, I'll try to finish the drawing within a week or 2 after I make the announcement of the poll's winner! I'll also throw out a really quick poll for 1 day to let y'all pick who will be our biblical goober: Sun, Moon, or Ruin Eclipse!
Something else: This is pretty self explanatory, but if you have ideas, comment below! (You can even if you didn't pick this option!!!) And if you see an idea you like or that you wanted to comment already said below, please reply to that person's comment to keep things easy to track! You don't have to say anything if you don't want to, just drop something simple like ✨ in it and I'll know that means ya voted for it. :) (I'll be checking to make sure people didn't vote on the same comment more than once! But you can vote for multiple ideas <3)
If this wins/has enough interest, I'll choose the most popular suggestion! Depending on what suggestion wins, I may actually do BOTH that suggestion and the winning/2nd place option on the poll!!!! ( Woah 2 for one what :O )
My choice 💥💥💥: I typically don't like making choices actually, but in the case y'all are indecisive I will step up ✨✨✨ If this wins, I'll likely choose whatever sounds best to me in that moment hehehe, you'll never be 100% sure what I'll do >:)
Moon's bald and we love him for it: Oh yeah we do! <3 This is just a joke option to let people who don't want to vote to see the results. If this wins... Uh... We'll go for the 2nd place vote! And also I'll add a bald Moon doodle as a bonus goodie. (I'm so good at making incentives to get people to vote, I know I know ✨✨✨)
Thanks again for all the love guys!!! This fandom has been so good to me and I cannot thank y'all enough for making it as awesome and welcoming as it has been! <333
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marmartheimp · 1 day ago
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I LIED!! THERES MORE!!! This is the last one actually,
I didn't use Emo boy or Quinton because frankly they are uninteresting characters. They take up unnecessary space and their plot lines lead ultimately nowhere.
Why these five (Autumn isn't a bully but he is technically apart of their group) well these guy are are the most defined. Except Garfield, he actually is just a new character sharing a name with a preexisting character.
Garfield is a gargoyle, again the world is supposed to be a large mixture of creatures and mythos, so I decided to put a gargoyle. Garfield is a Quarterback for the Safe haven Academy Phoenixes. The school colors are yellow and white, and yes Rusty is also on the football team too.
Camilla, again changed to a selkie, she's a pinniped (A seal/Walrus pup). Why the change? again more mythological creatures, I feel like a selkie is more fitting. She's a rich and obnoxious mean girl. Her mother is a super model and her father is a high up CEO. Her and Garfield are dating. The two match each others crazy.
I hope to show off their dynamic more in the future.
Rusty is the same. Except he's a apart of the football team. He's a tackler and falls into the jock group. Him and Garfield are close. Reuben was his previous name before he was adopted by two elderly farmers. He does everything to prove he's worthy of his place even if he's has to push weaker people around.
Baltimore, a prestige Christian theater kid, she has high standards and doesn't care if she hurts your feelings. Baltimore is a daughter of a local priest and believes she holier than thou. I know she isn't originally a puritan but I think it would a interesting angle to have the crazy Christian more apart of the plot instead of randomly shoehorned in. Her outfit is a lot similar to traditional long skirt and all that.
Now, biggest one I've changed, Autumn. I thought he blended into too much with other characters. He's still a deer shape shifter but decided to go down another route. He's still sassy and calls out Rusty. I wanted to have another layer to him and made him native. Taking away his god lineage and having him just be spiritual leaning.
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kbookblurbs · 2 days ago
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Wind and Truth - Brandon Sanderson (Stormlight Archive #5)
4/5 - midseason-finale ass book; he needs to scrap this editor; this book simply never ends
MAJOR SPOILERS BELOW!! LIKE FIRST LINE!!!
We finally come to the end of the first arc of the Stormlight Archives and they are going to need a new name. Before we dive in, I want to clarify that I did enjoy this book! I think it tackled a series of very hard-to-conclude plotlines in a relatively good way, and I think it sets Sanderson up for success in the latter half of this series. With that said, I'll be splitting this review into four parts:
Kaladin, Szeth, & therapy speak
The Spiritual Realm plot
Azir
Book mechanics
Kaladin, Szeth, & Therapy Speak
Now first of all, anyone who's read anything I've written knows I love Kaladin - he's one of my favorite characters of all time and his journey through depression is one of my favorite parts of this series. That said. I find the whole timeline of this healing to be highly suspect, and his attempts at therapizing embarrassing at best and deeply annoying at worst. What context is there for him to go from literally attempting suicide in the last book to semi-competent therapist in no time at all? Need I remind Sanderson myself that there is no time skip between the end of RoW and WaT?
The language is also just bafflingly modern in a way that nothing in this series has been before, but we'll get to more on that later.
The flip side of this criticism is that Szeth's plotline was easily my favorite of the book. His completed arc might rise to rivaling Kaladin's (thus far) in terms of how much I enjoyed it. His backstory is so tragic (slay for the almost successful military coup though?) and I truly believed he wasn't going to make it through the book until the very last page. His moments with his father, in the past and present, brought me to tears more than once.
The Spiritual Realm Plot
This whole plotline took too long and frankly, it was boring. Watching Shallan slay her demons for the umpteenth time and deal with Formless again and kill her mother again was, and this may be controversial, not a very interesting plot point to me. She's done all this before. I feel that this book, as a whole, gave diminishing returns on her pagetime to character development ratio. I also don't feel that Shallan, with all her everything else, needed a Herald as a mother as another twist, but maybe that will be more relevant in the future. For that reason, and that reason only, I'll bite my tongue on criticizing it unnecessarily
While it was nice to see Renarin and Rlain get together, I have to admit that Renarin's POV didn't add much for me. I think Sanderson could have written the entire plotline for these two from Rlain's perspective and it would've been far more interesting since he is, in my opinion, the more interesting character between the two of them. Renarin's POV does not reveal anything that isn't already clear from other POVs.
I also just wanted more of Ba-Ado-Mishram. She was haunting the story but not present. I understand that's likely for later plot reasons, but it did make this section drag. Dalinar contributed to that but  we don't have time to get into that right now. I was happy he died though (long overdue, in my opinion).
Azir
Adolin #1 character of all time? The only one to save their assigned city and did it with 0 Radiants and the power of friendships? Nobody is doing it like him.
I loved the founding of the Unoathed and, particularly, Yanagawn's development. I'm really hoping that Yanagawn becomes a more important character in next major arc, since he was so sweet here.
I did not love that we spent probably 25% of the book in Azir fighting battles. Contrary to the opinion of Sanderson many fantasy authors, there is an upper limit on how many battles you can include before I get tired of reading them. There's only so many ways you can swing a sword or block a pike etc etc before I'm bored.
Book Mechanics
Overall, I find this concluding book to be much weaker than the other 4 in the series. Whereas it had seemed that the pacing was improving in Oathbreaker and Rhythm of War, here we were back to all over the place. While I liked that he split the plot into each day leading up to the contest, the timeline genuinely made no sense.
Beyond that, this entire book was filled with oddly YA-style prose that has never appeared in the Stormlight Archive until now. I think whoever edited this book must be different from the other four because, in my opinion, it was much too modern, not as tight, and frankly, not as good. And I know this might be controversial, but I did not think Maya calling Adolin a slut was funny. Why would she even use that word? Whore or prostitute would've been acceptable because they've been referenced here before but I found that example and others like it to be jarring.
Conclusion
I liked this book, but it's by a longshot my least favorite in the series. It was too long and frankly, some of the characters didn't even sound like themselves. I know that Sanderson can do better than this, but it leaves me a little wary for the next arc.
There's lots here I didn't cover (Jasnah my beloved, Sigzil! I'm in mourning) but this was already quite long. DMs / ask box are always open if you'd like to chat more.
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froggies-bloggies · 5 months ago
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annoying my followers by posting 500 death note posts out of nowhere and then getting into chainsaw man despite never posting anime on this blog
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nowoyas · 4 months ago
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Trying to make sense of the Nanowrimo statement to the best of my abilities and fuck, man. It's hard.
It's hard because it seems to me that, first and foremost, the organization itself has forgotten the fucking point.
Nanowrimo was never about the words themselves. It was never about having fifty thousand marketable words to sell to publishing companies and then to the masses. It was a challenge, and it was hard, and it is hard, and it's supposed to be. The point is that it's hard. It's hard to sit down and carve out time and create a world and create characters and turn these things into a coherent plot with themes and emotional impact and an ending that's satisfying. It's hard to go back and make changes and edit those into something likable, something that feels worth reading. It's hard to find a beautifully-written scene in your document and have to make the decision that it's beautiful but it doesn't work in the broader context. It's fucking hard.
Writing and editing are skills. You build them and you hone them. Writing the way the challenge initially encouraged--don't listen to that voice in your head that's nitpicking every word on the page, put off the criticism for a later date, for now just let go and get your thoughts out--is even a different skill from writing in general. Some people don't particularly care about refining that skill to some end goal or another, and simply want to play. Some people sit down and try to improve and improve and improve because that is meaningful to them. Some are in a weird in-between where they don't really know what they want, and some have always liked the idea of writing and wanted a place to start. The challenge was a good place for this--sit down, put your butt in a chair, open a blank document, and by the end of the month, try to put fifty thousand words in that document.
How does it make you feel to try? Your wrists ache and you don't feel like any of the words were any good, but didn't you learn something about the process? Re-reading it, don't you think it sounds better if you swap these two sentences, if you replace this word, if you take out this comma? Maybe you didn't hit 50k words. Maybe you only wrote 10k. But isn't it cool, that you wrote ten thousand words? Doesn't it feel nice that you did something? We can try again. We can keep getting better, or just throwing ourselves into it for fun or whatever, and we can do it again and again.
I guess I don't completely know where I'm going with this post. If you've followed me or many tumblr users for any amount of time, you've probably already heard a thousand times about how generative AI hurts the environment so many of us have been so desperately trying to save, about how generative AI is again and again used to exploit big authors, little authors, up-and-coming authors, first time authors, people posting on Ao3 as a hobby, people self-publishing e-books on Amazon, traditionally published authors, and everyone in between. You've probably seen the statements from developers of these "tools", things like how being required to obtain permission for everything in the database used to train the language model would destroy the tool entirely. You've seen posts about new AI tools scraping Ao3 so they can make money off someone else's hobby and putting the legality of the site itself at risk. For an organization that used to dedicate itself to making writing more accessible for people and for creating a community of writers, Nanowrimo has spent the past several years systematically cracking that community to bits, and now, it's made an official statement claiming that the exploitation of writers in its community is okay, because otherwise, someone might find it too hard to complete a challenge that's meant to be hard to begin with.
I couldn't thank Nanowrimo enough for what it did for me when I started out. I don't know how to find community in the same way. But you can bet that I've deleted my account, and I'll be finding my own path forward without it. Thanks for the fucking memories, I guess.
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absolutebl · 10 days ago
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MY BEST & WORST BLs of 2024
My Top 10 BLs of 2024 are (in order)
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1 Cosmetic Playlover
Japan Gaga
I love this little show. It's a classic office BL about the older workaholic who loves his job and the younger upstart who unexpectedly loves his boss.
It’s a hyung romance where everybody is extremely earnest and sweet and pretty about everything. Except our seme, who is slightly unhinged and a little obsessed in all the ways one likes best from Japan. Utterly charming unexpected gem of a show. What fun!
Already in hard rewatch territory.
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2 Love For Love's Sake
Korea iQIYI trigger suiside
KBL isekai about a man who must win a game by convincing a reserved teen outcast to fall in love with him. Of course, that teen represents himself and his own unhappiness. Like many queer narratives, this show is actually about self worth, trust, and found family, and it is VERY on the nose. But I don’t expect subtlety from my BL and I enjoyed it's truly lovely redemption arc and earnest performances. The narrative tension is tight, and the pacing is killer.
That said, I did find the flow a touch disjointed with overworked filming angles and poorer than average captions, but the consistency of tone, script, and immersion is spectacular, beyond the norm for BL (even KBL). You will drown in this show and like it that way. The leads have fantastic chemistry and it's ultimately highly rewatchable and utterly charming, which counts for a lot.
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3 Unknown
Taiwan YouTube
Unknown is a wonderful BL with a pitch perfect portrayal of long term pining, age gap, and the stepbrothers trope. The acting and chemistry are ON POINT (especially from the leads) which made the resulting characters very believable.
When it dwells in intimate family drama, it's stunning. It's slightly less successful when it leaves the home and goes gritty. It's few flaws are the result of curtailed length. It could have used more breathing room to deal with side plots, characters, and companion character development. The editing was occasionally choppy and packed with flashbacks that broke the emotional tension. Still, those are mere quibbles for me. This is an excellent show based on one of my favorite old school BL tropes that I know I'm going to be recommending for a long time.
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4 We Are
Thai iQIYI
I unabashedly loved show. It was slow to find its stride (I didn’t get into it until ep 6!) but I’m so glad I gave it a chance. It’s a soft ensemble piece with multiple couples and very little plot, but I didn’t care because it’s not trying to be anything more substantial.
Essentially, this was a series of vignettes covering one year of uni for a queer friendship group finding love, new friends, and laughter. It’s not being harsh with us or it’s characters the way some offerings of this ilk have been (side eyes Friend Zone and Only Friends) nor did it tumble into Gen Y chaos. In fact, this reminded me more than anything of a refined Love Sick - just with older characters and occurring within a genre that has matured over this last decade. It has that close queer friendship group meets earnest gentleness that made me adore Love Sick and Make It Right so much.
In other words, this was Thai BL at its finest, finding it roots again 10 years on, but also stretching upwards and showing us what it could do with that original seed. So? I adored it. Did it blow my mind? No. But it left me smiling and made me belly laugh quite a bit.
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5 Cherry Magic (Thai remake)
Thai grey
A soft charming warm hug of a show about crushes and mind reading and self worth that really worked for me. With no-fuss execution from a consummate team and an OG lead pair (proving why they remain eternal and deserve to grow up).
Look, here’s the thing, Cherry Magic is a great Thai BL in its own right - not comparing it to any other iteration. But even when I do compare (and I've seen all the Cherries and read the manga) it stands strong.
I, personally, like the Thai BL slightly better than the Japanese live action yaoi, but I think that’s because I just really enjoy Thai BL's style and I LOVE TayNew (who may be my favorite OG branded pair still in operation). Also all the kissing was both present and better in this version. As it should be from Thailand.
Highly recommended.
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6 Wandee Goodday
Thai YouTube
Such a FUN show. A charming quintessentially modern Thai BL about a doctor and a boxer who start as a one night stand and then fall in love. Great rep for everything from Muay Thai, to safe sex, to FUN sex, to ace, to bisexuality, to smiley kisses, to the first legal gay wedding in a Thai BL.
It’s a delight and I enjoyed (almost) every single moment of it. With out question it's best traits are active positive representations of green flag boys, communication, and grown-up relationships but the chemistry is ALSO on point. I personally can't (and don't) ask for much more than this from my BL.
Highly recommended as one of 2024's best pick-me-ups.
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7 The Sign
Thai YouTube
This show is literally everything (except straight) all at once. It's BL, queer, band of brothers, romcom, erotica, PNR, fated mates, police procedural, fantasy, mystery, suspense, and slasher. It’s the king of genre mash-up chaos. Sure, it's madness but there is genius in it.
Was it a crazy unhinged mess +1 roll for damage? Yes. Yes it was.
Did it manage to hold all those tangled threads together? No it did not.
Was it also a charming, sexy, engaging, non-stop piece of entertainment? Sure thing.
I think this show is basically my KinnPorsche, and frankly I’ve been chasing that dragon naga since KP aired.
Is it perfect? No. But it was balls to the wall FUN.
Emphasis on balls.
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8 Century of Love
Thai Gaga
This is a very pretty drama about a young man who fell in love with a nice girl 100 years ago, and when she died in his arms, he was cursed to live until he could meet her reborn self. Only this time around, she’s reborn into the body of a man. Or is she?
I love it when Thailand gets all up in its own historical business and reincarnation and shizz. I like this pair (it’s not DaouOffroad’s fault I didn’t enjoy their first series.) Daou’s wushu is snazzy and we got a unique meet cute. (Erm… Remeet cute? Meet cute 2.0?)
Ultimately, this is I Feel You Linger in the Air + First Love Again, rather than (as one might expect) Until We Meet Again or The Director Who Buys Me Dinner.
The leads turned in great performances, although Daou outclassed everybody else on that screen by making us really believe he's over 100 years old.
It’s a good story and a great BL and I can’t find any major faults with it beyond a certain level of camp that is sadly endemic to lakorns. I’m going to give it credit as the kind of BL that one could safely recommend to lovers of melodrama and historical romance, without having to qualify it as “good for a BL.”
It was, to put it succinctly, a VERY ENJOYABLE show.
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9 Sugar Dog Life
Japan grey
This is a phenomenally charming and adorable little romance about a forlorn university kid and the police officer who adopts him. They are relentlessly kind to each other, in fact it’s an extremely kindly show over all (everyone in it is so nice to everyone else including us) so there’s very little tension. But what it lacks in drive, angst, and complexity it makes up for in earnest acts of service and simple affection.
These two are basically boyfriends from the get-go, it’s just one of them acts like it and doesn’t realize it and the other one realizes it and has to figure out how to make it a reality. It’s incredibly sweet and incredibly wholesome, nourishing but delicious.
Everybody who can, should watch this show. It will make you feel better about life.
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10 The Rebound
Thai iQIYI
I am well aware that objectively this show was, erm, NOT good. But this was a sports romance Thai BL pulp with everything I could have asked for given this sub genre. More, actually, since MeenPing are both great basketball players and the team component really did form part of the connective tissue of the show (vital in a sports romance IMHO since these are band-of-brothers narratives).
Meen has his shirt off within the first two minutes which is all I needed but he's still pretty great as the sullen secret-keeper against Ping's cheerful survivor - childhood sweethearts torn asunder and now reunited. Then Frank sweeps in to give everyone a bad case of second lead syndrome.
I always try to judge BL for what it is AS BL, and what it’s trying to do within its own territory and purview. This did exactly what it claimed on the tin: gay boys play b-ball and fall in love. That was all I wanted from it. Sure there was random kidnapping and a light bought of mass murder, but what’s a BL in 2024 without a touch of the mafia? You do you little pulp, I’m disposed to be pleased.
These BLs all got 9/10s from me. Unlike in 2023, I did not hand out any 10/10 to any BLs in 2024.
The 13 BLs That I DNFed in 2024
(no particular order)
7 Days Before Valentine
Bad Guy My Boss
Bad to Bed
Beside You
Close Friend 3 Soju Bomb
Happy of the End
Kiseki Chapter 2
My Universe: Refund Love
Ossans Love – Season 2 (5 years later)
Playboyy
The Hidden Moon
The Whisperer
Time the series
You can consider these my "worst BLs of 2024." I am no longer a BL completest, too many aired in 2023 and it broke me. I now DNF all whenever I feel like it.
Codicil
I only carefully track/watch Thailand, Taiwan, Korea, and Japan. Other countries are not fully represented.
2024 - My Numbers
So my spreadsheet chronicled 109 BLs that finish airing in 2024 (down substantially from 138 last year). Japan has increased production slightly (length and consistency), Taiwan stayed steady, but Korea cut back - as did Vietnam, the Philippines, and Thailand.
73 = watched & reviewed (almost 30 less than 2023! I fell off the wagon in a big way)
3 = I'm still thinking about watching/finishing (4Minutes, Blue Canvas of Youthful Days, Spare Me Your Mercy)
20 = CNF (could not find)
13 = DNF (which accounts for how few very low scores I handed out, I just stopped watching). Speaking of which...
Ratings spread
(# of stars. & # of BLs given that rating)
0 (see DNFs instead)
1 - IT'S DEPRESSING they killed the gay, save yourself
1 - I DON'T KNOW WHAT I AM WATCHING AND NEITHER DOES IT
3 - FATALLY FLAWED but still basically BL, however… do we want to support this kind of behavior?
3 - WATCH IF YOU HAVE NOTHING BETTER TO DO but don’t expect much, it’s a total hot mess
9 - WORTH WATCHING BUT FLAWED probably around the ending or in narrative structure/cohesion or censorship
24 - RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS i.e. isn’t quite BL, convoluted, not strictly HEA, too short/long, or chemistry issues
22 - RECOMMENDED some concerns around tropes (like dub con) or story structure but still satisfies as BL
10 - ABSOLUTELY RECOMMENDED probably a few pacing issues or one flaw
0 - HIGHLY RECOMMENDED faithful to tropes, happy ending, good chemistry, few flaws, high rewatch potential
Favorite 2024 call out?
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The Sign's nod to UWMA
Most adorable meta moment of 2024?
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Wandee Goodday
Most stunning execution of a traditional trope in 2024.
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Began Beginning (the shoulder lean)
(source)
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clericsandpaladins · 1 month ago
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I find Season Four to be quite interesting in that the Duffers have confirmed that originally it was meant to be the last season, but they had to split it for the sake of pacing. Season Four is less of it's own season and more of the set-up for Season Five and that tells us a lot about the plots in Season Four.
I've seen a lot of people argue about the purpose of the California and Russia plotlines considering that they are so disconnected from what we could call the main plot, which is Vecna. But the Duffers are NOT bad writers. They had an extra six months to work on and revisit their scripts. Everything in Season Four was very intentional, which is why I choose to give the California and Russia plotlines the benefit of the doubt. Do they seem pretty pointless? Yeah, right now they do. But when you think about it, we are only seeing half of the story here. Season Four and Five were meant to be ONE season.  Hopper's prison break is only half of the story, we don't yet know the true purpose for reviving him and spending so much time getting him out. We needed to get Hopper away so that El could spend this season continuing her ongoing arc of self-discovery and independence. What we don't know is why we need Hopper back and that's the question I think will be answered in Season Five. You don't kill and revive characters for no reason because it takes away the stakes in your story. By doing that, you're making your audience less invested in the safety of these characters because they KNOW there are no consequences. So then why did the Duffers spend a quarter of Season Four getting Hopper back, despite it's irrelevance to the plot until the very end where they help to defeat Vecna? That's the question that Season Five will answer. The California group go on a big road trip trying to find El. Seemingly the only purpose for this is to be able to find El so she can get to the pizza freezer and help Max, making the rest of the stuff they do pretty irrelevant. Right? Wrong. Because, once again, this is set-up. We are only seeing half of the story the Duffers wanted to tell. So then what is actually happening in this plotline? Certainly nothing much with Jonathan. But what we do spend most of this plotline doing is showing the development of Mike and Will's relationship. They start off awkward, they argue, they have heart-to-hearts. The majority of this plotline is dedicated to showing us how Will and Mike interact and behave around each other. You know how it all ends? With a chekhov's gun in the form of Will's painting and his veiled love confession. If the Duffers are indeed good writers, then they have to address this is Season Five, once again showing us we are only seeing half of the story.  Because of the chekhov's gun, we know that Will's feelings for Mike have to be addressed in Season Five. If they aren't, then what was the point of the painting in the first place? We didn't need it for Mike to confess his love to El. El dying should've been enough for Mike, but it wasn't. Will reminding Mike of what happened in the van is what lead to his love confession. The painting has a purpose, it just hasn't been addressed yet. Similarly, if this emotional arc with Mike and Will ends with no change in their relationship, then what was the point? There was no need for Will to be in love with Mike to show his queerness. They could've introduced a new love interest for Will like they did with Dustin and Robin. But they didn't. Will's inevitable confession to Mike needs to result in a change for the California plotline to have a purpose, otherwise the narrative wasted all that time building up to nothing. Not to mention the fact that Will is the key to tying up Mike's arc. Mike feels like he isn't needed by El and this is a major insecurity for him. He spends most of Season Four worrying about this and so in order for his ending to be satisfying, we need to resolve this insecurity and prove him wrong. Yet, Season Four ended with El realizing she had value as a person outside of her super powers and that she doesn't need another person to feel whole. She is her own superhero. But you know who does need Mike? Will. In conclusion, these plotlines aren't useless. They are set-up. EDIT: I wrote this at 2am lol. Wish I would've waited and edited the post a bit but alas 2am thoughts are never edited.
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fioiswriting · 1 year ago
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Reunion | Sequel
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[Part 1]
Summary : After the Battle Above the Gods Eye, Daemon returned victorious. Aemond was presumed dead, though his body was never found. Three years later, you've mourned your former husband and are ready to move on. But it seems that some ghosts from your past have come back to haunt you, and that the dead aren't really dead after all...
Rating : Explicit 18+, MDNI
Pairing : Aemond x Velaryon/Strong!niece!Reader
TW : unprotected sex, breeding kink, mention of characters death, angst, possessiveness, p in v sex, oral f receiving, dom/sub undertones, mention of war, AU where the Blacks won the war, anxiety, Reader has a child, grief, fluff, pregnancy, not proofread. 
Reader is Rhaenyra and Harwin’s daughter so I imagined her with dark hair like Jace, Luke and Joffrey but feel free to imagine her as you want of course <3
Words count : 9150
Author's note : Hello everyone!! Sorry for the wait, I've been very busy, but here's part two of Reunion (or at least the first part two, let's call it part 2.1 hehe). Thank you again for all you kind comments and the love you've given my fanfic omg!! Spoiler alert: this is the happy alternate ending! But I've got another bittersweet alternative ending planned 😈 If you think the first part was good enough on its own and the sequel may break the vibe, don't force yourself to read!! But if you need a happy ending, here it is <3 The plot still doesn't make any sense, but hey, we're here to have fun so enjoy ❤️
English is still not my first (or second) language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes <3
When you wake up, the first thing you feel is the reassuring embrace of his arms around you. You don't want to move, not even when the sunlight tickles your face through the opening between the wooden shutters, trying to make the moment last endlessly. But the growing anxiety in your stomach chases away the illusion of your fleeting happiness. 
You close your eyes a little tighter. Perhaps if you try again, perhaps if you try harder, the world around you can fade away.
Perhaps you can wake up again, in a different reality.
But it's inevitable. You know that now you're awake, it's only a matter of time before the two of you have to say goodbye forever. Your breathing becomes heavier, and you have to fight the tingling sensation at the corners of your eyes.
Why have the gods decided to be so cruel to you? They grant you one last taste of his skin on your lips before taking it from you, again. 
Haven't you given enough? 
Could they not show you mercy? 
You who had forgotten him, you who had begun to turn a new page, to seek comfort in the arms of the cold, far away from the fire and the ashes, why did you have to touch the poison that would once again stain your soul?
Behind you, Aemond buries his long nose in your hair. His hand absently caresses the skin of your thigh, just where the edge of the linen tunic you put on sometime during the night when you were cold ends. The fabric is pulled up, revealing the outline of your bottom, and you can already feel your uncle hardening between his thighs, but you don't move.
If you move, you'll make everything more real. Tangible.
You'll speed up the process of losing him, of him slipping through your fingers. 
How can you let him go, now that your heart is full again, now that you feel complete in a way you haven't felt for over three years?
How can you let him go, now that your body has retrieve the extension of itself in the arms of the man who was the cause of your torment, your moments of joy, your pain and, paradoxically, your happiness?
"I know you're awake."
You hold your breath and Aemond inhales into your hair. His hand moves down the inside of your thigh, along the hollow that joins it to your groin. He doesn't venture any further. 
His thumb rests there and brushes your skin, trying to arouse the desire in you with gentleness.
Subtly.
 He doesn't want to hurry, he doesn't want to rush you.
Not when he's been harbouring the impossible fantasy of waking up with you in his arms since the day he nearly died.
He presses harder against you, as if he doesn't want to let you go, as if he wants to be one with you again, and you feel him pulsing against your buttocks, under the linen cloth that has been pulled up a little higher. He says nothing, but he is pleading, needy, in his gestures, which is rare for him.
Something has changed, after all, and perhaps something has changed in him too. 
"I am awake, indeed, " you whisper in a voice that is still half asleep. The lump in your throat betrays the feeling of anxiety gradually creeping into your body, and Aemond seems to notice. Under your tunic, his hand moves up along your belly until it nestles against your chest, close to your heart. His thumb draws small circles, once again trying to bring you back to him.
Trying to calm your mind.
"Let us forget for a little longer," he whispers, his clenched jaw resting over your head. "Please." 
And you know he never begs. 
Aemond takes and doesn't ask.
Aemond believes he is owed everything and never gives in return.
Hearing him beg breaks something inside you, because this is the first time he does so.
Usually it was you, it was always you, begging for peace, begging for more, begging him not to leave you.
Part of him is as desperate as you are; part of him also dreads the moment when you will have to part again. Forever. It's comforting to know that his feelings are sincere, just like yours.
" Make me forget, then." You reply, moving your lower loins back against him, giving him tacit permission to explore your body once more. His fingers move down to your breasts, which he covers softly with his hand, his thumb skimming over a nipple to make it hard. You let out a gasp between your parted lips.
His hand slides lower, his palm flat against your lower belly, his fingertips brushing the light patch of hair at the top of your mound. You feel the familiar warmth growing between your thighs, in your core.
He sighs against the back of your skull, his head tilted forward. His lips search the skin at the nape of your neck, behind the long hair that has become tangled during the night, while his fingers intimately explore the secrets of your body that he knows all too well. The remnants of last night's lovemaking still smear the insides of your thighs and folds, but it doesn't matter; his fingers easily find the little bundle of nerves that they tease until you close your eyes, until your hand grips the damp, shabby sheet that covers the ragged mattress in the inn where you've spent the night.
Just the both of you, in the comfort of anonymity. 
"Let me taste you". His voice, still husky, tickles the back of your neck and you feel him shift behind you. When you feel the warmth of his bare chest, against which you're nestled, leave your back, your body automatically tries to move back against him. You still need him. You still need him to chase away the lump of anxiety in the pit of your stomach and the voices that keep reminding you that you're only postponing the fateful moment. Your hand slips under your white tunic and wraps around his wrist to force him to stay there, to hold his fingers against the source of heat spreading from your core. Your hips are demanding, grinding against his hand. "On your back," he insists, and stands up on his forearms.
With reluctance you turn over. You obey, lying on your back, your hair spilled around your head on the flat, uncomfortable pillow on which you slept badly. The white tunic that serves as your nightgown is pulled up, crumpled, just above your crotch, which it barely conceals. 
Aemond has swung over your body, silvery strands loosening from the braid that holds his hair behind his head and sliding down his shoulders, falling in loose loops on either side of his face, tickling your cheeks.
His lilac-tinted blue eye glows with a predatory gaze, a ray of light catching in the sapphire he hasn't removed from his socket. 
He captures your lips with his own, begging for access. Aemond marks your jaw and throat with light kisses, sucking at your collarbone to make the violets of possessiveness with which he likes to adorn your body bloom. His lips travel down your chest, playing with one of the two small nipples raised by the cool air and by desire, and continue their journey past your navel. 
Your heartbeat quickens as he settles between your legs, spreading your thighs to admire the part of you he covets so eagerly. At the same time you bend your legs, your gaze falling on him, on his unravelled hair, on his eye that locks with yours. He is so close to you, so close to your warm centre, and you know that between your folds the sweet nectar that your uncle longs to taste is already flowing.
But his lips trace the inside of your thighs instead, where the skin is soft and tender, and gradually they reach the hollow that connects them to your most intimate part. He takes a malicious pleasure in building up the tension, in savouring every millimetre of you like a fine delicacy, with only the tip of his lips brushing against your skin.
His thumbs spread the tender flesh of your womanhood and then he places a chaste kiss on the very centre of you. His tongue is shy at first, tracing the slit that connects your entrance to your little knob, collecting the evidence of your desire.
As his tongue wraps around your nub, your hands grip the sheets, knuckles white. 
Aemond drinks from your essence like a thirsty man, his nose buried between your folds, rubbing your pearl.
The tip of his tongue catches what drips from your opening, and then the flat of his tongue tastes your slit, working its way up to the little nub gorged with desire. 
He maintains the same rhythm, revelling in the moans that escape from your half-open lips. Soon his middle finger begins to draw circles against your entrance, the first knuckle sliding inside, then the whole finger. Your head is thrown back and immediately your hand buries itself in his silvery hair, gripping his braid in a messy bun behind the top of his head. Forcing his face against the most intimate part of your body, forcing his lips to work on your wet warmth, you seek more contact. 
Aemond adds a second finger. He can feel you tighten around him as he searches for that particular spot, as his tongue continues to play with your bundle of nerves.
As he devours what is his, utterly his.
His fingers, the ones that aren't buried inside you, close around the flesh of your hip in a possessive grip. "Come for me," he whispers against your womanhood, his eyes lifted to you. "I know you can do it."
Your breathing becomes more erratic, faster too. You tighten the grip of your fingers in his hair, your thighs pressing either side of his face, and he collects the sweet taste of your release on his tongue with a hum. 
You feel like you're floating. The waves of warmth still wash over you, less and less intense, your breast rising and falling as you catch your breath. 
Your hand tucks a lock of his hair back behind his ear as Aemond lifts his face towards you, and you rest your hand against his cheek. His parted lips still glisten with your desire smeared across the lower part of his face. He stares at you without moving, his deep, regular breathing the only sound to break the silence that has followed your release. You stay like that for a moment, his gaze burning into yours. At any moment he might pounce on you. At any moment he might close the tiny distance separating your mouths and press his lips against yours like the starving man he is.
It's you who makes the first move. You taste yourself on his lips and your tongue entwines with his in a fiery, demanding kiss.
Straightening up, Aemond creeps between your legs, his hand on the underside of your thighs, holding them apart. He is still completely naked from the night before, he has not bothered to get dressed after your lovemaking, so you can catch a glimpse of his erect manhood, slightly curved. He wraps his hand around to guide it towards your still sensitive wet entrance.
He slides into you easily, in one slow movement. The haste of the night before, the urgency of the reunion, has given way to the tenderness and laziness of the early morning, and Aemond rocks inside you slowly. His hips undulate, punctuated by long, deep thrusts, in an illusion of domesticity. 
But the damp sheets, rough against your skin, the discomfort of the hard mattress beneath your back, remind you that your lovemaking is anything but domestic.
For Aemond is still the enemy, for Aemond is supposed to be dead.
For your family is probably looking for you at this very moment, worried that you have not returned home for the night.
But you push those thoughts away. The weight of your uncle's body on top of yours soothes the knot that forms in the pit of your stomach at the thought of time slipping away, at the thought of having to leave him again, at the thought of this being the last time you will taste his lips, his skin.
Aemond is gentle, and that is rare enough to be worth mentioning. He has never been so gentle, so soft, in the limited time that you have been married.
Between you, there had been the devouring, consuming passion, the power play that in your submission had granted you dominance.
Between you it had been raw and devastating more than gentle and tender.
His fingers run the length of your body to your core, combining his slow, deep thrusts with the movement of his fingers against your clit.
There are only few words exchanged between you, as if you were both afraid to break the grace of the moment.
His panting, noisy breath echoes in the silence, skimming the skin of your throat, then mingling with yours as the shadow of his lips brushes against yours. He rests his forehead against yours, your hand cupping his cheek, sliding behind his neck, and you are transported into a cocoon of intimacy where nothing else exists around you.
There is only his body against yours, warm and reassuring.
There is only him inside you and the slow movement of his hips.
There is only your breathing, blending in the space that separates your mouths.
"Do you know how much I've missed you?" He whispers against your lips as you close your thighs around him. "How much I dreamed of this tight little cunt?" You swallow his words. Your hips meet his as he pushes against you. He is reaching deep inside you. Despite the intimacy of the moment, his body oozes power and darkness, and you can't help but be drawn to that side of him that complements yours so well. 
You can't stop your body from aching for him. 
"You could have been my queen," he says as his movements grow stronger. He won't last long, but neither will you. He's inside you, where you like to feel him, and your walls clench around his member. "And I would have set the whole world on fire for you." He thrusts. "Burned it to the ground" He thrusts again. "All for you." And again.
The old wood of the bed creaks with each of his movements.
You seek out his lips, just to brush them against yours. 
Without sealing the kiss.
"And I would have accepted," you answer with a whimper. "I would have been your queen, qybor." In another life, you think you would.
In another life, in another universe, you would have been his queen.
A grunt escapes his lips and lands in the hollow of your ear. Aemond straightens on his bent elbow, right next to your head, and he plunges into you one last time, with more power, more vigour, just as his new position allows.
You close your eyes. 
A second wave of warmth is about to engulf your body.
And you wait for it, you welcome it.
"Look at me when I come inside you," he growls hoarsely as his seed pours deep inside you, into the most intimate part of your body. "Look at me as I fill you up."
Your eyes lock with his, fiery as ever. A final moan escapes between your lips and you seal them to your uncle's in a feverish, wet kiss. You hold him in your arms for a moment longer, as if to allow yourself the luxury of illusion for a brief instant. 
You delay the fateful moment a little longer, fighting the minutes that inevitably slip through your fingers.
"Stay inside me just a little longer," you whisper, burying your head in the hollow of his neck where you can feel the rapid rhythm of his pulse. His arms close around you, holding you tight against him, and you hear him purr against the hair on the crown of your head. He rocks you gently.
The silence welcomes you both into its embrace and you savour it like a treasure. Your body aches in the sweetest way, your insides throbbing around his softening manhood. 
And around you, nothing exists anymore.
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** 
"I've changed, you know." His hoarse voice vibrates against you, but you refuse to meet his eyes. You keep them closed. 
You're not sure if Aemond has really changed. Aemond is ruthless, cold, brutal, calculating, merciless. Cruel. You're not sure if Aemond can ever change, but he shows unusual tenderness, and maybe, just maybe, you allow yourself to doubt. You indulge in the illusion. 
Perhaps Vhagar's death has broken something in him. 
Perhaps it's true, perhaps he's not the same man anymore.
He's not sorry for what he has done. He never will be. He's too proud, even if you can catch the glimmer of remorse that colours his icy eyes when he is not looking at you.
Does he think of your little brother? Is he haunted by the memory of him, as you have been for so many years?
Does he think of the innocents he killed without flinching, the blood he spilled in the Riverlands that now stains the burned grass? 
Is his sanity slowly being eaten away by the atrocities he has committed with his own hands? 
He has changed. You are not sure if he's changed for the better or for the worse, but he has indeed.
Daemon has changed too. So has Rhaenyra. So has Jace.
You too have changed.
For war changes people, war makes them weary and wary, it shatters something in the body that will never be the same again. It hollows out the roundness of the cheeks, it deepens the dark circles under the eyes, it fades the sparkle of childhood that remains in the eyes.
Aemond seems to be waiting for an answer, but the words remain stuck in your throat. I know, you want to whisper, I know, but suddenly you've forgotten how to speak. His thumb draws the soft line of the underside of your breast.
The future terrifies you more than ever. You had made peace with your past, you had come to a conclusion that, even if it pained you, had given you some respite. 
Seeing your uncle alive had reawakened your demons. 
Spending the night in the embrace of his arms had revived everything you had buried deep, deep down. 
The past had returned, creeping towards you, gnawing at the corners of your heart and at what remained of your sense of stability and certainty. 
Now you are plunged into doubt. 
Just as you were a little over three years ago, when you were informed of his death, when you had to learn to live with the choice that had never really been given to you.
Just as three years ago, when you noticed a familiar lilac-tinged blue in Rhaegar's eyes.
Like when you had to live with the memories that haunted you, that were slowly eating away at what little sanity you had left.
Like when you finally decided to leave for the North.
Aemond seems to sense your anguish, because his fingers get lost in your hair. 
"What are we going to do now?" 
Finally, you dare to utter the inevitable words that have been hanging on the tip of your tongue since you woke up, words you've swallowed so many times this morning. You immediately blame yourself. 
Saying them only makes them more real.
They tear at something in the imaginary cocoon you've built for yourselves. You bury your face against his skin, breathe in his scent, as if you never want to forget him.
For you know how fleeting memories can be.
You remember how his face faded with each passing day.
You don't know if you'll ever be able to experience it a second time.
"We could leave," Aemond replies, as his fingers venture to your jaw, caressing the line of your cheeks with the back of his knuckles. 
He's so pragmatic, as always.
Even in this situation.
Even now.
It makes you want to shake him.
"We could run away," he says again. His gaze, fixed in the distance, falls on you at the same moment. "To Essos. Pentos. No one would know who we are." You close your eyes, and let his hoarse voice lull you into silence. "To start our own family, the three of us."
You know he is not serious. Even though he looks at you with such insistence, with that flame that flickers in the centre of his iris.
You relish his fantasy, this impossible dream. 
But you can't leave your family; Essos is not Winterfell. There, they knew where to find you. They knew you were safe. They knew you were sheltered between the walls of the northern castle, under the heavy furs, under the protection of Cregan Stark.
Essos is the unknown.
You cannot let your mother lose her only daughter, not after everything she has already lost. 
The itch is familiar, tickling at the corners of your eyes. There was a time when you thought you'd lost that sensitivity. When you thought the war had left you cold, incapable of feeling anything. Incapable of crying.
"You know I can't." Your nose rubs against his milky skin, made clammy by sweat. You keep your eyes closed because you feel the weight of his cold gaze on you, his furrowed eyebrows as he stares at you blankly, his lips pursed in a long, thin line. You don't have the courage to meet his accusing gaze, let alone the wounded look on his face as you crush all his illusory dreams into dust. 
When did you become the more pragmatic of the two? 
When did you become the one responsible for bringing Aemond back to reality?
It used to be you, the one who filled your mind with unrealistic dreams, the one who dreamed of stories and fairy tales, back when you could still dream. "They need me, you know that."
A sneer stretches across your uncle's lips as he swallows a chuckle that sounds more like an ironic growl. You feel his whole body tense against yours, a sign that he's holding back his annoyance. 
A sign that he has something to say, that he's upset, but doesn't quite know how to put it into words. 
"Like they needed you back then?" he replies scathingly, bitterness on the tip of his tongue. "When they used you as a bargaining chip to achieve their ends, hm?"  
Your red cheeks burn with shame, as if he'd slapped you. You don't move, merely swallow hard. You know there's something right about what he is saying, but you don't want to admit it. 
You've done your duty.
You've done what is expected of you as a daughter.
It was not a question of them using you. It never was. 
It was your duty, only your duty, what you were always meant to perform, wasn't it?
And yet a small voice in the back of your head had already given you a similar speech, a few years ago, but you had tried to silence it.
You refused to let Aemond admit it. You refuse to allow him to do it. He had no idea, no right to criticise your family when he'd acted like that.
When he has done what he has done.
He has no idea what it is like to be a daughter.
You don't answer, and silence falls between you again.
You wish so desperately that he could go home with you; that he could tell them that he's sorry.
You wish it were easier. 
There is no one left to wait for Aemond but you, but his son, you know that. His family has been decimated, as has yours in some ways, though you still have your parents and your older brother.
For your uncle, there's nothing left but the shadow of his existence, the shadow of who he once was, long ago.
You let your hand trace the side of his throat, your nose buried against it, your lips hovering over his skin. You lean against him, your body on top of his, pressed together as if you were afraid to let him go.
"You could come with me instead," you whisper, but you refuse to meet his gaze. There's something shameful in the words you've just spoken aloud, something naive, and your burning cheeks are proof of your embarrassment.
Almost imperceptibly, he clenches beneath you, holding his breath. This is a bad idea and you feel stupid. Naive to have dared to suggest something like this.
His voice purrs in a hm that vibrates against you. He's about to say something. He searches for words. "You know that -"
"I know." You cut him off sharply - a little more than you would have liked, your eyes raised to silence him.
You know what he thinks.
He thinks that Rhaenyra will never be his queen. He thinks he will never bend the knee to his eldest sister and her authority, which he doesn't recognise.
He thinks that with the death of Aegon, with the death of the children his brother fathered with Helaena, the throne belongs to him.
And you are aware of his ambitions. You know how perfectly the conqueror's crown fits his head. You know how it sets off the sapphire embedded in his eye socket. You remember the look of greed in his eyes every time he stared at the Iron Throne, you remember the look of pride on his face every time he scorned anyone who dared to question his decisions as Prince Regent.
You know how mercilessly he made the soldiers at Harrenhal kneel, forcing them to contemplate their impending deaths. You know the terror he has sown throughout the Riverlands.
Even in the Seven Hells you could have found more mercy than at the hands of Aemond Targaryen.
Aemond may have changed, but you're not sure he's changed enough to put aside the pride that is consuming him from within.
You take a deep breath. "You don't really have a choice, qybor." 
Fearing his reaction, you curl into a fetal position, your back to him, your knees drawn up to you. You close your eyes. You wait for his frustration.
You wait for his sentence.
You know that he is aware that he has no choice. 
He has only two options: swallow his pride or sink back into the abyss, disappear into the dark meanders of oblivion.
Rhaegar needed his father, of course, but you found him a father in Cregan Stark. 
That was a sacrifice you were willing to make.
There was no way you would give up what family you had left.
For Rhaegar needed his grandparents and his uncle even more.
Behind you, you feel your uncle's hand slip under your tunic and around your body, pulling you against him. He presses his bare chest against your back, tucking your head under his chin. His hand caresses your stomach, then his fingers brush the base of your breast.
"You know she will never be my queen. You know the throne belongs to -" But he lets the words drop without finishing the sentence, the knowledge of what he was about to say hanging in the air between you. 
As long as he remains alive, will the embers of war never truly be extinguished? 
You don't know, but you accept the risk. 
You close your eyes, as if you're about to jump into the icy depths with both feet.
"The rest is up to you, Aemond," you whisper, barely audible. "And if you have truly changed, then you will know how to make the right choice."
He says nothing. 
You savour the last few minutes of illusion you have left.
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** 
The fear of making the wrong choice never really leaves you, but your mother chases your fears away, as she so often did when you were a child, tucking one of your dark curls behind your ear. She has her distinctive little smirk on her lips, the one that pulls the corner of her lips up towards her nose.  
The same one Lucerys had, you think sadly. 
You still miss him, even after all this time, and sometimes you wonder what kind of young man he would have become.
"You're a clever girl, my sweet clever girl," she whispers against your forehead as she cradles you in her arms. She's as beautiful as ever, as gentle with you as ever, despite the years, despite the wear and tear of war that has hardened her features and hollowed her cheeks. "And I know you have made the right decision." She lifts your chin with her forefinger to look into your eyes, and you feel like you're turning back into that shy, insecure girl who disappeared somewhere in the violence of the war all those years ago.
 "And if it should turn out that you were wrong... Daemon will be there to intervene. You know he is just waiting for that." You roll your eyes at her attempt at humour, and she plants a kiss on your forehead. 
For a split second, you truly are that carefree little girl again.
But behind your mother's humour lie fragments of reality that make your laughter bitter.
The news of your husband's survival remains a hazy blur in your mind. Sometimes you're not sure if this conversation really occurred or if you're dreaming.
You're not sure if what's around you, if the night you spent in Aemond's arms, is real or an invention of your sick mind.
Sometimes you're not really conscious of the events or how long they lasted, the lump in your stomach grows back, and once again you're destined to carve half-moons marks in the palms of your hands to soothe the tension in your body.
You told your mother first because you knew she'd be more understanding. As a mother, as a woman, she knows the meaning behind certain silences, the weight of words, the unspoken words that float between sentences. 
You know she can understand your pain and your doubts, but also your love and your compassion.
She was shocked when you told her that her younger brother was still alive. She smoothed her dress, paced back and forth, then took the time to sit down, her eyebrows furrowed, her eyes riveted to your face, looking for clues that would betray what you were thinking, what you might be hiding. She was afraid that he had hurt you. She was afraid that he would rip you away from her, just as he had once ripped your little brother away from her.
Her fingers had gently taken your hand and her thumb had drawn little circles on the back of your hand to comfort you. She listened to you first as you confessed everything. 
Where you were that night when you didn't come home. 
Who you were with.
And then she took you in her arms. She reassured you. Soothed you. 
You had been so afraid of disappointing her, of disappointing all of them, that the tension paralysing your body had finally loosened and you burst into tears.
Things had proved more complicated with Daemon. When he learned that his nephew was alive, that he wasn't forgotten forever in the deep waters of the lake near Harrenhal, he refused to believe you. He was furious. He said he had seen him fall, that he was the one who had taken his life, tearing the sky apart.
You didn't know where to look, and it was in your mother's eyes that you sought support, comfort, anything in the face of your stepfather's rage. You could feel on you the look of disappointment of your brother, Jace, as he held his shoulders up and his chin high. He wanted to prove that one day he would be a good king. With his jaw clenched, he said nothing, looking at you as if you were suddenly so foreign to him. He probably didn't know what to say, for fear of being clumsy, for fear of unintentionally hurting you, even more than by his lack of support. 
You know it wasn't his fault. 
He simply couldn't understand.
The words stuck in your throat and you found yourself unable to speak, pearls glittering in the corners of your eyes while you waited impatiently for the final blow.
The final death knell that would seal your disgrace in everyone's eyes.
After all you'd endured.
Daemon stood before you, his eyebrows furrowed, his eyes hard. He was staring at you as if you'd committed the ultimate treason, and you knew he was controlling himself to keep his anger from exploding. "You're going to bring him to me," he had hissed, his hand closing over your shoulder. 
" You will lure him here and he will be put to the sword." His tone left no room for argument. With the tension growing in your stomach, you sought your mother's compassionate look to calm you. You could see the fury in your stepfather's eyes, and also a mixture of fear and feelings of betrayal. You knew that, deep down, he was afraid for you because he considers you his daughter. Because Baela and Rhaena are like sisters to you. 
It was his reaction you feared most, not your mother's. His fingers dug into your skin, the floor slipping out from under you, the room swaying dangerously, and your mother had come to your rescue, trying to calm things down with her usual diplomacy.
You can't quite remember the words your stepfather said; in anger he muttered something that sounded like are you really thinking of becoming his whore again? and the words hurt like hell, but you tried to swallow the pain.
 Endure, hold your head high. That was what you had learned.
Your mother had suggested you go back to your room or spend some time with Rhaegar, her fingers gently stroking your dark locks, and as soon as you left the throne room you could hear their voices echoing through the door. 
They were arguing.
Over you.
Because of you, again.
You took a deep breath and returned to the gardens, where your two stepsisters were making your son laugh by playing with him. They had fun running around in the damp grass to the applause of Baela's little daughter, who clapped her little hands in delight.
Your fingers were still trembling when you joined them.
In the end a solution was found, for your mother feared losing you a second time. 
She remembered what had happened to Laenor, your father, when he had grown tired of the court.
She remembered what had happened to Helaena, your sweet aunt, when she could no longer bear to suffer.
It was her worst nightmare to see you torn from her again, now that she had the chance to hold you in her arms every day, to protect you again, to see you grow again.
It was her worst nightmare to see her only daughter, her only daughter and the second of her only surviving children, taken from her. 
You and Jace were all she had left of her own blood.
After long negotiations with Daemon, you had managed to bargain for your husband's life in exchange for strict conditions; increased surveillance, no bonding with a new dragon, no carrying of weapons, and the assurance that he would be executed if there was the slightest doubt about him. You proposed that you and he leave the capital, with your son as well. To return to Dragonstone. To start over on a new, blank page in a book that was already too damaged.
For you, it was also a way to ease the tensions between your family and Aemond, and perhaps find a more intimate life with your husband and son.
Rhaenyra had declared that this was the best solution: a guarantee for her to have you by her side again, a guarantee for her that you would be there.
You had been afraid of Aemond's reaction, afraid that his ego would not bear it; that he would refuse, that he would rather sentence himself to his own death than to an existence as a prisoner within his own family, condemned to live as a shadow of the man he had once been in exchange for seeing his son grow up. 
But in the end, wasn't he doomed to live as a shadow of the man he had once been, anyway?
He would never be the rider of Vhagar again.
He would never be the ruthless Prince Regent again.
He would never again be the second in line to the throne, the second son greedily waiting for fate to turn in his favour.
He hadn't been all of that for a good three years, lurking in the cold, gloomy corridors of Harrenhal like a lonely monster.
And if he went back, if he rejected your proposal, he would have condemned himself to eternal solitude at the side of a witch you would rather forget.
He had no choice, for he would never be that Aemond again. 
When you joined your husband at the meeting place, you were relieved to see him swallow his pride and accept. It was difficult, but you convinced him. 
For Rhaegar, for his son.
Aemond had suggested that you run away, far away from everything, and you almost hesitated. Running away would have allowed you to forget, of course. 
But your deepest wounds had begun to heal. You had begun to be able to face the ghosts that haunted King's Landing, the ghosts that haunted Dragonstone.
To stop there was tempting, and yet so frightening at the same time. 
The unknown terrified you. You needed familiarity now, something to fall back on, for you were so tired. 
Now you can't help bringing your thumb to your lips, nibbling the skin at the corner of your fingernail with the tip of your teeth as you walk away from Rhaenyra. A handmaiden brings you Rhaegar, and you struggle to breathe. 
You inhale.
You exhale.
The thick tuft of brown hair makes you smile. The sight of your son is enough to give you the courage to walk with a more confident stride. It's as if you were filled with new strength, for you know that he needs you more than anyone else. And for him, you've promised yourself to stay strong.
As soon as you reach him, you kneel and plant a kiss on his plump cheeks. 
He's growing up so fast that sometimes you wish you could stop time.
"There's someone who'd like to meet you, sweet boy," you explain, and you can recognise your mother's inflection in your own voice. Sweet boy. Rhaegar looks at you with big, round, questioning eyes, and you wonder if he senses your anxiety, because he takes your hand between his tiny fingers.
"Who, muña ?" he babbles, striding down the cobbled path in the middle of the gardens, hopping on his clumsy little legs, and you smile at his carefree attitude. He stops to watch the bees foraging, bends down to pick up a flower and gives it to you. He's always so curious, so full of life. He's a ray of sunshine that brightens your dull days. You finally understand your mother, the agonising fear she has of losing you. You finally understand the horror she experienced when she lost her four other children.
You also finally understand why Helena threw herself from Maegor's Holdfast.
The thought of what Daemon did still revolts you, and you can't imagine anyone hurting your boy like that.
You turn around. Rhaenyra is still there, in the distance, her crown on her head, her hands crossed in front of her on the heavy fabric of her dress, watching over you. She won't move, a comforting, discreet presence.
A stone bench awaits you by the fountain, on which two cushions have been arranged. A dessert buffet has been set up under the gazebo and you immediately spot your favourite cakes, the strawberry one, the blackberry jam one, and you look down at your son. He hasn't noticed them yet, or he would have already run over, dipped his finger in the whipped cream and stolen a blueberry from one of the tarts, his innocent expression on his face. 
He is definitely a lot like you. Mischievous and clever. An angelic air. He is an easy-going child who never throws a tantrum.
Who understands quickly, too. 
"I love you. I love you more than anything, you know that, don't you, young boy?" your tone is soft, and you kneel down in front of him, your hands on his small shoulders to emphasise the seriousness of your discussion. You search for your words, hesitating. How do you tell a three-year-old that his father, his dead father, is back from the dead and about to meet him?
Of course, Rhaegar knows that his birthfather was valiant, that his birthfather rode the greatest dragon in the world, that his birthfather died in battle.
But there is so much he doesn't know, so much he will inevitably learn as he grows up, and it is precisely that future that frightens you. You hug him as if you're afraid of losing him.
"Princess."
The deep voice of your sworn protector echoes behind you, and you straighten your skirt. 
You know he is there. 
You know you will see him the moment you turn around.
Your heartbeat quickens.
Aemond Targaryen stands behind your sworn protector, surrounded by two guards. His hands are bound in front of him. 
It is so strange to see your uncle in this vulnerable position. He who for so long has been on the other side, he who for so long has been the one who bent others to his will. He looks at you harshly, and you almost feel the need to apologise.
But you know it is a matter of caution.
You know that Daemon, you know that Jace and even your mother would never have agreed to bring him in if such precautions hadn't been taken.
You admire his resilience, his determination. You admire his ability to hold his head high, to be confident, despite the fact that he is being treated like a common prisoner, about to be sentenced to death.
You struggle to swallow the lump that has formed in your throat. 
"Who's that, muña?" Aemond's eyes leave you and immediately drop to the small figure that has appeared beside you, reaching for your hand, huddling against your leg, shy and worried. 
Immediately, your husband's icy gaze, his lilac-coloured eyes, soften.
"Thank you, Sir Rowan. You may leave us."
Despite the worry on his face, your sworn protector nods, unties his prisoner's hands and walks back to your mother, accompanied by the other two guards. You watch them leave, and a strange silence fills the space between you and your uncle.
He doesn't look at you; his eyes are riveted to your son, whom he observes with wonder. He looks as if he is admiring the most beautiful and fascinating discovery he has ever seen. You look down to see Rhaegar's reaction, and he seems as intimidated as he is hypnotised by that gaze, by that blue and purple eye so similar to his owns, by this man looking at him as if he were one of the most marvellous things in the world. 
"Gods, he's perfect," Aemond murmurs as he looks up at you, emerging from his trance. He comes closer to embrace you. And for once, there is something other than his usual brutal possessiveness and ferocity when his arms close around you.
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** 
Aemond is shy at first. Awkward. 
He's shy and amazed as he follows your son's every move with his good eye. From time to time, his gaze rests on you, as if to make sure he's not dreaming. As if to make sure he is doing right, seeking your approval.
Rhaegar is shy too, at first.
When he sits on your lap, he snuggles up to you, buries his face in your neck, one of your locks curled in his chubby little hand and he rubs it against his nose. From time to time, he turns to give his father a curious look, recognising his own eyes in the unfamiliar face before him. 
Aemond's expression grows gentler, a softness never seen in his features before.
Once he has tamed the stranger, the little boy pecks at the blueberries in the tart in front of him. He shakes his legs, hitting your knees in painful little jabs, and your arm wraps around his body to hold him down.
Rhaegar loves cake, and the sugar may be coaxing him, for he's regaining his appetite for talking.
"He really does have my eyes," Aemond whispers incredulously, and his voice, still foreign to his son's ears, causes the little boy to lift his head.
" It is definitely the only thing he has inherited from you," you reply, teasing him with a small smile at the corner of your lips.
Soon Rhaegar finishes the blueberry tart, the cream smeared over the bottom of his face and the tip of his nose.
"He inherited that from you, that is certain." Aemond grins, pointing with his long chin at the boy's voracious appetite for cakes and pastries.
You have to pinch yourself to make sure you're not dreaming. That your husband is really standing in front of you, with your son, like a normal family. 
That he was truly trying to tell a joke.
This form of domesticity is so alien to your relationship, and yet so pleasant, that you find yourself thinking that perhaps you have made the right decision, indeed, if every day can be like this. 
"Your muña deserves some cake too, what do you say, little one?"
Rhaegar giggles. Aemond cuts a slice of your favourite cake, the one with the strawberries, and puts it on your plate. 
You blush. After all these years, he hasn't forgotten which one is your favourite.
You can't even really whisper a thank you because this apparent domesticity, this feeling of completeness, this interlude of happiness makes you uneasy. Anxious.
You have the feeling that at any moment you'll be plunged back into the horror of what you went through all those years ago. 
You have the feeling that at any moment the Gods will be cruel and snatch away this happiness that you've barely been able to taste, leaving only the memory of its sweet taste on your lips.
You breathe in and out, as you often do when you feel your palpitations rising in your chest.
"Do you... do you want to take him on your lap?" you ask your uncle with shyness, your hand stroking Rhaegar's thick brown curls. Aemond looks at you as if you have spoken in a foreign language. Lips parted, he is about to say something, but not a sound escapes his lips. His lonely eye travels from you to your son, from your son to you, in silence.
"I don't know if -"
You can hear the doubt in his voice, and it's almost touching to see him lose his confidence in front of his own son, to see him so nervous and unsure of himself.
You let out a little laugh, not in mockery, obviously, just full of tenderness.
You know what he's thinking.
He's afraid of frightening him.
He's afraid of harming him.
"You won't hurt him, Aemond."
He answers nothing. He still doesn't like to look vulnerable, unsure, and you know it has to do with his childhood. With all he has kept bottled up inside him all these years. He will need time.
Your eyes fall back to the little boy sitting in your lap, and you draw his attention to yourself by stroking the curls on his forehead.
"Do you want to go to Aemond for a while? To kepus?" 
you correct yourself immediately, and Rhaegar nods in agreement.
You are amazed at how easily he slips off your legs to run to his father, to pull himself onto his lap, when only a few hours ago he was so intimidated by the presence of this stranger with the eyepatch.
Your uncle automatically puts his arm around his waist to make him feel comfortable, his new role taking root in him. His fingers reach for the cloth on the table, and he wipes Rhaegar's face, who can't help but burst out laughing at his father's clumsy gestures.
For a split second you are lost in contemplating the horizon, the stillness of the sea. You taste the sea breeze on your face.
And then you turn your head towards the cobbled path where the guards and your sworn protector are still stationed. 
Your mother is no longer there, and you notice that you have not at any time felt the need to seek comfort in her presence. 
You smile, for in the end you know you've made the right decision.
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** 
Dragonstone, 6 months later.
When you walk the corridors of the place that saw you grow up, you are no longer haunted by the ghosts and their incessant cries. A kind of peace has settled over you, a return to the pleasant familiarity you've waited so long for.
You still think of Luke, of course. Of Luke and Joff and little Aegon and Viserys, your brothers you will never see grow old. 
But you no longer feel their disapproving glances at every step you take. You are no longer kept awake by their cries, by their tears, by the remorse that twists your stomach. 
You no longer blame yourself. 
Perhaps you've finally learnt to make peace with yourself.
The heavy door of the bedroom you share with Aemond is half open, and you slip your head into the doorway, piqued by curiosity.
Snuggled on your husband's lap, Rhaegar is staring at the pages of a large book, the corners of which you can guess are horned, the cover worn, from being carried everywhere. You can imagine the jam stains that mark the paper with children's fingerprints. You know exactly which page is missing, the one you and Aemond accidentally tore out and hid so the Septa wouldn't notice, so many years ago. 
It is a book about dragons, the very one the two of you used to read hidden under the table when you were so young and innocent, long before the torment of war.
Without a sound, you lean against the doorframe and contemplate for a moment the perfect vision before you.
You don't have the cruelty to disturb them.
 "This one is Vhaegar!" shouts Rhaegar, and you hold your breath, searching Aemond's face for any hint that might betray his reaction. The mention of his former dragon is still a sensitive subject for him, you know it.
"Yes, that's Vhagar." he pauses. "She was brave."
From the corner of his eye, Aemond spots your silhouette in the faint glow of the corridor, and his attention lingers on you for a moment. He's almost embarrassed to be caught in such a vulnerable, intimate moment, but you smile tenderly to encourage him.
"And big!" the little boy adds, energetically raising his arms to the sky to emphasise his words.
"Yes, and big." There's a suspended moment of silence where the words hang in the air, and then your husband gently ruffles his son's hair. It's a tender sight to see them bond like this, and your heart fills with happiness.
Taking a step forward, you step into the light of the room and Rhaegar expresses his joy at seeing you. You smile back at him and approach the chair where Aemond sits, your son on his lap.
Your uncle's hand instantly rests on the curve of your belly, which he still stares at with the same protective instinct, the same fascination, as the day you told him the news. His eyes sparkle.
"Your daughter is restless today."
He looks up at you, not without lingering for a moment on your breasts and their new shape.
"My daughter?" he asks, one eyebrow raised inquisitively.
"I'm convinced it's a girl. You reply, smiling wryly, and take a seat in the armchair next to the one where Aemond and your son are sitting, facing the fireplace. "And she took after her father, given her temper," you tease him, your hand on the top of your rounded belly to soothe the baby growing there. 
Rhaegar's eyes close slowly. Nestled against the chest of the man who, just a few months ago, was still a stranger, he fights sleep, he fights to stay awake, but tiredness quickly overcomes him. And then he falls asleep, his mouth half open, the movements of his breath making his chest rise and fall rhythmically.
Aemond finally gets up. You follow his movements with your eyes as he approaches you, the child in his arms, and he plants a kiss on the top of his head.
"I'm going to put him to bed. I'll be right back." He straightens and lowers his voice.
"I wouldn't fail in my duty and neglect my wife." The heat rises to your cheeks, turning them red at the implication of what awaits you tonight. You're already wet between your thighs at the thought. 
But you nod in agreement and watch him walk away. 
You are left alone in the silence of the room. The only sound around you is the steady crackling of the fire.
It's strange, you think, to be back on Dragonstone, in the familiarity of the stones you've spent most of your life between, after getting used to the idea of not surviving the war.
To the idea of dying from a broken heart.
To the idea of dying, the umpteenth victim of the vicious spiral of conflict that has torn your family apart.
And yet here you are.
With your own family.
For once you have hope for the future. You hear the cries of your little brother, lost in the storm so long ago, but they are quickly replaced by the laughter of a happy memory. 
And finally, you have the absolute confirmation that you have made the right decision.
*** *** *** *** ***
Thank you so much for reading!! <3
Tag list : @minttea07 @queenofshinigamis (I'm tagging you since you asked for it ❤️)
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mywitchyblog · 3 months ago
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The Coolest Thing About Reality Shifting: DR Memories
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What Are DR Memories ? :
One of the coolest things about reality shifting is that you can get DR memories—these are memories from your desired reality (DR). What’s really cool about these memories is that they fill in the blanks, like adding extra content to the story. But what makes it even better is that these memories often answer questions that the original show or movie never explained. It’s almost like having secret insider knowledge that makes the story and characters make more sense and feel more real. These memories can add extra background information, character motivations, or small details that clear up plot holes. It makes the universe of that show or movie feel more complete and satisfying. That’s why I think DR memories are one of the most interesting parts of reality shifting—they add a lot of depth and detail that you wouldn't get otherwise.
Claircognizance and DR Memories :
In case you didn't know, a DR memory is a type of claircognizance. Claircognizance is a psychic ability where you get knowledge or insights without any logical explanation—it's like the information just pops into your head. It’s not like remembering something you already know or imagining something new; instead, it feels like this information just appears in your mind without any effort.
I can tell the difference between a DR memory and a daydream because with daydreams, I actually create them myself, almost like I’m walking through the daydream and deciding what happens next. Daydreams are like a creative process, where I have control over what happens. With DR memories, it's the opposite—the memory just comes to me, almost like downloading information from somewhere unknown. It’s passive, and I feel like I’m just receiving it instead of making it happen. DR memories usually come with a strong sense of certainty that they’re real, which is very different from daydreams, which feel more like imagination.
How I Recognize DR Memories :
That's how I can tell the difference between the two. I'm currently working on developing my psychic abilities, and from what I've learned, claircognizance is the best way to describe what happens when shifters get DR memories. Claircognizance is like getting information from a place you can't see, almost like an invisible source of knowledge.
One reason I value these memories so much is that they make things suddenly make sense, like putting together puzzle pieces that finally fit. They don’t feel random—they come with a clarity and sense of completeness that I can't ignore. I knew it was a DR memory because it came with a strong sense of certainty, a conviction that I wouldn't normally have if I was just imagining things. It’s that feeling of knowing that tells me it’s not something I made up, but something real and meaningful, which makes the experience even more special.
Example: Teen Wolf Filming Locations :
Here's an example that really stood out to me. It's related to Teen Wolf, specifically where they filmed the show. In the first two seasons, they filmed in Atlanta, Georgia, which gave it that small-town vibe and charm. The setting made it feel like a real close-knit community, with overcast skies, thick woods, and an older, worn-out small-town look. But from season three onward, they moved filming to California, which totally changed things.
The new location made the show look different since the Californian landscapes had more sun, wider streets, new architecture, and brighter natural scenery. This change impacted the show's overall tone and feel. The new brightness made everything look cleaner and less gritty, which affected the mood and atmosphere. What always bugged me was that the show never explained in the story why the high school changed so much between seasons two and three. It felt like a sudden, unexplained shift, and it always stood out to me as something inconsistent when I watched the series again.
The DR Memory That Explained It All :
Then I had this DR memory, and it all made sense. Basically, in my DR memory, there was a big renovation. The old high school from seasons one and two was in an older, run-down part of town with outdated facilities and a dull look. The town council realized that the school was no longer meeting the needs of the community, and it couldn't keep up with modern education standards. So, they decided to build a brand new high school—one that was bigger, more modern, and way more functional, with updated technology and better facilities, like advanced science labs, new computer rooms, and bigger athletic fields.
The construction project took about two to three years, and it involved a lot of community effort, planning, and even some fundraising by the local residents. The town was really proud to build something that would be a central part of the community and give students a much better learning environment. By the time summer break was over (like the one at the very beginning of season 3A), the new high school was ready, with modern classrooms, great sports facilities, an upgraded library with digital resources, and a cool, sleek design. It was a huge improvement compared to the old school. So, by the time season three starts, the high school is completely new and very different from the old one.
Better Than Devenford Prep :
What I found pretty funny in the DR memory was that some of the new facilities at our high school ended up being even better than the ones at Devenford Prep, which is supposed to be this elite school with the best resources. The upgrades were so impressive that even some of the prep school students came over to use our facilities, especially things like the athletic spaces and the new multimedia studio (which is, in a way, canon since I think there are scenes of Brett Talbot training at the BHHS lacrosse field). The swimming pool and gym were way nicer than anything Devenford had, which was surprising because private schools are usually thought to have better stuff than public ones.
Finally, I had an explanation for why the high school changed so much between seasons two and three, which the show never actually explained. It was really satisfying to fill in that missing piece because it made the story feel more realistic, like everything fit together and made sense, almost as if it had always been part of the original story.
@shiftingwithmars i think you have a teen wolf DR ? So maybe this lil storty time of mine will make some sense to you.
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lewmagoo · 4 months ago
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we own the sky | rhett abbott
part one: ain’t no love in oklahoma
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series info: new parts will be uploaded every friday at 7pm est. want more? read the synopsis here. listen to the playlist here. see the posting schedule here.
description: in which you return to the place where you lost everything
warnings: 18+ only, heavy themes, character death, grief, blood and injury, angst with a positive ending, allusions to sex, eventual smut, inaccurate weather terms, please do not check my science lol this story requires some suspension of disbelief. i usually try not to say anything about reader's family in fics but i do mention them having an unnamed great-aunt, as it was necessary to the plot
pairing: rhett abbott x f!reader
notes: this story is inspired by twisters. you do not have to watch the movie in order to understand this story, because aside from the storm chasing aspect, it has nothing to do with the twister universe. i've been working on this story for 2 months straight, and it is my pride and joy. i am so excited for everyone to read it! without further adieu, here is we own the sky!
You never thought you would return to the place where you lost everything. 
When you left, you had sworn to yourself that you would never come back. This part of your life, the unspeakable tragedy you had endured, had to stay in the past where it belonged. And for six years, you managed to make yourself forget while you moved on with life.
You knew it wasn’t just you who had been affected by what happened. It had touched the lives of multiple people, shattering everything around them. But while they had stayed, you had decided to run. Away from the agony, away from the memories, away from the man you loved. It was better that way. At least, that was what you told yourself. 
Now you found yourself standing in the middle of the rolling plains of the place that you used to live, wisps of tall grass brushing against your legs as the breeze rushed over the earth. It was all so familiar, yet so foreign. You felt so out of place, like an alien that had just descended the sky and landed on Earth for the very first time.
As you bent to pluck a stalk of switchgrass, you were struck with a memory of the day you left. Sprawled out in the long grass, your first love lying at your side. Rhett Abbott. The man you had known since you were mere babies in the church nursery together. Saying goodbye to him was the hardest part of leaving. But in your heart of hearts, you knew this was the way it had to be. You couldn’t look at him without being reminded of all you had lost. Of all he had lost. 
“I wish you’d stay,” his voice, filled with longing, cut into the still morning air. Such a contrast to the chaos that had transpired in recent days.
“You know I can’t,” you whispered, afraid that if you spoke any louder, your voice would break, and you would succumb to tears.
“We can figure things out, you an’ me. Work through it together.”
“Rhett–”
“Fuckin’ twister took so much from us. Now you’re leavin’, too.” Defeat was evident in his voice.
You sat up, turning to look down at him. “We talked about this, Rhett. I have to leave.”
He sat up, too, nodding somberly. “Y’don’t have to. You just can’t stand the thought of facin’ reality. So you’re runnin’ from it.” Then he rose to his feet, grass crunching beneath him. “Not all of us have the luxury of bolting when things get tough, honeybee. The rest of us have gotta stay and face it head-on.”
Then he walked away, and you let him, knowing this would be the last time you would see him. A love lost. 
Yet here you were again, in the same field where your romance had ended. However, you weren’t here to see him. You had returned to tie up loose ends, and face the past you had spent the last handful of years running from.
Rhett had been right about one thing. You needed to face it all head-on. But you weren’t sure if you had the strength to do so.
Being back in your hometown of Wabang, Oklahoma was a surreal experience. Nothing and everything had changed all at once. Dorothy McIntyre still owned Mac’s Diner on Main Street. Mrs. Simmons still tended to her rose garden every single day, keeping it in pristine condition. The local Baptist church still looked exactly the same as the day you left. 
It felt like the town was stuck in time.
But there were also some changes. A new bar had opened up in town. A coffee shop, too, which was quite the upgrade. Even though life was slow moving here, it still continued on, just like it did everywhere else. 
Coming back was never something you thought was in the cards for you, but a handful of your family members had remained here when you left. Including your great-aunt. Sadly, she had recently passed away, and you’d surprised yourself by willingly volunteering to go sort through her belongings and prepare her house to be sold.
You had a good portion of vacation days saved from your job at the National Weather Service Headquarters, and you decided to take them while you had the chance. Instead of going on a fun getaway, you were cleaning out a house that was just a few steps down from a hoarding house. 
Your poor aunt had gotten rather forgetful in her old age, and had let so much clutter accumulate. Her declining physical health and mental capacity had inhibited her from cleaning, and, unfortunately, her children were not the most diligent when it came to looking after their mother, so no one had helped her with clearing any of the clutter when she was alive. 
That was where you came in. And you certainly had your work cut out for you. But you didn’t mind too terribly. You were glad to have a break from work. Monitoring weather was quite literally a 24/7 thing. You loved your job, but you often felt as if you were running about like a chicken with its head cut off.  
Especially now. It was late spring, and the weather had been wild and unkempt. It had a mind of its own, and with all the freak storms ripping through seemingly every state in the US, the National Weather Service was extremely busy. 
And here you were, in the heart of Tornado Alley, which had seen a record-breaking uptick in tornado activity this season. You couldn’t deny that the thought of being here during this season made your anxiety skyrocket. 
Where you lived now, in Maryland, tornadoes weren’t commonplace. They happened, yes, but not nearly as often as they did in your home state of Oklahoma. 
You had once loved studying the phenomenon of twisters. There had been a time when they fascinated you. A time when you chased after them to analyze their data. And then, one terrible, fateful day, while observing one of those vicious twisters, the unthinkable happened. 
Six Years Ago
“This one’s gonna be a big one. I can feel it,” Rhett’s voice was laced with electric excitement. He was a live wire, blue eyes wide and glimmering with his eagerness. 
His excitement rubbed off on you. You loved doing this together. It was what you were meant to do. “I can, too,” you replied with a grin, bouncing on the balls of your feet. 
He leaned in, his gaze flickering to your lips before he ducked his head to kiss you languidly. “Ready to wrangle this twister?” He asked. 
“As I’ll ever be.”
“Could’ya get a room?” Another voice cut across the site, interrupting your moment. 
Rhett scowled as he looked over your shoulder to find his brother approaching. “Just for that, I’m kissin’ her again.” He pulled you in and planted another kiss on you, dialing it up to disgust Perry all the more.
You shoved at Rhett’s chest, giggling when you parted. “Maybe let’s not gross out everyone within a ten-mile radius,” you joked, though you still leaned in to steal one last peck from him. 
“When you two are done neckin’, you might wanna pay attention to the radar. Winds are pickin’ up,” Perry explained, tapping the screen that was currently resting on the tailgate of Rhett’s truck.
“Think this one’s gonna touch down?” Came the voice of Rebecca, Perry’s wife, as she approached, tugging her ball cap down over her blonde ponytail. 
“Look at them clouds. It’s gotta,” Rhett mused, motioning toward the sky. Angry, black clouds roiled in the distance. Perry was right, the wind was picking up. Although it wasn’t cold, it still sent a shiver down your spine.
Lightning crackled across the gray backdrop, and thunder subsequently rumbled in the distance. As you felt the first drops of cool rain, you locked eyes with Rhett. His face broke into a grin.
“Let’s get goin’!” He called out, retrieving his worn felt hat, the one you’d gotten him on his eighteenth birthday, and placing it atop his head. 
You found yourself laughing with glee as you moved to scurry to the passenger seat of his rickety old GMC Sierra that had seen more storms than you could count. As you wrenched the door open, the sound of scrambling footsteps alerted you that someone was approaching quickly. You turned to find Lydia, your best friend, running toward you, her French braids bouncing wildly about.
“Don’t forget this!” She called out, shoving a walkie-talkie into your hand. Her own remained clipped to the waistband of her cargo pants. 
“Thanks!” You replied. “You riding with us or with Perry and Bec?”
“I’ll ride with them, since they’ve got more room and all,” she told you. Unlike Rhett’s truck, Perry’s had a backseat.
“Okay, see you after the storm. Be careful, alright?” You surged forward and gave her a quick hug. Your friendship went way back to childhood, when you had met each other in kindergarten. You had been inseparable ever since. With your shared fascination with the weather, it was only natural that she would decide to chase twisters alongside you.
“Let’s go to that new ice cream place when we’re done!” She suggested when you parted. 
“Sure, I’ll mention it to Rhett. See ya in a bit!” With that, you yanked the truck door open and climbed inside, while Lydia rushed off to get into Perry’s truck. 
As you settled in the seat, you set your walkie down in the cupholder and grabbed the monitor you used to keep an eye on the weather radar. There, at the top of the screen, you saw the red banner that listed which counties had just been put under tornado watches. 
Glancing back up at the sky, your heart quickened in your chest. While it wasn’t guaranteed that a twister would touch down, it was a very high possibility, especially with the string of storms that had ripped through the area lately. 
“Let’s go chase this son’bitch,” Rhett murmured as he settled into the driver’s seat, tugging his seatbelt into place. He turned the key, and the truck roared to life. Without wasting a single moment, he threw the gear into drive and peeled out of the vacant lot you’d all been congregating in. 
He kept to the east of the storm, offering you the best vantage point. Most storms moved northeast, at thirty to forty miles per hour, so you had to move fast to keep up. Rhett stepped on the accelerator, wasting no time. He was vibrating with adrenaline beside you, and it was infectious. 
He always had been a bit of an adrenaline junkie. When he was in high school, he’d started bull riding competitively. He loved the thrill, the danger, the electricity he felt atop a thousand-pound animal. 
Chasing twisters was similar to bull riding. Trying to hold on for dear life as an angry, churning force threatened to toss you through the air like a rag doll. Once he’d had a taste, he couldn’t get enough. 
His love of the thrill and your fascination with weather made you a dream team. 
Turning it into a family affair wasn’t necessarily the goal, but Rebecca found the phenomenon of tornadoes fascinating, and Perry was simply along for the ride, so the four of you started storm chasing together. 
And of course, Lydia had been on board from the moment you suggested it. Much like Rhett, she also loved thrill seeking, and was content to join your little team. She was particularly good at analyzing storm data. Her entire motivation was figuring out how twisters worked. 
Meteorology was a science that was relatively new. While the study of weather itself had been around for millennia, it didn’t quite progress until scientists began utilizing computers to analyze meteorological data. 
Even with all the progress that had been made, tornadoes were difficult to study. Things like hurricanes and tropical storms were easier to predict and monitor. But not twisters. They were wild, uncontrollable beasts that could touch down at any moment and wreak all sorts of havoc in mere seconds.
Lydia wanted to learn all she could about the phenomena, and so did you. Your shared interest allowed you to work very well together. 
You were so grateful for the little group you worked with. Four people you loved very much. You’d known Rhett, Perry, and Lydia your entire life, of course, and Rebecca was a newer addition. She’d joined you in the last five years, but she was an excellent asset with her history as a news meteorologist. 
What a merry band of storm chasers you were, heading into the face of danger, hoping to encounter one of the most mysterious weather anomalies in existence. 
“How’s she lookin’, darlin’?” Rhett asked, one hand reaching over to squeeze your thigh lovingly. 
You gazed down at the screen in your lap, paying attention to the large highlighted region that showed which direction the storm was moving. The severity was mounting. 
“Pretty intense,” you answered. Then, as if on cue, the telltale sound of hailstones began to patter against the roof of the truck. Your face broke into a grin. 
Over the walkie, Lydia’s voice could be heard. “We’ve got hail!” She cried in excitement. 
The shift in temperature was a good sign. These were peak conditions for a tornado to form in. You grabbed the hand Rhett had placed on your leg, giving it a squeeze. He squeezed right back. 
Moments later, the hail died down, and you opened the truck window, listening. A crack of thunder in the distance. And then, a split second of utter silence. 
The hair on the back of your neck stood on end. 
You turned your head, looking straight at Rhett. The blue of his eyes was bright as could be, shining with anticipation. 
And then, just beyond him, you saw it. 
“Holy shit.”
He glanced to his left and saw it too. A few hundred yards from you, in the open fields, a funnel cloud had begun to form. Your eyes never left it, staring at the sky, willing the funnel to touch down. 
“Come on, come on, come on.”
“We got touchdown yet?!” Rhett asked, eyes half on the road, half on the funnel. 
Almost there. Almost there. Almost there. 
And then, all at once, it made contact with the ground. Lydia was shouting through the walkie, and you grabbed the device to answer her. Your heart was pounding in your chest, your teeth chattering as adrenaline began to course through you. 
What a beautiful sight it was. Terrifying and destructive, but beautiful. 
“Goddamn, look at that,” Rhett breathed in awe. He kept his foot planted firmly on the accelerator, maintaining a fast pace, staying just ahead of the swirling tunnel of wind. 
But your spirit of wonder soon dissipated as you noticed something. “It looks like it’s getting bigger,” you remarked. The change was obvious. It was covering more ground. Moving faster and faster. 
Within seconds, your entire life was turned upside down. 
“Oh my God. Rhett…” Your voice failed you, coming out as more of a whisper. You gripped his arm, and he quickly brought both hands to the steering wheel, knuckles white. 
He gazed out at the approaching swirl, and he knew he was no longer chasing the storm. No, this time, the tides had turned. 
Now it was time to run. 
You scrambled for the walkie-talkie, fingers closing around the plastic, but it flew out of your hands as Rhett slammed on the brakes. You let out a yelp as you plummeted forward, seatbelt stopping you from hitting the dashboard. 
“We gotta find cover!” He shouted, throwing the gear into park and unbuckling his own seatbelt. His face was awash with fright, pale as could be. He pointed to your right. “Old Miller property’s over there. Maybe we can make it to the storm cellar!”
Terror-stricken, you scrambled to open your door, tumbling out onto the asphalt. As soon as you righted yourself, Rhett was grabbing you, hand tight on your bicep, dragging you across the road. Your boots crunched against gravel, but you couldn’t hear the sound over the roar of the wind.
It was so close you could feel it tugging at your clothes. A vortex threatening to swallow you whole. If it overtook you, you’d never make it out alive. 
Together, you dashed across an old wheat field, straight for the Miller farm. It had been abandoned for years, but the storm shelter remained, and it was your best chance at survival. 
You could see it just up ahead, jutting slightly from the ground. But your legs ached, and your lungs burned like fire as you struggled to take in gulps of air. So close yet so far. Just a little further. 
You’d never been so terrified in your life. You understood now what people meant when they said their life flashed before their eyes. Yours did at that moment, as you ran alongside the man you loved. 
Images of your family, memories of all the good times you’d had with Rhett, flashes of laughing and singing and being young and foolish and so full of wonder. Was it all for naught? 
“C’mon, baby! We’re almost there!” His desperate shout filled your ears. He yanked you toward him and you nearly lost your footing, and for one horrifying moment, you thought you were going to fall, but Rhett caught you in his strong arms, continuing on across the field. 
By the grace of the Almighty, you made it to the shelter. Rhett threw himself down, lifting the iron bar that was fastened across the rusted doors. Hinges squealed as he heaved them open, and he pulled you forward, urging you down the rickety old ladder into the abyss below. 
You scrambled down, and he followed, slamming the door shut as he did so. When you reached the end of the ladder, your feet hit the floor unsteadily, and you yelped as your foot gave out beneath you, ankle twisting painfully. But your injury was the least of your worries. 
In the inky darkness, Rhett landed beside you and reached out, grabbing you, pulling you close. 
“Rhett!” You sobbed, burying your face against his chest as he cautiously guided you away from the overhead doors. 
“I’ve got you!” He assured you, holding you tightly. He pulled you both to the damp ground, and you curled up beneath him as he laid his body atop your own. “I’m here, baby. I’m here.”
He held you, his large hands covering your ears as the violent storm raged above you. 
Often, tornadoes were described as sounding like a freight train, and you would agree with that statement, having witnessed so many of them. But right now, as you huddled beneath the ground right below the savage phenomenon, it didn’t sound like a train at all. 
It sounded like the world was coming to an end. 
You weren’t entirely certain how long you stayed down there, pressed against the earth, as Rhett shielded you. It felt like hours. Days. Weeks. 
And then, all at once, it stopped. 
The world went quiet again. Nature went back to its natural order. The danger had passed. 
You laid there for a few moments, both of you breathing hard, hearts racing. You were trembling. So was he. But you were alive. 
“Are you okay?” Rhett asked as he lifted his body from yours, kneeling beside you. 
You sat up, trying to find your voice. “Y-yeah. Are you?”
“I’m fine,” he breathed. 
And then, “Oh my God. Perry, Bec and Lydia!”
You hurried to stand, and Rhett grabbed your arm, leading you both through the dark, feeling for anything that might be in your path. Once he’d grabbed onto the ladder, he ascended it first, grunting as he reached up to open the doors. 
Daylight flooded the cellar, and you shielded your eyes for a moment before you took hold of the ladder yourself and began climbing. 
As you both emerged, the sight you were met with was harrowing. The old Miller farmhouse was entirely decimated, blown flat to the ground like a house made of popsicle sticks. The barn was destroyed, too, pieces of red painted wood littering the surrounding property. 
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ. That had to be an EF4. Maybe even a five,” Rhett said in utter disbelief, his eyes wide, jaw slacken. 
A sob tore itself from your throat as you turned, fully taking in the level of damage around you. There was seemingly no sign of Perry’s truck. 
“Do you think they found cover?” You asked, voice trembling. 
Rhett’s face was grim, but he still said, “‘m sure they did, they’re smart, they’re probably just hunkerin’ down in a ditch somewhere.” Then he grasped your hand. “Let’s head out to the road and see if we can fine ‘em.”
You intertwined your fingers with his and followed, but your stomach was in knots. What if your friends had been consumed by the storm? What if they were dead?
As you walked, you both called out for them, hoping they’d hear and yell back. But your voices bounced off of the eerily silent countryside. Such a contrast to the chaos that had just transpired. 
“They can’t have gone too far. They were right behind us,” Rhett spoke. You could hear the distress in his voice, although he was trying to keep himself steady for you. 
You scanned the horizon, and that’s when you saw it. A long ways off, the silhouette of an overturned truck could be seen. Perry’s truck. 
“Rhett,” came your whisper. 
“I see it.”
Together, you broke into a run, sprinting across the road and into the field on the other side. Faster and faster, desperate to see what was inside the truck. Praying it was empty, that your friends had found cover. 
You came to a stop once you were within a few feet of the truck, and Rhett held out his arm, glancing back at you as he caught his breath. “Just wait, I’ll check,” he told you. 
You shook your head, breathing still labored. “No, let’s look together.”
Holding his gaze, a beat passed before he reached for your hand again. Together, you cautiously approached the truck, which was turned onto its side. It was severely battered, damaged beyond repair. 
As you rounded the front, you peered down into the window and your blood ran cold. “Oh dear God.”
Rhett jumped into action, climbing atop the side of the truck. The driver's side glass was shattered, allowing him to reach in. “Per!” He exclaimed, gripping his brother’s shirt, tugging him upward. “Perry!”
But he got no response. The man was unconscious. A nasty gash marred the side of his head, crimson blood trickling down his face. He was terribly pale.
Beneath him, Rhett could see Rebecca. His heart sank like a rock. Just from the way she was positioned, he could tell she was not going to fare well. He couldn’t see if her chest was rising and falling or not. And when he squinted to look into the back seat, he saw Lydia, slumped over, but he couldn’t tell if she was dead or just merely unconscious.  
“Are they alive?!” You couldn’t tell from your vantage point. All you could see was Perry and Rebecca. If Lydia was still in the truck, she was concealed in the back. 
“I-I can feel a pulse, but Perry’s bleedin’ real bad. Call 911!” He didn’t give you any information about the girls. 
“Rhett, the girls! Are they—”
“Just call an ambulance!” He repeated with urgency. 
You did as you were told, hurrying to grab your phone from your pocket, hands shaking fiercely as you dialed the emergency number. You prayed you would get an answer, knowing the call lines would be flooded after the storm. 
Moments later, an operator answered. Panicked, you explained your situation, begging them to send help. The woman remained calm, asking for your name and location, assuring you that assistance was on the way. You had no recollection of what you said to her. Everything was a blur, adrenaline giving you tunnel vision.
After you hung up the phone, Rhett jumped down from the truck. You threw yourself into his arms as he neared you, tears spilling down your cheeks. “They said they’re on their way,” you whimpered. 
He hugged you close, and you could feel the way he trembled. “I didn’t…I didn’t want to pull him out. The EMTs should be the ones to do it, just in case anythin’ is broken.” While that was partially true, he was also terrified that if he started pulling everyone out, he’d find the girls were dead. It would bring reality crashing down upon him. The thought made his gut churn with dread, and he found himself praying to a God he didn’t even believe in, asking Him to spare his brother and his sister-in-law, and your dearest friend Lydia. 
It took longer than usual, because so many ambulances had already been dispatched to aid those harmed in the storm. But as time ticked on, the more worried you became. “I’m scared,” you whimpered.
Rhett held you tighter, resting his cheek atop your head. He felt so powerless. “I know. Me too.”
Moments later, the wail of emergency vehicle sirens could be heard. Multiple ambulances and a firetruck approached, all pulling into the grass toward the scene. Rhett let you go, the two of you jogging ahead to meet the first responders.
“There’s three of ‘em in the truck!” Rhett exclaimed, “they’re all unconscious, from what I could tell!”
“We’ll get them out!” One of them assured you both. 
You watched as they all rushed toward the truck, firefighters and EMTs alike. Helplessly, you remained on the sidelines, clinging to Rhett, fingers clutching the fabric of his t-shirt. 
He wanted to tell you they’d be okay. That everything was going to be fine, that your friends were unharmed. But in his heart, he knew nothing would ever be okay again. 
Perry was pulled from the vehicle first, still unconscious. Together, you watched as he was placed on a gurney, where an EMT hurriedly checked his vitals, searching for life. 
“I’ve got a pulse, but it’s weak!” The young woman shouted. 
He was alive. That was a good sign, right? Maybe it meant the girls were alright as well. You could only hope. 
A saw was taken to the door, and it was removed so that the inside of the truck was more easily accessible. Then they pulled Rebecca out. She was so still, unresponsive as she was hauled down to a second gurney. 
You heard a voice shout that they couldn’t find a pulse. 
You placed your hand over your mouth, a grieved whimper escaping your throat. Rhett’s name slipped past your lips, and you buried your face in his chest, unable to watch. You could hear his sharp intake of breath. 
Then Lydia was pulled from the wreckage. While you kept your face hidden against Rhett, he watched on, and he knew, just from the sight of her, that she was gone.
His grip tightened on you. It felt as if a dagger had been plunged into his chest. He sucked in a sharp, ragged breath, his eyes falling shut for a moment as the weight of what was happening settled upon him. 
You lifted your head at that very moment, and you turned, realizing your best friend had been taken out of the truck. On instinct, you tried to pull away from Rhett. Tried to run toward the scene, to see for yourself if Lydia was alright. 
But Rhett held you back. “No,” he told you. 
“Let me go, I need to see if she’s okay!”
He repeated himself. “No.” He would not release you, no matter how hard you struggled. 
Tears blurred your vision. “Rhett, please! I need to know if she’s alive!” 
He grabbed both of your shoulders and looked right into your eyes. “Darlin’, stop! Just let ‘em do their jobs!” He didn’t want you near it. Didn’t want you to witness death up close and personal like that. It would haunt you forever. 
Your knees buckled, and he caught you as you fell into him, wailing from the weight of your pain. Brokenhearted, Rhett cradled you in his arms, squeezing his eyes shut as his own tears made their way down his cheeks. This wasn’t happening. It wasn’t real. It had to be a dream. A nightmare. 
And then one of the sheriff’s deputies was approaching. Linden Haynes. “You two need an escort to the hospital?” He asked, voice low. Knowing you’d both want to go in support of your friends. 
Rhett nodded, trying to find his voice. “Yeah…yeah. Thanks. I, uh, don’t know where my truck got blown to.”
Linden hummed, his face sympathetic. “No problem. We’ll find your truck somewhere. Once things calm down, I can see if we can get some deputies searchin’ for it.” He moved to walk away, motioning for you both to follow. 
“Linden, are…are they okay?” you heard yourself speak. 
He turned, trying to mask his expression, but you could see it in his eyes. He had witnessed the wreckage firsthand. He’d seen the EMTs and firefighters rescuing your friends. He knew. 
“Let the docs and nurses at the hospital tell you that, they’ll know more than me,” was his response.
Defeated, you followed him to his squad car, your body still leaning into Rhett. You climbed into the backseat together, and as soon as you were settled, you buried your face in your hands, trying desperately to hold yourself together. But you were unraveling, and the dread was threatening to swallow you whole. 
The hospital was in a frenzy when you arrived. So many people hurt in the storm. You heard murmurs of the tornado being an EF5, which made your eyes go wide as you looked at Rhett. It was a wonder you’d even made it to safety. 
Sitting there in that hospital waiting room was the most excruciating moment of your life. Hoping your friends would survive. Knowing that they might not. 
Rhett was on the verge of potentially losing his brother. And while his relationship with Perry had been tumultuous over the years, he cared about him deeply, and couldn’t stomach the thought of losing him. 
You sat side by side on vinyl-covered chairs, holding each other’s hands in a death grip, startling anytime a doctor or nurse walked by, thinking one of them was coming to give you an update. 
Finally, an update did come. 
You had no recollection of ending up on the floor. But there you were, crumbled against the cool tile as Rhett tried to console you, while simultaneously wracked with grief himself. 
They were dead. Lydia and Rebecca. They were dead, and they had been since they were pulled from the wreckage. Perry, however, was alive, but just barely holding onto life. 
The doctor was a family friend. He offered to contact yours and Rhett’s respective families. It was all a bur. And then you found yourself in Perry’s hospital room, which was stone silent, filled with dreadful anticipation. 
Your memory of that day was patchy at best. Your brain had filtered out some of the more traumatic parts, forcing you to forget. The weight of your anguish made it feel as if you were underwater, being pulled down by a cinder block tied to your ankle. No matter how hard you pedaled, you couldn’t come back up to the surface. 
Late into the night, Perry succumbed to his injuries, too. He slipped away, with his family surrounding him. Worst of it all? His four-year-old daughter was left an orphan in the wake of her parents’ deaths. 
You lost a piece of yourself when three of the dearest people in your life were taken from you. It sent both you and Rhett into a spiral. He blamed himself. You blamed yourself. It was something you could not move past. Every time you looked at him, it was a reminder of that fateful day a twister took everything from you. 
You couldn’t bear it any longer. So you ran. You left Rhett. You left all you had ever known. And you told yourself you would never come back. 
Present Day
Until now. 
You were hoping to go undetected. You weren’t sure if you could handle seeing anyone from your past. Least of all Rhett. With the way you left things between you and him, you doubted he wanted to see you anyway. 
But you should have known you couldn’t hide forever. 
You had been planning to stay in your aunt’s house while you were in town, but when you arrived and saw the dire state it was in, you realized sleeping there wasn’t feasible. So you decided to stay at the only motel in town. 
Before checking in, you needed to stop by the store to buy a few necessities that you had forgotten to pack. You wondered if anyone would recognize you. Had you changed much physically over the last six years? You thought you had, but maybe others wouldn’t notice the change. 
You managed to slip into the store without being recognized. You went about your entire shopping trip, remaining anonymous. You paid for your things without a single soul uttering your name. But just when you thought you were home free, you saw someone who made you stop dead in your tracks for the briefest of moments. 
Cecilia Abbott. 
Your heart rate picked up, anxiety sizzling through your veins like a live wire. She hadn’t seen you yet, too busy bagging her groceries to notice. Perhaps, if you were quick enough, you could evade her and make your escape. 
You almost did, too. Until you heard the sound of your name being called. 
You flinched, pausing for a moment, debating whether you should keep going. But then she was descending upon you and you had nowhere else to go. 
“It can’t be! After all these years?!” The woman exclaimed. 
Slowly, you turned around, trying your best to put on a pleasant expression, masking your look of distress. “Cece, hi!” You greeted. You had no idea how this was going to go. Would she be angry at you for walking out on her son? Would she welcome you back to town with open arms?
She stared at you in disbelief, shopping bag balanced in the crook of her elbow. “Goodness, how long’s it been?” But she knew how long it had been. She never lost count of how many years had passed since the death of her child. 
“Six years,” you heard yourself reply. You wanted to crawl out of your skin. 
“Wow. I can’t believe it.” Cecilia shook her head. “It’s almost like seein’ a ghost! Never thought you’d come back.”
“I didn’t either. But I, uh…I’m here cleaning out my aunt’s place.”
Her face softened, and she shifted, leaning toward you. “I’m sorry. She’ll be missed around here, that’s for sure. S’ a good thing you’re takin’ on the responsibility of cleanin’ that house, though. She did let it go in her old age.”
You hummed in agreement. “Yeah, she really wasn’t there mentally the last few years of her life. It’s sad. But, I’m hoping to have the house looking good as new when I’m done with it.”
Cecilia shifted her bag of groceries to her other hand. “Say, you got a place to stay while you’re in town?” 
“I was going to stay at the house, but it’s too much of a disaster. I’m just gonna get a motel room.” 
You should have known what she would say next. Gasping, she reached out and touched your arm. “Nonsense! You should come stay at our house!”
Your eyes widened. She wasn’t serious, was she? After all that had transpired? “Oh, I couldn’t do that, I wouldn’t want to impose.” 
But once Cecilia Abbott’s mind was set on something, she wouldn’t take no for an answer. “No imposition at all! Home cooked meals, and a clean bed that doesn’t have bed bugs like that nasty ole motel does. The Bed Bug Inn, that’s what everyone calls it. Plus, we’re not that far from your aunt’s, just down the road. Closer than the motel is.”
She did have a point. But you couldn’t fathom the thought of stepping back onto the Abbott property again. You couldn’t face the demons you’d left there. “Cece, I appreciate it, but—”
“I insist. You at least need to come for dinner! I’m makin’ roast tonight, y’know, the one Rhett always loved? If you decide you still don’t want to stay after that, that’s fine. But you have to let me feed ya, I’m not gonna let you go hungry, girl.”
At the mention of Rhett’s name, your breath caught in your chest. “Oh, um… Rhett, how is he?” Your voice raised a little in pitch, and you cleared your throat. 
“He’s fine. Still livin’ in the house with us, but he’s gone all the time. Storm chasin’ business keeps him busy.”
He was still chasing? “I can’t believe he’s still going after storms,” you spoke in disbelief. 
Cecilia shrugged. “He never lost his love for it,” she mused. For a moment, there was a faraway look in her eyes, as if she was remembering something. Likely the way she had lost her son to the very thing Rhett loved doing. 
Then she snapped out of it. “Anyway, come over for supper! Five o’clock!” Without giving you a chance to protest, she turned on her heel and bustled out of the store, leaving you with no choice but to take her up on her offer. You didn’t want to offend her by not showing up. 
But could you handle it? Stepping back into the past, into a version of yourself that you had not been in six years. You thought of Amy, Perry and Rebecca’s daughter. She would be nine years old by now. Would she even remember you? Would she blame you for the death of her parents?
Surely not. She had been four when they died. You doubted a four-year-old had the emotional or mental wherewithal to blame you for the loss of her parents.
But it wasn’t Amy you were afraid to be reunited with. Not really. You were utterly terrified at the thought of seeing Rhett again. Would he be happy to see you? Would he be angry? Hurt? Confused? What would he say to you? How would you respond?
All these questions swirled through your mind as you sauntered back to your car. Maybe he wouldn’t even be home. But if you chose to stay at the Abbott’s, you would likely run into him at some point. Besides, you weren’t sure how long you were going to remain in town. You felt like you were taking advantage of Cecilia’s kindness. So, you determined that you would only go over for dinner. You would not stay the night.
With that thought in mind, you climbed into your car and headed back to your aunt’s house. 
A few hours later, you were back in your car all over again, thrumming with anxiety, wondering if you were making the right decision. It would be so easy to turn back around, but you forced yourself to continue on, hands white-knuckling the steering wheel.
When you turned into the Abbott farm, you were hit with a wave of nostalgia so intense you slowed your car to a stop, staring at the house in the distance. It was the same as it had always been. A cozy house boasting of a well-kept garden, a bran off to the left with a nice coat of bright red paint. Chickens milled about the yard. Horses played in the field. Cows lowed in the distance. 
It still felt like home.
With a deep breath, you eased off the brake and urged your car down the long driveway. As you parked near the house, you caught sight of a young girl with honey-colored hair, swinging on the rope swing that was tied to the tree in the front. 
Your heart clenched in your chest. She’d grown so much. It was a reminder that life had continued in your absence. 
Upon seeing you, she hopped down, eyes alight with joy. “Gramma! Gramma!” She called, rushing into the house to alert Cecilia to your arrival.
You took a moment to steel yourself before you climbed out of the car, shoes crunching against dirt and gravel as you approached the porch. As you ascended the steps, you were once again greeted by the little girl. Amy.
“Hi!” She exclaimed. “I’m Amy. Gramma says you can come on in!”
You couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. “Hi, Amy. It’s been a long time. Last time I saw you, you were this big!” You held your hand low, indicating her size.
“I don’t really remember you. But Gramma and Grampa do. They said you and Uncle Rhett used to date.”
You were slightly taken aback, but recovered quickly. “Uh, yeah…yeah, we did. That was a long time ago though.”
Amy shrugged. “I wish he was still dating you. You’re super pretty!” 
“Oh…thank you!” Was all you could say in reply. She certainly was prone to saying whatever came to mind. However, she moved on from it quickly, motioning you inside.
“C’mon!” She said, waving you on, and you moved to follow her, stopping at the door to take your shoes off before you ambled into the kitchen. 
The smell of food cooking made your stomach growl, and you realized only then that you were very hungry. A home-cooked meal would do you some good.
At the sound of your footsteps, Cecilia turned, her face lighting up at the sight of you. “You made it! I’m so glad. Dinner should be ready in about fifteen minutes.”
You smiled softly, nodding your head. “Is there anything I can do to help?” You wanted to make yourself useful, rather than standing awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen. 
“You can help me set the table!” Amy chirped, already walking to the table with her arms full of plates. 
“Silverware’s in the drawer to the right of the sink,” Cecilia reminded you. But you remembered from the countless dinners you had been a part of here.
With a nod, you moved to gather enough cutlery for everyone, and as Amy set each plate down, you folded a napkin and placed the silverware upon it. You fell into a rhythm, stopping only to grab drinking glasses from the cupboard.
You noticed that the number of place settings was five. That had to mean Rhett was also joining the family for dinner, unless it was a place for someone else. You wanted to ask Cecilia if he was coming, but didn’t want to make things awkward, so you left it alone.
You were kept busy as she handed you different serving dishes full of various foods to put on the table. As you placed a basket of dinner rolls amongst the rest of the food, the sound of the back door opening caught your attention.
Your heart leapt in your chest, and you lifted your head, expecting to see Rhett. Instead, you were met with Royal’s look of surprise. Cecilia looked over at him and motioned to the sink. “Wash up, supper’s ready. We’ve got a guest.”
He nodded as he hung his hat on the peg on the wall, pausing to take off his muddy boots. “I’ll be damned,” he remarked, directing it at you. “Didn’t know you were back in town.”
“Saw her at the market today, so I invited her over. Didn’t tell ya because you an’ Rhett have been in that darn pasture with no signal all day.”
Royal hummed gruffly as he walked over to the sink to wash his hands. “Storm wiped that fence clean out. We had to replace every last post,” he sighed, “took us all day.”
“S’why we need to hire some hands, Roy,” Cecilia lowered her voice, but you still heard her.
Clearly this was something they talked about frequently, because he huffed and shook his head. But he didn’t continue the potential argument. Instead, he turned, drying his hands on a towel. His eyes regarded you kindly. “Been a long time,” he murmured. “Good to see you.”
You managed a smile. “Good to see you too.”
“Rhett on his way?” Cecilia questioned as she placed the final platter on the table.
Again, your heart fluttered anxiously at the mention of his name.
Royal nodded, pulling out the chair at the head of the table and taking a seat. “Yeah, he’s right behind me, he was just puttin’ up the horses.”
“Alrighty, we’ll wait to say grace until he comes in then.”
There it was again, that deep feeling of utter nostalgia. Cecilia had always been a religious woman, and not a meal went by where she didn’t pray over the food. That aspect hadn’t changed at all.
“You can sit here!” Amy announced, patting an open chair next to Royal. “Me and Uncle Rhett will sit across from you.”
You’d have to look into his face. You wouldn’t be able to hide your expressions from him. Rhett had always been so perceptive, more so than anyone gave him credit for. He was always considered to be aloof by those who didn’t bother to get to know him, but you knew that was far from the truth. 
There had been a time when you knew him like the back of your hand. You wondered just how much he’d changed, if at all. 
Just as you took your seat at the table, the squeak of the screen door opening filled the room, and the scrape of boots against linoleum followed. Seconds later, there he was. Blue flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows. Same brown hat he’d had since he was a teenager, which he pulled from his head to place on the hat peg. 
“Uncle Rhett! Uncle Rhett! We have a guest!” Amy exclaimed. 
He hadn’t turned yet. Didn’t know you were there. “Who’s that, li’l pea?”
“Your old girlfriend!” She giggled, covering her mouth with her hand.
He saw you then, and his eyes went wide. You swore the clock hanging over the sink stopped, causing time to stand still. Everyone else in the room faded into the background as Rhett became your sole focus.
Suddenly you couldn’t breathe, as if someone had taken their hands and squeezed the air right out of your lungs. In the background, you heard Cecilia talking, likely explaining that she’d seen you at the store and invited you over.
You doubted Rhett heard her, either. He was too busy staring at you.
Seeing him again brought so many overwhelming emotions to the surface. Pain. Sadness. Longing. And suddenly, it felt as if the walls were closing in on you. You needed to bolt. 
Abruptly, you stood up, silently cursing yourself for your dramatics. “I–I’m so sorry, this was a mistake,” you squeaked, the legs of your chair scraping against the floor as you scrambled away from the table. 
And then you were fleeing. Just like you had six years ago. 
But this time, Rhett wasn’t going to let you go that easy. Shaking himself out of his momentary shock, his feet moved beneath him, carrying him after you. “Go ‘head an’ eat! I’m gonna talk to her!” He called over his shoulder to his family.
He threw open the front door, lurching out onto the porch. You were already at your car, wrenching the door open. “Wait!” He called out, dashing down the steps.
Tears were streaming down your cheeks. You didn’t want him to see. 
“Would ya just– just stop!” He reached out, hand against your door, impeding you from opening it. 
“Let go of my door, please.” You were surprised you had it in yourself to speak.
“Not until you look at me.”
You were afraid you’d fall apart if you did. “Rhett, please.”
A beat passed. Then another. You could feel his body heat, he was standing so close. You could smell the sweat and dirt that clung to him after a hard day’s work. But there was something else, too. Something sweeter. Like freshly baled hay. 
Against your better judgment, you found yourself turning, drawn to him like a magnet. Your eyes finally met his, and you gasped softly. They were even bluer than you remembered. So clear and bright. 
But there was so much emotion there, too. It swam within his irises, and you saw the glint of gathering tears. He drank in the sight of you, and his chest heaved as he took in a breath, then another. “I…I never thought I’d see you again,” he whispered, as if speaking louder would cause his voice to fail him.
“Me too,” you agreed, as quiet as he was. There was so much you wanted to say. But most importantly, there were a few words he needed to hear. “I’m so sorry, Rhett.” You succumbed to your tears, as they slid down your cheeks in hot trails. 
His bottom lip quivered slightly, and he shook his head. “No, I…I should apologize. I shoulda been more understandin’. You were grievin’, same as me, and I wasn’t letting you do it in your own way. I made you feel like you had to run away, and I’m sorry.”
“Is that what you think? That it was your fault?” Your voice trembled. 
He shrugged, sniffling softly. “S’what I always assumed. Thought it had to be somethin’ I did.”
The thought of him living with that these last several years made your heart ache. “It was never your fault. It was me. I couldn’t face what happened. I thought…if I left, it would be easier. I could move on faster.”
Being reassured that it wasn’t his fault made him relax slightly, the tenseness leaving his shoulders. But there was still a shadow of sadness on his face. “Was it easier?”
At that, you shook your head, scoffing slightly. “No. Honestly, I think leaving you made it worse. I’m so sorry I did that to you. I’ve never really been able to forgive myself for it.”
“Guess we both have a lotta things we couldn’t forgive ourselves for,” he murmured. Then he bowed his head for a moment, gathering himself before looking at you again. “For what it’s worth, I ain’t holding it against you. Losin’ the three of them was the hardest fuckin’ thing we ever had to go through. I don’t blame you for leavin’ to see if it would make you feel better. You did what you thought you had t’ do.”
A fresh wave of tears welled in your eyes. “Oh, Rhett.” Without a second thought, you found yourself moving forward, wrapping your arms around him. He was caught by surprise for only a moment, and then his own arms, strong and steady, came up to encircle your waist. 
You stood there in the middle of the driveway, holding each other for what felt like hours. When you parted, you were both wiping at tear-streaked cheeks. 
“S’good to see you again, by the way,” Rhett said. “I mean it.”
“It’s good to see you too,” you replied honestly. Now that your initial upset was out of the way, you realized it felt as if a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. 
“What, uh, what are you doin’ back in town?”
“Cleaning out my great-aunt’s place,” came your answer, and he nodded in realization. “I ran into your mom at the store today, she invited me over. I didn’t really want to come, I was scared to face you again.”
He hummed in understanding. “She knew what she was doin’. She wanted us to talk. She’s a meddler like that.” There was a twinkle in his eye as he spoke. 
You couldn’t help but smile despite yourself. “I should’ve known it was a ruse. She’s convincing, that’s for sure. She’s also watching us right now.”
When Rhett turned, he found his whole family watching through the front window. Upon seeing him turn, they all rushed away from the window, dropping the curtain. 
He faced you again, and there was a smile on his face. “I’m glad she convinced ya, then. Can’t tell you how good it feels to clear the air after all this time. Losin’ you was rough on me, but I’m happy you’re back, even if it’s only for a small visit.” 
“I’m happy too. And I’m happy you stopped me from leaving this time.”
His eyes twinkled like stars, and he nodded toward the house. “Wanna head back in for supper?”
“Yeah, I’d like that.”
Together, you walked back into the house. While there was so much you had missed in your time apart, and so much you still needed to reconcile with each other, you were relieved that the air was clear for the time being. You hadn’t expected Rhett to welcome you back with open arms, but you were thankful he had. 
It broke your heart that he had spent so much time believing he was to blame. It was your own inability to face your grief that was the culprit, not this sweet, blue-eyed cowboy. Never him. But maybe there was a new beginning between you. A chance to let the past remain where it belonged. 
When you stepped into the kitchen and took your seat at the table, the trio was pretending they hadn’t just been spying on you and Rhett. However, it was Amy who gave it away, giggling behind her hand. 
“You guys’re menaces,” Rhett grumbled as he placed a serving of potatoes on his plate. 
Cecilia tried to hide her smile, though ultimately failing. She looked at you, and her gaze was kind. “I’m sorry. Maybe I was a little…overzealous about makin’ sure you and Rhett saw each other again. But it worked, didn’t it?”
You couldn’t hold it against her. Without her meddling, you never would have spoken to Rhett. You likely would have done what you came to do and left town without a single glance in his direction. 
Cecilia had known that it was a chance for you to reconcile with Rhett. Holding on to something that happened years ago wasn’t healthy. She saw the opportunity to ease her son’s pain, and yours, and she took it. Thankfully, it had worked out in her favor. 
You couldn’t believe it had been that easy to reconcile with him. Even after you’d stormed off, upset, he’d still been willing to talk to you. It spoke volumes of his growth. Past Rhett wasn’t very good at communicating. But present Rhett seemed to have gotten much better at it. 
Dinner passed without a hitch, although there was still some slight tension. No one spoke of Perry, Rebecca, or Lydia. You got the sense that Royal and Cecilia were avoiding the subject. Likely because Amy was present. You had no idea how much she knew about that day, but you had no desire to bring it up. 
Conversation instead shifted to what you were doing with your life. 
“Where you workin’ now?” Royal asked, leaning back so that Cecilia could take his plate and clear the table in preparation for dessert. She’d denied your offer of help, insisting you sit and talk, because you were a guest. 
“I work for the National Weather Service, up in Silver Spring, Maryland.”
“No kiddin’?” He replied, eyes glimmering with intrigue. “What d’ya do there?”
You took a sip of your water before you answered. “I’m an analyst. I analyze weather data from all over the country. I work with a team and we try to predict, as best we can, what the weather is going to look like.”
“Sounds intense,” Rhett spoke up. You glanced over at him. He was leaning back in his chair, balancing on the back two legs. 
Until his mother slapped her dish towel against his arm. “Stop leanin’ back in that chair. The legs’ll give out.” 
He corrected his chair right away. You couldn’t help but smile at the interaction. “It is kinda intense. But I love it. Keeps me on my toes,” came your reply. 
“Can’t take the storm chaser outta the girl, huh?” He hummed, catching your eye with a knowing look. 
He was right. Although you’d stopped chasing storms, you still did just that, except it was from a much safer distance this time, through a set of screens. There was no chance of those around you dying grisly deaths brought on by a wicked twister. 
“Guess not,” you finally agreed. 
Before the conversation could continue, Amy happily interrupted, flouncing up to the table to set down a handful of dessert plates. “Gramma made your favorite, Uncle Rhett,” she announced, beaming at him. 
He grinned, pulling her into his side as she squealed. “Did she?” He asked, laughter in his tone as he jabbed his fingers into her sides, while she laughed uncontrollably and tried to wriggle away from him. 
You watched the exchange, and your heart went warm in your chest. But you were also hit with a wave of sadness. This sweet little girl was growing up without a mother and father. These three people in this room were all she had in the world. 
“Y’alright?” Rhett’s voice jarred you, bringing you back to reality. You hadn’t realized that tears were making their way down your cheeks. 
“I…I’m fine,” you answered. 
“Alright, here’s some blackberry pie!” Cecilia’s voice rang across the kitchen, interrupting your moment of melancholy. But you were grateful for the distraction.  
The pie was cut, and everyone was given a slice, along with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, and a cup of coffee. Conversation around the table shifted to Amy’s schooling, and she eagerly listed the number of weeks that were left of school. 
But you could feel Rhett’s eyes on you from across the table the entire time. The intensity of his gaze made you feel as if he could see right into your soul. That was how it had always been. Looking at him felt like staring into the sun, at times. So bright and beautiful, but impossible to stare at. 
That hadn’t changed, even years later. Same intense look. 
When dessert was finished, Amy got up to help Cecilia clear the table. Royal headed upstairs to presumably get ready for bed. And Rhett stepped outside onto the front porch. 
“Can I at least help you clean up for the night, Cece?” You asked, hoping to do something, anything to feel useful. 
“Don’t you lift a finger. Amy and I have got it.” 
“You sure?”
“‘Course I’m sure,” the woman insisted. Then, “Have you given any thought as to if you might stay here?”
You hesitated. “Oh, I, uh…I don’t know. I really don’t want to be a bother.”
She huffed, shaking her head. “I already told ya at the store, it’s no bother! ‘Sides, it’s gonna be dark soon, and it gets so pitch black out here, drivin’ into town isn’t safe. And if you stay, you’d be wakin’ up to a home-cooked breakfast in the mornin’.”
With a sigh, you finally relented. Mostly because you were too tired to argue with her. “You drive a hard bargain. Fine, I’ll stay.” It was a good thing you hadn’t taken your luggage out of the car yet. 
Cecilia beamed. “Then it’s settled.”
“I’ll just go get my stuff from the car,” you remarked, already turning to put your shoes back on. 
“Have Rhett help you. I think he just stepped out onto the porch,” she suggested. 
With a nod, you made your way out the door, hinges squeaking as you stepped onto the porch, shoes thudding lightly against weather-worn wood. 
Sure enough, Rhett was there, seated on the bench near the door. His legs were stretched out in front of him, and he was leaning back, eyes fixed on the sky. 
When you came out, his gaze shifted to you, and he smiled softly. “Hey,” he said, sitting up a little straighter. 
“Hey.” An awkward silence soon followed. There was so much hanging in the air between you both. Words left unsaid. “Your momma asked me to stay the night.”
He hummed, nodding as he looked back out across the sprawling land that was the Abbott farm. “Figured she would. Her and that bleedin’ heart of hers.”
“She suckered me into it with the promise of a home cooked breakfast.”
He scoffed playfully. “You get a home cooked breakfast and I get a piece of fuckin’ toast.”
“I’ll share with you.”
His smile turned into a grin. Then he fell serious. “Speakin’ of sharing, you can sleep in my room.”
At that, you shook your head. “Oh no, that’s asking too much. Isn’t there a pull-out bed in the living room couch? I can sleep there instead. It’s where I used to sleep when I’d stay over, remember?”
“Boy, do I,” he hummed. When you were teenagers, Cecilia was insistent that you did not share a bed if you stayed the night. You’d sleep on the pull-out bed in the living room, far away from Rhett’s bedroom upstairs. It didn’t stop him from sneaking down to talk to you in the middle of the night, though. 
He continued, “But ya already served your time on that old couch. I’ll sleep there. My bed’s all yours.”
“Rhett—”
“Hey now, don’t argue with me. We both know I always win ‘em anyway.” 
You rolled your eyes, folding your arms over your chest as you shook your head. He was right, after all. He’d always win you over with kisses dispersed all over your face until you relented with laughter. 
“Fine. I’ll take your room then,” you replied. 
He hummed in satisfaction, and silence fell between you again. It felt so strange, being back in his presence. You felt as if you didn’t belong here, on this porch with him in the late spring night. In your anxious imaginations, you had always assumed he’d never reconcile with you, so you never tried to reach out and make things right. 
But all it had taken was one tearful conversation, and a sense of civility had been restored between you. 
“Why did you forgive me so easily?” Came your question, spoken into the quiet air that hummed with the sounds of nocturnal creatures. 
Rhett eyes flickered to you. “Because I spent too long wallowin’ in hurt, and I couldn’t handle carryin’ all of it anymore. I don’t wanna be stuck in the past. I want to move forward. Forgivin’ you is the best way to do that.” Then he added, “plus, I never could stay mad at you. Guess that still holds true to this day.”
Tears welled in your eyes again as you digested his words. You hated that you’d caused him so much pain. If only you’d been able to work through your grief instead of running from it. But that was in the past. There was nothing you could do to change it. However, you could use it to be a better person in the future. 
“I’m sorry I—”
But he held up his hand. “Don’t need to ‘pologize again,” he assured you, gentleness in his tone. 
You closed your mouth and nodded, and then you decided to take a seat next to him. Several minutes of silence passed again. Again, you were the one to break it. 
“I’m glad I decided to come tonight. I almost didn’t take your ma up on it.”
“I’m glad y’ did too.” He turned his body toward you so he could look into your face. “Six years is a long time.”
“It really is. I can’t believe it’s been that long. And Amy…she’s gotten so big.”
“She has. That little girl’s the apple of Mom and Dad’s eye, I’ll tell you what.”
You couldn’t help but smile fondly. “Looks like she’s the apple of yours, too.”
Rhett made a noise of agreement. “I see ‘em in her. Bec and Perry, that is. She’s a bit of a firecracker. Takes after her dad in that way. But she’s smart as a whip, we’re talkin’ wicked smart, like her momma. And some of the things she says, the tone she says them in…god, it sounds just like Bec.”
“It must be so cool to see them live on in her like that,” you whispered. 
“It is. But it’s hard, too. Thinkin’ about the way things would be if they were still here.”
“Does she remember them?”
He shrugged, shifting his gaze to the night sky above you, shimmering with stars. “Bits an’ pieces. She doesn’t remember whole details. Plus she was so small…I don’t rightly know what she pictures in her head when she talks about it.”
Your heart broke for the girl. “Poor thing.”
Rhett nodded his head. “I know. But she’s doin’ alright. Brings a lotta joy into our lives.” Even in the dim light, you could see the way his eyes sparkled with love. Family had always been so important to him. Even more so now that he’d lost part of it. 
You had to swallow the urge to cry. “That’s good.”
A beat passed before Rhett changed the subject, eager to move on to lighter conversation. “So…weather analyst, huh?” He wiggled his eyebrows. 
That drew a shy smile out of you. “It’s no big thing. I have a whole team of people who work with me.”
“It’s a pretty damn big deal to me. You an’ that smart brain of yours. It’s no wonder you want on to work for the fuckin’ National Weather Service.”
At his compliment, you ducked your head, a little embarrassed. “I really like the job. It’s kinda stressful, though. Weather never takes a break like us human beings do.”
“You’re tellin’ me. You shoulda seen the storms that rolled through here last week. One right after another.”
That prompted you to ask the question you’d been dying to know the answer to all night. “Your mom said you’re still chasing.”
Rhett nodded his head as he shifted against the bench, wood creaking beneath his weight. “Yeah. It ain’t just me, either. I’ve got a whole team workin’ with me.”
Your gaze fell to your lap, where your hands were loosely clasped. “Was it…was it hard getting back to it, after they died?” You softly questioned. That was why you’d never gone back to storm chasing. You couldn’t bear the thought of doing so after all you'd lost. 
“Sure was. I didn’t start back up until a year later. That first time I got back out there…man, I almost couldn’t do it. I just kept thinkin’ of them. But then it sorta turned into a way to honor them an’ keep their memory alive. So I’ve been doin’ it ever since.”
“That’s good you were able to get back into it.”
“How ‘bout you? Been out there runnin’ after any storms lately?”
“No,” you answered quickly. The thought made your stomach turn. 
“Y’ should join us next time it storms,” came his suggestion. 
“I’d rather not.” You were hoping he would drop it. 
“C’mon, it’ll be like old times.”
“I don’t want it to be like old times. We lost three of our best friends during old times. I can’t…I can’t face another tornado. I’m scared to death of them now. I’ll never storm chase ever again.” You were on the verge of tears.
He got the message then. “Alright, fair enough. Didn’t mean to upset ya.”
You sighed, shoulders dropping. “You didn’t upset me. It’s just more of a sore subject than I realized,” you said. Then, “and now that I’m back here, I’m so scared more twisters will come through.”
Rhett understood where you were coming from. But he also believed in facing one’s fears. For the most part, at least. There were still some things that filled him with fear that he couldn’t bear to face. 
“More will definitely come. They ain’t been that bad this season so far. Last week was rough though. Had a couple EF3s that hit some neighborin’ towns. We’ve been helpin’ out a lot. The team I’m workin’ with…they’re big into charity. We’ve been able to donate to people who lost their homes. We’re hopin’ to raise enough money to get building supplies that can help rebuild all the damaged homes.”
You raised a brow, surprised. Not over the fact that Rhett wanted to help people in surrounding communities, but over the fact that his team had done so much. That was more than you’d ever been able to do when you were chasing with Perry, Rebecca, and Lydia. 
“That’s really amazing,” you remarked. 
“Yeah. Hate seein’ the damage twisters can do, but I’m glad we can at least do somethin’ to help, even if it’s small.”
You had so many more questions about his storm chasing. But you also wanted to change the subject. Your heart was heavy from the old memories going through your mind. So, you asked about another thing that was part of the past.
“Did you ever go back to bull riding?”
Rhett let out a sharp breath, suddenly finding a small tear in his jeans very interesting, fingers sliding over the work fabric. “Hell no.”
“I always wondered about that. If you’d gone back to it after I left.”
“Nah. Never could stomach the thought of gettin’ back on one of them beasts.”
“Yet you’ll chase twisters with no problem.”
“That’s different.”
“How? Both could kill you.”
Rhett didn’t have an answer for that. But he did know he never wanted to experience what he’d been through in that arena all those years ago. 
It happened before you’d started storm chasing together. He was gunning for a career in pro bull riding, and he was headed toward the top. He had it all. Until it came crashing down one night when he suffered a life-threatening injury when he didn’t get out of the way of an angry bull fast enough. 
You’d never forget that night. And neither would he. You’d been volunteering at the rodeo. You were certified in first aid, and you were able to work alongside the on-site medics tending to riders with injuries, so you had access to the riders-only area. 
But what Rhett suffered was no minor injury. The bull’s horn caught him right beneath the hem of his protective vest, impaling the soft flesh of his lower abdomen. You remembered so vividly the way you’d cried out his name. The way he’d been carried out on a stretcher. 
You remembered tearing his vest off of him and seeing blood. So much blood. You remembered pressing your hands to the wound in an effort to slow the bleeding as he grew pale beneath you. You remembered begging him to hold on, assuring him that help was on the way. 
You almost lost him that night. 
The injury scared the hell out of him. It required surgery to repair the internal damage, and it took him out of riding for months. And by the time the doctor cleared him to ride again, he knew he couldn’t. Not after he’d stared death in the face. 
He had a permanent scar on his abdomen, a reminder of what he had endured. 
Rhett never wanted to experience that again. So he hung up his riding vest for good. But he was still a thrill seeker. And when you expressed an interest in storm chasing, he’d eagerly agreed, because it gave him a chance to feel alive again, just like he always felt when he was sitting on the back of a raging bull. 
Now you had traded places. He was too afraid to mount another bull. You were too afraid to go after another twister. It seemed that you had more in common than you realized.
“Guess we’re both scared of something,” you remarked, wrapping your arms around yourself as the evening chill crept up on you like the chilled fingers of a ghost touching your skin. 
“Guess so,” Rhett agreed.
Your conversation fell stagnant, and you found yourself growing sleepy. You had only just arrived back in Oklahoma that morning, and the night before, you hadn’t slept well. The exhaustion was beginning to catch up with you. 
“I should probably turn in before I fall asleep out here,” you mumbled, followed by a yawn. 
Rhett made a sound deep in his throat before he rolled his neck, joints cracking. “I’ll help ya with your stuff,” he offered as he stood. 
You followed suit, motioning to your car. The two of you headed down the porch steps, where you popped the trunk, revealing your luggage. You watched as Rhett heaved the bags out of the car, his forearms and biceps bulging beneath the rolled sleeves of his shirt. 
You were reminded that he was still just as strong as ever. Lifting your suitcases hardly took that much strength, you knew, but Rhett was a farm boy. He’d been strong his entire life, thanks to lifting bales of hay and performing other tasks of manual labor. When he was riding bulls, his core and leg strength had been excellent. Those strong thighs of his allowed him to hold tightly to those raging animals. 
He’d taken on some size since you’d seen him six years ago. His shoulders were more broad. His arms were bigger. His thighs were meatier. Or maybe his jeans were simply too tight, hugging the curve of his quad muscles.
In the kitchen, you hadn’t fully admired him. But here, beneath the night sky, illuminated by the glow of the porch light, you saw him. His stubbled jaw, his twinkling eyes, his small pink mouth the button nose you’d always loved. 
You remembered teasing him and telling him he had an elfin nose, that he had inherited it from a mystical creature. You had adored the way his ears would turn red whenever you said it.
Oh, how things had changed. There had been a time when you couldn’t picture your life without him. And now, you’d been without him for so long that you’d forgotten what it felt like to love and be loved by him.
“Y’alright?” Rhett’s voice jarred you, and you shook yourself out of your reverie.
“Uh, yeah. Yeah, sorry. Just sorta zoned out.”
The knowing look in his eye told you he’d caught on to the fact that you were staring at him.
“C’mon, I’ll take you upstairs.” With that, he slammed your trunk shut and gathered your bags again before he headed toward the house.
You trailed after him, closing and locking the front door behind you, assuming everyone was in for the night. Then you ascended the stairs, allowing Rhett to lead you down the hall, all the way to the end, where his room was.
He nudged the partially open door with his foot, and stepped into the dark confines, depositing your luggage onto the bed before he bent to turn on the bedside lamp. You were met with the sight of a surprisingly neat bedroom.
The times you’d been here in the past, his room had never been terribly messy, but random clutter would accumulate in different corners. He was never really the type to make his bed either, because he always said, “I’m gon’ sleep in it again, so why bother?”
But now, the bed was neatly made, and hardly any clutter hid in the corners. 
“I ain’t been stayin’ here much, so it stays pretty neat,” he explained, as if reading your mind. 
“Too busy storm chasing?” You asked.
“Yeah. Stay in a lotta motels when I’m on the road.”
You sauntered into the room, taking in the coziness of it all. Hardly anything had changed. His plaid bedspread was the same. His curtains still matched the bedding. Art pieces of cowboys riding bulls decorated the walls. A picture of Lane Frost hung just above his desk.
A sense of nostalgia washed over you. Being in this room felt like coming home.
“Welp…guess I’ll, uh, let you get to bed,” Rhett murmured. He paused in the doorway, as if he wanted to say something. “I’m glad you’re back, by the way.”
That brought a smile to your face. “I am, too.”
He rapped his knuckles against the door frame. “Anyway, ‘night.”
“Goodnight.”
He reached out to pull the door shut, leaving you in silence, alone for the first time since you had arrived at the house. You let out a breath, and lowered down to sit on the edge of the bed, allowing yourself to process everything.  
Your arms splayed out on either side of you, palms skimming over the softness of the bed. You closed your eyes, and allowed the memories to wash over you. It was here, in this very bed, that you had lost your virginity to each other. You were young and in love and driven by your passion for one another.
Many times after that, you had made love in this room. And as you closed your eyes, it was as if you were reliving those memories. The feeling of his mouth on yours, and his hands on your heated skin. The way he would moan your name into your mouth when you shifted your hips against his own, searching for delicious friction, so eager to have him inside you.
As your eyes fluttered open, you were struck with a feeling of emptiness. How long had it been since you’d been with anyone in such an intimate way? Your job hardly left you time for romantic relationships. You hadn’t really put yourself out there, because you knew your busy career would likely deter anyone who wanted any sort of future with you.
As you readied yourself for bed, you thought about how alone you had felt these last few years. Alone in your grief. In your pain. At least Rhett had his parents to lean on as they endured the loss. You had no one who truly understood. 
Silver Spring was a perfectly nice community to live in, and you had made some good friends during your time there. But nothing compared to the community you once had here in Wabang. No one compared to Lydia, your dearest friend. Your bond had been a sisterly one. You were kindred spirits. You’d never been able to find that again in any of the friends you made in your current home city.
But now that you were back in Oklahoma, the sense of familiarity was nearly overwhelming. You were home. Even if you didn’t realize it yet.
That night, you got the best sleep you’d gotten in a long time. Rhett’s bed was comfortable, and the house was quiet. All that could be heard outside was the distant howl of a coyote, and the sounds of nightlife creeping about.
When you woke the next morning, it was to the sound of a rooster crowing. You lay there for a while, staring up at the ceiling, relishing in the feeling of being rested. Your body didn’t ache. Your head wasn’t swimming with tiredness. You were at peace, which was something you hadn’t felt in ages.
You could hear the sound of the Abbotts milling about the house. Cecilia was likely in the kitchen starting breakfast. Royal was probably already outside, getting a head start on the day’s chores. Rhett, too, who’d always been responsible for checking on the animals and making sure they were fed.
Not wanting to walk out in your tank top and sleep shorts, you were quick to throw on some clean clothes before you headed across the hall to the bathroom to wash your face and make yourself look somewhat presentable.
When you finally made your way downstairs, you were hit with the smell of food cooking. The coffee pot hissed and sputtered in the corner, nearly finished with its brew cycle. Amy sat at the table, doodling in a notebook. When she saw you, her face lit up.
“Mornin’! I was wondering when you’d come down! You slept for a super long time.”
“Amy,” Cecilia cautioned.
“It’s okay,” you assured her, before turning to Amy, “I needed the rest.”
“Well you came down just in time! Gramma’s making pancakes.”
“Sounds good!” Came your response, as you moved to grab a glass from the cupboard to fill with water. Your mouth felt parched.
“How’d you sleep, hon?” Cecilia asked as she stirred a bowl of pancake batter.
“Like a baby,” you said, bringing your glass to your lips to take a sip. You watched as she poured the batter onto a hot skillet, bubbling with melted butter. “Just so you know, I don’t expect you to make breakfast for me every day. I know you only make big breakfasts on Saturdays and Sundays, I don’t expect pancakes and eggs and bacon every day of the week.”
It was Thursday, so it wasn’t a typical day for her to make breakfast for the family. The weekday mornings were always called “fend for yourself” mornings, where the family was responsible for preparing their own respective breakfasts.
“Nonsense! I’m happy to do it, you need fuel if you’re gonna be cleanin’ that house all day,” she insisted.
You smiled gratefully. “Thank you. Really, it means a lot.”
She ushered you to the table, assuring you breakfast would be ready momentarily. You chatted with Amy once you settled into your seat, and just as breakfast was being put on the table, the screen door squealed open, and in stepped Royal, lifting his hat off his head and placing it on the peg on the wall.
He greeted you, nodding in your direction. “Mornin’,” he said as he took his seat at the head of the table.
Cecilia placed a cup of black coffee beside his plate, and he thanked her with a wordless hum. Typical morning small talk followed as everyone began filling their plates. But the quiet chatter was soon interrupted by the screen door opening again.
Rhett hurried into the kitchen, boots scraping against the floor as he made a beeline for the table. You could see a wildness in his eyes, and it made your heart rate quicken. Your gaze flickered to the kitchen window, where you could see distant gray clouds. 
“Gotta take breakfast to go, storm’s brewin’ over in Cimarron County,” he announced as he reached over Amy’s head to grab a pancake. He shoved a few pieces of bacon inside and folded it up like a taco. “Team’s on the way here to meet me.”
“Please be careful!” Cecilia called after him as he turned on his heel to head back to the door. 
He grabbed a backpack that was sitting on the bench in the entryway, presumably packed with necessities. “Always am, Ma,” he replied. Then he looked at you, his hand hovering over the doorknob. “You wanna come?” Hope was in his tone.
His offer shocked you. You certainly didn’t expect it, not after what you had told him last night. “No, I…I’ll stay here,” you answered.
“Alright, see ya soon!” And with that, he was off, door slamming shut behind him.
You weren’t sure what drove you to do so, but you found yourself surging up from your seat, feet carrying you quickly to the door. You flung it open and rushed out onto the porch. “Rhett!” You called. 
Midway to his truck, he stopped, whirling around. “Yeah?”
“Be safe!” He’d just come back into your life. You couldn’t bear the thought of losing him.
His face softened, and he smiled. “I will be. I promise.” Then he turned and continued on to his truck. Still that old GMC Sierra with the light bar on top. It had been blown off the road during the twister you’d narrowly escaped, but somehow, the truck was perfectly fine, and just needed a few repairs to render it driveable again.
Seeing that it had survived after all this time gave you hope that Rhett would make it back safely home again. 
He was gone for three days. You learned of his well-being through Cecilia. He would always text her after a storm passed to assure her he was okay. He was so good about giving her peace of mind. 
In his absence, you busied yourself with sorting through the overwhelming clutter in your great-aunt’s house. It provided a distraction from your worry. 
Living in Silver Spring, you’d had no cause to worry about Rhett. He crossed your mind often, yes, but you had no idea he was still storm chasing, and therefore remained blissfully ignorant. 
Now that you were back home, all those old memories had resurfaced, and you were forced to face the fact that you still cared deeply for Rhett. The thought of him dying out there made your stomach turn. 
At least when you’d been chasing with him, you were together, and he would die by your side if something did happen. Being apart from him now, you had no idea if he was okay or not, aside from updates from his mother. 
You were forced to come to terms with your feelings. Why did you feel so strongly about this? Yes, you cared about what happened to him, just as anyone else in his life did. But there was something more. 
You realized that perhaps you were still in love with him. 
However, you buried that realization deep. You couldn’t rekindle your romance with him. You had moved on, made a life for yourself, had a career you loved. You needed to leave your relationship with him in the past, and move forward with only a friendship between the two of you. 
Easy as pie, right? 
You hoped so. 
Three days later, just as you were arriving back on the Abbott farm after a long day of cleaning and organizing, Rhett returned. 
Relief washed over you from head to toe when you saw that old Sierra coming down the driveway. But he wasn’t alone. You could make out the silhouette of a woman sitting in the passenger seat. Behind the truck, a Ford F150 followed closely behind, and beyond that, an old RV. 
So this was the team he’d been talking about. 
Your gut fluttered at the sudden anxiety of meeting new people. You knew you looked worse for wear in your cleaning clothes. You’d been sweating all day, and you were planning on heading straight for the shower when you got into the house. 
But it would be rude to just turn and go inside, so you stayed put, waiting until all the vehicles came to a stop. 
Rhett jumped out first, slamming the truck door shut behind him. He was wearing his hat, and he was grinning. “Made it back in one piece,” he assured you. 
You couldn’t help but smile in return. “I can see that,” came your answer. 
Your eyes flickered beyond him as the woman in the passenger seat climbed out. She was beautiful, in the most natural of ways. No makeup adorned her face. Her eyes were large, the deepest shade of brown you’d ever seen. Her hair, a deep chestnut color, was curly and unkempt, pulled back into a ponytail. 
Her deep brown skin glimmered with perspiration. You could hazard a guess that the air conditioning in Rhett’s truck was broken. It always had been finicky. 
“Hi,” she spoke, reaching out her hand to shake yours, “I’m Zara Marshall. Nice to finally meet you! Rhett told me all about you.” Then she added, “good things, of course!”
“Nice to meet you, too. I didn’t realize you all were coming. I would’ve at least tried to look presentable.”
“Oh, you look beautiful, don’t even worry about that.” She blew a stray curl out of her face. 
“Zara here is the genius behind all our chases,” Rhett boasted. 
The woman looked at him and beamed, shaking her head. “Oh, hush. I’m no genius.”
An odd feeling blossomed to life in your chest as you watched their banter. The easy way they interacted. It wasn’t jealousy, was it? It couldn’t be. You had no right to be jealous. Not after you were the one that left him six years ago. 
Your moment of distaste was interrupted by the sound of car doors opening and closing. The rest of the team was getting out of their vehicles, clearly eager to stretch their legs after driving for so long. 
“You have to meet my wife!” Zara exclaimed. 
Oh. 
How silly of you to entertain the thought of jealousy when the woman wasn’t even interested in Rhett. 
Another woman came rushing over to the three of you, tall and lean, shoulder-length brown hair hanging loosely against the middle of her back, Tattoos decorated different parts of her body. Mostly her hands and wrists, and a few on her neck. When she smiled at you, it was warm like sunlight. 
“Hi!” She said, “I’m Jeslyn.”
You shook her hand and told her your name. Then you were quickly introduced to everyone else. 
There was Finn, handsome as could be, with bright green eyes and auburn hair. And then there was Danny, with eyes that were just a little less blue than Rhett’s, and graying curls that fell against his forehead. He couldn’t have been older than his early thirties, but he was already going gray. It suited him.
They were all so personable, and their welcome was warm. It made you feel at ease instantly. You should have known the people who chose to associate with Rhett were good people.
You learned that they were all staying for dinner, per Cecilia’s insistence. It was a flurry of organized chaos as everyone offered to help set up the tables outside, rather than crowding in the small kitchen to eat. 
While they were busy with that, you slipped away to take a quick shower, eager to wash the sweat and grime off of your body. 
You turned the water as hot as you could stand, stepping under the spray and closing your eyes. You hadn’t expected to be so exhausted. Your shoulders and arms ached from scrubbing and heavy lifting. Your legs were sore too. 
The steamy water helped loosen your tight muscles considerably, and once you were finished, you breathed out a sigh of satisfaction. Now you felt a little more prepared to face a dinner table full of people. 
But when you stepped out of the shower, you realized that you had forgotten something very important. A towel. Swearing under your breath, you stood in the middle of the bathroom for a moment, debating what you should do.
The linen closet was right across the hall. If you could sneak out there unseen, you’d be able to grab a towel and slip right back into the bathroom unnoticed. So, you cautiously opened the bathroom door and made sure the coast was clear before you dashed for the closet, yanking the door open and scanning for a towel.
To your horror, the sound of footsteps approaching could be heard, and you gasped, reaching for your towel, but you weren’t fast enough. A split second later, Rhett appeared at the top of the steps.
He froze, eyes widening, as you let out a squeak of surprise. Out of respect for you, he quickly turned away. “Shit, sorry!” He apologized.
Wordlessly, you clutched your towel and scurried away, slamming the bathroom door shut. On the steps, Rhett let out a breath, and he couldn’t help but shake his head. He hadn’t seen you naked in years. Of course the first time would end up being an awkward moment like the one you’d both just been subjected to.
He hadn’t seen much, in his haste to give you privacy. But he’d seen enough to make his brain short-circuit for a moment. Mentally, he scolded himself, but he knew, now that he’d seen you in that way, he wouldn’t be able to get it out of his head. Especially because there had been a time when he knew your body, inside and out. He’d had you in the most intimate of ways. And that was something he would never forget.
“Get it the fuck t’gether,” he grumbled to himself as he turned back around, heading toward his room, where he wanted to grab a clean shirt before you came back. He simply couldn’t entertain thoughts about you naked. It would do him no good. 
He shook the encounter off, and quickly changed his shirt, tossing the old one in the hamper. He stopped to glance in the mirror that hung above his dresser, running his hand haphazardly through his hair, which was slightly tousled from all the activity of the day. 
Then, quick as he came, he strolled out of his room and back down the steps before you ever stepped out of the bathroom again. 
Meanwhile, you were hurriedly going about your post-shower routine, your mind spinning. You knew you were making this into a bigger deal than it needed to be. Perhaps you should be grateful it was only Rhett, who’d seen you naked many times before, rather than his parents or Amy. 
But you still had an odd feeling swirling to life in your gut, a feeling that you didn’t want to face, because if you did, that would mean admitting you’d never gotten over Rhett. 
You pushed it down again. Choosing to deny, deny, deny. It would simply go away if you didn’t acknowledge it. 
With that, you headed out of the bathroom and back into Rhett’s bedroom, where you set your shower items down and made sure to hang your towel on the hook mounted on the back of the door. 
Then, with a deep breath for courage, you made your way downstairs. 
There was a flurry of activity happening. Cecilia was prepping Sunday dinner, while Zara and Jeslyn were gathering plates and silverware to set the table outside. Danny, Finn, and Rhett were carrying chairs outside.
Royal and Amy were in the living room, where she was very intently watching him whittle a figurine out of wood. Cecilia had likely shooed them out of the kitchen because there were enough people in the way as it was. 
For a moment, you stood there, in the middle of the house, taking in the sights and sounds, and it transported you back to the past. Sunday dinners with the Abbotts were always your favorite. Lydia and her family would join, and everyone would eat outside, weather permitting, just like they were going to do today. 
Many a good time was had around the large oak table that Rhett had built with his own hands when he was in high school, in woodworking class. One of the of the few classes he thrived in. The craftsmanship was beautiful, and it was still in good condition to this day. 
“Hey, y’alright?” Rhett’s low cadence filled your ears. You looked up to find him standing near, gaze soft. 
“I…yeah, I’m fine,” you assured him, “just reminiscing.”
He nodded. “Mm. Sure this brings back a lotta memories for you.”
“It does,” you agreed. 
He lingered for a moment. Then, with the lowering of his voice, he said, “I, uh, I’m sorry about earlier. Didn’t mean to walk in on ya like that.”
You cleared your throat, shaking your head. “No, don’t worry about it. It’s no big deal.”
“Good. That’s good.” He let his hands rest upon his hips, grimacing at the awkward silence that followed. 
“Guess I’d better see if your mom needs help,” you finally volunteered. 
“Uh, yeah. Yeah. I’m gon’ make sure the guys set up the table right.” He took a few steps backward before he turned and sauntered out the door. 
You breathed out a sigh, mentally berating yourself for the awkwardness. You hoped it wouldn’t linger for the rest of the day. 
Thankfully, it did not. Once dinner was ready and everyone was gathered around the table, the atmosphere melted into one of warmth and laughter. You didn’t feel like an outsider. The group of friends treated you like one of your own, and it did wonders to put you at ease. 
“I thought you’d like t’ hear this,” Rhett’s voice caught your attention from across the table. “Zara here’s workin’ on a way to stop twisters dead in their tracks.”
That definitely piqued your interest. You looked at her, where she sat between Rhett and Jeslyn. “Really? How do you plan to stop them?” You asked her, leaning forward in your seat. 
Tornadoes were impossible to stop. To your knowledge, no one had succeeded in doing so before. They were so unpredictable, one couldn’t possibly figure out when and where one was going to touch down fast enough to stop it. 
She sprang into her explanation. “I know what you’re thinking. It’s never been done before. But Jes and I have spent years coming up with a solution. There’s a lot of heat and moisture at the center of a twister. My theory is if you can cool down the center to the freezing point, you can stop the twister.”
You stared at her, eyes widening. There was no way it could work. Was there? “How would you cool it down?”
“Essentially, we release liquid nitrogen into the core of the tornado and it brings the temp way down.”
“Have you tested it out yet?” You inquired. You were still skeptical, but fascinated at the same time. 
Beside her, Jeslyn piped up. “We started small scale tests when we were still students at OU. Me, Zara, and some classmates built this machine that uses heat and moisture to simulate a tornado. Our nitrogen tests worked on it, but seeing as that was only a small, contained event…”
“You’d need a lot more nitrogen for the real thing,” you finished for her. 
“Yep.”
Zara continued where Jeslyn left off. “During the run we did this week, we decided to actually test it out and see if we could stop a twister. But…it failed miserably.” She laughed ruefully, and the rest of the team joined her, reliving the memory. 
You were struck with an odd feeling. Fear of missing out, maybe. Which shocked you, because you’d refused to go on the chase in the first place, because you couldn’t face your fears. Now you felt left out? It didn’t quite make sense to you. 
Maybe you did miss storm chasing, after all. 
“It’s hard to gauge how much nitrogen we need, especially because every tornado is different. We’ve been working on collecting as many tanks of nitrogen as we possibly can, but we also didn’t want to use up our whole reserve. We used half of it on what turned out to be an F3. Didn’t do shit,” Zara continued to explain, motioning animatedly with her hands as she spoke. Her face was incredibly expressive. 
You decided you really liked her. You could understand why Rhett enjoyed chasing with her. 
“So, how does that work? Like, do you set tanks of nitrogen on the ground and then open them and hope for the best, or?” You had so many questions, and you simply couldn’t hide your fascination. 
“We use that,” Rhett said, pointing over at his truck parked in the driveway. Hitched to the back was an open trailer, with several tanks of liquid nitrogen situated inside, metal gleaming in the light of the setting sun. 
“But how do you open them? Does someone have to open each one before the twister hits?” You suddenly became very aware of everyone’s eyes on you, and you shrank slightly. “Sorry, I know I’m asking a lot of questions.”
“No, you’re good!” Zara insisted, “it’s just, we’re all used to people telling us we’re crazy instead of actually showing interest.”
“I told ya she’d think it was cool,” Rhett said to her with a smile. He caught your eye. He still knew you well, even though time had driven you apart. 
“Basically, opening the tanks is up to us,” Finn piped up from beside you, motioning to Danny, who sat on the other side of him. He took a swig of his water before he continued. “We made these special remote control valves. As long as we’re within range, we can open the valves with the touch of a button and release the nitrogen into the air.”
“Honestly, it sounds crazy. But also brilliant,” you said, completely in awe. “You gotta show me all the equipment after dinner. I’ve never heard of anyone doing this kinda thing before.”
Part of you still doubted what they were trying to do would ever work. It went against all odds. Even if they did succeed in stopping a tornado, the method wasn’t necessarily feasible for stopping others in the future. It would require countless tanks of nitrogen and a lot of manpower. 
But just to be able to say one had stopped a tornado was a feat in and of itself. You couldn’t hold it against Zara for trying. It was clear she was passionate about her work and believed there was a possibility that it could be successful. 
The conversation around the dinner table soon shifted to other things. You noticed that none of them asked you about your storm chasing past. You wondered how much Rhett had told them, and if he’d instructed them not to ask about the details, at risk of upsetting you. 
It was very considerate of him, if he had. 
After dinner, everyone helped clean up while Cecilia ushered Amy upstairs, against the girl’s protests. “You’ve got school in the mornin’, early bedtime isn’t optional!” Her grandmother insisted. 
But Amy had to make sure she said goodnight to everyone first before she made the reluctant trudge up the stairs. Oh, to have the innocence of a child again, unwilling to go to bed because all the adults were still awake.
The evening carried on, and once the dishes were washed and the table was cleared, you were led outside to see all the equipment Zara had told you about. And what a setup it was.
The trailer attached to the back of Rhett’s truck was full of nitrogen tanks, sealed with remote controlled valves. The trailer itself was also remote controlled, according to Rhett. 
“Come see,” he motioned for you to follow as he opened the driver’s side door. He pointed at the center console, where there was a board of switches, framed by labels indicating what each switch was for. “Danny and Finn helped get this up an’ running. If we need t’ let the trailer go, all I gotta do is press a button and it’ll release. S’how we get the tanks in the path of the twister.”
You stared in amazement at the device. “How? Like, how do you figure out when to release the trailer? And how does it not just get blown away?”
A grin tugged at his mouth. “Figured that one out too.”
He led you to the side of the trailer, where he pointed at a compartment positioned directly between the wheels. “Soon as I get the trailer in place, I flip a switch and stakes lower outta this compartment here and into the ground. Usually we’re cuttin’ it close, but I can get the truck positioned in the path of the twister. Then I get the trailer settled and get the hell outta Dodge.”
“Then I hit the remote control for the tanks and release the nitrogen into the air,” Finn piped up eagerly.
“Meanwhile, Zara and I are tracking the storm pattern and trying to figure out exactly when to release the trailer,” came Jeslyn’s explanation.
You stared at all the equipment in total wonder. These people had thought of everything. More than you or Rhett ever had when you were chasing. Your operation then had been very bare bones, and really, you were just following storms for the fun of it. 
But this? This was an entire science experiment, and it was fascinating. Despite your refusal to chase again, you were very curious about what all of this would look like in action. If Zara ever succeeded in stopping a twister, she would make history. 
That was something you almost wanted to be a part of. Almost. 
Later that night, you found yourself curled up in an Adirondack chair, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders as everyone sat around the fire that Rhett had built in the old fire pit. The place held so many memories. Namely, the night Rhett had asked you to be his girlfriend. It was right here. 
He remembered that night, too. You could tell he was thinking about it when he caught your eye from across the fire. 
Around you, the group settled into comfortable conversation. The kind that happened when old friends got together. Anything and everything was discussed as the night gave way to inky darkness, the stars twinkling above, like glitter spilled across a black velvet canvas. 
Before she’d retired for the night, Cecilia had warmed some apple cider on the stove, and a mug of it was currently situated in your hands, its taste spicy and comforting. You enjoyed listening to Rhett’s friends tell stories of different storms they’d chased, reliving all the exciting times they’d had together.
You wondered if you would be running with them, too, had you stayed here instead of moving to Silver Springs and taking your weather analyst job. Would it just be you and Rhett, or would fate have still decided to bring these people into your life?
Their passion was admirable. Zara was a very driven individual, hellbent on making a difference. “If I could at least slow down a twister, even if it doesn’t fully stop it, think of all the lives we could save. That’s why I do all of this. I wanna protect people.”
That was just it, wasn’t it? Saving lives. You thought back to the fateful day you had lost Perry, Rebecca, and Lydia. If you’d had a way of slowing down that twister, or even stopping it altogether, perhaps they would still be here.
But you couldn’t think that way, because it was already done. There was no way to go back in time and save them. 
The thought made your chest ache, and you had to swallow the wave of grief that rose in your throat. Rhett caught your eye over the flames, and shot you a reassuring look, almost as if he knew what you were thinking.
To your relief, the subject soon changed from storm chasing, and moved on to lighter things. 
“Hey, rodeo’s on Saturday. We were all thinking of going together. You should totally join us!” Jeslyn suggested, nodding in your direction. 
“Yeah, you should!” Finn agreed.
That piqued your interest. “Sure, I’ll still be in town, so why not?” You hadn’t been to a rodeo in so long. Not since Rhett’s last ride, which had ended in disaster.
Jeslyn grinned over her mug of cider. “Great! We’re gonna have so much fun. We’ll take care of your ticket, so you don’t have to worry about it.” 
You raised a brow in surprise. “Really? You don’t have to do that.”
Everyone protested at once, insisting that they wanted the rodeo ticket to be their treat. You were touched at their generosity, and accepted the offer gratefully. Might as well make the most of your time in Wabang.
Soon, it was time for the group to disperse and head in their own respective ways. Rhett threw some sand over the dying embers, while everyone else folded up their chairs to store back in the barn. As you walked the group back to their cars, Zara turned to you, her face kind.
“I know you’ve got your reasons for choosing not to chase, I want you to know the invitation for you to join us is open, in case you ever change your mind,” she told you. 
You weren’t entirely sure what came over you then. Maybe it was your desire to make a difference. Maybe you were just foolish. But for whatever reason, you were emboldened enough to say, “y’know what? I’ve got a proposition.” You stole a glance at Rhett to make sure he was listening. “I’ll go on a chase with you guys if Rhett agrees to ride at next weekend’s rodeo.”
You knew Rhett. He had a competitive nature. He was going to say yes. Everyone’s eyes landed on him, awaiting his answer.
“Shoo-ee, you gonna accept that challenge, Rhett?” Danny asked with a grin, fully invested.
Beside you, Rhett grimaced. “Ain’t no way they’ll let me in the ring,” he protested.
“Does Beau still oversee the bull riding contestants?” You inquired.
You and Rhett both knew that Beau would agree to letting him ride, because only Beau Wilson was crazy enough to allow such a thing. 
“Yeah,” Rhett answered your question. He was well aware of the direction this was going.
“Then I’ll go talk to him. He’ll get you a spot in the ring. If you can handle it, that is.” You gave him a pointed look. 
“I can handle it, darlin’.” Despite the determination in his tone, the nickname settled over you like a warm embrace. He hadn’t called you that in so long. “So if I do this, you swear you’ll go on a run with us?”
“Pinky swear.” You held your hand out, pinky up.
Rhett eyed your hand for a moment before he linked his pinky finger with yours. “Fine. You got yourself a deal.”
Finn and Danny whooped in excitement, while Zara and Jeslyn looked between you and Rhett, bewildered. “Who would’ve thought you’d be the one to get him back on a bull? We always say he should try riding again, but he always says no,” Zara explained. 
You looked at Rhett, and he ducked his head, hand lifting to scratch the back of his neck. You swore you saw his ears turn red. “Guess he just needed some friendly competition,” you replied.
Not long after, goodbyes were said, and the group parted ways, climbing into their vehicles and driving off, leaving you and Rhett standing there in the driveway. Immediately, you realized that your proposition was a bit preposterous. 
“Oh my god, if you don’t want to ride, you don’t have to. I don’t know why I said that, I just…”
But he waved his hand, shaking his head. “Nah, I’ll do it. It’ll do me some good to get back on a bull. Just like it’ll do you some good to face another twister. Might help us both process some shit,” he reasoned.
You let out a breath. “Maybe so.”
You both turned to walk toward the house, and he asked you a question as you went. “What made you change your mind?”
You paused, glancing down at your feet before you looked at him. “I dunno, all of Zara’s talk about saving lives…it got me thinking. It would be so cool if it could work. Imagine all the people she could save! She’s making a difference, and I want to be a part of that.” And then, “maybe if…if we had something like that six years ago, Perry, Rebecca, and Lydia would still be alive.”
Rhett’s boots crunched against dirt as he absently kicked a few pebbles out of the way. “Don’t go spiralin’ into the ‘what ifs’. Universe saw fit to take ‘em, so it did. No machine could’ve stopped it. Not that kinda twister.”
You studied his expression. “Do you believe in Zara’s project?”
He shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I do, but there ain’t no way it would stop an EF5 tornado. We’d be fucked if it hit us.”
“It’s still worth a try, though, isn’t it? If it works, and if she can get it going on a larger scale…she could save entire towns from being destroyed! Think of the history she’s going to make!”
Rhett’s mouth curled into a slight smile. “There she is.”
“What?”
“My storm chasin’ gal. You’re back.”
You shrugged. “I guess so. But just know this isn’t a permanent thing, ‘kay? I’m only going out there with you guys to see how Zara’s invention works. After that, I’m going back to Silver Springs. To my job, where I don’t have to live off of McDonald’s and Whataburger every day and stay in shitty motels while I wait for a twister to just fall out of the sky.”
He bit back his ever-widening grin, shaking his head. “Sure thing. I’m just glad you decided to face your fear, s’all.”
Facing your fear. That was what this was, wasn’t it? You knew that  if you could do this, it would show you that you were capable of moving past your grief that still felt crippling at times. But you couldn’t help but wonder; when staring into the face of a tornado, would you be able to stand your ground, or would you let your fear send you running like a frightened child?
You would soon find out. But you didn’t realize just how soon. 
*read the next part here
-
taglist: tagging those who expressed interest or asked to be tagged (lmk if you wanna be added or removed)
@withahappyrefrain @rhettabbotts @ryebecca @peachystenbrough @attapullman
@sebsxphia @delopsia @damrlova @fragilefearnie @floydsmuse
@fairyheart @hangmanapologist @lovinglyeternal @likearolloftape @bobfloydsbabe
@nobody7102 @mearslot @torturedpoetspsychward @floydsglasses @hearteyesforlewis
@shamelessghostwagonwobbler @cloudofbutterflies92 @keep-on-burnin @ravenmoore14 @queenbbarnes
@phoenixhalliwell @lyn-js @sunsetsimpsblog @ixxvixcviii @shinycupcakebaker
@frequentnosebleeder @atoncments @eolsens @casuallyclassless @desert-fern
@perfectprettypisces @parcetamoldaisy @zirrocom @rhettsgirll @just-in-case-iloveyou
@ada--44 @sydney-malcontent @9ullmans @bradshawsbitch
@callsignmedusa @antiquitea @ohmyeyesmyeyes @spidervman @oddlymighty-witch @dreams-in-anthracis
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yeetus-feetus · 8 months ago
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Duke is a much smaller Duke one day, he's lost all his memories beyond the young age he is now and he's scared and confused.
He doesn't know where is. But then there's Tim, his Robin! And suddenly everything is ok.
The bats have no idea what's going on, but Duke refuses to go to anyone but Tim. He's also a little ball of energy bouncing off all the walls, and Tim is SO tired. "Robin- Tim, come play tag with me!"
One night Tim ends up passing out at his desk, a sleeping Duke cuddling into him on his lap.
Except when Duke wakes up Tim is small too.
And he doesn't remember who Duke is!!
So Duke reintroduces himself and Tim let's himself be dragged downstairs to the actually Batcave!
Bruce is looking at them in absolute astonishment, they're so small!!
Damian laughs at Tim's smallness and Tim gives a cold glare. Maybe age can't change some things.
"where are Nightwing and the new Robin?" Tim asks.
"I'm Robin."
"no, I meant Jason!" Tim huffs and crosses his arms. Ah, he's so young he still believes Jay is Robin.
Duke is still clinging to him, but Tim can't bring himself to mind all too much.
Bruce doesn't know how to handle these boys, between a hyperactive Duke and an absolute menace Tim.
Dick tries to help, but even he can't keep up with the mischief and shenanigans they get up to together.
"dick pick us up!"
"yeah! Pick us up pick us up! And swing us around until we get dizzy!"
"again!"
"again!"
It's time to bring out the big guns, and by that they mean calling Jason over to the manor.
Tim settles immediately, but Duke remains overly weary around the large man with guns strapped to his thighs. He's kinda scary.
But Tim likes Jason well enough. At some point he ends up cuddled up with Jason who's stretched out on the couch, and Duke is just a little bit jealous.
"hey stop hogging him! Tim is mine," Duke pouts.
Jason raises an eyebrow at the boy, and Tim tilts his head. "You know there's enough room for both of us up here, right? Jason is a lot bigger than he used to be."
Duke considers this. "Mm okay, but only because you're up there". And he climbs up into Jason's lap to cuddle into Tim's side.
It's calm for a moment, until Duke starts to fidget, not able to stay still for too long. Jason let's put an annoyed noise and looks at them over the top of his book. "Would you quit it I'm tryna read here".
"what are you reading?" Duke asks.
"Macbeth."
Tim scrunched his nose up. "Why are you reading that?"
"I like it. Reminds me of school", and Tim catches something in his tone that Duke absolutely doesn't.
"it sounds silly. Will you red it to us?"
Jason looks at the both of them for a very long moment before signing. "Sure, but you've gotta stay still, your knees are already in my ribs."
The three of them all end up falling asleep like that, tucked into the lounge and curled up together.
Except when they wake up in the morning, Jason is scrawny little boy, even smaller than Tim and Duke.
Tim explains what he can to the tiny Jason as Duke sneaks some snacks from the kitchen cupboard for them.
Cass catches them stuffing their faces with junk food and squeals. "Three baby brother's now!" And scoops them all up as the quick and try to squirm away.
"gotta tell B"
"wait who are you exactly?" Jason asks.
"big sister", Cass smiles and pets his curls.
"no way! Really? That's so cool, I've never had a big sister before", he exclaims.
Cass carries all three of them down to the Batcave because she's so strong and awesome! And Jason can't believe he ends up with such a cool sister.
"Batman!!!" Jason shouts in pure excitement, and Bruce turns around and almost cries.
Because look how small!! Oh baby Jay lad!! So precious and smol!
"I think the de-aging syndrome may be contagious", Tim speaks up. "You should have us all properly quarantined until you can find a cure."
quarantine is fun, for Jason and Tim at least (tiny Tim is plotting revenge on whoever caused this, Jason is reading and occasionally shouting at the characters). Duke can't stand having to stay still in the same one room for so long.
idk where this is going, but consider this awesome 3am idea of mine
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remlionheart · 3 months ago
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Anonymous asked:
PLZZZZ i beg you smoking sesh w megumi
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♡‧₊˚ ask and you shall receive ✩࿐࿔ it's been a while since i've done a meg drabble and out of all of the different drugs we've explored on this page, this just made me realize that i've never written about weed lol so thank u for the suggestion this was really fun to write <333 home from college au. heavy we-shouldn't-be-doing-this trope. aged up characters. fem!reader x ((the peoples’ husband)), *⟡toxic!megumi*⟡ 3.2k words. porn with a plot. angst. degradation and praise. stoned sex. lemme know whatcha think, luv u ‎‎♡‧₊˚
❀ MDNI ❀
keep me h i g h ₊⊹
now playing: wet dreams ☾₊˚
⊹₊ ⋆✿
It'd been four months since the last time you'd seen Megumi.
Between college and the city lines that separated you, the two of you had cut almost every tie that once kept you connected. It was strange to think about sometimes - how quickly you'd gone from being the person he spent almost every weekend with to being nothing more than a fly on the wall of his social media, occasionally liking his posts but never getting anything back in return.
You tried to remind yourself that it shouldn't have been a surprise. Your relationship with him had never been easy. All throughout high-school you'd fallen into the same pattern of push and pull with him, his feelings everchanging and impossible to keep up with.
He'd kiss you in private and ignore you in public. Tell you that you were just friends and sneak through your window on the nights he didn't want to be alone. Run his hand along your back until you had fallen asleep and leave without so much as a "goodbye".
As painful as it was, a part of you had almost been relieved when things finally ended. No more pushing, no more pulling - just you and the new town you'd moved to. You and the new friends you'd made. You and your new fresh start. You still wanted the best for him despite everything, but you also wanted the best for yourself too. And deep down, you knew that didn't involve drunken hook-ups and empty words.
You hummed as you stepped out of the shower, the smell of coconut shampoo and lavender body wash dancing around you. It was unexpectedly comforting to be back home, even if it was only for a few days. Your roommates had tried to talk you out of coming back to Tokyo for fall break, but you knew you couldn't do that to your parents. You were certain there would be another time for going out and Halloween house parties.
Your room was still exactly the same as you'd left it - a mess of purple blankets on your bed and off white string-lights decorating the walls. Clothes that you'd left behind still hanging in your closet along with a stack of old journals. Tarot cards and candles and framed pictures of you and your friends sitting atop your dresser. It was nice to know that it still felt like your safe haven despite months of not seeing it.
You continued humming the same song that you'd started in the shower as you slipped on a baby-blue tank top, pairing it with your favorite silk pajama shorts. You lit a couple of candles and cracked the window open, letting crisp October air swirl through your room before turning off the overhead light and crawling into bed.
A cozy sense of nostalgia crept over you as you nestled into your bed and pulled out your phone.
Just like when you lived here, you were the only one still up after a movie had put both of your parents to sleep. You were mid-scroll, debating on what Youtube rabbit hole you wanted to go down for the night when a text popped up that immediately put you in an upright position again.
⋆。˚ ☁️˚。⋆。˚☽˚。⋆
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⋆。˚ ☁️ ˚。⋆。˚☽˚。⋆
You called him as soon as his last text came through, but he sent you straight to voicemail. "fushiguro," you texted frantically, "seriously", "you can't do this".
You were out of bed and on your feet before you even knew what you were doing, rushing to lock your door as you quickly realized that there was no such thing as reasoning with him.
Your life had changed in an assortment of ways since you'd left and judging by the way he texted you, he had to know that too. The last picture you posted before coming back was of you and a boy that you'd been seeing for the last month. It was mostly casual, neither one of you quite ready to put a label on what you were doing, but it still made your stomach flutter thinking about seeing Megumi when you were actively sleeping with someone else.
You dialed his number again, only to immediately hang up. Your heart suddenly lodged in your throat when you noticed that you could hear the call ringing from both inside and outside of your room.
You watched his slender fingers loop under the base of your already cracked window, stealthily pushing it up like he'd done so many times before. A sea of memories flooded over you as he pulled himself up, swiftly swooping both of his legs into your room before projecting the rest of his body forward and landing perfectly in place, hardly make a sound.
The low glow of your string-lights grazed his face, the prettiest shade of blue meeting your stare while the two of you took a moment to study the person in front of you.
"Your parents really need to invest in a better security system."
You hated the laugh that escaped you. The slight smirk that pulled at the corner of his mouth. The way your blood still danced in your veins at just the sight of him.
So much had changed in the last four months and yet, here you both were.
"Surely you didn't come all the way over here just to critique our home safety." You whispered.
"Seems like someone should." He countered, following behind you as you took a seat on the side of the bed.
He fished a joint and a lighter out of the front pocket of his jacket before tossing it onto the floor, leaving him in a black v-neck that accentuated his arms. He'd always been toned, but it was obvious that he'd been training a lot harder since you left - his shoulders and chest noticeably more defined than the last time you'd seen him. You'd never say it aloud given their relationship, but the older he got the more and more he seemed to resemble his dad.
"Bring your fan over here." He said, breaking your train of thought.
You nodded, staying light on your feet as you brought it over and aimed it at the window before reaching into the back of your dresser to grab an ashtray that you'd had stashed away since sophomore year. It was like no time had passed at all as you took a seat next to him again, setting the ashtray on your nightstand while he twirled the joint between his fingers.
You weren't sure why, but there was something about the way he brought it to his lips and flicked his lighter that created a dull ache at your center. Everything about him was so pretty and so nonchalant, effortlessly detached and infuriatingly nice to look at.
"Does your new boyfriend smoke?"
Your eyes instantly snapped to his, watching a plume of smoke trail felicitously from his mouth as he looked back at you. "Doesn't really look like the type who would." He added with a slight raise of his brow.
You didn't like anything about the question - from that fact that he had the audacity to ask it to his lethargic tone to the emphasis on the word "new", as if he was trying to imply that you'd been dating someone before you left.
You clicked your tongue to your cheek, letting out a huff as you snatched the joint from his lips. "You're insufferable." You repeated, drawing in a deep inhale.
The truth was, the boy you'd been seeing didn't smoke pot and you hadn't either since you'd started college, but there was no way you were admitting that to him. You took another hit, keeping your attention fixated on the window as your fan circulated the smoke out and pushed it into the night sky.
"I'll take that as a no." He whispered, his leg lightly nudging yours as he leaned over and plucked the joint from your fingers this time.
"Why are you here?" You finally asked, a sharp edge growing in your voice. "You were the one that quit talking to me, you know that right? You didn't even bother saying goodbye and then you just show up unannounced like nothing happened and ask me about my life and who I'm seeing and..." The weed was starting to hit you, your body suddenly heavy and your mind dizzy with a confusing mix of intoxication and irritation. "I just... Why? I mean, what's the point of any of this?"
A rare somber expression took over, softening his usual concrete features as he ran a hand over the back of his neck.
“Honestly, I don't know..." His gaze was glossy, his mind equally as hazy as yours. "I didn't know what to say when you left so I didn't say anything. It seemed easier that way, for both of us."
"But it wasn't –"
"I know." His demeanor was unexpectedly gentle despite how firm his tone was. "I'm sorry."
The room felt like it was spinning, his apology making something inside you ache. It was the first time in the three years you'd known him that he'd ever said it. That he'd ever actually admitted or acknowledged to hurting your feelings and even if the bar was in literal hell, it still felt good to hear those words finally leave his mouth.
"What else?" You pressed.
He took a moment to look you over, his eyes tentatively roaming along your face. “I missed you." He said honestly.
You'd never met anyone besides him who was capable of sounding so sincere and so indifferent at the same time.
"Missed your stupid laugh. Missed the way you'd always call me when you were drunk." He leaned in closer, his hand carefully taking the joint from yours as he set it on the ashtray and rested his palm on the back of your neck.
"Missed being in your room like this..." His voice dropped down to a low whisper, fanning lecherously across your skin. “Missed the feeling of you wrapped around me…”
“Megumi… we can’t…”
But you still let him close the already small gap between you anyway, his lips ghosting yours as you breathed him in. The familiar scent of false promises and expensive cologne flooding your senses.
"I know you.” He said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You wouldn’t have texted me back if you didn’t want to.”
"I –" His words were going straight to your center, the dull ache from earlier blossoming into an unignorable throb as his hand gradually trailed up your thigh. "I didn't –"
"Wouldn’t have posted that you were back in town if you didn’t want me to know…" His fingers were toying with the fabric of your shorts, methodically pushing them to the side. "Wouldn’t have left your window open if you wanted to be alone…”
Your ability to hold yourself together was threatening to buckle at any moment between the feeling of his grip tangling into your hair and his lips continuing to tortuously graze yours.
“And you definitely wouldn’t be this fucking wet if you really didn’t want me here…”
Your heart was slamming into your chest so hard you were almost afraid he'd hear it.
He kept his eyes locked with yours, watching the last bit of composure you had vanish entirely as he slipped past the thin barrier of your underwear and gained access to your weakest point.
Your movements betrayed your sentiment, a helpless whimper escaping you while your hips gravitated up towards his hand, practically begging for more.
"Look at you," he breathed, his middle finger drawing soft, heavenly circles between your thighs. "All that time without seeing each other and you still fall apart for me so easily. Why is that?"
Another heady little noise entered into the small space between you as you fought to keep your moans from getting any louder. You hadn't been this high in months. Your insides felt like they were on fire as he dipped down, just barely prodding at your entrance. But the more you tried to get from him, the more he pulled away. Unwilling to comply with your body's demands until you answered his question.
"Tell me." It was venom mixed with honey. Torment mixed with pleasure. He had you right where he wanted you - desperate and pining. Forced to give him what he wanted in exchange for what you needed. "Let me hear you fucking say it."
You grabbed onto the collar of his shirt, doing everything you could not to whine when the tip of his finger gently slid into you and then stopped without warning - gracing you with just enough to finally bring you to your breaking point.
"I wanted to see you." you said breathlessly, your pupils widening as you felt him push slightly deeper.
"What else?" He taunted, using your words against you.
"I wanted you – here." You yelped, your voice splitting as he sank in further.
You were delirious, ready to actually plead if that's what it took to get him to cave. "I want – fuck, Megumi, please just –"
He was half-way in, teetering on the verge of letting you have it as long as you could get the next sentence out.
"Say it."
"I want you inside me." It poured out so fast, it was barely even coherent. "I want you inside of m...e – so fu–cking bad, please."
Your chest pressed against his in an urgent daze, pulling him closer while his lips met yours - neither one of you able to withstand the tension for a second longer. His movements matched your fervency as he added another finger, finally letting your walls swallow him.
He deepened the kiss, trying his best to keep you quiet while your hips rocked rhythmically against him.
"So pretty and pitiful" he whispered, lightly nipping at your collarbone. "You're already almost there. You sure you can handle me being inside you?"
You nodded hopelessly back at him.
"I can... take – it." You struggled, feeling him smirk into your neck as his thumb brushed against your clit, drawing out even poutier noises from you. "Promise."
"Prove it."
His tongue swirled lavishly into the softness of your clavicle, leaving little bruises in the shape of his mouth while his fingers continued to plunge innnn and out of you at the same heavenly pace.
"There you go." He breathed, promptly returning his lips back to yours as he felt your thighs begin to shake. "Just like that, don't fucking stop."
You hated how well he knew you. Hated how easily he was able make you clench and spasm around him. You were soaking his hand, burying your face into his shoulder to stop yourself from waking up the entire house.
"Oh, my fucking... god, Megumi –" Your nails dug into his back, your body nearly vibrating with pleasure as you grinded against him.
“It's okay, I've got you." He whispered, letting you cling onto him as you rode out the waves of your orgasm. You'd always been submissive, but he wasn't sure that he'd ever seen you quite this needy before.
He slowly pulled out of you, guiding you down to the bed before standing up to grab the joint out of the ashtray, lighting it one last time.
He leaned down, locking eyes with you while gently cupping your face. His lips just barely touching yours so that you were forced to share the same breath, allowing you to inhale the smoke he exhaled as he helped you out of your shorts.
"Such a good girl."
Your back arched, immediately wanting him back where he was as he got to his feet and set the spliff on your nightstand. You watched him intently, your core throbbing while he began to unbutton his pants. You were blissfully high, your mind swirling with sleepy infatuation and pent-up lust.
He almost seeming amused, noticing how entranced you were as his stripped out of his boxers. Tauntingly stroking himself while he used his free hand to push your both of your thighs onto the mattress so that you were on your back facing him with your legs folded to the side. You couldn’t help but smile as he rubbed his tip between your folds, letting out a low groan as he wetted himself with your slick.
“Fuck, I forgot how good you feel.”
Your hand tangled into the sheets, your body reeling from the way his tip was already stretching you.
"You gotta stay quiet for me." He reminded you, trying to heed his own advice as he slid in slightly further. “Pretty sure your dad will actually kill me if he catches me here again."
"So you want me to scream?" You smirked, but your sarcasm was quickly stolen from you.
He cocked an eyebrow at you before leaning back down, his voice becoming salacious static against your ear. "Don't make threats you can't keep."
Your breath hitched in your throat, your cunt pulsating as he put a hand over your mouth and thrusted into you.
He returned your smirk. Watching your pupils double in size as he nipped at your neck, muffling your moans with his palm.
"It's not easy for me either." He whispered - one hand still on your mouth, the other reaching for your center. "Being this deep in you and not being able to hear you say my name."
Your knuckles were almost white from how hard you were gripping the bed, your mind and body both completely overwhelmed by fucked-out euphoria.
"To have you wrapped this nice and tight around my cock without getting to hear all the cute little noises you make for me." He slammed into you, his rhythm blissfully unforgiving.
"You think that's what I want?"
You shook your head, his hand catching more carnal whimpers that were trying so hard to spill out of you as your hips bucked up against his.
The feeling of him playing with your clit while having you folded like this was almost too much to handle. You were lost - floating somewhere above cloud 9 with his thrusts only ascending you higher.
"What do you think I want to hear, baby? Hm?" His tone was condescendingly sweet. Mocking in a way that made your heart stutter and your walls contract. "Tell me."
He loosened his grasp on you, nearly bottoming out as his name echoed uncontrollably across the room. "Megumi ~” You whined again, completely forgetting your surroundings. "Megumi, fuck, you're gonna make me –"
Your climax laced through his fingers as his hand swiftly flew back over your mouth. His arms keeping you locked in place while your body writhed beneath his.
“There it is”, He praised, his tip kissing your cervix at just the right angle. “There’s my fucking – girl.” His head lolled back, his release following right behind yours.
He buried his head into your shoulder this time, letting out the most gorgeous, guttural sounds you'd ever heard as he filled you - not stopping until he could see his cum dripping out of you.
He pulled out carefully, taking a moment to admire his work while a mixture of fluids leaked onto your comforter.
“Hey," he said, running a hand through his hair before looking back at you. "Do me a favor when you get back."
You were still catching your breath, dizzy from overstimulation as you met his gaze. "What do you need?” You panted.
"Tell your new boyfriend I said 'thanks'."
You narrowed your eyes at him, watching a stupid smirk cut across his face while he slid his pants back on. “If he would've known how to fuck you right, I might not have gotten the chance to see you."
"You're insufferable."
"So I’ve been told."
⋆。˚ ☁️ ˚。⋆。˚☽˚。⋆
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starkeyslibrary · 2 months ago
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That's So True
Inspired by That's so True by Gracie Abrams
pairing: reader x drew starkey
a/n: i just realized that i've never formally introduced myself on here! my bad, my name is rhodee, 21 years old, living in europe and currently studying law. i love writing imagines that'll hopefully make you laugh, swoon or cry (sorry not sorry) a little too hard <3
stick around if you’re into dreamy characters, plot twists, or just want to scream about Drew with me!
hope i'll get to know so many of y'all on here!! okay that's all, enjoy <3
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The night Drew had left for the premiere, you told yourself it was just another event, like all the others. You even tried to convince yourself you didn't mind staying home, avoiding the chaos of the red carpet. It's his night, you thought, forcing a smile as he kissed you goodbye, his cologne lingering in the air long after the door closed.
But as the hours stretched on, the gnawing sense of isolation grew. It wasn't just tonight - it had been building for months. Drew's career was skyrocketing, and with every interview, press tour and glamorous event, it felt like he was slipping further away from you. He'd promised that things would calm down after this movie, that he'd have more time. But those promises were always vague, like a finish line that kept moving further out of reach.
The photos hit social media just before midnight. Drew, looking devastatingly handsome in his suit, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with his co-star, Odessa A’ Zion. The fan comments flooded in, gushing about how perfect they looked together, how the chemistry was undeniable.
You slammed your laptop shut. It wasn't jealousy - not exactly. You trusted him, but trust didn't erase the ache of feeling invisible.
The sound of Drew's keys jingling at the door pulled you from your spiralling thoughts. The clock on the wall read 1:47 a.m. You hadn't realized how late it had gotten. The door opened, and Drew stepped inside, his movements slow and careful, like he didn't want to disturb you. He probably thought you were asleep.
"Hey," you called out, your voice sharp in the quiet apartment. You couldn't hide the edge of frustration.
He paused, caught off guard, then gave a tired smile. "Hey, babe. Didn't think you'd still be up."
"Well, I am," you said, standing from the couch. "Thought you said you'd be home hours ago."
"The afterparty ran late," he explained, shrugging off his jacket. "I texted you."
"That's not the point, Drew," you snapped, your tone harsher than you intended. “This isn’t just about tonight. Do you even realize how little I see you anymore?”
His brows furrowed, and he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s my job, you know how crazy things get during press tour. This isn’t new.”
“That doesn’t make it easier,” you shot back. “You’re always out there, Drew. With her, with them – whoever. And I’m just .... here. Alone. Waiting for whatever scraps of time you have left.”
Drew exhaled sharply, clearly tired, and not in the mood for an argument. “This again?” he muttered, his tone clipped. “I can’t keep apologizing for doing my job.”
You flinched at his words. “I’m not asking you to apologize for working. I’m asking you to make me feel like I matter.”
“You do matter,” he said, raising his voice slightly. “But you’re acting like I can just drop everything. This is how it is y/n. This is how it’s always been.”
“No, it hasn’t,” you countered. “It’s different now. You’re different. You barely talk to me anymore. Half the time, I don’t even know what’s going on in your life. But everyone else does. The fans, the press – they all get pieces of you that I don’t.”
“That’s not true,” Drew said, shaking his head. “You’re making this a bigger deal than it is.”
Your eyes burned with unshed tears. “You don’t get it, do you? You don’t see how lonely this is for me. You’re so caught up in your world that you don’t even notice.”
Drew’s frustration boiled over. “What do you want me to do, y/n? Quit? Stop taking jobs? Would that make you happy?”
His words felt like a slap, and the tears you’d been holding back finally spilled over. “I want you to fight for this – for us. But instead, you’re treating me like a burden.”
Drew froze, his anger dissipating as he saw the pain in your expression. “Y/N,” he started, his tone softer, “You’re not a burden. I love you. You know that.”
“Do I?” you whispered. “Because it doesn’t feel like it anymore.”
The silence that followed was suffocating. Drew looked at you, his face a mix of regret and helplessness. “I don’t know what to say,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Then don’t say anything,” you said, retreating to the bedroom before your emotions could completely overwhelm you.
You shut the door behind you, leaning against it as sobs wracked your body. You hated this – hated feeling like you were losing him. But you didn’t know how to bridge the growing distance between you.
Drew stood in the living room, staring at the closed door. He felt like the worst person in the world. He wanted to fix it; to make you understand how much you meant to him. But he was so tired – tired of the constant pull between his career and personal life, tired of feeling like he was failing at both.
He sat on the couch, his head in his hands. The apartment felt unbearably quiet without you. The fight replayed in his mind, your words cutting deeper with each pass. I want you to fight for this – for us.
He realized then how distant he’d been, how much he’d taken your support for granted. You’d been his anchor through everything, and he’d been too caught up in his own world to see how much you were struggling.
When you woke up, the sun was streaming through the curtains, but the weight in your chest hadn’t lifted. You found Drew in the kitchen, already dressed and nursing a cup of coffee. His face lit up when he saw you, but it quickly fell when he noticed your guarded expression.
“Morning,” he said softly, hesitant.
You nodded, not trusting your voice.
“I, uh, I thought about what you said last night,” he began, setting his coffee down. “And you’re right. I haven’t been fair to you.”
You looked at him, surprised. “Drew – “
“Let me finish,” he interrupted gently. “I’ve been so focused on my career that I forgot what matters most – you. Us. I don’t want you to feel like you’re not part of my life, because you are. You’re everything to me, Y/N. And I know I haven’t shown that enough.”
Tears filled your eyes, and this time, you didn’t fight them. “I just... I miss you, Drew. I miss us.”
He crossed the room in a few strides, pulling you into his arms. “I miss us, too,” he said, his voice breaking. “And I’m going to do better. I promise.”
For the first time in weeks, you felt a glimmer of hope. The road ahead wouldn’t be easy, but for the first time, it felt like you were on the same page.
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rafesbabyg1rl · 2 months ago
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The Watcher ~ Part One
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Part Two, Part Three,
Summary: Rafe Cameron x Reader, Stalker!Rafe x Pogue!Reader Reader's parents work late on Friday nights, which she spends alone. Except Reader hasn't been alone in a long time, not that she knows of at least. Rafe has watched you for years, he's very good at it. He has no plans of formally meeting you, as he's satisfied with the current arrangement. He likes it better when Reader doesn't know he's watching. But his idea of staying an anonymous stalker is ruined when reader catches him in her bedroom one Friday night. Rafe has to figure out how to fix his mistake before he loses the only thing that makes his life worth living.
Warnings: Rafe stalks reader...that's literally the entire plot. He's pretty pervy in this, I guess. Masturbation (Rafe) in front of unconscious reader, strong/vulgar language, somnophilia (I guess?), death threat(?). If I missed anything from this part that I should include in the warnings, please let me know!
Word Count: 5.9k
Author Note: My sneak peek got a few likes, so thank you if you liked it, y'all are the reason I'm finally posting this part! I'm not sure how I feel about this fic so far, I definitely have a habit of overly critiquing my own work and never being fully satisfied with it, but I'm trying to get over that. I don't have plans for this fic, it's just going in whatever direction I can think of as I write, so if you have any suggestions, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASEEE let me know, I'll write pretty much anything. This is my first work published on tumblr and the first thing I've written in years, so I hope it's at least readable, and maybe even a little enjoyable. If just one person enjoys this, then my mission is accomplished. Thank you, I hope you enjoy! And do NOT be shy to share feedback or give suggestions/requests. Again, thank you!
For those of you that DID read the sneak peek, a large portion of this part was included in the sneak peek, but I highly suggest reading it over in it's entirety. This draft has undergone several additional rounds of editing and I believe it is better than the version I published as a sneak peek.
CREDITS: The foundation of this fic was heavily inspired by/ based off of one of @faiszt 's bots on character ai. So, if you like this and you like character ai, I greatly suggest that you check out the bot!
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One thing about humans is that we always want what we can’t have, especially when everyone else wants that same thing. It’s just something all humans do; but what happens when you already have more than you need and everything you could ever want? Well, almost everything. Rafe Cameron has more money than he could spend in his own lifetime, he can practically buy anything he wants. Except one thing, you.
At first he just thought you were pretty, but the more he saw you out in public the more and more he liked you. The way you’d talk or laugh when you were out with your friends…god, he could tell just how sweet you are. Too delicate for him to touch, like the wings of a butterfly or the petals of a flower. This is when he went from wanting you to needing you. 
See, another thing about humans is that we admire things. And, admiration can easily turn into obsession. Everyone has been obsessed with something or someone at some point in life, it’s normal. Obsessions will come and go, like a cycle. You get obsessed with something, you get over it, and you let it go until a new obsession marks the beginning of the new cycle. But things are a bit different for Rafe, he has never gotten over anything like, ever. Not once has Rafe Cameron ever let anything in his life go. When Rafe wants something, when he needs something, he will do whatever it takes to get it. And oh, how he needs you.
Rafe’s fascination, his obsession with you has been going on for years. He won’t ever admit it, but his perfectly curated collection of your personal items in his closet proves just how bad he’s been obsessing over you. The first thing he had ever stolen from you was your drink, you had been at the same party and you left your red solo cup about three-quarters full. Nobody noticed anything when he casually picked up the cup and finished the rest of your beer, purposely lining his lips with where yours had touched the cup, which was perfectly marked by the lipstick you had been wearing. After you’d leave a restaurant, he’d take the straws from your drinks. Rafe eventually worked himself up to breaking into your house and stealing your things when nobody was home. And Rafe made sure to explore every single inch of your room. All of your favorite panties? Gone. He’d take everything, your shirts, bras, whatever he liked really. You had noticed things kept disappearing from your room, but you’d just think you misplaced it–whatever it may be, or left it in a bag somewhere. Rafe had a good system. He knows exactly how much and how often he can take from you. 
Rafe knows he’s sick. He knows that it’s wrong to watch you from outside your bedroom window, that it’s wrong to follow you around in public, to purposely bump into you so you have to mutter a ‘sorry’ as you move around him. He just really, really needs you. And in Rafe’s twisted, dark, mess of a mind he believes this is the best way–the only way. He couldn’t treat you like every other girl, no, you were special. You were his and you just didn’t know it yet. Starting early on in his life, Rafe has always been neglected, always pushed into the shadow of his younger sister, Sarah. He’s been told he ruins everything, that everything he touches turns to ash. And you’re way too perfect to ruin. So, he follows you around like a creep, lurking from a distance. Of course you didn't know he’s been following you everywhere…he liked it better that way.
Rafe knew the line had already been crossed. Hell, the line had been crossed a long fucking time ago. He doesn’t care anymore, he needs you. Heaven is smelling like you; and not because you had left your scent on him, but because he had bought the same perfume as you. He needed to know what you smell like, how sweet you are…how sweet you taste. Heaven is watching your chest rise and fall as you sleep peacefully in your bed. Heaven is you.
What Rafe has been doing to you for years could be defined as worship. Rafe was worshiping you. He’s your good boy; your loyal man and he was going to take care of you; protect you, even if you don’t know it yet. You’re what he lives for; you’re all that keeps him going, the only thing he cares about. 
Since he’s been watching you for years, of course he knew your schedule. Of course he knew that on Fridays your parents work late at the local bar & grill that they own. This means you slept in your house by yourself practically every Friday night. So every Friday night, Rafe would sneak in through the back door that you always forget to lock. He just wants to check on you, he wants to see his pretty girl sleeping beautifully, he wants to know that his baby is okay. This is not a crime, it’s not a crime to care; he’s not insane, he’s just in love–if you could even call it that. How can it be wrong to protect what’s his? Oh, and god forbid anyone ever get in the way of his stalking routine, if anyone were to take you away from the inevitable path of meeting him…oh, the things he would do; whatever it takes.
One unforgettable Friday night, you fall asleep on your couch watching a rerun of one of your favorite shows. You enjoy being alone. If only you knew you haven’t been alone for a very long time. You’re woken up by sudden, loud noises coming from your bedroom, but you think maybe it’s just the cat, or maybe you didn’t shut your window. You get up from the couch and in several slow, cautious steps you tiptoe over to your room. When you enter your doorway, you’re immediately greeted by the sight of a tall and broad man standing in the center of your bedroom holding the last shirt you wore to his nose, breathing in your scent. The sight of all this makes you immediately freeze and stand motionless in your bedroom doorway, staring at him blankly. 
Rafe doesn’t startle when he realizes you’ve caught him red-handed. Instead, quite the opposite actually. He’s actually a bit amused, relieved even; if you hadn’t caught him just now, he never would’ve been able to work up the nerve to finally talk to you. He didn’t want to have to be creepy about things between you two, but he couldn’t talk to you like a normal person. It’d be too unpredictable, too unknown. Meeting you like this…he has all of the control. 
“There you are,” he grinned. “How beautiful…” The strangely offputting man gloated in your fear and it was obvious.
You take a step back from where you had been frozen. He takes a step forward. This cannot be happening, you think. Your brows furrow in hopelessness and defeat. Again, you freeze where you are standing, even more afraid to move now. 
You feel like you’ve seen the man before, which you have, plenty of times; but he was careful to never have too big of an interaction, so that you couldn’t recognize his face. You have no clue that you’ve been and always will be his.
 “W-wha…who are you? W-why are you in my house?” You try to keep your voice as strong as possible, but the way your words shake with trepidation betrays you. 
The man takes a quick step forward, slowing to a stop and putting his hands up in mock surrender as you jump back. “Woah, woah, hey…calm down, alright?”, he chuckles when he sees the utter horror and complete fright in your eyes. His tone switches into one of a little more seriousness, “I'm not here to hurt you, you don't need to be so scared...”.  If you didn’t feel like your only choice was to look him in the eyes, you might even believe him. But, you had no other option but to witness the animalistic spark in his eyes that lit up with each word he spoke. With each step he took, you took one further back—your heart dropped into your stomach at the sight of his cocky, twisted smile and the way he looked at you…like you’re a zebra grazing in your natural habitat and he’s the lion waiting to pounce and attack you in your own home. 
“I just wanted to see you," he leaned up against your dresser, taking in the look on your face. His face almost instantly drops the predatory look and adopts one of mock concern, almost convincing enough to hide his amusement. “Hey, it's okay, baby, it’s okay…”
“Please,” you beg. “If you leave I won’t call the cops. I won’t tell.”
Rafe cocks his head and lets out a slow breath, as if he’s disappointed in your reaction; you aren’t supposed to want him to leave. “Hey, hey…I’m not gonna hurt you. Just listen to me…you don’t wanna have to call the cops at three in the morning,” he elaborated. He’s trying to be as convincing as he can because he cannot screw this up. Even so, he still can’t help his smile that only grows at the sight of your terrified face. He shakes the smirk off, adopting a serious expression once more. “Especially when the cops won't be able to do a damn thing.” 
He continues to step closer to you with each word. He stops once his figure is looming over you, looking at you like a lion about to pounce on its prey. “You should really be more careful, sweetheart, leaving the back door open like that at this time of night, when you’re all alone…you never know who might be out there.” His voice is cold as he warns you about the dangers of the world; the dangers of himself. 
“Who are you?” You repeated. The man looks so familiar but you just couldn’t quite place his face anywhere. You just need to know what he wants; who he is. 
“That’s not important right now baby…we’re focused on you, yeah?” The man’s eyes widen, taking in every detail of your face; the only other times he’s seen you this close is when he watches you sleep. 
You could feel his breath on your face as he spoke. The look in his eyes tells you to take another step back, but when your back collides with the wall you jump; there’s nowhere left for you to go and that was exactly how he wanted it. He wanted you like this alone, afraid, and cornered. He loved your fear. The man stares at you with a predatory look although aside from the darkness and lust in his eyes, you can see something else, but…what is it?  
“W-what do you want?” You ask, keeping as calm as you can. Even though with every passing second the air gets thinner and thinner. Your stomach is in knots and your throat starts to close up. Not to mention the stinging tears in your eyes, threatening to fall at any given moment.
“Me?” he cocked an eyebrow, his eyes shamelessly roaming your body as he blew out a huff. “I just wanna have a little chat, that's all...” The unknown man takes another step towards you, invading your personal space, his tall frame towering over you as his bottom lip finds a home between his teeth. Rafe reaches up and tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. “No need to be so scared, baby...”
“T-talk about what?” You have no idea what this man who you don’t know, could possibly want to talk about with you. Why is he acting like he knows you when you’re sure you’ve never even seen him before? Why is he…admiring you? No, that couldn’t be right. The mystery man is so confusing, all his twists and turns giving you whiplash. 
“Ah, you see...” he responds, pausing to place his other hand on the wall behind you, almost trapping you in. You feel his hot breath against the sensitive skin of your face, burning you like hot steam. His breath was slow and steady. He was completely calm. He liked this. He gave you a genuine smirk, bringing his face closer to your ear. “It’s more of a proposition really…”
“What is it…?” You ask. Not out of curiosity because honestly, you’re too afraid to know. But because you figure things might, just might go better for you if you play along. He stayed silent for a moment—enjoying the look in your eyes and your erratic breathing.
“All this fear…all this trembling...” he trails off as he brings his hand up to your chin, his thumb slowly tracing the outline of your lower lip. “It's nice to finally meet you...” He chuckles and leans in so that his lips nearly touch your ear. “Will you stop shaking like that if I tell you what I want?” His thumb moves from your bottom lip and he tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear; he doesn’t want anything getting in the way of his view of your pretty face.“Hmmm?” he challenged. “Or will you still be shaking like a scared little puppy?”
“I-I don’t…” You stutter, not being able to speak or even think clearly with the way he’s glaring at you. 
“Shhhh… ” he tutted, bringing his other hand from the wall to your lower back and drawing you even closer to him—until your body was almost flush against his, his touch surprisingly warm. “You're not answering my question,” he whispers your name as he runs his fingers through your hair, it’s softer than he’d imagined. 
“Please just…” The tears were no longer threatening as they began to fall down your cheeks. “Please…” Hearing this man who you do not know, say your name, was probably the most frightening thing to happen to you yet. 
“Shhh, stop that...” he calmly commanded when he saw the tears falling from your pretty eyes. Rafe's voice was soft but stern—he hated seeing you so distressed. His hand moved from your lower back to your chin, making you look up at him. “Hey it’s okay…it’s okay baby, no need for tears. I just wanna talk to you is all." You almost believe him for a moment with how sincere the glint in his eyes appeared. But you’ve picked up on his manipulative expressions. 
“My parents will be home soon…” You vaguely remember your parents mentioning something about something and blah blah blah…they’re closing early tonight. You really hope it’s true and isn’t just a figment of your imagination; something your mind is making up so you don’t completely give up. 
A cocky smile returned to his face as he let a small huff of amusement slip past his lips. He knew your parents were working late, just like every other Friday night. "Bullshit,” he chuckled. His hand moved back to your lower back, holding you against him. “It’s just you and me, pretty girl.” He grabs your waist and within the next second, you’re on your bed and he’s hovering over you. You can feel his hot breath in your ear, you can smell him, feel the excessive heat radiating from his body. He speaks quietly now, more serious than he’s been this entire time, “Don’t ever fuckin’ lie to me again. Got it?”
His words provoke a small whimper from you. How long has he been watching you? What’s he gonna do? What does he want to talk about? Your mind is filled with questions you’re too afraid to ask. “I-I’m not lying.” He leans down, his lips almost touching yours. Rafe’s eyes are looking straight into yours, admiring the complete and utter fear your eyes possess. He doesn’t want you to be scared of him. But fuck, does he love it.
“Oh yeah?” He mumbles as he presses his face into your hair, taking in your scent. He can’t believe he’s finally this close to you. He didn’t think it’d ever happen, and if you didn’t catch him tonight, it probably wouldn’t have. It’s meant to be, he thinks. “What did I tell you about lying, hm baby? I know you’re fuckin’ lyin’ to me, so you wanna try that again?”
Before your brain could muster up some bullshit response, the sound of the front door unlocking echoes through the hall and into your bedroom. Rafe holds his breath and puts his hand over your mouth, causing your eyes to widen as he leans to the side to glance down the hallway at the front door. “Shh…”, he whispers. You weren’t lying. Your parents came home from work early and they’re about to turn the doorknob and come inside the house. Rafe looks at you, the look in his eyes beyond unsettling. “Tell the cops…tell anyone, and I’ll come back and fuckin’ kill you, okay? This is our secret. Don’t make me come back and hurt you babe, I really, really don’t wanna have to do that, alright?” 
He has to be bluffing, right? But, when you look up to meet his gaze, you can tell; you can tell he meant every single syllable that he spoke. It’s not like the cops would believe you if you said you had a stalker anyways, you’re a pogue. And cops never believe a pogue. Rafe doesn’t need a response from you, the fear in your eyes tells him all he needs to know.
 Just before you hear the front door open, Rafe smirks at you. “We’re gonna have so much fun together baby.” Reluctantly, the disturbed man leans back and takes his hands away from you. Without another word, he walks over to your bedroom window and pushes it open. Before ducking to climb out, the large man looks back at you. Your breath hitches even further if that’s even possible.
 “Goodnight puppy.” The outline of his smug grin is visible even in the darkness of your room. Just as you hear the quiet voices of your parents enter your house, the dark figure turns and exits your window. When the man is outside you sit up and rush over to shut and lock the window behind him. 
With caution, Rafe watches as your mother comes to peek her head in your bedroom. She only lingers in your doorway long enough to see your dark shape laying in bed. Covered in blankets, you pretend to sleep, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to hold a casual conversation with your mother at the moment. And the last thing you want to do is raise any alarm. Not while he’s out there–whoever he is. Hot, salty tears fall from your eyes, wetting the soft skin of your cheeks. When she shuts the door, you let out a shaky breath, finally being able to breathe.But, you keep your eyes sealed shut. At least then you can’t see if the man is still watching you from outside your window. You lie awake for hours, how are you meant to go back to sleep after whatever the hell just happened? All you can do now is wait. Is he coming back? When will he come back? Who is he? Why does he want you? There’s a million different questions and worst scenarios circling around in your head. So, you just wait, it’s all you can do. 
As you wait, the hours turn into days, days turning into a week as the next Friday approaches you; you spend your time worrying about having to be home alone again. There still had been no sign of him since your encounter last week, but you decide to stay the night at a friend’s house, not wanting to take the risk. The second Friday after you came face-to-face with your stalker, you get a friend to spend the night with you. And now, after four weeks of waiting there’s still no sign of the deranged man. Although, if you had no knowledge of him stalking you for years he clearly is good at staying hidden. As the fourth Friday approaches, you think over your options. You can go to a friend’s house or have a friend stay over, as you’ve been doing. But, you’re tired of waiting for something to happen. You’re sick of not feeling safe in your own home and of having to look over your shoulder at all times. You used to love being alone, and now it’s been weeks since you’ve spent any time to yourself. You’ve had enough. This Friday you’re not hiding, you’re done being a coward. You will not allow this creep to keep taking away everything you love; you won’t allow yourself to waste any more time worrying about that psycho. So, you stay at home by yourself. He’s not gonna show, right? He was just bluffing or on drugs or something, that’s what you convince yourself.
You pull back the fluffy comforter on your bed and climb in. You pull the covers up and completely over yourself, you used to do this as a little girl when you’d have a nightmare or you’re scared of the thunder or the monster in your closet. If the blanket could protect you when you were little it should work now…right? Well, maybe it’d still work if you had a nightmare, but logically, what is it gonna do against your stalker? But no matter how much you force yourself to believe that he’s not coming back, you still find yourself praying. You’ve never been very religious, but recently you pray to whoever will listen. 
You had bought some sleeping pills from the store a few days after you discovered your secret stalker. They helped you sleep, since your brain hasn’t once stopped thinking about him since the whole fiasco. Reaching over, you pull out the drawer of your nightstand. You grab the bottle of pills, you swallow a couple dry and set the rest on your nightstand. The pills start to kick in quite sooner than usual, must be because you took double the amount…you’re gonna need them to fall asleep tonight. Your first night alone in weeks. In just a few short minutes, you’re out cold, buried underneath an absurd amount of pillows and blankets.
Rafe spent the past few weeks feeling overwrought after what he did. He feels wrong–a feeling he’s not used to experiencing. But it’s because he knows he’s ruined any chance he might’ve had with you. Before you caught him in your bedroom, he had a chance that you could meet him regularly and think he was just a normal guy. But now, all hopes of you ever thinking he’s ‘normal’ have been abandoned. He actually feels shame and…regret for his actions? He’s been seeing less and less of you, and it’s making him angry, so fucking angry. Your schedule has been relatively the same for the past years and now you’re switching it up? You’re hiding from him; running from him just like everyone else in his life. Maybe the things his family has been saying about him for most of his life is true; maybe everything he touches does turn to ash. God, why does he ruin everything? 
You are the one thing, the only thing that Rafe did not want to ruin. You’re the one thing in his life that’s too perfect to ruin…too innocent. But, the damage has been done. He doesn't have many options left. He could leave you alone, but then he’d be weak for not sticking to his word and he can’t have you thinking he’s weak and that you have the power. He could go back, but then what would he do? There was absolutely no way in hell you’d seriously talk to him, and he didn’t want to force himself onto you. He really wanted you to need him back, you have to want it. But everything you do or say now will be out of fear, it’ll be you trying to stay alive. He wanted you to be desperate for him, not desperate to get rid of him. Either way, you’re never gonna forgive him; you’ll always hate him now. Since you’ll feel the same no matter what he does now, he decides that he just needs to see you, he needs to talk to you again. It’s been far too long since he’s been close to you. He can’t take another goddamn second without seeing his reason to live.
He hurries over to your house, parking an entire block away as usual. He makes sure no eyes are on him as he sneaks around to your backyard. Rafe tries peeking through the curtains that block your window to see if you were in bed or not, but he can’t get a good view. He needs to know if you’re home. He needs to see you. 
Rafe sneaks around to the side of your house, checking all windows and doors in the process, but he has no such luck. But he doesn’t give up yet, he’ll get in, he’ll find a way. He tries the side door that leads into your garage. He lets out a giant breath of relief when the door clicks open. Once he’s inside the garage, he takes a quick glance around to analyze his surroundings and burn every inch of your house into his memory. When he finally enters your house, he takes his time to look around. Obviously Rafe knew you were a pogue–he knew everything about you, but you never really looked or acted like one. However, the inside of your home puts your life on display, making it very clear you’re a pogue. 
You sleep soundly, only being interrupted by the occasional dream; completely unaware that your stalker is making his way down the hall and into your bedroom. Rafe opens the door quietly. Your room is dark like the rest of your house, but the moonlight shining through your thin curtains provides just enough light that he can see the outline of your sleeping body. Now that your presence has been confirmed, he feels like he can finally breathe and he lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. 
Before he became totally obsessed with you and he’d see you occasionally in public, you used to just make him horny. He’d catch a glimpse of your smile or hear the softness in the way you spoke, or the innocence in your sweet laugh and his dick would be hard within seconds. And when his obsession grew and he’d watch you more frequently, sex with other girls started not doing anything for him. He needed you…he needs you. When he actually started paying attention to the way you spoke, the way you acted, he fell in love–what he thinks is love anyways. Rafe realized you’re the sweetest, most pure person he’s ever known. He didn’t think people like you really existed. His discovery led him to watch you more closely, he started taking more risks just because he needed to find your flaw. There’s no way you’re actually this perfect, it has to be an act. Now, after years of watching you he can confidently say that you really are just that perfect. Rafe needs you for more than just getting off now, he needs your comfort, he needs the kindness that radiates off of you. Which is why he’s always trying to find a way to get closer to you, he needs to absorb your sweetness. But hes really done it now; he’s fucked up big time. You hate him.
He hadn’t realized that the hate he brought upon you would tint the kindness that radiates for your being. He has to get you to let go of the hate he’s caused you, he needs you to be yourself again. He just doesn't know how, if it’s even possible.
 As you sleep soundly, his large frame towers over you as he stares down at you through the darkness. You look so peaceful, so innocent. It physically pains him to know that he’s taken away parts of your innocence. All he can do is stare at you as he mentally curses himself. He can’t wake you up and ruin your small moment of peace. It’s better if you don’t know he’s there. 
Your stalker slowly raises his hand and uses his thumb and pointer finger to pull your blanket down to your knees. Even with the blankets pulled down most of your body was hidden from him. Almost everything is left to the imagination in the loose, patterned pj pants and the oversized, long sleeve shirt that you’re wearing. He can only see a small portion of your lower stomach due to your shirt slightly riding up. And that small bit of skin is enough to trigger his memories of you. Because of course he’s seen you countless times; he’s got your body memorized.
He’s practically panting as he takes in the sight of you, imagining that you’re unclothed beneath him; his memory is sharp enough to almost see it. His cock grows to press against his jeans and his eyes trail up to your beautiful face. The ache in his needy cock starts to become unbearable. Your name slips past his lips in the form of a mumble when he starts to palm himself through his newly tightened jeans. 
Okay, Rafe has definitely jerked off to the thought of you, your smell…everything about you makes him lose whatever control he ever even had to begin with. Something he hasn’t gotten to do yet is jerk off with you right in front of him as a live viewing source, fresh for his eyes. He’s gonna be able to cross that off the bucket list soon enough; he can’t wait any longer. His hand stops its ministrations over his jeans as his head turns and he moves over to your closet, grabbing a pair of delicate, worn panties from the top of your laundry hamper. He brings the treasure up to his nose to smell you. God, he could cream his fucking pants right now. He quietly walks back over to you, taking a look at the pill bottle on your nightstand. He picks it up with his free hand, eyes quickly scanning over the label. He smirks as he sets it back down. Rafe turns his head to look back at you. His smirk grows even wider as he leans back, cocking his head as he observes you. Yeah, you’re definitely gonna be out for a while.
With his pants and boxers around his ankles, he stands over you. Your panties between his hand and his cock as his fist slowly pumps up and down his length. His other hand meticulously pulls your shirt up to reveal your chest.
“Fuckkk…” he whispers under his breath as his bottom lip is held captive between his teeth. Your perfect tits are spilling out of your bra as you lie asleep on your back. He lightly fiddles with the ends of your hair as his hand pumps over his dick repeatedly and without rhythm. He takes his time, Rafe never likes to rush this. Especially not with you.
Your subconscious mind reacts to his light touch and sounds, pulling you into a wet dream; seeing as a main side effect of the medication you took was vivid dreams. You’ve also been unusually horny lately, probably because you’d been too afraid to touch yourself when you thought you were being watched twenty-four/seven. His fingers trail up your stomach and into the valley of your breasts with feather light touch.
You stir a bit, not because you felt him, but because the dream you’ve been thrown into by your subconscious is starting to get your body all worked up. You’ve been extra horny recently and keep having sex dreams since you haven’t been able to touch yourself the past few weeks, having a stalker and all. As he leans down to lightly kiss the skin in between your boobs, a moan slips past his lips, vibrating off of your skin and interrupting the mostly silent room. The only other sound that can be heard in the quiet room is that caused by Rafe’s hand quickly moving up and down his cock; the friction caused by the soft fabric of your panties generates a quiet noise. Pre-cum leaks from his slit and seeps into the fabric of your recently worn panties. He leans back down to create a hickey on your chest and hopes that you won’t wake up from the sudden feeling, although if you did that might be even better. Shaking the selfish thought out of his head, he sucks strongly at the smooth skin between your beautiful tits. He pulls his mouth off with a pop! Leaning back to see the mark he left, he smirks knowing you’ll see it too eventually. The already rhythmless movements of his hand gets even more erratic the closer he gets to reaching his orgasm. 
The man standing above you runs his hand back down your chest and abdomen as you sleep. Completely unaware of what's happening to your physical body right now, you begin to get all wrapped up in your dream. You only ever get sex dreams when you’re so overly horny, which you’ve been the past few weeks. That combined with the sleeping medication you took, made this particular dream feel different; it felt so…real. The only dream-like part about it was that you couldn’t see the man's face for whatever reason. 
While you’re in a deep sleep, you involuntarily let out a needy whine as your active mind plays games with you. When Rafe hears you he thinks he imagined it, until he hears you do it again. He wonders if you could feel him, except he’s not even touching you right now. Realizing that's clearly not the reason, he furrows his brows in confusion. He pulls the duvet cover completely off of you to reveal the way you keep periodically squirming as your body searches for the same feeling your mind is experiencing; and the way your toes tighten up and curl as you’re tricked into thinking you feel pleasure. 
He can’t take it, not when you look like this. The man hovering over your unconscious figure lets out a lewd moan that corrupts the silence as hot strings of his cum spurt out of the pink, glistening tip of his cock and onto the pair of your panties that he's got clenched in his fist, immediately soaking into the fabric. Surprisingly, when he gets through his orgasm, he adoringly covers you back up with your blankets and leaves your house, locking the door he entered through to be sure you were safe. He got enough to satisfy him for now as he works on a plan to change the way you think of him.  He’ll be back for more of you soon enough. He has to fix this; the biggest mistake he’s ever made and the only regret he’ll ever carry. 
To be continued...
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Thank you for reading! I hope this was enjoyable and not a waste of time. I spent a lot of time on this part, especially with the editing since I never really feel done with anything. If you have literally ANY feedback, questions, or suggestions, PLEASE feel free to let me know! I don't really have any solid plans for this fic so if you have any ideas I just might include them, there's not much I won't write!
I'd like to thank @faiszt for inspiring me to write this fic!
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allyallyorange · 1 year ago
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Master Post for Ateez Adventure Time AU
Ok let's get into it! I'll be adding to this post whenever I post anything new for the AU! I'm going to try to organize everything so that it's in chronological order of the story! There are a few arcs I've got planned too so I'll try to make everything as clear as possible haha
(also I do my best but sometimes I confuse myself with exact ages of the characters and exactly like. what time of year things would take place, but think of it like any CN show we grew up with - time is seemingly an illusion if I don't think about it too much...)
Also!! Thank you so much to everyone who has said they enjoy my au!! you help me stay motivated! I'm having so much fun drawing this stuff ♡
Lineup for ref:
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Good to know points about the AU:
Universe A = main universe
**this au is inspired by Adventure Time. I'm not using main characters from AT, just using the general vibe of the show and some plot points and character points (ex: Vampires drink the colour red)
Universe Z = no magic universe
Ages at the beginning of the story (approximately):
Seonghwa - 1000 (physically 25)
Hongjoong - 2500 (physically 25)
Yunho - 24
Yeosang - 850/900 (physically 24)
San - a little over 100 (physically 23)
Mingi - a little more than 600 (physically 23)
Wooyoung - 23
Jongho - 22
**characters who are "immortal" age about 1 year over the course of 100 years (SH, HJ, YS). San and Mingi are not immortal but didn't age due to other circumstances (in hell time works differently, and MG was frozen for 600 years)
List of Spotify playlists if you're interested!
Misc doodles dumps that include things from pre/post/main story and idk where to put
Character lineup plus other doodles
Hongjoong and Mingi (they're bros)
Character lineup for final battle
Pre-Story (Universe A)
Seonghwa Logs
Pieces of the past
The star and his flower
Cuddle for warmth
Slipping through my fingers…
Hongjoong and Seonghwa meet
Big Brother and Little Brother
First Demon Prince Show
Glasses required
Sleepy brothers
Wooyoung summons a friend
Helpful Human
Yunho and San
Sleepy Heroes
No Ice Demons in the Workshop
Seonghwa + Yeosang, Hongjoong + Mingi profiles
Jongho + Yunho, San + Wooyoung profiles
Pre-Story (Universe Z)
2ho and Mingi playing video games
After School
Spider-Man 3
Cold Hands
Walkie Talkies and ice cream
Post Joyride with Jongho and Mingi
Wish You Loved Me
Hyung’s Glasses
Cousins
Motorcycle
Yunho The Human
2ho Universe Z to A
Main Story
Living in the forest
The Same
Jongho and Mingi doodle
Afraid of nothing, Afraid of everything
Yeosang meets team Woosanho
The story of The Beast (as told by Wooyoung)
Hongjoong meets Jongho
Team Hongjoong arguing as always
Almost tolerable
Don't kidnap people unless you're ready for friendship??
First meeting: Fire and Ice
First meeting: Yeo meets team Joong
Strawberry boys
Sharing mom
Upgrade!
Cold hugs
San and Mingi hug
Hero boys!
Hongjoong isn't scary. MG and YH becoming friends again?
Ouch! Hot
Wooyoung and San's room
Sleeping on the shed (Hongjoong and Seonghwa)
Seongjoong awkwardness
Yunho's photos
He wants to join...
Vintage shirt
Window visit
The Boy and The Beast
Apologize..?
Jongho after the accident
Cool scars (Jongho)
Summer Boys!
Beach episode
Chill day
Big bro Little bro
Hey, Joong!
Post-Story (Yeosang arc)
Dimension hopping with friends (lineup)
Somewhere in another dimension...
Universe V
Evil Yeo doodle
Sorry Princess
Heart to Heart
Out of Time
Post-Story (Mingi arc)
The End of The Beast
Hugs
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snowthedemonfox · 5 months ago
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So we got some screenshots for Ep 3, and I'm going to talk about some things I've noticed + some theories
I went off for over an hour in the bunnydoll burrow's VC talking about everything I noticed, but I'm realising writing it all down would be a smarter move, cause I know I'd forget it. If I've missed anything you think is important, let me know! I'll edit this post with new notes.
Let's start with the first screenshot, because that just makes the most sense:
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The elephant in the room is the realistic human hand. I don't doubt this is the scene that has some level of blood and gore in it. We can't see what the hand is connected to, but whatever it is, it seems to be taller than Pomni and Kinger. They're both looking up, and the camera angle is facing down towards them both.
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We can see 2 heads hanging from the wall behind Kinger, and what we can assume to be a 3rd behind the desk behind the hand.
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One of these heads, as many have pointed out, seems to resemble Pomni. The face is entirely white, what I can assume is an eye seems to be the same size as Pomni's, and you can see that familiar looking hair on the side.
Even the other two things we see look like other members of the cast!
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The head to the right of Kinger looks like Ragatha. It's got the hair, and even the face looks to be made of actual fabric, like a real doll. It seems whatever these things are, they're meant to look like more 'horror' versions of the characters.
(Side note, but if I had to guess, if Glitch releases a 3rd sticker sheet for episode 3, I wouldn't surprised if we got a new set of icon variations for the main cast. But instead of candy, we get these horror versions instead. I think that'd be cool, and I really hope that's what happens.)
You could even go as far to say the 'human' hand we're seeing is from the horror version of Kinger. Like I said before, the camera is looking down at them. Why would it be looking down? Because whatever's looking at them, is attached to the wall.
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Moving onto other details in the room, we can see there's a chair behind Pomni with some kind of light on it. At first, I thought this might have been the tape recorder from the February trailer, but you can see the tape recorder is on a desk, not a chair.
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And while there is a desk in the room, whatever is on there doesn't look like a tape recorder. It looks more like a photo, or some kind of radio.
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The giant 'M' on the rug. We know the ghost lady's name is Martha Mildenhall, so this probably implies she owns the mansion the gang are exploring. Why would she need their help, though? Maybe whatever force is moving the hand in the screenshot, is some kind of 'evil' ghost, and that's why Pomni and the others are there to help. There's evil ghosts inhabitating the mansion, and Martha needs help to get rid of them. It's simple, it's your basic video game quest, it seems like a normal adventure plot that Caine would come up with.
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There seems to be something behind the chair, but I can't make out if it's a door, some curtains, or some kind of closet. The lighting isn't doing me any favours. Either way, I doubt it's important to the episode, probably just background decoration.
As for my other thoughts that aren't as related to the screenshot itself, I do believe that everyone is going to be split up. Obviously Kinger and Pomni are working together, but I'm still not sure if Jax would be hanging with Ragatha & Gangle, or if he'd be off doing his own thing. As for Zooble, I'll get to them later.
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And this might just be me looking into things too much, but it almost looks like one of Kinger's eyes is focused entirely on whatever is behind the camera, while the other isn't focused at all. Like he's half paying attention to the 'danger' he and Pomni are in.
But that's really all I have to say about the first screenshot. Let's move onto the main event:
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Again, let's get the obvious out of the way: new Zooble design! They've got some new parts, like the arms, unicorn horn, and the blocky yellow and pink thing, but also some old parts, like the bluish-green ring, and their classic black and white antenna. So far, I like this design! I'm happy to see that they've decided to mix things up a bit. Not my favourite design, but still decent. They've got good taste.
Before I talk about Zooble and Caine, I first want to talk about the location they're in. At first, I thought this might've been Zooble's room, but looking closer, it's obviously not. Then I thought it was that little desk area at the end of the dorm hallway.
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But nope, the hallway has different plants, picture frames, wallpaper, and no chairs to be seen. The plants we can see look similar to those seen in Caine's resturant realm from Ep 1, so I think I can safely guess that this is a new location, made specifically for him and Zooble to chat.
Speaking of that, I think that's going to be the driving point of Zooble's character development this episode. Something is going to convince them to join the future adventures, and it seems this will be that something. We know thanks to the AMA, that Zooble not going on adventures is important to their character, so having their episode focus on this topic makes sense.
What I can assume happened to lead up to this interaction is this:
Caine announced the adventure, and just like in both Ep 1&2, Zooble immediately expresses that they are not interested, and walks off. Caine can't really do anything about it yet, so he focuses on everyone else. Explains the rest of the adventure to them, and sends them on their way.
He then catches up to Zooble before they reach wherever they planned on going, and teleports them both to this new room. It looks almost like some kind of waiting room, or a room where they're both supposed to talk things out. It's got the comfy chairs, wall art, I wouldn't be surprised if there's a little table between them.
Zooble, obviously, is not impressed. They don't care about Caine's adventures, and want nothing to do with whatever he has planned for them in the meantime. Caine, on the other hand, just wants to figure out why Zooble doesn't want to go on his adventures. He spends so much time figuring them out! Just for the humans! Why won't Zooble participate!?
This very likely evolves into an argument between the two. I like how Caine is clearly angry in this screenshot. It's nice to see him show some more variety when it comes to emotion!! Zooble doesn't care for whatever Caine is saying, and Caine just wants to understand why they don't care.
Something happens, maybe they do talk it out, maybe something else, but by the end of the episode, Zooble decides that maybe going on a few adventures isn't that bad. I think it's way too early to guess what happens in that huge timeskip, but for now, this is the best I've got.
I feel Zooble's arc in this episode might touch on a few topics, like how while they might think staying by themselves all day and doing their own thing is better for them, isolating themselves isn't doing anyone any favours, and that, for lack of a better term, going 'outside' every once in a while can't hurt.
... and that's pretty much all I can think of to say regarding these two screenshots! I'm sure we'll get to learn more as the episode release gets closer, but I'm excited to see how things turn out!! :3
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