#and sort out the disaster that is my room

[ghost-proofbaby]

FLASHES OF THE BATTLE COME BACK TO ME IN A BLUR. ALL THAT BLOODSHED, CRIMSON CLOVER - SWEET DREAM WAS OVER. MY HAND WAS THE ONE YOU REACHED FOR.

☆ pairings: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

☆ warnings: no use of y/n, strong language, angst, i cannot emphasize the angst warning enough - it's a sad one for our boy, sugar is spoken of inappropriately by roadies with sexual undertones, mentions of drug use beyond just weed (specifically sleeping pills as well as allusion to heavier drugs being acquired), minors dni

☆ WC: 6.7K+

☆ AN: i'm not even sorry at this point. let's get into it, shall we? or should i say - let's fight.

thank you to my love @hellfire--cult for the divider!

masterlist

“Alright. Let’s fight.”

There was a certain point in Eddie Munson’s life, approximately one year ago, in which he had come to the acceptance that sometimes harsh words exchanged were better than silence. 

It had taken a lot out of him, that night – another drink tossed down his throat, another hit from his sour joint, another sigh passing his lips that was the closest he could come to communicating all that nostalgia and guilt building up within his chest. He had been terribly far gone, and he swears, at some point he had heard your voice call out his name. 

And for a second there, he had believed you really were there.

It wasn’t because you had called out his name so sweetly, it wasn’t because there had been some sort of longing in your tone that echoed in his ears. No, he had heard your voice, and you had been angry. Furious, venomous in the way you had spit out his name. Each echo of it in that empty hotel room had felt like a residual punch to the gut, and for a second, he truly believed you were there with him. You were there, and you were angry, and all he could feel in his inebriated state was sheer happiness at the thought of seeing you again. He didn’t care if you screamed in his face. He didn’t care if you shot nothing but insults his way. It would be enough if you were there. He just wanted you to be there. 

It had been a sore disappointment when he’d sat straight up in the bed that wasn’t his, in a room he wouldn’t see again after the night passed, and found himself to still be entirely and utterly alone. 

He had wished you were there. He had wished that he could fight with you rather than drown out his sorrows. 

And the Universe is funny in granting wishes, because now, he’s getting exactly what he had yearned for that night. 

Your eyes are wide, pupils blown out, chest heaving with rapid breaths are you both simply stare. He doesn’t know where to start – but he remembers where it had ended the last time. 

“You stopped saying you loved me.”

It’s already an unfair fight, uneven playing ground. Because how does he explain that? How does he explain how even if the words stopped leaving his lips, the feeling never paused its growth in his bones? You were rooted too deeply within him, even once your presence had been replaced with your absence, and he can’t imagine a day coming where he doesn’t love you. 

He clears his throat awkwardly, “Would you like-”

“It was more than the physical leaving,” you interrupt him, “It was the… emotional leaving. That’s where we left off before Matt came into the studio.”

Straight to the point then, so it seems. 

You stopped saying you loved me.

He did, didn’t he? He couldn’t fight against facts. 

I never needed elaborate metaphors or pretty words, Eddie.

And he had been well aware of that. Perhaps that’s exactly why he’d gone and overdone it with the songs, with the lyrics, with the poetry. He gave you everything he had left, everything he knew you wouldn’t need. 

I just needed to know you still fucking loved me.

And what is crueler than finally telling you how he knew that? That at the time, he had been so well aware that’s exactly what you had needed to hear, and perhaps that was exactly why he stopped saying it. 

Keep you at an arm’s distance. Keep you safe and sound, miles away from the disaster of impending doom. 

Miles away from him.

I can explain, he nearly says, but he doesn’t want to lie to you. His explanation is hardly palpable, and surely not something you would be able to stomach. He can hardly stomach it. 

Instead, he tries to stand his ground, as if he could ever stand a chance against you, “What else was I supposed to do?” 

Wrong choice of words.

“What else?” you parrot back in disbelief, finally looking less sad, less broken. This could work, he thinks. To see you fiery and alive, even in all your anger against him, rather than some broken thing, “Would you like to me to list out all of the fucking options you had?” 

It’s a rhetorical question, but when he doesn’t respond, you decide to answer the obvious. 

“You could have taken ten extra seconds on the phone to say love you, babe. You could have texted me the damn words. You could have- just- you could have just told me if you were getting sick of me!” 

He doesn’t know which is a bloodier catastrophe – the shaking in your voice as you yell out the last part, or the twist of his stomach at hearing it. 

Sick of you. You had thought he was sick of you. 

“I wasn’t sick of you,” it comes out snappier than intended, but all that his tongue seems to care about is that the words are out there – no care in the fragility of tone. “I was- it was just a lot. It was our biggest tour yet, and-”

“Oh!” you laugh out, and his blood is beginning to go cold. All the warmth is leaking out, and all he can think about is twenty four hours ago. How warm it had been beneath his covers, your body curled against his, not a worry in the world. “Oh, I’m sorry. It was a lot? I’m so glad, in that case, that I took the stress of our relationship off your plate,” your voice is still cracking with every syllable. All he can think about is how it had sounded breathing out against his ear, “I just- Jesus, you ask me why I left? That’s why. Forget the bullshit about loving me. Maybe I just felt like a burden. Have you considered that?”

Sweet memories of the night before snaps away like elastic, back out of reach, your words yanking him back down to reality abruptly. 

You, of all people, felt like a burden. To him. 

The person he saw a future with – the person he wanted a future with. The only one he had wanted to see at the end of each wearing day on tour, tears clogging his throat up to the point where he pretended to be asleep so he could avoid having to try and chat with his bandmates. The only one who could have soothed whatever ferocious ache that had materialized deep within him while on the road, that he had foolishly tried to replace with a million different things that only ended up leaving him more empty. The only cure to a homesickness that had ruined him in the end. 

You had never been a burden. But he was fucking it all up, and he was watching the weight of that belief fall down upon your shoulders again. 

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like that!” he’s desperate now, struggling to find ways to fix this. There was a fine line when it came to the fight, a dance between seeing you alive and willing to put up your fists for whatever was left of the two of you versus seeing you broken and unwilling to help him fix it, and he’s sure he’s crossed it. Irreversible damage is being done, and he doesn’t know how to fix it, “It wasn’t- You weren’t- The problem was never…. Never….”

Fix it, fix it, fix it. 

“Don’t say that the problem wasn’t me,” you huff out, almost laughing, looking right at him. Dead in the eyes, but still putting up the fight, “If I weren’t the problem, you wouldn’t have pushed me away. You would have- I don’t know, just let me in. We were supposed to be a team.”

He can’t deny a single word falling from your mouth. You’re right – he knows you’re right, sure as he knows the sun sets in the West, and he knows there’s nothing to be said that can fix this. 

He chose to break this. This wasn’t some terrible accident; Eddie had gripped the wheel with both hands, shaking white knuckles in control, and had driven the two of you straight off the road. 

—

He can’t breathe. 

It’s all he could think about the moment he saw your contact light up the screen of his phone, as he swiped to answer, as he said his pitiful hello. Your voice doesn’t unlatch the tightness from around his lungs, your sweet words do nothing to lighten the load upon his chest. If anything, he almost swears you’re making it worse.

He can’t breathe, because he can’t handle you making it worse. 

It wasn’t supposed to go this way. He wasn’t supposed to dread the phone calls. He wasn’t supposed to come up with lies about how his day has gone. He’s not supposed to be jumping through hoops to guarantee you can’t find out the truth.

Whenever he’d imagined these calls amidst his daydreams for this very life, give or take, he’d always assumed they’d be boiling over with the truth. That spilling out the mundane details of his day would come naturally, that he’d probably make you laugh by making sure you knew exactly which pair of mismatched socks he’d thrown on for the day. He thought he’d be honest; he’d be happy, and he’d be honest.

At the end of the day, he supposes he’d always thought the truth would have been something different. 

He’s staring at the bottle of pills recently prescribed to him through whatever low-profile doctor his manager had found for him, meant to help him sleep these days after he’d had an entire private breakdown over his restlessness and a proper scolding for his ever-growing use of plain pot, and your voice prattling on about something is entirely lost on him.

When did that happen? When did he zone out when you, of all people, spoke to him?

You’re mid sentence when he cuts you off, “Hey, baby.” 

A pause that feels like eternity to him, but probably goes unnoticed by you. He’s gotten good at that – he’s gotten good at churning out little infinities for himself amongst the seconds for others. Time to ruminate, time to rot, time to decay. A coping mechanism since privacy has become a foreign thing. 

“I’m sorry, but they need me for soundcheck,” he says the lie so easily, it scares him. His palms shake at the realization that it was so simple, so second nature to him now. 

Lying to you. He was lying to you. A realization that twists his gut painfully as it settles deep within him. 

Soundcheck had finished over an hour ago. Showtime wasn’t for another two. He had the time for you – he had specifically made sure to have the time for you after dancing around your texts and calls the last week. 

Why was he making up an excuse to end the call? He’d made the time. Why?

“Oh.” 

He can’t fucking breathe. He can hear the disappointment, and he can’t fucking breathe.

One little word. Two insignificant letters. They ruin him in too many ways to formulate. 

“Oh, that’s fine!” your desperate attempt at a recovery doesn’t fool him for a second, but maybe you had sensed his mind being so far away. Maybe you had assumed he’d fall for the nauseatingly fake mask of joy, “Go, they need you.” 

Do they, though? Do they truly, genuinely need him? 

It had been a question keeping him up lately. The very question that was meant to be quieted by the Zolpidem that he continues to burn holes through the bottle of with his heavy eyes. 

Lately, it had felt a lot less like they needed him, and more like everyone around him needed the idea of him. They needed the rockstar, the frontman. They needed the man who would get on stage every night and sing his heart out, who would smirk at a crowd of adoring fans and wink at them in order to send their hearts racing. The charming trickster who could produce honey words both over a record and over interviews, luring in new fans at every corner. 

They needed his hands, only so that they may write words across pages and play instruments across tracking. 

They needed his vocal chords, to sing the lyrics to market, and to smooth talk the early morning show host. 

They needed his heart, so they could tear it apart and devour it right in front of him, uncaring that they would leave him with nothing but a bloody mess by the end of it. 

“Yeah,” he chuckles, and he knows you won’t be able to taste the dryness of it. His entire tone has been flat – the laugh is no different. “Rockstar duties and all. We’ll talk more later?” 

He hates rockstar duties. He hates it all. 

He hates the lights that are always too warm while he’s up on stage, gasping with every breath to try and find the joy once more in his tired bones. He hates the tight schedule, and the way he can’t even have enough free time to leave his hotel room to see half the cities he’s visited. He hates the flashing phones across the crowd, all vying for a photo more than they are a connection.

He’s being drained dry. He has nothing left to give – by the time he’s meant to come home to you, he will have less than nothing. 

“Of course. Go give ‘em Hell.” 

His fingers can’t work fast enough. Your soft oh had broken him, but this shatters him. 

Because that’s what they want, isn’t it? They want him to give them Hell, packaged in the euphoria of a false Heaven. And yet, at the end of the day, the only one receiving the fires of the Hell is him. The loneliness, the demanding weight of the world, the bottom of a parched well. Everyone else lives in a dream from what he can give them, but Eddie? 

Eddie is left with nothing. 

He hangs up just in time for the first sob to leave him. Dry as he felt, dry as his laughter. He couldn’t even choke out a pathetic love you. And his ears are ringing, and somewhere in the buzz, he tries to decipher out the last time he had said those words to you. He knows the sound of your sweet tongue awarding him the affection – you say it at every chance you get – but he can’t recall when he’d last offered you that piece of his soul. 

Did he still love you? 

Yes, the violent thing in him sobs as he lets out another croak, doubling over and tossing his phone away blindly, I do. And that’s the issue. 

He was a ticking time bomb now. He knew there was an inevitable end coming for him, and he was terrified he wouldn’t survive this tour. 

And you – his darling light, the one he was supposed to race home to and was supposed to hold close to his heart as motivation to make it through so that this tour would not be the end – wouldn’t survive it either. The blast radius, the implosion. You were something too soft, too gentle to handle that. He couldn’t do that to you. 

He couldn’t ruin you. And so he was pushing you away. 

Somewhere through the gasping breaths and shake of his shoulders, he reaches to find his phone again. His eyes burn, but no tears come as he stares down at a now cracked screen. He’s hyperventilating – he can’t catch his breath, no matter how wide his chest and lungs try to expand. It’s been stolen from him.

All of it has been stolen from him. His happiness, his dreams, you. 

A month back, he had to change his lockscreen from his favorite photo of you. It had been at a party, and one of the sleazes dressed in leather and cigarette smoke had thrown his arm around Eddie just in time to get a peek at his lockscreen. 

‘Take a load of that,’ the stranger had commented with a low whistle, whiskey on his breath suffocating. 

Eddie had tried to not judge him the entire night. Sometimes, when he was looking at him, he saw the reflection of himself these days. 

‘What?’ Eddie had tried to laugh off, looking more properly through his drunkenness at that vibrant photo of you. His girl, the one he wanted to go home to. All big smiles and aching cheeks, laughing probably at something stupid he had done. 

He could see your bare thighs brushing the sheets of your shared bed back home – it started a hollow ache of longing to feel them wrap him up again. The sheets, your thighs, your arms. 

The small bunks on the bus and the hotel rooms didn’t compare to sleeping next to you. He thought if you had been there, if you had been with him, maybe this all would have been easier. 

‘That fine piece of meat on your screen, man,’ the guy motioned vaguely with a deep chuckle. ‘Fuck, is that what’s waiting for you back home?’

The sinking feeling had started then. The urge to flip his phone over and hide you away began to accumulate, his hand twitching with it. 

‘Yeah, that’s my girlfriend,’ he had said. Choked the words out. Tried to brush off his worry.

That’s just how the guys on the road had spoken. It was fine. It would be fine. 

‘Shoulda brought her on the road,’ the man had sighed. ‘Then we all could have gone a few rounds with her.’

Eddie had never leapt up from a couch quicker. He had also never vomited up more of his guts in a stranger’s plants than he did immediately upon running out the back door. 

Your photo had been exchanged for a stock image the next day. 

The memory still makes him sick. 

He swipes right over that very stock image, one he never cared enough to change because the only photo worth replacing it with was one he could no longer share with this world, to unlock his screen to find his texts with you already open. 

His thumbs are shaking, alien, almost unwilling as he commands them to type a message. 

Maybe, just maybe, he shouldn’t be pushing you away. He shouldn’t be sinking deeper into this crowd of uncaring faces, of people who only want him for what he can give them. 

Maybe he should come crawling back to the one who wants him for his hands, and the way you could hold them out in your lap as you traced the softest of patterns over sensitive skin, a secret message of adoration poured from your own fingertips. 

Maybe he should confide more in the one who wants him for his vocal chords, and for the conversations that could be had in the middle of the night, upholding his opinions on anything and everything with the most importance. And in the shield of the night, sometimes even the day, he couldn’t possibly say the wrong thing – not with you. 

Maybe he should remember to love the one who wanted his heart, simply to handle it with care instead of devourment. 

The simple message of I love you is typed out. His thumb hovers over the small send button. 

Maybe he should let you back in. Maybe he could survive this. 

His thumb diverts suddenly, backing out of the conversation, back into the rows of texts awaiting to be opened and read. Left to smolder just like all his missed calls, missed birthdays, missed holidays. Friends from back when everything felt real, and more sleazes in leather and cigarette smoke. People who devour. People who want what he gives, never what he is. 

Wayne, somewhere amongst the missed connections, just asking if Eddie is alive. If his boy is okay. 

He goes ignored, just as you had as of late, and for all the same reasons. Same lump stuck in Eddie’s throat, same weight on his chest. 

The thumb finds its way to a text chain with someone who can’t fill the hole in Eddie’s chest, but he certainly had offered something at one of those after parties that might be a good place to start. 

Maybe Eddie should just get more of that, more sweet releases without a prescription, something to send his mind swirling until he forgets that you, that Wayne, that even he exists. Yes, that might be the best idea he’s had all week – he types out a message and hits send without hesitation this time to a stranger with his worst interests in mind, asking if he might have any more of that snow in the dead of July he’d been offered at the party. 

His text to you, unfortunately, is never sent.

—

“You want me to let you in?” Eddie suddenly says as he snaps back into his body, into his current mind and current situation. 

He can’t change the past. He’d give anything – God, he’d give everything – to go back to that night and make different choices, better choices, but he can’t. 

All he really has is the here and now. This version of him, and this version of you. The current you, who hates him and absolutely should. The current him, who’s six weeks sober yet has finally seen the light. 

The past doesn’t matter, and yet the past is the entire reason for this. 

“Yes,” you laugh as dryly as he had that night during that final call, throwing your head back in your own desperation, “Jesus Christ, yes. That’s all I ever wanted, all I fucking asked f-” 

He cuts you off by suddenly storming off, but it’s not away from the situation. Not this time. 

Down the hallway, through the door only himself and you have ever passed through. Across the carpeted floors and straight for the stack of notebooks scattered beside the couch. 

Somewhere in the mess, he finds the notebook he’s looking for, right on top of his laptop he needs. 

You trail in behind him, seemingly stunned by his rash actions – except they’re not that rash. He may be moving fast, erratically even, but this is the most sane he’s ever felt with how he’s handling the situation that has become the two of you. 

“You want me to let you in?” he repeats, and you stare with confused eyes, mouth barely agape, entirely lost for a moment, “Fine. I’ll let you in.”

He throws the notebook your way, and your reflexes are your savior as you catch the flutter conglomeration of paper between your palms. The laptop, however, he’s smarter about. 

“Clearly, you’ve already seen my notebook of lyrics,” he says as he huffs, setting the laptop up on the coffee table, rummaging for a pair of headphones he knows he’s left somewhere in this mess, “Why not take it a step further, yeah? I have the demos right here, on my laptop. I’ve been recording them for ages, and having copies of any we try out in the studio sent over to me. I want you to listen to them, because obviously, just reading everything I wanted to say to you doesn’t wo-”

You nearly fling the notebook right back at him, slamming it down against the side of your thigh, “I don’t want songs!” 

He pauses, looks up at you, nearly deranged. “No? You just asked me to let you in, and this is me letting you in.” 

“That’s not- this isn’t-” you stutter over your words and he can see your eyes begin to sparkle with tears as you approach him, just as frustrated as he was now. “I want you to speak to me, Eddie! I’m tired of listening to second-hand accounts and I’m tired of all the versions of you, of this fight, in my head! Use your words,” you make your way between him and the table, the laptop, falling to your knees slowly, the notebook being tossed away for a moment as both your palms come to grip his knees. He can’t tell if you’re trying to ground him, or yourself, “I am here. Right fucking here, right in front of you. And after all this time, you still can’t talk to me.”

He feels the way you shake with those gentle palms on his bruised knees. He’s terrified – the rough fabric of his jeans isn’t thick enough to keep you away. There’s not enough layers of any fabric on this planet that could ever be thick enough to keep you from feeling that rot. And you must feel it – you must feel all those holes that have whittled away at the man you once knew. 

The man you once loved. 

He doesn’t think he can ever be that man again. They did more than break his spirit over the years, or crush his childhood dreams. 

Something snapped in the foundation of him. 

“I…”A lump he’s felt as though he’s lived a lifetime without finally returns. The same one from that terrible night in which he made every wrong choice possible. “I don’t know what you want me to say.” 

Your face falls, ever so slightly. “It’s not about what I want-” 

“Yes,” he stops you, hands coming down to press over yours. Your skin is warmer than his, and he fights the urge to flip your palms up. Press the softest of your skin against the roughest of his, intertwining unworthy fingers between slots unmeant for him, “It is. It absolutely is.”

Just how silently can a heart break? 

You don’t pull back from his touch, and it almost feels like progress. Silent shattering can almost be mended with the way you only let your left palm weakly squeeze at his knee once, twice. 

He waits for the third squeeze, but it never comes. 

“Then there’s where we start,” you whisper, looking down at where his hands hover over yours.

“Start with what?”

“Fixing things.” 

You finally pull your hand away, a slow drag that sends shivers up his spine. He has half the mind to try and capture your hand in his to prevent it; one last desperate attempt to cling to you and all the ways you could heal him. All the ways you could love him. A world of possibility, another time in the Universe where you adore him and he’s never hurt you. Where his shelves are filled with photos of the two of you, together. Where he doesn’t fold you out of the frame, and where his walls are just a little less cold. 

A time, a world, where home feels like home again. 

“We need to stop saying what we think the other person wants to hear,” you croak out as you stand up, almost ashamed. As if realization has finally washed over you of just what you had done – gotten down on your knees and begged him, pleaded with him. “If this is going to work, that…. It has to stop.” 

We need to stop being what we think the other needs. We don’t know what the other needs. 

The unspoken truth you don’t need to say to him. He gets it, he really does. 

This entire relationship, this entire situation the two of you have stumbled into headfirst, needs to be a fresh start. As far as either of you should be concerned, you need to be strangers. No history, no marks, no dust. 

It’s a challenge Eddie would have balked at a mere six weeks ago, but that he faces head-on now. The thought of forgetting you, untangling your soul from his, in order to make new knots doesn’t scare him as much as he should. It’s his chance to start over; his chance to start fresh and new, a clean slate he’d begged for every night amidst every new mistake he had made in your absence. 

He could do this. And by the look on your face, you could also do this. 

“Agreed,” he finally stands up from the couch, nodding more to himself than to you, “Start new. Start fresh. Some inspirational quote from those fucking Facebook moms I hate.” 

A smile nearly cracks on your face, “You hate Facebook moms?” 

“Oh, I loathe them,” he leans in a bit closer, as though he might be letting you in on a secret. Really, he’s just trying to distract you from his wound – that terrible gash in his chest this fight had opened back up, a slice from the past he’ll need the night to stitch back together, “It’s okay, though. The feeling’s mutual.”

Your laugh is weak, and it’s proof enough that it isn’t forced. “Figured as much. I guess the Satanic panic wasn’t just a Hawkins’ thing, huh?” 

Hawkins. God, he hadn’t spoken about Hawkins with anyone, any single soul, in so long that the name of the town almost felt foreign. 

“Guess not,” he quirks his mouth, tilting his head at you, trying to chase away the reeling you’re sending him on. If he thinks too hard about Hawkins, he’ll think too hard about more names he hasn’t uttered in a year. More people left behind, more memories left to burn, “So… Now what?” 

He needs to change the topic, to run away one last time. There’s other nights ahead for the two of you to open those wounds of his. Tonight is not the night. 

You shrug, looking around the room, “I mean… we have a contract to fulfill.” 

“I’m sure my people will get in touch with your people.” 

“I also have work tomorrow.” 

“I’m sure I could call a cab for you in the morning.” 

“Eddie.” 

A selfish part of him had hoped if he’d given in and fought, you might stay another night. That maybe the fight would give him everything he had wanted, and then some. 

Another night. Another clean slate. Another chance to prove himself. 

But by the break in your voice as you say his name, he knows he was clearly delusional. 

“Or I could call you one tonight,” he secedes softly, failing at hiding most of his disappointment. It doesn’t matter – it doesn’t change a thing. “You’ll probably need your beauty sleep. No need for some aggravating rockstar to interrupt all your rest with his lousy guitar playing.” 

“Stop that,” you insist, face falling a bit too serious for his liking. He had been trying to joke around, “I- Your guitar playing is not lousy. We both know that.”

“Lousy or legendary, it still keeps you up.” 

He watches the contort of your face, and his chest constricts. He wants to be able to read your mind, look past that sudden stoic wall that falls over your eyes and flat lips. Chip past the marble facade to understand why those words seemingly sucked all the air out of the room just now. 

“Yeah,” you say, but you sound miles away, looking over his shoulder, breaths a bit unsteady. “Yeah… You’re, uh, you’re right. I don’t mind calling my cab-”

“I insist,” he rushes out, still scanning your face, still grasping for straws to get a glimpse inside your brain. 

What did he do wrong? What had he said? 

“You really don’t-” 

“Consider it done.” 

His phone is already in hand, and the number already half dialed into it isn’t just the city’s taxi service. It’s his driver’s.

His personal driver. Is that what had made you uncomfortable? Had you realized that before he’d even called for one of those SUVs to be your ride home? 

Was he coming on too strong for all this talk of a fresh start? 

You pick your battles, and just as he had lost the war to have you stay, you let him dial the number. Wander to the corner of the room as he talks to the man only he’s familiar with over his cell phone, fingers tracing over the few instruments littering the space. He wonders if you take note of which ones you pull away from with a smudge of dust on the pad of your finger, and if you can see the desperate wear worn into others from late nights like the night before. If you can see the scratch marks covering guitars from violent strumming, or rough circles over the keys of a keyboard he’s propped against the wall after it had stopped emitting noise due to being kicked off its stand after a particularly rough session. 

He wonders if tears can stain, and if you could see any of his panic and regret at that burst of violence. It was the night he swore off vodka. 

With confirmation of the SUV being on its way, he turns all his attention back on you, “See anything you like?”

You’d been staring at one specific acoustic guitar, one that had gathered more dust than any other instrument in the room. A stunning guitar polished to perfection, to the point of still being able to see your reflection in the onyx abyss of it below the layer of neglect. 

He knows exactly where your eyes have caught. A perfect carving of his initials, deeply cut into the rosewood right below the strings at the top of the neck. Dust had covered up the deep red painted into the hand-carved letters. 

“What?” you look over suddenly, almost as though you wanted to pretend you hadn’t seen it. But he knows you did, and he knows you had a good guess, an accurate guess, as to where that guitar came from. “I- No- I mean, yes! Sorry, I just… A lot of instruments, I guess?” 

You’re biting your lip, clearly nervous, as he forces a smile, “Yeah. Always swore I’d have a room like this when we- I had a place of my own someday.”

He knows the blood has drained from his face at his slip up. Feels the cold creep into his cheeks, as he clears his throat awkwardly. 

“You did,” you grant him the grace of ignoring it. Save him the embarrassment, and move right along, “What kind of guitar is that one?” you pause, turning back to the guitar you’d locked your sights on and jut your chin in it’s direction, “A… Yamaha, right?” 

“Yamaha F335,” he confirms, walking up behind you, looking at the dark beauty, “Nothing extravagant, but…”

“You always said Yamaha never felt cheap,” you murmur under your breath, smiling as if lost in a memory, “Under two hundred bucks, and you still sounded like Kirk Hammett when you hammered out those solos over Master of Puppets.” 

He wishes you wouldn’t do this. Not now, not when you aren’t spending the night. Not when a car is coming to take you away, and not when he knows your knees are still raw from falling to them and begging him of all people to just talk to you. 

“It was a crime,” he chokes out in a tight tone, having to cough a little to loosen up his words before continuing, “Playing such a metal album on an acoustic. Always sounded better on Sweetheart.” 

You continue to tear him open, rib by rib, as you softly say, “Yeah, but Wayne always seemed to like that music a little better when you played it that way instead.”

It feels as though it’s finally his turn to fall to his knees. 

You don’t even notice the unraveling, reaching up to caress over the strings covering the simple cursive EM on the neck. Almost out of reach from where the guitar sways on the wall mount. 

“Does she have a name?” 

He has to gather himself before he can reply, “What?” 

“The guitar,” you glance over your shoulder, eyes shining just a bit. He thinks he knows why you wouldn’t face him now. Why you’d kept your back to him, “You always named your guitar. Don’t tell me you grew out of that, Munson.”

This smile isn’t quite as forced, but it quivers all the same on his lips and cheeks, “Never. His name’s Nelson.”

Your face scrunches a bit, “Nelson? His name’s Nelson?”

“Yep.” 

He can’t help the way the word comes out so short, so quipped. You’re both treading in very dangerous territory now. 

“That’s…” you nod, deep in thought as you trail off, and he wonders if you caught on, “Odd. But I like it. What was the inspiration?” 

He has to lie. He can’t admit it to you. There is only so much blood left in his body to bleed out tonight, and he simply cannot give you the full truth now. 

“A bit of a nod to the person who gifted it to me,” he offers as much of the truth he can, but if you ask him for any more specifics, he simply can’t.

You look between him and the guitar, a small smile growing, and it breaks his heart, “Oh? And who- I mean… may I ask who gifted it?” 

His entire body aches as he forces out, “An old friend.”

Eddie Munson hates himself. More than he ever believed possible, to the point of a stomach churning with sheer sickness as you nod at the oddly quiet answer, finally taking the hint. 

He hates himself. He hates what he has become. He hates what he has destroyed. 

“Sounds-” you’re cut off by the ringing of his phone, incessant chiming from his driver to announce his arrival. 

The conversation ends there. Eddie informs you your ride is here, and he trails after you slowly as you gather your things. He feels the apartment drop colder and colder as each article of you is snatched up, no malicious intent but painful all the same, until he’s finally walking you to the elevator with his hands shoved in his pockets. 

“So,” you nearly stumble over your own two feet as you try to face him in the final few steps, clumsy and nervous as ever. Even if the fight has cleared some of the air, offered some clean slate, some things never change, “I guess your people will call my people?” 

He only nods, discreetly tucking his hand back away that had shot out, ready to catch you. 

“Okay,” you nod, eyeing him as though you have more to say. A million words, a million questions, a million topics to avoid. He really wishes you would spend the night. “Well, then…. See you around, I guess?” 

Bruised knees, avoidant eyes, tight throats. The two of you are such a mess, it’s no longer funny. 

“See you around, Sugar.” 

The elevator dings with its arrival, and Eddie doesn’t let you get another word in before he’s motioning you in. Away from him, away from the damage, away from the impending explosion. 

He almost wonders if you had the same look on your face the final day you’d left your shared apartment with him as he watches the two doors slide shut. 

He doesn’t linger, though. The moment you’re locked away from him, he’s rushing back to his apartment. The only one on the entire floor, entirely secluded in his tower, cursed to solitude as a private punishment. Whenever anyone had asked in the past, it had always been the excuse of privacy – but he knows better. 

Eddie Munson had torn himself limb by limb, cutting every lifeline ever tied to him, long before he’d moved into this chilling penthouse. 

He avoids the urge to run to one of his panoramic windows, trying to remind himself he won’t be able to see thirteen floors down to the street where you’re surely rushing into that familiar black SUV. He takes a sharp turn down his hallway, feeling almost robotic, returning back to that cursed room the two of you had just broken each other inside moments before. 

Straight to the back wall, and straight to the black Yamaha guitar. Straight to Nelson.

His hands shake as he pulls the instrument away from the wall just enough to see a note that barely clings to hand-polished wood, tape aged and paper crumbled. Yet the ink is still visible. The scar, it seems, is not quite healed as he reads over the messy scrawl. 

For my boy. Give them Hell, kid. And maybe give your old man a call. 

Love, Wayne.

[rodrifc]

ssoooo excited to go home after I finish dogsitting today and to SIT and DO NOTHING

[merakiui]

halloweenie!fellow whenever his dynamic duo (the very silly and foolish reader and skully) does something stupid and/or borderline lovey-dovey (neither realizes it):

[quirinah]

i! ro! ha! (six years edition)

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[marimbles]

my favorite thing about zagreus is that he’s the ultra-cool prince of the underworld, son of the god of the dead, skilled warrior protégé of Achilles himself, tall dark and handsome, completely shredded, with the dopest heterochromia ever, leaving sparks in his wake while he struts around like he owns the place (cause he kind of sort of does). BUT he’s also the most pitiful, disaster-level idiot in the underworld.

He got fired from his nepo job for being lazy and unfit for office work. Whenever he talks to the worker shades in the admin office they all roll their eyes at him. despite his elite training he can only progress toward the surface with endless redos and the constant help of every Olympian AND Cthnonic god. his room is a dump. he’s absolutely terrible at playing the lyre. His outfit is designed after his dog. He is sopping wet from his last dip in the pool of Styx 100% of the time, and every time he fails at escaping the whole house can see his walk of shame while Hypnos loudly makes fun of him for dying AGAIN. And all of this is magnified 10x if you’re bad at the game. incredible story design.

Zagreus’s initial inadequacy makes for an even more compelling narrative that feels extra rewarding with each level of progression. And this is all reflected so well in his attitude as a character. He’s such a fascinating mix of brazen confidence and good-natured humility. He may seem like an entitled brat on the outside but he’s incredibly heartfelt and generous to those around him—not just to those of similar status but also to the nervous housekeeper and his angry ex and the trapped souls he comes across in his journeys. he goes out of his way to help people even while he is trying to reach his own goal. and he never gives up, even when it seems impossible. his repeated failures just serve to emphasize his greatest strengths: resilience, determination, hope, and genuine care for the people in his life.

what a character, man. what a game ✊

[mickandmusings]

you’re losing me

pairing: tyler owens x f! reader

word count: 5.2k

summary:

when tyler, yet again, forgets an important date while he's caught up in chasing, y/n is at her wits end. their relationship feels like it's dying, and he just might have dealt the final blow. after a series of rather unfortunate happenings, it's up to the rest of the wranglers to set them free from the disaster they created.

warnings: ANGST with a capital a; tyler is kind of an ass; halfway edited (sorry); forced proximity; not my most favorite thing i've ever written; sort of suggestive but not explicit

-

The ticking of the clock on the kitchen wall taunts her, reminding her that time was continuing to pass by. She taps her fingers against the table, her patience fleeting.

Y/N picks up her phone to check it for nearly the twentieth time in the past half hour. She had hoped to look down and see a missed call or an apologetic message from her boyfriend, who, at present, is an hour and a half late for their anniversary dinner. She had the table set for two some time ago: a home cooked meal in the oven, a bottle of white wine to split, and a candle lit in the center of the table. She sported a flowy sundress that tapered off mid-calf-Tyler's favorite dress on her-one that she just knew was going to end up on the floor of their bedroom by now.

Clearly, she'd been mistaken.

She presses the button on the side and the screen illuminates the dimly-lit room. The only thing that greets her is an empty lockscreen- a picture of Tyler smiling down at her as she looks up at him, taken over a year ago. She sighs in annoyance, putting the phone back down as the tear in her heart only grows bigger and bigger. She'd known this would happen, and despite all her efforts to avoid it, he had still forgotten.

She'd started two weeks beforehand, by telling him that she wanted to spend the night of their anniversary with him, alone. He'd agreed, claiming it was a great idea. That night, she put the reminder in his phone calendar and wrote it into the paper one that lived on his fridge. A week before, she'd mentioned it a thousand times: over dinner, during grocery shopping, and even during post-bliss pillow talk. He'd pull her into his arms and kiss her head, assuring her every time that he'd be there with bells on. Naively, she had believed him. Now, she was sitting alone at his dinner table in her prettiest sundress, feeling like a complete fool.

Her phone dings, and she feels the rip in her heart stitch itself back together for a slight moment. When she notices it's not Tyler, her shoulders slump.

The Tornado Wranglers are LIVE! Click here to watch now!

She's quick to click it, watching as it loads before she sees Boone's face in the frame, the top of Tyler's hat visible. Her heart shatters, watching as her boyfriend smiles and hollers for the camera, chasing a storm. She'd known there was a big storm forming for the past few days: when Tyler went out on a chase, she watched the weather as if it were a nail-biting thriller. Hearing him on the livestream had been the first time she'd seen or heard from him all day, despite his promises to be next to her this very moment.

She exits the live and stands from the dinner table, already knowing her boyfriend wouldn't be home any time soon. She blows out the candle and puts the unopened wine back in the kitchen, wrapping the dinner she'd made in tin foil and tossing it into the fridge. Despite her simmering anger, she knew Tyler would come home drenched, so she set out a dry change of clothes and a towel on the washing machine for him to see. Shaking her head, she bit her lip and swallowed thickly as she moved to the en suite bathroom and changed out of the dress, her perfectly curled hair wasted. She throws on her pajamas and her (intentionally not Tyler's) hoodie, climbing into her side of their shared bed. She plugs her phone into the charger and switches on the silent function, not wanting to be bothered as she wallows. Finally, she plops down onto her pillow and curls under the blankets, her annoyance slowly fading into disappointment. She tries to push the tears back, feeling stupid for crying over something so trivial, but it had hurt that he'd forgotten something that was supposed to be important to both of them. She feels asinine, like a dog with a bird at his door, only to be shut out. A choked sob slips past her lips, and she's done for. She curls in on herself, legs to her chest as she cries until her body could no longer take it, and lets her eyes shut for sleep.

-

Hours later, Tyler stumbles into his house, plopping off his soaking wet boots on the rug at the garage door. He's slightly dry from his ride home, but his clothes still cling to his skin, making him shiver when he walks into the house. He turns to lock the door behind him, shuffling into the laundry room that connected the garage and the house. He puts his wet hat on the hook, peeling out of his sopping shirt and jeans, finding a change of clothes and towel set out for him. He smiled, knowing he'd likely find his girlfriend passed out on the couch with the weather forecast still playing on the screen. He changed quickly, hands itching to pull her into his hold and fall into a deep sleep. As he leaves the laundry room and heads to the kitchen, he notes the dinner table set with placemats and silverware next to them. He gives the set up a confused look before shrugging, tossing back a glass of water before walking towards the living room.

The empty room stops him in his tracks completely. The TV had been shut off, only a black screen staring back at him. There had been no indication that Y/N had been here at all-the blankets were folded neatly into the basket, pillows still upright and straight. He looked for anything-a charger plugged into the wall, her current read on the coffee table, an empty mug-but found no signs of the girl he loved. 'Maybe she had an early night,' his mind tried to grasp an explanation of why she wasn't where she always was when he was out on a chase.

Tyler's hand wipes his face, rubbing his tired eyes as he stomps up the stairs to their shared bedroom. The hallway is cloaked in darkness, and he has to use his phone's flashlight just to make his way to the door. He turns it off when he turns the knob and pushes the door open, not wanting the blinding light to disturb her. He makes out her figure curled into her side of the bed, looking small. He frowns again, it was always guaranteed she'd be curled into his pillow if he was gone, often wrapped in some article of his clothing, if not completely dressed in only his clothes.

Wordlessly, he comes to her side of the bed to kiss her head, checking in to make sure she was okay. Moonlight from the window illuminates her face, and he finds his chest tightening as he looks at her. Tears had dried to her skin, and a frown was etched onto her face, even in her slumber. He pushes hair from her face, finding the strand curled, and kisses her forehead lightly. He pulls the covers over her more, making sure she was entirely tucked in. With a worried frown now marking his own face, he shuffles to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He opens the door and flicks on the light, the sight in front of him bringing his confusion to new heights.

A white sundress stares back at him, sitting crumpled on the counter. The puffy sleeves are deflated, and the slit on the leg had flopped over, exposing the other side of the fabric. This dress only made an appearance for special occasions, mainly because he couldn't keep his hands off of her when she wore it. She'd talked about it for weeks, she was going to wear it on their anniver-he stills-no. Tyler's heart sinks to his feet, hammering against his chest so loudly it rattles his eardrums. There is no way he'd forgotten. The unusual things in his home began to add up, and, with shaking hands, he reaches for his phone and stares down at the photo of her smiling back at him. She's standing in a poncho, drenched, but smiling as she uses her hand to point towards a barreling storm in the distance. Sure enough, in the slew of notifications he'd ignored, sits a calendar reminder:

'Our anniversary date ;) <3'

He plops down on the side of the tub and scrolls through the messages and calls Y/N had left, clicking on the voicemail she'd left, her sweet voice filling his ears:

'Hey Ty, it's almost nine, I just...um, just checking on you. I-I don't know if you're just running late or you forgot, but...I love you, see you soon. Be careful, please. Call me when you get this.'

He pieces it together quickly-the table set up for two, his favorite dress she'd been wearing, her hair curled just to look nice for him-the realization guts him. He had been stupid, so caught up in the thrill of the chase he completely forgot about the one thing that always brought him home. His brain recalls her excitement over the dinner she would cook, and he had planned on bringing flowers and her favorite sweets from that bakery downtown, hoping to charm that dress right off of her. He pushes his damp hair back with his hands, he had fucked up, and royally. The reason she hadn't done the things she normally did when he was gone was because he wasn't supposed to be gone at all.

He breaths deeply before brushing his teeth, sliding into the bed next to her and pulling her close. He'd hold her while he could, because he'd spend the next few days groveling for her forgiveness. He'd wake up early-clean up the dishes from last night, cook her breakfast, do the laundry, pick up groceries for the week. Hell, he'd kiss her fucking feet if it meant she'd forgive him. His eyes shut closed with sleep, and night quickly fades into morning.

-

Y/N is the first to wake, her skin burning under Tyler's touch. She immediately rolls away from his grasp, and the content look on his sleeping face makes her flame with anger. She rolls her eyes and stomps out of the room, purposefully slamming the door to the bedroom enough to rattle the frames on the walls. The noise jostles Tyler from his sleep, and he sits up in his bed, allowing himself only a minute of solitude before he realizes he's under the dog house.

Quietly, he stomps down the stairs, finding Y/N already standing at the sink, sleeves pushed up as she scrubs at a pot hastily. Her face is drawn into an angry frown, and the air is thick with tension. There's none of her music filtering through the tiny speaker in the window, none of her humming as she works. She's angry, she's hurt, and all she really wants is an apology.

"Mornin'," his voice is raspy, and he awkwardly hovers behind her, watching from a distance as she ignores him. He comes over and lightly grabs her arm, attempting to take over the task. "I can do that, darlin', you go sit at the bar and I'll cook you breakfast, yeah?"

She snatches her arm from his grasp and gives him an unpleasant look, only returning to the dishes in front of her as she shakes her head. He gives a deep sigh, stepping away from her to give her space.

Her silent treatment was always the worst.

"Baby, please, I-I know I fucked up, I'm just trying to make it up to you, let me-"

She lets out an angry laugh, dropping the pot back into the soapy sink with a shake of her head. Her veins fill with a fury she can't control, and she's almost blinded by her rage.

"Fucked up is an understatement, Tyler."

Her angry words were piercing, but at least she was talking.

"Y/N/N, I know, I'm going to make this up to you. I'll-"

"I don't want to hear your lies that I hear every time you mess up, Tyler. You're not going to take time away from chasing, so you can stop feeding me that same lie."

Her honesty stops him in his tracks. He starts to feel defensive, his own anger rising to the surface.

"Just listen-"

The bowl she's cleaning clamors against the other dishes in a loud fashion, making him jump slightly as she turns to face him. Fury is written across her face completely.

"No! You listen! I planned this for weeks, Tyler, weeks! I did everything, the cooking, the cleaning, the waiting around for four fucking hours! All you had to do was show up, and you couldn't even do that."

She swallows thickly, the anger beginning to fester into the sadness she'd been shoving down. Her chest moves in short breaths, and she tries to control her breathing as she looks up at him. He notes her teary eyes-she's not really angry, she's hurting.

"It would've been fine if this was a one off thing, but it isn't. You and I both know that." Her voice is lacking the fire it once had, replaced with a wave of vulnerability she rarely lets show. She pauses and wipes her hands with the kitchen towel in her hands. Her eyes dart across the room in thought, never meeting his. "First it was my birthday, and then not just one, but two dates, and now this. Every other time I just let it go, not wanting to start anything, but I can't anymore, because it just keeps happening. Tyler, I love you, but you're breaking my heart."

Her bottom lip wobbles as she takes a deep breath and straightens her shoulders, trying to have a conversation with the man she was begging to love her the way she loved him.

"I'm not asking you to give it up, I'm just asking for one day, maybe every couple weeks? I feel like I sleep next to you but I never see you, and-," her eyebrows furrow before she takes a defensive step back, crossing her arms over her chest. "I just don't want to have to beg you to want to spend time with me."

Tyler's heart shatters. He fumbles to come up with the right words, knowing the wrong ones could ruin everything. He loved her immeasurably, and he'd been so goddamn blind. His mind raced with the dozens of things she does for him without being asked-making sure he had dry clothes after chasing, ensuring he had a decent meal every time he came home, tens upon hundreds of tiny actions that he had taken for granted. When was the last time he'd done something like that for her? The one time she had asked him, weeks in advance, to save a day for her, he had neglected it completely, unintentionally or not.

She looks down at her feet, feeling so incredibly small, invisible, like the man in front of her can't see her at all. She was tired of trying to keep their relationship alive all on her own. She wasn't in denial that Tyler loved her, she knew he did, but the last few months had felt as if he hardly remembered she was there. Her anxiety spirals-did he really love her, or was she just convenient for him?

"I know that chasing is important to you, and I love seeing you do it, but it always comes before me. I just want to know, will I ever come first?" Her voice is so, so hurt, and the girl he knows has withered away. The only thing that remains is the shell of her in front of him, pleading for him to just notice her. "It's okay if not, I-I just need to know. Because I can't keep having this fight, just tell me the truth so if the answer is no, I can move on."

Tyler's heart hammers, his own insecurity flaring.

"W-What? No, no, chasin' doesn't come before you, ever. Y-You know that."

She gives him a doubtful look.

"You do know that right?"

"Tyler, name one time that you've dropped everything from chasing a storm to do something for me?"

She stands leaned against the counter, arms crossed in front of her. His mind cannot conjure one situation, and he knows she's right, he'd never put her first. Not once. He had missed her birthday party just last month for a big storm over in Kansas, on his own. The rest of the Wranglers had even cancelled to be there for her. Both Boone and Lilly both had called him from the party to reprimand him, and he'd stayed anyways. Then he'd done it again, twice, just two weeks later. Each time, she'd forgiven him with open arms, never fighting him on it, simply accepting his lie that he'd never do it again.

She simply nods, waiting to see how long it would take Tyler to realize just how miserable this had been for her. He grows defensive, trying to make excuses for his actions.

"That storm in Kansas, w-we haven't seen a storm that scale since-"

"Tyler, save it," she starts, her voice growing an edge. "You answered my question, that's all I needed to know."

He watches as she literally and metaphorically throws in the towel, a somber look written across her face.

“I-I need some air.”

She says nothing else, only sliding on her shoes and slipping out the garage door. He expects to hear the jangling of her keys and then the roar of her car’s engine, but neither come-she’d taken out on foot.

Tyler ignores the rush of tears that threatened to spill from behind his eyes, his chest so full of guilt it feels like he might combust from one single sob. He stews in his emotions as he resumes the task she'd started-at least when she got back, the dishes would be one less thing for her to worry about. As his hands scrubbed at various pots and pans, he thought about the thousands of things he wanted to do to show her that he was serious. He wanted to run after her, to pull her back into his house, but he knew she needed her space, time away from him to think. Tyler wrestles with his emotions, knowing this could very well be the end of them, and it'd be his fault entirely. He'd let the best thing in his life slip entirely out of his grasp, all because he'd had his head in the clouds. It had been obvious to everyone around him, except him. How had he been so blind to her anguish?

He moves around the kitchen in complete silence, only the rattle of the dishes he's putting away filling his ears. He ponders over the dark hue forming across the sky, wishing Y/N had taken a jacket or an umbrella with her. He wonders if he should call her, just to tell her that he could leave while she stayed here, he didn't want her in the rain. He doesn't overthink it and pulls up her contact, letting it ring before he hears vibrating. His eyes turn to the direction of the noise.

Shit.

She'd left her phone here.

He turns his attention to the slew of missed messages on his own phone. Just twenty minutes ago, Dexter had texted him about a storm forming just miles from his home. The messages after were from Dani, Boone, and Lilly, all asking if he and Y/N were okay. His eyebrows pinched and he frowned, about to respond with a question mark before he heard the shrill ring of the tornado siren outside his window. His eyes glance up to see a darkening sky, heavy clouds sitting low in the sky.

He tosses his phone into his pocket before he's pulling on his still-wet boots and bolting out his garage door. A tornado was minutes from hitting here, and his girlfriend was wandering around aimlessly. She couldn't have gone far, his house sat miles from town, the only neighbors being a relatively empty home the next street over-the family only visited during the winter months, they paid him handsomely to keep their grass cut when they weren't in town-so he knew that she wouldn't have anyone to look out for her. His boots clicked on asphalt, his voice hoarse as he yelled after her, her name falling desperately from his lips as the wind whipped around his face.

With no signs of her appearing, his heart began to hammer against his chest. Rain began to pelt his clothes and it only urged his aching legs to move faster. His mind conjures images he fears-her stuck under a collapsed tree or shed, left for dead because he'd been stupid. They urged him to the neighbor's house, chest searing with anxiety as he heaved, still not seeing anything-no flashes of the simple dress she'd been wearing, or the cardigan she'd wore over it tossed somewhere. Before his brain could stop him, he was pulling the spare key from under the mat, all but trespassing into his neighbor's home, shouting her name. Nothing.

He slams the door, running a hand through his hair as he begins to panic. His chest feels tight, his mind growing fuzzy with the thought of her being out in this storm alone. The air only grows more thick, and a crack of lightning startles him. It sends him into taking off on foot in their backyard, even slinging open the door of the storm shelter to see if she'd hid there. It was empty, making him let out a string of curses to the sky.

Then, he hears her voice. He almost thinks he's imagining it, her tone is sweet and gentle, and he thinks he's losing his mind.

"Hey, it's okay little guy."

It's the voice he knows well-the voice she uses for animals and babies. His jade eyes turn to see her hair blowing in the wind, her dress wet from the weather. She's crouched down and attempting to move a stack of firewood from the neighbors yard, her eyes on alert she hears Tyler's footsteps crunch the ground behind her. She whips around, looking at him.

"Tyler, help me, there's a rabbit, he's stuck."

Tyler looks at her with wide eyes. His voice is loud over the sirens blaring in the air and the wind whipping.

"Darlin', there's a big ass storm coming right for us! Leave it! We gotta get down, now!"

Her eyes are fiery when she turns back to look at him.

"Then leave, but I'm not leaving him here!"

Her hands hastily moved large pieces of firewood, getting more and more drenched. She lifts a particularly heavy one and throws it across the grass.

"If you're just going to stand there and not help, then go! I don't need you hovering because you care all of a sudden!"

Tyler's heart shatters, she thought he didn't care? Of course he cared, but he was more concerned with keeping her safe. He sighs at her stubbornness, moving to help lift the firewood at a faster pace. She lifts a particularly stubborn piece, drawing her hand back quickly with a soft 'fuck!' He tosses her a concerned look but moves on working to get the firewood moved. His muscle flexes as Tyler throws the piece caging the animal in and watches as it bolts towards the treeline. He slings an arm around her shoulder as the roar of the storm grows closer, all but manhandling her into the storm shelter he'd just looked in. It wasn't shabby by any means, well stocked and clean, but small. He shuts the door with a grunt, turning to face her and watching as she digs through a first aid kit.

"What're you doin'?"

She says nothing, only sticking out her right hand for him to see. It's bleeding from a cut, tiny pieces of wood protruding from around it.

"Shit, baby," he moves to grab the kit from her. "Stop, just stop tryin' to do it on your own, it's only going to get worse."

She stills, looking up at him with dagger-like eyes.

"Look, you did your job. I'm safe here, you can go."

Go? Where the hell did she think he was going?

"I know you're itching to go chase it, it's probably going to be a big one."

Oh.

"You think I'm going to leave you here alone to go chase this thing?"

She shrugs. "Wouldn't be the first time."

It's his turn to look offended, even though he shouldn't be. She was only speaking the truth. He knows he would be quick to defend himself, but he doesn't, knowing the hurt he'd bestowed upon her just hours beforehand. He lightly tugs the kit away from her, giving the soft, sympathetic eyes that had her hardened heart melting. He makes quiet work of removing the shards of wood, and moves to clean it with the tiny bottle of rubbing alcohol. She winces when it makes contact with the open wound, but a sweet kiss to her temple has her distracted as he finishes bandaging it. When he looks down at her, he finds her eyes already looking up at him. The look she gives him begs him to say something, to just apologize and say he'd do better, and actually mean it this time. He opens his mouth to speak, but it's cut off by a boisterous slam to the shelter door, one that startles Y/N, and she slides into his hold without thinking.

"What the hell was that?!" Her voice trembles.

"I don't know." He doesn't want to move her from his arms, but he needs to see what's going on. He kisses her temple again, setting her on the twin sized mattress that sat on the ground. He makes his way up the stairs of the shelter, moving to push the door open. He knows it's a stupid, risky move, but he does it anyway.

He pushes it forward, the door not even budging. He frowns, moving positions to put his entire body weight on the door, and the door remains shut. He pushes with his entire strength multiple times, before his mind draws a conclusion.

"It's probably a tree or somethin'," He sighs as he steps away from the door. "Probably got knocked down by the wind, fell over on top of the door."

"So we're trapped here?"

"For the time being, yes," He starts, coming to sit down next to her, her head resting on his shoulder. "But I'll get in touch with Dexter and Dani, maybe Boone too. See if one of them can get a truck out here and move it. We'll have to wait for this storm to pass though."

He fishes out his phone and begins to type, his eyes darting across the screen before Dexter's typing bubble finally forms into a message.

'We'll be there as soon as this storm settles!'

Y/N nods when he shows her the message, moving to rest her head on his chest, her heart racing. Without a word, he pulls her into his lap, his eyes now focused on her bandaged hand. She notes his concern quickly.

"It's fine, doesn't even really hurt. Just stings."

He shakes his head.

"Doesn't matter. You got hurt, again, because I did somethin' dumb as hell. Seems like all I've done for the past few months is hurt you. M'sorry, I really am. I fucked up, and I'm prepared to grovel for it."

She nods, biting her lip as she pushes a section of wet hair out of his face.

"You did, but that doesn't mean you can't fix it. Just, this time, promise you'll actually do what you say you will. Don't let it be empty words."

He makes an 'X' motion over the center of his chest-cross my heart-and watches as a small smile forms across her face. He notes it's genuine nature and it forms a smile of his own across his face.

He pulls her head softly under his chin, moving his face to where he's whispering directly into her ear. She leans into his warmth, still shivering from her damp clothes.

"I love you," his voice is a sincere whisper, laced with every ounce of emotion he can muster. She kisses the underside of his jaw, making him close his eyes and sigh.

"I know. I love you too, even when you really piss me off."

He lets out a chuckle, kissing behind her ear, a spot that makes her entire frame stiffen in his hold. He places another one just under it, making her pull away for a moment.

"You're playing with fire, Owens. What are you gonna do, take me on this twin mattress on the floor?"

Her voice is laced with sarcasm and humor, completely joking. One look in his now emerald green irises tells her he wasn't joking, not one ounce of him thought it was a joke.

"Well, might as well start my grovelin' as quickly as possible, got a lot to catch up on." He kisses the spot again, making her hand fly to his damp hair. "And I haven't done this in far too long."

His hands come to her hips, pulling her in even closer in his lap. His calloused hands land on her ass, and she yelps.

“Ty, you can’t be serious.”

He sends her a raised eyebrow. His hand squeezes the supple skin of her bottom.

“Baby,” his voice is just above a whisper, deathly serious, his gaze darkening. “When have I ever joked about taking you any time, any place?"

Y/N shudders. "Never."

"That's what I thought."

His lips connect with hers in a rough manner, effectively shutting her up.

-

A few hours later, as Y/N lies across Tyler's chest, her dress tossed somewhere, she's awoken by a sharp knock at the shelter door.

"T? Y/N/N? Hey, we're here. We're gonna get this tree off of y'all!" Boone's voice fills her ears and she all but scrambles up, face flushed red with embarrassment at the thought of them walking into the shelter to see her and Tyler both bare. Tyler only snoozes and turns over, and she rolls her eyes, he'd sleep through a hurricane-literally. She grabs his shirt and lightly pops him with it.

"Tyler!" She whispers-shouts, quickly buttoning up the front of her dress she'd found on the floor. His jade eyes pop open, shuffling off the blanket that had been draped across him for his modesty.

"Hm, what?" His voice comes out groggy.

"Get up, get dressed, they're here!" She throws her cardigan back on her shoulders as she tosses his jeans over to him, his belt buckle just missing his head. Tyler rubs his eyes tiredly, not quite awake enough for him to care about being completely naked.

Y/N turns to him to fuss, but she's cut off at the creaking of the storm shelter's door opening. She stills, face burning from a hot blush. From above ground, Boone, Dani and Dexter look down at them, the latter two jaws dropping and darting their eyes away. Boone clocks Tyler and swallows thickly.

"Ty, man, I am seein' entirely way too much of you right now."

-

taglist:

@fraaaaankiiiiieee

@rebel-ezra

@fanboysfangirl

@mbioooo0000

[onlycosmere]

*In response to a meme about a tv show adaptation of a book being written by a writer who had not read the book*

Brandon Sanderson: I have a fun story here. Early in my career, someone optioned the rights to make one of my stories (the Emperor's Soul) into a film. I was ecstatic, as it's not a story that at the time had gotten a lot of attention from Hollywood.

I met with the writer, who had a good pedigree, and who seemed extremely excited about the project; turned out, he'd been the one to persuade the production company to go for the option. All seemed really promising.

A year or so later, I read his script and it was one of the most bizarre experiences of my life. The character names were, largely, the same, though nothing that happened to them was remotely similar to the story. Emperor's Soul is a small-scale character drama that takes place largely in one room, with discussions of the nature of art between two characters who approach the idea differently.

The screenplay detailed an expansive fantasy epic with a new love interest for the main character (a pirate captain.) They globe-trotted, they fought monsters, they explored a world largely unrelated to mine, save for a few words here and there. It was then that I realized what was going on.

Hollywood doesn't buy spec scripts (original ideas) from screenwriters very often, and they NEVER buy spec scripts that are epic fantasy. Those are too big, too expensive, and too daunting: they are the sorts of stories where the producers and executives need the proof of an established book series to justify the production.

So this writer never had a chance to tell his own epic fantasy story, though he wanted to. Instead, he found a popularish story that nobody had snatched up, and used it as a means to tell the story he'd always wanted to tell, because he'd never otherwise have a chance of getting it made.

I'm convinced this is part of the issue with some of these adaptations; screenwriters and directors are creative, and want to tell their own stories, but it's almost impossible to get those made in things like the fantasy genre unless you're a huge established name like Cameron. I'm not saying they all do this deliberately, as that screenwriter did for my work, but I think it's an unconscious influence. They want to tell their stories, and this is the allowed method, so when given the chance at freedom they go off the rails, and the execs don't know the genre or property well enough to understand why this can lead to disaster.

Anyway, sorry for the novel length post in a meme thread. I just find the entire situation to be fascinating.

[sugurusyndrome]

cw/tags: househusband!nanami, fluff, smut, fem!reader

— oh househusband!nanami my love…

househusband!nanami initially resisted the idea of being a stay at home husband when you first proposed it. aghast, he might even say. he couldn’t fathom the possibility of being dependent upon your income. not that his masculinity was threatened or anything of the sort. you were the one supposed to be spoiled while he does the hard work.

your husband was traditional in a quite endearing sense. bless his giant heart and his even bigger cock.

“darling, i want to do this. for us,” you had gently insisted. reaching forward, you took off his spectacles and brushed a hand around his cheek. “you deserve to be pampered, too.”

househusband!nanami was exhausted from the long hours over many years and he knew his wife was sorely aware of that fact. he leaned into your touch, hazel eyes slipping shut.

“alright, my love.”

it took some adjusting to his new role during the first few days. when your alarm rang, you swiftly silenced it so he wouldn’t wake up. looking over your shoulder, you find his side of the bed empty.

househusband!nanami had gotten dressed as usual before remembering he didn’t need to work anymore. instead of going back to bed, he whipped up a breakfast feast fit for a queen. he also sent you off to your big-shot job with a kiss and your lunch.

soon enough, this became a routine. a hearty breakfast followed by a “see you later” kiss—kento didn’t like saying goodbye, it’s always “see you later.” househusband!nanami wanted to bring a smile to your hectic days so he stuck an adorable note in his neat handwriting squarely on your lunchbox. he never ran out of words to express his love for you.

househusband!nanami was finally able to tackle the books that had accumulated on his side of the bedroom but never had the chance to read. you could only imagine how he looked like, all cozy. in the nook of the living room where the sun shone best, he had one leg tucked under his body with his glasses perched on his sharp nose.

when he was not devouring words, househusband!nanami was taking himself on a stroll in the neighbourhood with a cup of a pick-me-up coffee. once, he passed a park and sat at a bench watching the mothers playing with their children with a soft smile. however, he quickly walked away because he realized his presence as a sole man just lingering at the edge of the park might be a cause of concern for the mothers. you giggled later over dinner when he recounted his thoughts to you. what a thoughtful man you married.

you wanted to give him 10 children.

if not books or a stroll in the neighbourhood, househusband!nanami was doing his duty ever so happily between your legs.

"k-ken..." you whimpered, back arching gracefully while your nails scraped his undercut in a way that made him growl into your pussy. he knew how much you loved the vibrations as much as he went crazy for your nails on his scalp. "missed this pussy today....mmm...” he captured your clit in a wet, hungry kiss. “take tomorrow off for me, sweetheart.”

this part of the night quickly cemented its spot as his favourite. to absolutely neither of your surprises.

househusband!nanami became fast friends with the owners of your favourite bakery. they already knew him from his frequent visits after his long shifts to pick up something sweet for his wife but the more he hung out there, the closer he got with the bakers. you were particularly fond of the strawberry shortcake from there and what did he do? oh yes, he learned how to make it. everything was from scratch down to the syrup. by the end of it he was sticky but super excited to surprise you with it for your birthday.

"honey, those better be happy tears," he chuckled, drawing you into a tender hug. either that, or the cake turned out to be a disaster.

"of course they are, kento!" you blubbered in his chest. strawberry syrup and whipped cream was smeared around your mouth, mixing with your tears.

oh, how you adored this man to his bare bones. and he devotedly breathed in the very air you exhaled.

[callsigns-haze]

Lean On

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Reader

Summary: Tyler Owens, an avid storm chaser, takes his friends Javi and Kate to meet his estranged wife YN and their son Noah, rekindling old tensions. During a fierce tornado, they seek refuge in a cinema, where Tyler and YN rediscover their love amidst the chaos. YN begs Tyler to never leave again, and he promises to stay, solidifying their connection he broke all those years back.

Warnings: Natural Disasters, Family Conflict, Romantic Intimacy, Strong Language

A/n: I only watched twisters and I just had too

Word count: 8,525 (holy fucking shit)

Tyler Owens had always been a free spirit, driven by an obsession that had gripped him since childhood: tornadoes. The power, the unpredictability, the sheer force of nature—it all fascinated him. He’d dedicated his life to chasing them, studying them, understanding their every whim and fury. Over the years, he’d assembled a crew, a family of sorts, who shared his passion and drive. Among them were Javi and Kate, friends and fellow storm chasers who had been by his side for two years.

It was a rare sunny day, with the sky an unbroken canvas of blue, that Tyler decided his team deserved a break. The adrenaline, the sleepless nights, the constant state of readiness—they needed a holiday from the storms, if only for a little while. The rest of the crew scattered to their own respites, but Javi and Kate chose to stay with Tyler, curious about his plans.

The three of them piled into Tyler’s truck, a rugged beast of a vehicle that had weathered countless storms. As the tires crunched over gravel and onto the open road, Kate glanced over at Tyler, who was focused on the horizon, his eyes alight with a spark that was hard to ignore.

"Where are we going, Tyler?" she asked, a hint of curiosity in her voice.

Tyler's lips curled into a mysterious smile. "I want you to meet my family."

Javi, sitting in the back seat, leaned forward. "Like your mom and brother or something?" he asked.

Tyler chuckled, shaking his head. "Something better."

They drove for hours, the landscape changing from the bustling outskirts of the city to the serene vastness of the countryside. The sky, which had been clear and calm, began to change, dark clouds rolling in from the distance. It was a sight all too familiar to the trio, but this time, there was no urgency, no race against time. They were simply observers.

Eventually, Tyler turned off the main road, guiding the truck down a narrow path that led to a quaint, rustic bar. The sign above the entrance read "The Tipsy," and it depicted a tornado with two people dancing inside it.

Javi raised an eyebrow as he read the sign. "What are we doing here?"

Tyler smiled enigmatically. "You'll have to wait and find out."

He led them inside, the wooden door creaking as they entered. The interior was warm and inviting, with low lighting casting a cozy glow over the patrons scattered around the bar. A jukebox played soft country tunes in the corner, and the air was thick with the scent of aged wood and beer.

Tyler guided them to a booth near the back, the plush seats a welcome comfort after their long drive. As they settled in, Tyler glanced around the room, his expression one of contentment and nostalgia.

Kate looked at him expectantly. "So, what’s the big surprise?"

Tyler leaned back, a playful glint in his eye. "Just wait. It’ll be worth it."

Tyler’s eyes perked up from the booth, drawing the attention of Javi and Kate. They followed his gaze and noticed a beautiful woman behind the bar. She was effortlessly juggling bottles with perfection, her cowboy hat slightly tilted, her white tank top and jeans hugging her figure, and a pair of worn cowboy boots completing her look. Despite the bar being loud and overcrowded, it was clear who had captured Tyler's attention.

With a blink of an eye, she noticed him too. Her hands paused mid-juggle, and she delicately slammed a rag onto the bar before setting the bottles down. She made her way over to their booth, her expression a mix of surprise and something unreadable.

Tyler quickly smirked at her, the familiar gesture laden with unspoken words.

"You're finally here to see your son," she said, her voice carrying over the din of the bar, stunning both Kate and Javi into silence.

Tyler leaned back, his smirk unfaltering. "Javi, Kate, this is—"

"Your wife?" Kate interrupted, her voice a mixture of disbelief and curiosity.

The woman cut him off coldly. "I left you."

Tyler's smirk hardened slightly. "You threw a shoe and your rings at me. You never signed any papers."

A tense silence hung in the air, the lively noise of the bar feeling oddly distant as Kate and Javi exchanged bewildered looks. The woman’s eyes flashed with something fiery and unresolved, and Tyler’s demeanour remained unyielding, the confrontation a clear indication of a long-standing, complex history.

"This is YN," Tyler finally said, his voice softer but firm. "She’s my wife."

"Ex-wife," YN corrected, though her voice lacked the finality the words should have carried.

The revelation settled over Javi and Kate like a storm cloud, both of them struggling to process this unexpected twist. The woman standing before them was more than just a bartender; she was a pivotal piece of Tyler’s life that he had kept hidden until now.

"Well," Javi said, breaking the silence with a forced chuckle, "this just got interesting."

Kate nodded, her gaze flicking between Tyler and YN, trying to piece together the story that lay between them.

Tyler held YN’s gaze, his eyes conveying a mix of regret and determination. "I’m here now. We’ve got things to talk about."

YN crossed her arms, her expression unreadable. "I’m going to get Noah," she said, turning sharply on her heel and heading toward the back of the bar.

Tyler watched her go, his face softening as he turned back to Kate and Javi. "I wanted you guys to meet my family."

Kate opened her mouth to speak, but the words seemed to escape her. Javi simply shook his head, still trying to process the unexpected turn of events.

The tension was palpable, but beneath it all was a thread of something more—an unfinished story, a connection that hadn’t yet been severed, no matter how frayed it had become.

As the noise of the bar began to filter back in, the dynamic between the four of them had shifted irrevocably. The past had resurfaced, bringing with it questions, emotions, and unresolved conflicts that would need to be addressed.

The noise of the bar buzzed around them, but Tyler, Javi, and Kate were lost in their own thoughts, processing the revelation and the tension that had just unfolded. Moments later, the door to the back of the bar swung open, and a small figure came running out.

Seven-year-old Noah, with tousled hair and bright eyes, darted through the crowd. His face lit up with pure joy and disbelief as he spotted Tyler. "Dad!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the noise.

Tyler’s eyes softened, and he stood up just in time to catch Noah as he launched himself into his arms. Tyler engulfed his son in a big hug, lifting him off the ground as he held him tightly. The boy’s arms wrapped around his father’s neck, holding on as if he were afraid to let go.

"I can't believe you're here, Dad!" Noah exclaimed, his voice muffled against Tyler’s shoulder. He pulled back just enough to look at his father’s face, his eyes wide with happiness and surprise.

Tyler chuckled, ruffling Noah’s hair. "Of course I’m here, buddy. I’ve missed you."

Javi and Kate watched the reunion with a mix of emotions, their earlier confusion and tension melting away in the face of Noah's obvious delight. Kate’s eyes misted over as she saw the unfiltered joy on Noah’s face, while Javi couldn’t help but smile at the touching scene.

Noah glanced over at Javi and Kate, his curiosity piqued. "Who are they, Dad?" he asked, still clinging to Tyler.

Tyler gently set Noah down, keeping a hand on his shoulder. "These are my friends, Javi and Kate. They’re like family to me."

Noah looked at them with wide eyes, a shy smile spreading across his face. "Hi," he said softly.

"Hey, Noah," Javi said warmly, giving a little wave. "Nice to meet you, buddy."

Kate crouched down to Noah’s level, her smile gentle and reassuring. "Hi, Noah. It’s great to meet you."

Noah beamed at that, clearly pleased. He looked back up at Tyler, his face serious for a moment. "Are you staying this time, Dad?"

Tyler’s expression grew solemn as he met his son’s gaze. "I’m here now, Noah. We’ve got a lot to talk about, but I promise I’m not going anywhere."

From the bar, YN watched the reunion with a mix of emotions, her hands resting on her hips. The sight of Noah so happy to see his father softened her stern demeanour, though there was still a guarded look in her eyes.

"Why don’t we all sit down and catch up?" Tyler suggested, his voice gentle as he glanced at YN.

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. But remember, this doesn’t change anything," she said, though the edge in her voice was less sharp than before.

The initial excitement of the reunion began to settle, and Tyler looked at YN with a mix of hope and determination. "We’re down here for a week," he said, his voice steady. "Would it be alright if I took Noah to stay with me?"

YN’s eyes narrowed slightly, her protective instincts kicking in. "Stay with you? In some lousy motel room?" she asked, her tone dripping with scepticism.

Javi and Kate exchanged glances, noting how Noah seemed accustomed to his parents' tension. He watched the exchange quietly, his small hands clutching the edge of the table.

Tyler sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don’t have anywhere else to bring him for the night," he admitted.

Noah looked up at his mom, his eyes wide and pleading. "Please, Mom. Can Dad and his friends stay with us?"

YN hesitated, her eyes softening as she looked at her son. "Noah, you have your big soccer camp in a different state tomorrow," she reminded him, her voice gentle but firm.

Tyler's eyes widened in surprise. "Soccer camp? I didn’t know you played soccer, buddy."

YN’s expression hardened again, her eyes flashing with irritation. "If you’d been around, you’d know," she snapped.

A moment of heavy silence passed between them before YN sighed, her shoulders relaxing slightly. "Fine," she said, her tone resigned. "You can stay at the house for the week. But I’m serious, Tyler—if you touch anything, I’ll cut your balls off."

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a set of keys, handing them to Tyler. "I’ve got to wrap up here. I’ll be home soon."

Tyler took the keys, his expression a mixture of relief and gratitude. "Thanks, YN. I promise we’ll be respectful."

Noah's face lit up with a smile, and he hugged his mom tightly. "Thank you, Mom!"

YN’s stern expression softened as she hugged Noah back, brushing a hand through his hair. "Go on, get your stuff together. We’ll leave in a bit."

Noah nodded eagerly and dashed off toward the back of the bar, excitement evident in his every step.

Tyler turned to Javi and Kate, who were still absorbing the unexpected developments. "Looks like we have a place to stay," he said with a small smile.

Javi chuckled, shaking his head. "This is not what I expected when we set out today."

Kate nodded, a thoughtful look on her face. "No, but it’s… interesting. I think it’s good for you, Tyler."

YN glanced back at them, her expression softening slightly. "You three make yourselves comfortable. I’ll be done soon, and then we can head home."

-

As the night wore on, the bar gradually began to thin out. YN moved with practiced efficiency, announcing last call and starting to kick out the lingering patrons, both men and women, who had stayed for one last drink. The bar's noise ebbed as people shuffled out, some grumbling, others laughing, but all eventually making their way to the door.

Tyler, Javi, and Kate watched as YN’s no-nonsense approach cleared the room. She pulled down the metal protectors over the windows, the loud clanging echoing through the now quiet bar, locking them from the inside. Meanwhile, Noah sat with his dad, chattering about school and his friends, filling Tyler in on all the little details he had missed.

YN made her way around the bar, ensuring everything was locked up securely. She checked the register, wiped down the counter, and flipped off the neon lights, leaving only the dim overhead bulbs casting a soft glow over the room. Finally, she approached the booth where Tyler, Javi, Kate, and Noah sat.

"Alright, time to go," she said, her tone brisk but not unkind. She looked down at Noah, a question in her eyes. "Are you driving back with me or your dad?"

Noah glanced up at Tyler, his eyes full of hope. "Can I go with Dad, Mom? Please?"

YN hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. But you stay close to him, okay?"

Noah nodded eagerly, bouncing off the booth and grabbing his dad's hand. Tyler smiled, a wave of relief washing over him.

The group stood and followed YN to the front of the bar. She unlocked the door, the cool night air rushing in as they stepped outside. Tyler glanced back, taking in the now quiet bar with a sense of nostalgia.

YN stepped out after them, locking the door and pulling it shut with a finality that echoed in the stillness of the night. "You better take care of him," she said, her voice a mix of warning and something softer, something almost hopeful.

Tyler nodded. "I will."

She gave a small, almost imperceptible smile before turning to Noah. "I'll see you at home, kiddo. Behave for your dad, okay?"

Noah hugged her tightly. "I will, Mom. I promise."

With that, YN got into her car, the engine roaring to life as she pulled out of the parking lot. Tyler, Javi, Kate, and Noah watched her go, the taillights disappearing into the night.

Tyler looked down at Noah, who was beaming up at him. "Ready to go home, buddy?"

Noah nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! Let's go!"

As they drove through the quiet streets, the hum of the truck’s engine filled the space with a comforting rhythm. Noah, sitting in the front seat in front of Tyler and Kate, couldn’t contain his excitement. His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as he turned to Kate and Javi, eager to share the details of his upcoming soccer camp.

“I can’t wait for the soccer camp tomorrow!” Noah said, his voice bubbling with excitement. “It’s gonna be so much fun!”

Kate, sitting behind him, smiled warmly. “That sounds amazing, Noah. What’s so special about this camp?”

Noah’s face lit up even more as he spoke. “It’s a big camp where lots of kids from different places come to learn new soccer skills and play games. There’s even gonna be a mini-tournament at the end!”

Javi, sitting in the backseat, leaned forward, clearly intrigued. “Wow, that sounds like a blast! Do you play a lot of soccer at school too?”

“Yeah!” Noah replied eagerly. “I’m on the school team, and we’ve been practicing a lot. This camp is going to be so cool because I’ll get to learn from really good coaches and play with kids from other schools.”

Tyler glanced at Noah, a proud smile tugging at his lips. “Sounds like you’ve been working hard. I’m really proud of you, Noah.”

Noah’s smile widened at his dad’s praise. “Thanks, Dad! And guess what? My Uncle Matt is bringing me down to the camp tomorrow afternoon.”

Javi raised an eyebrow. “Your uncle?”

“Yeah,” Noah nodded vigorously. “He’s my mom’s brother. He lives a few hours away, but he’s coming to pick me up and drive me to the camp. I haven’t seen him in ages, and he promised he’d take me for ice cream on the way.”

Kate looked impressed. “That sounds like a lot of fun. It must be nice to have family supporting you.”

Noah nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, it is! Uncle Matt always makes things fun. He even used to play soccer with Mom when they were kids.”

Tyler’s gaze softened as he listened to Noah’s excitement. “I’m glad you’re so excited about the camp.”

Noah nodded, his eyes shining with anticipation. “I am! And I’m really happy you’re here, Dad. I can’t wait to tell you all about it when I get back.”

Tyler glanced at Javi and Kate, sharing a look that conveyed both appreciation and a renewed sense of purpose. This week was more than just a break; it was a chance to reconnect with his son, to be a part of his life in a way he hadn’t been able to before.

The truck rumbled up the gravel driveway, and as the headlights illuminated the house, the group caught their first glimpse of Noah's home. It was a charming ranch-style house, with a wide, welcoming front porch that extended across the front. The house had a warm, rustic appeal, its wooden siding painted a soft, weathered beige that blended harmoniously with the surrounding landscape. The wind, which had picked up slightly, rustled through the tall grass that framed the property, adding to the serene yet lively atmosphere.

As Tyler, Kate, and Javi stepped out of the truck, they were immediately met with the enthusiastic barking of Noah’s two German Shepherds. The dogs, bounding with energy, leaped toward them, their barks echoing in the cool evening air. Their fur was sleek and shiny, and their eyes glinted with excitement as they approached.

Javi laughed, holding his hands up in a gesture of friendly surrender. “Wow, those dogs really know how to make an entrance!”

Noah, already bursting with excitement, unbuckled his seatbelt and jumped out of the truck. He raced across the driveway, his footsteps quick and light as he ran toward the porch. The dogs, recognizing him instantly, turned their attention away from the newcomers and bounded after Noah, their tails wagging furiously.

Tyler and Kate watched with smiles as Noah reached the porch and threw himself into his mother’s arms. YN, standing on the porch with a warm smile, embraced Noah tightly, her expression softening as she held him close. The sight of the mother and son reunion was heart-warming, a clear sign of the strong bond they shared despite the complications.

Kate nudged Tyler gently, a playful glint in her eyes. “You know, the resemblance really proves Noah is definitely your child. Look at him, he’s got your energy.”

Tyler chuckled, a hint of pride in his voice. “Yeah, I guess he does.”

As YN set Noah down, she looked up and offered a polite nod to Kate and Javi, her demeanour shifting to one of friendly hospitality. “Welcome to our home, Kate, Javi. It’s good to have you here.”

“Thanks for having us,” Kate replied warmly, returning YN’s smile. “Your place is beautiful.”

“Yeah, thanks for letting us stay,” Javi added, his tone appreciative.

YN's smile faded slightly as her gaze shifted to Tyler, her expression turning cold. “Let’s get your bags inside,” she said, her tone losing its warmth. “I’ll show you to the guest rooms.”

Tyler, feeling the chill in her voice, nodded. “Thanks, YN.”

They began unloading their bags from the truck, the dogs playfully nipping at their heels. The house, with its wide front porch and sprawling lawn, had a comfortable, lived-in feel. It was a stark contrast to the bustling city and the more impersonal surroundings Tyler was used to.

Once the bags were all gathered, they followed YN and Noah into the house. The interior was cozy, with warm wooden floors, rustic furniture, and an inviting atmosphere. YN led them through the front door, and the scent of home-cooked meals and fresh pine greeted them.

Noah, holding onto his mom’s hand, turned to Tyler with a big smile. “Come on, Dad! I want to show you my room!”

YN’s expression softened as she looked at her son’s excitement but remained cool towards Tyler. “Alright, Noah. Let’s get your dad and his friends settled first.”

She led them down a hallway, pointing out rooms as they went. “Kate, Javi, you’ll be in here,” she said, opening the door to a charming guest room. “There are fresh towels in the closet and extra blankets if you need them.”

“Thank you,” Kate said, her smile appreciative. Javi nodded in agreement, taking in the room with a grateful glance.

YN then turned to Tyler, her demeanour growing even colder. “Tyler, you’ll be in this room,” she said, opening the door to a smaller but comfortable room. “If you need anything, just ask.”

Tyler placed his bag inside, feeling the weight of the tension between them. “Thanks, YN,” he said quietly.

YN didn’t respond immediately, instead turning her attention to Noah. “Noah, why don’t you show your dad around while I finish up a few things?”

Noah nodded eagerly, grabbing Tyler’s hand. “Come on, Dad! I can’t wait to show you everything!”

Tyler allowed himself to be led down the hall, feeling a mix of hope and trepidation. As he looked back, he saw YN watching them, her expression a complicated mix of emotions.

-

The late evening had settled into a calm, quiet stillness, the only sounds being the gentle creaking of the old ranch house and the occasional rustle of leaves outside. After a full day, Tyler had just put Noah to bed, reading him a story and watching as his son’s eyes grew heavy with sleep. Satisfied that Noah was comfortably settled, he quietly exited the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Down the hall, the dim light of the kitchen spilled into the hallway, casting a warm, subdued glow. Tyler walked towards it, curious. As he reached the kitchen, he saw YN packing a bag on the table, her movements deliberate and methodical. She was gathering Noah’s football boots, kit, and other essentials, making sure everything was in place for the big soccer camp.

YN didn’t notice Tyler at first, her focus entirely on her task. The soft light highlighted the determined set of her jaw and the slight furrow of concentration on her brow. Tyler stood at the threshold for a moment, taking in the scene, before he cleared his throat gently to announce his presence.

YN looked up, her expression unreadable in the dim light. “He’s asleep?” she asked, her voice steady but quiet.

Tyler nodded, stepping into the kitchen. “Yeah, he’s out like a light. I read him one of his favourite stories.”

YN gave a small, almost imperceptible nod and continued packing. “He always loved bedtime stories. Especially the ones about tornadoes.”

Tyler watched her for a moment, then spoke softly. “You’re packing his bag for the camp?”

“Yes,” YN replied curtly, not looking up. “He’s got a lot to take with him, and I want to make sure he has everything he needs or more.”

Tyler moved a little closer, his gaze following her hands as she carefully folded Noah’s kit and placed it into the bag. “Can I help?”

YN paused, her hands still for a moment, then she sighed softly. “Sure. You can check if his water bottle is in the fridge. He’ll need that filled and ready.”

Tyler nodded, grateful for even this small opportunity to assist. He walked over to the fridge, retrieving the water bottle and filling it at the sink. The silence between them was thick, filled with unspoken words and lingering tension.

After a few moments, Tyler spoke again. “He’s really excited about this camp. It’s all he talked about on the drive here.”

YN’s hands stilled again, and she looked up, her eyes meeting his. “He’s been looking forward to it for months. It’s a big deal for him.”

Tyler nodded, feeling the weight of her words. “I’m glad he has something like this. He’s a great kid.”

“Yes, he is,” YN agreed, her voice softening slightly.

Tyler set the filled water bottle on the table and, in a sudden impulse, stepped closer to YN, wrapping his arms around her waist. She jerked back, startled, and pushed him away, her eyes flashing with a mix of surprise and anger.

“Tyler, we can’t do this every time you’re here,” she said, her voice firm and edged with frustration. “We act all happy, kiss, fuck, and then you leave. I won’t allow that.”

But as Tyler’s eyes locked onto hers, filled with a longing that mirrored her own buried emotions, he wrapped his hand gently around her neck and pulled her closer. His lips met hers in a deep, passionate kiss, pressing her against the table. YN resisted for a moment, her hands on his chest ready to push him away, but then she caved, her defences crumbling as the kiss deepened.

The world outside the kitchen seemed to disappear as they lost themselves in the moment. The kiss was filled with unspoken words, regrets, and a raw, undeniable connection that neither could ignore. Tyler’s hand slid from her neck to the small of her back, pulling her even closer, while YN’s hands slowly moved up to tangle in his hair.

Finally, they broke apart, both breathing heavily, the intensity of the moment hanging in the air between them. YN looked into Tyler’s eyes, a mix of anger, longing, and vulnerability in her gaze.

“This doesn’t change anything,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. “You still have a lot to prove.”

“I know,” Tyler replied, his voice equally soft but resolute. “And I will. I promise.”

YN took a deep breath, stepping back and smoothing her hair. “We should finish packing. Noah needs to be ready for tomorrow.”

Tyler nodded, a small, hopeful smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, let’s finish up.”

YN finished packing the bag, zipping it closed with a final, decisive motion. She straightened up, looking at Tyler with a mix of determination and lingering hurt. “Just don’t disappoint him, Tyler. You had let down enough.”

Tyler swallowed, the weight of her words settling heavily on his shoulders. “I won’t,” he promised. “I’ll do everything I can to be the father he deserves.”

YN nodded, a slight, weary smile touching her lips. “Good night, Tyler.”

“Good night, YN,” he replied, watching as she turned and left the kitchen, the dim light casting long shadows behind her.

-

The next morning, the ranch was bathed in the soft, golden light of dawn. Birds chirped in the trees, and a gentle breeze rustled through the leaves, creating a peaceful atmosphere. The tranquillity was occasionally punctuated by the sounds of preparation, as YN and her brother Matt stood by his truck, loading up Noah’s bag for the soccer camp.

Noah, bouncing with excitement, was saying his goodbyes to Tyler, Kate, and Javi. He hugged Kate and Javi, thanking them for their visit, before turning to his father. Tyler knelt down to Noah’s level, wrapping his son in a big hug.

“Have a great time at camp, buddy,” Tyler said, ruffling Noah’s hair. “I’m really proud of you.”

Tyler replied with a smile. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

Noah nodded, then ran over to where Matt was loading the last of his gear into the truck. Matt, a tall, sturdy man with an easy-going demeanour, lifted Noah’s bag effortlessly and placed it in the back of the truck. He gave his nephew a high-five before turning to his sister.

As Noah clambered into the truck, Matt leaned closer to YN, his expression curious. “Did y’all fuck again?” he asked, his tone genuine and slightly teasing.

YN’s eyes widened, and she quickly elbowed him in the ribs. “No,” she hissed, glancing around to make sure no one else heard. “God, Matt, why would you ask that?”

Matt rubbed his side, a smirk playing at his lips. “Just curious. You had that look in your eye this morning.”

“What look?” YN shot back, her voice low but sharp.

“The one that says you’re all conflicted and worked up,” Matt replied, his tone softening slightly. “Just concerned about you.”

YN sighed, her shoulders slumping a bit. “It’s complicated, Matt. But no, nothing happened. We’re just trying to figure things out for Noah’s sake.”

Matt nodded, his expression turning serious. “I get it. Just make sure you’re taking care of yourself too, okay?”

“I will,” YN promised, giving her brother a grateful smile. “Thanks, Matt.”

Tyler walked over to join them, his gaze shifting between YN and Matt. “Everything set?” he asked, trying to keep his tone casual.

“Yeah, we’re all good,” Matt replied, giving Tyler a nod. “Noah’s ready to go.”

Noah popped his head out of the truck, waving enthusiastically. “Bye, Dad! Bye, Kate! Bye, Javi! See you soon!”

“Bye, Noah!” Kate and Javi called back, waving.

Tyler smiled and waved, his heart swelling with pride and a tinge of sadness. “Bye, Noah. Have fun, and listen to your uncle, okay?”

“I will!” Noah shouted back, his excitement evident.

With everything in place, Matt climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine. YN gave Noah one last hug and a kiss on the forehead before stepping back.

After watching the truck disappear down the road, YN and Tyler turned back toward the house. As they walked, the silence between them was heavy but not uncomfortable. They reached the front porch where Javi and Kate were waiting, enjoying the fresh morning air.

YN gave them a warm smile. “So, are you two as madly obsessed with tornadoes as Tyler?” she asked, her tone playful but genuinely curious.

Javi chuckled, exchanging a glance with Kate. “Pretty much. It’s kind of hard not to be when you’re around him.”

Kate nodded, grinning. “Yeah, it’s definitely infectious. Tyler’s passion rubs off on everyone.”

YN’s smile widened a bit, and she motioned for them to follow her. “Well, come with me. I want to show you something.”

Curious, Javi and Kate followed YN, with Tyler trailing slightly behind. She led them across the yard to a large shed. As she opened the door, they stepped inside and were immediately struck by the sight of a whiteboard covered with detailed tornado studies, including diagrams, photographs, and various notes. The walls were lined with shelves full of meteorological instruments and equipment.

“Wow,” Kate breathed, her eyes wide with amazement. “This is incredible.”

Tyler stepped forward, a nostalgic smile playing on his lips. “YN used to chase tornadoes with me when we became married. She was just as passionate about it as I was.”

YN turned to face them, her expression a mixture of pride and practicality. “Yeah, I was. We made a great team, tracking storms and gathering data. But after I had Noah, things changed. Babies are expensive, and I needed a real job to support us.”

Her gaze shifted to Tyler, a hint of tension in her eyes. “Tornado chasing doesn’t exactly pay the bills.”

Javi and Kate listened, sensing the complexity of YN’s feelings. Javi stepped closer to the whiteboard, studying the detailed notes and diagrams. “You really know your stuff. It’s clear you were—and still are—a huge asset in the field.”

YN’s expression softened, appreciating the acknowledgment. “Thank you. I still follow the research and keep up with the latest developments. It’s hard to let go completely.”

Kate nodded, glancing between YN and Tyler. “It must have been amazing to chase storms together. But I understand why you had to make that choice.”

YN smiled gently, a mix of gratitude and bittersweet memories in her eyes. “It was amazing. And I don’t regret any of it. But priorities change, and I had to put Noah first.”

YN cleared her throat, drawing everyone’s attention back to the whiteboard. She pointed to a specific section filled with charts, graphs, and a detailed map marked with various weather patterns and historical data.

“Based on the latest alerts and previous occurrences, there’s a high probability that a tornado might strike today,” YN explained, her voice steady and professional. “The conditions are almost identical to past events that resulted in tornadoes in this area.”

Javi and Kate leaned in closer, examining the data with keen interest. Tyler’s eyes narrowed as he followed YN’s explanation, his mind already shifting into storm-chaser mode.

“I’ve been monitoring the weather patterns all week,” YN continued. “And everything indicates that we’re due for some severe weather today. The wind shear, humidity, and temperature changes are all pointing towards a potential tornado formation.”

Kate glanced at YN, impressed. “You really haven’t lost your touch, YN. This is some detailed analysis.”

YN smiled modestly. “Thanks. It’s hard to shake off old habits.”

As they looked out the window of the shed, they noticed the wind beginning to pick up. The leaves on the trees rustled vigorously, and the sky had taken on a slightly ominous hue, with dark clouds gathering in the distance.

Tyler stepped closer to the window, his instincts kicking in. “You’re right. The wind’s starting to stir up. We need to be prepared.”

YN nodded, her expression serious. “We need to keep a close eye on the weather reports and be ready to take cover if necessary. This area is no stranger to tornadoes, and we’ve got to stay vigilant.”

Javi turned to Tyler, his excitement barely contained. “Should we gear up and get the equipment ready? If a tornado does form, we’ll want to be ready to gather data.”

Tyler hesitated, glancing at YN. “What do you think? We don’t want to put anyone at risk.”

YN considered for a moment, then nodded. “We can set up some basic monitoring equipment around the property, but safety comes first. We’ll stay close to the house and make sure we have a safe place to take cover if things get serious.”

Kate started jotting down notes, already planning the setup. “We’ll need to monitor wind speeds, humidity levels, and temperature changes. I’ll get the anemometers and barometers from the truck.”

As they worked together to prepare, the tension in the air grew. The wind outside continued to pick up, whipping through the trees and sending small debris skittering across the yard. Dark clouds loomed overhead, casting an eerie shadow over the landscape.

Tyler turned to YN, his expression a mix of determination and concern. “YN, would you want to go chasing tornadoes again? Just like old times?”

YN paused, the question hanging in the air. She looked at Tyler, a swirl of emotions in her eyes. “Are you serious?”

Tyler nodded. “Yeah. It’s been a long time, and I miss having you out there with me. Besides, with the conditions today, we could really use your expertise.”

YN looked out the window, the wind howling louder now. Her passion for storm chasing still burned bright, and the thought of getting back out there, even just for a day, was tempting. She turned back to Tyler, a determined smile forming on her lips. “Alright. Let’s do it. But we stay safe, and we stay smart but I bet that's hard for you.”

Tyler’s face lit up with a mix of relief and excitement. “Deal.”

YN and Tyler sprinted toward his truck. The wind was picking up rapidly, whipping their hair and clothes as they ran. Tyler reached the truck first, yanking open the back and checking the equipment. Barrels, sensors, and cameras were all securely fastened, ready for deployment.

“We’re good to go!” Tyler shouted over the roar of the wind, giving YN a thumbs-up.

YN nodded, her heart pounding with a mix of adrenaline and anticipation. “Let’s make sure everything is double-checked. We can’t afford any mistakes out there.”

Together, they quickly went through a mental checklist, ensuring every piece of equipment was in place and ready for action. Meanwhile, Kate and Javi were hustling to pack up the radars and additional monitoring gear. They worked with practiced efficiency, their movements swift and precise.

“Radars are set!” Kate called out as she slammed the tailgate of their support vehicle shut.

Javi gave a quick nod, securing the last of the equipment. “We’re ready. Let’s get moving before this thing really kicks off.”

The group piled into Tyler’s truck, the atmosphere inside charged with excitement and urgency. Tyler took the driver’s seat, YN sliding in beside him. Javi and Kate squeezed into the back, their eyes scanning the horizon for any signs of the impending storm.

As they pulled out of the driveway, the wind was already strong enough to rock the truck slightly. Dark, menacing clouds swirled above, casting an eerie shadow over the landscape. Tyler kept one hand on the wheel, the other adjusting the radio to the local weather station for updates.

“We need to get to the very center of it,” YN said, her voice steady but filled with determination. “That’s where we’ll get the most accurate data.”

Tyler nodded, his eyes focused on the road ahead. “We’ll head west. That’s where the reports are indicating the strongest activity. Everyone, keep your eyes peeled.”

The truck sped down the rural roads, the wind howling louder with each passing minute. Leaves and small branches were whipped into the air, and the sky grew darker, an ominous prelude to the storm’s fury.

Kate leaned forward from the back seat, her voice tense but excited. “I’m picking up increased rotation on the radar. It’s definitely forming.”

Javi was already setting up the portable radar unit, his fingers flying over the controls. “We’ve got about ten minutes before it hits full force. We need to find a safe spot to deploy the barrels.”

Tyler pushed the truck harder, his foot pressing the accelerator to the floor. “We’re almost there. Everyone, get ready.”

They arrived at an open field, a perfect spot to launch their equipment without any obstructions. Tyler brought the truck to a screeching halt, and they all jumped out, working quickly to unload the barrels and sensors. The wind whipped around them, making every movement a struggle.

“Set the barrels here!” YN shouted, pointing to strategic spots around the field. “We need a wide spread to get the best data.”

They worked in synchrony, years of experience guiding their actions. Barrels were placed, sensors activated, and cameras positioned to capture every angle of the storm’s development. The wind was now almost deafening, the first drops of rain starting to pelt down.

“Okay, everything’s in place!” Javi yelled, his voice barely audible over the howling wind.

Tyler gave a final check, ensuring everything was secure. “Back in the truck, now! We need to move to a safe distance.”

They scrambled back into the truck, slamming the doors shut against the force of the wind. Tyler drove them a short distance away, finding a spot where they could monitor the barrels and sensors without being in immediate danger.

Inside the truck, the tension was palpable. They watched as the storm continued to build, the radar showing increasing rotation and intensity.

“Here it comes,” YN said quietly, her eyes glued to the horizon. “Get ready, everyone.”

As they turned the truck around to face the direction they had come from, the tornado materialized in full force. It was a monstrous, swirling vortex, far stronger and more violent than any of them had anticipated. The sheer power of it took their breath away, and for a moment, there was stunned silence inside the truck.

"Tyler, hit the gas!" Javi screamed, breaking the spell as the tornado surged closer, the wind howling louder than ever.

Kate clutched the seat in front of her, eyes wide with terror. "Go, go, go! It's coming right at us!"

Tyler didn’t need to be told twice. He slammed his foot down on the accelerator, and the truck lurched forward with a roar, tires spinning for a moment before gaining traction. The engine roared as they sped away from the impending doom.

YN gripped the dashboard, her knuckles white. “Drive into town! We need to get to the shelter!” she yelled, her voice barely audible over the deafening noise of the storm and the wail of the tornado sirens that had just started blaring in the distance.

Tyler's eyes were locked on the road, his focus razor-sharp as he maneuverer the truck through the increasingly treacherous conditions. Debris flew through the air, and the rain was coming down in blinding sheets, making visibility almost zero. He squinted through the windshield, barely making out the shapes of trees and houses as they sped past.

The wind buffeted the truck from side to side, each gust threatening to push them off the road. Javi and Kate huddled in the back, gripping whatever they could to steady themselves. The tension was palpable, fear mixing with adrenaline as they raced against nature’s fury.

“We’re almost there!” Tyler shouted, though the words were more for his own reassurance than anything else. He could see the outline of the town ahead, the familiar shapes of buildings providing a glimmer of hope.

As they barrelled into town, the sirens wailed louder, their eerie wail cutting through the chaos. People scrambled for cover, but it was clear there was no dedicated shelter nearby. The streets were filled with panic-stricken faces, families huddling together, and everyone looking desperately for a place to hide.

“There!” YN pointed towards the old cinema, its marquee flickering in the storm. “We need to get everyone inside! It’s our best shot!”

Tyler swerved towards the cinema, the truck skidding slightly on the wet pavement but maintaining control. They reached the cinema just as the tornado seemed to roar with renewed fury, the swirling winds growing even more intense.

“Everyone out! Now!” Tyler commanded, slamming the truck into park and jumping out.

They all scrambled out of the truck, running towards the entrance of the cinema. Tyler and YN threw the doors open, ushering people inside. The lobby quickly filled with a mass of frightened, drenched townspeople, their faces masks of fear and urgency.

“There’s no basement!” a man shouted, panic rising in his voice as he scanned the building.

“We’ll have to make do!” YN yelled back, trying to maintain some semblance of order. “Everyone, get to the back of the theatre! Away from the windows!”

They herded everyone into the main auditorium, the old seats creaking as people pressed in tightly. The walls shuddered with each gust of wind, and the overhead lights flickered ominously. Tyler, YN, Javi, and Kate took positions by the doors, doing their best to calm the panicked crowd.

“Keep away from the doors and windows!” Tyler shouted, trying to be heard over the growing cacophony. “Get down and cover your heads!”

The wind outside was deafening, a relentless howl that seemed to penetrate the very walls of the cinema. The roof groaned under the pressure, and with a horrifying screech, a section of it began to peel away. Dust and debris rained down, and the crowd screamed in terror.

“Stay calm!” YN tried to shout, her voice nearly drowned out. She grabbed a young mother clutching her child and guided them to the relative safety of the aisle. “Stay low and cover your heads!”

Tyler ran to the centre of the auditorium, his voice strong and commanding. “Everyone, stay together! We’ll get through this!”

Javi and Kate moved through the crowd, helping to calm people and keep them as safe as possible. But the noise was overwhelming, and the fear was palpable. The building shuddered violently as another section of the roof began to rip away, exposing them to the fury of the storm.

A fierce wind gust whipped through the open space, sending papers and loose objects flying. The sound was like a freight train bearing down on them, and the temperature seemed to drop as the tornado closed in.

Tyler grabbed YN’s hand, his eyes locking onto hers with a mixture of determination and fear. “We need to hold on. We’ve faced worse before.”

YN nodded, squeezing his hand back.

Suddenly, the main doors blew open, the wind slamming them against the walls. People screamed as the full force of the storm invaded the theatre. Tyler and YN ran to secure the doors, but the wind was too strong, making it nearly impossible.

“Get back!” Javi shouted, pulling them away just as another piece of the roof tore off, sending debris raining down.

They retreated to the back of the theatre, joining the huddled mass of townspeople. YN shielded a young girl with her body, while Tyler did the same for an elderly couple. The wind roared, and the structure of the building groaned as if it might collapse at any moment.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the wind seemed to lose some of its ferocity. The howling diminished to a deafening roar, and the debris stopped flying. The eye of the storm passed over them, giving a brief respite.

Tyler looked up, panting. “We need to move. If we’re in the eye, the other side of the tornado will hit soon. We need to find a more secure spot.”

YN nodded, urgency in her eyes. “Everyone, stay close! We need to move quickly and find better cover!”

But before they could organize the next move, the wind picked up again, signalling the approach of the tornado’s second half. The noise returned, louder than before, and the remaining sections of the roof began to buckle.

“Hold on to something!” Kate screamed, gripping a nearby seat.

The storm’s fury was unrelenting, the howling wind now a deafening roar that consumed everything. Inside the theatre, the panicked crowd clung desperately to the metal railings that lined the aisles, their white-knuckled grips their only anchor against the tornado’s immense force.

“Hold on tight!” Tyler shouted, his voice barely audible over the cacophony. He braced himself against the railing, his other arm wrapped protectively around YN.

Debris swirled through the air, and the theatre's walls creaked ominously. A sudden gust of wind tore through the room, lifting seats and sending smaller objects flying. A few unfortunate souls lost their grip and were swept away, their screams lost in the maelstrom.

YN’s fingers were slipping on the railing, the sweat and dust making it nearly impossible to hold on. “Tyler!” she cried out, her voice filled with fear as she felt her grip weakening.

Tyler’s heart pounded in his chest as he saw YN’s desperate struggle. He reached out, his hand closing around her wrist just as her fingers slipped free. “I’ve got you!” he yelled, his voice a mix of determination and fear.

The wind howled with renewed ferocity, and Tyler tightened his grip, pulling YN closer. She clung to him, her body trembling with the effort to stay grounded. Around them, the chaos continued, people holding on for dear life as the storm battered the theatre.

A particularly strong gust rocked the building, and Tyler felt his own hold on the railing waver. He gritted his teeth, using every ounce of strength to keep both himself and YN anchored. “Don’t let go!” he shouted, his voice raw with strain.

YN’s eyes met his, wide with fear but also filled with trust. “I won’t,” she promised, her voice barely more than a whisper.

As the storm raged on, the moments stretched into what felt like an eternity. Tyler could feel his muscles burning, every tendon straining to keep his grip. He glanced around, seeing Javi and Kate nearby, their faces set with grim determination as they held on.

“Hold tight, everyone!” Kate screamed, her voice cutting through the noise. “We’re almost through this!”

The theatre's structure groaned under the pressure, the walls and ceiling shaking as the tornado’s full force bore down on them. The wind was a relentless beast, tugging at everything in its path. Tyler’s grip tightened on YN’s wrist, his other hand aching from holding onto the railing.

Suddenly, a piece of the ceiling gave way, crashing down with a deafening noise. Dust and debris filled the air, and for a moment, it was impossible to see or breathe. Tyler coughed, his eyes stinging, but he didn’t loosen his grip.

“Stay with me, YN!” he shouted, his voice hoarse.

“I’m here!” she responded, her voice strong despite the fear.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the wind began to subside. The roar of the tornado faded to a distant howl, and the violent shaking of the building eased. The storm was passing, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake.

Tyler took a deep, shaky breath, his muscles screaming in protest as he slowly released his grip on the railing. He pulled YN into a tight embrace, relief flooding through him. “We made it,” he whispered, his voice filled with exhaustion and relief.

YN clung to him, her body trembling with the aftershocks of fear and adrenaline. “Thank you,” she whispered back, her voice choked with emotion.

Without thinking, driven by an overwhelming surge of emotion, Tyler cupped YN’s face in his hands and kissed her deeply. It was a kiss filled with relief, love, and a promise of never letting go. The world around them seemed to fade, leaving just the two of them in that moment.

YN responded instantly, her arms wrapping around his neck as she kissed him back with equal fervour. Tears mixed with the dirt on her face, but she didn’t care. All that mattered was that they were together, alive, and safe.

When they finally broke apart, YN looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears. “Tyler, please,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “Never leave me again. Please.”

Tyler rested his forehead against hers, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “I won’t,” he promised, his voice filled with sincerity. “I’ll never leave you again, YN. I swear it.”

They held each other tightly, the chaos around them fading into the background as they found solace in each other’s arms. The bond that had once been strained was now reinforced by the shared trauma and the depth of their love.

Javi and Kate staggered over, their faces pale but relieved. “Is everyone okay?” Javi asked, his voice rough from the dust and strain.

Tyler nodded, still holding YN close. “We’re okay. We’re all okay.”

Kate glanced around the devastated theatre, her eyes wide with disbelief. “That was… I’ve never seen anything like it.”

YN pulled back slightly from Tyler, her hand still holding his. “We need to make sure everyone’s accounted for and get the injured some help.”

Tyler nodded, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Right. Let’s do a headcount and see who needs assistance.”

Together, they moved through the theatre, helping those who had been thrown by the wind and checking on the injured. The sense of community and shared survival was palpable, everyone working together to ensure that no one was left behind.

As they helped an elderly couple to their feet, YN glanced at Tyler, her eyes still filled with emotion. “We’ve faced worse storms, but this… this was different.”

Tyler squeezed her hand, offering a small, encouraging smile. "Please let me back to you guys, nearly losing you there hurt me more than leaving you all those years back."

...

Requests are open!

Tagging:

@senawashere

@saviorcomplexrry

@cevansbaby-dove

@saynotononsense

@missdottie

@willowisp7

@taorislover94

@eloquenceinpurple

@86laura11

[angel-sweets666]

how t some of the bakusquad boys initiate 👀

Bakugo katsuki x reader, eijiro kirishima x reader, Denki kaminari x reader

warnings: mentions of sex, more sexual stuff. No real sex tho Dw reader is mentioned to have a pussy but that’s the one gender mention

sorry I didn’t write sero I don’t have a good idea on his character

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

ALL AGED UP TO 18 AND IN 3RD YEAR

Katsuki bakugo

Bakugo either starts off subtly or straight up, no In between. He’s especially rough when he’s had a bad day

you roll over onto your side, typing to Mina about drama from class 3B (1B)When bakugo bursts open the door and slams it closed, practically making the door frame shake. “Had a bad day?” You asked him, still distracted on your phone and tapping away. Bakugo lets out a groan “I FUCKING-“ “inside voice.” You interrupted “I had a fucking ass day.” He still yelled as he threw his hero shirt and mask onto the floor, stomping over to you in bed. You peered over your shoulder and looked him up and down, noticing how dirty his boots are “bakugo take your boots off! Your filthy!!” You sat up and looked him up and down again. the blonde rolls his eyes and takes off his black and orange dirt stained boots, chucking them to the door. “There, better?” He grumbled, climbing into bed with you. “Yeah.. that’s better” you said as you rolled onto your back, bakugo sat up and pulled your legs apart and laying down on your chest. You could feel his length begin to grow harder and harder underneath you, he sat up and slowly began to rock his hips against yours. “shit- can we fuck?”

eijiro kirishima

sweet boy asks, and he’s so polite about it too! He wants to be a chivalrous hero and a great boyfriend in general to you. So of course he asks so politely:(((

you were washing some dishes in the common room, you and tsu had some noodles for lunch and you were just cleaning up the bowls from the food. Humming and dancing to yourself, kirishima watched from afar. You looked so pretty when you were happy like that, how could he not wanna fuck you? As you put away the last fork you suddenly felt a pair of very strong and solid arms wrap around you “hi baby!” You giggle and kiss his cheek, kirishima gives you a toothy grin and kisses your neck gently “hey sweetheart.. you look so pretty today” he tells you as he rubs your size “you wouldn’t possibly be in the mood would you?” He asks with his cheeks turning red “are you asking for sex?” You grinned to him and he nodded “yeah alright baby cmon”

Denki kaminari

My bro begs, like HE BEGS And not in a cute little submissive way I’m talking like really annoying “PLEASEEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE” while on his knees shuffling around to follow you

You were busy trying to clean out your dorm, preparing for graduation in the next few weeks. The task was already challenging, but it became nearly impossible with an electric blonde following you around on his knees, begging for you to let him fuck you

“PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE, ILL BE QUICK!”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore him as you sorted through a pile of textbooks. "Denki, I really need to get this done. Graduation is right around the corner, and I can't leave my dorm looking like a disaster zone." He shuffled closer, still on his knees, and clasped his hands together dramatically. "But I need you more than your dorm does!” You turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow “oh really?” You leaned your weight to one hip, Denki rolled his eyes then stood up, mild carpet burn on his knees from following you around “BRO YES? YOUVE GOT LIKE, A 10/10 PU-” “ DONT DAY THAT SO LOUD!” You covered his mouth then sighed “you know what… I could use the break” denkis face lit up “so… I can fuck you?” He asked with his face practically glowing as you nodded

I said I’d tag u next time I wrote for Denki kaminari so here! I hope it was as accurate as last time @b0o0o

[pseudowho]

As usual, I have no one to talk about this but... Have you seen those "mom instincts are cool, but let's talk about dad reflexes for a sec" vids???

Kento with dad reflexes? (Pretty sure he already has it when he's single or even in canon when Yuji is accompanying him in missions lmao)

I'm just in my bed giggling, kicking my feet because I can imagine him having those like when his baby girl would trip and he moves so FAST to catch her 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 man idk where I'm going with this it's just making me go skkdkddkdjd

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The footsteps were slow, slick, echoing-- considered. At this stage, Kento didn't know if he and Yuuji were being hunted, or if they were the hunters. He suspected both.

The mansion fell apart around them, broken pipes lazily spewing sewage and muck. Kento felt the softly yielding floorboards beneath his feet, aware that if he wasn't careful, the second floor would very quickly become the first floor and--

"Oi, Nanamin!" Bounding, youthful footsteps hopped up beside Kento, who felt and heard the repercussions up the walls, the crack in the floorboards, the imminent collapse--

With the barest flash of movement, the floor beneath Yuuji's feet was missing, and Yuuji hung by his collar in Kento's iron grip, slowly rotating in the air as floorboards rumbled away with distant clatters. Otherwise, silence. A mildly dismayed hum from Kento, as he twizzled his blade in his other hand.

"Wow, Nanamin! Good refle--"

"Please make sure I do not have to use them, Itadori-kun."

"Ah...yeah."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Curse-killing on a moving Subway train in the middle of the night wasn't the sort of overtime Kento needed...but when he heard the mission had been given to you, and you alone, he felt a sickening twist of anxiety in his gut. Not that you knew how he felt.

Kento bridled with incandescent rage, seeing you tumble down the rattling carriage, pinballing between poles and seats. Your fatal blow to this filthy Curse was not fatal quickly enough.

"Come on! It's dead, time to--" Kento's call was cut short, sensing imminent disaster as you kicked the door through on the opposite end of the carriage, and the Curse staggered into the walls, making the carriage list sideways, making you list sideways at the open door in your bullet-shot speed through this gloomy tunnel--

All at once, you felt yourself falling from the moving train, rolling and tumbling but wrapped up in something so warm that smelled so good.

You rolled to a stop, still full-body bear-hugged by Kento. You lay under him for a moment, face to chest through the torn off buttons of his shirt. He unfolded you with a soft sigh, hands and knees planted either side of your head and hips.

"Wow, Kento. Good refle--"

"Dinner, I--...we should go out for dinner."

"Oh. Like...now?"

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Daddy, watch this--"

One little blonde girl, suspended and giggling upside down, caught. Kento, sighing, holding her by her ankle by the tree she was almost certainly too small to climb.

-----------------------------

"Jump, jump, jump, jump, ju--"

A full-suited barrel-roll across the living room, a near-miss with a tiny head and a coffee table corner. The boy peered sheepishly up at his daddy, whose narrow brown eyes glowered down in silent disapproval.

"Daddy, I was jumpi--"

"Hush. Be more careful."

-----------------------------

"I'll race you--"

"No, I'm winning I'M WINNING I'M---"

A flash of movement. One little boy and one little girl, hunched over and suspended by the backs of their jeans, spinning and surprised.

Kento grunted once, loaded down with shopping bags, hooking the boot of the car up with one foot, his keys between his teeth. He spat his keys onto the seat.

A truck barrelled past, its driver certainly not looking for little people. Kento grunted again, dropping children and shopping bags.

"Do not-- I repeat, do not run in the car park."

"...sorry daddy."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

You reached out towards Kento, seeing something glimmer in the honey-blond of his hair. His hand snapped up, grasping yours reflexively round the wrist. He let go immediately, apologetic.

"Sorry, I--...rough day with the kids." You smiled, stroking his cheek, and he leaned into your soft palm, planting a kiss there. Your gaze wandered to his hair again. Kento raised an eyebrow at you.

"What?"

"You've, uhm...got a grey hair."

Silence. A moderately dismayed hum.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

I agree. Nanami Kento has dad reflexes.

-- Haitch xxx

[sunderwight]

SV AU where Shen Yuan transmigrates into a dragon.

It's not so bad, at first. He's an extremely magical sort of dragon so he can easily take on a humanoid shape, and he has dominion over an entire mountain, with a magical gate that leads to his palace. Said palace has a fully stocked treasury, a library, garden, etc, with the only real downsides being that the place is kind of huge and very difficult for a neet with limited housekeeping or landscaping skills to keep up with. The original dragon had enslaved a bunch of fairy spirits to do it for him, but since Shen Yuan has moral objections to that, he'd let them all go and they'd run off before he could even think to offer to hire any of them as paid employees instead. Not that he can blame them for being in a hurry to get gone.

He does his best, and generally enjoys being a dragon lazing on his mountain, or wandering the beauty of his palace and investigating the books and scrolls kept there. He doesn't actually seem to need to eat or drink, so that's not really an issue, and nobody looks keen to bother him. But after a few months the dust starts to really pile up, and trying to figure out how to do his own laundry without modern equipment leads to several disasters, and even though he doesn't need to eat he's starting to think it would be quite nice to have a fancy sit-down dinner and enjoy it for its own sake anyway. He has an enchanted larder but his food prep skills aren't up to much.

So, Shen Yuan ventures away from his mountain. He keeps to his human disguise when he's not traveling, and at first tries to hire on some help from a nearby city. But when he explains that he lives on the mountain, he realizes the difficulty, because everyone in the area knows that only the dragon lives there. So they all think he's either a liar or a fraud, or some servant of a nefarious supernatural creature angling to trick and possibly devour them.

Shen Yuan tries approaching another town in his dragon form, to see if anyone will actually deal with him if he's being upfront and honest about the situation, but the townspeople just panic. He returns to his mountain to rethink his strategies, and in the meanwhile the alarmed locals hire a swordsman to go after him. The guy gives him a few very painful cuts before Shen Yuan mostly-accidentally sends him careening into a boulder. One broken arm later the swordsman is gently persuaded that the pay he was offered isn't worth the effort on this job, and leaves.

Discouraged, Shen Yuan decides he's gonna give this one last try. He picks the second closest city, flies up, and is like yes hello, yes I am indeed a dragon, no I'm not trying to burn down your walls, yes it would be excellent if you stopped shooting arrows at me, look they don't even get past the scales? It's kind of silly? Okay, yes, thank you very much. Good. Now, the thing is, I'm looking for some people. I want to take them back to my mountain with me, to my incredibly nice palace, and -- what was that? A princess? No no I don't want a princess, what would I even do with one? If anything I'm looking for the complete opposite of a princess!

Anyway, the locals take this to mean that the dragon is demanding a sacrifice in the form of a pretty boy of no particular pedigree, and Shen Yuan takes this to mean that he's finally made his case clear and they're going to dig up someone who is willing to overlook his being a dragon in exchange for free room and board and fair wages out of his massive treasury.

SY's a bit disheartened when the entire city could only apparently turn up one such person -- an underfed teenage boy who looks at Shen Yuan like, despite the situation, he is still expecting to be eaten at any moment. Poor thing! But at least having one servant means he can potentially get more, especially if it all goes well. The lad can tell others that working for a dragon isn't so bad! Well, provided that he doesn't give up in alarm at the state of the mountain palace.

For his part, Luo Binghe at first thinks he's definitely going to get eaten, and then that this dragon is weirdly nice about planning to eat him, and then that maybe the dragon has other (even less savory!) plans for him, until finally he sees the state of the dragon's laundry and the foot-thick layer of dust in the corners, and gets completely distracted. Mortal terror forgotten, those floors should not be that filthy, Lord Dragon respectfully that isn't how anyone should prepare rice either, but oh Binghe has never seen a kitchen so nice before in his life...!

Anyway, needless to say, it works out just fine.

[alisonsfics]

too good to me

pairing: carmen berzatto x reader

summary: after weeks of stress and being on edge, carmy blows up and yells at marcus, but carmy holds such a special place in your heart that you go to his apartment afterward to see how he’s doing

word count: 3.2k

warnings: swearing, arguing, general angst and then fluff

You all knew that something had been on Carmy’s mind. The past few weeks, he’d been more than just anxious. He was really putting his perfectionist tendencies to the extreme. It had been three weeks since officially opening The Bear.

Carmy knew that the first few weeks were crucial to a new business, especially one as volatile as a new-age restaurant. He’d been stressed, which was nothing new for him. But, it was more extreme. He had gotten into an hour-long screaming match with Richie about what specific angle the hostess stand should be pointed.

Everyone was trying to keep Carmy calm, but it had to be done carefully. If he picked up on a tone that was too sympathetic, he’d yell “I’m fine,” and storm off.

With everyone walking on eggshells around him, the tickets for the orders got a little jumbled and in a backwards order.

“Somebody better fucking fix this.” Carmy said, running his hand through his hair. You’d seen him do that move a hundred times, and it usually meant that everything was getting overwhelming. “It’s alright, Carmy. I can handle this. Just go take a quick break outside for me, please?” You asked him.

You were Carmy’s weak spot.

He’d always had a special place in his heart for you. He was wrapped around your finger. If anyone else had told him to take a break, he would have told them to fuck off.

Carmy walked around the corner, where Marcus walked up to him with a new pastry in hand. “Hey, chef. I was thinking we could add a new pastry to the menu for that special event next week?” Marcus asked. It was a perfectly innocent question, especially since Marcus didn’t have any urgent work to be done. In that moment, Marcus was just lacking in reading the room.

“Tonight’s service is a disaster, and you’re wasting your fucking time doing this?” Carmy yelled, smacking the dish out of Marcus’ hand.

That was too far. Farther than Carmy had ever pushed it.

You inserted yourself between the two men. “Marcus, you okay?” You asked him. He nodded his head, but looked down at a small cut on the back of his hand. You placed your hand on his forearm. “Go get that cut washed, and then help Sydney sort out those tickets please.” You said, remaining calm.

“Yes, chef,” Marcus said, walking towards the sink.

Carmy was frozen in place, like even he couldn’t believe what he’d just done. “You,” you started to say, turning around to face Carmy.

“I know,” he said, softly.

“Go home, Berzatto. You need to cool off.” You said, trying to be firm but also gentle. Carmy huffed and ran his hand through his hair again. “But I just…one more—” he started to say.

“Home, Carmen.” You repeated, firmer this time. You called him many things: Carmy, Carm, Bear, and the occasional pet name, but never Carmen.

He walked away, but you heard him slam his hand against the wall as he left.

Still rattled from the whole encounter, you tried to get back on your game. “Syd, you’ve got this,” you encouraged your friend, as she directed the kitchen. The rest of the service was a little bumpy as all of you were still a little distracted.

At the end of the service, you were all silently cleaning up your stations. Normally at this point in the night, you were all catching up and joking around with each other. But instead, you all were recalling the night’s events in your heads.

You lightly knocked on the door of the office, where Sugar was sitting and looking through some forms. “Hey, Nat. You mind if I head out a little early? Richie said he’d clean up my station. I was gonna go check on Carmy and see if he’s alright. I’ve been really worried about him.” You told her.

“Yeah yeah, go for it. I think he’ll want to see you. And it’ll be good for him to talk to someone, and you’re the only one he really talks to.” Sugar told you, pulling you in for a quick hug before you left. She hesitated. “Let me know how he is…I’m worried about him,” she told you, softly.

“I will, I promise.” You said, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. You turned to leave the office. “Carm’s lucky to have you,” she told you as you walked away. You turned backwards as you kept walking. “The feelings mutual,” you added.

You walked up to Carmy’s apartment and knocked on the door. “Carmy, it’s me, please let me in,” you said.

You heard silence on the other side of the door. You fished your spare key out of your pocket and slid it into the lock. You turned the key slowly and let yourself into his apartment.

You walked into his dark apartment. You saw Carmy’s silhouette as he sat on the couch, staring out the window.

“I gave you that key for emergencies.” He said, coldly. You flipped on the light switch, bringing some light into the dark apartment. “I think what I saw earlier calls for a little intervention, don’t you?” You asked. Carmy sat in silence, continuing to stare out the window. You walked around to the front of the couch so you could face him.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He said, still refusing to look at you. Carmy felt guilty about what he’d done. He’d never yelled at you before, and he was ashamed that you had to see him scream like that. Carmy cared more about your opinion than he did about anyone else’s.

You walked towards Carmy, only stopping inches in front of him. “When was the last time you ate?” You asked, blatantly. He leaned back against the couch, trying to add some more distance between you both. He shrugged, genuinely not knowing the answer to your question.

You dug into your work bag and pulled out a takeout box. You stopped by Carmy’s favorite burger restaurant in Chicago to grab him some food. You knew Carmy would sometimes forget to eat when he was feeling anxious. “Eat it,” you told him, handing the box over to him.

He reluctantly opened the box and started eating. You set your work bag on the ground and sat down on the chair that faced the couch.

Carmy shifted nervously in his seat as your gaze was set on him. He was unnerved that you weren’t talking about what happened at the restaurant.

Carmy could normally read you like the back of his hand, but something about your current expression was throwing him off. He couldn’t tell if you were going to scream at him or not.

“Are you here to yell at me like everybody else? I already know I screwed up. I shouldn’t have yelled at Marcus, and I shouldn’t have argued when you told me to leave.” He told you, hoping he could apologize and avoid you yelling at him.

“You know that I’m not here to yell at you. You really fucked up, but Marcus knows that you were just stressed. I’m here to make sure you’re doing okay because I’ve never seen you blow up like that” You said, finally showing your cards. Carmy frowned, looking guilty.

“God, you’re too good to me. I acted like a piece of shit today, and you’re still trying to make sure I’m okay.” He said, still amazed by the love you had for him. He was looking at you like you were his whole world.

He set down the takeout box and used his hand to call you over to him. You stood up and walked towards him, and he patted the seat next to him.

You joined him on the couch. You both were sitting so close together that you were practically in his lap. He turned his body so he could face you.

He let his hand rest on your thigh, feeling more grateful for you than he ever had. You let your fingers caress his bicep, “you deserve to be okay. I want you to be okay,” you said, softly.

You studied his face. You noticed the small bags that had formed under his eyes. You wondered when the last time he’d actually gotten a good night’s sleep was.

You softly brushed his hair out of his face. When he was stressed, Carmy liked to pull on a certain strand of hair right in the front. You knew him like the back of your hand. You noticed all of his quirks; quirks that most people never picked up on.

Carmy watched as you gently tried to soothe him. He was sure you could see the adoration in his eyes.

“I hope you know how perfect you are. You always know exactly what to say.” He said, smiling at you. He pulled your hand away from his hair and interlaced your fingers. He’d wanted to kiss the back of your hand, but couldn’t push himself to do it.

“Do you wanna talk about why you’ve been so stressed recently?” You asked. You were treading lightly, but you wanted to understand what was making him so anxious. You hated seeing him push everyone away, and you wanted to help in any way you could.

He shrugged. “It’s just the restaurant,” he said, not knowing how else to explain it.

“The restaurant is doing amazing though, Carmy. You have no need to stress about that. You’ve been doing such a great job.” You told him, sincerely.

You watched him get a little more nervous. He was looking down at his lap, avoiding meeting your gaze. You ran your thumb over the back of his hand, trying to silently reassure him.

“You can tell me anything, Carm,” you said, softly.

“You just mean so much to me,” he started to explain. You were a little confused as to where he was going with this conversation. The room was silent as Carmy gathered his thoughts.

“Everything at the restaurant has been going so well. Every time my life has ever gone well, something terrible has happened next. I feel like I’m just waiting for everything to…I don’t know, crumble? Losing the restaurant would be terrible, but losing you and the rest of the team would be devastating. You guys are my family.” He told you, his voice cracking with emotion.

Tears threatened to spill from his eyes. You quickly pulled him into you arms, giving him the tightest hug you could. He clutched onto you like he was scared you’d disappear if he let you go.

“You aren’t going to lose anybody,” you said, holding back tears just from watching how emotional Carmy was.

The soft leather scent of Carmy’s cologne occupied your thoughts as you held him close. You both stayed attached like that for a few minutes. The room was silent, but a comfortable silent.

When you both finally pulled apart, Carmy dried the tears off his cheeks. “Nothing bad is going to happen with the restaurant. We’re all family, and that doesn’t go away based on what happens with the restaurant. You will never lose me, or any of us.” You promised him.

You earned a small chuckle from Carmy when you held your pinky up to him. “You won’t lose me either,” he said, dutifully going through with your pinky promise.

You both stared into each other’s eyes, unsure what to say next. The tension in the air nearly made it hard to breathe.

“I should probably get going and let you have the rest of your evening. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You said, standing up from the couch.

You had never felt so awkward around Carmy. Just the task of walking to the front door felt like a giant opportunity to embarrass yourself. Carmy also quickly jumped up from the couch, feeling equally self-conscious.

His hand lightly grazed your back as he led you back to the front door. “Thank you for coming over and talking to me. You really helped calm me down.” He said, sincerely. You smiled and nodded your head at him.

“Make sure to call me if you ever need to talk about anything. I promise that I’ll always be here to listen,” you assured him.

The tension returned.

You both chose to avoid it.

“Well, goodnight,” you both quickly said, at the same time. You rushed out the door, and Carmy closed it behind you.

The door clicked into place and seemingly broke you both out of your trance.

You both realized you had missed the perfect opportunity. The perfect opportunity to finally confess those feelings that had been weighing you down.

You lowered your head, almost shamefully, and started walking down the hallway.

Carmy leaned his head against the closed door, wondering how he could have missed it. The girl of his dreams was walking down the hallway away from his apartment, away from him.

He started to walk towards his bedroom when he suddenly thought “fuck it,” and turned around.

At the same time in the hallway, you had the same thought.

Your heart beating in your ears, you turned on your heel and headed back towards Carmy’s apartment.

Carmy started walking back towards the front door. Before he could reach the door, he watched the knob spin and the door fling open.

You were back and standing in front of him.

Realizing you both had the same idea, Carmy quickly closed the gap between the two of you. His strong tattooed hands cupped your cheeks as he finally kissed you. You kissed him back immediately, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist.

He moved one of his hands away from you, but just a second, so he could quickly close the front door behind you.

He pushed you against the back of the door. The back of your head bumped against the door causing you to grin against the kiss. “Oh, shit, sorry. You okay?” he asked, cupping the back of your head. You quickly nodded your head. “I’m fine, I promise.” You said, grabbing his collar and pulling him back to kiss you.

He smirked against your lips at your eagerness to not break the kiss for even a second. He held onto your waist and pinned you against the door, while you wrapped your arms around his neck and toyed with his hair.

His lips felt perfect against yours. The kiss was somehow everything you’d dreamed of but completely unexpected.

You shifted your weight against him, gently nudging him away from the door. Carmy picked up on what you were doing. You noticed his signature smirk as he guided you towards the couch.

You fell back onto the couch, pulling Carmy down on top of you. All his weight landed on you, causing you to wince. “Sorry, that more violent than it was supposed to be.” He said, sheepishly. He quickly shifted his weight, so he was holding himself above you.

You both were giggly as these little mishaps continued to happen. It suited your relationship. You both had always been able to joke with each other, especially because of your matching sense of humor. It made sense that when you both finally got together that Carmy would accidentally bump your head against the door. But it didn’t make things awkward. You both were so comfortable just giggling with each other.

“Get back here, Berzatto,” you said, connecting your lips again. He quickly obliged. While Carmy loved laughing with you, he had been waiting years to kiss you and wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.

“You look so fuckin’ pretty,” he mumbled as he kissed you. You quickly slipped his tshirt over his head and tossed it to the side.

Then, you both heard a strange muffled sound. You pulled out of the kiss and gave Carmy a concerned look. It sounded like someone was in the apartment.

Your face completely changed when you realized what it was. “Carmy, that’s your phone. You butt dialed someone,” you whispered. His eyes also grew wide. He quickly grabbed his phone out of his pocket, hoping he could hang up and not say anything.

Once his phone was in his hand, he realized it was a FaceTime call and he was now face-to-face with his sister.

“Oh, shit. Sugar?” He said, the shock clear on his face. You immediately held your hand over your mouth, trying to remain completely silent.

“Hey, uh yeah. You called me? Are you okay?” She asked, confused by the whole situation.

“Oh, I must’ve done it on accident, sorry. Listen, I’m really sorry about yelling tonight. I’m gonna come in tomorrow and apologize to everyone though.” He said, sincerely. You were finding it so hard to not giggle. He was on the phone with Sugar while lying directly on top of you, and you just had to stay silent.

“It’s okay, Carm. Everyone knows you’ve been going through a lot. Y/N was going to head over to your apartment. Did you talk to her?” Natalie asked, genuinely invested.

Carmy quickly nodded his head. “Yeah, she came by earlier and we talked. I’m doing a lot better. Yeah, she’s umm—” Carmy stalled as he tried to come up with a lie.

Natalie picked up on his hesitation immediately. “Oh shit. Is she— are you two— wait is she there now?” She asked, putting it all together. You froze, trying to anticipate Carmy’s next move.

He quickly sat up on the couch before pulling you into his lap. “Hi, Nat,” you said, smiling at the camera and bracing for her reaction. You both watched her jaw drop.

“Did my two favorite people finally confess their love for each other? Oh, you guys,” she awed, being able to read you both just from the way you both were blushing.

Carmy buried his face in your neck. He knew how long Natalie had been rooting for this to happen, and he was having a hard time controlling how red his face was.

“You’re good for him. I’m really happy for you guys,” she said to you. You smiled in return and thanked her.

“Well, I’ll let you both get back to it.” She said, winking at you both and ending the call.

“So, how long before everybody knows?” He asked you. You just laughed in response, knowing it wouldn’t be long.

“I think she’s already sent an all-caps text to Sydney and Richie, and the rest of them will know before we go into work tomorrow.” You told him, honestly.

“We could just stay here tomorrow. We don’t really need to go in, right?” He said, pressing kisses to your cheek.

“Would that be the responsible thing to do?” You teased him. He chuckled and pecked your lips. “You know I would spend every second with you, whether it was responsible or not.” He told you.

You giggled, stopping him from kissing you. “Awww we’re only fifteen minutes in and I’m already your biggest weakness? You big softie,” You continued to joke around with him.

“You’ve always been my weakness, sweetheart,” he said, quickly picking up and carrying you to his bedroom.

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[jackoshadows]

Brandon Sanderson on why TV adaptations of fantasy works end up being so different to the source material:

I have a fun story here. Early in my career, someone optioned the rights to make one of my stories (the Emperor's Soul) into a film. I was ecstatic, as it's not a story that at the time had gotten a lot of attention from Hollywood. I met with the writer, who had a good pedigree, and who seemed extremely excited about the project; turned out, he'd been the one to persuade the production company to go for the option. All seemed really promising. A year or so later, I read his script and it was one of the most bizarre experiences of my life. The character names were, largely, the same, though nothing that happened to them was remotely similar to the story. Emperor's Soul is a small-scale character drama that takes place largely in one room, with discussions of the nature of art between two characters who approach the idea differently. The screenplay detailed an expansive fantasy epic with a new love interest for the main character (a pirate captain.) They globe-trotted, they fought monsters, they explored a world largely unrelated to mine, save for a few words here and there. It was then that I realized what was going on. Hollywood doesn't buy spec scripts (original ideas) from screenwriters very often, and they NEVER buy spec scripts that are epic fantasy. Those are too big, too expensive, and too daunting: they are the sorts of stories where the producers and executives need the proof of an established book series to justify the production. So this writer never had a chance to tell his own epic fantasy story, though he wanted to. Instead, he found a popularish story that nobody had snatched up, and used it as a means to tell the story he'd always wanted to tell, because he'd never otherwise have a chance of getting it made. I'm convinced this is part of the issue with some of these adaptations; screenwriters and directors are creative, and want to tell their own stories, but it's almost impossible to get those made in things like the fantasy genre unless you're a huge established name like Cameron. I'm not saying they all do this deliberately, as that screenwriter did for my work, but I think it's an unconscious influence. They want to tell their stories, and this is the allowed method, so when given the chance at freedom they go off the rails, and the execs don't know the genre or property well enough to understand why this can lead to disaster. Anyway, sorry for the novel length post in a meme thread. I just find the entire situation to be fascinating.

[mapis-putellas]

Emotional support bunny

Pairing: Nat x you

Words: 1362

Warnings: none

Summary: you gift a stuffed bunny to Natasha on your one year anniversary. She adores it, names it, and promptly sleeps with it every single night. Well, that was until disaster strikes and bunny goes missing.

Notes: It’s been months. I have no explanation other than I’ve had some major writers block. I am, so sorry. And I hope this makes up for it.

It was on your one year anniversary that you’d gifted it to her. A small, grey bunny adorned in a cute black t-shirt with the phrase, this is my emotional support bear written on the front. It was meant as a joke. At least, that’s how you intended it to be at first. She was Natasha Romanoff. The black widow. Why would the black widow want anything to do it’s something so childish?

But surprisingly, she’d been delighted, and she’d quickly given it a name. Tiny. Tiny the bunny. For the first few days, tiny had sat on her dresser next to a photograph of you and her together. Natasha would give it soft smile and fond touch as she passes, and that was that.

But then, tiny would appear in your bed. Just during that day at first, propped up against the pillows when neither of you were there. But then one night, after returning home from a mission with Yelena and Clint, you noticed tiny was neither on her dresser or propped up against the pillows.

Upon closer inspection, as you’d crawled into the bed next to her, you realised that the reason tiny wasn’t in either of his usual spaces was because he was held clutched to Natasha’s chest. Your heart immediately melts at the sight, and after pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, you’d laid down and pulled her close to your chest before too drifting off to sleep.

From that moment forward -with the occasional exception of course ;) - tiny was in your bed every single night. Sometimes Natasha cuddled him, and sometimes you would because Natasha liked him to smell of you. Natasha had never been too settled when it came to sleep. Insomnia, nightmares. You helped of course, but there was something about tiny that would settle her immediately. You guessed it had something to do with healing her inner child.

Tiny would soon start coming on missions too. Of course he remained safely hidden in her bag, out of sight and out of mind from everyone else, but knowing he was there often helped. A reminder of sorts that she always had a piece of you with her no matter where she went.

Everything was great. Until it wasn’t.

You see, Natasha had misplaced tiny before. Whether it be he’d slipped out of bed during one of her restless nights of sleep or he’d fallen to the bottom of her bag after forgetting he was there and unpacking everything but him. But she’d never completely lost him before. Or well, she hadn’t until now. And her reaction to losing him wasn’t anything like you expected.

You’d walked into the bedroom to see her clad in nothing but a shirt and underwear determinedly ripping the blankets off of your shared bed. The rest of the room was a mess too, and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion as you pocket your phone and make your way over to her.

“Nat?” You question, reaching out to touch her arm.

She startles at the touch as she whips herself round to face you, and you hold up your arms to show her you meant no harm as you take a small step backwards. “Baby, what’s going on?” You slowly lower your arms as you sit on the now bare mattress and give the shirt burying her small frame a gentle tug, coaxing her closer.

She steps in between your open legs, and you wrap one of your arms just beneath her rear end as the other one comes up to brush a messy strand of hair out of her face. Her eyes, you realise now, are bloodshot, bottom lip quivering as if she was doing everything possible to stop herself from crying.

You frown in concern as you give her thigh a gentle tug, coaxing it over your lap and against your hip. She complies, and you wrap an arm around her waist to keep her supported as she brings the other leg up so she was effectively straddling your lap.

She burrows her face into your neck, and your heart breaks when you feel hot tears beginning to stain your neck. “What’s going on my love?” You murmur, bringing one hand up to settle on the back of her neck.

Natasha shakes her head with a soft sniffle, and you frown as you give her a soft squeeze, not really understanding why she didn’t want to confide to you but happy to sit here and hold her for as long as she needed. It takes a while, but she does eventually sit herself up in your arms. Your arms move from resting against her shoulder blades to just above her behind, fingers slipping beneath her oversized shirt and grazing across soft skin.

“I can’t find tiny.” She whispers, one of her hands rising to cling to the front of your shirt as her face scrunches up and another soft sob escapes her lips. Your heart breaks, your hand rising up the bare skin of her her back and coaxing her back to your chest. She seems to allow herself to cry freely now, her body trembling as she clutches fiercely to the back of your shirt.

Some may think this was an overreaction to losing a measly stuffed animal, and maybe they were right. But this wasn’t just any stuffed animal. It was her comfort. Her safe place. And whilst that may seem childish to some, for Natasha, someone who had denied herself the most simplest of comforts because she was under the impression she didn’t deserve them; someone who didn’t have any ounce of a childhood, tiny was her everything and you thanked god she trusted you enough to let down her walls and allow you to comfort her.

“Is he in your bag?” You question as you begin the motion of gently rocking her back and forth in your arms.

Natasha shakes her head. “N-no. I looked there.” She manages to choke out, and you nod in understanding as you look around the room to see if there were any spaces tiny could have hidden himself in. When you come up empty, you attempt to wrack your mind for any more ideas.

“You looked under the bed?”

Natasha nods again as she sits herself up in your arms, hands rising to roughly wipe away the tears. You shake your head slightly as you gently knock her hands away, replacing them with your own and tenderly wiping off her cheeks.

You’re about to suggest looking elsewhere in the house for the beloved bunny until a familiar fluffy hand appears in your peripheral vision. You gently pat Natasha’s back to get her attention, waiting for her teary eyes to meet your own before pointing to the corner the room where a pile of clean laundry sat in its basket.

“Did you by chance change our bedding today?” You ask, rising to your feet before easing her down onto her own. Natasha doesn’t acknowledge your question as she all but sprints to the corner of the room, knocking that large pile of laundry to the floor in her haste to grab tiny from here he was hidden at the bottom of it before clutching him to her chest.

She lets out a quiet breath of relief, and you realise, as you make your way over to her and tug her into a hug, that she must have tossed him out of the way whilst changing your sheets this morning and had forgotten to put him back. Natasha’s arms rise to settle around your neck, tiny clutched in her hand, and you immediately bend to lift her up into your arms. Her legs loop tightly around your waist, and you place a single arm beneath her behind whilst your hand rises to rest against her back.

“He was hiding from you.” You laugh slightly, and you feel the way Natasha smiles against the skin of your neck as she moves tiny to settle against her chest.

As you stand there, holding your favourite girl in your arms, you thank your lucky stars that you’d found him before disaster totally struck.

**

@goldenempyrean - finally got something written 😭 @alotofpockets @natashasnoodle @widowsistersandfriends @widowbitessting