#cue them hitting each other w hammers and blowing each other up w their minds bc they both wanna help the other soooo bad

[moe-broey]

Also thematically the body swap could go crazy. Moe in Alfonse's body and persona being surrounded by people he's close to in varying contexts, but close to nonetheless. The only significant person missing, is Moe itself. Also new allies but stay with me

MEANWHILE. Alfonse in Moe's body is pretty much all alone. Searching for someone, and can't remember [Your] own name. The only company is Moe, itself. Memories and snapshots of the past. Also some unauthorized fucking Thing in a white dress that's relentlessly hunting him for sport.

LIKE. LIKE. THEMATICALLY.

Alfonse of course has all his complexes about letting people in ect ect ect. But he does have people he lets in. Varying degrees, varying contexts. Moe... kind of doesn't. Even though it learns to get along well with everyone. Even though Sharena proclaimed, they're Friends, so they must be friends. They're friends... for Sharena's sake, really. Moe likes her. Will even say it loves her. But not once has it actually let her in. Similarly, Anna. It respects her. It likes her. It learns to work well, with her. It learns to rely on her, just enough for practicality's sake. Knowing when you need help and how to ask for it is a good skill to have. That's as far as it goes. Anyone else, everyone else, it's very fair weather friends with.

The only person it wholeheartedly trusts is Alfonse. Moe's words to Alfonse, when they first were getting to know each other. "It's Important, that you At Very Least let One person in. It doesn't have to be me. But it's dangerous, to be completely alone. Especially in the emotionally precarious situation you're in, right now. No man is an island."

[toosicktoocare]

he’s a tornado

Just bury me in TK and Carlos, okay? 

(Spoilers for 911 Lone Star below!)

(Also, trigger warning for a poor mental state following a relapse-- AKA, TK Strand.)

Addiction withdrawal is strange, TK thinks, strange because your body’s constantly craving for the next best escape, the next best satisfying temporary distraction that can briefly fill this empty void that’s spread like a black, gaping hole over your heart. 

Sober is supposed to be a beacon word that symbolizes hope, a new chapter in some twisted choose your own adventure book, but sober for TK is just a muted desperation to consume something different, anything to push even the slightest hint of color against the gray. 

TK just wants to feel the way substance addiction made him feel, light, easy, powerful, wanted, purposeful along the haze of drugs, so, without meaning to, he leans toward reckless behavior as a means to cope with the new absence in his life, a means to feel validated without the help of a bottle or pill. 

He’s a twister, bringing spontaneous bouts of destructive chaos, and he could almost laugh, staring down a ripping tornado with his crew at his side, at how much Texas seems to feed his metaphors, often shoving them down his throat until they are concrete, dangerous, and apparently blowing right toward him. 

“We need to fall back,” Owen shouts, voice fighting against the howling wind and whipping rain. “We should regroup! Work out a game plan for this!” 

Judd laughs, an out-of-place bellow that’s got most whipping gazes laced in confusion toward him. “Welcome to Texas!” he shouts, turning on his heel and starting back toward their truck, the others following suit. 

TK makes to join them, even turning on his heel, but he can’t pull his gaze from the tornado swirling toward him. It’s a different type of drug to him, one so rare and one he’s never experienced before, and his heart flutters, skipping a beat, warming slightly. He takes a step toward it, muscles moving along a need to reach the color that’s teasing him through whipping winds and burning adrenaline. 

He takes another step, and another, and the wind is growing louder, surrounding him in a piercing roar. The rain whipping against his skin almost burns, each drop feeling like a tiny dagger nicking and tearing at his face. He gets closer, and he can physically feel the pull of the wind wrapping around him, pushing against his back and his legs until he’s moving faster, losing control of his limbs, and only then does his heart connect with his mind like a sparking wire, waking him from a brief, desperate trance, just a moment too late. 

Panic presses against his heart, pushing past his rib cage and gripping it tightly until it’s hammering in his chest, so forceful that it physically hurts, but he can’t get away on his own. The wind’s too strong. He’s too close, and he’s struggling to keep his heels grounded to the street. He raises one arm to shield his eyes from the debris that’s beginning to whip closely around him, frantically looking from left to right for some heavy support to grab onto. He spots a light pole almost directly to his left. It’s shaking in the wind, but if he can just get a grip on it to regain his balance--

Something solid and heavy slams into his side, knocking him the small distance to the light pole, and he’s pressed against it, a warm, steady body pinning him to it, keeping him grounded with two arms wrapped around him. 

“TK, are you out of your damn mind?” 

Judd’s voice is ragged and loud in his ear. but he’s struggling to crane his neck to look over his shoulder at him. “What do we do?” He asks instead, shouting against the roar of the wind, but his answer comes in front of him when two familiar, strong arms break past the wind and rain, reaching out to him, and then Judd eases him around until he’s in front of the light pole, his back pressed against Judd’s chest and Judd’s back to the light pole. 

“Judd, what the--” Judd slamming all of his weight against him clips his words short, and he flies forward, stumbling into Carlos’ outstretched arms, and the sudden need to melt into Carlos’ protective grip is as strong as the tornado behind them, but he doesn’t, instead keeping one hand curled into Carlos’ shirt while the other reaches out behind him, latching onto Judd’s wrist. 

“Let’s move!” Judd shouts, adopting a captain’s tone, and then TK’s being shoved forward again, sandwiched between Carlos and Judd, and the three stumble and struggle away from the tornado until they’re being pulled to safety by the others. 

Owen’s grip on TK’s arms is tight enough to bruise, but TK doesn’t mind much as he’s pulled to Owen’s side by a strong, steady arm around his waist. He’s struggling to follow the shouting around him, but then he’s being eased against the truck, now a safe distance away from the tornado, and Owen’s cupping his cheeks, eyes bleeding concern. 

“TK? What happened back there?”

“I thought I heard someone scream,” he lies, clinging to the first coherent fib that hits his mind.

“Are you alright?” Owen presses, hands sliding down TK’s arms, over his chest. “Are you hurt?” 

“I--yeah,” TK starts, shaking his head, words jumbled, “I mean no, well yes.” He lets out a trembling breath, lungs sinking in relief. “I mean I’m fine. I’m not hurt.” 

“That’s a shame,” Judd spits out roughly, voice contradicting the concern etched across his face, “because I’m about to put you in a world of hurt--” 

“--Judd,” Owen warns, and TK looks between the two before chasing an instinct, dragging his gaze past Owen to see Carlos frowning deeply at him. 

He meets Carlos’ dark, narrow eyes, the two sharing a moment of silent understanding, and Carlos steps forward, clapping a gentle hand to Owen’s shoulder. 

“Let me take TK back to my place,” Carlos suggests, and TK groans quietly, a deep vibrato within his throat, because he doesn’t want to be pulled from the field, not when there are so many lives in danger. 

“I’ll check him over,” Carlos presses, whipping a stern gaze his way. “I don’t think he should be out on the line after that--” 

“--I’m fine,” TK spits out, pulling away from Owen’s grip, though his muscles tremble without the additional support, and he stumbles slightly, pressing one hand to the side of the truck as Owen and Carlos reach out to him. 

“No, you aren’t,” Owen mutters, sparing a glance to the rest of his team to survey their opinions to the situation unfolding before him, and unsurprisingly, all are wearing concern in their eyes, through their posture, and Owen drags his gaze back to Carlos and nods. “I’ll pick him up when we’re done.” 

“Dad!” 

“This isn’t up for negotiation, TK,” Owen holds one hand up. “Go.”

TK feels Carlos’ hand find the small of his back, a gentle, encouraging touch, and he wants to pull away from it, to fight this, but his dad’s eyes are burning with fear and concern, so much that he caves, shoulders slumping against the wind and rain, and Carlos takes the change in his posture as his cue, guiding him toward his SUV. 

He’s quiet when he climbs into the passenger seat, and he’s grateful that Carlos doesn’t pull an interrogating cop on him, instead remaining quiet, thoughtful as he drives him away from the storm. TK leans his head against the cool glass of the window, watching in the side-view mirror as the tornado grows smaller and smaller, and he keeps his gaze locked to the mirror, too far gone in his thoughts, until Carlos is shaking his shoulder.

“TK? We’re here.”

Slowly, TK pulls his gaze from the mirror, and he moves on auto-pilot, shrugging off the hand on his shoulder as he opens the door. He follows Carlos inside, eyes flicking from the couch that once supported deep, heated touches and thrusts to the small dining room table. 

“Don’t worry,” Carlos says, following his gaze. “I’m not going to cook you dinner or anything.” He breathes out a nervous laugh, and TK finally meets his eyes. 

“Hey,” Carlos mutters, cupping a hand to TK’s cheek, frowning sharply at how cool and clammy TK is to the touch. 

“Christ, you’re freezing.” 

TK considers arguing against that statement because he can’t feel much of anything at the moment, but then he looks down to see his hands shaking, and the icy, gripping exhaustion pushes through the numbness that’s been clinging to him until his teeth are chattering. 

“W-weird,” he chatters as he pulled into the bathroom. “Not something I w-would expect in T-Texas.” He wraps his arms tightly around himself, watching as Carlos turns on the bathtub tap. 

He cocks a brow despite hissing sharply at the ice clinging to his limbs. “K-kinky--”

“--shut up and take your clothes off,” Carlos spits out, moving to help when TK struggles against his trembling fingers. He pulls off dripping layers, and TK watches, eyes almost desperately drinking in Carlos’ quick, calculated motions until he’s standing naked before him. 

“Get in.” Carlos says, and TK cocks his head to the side, a questioning invitation, one that Carlos waves off with a sigh. 

“To warm up, idiot. I’m not interested in sex with a human popsicle.” 

“Bummer,” TK breathes out as Carlos helps him step into the tub. It’s warm, comforting, and he sinks into the tub, muscles moving on a need to seek out the warmth that will chase away the chill. He draws his knees to his chest, dragging his gaze to Carlos as he pillows his head atop his arms. 

Carlos stays perched on the side of the tub, frowning deeply at him, and TK hates it. 

“Stop frowning,” he sighs. “It doesn’t suit your face.” 

“What was that back there?” Carlos asks, and TK blinks slowly at him, his own frown creeping at his lips. 

“I told you. I thought I heard--”

“--the truth,” Carlos clarifies, learning to read TK more-so now that he knows what demons TK’s battling, and TK groans, rolling his neck until his forehead’s pressed against his knees. 

He stares at the water, watching the slow and steady ripples that come from his small movements. “I don’t know,” he admits, thinking back to the burning hunger that overcame him, that pulled him toward danger. “I just saw the tornado, and I could feel... something. Anything, and I was just drawn to it.” 

“You could have died.” 

“I know.” 

“You need to talk to your father about this.” 

“I know,” TK repeats a little sharply, lifting his head and whipping his gaze to meet Carlos’ eyes. “Sorry. I know I need to talk to him, and I will, just not yet.”

Carlos considers TK’s words, careful, thoughtful, cautious, and he reaches over, cupping one hand to TK’s cheek, thankful for the familiar warmth. “Will you keep talking to me about it in the mean time?” 

TK leans into Carlos’ palm, the small touch chasing away some of the numbness, bringing just a hint of color to his eyes, and he smiles, a lazy half-smile. “I don’t know. That sounds very boyfriend-y of you.” 

Scoffing, Carlos rolls his eyes, yet the smile that tugs at his lips is wide, genuine. 

“I hate you,” he laughs, and TK reaches down, flicking some warm water at him. 

“I hate you, too.”