#isn't it only fair that he lives in misery?

[ariel-s-awesome]

The ways Peepers and Sylvia's friendship would help with Peepers' character development are obvious. It'll lessen his and Hater's codependence. It'll teach him how a healthy relationship not only looks like, but feels like.

Yet it changes Sylvia too.

As Sylvia begins to connect with Peepers, and starts to sympathize with him, it'll challenge her belief that bad people deserve to have bad things happen to him.

Wander believes that "bad" people don't exist. Everyone has a seed of goodness inside of them that needs to be nurtured so it can grow. She's softening up to his way of thinking, but it still feels rather naive to her.

Instead, Sylvia learns a lesson that fits far more comfortably into her worldview:

Some people are pretty awful. That can't be denied. But maybe that doesn't mean they deserve to suffer. Maybe even the most evil people are worthy of kindness and support.

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

How You Turn My Word; Chapter 2

The day continues, and this time you find yourself in an entire new world... a world called The Underground.

Character; Lilia Vanrouge

Content; Gender-neutral reader, more shenanigans, reader isn't happy

Content Warning; Intoxication (Lilia), swearing

Word Count; 2.7 K

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 |

Don't put my work into AI; I'll make sure you end up in the Bog of Eternal Stench.

Lilia’s night was not going according to plan and he was mentally cursing himself over it.

Thing Lilia did not plan for #1; he got lost. To be fair though, many a thing had drastically changed since the last time he romped around the mortal realm. A few hundred years would do that though. Humans now seemed to live in tall metal boxes rather than the humble cottages of ages past. 

Thing Lilia did not plan for #2; a red flower deceiving him and containing something akin to liquor. So he was flying around lost while under the influence, which only worsened his situation. (Lilia did not know it, but the red flower was in fact a hummingbird feeder with sugar water which had been left out in the sun for too long and had fermented. Make sure to change your hummingbird feeder often on hot days so you don��t cause a nectar-loving friend to fly while wasted) 

Thing Lilia did not plan for #3; getting himself stuff in one of those tall metal boxes, and he was now stuck inside some cursed metal labyrinth. At least it was not iron or silver, as it did not burn, apparently, humans no longer fortified their abodes with those metals. Perhaps the times have changed for the better?

But Lilia finally escaped the infernal metal labyrinth, perhaps luck was finally on his side tonight after all! He bumped around a few corners. My my, what a small hovel. Perhaps things have not changed all that much from the last time I was here… But Lilia was rudely pulled from his thoughts when something swatted him clean out of the air. And the culprit? A rather rotund grey cat with large blue eyes, which was now carrying Lilia into its lair, most likely to play with him for a bit before deciding that it had had it’s fun and ultimately put him out of his misery.

His night went from a jolly and somewhat embarrassing tale he would regale about at the local tavern, to a bedtime story parents would tell their children about the dangers of going places that you really shouldn’t. Should he get out of this sticky situation Lilia would not live this incident down. 

The cat placed Lilia in a collection of socks and then sauntered off, calling out at the top of its lungs. Great, it's getting company for supper, and I’m the appetizer. How lovely. But Lilia knew he would have a better chance of getting out of this situation if he stayed calm and waited for an opportunity to escape. Even while tipsy, he could keep his cool.

And the feline was back and yanked Lilia out of the sock hole. Cracking open his one eye he saw that the cat did not come back with its hungry friends, but rather, a human. That was both good news and bad news. Good news; he most likely was not going to be eaten tonight! Yippee! Bad news; the last time he was in bat-form in a human’s abode, he was chased around with a torch, which he really did not want to go through again. So his best course of action was to play dead in this situation.

When the human left the room though, he took his chance and took flight once again, trying to find a way out. The cat was trying to catch him again, but Lilia knew of its tricks this time and dodged every swipe it sent his way.

But he was pulled out of his thoughts when the human screeched at the cat, “YOU CAUGHT A FUCKING BAT?!” 

Oh yeah, they did not sound happy, not at all, but it seemed to be directed more at their feline companion rather than him.

As he was busy flapping around, trying to find an escape but to no avail, he also heard the human whispering to him. “Don’t fly towards my head, bat. I’m just trying to get you back outside. You’re a nice bat, right? Nice bat, nice bat.”

Were he not preoccupied and in a better state of mind, Lilia would have been amused by this. Currently, though he was occupied with trying not to be eaten and finding a way out of this cursed place. He was not in a laughing mood. All Lilia wanted to do was get back home, pass out in his bed but he would also be happy with his sofa as well, and pretend that this was nothing more than a bad dream after a night spent tavern hopping. Dealing with a horrid hangover would be better than this… and he was most likely going to have one of those anyways. Tonight really wasn’t Lilia’s night, not at all.

Then the human grabbed the cat, and Lilia was finally left alone. The window was open, but he didn’t know that, as his mind was too preoccupied with you know, not dying, that he hadn’t noticed that the human had opened it for him. So where did Lilia go? Well, he went back into the metal labyrinth (air duct), and fumbled around until he tired himself out. It wasn’t the most ideal of spots to crash for the night, but it was better than going back and possibly being eaten, Lilia would rather avoid that. So this was going to be his bed for the night, a lonely quiet corner of the air duct system, where he could hopefully wake up sober tomorrow. But he yearned for his warm quilts that awaited for him back at home, back in Faerie, or as some call it, the Underground.

Lilia wasn’t even supposed to be in the mortal realm in the first place, but curiosity had won him over, and he even ignored the travel advisory that was in place. Some crow fae had travelled there about a century or so ago and had yet to return back, hence a travel advisory. But yet here he was in the mortal realm, tiny, drunk, and utterly lost. His bad decisions could be looked into further detail once he got some shut-eye. So he wrapped himself in his wings and passed out in the corner of the air vent. Hopefully, when he woke up he could turn this disastrous day around.

…

Upon waking up, Lilia groaned — or rather, in this case, squeaked — and stretched his wings out. So the wretched metal maze and last night's fiasco was not some liquor-hazed dream; how lovely. Utterly delightful.

At least the strange maze echoed sound quite well, so he knew what exits to avoid. Not that one, he could hear a dog barking, and the feline encounter was enough for him. No, not that one either, he could hear children screaming.

Finally, he came to an opening, there was some quiet chatter, but it was far enough away where Lilia felt comfortable enough to explore this potential escape route. 

Why does this look familiar? AM I BACK IN THE BUILDING?! Yes, yes he was. At least there was no sign of the ca–

“Mrp?” Speak of the devil.

The cat got out of its den and lept at Lilia, who dodged the attack, and the cat pushed some books off a desk. The cat was also screaming at him, and causing an all-around ruckus. Lilia managed to outmaneuver the feline, but soon a brand new human came into the scene.

The new human took one look at Lilia and backpedalled out of the room. But the human had just created another escape route for him, and Lilia flew, well, like a bat straight out of hell for it. Too bad the next room contained two more humans, including the one he had encountered from last night… maybe they would be nice again and spare him for trespassing on their small abode?

In the midst of the chaos, the human from last night knocked him out of the air with a broom. Okay, that hurt little Beastie. But that swing and the crash landing into a table caused Lilia to shift back into his human form, which also caused sparkles to happen. Did humans still think magic was evil? Well, he was about to find out.

Everyone remained silent, and after the sheer noise of the chaos, it was deafening, even the cat was quiet. And Lilia stared at the human that had knocked him out of the air, you. And you were staring straight back at him, looking utterly baffled. Well, this is awkward… I think I have overstayed my welcome… 

Lilia snapped his fingers, and he started to disappear into sparkles yet again, this time going home since he wasn’t able to use his magic when stuck in bat form. And it was happening without a pinch, but you seemed to trip on thin air and crash landed on his feet, disappearing with him; a stowaway coming to Faerie. 

… Well this is no good now, is it?

…

…

…

 When the green sparkles subsided, you found yourself sitting in some sort of bog, and the water had made it into your mouth by some twist of fate. While you were busy spitting the bog water out of your mouth, the stranger was standing by the bank, dry, without any sulfuric-tasting water in his mouth, and looking better for wear.

Pulling yourself out of the bog water — eugh, you smelled like eggs now, great — you pointed an accusatory finger at him, water dripping from the end. “Where,” you spat out some extra bog water from your mouth, “am I? And why does it reak of eggs?!” You would have looked and sounded more imposing, but you were sopping wet, covered in mud, and spitting out coughs trying to get the bad taste out of your mouth; which wasn’t really commanding any sort of respect.

The stranger, Lilia, snorted before letting out a cough, trying to hide his amusement very poorly. He waved his hand, green sparkles surrounded you and you were now dry, still covered in mud, but dry. “Faerie, although some call it the Underground.”

You opened your mouth, but he wagged his finger at you. “And before you blame me for bringing you here, you have no one to blame for this but yourself!” Despite the cheeriness, there was something cold and off putting in his eyes, like he was calculating something. But that moment passed, and the almost annoying cheerful facade came back in full. “As for the smell? That so happens to be The Bog of Eternal Stench!”

“Like eternal eternal?” You really didn’t need to smell like rotten eggs for the rest of your days.

The stranger just chuckled, “Fret not, Beastie, I decided to return the favour, since your feline friend decided not to eat me. But it is indeed ‘eternal eternal’ if you don’t have the means to get rid of it.”

Beastie? “Uh, okay.” not the most eloquent of things to say, but really, could anyone blame you? You just fell through some kind of portal, magic(?) was real, and oh yeah, so were fae/faeries or whatever the hell they called themselves. So ‘Uh, okay’ was perfectly fine in this situation.

Mr. Sparkles — if he was going to call you Beastie, he deserved a dumb nickname — just gave you a smile, exposing the barest hint of his fangs; despite his small frame, he was still dangerous, and the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. It was as if he was assessing you, to see if you would be worth the trouble to help. You didn’t know if either option would be good by the way his magenta eyes twinkled with mischief.

He let out a huff and started walking away, and you followed. “I wouldn’t recommend following me, Beastie,” he hummed, and you tripped over a rock, vines keeping you to the moss. “The court would not take kindly to you.” 

You glared at him and tried ripping the vines off of your feet, but they didn’t budge. “And why should I listen to you?” 

Mr. Sparkles booped you on the nose, “Well, it would ensure that you made it out of here alive, which I believe you would find beneficial and all.” 

Obnoxious prick. But he did have a point, you would rather make it back home alive rather than fucking around and finding out (aka dying). “So what? Are you going to just leave me here? No welcome brochure? Thanks.” 

You were being sarcastic, since it was either sarcasm or having a full-on existential crisis, since hey, magic wasn’t real in your world! Dimension? Galaxy? Where the fuck was this place?! How the hell did you end up here?!

“Hmm good point…” he snapped his fingers and there was now a book sitting in your lap. “This should suffice, do be warned though, Beastie, I may call on you later to return the favour. For now though,” he started to turn into green sparkles, “toodaloo!~” And he turned into a bat, flying off into the sunset, leaving you alone at the edge of the swamp with the only things to your name being the clothes on your back and a book in your lap.

How to Survive the Underground; For Humans! … Did he just give you this world’s equivalent of a For Dummies book? What the fuck? Was this kind of sick joke to him?

…

…

Once some of your ire had subsided, you decided to sit down on a boulder and read a bit of the book while there was still some sunlight out, but it was dipping into the horizon fast.

How to Survive the Underground; For Humans! By Yelworc Erid Preface …… i - iv Chapter 1; Surviving Your First Night…… 1 - 10 Chapter 2; Edible Food for Humans …… 11 - 31 Chapter 3; The Basics of Fae Etiquette …… 32 - 35 3.1; Species Specifics …… 36 - 146 3.2; Government Specifics …… 147 - 169 Chapter 4; Help! I Have Been Indentured to a Fae! …… 170 - 200 Chapter 5; Adjusting to Fae Social Life …… 201 - 224 Chapter 6; Transmittable Illnesses & Diseases …… 225 - 261 Chapter 7; Fae Courting Practices …… 262 - 264 7.1; Species Specifications …… 265 - 366 7.2; Government Specifications …… 367 - 389 7.3; Accepting a Courting Proposal …… 390 - 393 7.4; Refusing a Courting Proposal …… 394 - 401 Chapter 8; How to Handle Fae Children …… 402 - 452 Chapter 9; How to Leave the Underground … 453 Chapter 10; Adjusting to Life in the Underground …… 454 - 482 Acknowledgments …… 483 - 485

Looking back up to the horizon, you quickly turned the pages to Chapter 1; Surviving Your First Night.

“If you are unable to find yourself some suitable shelter, one should find themselves safe by camping out in a rowan tree. These trees can easily be found by their vermillion clusters of berries. They keep away all native species of the Underground,” you read out loud, turning your attention to the trees nearby, searching for those berries. “Rowan tree, rowan tree–”

A loud screech coming from the undergrowth only pushed you further. 

Nope, I do not want to find out what THAT was! Nope! NoPe! NOPE! 

Finally, you found a tall enough tree and you hauled your ass up it like there was a fire below you, and you were up in the canopy, far enough up that nothing could reach you, but also high enough where you needed to be careful, since you didn’t want to meet an early death because you made a wrong move. But for now, you were safe.

“Nice try buddy,” you muttered to yourself, trying to get comfy. Wood wasn’t the comfiest thing in the world, but you weren’t really in the position to be complaining. “I am not on the menu.”

The screech came again, this time closer; yeah, you weren’t sleeping tonight. The sun was now beyond the horizon, and there was no moon, the only light coming from the stars above; it was very pretty, but you could see jack shit. This was going to be a long night… and not a fun one, since you could also see the glowing eyes of unknown creatures which were, quite frankly, freaky as fuck. So yeah, no sleep for you.

“This fucking sucks,” you grumbled, and a chittering from the bog seemed to mock you. “This really fucking sucks.”

…

…

…

…

Tags; @busycloudy, @eynnwwyjth, @identity-theft-101, @ithseem, @krenenbaker, @lucid-stories, @ryker-writes, @twistwonderlanddevotee, @xxoomiii

~~~~~~~

Author's Note; This chapter is shorter, but it felt natural to end the chapter like this. This chapter, and the previous one, were both rewrites of an old WIP, so from here on out I don't have to rewrite! YIPPEE!!! Rewriting takes me forever, so we shall see what I come up with next.

If you liked this, do check out my masterlist for more content!

[taffycandyqt]

Please No

You can't sleep and seek company in your misery through your best friend. However he's not at home.

Masterlist

Request Rules

OH MY GOSH IM NOT DEAD! In all honesty I haven't been super motivated lately but I started this personal project a LOOOOOOONG time ago and felt I couldn't move on to other requests before I finished it. When I started this I felt really inspired to make it solely because I feel there is simply not enough Donatello fluff in this world, especially in 03' and 12' s case. So I hope you like it!

2012 Donnie x reader

Aged up, all characters are college/older adult age, depends on how you want to read it.

Fluff, slightly angst if you really want it to be there

Fem reader

Sleeping was always a struggle for you. Logically you knew you needed sleep, physically you felt tired, but mentally you just couldn't bring yourself to do it. Your body hated the idea and actually laying down and sleeping, so you went to the only person you KNEW would be up right now.

Casey Jones.

He was annoying when you first met him be he was chill enough that he grew on you pretty quickly. Not to mention that if it weren't for him you wouldn't have met your now boyfriend. You always enjoyed spending time with Donnie but trying to pin him down was hard especially since you didn't know where he lived. He didn't want you to meet his brothers just yet, says he wants time to adjust to your guys relationship before being teased. Which, fair. SO! To Casey's you went. You two usually met up at grueling times of the night so it was customary to clime up each other's fire escapes and practically break into the other person's house. You'd either scare each other awake or find the other sitting in their kitchen shoveling cereal into their mouth watching conspiracies on YouTube.

Tonight though, nothing. Like the dude up and vanished. You checked the kitchen and his room. You even went as far as to check the bathroom. THAT WAS HIS WHOLE APARTMENT! Did he have just as an abhorrent sleep schedule as you? Yes, but he never left the house to make it a strangers problem. So to ease your nerves you decided to call him, if that doesn't work, your gonna pray Donnie is awake enough to answer the phone.

One ring. Two ring. Third ring...

"This is THE Casey Jones." You breathed out a sigh of relief. He isn't kidnapped, dead, or lying in a ditch high of weed somewhere.

"Hey man, just dropped by your place, where you at?"

"Oooooh, one of those nights huh?"

"Isn't it always?"

"heh, I feel ya. Here I'll text you my location so we can chill." after that you heard talking from the other side of the phone. Someone that wasn't Casey. But before you could ask any questions Casey quickly responded to whatever it was that they said.

"SHUT UP! ILL KICK YOUR BUTT INTO NEXT WEEK, BUD!" ending with extra sass on the 'bud'.

That's when you got his text. Perfect!

---

Orrrr not. You swear you followed the directions exactly, so why are you standing in the middle of an alleyway being told to go forward when THERE IS NO FORWARD! Being the reasonable person you are you blamed it all on Casey and let him know of your little predicament.

And, 'wait there, just a sec was his reply.' You didn't think Casey would be the kind of person to plot someone else's demise. Not that he he hasn't caused someone else's demise, he just doesn't have the forethought to think ahead about it. However this whole, standing in an alley in New York at 2 am alone, is really starting to feel like a plot.

Once again, your nerves started rising. You looked around the old bricks, worn with water damage and scraping and covered in graffiti. The dark distorted your surroundings making it unclear if you were really alone in that alley or not. The stench of the trash bags shoved as close to the corners and walls as possible started to get to you. Your breathing got a little heavier. The ominous lighting from the street lamp didn't help either. Then a sound rose above the scampering feet of rats. You turn to see the man hole cover slowly scrap along the concrete as a large gloved hand shoved it away. The darkness of the alley clouded the figure and with the covering gone the hole left seemed like a endless pool of inky nothingness. You were stiff as a board and you could hear your heart thrashing in your ears. This is it. This is where you die and it's all Casey Jones's fault.

"Hey you did make it! Nice!"

Your threw a scrapped can square at his face.

"Ow!"

"CASEY! YOU SCARED ME!"

"Yo chill! I told you I was coming to get you!"

"YOU TOLD ME TO WAIT, I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT THE FRICK YOU WERE DOING! GOSH CASEY! WHAT WERE YOU EVEN DOING DOWN THERE!?"

"Hehe, come on. I'll show you," he winked at you before gesturing you to enter into the manhole first.

"No."

"Oh come on! Don't you trust me?"

"NO! Also gross. I'm not going down there just for the heck of it Casey. I have never been curious what New Yorks sewer system looks like."

"It's not about the sewers! We just have to walk through the system to get to the place," he told you mildly annoyed.

"And your purposely being suspicious about 'the place', because?"

"Because that's a surprise,"

"Oh joy. I just love surprises at 2 in the freaking morning, in the sewers, wearing my pajamas," you snarked as you lowered yourself down the manhole scowling slightly.

Casey led you through the sewers keeping a brisk pace. You asked him about the voice you hear over the phone earlier and all he told you was that it was part of the surprise. To which you rolled your eyes.

"You seem pretty confident on where your walking," you remarked.

"Well I sure hope so!" he laughed to himself, "I've only been coming here since highschool."

Him saying that struck a possible idea of what his "surprise" could be. But you couldn't be sure.

You initially met Casey in college. Not that he went to collage, he just crashed a class that you shared with his friend. He called her red, talked about her a lot too. You didn't really know her outside of that one class. It felt strange to know so many details about someone you've never talked to. He did mention that she was Donnies first crush but Donnie never talked about her though so you didn't really care much for that detail.

You knew that Casey had known Donnie, his brothers, and "red" since high school. He told you about their adventures all the time. Sometimes it made you feel a little disconnected, especially since the only people you ever knew from the group were Donnie and Casey. But you tried not to let that feeling get to you. It would simply take time. Besides, even if you're newer and don't know the whole group, neither Donnie or Casey ever made you feel like you weren't a part.

The thing is though, is that Casey only mentioned highschool when talking about the turtles. So while it is a loose assumption, you had an idea of what he might be planning. Part of you really hoped it wasn't what you were thinking. The other part really REALLY wanted it to be what you thought. But the majority part was to tired to care and just wanted something to do.

After a short walk you noticed the sewer transition into an abandoned subway station. That's when you heard the sounds of videogames and people. The smell of pizza lingered in the air the closer you walked to the sound. Eventually you got to the part of the station where lights lit up the dark space.

When you got to the entrance, you saw two turtles playing videogames. Pizza boxes littered the floor, some of them containing pizza, some completely empty. You were a little stunned honestly. Donnie had a genuine reason for not introducing you to his family, you didn't want to cross that line. But at the same time, you really needed a brain rotting distraction. You hesitated. But when Casey gestured you to go first through the turnstile first, that hesitation crumbled. You just wanted some pizza, was that so wrong? I mean you were already here, might as well just commit. You and Casey passed through and neither of the brothers tired to look at you. The one in red acknowledge the sound by saying,

"Welcome back Case."

"What didja need to do that you left so fast brah?" Asked the orange one.

"My best bud needed A.M. pizza, so I figured here would be the best place for her to get some," Casey told them patting your back before taking his seat next to the orange brother and picking up an abandoned controller. You followed, feeling out of place, you sat beside him.

This got reds attention.

"I'm sorry, she?" He paused the game to look over at you.

"WHAT?! CASEY WHO THE HECK IS SHE?? YOU CAN'T JUST BRING RANDOM PEOPLE DOWN HERE!"

"Dude chill out! First of all, shes not random, she's y/n," reds eye twitched, "Secondly, it's no biggie, she already knows Donnie, she's no snitch."

You smacked Casey's arm and shook your head.

"Hey! your already here aren't you?" he whined at you.

"Wait, how do you already know Donnie?" orange finally spoke up.

"Yeah, who are you anyways?" red questioned you.

"I-um. Hi, I'm y/n" you stiffly introduced.

You felt very awkward about this whole situation.

"And you know Don, how?" red reiterated impatiently.

You decided to play dumb.

"What do you mean?"

"How do you know Donnie?! Oh my gosh are you dumb?!"

"No, I get what you asked, but in what way?"

"THE FRICK DO YOU MEAN 'IN WHAT WAY?' HOW DO YOU KNOW MY BROTHER?!"

You both went back and forth like that for a while. Little did you know that this was Casey's plan all along. He had talked to Donnie about introducing you the family but he always said it "wasn't the right time". You and Donnie had been dating for almost a year now and had known each other even longer. Yet his brothers had yet to know you even existed! Knowing you, you wouldn't push the issue because you didn't want to pressure your poor boyfriend. You were under the false pretence that he would come around eventually. The truth is, he wouldn't. And it wasn't because of his brothers teasing.

They would still tease him yes, but they've grown, they know the line. The real reason Donnie hadn't introduced you was because one; he wanted you to himself. And two, the biggest reason; he was embarrassed of where he lived. Yes his home was cleanly and all but it was still a sewer. It had taken a long time for him to begin to believe that you actually thought he was attractive and not some kind of monster. Living in the sewer though? What if that breaks your entire image of him? What if you think he really is some slimy gross sewer monster after? He couldn't bear the thought. After being with you for so long, he doesn't think he could live without you.

It took a lot of nagging but when Casey finally broke him and that was the explanation he gave? Casey was so done. So he took matters into his own hands. He waited for the opportunity to present itself and tonight was the night.

"Dudes!" orange interjected, "Chillll. Ever consider that maybe she won't say cuz we haven't introduced ourselves yet?? Hmmmmmmmmm?"

He chewed red out. Red just scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"Hi, I'm Mikey, and that grump is Raph," he told you, "He's been awake too long, he gets fussy without his nap."

You giggled at this, but before you could say anything back Raph had tackled Mikey to the floor. As they rustled you made a small laugh.

"What is going on in here so late?" you heard someone say from behind you. You turned to where it was coming from and saw the third brother you had yet to meet. Blue.

Before he could say anything to Raph or Mikey though, he made eye contact with you.

"Who are you?"

"This is my best bud y/n. Y/n, the fearless leader Leo," Casey introduced.

"Don't call me that Casey," he told him sternly. He walked over to you guys and took a seat in the other side of you.

"You know Case, if I wasn't half asleep I'd be way more upset about you bringing a stranger to the lair."

"She's not a stranger though, she's known Donnie for a while now. Besides we already got yelled at enough by Raph," Casey told him.

He humm and nodded in a 'that makes sense type' of way.

"So you've know Donnie for a while?" he asked.

You felt like could tell Leo just as much as you could tell Raph. Which was nothing. But you felt like Leo would be more receptive to a reasonable answer then Raph was.

"I'd tell you, but I'm not at liberty to say right now," you said.

"That's not suspicious at all," he teased.

"Hey!" you laughed at him and he laughed back.

Casey elbowed you and smiled proudly. He acted like he deserved a thank you for introducing you to your boyfriends family behind his back. All you did was elbow him in the ribs. That was he really deserved. You would be lying though if you said it wasn't an oddly fun situation.

That's when Raph had pinned Mikey and he started screaming.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY? I COULDN'T HEAR YOUR BEFORE?!" Raph yelled at him with this hands pushing Mikey's head to the floor.

"AAAAAAAAA!!" was all Mikey said him response.

Leo sighed next to you, "I guess I'll be taking care of that."

Before he could make a move though, you heard a familiar voice.

"What is going on out here?! I can't work with all this RACKET!" Donnie grumply shouted.

He stopped right in his tracks when he saw you though.

The only time you had seen Donnie that worked up was when an experiment failed or his brothers got on his nerves. Even then though, it was just venting after the fact, so you never witnessed the brunt of his frustrations. Safe to say you were a little startled, not put off or anything, just surprised mostly.

"Y- y- y- y Y/N?! What in Earth are you doing here?? At this hour? Here? I- ??" he was completely flabbergasted and udderly mortified.

He looked a mess, bags under his eyes, mask lazily pushed above his eyes, and not to mention yelling like an angry old man! Oh nononono. It was bad enough you were in his sewer home, there's no way you don't think his a monster now!

"Would you look at that, guess you did know Don after all," Raph said, head in hand while an elbow laid on Mikey's head.

You turned back to Raph, "Why would I lie about that?!"

This boy was unbelievable.

"Raph get off Mikey," Leo told him.

"Not until he says it!"

"Really Raph? I though you stopped doing that when we were teens."

Deciding that you needn't be involved in that conversation, you turned back to Donnie who had a horrified expression on his face.

"H- how long have you been down here?" he asked quietly.

"Not super long, Casey and I only got here like, a few minutes ago," you answered him.

Donnie took a deep breath, he looked like he was about to loose it. You didn't blame him honestly.

"You. Brought. Her. Here?!" he asked Casey. Clearly hanging by the thread of his last nerve.

"Yeah, s'not like you ever would have, so I took matters into my own hands. Besides she's my friend just as much as she's your girlfriend, I have a right to introduce her to my closest buds."

"Wait. Did you just say, girlfriend?" Mikey asked. Leo was helping him off the floor with a displeased Raph standing to the side. They all froze after Casey's statement and started at you and Donnie with wide eyes.

"JONES!" you both yelled at him in unison.

"What? They were gonna haft'a know eventually, I just got the awkward part out of the way for you," he shrugged and winked at you both.

You were gonna kill him. And by the looks of it Donnie and you were on the same page.

You pinched the bridge of your nose and let out a sigh.

"Okay, I think Donnie and I need to have a private conversation. When we're done we'll clear everything up with you all. Okay?"

"That sounds good," Leo nodded while everyone else complained.

You turned to Donnie signaling to lead the way to wherever you two could have some alone time. He seemed nervous and jittery, but led you none the less. He let you in first through a big sliding door that opened up into what seemed to be a garage. It had tables with tools and other electronic equipment strewn around. There were chemistry supplies as well along with some posters in the walls.

"So," Donnie started, fixing his gaze on the floor, "you wanted to talk?" He adjusted his mask to fit back over his eyes.

"Uh, yeah," you answered. Why was the air so thick all of a sudden? Donnie was so closed in on himself it was almost like he was afraid of you. Honestly, you wanted to ask him why Casey said he would never take you down here. But now wasn't the time for that.

"What do you want to do now? I know you wanted to introduce me on your own terms but now that that's not really a possibility. So where do you wanna go from here?" You asked.

You figured it would best to have a game plan before explaining everything to his brothers.

"I understan- Wait what?" He looked at you confused.

"Uuhhh, where do you want to go from here? Ya know, now that your brothers know?" You repeated yourself. Now you were confused.

"I. Wha. That's all you have to say?" Donnie said mouth agape, shocked.

"What? I mean, about this situation yeah? I mean, I am curious why Casey felt the need to do this but that's not really my first priority right now. Am- am I missing something here?" You asked him.

"I- I thought... I live in a sewer," he told you.

"You thought you lived in a sewer?" Your confusion increasing, "Like. You didn't know?"

"No! I know that! I just... you don't care?"

"Why would I care? I'm sorry," you put a hand to your forehead, "did you think I would judge you for your living conditions? Which are honestly pretty cush. Who do you take me fore Don?!"

"I! Well it's not that I thought you would judge me, it's just... I'm a mutant. Living in the sewers just- I don't know. The only things you think of living in the sewers are creepy gross monsters or rodents. On top of that it's the sewers! Most people find that pretty gross."

"Donnie. We've known each other for longer then a year. If I was disgusted by you, you would know by now," you spoke dryly.

"All this time I thought you just needed to get used to things. But you were just assuming the worst about me? What the heck Donnie?" You were hurt. You loved him so much, and he thought you would leave him because of where he lives? He really thought you were that judgemental?

"What?! No! I wasn't assuming the worst about you! I was just afraid you'd realize you deserve better than me!"

"BUT YOU'RE ALL I WANT!"

He stopped and looked at you, eyes wide.

"Really?"

"Yes! And I hate it when you talk like you're not deserving of love just because you're mutant."

"I just... I just don't see what you see in me," he admitted.

"Then stop assuming things and closing yourself off. Talk to your family, talk to your friends, talk to me. I never worry about whether or not you love me, you've seen me at my worst and never left my side. You're so scared of how I'll react to your worst you never even give me a chance to show you," you grabbed his hand and looked him in the eye.

"You don't get to decide how I feel or what I think, only I do."

"You're right, I'm sorry. Sorry for assuming things, things about you, and for taking so long to introduce you."

You kissed him on the cheek.

"Thank you," you smiled at him. Then pinched his neck and pulled him to you.

"Ow ow ow ow!"

"And never do that again," you let him go.

"Yes of course absolutely never again," he nodded and smiled at you. You smiled back and patted his chest.

"Now before we continue the conversation of how to approach your family, I feel like we should address the eavesdroppers in the room," you said pulling back the door all the way. It was already cracked open to allow the peepers better visuals for your conversation.

As it slid open you noticed Casey and the three brothers trying to run away from the door.

"What! Guys! What part of private conversation do you not understand?!" Donnie yelled at them.

"I told you guys you shouldn't have done that," Leo scolded them.

"YOU LITERALLY JOINED RIGHT AFTER SAYING THAT!" Raph pointed an accusatory finger at him, "AND FOR THE RECORD IT WAS MIKEY'S IDEA!" He yelled moving his pointing to the youngest.

"Wow dude, I thought we were in this together," Mikey put a hand on his chest hurt.

"Well in the end it doesn't matter cuz it already happened right?" Casey shrugged and took a seat on the couch again.

Out of everyone here you and Donnie were most ticked at Casey.

Both you and Donnie approached him from behind and grabbed one of his shoulders.

"W-what? Uhhh. You dudes need something? Eh heh..." he stuttered nervous. Only just now did he realize the hole he had dug for himself.

"Why don't we have a chat Casey," you smiled but it was less of a question and more of a statement.

"Privately," Donnie finished, no smile to be found.

You both were gonna have fun with this. Then Donnie could take you home and tuck you in. What a great boyfriend girlfriend bonding activity!

------------------------------------------------------------Listen y'all, I know Google maps don't work like this, but just for the sake of plot pretend like it does.

[delopsia]

nosedive | rhett abbott x reader

Word Count: 18,900 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader. Storm chasers AU, Kate, and Tyler appear but are so inconsequential that they can be read as OC's. You do not need to watch Twisters to understand and read this fic! Arguing, brief food mentions, undisclosed past trauma, storm chasing, vehicle accidents, anxiety attacks, friends to lovers, grinding, unprotected sex, includes a sketch that I traced from stock photos I stitched together. Brief Summary: You swore off storm chasing a long time ago. You haven't been able to look at that old truck since the accident, and if you could have your way, you'd never think about that part of your life ever again. You've moved on. Every time you touch that damn truck, something goes wrong. But when your friend and her so-called business partner become wrapped up in a never-ending quarrel, it's Rhett who becomes your biggest supporter. You think you're beginning to remember why you used to love this. How you used to live for your out-of-this-world builds and ideas. Or maybe…just maybe, you're beginning to fall in love with something that isn't a truck.

"So, at what point are we going to tell them?"

"What would that be?" Speaking with the straw against your lips, seconds away from taking another sip of that cheap gas station coffee. "That I'm the one who keeps filling Rhett's truck with tiny ducks?"

"No," Kate's eyes roll, her head shaking ever so slightly, not quite ready to admit to her part in it. "About Dallas."

A gust of wind blows past. Entirely invisible to the eye, and yet you catch Kate's head following as it twists through the field, the wheat rippling in waves. Strange how something you can't even see can cause so much trouble, ripping up the garage roof, blowing Rhett's hat down the driveway, and taking that long-awaited Amazon package across the lawn.

Worse, it blows your straw around, leaving you to gape like a fish as you blindly try to find it again. "Do we even want to tell them?"

Her brow furrows. Confused.

"You can't convince me it's not entertaining to watch them puff up like a bunch of peacocks when we mention him," you can't help but giggle, memories flickering through your head like a slideshow. Rhett grumbling about Dallas under his breath. Tyler pulling up his YouTube channel to prove he's done bigger things than this Dallas guy ever could. Overhearing them griping about him in the hotel gym. "Can you imagine the look on their faces when they finally see him?"

A smile bursts onto her face. "You drive a fair point."

Something clangs to the left. Appearing so suddenly that both of your heads swivel toward it.

Speak of the devil.

Rhett and Tyler. Hauling some kind of unnamed contraption to the trucks. You're pretty sure that it's supposed to put extra weight on the chassis to prevent them from being blown around as easily. Rhett's been muttering about having to build a new one ever since his original build cracked a few days ago.

If you weren't distracted, you think you would be able to recall more of the details, but all you can focus on is...

"Are they allergic to shirts?" Kate chirps after a long moment, but she's not making any effort to peel her eyes away.

Neither are you. Too wrapped up in the way Rhett's bicep flexes as he readjusts his grip on the steel frame. Not quite as bulky as Tyler, but he's got a wiriness to him that almost seems to hypnotize you, stuck staring until you run the risk of being caught. "Are we complaining?"

"Absolutely not," and you only peel your gaze away when you realize that they're walking toward your little afternoon coffee party. You're not dealing with the misery that is Tyler's cockiness again.

Kate's got the same idea, her cheeks dusted with a subtle shade of pink that wasn't there a few seconds ago. Something flickers behind her eyes, the same kind of glint you're used to seeing when she's caught the trail of a brewing storm, but she doesn't say anything.

You wonder if this new frame means they'll focus on upgrading those drills next. Anchoring two feet into the ground was likely an impressive feat when they first installed that onto the rigs, but the technology has progressed so much further since then. Longer augers would be a start, twisting deeper into the earth, harder to be ripped out by high winds. 

"So, do you know when Dallas is coming in?" Kate asks once the boys are within earshot, like she doesn't know the answer to her own question.

Rhett's head perks. Tyler peeks over his sunglasses.

"Few more days, I think," feigning interest in your drink, swirling the straw in circles, anything to pretend that you haven't noticed them yet. "Sunday at the latest."

"Dallas!" Tyler crows. So loud and sudden that you jolt in your seat. "Finally comin' to meet us, huh?"

Rhett peeks at you through the corner of his eye, either too focused on the task at hand or not quite bold enough to match Tyler's antics. Even from a distance, it's difficult to miss the way his gaze rakes up and down your frame as if transfixed by your pajama shorts and the beauty that is your half-awake face.

"He was supposed to be here earlier, but..." motioning toward the empty beer can blowing past. Budweiser's aluminum version of a tumbleweed. "Another wind delay."

Tyler scoffs, the heel of his boot thunking against the can and sending it flying. "How many more times is he gonna use that excuse?"

"As many times as he wants," Kate's stolen the words right out of your mouth, her shoulders shrugging as she turns her attention back to her cell phone.

Wind howls in your ear, rolling the ballpoint pen across the table and right into your cup. It tips before you can even comprehend what's happening, the remnants of your coffee spilling into the dirt. 

"I reckon that's my sign to head inside," you sigh, defeated. This battle was lost the moment you quit paying attention to your drink.

There's not much for you to gather, but nature herself had might as well be interfering with your every move. Blowing the cup toward the garage, rustling your notebook pages when you scoop it up, the pen jumping off the edge of the table just to rub salt into the wound. It's not bothering anything else, not Kate's hair, not the dumb hat on Tyler's head, just your things.

Talk about a personal vendetta.

At least the garage has never betrayed you like this. Cozy and windless, albeit a bit dusty, depending on the day of the week and what project Rhett is working on. The loveseat tucked into the far right corner is much softer than that sunbleached wooden chair, the beaten cushions enveloping you in a loose hug. The thick armrest is the perfect size to fit your notebook. Doesn't have you trying to cram yourself into an itty bitty space. 

And with the back of the couch being up against the wall, there's no opportunity for someone to mosey up and peek at your notes, either. 

The side of the pen is dented, the groove creating the perfect space for your finger to settle into as you begin to draw. This must be the pen that you forgot on the roof of your car and wound up driving overtop of. 

Ink drips from the tip in spurts, scattering across the page in small, ugly blotches. What's supposed to be your delicate sketchings of an idea are starting to look more and more like an interpretive art piece in a museum. Is it a component for one of the storm vehicles, or is there an underlying message about the beauty of mistakes and brokenness?

Whatever. The answer only matters if it's attached to a big, fat check from a private collector looking to hang it next to a myriad of other, questionably produced works. 

"Whatcha ya doin' over there?" Rhett's voice echoes through the garage, seems to come from so many directions that you don't realize where he is until you spot him in your peripheral. Red dirt and grease smeared across his forearms, sweat glistening in the overhead light. You already know he doesn't smell the best, but you can't say you hate the sight of him.

Your pen drifts across the paper once more, streaking through a blob of collected ink in your efforts to build the general shape of a truck. "Sketching." 

It's such a bland reply. Shouldn't intrigue him in the slightest, and yet you can hear the soft thunk of his boots against the cement floor, drawing closer. "Sketchin' what?" 

"A fantasy for an advanced anchoring system," your pen darts across the metal arms, extending from the roof of the truck, one on the passenger side and one on the driver, anchored into the ground. "Buildable, but it's not a feasible idea." 

The light reflects off of his rodeo buckle. Amelia County's bull riding champion. "Can I see?"

You're not sure why he wants to look at your fantasy sketches, but you don't have the energy nor the will to tell him no. Certainly not when he's bending down next to you, so close that his bicep bumps into your arm, hot and swollen from hauling around that heavy frame. You're making no effort to move away, either. If anything, you're moving closer, turning the notebook for him to see.

As if to guide his thoughts, his index finger traces across the lines, grease-stained and so, so much thicker than yours. "What's makin' ya think it won't work?"

"It's not realistic." Easy answer. There's a reason why nobody else has done this. 

But Rhett's head just tilts to the side, a thought visibly crossing his mind. You know it's there; can see it glisten in his eyes as it passes by. "Yes, it is." 

You feel the tug of your arm and the warmth of his hand around your wrist before you realize that he's pulling you up from the couch. There's a creak in your knee as you rise, helplessly stumbling after him.

"What are you doing?" You're chirping, but Rhett doesn't reply, too dead set on hauling you to the other side of the room.

He spins. So do you. The garage blurs into streaks of gray.

Then your back bumps into his sweaty chest, and you're staring at...a newly built drill for the frame. 

"Does this look unrealistic to you?" His voice rumbles straight through you, low as the thunder that you've spent too much of your life chasing. 

"Well...no," you croak after a long moment, "but you already know that it—"

"What about that?" His hand darts out, pointing toward the old radar, built out of scrap material and the sheer power of will. It doesn't work anymore, not after that hunk of debris split it down the middle, but it did for a good few weeks. 

Rhett isn't waiting for you to reply, already pointing toward another contraption. The roll cage, and the rest of the steel exoskeleton frame that hasn't been welded onto Tyler's truck. Then he's guiding your attention to the windshield and window cages; lord knows those glass replacements are getting expensive. The armor plating that has yet to be welded to the vehicles, the reinforced overhead spotlights, the custom grill guards, and all of the little, unnamed crafts that you have yet to see in action.

"None of this was feasible, either," his words are solid, fleeting things, dancing around your head like words from the gods above, "but we still gave it a shot." 

A puff of air breaks past your lips. 

All of that happened long before you and Kate stumbled across them crammed into the corner of a Waffle House. Their trucks were already built. Field tested beyond belief. But...well, you suppose his ideas had to have started the same way yours do, a random thought that evolved out of control until it became a reality.

"Your ideas are no more unrealistic than these were," Rhett murmurs, and it almost sounds like he's sharing a secret. A whimsical little thought meant to stay between the two of you.

...maybe he has a point. 

You turn, twisting to face him. The tips of your noses bump. Piecing blue eyes staring right back into yours, wide as can be. Too close. Way too close. But you don't make any effort to move, and neither does he. He should. Fuck, any closer, and you'd be kissing him, can already taste his minty toothpaste on his breath. 

"Rhett!" Boone's voice arcs across the room like lightning, sends you jumping apart as if struck by it. "You fixin' to bring that upper frame or what?" 

Whatever that moment was, it's gone in an instant. 

Your head comes so close to hitting the ceiling that you can feel it graze past. Seatbelt cinching tight around your chest. Ass bouncing against the seat. Struggling to keep both your hands on the shivering plastic handle overhead. Something clatters across the floor, landing in the mess of components and contraptions that met their maker three bumps ago.

You'd complain, but Tyler's rollercoaster of a truck looks even worse than whatever the hell you just experienced. 

"I'm shocked this old truck has survived this long," you're trying to sound calm, but it comes out resembling a yelp more than anything else. "I remember you driving to high school with this thing." 

Rhett's hands flutter across the wheel, a wave of mud kicking up from under the back tires. "These ol' ranch trucks last forever if you take care of 'em."  

"Doesn't care involve things like...not driving into ditches?" Your shoulder presses against the glass, sliding around as the truck veers to the left, loosely chasing Tyler's messy trail. 

"Probably," he laughs, "but we survived, didn't we?" 

"I'm not too sure about that," frankly, you think half of your soul may still be sitting on the road, milliseconds away from experiencing the horror of Rhett's truck diving into the ditch.

"Oh, c'mon," his hand darts out, nudging your arm, "ya worry too much."

You haven't forgotten about the clouds twisting up ahead, downward spiraling, growing thinner and thinner as it nears the earth. A plume of red dirt rises, staining what was once a perfect, white funnel cloud. Wind squeals around the edges of the truck, wedging its way through the nonexistent gaps between the windows and wailing in your ear. 

Tyler's truck rips straight into the center, unhindered by the mud and soybean plants being hurled against it. There's already a drone dancing around the upper part of the funnel, bobbing and weaving, serves as the eyes for however many people are watching the live stream it's broadcasting. 

Rhett's a little more conservative, looping out to the side and into the path of the tornado instead. Leaves scatter across the windshield, wedging beneath the windshield wipers. But the nose of the truck turns to face the cyclone, and the wind is already beginning to tear them away. 

"Wanna press the button?" You can hardly hear him. Only realize he's talking when you notice his mouth moving.

You're already reaching out, pressing the little green button on the dash. 

The drills whir to life, entirely inaudible, but it's impossible to miss their vibration as they dig down into the soil, the truck gradually sinking lower. 

One blink and the world around you turns to dust. The little ranch truck shivers under the battering of the wind; feels like you're going to blow away at any moment, but nothing around you is moving. 

Hesitant, you peek out the passenger window up at the tornado overhead. It's almost calm. A little quieter now. The crystal sky peeks through the twirling clouds, and if you tilt your head just right, it kind of looks like one of Rhett's gentle blue eyes. 

Rhett's elbow nudges yours as you settle back into your seat. 

You know what he's going to say before he's even opened his mouth. 

"Now, is this more fun than it is with Dallas?" Always comparing your ventures together to what you've done in the past, like he's aiming to jump up to the top of your 'Best Experiences' list.

"Nah," repeating the same thing you always tell him. He should have expected this answer from a mile away. "Dal still has ya beat."

His eyes roll, but he laughs nonetheless. Defeated again. "One of these days, I'm—"

Bang.

The truck jumps. 

Something sharp scatters across your face. Wind screams in your ears. 

The world flips on its head. Upside down. Rightside up. Upside down again. It jars you so hard that your teeth snap together, head smacking against the seat, and there's something yanking against your chest, and your ears are popping and, and, and—

You should have known that was coming. 

Why didn't you know that was coming?

You don't feel the pressure on your shoulders until it's gone. Replaced with something warm that you can't identify. Can't think to try and identify where it's coming from. Something about your head doesn't feel right, but it doesn't hurt. Tickles. Like something is running down the side of it.

The truck flipped. How did the truck flip? 

Fuck.

You, from three years ago, would have seen that coming from a mile fucking away. How have you gotten worse at the one thing you're supposed to be good at? You should've checked the drills, the circuits, the wires. Why didn't you run through any of the safety checks before you left? What if the tornado had been stronger? Sucked you up and spit you out several hundred feet into the air? 

Did you not learn from the last time? 

This was entirely avoidable.

There's something muttering near you. Sounds like thunder in a strange sort of way. Deep rumbles, rolling in one ear and out the other. But thunder doesn't pause in the middle of its booming, not like this. 

"We're okay."

Your throat is so raw that you can hardly speak. Dry, too. Chest heaving, sucking in air faster than your lungs can handle it. What, what...what...

"We're okay," Rhett. That's Rhett's voice in your ear. "We're okay." 

And he keeps saying it. Over and over, like he's trying to convince himself just as much as he's trying to convince you. But it's not working. You're still shivering, and his voice is lodging in his throat, and...

Your head goes dark. 

You don't necessarily know if you pass out or if your memory decided to stop writing things down. 

One moment, you're in the truck, and the next, you're sitting in the middle of a hospital room, squinting as a nurse shines a blinding light directly into your eye. She hums something to the woman next to her, then turns the light off. 

There's a spot in your vision now. Dead center, lingering as you turn your head to look at whoever is sitting next to you, entirely blocking out their face. Their hand over top of yours, thumb swiping idly across your skin, back and forth in a rhythm that you haven't figured out yet.

"What failed?" You know it's your voice, can feel your mouth shaping around the words, but it sounds nothing like you. 

"Hm?" Rhett's hum nearly disappears amongst the commotion going on around you. 

"The truck," trying again, a little more specific now. "What went wrong back there?"

Stitches line his forearm, probably sliced open by the same thing that left the cuts on the left side of his cheek. Glass from the shattered windshield, you think. 

"You'll never believe this," he leans closer like he doesn't want anyone else to hear what he's about to say. "We got hit by a tree."

That doesn't... "A...tree?" Parroting him. You're expecting for him to furrow his brows and ask how in the world you've managed to mishear him, but all he does is nod. You heard him perfectly. 

All of that was because of a tree hitting the side of the truck. Probably struck hard enough to rip the drills from the ground and gave the tornado all the leverage it needed to start throwing you around like a children's toy.

...huh. 

"Hey, is there a lug wrench sittin' over there?" Rhett asks, his foot kicking out toward the tool cabinet as if to try and point you toward it. Whatever he's doing up under the truck, he must not be able to see that you're already standing in front of the damn cabinet. 

You already see them, sitting amongst the mess of tools resting on top of it. "You've got two." 

His head pokes out from the side. "I do?"

"One is silver, the other is black," lifting them both for him to see. You don't see a difference between them; they both do the same thing, but you're not the one needing them.

"Give me..." his lips purse, "the black one."

You bend down, handing the tool off to him, but the silver one is still in your other hand. "Remind me again what drawer these belong in?"

He taps the thing against his chin. "Any of the middle ones is fine." 

"And here you wonder why you can never find anything," you tease, an ache blooming in your chest as you laugh, still a bit sore from being rolled around like Mother Nature's bowling ball.

Something metal hits the floor, audibly rolling away. A bolt, you think. Rhett swears, boots squeaking as he clambers out from beneath the vehicle. "'ts hard to stay organized when ya share a garage with someone like Tyler."

"That bad?" You would look to see what he's chasing, but organizing this mess is higher on your priority list. 

There's so much junk on the top of this cabinet that you can't figure out what is what, in such a disarray that it seems to swallow up everything you sit on top of it. Somewhere in here is your ten-millimeter socket. 

Kate's voice echoes from outside, loud enough for you to hear her but not enough for you to understand her. Tyler shouts back, the slam of a truck door punctuating whatever he has to say. You think he's still talking when Kate blurts something that sounds like an "I don't care!" Tyler doesn't seem to like that at all.

You turn to look at Rhett right as he does the same. Defeat. Confusion. An overall look of being absolutely done with hearing it from them. You recognize it all; you're feeling the same damn thing. 

And here you thought you'd found a place to escape from them.

"Are those two ever gonna get together?" Rhett whines after a moment. 

Your head shakes, "Kate's got a strict 'no dating business partners' clause." 

They're getting closer now, slowly but surely carrying their argument to the garage. You're not sure why. Everyone was there when the argument started in the restaurant, gradually clearing all of you out of the booth with to-go boxes and a migraine to boot. 

Rhett reaches through the open truck window, pressing the garage door opener. With a groan, it starts to close, taking away your fresh midnight air but granting more silence in return. "Does that rule apply to you, too?"

"I'm not sure," you'd never actually...considered if you were wrapped up in that law or if it was Kate-exclusive. "Why?"

Rhett's eyes dart away. 

Have his ears been red this whole time? Or maybe it's a trick the light is playing on you because it seems to disappear as he rushes toward the side door, sliding the deadbolts into place and twisting the locks. 

There's no way that he's... "Are you seriously locking them out?" 

"Do you wanna hear them argue for another hour?" He doesn't need for you to answer that; he already knows the answer. "Get me that padlock off the table."

Padlock. Shit, where did you last see that?

There's so much on this table. Jumper cables. Tools. Tools. More tools. Bolts. A box of nails. Your missing socket. A chocolate candy wrapper. Tootsie rolls. Another box of nails. Shit, is that a broken phone case? You push your hands through the mess, shoving it all to the side, but you don't see it. Where is it? Where is it? 

Someone knocks on the garage door. Rattling across the garage.

Fuck, fuck, where is it? You don't see—

There it is.

You don't feel it in your grasp until you're halfway across the room. Shoving it into Rhett's open hands. The garage door rattles. But Rhett's shoving the hook through a hole in the tracks, squeezing it closed until it clicks. 

"Are y'all in there?" Tyler's muffled voice is the last thing you want to hear. 

Something moves in the window. 

Your body moves on its own. Grabbing Rhett by the bicep. Diving toward the couch. 

He's too big to be tumbling after you, but he does, the loveseat squealing as he lands on top of you. An elbow finds its way into your ribs. Your knee slots between his thighs. His hair is in your face, and you can smell the vanilla of his cologne, and his hand is on your waist—

"Rhett?" Tyler tries again. Knuckles tap at the window. 

You know they can't see you. If they could, then they would be calling you out on it. 

This couch isn't wide enough for you and Rhett to be lying on it like this, your shoulder hanging off the edge, his knees awkwardly bent to make room for your legs. He's finding a way to make it work, though. Wedging himself up against the back cushion, granting you enough room to roll onto your side without falling off. 

You're not sure if you want to comment on the arm that drapes around your waist, securing you to him. 

"I entirely forgot about the window," he whispers. Does he think Tyler can hear him talking from outside? 

Laughing, you tap him on the nose. "I know you did." 

So much of his hair has fallen into his face that you can no longer see his expression, concealed under a mass of unruly, brunette curls, untamable by any means of the word. He can very well push it out of the way himself, but for some reason, you find that your hand is beginning to do that for him. Collecting locks of it with your fingers, sorting them to their respective sides, tucking some of it behind his ear. 

"Watcha doin'?" He asks as you unveil his hidden eye. It looks bluer than it was before.

Your touch falters. "I wanted to see your face." 

"Yeah?" The corner of his lip lifts a little. 

"Yeah." Nodding. 

And your hand just...falls onto his cheek. Idly resting there, like this is exactly where it belongs, where it's always gone after you've finished fixing his hair. 

Worse. He doesn't make any effort to stop you, lets your thumb swipe up and down his skin, meandering across the tiny cuts that linger there. If you didn't know any better, you would think he nicked himself while shaving, but there are far too many of them for that. Too high, too. There's even one up beside the corner of his eye.

"No!" Even the garage door isn't enough to muffle Kate's voice. "We're not doing that, Tyler!"

Tyler isn't quite as loud. You can hear the general sound of his voice, carrying through a sentence or two, but you can't make out a single word. 

"Because—because it's ridiculous," Kate's still going. Tyler says something a bit louder.

You don't know when Rhett started moving, but all of a sudden, you're way too aware of how close his face is getting. Inching closer and closer until...

He rubs his nose against yours. Slow little motions that don't stop until you can no longer fight off your smile.

"What're you doing?" You giggle, making no real effort to stop him. 

He's too close for you to see his mouth, but you recognize the way that the corners of his eyes turn upward with his grin. "Distractin' ya." 

It must be working because you no longer have the capacity to think about what's going on in the driveway. His hand smooths up your back, making its way up to your face, and he's so warm, heat radiating off his palm like he's got a small fire burning in his veins. Rough fingertips brush against your cheek, hesitant to make any solid contact. 

"Your cheek is still swollen," his palm gradually comes to flatten against your cheek, his hand so big that it seems to cover your entire face. 

Kate's voice echoes in the back of your head. No dating business partners. But something about his touch...it's addicting. "Well, that's what happens when you get thrown around by a tornado." 

He doesn't seem to have much else to say to that. 

To be fair, you don't know what you would say to that, either. 

His thumb swipes across the upper portion of your cheek. Your fingers find their way down to his jaw, pushing through the stubble there. It's soft, has had time to lose the stiffness that comes with being recently shaved. 

It seems that you may have finally lost Kate and Tyler; you don't hear them bickering outside, at least. You lift your head, craning to look over the arm of the couch and at the door. The window is impossible to see from this angle, but you get the feeling that they're no longer standing outside. 

"What's that?" You ask, nodding toward something that you know he can't see.

Rhett's fingers trace their way over to the shell of your ear, not interested in trying to look at what you're asking him about. "Hm?"

"The little contraption sitting next to the door," clarifying, "it looks like a bunch of pipes welded together."

"Oh, that's...supposed to be a tree to hold a bunch of different instruments," he tilts his head back a little, realizes he can't see anything without sitting up, then immediately lets himself fall back against the couch. "I can get everythin' on it, but I can't get it to stay on."

"Industrial glue and steel hose clamps." You have to pause for a moment, sifting through dusty memories, trying to recall how you used to protect Kate's old contraptions. "Maybe build a thin cage around it in case those two things fail."

Rhett's quiet again, his brows knitting together. 

Is he confused, or is he just thinking about what you said? 

It takes him some time to find his words, half-built sentences flickering behind his eyes. You can practically hear the gears turning up in his head. And then, hestiant, his lips part. "I feel like you know a lot more 'bout storm chasin' than you let on."

Something in your lower belly twists. "What's telling you that?"

"You're confident when you're in here," he doesn't need any more time to think on this, his thoughts flowing off his tongue like a waterfall, "most of the folks who walk in here don't have the slightest clue what we're building, but you recognize almost all of it." 

Your eyes dart away, looking down at your intertwined legs, bent and crammed onto this tiny little couch. His fingers curl around your jaw, gently guiding you to look him in the eye.

For reasons unbeknownst to you, you don't fight him on it. 

"You draw up some of the coolest concepts I've ever seen, you...you..." the corner of his lip wobbles up and down. The sight of it makes your head feel funny. "Shit, you make me feel like I'm not the only person here who knows how to do this kind of stuff." 

You suppose you should have expected this. It takes one to know one, and you haven't done yourself any favors by always working with him in this dingy old garage. But you don't entirely know how to respond to that or where you should even start...

"I used to work on an old storm truck that Kate and I owned," it comes out so easily that it almost surprises you, "but that was...god, that was forever ago."

Rhett's eyelashes flutter, his head tilting like that of a curious puppy. "Why'd you never tell me?" 

Shattered glass. The snap of hydraulics splitting in half. Blood blurring your vision. Ear-splitting howling. The world flipping on its head. Rain in your eyes. Steel digging through your back. Your chest tightens. Hail pounding into your skull. The screaming. It's your fault. It's your fault. It's your fault. 

And you're...warm. 

"'m sorry," Rhett murmurs, and you don't know when he got so close, but you can feel the vibration of his voice against your nose. A careful hand smooths up your back, another arm securing you to him, tucked up under his chin, shielded from the glaring openness of this too-big garage.

He doesn't move, and neither do you. But this time...this time, you think you know why. 

Rubber squeals against the pavement, so shrill that it soars above the roar of the engine. Your shoulder slams into the window, seat belt cinching tight as everything spins into a blur. 

"Tyler!" Kate yelps.

"Kate!" Tyler. Ever so mocking.

"You're gonna get another ticket." Her hand darts out, smacking his arm. Tyler's got something clever to say about that; you don't hear any of it. If you start listening now, you'll have a migraine before the funnel cloud touches the ground.

Rhett meets your gaze out of the corner of his eye. Telepathy must be real because you know exactly what's running through his head.

Here we go again. 

If you'd known this would start up again, then you probably would have faked an illness to stay home. A headache, an upset stomach, or a sudden onset of death that will miraculously cure itself when the storm chase ends. Anything.

Tires squeal again, the truck seeming to tip onto its front wheels. The seatbelt yanks on your shoulders, throwing you back into the seat. Rhett's phone smacks against the console. A scattering of papers, nameless weather instruments, and unlit rockets scatter across the floor. 

Wind rocks the vehicle back and forth. Squealing through the crack in the window like a kettle boiling over. Or maybe you're just hearing things because nobody else seems to hear it. Tyler's shouting into his camera. Kate's rattling something off about how the tornado is forming directly above the town you're driving through.

A wave of rain pelts the windshield. Hail pattering on the roof. Something silver flies past the nose of the truck, striking the building to your right. The brick splinters, debris falling like rain. Kate yells something. Tyler shouts back at her.

"Hang on, hang on," Rhett jumps in his seat, blindly smacking his hand on the console, looking at something you can't see, "stop the truck."

But Tyler is saying something into the CB radio, veering the truck to the right with one hand. Kate doesn't lift her head from the scanner. And they're still fucking arguing. You don't know if they even hear Rhett over the clash of their own voices, nevermind the storm.

Rhett yanks on the door handle. It peels open, rain spewing through the gap. "Ty, stop the damn truck!" 

"Rhett?" You yelp. Scrambling.  "Rhett, wait!" 

You can't stop him. 

He's jumping out of the truck before it's even stopped moving. Bricks and sheet metal hurl past. The door slams closed. You don't see where he went. Where is he? Where did he-where did he go? Why is the truck still moving—

"Stop the goddamn truck!" Screaming so loud that it doesn't even sound like you. 

The truck lurches. The seatbelt rips the air from your lungs. Taking it off is the last thing you should be doing, but it's already unclipped. Papers crunch as you scurry into Rhett's seat. Wind beats against the door. Does everything in its power to keep you from forcing it to open. You can't see a thing. Not even with the damn door halfway open.

"Where's Rhett?" 

You don't know which of them asked that. You don't care to figure that out. "If you two could stop fighting for two fucking seconds, then maybe you would know!" 

It's like someone flipped a switch. The wind and rain just...dies. There's a reason for that, a term and definition that Kate probably memorized in college, but you're not sticking around to hear it. Slipping out of the truck, you dart out into the mist. Fog already licks at your heels, so humid that it feels like you're wearing a second skin out here.

"Rhett?" Calling out. 

You don't see him. There's nothing but debris and disheveled produce stands, all the cracked open watermelons and runaway apples in the world, but no cowboy. But where did he... Turning around. Where did he get out of the truck? It was further back than this. Yeah. He must be further down the road. 

"Rhett?" You're trying again, toeing through the mess. 

There goes the rain again. Starting up so quickly that you wonder if Mother Nature accidentally pressed pause on her remote. Something carries over the rumbling thunder. Something that sounds like your name.

You hear him, but you don't see him. "Rhett?" 

"I'm over here." He's already walking toward you, must have seen you coming before you even realized where he was. The rain thickens, but you can see the rip in his shirt clear as day, blood pouring from his shoulder like the water falling from the heavens. 

"God, Rhett—don't do that!" It comes out a little too loud. A little too quick. "You can't just go hopping out moving vehicles—"

He throws his hands behind him, gesturing at something. "She needed help!" 

You hadn't seen the little old lady standing on the other side of the road until now, being helped back into the safety of an untouched house. You suppose that's who he's talking about, but... "And what if something happened to you?" 

"Nothin's gonna happen to me!" Thunder booms behind his words. Just as irritated as he is. 

Your hand flies out, gesturing to his bloody arm. "Clearly, it already did. Look at your shoulder, Rhett!" 

"God, why are you always so worried?" He spits. Doesn't hear a word you just said. 

"I don't know; maybe it's because we almost got sucked into a tornado three days ago?" You can feel your face getting hot. Teeth grit, jaw popping under the strain. "Maybe it's because I've seen storms kill people, Rhett!"

He stiffens. 

So do you. Glued in the middle of the street. Even the rain stabbing at your eyes can't make you blink. But the wind is one of those things that forces you to move—swaying sideways, shielding your gaze with an arm. A horn honks, headlights piercing through the silver veil. 

Getting back into the truck with him is the last thing you want to do. 

Gravel crunches beneath your feet. Shifting under your weight, seeming to drag you in like a thin layer of quicksand. Tiny little pebbles leap into the tops of your shoes, wriggling down through the gaps and working their way up under your foot. Walking barefoot would have been more comfortable. 

Ugh, but then you would have to worry about dodging the sharp metal hiding beneath the rocks, leftovers from experiments gone wrong, and backyard-tested explosives. 

The spare garage isn't much further up the driveway. Smaller, built to hold only one or two vehicles, depending on their size. There's no point in adding all of the extra space, not when the main garage is on the same property, fully decked out with its fancy tools, wifi, and air conditioning. 

Understandable, but you wish someone would have stopped to consider installing a light all the way out here. You can't see a damn thing this far out. Is there a bobcat standing between you and the building? Nobody knows!

There doesn't seem to be anything lurking in your path. You certainly don't feel anything brush past, even when you peel open the door and blindly feel along the inside wall, looking for the light switch. 

The grill of a truck glares back at you. Same old golden paint, still the same diamond-shaped chip beneath the left headlight. The dust is new, and yet, somehow, it's the same too. Exactly how it's always been.

And how it will stay if you can help it. 

It's a beautiful truck, really. Only one previous owner, still relatively new, decorated in gadgets that you've long since forgotten the specifics of. It's got everything. A roll cage. Bulletproof glass. Window cages. Augers hang on either side of the vehicle, in combination with the overhead arms, and those are only the things you remember installing.

There's a wire sticking out of the cables for the drills, has inexplicably wriggled its way out of the covering. That's what you get for choosing the cheapest company to haul this piece of junk all the way out here. You don't want to touch it, but...it's a simple fix. You've just got to slide this strip of metal up and—

Sparks scatter. A shock bolts through your fingers.

"You mother—mmh!" Yelping. Yanking your hand back. A twitch runs up your arm, the muscles in your hand shivering. 

And here you wonder why you quit messing with this goddamn truck. 

You peel the door open, blindly feeling around the console until you find the stupid tool you came all the way up here for. This old hunk of metal can sit here and rot for all you care. Why did you even try to mess with it? You know full well what will happen if you do more than open the door. 

Something always has to go wrong. 

You don't even feel your hand touch the light switch, but the room plunges into darkness all the same. To hell with—

"Am I interruptin' anything?" 

The door slams shut behind you, the knob jabbing into your spine. "Rhett?"

It's so dark out that you nearly miss the way his hands twist together, his head tilted toward the ground, not quite bold enough to look you in the eye. "I just...wanted to come and tell you I'm sorry," he pauses, peeking up at you through his lashes. You've never seen someone look more like a kicked puppy in your life. "I was actin' just like Tyler back there."

...huh. 

Can't say you were expecting that. 

"It's...uh..." What do you say? You can't say that it's okay. It's not okay. "Thank you?"

That seems to be enough for him. Shoulders falling, finally lifting his head to look at you properly. But then, his brows knit together. It's too dark to see where he's looking, but you can almost feel the heat of his gaze fixating on the garage behind you. "What're ya doin' out here?"

"Working on something?" This is what you get into focusing on creating an excuse and not rehearsing it beforehand. An amateur surrounded by Hollywood stars would be more convincing than you are.

"Top secret stuff, huh?" Is he buying it? He sounds like he is. "Somethin' broke on that gold truck of yours?"

...

Son of a bitch.

"How did you..." you don't...you don't know what to...say... "know about that?"

He jams his thumb over his shoulder, pointing blindly toward the heap of metal a few hundred feet away. "Was over in the scrap pile when ya brought it in a few weeks ago."

He's fucking with you.

He's got to be fucking with you.

"And you never said anything about it?" You feel like a deer caught in the headlights of a bullet train. Nowhere to run. Facing down your doom as it barrels toward you at a hundred miles an hour. 

"Figured you'd talk about it when y' wanted to," Rhett says it so matter of factly. Like this isn't a big deal. Like you haven't had Kate thinking that the truck has been delayed for the past month and a half.

It takes a moment to gather words on your tongue. It takes even longer to arrange them into a comprehensible sentence. "Does anybody else know?"

Rhett shrugs. "Not that 'm aware of."

You don't entirely know what it is that leads you to reach for the doorknob and twist it again. Nobody is forcing you to show him the truck. Hell, he's not even asking or acting like he wants to see it, but your body seems to be moving on its own accord. Maybe it simply can't handle another day of carrying around the secret, or maybe it's something else. Something that words aren't capable of describing. 

Rhett doesn't say a word. Quietly following you into the dark garage, winces when you flick on the overhead lights without warning. 

And then his eyelashes begin to flutter in that dumb, endearing sort of way. Intrigued. "What made ya wanna hide this?"

"Because if Kate finds out it's here, I'll have to work on it," you almost lean your hip against the front bumper. Almost.

Damn thing would probably blow up if you actually followed through with that impulse.

"I'm not followin'." Rhett runs his fingers across the hood, leaving behind little trails amongst the collection of dust. 

"Every time I touch this truck, it ends badly," now that you're saying it out loud, it sounds like you're trying to convince him that the thing is haunted. "I drove it here, and a headlight blew. Tried to fix that exposed wire on the driver's side and shocked the hell out of myself."

"What, two—"

"Time before that, the hydraulic arm snapped, and we turned into an EF3's playground toy." Not giving him any time to wiggle into the gaps of your argument. You're not touching it. End of story. 

He doesn't push it any further. Doesn't downplay what you're trying to tell him or try to sell you on the novelty of coincidences and misinterpretations. No, he just...hums and nods his head as if this is a story he hears all the time. 

A part of you hates that you ever expected anything less of him.

The cicadas take over. Singing their shrill, repetitive tune that somehow manages to get louder when you're inside. You don't know if it counts as silence when there are hundreds of bugs screaming the song of their people, like nature's rejected choir.

"Do y' want me to fix it?" Rhett's voice is like silk against the grating little pests lurking outside.

"Fix what?" You're lost.

"The headlight," he taps his knuckle against it, visibly disturbing the dust there, "and the wire that shocked ya." 

You're not entirely sure if you want to put the time and effort into this old piece of junk. There's a fairly large possibility that something internal has dry-rotted over the years and is bound to break at any moment, something that will cost a whole lot more than a cheap little headlight. But...

"Only if you want to," you don't mean for it to come out so miserable. Like you've had to strangle the words out of your own throat.

Rhett doesn't seem to notice it, his lips pulling up into a meager smile right before he moseys off to mess with the exposed wire. He taps his finger against the metal casing, following it up to where it ventures over the roof, then follows that until it guides him toward the driver's door. 

It's like he's got a blueprint of how you rigged this together, knows exactly where you've got the electric control box sitting, and which of the wires belong to the exposed one. The cover snaps back into place with the slightest bit of pressure. Easy as can be. No sparks, no shocks. 

The headlights are a bigger pain in the ass than they should be. You remember that all too well, the tediousness of removing the internal cover, several screws, and the grill, all to reach what should be an easily accessible headlight. 

"At the risk of soundin' dumb," Rhett's talking funny with that screw resting in the corner of his lip, "but you really built this thing?" 

"Once upon a time, yes." It doesn't even feel like you were the one who came up with all of this.

 The countless sleepless nights spent tweaking and redrawing plans. Building or scouring the ends of the earth for specific little parts. The perpetual stiffness in your neck from building your inventions into the truck. God, the grease stains that claimed so many of your t-shirts. 

The memories are all there in your head, and when Rhett tugs at the grill housing, your hands still twitch with a muscle memory you've yet to lose. He needs to tilt it up and towards himself. It's easier that way. But the memories don't feel like your own. Belonging to a past life, a glimpse of something that was never really meant for you. 

A stray thought draws to the forefront of your mind. "How's your shoulder?" 

"Hm?" He lifts his head, staring at you. Then, realizing what you said. "It's a'ight, jus' needed a couple stitches." 

You wonder what he defines as 'a couple'. But he doesn't push for any more history between you and the truck, so you don't push him for anything, either. 

There's a bunch of spare bulbs hiding in the main garage, and that really should be the end of it. Once the hood slams shut, there shouldn't be anything left to tinker with. The light works, the wire is no longer exposed, and everything is in order. You have absolutely zero reason to lay eyes on this truck again. 

To be fair, that's exactly what happens. 

For a day. 

"I thought they were s'pposed to quit arguin'?" 

You hear Rhett before you see him. Half-open eyes and messy hair stumbling down the unlit hallway, his arms full with his fuzzy brown blanket. Must have had the same idea that you did, seeking out the room furthest from Tyler's, hoping for another minute or two of sleep. 

You hate to tell him that there's no peace to be found in this damned house. 

"Bold of you to believe them," your attention darts back to the notebook resting in your lap, pen idly drawing across old lines, darkening them. Four in the morning is too early for creativity, but you can't fall back asleep, and you didn't bring anything to distract from the never-ending quarrel.

The couch cushion dips, Rhett's heavyweight settling in next to you. His cheek finds its way to your shoulder, landing there so naturally that you hardly even question it. "What're ya drawin'?"

"Same thing as before, just making it look a little less..." You don't know where you were going with that. Rhett isn't awake enough to catch it.

His gaze is so warm that you can feel it following your hand around the page, drinking in the careful strokes of the pen. 

It's almost enough to distract from Kate's muffled swearing, but nothing short of a speaker at full blast is going to drown them out. So the pen continues to dance across the paper, and the silence remains battered by two people who need to suck up their pride and kiss already. If not for the sake of their own mundane love lives, then for the sanity of those around them. 

"Have ya ever considered buildin' this idea?" Rhett reaches out to trace his finger around your crudely drawn wheel, the only spot he can touch without getting in your way.

"I started on it a long time ago," rattling it off without much thought. You don't have the capacity to consider what you're saying right now. "The sockets and connections are already built into the roof, but I could never get the hydraulic arms right." 

"I could help."

"Yeah?"

He tilts his head up to look at you, and you're just awake enough to realize that those aren't actually stars sparkling behind his eyes. But damn, does it sure look like tiny galaxies are lurking beneath the sea of blue. 

You don't know why you let him lean up and rub his nose against yours, but it must be the reason why you nuzzle him back. 

If there is one thing more awkward about sitting through Kate and Tyler's never-ending argument, it's having to survive their new form of fighting—the silent treatment. Each refusing to say a word when the other is in the room, resigning to comments filled with double meanings and glares out of the corner of their eyes.

You, quite frankly, might combust if you have to sit through another silent meal. If you wanted to be put in timeout, you would go back to elementary school.

"I see we had the same idea," you yawn, fighting to keep your eyes open as it takes over. One wrong step and your food is going to find itself in the gravel, and you're not looking to brave the wall of silence for a second time. 

"Great minds think alike," Rhett kicks his foot at you, perched up on the tailgate of his truck. "Unless your mind belongs t' two people I cannot name."

The initial plan was to wait until the weekend before you spent any time working on your truck, but it's hard to put it off when Tyler and his fleet of vehicles tear out of the driveway before noon, taking away damn near ever project Rhett had on the drawing board. You don't see Kate leave, but her car is missing from its usual spot, and you're in no mood to learn any more than that.

They'll get over it.

...once hell freezes over.

It's like you become caught up in a time loop. Every day, you wake up expecting to be put to work, to chase a storm, or to go on a supply run for weather equipment that you don't know the name of. Every day, you eat breakfast in the back of Rhett's truck and watch as every vehicle on the property flees the premises. Every day, you walk into that spare garage, roll up your sleeves, and begin tinkering with last night's project.

And Rhett just keeps coming around. Always the one to attach your creations to the truck, races you to pick up the heavier things around the shop, pokes at your sketches until you've explained every little thought and whim that went into why you created that particular part. 

Working with him is so much different than it was with Kate. She was never difficult to work with in the past; nothing big stands out in your memory, but you distinctly recall every frustrating moment she asked to change something that she didn't fully understand. Builds like these were nothing like what she was familiar with. She knew weather, not cars, and that was okay, but...

Fuck, it's like Rhett shares a brain with you. It's strange; he looks at what you're doing, and he just...understands it. Like you've finally found someone who understands a language that only you have spoken until now.

It's two weeks before the parts begin to fall into place, but once they do, it's all uphill from there. The hydraulic arms fit like a glove, and the batteries built beneath the seat offer more than enough electricity to operate them without sucking power from another operation. The drills spin as they're supposed to; they don't even warp when they sink into the rocky Arkansas soil for the first time.

Sunlight reveals that the cage protecting the windshield has rusted to hell. Rhett's sputtering about an improved design before you've even realized how bad it has gotten. A few of the tires need replacing, and if you don't let him fix those mismatching rims, he might just lose his mind.

"How d' you just let it look like that?" He's gotten heated so quickly, but that growing smile suggests he's only trying to bother you for the fun of it, "'n how did I miss this for so damn long?" 

"It doesn't affect the performance," you shrug, don't really recall when or how you wound up with one rim that doesn't match the others. Don't particularly care, either. 

"It's affectin' mine!" 

Your afternoon plans didn't originally include running between three shops in search of rims that match the aesthetics of the truck, but it's hard to say no when Rhett grabs you by the hand and guides you along like he does. 

And he...doesn't really let go. 

Maybe he does a few times, but he's loosely holding your hand in his while you walk from one store to another, and he's grabbing it to show you a set that he thinks is perfect for the truck's aesthetic. He's squeezing it when someone starts eyeing you up in the checkout lane. He's toying with your fingers at the stop light. And he reaches for it again at the end of the night when the rims are finally, finally on.

Now that you think about it, 'no dating business partners' almost definitely applies to you, too, but...

Oh, what the hell, why do you care? 

"Do you...want to try something?" Rhett's thumb swipes across your knuckles, idle little motions that seem to burn into your skin. 

You think you know what he's about to try and do, but... "Okay." 

He's gentle about it, guiding you forward toward the shimmering gold vehicle, sparkling in all of its post-bath glory. His other hand finds your waist, drawing you to stand in front of him, back kissing his warm chest. 

"What are we doing?" You know what he's doing. 

"Nothin' huge," he murmurs, voice low in your ear, so close that you can almost feel his lips brushing against the shell of it, "just...touchin' the door, a'ight?" 

His hand slips behind yours, grasping it from behind. Gently, he pushes it forward, so light that you can hardly feel his touch at all. Your stomach twists. That paint is too close.

Your arm stiffens. He doesn't push any further.

 It's too...well...if Rhett's not afraid of it, you suppose that...

It's cool beneath your touch, like ice, when you compare it to the burn of Rhett's palm. There's a scratch in the pain that you hadn't noticed up until this very moment, just deep enough to feel when the pad of your finger drifts across it. It feels...well, like a perfectly normal truck. You're not sure what else you were expecting. 

Your eyes dart to the window, peering at the silhouette of the steering wheel. 

Rhett's hand disappears from behind yours, leaves you cold and alone, up against this truck, but he makes no move to step away. Still here, even if you can't necessarily feel him. "That's not so bad, is it?"

"You're not gonna make me drive it next, are you?" You don't mean for it to come out sounding so annoyed, like a petulant child. 

His laugh echoes through the room and out the open door; doesn't seem to mind your tone at all. "Nah, we can wait on that." 

You don't touch it again until a few days later, your hip idly coming to rest against it during a conversation. And again, when Rhett's on the roof of the vehicle and needs you to climb up and hand him something. It doesn't shock you. The door doesn't magically slam shut on your fingers. It's...normal. Hell, it's at the very bottom of your list of inconveniences.

That's mostly because two names have taken over the rest of the page, but you digress. 

There's a moment when you catch yourself climbing into the driver's seat; you accidentally spilled a jar of bolts all over the floor, and the only way to fully clean it up is to get the truck out of the way. The key finds its way into the ignition without question, twisting so easily that you hardly realize what you're doing.

But then the engine rumbles to life, vibrating beneath your feet and echoing around the tiny garage like thunder, and ice forms in your joints. Stiff, freezing you into place like someone's pressed the pause button. 

Rhett tilts the broom handle toward you; those blue eyes are warm enough to melt you back into motion. Something about him keeps reining you in. Stops you before you can force yourself beyond your boundaries before you're ready. 

You're starting to love that about him. 

"I thought we were past this," you mutter, chin resting heavy against your knee. 

A midnight breeze swirls past you, bringing a chill that has you drawing your legs closer to your chest. At least the night is quiet, even the chirping cicadas have turned themselves down, nothing but a distant melody that you can hardly hear. Your ears catch the sound of a fork striking a plate, so sharp that it carries through the window and out into the parking lot. 

"'m sorry," Rhett's knees crack as he bends down to sit next to you, back coming to rest against the cool exterior of his truck. He's so close that you can feel the heat radiating off his arm, warm and cozy like the flames of a campfire. 

"You've got nothing to apologize for," it's not his fault. Nobody could have expected that bringing up the YouTube channel would end in...that. 

He hums. "I know."

Wind slams against the truck behind you, rocking it just enough for you to feel the motion against your back. Rhett's hair lifts. Dancing. Twisting along with it. Blowing into his face until he sputters and forces it behind his ear once more. If you had known you would be sitting outside, then you would have grabbed your coat before you came all the way out here.

But hindsight is twenty-twenty, and you've got nothing but this thin t-shirt and the warmth of your own body to get by on, hugging your legs even tighter. They've been in this position for so long that they've begun to go numb, but you prefer this to shivering.

"Cold?" Rhett leans over, nudging you with his elbow. You think he leaves a small fire behind, burning a little spot into your skin.

"Little bit," biting back the waver in your voice. 

"C'mere," and he's not really waiting for you to give him a yes or a no, already lifting his arm, beckoning you into his warm side. You shouldn't, but...

Oh, what the hell.

One little motion is all it takes to scoot under his arm, your head dropping to nestle against the expanse of his chest, and fuck, he's burning up. It's like snuggling into a big, cozy flame, one that envelops you before you can think twice about it. His head tilts, his chin coming to rest against your forehead, freshly shaven and a little bit prickly. 

You can hear his heartbeat right here. Deep little thump, thump, thumps, following an unnamed tune that you've never heard before. It seems the cicadas have drums now. Performing their little melodies for their barely-there audience, punctuated by the drone of a car crossing through the lot.

"What if I drive us to McDonalds?" Rhett's voice vibrates through your skull. Your head goes quiet. "Think there's a Taco Bell down the road, too."

Finding the ability to speak is...hard. "I'm not sure if I'm ready to move yet."

"That's a'ight," his lips press to your temple, "we can stay here, too." 

He doesn't say anything about what he just did. Neither do you, but it sticks in the back of your head like glue. You could convince yourself that it's just a ghost, one who has decided to follow you around and kiss the side of your head every time you think about him, the lingerings of a memory that refuses to leave. 

It's there when you lean up against the passenger side door, bent legs lazily slotting between Rhett's as you eat your greasy fast food. It bubbles to the surface when you run into each other in the living room and become sucked in by the Dr. Phil episode blasting from the neglected television. You can feel its presence when you spot him outside the garage while you and Kate are having coffee on the porch. 

You don't know if she realizes that you tune out of the conversation right then and there, mindlessly following the sight of his pale shoulders as he hoses something off. Muscles flex with the mundane effort, thick enough to cast a shadow. 

"I mean, can you believe he said that?" Kate's still going, the ice rattling in her cup as her hand moves about. "Yes, I'll admit I have feelings for him, but you know how that would affect the business!" 

"Who says that kind of thing?" You wonder what it would be like to dig your nails into those shoulders. What it would feel like for those jean-clad hips to slip between your parted—

"Exactly!" Kate hasn't the slightest clue what kind of daydream she just interrupted.

The memory of a kiss has zero reason to make itself known in the middle of an auto parts shop. When your hands are stained in indescribable grime that has no doubt managed to mar your face, the rattiest clothes you own hanging from your body with all the grace of a cardboard box. If you don't already look your worst, then you certainly feel your worst.

So why do you have the audacity to think about crossing the aisle and kissing him until you get kicked out? What provoked you to start thinking about this? You're supposed to be looking for that stupid...battery...damn which of these...did... 

"Which brand were you looking for?" The question is so prominent in your mind that it slips out of your mouth before you can realize it, already turning to look in his direction.

"The purple one," he rattles off, staring down at something in his palm. 

The...purple one? 

Huh, you'd thought it would be a lot more complicated than that. 

"I..." Rhett lifts his head, a lone curl casting across his cheek, wide blue eyes staring back at you. There's not a thought behind them. "I...forget the name." 

Not your truck, not your fight. If he wants the one with the purple label, then that's what you'll pull off the shelf—

Shit, you forgot how heavy these damn things are. Your elbow pops, shivering under the sudden weight. It's not too heavy; you were just...not ready to actually carry something heavy. If you'd remembered, then you would have lifted it differently.

Rhett's arm drifts past your chest, his hand curling around the plastic handle, taking it from you so easily that you hardly feel it leave your grasp. "I got it." 

You understand why you were so unprepared now. 

It's because he makes the thing look light as a feather, only needs one hand to hold it as you walk to the checkout together. He doesn't even need help to put it up on the counter, so nonchalant about it that he doesn't even pay attention to what he's doing.

An ancient little television buzzes in the top right corner, directly above the chair of the missing cashier. You don't think it's been touched since it was hung when this place was built, a mountain of dust resting atop its boxy shape, but it still plays. A blurry newsreel crosses the screen, a bald-headed man pointing at a live weather radar. 

The nameless man waves his hand across a patch of red and purple on the screen, rattling off words that take you a moment to process. "As this growing storm bears down on—"

"Y'all ready to check out?" The cashier is right in front of you all of a sudden. Rhett says something that you don't entirely catch. 

This is the storm Kate was muttering about earlier, up in the northwest corner of the state, projected to produce conditions ideal for one of her beloved little tornadoes. The tiny ones that do nothing but rock the trucks back and forth, maybe striking a few unlucky houses but not taking out entire towns.

Your lower belly twists. 

You're not entirely sure why it happens, but it does. Stomach churning back and forth like you're about to be sick, all over the sight of a television screen. Something in the room begins to ring, quiet but gradually growing louder, right in your ears, this piercing noise that you can't seem to shake. Your tongue is numb in your mouth, the air cold in your chest. 

The scene changes. A woman in a raincoat, holding a microphone to her lips as she gestures broadly at the road behind her. Cars rush past. A Prius, a minivan, two Volkswagen Beetles, a silver truck, a red truck, an ancient motorhome...

"There they are," Rhett mutters, just barely audible over the ringing. You and he are supposed to be out there with them. 

You think your hand is shaking. 

Again, the cameras change, jumping back to the same bald weather forecaster as he points to something you don't understand. But they've laid it out for people like you, all of Kate's unexplained terminology has been dumbed down into vague, simple terms that you recognize loud and clear.

"That storm is gonna be too much for their trucks to handle." It darts out of your mouth before you can think about what you're about to say, teeth chattering around the letters.

Rhett tilts his head. "What do you mean?"

"The storm trucks," your jaw shivers, muscles fighting to disobey your every command. "Are any of them rated for tornadoes stronger than an F2?"

"None of 'em are," he reaches to pull his card from the reader, then, pausing, "the only rig that can handle that sort of thing is..." 

You tear your gaze from the television, the reporter's voice droning on and on about something you don't entirely understand. Rhett's already looking back to you. Still frozen in place. You think you catch one of your own thoughts flickering behind his eyes. 

But you can't help yourself, looking back up toward the grainy screen. The weatherman is still talking, his warbled voice drowning in the squealing filling your ears. You think you catch the card reader beeping, yelling about a forgotten credit card. The storm wasn't this big when it crossed Kate's screen; you remember it fit perfectly between these two towns. The forecast entirely covers them now, extending out to the areas nearby.

Something warm curls around your hand.

The ringing stops. 

You don't know where the cashier has gone or when Rhett walked up next to you. But you can hear the shallow sound of your own breath, the sharp ins and outs that mismatch with the slow puff of Rhett's. 

It's still audible, even as the room changes. Ever so present when the tile floor morphs into smooth concrete, that familiar musty scent swirling around your head, assaulting your nose and drying your mouth out. Shimmering gold paint glares back at you. But your right hand is still warm.

"You've got this," the keys jingle as Rhett talks, awkwardly holding them out with his other hand. They're right there for you to take. You don't even have to reach. "I know y' do."

You're still not so sure about that. But the radio in the corner is blaring its muffled severe weather alert warnings, the old television screen is burned into your retinas, and this damn old truck isn't going anywhere, regardless of how hard you glare at it. 

Rhett's shoulder nudges yours, his hand squeezing a little tighter. "It's just a grumpy ol' truck."

The truck roars. Back tires squealing as your hands fly across the wheel. Cinching all twelve thousand pounds of machine to the left. The guy behind you blares his horn.

"Prick." Rhett snarls under his breath. His hand on the overhead handle tightens. Muscles and veins flex so harshly that you can see it in the corner of your eye. The front right tire dips off the pavement, the steering wheel almost ripping itself to the right. 

Where are they? Where are they? 

"I thought you were navigating!" You don't mean to yell. Too focused on jumping your foot between the brake and gas pedals, fighting against a speed limit that you know isn't being enforced right now. 

"I am!" Rhett's nail taps angrily at a screen. "Wherever they are 's got no fucking service."

The storm seems to be further to the east, right might be your best bet. But this road doesn't look like it goes on for at least another mile, and you can't take another dead end. Not with the rapidly darkening sky overhead. Looming. Waiting for the right moment to drop an ocean's worth of hail and rain upon you.

"Right!" Rhett yells. "Go right!" 

The tires scream. Foot tapping the breaks. The steering wheel spins. You're vaguely aware of your body tilting in the seat. Shoulder bumping into the glass. 

But you never teeter off the road. 

Even if you come close to it. 

"What made you decide that?" You feel as if you're still spinning, even as the road straightens out in front of you. 

His hand lifts, middle finger pointing toward something you don't have time to identify. "I remember them passin' them grain silos before the live stream cut off." 

You see them. A cluster of six, up in the distance, towering over the corn fields that have swallowed you whole. Maybe a mile or two up the road, give or take. Plenty of time for you to lean on the gas pedal again, the floorboard rumbling as the speedometer crawls back up to seventy. 

Everything still seems attached. No sensors are going off on the control panel crudely built into the center console. You know Rhett would have said something if one of them lit up, but you're looking at them anyway. Just in case one magically decides to light up with a catastrophic error in the next thirty seconds.

You've already got to tap the brakes again. Stupid, winding country roads forcing you to crawl back under fifty to avoid tipping over. It would be so much easier to cut through this patch of field that has already been harvested, barren, until spring rolls back around. Dodge the curves and jump right back onto the main stretch. Actually...

If Kate can accidentally drive this truck into a small river and come out fine, then a little offroading shouldn't hurt it in the slightest.

What's stopping you? 

"What the hell?!" Rhett squeals. "You coulda damaged the damn—!"

"Dallas has handled worse." There's no way you're doing this. There's no way you're really driving this rig. Never mind hauling it straight through someone's old cornfield. Bouncing up and down with every little bump in the soil. 

Rhett's head whips toward you. Still clinging to that oh-shit handle. "Dallas?"

...well.

He had to find out eventually.

All it takes is the slightest nudge to the left to jump back onto the road. And you never realized how quiet driving on the pavement is until now. Virtually silent as you reach for the turn signal, easing through a turn that you were definitely supposed to stop for. 

The cornfields break apart up ahead, diving down into the much shorter soybean crops, expanding as far as the eye can see. No police cars around to catch sight of you blowing through another all-way stop, straddling the thin expanse of pavement. 

There's a van parked on the side of the road, tucked away in a little patch of gravel. Lights and cameras flash. Yellow and white ponchos scurry back and forth. Dressed in t-shirts and shorts and flip-flops, not one of them prepared for more than mild rain. 

"There's no way they didn't come this way," Rhett's echoing the very thought that just crossed your mind.

The first drops of rain come in one thick sheet. Slamming against the windshield. Blurring sight of the rapidly deteriorating road. You've only just turned the windshield wipers on, but they're still not enough. Whirring back and forth as fast as they can possibly go.

Everything around you has gone white. You can't—shit, you can't see the road. "Can you see anything?"

Rhett leans forward, chin bumping the dashboard. The tablet in his lap beeps. Once. Twice. Three times. "Not a fuckin' thing." 

The console lights up. Purple in color. The wind gauge. 

"What does...?" Rhett doesn't finish that question. Doesn't really need to.

"The wind speeds are higher than a hundred-fifty miles an hour," your mouth is moving, but you don't recognize what you're saying. Don't have time to focus on that. "Tell me if the green one comes on."

Gravel abruptly appears under the tires. Panging against the sides of the truck like hail. 

Rhett reaches for something on the dash. "What does green mean?"

"That we should go in the opposite direction." And you don't want to remember if that light is meant to detect two hundred mile-an-hour winds or two hundred fifty. 

Fog melts from the windshield. You didn't recognize it was even there. Fading away into a clearer world. You can see the fields again, mere feet away from the vehicle, as you tear down a road too tiny for your tires to fit on. 

Clouds stir overhead, so dark that they're visible even through the rain. Twisting in a slow spiral, gradually descending to the earth below. But she's not here yet. She still needs a minute to gather her momentum before the clouds can kiss the ground. 

Red flashes up ahead. 

Your stomach drops.

"Take this left!" Rhett's order is your command. Shooting off onto an even smaller dirt path. A windmill shudders to your right, swaying back and forth. 

There they are.

Drills whir on either side of Tyler's truck. Digging deep into the earth. But there's nothing to help the aluminum trailer hitched to it, shivering violently under the wind. 

"You're sure they don't have this covered?" Rhett has to shout for you to hear him. Even then, you don't think you do. 

The back of your throat is sour. It's crawling into your eyes, clawing at your belly. Your hands shiver. The steering wheel briefly slips from your grasp. 

Something isn't right.

Your foot slips off the gas pedal. Sporadically tapping around, struggling to jump back on. Dallas's engine roars louder than the winds squealing past. 

"It's not working!" Tyler's voice arcs across the radio.

Hail crashes into the roof. Scattering across the windshield cage.

"The barrels aren't deploying!" Kate. 

The backend of their trailer jumps. The left auger slips through the soil. Tyler's truck twists a few feet. Was never meant to withstand this kind of wind. 

Dallas is slipping. Tires fail to cling to the ground as you rush forward. 

"Rhett—"

"I'm on it." He's already got his hand on the overhead button. Thumb hovering over the red light.

You're almost—you're almost. Just a few more yards is all you need. Almost. Tyler's door parallels with your passenger side. Little more. Little more—

The brake pedal spurs beneath your foot. Kicking back. Dallas lurches. Something internal shrieks. 

"Now!" 

Drills spin. Digging into already saturated ground. The engine roars impossibly louder, and the lights begin to flicker. All power concentrates over your head. Groaning to life, the hydraulic arms resting overhead begin to extend. Arking high into the air. Twisting outward. The tip of a drill bumps into the trailer, but it's still moving. Swinging over top of Tyler's rig, drills sinking into the ground on the other side. 

A blackened wind takes hold of the outside world. Dallas shudders. But the steel arms never let Tyler's truck out of their hug. You don't think they're slipping any further. Fuck. Fuck you couldn't tell even if they did. Why did you think this was a good idea? Why did you think this was a good idea? Why did Rhett let you do this? It's too loud to hear if they've blown away. And you can't see a single—

"Hey." 

Your shoulder is warm. And that sensation is crawling up the back of your neck, forcing your head to turn. Rhett's hands crawl up to your cheekbones, blocking out your surroundings. You're trying to look out the windshield, but he's not letting go. 

He's the only thing in existence. 

The console digs into your side as he pulls you toward him. His forehead kisses yours. Noses resting against each other. It's so dark, but the blue of his eyes is still as bright as the sky lurking above the clouds. The howling tornado softens into a hum. 

"We're okay," it's nothing but a whisper in the rampage, "we're okay." 

You hear him. There's no reason you should be able to. His mouth is moving. The words never greet your ears. Lost. Drowned out by a muffled sound that you're no longer capable of comprehending.

But you hear him. 

This mattress...is the lumpiest thing you have ever felt in your life. A bed made of bubbles would be more even than this is, digging into the curves in your spine and nudging awkwardly beneath your hips. But you can't bring yourself to move. Not when the tension is easing from your back and shoulders. Has been there for so long that it almost hurts to let it slip away.

The television is on, multicolored lights flickering across the screen, playing what you think is another newsreel, but you can't look at it. Not today. Not tomorrow. You're dying here in this cheap motel bed. The last thing you plan to hear is either the slow drone of the weatherman or the boom of thunder outside. 

Someone knocks at your door. 

Once. 

Twice. 

Three times. 

"Who is it?" Using your voice requires far too much effort on your behalf.

A muffled sound works its way through the scratched wooden door. You don't know what he says, but you know who it is.

Your body tells you that getting up is impossible. Your heart already has you sitting up, sore feet falling onto the thin carpet without complaint. Something twitches in your back as you walk toward the door, wordlessly begging for the comforts of that shitty bed.

"Hey," you breathe.

Rhett's eyelashes flutter. "Hey."

Neither of you say anything further. It's as if all of your words have spilled out of your brain and carried off with the breeze, venturing off into the storm, never to be seen again. You think the same thing must happen to Rhett because he doesn't seem to have any words left, either. 

Wind twists through his hair, whirling past and into your hotel room. Its invisible hands find your backs, pressing until you fall together like a pair of dolls. Like two trucks who needed one last nudge to nosedive off the cliff. His arms curl around your waist, and your nose is buried into his shoulder, and he's so warm and real. 

"So Dallas, huh?" His breath tickles your ear, almost enough to make you shudder.

"You gotta admit, I had you convinced," talking into his shoulder, unbothered by how muffled it makes you sound.

"Sure y' did." It's his laughter that does it, sends a shiver racing down your weary spine. You think you're going to collapse into a million tiny pieces. "I would've never guessed that it was your fuckin' truck." 

There's a part of you that wonders how he never figured that out; you're pretty sure that you scribbled Dallas's name into the license plate of your sketch that he's looked at so many times. Or maybe he did and simply didn't make the connection that Dallas was a truck and not another man.

"Found out why those two losers were always arguin'," he makes no effort to draw away from you, his arms remaining comfortably looped around you.

"Really?" Perking up. Maybe you've got a little bit of energy left after all. "What was it?"

Rhett leans back a little bit, enough for you to see his face, but he's yet to let you out of his grasp. "Dallas."  

"Oh, so you both fell for it!" You giggle, and you're only vaguely aware of the door slamming shut on its own, cutting off the shrill embrace of the midnight air. 

"Hey, at least I didn't make snide remarks about 'em," but you can still see the lingering embarrassment coloring his cheeks, unusually rosy. He fell for it, hook, line, and sinker, but...

Your hand darts up, pushing a strand of hair behind his ear. "To be fair, you have always been the sweet one."

The corners of his lips quiver, gradually curving upward, but his eyes refuse to meet with yours. "Y' think so?" 

You know so, but those words don't dare to make their way out of your mouth. Even if they did, it would be no use because they fizzle away the moment the bridge of Rhett's nose bumps into yours. He's been eating those butterscotch candies again; you can taste them on his breath, sweet as can be.

You could kiss him if you wanted to. 

All it would take is the littlest nudge forward for your lips to collide. A clever gust of wind could even do it, forcing you to take that final step forward, throw yourselves into fate's palm, and see what she decides on the matter. You could spend the rest of your life doing just this, gazing into soft hues of blue, kissing him through every storm that will ever pass. Or, this could be the only night that you ever experience this. 

Thunder rumbles outside, the overhead light flickering with it in perfect synchrony. There's no stopping this one. No amount of magic powder can ease up the onslaught of rain and hail raging outside of your window, pelting everything in its sight. 

"'s probably my cue to get out before the rain picks up too much," he says, so suddenly that you're almost shocked to realize that this isn't a dream. 

He disappears so easily. Slipping away as easily as an afternoon daydream, those eyes daring to linger for a second longer before he turns to reach for the door. That big, bruised hand of his dwarfs the knob, gingerly wrapping around it like it'll break at any given moment.

Your lower belly coils. Sour. 

You should kiss him. 

And that might be how his name tumbles out of your mouth. That might explain where you get the nerve to grab a fistful of his t-shirt, yanking so hard that he stumbles. His gasp is the last thing you hear.

It's messy. Chapped lips collide, and noses crash. His chin bumps into yours too hard, and his chest hits you with the force of a freight train. But he exhales when you do. He tilts his head forward, and you think you're beginning to fall, plummeting off the cliff and into the nebula. 

Rhett draws back just as quickly. His eyelashes flutter. You release your grasp on his shirt. Maybe you shouldn't have—

The corners of his eyes curve with his smile. You blink, and he's leaning back in. 

You're not falling into the abyss alone.

Except, you literally might be falling because you're vaguely aware of the world spinning around you, seemingly weightless for a few fleeting milliseconds, before your back finds home in the lumpy mattress you paid fifty-something dollars to sleep on. 

"Shit—" Rhett blurts, jerking away as if burned. "'m sorry, I..."

You only realize you're moving when you see your hand coming to rest against his cheek, coarse and unshaven. It's been a few days since the last time it was trimmed, has had time to soften and lose that sand-papery texture. 

"I don't mind this," you confess. Lightning crackles outside, so bright that you can see the flash of it through the curtains. 

Rhett meets you in the middle. Your noses bump once more as teeth unexpectedly clash, such a disaster that it ought to make you embarrassed, but you don't have the capacity to think about that right now. Not when he's letting himself settle against you, his heavy body slipping between your parted legs, fitting against you like he was built just for you.

Kissing him is...kissing him is like running into a tornado head first. He's so strong, pressing you down into the bed, anchoring you here with his weight alone, and he's just...Fuck, he's everywhere. His hand is curling around your face, and his belt buckle is digging into your lower belly and he smells like the rain that has enveloped the outside world. 

He's traveling. Working his tiny, open-mouthed kisses across your cheek, the tip of his nose tickling the side of your neck as he finds his way to a spot beneath your ear. 

Your hips jerk up into his.

He gasps.

"Is this...can I...?" Breathy. Hesitant. Like he's lost the ability to think.

It must be contagious. All you can do is nod. Dumb. But it's enough. It's more than enough.

No dating business partners, but surely they'd make an exception for a pretty cowboy, right? Kissing him doesn't count. Tangling your fingers in his hair doesn't count. It doesn't count if they never find out. Whatever the repercussions may be, they're not enough to stop you. 

They would understand if they knew he tasted this sweet. If they knew that he hums when he tilts his head, leaning deeper into you, as if he hasn't gotten enough of you yet. His chapped lips tangle with yours so easily that you almost think you've danced to this tune before, falling into a routine that you haven't thought about in years.

The hand on your cheek disappears, fingertips idly tracing across your skin, down your neck, and then up to the corner of your eye, doing nothing but feel you. Something rumbles outside, in perfect tune with the slow roll of his hips, grinding down into you.

"Rhett," your head is spinning, idly grabbing at his biceps like that will somehow anchor you down. 

"I ain't goin' nowhere," uttered like a sacred promise.

But the need for oxygen strikes you at the same time. Reeling back. Gasping. Eyes peeling open for what must be the first time in hours. Days, even.

Oh, he is something. Swollen lips and pink cheeks, his unruly hair ruffled and stubbornly falling into his face, so long that the ends of it tickle your face. You can only tuck so much of it behind his ear before some of it escapes and falls forward again.

Your eyes meet.

He laughs. "I feel like a damn mess."

"I'm sure I don't look any better," your thumb wanders out, tracing across his bottom lip. His tongue darts out, timidly wetting the pad of your finger. It's the last push you need to lift your hand and tap him on the nose with it. 

Those eyes scrunch shut. Overreacting just a little bit.

Thunder slams into the ground with its heavy iron fist, shaking the motel and rattling you back into motion. Leaning back up to drown in him once more, almost sighing as he meets you, grants you the luxury of settling your head against the pillow. You think he only means to shift his position, but the bulge in his jeans grinds into you all the same, a little spark of heat bolting up your core.

"This is okay?" He whispers against your lips, those big forearms settling on either side of your head, seeking more leverage.

Your tongue is limp in your mouth, distracted by how the dim light catches on his bicep, illuminating a bulging vein there. Thick, winding down into his forearm and into his big, meaty palm. 

Rhett's nose finds your cheek, gently nudging. 

It takes a moment to recall his question. "More than okay." 

Rhett's chuckle is a fleeting thing. There one moment and dissolving the next, overtaken by your sudden movement, too impatient to wait any longer. But you miss. It's hard to find any leverage when you've got him between your legs. 

His hips roll down; you're convinced that you feel him twitch in his jeans. "That what yer after?" 

There's no reason why this should work the way that it does. These layers between you should be making this harder to feel, but you're nearly convinced that the clothes are a minor hallucination because they do nothing to stop the feeling of him slowly rutting against you. The coarse material of his jeans drags against your thighs, the tent in his jeans heavy against your core.

You can't help yourself. One of your hands are tangling in his hair, and the other is grabbing hold of his bicep, greedily squeezing the thick muscle that you've spent too much of your life staring at. It flexes in your grasp, shamelessly showing off. You'd call him out on it if not for—

"Your ass is vibrating," you can feel it against your knee, a steady buzz that wasn't there before. 

"Think it's Ty," he doesn't reach for his phone. Instead, his finger curls into the pearl snap buttons of his flannel, raking down and popping them open one by one. 

His pale chest is...distracting.

"Are you gonna answer?" You croak, already fixating on that bucking bull tattoo. Old. Faded. Some little thing he picked up right after he turned eighteen, a discount job that has already begun to wear down. You recall him saying that his momma almost kicked him out of the house for it. 

"Nah," the thin fabric falls from his body like a distant memory, landing somewhere on the floor. "Whatever it is can wait 'till mornin'." It's the tiniest motion, reaching into his pocket and tossing his phone off to the side, but the light catches on his chest just right, and...

"Rhett, this is..." You had a feeling it was worse than just a few stitches, but the image in your head wasn't this.

It's just below his collarbone. Healed at the top but opening up into a wide gash that is far too wide to be stitched closed, scabbed over, and surrounded in a sea of yellow and purple. You can see where the stitches once were, little red dots following the space that has already scarred.

"I know," he mutters, almost sounds ashamed. 

You don't know what makes you do it. But you lean up, lips delicately pressing to the thin line of pink skin. Just two slow pecks, steering clear of what you know is a sore wound.

"'re you kissin' me better?" His voice is right in your ear, his smile shifting the tone of his words. 

"S'ppose I am," there's an unexpected twang to your tone; you're starting to sound like him. 

Your foreheads meet. Softly thunking together, noses rubbing back and forth in their own unspoken dance. He squirms, pulling himself a little higher on the bed, and—

"Shit." He's hissing, dragging his hips against yours again—something about that angle, fuck. 

Rhett's the one who's taken charge of this, deliberately grinding himself into you like he can't think of doing anything else, but it's you who pushes things further. Craning your head up to find the prickly underside of his jaw, pressing your lips to the space beneath his ear. It's just so hard to stop yourself, lightly sucking on the skin there, enough to hear him gasp and leave a faint red patch in your wake.

One after another, gradually making your way down his neck, his heavy breaths enough to make you dizzy. Only stopping when you can no longer reach, forced to reel back before the ache in your neck begins to grow. 

Rhett picks up right where you left off, his tongue poking between his lips as he kisses down your neck, leaving behind little wet spots that seem to freeze over in the chilly bedroom air. His big hands dip beneath your shirt, callouses dragging against your sensitive skin. You know what he's about to ask, and you're already arching your back off the bed.

But he doesn't take it off. Stops right as he pushes the fabric up to your neck, skipping across it, lips finding your naked chest instead. "You'll get cold if I take it all the way off," he murmurs as if he can hear the question floating through your head. 

Without warning, his mouth finds your nipple. Delicately pulls it into his mouth like you'll shatter if he's too rough, his tongue swirling around the little bud in such a way that your head spins in tune with it. Your hands are in his hair, clinging to those curls resting at his nape, a little noise whistling out of your throat. 

He draws away, and—shit, it really is cold in here. 

Your hips jerk on their own accord. Impatient for something you weren't thinking about. 

"Hang on, hang on," Rhett's chuckling at your antics like this is a little game you've been playing for years on end. 

You're playing into it. Lifting your hips when his fingers curl beneath your waistband, shyly drawing your legs together when you realize that he's taken your underwear with your shorts, all in one go. It's easier to ignore the sudden over-exposed sensation when he reaches for his belt, pinching it open and squirming out of those too-tight jeans that have no right to cling to him like they do. 

He's here before you hear the clothes hit the floor. Slipping between your legs once more, his body so warm against your chilly skin. Melting away the metaphorical frost that has already begun to call you home.

Oh.

You didn't realize he was—fuck, that's so much better without clothes in your way. His cock slipping between your folds, the thick underside massaging against your swollen clit so easily. 

"Rhett..." aimlessly babbling, grasping at his biceps before you can think twice about it. 

You don't know if it's because you never gave it much thought or if it's because it's been a while, but he's so much bigger than you thought he'd be. Just the sight of his thick, weeping tip is enough to make you dizzy, the kind of size that almost makes you feel minuscule in comparison.

"So fuckin' wet already," you don't know when he got so close to your ear, a violent shiver quaking across your body as he whispers in that stupidly low voice of his. "were y' wantin' me that bad, sweetheart?" 

You can't respond. Not when he's using his own body weight to keep you pinned to the mattress as he ruts his big cock against your pussy, deliberately targeting your poor clit over and over. Little fireworks rattle up your spine and explode in your head with every motion, glittering behind your eyelids, staining your view of his face. 

"I...shit, Rhett..." speaking is like swimming through a tsunami, words there and gone in a matter of milliseconds, washed away to the back of your mind. "Rhett..." It's no use. You can't...you can't...

The bridge of his nose kisses yours, one of his stray brunette curls coming down to tickle your cheek. You fear the day he cuts his hair short. "Say it again." 

He's said...something, you know he did, but it's so—it's so hard to focus. Too distracted by the way precum obscenely spills out of his slit, mixing with your own wetness, sickening the glide of his length, his every motion punctuated by a quiet squelch that's too loud for this little hotel room. Kate can hear it from down the hall; you're sure of it. 

Hell, maybe she's too busy with Tyler. Maybe she'll throw that 'no dating business partners' rule to the wind and shut that loud-mouthed cowboy up once and for all.  

"...huh?" You think you were supposed to be figuring out what Rhett said. Still haven't done that. 

"Say my name again," he sounds a little breathier now, his sharp hips forcing your thighs to rise and fall with the motion of his body, clinging to him like he's the only stable thing in this big, blinding world. 

"Rhett." It slips out like you've been uttering it your whole life, tongue hand-crafted to do nothing else but form the shape of his name. Can't really stop yourself now that you've begun to say it. Mindlessly mumbling his name with every long thrust. "Rhett...Rhett!" 

Pressure unexpectedly blossoms. Air catches in your throat as his cock head dips into you. 

"Shit—!" Rhett's yelp dissolves into a muffled groan. "I didn't mean..."

But your legs are curling around him, your heels digging into the swell of his ass, urging him deeper. More. You want more of this. 

Oh, and he gives you exactly what you want. Softens and lets you draw him in, so overtaken by the sensation that he visibly fights to keep his eyes open. You weren't ready for this at all and you don't even care. It's hard to think about the ache when he's already dragging against a sensitive cluster of nerves, his cock so thick that it rubs against them without even trying.

"'s it feel good or 'm I hurtin' ya?" Rhett's voice is like gravel. So much lower than what you remember it being. 

"'s good," you're whining, absently squeezing at his biceps as he sinks further and further into you. There's just so much of him to take, slowly splitting your poor pussy wide open inch by fucking inch. 

Thunder booms outside, but it's not near as scary as the monster between your shivering thighs. Lightning flickers as you feel him bottom out, buried to the hilt, and you don't...you don't know if you have room left to even breathe. 

There's no real waiting. He can't, with you taking it upon yourself to dig your heels into the bed and impatiently rutting yourself against him. Shallow little ins and outs that very nearly punch the air out of your lungs.

"So fuckin' impatient," his chest settles against yours, anchoring you into the bed and forcing your squirming hips to hold still. "Needin' my cock that bad, baby?"

You've got just enough of your bearings left to glare at him. No, you were wanting him to buy you a snack out of the vending machine. What else could you want?

"Hey, I didn't say I wouldn't give it to ya," he chuckles like he can hear every little snarky thought that crosses your mind; maybe he's been reading your mind ever since the day you met. 

All of a sudden, he's moving, drawing those strong hips back, only to rock back into you, doing nothing but shallowly rut his cock into you. If it were anyone else, this wouldn't work, but fuck he's already got this figured out. Massaging against those little nerves you haven't touched in so, so long, such a simple thing that has you clenching around him. 

And you're helpless to do anything but cling to him and take it. Pinned to this shitty motel mattress as the storm rages on outside. 

"'s that better, hm?" He coos, nuzzling your noses together as if to soothe the pitchy noises he's gently punching out of you. "I can feel your little legs just a shakin'."

There's nothing you can say. Stunned into mindless sounds that you can't seem to stifle, all too aware of how he's beginning to pull out further, fucking you in long, heavy strokes that leave stars sparkling in your vision. 

Your hips involuntarily buck. The angle shifts. 

"Aha—!" You're crying out. Way too loud. The neighbor absolutely heard that.

But you can't think about that because Rhett's caught onto it, swiveling his hips. Misses on the first try. Drifts closer on the second—

Not a thing escapes your lips, but your back rises up off the bed, clenching around him as he strikes that spot again, and you're only vaguely aware of how you're getting wetter. Absolutely dripping around him, every little motion punctuated by a sickening squelch that you can't possibly ignore. 

"This poor lil pussy of yours," he's so talkative, purring those filthy words against your lips like they're gospel. "Gonna have ya limpin' all tomorrow."

You can't...you can't keep still. Wriggling helplessly, not sure if you're pushing up into him or trying to pull away; whatever it is, it's not working. That fat cock of his is still sinking into you at his own pace, balls lightly smacking into your ass, heavy and full and...

"Probably have to tell 'em a little lie or two," kissing him only briefly shuts him up. He's talking the moment you part ways. "'s not really acceptable to tell 'em the shop mechanic was—mmh between your pretty little legs all night long." 

Your hand finds its way up his arm. Crossing his shoulder blades. On a one-way track to tangle in his messy hair and pull. It's enough to yank his head back, that pretty, pale throat on full display as a warbled moan jumps out of him. 

Rhett's teeth sink into his bottom lip, muffling something you wish you could hear. "Talk to me, baby."

"Wanna...wanna hear you," that doesn't sound like your voice at all. If you couldn't feel it coming out of your own mouth, you'd think it was someone else entirely. "Please." For extra measure. 

You'll fuss about begging on another day. When you're not—oh, when you're not...

The tiniest noise stumbles out of Rhett's throat. Music to your fucking ears. You want more of it. 

It takes a moment. Gathering the strength to use the rest of your body. But then you do, and you're deliberately clenching around him, shivering thighs squeezing his pistoning hips as tight as you can, and he whines.

"Fuck, I...I..." Stumbling out of him. Aimless, but it's damn near enough to make you dizzy.

"Uhuh," is all you can utter. Dumb.

Lips collide. Crashing so clumsily that it's a wonder you don't knock a tooth out, nothing but open-mouthed entanglements and tongue. Calling this a kiss would disgrace the very word. Kisses are meant to be elegant. A beautiful sort of dance that no language will ever be able to properly describe. 

Soft little whimpers creep past his defenses. Faint at first, but it's so hard to stop once he starts crying into your mouth when you clench around him once more. You don't know if it's the sound itself or the delicious drag of his cock that sends the wave of heat roaring into your lower belly. Hell, maybe it's both. 

"Sound so fuckin' pretty." He's the one who says it, but you utter it in the back of your mind, too.

This room is so damn hot all of a sudden. A familiar pull has you fluttering around him, spasms that you feel just as much as he does. And he's driving directly into those little nerves so easily that your entire body is beginning to tingle with it, his weeping cock head striking them over and over and over.

Rhett shivers. A bead of sweat runs down his flushed face. "Fuck, I'm—"

"Close!" You blurt. Didn't mean to finish his sentence for him, but it's already out there, and oh, oh, oh.

His motions are quickening, unexpectedly thrown off of his rhythm, only for his hips to slam into you so hard it rocks the headboard. An unfamiliar heat blossoms, and you can feel his cock twitching inside of you and—Oh, he's cumming in you. 

That's all it takes. 

Your ears go numb as your back arches. Heart hamming in your chest. Crying out something that you never get to hear as you cum around him without warning. Little sparks firing across your nerves, and for the briefest moment, you think you've been swept up into a twister. Swirling 'round and 'round, nothing but Rhett's sweaty body to keep you from flying away entirely. 

And the storm whispers your name, barely audible over the hammer of your own heart. Echoing as the color drowns to black, warping until you can't no longer hear that, either. 

One of your eyes peeks open. 

Did you fall asleep? 

Because you feel like you fell asleep. Don't quite recall feeling so groggy, gravity weighing heavy on your eyelids, fighting against all odds to stay closed. Your tongue is almost stiff in your mouth, difficult to move. 

Rhett's hand has long since curled around your face, his thumb stroking the thin skin beneath your eye. Delicate. You don't think he's realized you're back yet, so distracted that the proof of it is evident in his face. Those deep blue irises flickering across your face, trailing across your forehead, your cheeks, your bitten lips, cracked and dry from the elements. 

You're far from looking your best. That you know for sure, but something about the way he looks at you...has you feeling like the prettiest thing this side of the country.

The corner of his lip rises the moment your eyes meet. "There ya are."

"I think I fell asleep," you croak. That still doesn't sound like your voice, but there's nowhere else it could be coming from. 

"'s only been a few minutes," pausing to press a kiss to your temple. That might be a faint hickey forming beneath his ear. "had me thinkin' I killed ya."

You can't help but giggle, an image emerging to the forefront of your mind. "Could you imagine having to explain to everyone that your dick killed me?"

His eyes roll as hard as they possibly can. You're almost disappointed that they don't get stuck. "'s not that big."

"You'd sing a very different tune if we could swap places," you mumble, reaching for his hand. So much bigger than yours, you can hardly even cover half of it. 

"Who says we can't?" He says it so...bluntly. 

...is he already implying that pegging is on the table?

You can't find your words. Neither can he. All too quiet as you stare back at each other. 

You crack at the same time. Sputtering into laughter like a pair of dumb kids, collapsing into perfect synchrony as you scramble out of the bed. Don't need to utter a word to Bare feet stumble across horrendously patterned carpet. His hand guiding you along on a one-way race to a too-small bathroom.

You're beginning to realize that cowboys and mechanics are just nerds with a very specific niche. 

There's no way that Rhett is still out there poking at Dallas, running his hands over the different components, pressing on buttons just to see what they'll do if anything at all. Even from the door, you can see the gears twisting and turning in his head, processing every little detail and scratch like it's a work of art he's never laid eyes on before.

Except he has laid eyes on Dallas before. More times than you can count, and that beat-up old thing is far from a work of art. At least it's still prettier than Tyler's rusty old rig over there in the back...

No, it's not there anymore. 

Did they leave already? 

"Where's thing one and thing two?" You hope he doesn't notice the way you waddle across the parking lot, an ache plaguing you with every step. It was cute, the idea of being sore from a night in bed with him, but hell, is the actual experience a lot less romantic to deal with. 

"They ditched us fer a date at some kind of storm chaser convention."

And here you thought Kate would at least give you the luxury of sticking around to tell you where she was going. Better yet, sending a text. 

"A date?" Tilting your head to the side, like that'll somehow make you hear better. 

Rhett presses another button. Every light in the truck turns on. "'s what it looked like on Ty's Instagram story."

You've already dug your phone out of your pocket, thumbs fumbling over each other as you search for your friends. Kate's account is the same as it was three days ago. No new posts since July of last year, but Tyler's...

There they are. Posing in front of the camera, spinning it around to unveil a line up of storm trucks. There has to be at least two dozen of them, sidled up next to each other in a perfect line with little white boxes resting on their hoods. A blurry sign sits behind them, forces you to replay the video and squint in order to read it. 

Voting opens  @ 4 PM.

"You have got to be kidding me," deadpan. Damn, not even an invite? After all that arguing? After yesterday? They wouldn't even have a truck to enter if it weren't for Dallas! 

"Hm?" Rhett blinks at you. If this were a cartoon, he'd have a question mark hovering over his head right now.

You turn the phone around, showing him the video he's already seen. "They entered a competition for the best storm rig in the state!" 

He bites the inside of his cheek, watching it again. After a moment, those big blue eyes flicker up to you. "...we could beat 'em." 

"You think so?" Is this what you're doing now? 

"I know so." Grinning.

They'll never let you hear the end of this. 

And that's exactly why you find yourself bouncing up to him, your hands bracing themselves on his chest as you lean in to steal a kiss from his waiting lips. Curling a fist in his t-shirt, don't even need to tug for him to fall into line, boots thumping along as you dart back into the room. Scrambling to collect your bags, tripping over him in your effort to shove your pajamas back into the suitcase. 

"Who's drivin'?" He giggles, leaning across you to get the room key. 

The answer is obvious. "I am!" 

Kate and Tyler don't realize you're there until it's too late. 

[a-confused-spoon]

Jinx's haircut: how Powder and Ekko's story comes full circle

Hi! So, it appears Jinx will be cutting her hair short in season 2 (which is cool as fuck), and I’ve been seeing a lot of discussion on it, so I wanted to share my two cents 😊

I might refer to Jinx and Powder as if they are different ideantities, but I'm aware that's not how that works; it's just an easier way to express myself. Also english isn't my first language, so apologies for any possible wiritng mistake (this is a bit of a mess 😅)

* deep breath in *

As it has already been pointed out, this choice must have a deeper reason other than esthetic (I've been seeing the phrase "hair holds memories" used a lot), and what's even more interesting is that her new look resembles a lot how she used to look like as a kid; a bit bizarre, given how the entirety of season 1 showed us how Powder and Jinx's coexistence only brings the girl pain. As a matter of fact, the finale makes it clear to us that even she sees these two sides of herself as mutually exclusive.

So why and how exactly would this happen now?

What I keep going back to is the idea that maybe, just maybe, this has to do with her possibly "taking the lead" in Zaun; whether she actively becomes a leader or if she just "leads by example" (therefore passively), it doesn't change the fact that for better or worse she will be depicted as a leading revolutionary figure.

And fair enough: she singlehandedly killed half of the Council, the people who hold decisional power and have contributed to the misery on the other side of the river. After Vender's failed attempt on the bridge and Silco's focus on his own business dealings with Piltover among everything else he did, Jinx's attack on the city - something she does to ultimately solidify her identity as Jinx - opens a door that the Undercity was waiting to be opened for decades.

Here's the thing:

Being Jinx doesn't just mean acting on unbridled rage and being a menace to society; it means being feared by most, if not all, with the only possible exceptions being those who also accepted their inner monster. To put it in Singed's words, "If you take this path, they will despise you".

Being Jinx fundamentally implies loneliness.

Silco was consistently reminding her this: "I am your family; everyone else betrays us" / "Everyone betrays us Jinx! Vander! Her! They will never understand, it's only us".

In the official clip 'Enemy of my enemy' we find out that he only saw her cry twice, the two scenes we also witness as an audience, meaning he didn't see her cry once during the timeskip, and I'm sure it's safe to say that she most definitely did cry a lot given how she goes from episode 3 Powder (scared, couldn't grasp the concept of killing someone, heartbroken by the nickname jinx) to episode 4 Powder (a beast, kills in cold blood, has taken Jinx as her actual name)... it must've been an ugly transition, and it definitely didn't happen overnight; if Silco, who was the closest person she had all that time, didn't see it, then I think it speaks a lot on how alone Jinx really was in her darkest times.

For all the love he had for her, he reinforced this idea of isolation as an unescapable consequence of the right path, and I think this is also reflected in the lair that (supposedly) he found for her, especially when you compare it to the Firelights’ one:

The Firelights (this is important for later) are all about community and sharing joy as well as struggle and pain; they live in a place of healing, filled with life, without a roof so the sunlight can reach them during the day, and at nights living bugs that shine a light of their own fill up the hideout.

Jinx's place is diametrically opposed to this: it’s dark and looks cold, it's completely made of metal, the roof’s blocking any natural light and it hangs above an abyss with no bottom to be seen; the only company she consistently has are the puppets of her dead brothers and the only living thing that knows his way in is the only one that can understand, the only one she can rely on - aka Silco himself.

However, as Jinx herself knows, this may have worked for him, but it wasn't working for her for the longest time: she never stopped yearning for affection, love, friendship- that part of her never really went away; it was only being suppressed, suffocated, maybe unintentionally, and I strongly believe that it only worsen her trauma, and it's one of the things that made her spiral so bad into her depression, to the point of hallucinating.

I think that Silco's line in the baptism scene is particularly relevant here: "You need to let Powder die, so the fear of pain will no longer control you", where the fear of pain would refer to the fear of being on her own, of always failing and disappointing others, of being weak and never satisfying the desires, expectations, hopes that Powder carried within her to be “a valuable member of the team”.

If she lets Powder die (which again, she does in the final episode of season 1), this is no longer a problem: if she doesn't do teams, because teams don't want a jinx to begin with, that fear can't get to her; if she's a solo player, a self-sufficient loose cannon, she won't need to rely on anyone but herself because she's strong on her own and does not need the support of others.

If her power lays in the monster she is, the one everyone condemns her for being, then that childhood wish of hers just isn't a realistic option.

...but then this happens.

We know from the teaser trailer that in the operation Caitlyn's leading, 'finding Jinx' and 'neutralize any agent still loyal to Silco' are separate objectives. Which makes sense, since as far as they know Silco was the leader of a group of people, and now that he's gone Jinx is an individual under her own agency and her own agency alone. If initially she fights by herself, for herself because she can and fuck Piltover, then it all falls in line with what I stated so far.

But then we hear Sevika, who has hated Jinx's guts and who Jinx has hated back since day one, telling her to get the people together, to unite the Undercity as one because she can do that. Mind you, the girl has lived in Zaun all her life, she knows damn well that the end of Piltover is something the entire Undercity has been waiting for (“Imagine what the whole of the Lances could do!” from episode 2); yet despite this she needs to be openly told what is going on, that she’s not sizing the opportunity she’s created. She isn't, cause... her? Leading? A group of people? No. Not after the last time she tried to help, and most importantly, not after everything she learned under Silco.

Jinx can't fathom the idea of herself as a part of a part of a team. How can she? She literally just came to terms with isolation as ever present- and now, for some reason, the people of the city, who always either ran away from her or wanted her gone, are dying their hair blue in her image, trusting her, following her, painting murals of her as the bringer of revolution.

She isn't taking power forcibly like Silco did; she's just doing her thing, her Jinx thing, and Zaun, on its own, is choosing her as the leading figure.

Imagine how frustrating it must be for Jinx to look back and realize that Silco, her father- who has loved her, forgiven her, raised her, called her perfect, defended her, was there for her, saved her, guided her- was wrong, and put her in a condition of never ending existential pain when she could’ve had it differently the entire time; imagine how confusing it must be for her to look back and realize that it never mattered whether or not others understood her, 'cause she wasn't as unlovable or unforgivable as she thought herself to be in the first place, that Silco and Vi were never her only options.

Imagine how painful it must be for her to look back and realize that for all this time she could’ve had friends and be accepted and be trusted and rely on others because she never HAD to be alone.

...keeping this in mind, let's talk about Ekko and the missing flashback from episode 7 for a moment.

Admittedly we don’t have a lot of information, other than it took place not too long after the events of episode 3 (then again, to be fair, we don’t know a lot about their relationship as enemies as well: it’s all between the lines; I surely have my own opinions of how they feel about each other being on the enemy side, but I don’t believe it’s super relevant here). What’s for sure about this flashback is that it was a defining moment in both Ekko and Powder’s journey, especially for the latter. Someone surely died, and it 100% was Powder’s fault. It could be both the result of her very first crisis or her first intentional murder; in both cases it results in her deciding for herself to align with Silco as opposed to her best friend.

The way I like to see it is that, since the trauma was still very fresh, she might have been too scared of the idea of fighting alongside others after what happened last time, and she pushed herself to kill someone on purpose just to push Ekko away and prove a point (Silco’s point). I love the idea of the tragic irony of Ekko being the one person Powder managed to really save, and Powder being the one person Ekko couldn’t.

Personal headcanons aside though, the last part is the most important one here: Ekko couldn’t save Powder from Silco, and by extension everything he represents.

I’d like to point out that one of the most tragic aspects of the two becoming enemies (to me) is that, throughout those years, they reciprocally were the only living person the other shared a past with (well, Vi too, but she was in prison the entire time).

Silco not only takes over by force, he also marks as his all the places of said past: the Last Drop, Vi and Powder’s house… one line that always stuck with me from episode 7 is when Ekko tells Vi “All that’s left is Jinx, and she belongs to Silco”.

Not with Silco; to Silco. As if she too a piece of the past he turned into his property.

It’s like he understands that while yes, Powder made the decision by herself, that she wants to stay with Silco, he also knows that the man is the one to blame for... well, all of it; the kid was there when Silco showed up unprovoked at Benzo’s place, he knows things went downhill from there.

Ekko knows that he is the bigger problem and the bigger enemy. Even Vi, without knowing a thing about the past few years, can tell Silco put some shit into her sister’s head; Ekko can probably guess the same, difference being that Ekko has the responsibility of keeping other people safe, and he can’t risk it all for someone that, while possibly manipulated, ultimately isn’t collaborative. Ekko can’t jeopardize all he’s built and done for his former best friend, no matter how much it hurts him to be her enemy.

Back to season 2.

Like the entire fandom has already pointed out, there’s a 99.9% chance there will be an alliance between them and Jinx, especially when looking at Ekko’s new outfit.

Of course, this will not be immediate: my guess is that while Jinx works alone at the very start Ekko will be with Heimerdinger and following the arrest of the Firelights we see in the trailer maybe there’s a split. And even after Jinx takes charge so to speak, and possibly frees them, among others, from Stillwater, it’s possible there will be (and there should be) stages in the alliance: initial distrust, potential fight within the community- like yeah, let’s not forget what Jinx did to these people.

Even if they do go ahead with it, it is probably out of necessity more than anything else, with not one but two military forces against the whole of the Underground. It’s not like they’d be the most ecstatic faction about it, and the same goes for Ekko, which is why the new look will probably come in later.

But exactly like he could see Powder for a brief second on the bridge clearly enough for him to stop himself from beating her, he will, most definitely, see her again through Jinx's inner turmoil... that, and she also can’t keep her shit together when it comes to what she's feeling, the girl really is an open book.

And yeah, the situation would be pretty emotionally disorienting: she's being as Jinx as ever, but people like her now, which is something she used to want as Powder, who is supposed to be dead, and they're willingly following her like they willingly followed Vander and there's murals of her with him, though she's pursuing what aligns more with Silco's dream, but also turns out Silco was wrong about Powder, who might still be alive deep down- the whole thing is a big big mess.

Despite everything that I said about him, it’s not like Jinx would start to resent Silco. She could never, not after his last words to her. They mean the world to her, he means too much to her, and let’s not forget she probably hear his voice now too, along Mylo’s and Claggor’s; it might even be a calming voice to her, one she’s happy to hear even if she knows he’s not real… which makes it all worse and more painful to deal with.

In this scene from the trailer, it seems like Ekko’s talking to her (some have pointed out the blue hair out of focus). Since this is still the look in season, at this point in time Ekko (and the rest of the Firelights) are not truly committed to this alliance with Jinx, and vice versa, Jinx is still figuring out how to deal with all this unexpected appreciation.

If there’s one thing we’ve learned about Jinx’s way of dealing with inner conflicts, especially ones that deal with the memories of the past, is that it often leads to disaster. This is a bit of a long shot, but what if the reason Ekko’s so beat up Is because she unintentionally sabotaged one of their own attacks on Piltover? Or perhaps they were caught up in a tough situation because of something she did or didn’t do? My point is that if he really is talking with her while in this condition, she probably is in a similar one.

Regardless, they are on the same side, and they are having a conversation. This is very likely the first time they reach out for each other since the day she chose to not go with him.

And I think it’s believable that of all the people she now has beside her, she’d talk to Ekko: he has this leader stuff already figured out. He has and still is taking care of people and keeping them safe better than she ever will, and on top of that, he still is the only one in Zaun (again, aside from Vi) who has known her since before she was Jinx, and he spared her on the bridge. He’s the perfect person to open up to.

And, get this, not only Ekko understands the pressure of taking the lead: he knows what it means to look back at someone you were fond of and feeling the pain of being wronged by them. He knows what it’s like to look back at old memories of someone you trusted and wonder if all those moments together really were what you thought they were, he knows what it’s like to wish it could all go back like it was, just so that candid version of them you have in your mind can still be true, present and untainted by the ugliness that now ruins all those precious moments.

He knows, 'cause he went through it with her... and now he can finally reach her.

Ekko may have not been able to save her from Silco then, but he can save her from Silco now.

And since he has built a community that grieved together, went through pain and joy together, he simply does what he’s always done with the Firelights. Sharing.

He tells with her what has worked for him: “Sometimes, taking a leap forward means leaving a few things behind”- in the Franch dub he says “leaving a part of oneself behind”- meaning it doesn’t have to be all or nothing: she has the power to choose what to kiss goodbye and what can stay…

…and then she cuts her hair.

I think it’s important to note how these two moments are very similar in setting. I kid you not, the first time I watched the trailer I was convinced this was a scene where Jinx was burning Silco’s body after she killed him- which frankly could still be the case. I’ve also seen discussions being made for the little girl we see in the trailer being burned here, or Sevika, but I don’t think it’s either. Jinx is completely desensitized to death, even when Silco died her makeup isn’t this ruined. My guess is that this is something much deeper:

Jinx never properly grieved the past. Ever. So, maybe, she’s burning the part of herself she’s leaving behind. The hair she cut.

The hair Silco used to braid for her.

These two scenes parallel each other because “nothing ever stays dead”, but Silco must stay dead, for her own sake. For her own happiness: she is leaving him behind for good.

Only after this moment we get the new look for Ekko: he can work with this new Jinx, the one that now knows she can work within a team, even to the point of committing to the outfit (lol).

If in season 1 Jinx accepted her identity as it was defined by Silco, in season 2 she's re-inventing it under her own conditions: she gets to choose what "being Jinx" may or may not include. And it will always include a little bit of Powder.

Thanks for reading! 💚💙

[rottenpumpkin13]

ASGZC (is there an order it’s supposed to go in??) playing monopoly.

who wins?

who flips the table??

Things That Happen During Monopoly

• Angeal is elected the banker at the start of the game because he's the most responsible. Angeal then proceeds to miscount the money and acquiring an incomprehensible wealth that he refuses to part with.

Angeal: I never miscount money. I'm excellent at math. This distribution is as fair as it could be.

Cloud: I literally only have $1.

Angeal: Your poverty isn't my problem.

• Genesis has rolled "Go to jail" every turn so far and the board is looking very flippable. Sephiroth finds his misery hilarious.

• Sephiroth doesn't believe in paying rent.

Zack: Sephiroth, this isn't fair! You're using my property, you have to pay the fee!

Sephiroth: By charging me money for a place to live, you're perpetuating the cycle of wealth inequality and profiting off of my misfortune. It's a wretched world we live in, where those with wealth continue to accumulate more while the poor struggle to get by on their honest salaries.

Zack: IT'S MONOPOLY MONEY.

• Someone lost the dog token so Angeal spends 10 minutes ranting about how they're all irresponsible, failing to notice that Sephiroth has it on top of his little house.

• Angeal bankrupts Genesis, who spends the next 8 minutes cursing Angeal's bloodline and threatening to sue him IRL.

• Genesis lands in jail again. He is unfortunately broke, so he has to stay in jail.

Genesis: I don't understand! Where are all the get out of jail free cards??

Sephiroth: I wouldn't know.

• Sephiroth is hoarding them all in the pockets of his coat.

• Zack is hoarding houses so no one else can buy them.

• Cloud is watching Angeal actively steal money from the bank, but no one is doing anything because Genesis is looking for the get out of jail cards and Zack and Sephiroth are having a bidding war that's starting to sound more like an argument.

• Genesis sees a get out of jail card fall from Sephiroth's pocket.

• Genesis flips the board.

• Game over.

[itonashi]

YOU are YOU

SUMMARY : Known around the world — a genius scientist named [Name][Last Name]. Everyone sought to be her as she was deemed perfect. A young prodigy that managed to climb up the ranks alongside her friends. She met her demise at the age of 35. It shook the world. Tears fall because of her. Will there be another her?

PAIRING : aquamarine hoshino x fem!reader

WARNINGS : implied deaths, stalking, drugs, slow burn romance, more will be added.

A/N : finished chp 1! even though i was in misery because of hsr. it's okay hehe. haha. i want gepard so bad. chp 1 is kind short even though it's like 1.4k words lol. i hope you love it my staggie ! (my followers name is staggie)

"Goro, don't you miss me?"

"Why should I?" Goro glance at you with eyes that could be interpret as 'in love'. Despite his replies to you, he knew that he misses you deeply. You changed him. Your existence gave hope to him.

Before knowing the world of idols and drowning himself in work as a doctor, you were the reason he kept on living. It was like a miracle. Meeting you on his last year of middle school, someone that's 2 years older than him. He never thought he was the guy to like older women.

Your hair that flow along the wind breeze of the countryside fresh air. The usual spot of your meeting place, the hospital rooftop. "Look at you being snarky..." You make a shock face. "Don't you have work to do?" He questioned the free time you have been having these days. You have too much free time for a genius scientist that's known around the world. A prominent figure in the science world that will go through history.

One of the people who had change the world through technology. Despite being a figure in the science world, you too have made it in the entertainment industry. Just what were you doing? Trying to live nine lives? You had appear in model shoot, even become a brand's ambassador. "You really are carefree.." He added with a slight chuckle and fix his glasses. You tilt your head "Well... I'm still young after all! A young woman have to make the best of her life." You gave an eyes closed smile.

He crosses his arms together and sigh "Whatever makes you happy [Nickname]." You lightly laugh and look towards the night sky. He stare at your figure. Even when you're only standing, he could feel the aura you let out. The strong aura that just screams 'Hey! I'm an important person in this industry.' He could never compare to you.

You went close to the railing and face him — leaning onto the railing. "Gorou, do I shine like a star right now?" He widen his eyes at the sudden change of atmosphere. The words didn't come out of his mouth, instead he probably look like a gapping fish. How could he forget how your eyes look like?

It was your eyes that made him attracted to you. It shine like the stars. Your eyes twinkle and had actual stars in it. Everyone agreed that the unique things about you is your eyes. They said that your eyes were like the stars dancing around the ocean waves.

"You do shine. You shine more than other people." He responded to your question with a smile. He wish that this moment last forever but the world isn't fair.

If only he could go back to this moment and make you stay this time. Would you and him become a family? Would the smile you always hold be in his mind forever? Can he still see your smile even after death?

Even after two years of your passing, he still hasn't move on from you. Your smile was engraved in his mind. The lovely smile you had. It will always be in his heart — like you always said to him "Well, I have always been in your heart." With the little laugh you did. Your soothing voice will always be his favorite.

They will never be another you because YOU are YOU. The world will always remember you. His genius scientist.

It breaks his heart how you have mentioned about a teen girl named AI Hoshino. The girl he would help to deliver her babies. He never thought he would ever met his patient's favorite idol. He never thought he would ever met the random teen girl he has heard about from you. 

Oh right, he haven't read the letter that was given to him the day of your funeral from one of your friends. He didn't read it yet because the condition was to read it after 3 years. Were you playing with him? It has been 2 years now... Only one year left.

Funny story, he didn't have the chances to read your letter because well he's dead! Duh!

'It has been two years that I have been in this body' You frown. I guess, you're finally accustomed with this body of yours. [Name] Yoshino, that was your name in this new body, new life. Such a coincidence that you will still be using the same name as your previous life.

Reincarnation? It was such a bizarre things to happened to you. You don't believe in it but she does. How are all off your friends doing? You can only see them on the TV but it was rare to do so. In your past life, you were a genius scientist that was in a world organization. Each of your friends are from another country. They were the people that managed to top the world alongside with you.

Only some of your friends appears in the TV as half of them prefer to work behind the scenes. Well, you hope they're doing fine even after your death. Did they read the letters yet? Did Goro read the letter yet?

How is the love of your life doing? Did he move on? Did he finally have a family? How sad. If only... You weren't killed two years ago.

What's this weird feeling in your stomach? Why do you feel like something bad is going to happen? You need to keep your guard up. You walked faster and stay clear from the crowd. It was night time.

'This is bad. Something is going to happen.' You furrowed your eyebrows in frustration. You felt sick but you can't drop your guard even in the slightest. Being a prominent figure means you're prone to assassination attempt. After all, you have always been unlucky in situations.

You have steered away from the crowd. A quiet place that's still within the city of Tokyo. A woman cannot be alone, you learned that the hard way but you felt like this time you need to be alone. Is it a feeling of death? Is someone watching you?

You saw a tiny flash and glanced towards it. "A sniper... He must've known I noticed him now..." You muttered under your breath. You took a deep breath. 'I can't avoid this anymore. I'm sorry, my little brother. I'm sorry, Goro. I'm sorry to everyone that I have lied too. I was always dirty but I will forever be thankful to him for saving me. Even in my death, I want to smile for everyone. After all, I just love these people the most. Will there be a person to avenge me?' You smiled towards the sniper and mouthed 'Do your best. I have done enough in this world, probably.'

Bang!

Blood splattered everywhere. A shot on the head is bound to be messy. The sniper gritted his teeth. 'I love you' was the last words you mouthed the moment you were shot on the head. The bloods on your clothes, hair, floor. Everything is messy. The messy life you have been living as a genius scientist. Do you actually want to live as a genius again? You can't keep lying to yourself.

You remembered your last moments very clearly. It can't never be erase from your memories. The date of your death. The time of your death. The place of your death. You can never forget about it.

Will you be lucky in this new life?

Or

Will you be miserable again?

You shake of the negative thoughts. At least you have parents in this life but they're weird, in your opinion. Well, who knows what will happen in the future. You're not some kind of god. Just a genius. A 'lucky genius' that's what they call you in your past life but no one knew of your past except for your uncle. Your past life's uncle. The man who took care of you after the death of your parents. Where is he now?

"[Name]! There you are!" Oh, it's your mom. Akemi Yoshino, the woman who hold you for nine months. She's a beauty to say the least. She held you in her arms and kiss your cheek. You make a gibberish sounds to pretend. Your father, Kazuo Yoshino watch by the sidelines and only smiled. What a weirdo. Either way, you don't know if you will get close with your own father.

Your mother was a actress that quit due to being pregnant. Was she popular? Kinda. She have made an appearance in a commercial ad. Your father is a film director that's famous. Means, you came from a rich family now. Not that you weren't rich in your past life. To be born into a family on the entertainment industry is a stress though.

Expectations will come for you.

TAGLISTS : @glitch-karma @kult-o @miyakoa (if you ever change your use pls inform. i couldn't tag some of you.)

[NEXT] [PREV] [SERIES LIST]

itonashi © // don't plagiarize, copy or edit my works.

[anathemafiction]

These Mortal Pains — Part One

Light.

Warm sunshine glints past a clear window. Little specks of dust dance within its beam, and for a moment, you're mesmerized by them. Your eyes feel tired, and the effort to keep your eyelids open is only eased by the moistness at the corners. You can feel dry tears on your cheeks and your body...

You don't want to think about your body. Pain, you have found, can be avoided if it's ignored. For a little while, you want to ignore it.

Because you hear breathing and it's not your own — it's his. His darling, precious breaths. You turn your head on your fresh, plush pillow to find Hadrian slumped over your bed.

The small bench he dragged next to you is too short for his long legs, so they're tucked awkwardly beneath it, at an odd angle that must be uncomfortable. His broad shoulders slouch so he can rest his elbows on top of your linen and lay his head on his forearms.

His back moves up and down with each inhale and exhale.

His hair is in as much disarray as before but is clean now. His closed eyes have deep, sunken circles beneath, and his skin is paler than usual. He looks thinner than usual. His clothes are tossed as if put on in haste, and a large, purple bruise blooms from the side of his jaw up to his cheekbone. As Hadrian sleeps next to you, one of his hands loosely holding your gloved one, he's the perfect picture of exhaustion.

Your dry tears are replaced with fresher ones, and you swallow the sob that makes a knot in your throat. You don't want to wake him to misery, you want him to wake to love.

His skin is warm and rough, but his hand holds you gently. Even as pain shoots up your side, fast and swift like lightning, you raise an arm to sweep your fingers through his hair. Affection warms your chest as your nails drag along his scalp, and slowly, you feel him stir. Hadrian blinks, lips moving to soundless mumbles as you sweep a strand of brown hair from his temple.

And suddenly, green eyes are shining at you.

You look at each other...

And Hadrian bolts upright, nearly falling as his eyes widen beyond belief. "You're awake," he whispers as if sound could break you. Hadrian stares at you, his whole body frozen.

You try to smile, but what comes out is a grimace. "Barely," you rasp out, the words scratching the walls of your throat. You can still taste ashes.

Hadrian slowly rises to his feet. He starts breathing harder, and there's so much emotion on his face. His dear, precious face. "Hadrian," you're finally able to say. "Hadrian, you saved me. I—"

(...)

The door slides open, and a shadow slips inside. 

Your eyes are used to the gloom, but the quick way it moves is hard to track. It comes closer to your bedside, and now the pale moonlight shines on soft brown hair and fair, smooth skin dotted with as many freckles as the night sky. But this one is a constellation that you've often contemplated its beauty. As equally beautiful as the pair of blue eyes that flash down at you and make you thank the heavens you get to live to see another day.

Thank nameless, forgotten gods you get to see her. Alessa stares down at you with an expression carved from stone as shadows make a home of her face. You stare back into the freezing depths of those eyes.

“You have awakened.” Comes her low voice, as beautiful as it is feeble. So unlike her.

You try to reach for her, but your whole body is in agony. "I had to," you rasp from bleeding lips. "I had to see you."

Alessa drops to her knees, and cold fingers ghost over your cheek, tracing your jaw, coming to hold the back of your neck. "Darling one," she breathes by your lips before pressing hers softly against yours. "I thought you would not awake."

You close your eyes, pressing your forehead to hers. "How long has it been?"

"Too long," Alessa answers, and you snap your eyes open because she weeps.

(...)

Alain runs as if his soul has jumped through his mouth, and he's doing his best to catch up.

The brown horse thunders towards him, but the nobleman isn't worried about being trampled under the hooves. He only has eyes for you. You're slumped over the beast's neck like a sack of potatoes.

No. There's blood. There's a lot of blood. Your face is drained of all color, and he's been a terrible servant, but God, let you not be dead. Let you not be dead. Let you...

It's funny how panic works. His mind is stuck on a pleading loop, but his body works on its own volition. "Stop the horse!" He orders the guards, but they're behind, and they're useless, so Alain does it himself. He opens his arms wide and jumps in front of the frantic beast. "Calm down! Calm down."

The horse is getting closer and closer. Alain can only look at you.

A trickle of blood pours from your lips.

He has never had his heart broken, but he feels something breaking now. He feels his whole chest caving, and he's panicking, but his body refuses to listen. "Calm down."

His voice comes out as if there isn't a cord wrapped around his neck. It comes out calm, and authoritative, and Alain doesn't think horses understand human language, but the horse comes to a stop right in front of Alain.

With the halt in movement, you falter... and then start to slide to the side.

Alain jumps, faster than he's ever been, and catches you mid-air. "Uff," he grunts but holds you safe in his arms. He pulls you closer, one hand supporting your upper back, and you're so close now that the stench of blood makes his eyes sting.

No.

He sees the bolt jammed into your side. His knees buckle. His arms refuse to panic. "Little sparrow," he whispers, and his voice breaks now. He wants to cup your cheek, to shake you awake, but he can't let go of you. "Little sparrow, open your eyes. Open your eyes for me."

You don't.

"Please," Alain whispers. He has never begged before, but he does it now. "Please, open your eyes."

"My lord!" Alain snaps his head up when the three guards reach him. They have sweat covering their faces, and two of them look with wide, panicked eyes at you hanging from his arms. "My lord is..."

One of them walks forward, raising her fingers to press them to your pulsing point, but Alain turns violently away. "Stay back," he barks, his voice dark. He would have slapped her if he had a free hand. "Don't touch him/her."

You're alive. There's no need to confirm it — it's an insult to. You're alive.

Alain regains his composure. "Have a clean room prepared," he orders her, voice a stone of cold once more. The guard hesitates, then nods and takes up running.

Alain turns to the second guard. "Call the healer. Pull her from her bed if needed. If she's not in the room when I get there, I'll have you both beheaded."

The guard, a young man, jumps and sprints back to the castle.

He turns to the last guard, a seasoned man with a dark, bushy beard. "Take the horse to the stable. Make sure they take care of him."

"Will do, my lord," the guard says but doesn´t rush to obey. Instead, he looks Alain in the eyes. "And then?"

Alain starts to walk, hugging you close. "Then get a party and find who did this," he says over his shoulder. He cradles your head against his chest. You're so cold. "And bring me their heads."

The guard spits on the ground and grabs the horse's reins. "Will do."

Alain walks with you in his arms, praying to a God who has never listened. My wealth for their life. My title for a breath.

.

.

.

You awake to warmth.

(...)

You awake to a gentle trickle.

Water splashes on water, and then, a cooling touch dampens your forehead. Water now trickles down your eyes, past your cheeks, and falls in little droplets to your bare shoulders.

Your body feels heavy and broken, but your ears are blessed with the gentle sound of crystalline water, and the soothing timber of a light, beautiful voice.

"Things fall apart."

Your lips quirk, for while your eyes are still closed, you immediately recognize the voice. Ysabella sings in a whisper so low that it's almost a hum, but wherever you are, it's dead silent, so you hear it as if she shouts.

A linen sheet covers your body up to your waist, and when you shuffle to the side, you feel the bandages wrapped around your middle. You don't feel any pain, but your tongue is dry and numb, your thoughts come slow and dragged, and you know you must be under the effect of some kind of drug.

Not that it matters. Because Ysabella keeps humming. "But nothing breaks like a heart," she sings, the trickling water accompanying like a band, and then, a wet, cooling cloth comes to press gently against your forehead. Bella hums, and pads your neck with little, tender touches. "Nothing breaks like a heart," she repeats in a lower, weaker voice as she cleans the top of your shoulders.

It feels so good, and sleep lulls you into its peaceful embrace, but at the last sentence, you snap your eyes open. Bella's voice sounded as heartbroken as her song, and that cannot be.

Light is scarce and warm. The final moments of a deep red sunset paint the two large windows that face the West. A white marbled fireplace has orange embers burning, and the door is wide enough to let two people walk side by side. But it's closed, and no one else is in the room except you and Ysabella.

"This world can break you," she whispers, turning away from you. She sits beside your bed on a simple, backless stool with three legs and a padded surface. She doesn't wear one of her long, beautiful gowns, but chooses instead a plain cotton dress that stops at her midcalf and has a deep round neckline. Her jewels are gone, her hair falls naturally down her golden skin, and from her profile, you can see that her lips aren't painted but are of her natural brownish, red color.

She leans over a thin table set beside her where it is an azure water basin, a fresh batch of bandages, and a yellow bottle of some kind of liquid. "It cuts you deep and leaves a scar." At the word scar, your noblewoman's voice cracks. Your chest clenches when you hear a sniffle, but Ysabella’s graceful hands don't falter.

Gently moving as if she dances to a trained routine, Ysabella brings the light blue towel she's cleaning you with to the basin and soaks it anew. "Things fall apart," she says, turning it carefully over. You wonder if the water turns red.

You wonder if her tears mix within.

Ysabella turns to you, and you can finally see the face of the world's most beautiful woman. And it looks exhausted. "But nothing breaks—"

Ysabella's eyes catch yours.

“Ah.” A gasp and the towel falls from her hands.

You have so much you'd like to tell her. But, when you crack your lips open, all that comes out is a stupid joke. "Am I in heaven?"

At the sound of your voice, Ysabella starts shaking. "You—you're not supposed to be awake yet," she says, dragging her chair closer. She lifts a hand towards your face but stops mid-air, brown eyes searching every inch of your face. "The healer said you'd sleep for at least three days. If— if you were ever to wake again."

"Damn, then it's good that I did, no?" you rasp out. Talking proves hard, especially with your numb tongue, but you want to soothe her.

Bella blinks, and tears fall down her cheeks. "You're not supposed to yet."

She's staring at you, her eyes glazed. Your smile dies when you realize she's in shock.

(...)

The entire pieces are available on Patreon!

Fire — Hadrian & Alessa

Wind — Alain & Ysabella

[laswells-ashtray]

Possible angst?

John has a shitty day and, in a moment of drunken stupor, accidentally lashes out against someone he holds dear. He spirals, paranoid of becoming his father, and retreats (physically or emotionally). Whether it ends in fluff or angst is up to you /sugg

He hadn't meant to snap at Nikolai, never once has he properly snapped at Nikolai. And he wants to die. He wants someone to take him out into a field and put him out of his misery, he isn't worth the blood that would stain the floor at base.

But Gaz almost took a knife to the throat on their last mission, he'd been sniping at Kate for their lack of intel as if it were her fault that the mission was a shit show and to top it all off, 19 years ago he'd gotten the call that they'd found his father dead in a puddle of his own vodka scented vomit.

Nik was trying to be patient with him, trying to talk him out of frantically planning their next mission with what little new information he had and instead take a break and allow the bruise he'd taken to calling a body a rest. He'd all bit bitten the Russian's head off with misplaced frustration.

"Will you fucking stop?! Jesus Christ, I don't need you fucking suffocating me when I'm trying to do my bloody job. You never pull back, do you? Years of you constantly breathing down my fucking neck and you never piss off."

The worst part had been Nikolai's reaction, the other man hadn't flinched, he'd barely blinked. He'd simply nodded and stepped back, looking at John like he was a pissy little sprog, red faced and roaring.

"Ah, I see. I will return when you are no longer so... irritated."

It hadn't been fair of him, not in the slightest. Nikolai had only been trying to help him and in John's selfish searing fit of anger he'd attacked the closest person in his line of sight. Years of waiting Nikolai wait for their relationship to develop due to John's cowardice and he'd thrown it back in the other man's face without a second thought.

Unnecessary cruelty was a skill he'd gained from his father.

He'd spent an hour at his desk trying to figure out how their next mission was going to work with half the intel and names they needed missing but he couldn't. He couldn't get past the churning feeling of shame in his gut that threatened to rise up the back of his throat. A part of him wanted to hunt down Nikolai and grovel, the other vicious part hoped that his partner was already gone leaving john behind him the way he deserved. Anyone that spent any amount of time with him knew better than to stick around. There was something infectious about John Price, everyone around him seemed to deteriorate after meeting him. He half expected flowers to wilt and die whenever he walked by. Someone had once described Price Sr. as a life without virtue, it appeared the trait was inheritable. Like a cancer that only ate away at the people around him instead of letting him die as he so desperately pleaded.

So, he had retreated back to his room and like the man he was raised to be, he drank. Living up to the name. Drinking on an empty stomach as someone who'd been kicked in the head earlier was far from his best idea but drunken self loathing always felt better.

If it weren't for the fact that he was filled with such a severe self disgust that it made him nauseous then he'd usually be at the drunken point of locating the nearest takeaway and ordering food he'd only eat half of.

His boots had been kicked off and abandoned on the floor, his arse was parked on the floor as he leaned back against his bed and tried to stare a hole through the ceiling. Something could be said about him looking upwards to God but he had found the best way to get the last whisky out of the bottle was to tip it upside down and face up. He was no man of God, he was a man who's sorrow lay at the bottom of a bottle.

His thoughts kept drifting back to Nik. The man who had been nothing but kind and loving to him only to be met with John doing his best impression of his father. Maybe it wasn't his father anymore, the high likelihood at his grown age was that it was John. It's his problem now. He's an abusive drunk who capitalises the misery of those around him looking for unity in anguish. Maybe they'd stumble upon his body in a pool of alcoholic vomit, having suffocated on his own misanthropic tragedy.

A man with no family to plan his funeral or accept his ashes. Was there a line between senior and junior? They shouldn't offer him the kindness his father was offered, let him rot like the old man should've.

The door creaks as it's pushed open, something he'd been meaning to fix. At first he think's it's Simon, maybe the lieutenant had decided to hunt him down and rip him apart for the fucking disaster he'd thrown them into head first today.

It isn't Simon, Simon doesn't have a scar that reaches up from his pinky to his wrist where he'd sliced open the fragile skin on a knife that belonged to some miscreant somewhere back in Russia.

Nikolai looks down at him with a blank face, eyes roaming over John before the reach the empty bottle he's still clinging to. There's a tight feeling that spreads across his face when he notices that Nikolai doesn't look surprised.

"Nik- Nik- 'm sorry, c'mere. I was a right arsehole, fuck, I didn't mean it-"

The pilot is kind enough to close the behind him to save anyone from watching as the Captain John Price barely manages to push himself into an upright standing position.

He's still mumbling a slew of apologies as he approaches his partner, stumbling towards the other man on legs that were far steadier before he cracked open a bottle of Johnnie Walker's finest.

Nikolai should throw him back on the hard floor and kick his fucking head in, rightfully so for what John did but instead he wraps his arms around him and pulls the brit to his chest.

He can smell the Russian man's cologne, the faint smell of smoke from those cigarettes of his that Ghost refuses whenever offered one and the faint smell of sweat. He's positive that Nikolai is holding up most of his weight.

"You are exceptionally drunk, why?"

John isn't often faced with questions he doesn't know how to answer, he's built a career out of talking and fighting his way out of things. For once he has no adequate response, no smart arse quip, only a slurred string of half finished apologies and promises that he won't do it again.

He pretends his vision is only blurry because he's pissed and not because there are tears starting to soak the material of Nikolai's shit as John hides his face in it.

For what won't be the last time in their relationship Nikolai is far too gentle with him as he manoeuvres them both over to John's bed, muttering a quiet "We will talk about it when you are no longer drunk, captain."

It's more than he deserves.

[mouriros]

Roier being shaken from his Brooding and being in Misery session during a downpour by someone pounding on his door and once he opens it he's met with a Soaked, Freezing jaiden holding a little egg with a pancake hat. He does an up and a down and jaiden smiles awkwardly and asks 'Hey roier, could you please help me' and he stands there a little shocked before shifting back, letting her and the new baby in.

He gets them both a blanket (which the egg, named Empenada, only uses for a moment before looking fresh and dry) and sits down with jaiden and a cup on tea. As the water was heating up an even smaller egg poked an edge around the corner of the room and stole Empenada from their company.

Jaiden and Roier sit in silence for a minute, watching as the eggs share news and stories with way more emotion than someone whose entire being is just but an oval shell should be able to.

"So, you got one too?" Roier breaks the silence mid-Jaiden-sip and she responds, "Apparently."

"She's cute. Her hats so adorable," and Jaiden replies "yeah," with a laugh. There's a beat before she adds "yours seems... um,"

"I don't know actually. I love Pepitos shirt, the stripes are super silly. Um, thanks for taking me in by the way." Jaiden's words come out mumbled, kind of pushed together and rushed, like she's horrified of taking up too much space. Like she isn't used to it.

Roier can't really add any more descriptive words. "Yeah, Pepito's.. fine, I guess." And he says, "I don't think I'm ready to- be a parent, you know. Again. To someone new."

There's a small silence, where Jaiden picks up her cup and sips from it, and holds it up to her nose to warm it up. "Me neither."

The silence prevails. Jaiden picks her eyes up from her tea and joins Roier in people-(egg)-watching the two kids chat and play and run. They watch as Pepito takes a fall and Empenada goes and helps Pepito up, and then they run off again.

"I really tried to love her." Jaiden starts, "At first it just sounded scary, and then I thought, 'well it can't be that difficult, I mean, everyone else already loves her', and so I told Tina that 'sure I'd Love to spend an entire day with Empenada alone together, sounds lovely, and then- it just-" Jaiden waves her hand about a bit, doing circles with her wrist and trying to put something she can't speak into a language that doesn't use words.

A language Roier understands. He sighs, his entire body expanding and then collapsing as he does. "I think I hated Pepito at first."

"Pepito's great, don't get me wrong. The egg did nothing wrong. It's just, like- all of Pepito's other parents eggs are Dead. Dead Dead. Like funeral dead, like code dead. Bobby- he's- ... he's still right here, sometimes."

Roier let's his words hang, gives Jaiden an exit, but he doesn't even have to look her way to know she's looking his way, eyes full of understanding.

"I'm basically Pepito's only parent right now, so he's also living with me. You know how weird it is to live with an egg again? How weird it is teaching an egg how to hold a sword properly, hearing tiny footsteps and tinier sniffles, doing daily tasks, and how weird it is to do it all Again?"

"Bobby was my only one. I know saying Pepito isn't my son is as cruel as I can be, but it's just not fair that anyone thought I could ever be a Father again. No one else should be calling me Papa. I don't think I want anyone else to call me Papa"

Roier can't even tell he's crying until Jaiden gets up to receive paper towels for him. When she returns, she pulls her own chair next to Roiers, holding out the roll of paper towels intended for a kitchen and running her scarred hand over his back.

He sniffs his nose and wipes his cheeks off with the back of his sleeve.

"Sometimes I wish it had been anyone but Bobby."

Roier whips his head up, looking at Jaiden who's looking at the eggs again.

"Like- okay, I don't wish anyone else had gone through what we did. I don't think it was humane, but I just wish that- you know. I wish that anyone else went through that instead of us. I miss him every day, and some days it's like just a fact, you know. I just look at an egg running around and think 'I miss Bobby' like I'd call the sky blue

but some days it's so much. Some days I watch Fit and Ramon building something together or Sunny and Tubbo bickering and I have to go home because all I want to do is scream and cry and tear down everything I see."

Jaiden gulps. Her eyes are still dry, but her hands are shaking and she feels as breathing becomes a task to focus on.

"I miss our family so much, Roier. And some days I think if Cucurucho told me if I killed every single egg on quesadilla island for the Chance to be teleported back and have 12 hours with Bobby and you and a field of flowers and birds and sunshine I'd do it. I'd learn Spanish until it became a second mother tongue, I'd sell every organ I have, I'd do anything at all for a chance."

Roier has to wipe his eyes again.

"I don't want to be a mother Roier. I can't do this, not without you. Not for anyone but Bobby."

They sit in a silence surrounded by small laughs and the patting of running feet. Roier's eyes stay fixed on Jaiden as she looks straight ahead, her entire body shaking and lip quivering. Roier puts his hand on her knee.

"I love you."

And she leans her head on his, and her wings fall limp behind her, and the light in the room starts shifting to a soft orange.

"I miss you, Roier."

"I'll always be here."

"But I think I miss a you that died when Bobby did."

"I do too, Jaiden."

"I love you too."

[talaok]

Forgotten love

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader

Summary: just a blurb about Joel realizing he loves you.

warnings: none just fluff

Forgetting is easy,

They say that when you haven't felt something in a long time you will think you never did.

And Joel, well Joel never thought of himself as someone capable of forgetting, 

partially, because it was true, he didn't, there were things that had happened to him, things so deep and painful that had scarred him forever, a constant buzz in his every day, that he was never gonna forget.

Not a second of them.

because he didn't want to,

the pain,

the rage,

as awful as they were,

they were all he had left,

if not the foggy glimpses he'd recall of his dreams, 

if not the broken watch on his wrist,

if not the distant sound of Sarah's laugh.

He didn't forget,

He didn't let go,

He didn't forgive, not himself, not the world

because he was scared,

scared that if he did, if he did let go of the pain, if he did attempt, at least, to open, to try, really try, then he would lose the mere scraps he still had, the ones he had guarded and protected with everything he could.

But there was one thing Joel hadn't realized, or maybe he had, but decided that it would have only been fair,

and that was, that guarding those scaps, those little sharp fragments, he had yes, saved them, preserved them, and hid them from the world for only him to see, him to relish,

but he had also lost,

he had saved pieces of others, of his past, and traded them with ones of himself,

of his future,

of his present.

Because protecting for him meant not taking any risks, and to someone like Joel, to someone who'd seen as many things as he had, 

everything was a risk,

one he wasn't willing to take,

if it meant losing the glimpses, the scraps,

the ashes.

But now, something was happening inside of him, a sort of rebellion of his own mind, of his own soul, both fighting, fighting to wake him up, to shake him and let him see, really see,

that what had happened,

what he had done,

what he remembers,

isn't all he can be,

isn't all he can allow himself to have,

to live.

And he was terrified, his heart had been beating faster and faster as the realization hit him slowly,

the culmination that he, perhaps, wasn't gonna be able to stop this, to prevent this from happening, because maybe, for once, he didn't want to.

"When you haven't felt something in a long time you will think you never did"

He had spent so much time fighting to not forget the pain, the misery, that he had forgotten the good,

because all that old happiness, that joy, was bitter now on his tongue, undeserved, just a reminder of what he had, and could never have again,

and so he had chosen to let it fall behind, purposely never letting himself look back at it,

because for some reason,

it hurt more than the pain, the real, raw pain of losing someone, of losing everyone,

because the pain was easy,

the pain was good,

he knew pain,

it had been with him his whole life,

but the happiness?

He didn't know her

It scared him, terrified even,

because it was stronger, more powerful, more venomous,

It had made him discover what life could have been like, how good it could be, just to disappear, leaving a black hole inside of him,

one he had decided to fill with pain,

because at least that had never failed him,

pain was predictable,

always the same,

but joy was a demon wrapped in silk,

beautiful of course,

but a much more dangerous creature.

But as much as he had averted it, it still found a way to creep back into his life,

because of you.

And so now, as he stared at your peacefully sleeping self, your face only lit by the moon's glow emanating through his window,

he was scared,

because you had done it,

as much as he had begged and made it hard, 

you had destroyed the barriers,

destroyed everything,

until nothing was left, if not him, only him, and the scraps he took with him.

he felt naked in front of you,

because he knew you could understand everything, see everything.

But most of all,

he felt happy.

A happiness, he was undeserving of, one he was sure he'd never meet again, one that for the first time in years, made him feel less empty, filling the black hole in his stomach not with bad, but with something that could only be defined with one simple, frightening word,

Love

Love was what he'd forgotten about,

love was fear,

Love was risk

Love was you,

And as he smiled into the air,

he found himself wondering if surrendering was all left for him to do,

surrender to love,

surrender to fear,

surrender to you.

[akiumzeno]

Analysing Ending C: Punishment from Zeno Remake

!!!!!MAJOR SPOILERS!!!!!

(I'm not very eloquent, especially with analyses, I apologise.)

Something I find remarkable about the ending that it's the one of the only endings where you can only achieve it by submitting to your death/purposely getting a bad ending. And you don't even get a real upside to it. At least with the Crime ending, Tsugino lives a normal life outside the facility and the same thing with Maeno with the The One I'm Waiting For Never Returns.

And even the game acknowledges this by asking whether you're sure you want to submit to Tsugino killing you.

And the thing is that the other endings where Maeno dies (aside from Checkmate) are all treated as happening by accident.

In the aforementioned Crime ending, Tsugino not grabbing Maeno's arm is treated as a mistake by Tsugino regardless if it was intentional on the player's part.

In the Intestines ending, Maeno gets caught by Tsugino if you/he didn't make it to the fire hydrant in time or they get out of the fire hydrant too soon. That's not intentional on Maeno's part and may not be for the player.

While the Checkmate ending does have Maeno dies willfully, that leads into the explanation for why.

Maeno feels guilty.

While I'm not going to get into the Checkmate ending because that's another topic for another day, but in both endings, Maeno lets himself die to Tsugino because he feels guilty for everything he's done. In this scene, he's just found out that Tsugino contacted ZENO by seeing him eat Natsu. And there's two major feelings of guilt he has to unpack with that.

The feeling of guilt from eating Natsu, someone he viewed as the little sister he never had.

He lost his ZENO, only to give it to someone else.

With the first point, almost anyone would already feel guilty from that. That'd be something atrocious that people could let go of the guilt by knowing that they had no choice in the matter. And that's probably how Maeno was able to live on—by knowing that Natsu gave her life willingly and to carry on her wish and they'd either both be dead or Maeno would be the one dead. In no case would either be better.

But now that's gone. Because now, Tsugino had watched what happened and that forever shaped his thinking and made him gain ZENO. Maeno got rid of his ZENO and it was all meaningless because it only made someone else gain ZENO unwittingly (and maybe even 2 people if Fuyu losing his sister made him gain ZENO with Tsugino). Why should his happiness be gained by not only killing someone he loved but someone else gaining the same disease he did? Why is that fair?

And keep in mind, Maeno throughout this game (when not in ZENO mode) has wanted to save everyone, no matter what they have done. Tsugino and Fuyu attacked him many times and he still wishes them to be saved and more importantly he would save them. But turns out, he's the reason they're even like this. He's the one causing problems.

Why should've his life been saved only to cause misery?

So he lets himself get killed by Tsugino because of his guilt. Maybe he's doing it for forgiveness. Maybe he feels he doesn't deserve to live. But whatever it is, he lets himself die to satisfy Tsugino so he can feel love and let Fuyu have his revenge.

His death would mean their happiness.

And I think that the reason Tsugino doesn't receive "love" when eating Maeno is because of Maeno's guilt.

This isn't the only ending where Tsugino—without any amnesia—eats Maeno, there's also the Never-waking-up Paradise ending. And in contrast, he doesn't seem to feel despair and become sad that Maeno isn't giving him "love" when he eats him.

Well, what's the difference? How come he can't receive "love" here but does in the other ending?

In Never-waking-up Paradise, Maeno is forced to be eaten without his consent. He gets tied up and doesn't want to die. But he gets eaten anyway due to Fuyu allowing it to happen. And when that happens, Tsugino takes pleasure in eating Maeno, feeling Maeno's "love" and even says it's delicious.

But here, Maeno lays down his life for Tsugino to take. He doesn't resist. He doesn't have the will to live. And Tsugino eats him, only to feel distressed and depressed that he wasn't given any "love".

Do you see the connection?

I believe Tsugino didn't get any "love" from Maeno because Maeno's spirit is no longer in Maeno. Remember when I said that throughout the game, Maeno was always trying to save everyone? Well here, that desire is destroyed. It's gone. His desire to save everyone is because he believes he only ruined everyone's lives. Maeno's spirit has been destroyed, and that is reflected when Tsugino eats him.

When he eats Maeno, he can't taste his "love" because it's no longer there. Maeno's love for Tsugino was wanting to save him and cure him from his ZENO. But since that's gone, it's now just like eating anyone else.

And in Never-waking-up Paradise, Maeno still wanted to save Tsugino and pleaded for Fuyu to not let him get eaten. His spirit was still there as he was getting eaten so Tsugino still tasted his "love".

And you can even see this in Tsugino's flashbacks.

It's Maeno's care, consideration and kindness that makes Tsugino want his love. That's the "love".

So when Maeno loses that same compassion that made him want to save Tsugino, he tastes of nothing.

And Tsugino doesn't realise that. He thought that eating Maeno's body would give him the satisfaction he craved but he really craved for Maeno's spirit—Maeno's compassion.

He wasn't lying that the thing he was looking for was a deception. Because he got wrong about what he wanted.

And now, he has nothing. He can no longer receive "Doc's" love. He's not alive anymore.

Not physically, not spiritually.

[anyasathenaeum]

Not Fair

A/N: I just felt like I needed some slightly sad and soft Vash in bed (not the nsfw kind), I decided to self-project my need to cuddle this man, hug him and tell him how wonderful he is and how much he deserves love and happiness okay bye

Warnings: Brief mention of nudity, hurt/comfort, cuddling

The only light that filled the shabby inn room was from the soft glow of the moon.

What you wouldn't give to live in this moment forever - just you and Vash, with nothing between you and a thin blanket covering you both, protecting you both from the vicious world outside.

The man who frightened townsfolk, referred to as the "Humanoid Typhoon", as humanity's first walking disaster, was currently curled up by your side and holding you close in his embrace with such care that you would think you were made of glass.

Vash's flesh-and-blood hand rested on the back of your head and his prosthetic held your waist gently as he held you close, his cold fingers tracing over your delicate skin, his beautiful blue eyes trained on you with such reverence, love and tenderness that it made you want to cry.

You found your own fingers tracing over Vash's many scars, reminders of the fear and hatred that was so often and so wrongly directed at him.

"It isn't fair," You whispered softly, not really sure who you were talking to. "You don't deserve this. You never deserved any of this."

Before you could realize it, your cheeks were wet with tears as you looked at Vash's body, overwhelmed by feelings of sadness for him - how could somebody as wonderful as him be treated so poorly?

Vash's heart broke in his chest as he watched the tears go down your cheeks, your words hitting him harder than you knew. You traced his scars so gently and with such care that Vash found himself fighting off his own tears.

How could he possibly deserve somebody as kind and as loving as you? How could he possibly deserve somebody who cried for him and cared for him as much as you did, after everything he had done in his long life?

"(Y/N)... Mayfly..." Vash's tone was gentle, not giving a single hint as to his inner turmoil. "Don't cry. It's okay."

"It's not, Vash!" You immediately replied, your teary eyes wide with disbelief as you looked at him - how was he so accepting of the treatment he'd gotten from people, even up until now? "It's not okay! You don't deserve to be hurt. You deserve to be loved, to be cared for. You deserve to be happy, Vash. You deserve peace."

The passion behind your words did move Vash to tears, and the blonde-haired man simply pulled you into an even tighter hug, his bare body pressed against yours as his silent tears traced down his cheeks.

"B-But..." Vash struggled, his throat tight with emotion, "I-... I-..."

Before Vash could get any other word out, your lips were on his in a gentle but insistent kiss. A kiss that spoke so much louder than any words you possibly could've uttered in that moment - it spoke of your love for Vash, of your belief in his deserving good things, of you wanting to care for him and protect him with every fiber of your being.

Vash couldn't help but return the kiss, his tears and your own intermingling as he held onto you with such desperation. You were his lifeline in that moment. Your love for him was what kept him from being completely washed away by the misery, the anger, the self-hatred and the sadness that Vash felt each and every day.

Vash was thanking whatever gods existed above for you, for the fact that you had crossed paths with him and you had seen enough good in him to stay, to love him for everything he was and to fight for him and alongside him.

Once the two of you had both calmed slightly, you shifted your position so that Vash was now the one in your arms, his blonde hair splayed out over your bare chest as his head rested on you, the continuous gentle thud of your heartbeat soothing him. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close as you kissed his forehead gently, brushing stray strands of hair out of his face.

"You're everything to me, Vash. I love you more than anything, and I would do anything to protect you. I promise I won't let anybody hurt you anymore. Not as long as I live," You spoke softly, your voice wobbling as you did so.

Vash heart twisted in his chest at your promise, and he shifted so that he could prop himself up to look at you. Tears were pooling in your eyes once more, and Vash quickly took your hand in his, kissing it tenderly as his heart ached from sheer love of you. You were so good - how could you possibly be his?

"Oh, Mayfly..." Vash couldn't bring himself to say anything more; the wobble of his lip was a dead giveaway that if he spoke any more, he'd burst into tears again, too.

"I swear it on my life, Vash," You continued, your voice falling to a whisper. "I'll protect you however I can. I love you, Vash."

Now it was Vash's turn to kiss you, his hands cradling your cheeks so gently as he pressed his lips to yours tenderly. He couldn't seem to find the words to convey to you just how much he loved you.

You hadn't been a love-at-first-sight situation. You had grown on Vash slowly, over the course of many years. You had become his best friend and closest ally, the one person he could always depend on and trust without fault. It had always been just you and him.

However, it wasn't until Vash had nearly lost you that he realized... that you were his reason for continuing this fight, the reason he still smiled and laughed. You were his strength.

And God, he loved you.

He loved you so much that he couldn't breathe if you weren't near him. He felt like half of himself was missing every second the two of you spent apart. And it terrified him. But losing you terrified him more. Eventually, the two of you fell into a relationship that was hidden from the world, only known by the two of you and a few other trustworthy people who had figured it out on their own.

So now, as Vash kissed you and held you under the secret cover of night, he found himself wanting nothing more than to have this moment last forever. This moment of love, in its rawest form.

A moment for just you and him where nothing else mattered. Where you both could dream of a future for the two of you.

Together.

[joannerowling]

thoughts on The Casual Vacancy?

I love The Casual Vacancy, though i haven't read it in a long time! One of my strongest memories of it is reading the ending while on holiday at the beach and running to hide in my small camping tent because i didn't want people to see me crying 🤣

It's a book that stands on its own, but my favourite way to read it (and i don't know how JKR would feel about this; hopefully not too bad!) is as a continuity of HP's themes. You often see criticism these days about how, at the end of Harry Potter, "nothing has changed". Voldemort is gone, but the structure of the world is the same: there's the Ministry, there's the school with all its four houses. The fight against corruption at the Ministry and to change mentalities about the Muggle born is implied, but not clearly stated, and the way to get there is skipped over. This is an ending fit for children, but as an adult (and Harry Potter is narratively constructed to accompany the child in their journey towards adulthood; you are meant to finish Deathly Hallows in a significantly different state of mind than you did when you started Sorcerer's Stone), you would be tempted to ask, "but is it that simple though? Is the evil truly vainquished?"

Well imo The Casual Vacancy addresses that question full on, and brutally. It's like Jo was like, "alright, now you are all adults. Here's how shit happens in real life."

The story starts by killing the hero off in a cruel and undignified way. Barry Fairbrother is obviously a cheeky nod at Harry, but beyond that, he is almost stereotypically "heroic" with JKR's standards in mind: physically, he has the ginger hair - JKR is very fond of redheads -, the small unassuming but still athletic stature, simple clothing and "kind" face; socially, he comes from poverty - lived in a caravan at some point with his siblings and only his mother in the picture - but thanks to a combinaison of good support and social policies, managed to escape it and now gives back to the community by being politically involved. He's also a good husband and father, can relate with teenagers, has a sense of humour that puts people at ease, etc. He's basically the Lily Potter / Margot Bamborough of TCV, but unlike them, he isn't assassinated, his death is all natural. In TCV, life is just unfair like that. The evil can't be killed because it's not a person, it's intangible and yet very real. It's the greed of the Pagford inhabitants, the fear of the other, the violence of poverty. The characters who have been dealt a bad hand don't get to escape just because you like them.

In Harry Potter we mostly follow the story from a unique perspective. In TCV, everyone gets their share of the narrative, which means all the private frustrations, all the ugliness which were previously only implied in HP are fully disclosed. Wives are disatisfied with their husbands and secretly fantasise about teenage boys band members, husbands cheat with neighbours or colleagues, kids ressent their parents for fair or unfair reasons, self-harm or harm others in retaliation. Everyone is acting for selfish reasons far more than for the common good, even in the camp of those trying to do good. There's rape and drug addiction and racism and child abuse. It's all very, very raw and bleak.

What's to be taken from this is, i think, that JKR is not a person who believes in systems or would rely entirely on them to guarantee fairness in society. The novel is in a very real sense a plea for socialism, and the policies Barry Fairbrother fights for are good and just and work, but he is also fatally alone in his dedication, and when he dies it all falls apart. Of the novel, JKR said:

"This is a book about responsibility. In the minor sense—how responsible we are for our own personal happiness, and where we find ourselves in life—but in the macro sense also, of course: how responsible we are for the poor, the disadvantaged, other people’s misery."

And indeed in the story, most characters don't want to take on the responsibility Barry was shouldering, or they want it out of greed. And that is a very adult topic, isn't it? That is in fact the definition of accomplished adulthood: being responsible for your actions, taking charge of things when they must be done. Anyway, i really like that contrast with HP (as the quintessential "growing up" series) and that connection between the two.

[theflyindutchwoman]

You were on the run from the cops -- a bank robbery gone wrong. You ended up in my building -- frantic, looking for a place to hide, and [breathes deeply] -- and I opened the door for you. I lied to the cops for you. And -- Ooh. And it got me so hot that we hooked up while they were still searching the building. Okay. That -- That -- That's pretty good, actually.

| ANATOMY OF A SCENE - CHENFORD EDITION 4.22 - Day In The Hole

I could talk about this moment for hours… This scene is so rich, with many incredible moments, all different from the other… with Tim and Lucy running the gamut of emotions… This is such a game changer, a pivotal point that left them reeling and completely shifted their relationship.

Right from the start, there's this feeling of coziness and intimacy that is emanating from Lucy's apartment… All the dim lights and candles around them help create this warm atmosphere. Now, to be fair, this isn't the first time her home is lit this way : her living room was illuminated in a similar fashion when Nyla and Angela were at her place. Only here, with Tim, it's even more striking. And it definitely sets the mood… Maybe not for work, but then again, they didn't really need to create a back story for Dim and Juicy either : they simply could have asked the real Sava and Jake how they met to make sure their story would fit… They both went all-in for this op, using every opportunity to get closer...

The way they have to immediately bicker… They're just getting started and Tim is already complaining, offended that Lucy dares mocking his little meet-cute idea, and challenging her to do better. Which she does, turning the tables on him - and honestly, how did he not see that coming?! She thrives when under pressure and he knows that better than anyone. His facial expressions during that whole segment are absolutely amazing : he goes from annoyed to skeptical… from intrigued to completely gobsmacked, his jaw on the floor… And you will never convince me that he wasn't picturing her little scenario in that moment. As for Lucy… She looks so smug for breaking him! What makes this part even better is that, his suggestion to practice physical intimacy was something he was already contemplating - he didn't just suddenly thought about that… So it's no wonder his brain short-circuited after Lucy came up with this back story. And listen, if she created that story a little bit too fast, what does it say about Tim that his main concern was practicing displays of affection. I'm pretty sure that when Nyla and John went undercover as a couple, they never even thought about that. Their subconscious was being very loud...

Still, the way Tim is essentially reduced to a blubbering mess, stuttering and beating around the bush, is priceless. I don't think we have ever seen him this flustered before, even when random women were to hit on him while on the job. He's usually more unflappable, but here his discomfort is so evident that Lucy can't help but take advantage of it and play dumb. She is enjoying this way too much, showing him no mercy for a while and to be fair, I can't blame her : seeing him in this state is hilarious. But for all her bravado, once they get to the matter at hand, she is not fairing much better than him. She goes from mischievous to awkward in a beat… Both of them looking everywhere but at each other. Both waiting for a cue from the other… Until Lucy takes charge and put them out of their misery. I love how she clearly is the one who is more confident here - I think it was important : Tim is still technically her superior officer. This is a smart way to have them on more equal grounds, so to speak, while staying in-character. The way he's already puckering his lips before she starts giggling… He just wants to kiss her. And he is so done. Although who is he trying to fool with his 'we're professionals'? I seriously doubt this is part of their job description. Despite her awkwardness, Lucy is being so playful - her little routine to prepare herself is adorkable… and nervous. In light of how crushed she looked when she thought Tim was proposing to Ashley, it's understandable...

And it all leads to their very first kiss… Or first little peck, as the case may be. The contrast in their reaction is positively the best : it's how happy and proud he is for this, with his little head tilt and shrug, as if asking how it was, while Lucy is looking so underwhelmed, clearly having expected something more passionate. He barely has time to get defensive before she shuts him up with a real kiss… before they start making out. All the little details are amazing : the way she just grabs his face and goes for it, how he's caught off-guard and has to stomp on his feet to regain his equilibrium, how he smiles into the kiss trying to deepen it, their hands… THAT SHOT : the circular pan is brilliant. And they were seriously going to deepen that kiss when Tamara interrupted them. Their immediate reaction - jumping apart, going on opposite sides of the couch - is so entertaining… and the opposite of smooth. They really were caught up in the moment and now, they don't know how to behave… Lucy's 'this is work', pointing her finger at Tim, who's stuttering his agreement is not helping their case at all. Neither is the fact that he was going to go grab his stuff before realising he didn't have anything. Way to act not suspicious at ALL. This is peak comedy. Tim pointing his finger as well… they seriously have adopted the same mannerisms unknowingly and unfortunately for them, this isn't helping their case here. Lucy's face when she blurts 'good work tonight'… her wince once she realises what she just said… It can't get more awkward than this. Tamara doesn't even have to ask anything, these two are being unsubtle as hell. Melissa and Eric are killing it with their facial expressions : they deserved all the credit for elevating the script and making this scene so wonderful.

Lucy trying to process what just happened and trying to play it cool under Tamara's gaze… Tim's short-circuited brain trying to process this epiphany as well, with the crickets sound in the background… He spent the whole scene being knocked off his feet by how forward she was, by how she just oozed confidence, by his sudden awareness of his feelings and that moment of realisation is so beautifully portrayed on his face. This kiss changed everything. It completely affected them and as much as they're going to try to downplay it, they know it… They're just not ready to admit it to anyone yet - including themselves.

[transmascpetewentz]

if you had to spend even one day as an actual homosexual male in my country, you'd fucking kill yourself out of despair.

i am so FUCKING SICK AND TIRED of evil anglo westerners like you treating homosexuality like an aesthetic! we are not your constume! stop appropriating us!

i'm ANGRY because i experience homophobia every single day despite the fact that i hide who i am from the rest of my society, and then i go on the internet thinking it's the one place i can openly be myself... and what do i see?

gay male spaces being OVERRUN with BIOLOGICAL FEMALES who live under the DELUSION that they are homosexual males! and i fucking slam my laptop shut in anger! i'm fucking sick of you people!

WE CAN'T EVEN HAVE A SINGLE SPACE FOR OURSELVES ONLINE.

you have no idea what it's like to be an actual gay man!

you have no idea what it's like to laughed at, taunted, called "faggot" as you walk through your school hallways.

you have no idea what it's like to be excluded and socially ostracized by the majority of your male peers because they view you as inherently dirty and disgusting.

you have no idea of the PAIN you feel when your first highschool crush — the one boy who isn't repulsed by you and enjoys your company — ends up being a straight boy who never saw you as anything more than a "buddy" and abandons you the second he gets a girlfriend.

you have no idea what it's like to live a LIE, to conceal who you really are, to lie and say you're straight when someone questions you for your own safety, despite the fact that hiding you true self only makes you even more miserable and eats away at you every single day.

you have no idea what it's like to wallow in a puddle of your own misery and loneliness, knowing you are going to die alone & unloved due to the miserable circumstances of your own society.

you haven't SUFFERED nearly enough to be able to understand what being a homosexual male is truly like.

you have never experienced any of these things, because you are not homosexual males, yet you still have the loudest voices in online gay male communities.

it's not fair!

why should you get to be happy and enjoy LARPing as a gay man despite being female, while i have to suffer every single day? you don't deserve it.

and, yes, i know you people not my main oppressors. i DESPISE heterosexual males a lot more than i despise you, don't worry. you're not the ones killing us, but i am still irritated with the erasure of digital male homosexual spaces, as well as the transing of male fictional characters, because those two are the only coping mechanisms i have to distract me from my awful reality — and you people have taken that away from me too.

you might argue that i'm mean or hateful or a bad person because of the way i talk, but can you really blame me? the world left me no choice but to be full of HATE and BITTERNESS.

i am extremely disappointed in, mad at and saddened by your community & how you spiritually degrade, humiliate, disrespect and erase real homosexual males.

your blog is a mockery of us. that's all.

This anon is really funny, because even if I didn't experience homophobia, you act like transphobia doesn't exist. There's a lot to unpack here, so I'll respond under the cut.

if you had to spend even one day as an actual homosexual male in my country, you'd fucking kill yourself out of despair.

The suicide rate of trans people in my country (USAmerica) is 50% lmfao. While I'm currently in an okay place mentally, the same can't be said for most others in situations similar to mine. I try to use the mental energy that I do have to do activism that will help me and others like me.

i am so FUCKING SICK AND TIRED of evil anglo westerners like you treating homosexuality like an aesthetic! we are not your constume! stop appropriating us!

Trans men exist in non-western countries. The reason that you don't know of us is because it is literally too dangerous for us to come out in countries that do not accept us. The only reason I'm even out to a few people is because my gender nonconformity was obvious before I even realized I was trans, so being visibly trans wouldn't change much in terms of how I'm treated. I also lived in a country where being gay and/or trans is illegal before I moved to USAmerica, and I was targeted there for my gender nonconformity even though I didn't know I was trans whilst living there. Even though I live in USAmerica now, I'm not divorced from the reality of what it's like to be queer in a country where things are worse.

i'm ANGRY because i experience homophobia every single day despite the fact that i hide who i am from the rest of my society, and then i go on the internet thinking it's the one place i can openly be myself... and what do i see?

I, too, experience homophobia every single day, even though I try to hide my homosexuality. Being AFAB doesn't exempt you from experiencing homophobia. Instead, I get to hear what cishets say when they think no gays are in the room. People like me are treated as jokes and predators at the same time.

gay male spaces being OVERRUN with BIOLOGICAL FEMALES who live under the DELUSION that they are homosexual males! and i fucking slam my laptop shut in anger! i'm fucking sick of you people!

Actually, most gay male spaces are hostile to trans men, which has caused us to form our own spaces. If you go to our spaces and then get mad that you see trans men, cry about it. Also, the use of "you people" is so telling. Don't the people in your country refer to gays as "you people" or similar? So don't do the same to trans people.

you have no idea what it's like to be an actual gay man! you have no idea what it's like to laughed at, taunted, called "faggot" as you walk through your school hallways. you have no idea what it's like to be excluded and socially ostracized by the majority of your male peers because they view you as inherently dirty and disgusting. you have no idea of the PAIN you feel when your first highschool crush — the one boy who isn't repulsed by you and enjoys your company — ends up being a straight boy who never saw you as anything more than a "buddy" and abandons you the second he gets a girlfriend.

Actually, yes I do know what that is like! I've had those things fucking happen to me! Except for me, it's not just homophobia, it is transandrophobia as well. People see me as a predator and potential rapist any time I try to express any attraction to men. Why are cis people trying to educate trans people on what it's like to be socially ostracized? Lol. Lmao even.

you have no idea what it's like to live a LIE, to conceal who you really are, to lie and say you're straight when someone questions you for your own safety, despite the fact that hiding you true self only makes you even more miserable and eats away at you every single day.

...are you fucking serious right now. You, cis person, have no idea what it's like to actually live a lie, to lie and say you're a woman and dress like a woman for your safety even though it makes you even more miserable and eats away at you every single day! I understand that cis gays face homophobia but are you fucking serious right now? I really hope that you're joking.

you have no idea what it's like to wallow in a puddle of your own misery and loneliness, knowing you are going to die alone & unloved due to the miserable circumstances of your own society.

Actually yes I do because I am a transsexual man. Except due to being raised as a girl, I have been taught to accept dehumanization from cis men and women alike. I had to spend years unlearning the misogyny I was raised to accept, and I still have a lot more work to do. The thing is, if I was to say something like the statement above to someone, I would be called an "edgy teenage girl faking depression for attention" because you have to be a cis man for your problems to be taken seriously.

you haven't SUFFERED nearly enough to be able to understand what being a homosexual male is truly like.

The only requirements of being a homosexual male is to identify as male and be homosexual. That's it. There isn't a required amount of suffering that you must go through to receive your gay man card, and even if there was, every gay trans man has suffered far more than whatever the requirement is.

you have never experienced any of these things, because you are not homosexual males, yet you still have the loudest voices in online gay male communities.

Actually we have experienced these things, because we are homosexual males, and we face transandrophobia as well as homophobia. We also do not have the loudest voices in online gay male communities. If you're a user on this side of Tumblr, you are either invading transmasc spaces and acting like they are the entire community, or you are in an echo chamber that tells you that we are the loudest in the community.

why should you get to be happy and enjoy LARPing as a gay man despite being female, while i have to suffer every single day? you don't deserve it.

What is it about my blog that makes you think I enjoy being transsexual? I constantly talk about how awful people are to me, how my sexuality and gender are constantly targeted by others, and how all of these problems are systemic. I do not enjoy facing systemic oppression on the basis of my gender and sexuality.

and, yes, i know you people not my main oppressors. i DESPISE heterosexual males a lot more than i despise you, don't worry. you're not the ones killing us, but i am still irritated with the erasure of digital male homosexual spaces, as well as the transing of male fictional characters, because those two are the only coping mechanisms i have to distract me from my awful reality — and you people have taken that away from me too.

Guess what—you, as a cis man, are perfectly able to relate to trans male characters. If a character being trans makes you unable to relate to them anymore, maybe you should examine what makes you believe that you are so different from trans men. Maybe it's because you don't see us as human.

you might argue that i'm mean or hateful or a bad person because of the way i talk, but can you really blame me? the world left me no choice but to be full of HATE and BITTERNESS.

You are not a transphobe because you face homophobia. You facing homophobia was not what convinced you that trans men aren't people. You are using your experiences with homophobia as an excuse to be transandrophobic while the root of your bigotry is actually a form of systemic oppression just like homophobia, except one where you are part of the oppressor class.

i am extremely disappointed in, mad at and saddened by your community & how you spiritually degrade, humiliate, disrespect and erase real homosexual males.

And I am disappointed in how your community excludes, ostracizes, fetishizes, and disrespects transsexual men. Except y'all are way louder about the issue of us existing than we are about the regular dehumanization that we face from y'all.

your blog is a mockery of us. that's all.

Cry about it.