#this was originally supposed to be a crack AU.

[tobi-rx]

My brain made a connection after cracking up at the 3rd image of the post I’m reposting, because I love linking my various special interests together, this time happening to be my current main one: Transformers, and a little danmei novel called Scum Villain Self Saving System (SVSSS).

Not exactly an original idea but here goes:

So, Optimus Prime is a stoic, serious, strong leader, and has rizz so strong it’s pulled the autobots through their darkest hours over and over again. Not the most eloquent description but I think that suffices. However this persona is one that he’s had to put on in order to lead as Prime.

Before he became a Prime, Orion Pax was naive (i think in both TFP and TF: One’s characterizations), a sweet little guy, kinda adorable, a bit of a shut in nerd, at least as far as I can tell from what little I’ve seen of the books related to TFP. However, he’s also a sassy little shit (TFA, TF: One), pretty good at on the fly thinking, and he’s def not a helpless kitten with no claws even at his most naive (I dislike and disagree when people portray him like that in ff).

In my own headcanon his time in the archives probably makes him more knowledgeable than the average bot on cybertonian history and artifacts lore.

Then there’s the Matrix of leadership which sometimes tells him things and gives him hints and nudges towards the plot.

You know who’s also a shut in nerd who is rather knowledgable, and then has to put on a persona to appease a supernatural force nudging him towards the plot? Shen Qing Qiu/Shen Yuan. His characterization iirc (it’s been a hot minute), is that on the outside, he’s a graceful, calm, stoic master cultivator, while on the inside he’s going on a tirade, giving the most heinous verbal lashing known to man, and THIS close to a mental breakdown while the System holds him at gun point.

Consider an AU where upon receiving the Matrix, Orion Pax gets the knowledge of the Primes, including alternate versions of himself (The idea of getting knowledge of his alternate selves is taken from the awesome fanfic, The Brave Shall Heed the Call https://archiveofourown.org/works/1118472/chapters/9259933#workskin).

Although the narrative has doomed him and cybertron to infinite sadness and endless war, Optimus will try to avoid that fate. No harm in cussing Primus out while he’s at it.

Essentially:

Optimus Prime persona as the SQQ persona.

Orion Pax as Shen Yuan.

The Matrix or Primus as the System.

Externally Optimus behaves as he does in TFP, meanwhile internally Orion Pax is praying (giving a verbal lashing) to Primus that his desperate ploys and schemes work against all odds, hope against hope in his attempts to save as many lives as possible, meanwhile the Matrix is mostly silent and unhelpful but until it isn’t, but OP is used to that by now.

This AU is most definitely not one to one, but possibly:

Maybe Ratchet as Shang Qinghua because he’s the only one in the main cast to know who OP/SQQ respectively is outside of the persona they present, esp in TFP. Ratchet isn’t the author though!

Bee, Bulkhead, Arcee, and Smokescreen as the disciples?

Oohhh maybe Cliffjumper as Liu Qingge, because both of them were supposed to die early on in the narrative and that’s that.

Megatron as Binghe, but not a disciple (Because doomed and toxic yaoi :3). Or would it be more like Bingge? Maybe he’d have anger points….

Starscream as Sha Hualing. Though I’m not sure whether to put Shockwave in the role of Mobei-jun, and Soundwave in the role of Meng Mo, or vise versa.

NGL I’m not confident in my ability to pull that off because I don’t feel I have a good enough grasp on the characters, and idk I feel like I should make it something more distinct from One More Time Optimus Prime! https://archiveofourown.org/works/12434079/chapters/28299075 (good read btw) if I’d write this.

Maybe I could ask for tfp related requests here, eventually

[qilingxiong]

thinking about cryptid little forensic anthropology professor li lianhua who wears cardigans with converse and shows up 10 minutes late with a matcha latte every class, but will then proceed to sit on the desk swinging his feet and drop an absolute banger of a lecture without notes or looking at slides (he does have slides, and amazingly they're both legible and genuinely informative). baby future archivist fang duobing is in his class, and Technically this is outside of his focus in the anthropology major he's doing to get there but hey, counted credits are counted credits, and he may as well apply the time he's spent watching elementary and listening to true crime podcasts to something. except all he actually ends up doing is develop a massive infatuation on his cute sweet professor who intersperses all his lectures with pictures of his dog, and his friends are stuck hearing about it because "don't you understand the struggle, guys, going to office hours won't get anywhere because it's really hard to find an opening to flirt when the topic being covered this week is trauma analysis of cranial fragments". it doesn't stop fang duobing from showing up to them anyway, though, because getting li lianhua to go on about some niche and random topic over the tea he always offers, just the two of them, is a beautiful thing. even the pictures of him and his admittedly stunning husband crowded on his desk can't take down the smile fang duobing has on whenever he leaves. sure it really is a puppy crush but hey a boy can dream

[novantinuum]

;w; man i just made a draft post of all my Crack the Paragon art pieces (i've got seven now! :D) i've done so far just so i could visualize them as a group, and it's honestly kinda wild seeing them all lined up one after another

i'll have to hold tight onto this lineup until after we reach chapter seventeen, though, ahahah

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Honey Girl. Chapter Eight.

chapter one. chapter two. chapter three. chapter four. chapter five. chapter six. chapter seven. chapter nine. chapter ten. series masterlist. the playlist.

Chapter Synopsis - Turns out, you’re not the only ones with a secret.

Pairing - Dadsbestfriend!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader - soulmate au

Warnings - cursing. mentions of hospitals/medical settings.

Word Count - 5k

Authors Note - I promise that the reveal was supposed to be in this part!! but I hit 5k words real quick and thought rather than rush it, I’d give it its full own chapter. guess what’s coming next ;). as always, thank you for your love and support and patience and encouragement and kindness. don’t know where I’d be without it <3

as always, if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging!! reblogs are the only way to circulate my writing, which generates more of it. feel free to send me a comment or an inbox, too!! thanks, my loves!! <3

Masterlist. Inbox.

The sun beams through the white linen curtains, salty ocean breeze drifting through the open window. The rays warm your skin as you kick off the sheets, stretching your arms above your head. You turn over, to find the space next to you empty.

Rubbing the sleepiness from your eyes, you yawn, inhaling the scent of breakfast. Throwing on Bucky’s soft blue button up, you pad out to the kitchen to find him at your stovetop, shirtless and sun kissed.

“I’m getting the full girlfriend experience, huh?”

He grins at the sound of your voice, entire body lighting up with it.

“Girlfriend,” he laughs. “This is the soulmate experience, baby. It’s even better.”

You shake your head, but you can’t fight the smile that etches itself on your face. He looks so at home here, so comfortable. He reaches up to grab a plate from your cupboard, and you feel the sudden urge to burst into tears.

He knows where everything is.

He’s learnt his way around the kitchen just like he’s learnt his way around your heart. Your soul. Your very existence.

“You okay?”

He turns off the burner and glides over to you, warm hands finding your hips like it’s second nature.

“What’s wrong? You like pancakes,” he teases, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead tenderly. “Oh no. Did you want waffles?”

You shake your head, swallowing down the lump in your throat.

“I’m fine,” you say, but your voice cracks instantly.

“Doesn’t sound like it.”

He says it so gently, so carefully. You feel like a precious flower, something to be taken care of, cherished, loved. No one has ever made you feel like this.

“I just realised you… fit, here. Like you were always supposed to. I can’t really remember what this apartment was like before it had you in it too.”

Bucky cradles your face in his hands, tilting your head up to look at him.

“Wherever you are. That���s where my home is.”

You surge forwards to press your lips to his, alive and buzzing with the electricity of being loved so wholly. He reciprocates instantly, wrapping his arms around your back to pull you closer, so you’re chest to chest.

“Your pancakes are going to burn,” you mumble, forehead resting on his.

“Let them.”

“No, don’t let them. I’m not calling the fire department today.”

He laughs, kissing you again chastely before returning to his original position. He plates up your breakfast - pancakes, fruit, granola and yoghurt, with fresh coffee in your favourite mug.

“I could get used to this.”

“And you will,” he flirts, kissing the crown of your head. “Every day for the rest of your life, baby. You’re gonna have to wake up to my face forever.”

You pretend to shudder, laughing when he pinches your side.

“Come on, trouble. Let’s eat breakfast on the balcony and pretend we’re on a tropical vacation somewhere.”

“Sounds perfect.”

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“We’re really doing this.”

You look up at Bucky, the heavy weight of his arm around your shoulders acting as a grounding agent. Your plates are discarded on the table, cleared and finished, the two of you curled up in your loveseat. The sun is getting warmer, and it’s bringing out Bucky’s freckles, all boyish and glowy.

“We don’t have a choice.”

“Honey girl, there’s always a choice.”

“Not this time,” you sigh, shifting so you can face him properly. “I wanted to do this on our terms, and now I feel like I’ve been forced into it. It isn’t fair.”

“We can wait,” Bucky reassures, confident and understanding. “We don’t have to do anything until you’re ready.”

“I am ready. I have been for a while. It just sucks that it feels like I’ve been pushed in a certain direction, you know?”

“I know,” he soothes, work rough fingertips tracing patterns on your bare legs. “But like you said, we were going to do it anyway. This is still our choice. These are still our terms.”

You press your lips onto his cheek, chuckling when his stubble tickles your skin. He retaliates by attacking you with kisses, planting them all over your face, wherever he can reach. You squeal, hands flying out to his bare chest to try and stop him.

“Your neighbours are going to think there’s a murder happening,” Bucky laughs, fingers sliding up your shirt to rest on your ribs.

“Oh no, they love you too much for that.”

He quirks his eyebrows in surprise.

“They do?”

“The lady that lives next door, Mrs Daniels - she’s like ninety, has that white cat you always see?”

Bucky nods in recognition, so you continue.

“She talks about how handsome you are every time I see her. Always asks when the ‘man that looks like a movie star’ is coming over next.”

He laughs, shaking his head as you tease him.

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious! She probably watches you come and go from her balcony. She’s gonna love it in the summer, when you turn up in your short shorts with no shirt on.”

Bucky chuckles, pulling you into him and leaning his head on top of yours.

“Don’t be jealous, baby. You’re the only one for me.”

“I better be,” you chide jokingly, pinching his thigh in warning.

“I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.”

There’s no humour, anymore. Just love. So much love.

“I’m here now,” you whisper. “And I’m not going anywhere. Ever.”

Bucky leans in to press a kiss to your lips, gentle and filled with a lifetimes worth of promise.

“I love you, honey baby.”

“I love you, Bucky Barnes.”

You let the morning sun slip over you like silk sheets, warm and smooth and completely luxurious. Bucky’s steady breathing grounds you slowly as peace and contentment settle into your bones, weighted and calming. No matter what happens today, you know one thing for certain - you have the security of Bucky’s love to fall back on.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You’ve been sat in Bucky’s truck for twenty five minutes.

It’s parked down the block from your parent’s house, just out of the way. You were pulling in to their street when you panicked, begging Bucky to stop the car so you could breathe for a second.

“Sweet girl, we’ll be fine.”

“I know. I know,” you exhale. Inhale again. “Why is this so hard?”

“Because we’ve been thinking about this moment ever since that first night.”

“It’s almost been a year.”

That seems to stop Bucky in his tracks for a second.

“It… it doesn’t feel that long. Feels like yesterday. But also, somehow, like I’ve loved you my whole life.”

You lean over the console to kiss him softly, trying to ignore the hummingbird fluttering of your heart in your chest.

“Honey, I can feel your anxiety, remember? If you don’t calm down a little, we’ll both collapse.”

“Sorry,” you laugh, taking a deep breath. “Sorry.”

Bucky intertwines his fingers with yours, thumb running over the backs of your knuckles. Soothing, like a field of lavender gently blowing in the breeze on the first day of spring.

“We have to do it sometime.”

“I know,” you nod, squeezing his hand once, twice, three times before pulling away and fixing your hair in the tiny mirror. “Let’s do this. Now or never.”

You pull up outside your childhood home, instantly relaxing a little at the sight of the colourful drapes and flowers in the windows.

“Shit, Buck. We haven’t even planned what we’re gonna say.”

“We don’t need to. Just speak from your heart, baby. I’ll follow your lead.”

When you walk up the driveway, you know there’s no turning back. You also know that the weight on your shoulders will feel a hell of a lot less heavy when you leave. It’s a double edged sword, but you’re ready to wield it, with love as your armour and Bucky as your shield.

You stand a foot apart and ring the doorbell, bouncing nervously on the soles of your feet.

“Hi, sweetheart. Oh - hey, Buck.”

“Hi, Mama.”

“Hi, Lori.”

“Didn’t expect to see you both today.”

You go to speak, but she continues quickly.

“I’m glad you’re here. We need to talk to you both about something. Come in, come in.”

You look at Bucky, realising suddenly that your chest is filled with a foreign anxiety. It’s his.

You squeeze his hand chastely as you walk past him to enter the house, kicking off your shoes in the hallway.

There’s something in the atmosphere when you walk into the living room. The sun is still shining, everything is in its rightful place… but it feels wrong. You know Bucky feels it too, judging by the way his muscles tense next to you.

“Is everything alright, Mama?”

You hate the way your voice sounds like a child’s, small and naive. Your Dad is sat on the couch waiting, always happy to see you. You press a kiss to his cheek before taking a seat across from him, Bucky sitting next to you. Your Mom joins your Dad, both of them looking at you with too much compassion for a normal day.

“What are you two doing here?” your Dad asks, voice still full of light.

Something inside of you is telling you to abort mission, postpone until further notice. You listen to it, wondering for a second if somehow you and Bucky can send messages to each other telepathically all of a sudden.

“Mama said you needed to talk to me. To us.”

He looks taken aback, only for a second. Something like sadness flashes in his eyes before he paints that familiar smile right back on his face.

“Yeah, we do. You sure you don’t wanna tell us why you’re here, first?”

“It can wait,” you reassure, catching Bucky’s minute nod from the corner of your eye.

“Okay,” your Mom begins. “First of all, I need to tell you not to panic, okay? It’s going to seem super scary, but it isn’t.”

Bucky slides closer to you by a millimetre, but you feel it like it’s a mile.

“I don’t really know how to tell you this, honey, so we’ll just start from the beginning. Jack?”

Your Dad nods before taking over the storytelling.

“It all started last year. I was doing some work in the backyard. One minute I was mowing the lawn, the next I was lying on the ground.”

All of the colour drains from your cheeks, and Bucky slides ever so slightly closer again.

“We thought maybe it was heat stroke, or dehydration. No cause for concern, and nothing your Mom’s iced tea couldn’t fix.”

She takes his hand in hers, both of them with their eyes fixed on you.

“But then it happened again. In the shower, this time. I didn’t hit my head, luckily, but I did whack my shoulder against the tiles, which hurt like hell.”

He laughs, and so does your Mom, but you’re not sure what’s funny. Anxiety is rolling off you in waves so strong, Bucky’s worried he might pass out.

Your Mom takes back the reigns, continuing.

“I was insistent that he saw a doctor, which he was reluctant about. Luckily, he agreed, finally,” she gives him a look, “and we got referred to a specialist.”

“What kind of specialist?” you choke out. It feels like someone is sitting on your chest, constricting your lungs with every passing minute.

“A cardiologist.”

It seems to be that word that unravels everything for you. All you can think is cardiologist heart attack cardiologist surgery cardiologist. Serious. Serious. Serious.

“Sweetheart?”

You grab Bucky’s hand, praying that the familiar touch will ground you back down to Earth. When it doesn’t, you feel like you’re falling, down and down and down with no end in sight.

“Honey, it’s okay. Hey, listen to me. You’re okay.”

Your Mom sits down on the other side of you as your Dad kneels down, forcing you to look at him.

“Sweetheart, don’t panic, okay? Everything’s going to be fine. I know it’s scary, but I’m okay.”

“For now,” you whisper, limp in your throat forming.

“I know it’s a lot to take in, and I know it’s probably not what you were expecting us to say. We thought we’d wait until we had answers to tell you… but it’s taking longer than expected. Which is why we’re telling you now. We don’t want you to feel like you’re in the dark.”

Bucky’s running his thumb over the lines on your palm, reassuring and steady. He knows exactly how to comfort you, like a warm blanket wrapped around your shoulders. If you listen carefully enough, you can hear the drumming beat of his heart. You tune into it, letting the familiar rhythm calm you down.

“Sorry,” you murmur. “I’m being dramatic.”

“You’re not being dramatic,” your Mom responds, squeezing her hand over your knee. “It’s overwhelming. And we’ve just… thrown it at you, with no warning. It’s a lot to take in.”

You’re anxious and scared and completely lost. You’re also safe and home and completely surrounded by love from all sides.

“I’m okay,” you nod, taking a deep breath.

Your parents return to their couch across from you, but Bucky’s hand doesn’t let go of yours. If they think it’s strange, they don’t say anything. You have a feeling they’re a little preoccupied.

“Now what?”

“Your Dad is still undergoing tests to get to the root of the issue. Whatever they find, we know we’ll all be okay.”

“Your Mom’s right. I have an appointment this afternoon for an EKG. They’re trying to rule things out slowly. We’ll get to the bottom of it, sweetheart.”

“Are you okay?” you ask, suddenly realising you’ve accidentally made this about you.

“I’m fine,” he laughs. “Seriously. I know it’s scary, but I feel good in myself for the most part. The most annoying thing is that I can’t predict it - it just happens. Very inconvenient, if you ask me.”

Your parents laugh, and this time, you try to chuckle with them.

“You’ll keep us updated, won’t you?”

Bucky’s voice surprises you, somehow. His fingers are still intertwined with yours, but you’ve been so focused on your Dad, you almost forgot he was there.

“Of course, Buck.”

“And if you ever need a ride to an appointment or anything, all you gotta do is ask, alright?”

“You offering to take me on your motorcycle?”

“Sure,” Bucky laughs.

“Absolutely not,” your Mom says at the same time.

You chuckle for real, now. This feels like normality - the four of you, joking around. You have to remind yourself, sometimes, that Bucky knew your Dad before he ever knew you. You were away at culinary school when they met, but you were told stories instantly about this new guy in town who bought the old Garage and drives a cool truck. Your Mom, of course, didn’t fail to mention his big blue eyes and chocolate brown hair, or the way his shirt hugged his biceps. You thought she was exaggerating, when she said he was handsome.

Oh, how wrong you were.

You’re one hundred percent sure you’ve never met a more beautiful person. Maybe it’s your Tethering talking. Maybe it isn’t. You’re not unaware of the way people look at Bucky - he’s got this old school movie star thing going on, and people seem to eat it up. You get it. You get it more than anyone.

But it isn’t his pretty face that makes your heart skip a beat. It’s just him. Him, with his contagious smile and healing laugh and observant eyes. Him, with his confident demeanour but gentle touch, his mind reading abilities, his talent for making you feel like you’re the only person in the room. He’s a rarity, Bucky Barnes. A diamond in the rough. You remind yourself everyday how lucky you are.

He knocks his knee into yours, pulling you out of your daydream. He gives you a look that asks are you okay? to which you nod subtly in reply. A conversation, somehow both silent and loud.

“As much as I’d love to stay here all day, we should get ready to go. My appointment is soon.”

Your Dad strides over to you, wrapping you in his arms. You instantly feel like a little girl again, safe and protected no matter what. You bury your face into his chest a little more, inhaling the familiar scent of your home.

“Everything’s okay, sweetheart,” he whispers into your hair. “Promise.”

You nod against him, tightening your arms ever so slightly. He gives you a squeeze, letting you know he got the message.

As you’re putting your shoes on in the hallway, you can hear your Dad and Bucky chatting away about the baseball game from the previous night, routine easily resumed. Your Mom brushes your hair back from your face, looking at you carefully.

“I almost forgot why you came here in the first place, babygirl. What’s up? What did you want to tell us?”

Your heart skips a beat and Bucky feels it, glancing over to you with concern in his ocean blue eyes.

“It’s okay, Mama. It can wait.”

She raises her eyebrows in scepticism.

“Promise,” you reassure. “Another day.”

She doesn’t look convinced, but lets it go anyway, pressing a kiss to your cheek gently.

“We’ll call you after his appointment and let you know what they say. We love you. So much.”

You hug her fiercely, realising that you don’t do it often enough.

“Love you guys. More than anything.”

Bucky gives you a nod that tells you he’s ready to go, both of you leaving a little different than you entered.

“Call us as soon as you get out of that room, okay?”

“We will, Buck,” your Dad laughs, mock saluting his best friend.

Bucky chuckles, falling into step next to you as you walk down the driveway. You make your way down the street, out of your parents view, before your knees give out. He manages to catch you just in time, strong arms wrapped around your middle. You both sit on the kerbside, Bucky rubbing soft patterns into your back through your shirt.

“Baby, hey. You okay? Talk to me.”

You take a deep breath, looking at him with watery eyes.

“What if it’s bad, Buck?” you whisper. “I can’t do this without him. He’s the best Dad in the world.”

Bucky pulls you closer, fitting you into his side perfectly. Two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, made for each other.

“They don’t lie to you, honey. They’d tell you if it was really serious. All you can do is wait, and hope everything will be okay. Which it will.”

You rest your head on his shoulder, letting his warmth calm you down.

“My Mama knows something.”

“Like what?”

“About us. She didn’t say anything, but I could see it on her face. She didn’t push it any further, but she was definitely suspicious.”

“We’ll tell her soon. Give it a little more time.”

You nod, wrapping your arms around his bicep tightly. He presses a kiss into your hair, inhaling the scent of your shampoo as he does it.

“Let’s go home, hmm? We can sit in the sun for a while, chop up that pineapple we bought yesterday.”

“Sounds perfect,” you whisper, looking up at him.

The afternoon hits his face just right, all warm yellow light and soft angles on his cheeks. The intermittent salty breeze ruffles his hair, all fluffy and sea swept. He looks like an ancient statue, a work of art from the renaissance, a museum piece. The sun could burn out tomorrow, but you’ll have a life source forever. Your Soulmate.

Bucky takes your hands in his and helps you to your feet, heavy arm slung over your shoulders as you walk back to the truck.

Your light in the dark. Your water in the desert. You’ve never been more grateful for him.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“Close your eyes.”

Bucky’s driving you home, the sound of the ocean waves hitting the shore a replacement for the radio.

“What?”

“Close your eyes, sugar. I want to show you something.”

“How are you gonna show me if my eyes are shut?”

He chuckles, pinching your thigh.

“Just shut up and close your eyes.”

You smile gently before doing as he says, covering your face with your hands for good measure.

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise. You’ll like it, I promise.”

You relax back into the seat, allowing the breeze from the open window to whip through your hair. Eventually you come to a stop, Bucky clicking off your seatbelt for you.

“Keep ‘em closed.”

Bucky sprints around to the passenger side, swinging open the door and wrapping his arms around you. He practically carries you out of the car, ensuring you don’t trip while you have no vision. He plants you on two feet, making sure you’re steady before he lets go of you.

“Okay. Open your eyes.”

You blink slowly, adjusting to the brightness of the afternoon.

You’re in the middle of nowhere. The two of you are stood on a huge, grassy plot of land, overlooking a small cove of the beach. You’re tucked completely out of the way, not a neighbour to be seen. All you can hear is the ocean, the birds, and the sound of your thumping heartbeat.

“Where are we, Buck? It’s pretty.”

He takes your hand, looking out towards the water.

“This is gonna be our house.”

Your head whips around in shock, confusion written all over your face.

“What?”

Your voice is barely above a whisper, but Bucky hears it, clear as day.

“I bought this land years ago, when I moved to town. I always knew I wanted to build a place of my own, but I could never get the plans off the ground. Something didn’t feel right. And then our Tethering happened…”

He squeezes your hand tightly, pulling you into his side.

“And everything fell into place. I was waiting for the right moment to show you, and it feels like you needed it today.”

You can’t speak. You’re completely lost for words, looking out at the perfect view. Turning to him, you throw your arms around his neck, burying your face in the crook of it and inhaling.

“Thank you,” you murmur into his skin. “It’s so perfect. You’re so perfect.”

“I’m so lucky,” he chuckles. “My God, you were worth the wait. I’d wait another ten lifetimes if I meant I got to love you again for one of them.”

You’re glad he’s holding onto you, or you’re convinced your legs would give out. You lean up to press a kiss to his lips, savouring the spearmint on his tongue.

“I love you,” you pray into his mouth. “I love you so much I can barely breathe.”

He kisses you back, harder, determined to show you exactly how he feels about you. Your fingers tangle into his hair, making him groan as you tug. His hands slide down to your ass, gripping harshly as he pulls you into his front. He wants every inch of you pressed together.

When you pull away, he rests his forehead against yours.

“You can have anything you want, you know.”

“Hmm?”

“With the house. I know we talked about it that night, at dinner in California. But if you think of anything else you’d like, all you gotta do is tell me.”

“One storey or two?”

“I was always thinking two.”

“Then I’d like a balcony, on the master bedroom. I love mine back at my apartment, especially in the summer.”

“Done,” he confirms, pecking your lips again.

“And a porch,” you whisper. “That we can sit on and watch the waves, when we’re old and grey.”

“I’ll be grey a lot sooner than you,” he jokes.

“You’re a lot more relaxed than me,” you laugh. “So I doubt that, actually.”

You rest your head on his warm chest, both of you swaying to the song of the ocean.

“We’ve got plenty of time, Buck.”

“All the time in the world, honey girl.”

The two of you stay wrapped in each other for a little while longer, enjoying the company of the one person you were destined for.

You can’t remember why you were ever so against soulmates. Loving Bucky is the easiest thing you’ve ever done.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The two of you spend the rest of the afternoon curled up on the balcony, letting the sun warm you from the outside in.

“Pineapple will always remind me of those margaritas,” Bucky smiles, throwing a piece into his mouth. “Our first date.”

“And last, apparently,” you laugh. “We haven’t been on one since.”

“I mean, we sort of date everyday, right?”

“Yeah, I guess we do. After we’ve told my parents, we don’t have to worry anymore. We can go out whenever we want, whenever we want.”

“Exactly,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss you tenderly. “Not long now.”

The sound of your phone ringing startles you both, your hand flying out to find it in the cushions of the loveseat.

“Hello?”

“Oh, thank God. I half thought you were dead.”

“Not dead, Lacie. Just busy.”

She laughs, and you realise suddenly how much you’ve missed that sound.

“You’re back in town, right?”

“Yeah, just for a few more days. Then I’m gonna go back to Cali and pack up my stuff for good.”

“Perfect! Me and you are doing dinner tomorrow night. I want you to meet Cameron.”

“Really? Finally! I’m so excited, Lace. Your place, or are we going out?”

“Come to mine. Cam is the best cook, seriously. I’ve gotta run, we’re picking out a couch today. A couch, babe! Can you believe it?”

“Happy couch shopping, you two,” you laugh. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Love you.”

“Love you, bestie! Bye!”

You can’t help but smile when you hang up the phone.

“She’s gonna love having you back home again, isn’t she?”

“Oh, yeah. I can’t wait to see her more. I know she’s been so busy with her soulmate and me with work and with you, but I miss her like crazy. We text all the time, but it isn’t the same.”

“She knows about us, right?”

“Yeah,” you giggle. “She was the first person I told.”

“Thought so,” he laughs, pulling you back into his side. “Knew you wouldn’t be able to keep it from her for long.”

“She can practically read my mind. It was easier to avoid the truth over the phone, but the minute I saw her in person, I crumbled. She gives me this look, and I’m done for.”

Bucky chuckles fondly, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“I can’t wait to get to know her properly.”

“Oh, she’s gonna love you.”

“I hope so.”

“She will, trust me. She used to talk about how hot you were all the time. Pre-Cameron, of course.”

“I’m glad you’re finally getting to meet him.”

“Me too. I feel guilty, you know. It was the biggest moment of her life, and all of a sudden I’m up and leaving across the country, barely keeping in touch through scattered text messages. I was so wrapped up in you and in work, that I wasn’t there for her like I should have been.”

“I’m sure she’ll understand if you say this to her, honey baby. You have to remember that her Tethering was a lot less complicated than ours. They just got on with things, as easy as can be.”

“I guess you’re right,” you murmur into his chest. “I’ll tell her all of this when I see her tomorrow.”

He wraps both arms around you, pulling you impossibly closer. You relax instantly, the warmth of his skin and familiarity of his touch soothing you like melted honey.

Your phone rings again.

“I bet it’s Lacie moving the plans around,” you chuckle. “She always underestimates how long it takes her to get everything ready.”

You find your phone from under the cushion and answer it.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

“Mama?”

“Where are you?”

The sun disappears behind a cloud, sending a shiver down your spine.

“I’m at home.”

“I need you to go and get Bucky, and come to the hospital.”

Your heart stops in your chest, and Bucky has to breathe for the both of you.

“Why?” you ask, barely above a whisper.

“I’ll explain when you get here, but it’s more serious than we thought.”

She sounds scared, which in turn terrifies you. She’s the bravest person you know, your Mom. If she’s afraid, you know it’s bad.

“Okay,” you choke out. “I’m leaving right now. I, uh, I’ll get Bucky, and - do you need anything? Does Dad? I can bring whatever… whatever you need, what do you need?”

“Nothing, baby girl. Just you guys, for now, okay?”

“Okay. Yeah, okay. I, uh, I- I- I’ll leave right now. Where is he?”

“Follow the signs for Cardiology when you get here. Room 4.”

“He’s in a room? In a bed? Mama, please. What’s happening?”

You’ve never heard your voice sound so weak. You’re kicking yourself internally - you have to be strong for her. You need to be.

“Baby, just get here as soon as you can, okay? Get Bucky to drive. I love you.”

“I love you too. So much.”

You try to hang up the phone, but your hands are shaking so much that you’re unable to press the red button. Bucky does it for you, intertwining your fingers with his.

He pulls you to your feet, smoothing your hair back from your face.

“It’s all going to be okay, honey. Put your shoes on and grab your purse. I’ll get my keys.”

He kisses your forehead gently, letting his lips linger for a second before pulling you inside and shutting the balcony door.

He doesn’t let go of your hand the entire time, even as you drive to the hospital.

You feel like you’re drowning. Repeatedly slipping beneath the surface of the water, lungs heaving, desperate to stay afloat.

Bucky feels it, too. All he can do is hold your hand and hope for the best.

All he can do is hold your hand and hope for the best.

tag list part one

@lillytracy6996 @securegorgon @roostersforevergirl @povlvr @val-writesstuff  @dreadfulxives18 @1deadpool26 @abbygraceasd @nyutasgirl @mavrellover91 @winterslove1917 @f-this42 @skewedcherries @noisesinthedark @kandis-mom @black-cat-2 @harrystylesandthegoobs @vladsgirlxx @h0nestly-though @arienotari @nash-dara @wandaneedstherapy @galaxy-dusk @justherefortheficandsmut @cremebruleequeen @cjand10 @buggy14 @avengers-fixation @blueberrybambi @beautiful-loserr @sarah1barnes @miss-rebel-without-applause @ragingrainbowshipl @shamrockqueen @savemeroman @jenn-f @8crazy-freak8 @daddyjackfrost @openup-yourmind @adangerousbalance @mandijo17 @daddylorianisastateofmind @rcarbo1 @casa-boiardi @spideegwen @navs-bhat @mssbridgerton @asuni921 @middle-of-the-earth @mfrnchsk

[muniimyg]

NAKED // KNJ

note to self: take baths alone from now on

+

in which nam joon takes any and every opportunity to see you naked

pairing: boyfriend nam joon + oc 

au/genre:

(new) established relationship

non-idol au

fluff, crack, and smut

warnings:

explicit langauge and behaviour ...

cockwarming & riding,, some titty grabbing & basic ass position changes

THEY SAY ILY FOR THE FIRST TIME :D

note: originally posted on @/meowachi ,, revised !!

🏷️ permanent taglist: @joonsjuice @taetaecatboy @pb-n-juju @miss-rainy-days @firesighgirl @whoa-jo @vantxx95 @pamzn @kakixaku @casspirit0705 @tae165 @prdshobi @sopebubbles @leefics @ggukkieland @bebebutbetter @yoongimentita7 @vampcharxter @miss-jupiter @floweryjeons @taegijns

The water is colder than you expected. 

Your body reacts with goosebumps to which you let out a shiver. Maybe you took too much time getting everything ready that you missed this bath water’s prime temperature… Guess you didn’t girl-math this right. 

Oh well. 

There’s always next time, right?

Thankfully, his bare body holding yours makes it easier to adjust. He nuzzles his chin on your shoulder and wraps his arms around your waist, not missing the chance to hold your breasts for a moment. You scold him as if it’s second nature and he leaves a trail of kisses up and down your neck as an apology. 

Then, you take this moment in. Honestly, setting up music was a good idea. Along with the scented candles, the bubbles in your bath, the bath lavender bath bomb, and the bath salts—all such amazing details. Everything would’ve been perfect if only Nam Joon wasn’t complaining every five seconds. 

“I hate baths.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

“The bath salts went up my ass—”

Finally, you shush him.

“Please,” he cries, “can we fuck?”

Rolling your eyes, you raise your hand and flick him with your fingers. He purses his lips and shuts his eyes in response. Nam Joon sighs, feeling defeated for the nth time tonight. Prior to this bath, he had suggested shower sex. To which, you argued you’d be too afraid to try since you’re as clumsy as they come… And he himself… Well, it was nice of him to ask.

It’s not like you didn’t want to have sex tonight… No, of course, you do. Your handsome and beefy boyfriend was naked, holding you.. Who wouldn’t be turned on? You just feel like being annoying. You want to push him as far as you can. You want to see how good he stays. How well self-disciplined he is. 

So, you sink into his body again, taking another deep breath in. 

Let’s try this again.

Relax.

You want to relax. 

That’s all you want to do.

It doesn’t last. A few giggles escape your lips as he begins to place small kisses on your shoulder all the way to the sides of your face. 

“Nam Joon…” you attempt to sound annoyed.

In his low voice, he hums; “Yes, my love?”

“You’re not making me feel relaxed!” Suddenly, you squirm as he bites your shoulder playfully. “I want to—stop that! I just want to relax, Joonie! You said you wanted to join me. You insisted.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he murmurs, only half meaning his apology. No, he wasn’t sorry. He was a man, after all. What idiot would turn down being naked in a tub of water with you? Fucking losers, that’s who. 

He squishes your body closer to him. “So... is this what you do?” 

You nod.

“Is this all that you do? This is so boring. You don’t even have those ducks to play with or like a toy boat that moves—”

“Nam Joon,” you warn, groaning at how talkative he’s becoming. “You can leave. I wouldn’t mind watching you ass walk away right now.” 

He laughs in response, getting the hint. You want to relax. He wants to be with you. This was the middle ground.

“Sorry,” he means it this time. “I’m just bored.. Like, I pictured this to be more… Sexy? Aren’t you supposed to seduce me?” Nam Joon wiggles his eyebrows at you. To that, you offer him and confused look.

“Who knows? Maybe I’ve been seducing you this entire time..” you gaslight.

He lowers his gaze. “You’ve been ignoring me since the minute we settled in the tub.”

“Aren’t you turned on?”

“No.”

You smile at him warmly, yet your tone is cold. “My love, if that’s the case… Then why do I feel your dick poking in between my legs right now?” 

He gulps.

“It’s hard.”

“I thought you said it’s boring.”

Nam Joon whines, “___, my dick is hard. I’m bored. Please sit on it.”

You gasp. 

Although, you can’t say you aren’t surprised. You’ve been together for less than a year yet he has never missed a chance to suggest such acts. Most days, you’d give in and it would be a good time. But today… You figure it would be much more fun to be a tease. This mood is sponsored by your incoming period. Regardless if it’s PMS or all your stress from work; it didn’t really matter. You just knew you weren't in the mood for super wet, slippery, hot sex in cold bath water. Imagine all the water that would be splashed on the floor! You’d be the one left to clean all of it up. Nam Joon would probably slip and hurt himself if you ordered him to do the cleaning duties.

“Okay,” you tease. “I’ll sit on your dick.”

He cheers. 

“But I won’t move.”

“W-what?” Nam Joon blinks. 

You shrug, pushing yourself up on his lap. When you find his length, you quickly guide it inside of you. No warning, not even a little rub in between. Nam Joon gulps the second he feels his cock inside of you. Unlike the water, you’re so warm. He hisses, feeling his dick begin to throb inside your tight walls. 

“M-mean,” he hisses. “You’re so mean.”

Ignoring him, you sink yourself even deeper. Now, he’s fully inside you and you’re completely sitting on him. You feel his tip and how far he is inside you.. It makes your body feel tingles and you honestly contemplate if you should just give in.

He feels so good. 

… And you hate to admit it but you overestimated yourself.

You’re having a hard time too. 

Yet, you stick it through. You have to! Rare are the moments you get where Nam Joon loses complete control.

“You asked me to sit on your dick. Sure, I’ll sit on your dick… But I’m not moving. I’m not going reverse cowgirl style. I’m not going doggy. I’m not fucking you.”

“So you’re just going to cockwarm me?” he asks, feeling betrayed. “But you love riding me!”

You glare at him. “No, I don’t. It’s tiring. It’s boring.” 

Nam Joon’s eyebrows furrow together. He tries his best to focus on your words and not how perfect you are inside of him. He’s stressed as fuck but he needs to prove to you that he can get through this… He has a feeling that winning you over will get him the reward he’s been after. 

“Then why do you do it?” 

This is news to him too. You always looked like you enjoyed riding him. Honestly, you probably ride him more than you two do in any other position. Also, why would he question it? You never really complained until now. It’s one of the things he liked so much about you.. It’s like, you just knew him. 

“You love it and I love you—”

Your eyes widen.

Did you really just say that? All this time, you were worried about slipping… Who knew it wasn’t about your body but rather your words? 

You two haven’t said it to each other yet. God, this is so fucking embarrassing. In this position too? In a fucking cold ass bath? It should’ve been more romantic! Plus, he should’ve said it first! You had it all planned out.. You were going to get it out of him before you could say it first. 

As you open your mouth to deny, take back, or spit out an excuse, his words make your world stop. 

“I love you too.”

Your breath hitches. “W-what?”

“Yeah,” he scratches the back of his neck. “I’ve been meaning to tell you.. For the past like… Six months but I couldn’t find the right moment. I figured one day, you’d just get it out of me yourself.” Nam Joon looks awfully shy to you right now. It makes your heart flutter. 

“I thought the same,” you confess. “I wanted you to say it first.”

“Okay,” Nam Joon chuckles, “Then I said it first.”

Your heart begins to pound louder and faster. God, was he always this good with words? In all honesty, Nam Joon has no problem being the first to yield or confess.. He just needed time. Right now, he knew it well. You’re the right person at the right time. He’s so grateful.

“I wanted it to be more romantic.”

Instantly, he dips his head and kisses you slowly. When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours. “A slow kiss. Romantic, right? Better?”

You shake your head. 

“You have to hold my hand when you say it,” you whine. “It only makes sense that way.”

“Then, you have to look at me,” he negotiates. “You can’t be looking the other way when I say it.”

“Fine.”

You shift, pulling his dick out for a second. You adjust yourself, opening your legs and facing him. Now, your breasts were completely in front of him. He takes slow deep breaths as you put him inside you again. You wrap your arms around his neck and tilt your head. 

God, you’re so sexy.

With or without clothes, Nam Joon thinks you’re the sexiest human to ever exist. It wasn’t because your body was perfect; it was all because of the way you carried your confidence. It was that exact something he sensed and fell into an intense trance over. Moments like these play over and over in his head when he’s away from you. Moments where he feels so close to you. Physically, this was it. There is nothing more he could ask for. 

You: naked and on top of him. 

But more than that, what makes moments like these so special is the fact that he feels like he knows your soul. Bare, imperfect and so loving. It was sexy to have someone like you. It was something he had never experienced before with past loves. This was a first for him. A first real, sexy, and beautiful love. It was more than your body—it always has been. Regardless, who is he to not try? At the end of the day, he has needs. 

“Say it.” 

He laughs as he intertwines your fingers together. He raises them above the water to show you. Bringing your hands to his lips, he looks up at you and kisses your knuckles. 

“I love you, ___.”

You pout. 

He kisses your wrist and then pulls you closer to him. He kisses your breast, your collarbone, your shoulder, your cheeks, and the corner of your lip. “I’ve loved you for a while now. I’m sorry it took a cold bath to get it out of me.”

“Should’ve taken a bath together sooner.”

He laughs into your kiss. “Too bad the bath salts aren’t making me feel too sexy right now,” he confesses his uncomfortability. This is his last attempt. “Unless…”

“Spit it out,” you say, unamused.

“It’s just—”

“We’re not fucking in this bath of cold water, Joon. Give it up!” you laugh as you cup his cheeks together. You squish his lips with your thumb and index, making kissy faces at him. “No more fucking around.”

His suggestive eyes suddenly soften. “Fucking? ___, I wanted to make love… Since, you know.. I love you.”

Three times.

He said, “I love you,” three times now.

And perhaps, you’re not built for this hard-to-get lifestyle when the love of your life says such dreamy things. Of course, you’d give in. As they all say; the third time’s a charm. 

You burst into laughter, unable to hold yourself back. Desperately, you kiss him for what feels like forever, and as much as you resist; you end up riding him. 

The second you move yourself up and down, Nam Joon’s eyes widen and he smiles into the kiss. He can’t believe he won you over. 

“Fucking finally… Or should I say… Finally fucking?” Nam Joon chides, liking his word play more than he should.

Nerd alert.

You grunt, “s-shut up.” 

As you two continue to make out, you begin to move your hips as you slowly but surely begin to bounce on his hard cock. It feels so good to finally do this. As you move at a faster pace, the water begins to splash and for a second, you turn your head to make sure it isn’t going to flood the floor. But Nam Joon places his hand on your chin and the top of your neck, guiding you to look at him. 

“Don’t look away,” he hisses. “It’s just water. Focus on me.”

You nod, biting the inside of your cheeks. 

For stability, you place your hands on his chest. You feel his heart and how fast it’s racing. His skin has little goosebumps due to the cold water, but you can also see sweat from his forehead lightly layer on top of his perfect skin. His eyebrows are knitted together, as he gathers all his mental strength not to cum yet. At one point, you see his lips make an ‘o’. Why was he trying so hard to last? 

“Just cum,” you assure him. “It’s fine.”

He shakes his head, refusing to give in this early. “It’s your fucking boobs,” Nam Joon blames. “Mmhff—s-shit. What the hell. Fuck it.” 

Without warning, he places his hands on your waist and lifts you up. Nam Joon gently, yet firmly, turns you over. Your chin rests just over the rim of the tub, along with your arms. Your back is arched as he backs your ass up to his dick. He takes his fingers and plays with your clit for a bit. You moan, unable to fathom just how fucking sexy this all is. You feel yourself coming close. Before you know it, he sticks himself back in and begins to pump. Nam Joon pumps himself at a steady pace. At first, they were short and fast strokes that made the water spill over and you moan louder than usual. As you reach your peak and so does he; his strokes transition to long and deep ones. 

After a few more pumps, he lets himself go and cups your breasts with his hands. You don’t feel his cum inside of you as your walls still tingle, but you know it’s inside. Regardless of the water, you just know he creamed you messy as usual. 

As you two catch your breath, he kisses your neck once again. 

“For round two…” Nam Joon teases, “I’m thinking shower sex. Thoughts?”

“Haha,” you play along. “No.”

Nam Joon pouts, giving you puppy eyes. “... But I love you.” 

You can’t help but melt.

Oh, you’re so fucked.

You know for a fact he’ll be using this line for a while… And it’ll work. He’ll get you every time. But it’s okay! You love him too. You want him too. You need him too.

Besides, you’ll be charging him the water bill.

[greeniegaes]

Back at it agains with another svsss au im pulling out of my (slightly) sleep deprived brain

Basically yada yada everything happens as normal UP UNTIL the immortal alliance arc. SQQ gets this searing headache and the system just keeps popping up with errors, so while they are all fighting the spider hoard the system just kinda snaps and breaks. SQQ suddenly feels like he’s hit by a truck, his body starting to act like his sickly Shen Yuan body and his cultivation is tying itself into dead knots and every bone in his body feels like it’s locking up. There’s no system to blame for things as he and LBH confront MBJ and he just has to do his hardest to survive with just his spiritual sword.

And then the worse thing happens, Xiu Ya shatters.

SQQ panics at this, continuing to try his best fighting people off and eventually MBJ leaves *hooray* except not really because all the system errors are getting louder and louder in his head, and everything is blue and blaring and he might be bleeding and he can’t understand what LBH is saying even though he is right there, shaking his body and crying.

And then the abyss opens. He suddenly has the choice. He can send LBH, his white little sheep, down there to continue on with the PIDW plot, or he can… not do that.

So he pushes LBH.

Away from him. Away from the abyssal rift, only for him to be the one that falls though. He had prepared various lesson plans, life advice, what skills people to work on and so much more once he got without-a-cure, just incase he slipped up one day and couldn’t protect himself. So SQQ was satisfied as he knew his peak would be taken care of if LBH opened a specific drawer, everyone could still be taught by the hall masters and also have some future help prepared for each of them.

So SQQ let’s himself fall into the abyss, watching his student’s horrified expression as he plummets. He hears the system disconnect from LBH as he falls, all of the glowing blue error messages and pop ups instantly go away and he’s left in the dark as he sinks further and further into the abyss.

Surprisingly, he wakes up. He landed in the same field of flowers that are the reason LBH didn’t die in the original, they are filled with celestial qi in a place meant to be horrible and deadly. The one good thing about this place. He lays there for awhile and lets the plants essence fix up his meridians.

Then he has to experience the same horrifying things the protagonist did in person, fighting off each beast and trying his damn hardest to survive. It takes him a while, fighting and walking his way through what’s practically hell on earth, slaying beasts ten times his size, making sure not to fall into the trappings of demonic plants. He cuts his long hair, he thinks he will never see his peak again, so what do filial ties matter when you’re barely surviving. Sometimes the worse thing is his own mind, he feels a heavy layer of guilt to himself for so willing going along with the system. He sometimes forgets it’s not his fault too, that he was threatened to return to a dead body if he didn’t do as he was supposed to. But he’s happy sometimes too, he goes back to that field of flowers, laying in them and basking in his memories of a happier LBH, a LQG that isn’t dead, a Qing Jing peak full of song and happy healthy students.

He ascends from the abyss that day. He doesn’t know how or why but he wakes up in the same field of flowers, the sky above him no longer a damning black with red cracks seeping light in. it’s blue, soft, it hurts his eyes almost to look at it. It hurts so much but he can’t look away. He picks himself up, looking at all the grime and blood on himself and weeps in relief that he can go home. He hides his face and asks people where he is, somewhere in HHP territories, and begins to make his way back to his sect. Once he gets to his peak he sits down softly at the gate, it’s night time and there haven’t been many people about. He basks in the feeling of being home, leaning his head against the tall bamboo pole as he falls asleep.

He’s glad tomorrow is a new day, when he can see his family and just go back to his life.

(in the years he’s been gone all of CQS has been in some kind of mourning. LBH found all the letters from his shizun and they made all the disciples of QJP weep. Some of them took the advice given and left, some of them stayed and took care of a lordless peak. None of the hall masters or disciples were qualified to step up, and when the issue was raised even the peak lords agreed he shouldn’t be replaced. It was LQG who found him at the gate, going to visit the sword shrine in the bamboo house after an expedition, going to leave another fan to rot at the shrine’s foot. instead he heaved up his shixiong, hair not even reaching his shoulders, hands callused and dirty, and brought him back to the bamboo house, waking LBH in the process. Once morning light came everyone would know that their lost peak lord came home, but first they had to get the doctor to make sure he actually got through the night)

[nothing-impt]

(I lost my mind thinking about how the Fried Chicken Au came about and wrote a crack fic ft. Flying snakes. Also I am terrible at writing but I couldn't help myself)

---- “Ah, darling! There you are, as much as I love staring into your eyes, where is your blindfold?”  Hermes chirped, greeting the prophet as he sat next to him near the Lethe. Tiresias scoffed, “Oedipus came by today and pissed on all of them. I sent them to the wash.” “All of them?” “Every single one. Is everything alright? I was told you needed to meet me rather urgently.” He paused. “Is it about Odysseus? Did something happen to him?” Hermes cleared his throat. “No. My lovely great-grandson’s doing fine! He should be heading home pretty soon!” “So what’s the issue?” “...” “Hermes?” “Uh.. maybe you should just feel me to find out.” “Hermes, I am not falling for your tricks to get me to grope you.” “No, no! I’m being serious! Just trust me.” Tiresias leaned over and reached for where Hermes was supposed to be and his fingers brushed air. He scowled “There’s nothing there. I told you, no more tricks.” “You’re almost there! Just move your hands down a little!” “You better not be lying-” His fingers brushed against feathers. “Am I touching your shoes?” Hermes chuckled nervously “No?” The prophet pulled back “What exactly am I touching?” “Uh.. I’m kind of a dove now?” “Please tell me you’re joking.” Tiresias deadpanned. “I wish I was! One moment I was delivering messages and the next- boom! I was a bird! Here, touch me again!” A nearby soul wolf whistled and Tiresias hushed him, face burning  “Please, don’t say it like that!” he bent down and stroked dove Hermes, who crooned happily. “Maybe I should bring you to Lord Hades. He might have an answer.” Dove Hermes (Dovemes?) squawked out a laugh and ruffled his feathers. “I doubt it, all the Olympians have been affected. Dad’s currently an eagle, Polly’s a crow and Arty’s a quail. Don’t get me started on Uncle P, he’s a blue seagull! But Dio’s a little scary…” “What bird did Lord Dionysus turn into? A hawk?” “Worse. He turned into this purple flamingo-looking sculpture. He doesn’t move. Just stares. He kept asking for a drink though. Dad told the nymphs to dunk him in a bowl of wine so we all didn’t have to look at him. Aphrodite was super creeped out. She’s a swan, by the way.” Tiresias shuddered, “A curse must have been afflicted for Olympians to turn this way. Especially Lord Dionysus, to be deprived of movement.” Dovemes crooned in agreement as Tiresias continued to pet his feathers. “Anyway, it’s highly likely that Uncle Hades is a bird too! Look, he’s here now- Oh. nice eyes Uncle H!” Tiresias reached over to grab his staff and stood to greet the ruler of the Underworld. “Lord Hades.” “Greetings, Tiresias. Nephew, I see you have told the prophet about our predicament?” Dovemes lets out a chirp, “Yup! Wow, Uncle, I’m really digging the dazed look you’re going for- ow!” Tiresias prodded Hermes with his staff once more. “He may be your uncle, but don’t forget who you’re talking to. May I ask what bird you are Lord Hades?”

The sound of the ruffling feathers was heard, “I am a Potoo. Though I suppose we are centuries before its kind is made known to Greece. Excuse me, while I go find my wife to explain why her husband is currently a bird from  unknown origins.” With a squawk and a beat of wings, Hades left. Dovemes sighed, “Well, I better get going.” Tiresias raised a brow, “What? But you’re still stuck as a bird!” “Dad just sent out a message, he wants all of us to gather in Olympus to figure this out. I won’t visit for a while, but you can have this!”

Tiresias felt a small-clawed foot slip a feather into his palm. "Wait. Hang on-"

“I’ll see you around, darling!” And Dovemes flew off.

Tiresias sighed. What in Zeus’ name is going on?

[thewickedweiner]

@honey-minded-hivemind @sugar-soda Chat I may have cooked

This is for a platonic yandere Steven universe/X-Men au I've joined in, we're supposed to make our own ocs for it, Sugar had made theirs, and now it's my turn :]

this is Nacre(I keep spelling it as Narce-) or Noi

They're off colored and have a slight crack, they aren't as tall as other Nacre gems, but they're tall amongst pearls, getting cracked caused Noi to have a damaged voice so they can't sing(but they are talented at playing instruments), as well as unable to form a proper weapon as it always comes out wonky. they're jumpy and tend to hold a hand over their gem, always scared it'll crack more or shatter, Noi is more sensitive, but also the one who seems to resent the Diamonds the most, likely due to something from their past, stating as much to the other Reef trio whenever diamonds are brought up "they're numb from the gem down", never elaborates on why they don't like the Diamonds or homeworld

Here's the original Doll Divine design and a little thing I did on picrew(by Lt.Cnowflake)

Doll Divine link: https://www.dolldivine.com/classic-games/gemsona-maker

Picrew link: https://picrew.me/en/image_maker/2265840

[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. 

[always-just-down-the-street]

INANIMATE INSANITY 16 SPOILERS AHEAD!

ALSO EYESTRAIN WARNING!

Also this fan-art is based on the theory I made here, so please read this before checking out the fan-art below!

You beg MePhone to say he's lying. That you're real, that you were never supposed to win, that your conquest to save everyone from themselves hasn't been anything short of the only lie bigger than your continued existence. You try to think back to who you used to be and you can't, it hurts so much, she's dead and it's your fault, you knew you were unsalvageable but you didn't know it permeated so far into your being. The gilded cage you lost the key to. You feel yourself crack again and you pray it'll be quick but no, you just sit there, broken, crying, screaming. A winner forced into the role of the villain, the liar, the freakshow.

The only grace you can hope for is that if you go completely insane, maybe you'll finally be more like her again.

You stare at her. You see every day you had fun with her back in the first season, when things were simple and the world felt like it actually made sense. When you weren't burdened by the knowledge of what you really are. You can't help but laugh- why should you be so surprised? You were only ever meant to take the shape of the vessel you were given, who cared if it was a physical one or not? You think back to every day you saw her in the corner of your eye, watching you prance around in the hotel you stole from her. In the life you stole from her. She missed that and she missed them but she definitely did not miss you. You wouldn't even be surprised if she hates you, and the worst part is she has every right to. MePhone wanted you to be the villain, the person everyone hates, but things went wrong and she was forced to take that role instead. But now the truth is out. Her last good deed was saving you from yourself. You're still the villain.

And somehow you're the most surprised of them all.

-

The joy of being an artist and a theorist is that sometimes I get such a cool idea I can express it in both ways.

Yes, this is a sequel to my Netflix Trip picture with Knife and Suitcase, this time featuring our season one finalists OJ and Taco and Kikuo's Hole-Dwelling! (Originally it was Puppet Loosely Strung by The Correspondents but Hole-Dwelling actually goes INSANE with the theory.) It's based on the theory that I had posted of last, which (and I might go back to the original post to add this) I have now given an official title: The Misremembered Lanes Theory! Or AU, if this gets deconfirmed. You never know! But yeah, it is named after the Season 1 finale.

Just like last time, the models were done in Blockbench, this one was a lot harder because I had to wrangle with stuff like OJ's transparency, trying to pick the right face/expression for Taco- there was a version of this image where Taco had just gone. Completely mad/feral, but it didn't look as good as I wanted it to...but, I think I finally got around to a fun result in the end. Speaking of fun facts, my favorite little design thing I did for this: OJ and Taco's strings are colored like each other! Puppets literally and helplessly ensnared in each other's role. :)

Plus I already have an idea of who I might do a piece of next, so that'll be fun! So I hope you all enjoy this piece as much as you did the last piece and the theory itself, all fan-art is appreciated, and thank you for reading this far!

[rip-quizilla]

We Could Be Beautiful: Dead Girl Walking

Eddie Munson X Fem!Reader

🔹An AU in which you and Eddie are both actors in a community theater production of Heathers: The Musical🔹

Word count: 1.6K

A/N: Just an idea I’ve had rolling around in my head for a while. This will probably become a series of short blurbs within this AU, taking place between the auditions and the cast party following the final performance of the show.

Tags: mutual pining, unconfessed feelings, allusions to sex, passing mention of suicide (pertaining to the plot of Heathers), references to Heathers: the Musical, song lyrics

If you’d like a visual for the scene described from the original musical, click here

🔹divider made by @k1ssyoursister 🔹

You took your role as Veronica’s understudy seriously. 

You’d copied down every stage direction, every line, every director’s note- you’d made sure you were prepared. Now, the ultimate test would determine just how prepared for this you really were.

Barb, the actress playing Veronica, had warned you that her sister might go into labor early, and that had been exactly what happened. That meant she would be in the delivery room on opening night, and every program in every audience member’s hand would have a little insert with your picture on it, alongside your name followed by “-will be playing the role of Veronica Sawyer.”

Already, you had managed to make it to the first quarter of the show. “Beautiful” had gone without a hitch, and you’d gotten through “Fight for Me” without your voice cracking. But next was “Dead Girl Walking,” and you were just about ready to fling yourself in front of a bus. Or drink some drain cleaner. 

You hadn’t rehearsed this song with Eddie yet; you knew the words, knew the blocking, knew exactly which note you were expected to sing and every riff you had to hit. But standing behind that velvet curtain as you waited for your cue, you were practically on the verge of a panic attack. When you finally had to enter the stage, you channeled it all- the panic, the nerves, the terror of what comes after tonight.

I need it hard

I’m a dead girl walking

I’m in your yard

I’m a dead girl walking 

You’d watched him sing this song with Barb so many times, and each time you’d wished it was you- now, you had your chance. 

Sorry, but I really had to wake you

See, I’ve decided I must ride you ‘til I break you

Tonight I’m yours, 

I’m your dead girl walking

Get on all fours, 

Kiss this dead girl walking

You knew Eddie’s wide, wet eyes were those of an actor. The eyes of JD as he watches the girl of his dreams. Still, the heat and want you felt right now wasn’t Veronica’s- it was purely yours. So you let it feed Veronica’s words as you held his face in your tender hands and told JD the things you wished you could say to Eddie.

And you know, you know, you know

It’s ‘cause you’re beautiful

You say you’re numb inside

But I can’t agree

You were the one in the blue blazer now. Tonight, he was your JD, and you were scared shitless that when your lips hit his in a stage kiss that was supposed to have so much fire it set the stage ablaze, it might feel a little bit too real. 

So the world’s unfair

Keep it locked out there

In here it’s beautiful

Let’s make this beautiful

Eddie- JD- gazed at you with all the wonder and adoration of a man on his knees for a generous god. His head shook gently, bewildered by his luck as he delivered the next line. “That works for me.”

Then your lips were on him, and for a second you let yourself pretend he was kissing you back and not Veronica. His mouth was warm, his hands hungry as they roamed over your clothes and subtly squeezed until you felt your blazer’s polyester pucker.

When you pulled away for your high note, you gazed into his eyes and saw nothing but truth looking back at you. That fire you’d been feeling all this time was reflected in his eyes tonight. Sure, maybe it’s the stage lights. Maybe he’s just a really good actor. Maybe you’re fucking obsessed with him- but whatever it was, you felt wanted in those eyes. So yeah, you let yourself believe it. You let the script burn you alive.

Full steam ahead, 

Take this dead girl walking

Let’s break the bed,

Rock this dead girl walking

You were drunk on the awe in his gaze, the way he looked up at you like he wasn’t sure if you’d really just barged in through his window to ride him until he was a broken mess, or if you were a fantasy his mind had conjured to fuel his desire to belong to someone who would cherish all he had to give. 

Again, Eddie was a talented actor. You knew that was his interpretation of how his character felt about your character. Still, you let yourself fall into the script as you straddled his tense, shirtless body, his abs crunching under the blue stage lights in a way that made you salivate. You wondered what your spit would look like on his skin. 

You were far too horny to be professional. At least you weren’t so far gone that you couldn’t remember your blocking. 

No sleep tonight for you,

Better chug that Mountain Dew

Your heart fell into your core upon hearing Eddie’s whimpered ‘okay, okay’ in character, needy and submissive beneath you. 

Get your ass in gear,

Make this whole town disappear

His eyebrows pulled together, voice stronger and raspier as it ripped from his chest. ‘Okay, okay!’ His fingers snuck underneath your skirt, fingertips digging into the soft flesh of your ass. You wished it was real. 

You eyed him like a predator eyes a kill, determined to stay in his head until he needed you for real. You ran your palm over your cheek, brought your other hand up to fist in your hair, and pretended both hands were his.

Slap me,

Pull my hair,

You grabbed his wrists forcefully, bringing them up one by one to grope each of your tits. 

Touch me 

There (left tit)

And there (right tit)

And there 

To punctuate the final syllable, you couldn’t stop an involuntary writhe of your torso into Eddie’s hands as he grasped your white button down (which was actually a snap-up) at the chest and pulled hard, simultaneously pinching your nipples through your bright blue bra and ripping open your blouse to showcase the swell of your chest for the whole audience to see. You didn’t notice them, though- you noticed the way he looked at your chest like it was the second coming of Christ. You witnessed that fractional widening of his eyes, the way he was entranced by every move you made as you writhed in his lap. 

And no more talking

Love this dead girl walking

Eddie’s voice was lightning in the wake of thunder, bright and jagged and beautifully raw with power as he crooned a harmony to your lead as the song drew to a close. This song wasn’t an easy one to sing; had you not been so distracted by how it felt to have Eddie’s hips between your thighs you might have been nervous that you’d flub your high notes- but you didn’t. In a moment of sheer improvisation you did what just felt right, and that meant grabbing Eddie by hair at the base of his neck and wrenching his head back as you rolled your hips into his.

You knew your blocking was to arch your back away from him, but instead you brought your face close enough to his that it’s possible his mic picked up your perfect, clear falsetto as you pleaded, ‘Love this dead girl walking’ with the cadence of a lover asking, begging their beloved ‘don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop’. Eddie’s eyes registered your improvisational choice, and maybe you imagined it but behind those big brown button eyes he seemed to come alive with you, sitting up even further and digging one hand into your soft, hot skin while the other flexed against the stage floor to keep him balanced. His little ‘whoa, whoa, hey, hey, yeah yeah’s were short and breathy, sounding more like moans and whimpers as he rolled the sturdy bones of his hips into you as you matched his rhythm. 

If you closed your eyes, you could pretend. If you didn’t have blocking to follow, you might have kissed him again, might have bitten his lip, might have reached for his belt buckle with reckless abandon and let a summer’s worth of pining win over in your mind. Instead, you channeled that passion into the way your hips ground into him with the fervor of a woman with nothing to lose. 

Together the two of you finished out the song with heavy breaths and belted lyrics. You writhed. He thrusted.  ‘Love this dead girl,’ your voices intertwined in a desperate dance for release from the tension between you that, at some point, had grown thick as two oak trees planted near enough to forget where one ends and the other begins.

‘Yeah!’

Your hand on his chest splayed out over faded ink. Your hips swiveled against his groin.

‘Yeah!’

His hand fisted in the plaid fabric of your skirt. That wasn’t in the blocking- had they added that? Was this improv?

‘Yeah!’

Using the grip on your skirt, he tugged you further into him as his hips bucked up just enough to bounce you on his groin and shake your exposed cleavage. Without thinking, your hand flew into his hair, grasping the sweaty curls at the nape of his neck and tugging sharply back. You weren’t supposed to do that. 

‘Ow!’

It wasn’t supposed to be a moan, but that was definitely what you would call the sound you pulled from Eddie’s mouth. A soft yet sharp, breathy moan that existed somewhere in the valley between pleasure and pain and definitely sounded more sexy and less funny, which is how it was supposed to sound. You saw Eddie’s eyes go wide as he too came to this realization. 

No matter; if you played it off, no one in the audience would know the difference. You let go of his hair and flung your hand into the air above you, reaching for heaven and belting out your last ‘Yeah’ into the stage lights that lined the rafters above you. Your back arched, and you felt one final push of Eddie’s pelvis into yours, weaker this time as he too came down from the endorphins that ravaged every thought in both your mind and his. 

Taglist (people I've been talking to about this since the idea spawned): @ghost-proofbaby, @the-unforgivenn, @munson-blurbs, @hellfire--cult

[koinotame]

boob windows. that's it that's the fic

word count: 1.1K content warnings: this is meant to be yandere au and sagau/self aware au so uh. hint of that, but mostly just crack. nothing Super Nsfw but the whole thing is raunchy and suggestive humour

characters included: mostly ei, but childe, kaeya and briefly zhongli also make an appearance with some others mentioned

a/n: this is a repost (slightly edited)! this was on my to-edit-&-repost list for a while now and this seemed like a good day to do so lol. alas this was originally written before the sumeru release so while editing there wasn't really an opportunity for me to add in wriothesley apparently out-butting zhongli or lyney's tigh high garters and i only just realised kaveh could technically also count here so uh. forgive me. i'll write something for them some day

"is… is everything alright, your grace?"

you loudly suck up another boba pearl, not moving your gaze from where it’s been lodged the past several minutes. "mm, everything’s fine."

ei fidgets in front of you, the cup held tightly in her hands still almost full. she looks unsure, but decides that she knows better than to question you. "if you say so."

it’s clear this isn’t what she had in mind when she personally came to see you instead of sending the raiden shōgun to greet and attend to you. the one time she comes out of her plane, all you’re seemingly doing is ignoring all table manners and gawking at her chest.

yes, that’s right, you’re ogling her chest. or, more accurately, you’re ogling her tiddy window.

between her and kaeya, she’s showing off much more chest. but then kaeya knows what he’s doing, while ei just seems to have it there for convenience over aesthetic…

you squint at her while you get lost in thoughts, and ei’s fidgeting intensifies.

ah shit. you forgot about itto. he wins in terms of who shows off their chest the most, you guess. he’s even wearing that… you’re not sure what to call it but tit belt fits well enough. anyway, the tit belt accentuates his pecs very, very nicely, although they do hide his nips from sight. alas.

you suppose gorou and cyno also exist, but they don’t have the same appeal. oh, and navia and la signora, but both of them are just wearing a sleeveless, collarless dress, so you’re not sure that counts either.

but then by that argument, does itto count? he’s not even wearing a shirt. cyno isn’t wearing a shirt either. and what gorou has is more of a tummy window than anything… but he does have that little window?

between gorou and childe, gorou is definitely winning though. you’d apologise for slandering your poor ajax but between the little triangle he shows off and gorou’s entire tummy out… you’re not sorry. though… there’s something to be said about a small slither of skin inviting you to stick your hands into that gorou having his whole tummy out doesn’t have.

wait, wait. you just had a genius idea. actually, two.

first of all, zhongli with a tiddy window… you are considering. then again, you guess his biggest asset is his bubble butt.

second, and way bigger: an idol group with some of your characters… but they all have tiddy windows.

"…your grace?"

you’re brought out of your stupor by ei, who is gazing in concern at you. you blink at her.

she struggles to find words. "are… are you sure everything is alright? is something not to your liking?"

it’s then that you realise you’ve started drooling at some point. shit.

you hurriedly wipe at it and clear your throat. "yeah, I’m sure. sorry, were you saying anything?"

she looks taken aback. "no, please don’t apologise. I should be the one to… I shouldn’t have interrupted your thinking."

it’s then that childe happens to walk by, and, like the attention hog he is, tries to get a foot into the conversation. you stay mostly unresponsive while the two chat (which seems to be mostly childe trying to hold a conversation with you while ei admonishes him), your eyes drifting back to ei’s tiddy window.

you really could stare at that for the rest of your life.

childe then follows your line of sight and chokes.

…though more because of him trying to laugh while choking on the dango he was eating than embarrassment at having caught onto your very appropriate thoughts.

ei looks confused but makes no move to help him other than pushing his head away from the table so he doesn’t make a mess. you honestly can’t bring yourself to be embarrassed.

he finally manages to swallow properly (you almost want to pat him on the back and praise him for swallowing like a good boy) before turning to you.

"do you want me to strip? my chest looks much nicer, I assure you."

you and ei stare at him.

he raises his eyebrows, pointing at her. "her skin looks way too soft and pampered." she looks almost offended. "mine’s covered in scars and I have actual muscles, doesn’t that feel much better for fondling?"

"what if…" you lean closer to him mischievously, like you’re about to tell him some big secret. "I prefer soft chests?"

he deflates. ei flushes, ducking her head into her still-near-full cup of bubble tea. "well, if that’s what you prefer… I can’t get rid of the scars, but I can stop working out. hmm…" he looks like he’s starting to make serious plans.

"no, I honestly don’t really care. all tiddy is good tiddy." you clap your hands. "anyway! it’s more about the boob window. you already have a (sad) tummy window, so it wouldn’t work."

"why not? wouldn’t that be double the sexy?"

"no, it cancels out."

you’re going to ignore whatever gorou has going on, because that works pretty well.

ei looks unfathomably lost.

"and anyway, if we’re talking about tummy windows, gorou wins."

he deflates further.

then he perks up.

"what about…" he brings his fingers to his face. you think it’s an attempt at looking cool. "butt window?"

you deadpan. "have fun getting arrested for public indecency."

he winks at you. "I wouldn’t mind getting arrested if you’re the one punishing me."

you have to physically hold the electro archon back.

"why, I wasn’t expecting to run into any of you here. what are you three up to?" kaeya’s voice cuts through ei’s snarls all of a sudden. he seems amused, but there’s an edge in the way he eyes childe.

"I am definitely sexier than any archon or soldier," childe says at the exact same time that you say "we’re discussing tiddy windows."

kaeya lets out something between a snort and a chuckle. it’s a pretty sound, but you can’t let yourself be distracted by him. he knows what he’s doing.

"oh? in that department, don’t I win?"

you stare intently at his.

"do you want to touch?"

you move your stare to his face. "am I allowed to?"

he smiles, mirth in his eye. "you needn’t ask. all of me belongs to you, and that includes my chest."

you seriously consider it and childe takes the opportunity to shove himself between the two of you.

"wait, wait! I offered first! ignore him, I’m right here!" "your grace," ei cuts in, "if you’d like to, I don’t mind you touching any part of me."

"ugh, fine, fine! I’ll just sample all of you then. if you’re sure you’re okay with it."

zhongli, somehow, picks the absolute worst moment to walk in.

the look on his face is priceless (you can’t tell if he looks offended or jealous), but even that doesn’t compare to the feeling of soft tiddy in your hands.

you were right, tiddy windows really are the best.

[vxnuslogy]

🍿lights, camera, action .ᐟ

a modern/actor au | alastor x gn! reader

summary: after the initial success of hazbin hotel’s first season, it was no surprise that season two would already be in production as we speak — now focused on heaven and how a soul is judged in purgatory. and luck you! you’ve landed the role of the main character “libra”.

as an angel, life in heaven was supposed to be fine and dandy — if you ignore your script and the potential angst your character holds. well, that is until, you get paired up with the infamous radio demon for an interview after adam decided to chicken out.

warnings: swearing (lots of it) and use of foul language, crack, mentions of alcohol consumption, fast-burn-ish (?), the use of a friend's original character, ooc-ness, will be updated as the series continues

status: work in progress

writer's notes:

this will be my first series in this account so please bare with me

apologies in advance for any grammatical errors, english isn't my first language and i haven't written anything in a hot minute (and i find alastor a bit hard to write so please bare with me as i try to write him)

this series will serve as my gateway to writing again and starting anew on this account

im currently busy with school so updates will be irregular

taglist ━ open .ᐟ

if you'd like to be tagged, please don't be afraid to shoot me an ask or comment! if your user is in bold you might want to check your visibility settings.

chapter 1 — red suit

preview: one can only wonder what alastor did to adam for him to suddenly thrust his responsibility of attending this interview to you. well, you aren't really mad, who were you to decline a chance to meet the ever so charming radio demon.

chapter 2 — hang on for deer life!

preview: “what in the seraphim’s names is radioscales?” you ask genuinely, eyes filled with confusion as azrail just laughed at your side. he’s been telling you how much you’ve been embracing your role as ‘libra’, so much that you’ve adopted their way of speech. rolling your eyes in mild-annoyance, you elbow the man beside you, nearly making him loose his hold on the coffee cup in his hand.

chapter 3 — drinkin’ time

preview: “and the nominees for the best actor and actress awards from hazbin hotel are…” everyone waited with bated breath as sera’s eyes glazed over everyone that’s been on the edge of their seat.

chapter 4 — let the good times roll!

preview: azrail laughed at his theatrics, and kept throwing you glances and elbowing you lightly. and being the ever so mature person that you are, you elbow him back — throwing a kick at his shin from under the table as a bonus before listening to the radio demon that was perched on the stage.

chapter 5 — get me with those brown eyes

preview: he paid no mind when the two overly enthusiastic children asked him to review this new cafe, and he agreed. what a big surprise (not) to see you at one of the seats waving at him with an amused smile on your lips.

chapter 6 — wife stealer

preview: you looked at alastor with wide eyes as he grinned down at you. azrail’s mouth hung open in both shock and excitement as alastor said with a smile, “i hope you don’t mind me stealing your wife.”

tba . . .

© vxnuslogy 2024. do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works without my knowledge or consent in other platforms or websites.

[manchasama]

In light of Nartothelar finishing the comic I commished from them, I am going to spend my Friday night ~productively~

So. The original idea was posted in 2022. And like all my fics, I think about them a lot, and notes to myself, come up with breakthroughs, change plots around, etc etc etc. And I would SWEAR I posted some of this, but I can’t for the life of me find it. And so. So. Sooooooo.

I’m gonna post the current plot of the RoadTrip!AU :> There will be some repeat beats, and it certainly isn’t the MOST fleshed out fic, but it should give a pretty good idea of what the fic should look like, and give a little more context to the comic.

Let’s start it like we did before. Emmet has been searching for Ingo for...a long time now.

Only that’s not entirely accurate, is it? He’s continued to work at the subway, continued to perform both his and Ingo’s duties diligently, allowing the authorities to perform their exhaustive investigation. Because that is what he’s supposed to do. That is the most anyone can do.

He wakes up every day (to an empty room). He feeds his Pokemon (and Ingo’s). He gets ready for the day (not looking in the mirror but aggravatingly aware of its presence; he also can’t bring himself to cover it). He pauses for a moment as he reaches for his coat (there are still two on the rack).

The day proceeds as normal. He walks to work. Greets the same people every day. Stops for coffee (the second cup isn’t taken, but he gives the barista a sad smile of thanks). Greets the depot agents and gets the day started.

Singles train in the morning (hard part first). Lunch with Elesa (a bright spot in his day). Double train in the evening (end on a good note). Walks home, occasionally battling an over-eager out-of-towner who challenges him. He can’t do anything but his best, and never really understand when the overwhelmed beginners get mad at him for it.

Dinner (at an empty table), loud Pokemon around him (to cover the silence). A few endless hours of going over reports, clippings, cold-trails gone colder, before he forces himself to stop. Goes to bed (in an empty room).

Emmet wakes up (to an empty room). He can’t stand it anymore.

He knows Ingo is alive, knows it in a way that others can’t understand. A “gut feeling” doesn’t help with a search, after all. So, he has to go out and search himself. Take the avenues others can’t or won’t. Find the impossible and make it true. He’s determined!

And in the impulsive way that Ingo had never been able to fully curve, Emmet up and leaves with barely a phone call to work to let them know he wouldn’t be in for a verrrry long time. (He tells them he won’t be in, and they wish him to get better soon. He corrects them; he is not coming into work ever. Or until he finds Ingo. He hangs up on the ensuing chaos to finish packing what he needs and wrangling his Pokemon.)

Cue Elesa barging in the house on him before he can finish up (she was called in by the depot agents). She absolutely pins him down and demands more details, of course, and once she realizes he is serious she calls in the big guns and gets Drayden on the phone. To her consternation, he is less supportive in her efforts to stop Emmet. (Drayden knows his boys, knows their cores too, and was honestly counting the days until Emmet cracked).

Elesa comes around to it (she has watched him become so faded, and this is the first sign of his old spark that she’s seen), but insists he slow down just a bit. He needs to wrap up properly at Gear Station, make sure his place is taken care of while he’s gone, and most importantly say his proper goodbye to her. (She will support him, and worry for him, and always be here when he’s ready to come home.)

Emmet begins scouring the world for help. His first stop; tracking down the local legends. In this world, while they are rare and elusive, there isn’t just One legendary Pokemon. Zekrom and Reshiram are extra elusive to humanity because of the History. But Emmet knows the general whereabouts of one trainer who has a Zekrom. And so he goes to find N.

(It’s pointless to keep this secret in these notes, but in the story it would not be obvious yet that Emmet is a Reshiram turned human. Surprise lol. But the interaction with N would be so interesting! Seeing N from an outsider pov react to a Pokemon that chose to become human. Having Emmet confront Zekrom who is not his brother, but understands. “I miss the you who isn’t you.”)

((Fun fact; I waffled SO LONG on deciding which dragon was which brother. In my notes about this part, I had Zekrom!Emmet lol. I STILL say either is good, but I have chosen and I will stick to it. Plus now I have art for it so it’s set in stone 8> lolol))

The scene is going to be a mash up of N and Emmet metaphorically circling each other warily, and Emmet and Zekrom butting heads. Zekrom definitely approves Emmet’s pursuit of his ideals (It’s a Truth, Emmet would argue), but the situation is beyond their limited powers.

Little snippet from my notes.

Emmet, staring at N. “You have a Zekrom.” Emmet is not so sure he’s comfortable, but he also cannot be stopped.

N, wary. “What a strange what of phrasing it. But yes, I have Zekrom.”

So it goes, so it goes. Emmet zeros in on the Pokemon who are said to grant wishes, but does not see hide nor hair of it. He tracks down a Pokemon said to be able to create strange portals, but they are the least helpful of all. He travels to Sinnoh, and for a while it seemed promising.

He looks for Uxie, the pokemon of knowledge. The lake trio is curious about him, but ultimately says nothing of import before vanishing. Uxie does grant Emmet an image of spear pillar maybe hinting Ingo is there, but provides no context.

At spear pillar there was a reaction, a swelling of power, of presence. But it fades away, leaving Emmet alone again. For whatever reason they found him wanting perhaps. (Dialga and Palika are unable to mess with the timeline during Hisui, it's too fragile to meddle with. Thus they can do nothing to help Emmet.)

One after the other, Emmet wanders the globe. He keeps an ear open for any mundane rumors as well, just in case. Asks if anyone has seen a man with his face. No one ever has.

Emmet is running out of leads. He will Not Let This Get Him Down. So he does everything he can to do it Right when he finds the Celebi, to ask them for help. Despite his preparation, they just flit away unhelpfully. He tries very hard not to get irritated. He might fail in that.

Then he spots a kid peeking out at him, looking as grumpy as he feels. After a bit of coaxing (“I am Emmet. What do you want?”), the kid comes out saying they can help. It takes a bit, but Emmet works out this is a Celebi that wants to be human. It’s not a common desire, and most Pokemon don’t have the power or ability to do it themselves, but it did it. And it still cant figure out how to fit in with humans, how to act like them. In the rare case it’s not immediately called out as a Pokemon in disguise (“It’s not a disguise! I am human now!”), it’s still considered far too strange to most people, who keep their distance. So it returned home to rethink its strategy. If Emmet will help it with that, then Celebi will help him.

As for how it can help, it confirms that Ingo is not in that time. Emmet counters that what can Celebi do as a human kid? Because the act of turning human is turning human. It’s not a disguise, it’s not an illusion. Humans and Pokemon think differently, react differently, have different desires and motivations. A Pokemon who truly changes loses most of their powers, because a human mind doesn’t work well with the instinct that drive those powers.

And in reverse, they can’t just change back, because they would lose what they gained as humans. Lose that way of thinking, that sense of self. It’s like running a sentence back and forth in a translator; what you get back is twisted from what it once was, and you know you’re not who you were. You can get close, but you will never be that person again. It’s not something done lightly.

(It’s impossible to lose all the power, because that too is inherent to who they are as well.)

The Celebi admits they can still do some minor time travel. Small jumps, and they can only hold the portal open for a short time. It takes a lot of power, so they’ll need to rest in between. Plus they don’t know exactly when Ingo is either. But they won’t change back into a Celebi, so he can take it or leave it.

It’s the first solid lead Emmet has. It’s less than ideal (lol) that Ingo got lost in time, but it explains why no one has been able to find even a hint of a lead. He will absolutely will take Celebi up on its offer without hesitation. The first lesson? Giving yourself an identity. He insists on Celebi choosing a name, because if someone else chooses it for them, it’s too much on the Pokemon side of things. She chooses ‘Anya’, and is now that much more human.

Now that he has direction, Emmet now has to figure out the method. Without knowing when he needed to go, he knew he’d have to cover a lot of ground to make sure that they didn’t miss Ingo along the way. On foot wouldn't do. Travel Pokemon would be better, but exhausting for all. There was one thing that Emmet was verrrrrry qualified to drive however. It just needed to be made portable.

He decides to gamble on a crazy idea. It was a mental exercise he and Ingo did as kids, a fun little project that had no use but was fun/cool to figure out how to do it. They've always had the idea of fighting on a train, and they were making their own. It was an engine that would travel overland, with a moving rail instead of staying on a track. Parts of it were still hypothetical, they never got around to working the logistics before the battle subway became a thing, but the train itself exists.

It's a steam train designed to work either on electric or fire to heat it (it exists! I found an article on it, pretty fun), and they would be having Pokemon to help with the various aspects of running it. Another reason they didn’t pursue it was because they would never have gotten the okay to have a train careening around the country side without a set path, but lol shhhhh.

(Fun fact, they have designed the conductor’s area with a switchable plate that connects to the water boiler. It can conduct heat/electricity to heat the steam needed to drive the train. Yes, it’s designed so they can tap into their fire/electricity powers to run the train while they are driving it.)

Thus Emmet dusts off their idea and gets to work on making it a reality. As quick, safe transport, a home base built in? It's perfect. To make it work, he needs a few things. One is of course the train itself. They used to spend their free time fiddling with it just as a fun side project, so it's not in bad shape.

The second thing he needs, which they never fully worked out a method for, are the tracks. Desperation is an intense motivator, and he has a terrible wonderful idea on what to do. He will need enough track for the length of the train he plans to take (engine and a car or two), plus leeway for maneuvering. And he needs something that will move the tracks. What better than a group of psychic Pokemon with enough precision to be able to lift and lay the track in a moving railroad. With the benefit of being able to handle terrain not normally maneuverable, if they keep a cushion of psychic power beneath the rails to keep them straight.

Why not just have them move the train? Because the train is way heavier and would exhaust them faster. Plus it’s much easier for him to control it himself than trying to control the Pokemon controlling the train.

So Emmet returns home with child in tow. He is starting to understand that people like to be Informed of things, so he lets Elesa and Drayden know he is around. He does not mention Anya lol.

Emmet and Ingo need to have a house in this AU, large property for both their pokemon and their hobby. It’s definitely more edge town, but still within walking distance of Gear Station because I say so. 30 minute walk? Sure. Emmet goes to uncover their project and starts going over it to determine what work is needed.

The work needed on the train is minor, he and Ingo had kept it in working condition over the years, and only in the last bit when Ingo vanished did Emmet let it sit untended. So he turns toward planning his task force. The rail needs precision though, so it can’t just be any partner.

Chandelure chimes in at this point, and she and Emmet have a heart to heart over things. Chandelure wants to be the one to help, has to be the one to help find Ingo. She hasn’t been able to control anything, let her control this. Emmet of course is grateful to her, but insists that it can’t be just her. Plus, he needs her help sensing Ingo in their travels, and how can she do that if she is concentrating on the train? She still learns telekinesis despite that, and is ready and willing to help if needed. She is the most skilled, and will be able to teach other Pokemon what’s needed.

Elesa shows up as Emmet is working on the train. Elesa meets Anya. Elesa calls Drayden to let him know. Drayden is busting down that door within the hour to meet his grandchild. (“She is not my child” “Such an adorable grandchild!”) Grandniece? W/e lol

So part of the story at this point would be Emmet trying to figure out what Pokemon he needs to find for his needs. I had some initial ideas, and some newer ideas, and I’ll be copying both here. If you’ve seen this before, that’s why :>

Some possible pokemon to consider and discard

Gothitelle - can see trainers lifespans. Very much a turn off to emmet, but also not suited for fiddly work

Abra line - not ideal, but powerful psychic. Emmet was going to settle for one, because he figured the high intelligence would help it understand what was needed and be accurate, if one wanted to help him.

Hypno line - predatory powers, not helpful for emmet’s quest. Puts targets to sleep.

*Espeon - would be a good battle partner, but not what he’s looking for. Plus he does not think he’d be able to befriend an eevee to the point it would evolve for him (ha ha haaaaa)

Wynaut line - no particular trait he’s looking for. A last choice

Spoink line - a possibility. Its powers could be used on items as well as enemies, so it might make a good choice. Spoink not being able to stop bouncing is a worry tho, meaning it needs special care to be kept healthy.

-Chinling line - no particularly good traits, plus a friendship requirement for evolution. A last choice. (wild ones follow the train eventually)

Munna line - no no nope if it created shapes based on emmet’s dreams he might cry. His dreams, not food.

*Solosis line - hardy! Able to survive in many difficult terrains! However most want to be battle partners, so he has a hard time finding any who want to help run the train. He is disappointed, thought it was going to be his solution since they are more powerful in groups. - It is more interested in physical battling. Emmet appreciates the enthusiasm, but it doesn’t really help his cause. Until it handshakes with Espurr. It’s not the same as linking up with another reuniclus, but it is able to help guide espurr to control their powers better. Useful as backup/emergency situations.

Elgyem line - Emmet does not like the messing with mind aspect of the pokemon. Might do in a pinch. A last choice.

Lunatone - Weaker during the day, and Emmet doesn’t plan on driving at night much. Might be good as a backup for that. But also not being able to pair with Ingo and Solrock make him sad.

Solrock - More helpful than Lunatone, but same applies. He wants to pair with Ingo if he were to partner with one. Also for both psychic is a secondary trait so weaker than other choices

*Espurr line - Emmet found out about it on his travels. He is charmed. He desperately wants to tease ingo about it. He wants one. It’s completely practical he promises. - First attempt, but he quickly realizes they will not be able to help. They can’t control their powers with enough delicacy. However they still really want to travel with Emmet, and so he gains a companion.

Hattena line - A possibility. Definitely a difficult personality to work with, would have to be handled with caution. (Eelektross does not like, and Emmet ends up discarding)

Mr Mime - A good choice, based on its abilities. Emmet might have gone for it

*Natu line - Emmet wants to find a Xatu. He needs its direction to help direct them which way in time to travel. It helping with the rails is secondary to that. - Emmet hears about Xatu’s ability to see past/future. He manages to convince either a Natu or Xatu to accompany him, but they are disinclined to help with the train. Still, they DO indicate he should start traveling to the past. He takes that as a good sign. (I like the idea of a Xatu flying above the train, though their dex says they stay stationary. *shrugs*)

Ralts line - More of an emotions pokemon, but the later evolutions would make fine battle partners. Not a top choice, but not last either.

-Woobat line - Elesa wants him to get one. He doesnt need a feels good pokemon! (He might get one) (Skyla totally makes him take one)

Sigilyph - More of a guardian. Not a first choice for the rails. Emmet doesn’t quite get how they think.

Indeedee - May not have heard of them. They would be good candidates, because they like to serve, but not sure they’d want to do physical labor for that.

Slowpoke line - too slow. Nope.

Exeggutor line - An interesting pokemon, but impractical for the trip

Girafarig - Would make such a fun battle partner, but not a strong psychic. Discarded.

Meditite line - Psychic power mostly to bolster its fighting style. Discarded.

Blibug line - Emmet would want an orbeetle, so it depends on if he runs across an entry for this or not. Good choice tho.

Baltoy line - Not quite a fit for what Emmet needs. Too old, might be hard to convince it to partner up. Might consider it as a last option.

Beldam line - Emmet considers it! Even if the psychic power isn’t enough, the steel affinity makes them more likely to be able to move rails well. He would need four of them tho, which puts them lower on his list.

Bronzor line - Emmet doesnt need a pokemon who makes it rain. But it is an interesting one. Lesser choice.

Delphox - Emmet doesnt have time to train one up to the final evolution right now. But he wonders if Ingo would have liked one.

Inkay line - Like Eelektross can float and survive out of water. Possibility

Emmett starting his journey to find the right kind of psychic Pokemon he needs to work the rails. His first stop is to find an Espurr. It’s a logical choice. Shush Anya, it has nothing to do with little frown and empty behind the eyes stare.

Honestly tho, he does actually try to find a good partner among them. First of course they have to find where they can be found. Then he has to see if any would join his cause. Some want to fight, some want to join TO fight, but none really care about his need for a psychic lifter.

He does run across one who isn’t interested in fighting, who shadows him as he goes around looking for a partner. Every time he asks if it wants to join him, he’s met with a blank look, so he figures that’s a no. Finally though he’s just about ready to throw in the towel, when he all but trips over it being too close to his legs. He apologizes and goes to head off, but it keeps. Following. He asks again if it wants to go with. Blaaaaank. Still follows. Finally he starts getting a clue that it just doesn’t communicate as expressively as most Pokemon. (He might be a little more in love with it). This time he is more patient, and figures out that it does want to go with and help him out.

They go through some training, trying to get the Espurr up to a base level for the job. Espurr doesn’t pass the training unfortunately, but Emmet is not about to abandon it over that. He may not have a conductor, but he does have a new partner.

Next area is to find the Reuniclus. Now this is a battle arena, and Emmet would normally be delighted by this. His Pokemon certainly are. It’s definitely hard not to have fun with such a challenge to over come. The more of them there are, the more powerful they are. None of them want to partner up tho, despite the fun battles, except one. Emmet explains he does not need a battle partner, but someone who will help with the rails. It is dismissive, going to head off. Emmet decides to come up with a compromise. He will take it on as a battle partner if it helps, but only if it can help Espurr with its control.

The Reuniculus agrees to try it out, and we have more training with the pair. They work out how to psychic handshake between species, and while it’s shaky, it’s usable. Reuniculus actually finds the exercise fun, challenging, so it’s not as put out as before, and now is enthusiastic about the trip.

Emmet takes a break from finding psycics to help to track down a Xatu. This would be an Emmet Anya chapter, as they talk over the logistics of the travel. Anya insists she can do it, even limited by human form, he should know that. (Not saying outright, but to those in the know it would be an obvious nod to Emmet’s situation.). He agrees she knows her own powers well, and he will take her word at it. But which way should they go? Does she know? She does not, just that Ingo isn’t in THIS time, and that’s not right. It’s hard to put into human words.

So they decide to try and find a Pokemon who can help their dilemma. The Xatus are definitely stand-offish, and most ignore their questions and requests for help. Perhaps it comes to them camping out, discussing the trip in question, and one of the Xatu overheards and is interested in such a journey. Seeing the past and future is all well and good, but traveling it would be an Experience. Once they get the understand that it will help them, Emmet asks which way. It indicates the past. Emmet asks if it’s sure it’s not just looking at Ingo before he disappeared, since that is what is tripping up Anya most. It assures them it’s MUCH better at this than she is. And thus a small rivalry is started.

Emmet decides to try the Abra line. He figures they are known for being able to communicate with humans when inclined, so it would be easier to convey what they need, as well as get a group of them to help. He just needs numbers at this point. Plus the Abra line is likely to be quite precise, so more helpful than his current explosive duo.

There are others he’s considering of course. The bug Pokemon is high on his list, but he figures he needs to put aside certain preferences and go for ones better for his cause. Alas.

While on the hunt for an Abra colony, he runs across a small group of Eevees in distress. (There is a pair of twins in the group, who walk around almost literally attached at the hip. They move in unison, and it brings a melancholic sort of fondness to Emmet.) They are being pursued by some bad trainers, who are trying to force the Eevees into certain evolutions for some underground battle ring. Either to participate or sell, something like that.

That will be an Event, where it’s Emmet versus bad trainers. He’s going to have to teach some lessons, probably more than once if it’s a group. I think he’ll have to run across them a couple of times. An initial “saves them but they are gone by the time he chases off their attackers” situation. And then he keeps running into people harassing this group of Eevees as he treks around looking for Abra.

Once Emmet catches on that this is an organized group and not just some bad trainers, he gets serious about eradicating them. Taking them out, and calling in local law to get them arrested and all.

Derailed from his original goal, he heads back out to again find the Abras. The Eevees find him first. They camp out with him, he and Anya tell them about their goals because they seem interested. The next morning the lot of them evolve into Espeons and present themselves like “here we are!” Basically Emmet accidentally befriends the Eevees so hard they evolve to Espeons just so they can help him out. He now has his task force.

(I would like to add this hilarious bit one of my friends provided for this scenario: extremely blurry video titled INSANE UNOVAN BEATS THE SHIT OUT OF FIVE POKEMON TRAFFICKERS AT ONCE (NOT CLICKBAIT) (HOW IS HE DOING THAT??))

Can you believe we’re not even at the road trip yet??? This is why it’s so hard for me to write, because I just keep adding MORE in.

I don’t know how much time would be spent, if any, on showing the training, but we’d rejoin when they are wrapping up preparations for the trip. Elesa is a frequent visitor, probably have some rotating people visiting scenes. Elesa insists on Emmet taking a rotom, and Skyla pops up with Swoobat. I think this will be a character development chapter, setting up personalities with each other.

The day before Emmet intends to leave, Drayden is in Emmet’s house as the final preparations are made. We’ll have a heart to heart between adoptive father figure and trying-not-to-spiral eldritch being. It will be great. (Really tho, Emmet is mostly just vibrating to get started. He knows he’s going to have a long journey ahead of him, but he’s optimistic that he’ll find Ingo at the end.)

Elesa and Skyla come over in the evening after Drayden leaves, and they can do their exchange then. Following day, Emmet gets to set off. I think we can even have the depot agents at the send-off? We’ll have to see how close they are in the previous chapters.

The train is both transport, protection, and sleeping/living quarters. It's able to hold all their Pokemon, plus the new ones, and an astonishing number of Joltiks. The reason to utilize tracks and let the train run as a normal train is that the train is heavy. It would take considerable more pokemon to carry it at speeds and lengths that they need. Track is much easier to move, though it does require precision and concentration. The Espeons get really good at it, however. Especially the twins :>

So begins Emmet's journey through time in search of Ingo. He retains his positive outlook, never letting the failures get him down. Sure, there are the occasional rumors that pop up about the phantom train that can be seen traveling the countryside, but it's never seen twice, and usually doesn't even get a footnote in history. Emmet isn't careless about driving near towns or roads, and those start to vanish the further back they go.

Almost on the first jump, Anya over does it. She wants to prove to Emmet that she is useful, that she can do this, and she pushes the jump too far back for her to handle. First thing to address is that Anya has been overconfident in her abilities. It’s not that she thinks she’s better, it’s that she’s determined to push passed healthy limits. So while she can open portals, they are taxing, and the further back she goes the more taxing it is. The first jump is a doozy, back at least 50 years, and she nearly passes out for it. Emmet is doing a heckin concern over it.

When she tries to brush it off, Emmet gets mad. She gets mad back. It’s argument time!

Anya thinks Emmet is being too condescending of her and her abilities. She said she’d help, and this is how she helps! Why is he even complaining? Doesn’t he WANT to find his brother?

Emmet is wondering why she is being so stupid about it? What good does it do them if she kills herself traveling? He does not want to be stuck in the past thank you very much. He does not understand why she’s trying so hard for someone she barely knows.

Because of how she over taxed herself, she can’t really tap into her power for a while either, so they are stuck in that time for now. Emmet is aggravated he cannot seem to communicate properly with her. He is concerned! But not because he is stuck, because she is not doing her safety checks! He already knew it would take a long time. This is Not the way to do it.

She is aggravated because she knows she could do better if she let go of her human side. She’s assuming he’d ask that of her to go faster, and is lashing out prematurely.

It takes a while for them to communicate and hash things out. By the end, she realizes he is fine with her human limited efforts, and does not think less of her for it. Emmet has a better time getting across that they are partners, and that this is not something to rush into dangerously.

They agree that they’ll just travel the country side for now, until she recovers from the strain. They don’t know how long it will take tho. So they’ll just…look for clues. They decide to leave Unova tho, because it’s too close to modern day, and they risk seeing someone they know and messing with time. Off to a neighboring region!

(Along the journey, some chimecho take a liking to riding along the current of the train. Their chimes are a soothing constant on the journey. Still wild tho)

So arrival in Alola, which does not have an organized league presence. Is the island challenge still a thing? It’s a smaller region, also lots more water in between, so they tend to park the train on the island and go walking to explore. What lesson should be learned here I wonder.

Learning to Relax (tm)

I need to research Alola and find out. It’s definitely vacation-esque tho, which probably rubs Emmet the wrong way. He was never one to take days off, and this is the very stereotype of a vacation spot. So maybe it’s getting Emmet to learn how to relax a bit.

Alola people work hard in the morning to get all the chores done, then spend the afternoon playing. Emmet first of all finds his work fun, so the separation of the two does not compute. And secondly, playing seems like a waste of time. Why not spend it battling or training? What kind of pokemon things can be done that are not battling?

This I think will be heavy on Emmet and the pokemon interacting. Okay after some research. Since they are looking for clues, they will visit a few places. They will also get sidetracked, which is where Emmet will learn some patience.

First thing upon landing. They decide to park the train, and Emmet tries to figure out where to go next. He has some sparse knowledge of Alola, but not a lot, and of course it’s out dated. Emmet DOES remember that the local TV station is about 55 years old, so it should be in service now. A central hub of information, a good place to start to see if anyone has heard of Ingo before.

When he turns around, all his pokemon are playing on the beach. He is annoyed, because he wants to leave Now. Anya is like “what’s your rush buddy weren’t you the one who told me it’s going to take time?” And Emmet is like That is different. Why are we wasting time messing around?

To the grumbles of his team, he gets everyone back in the pokeballs and on the way. Probably leaves the eevee family to guard the train, since they don’t have pokeballs? Or even if they do, w/e.

Makes it to the TV station. It’s a very relaxed, small time thing. They report on local news mostly, and no one has reports about any new visitors to the island. (Emmet is going to be infamous, poor thing. Small islands love to gossip, and he is the only newcomer in a while. Also how did he get there? Wasn’t by boat.) They promise to spread the word just in case, and where is he going to be staying so they can reach him?

Emmet did not think that far, and doesn’t really want to stay in one place, so he gets the Tourist Treatment. Told about all the hot spots, bragging about the island challenge, etc etc.

I think also Emmet might know about/ask about ultra wormholes, but they have not been discovered just yet. In a few years.

Emmet cannot sit still. He forgoes finding a place to stay, just staying in the train. But days of inaction on the beach is not his forte, and honestly his team tired of it after two days. They are battlers, and a break is nice, but they are all itching to GO. Anya isn’t ready yet tho.

So Emmet finds the Poni Gauntlett. He needs some battles please and thank you. There are some verrrry good trainers here, and Emmet has a fine old time. Honestly, he’d probably spend weeks there happily and not notice. I think Anya gets tired of it real quick, and goes off on her own. Makes her way to Melemele island and finds that orangu place to complain her woes away. It takes emmet a While to realize she is gone. Then he has to go FIND her.

Once he finds her, they once again argue until they are blue in the face. She wants to relax, DO something fun. He thinks battling IS fun. They work our a compromise.

She DID find out about a cemetary on Akala island, that supposedly has memories of people linger. They decide to check it out for Clues. On the way tho Emmet finds his Joltik are Missing. They fucked off to pikachu valley for a snak. The adventures of themb. They get back on track, don’t find anything at the cemetary, and eventually head back to the main island. Anya is feeling up for another jump, so with a quick check in on the tv station (if needed), they’re off again.

One thing that should permeate these chapters is how close the people are to their pokemon. It’s very ingrained in their society, even moreso than modern Unova. It’s a refreshing combo to our two legendaries let me tell you.

The next jump is going to be like 20 years. Emmet will not let her do more than that, for fear of her tiring out again. She argues that it’s too easy for 20 years. Eventually they’ll settle on like 30, and more as she grows stronger.

And that is the end of my notes for Emmet’s journey. Obviously I need More things for them to do over the years, and regions to visit. It’s a lot of research (so if anyone ever has suggestions I am ALL EARS). Until then, just know Things Happen. Eventually, he can sense they are getting closer. He’s not going to explain it (they know after all), but he just knows. Knows they are close. Knows when the next jump is going to be the last. He’s excited, nervous, overjoyed, and so impatient to get there. Anya opens the portal, and they go through it one last time.

Meanwhile, on the other side of history.

Ingo has been in Hisui for a while, and has adapted to living there well enough. He’s been appointed the honor of being Sneasler’s warden, and he’s trying very hard to fit in with the clans. It’s hard though. Something about it doesn’t feel right. Something is missing. Some part of him is so unknown, he just doesn’t feel like himself. But he has no idea what’s missing. Is it just the loss of memories? It feels like more than that. More than missing someone, he is missing a part of himself.

I’m going to have to change the order of events in canon for this to work out, so that Ingo and Rei can meet earlier. Some of the fic will be dedicated to that, and to setting up how Ingo has been fairing in Hisui. I have no notes on this apparently, and I have been fighting a migraine to get this posted tonight, so it’s going to be a bit sketchy. Just means I’ll need to update it later when I flesh it out more! :>

Another thing is that Ingo and Melli are going to spend more time together, because Lord Electrode loves Ingo (electric type solidarity), and Ingo likes to hang out with the Lord. And woe be it that Melli let this Pearl clan upstart mess with his Lord! I am of the opinion that while Melli can be grating, it comes from good intentions. He IS a good and attentive warden. When Adaman goes behind his back to have an outsider interfere with his ward, of course he’s going to be abrasive and condescending. He wasn’t even consulted about a decision being made for Lord Electrode. He had to barge his way in. (Yes, he was excluded because he was going to be a blocker, but still. Kinda douche move!)

Ingo, despite his lack of memories, has that New Yorker Unovian patience. He doesn’t mind a trainer who is confident in their own abilities, even if they can’t quite back it up. It’s the basis for becoming better, he feels. If you aren’t confident in your ability to win, how can you expect to put your all into a battle? If you do lose, train more and come back later. Melli technically does this.

(Ingo’s memory issues are actually exacerbated by the inherent but forgotten knowledge that he is also Zekrom, so none of his broken memories feel fully "right" without that explicit knowledge. One of the side-effects of the side-effects of him being an ex-pokemon who still retains typing, is that Lord Electrode really likes him. So Ingo actually hangs around that area more, finding comfort though he's not sure why.)

So due to immersion therapy, Ingo and Melli do tend to get along okay in this story. In fact, it’s not uncommon for them to be hanging out around Lord Electrode. Okay it’s more of Melli doing his token complaint about Ingo being there, but they do end up discussion the state of the mountains, people they’ve seen passing through, etc. It helps that Ingo wasn’t originally a part of the Pearl clan, and so doesn’t have the historic clan tension. Melli can’t keep up the animosity on his own, especially when Ingo doesn’t understand half the references. And then suddenly Ingo is pushing Lord Electrode out of the way (A distant part of Melli winders how was he strong enough to move the large Pokemon), and Ingo is struck by the frenzied lightning instead.

The thing about the frenzy, is that it latches onto the Pokemon and won’t let go. It drives them into a rage, and their base instinct is to attack. Ingo, however, has a human mind. Human rationality. And something is trying to swallow him whole. The Zekrom side of him is trying to rise to the front and force him to change back. Instinctively, Ingo knows this will destroy who he is, his sense of self, the history he can’t remember. There will be no chance of returning to who he was if he gives in. So he fights it. He doesn’t understand what he is fighting, but he fights it with every bit of himself.

At the same time, the desire to lash out at people, at Melli and Electrode and all the little Voltorbs around him, is almost irresistible. He wants to throw out his pokemon, command them to attack. He knows if he allows himself to do that, they will be infected by this power as well. He can’t do that to them. It hurts so much, he’s so angry, and he can’t hurt anyone. He won’t.

Melli get an up close encounter with a truly angry and terrifying Ingo. If Ingo’s self control was any less, Melli would not have walked away without injury. As it is, Ingo can’t suppress entirely the desire to lash out. It’s not electricity crackling around him, and the arcs of power sting when they hit Melli and Electrode. But with the assistance of Electrode and his pokemon, Melli is able to fend off the uncontrolled attacks, until Ingo gathers enough of himself to flee the area. Melli hesitates too long to try and stop him.

Now the people of Hisui have to deal with the knowledge that the frenzy can affect humans as well. They have no reason not to think that, after all. Rei is tasked with tracking down Ingo, and Melli insists on accompanying him. (He may not admit to Ingo being his friend, but he will explain that Ingo saved his Lord, so it’s his duty to help try and save the foolish old man.)

The thing is, they can't just lob Ingo's favorite food at him to calm him down. For one, they don't know what it is. For two, his brain is more human, so food alone isn't the same kind of comfort. Rei tries to challenge Ingo to a Pokemon battle, hoping that he can wear him down that way, but Ingo refuses to engage with his Pokemon. Every time he starts to lose control, to lash out against Rei and Melli, Ingo flees the area. Fueled by the frenzy, he is able to outmaneuver them to escape.

What Ingo knows in his frenzy is that he wants....someone. He doesn't know who, but he's raging at the world for this person, raging at god too because why not. But he retains enough of his mind to know not to lash out at the people around them. He'll yell at them and drive them off, because he does not know how to calm his rage and fears what he might do. He won't fight them. He WONT. Ingo's disorientation and undirected rage drive him on, but he doesn't know where to go. Ingo is basically terrorizing the highlands with no particular goal except to avoid people and not come apart at the seams, and no one can figure out how to help him.

Something in his subconscious drives him to Spear Pillar. The Zekrom part of him knows it’s the closest place to Palkia and Dialga, to Arceus, as the resident legendaries. Surely they sensed him being here. Surely they could have helped. Surely they know where the one he wants is. Why won't they answer him? (Because he is not a legendary anymore, but a human. Because there are rules. Because they are quite frankly busy with their own frenzied issues.)

Rei and Melli catch up to him there. Rei is again trying to face off against Ingo, but Into continues to refuse to fight. He doesn't want the frenzy to affect his Pokemon (despite the fact they are perfectly willing for that to happen if they can help him). He doesn't want to give himself up (he doesn't even know what this means with his missing memories, but he's resisting reverting to being a Pokemon. He subconsciously knows he could never return if that happened, not the same way).

So these two stories come together at this point. Emmet has realized his search is coming to an end next stop, and Ingo's basically at the end of his rope to fight against the force tearing him apart.

The scene is you have frenzied Ingo, atop spear pillar, being confronted by Rei and others trying to stop/help him. And behind him something appears in a rush of noise, obscured by the billowing steam coming off it. Emmet steps out of it, steam leaking from his mouth as well as he responds to Ingo's current state (Ingo sparking in response as he will always respond to his twin), knowing that they need to battle it out here as humans to save Ingo's sense of self. He's excited and ecstatic, and confident he can drag Ingo kicking and screaming back to himself.

Through the power of "because I the author said so", Emmet understands enough of the situation, can feel the power and frenzy, can sense his twin's distress, maybe even overhears people as he approaches on what's happening/how to fix it. Either way, he challenges Ingo to a battle.

Ingo wants to refuse. He's still irrationally angry, still wants to (bite, scratch) battle, but also HE is here. He's here, but Ingo still can't remember through the anger and fear and pain. Emmet being practical and insistent. Ingo tells him he doesn't want his partners to be frenzied. (Possibly Chandelure goes to his side (and indeed the frenzy bleeds into her almost immediately, but she stays by his side, ready to fight)). (Sneasler is going to be sticking with Rei, being more helpful there without getting frenzied herself).

(When Ingo first sees Emmet, he can't recall the right name. He starts trying to say "Re--" but stops himself, because he knows that's wrong. Emmet definitely picks up on that, and I think it would be nice to have him recite some of his scripts, both as affirmation of Ingo and Emmet, and to jog Ingo's memories. The whole "I am Emmet.  I am a subway boss together with Ingo" that kind of thing.)

In the face of his loved one's determination, he throws out two of his pokeballs (because he knows, he knows Emmet loves double battles more than anything). Emmet lights up, because of course Ingo would do that, even in the most dire of circumstance. He calls out their pokemon, and they have a wild, fantastic battle.

Emmet likes winning more than anything. With each pokemon defeated, more of the golden glow bleeds off. Ingo's pokemon drained the infection from him, and were able to release it with the battles. Ingo could not have done that without giving up his humanity. So in the end, Emmet does win, but so does Ingo lol. (Emmet's delighted laugh "how many new friends/partners did you meet?!" because Ingo keeps sending out more and more. However Emmet has also made new partners along the way.)

Bonus because it makes me laugh and likely wouldn't end up in the story:

During the battle, Rei is calling out that calming the frenzies with the favorite food worked before.  Emmet laughs a bit, reckless and amused.  Gets in close enough to stuff a meal bar or something in Ingo's mouth.  "You're not yourself when you're hungry, brother!"  Teasing.  Ingo getting Irritated and snapping his mouth shut, breaking the bar in half as he roars out Emmet's name because what else are little brothers good at but being an annoyance!  "Didn't work!" Emmet says, not particularly worried about it as Ingo redoubles his effort in defeating Emmet.

(Once we realize it's a twin dragon AU, probably during the Emmet vs Ingo stuff, we can do a flashback to how they decided to become human.  Bbie dragons spying on trainers and their pokemon doing battle.  Emmet's tail wagging in excitement, the weight of his brother on top of him as they spy, Ingo's hand slipping off his head into his face so ofc Emmet snaps back in playful irritation, etc.  They try battling a trainer, but the trainer is more interested in catching them than fighting, and the fear of being caught and separated makes them scramble to escape.  The longing to participate in the epic battles, sure that's what they want to do.  They don't even have to fight directly, just the close bonds, good friends, fun fights.  And ofc finally the transformation into children.  Probably do a Drayden adopts strange homeless children scene)

Some post battle wrapup and scenes. They end up all piling into the train to head back down to one of the settlements. Ingo is still kind reeling from the pain/relief and all that. I think at the very least Rei and Melli are going to be around. Emmet didn't pay them too much mind, more focused on helping his bro, but when Emmet goes to lead Ingo to the train to rest, the other two doth protest, thinking Emmet is taking Ingo away. So Emmet invites them to come with, he mostly wants to get the train to more stable ground and out of the cold.

Preface this with I don't ship the twins with anyone, but I like platonic affection a lot. Emmet sits Ingo on a seat and goes to conduct the train, and Melli sitting awkwardly next to Ingo, no idea what to do. (Possibly some discussion here between them, the “are you human” kind of thing. Still a hopeful/positive AU, so nothing cutting.) Ingo leaning against him in exhaustion, and now Melli REALLY doesn't know what to do.

At some point Ingo gets up to go to the front with Emmet. Just hugs him from behind, careful not to get in the way of what Emmet's doing to direct the train, pressing his forehead against Emmet's back. Not sure if Ingo's gotten or getting his memories back at this point, or if it's a gradual thing, or whatnot. And idk the thought of Melli and his Skuntank getting along great with their Garbador also struck me as charming.

Once tensions ease, Rei probably goes off to save the land and all that, all that’s left is the wrapup and the travel back. Obviously I’m missing a lot of interactions between characters in these notes, as Anya was a later decision to the battle at spear pillar, etc etc. There’s a lot of room here for details and additions. But I think this is the pretty solid foundation of the fic that I will one day hopefully write.

*collapses into a dark room to nurse my poor head*

p.s. Bonus, this song is kind of the inspiration to Emmet's decision to get up and DO something. I'm not one to go "ALL THE LYRICS MUST FIT" when it comes to music, so it's mostly the vibes of the song and the rather "train traveling" kind of beat to it that does it for me.

[really-burnt-toast]

Day 3 of drawing COTL unholy alliance stuff until the update comes out

The goats Narinder.

Aka. Shamura and Narinder swap

(Info dump + alt versions under cut)

Soooo Shamura and Narinder swapped places. That leaves Narinder with a cracked open head and... declawed? Huh, I wonder why he's declawed :)

Anyway, Ill explain more stuff when I draw swap Shamura. But rn, Ill explain some details in this drawing!

1. Like my regular Shamura, one of Narinder's eyes is covered. He also has the same scratch marks like them and has destroyed ears, like shamura has destroyed head-thingies.

2. He is declawed, during that progress they remove the last fingerbones with the claws - in the drawing I also drew them missing. Originally he has his paws wrapped with bandages but I wanted to show it off - they are fully healed but bandaged due to them causing pain (as they would with declawed cats, leading to chronic pain). He also originally looked pained - but I chose a different expression.

3. The crown was supposed to stare off into space but I made it stare into your soul instead

4. Narinder has slightly similar robes to Shamura

5. THE BIGGEST detail, which is why Im even mentioning them all... its the eyes in the background. 4 eyes. Those arent Narinder's. Those are supposed to reprisend Shamura's. The reason why is a secret for now until I expand on the au :)

Anyway - no background and sketch versions

[gloriousburden]

Why are we just supposed to forget that Loki is a Frost Giant? This is A BIG THING!!! This is the big dark secret, the scandal, the controversy, the tragedy, the horror, the origin, the defining moment, the catalyst, the turning point of no return, and now we're just expected to ...not think about it?  Or treat it like it's no big deal, as if it's the same thing as saying Loki has a double-jointed thumb, it's just useless information now? Or laugh about it, as if it’s some kind of embarrassing, hilarious accident of birth Loki deserves for existing?  Can you imagine how incredible, how cathartic, how satisfying it could have been, if only? If only.

OH MY GOD YES!! Between the play (Supposedly written by Loki though he felt immense shame over being Jotun, as well as the overall discrimination against Frost Giants from Asgardians…) from Ragnarok, the Loki/Sylvie blanket scene (I don’t care if it was flirting. NEITHER OF THEM WOULD GET COLD FROM A SMALL BREEZE. I DON’T EVEN GET COLD FROM A SMALL BREEZE!), and "Because I see a scared little boy shivering in the cold and you kinda feel bad for that ice runt." From Mobius being like the only reference to Loki’s heritage in the series?! Ugh.

“Am I cursed?”

“Laufey’s son?”

“So I am no more than another stolen relic, locked up here until you might have use of me?

“What, because I.. I.. I am the monster parents tell their children about at night?”

“You know, it all makes sense now, why you favored Thor all these years, because no matter how much you claim to love me, you could never have a Frost Giant sitting on the throne of Asgard!”

“I’m not your brother! I never was!”

“He did tell you my true parentage, did he not?”

(These quotes make me so sad. Poor Loki. He really went through so much.)

Yes, because the same Loki who was in so much distress about his heritage would crack jokes about it and talk openly about it in front of the common people of Asgard, who view Frost Giants as monsters to tell scary stories about to their children, and enemies.

If Loki didn’t find out that he was a Frost Giant… a lot of things would have gone differently not only for him, but as well as other MCU characters. It is essential to his character, and should’ve been talked about more outside of it being used to belittle him, comedy relief, and outside of AUs such as the What If? episode.

It is so unfair. I do also wish it was talked about in TDW, though I know the movie wasn’t necessarily Loki centered.

Haha guys he’s blue and adopted and a runt. It’s so funny and totally not an essential part of his character. It’s not like he’s deeply affected by any of this, or anything. 🤦🏻‍♀️