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Bigfoot Okarun sighting on Dandadan thursdays
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Yooo chill I know I been teasing u but I’m afraid of sex damn look at the stars
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might fuck around and drink the daily recommended amount of water
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you'll always be my thunder
surprise! i wrote a thing! finished the SoMa Twister AU one-shot for @ficwip's July 1000-word challenge prompt. I looooove the movie Twister so this was a really fun project to indulge myself in, and the word-count requirement was a good challenge for me. shout-outs to both @silluuuu and @moriohpissky for beta-ing 🙏 divorced SoMa enjoyers, come get y'all juice - you can read it on Ao3 or under the cut!
🌪️🌪️🌪️
He's stuck in an abandoned storm cellar with his stubborn, bull-headed wife while an F-4 tornado rips apart the prairie outside, and somehow, the thing he's most annoyed with is himself.
Not because he'd rather be out in the path of the twister— he’s a recovering stormchaser, not an idiot with a deathwish— but because he should've seen this coming. Because if anyone on this god-forsaken Earth knows Maka Albarn, it's him, and he should've known better.
“Well, that’s that, then.” She reaches the bottom of the rickety cellar steps with a huff, wipes her dirty hands on her jeans before resting them decisively on her hips. Despite his best efforts, Soul’s eyes linger on the grimy streaks of mud left behind on her thighs by her fingers. “It won’t budge.”
Ex-wife, he mentally reminds himself. His ex-wife, whom he'd not spoken a word to in years, until he’d tracked her down and found her in the dusty Oklahoma plains last week. He heaves a bone-deep sigh and runs an exasperated hand through his wind-whipped hair. “Great,” he scoffs. “Just fuckin’ fantastic, Maka. Trapped underground on a Friday night. Thanks, Doctor Albarn.”
“What?!” Her brows furrow and her nose wrinkles, and Soul hates that he still finds it adorable. “How is this my fault?!”
“I’m sorry, whose idea was it to chase after that supercell on the off-chance a twister would form?”
She straightens her spine, puffing herself up to her full height— all five-feet-two-inches of it. “You didn’t have to follow me.”
It's maddening, how quickly the assertion douses his irritation. All that's left in its wake is a lump in his throat as he stares down at her, defiance written all over her expression and determination in her wild green eyes. It transports him back in time, to their reunion last week, when he'd foolishly thought he'd be stopping by for just an afternoon.
When all he’d wanted was her signature on those damn divorce papers.
Maka Albarn-Evans, her ID badge had read.
Evans.
“Why?”
The question falls from his lips before he can stop it.
Maka rolls her eyes, but doesn’t break her stance. “Why what?”
He reaches for her face, takes a wayward strand of flaxen hair to twirl between his fingers. “Why didn't you change your name back?”
She doesn't flinch away from him— in fact, she all but melts at his touch. The way her face softens damn near stops his heart— and God, her eyes. Those eyes of hers are like a storm, a roiling, verdant tempest of passion and ambition and pure, unbridled spirit. She's as unpredictable as the very tornadoes she's spent her life chasing after, and Soul wouldn't have her any other way.
“Why did you keep my name, Maka?”
Outside, the roar of the twister has ceased, and now it's so quiet he can hear the sound of her breath. “The… divorce was never finalized.”
He tucks her hair behind her ear. “Is that the only reason?”
Her lashes flutter as she looks down at the floor, and in that moment, he realizes it— he's still in love with her.
“It's just—” Her throat works as she swallows. “It didn't… feel right. Even though it… didn't work out between us, you… were such a huge part of my life, Soul.” When she looks back up at him, her eyes are misty. “And when you left, it was like a piece of my heart left with you.”
He’s surging forward before he even realizes it, pressing his lips to hers and—
Fuck.
It’s like coming home, kissing her again. Like he’d been asleep, merely sleepwalking through life all these years, stumbling blindly through each day without really feeling anything, searching desperately for something beyond his reach.
It’s like no time has passed at all since the last time he'd kissed her.
Her mouth opens with a gasp, and he swallows the noise; she welcomes in his searching tongue and desperate lips with a hunger that both thrills him and terrifies him. He bears down on her, cradling her face in both hands and crushing her tightly to him, backing her into the wall of the cellar with the force of his movements, but with everything he gives her, she gives him back in equal measure.
“Soul—” she sighs, and a delectable shiver chases down his spine. “Where did we go wrong, Soul?”
“I don't know.” He shakes his head, runs a thumb tenderly across her cheek. “And I don't care.”
He kisses her again, and for a blissful moment, there’s only this.
Maka, and the wet heat of her mouth and the way her body fits against his and the irresistible sounds she makes. How she arches her back when he trails his hands up and down her curves, how she presses her hips into his with an eager whimper. He'd happily spend the rest of his miserable life in this damned storm cellar if it meant he'd never have to stop kissing her—
A loud bang from above takes Soul out of the moment. He pulls away from her and looks up into the stairwell just in time for another unmistakable thud as the previously impervious door bursts open.
“This is ridiculous,” a familiar voice reprimands. “You two are goddamn lucky the truck didn’t get blown to bits by that fuckin’ twister, or else we might never have found you— oh for fuck's sake.”
The shockingly blue hair and extremely displeased face of Black Star (real name Brax, but he insists on code names while they're out on a storm chase) peers down at them, sideways and twisted at an odd angle.
“You know, if y’all wanted someplace to suck each others’ faces in private, you could've just gotten a motel room in Tulsa.”
—----
When they finally get back to camp, Soul finds the divorce papers— sitting on the dashboard of his car, right where he’d left them— and without even a moment’s hesitation, he rips them to shreds.
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Somehow I got to the point in life where I am working on the syllabi for my students this fall on one monitor and fan fiction on the other. When I feel this way, I always think, "I wish 15-year-old me could see this." Then I remember that 15-year-old is still me.
And that's pretty fucking cool.
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snippet sunday 🌪️
thanks for the tag today, @worldismyne! i have something a little different to share this sunday; @ficwip released their monthly photo prompt for the month of July - it was a picture of a TORNADO which immediately put a SoMa Twister AU in my brain (Twister is one of my fave movies of all time and the reason why I love second-chance romance so much). I'm working on a quick little one-shot for ficwip's 1,000-word prompt fill challenge and ngl it might have cured my writing burnout??? maybe?? if that's even possible?? so i'm absolutely jazzed to share a little sneak peak today (for context, they're stuck in an abandoned storm cellar after narrowly escaping from a tornado in this scene):
The name on her badge flashes in his mind's eye, the image of it burned into his memory just as boldly as the day he'd first seen it— Maka Albarn-Evans. Evans. “Why?” The question escapes his throat, falls off the tip of his tongue before he can stop it. Maka swallows. Licks her lips. Doesn't break eye contact. “Why what?” He reaches for her face, takes a wayward strand of flaxen hair to twirl between two of his fingers. “Why didn't you change your name back?” The way her face softens damn near stops his heart— her lips parting and her brows raising and her eyes. Her eyes. Her impossibly green eyes and the roiling storm of her mind concealed behind them. He sees the clouds clearing as her defenses drop, as an expression of pleading vulnerability rushes in instead. “Why did you keep my name, Maka?” It's so quiet he can hear the sound of her breath. “The… divorce was never finalized.” He tucks her hair behind her ear and leans down, erasing most of what little space remains between them. “Is that the only reason?”
Let's keep the snippeting going with @mellancholy-morose @vautour-coccinelle-serpent @toweroftunes and @silluuuu! Here's to a new month of writing and creating!
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