#both main characters and survivors(??)

[peachebo]

what if these two met...

sequel and prequel bitches

[nymphiess]

"Ada is so much more complex than Claire" this "Claire is a passive character she doesn't even do anything" that both Ada fans and Claire fans need to team up and realise that Capcom did them both dirty as hell and join hands. And maybe kiss.

[flowerflamestars]

In the style of @kayarai, new Effloresce pov options. The Illyrian legionnaires, because Cassian's personal legion must be having a day. Get called to the human lands presumably to do a job and go home. Instead they are given rights/respect/honor/a FUTURE by the most terrifying human(?) woman any of them have ever seen in their long, painful lives. Human villager pov, things are looking up and the fae don't take our children anymore then THIS happens.

Oooo these are both delightful!

The Illyrians, in particular, are primed for this dynamic to be successful. War is their only chance out, and for them, no matter how proud they are of who they are, they're safer/better cared for/better off, miles from the mountains. It's painful, but it's true. Cassian called for them, they came because it's Cassian, but also for them.

And at first, okay, humans have always been strange.

Humans, in their bondage, with nearly nothing to give, still shared.

(Zaphael remembers the war. Zaphael will never forget that particular war for a thousand reasons, but loudest and worst, he will never forget the humans, burying Illyrian dead with their own, singing, like the bodies of bastards were anything but carrion.)

But these aren't peasants. Slaves. These are royal women, in velvet and pearls and steel.

(If Kali had a single doubt, even one, augury a drum resounding in her bones, Nesta Archeron draped in Illyrian knives was enough to tell her the whole story Cassian's face couldn't hide.)

Giving them salt. Bread. Fire. Blessing and bounty and welcome, what they had been denied since birth, the snub a part of life. To be welcomed in honor means you possess honor in the first place, a thing no properly born Illyrian, no Lord of Night, would ever imagine.

There's nothing to go back to.

There's Cassian, the best of them, the proudest, the strongest, throwing himself into the sky just to fall back to earth at the human woman's feet, a sword so feared across the Courts it had songs sung of its blood-hungry edge pressed to her tiny, fearless hand.

It is no small thing to have a liege lord, when you've been denied even the right to have a name.

(Koram is a century old. He's never seen a human, and he doesn't understand now how the hell the fae ever had them in chains. These are their ladies, not even Queens, built like they don't know what fear is. Like it is nothing, to stand against the Morrigan. Illyrian women were allow to be that once, the true fury of the sky. He knows his stories. His songs. He'd rather drown the world in blood than go back to the life he has been given. He is not old enough to remember Shahar, their true lady, but he would have followed. It is no shame, to follow instead this scarce, ruthless chance.)

It is no small thing either, to be treated like people, not fearful animals. Audacity is a very valued trait, when paired with respect. These woman are mad, maybe, no one will say. No one would dare.

But there is questions as to what the hell they're on about, when they start talking about grain and land and contracts. To be Illyrian is to know the tithe of the imperial army above all else- to be bastard born is to know you will have nothing else.

Illyrians are not sent on rescue missions. Guard details. They're considered too dangerous, too uncivilized, too lacking in fae graces.

The Archeron want them to protect their children, no lives more precious. Their elders, their knowledge.

(All these things, Elias thinks, even the richest Illyrian lord in his freezing, iron disciplined citadel, living in the ruins of a civilization they are not allowed to rebuild- all these things they've been denied. All these things these ladies seem ready to kill and die to keep their own people from losing.)

It is insanity, but it is a chance.

On the other hand, the Archeron vassals are used to impossible things.

For years and years they had no intercession- you can dispute the crown tax without a lord to speak for you. Cannot shift around the crops in fields you don't technically own, even if they're ruining you. Cannot divorce, cannot reclaim lost property, cannot, cannot, cannot.

Respect was short on the ground for Lord Archeron.

Being wrecked by debt did not, actually, rescind his title. He left no stewardship, went off and hid in the woods when the collectors came, again and again, stripping his ancestral home until no walls even stood.

The other lords might not have listened to a man so reduced, but the estate remained.

Those three bright girls remained, and there was some question as to what happened to them.

And then they came back. Nesta Archeron, their lady, in worn out clothes and ragged cloaks, her sister Elain beside her. So poor they'd shared a horse, but still they'd come. Before their own affairs were settled, they'd sought the village council, and tried to do some good in their fathers name.

The money brought back trade, the trade brought back ships, the ships brought teachers and medicine and magic, the Archeron lands once more the beating heart of trade routes that spanned the world.

It takes time, to right years of neglect.

The lose their best every year, stolen away, their children. Women who laugh too bright, men who look too faraway. The fae come always, and then, so too, do the men.

Their ladies may run things in their father's name, but they have no legal claim to do so forever. Heiresses must marry.

And then, out of nowhere, the Lady Elain did.

A cousin, they say, an Archeron.

Not a drop of Archeron blood in that one, the vassals know. It cannot be felt, his claim. It helps, however, that he does not seem intent to enforce it to do anything but keep neighboring lords away. To protect their farms. To hold Lady Elains hand and spend his days fixing problems a Lord should not have even seen.

It takes time to notice, the fae do not come.

Not to their cradles, not to their fields. Not from the sea or to the shore.

It is the first year in memory of such safety.

And then, the gheas.

They are vassals, bound in blood to their land. When the binding breaks, all are meant to die. A complete and fae punshiment: to be erased, to be forgotten.

As though it is nothing, their lady tells them the binding in broken.

Like doom can be forestalled.

That not only have their lives been saved, they are offered places on Archeron's personal property. Equally, without servitude or cost. An escape, to somewhere that will be safe, with war on the horizon. The Archerons now, like the Archeron of old, take care of their own. Here, or on any shore.

A pride once, what was becoming a pride again.

There is fae blood among them, of course. Even now, centuries later, a rogue trait will spill over. The millers daughter has eyes like an owl, yellow, and the Lady Nesta provided glasses to hide the color. There have always been those who run too fast, who can breathe water, who live just a little too long. They often find themselves a true welcome on Archeron ships, half the crews of a continent where such mixture, such society, is safe.

Humans under the wall have never forgotten the war. It is songs they sing still, of freedom. Of fighting. Of Jurian who gave of himself to save hundreds from the wicked Clythia. Of Fatimah, who wrapt her braid around a fae princes neck as he slept, killed right in the bower he'd stolen her away to. In stories, they love fae and they kill fae.

In stories, they remember Illyrians.

Honor, kindness, devastating violence.

Fae castes are nothing to them.

But it is not nothing, for the Archerons, to share this bounty. They, who could fly away, sail away, to delay whatever punishment may come to bring along all who dare.

It is a return of heroes out a legend, when they, farmers and merchants and weavers, need it most.

[dykedivorce]

if any other bitch in konoha had been gay apart from sasuke none of this would have happened to my son naruto.

[choccocat]

ok but that goodreads post really got me thinking about the poppy war and im still so mad.. like there's some legit criticism but ive not seen anyone mention how kuang really had no right to write indigenous taiwanese coded characters and have them do the things and end up the way they did. like i kinda get why not a lot of ppl see it bc ppl don't even have a small knowledge about any of asia's history and politics. and im not saying i have a vast understanding either but the story doesn't even bother delving deeper other than alluding to it despite being a fantasized retelling of history.. and i dont even wanna start on the mao zedong inspiration aspect

[hearts-are-connected]

Dang it, I love this ship and I love the enemies to lovers trope. I get that a lot of people see them as a surrogate father and daughter relationship, but it feels like a been there/done that kinda thing.

As much as I love that trope, I'm also a little tired of it. There's only so much Last of Us style found family I take after seeing it for so many years.

The thing I love about VaultGhoul or Ghoulcy is the idea of Lucy breaking down of Cooper's walls while he helps build hers up.

Is he incredibly cruel to her and those around him in the first season? Yes, extremely

Does he need to chill out and find some of his humanity that's been buried under 200+ years of wasteland survival and bitterness? Yes

Who can bring that needed direction to his life while learning the ways of the new world she finds herself in? Lucy MacLean

I know that the canon ship of the show at this moment is Lucy and Maximus, and as much as I love him, I find the pairing obvious and kind of boring from a story telling perspective. I loved it on my first viewing, but upon re-watching the series, I wasn't as behind it as before. I see their relationship, kiss and all, as a kind of first fling for the both of them.

While it doesn't diminish the care they show one another, there's not a lot behind them as a couple. Now I know that some people might turn around to say how she and Cooper spent less time together than her and Max, but I guess the thing I look forward to is seeing what their relationship brings with the second season.

I feel like Max and Lucy will have a great friendship and I'm interested to see where the Brotherhood fits into their dynamic as well.

With Cooper though, I find his story so tragic, as it's supposed to be. He's your standard hardened survivor who only looks out for himself that's now stuck with the happy-go-lucky main character, however, she's not that character anymore by the end. She's still going to be the Lucy we love, but she's changed by the end. While not losing her compassion and some optimism, I think Cooper is going to bring out a harsher side to her as we saw when she bit off his finger.

I want to see her building up her walls and learning when to let them down. How to truly survive while still bringing her own energy to the wasteland and people around her. I want to see Cooper regaining some lost humanity while learning to truly care for another person again. To see the two of them as eventual equals in one another's eyes as they continue on their journey as reluctant allies.

I also want to say that I'm personally kind of tired of the 'age gap' argument. We have stories of teenagers falling in love with hundred year old vampires. So can we just drop the age gap thing?

As long as they're both consenting adults who understand what they're getting themselves into, who cares about an age gap.

Does it truly matter in the scheme of things when we're talking about a world with cryo-stasis and super mutants?

I personally don't think so.

I don't know if anyone will even bother reading this entire thing, and I know I went on a little long, but I wanted to write down my thoughts on the whole shipping situation with the Fallout TV show fandom at this moment.

I'm a VaultGhoul shipper and I can't wait to see where the second season takes our main trio of characters.

[thermodynamic-comedian]

the silt verses treats all of its characters with so much respect and love it's actually genuinely surprising to listen to. even when faulkner's death feels horribly unfair and cruel, it still feels like the only way for him to end. anything else would have been a disservice to his character. carpenter and paige's fates being left ambiguous feels so correct too, because carpenter is a survivor but she deserves her rest, and paige is a revolutionary but she deserves to see her people walk forward without her. hayward taking back his autonomy with his last words, declaring that his death is not a sacrifice to a god or a cause, it's for him and him only.

carson and val, both antagonists actively harming the main cast, would have been so easy to just kill off quickly, the fans would have been satisfied with that. but no. they get their moment too. we're forced to consider their humanity too. she wanted to be a ballerina. he wanted to be a milkman. they die telling each other beautiful lies about lives that were kinder to them, lives where they were kinder to others. it's a beautiful moment, and i genuinely do not think any other podcast has ever given its antagonists this kind of grace and love.

the children of the woundtree leave a memorial for adjudicator shrue, because even though they never got the chance to become a true part of their cause, they died holding tightly onto the same values, and they deserve to be remembered as one of them. in the end, they did find a god that describes them as a candidate after all.

no other podcast, hell, no other piece of media truly and thoroughly loves each and every single one of its characters as much as the silt verses does.

[fantasywater]

These are the reasons Stolas Horseman still gets dragged for his infidelity even though the circus was supposed to FIX THAT.

This is for Stolas's Western Entergy interpretation and for the fans who agree with it:

Stolas is an adulterer.

No one gets to change the definition of a word just because they don't like it being said about their favorite character.

He's a domestic abuse survivor and an adulterer. Both are true. 

The reason Stolas still gets criticism is because of the execution of how it was written and the Octavia factor.

We were introduced to Stolas and Stella's dynamic with her being pissed that her husband of at least seventeen years cheated on her.

That anger is empathy-inducing to a lot of people because being cheated on, or knowing someone who has, is a relatable experience. It also looks extra disgusting on the one who stepped out when a family is involved.

Even her throwing things at him could be excused because of the context in which it was happening.  

There's a reason why temporary insanity is welcome in legal circles because it gives leeway to the perpetrator in that it asks the question would they have done this awful thing if it wasn't for an extreme mental break forcing them to? 

Stolas's infidelity was that mental break.

Trying to kill him can also fall comfortably under temporary insanity. 

Plus having our protagonists kill innocents as a job also takes the bite out of it. 

It also doesn't help that both Stolas and Stella's voice actors gave their own explanations that pretty much stated what I said above.

Even our first episode was about a cheated-on woman going to extremes, but she was shown in a sympathetic light despite it. 

Yet the very next episode shows the same issue, but because Stolas is a main character we are supposed to fall in line that the adulterer is whose side we should be on. 

Octavia having a mental breakdown(twice now) because of Stolas's infidelity is also not endearing him to the audience.

What he is doing to his child is the biggest reason why his remorseless, continuous, infidelity is not a take-back-my-power move.

The inciting incident for both Stella's recurrent violent anger and death "threats", as well as Octavia's mental breaks, is Stolas's cheating. Therefore what is happening to him now is a consequence of his own actions.

The writing in the problem. We were introduced to a wife and daughter showing anger in different ways because a spouse and father betrayed their family, and yet Viv still expects us to feel sympathetic to Stolas.

In reality, Stolas is the antagonist of Stella, Octavia, and Blitz.

That role was especially blatant in Loolooland.

As for Stella Viv tried to course correct by being heavy-handed in showing her as a cartoonish monster in The Circus. 

However, because of the initial execution of writing her as a scorned wife due to her remorseless, repeatedly cheating husband for a whole season, she has forever poisoned the well for Stolas and she has no one to blame for that but herself.

She is the one who wrote one of her supposedly sympathetic main characters doing Sexual Extortion(Blitz), Adultery(Stella), Mental Break/Child Neglect(Octavia), but then seems to have an issue when a nice chunk of the fandom still thinks only his victims deserve sympathy.

Nevertheless, since the Circus is in the canon now does Stolas owe Stella loyalty and remorse? No. 

However, Stolas is not just a husband. Octavia exists.

Therefore Octavia will always be the reason why his (continuous) infidelity was a selfish and vile act. 

That's also why what's going to happen to him in the leaks is on him.

His karma warranty is up.

The problem is that the karma Viv gives is an illusion because she still wants you to feel sorry for Stolas. That's why there's always a sturdy flavor of demonization in the narrative toward anyone he's harmed to facilitate that.

However, considering the nature of his crimes his comeuppance is deserved, but she still writes like it's not and expects the audience to fall in line.

She also did the same thing with Blitz's issues with him.

So it's a pattern, and it exists because a fujoshi is writing this story. 

It's a failure in the execution when the author's intent and the audience's takeaway is this broken.

[qiu-yan]

MDZS and asshole victims: thoughts on the second siege of the burial mounds scene

this post is not about morality judgments. this post is about reader sympathies only.

one rather clever rhetorical trick MDZS employs is putting all the more background "surviving victims of wei wuxian's actions" into one big angry mob at the second siege of the burial mounds, instead of letting them crop up anywhere else in the story. it's easy for a first-time reader to write off the guy who lost a leg at nightless city, or the guy whose parents died at nightless city, because both of those guys are being dicks. they're part of an angry mob baying for wei wuxian's blood--unfairly baying for wei wuxian's blood, because this time he didn't even do the thing they're saying he did. by putting these two victims into a mob of not just fellow victims but also unaffected individuals (ie. sect leader yao, who just showed up for kicks), the story can effectively equate these victims' grievances (ie. "you killed my parents") with unreasonable mob rule--even if these two things might not actually be equivalent.

the effect of this rhetorical trick, then, is that the reader can at once perceive the themes about mob mentality MXTX wishes to convey, and also effectively write off the victims' complaints. "yes, i did that to you, but i literally died already, what more do you want me to do? shall i walk on my knees repenting?" becomes easier for the reader to accept. and more importantly--wei wuxian's likability as a moral and just protagonist is not impacted.

ngl tho. it would be a bit more difficult for the reader to write off these victims' complaints if, instead of meeting said victims in an angry mob, the reader instead met these victims almost anywhere else. imagine if, instead of meeting mr. "you killed my parents" at the second siege of the burial mounds, we instead met him getting smashed at the local bar and crying about how his parents are dead. imagine if, instead of meeting mr. "you chopped off my leg" as a member of an angry mob, we instead met him begging for alms on the side of the road because his disability rendered him unable to work in a wuxia-esque setting. or imagine--if either of these background characters, overcome with survivor's guilt and trauma from nightless city, hung himself in his bedroom, and the next day his body was discovered by his 15-year-old daughter.

all of these scenarios are entirely plausible. you could easily include any of them into the story without changing the main plot at all. but suddenly shit just got a lot more depressing.

however, no such scene would ever be included in MDZS. the reason is that, as a work of fiction, MDZS's single most ardent goal is for us the readers to conclude not just that "we like wei wuxian as a character," but also that "wei wuxian is ultimately a morally righteous person." when the narrative focus shifts onto the people who were actually helped by wei wuxian's actions (mianmian and her family, lan sizhui, the few months of dignity the wen remnants were afforded) this becomes much easier for us to conclude; wei wuxian does indeed look like a hero. but the more narrative focus is given to the negative impacts of wei wuxian's actions--the more the "victims of wei wuxian" (whether actual victims or not) are given a face, instead of abstracted away by broad summaries--the more the reader might side-eye wei wuxian instead. every new victim given a name, given narrative attention that isn't just focused on making them look like an asshole, arouses the reader's sympathies in the opposite direction--and thus increases the risk that the reader might ultimately disagree with the novel's conclusion of "wei wuxian is a righteous person."

tbh, this does not seem like a risk MXTX particularly wants to take. instead, she's mastered the art of writing Asshole Victims.

which is an entirely valid writing decision, because imo basically every work of genre fiction out there does this to some extent.

[littlereddream]

Under Heavy Rot

You didn’t realize the apartment you were crashing in was already occupied, but the dead have already gathered outside and you’re too injured to fight any off. It helps that the stranger living in there isn’t so keen on kicking you out there with them, even if he did just have a gun to your head.

Warnings: zombie apocalypse au, similar to the walking dead but no prior knowledge required, also no spoilers here for the show. No characters from the show are featured here either. mild zombie apocalypse typical gore, all your normal apocalyptic warnings, gn reader

Every step you take burns like hell, pain shooting from your foot up, up, up all the way into your knee. You aren’t sure how long you’ve been walking, how long since your last camp was completely overtaken by the living dead. You’d thought it was safe, that it was impossible for them to cross the river without being swept away.

It was foolishly easy to let your guard down there, things settling into a peaceful routine. Life became peaceful. In the mornings, you’d even collect eggs from the chickens and bring them to the cook. Friendships with other survivors led to lively dinners around the campfire, filling the air with story after story.

You should’ve realized something was off when you woke up to distant snarls outside your tent instead of the familiar rooster’s crow.

In everyone’s rush to scatter, you’d been so focused on getting out of there that you’d forgotten about one of the camp’s main defenses. It was a matter of luck that you hadn’t lost your foot entirely to the bear trap, thanks to a woman with a hatchet being kind enough to pry you free before escaping with her family.

You’d been lucky then. But now? The longer you go without treating the wound leaves you more and more susceptible to infection.

Half a day’s walking has you wandering into one of the city’s nicer neighborhoods. It’s unusually nice for Gotham, but it makes sense for being on the city’s outskirts. You can’t help but imagine it’s history before the outbreak. While walking, you can see a rusted basketball hoop on one of the driveways. It’s easy enough to imagine neighborhood kids playing, laughing while their parents watch them from the porch over fresh barbecue.

You head up the front steps of a place two houses down from there, wedging your knife into door’s crack until it’s creaking open with a quiet click.

Maybe it’s the pain, or maybe you’re just exhausted from the day. Whichever it is causes you to step inside without checking every corner. Three steps in, and the door is slamming shut behind you.

“Don’t move.”

The familiar click of a weapon’s safety coming off.

There’s near silent shuffling behind you, measured footsteps too practiced to tell where the voice is coming from.

“Drop the knife.”

So screwed. So stupid. You were gonna die. This man is gonna kill you and it’s all gonna be because you couldn’t clear a room.

Your knife drops from your fingers, landing on the ground with a clatter.

“Now kick it away.”

You do, and with it goes your last chance of defense.

You take the chance to turn around, slow as you can. Whatever you were expecting to see, it’s far from what’s stood in front of you. The guy might have a gun pointed at your head, but you’re injured, not blind. This would make it the first time you’ve met somebody who pulls off the post apocalyptic look so well.

“Is that a bite?” He asks, gaze flickering to your foot.

Right. Words.

You’re quick to shake your head. “No. No, just got caught in a trap.”

He relaxes a little, but it’s almost immediately after that both of you are flinching. His weapon flies to point at the door, and your hands clench reflexively around your now empty knife sheath. A car alarm.

The stranger swears, clipping his pistol back into his belt before slipping into the closest room. There’s some rustling coming from inside, but you take the momentary distraction to lean against a wall, shifting weight off your injured leg.

“So,” you begin, uncertain,” I really didn’t know anyone was staying in here. I can go find another house to crash, seriously.”

He’s back, carrying a chair to shove in front of the double door, wedged underneath the doorknobs.

“No leaving,” he states, absolute with no room for negotiation.

You raise a brow at him when he glances back at you, but he just gestures towards the peephole. Cautious, hand as close as you can get it to the hilt of your knife without actually drawing it, you stumble forward. It’s hard to ignore the way the stranger’s eyes linger on your ankle, but you lean in to look outside anyway.

You’d thought it was bad at the camp. At least a dozen walkers tore away at your closest friends.

More than two dozen herded together outside. Half of them were climbing over each other, clawing at the empty car for any bit of medal their fingers would catch on. The other half walk aimlessly, twitching at every little sound that could mean another bite to eat.

You lean away from the door, thankful to find the stranger hasn’t moved a single inch out of place. His arms are crossed over his chest, almost smug in a way like he’s daring you to take your chances outside.

Ten minutes later, you’re sitting on his kitchen table while he’s got a chair pulled up in front of you, your ankle cradled in his hands.

“What’s your name?” You ask.

His thumb brushes over the corners of the wound, and your fingers grip the table’s edge a little tighter.

“Sorry.” The fingers pull back, reaching for the wet towel to your left. “It’s Jason.”

Jason cleans the wound as gently as he can, whispering quiet apologies for every sound of pain that leaves your lips. You tell him your own name through gritted teeth, and he seems to accept it as forgiveness for the necessary pain.

Once your ankle is fully wrapped, he carefully pulls down the hem of your pant leg to cover it. For a second, neither of you move. His hands stay there, and you don’t bother pulling your foot away.

Then he’s pushing his seat back to stand, clearing his throat.

“There’s an empty bedroom upstairs. You can stay here till your ankle heals. If you really want to leave, then at least wait till the herd clears up,” he suggests, rushing to clean up all the leftover medical supplies.

You stay till the herd leaves. Then you stay a little longer. Eventually, you can walk without any pain at all. You stay anyway.

Then you’re completely healed up and Jason suggests you stay a little longer. “Just in case,” he says.

Then it’s been a month and the only time you’ve ever brought up leaving, he looked at you like the option never even crossed his mind. You stay a little longer.

During a supply run, Jason kisses you. You got attacked by three walkers, backed up into a shelf of a nearby corner store.

Later, Jason blames it on the adrenaline from saving you. Later, he apologizes and promises that it won’t happen again.

But in that moment, with his calloused hands cupping your jaw, his breath shared with yours, leaving stops crossing your mind too.

Two weeks after, you learn that Jason can’t ever make good on a promise that involves staying away from you. Two weeks later, you kiss him first and he returns it with all the fervor of a starved dog.

[tragicvampireromanceisland]

i keep seeing suuuch cool AUs, so it's my turn now :) superhero AU anyone???

solarflare is the hip new hero on the block, with a myriad of powers and an almost alarmingly carefree attitude. the sole survivor of her alien planet, andersen, she's ended up making earth her home, and she'll gladly do anything to protect it. when not out fighting crime and saving the world, she's jane "joy" ray, working her day job as a photographer for the newspaper the train of thought, alongside her coworker she often does joint stories with. and while she's good at her job, she's a bit of a klutz and often absent...especially when a breaking story about solarflare is hot off the press. what gives?

speaking of...samira sage is one of the most renowned reporters at the train of thought, as well as the most patient. she's got a near innate ability to hone in on the emotional core of each subject and carry out thoughtful, poignant conversations with her interview questions. it's that very patience, though, that's gotten her assigned to looking after ray. she claims it's "just her luck," but maybe she's also choosing to stick around. not just because ray's sunny disposition has started to grow on her, but also because she thinks she just may have a lead on solarflare if she keeps at it. there's just something about her...

and that's not even getting into kuiper, solarflare's sidekick! originally a college student, xenia merak, who gained super speed from a freak lab accident, she has big dreams of being a hero of solarflare's caliber, but still has a lot to learn about what it means to be a hero. her ambition and enthusiasm more than make up for it, though! or often just land her in trouble. or both! she was the first (and apparently only) person to figure out that jane and solarflare are one and the same. and after sol got over the initial shock, she ended up greatly appreciating that she has someone she can confide about this sort of stuff with. xenia usually hops around from her dorm to headquarters, crashing at either intermittently. sol's home is kind of like a second home to her. they're an odd pair of roommates, but xenia always has her back! plus...it's nice to finally stop feeling like an outcast.

MORE CHARACTERS TO COME....these are just our main three! what other allies do our heroes fight alongside? who is the evil syndicate that they fight against? find out, um. whenever i have time to draw again!!👍🏾

[vaultdwellerbarbie]

Enchanted (To Meet You)

Javi (Twisters)/Original Female Character (14.1k wc)

Summary Having been born and raised in New York, Emily jumps at the chance to join her co-worker Kate on a journey to Oklahoma. What she doesn't anticipate is how drawn she feels toward her friend, Javi.

this can honestly be read as a reader insert, there are no physical descriptors - only that the main character is a woman. it's easier for me to write with a name, so i wrote with a name, but i left no physical descriptors so it could be read as an insert. anyway, please enjoy! i've been into anthony ramos for a long time. yes this is the only post on my blog, dw about it.

Growing up in New York City, the idea of a tornado was something that Emily had never needed to worry about in a capacity other than the worry that any child feels when they first learn about something that could be dangerous to them. To her, it felt like being worried that the bermuda triangle or the Titanic were going to be much bigger issues in her life as she got older. 

That fascination, though, was something else. She enjoyed learning about weather, and she wished that she could do more to protect people when something like that did happen to them. Of course, she had no real experience with it. That didn’t mean that she didn’t care, and that was why she ended up becoming fast friends with Kate when she joined the team that she had only recently started working on.

At the time, Emily had only been working with the company for half of a year. She hadn’t really made very many meaningful friendships, and she wasn’t sure if she was going to any time soon. When Kate joined, she finally had someone her age who was a little bit left out of a conversation because they were both new, so she befriended her quickly after. 

Kate had been a bit closed off when they first met, but when she opened up about her past and what brought her to the city, Emily understood why. Kate had lost people who mattered to her, people who were the closest to her. She imagined that she felt some kind of survivors guilt, knowing that her friends had been killed by a storm that she had miraculously been spared from. All but one friend, one friend who she wasn’t really in contact with.

To Emily, it was clear that Kate was trying to shut out the past because of her guilt - because it’s the only way to protect her own mental health after what happened. It wasn’t the healthiest coping mechanism, but it wasn’t Emily’s place to say that.

That was the real reason Emily had been she asked Kate if she could accompany her to Oklahoma. Kate was adamant that it was a bad idea. First, she was worried about going in general. When her friend Javi showed up, she got a bit clammy. She didn’t want to go with him because she had no interest in facing her past or being face first with another storm. When she finally did decide to go, her worry became about losing another friend. But Emily knew that Kate was going to need some sort of support system, and she just wasn’t sure that Javi could be that. She didn’t know him, she hadn’t met him, and he was the one bringing her back into this. In the beginning, Emily was incredibly wary of him.

When the two of them left for Oklahoma, after Kate finally agreed that she was okay with Emily coming along so long as she listened to everything she said and didn’t do anything dangerous, that was when she finally met Javi.

The first thing that she noticed about him was his freckles. Emily had been told that he looked different when Kate knew him. His hair was longer, he looked a bit messier, not as put together as he was now. She didn’t question that, but she did insist upon seeing pictures once she was face to face with him since he absolutely did not fit the description that she had been given when she first heard about him anymore.

That curiosity that she felt at first seemed to morph into something else by the time they had actually arrived in Oklahoma. Maybe it was the field of freckles that covered his cheeks, or the way that his eyes lit up when she explained to him how weather patterns in New York had worked. Or, maybe it was the way that he grew instantly worried when she admitted that she had never seen a tornado in person. She wasn’t sure what it was that started it, but she knew by the end of their first interaction she had the unmistakably familiar feeling of a crush gnawing away at her mind every time she thought about Kate’s friend. 

Even though it was nothing serious, Kate could read her like a book. She didn’t shy away from pointing it out to her after dinner that first night, but Emily brushed it aside. Even if she were to admit that she had a crush, it didn’t matter. Neither of them were staying in Oklahoma, Emily’s entire life was in New York - even though some part of her had been yearning for a change from the mundane normality of the life that she had been used to for her entire life, she wasn’t just going to uproot now. Not because of something so small as finding some guy who she had only just met more attractive than she should. 

Kate understood this, but some part of her liked the idea of seeing her two friends get together. Javi had always been alone, she always really seemed to want someone by his side but never seemed to have that. She had hoped, with how well he had done for himself since she last saw him, many he had found someone. But he had devoted his entire life to his work and, seemingly, just didn’t consider himself to be someone who had time for romance. She could understand his thoughts, but it certainly wasn’t healthy. He needed to have something stable, and chasing tornadoes wasn’t stable. But, dating someone who lived so far away probably wasn’t the stability that he needed either. She let it go after that, but she did still find it amusing the next morning when the three of them were in the car together and her good friend just couldn’t keep her eyes off of her other good friend no matter how much she tried to hide what she was doing. 

As the day progressed, Emily was almost surprised that Kate intended on sticking around for the entire week. She had promised Javi that she was going to stay, but she figured that Javi would understand if Kate couldn’t do this because of the trauma that she held closely to her chest after everything hat happened with the rest of their friends. Emily, however, wasn’t opposed to staying. Even though that day had been her first time seeing a tornado, she was excited to see more of them. It was scary, but it was thrilling. Her life had become so utterly mundane that something so thrilling felt foreign to her, but not foreign enough to scare her off. 

By the time she was meant to retire for bed, Emily couldn’t help but sit outside and watch the people enjoying the weather. While tornadoes were rather unpredictable in many cases, and caused devastation, it almost seemed like these people enjoyed them not because of what they could do - but for a number of reasons. Maybe it was human resilience, seeing something without a face, without a person to blame, that could do that much damage to their homes and their lives and spitting in its face to tell it that you weren’t afraid of it. Or, maybe it was just because they were so desensitized to tornadoes that they genuinely were no longer afraid of them - maybe it was just like a roller coaster to them; terrifying, but something that they were used to enough that it didn’t bother them anymore. She wasn’t sure which reason was more plausible. Maybe, some of these people just felt like they were in the presence of a celebrity when being around the Tornado Wrangler and were only so excited because of their proximity to him. 

Her thoughts were cut short by someone beside her, her grip on her sleeve tightening for a moment before she recognized that it was Javi.

“You’re not in New York anymore, not every guy is a threat.” He teased, moving to stand beside her. She was pretty sure he would have gone home by now, but she had seem him speaking with Kate for a moment. 

“I don’t know, your kinda mean friend seems like a threat to me.” 

“Scott? Scott won’t do anything. He’s all bark, I promise.” He responded, but there was something more to his voice. He almost sounded like he didn’t believe that, in a way. Or, there was something deeper. But, she had only been here for a day. If she were to start creating conspiracy theories, she would at least need to make it to the midpoint of the week before she allowed her mind to truly start wandering in that direction. 

“Figured you would have gone home.”

“Kinda hungry, Kate wanted to go back to her room. I was wondering if you wanted to get something to eat.” 

“So nice to be your second choice, I’m honored.” Emily was clearly joking, something that Javi picked up on. Of course she would come second, he was catching up with an old friend and she just sort of tagged along because Kate said it was okay. “I’m sorry if I intruded, by the way, I kn- you invited Kate, I just wanted to come.”

“If I was upset, I wouldn’t ask you to come to dinner with me.”

“Dinner at eleven? Is this a meal time?” She questioned, but moved away from the balcony. “We should probably go before every place in the area closes.”

“Some places don’t close here, do you not have that in New York? I thought that city never sleeps.” 

“Some places don’t close there.” She replied, shrugging. It felt as though a conversation about the city’s insistence to close buildings and bathrooms past a certain hour so they could refuse their services to homeless people didn’t feel like polite conversation, so she opted to change the subject. “You ever consider moving away?”

“I’ve considered it, but what I love to do is here. You?” 

“I’ve considered it.” Emily responded, but she wasn’t sure where to go from there. She was considering it now, but she wasn’t sure where she would go. Her entire life - her history, her family, her friends, her work - was all in New York. “I kinda want to go somewhere else, I’m kind of bored of New York.”

“Seems like there’s so much to do there that you could never get bored. Here, the kids just go to the Wal-Mart parking lot for fun.” 

“Sure, there’s things. But they’re the same things I’ve always known.” She wasn’t sure where exactly she would go, or what exactly she would do. 

“Does Kate know?”

Emily got into the passenger seat of his car, not ignoring the slight flutter in her stomach when he held the door for her (really, she didn’t ignore it because she was internally scolding herself). 

“Kate doesn’t know because it’s barely an idea. She knows I wanted to experience something new, that’s why I came here. But uprooting my whole life is a big thing, and I don’t even know if it’s plausible. No need to stress out a friend when it might not even work out.” 

Javi was quiet for a moment, starting the car and pulling out of the parking lot. The people in the parking lot faded away, but she couldn’t help but allow her thoughts to linger on them. Did those people all know each other? Or was it just a little bit easier to make friends in a place like this?

“I think, if you want to do something now, you’re probably going to regret not even looking into it a few years from now. It’s probably best to do it… you know, when you have less years invested. What’s really holding you back?”

“Money.” She answered, maybe a bit too honestly. “I have five years experience at this job, but that doesn’t mean that I’m going to find another one. I really don’t want to report the weather on a local news channel.”

“I’d offer you a job, but you seem to hate Scott.”

“I don’t- I don’t hate him, I just think he could be a little bit more… chipper.” 

“Is that how you describe yourself while watching a tornado, usually?”

“Well, since I’d never watched a tornado in person before today, I guess I wouldn’t say usually.” 

“Never?”

“I thought Kate told you.”

“That explains why you looked…” He wasn’t entirely sure how to describe it. “I wish I could feel that for the first time again.”

Emily turned to watch him as he drove. It was clear that there was something about him that she didn’t know, not just because she had only just met him. Perhaps it was because he was harboring some pain within him that she had seen within Kate, but it seemed like he had adjusted differently. Considering the fact that he hadn’t narrowly survived the storm like Kate had, she figured that it made sense that he would adjust differently. He, also, hadn’t left right after. Maybe his coping mechanism was just different, or maybe there was just something about him that she couldn’t put her finger on yet. 

For some reason, it felt like a better reason to be heading out with him in the middle of the night because she was curious about who he was than it did to admit that a good portion of her reasoning was just because she found him attractive.

Truthfully, she was curious. But, she also knew that a majority of the things she wanted to know were things it would be impolite to ask about since she had only just met him. She wanted to know more about his past with Kate, but she knew that what the two of them had been through was something she probably wasn’t close enough to hear about from him. She wanted to know what he thought about Kate’s coping skills, friend to friend about their mutual friend, but she doubted that was something he would divulge to her having only just met her. There were a lot of things that she absolutely wanted to know, but she didn’t fell equipped to ask them because she didn’t think it would be polite - because she didn’t think she would answer if she was in his shoes.

Still, she knew that he was curious about her friendship with Kate. She knew the entire reason he probably asked her to come with him to dinner was because of her friendship with Kate, because it was worlds apart from what friendship he had with her and because he was curious about what Big City Kate and her Big City Friends had been getting up to since she had left Oklahoma. She was certain he would worm those questions out of her at some point, and by the time that their dinner was done, she knew that she was right. 

Some part of her wanted to believe that was the only reason he had invited her out, and she was sure that it was a big part of it. But it became entirely clear to her that it wasn’t the only reason because it almost seemed like he genuinely did want to get to know her as a person. There was something about Javi that seemed inherently lonely, but that loneliness didn’t make any sense to her since he was surrounded by people. Was it because those people were technically under his employment? Was that something that just came along with her knowing about what he had been through? She wasn’t sure, she just knew that there was something about him that made her feel like he craved closeness with people - maybe that was part of his true motivation for bringing Kate back to Oklahoma. Maybe he was just lonely, and maybe he was just relieved that he got two people who wanted to talk to him instead of just one. 

“I thought they would’ve been out here all night.” Emily commented as he pulled back into the parking lot. He was able to park a lot closer to the staircase, even though there was still some heavy machinery and cars that were preventing him from parking as close to where she would need to be as possible. 

“They’re out here a lot, but they’re mainly just groupies. Following the Tornado Wrangler is kind of what they do, he just happened to go to bed.” Javi commented, watching as she moved to exit the car.

“Thank you, by the way. It was nice to talk to you.” She said, moving to get out of the car. “I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?”

“What kind of guy do you think I am not walking you to your room? This place is safer than New York, but not that safe.” 

She raised an eyebrow, but stepped out of the car with him anyway. “You get a lot of murders around these parts?”

“I just wouldn’t be so trusting of motel guests, that’s all.” 

That was a fair assessment. Motels were never given reputations as the safest places in the world, so he was probably right about worrying about her walking to her room on her own. Anyone could be lurking in the shows, especially since it was pushing two in the morning at this point. The only people outside were people like them - younger people, just having a good time - and creeps lurking around places like these hoping to find younger women having a good time. 

“Well, now I’m a little worried about you walking back to the car alone. Should I give you my pepper spray?”

There was a small smile on Javi’s face as he moved to stand next to her, but he simply shook his head. “I’d rather you keep that. Give me your number, I’ll text you when I make it home safely. Sound fair?”

“Sounds fair enough to me.”

Now, the issue with Emily in this instance was simple: She had no romantic experience beyond a few failed dates. She was constantly working, and she always had trouble meeting people in New York. There were so many people there that it could get overwhelming, and because of the vast number of people she saw every single day, any opportunity for a meet-cute was shattered by the realization that she was probably never going to run into that person again. Lost connections aside, Emily had no idea when anyone was flirting with her.

Sure Javi had asked for her phone number, but she had asked for reassurance that he was going to be safe. Was she flirting with him? Was he flirting with her? She didn’t know, she just knew that it was easy to talk to him and she found him rather easy on the eyes. As far as she knew, she was probably never going to see him in person again after this week - at least, not for a good long while. So, she had no apprehensions about just living in the moment. Maybe it was something, or maybe it was nothing, but she wasn’t going to know if she just ignored it entirely. 

Emily watched as he quickly texted her number so she could add him to her phone, but she thought nothing of it. Or, she tried to think nothing of it.

How many people had she exchanged phone numbers with in a similar manner while working in a professional setting? They were both professionals, in a sense. It was true that she was predominantly here for personal gain, that it had nothing to do with work. But, she also knew that they both worked in very similar fields and could - ultimately - help each other out. Was that actually why they were exchanging phone numbers? She wished that she had more answers to her questions, but she also wished that she didn’t have any of these questions. Having only just met Javi, it felt nonsensical to wonder if he also has a crush on her - it felt childish, and she felt far beyond worrying about something like that when she very next day she was going to put her life on the line (again) in the name of science.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Javi.” 

“Can I call you Em?”

“Only Kate calls me Em.” She replied, but she also figured that was where he got the idea. “Sure.”

“Cool. I’ll see you in the morning, Em.” 

With that, she turned to go back into her motel room. There was almost a palpable awkwardness that they both definitely wanted to break away from as quickly as possible. It felt like there was something that should have filled that gap. If it was her saying goodnight to Kate, she would have given her a small hug. If it was her saying goodbye to someone who had just brought her to a romantic dinner and not one that was simply between two friends, she would have probably leaned in to kiss him since it had gone well. 

It was neither of those things. 

That left her returning to her room, wondering if there was something more going on. But, even if there was, she wasn’t nearly awake enough to give it time to think about. She was exhausted from such a long day, and she barely found the energy to change into her pajamas. The idea of having a long thought about how she, at her big age, was having such feelings about someone who she was likely never going to see again was even more tiring than just going to bed. Even in exchanging phone numbers, she doubted that she was going to have occasion to come back here. At least, not any time soon if she wanted to keep her job. Considering the fact that her job was the thing keeping her fed, she really didn’t feel like being fired because she kept going to the midwest to fornicate with some guy. Some guy, who she must note, she’s only just met, knows barely anything about, and simply has a crush on. 

The next morning should have been better, but it was when things when awry. 

Kind of.

Emily and Kate had made their way to a local diner, the same diner that Emily had found herself sitting at with Javi the night before. But whatever personality that she had seen in him had been gone. He seemed drained, sitting there beside his friend who couldn’t hide his rude comments about Kate and some man who just screamed evil corporate manager. She couldn’t prove that there was anything inherently bad about Scott or the old man that was sitting across from him, but she was certain that she didn’t feel any good vibes radiating off of them. 

“Is he not a morning person?” Emily questioned, following Kate outside. 

“He’s… no, he’s not. But he’s not usually like that, either.” She replied, seemingly just as confused as Emily was. Whoever that man sitting across from him was, he looked familiar. Not only did he look familiar, but he screamed bad news to the both of them. She couldn’t make any outright accusations that he was a bad person, but she didn’t feel like it would be a good idea to not be, at the very least, wary. “How was your night?”

“Wh-”

“I saw you go to dinner with Javi, I’m just curious.” There was a teasing tone in her voice, which only made Emily more embarrassed than she otherwise would have been. 

“We didn’t do anything, Kate. He only invited me because you didn’t want to go and he didn’t want to go alone.” She replied, trying to brush off her almost accusation. Nothing had happened, nothing besides them exchanging numbers. Even then, Javi had only texted her to let her know that he was safe and she had only added him as a contact and liked his message. There wasn’t much more to it than that. In fact, there was nothing more to it than that.

“In all the years I’ve known you, you’ve always been so concerned with getting your sleep. You said yes because you wanted to go out with him.”

“Maybe I just wanted to look at him.”

“Same difference.” She commented, but she parted ways from Emily after a moment. Though Emily was far from unintelligent, she wasn’t nearly as gifted with storms as Kate was - nobody was as gifted with storms as Kate was. When she went somewhere, Emily knew that she was doing what she needed to do, and she knew that she was going to do it with more accuracy than any other person. Or, even any computer.

After a moment, she felt the presence of someone beside her. For a moment, she allowed warmth to fill you, because she knew from the smell of his cologne that it was Javi. But, she also noted that there was someone with him. Presumably, Scott. 

“You girls planning on pulling another stunt?”

“Only plans on my mind are a hot date with your mother.” 

“Alright, no need for that, guys.” Javi tried to be the voice of reason, but as far as Emily was concerned, the real reasonable behavior would have been keeping Scott far away from her and every other person on planet Earth since he had no interest in acting anywhere remotely normal. He was just, overall, incredibly rude. It rubbed her the wrong way, but it also rubbed her the wrong way that Javi was associating with someone like that. “We should talk about seating in the car today.” 

“What about it? 

“Well, you sat on Kate’s lap yesterday. I don’t think that was particularly safe.” 

There were only two seats in the car. The rest of the room was designated for equipment. “You saying I should stay back? Because I’m not riding with him.”

“He’s right here.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

“Okay, okay. No. Not what I was saying.” Javi to place a hand on her shoulder, Emily’s eyes glancing from his hand to his face. Last night, he was just as attractive as he was now. But, in the sunlight, his freckles were easier to see, and his warm expression was far from what she had seen just a few moments ago in the diner. “I spent a little bit of time making it possible for you to sit between us, I just wanted to let you know. Okay? Are you calm?”

“I’m always calm.”

“She’s lying to you.” Kate started her from behind, but she had a pep in her step. Wherever they were going, they were doing it now. 

Emily, maybe, should have had more briefing on what sitting in the middle actually entailed. She was sitting shoulder to shoulder with both Javi and Emily since there was barely room for another person. She was harnessed in, and she couldn’t reason how this was any safer than being held by Kate. But, it was the thought that counted, and he probably wouldn’t put her in a situation that was entirely unsafe.

“If you feel like you’re insecure, let one of us know. You can share a seat with one of us, right Kate?”

“Absolutely, but I think she would be safer with you, Javi. You’re probably a little bit stronger than I am, even when you’re driving.” Kate, seemingly still giddy from whatever she had figured out, saw no harm in doing her part in setting up her two friends. Emily, however, saw that as a challenge to remain in her makeshift seat the entire time. But, she would swallow her pride if she absolutely had to. 

“Thanks for that.” Javi responded, taking the comment at what it was rather than really trying to consider what Kate was actually trying to do. Meanwhile, Emily couldn’t help but wonder if this seat was secure. She wasn’t bumping too much, it was clear that ‘a few minutes’ actually meant that he put a lot more effort into this than what he had originally let on. Still, her upper half wasn’t feeling very secure, and she was certain that she needed to at the very least keep her neck secure as to not get whiplash.

“You excited to see another tornado, Em?” Kate asked, glancing over at her. Emily smiled, but it was clear that her smile was nervous. She was excited, but she was also petrified.

“Absolutely. Terrified, but excited.”

“Don’t be terrified, just tell yourself that everything is going to be okay.” She reassured her, squeezing her hand for a moment before letting her go. Emily kept her eyes on the storm, the darkening clouds that she knew were soon going to turn into something a lot more damaging than some rain. 

For most of the journey, everything was okay. Kate was back in her element, and though she had initially been distracted by the constant feeling of Javi’s shoulder pressed against hers and the fact that she could vaguely feel the muscles in his arm working when he maneuvered with the steering wheel, she quickly became distracted by seeing her friend in a way that she had never seen her before. Kate had always been excited, but she had never gotten to see her like this before. It felt like this was natural for her, like this is where she belonged. Maybe it was, maybe it was a mistake that Kate was only agreeing to come back here for a week.

But, that intrigue into her friends mind was quickly distracted by the tornado. As much as Emily wanted to trust Javi’s driving abilities, whatever the definition of insecure was, she was certain that she was feeling it right now.

The moment it became clear that they couldn’t outrun it, she wasn’t sure what to do. She was absolutely petrified, her head down, her hand gripping onto anything and everything to give her some sort of stability. They were clearly, currently, inside of the tornado that was passing them. The loud noises on the top of the truck could either be from heavy debris, or something coming off of it. But she wasn’t sure what it was, or really what was going on, until it stopped. Well, when it stopped being on top of them. 

Her eyes slowly opened, meeting first with Javi’s. In her haste to grab something for stability, she must have ended up grabbing onto his hand (that and the gear shift beside her, she was grateful, at least, that she didn’t switch it into drive). 

“You okay, for this being your second tornado and all?” 

“I think so. Are we alive?”

“We’re alive.”

“Then I’m okay, probably.” She replied, slowly letting go of his hand. She really didn’t want to. It made her feel safer to have something to hold onto, but she knew that they were no longer in harms way. If they were in harms way to begin with, since they had survived what had happened without a scratch on their bodies. “But they won’t be.”

“Who?”

“It’s going toward a town, we need to help them.” Kate interjected, and it was clear to Emily just how serious this was based upon the way that Kate had paid no mind to her friends holding hands. It had been a heat of the moment thing, it would be wrong to tease her for it - but she knew under any other circumstance, Kate would have. But this took precedent over that, this was important. Because those people might not make it, and as cute as she found him, Emily certainly didn’t like the way that Javi valued his equipment over going somewhere that needed them to be there. 

Emily wanted to believe that Javi’s decision to help the people in the town who were going to be recovering from the storm was based upon his own desire to help people in need. Some part of her wondered if it had more to do with the fact that he felt like he needed Kate’s skills to help him, the fact that he had two people sitting beside him looking at him incredulously and pressuring him into doing the right thing. But she also couldn’t help but wonder if his apprehension about helping had less to do with himself, and more to do with the man who was sitting across from him and his obnoxiously rude friend. 

Anyone investing in any company is expecting a return, it’s the fundamental of business. What return was that man getting? In an ideal world, the desire to help people would be enough - but Bruce Wayne didn’t happen to be a majority of wealthy investors in the real world, and she was almost certain that a man who brought along company like a callous person like Scott was looking for some sort of financial return. The equipment Javi had was expensive, and she had seen the way he looked at that diner. But she chose to ignore it for a time being, they had more important things to worry about than her unfounded conspiracy theories. 

By the time they had arrived in the town, it was too late to do much other than help people recover. Emily had never seen a town after a tornado first hand, she had only seen the videos of it at work, on the news, on her phone. Everything through a screen that disconnected her from it personally, and made it impersonal in a sense. 

Seeing this in person, seeing rooms from people’s houses that were once covered, that they could have raised families in, ruined up close invoked a feeling in her that she couldn’t quite put a name on. That feeling was what led her to spend almost an hour speaking with an older woman in a rain covered wooden chair in her now roofless kitchen. Though she felt remiss not out there, not cleaning up, she didn’t quite realize what help she was giving to the woman who was able to have a conversation, to speak to someone interested in her story, to distract her from the financial struggle she was going to have to endure - from the struggle she was going to have with insurance companies over the phone for the coming weeks, and how she was going to have to leave this place in which she raised her entire family for a time. Even when she came back, no matter how much the insurance companies and contractors tried to make it the same as it was, those memories were never going to fully be repaired. 

At some point, Emily parted with the older woman and joined the rest of the people outside. Cleaning up houses, giving extra care to people’s photo albums and scrapbooks, helping them to salvage any food that wasn’t sucked up into the tornado or ruined by the rain. She even had the privilege of helping rescue a kitten from the debris, something that she often tried not to think about when researching storms since the toll on animals was something that made her heart ache. She remembered the stories from the famous Joplin tornado, the pain that the cows must have endured - animals were a sore spot, so it made her heart warm to be able to help one, to be able to return the kitten to the little girl who was worried sick on the sidewalk hoping beyond all hope that her beloved pet was okay.

Being involved in something like this in person was wholly different than it was just seeing it on the television. She ended up getting a ride back to the motel early into the evening, and quickly passing out from exhaustion from having worked so hard. The only thing on her mind as she went to sleep was how different it was, and how she truly felt as though she was making more of a difference here than she ever could have from her cushy office in Manhattan. In Manhattan, she was so disconnected from it all - so desensitized - that most people saw storms like these as an outlandish nightmare. On top of that, thy tended to see the victims of them as more of a number, than a person. That wasn’t their fault, they had no face to place upon them. But she did, now. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was going to feel more satisfied doing something like this, volunteering to help people in the most need, than she was sitting in an office and researching weather patterns. 

When she woke up, it was to the sound of someone pounding on her door. 

Emily bolted up, thinking that someone was trying to break in - maybe this place really was unsafe? But it was in that moment that she grabbed her phone, going to dial 9-1-1 before realizing that she had missed a number of messages from Javi and, somehow, a tornado watch that had shifted into a warning. 

Moving quickly, she opened her door and put her shoes on as quickly as possible, the panicked shouts of her friend signaling her to follow him. Moving to grab a coat, he took her hand and quickly gave him the one that he was wearing. The only thing she had time to pick up was her wallet as she followed him down to his car.

“How did you sleep through that?” 

“I don’t know!” 

“I tried to get Kate, I can’t find her. We have to move, okay?”

“Alright, okay.”

Emily has no recollection of there being a storm predicted for that night, but that was just the thing: tornadoes could be unpredictable. It was the most unpredictable, the nocturnal ones that were the most difficult to see coming, that she knew were the most dangerous. It felt like there was some sort of being creeping up on them - they knew that it was there, lurking in the night, but they just weren’t sure where exactly it was until it was too late. 

Javi’s car was rather strong, so she felt safe in it. But she also knew that no amount of strength could prevent the damage an especially strong tornado could cause. She just trusted that he knew what he was doing - after all, he had been living through things like this for seemingly his entire life. Assuredly, he knew where he was going.

“Isn’t this Scott’s car?”

He nodded, but didn’t say anything. Scott didn’t seem like an overly emotional person, and he also didn’t seem to care much about other people. It didn’t surprise her that he hadn’t cared enough to come along with Javi, but it almost made her wonder what he was doing instead. She was certain that, wherever he was, it was somewhere safe. But, what motivations did he have for whatever it was that he was doing. Some part of her didn’t want to know, she was certain that there was something about him that she just couldn’t trust. 

“You okay?” 

Emily’s silence must have been a worry for Javi, but she knew that he interpreted it in a way other than her thinking about what was actually on her mind. She was worried about the tornado, but in some weird way, she was calmed because she trusted that Javi wouldn’t have snatched her up in the middle of the night if he didn’t think she would be safer with him. She was certain that he believed that her silence was her worrying about the storm, when in reality it was her worrying that there was something about him that she should be privy to before she decides to trust him entirely, at this point.

“Where was Kate?”

“I was hoping she would have been with you.” 

It was odd, because Emily had no idea where Kate would have been if not with either her or Javi. Well, maybe she had some idea. Kate had seemingly been talking to Owens more than she should have been, maybe she was with him. That was the only other place where she could think of that she would have been, but even that didn’t bring her peace. What if the man was being reckless? What if he brought her on a nighttime chase? 

“Hey, we’ll find her, okay? We’ll go back to the motel when the storm ends.” He had stopped the car at this point, pulling into a place that gave you both a bit more coverage. A place that, he seemed to believe or know, was out of the path of the storm. Her eyes locked on his, taking in the way that he looked in that moment. He was tired, but he still looked more energetic than he first had when she saw him in the morning. She wanted to trust him, she wanted to not be worried that there was something lurking under the surface that she just didn’t know about, but it was difficult for her to do so without answers.

“Who was that guy this morning?”

“An investor, I told-”

“Yeah, but like… what’s he gaining? I don’t live that far from Wall Street, I know the type.” Emily felt bad asking him this. He had gotten her out of a dangerous situation, stuck his neck out for her when he had only just met her. She liked Javi, she trusted that he had no intention of doing anything to hurt her. But, she also knew the type to fall victim to financial traps. If he wanted to do what he did professionally, he needed investors, and if he happened to have someone who supported his project - maybe he just felt like he had no other choice. Having no other choice, just following orders, doesn’t absolve him of any wrongdoing. But, some part of her still doesn’t want to believe that there’s something inherently wrong with Javi. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

He was silent for a moment, regarding her in a way that told her what she already knew - she had crossed a line. But he kept his eyes on her, his soft, warm eyes that made her want to stay here forever. But she had to remind herself that she didn’t know this man. That her little crush was nothing more than that, a little crush. 

“He buys properties from people, he helps them rebuild.” There was a tone of defeat in his voice, but it also felt like that line was rehearsed. He knew that one of you was going to ask at one point, but he also seemed ashamed of it. He was doing what he was doing because he had to. He had to do this, there was no other way for him to fund his project. While the first part of his sentence seemed correct, the second part seemed entirely like course correction. The man bought the properties of victims, but it was clear it wasn’t to help the town rebuild or even to financially help the victims. He supported the chases because he wanted to be first on the scene, to make it appear that he was a caring guy. He wanted to make that money, to own the most land. He wanted to turn other people’s tragedies into a profit.

Emily wanted to say something in response, but she could see the defeat on Javi’s face. The worry in his eyes. Mainly, she wanted to help him get out of that situation, but she wasn’t sure how. Instead, she opted to change the subject.

“I like it here, you know. Helping those people today… I really wanted to make a difference tracking storms, but I was just one person in a sea of people and I really wasn’t doing anything meaningful.” She had made some progress. She mainly enjoyed leading groups of people around the place, groups of students who struggled to understand what a tornado even was. She liked helping people, that gave her a greater sense of fulfillment than any paycheck she had ever received. But it didn’t much matter, not in this economy. She had bills to pay, and she couldn’t just go without a job because she wanted to serve the greater good - how long would that last without gas money or a roof over her head? “I like most of the people I’ve met here.”

Javi’s eyes lit up for a second, because for the first time since they had started interacting, she was positive that she had actually gone through with flirting with him. He had picked up on it, noticed it. He would be naive to not realize what she was doing, and that was enough to distract him from their previous conversation. But it wasn’t enough to distract either of them from the sound of the tornado that was getting closer to them.

Emily could feel her heartbeat picking up, her eyes focusing on the mirrors in the car but knowing that she wasn’t going to be able to see anything. It was too dark, if she could see the tornado itself, that meant that she was probably not going to be seeing much after that.

Picking up on her nerves, she watched as Javi offered his hand. It was odd, really. She had only just met him, but she knew she felt more comfortable with him than she should. He made her feel safer, made her feel a whole lot less afraid of the impending storm. Reaching over, she took ahold of his hand and kept her eyes locked on the mirror. Lights in the distance were knocked out, lights that were getting closer and closer to her. At some point, she was certain that she had a tough grip on Javi’s hand, but he didn’t stop her. If it hurt him, he didn’t show it. 

By the time they were certain it was over, there was only one thing on either of their minds: finding Kate. 

Emily moved to let go of Javi’s hand, but stalled for a moment. She liked the feeling of his hand in hers, and since she was so nervous that they weren’t even going to find Kate, she almost didn’t want to let go because of that. Maybe they were both scared, maybe that was why he decided to drive with one hand so she could keep holding onto him. Javi would tell himself that he was doing it solely for Emily’s comfort, because he knew that she had to be scared since this was a whole new experience for her. But, he knew that he was doing it for himself, too. As much as he wanted to deny it, since he really hadn’t made any moves to commit to a relationship with anyone or act on any attraction he felt in quite some time, he couldn’t deny that he felt a mutual attraction toward Kate’s friend.

It was Kate herself who brought it up, Kate who put the idea into his mind when she noticed that he had been looking at her for a little too long. Kate, too, who pushed him to bring Emily to dinner with him the night before rather than going with him herself. She wasn’t sure what her motives were entirely, since they all knew that Emily didn’t live in Oklahoma, but that that didn’t mean that they couldn’t… well, they really weren’t doing anything at all. Javi saw that look in Emily’s eyes when he admitted just a piece of what his investors actually do. Once she sees it in action, once she does her own research, she’ll want nothing to do with him. Hell, she might want nothing to do with him the second they both find Kate. 

Those worries don’t stop them, though. Her fingers that had started to loosen from his hand maintaining a firm grip once she realized that he wasn’t going to force her to let go. If he had to have both hands to drive because of debris, he would, but she also needed to keep in mind that he was acclimated to this. 

When they did, eventually, find Kate Emily was left with a question. Kate left without much notice, and as much as Emily wanted to follow her, she didn’t feel that it would be right to do so. This was something that she needed to do on her own, some journey that she needed to go on to cope with what had happened. If Emily went with her, she knew she would be intruding. But, she also knew that it looked like she was choosing Javi over her, not only that, but that she condoned what it was clear to both of them that he was doing to support his business that wasn’t really helping anyone at all. While that wasn’t at all what she was doing, she knew that’s what it looked like. Still, she had no one else to go with, so she stayed. She stayed even though she would rather eat dirt than spend more time with Scott than she needed to. She didn’t really know the stormchasers that Kate had gotten acquainted with, even though she knew that they seemed to actually have a vested interest in helping people.

Perhaps, then, her path toward helping people could be a little bit different. She wasn’t naive, she was sure that there were a number of factors that drove Javi to continue supporting the businessman he worked for - the businessman who took every storm he could to cash in on people’s lives being ruined. She was also sure that he wasn’t going to change his ways because she - someone who he had only just met - insisted that ‘this isn’t you’, and ‘you need to worry about the greater good, it’s in your heart’. Emily has no idea what’s in his heart, but if she can try to convince him in some way that what he’s doing is wrong, Storm Par can’t function on the capacity that it is without him. If that’s the case, maybe the people who actually are helping won’t have so many people that need as much help as they do. Maybe her journey could simply be trying her best to encourage Javi - the only one she imagines isn’t too far gone - in the opposite direction without being too outwardly clear about her motivations. 

Sleep doesn’t come quite as easily for Emily that night as it hand earlier in the day, or even as it had the night before. Eventually, her mind stops racing and she’s able to get some sleep. 

Woken up at roughly nine in the morning to the sound of someone knocking on her door, she squints at the light coming in from the doorway as she opens it to find Javi standing before her once again.

“Starting to think you don’t own pajamas.”

“I just didn’t think about it.” She commented, glancing down at what she had fallen asleep in. She quickly removes the jacket that she had been wearing, the one that he gave her when she was rushed out of her room the night before. Handing it too him, she feels instant relief from the humidity coming from outside of her room. “Give me like twenty minutes, I’ll be ready to go to… where are we going?”

“Actually, I think you should stay back today.”

“I’d rather not.” 

“You saw a lot yesterday, you almost died twice.” 

As nice as the sentiment sounded, she knew that it wasn’t genuine. Javi, if he wasn’t so concerned with his finances and shady donors, would have been rightfully concerned that Emily had almost died and seen so much after having seen no tornadoes ever in her life before. But, she knew that there was something that he was hiding.

“I also just don’t want to force you to be around Scott.”

“Well, you’re not forcing me. I want to come.��� 

“Kate has my car too, I have no where for you to sit.” 

“I’ll sit with the equipment.” 

He contemplated for a moment, but shook his head. “I don’t think that’s safe.” 

“Okay, you said I could share a seat with you.”

“Not safe-”

“You don’t trust me, I get it. But I came here for a week, I paid for a flight, I paid for this motel room, and I’m getting my money’s worth.” 

Javi desperately wanted to say no, but agreed regardless of what he wanted. If you were going to insist upon coming, you were going to insist upon coming. He couldn’t simply tell you no, it would only make you distrust him more. Some part of him wondered if it even mattered if you distrusted him. If Kate wanted nothing to do with him, what did her friend who he barely knew actually matter? But those thoughts were the rude, uncaring thoughts that he knew that the people surrounding him carried in their hearts. That fear alone, that fear of turning into them and forgetting how to use his heart, was enough to make him give her what she was asking for. 

“Fine, you can come.” 

“Thank you, Javi. Let me get dressed, and if you leave without me just know that I’ll track you down.” 

“Noted, I won’t leave without you.”

Shutting the door, Emily started getting dressed while trying to figure out what her exact game plan here was. She knew that she could really say anything to change Javi’s mind, but she also knew that she needed to do something. What he was doing was more dangerous than she felt he recognized, the people supporting him went against everything that Kate had told her that he stood for. 

Kate. Right.

Checking her phone, Emily opened it to find a missed call from Kate that was followed by a text message. Checking out of the window to ensure that Javi was waiting down stairs and out of earshot, she called her back. It only took one ring for her to pick up, instantly bombarding her with a question of if she was okay.

“I’m fine, I’m- that’s why I’m calling you, I’m worried.”

“I’m okay, Kate.” She reassured her.

“I’m worried that you- let me just give you directions to my mom’s farm, you can come here. Javi- he’s not what he used to be, he’s not who he used to be.”

“That’s why I stayed.” She admitted, setting the phone call to speaker phone as she continued to get dressed. “What he’s doing is hurting a lot more people than just himself.”

“You don’t think you can change his mind, do you?”

“With enough effort-”

“Em, you just met him.”

“It’s not about him… entirely.” It was, predominantly, not about him. There was one sliver of Emily that believed it was, because she wanted better for him, because she had recognized that she enjoyed helping people and he needed some help. And, yes, because her kind of wanted to kiss him. But, that small sliver was not the largest part of her reasoning. “If he keeps doing this, more people are going to get hurt when they don’t need to so some old man can make a buck. It’s awful, Kate. I don’t- I don’t think he’s a bad person, I think he’s just working with bad people. I think he’s the only one who may change his mind.”

“What’s your plan then?”

“Not sure, working on it.”

“Em-”

“I’m not telling you that I can fix him, I’m just saying that I think I need to try to help. If just one town suffers a little bit less because of me, I’ll be satisfied. I’ve done nothing in the last five years but silently watch things happen, I need to do this.” 

Silence was what you heard on the other line, before you heard a sigh. A sigh that you knew all too well from Kate. “I trust you, but don’t blame me if Javi is unfixable.” 

“I’ll have nobody to blame but him.”

“Okay, stay safe out there.”

“You too.” 

With that, Emily finished getting dressed before meeting Javi downstairs. Though she could feel his glare, she avoided making eye contact with Scott as she climbed into the back of the car with the equipment.

“Sure you wouldn’t rather share a seat?” Javi seemed genuinely considered, eyeing her harnessless torso. She merely shrugged, there were no massive storms predicted for the day, so she doubted that she was going to be in as much danger as she had been. 

“I’ll be okay.”

“You could always have her stay back, if you’re so concerned.”

“She’s coming with us.” Javi didn’t pay Scott’s comment much mind, and Emily did her best to ignore it as well as she found a position in the back that felt comfortable enough. She wasn’t fully sure where she were going, she just knew that she was going to be a part of it one way or another. Maybe it was a good sign toward progress that Javi had ignored Scott asking him to insist Emily stay back, or, maybe he had just already conceded his protests and didn’t want to have the same conversation with her again.

What Emily couldn’t have predicted, even though she spent the entire car ride trying to predict and plot things, was that Javi would end up driving to Kate’s farm that Emily had said that she wouldn’t accompany her at. Maybe that was why he didn’t want her to come, because he knew that the conversation between the two of them wouldn’t go well and he knew that Emily was going to be upset about it. But, as upset as she was about it, she kept her mouth shut. It wasn’t until Javi motioned for her to follow him to the car that Kate had borrowed, that she finally got out of the awkwardly silent car she had been in alone with Scott for a few moments to follow him to the other car. 

Though she wanted to consider changing her mind for a moment, Javi had done Kate a small favor. Kate, in turn, seemed to have a more understanding expression on her face of Emily’s efforts. Granted, Emily didn’t think she had done anything to change his mind, nor did Kate. She could, however, see the tiny bit of light that was still inside of him. Maybe Emily’s idea wasn’t that far-fetched, but neither of them could be too sure about that. 

Taking the passenger seat, Emily watched as Javi spoke with Scott on the phone. 

“He’s taking that car back, do you want to get lunch?”

“But what about…” She motioned upwards, the sky becoming grayer than it had been for most of the ride there. 

“We have about two hours before that, and the ride back isn’t that long. Do you want to work on an empty stomach?” 

Emily was a tad surprised. He was inviting her to lunch, he was sending Scott back specifically so they would have lunch alone. She thought about saying no, believing that might be a step too far. But she almost wanted it to be a step too far, especially as she looked at the hopeful expression in those bright eyes of his. She couldn’t deny that she found Javi attractive, she knew that from the moment she met him. But she also knew that she was supposed to leave this place, that she was supposed to go back to Manhattan, that she was supposed to be doing this to make Storm Par less of a threat to the general public because of the creepy, shadowy donors that operated behind the scenes. 

She was supposed to be responsible, not just on time - but early. But that was why she never had much luck with romance, wasn’t it? She never had time for it, never had time for the distraction of it. She knew there was a storm coming, she knew that they were going to be in a time crunch, and all of her sensibilities were telling her to say no because it was what she had been doing when it came to desire for her entire life. Instead, Emily simply smiled and agreed to go to lunch with him. It, honestly, felt a bit freeing to do what she wanted (even if for only a short amount of time) rather than what she knew was wanted of her. 

Besides, going to lunch with Javi gave her more time to talk to him. Emily had a lot of questions that weren’t being answered when she was surrounded by people that he worked with, he almost seemed like a different person when it was just the two of them. Maybe that was just the way that he was, some men did seem like entirely different people when they were around their friends. But, for some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to think that was the case. Javi was easy to talk to, easy to be around. She liked speaking to him, and as much as she wanted to think logically and consider her plan, some part of her was screaming at her to just enjoy the fact that the guy she had found attractive at first glance wanted to go to lunch with her. Even if his reasoning was different from hers, it was at least nice since it was something she didn’t participate in a lot back in New York. Some part of her, as much as she wanted to deny it, really didn’t want to go back to New York.

Once they got to the small diner that they were going to eat at, Javi was quick to hold the door for her. She hadn’t even really seen him get to the door, so how he had moved that quickly while she was getting out of the car was beyond her. Still, she didn’t think about it too much. She couldn’t, since she was focused on the five seconds that he had his hand on her mid-back to guide her in to the restaurant. It was polite, but it made them look like a couple to onlookers. Even with that in mind, she couldn’t bring herself to mind. 

Sitting down across from him, they both ordered something simple before he finally started really talking to her. 

“So, you said yesterday that you were thinking about leaving the city.”

“I did say that.”

“Still thinking about it? Or did some sleep change your mind?” There was almost a hopefulness in his eyes, like he had a particular answer that he wanted her to say but wasn’t willing to push for it. He really couldn’t push for it, since they had only just met recently. 

“I’m still thinking about it, I didn’t really have time to look into… work.” She replied, honestly. 

“You seemed to put up with Scott that whole car ride so, uh- offer- offer stands.” 

“I didn’t remember there being an offer to begin with.” She replied, but she couldn’t deny the way her breath hitched. “You want me to stay?” Her voice was quiet, hopeful. She wanted him to want her to stay, but him wanting her to stay could be a bad thing. It meant a lot more than she wanted to admit, but she wasn’t sure how to deny that it would make her happy if he did. 

“I… yeah, I want you to stay.” Javi didn’t seem like he wanted to say that, but not because it wasn’t true. He did want her to stay, he wasn’t sure exactly why. He liked being around her, he found her attractive, he thought she was intelligent, and she was kind enough to not hate him after finding out some of the things about him that he wasn’t even sure why he told her. But, he also barely knew her. Asking her to uproot her entire life was insane, but he wasn’t really asking. He was leaving it on the table since she said she wanted something new, wasn’t that the kind thing to do? “I just don’t want you to miss out on doing what you want to do because of money.” 

He knew that feeling well, rejecting his own wants, desires, morals - rejecting his own heart and soul for money, because that was the one thing that kept him where he was. He didn’t want that for her, he didn’t want her to feel like she was under the thumb of some corporation where she didn’t feel like she was doing anything productive, where she really didn’t want to be, just because of money. He wanted much more for her. Plus, they were in the same boat with romance. He had waited, wanted, hoped for something. But he could never give anyone the time of day. 

Back in college, he wasn’t exactly a catch. Constantly sleeping, eating hot chips first thing in the morning like it was a normal breakfast, he was incredibly lazy. As he got older, he was less lazy. He worked hard to be where he was, but because of how hard he had to work, he didn’t have time for romance. He wasn’t sure yet if he wanted to date this girl, he barely knew her. But he knew that he felt drawn to her, and he knew that- well, he didn’t know. He wasn’t confident enough to make a move, he didn’t know if there was a point in trying to pursue someone who was just going to leave. Long distance was one thing when you’re a train or car ride away, but a plane? If she stayed, maybe he would be able to gain the confidence to try. 

“I just need to think about it, but don’t think I’m brushing you off. Okay? It’s just a big decision.” Truthfully, her mind was in the same precious position. She didn’t have the confidence to make a move, but if he did make a move, she would stay. At least, she would think about it a lot harder. Maybe extend her trip to consider her options in this situation for longer than she had at present. 

“No, I get it. It’s your whole life.” 

She hummed in agreement, taking a sip of her coffee. “You should tell me more about life around here, you know, so I can consider it a little bit better.”

It was clear that she was talking more about his life than just life in Oklahoma, and he had no issue picking up on that. Nor did he have any issue telling her about his life, his interests, his hobbies, his sort of perpetual loneliness since he was constantly on the road and didn’t really have time to be tied down by friendships or relationships. She was delighted to learn more about him, and in turn shared a pretty similar story. Well, a similar story in the sense that they were both, ultimately, rather alone. The key difference being the fact that Emily was surrounded by people, where Oklahoma was pretty quiet. She was stationary and remained lonely, but he was lonely because he wasn’t stationary. A part of her brain felt like there could be middle ground there if they wanted to continue working together, but she also had a fear of his company looming in the background.

Javi had built Storm Par, it was his baby and she couldn’t blame him for being proud of it. But, she also understood that his baby needed funding, and his funding was coming from people who were manipulating it to use other people’s suffering for their gain. There was some moral inadequacy in a person who was willing to do something like that just to keep a company afloat, but she also understood why. This, also, could be a part of how he was coping with everything that he was going through with the loss of his friends. Maybe he felt like it was the right thing, or maybe he had never really coped with it and didn’t feel much at all - let alone remorse. 

Actually getting to know him made it different, though. She didn’t feel equipped to judge him for the things that he had done, even though she couldn’t help it. Even if he had some terrible skeletons in his closet, she couldn’t help but notice the difference in the way he acted when he wasn’t around Scott and his investor versus when he was. He was calmer, more normal, and just as dorky as Kate had described to her.

Truthfully, even though he had been a bit messy in the pictures that Kate did show her (which wasn’t many, since the memories were rather painful for her), she had always thought he was cute. She never really imagined that she was ever going to be face to face with him, let alone that they were going to be sitting at a diner without the company of anyone else. Talking about their lives, about their ambitions, about their hopes and dreams and their stark lack of romance and lasting friendships besides Kate, who Emily had become friends with after Javi had left the picture. She never quite realized that they would have anything in common at all, judging by what Kate had told her about him. They did have a lot in common though, that’s what made it so easy for her to talk to him even though she had a crush that she wished she had an easier time ignoring. 

By the time that they left, they left with a closer relationship. She couldn’t ignore the slight fluttering in her stomach walking alongside him, feeling the back of his hand brush against hers for just a moment before he noticed it and moved it into his pocket. His personality was easy to mesh with, and his smile made her a little bit weak at the knees. She was a lot more confident going in to this storm, knowing that she could trust Javi even though she knew that she really couldn’t trust a single one of his friends. Since she had been in a few storms at this point, she doubted that this one was going to be any different. 

At first, it wasn’t that different. They both arrived back together, her mind lingering on the momentary touches and the look in his eyes. The way he smiled, the way that it made her heart flutter like a teenager getting asked to prom. She was almost giddy, even though she knew that they were both about to do something difficult - something incredibly dangerous. Still, she reasoned, he knew what he was doing and the rest of the team did too. She didn’t feel like she was in danger at first, she didn’t think the tornado was going to be that much of a risk. It wasn’t forecasted to be that much of a risk, so she was a lot calmer than she had been the previous days. Sure, maybe that calm was coming from her eyes continuing to linger on Javi, or the fact that his eyes continued to linger on him to. Even if that was the cause, it didn’t matter, because she did feel calmer… at first. 

But Scott was pushing harder than he maybe should have been. While Emily felt secure in the back with the equipment for a few moments, she found herself gripping onto anything she could find to keep herself from flying around. It wasn’t until everyone was screaming and worried that Javi shouted at her, insisting that she get in the front seat with him. Being a whole lot more willing to sacrifice her pride and sit on his lap than get whiplash or break her neck, she quickly obliged and climbed into the front seat. 

The belt wasn’t really built for two people, but it just barely fit over them. Just like she just barely got into the front in time. Judging by how the car jerked and the heavy machinery in the backseat flew with it, she knew that she was seconds away from having her head smashed against the wall. 

Somehow, that wasn’t the worst of it. There was no escaping this tornado, not with the vehicle flipped over. Emily’s calm was gone an an instant, but she wasn’t screaming in fear. She had only been so paralyzed with fear that she couldn’t get words out one time in her life before, but this was another one of those instances. She was barely remembering to breathe, let alone speak, or scream. She was certain that her face was coated in sweat and tears, but absolutely nothing was coming out of her throat.

The only confirmation that Javi had that she was still conscious was her strong grip on his arm, her wide eyes focused ahead as she considered all of the things that she had never gotten the chance to do. She had never gone to one of those balls that she wanted to go to as a child, in a big fancy gown with someone on her arm - granted, she had never had anyone to bring. She had never gotten a promotion beyond her yearly pay raise and being raised up from a junior employee to a regular employee with little added benefit. She had never learned what it was that made Kate want to talk to her. She’d never ridden a horse, only sat on an NYPD horse when she was in elementary school and got scolded for trying to make it move. She had never gone to Europe, constantly being too busy with school or work to even consider something like that. But, she also couldn’t help her thoughts from lingering. She had never been in an adult relationship, unless her college flings constituted as ‘adult’. She had never kissed the man who was also currently, seemingly, about to die with her. She really wanted to kiss Javi - unfortunately for her. 

Somewhat fortunately, Javi knew in that moment that he also definitely wanted to kiss her too. Whether that was a cruel fate or it was going to end up being a beautiful coincidence if they made it out, neither of them knew for sure until eventually - by some miracle - they were able to escape within an inch of their lives. 

While her and Javi insisted that it was important that they go help the people in the town who were about to be dealing with this absolute monster of a storm, Scott didn’t seem too convinced. In fact, he out right stated that he didn’t care about them. Now, she knew that is Javi agreed with him, if he was okay with what he was hearing from him, he might be too far gone. Just as he seemed to be doing the thing she feared he was going to do, he turned the car on as fast as possible and drove away. She doubted that his decision had much to do with her, but she was grateful for it regardless. Grateful, because he was freeing himself from the shackles of the people who had given her any apprehensions about him in the first place.

“Is it safe for me to have my own seat?”

“If you trust my driving.” 

“You’ve steered us well so far.” 

Emily moved over to the other seat, letting him adjust his buckle and buckling herself in. She wanted to say something, because with that realization that she really wanted to kiss him and the fact that the small apprehension she had about trusting him was now gone, she just really, really could not get the idea of kissing him out of her mind. They had almost died, and by some luck, they were alive. She knew she couldn’t take that for granted, but she also knew that right now was not the right moment. There were real people in danger, and every second mattered. Asking him to pull over or drive recklessly wasn’t a good idea, and it certainly wasn’t the idea that she could make without worrying. Plus, she still had no idea if the feeling was mutual. 

Arriving in the town itself was arriving into chaos, but the amount of people who had no idea what to do told her that they had made the right call. While these people, having lived in tornado alley for presumably at least a little bit of time, had to have experienced a natural disaster before, it was clear that they have never experienced one this strong. Emily had never experienced one this strong before either, but she knew that she couldn’t think about that right now. Not when she could see Kate, struggling to get someone out from underneath a fallen water tower. It had to have been Tyler Owens, she was certain.

Rushing out of the vehicle, Javi grabbed something that he could use to give leverage to them while Emily joined Kate in trying to get Tyler out. In the knick of time, they were able to get him out from under the water tower and into the movie theater. The theater itself, though, was old. The structure of it certainly wasn’t built to outlast this storm, but that didn’t mean there was no where to go. Splitting up, she ran to find somewhere that could lead to a basement, to no avail. Meeting up with Javi and Tyler again, she found that nobody could locate a basement. Guilt filled her more than fear, because she had helped lead people to believe that this theater was a save place to be when in reality it was no safer than being outside. At least, not much safer than being outside. 

That guilt was quickly forgotten when she realized, like the others, that Kate was not with them. Kate had mentioned very little of her past, but she had explained what she had been experimenting on to Emily a long time ago. That was what made her trust her in the first place. She wasn’t in this because she wanted to, some day, be on the television reporting the weather. She wasn’t doing this because she wanted a pay raise, or even just because she found it interesting. She was doing it because she wanted to help people, but right now, that desire to help people was going to get her killed.

Emily’s heart told her to run after her, but her mind rejected it. She needed to survive, they all did. 

Rushing back in the theater, nobody was given much time before they were all gripping onto a the seats in the theater for dear life. If she had been worried about dying before, she was petrified now. This time she wasn’t paralyzed in fear, her hands were gripping the chair as tightly as she possibly could manage, her screams being absorbed into the army of screams and the loud storm looming just outside. Chairs were being taken, more and more rows of chairs that were leaving her wondering if she was next. If it wasn’t her, what about Javi? She wasn’t even sure where he had went, she had been so hasty in grabbing onto a chair that she didn’t keep track of him. Was he still alive? Was she?

Just as she felt her death-grip beginning to loosen, the wind slowed down. She couldn’t be too sure if she was safe until she felt herself able to move her elbow. Getting up, her first instinct was to look for Javi. She had nearly died enough times without kissing that man in one day, and she certainly wasn’t going to run the risk of doing it again.

After a moment, she found him. 

As it would seem, he had the same idea that she did. The moment that they reached each other his hand was on her cheek, his thumb pressed against her chin to tilt her face towards him. She gripped onto his shirt, pulling him closer as their lips melded together. They were out of breath, soaking wet, and barely even positive that they had actually survived at this point. But the kiss was grounding, it was grounding, but it was enchanting. She was nearly mesmerized by the feeling of his lips against hers, the feeling of his warm hand pressed against her wet cheek.

For just a brief moment, she allowed herself to forget about the chaos outside, slowly pulling apart from him only to let him rest his forehead against hers. She had been through a lot, and it was a lot more of a thrill than she was even remotely used to. But even with that, she knew in her heart what the right choice was.

“I don’t know if your company is still operational, but I want to stay.” 

“I want you to stay, you don’t need to worry about- don’t worry about housing. I’ve got you, I promise I’ve got you. Just- please stay.” 

She leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to his mouth. “I’m staying, I won’t leave you.”

While she wanted to stay there kissing him forever, to continue to be close to him, she couldn’t. They both needed to find Kate, and with the help of Tyler, they found her relatively quickly. She was battered and bruised, but she was alive. She was alive, and she was smiling. With a breath of relief, Emily sent her friend a thumbs up when - even in her slightly out-of-it state - she raised an eyebrow at her holding hands with Javi. Despite all of the stress, despite all of the moving parts that still existed, Emily knew that everything was going to be okay. 

When the week was over, Emily and Kate were both at the airport, but only one of them was ready to board a flight.

“You really should be paying me for packing your stuff for you.” 

“I told you my cousin could do it, Kate.” Emily reminded her, a smile covering her face regardless. “And, I’m sorry, who was the one who insisted that it would be ‘really cool’ if I dated her friend? I’m thinking that was you.” 

“Your cousin is a shit packer, I’ll do it.” She responded, glancing back toward the car. She didn’t miss the gaze that Javi had on her friend, a warm smile covering her face. “And it is really cool, you’re good for each other.”

“I know, I really like him.” She admitted, before sending her own curious glance toward Tyler. “What about you and your cowboy? Sure you don’t want to stay with him?”

“My cowboy, give me a break.”

“He’s definitely your cowboy, and he’s coming this way! See you soon.” Emily’s voice came out in a sing-songy tone, giving her friend a final hug before getting into the car with Javi. “He’s definitely her cowboy, look at him. Like a puppy watching his owner leave. Think he’s gonna work up the courage to ask her out?”

“He’s gotta.” She watched their interaction, watched the way that it almost seemed like Tyler would give in and go without her. Thankfully, though, he didn’t. A grin covered her face as she watched them, as she finally got to see her friend recover from what she had gone through. “Attaboy.”

“So… does everyone come out of storms in a relationship? I hadn’t heard of that before this week.”

“Just the really, really cool people.” He leaned forward, her smile not fading from her lips as she closed the gap and pressed her lips against his. Javi brought his hand to rest on the back of her neck, his own lips in a smile as he kissed her making the kiss feel a bit messier than the one before. She sighed into it, no longer bothering to ignore the warm and fuzzy feeling in her chest. 

Leaving New York had originally been a big risk, filled with nothing but curiosity and unresolved questions. Emily never could have imagined that it would have ended with her finally finding someone who she deeply cared about, someone who she was willing to move her entire life around for, someone who she was willing to almost die in storms with once in a while. But she did, and that’s all that really matters to her now. No moving parts, no apprehensions, the only thing she can truly bring herself to care about is the peace that she’s managed to find in situation that can be described as anything other than peaceful.

[55sturn]

✮ TO KNOW THINGS LIKE LOVE

pairing: matt sturniolo x fem!reader [ past tense ]

synopsis: in which matt still grapples with the devastating loss of his girlfriend, y/n.

warnings: angst. angst. angst. ANGSTTTTT. death of main character, car crash including flashbacks, matt dealing with survivor’s guilt, swearing, panic attacks, mentions of hospitals, night terrors. get your tissues ready.

THIRD PERSON POV

for a good chunk of his life, matt had things planned out for him. nick would wake up before both him and chris, plan their day then relay the plans and activities to the two younger triplets, and matt would roll with the punches with a minimal amount of disagreement.

then y/n came along, and she’d plan out dates for them, things they could as a group, and so on and so forth. matt was much more willing to go along with those plans.

matt could count on someone in his life setting the plans for the day. he could count on people directing him where to go and what to do. everyone in his life was reliable.

what he couldn’t rely on, was idiotic drivers t-boning the passenger side of his car, killing his girlfriend on impact. leaving him there, limp and bloody with his dead girlfriend beside him, her hand still in his.

what he couldn’t rely on was the ambulance getting to the scene of the crash in a decent amount of time, forcing him to hear the screeching of rubber on replay in his head.

what he couldn’t rely on was his night terrors and panic attacks, he was living in agony not knowing when they’d creep up his spine, forcing him to shoot up straight, choking back sobs and gasps of airs until he was shaking so violently that he’d double over and empty the contents of his stomach on the ground.

he was no longer the same person he used to be, and it was destroying him.

HERE I AM WAKING UP, STILL CANT SLEEP ON YOUR SIDE

matt was woken from a deep slumber by vivid flashes of light behind his eyelids, followed by glass shattering and y/n’s laugh getting cut short as the other car made impact.

sighing, he ran his hand down face, forcing himself to look at her side of the bed. he felt tears well along his waterline as he saw it in the same state that it was in the day she died, eight months ago. he hasn’t had the heart to remake her side of the bed or to even touch it, knowing she wouldn’t be coming back to mess it up.

pursing his lips, he hastily wiped his eyes, and climbed out of bed. flicking on the hall light, he stumbled into the kitchen. he sat at the table, flicking through his camera roll, watching the countless videos of his girlfriend laughing and smiling, bringing sorrowful tears to his eyes. unable to help himself, he picked up the glass of water he had grabbed himself and chucked it at the wall before dropping to the floor and bringing his knees to his chest, his body completely wracked with broken and choked-up sobs.

upon hearing the crash, chris made his way up the stairs, knowing he’d find matt in the kitchen. as he turned the corner, the sight broke his heart. seeing his brother curled in on himself, choking out sobs that were heartbreaking enough to bring the toughest man to tears.

“oh, matt. i’m so sorry.” chris whispered, sitting beside matt and pulling him into his arms, his face pressed against matt’s bicep as the two sat on the floor.

“it-it’s not fucking fair chris! i can’t do this without her. i can’t fucking sleep without picturing her cold, dead body beside mine, her dead fucking hand in mine. i can’t fucking breathe without her chris. it’s not fair that i get to go on while she’s six feet under.” matt sobbed, his voice raw and completely destroyed, breaking chris’ heart in the process.

“i know man, i can’t fix any of this, and i-i wish i could so fucking badly, but she wouldn’t want you to beat yourself up like this matt, and you know that. i know you miss her and i wish more than anything, to turn back time and stop you guys from going, but please, just hold on. for me, for nick, justin, for mom and dad. for y/n.” chris cried, rubbing his brother’s back, pressing his forehead against the side of matt’s head, trying his hardest to comfort his brother.

once matt had calmed down a little bit, chris let him crash in his bed while he slept on the couch in his room, knowing it was far too hard for matt to sleep in his own room.

THERE’S YOUR COFFEE CUP, THE LIPSTICK STAIN FADES WITH TIME

when matt finally woke late the next afternoon, he made his way back into the kitchen to grab more water, as he opened the cupboard, he spotted y/n’s signature coffee cup, her light pink lipstick stain still imprinted on the side of the cup.

with a sad smile, he gingerly took the cup in his hands, hovering his thumb over the lipstick print. sighing, he pressed his lips to the outer corner of the stain and placed it back in the cupboard.

CLEANING UP TODAY, FOUND THAT OLD ZEPPELIN SHIRT

it’s been two months since matt’s last severe breakdown. he had finally agreed to start grief counselling and therapy, knowing he had to do something about the things he was struggling to handle.

his councillor had told him he should start by bringing out a few of y/n’s things and placing them where he can see them, instead of locking them away and pretending like she was never there.

matt struggled to accept that he’d see her things but once he started doing it, he found that it made it easier. it made the process of healing much, much easier. with her things out in the open, it felt like she was still around the house. he had to remind himself that she wasn’t going to come through that door again, but there’s been a few times where he was able to tell himself that without crying.

and so, following his grief councillor’s advice, he also decided to do a deep cleaning, sorting through his clothes and other random shit in his closet. as he reached to the back of the top row of clothes, he found y/n’s battered and ripped zeppelin shirt.

the one she wore when she’d paint, dye her hair, do deep cleans around the house that involved bleach and other chemicals. with a heavy sigh, he bunched it in his hands, bringing it to his face and taking a deep breath.

for the first time in almost eleven months, the scent of her kingering perfume didn’t bring tears to his eyes. it brought a sense of comfort. almost like she was enveloping him in a hug from the other side of the portal dividing the dearly departed and the living.

IF I CAN DREAM LONG ENOUGH, YOU’D TELL ME I’D BE JUST FINE

as matt drifted off to sleep, he felt a warm hand caressing his cheek. the owner of the hand running their thumb along his cheekbone the same way y/n would. with a slight gasp, his eyes shot open. as his eyes adjusted to the dark room, he saw the figure standing beside his bed,

“hi my love, i miss you.”

“y/n, honey? is that you?” matt choked out, his body overcome with a strong, desperate sob as he reached out to touch her, his hand brushing through her silhouette. but as it brushed through, it almost felt like he was touching her.

“i miss you baby, so fucking much. just know it wasn’t your fault, matt. don’t blame yourself please.” she cried gently, making matt smile sadly, he always thought she looked so beautiful when she cried.

“are you safe, honey?”

“yeah baby, i am. i’m watching over all of you.”

“it’s so hard without you.”

“i know my love. i wish i could come back but i know you’ll be just fine.”

“when can i see you again?”

“some day matt, i promise.”

“i love you, y/n.”

“i’ll love you forever, matty.”

as she pressed as kiss to his forehead, matt’s body jolted completely awake, his head feeling warm where her lips had touched his skin in his dream. normally, he’d feel extremely distraught after a dream of her, but seeing her and hearing that she was safe, made him feel at ease.

unable to fall back asleep, he sat up and reached across his bed, running his hand along the sheet on her side, feeling the duo in the mattress that had molded to her body. smiling, he plucked mr. wrinkleton off her nightstand and planted him in the middle of her side of the bed, finding some sort of comfort in him keeping her side safe.

rolling back over, he reached into drawer of the nightstand on his side and pulled out the small velvet box that he was planning to give to her when the got back that night.

“one day i’ll give this to you, y/n, wherever you are, honey.” he whispered to the dark before tucking himself back into bed.

that night, he had the first peaceful rest he had experienced since y/n passed. he was able to fall asleep knowing how lucky he was to feel love as great as the one he had with y/n. he felt incredibly lucky to have known something so beautiful, raw, devastating, and pure. to him, he felt that to known things like love, is to have lived a full and warm life.

✮ taglist: @dylsdunbar @soursturniolo @4sturns @sturnsclutter @spencerstits @meanttomeet @bluesturniolo333 @graciereid @abbie13sworld @ghostofbrock @l9vesick @mylifeisevenstranger @bethsturn @ifilwtmfc @verosivy

© 55STURN 2023 [ you do not have permission to copy or save or share my work to other platforms and devices! ]

[cripplecharacters]

How should you write/draw burn survivors? I know this isn't a drawing blog but I don't know of one that I could ask this question to.

Hello!

I'm not a burn survivor myself, so I'll mostly talk about facial differences/visible disability in general and link some stuff made by burn survivors.

First thing, I think it's important to remember that being a burn survivor changes a lot of things - not only appearance. Very important part is the psychological one, but I'm not a burn survivor so I will just let the resources linked below speak.

From the physical aspect, burns can also come with: chronic pain, limited range of motion due to scarring, tightened skin, problems with regulating temperature, itching, skin irritation, and even different nutritional needs during the initial healing process.

There is also specific everyday care associated with burns - something you basically never see in fiction. That could be things like occupational therapy, physical therapy, skincare (like heavy moisturizing and scar massaging), wearing sunblock, wearing splints, or stretching to prevent contractures or tightness.

There are also different types of burns and they (unsurprisingly) differ from each other - for example, electrical burns have a much higher rate of amputation than any other type. Chemical burns can cause eye issues. A burn caused by a fire in a closed space might result in a brain injury due to the lack of oxygen. A much larger portion of people than you (probably) assume have survived burn injuries as small children, and if they were young enough they might not even remember the event at all, unlike older people who might be very affected by the trauma.

Experiences of a person with 80% body surface burns, a person with quadruple amputations from an electrical burn, a person with a facial burn, and a person burnt very recently will be different from someone who has a 5% body surface 2nd degree burn in a spot that’s usually hidden, who has lived with their burn for a decade - despite them all being burn survivors.

When it comes to more thorough research, I recommend going through Phoenix Society’s and Face Equality International’s websites to learn more about both real burn survivor’s perspectives, and face equality as a social justice topic. I think the 3rd link (see below) puts it very well when talking about burn survivors being represented in fiction:

“Most likely, these characters were not created by someone with lived experience. The result is an increasingly garbled game of telephone [...] To avoid contributing to this false narrative, embrace research as part of the process. Explore interviews, first-person accounts, and articles from reliable sources.”

I personally think that the links below should be mandatory reading for writing not only burn survivors, not only people with facial differences, but visibly disabled people in general - because the treatment we get is often so similar the advice still holds up just fine. And if you don't plan on writing any of these, you should still read them to see how prevalent of a problem ableism in media is.

Lise Deguire's Hey Hollywood - scars don't make you evil.

Face Equality International's International Media Standard on Disfigurement.

Niki Averton's Tips for Writing about Burn Survivors.

The main sentiment that you will read from basically any first-hand source is that if you're writing the burn survivor to be either:

evil (just throw the whole character away. please.)

a guy with the "World's Saddest Most Tragic Backstory Ever and It's So Sad and Tragic" (because he revealed he has a scar.)

a helpless victim who is there to be The Helpless Victim

...then you're already doing it wrong and need to make some major changes.

From our blog's reblogs and posts, you might want to look at tips for writing a visibly different/disabled character and tips on drawing people with facial differences. Neither are specific to burn survivors but cover the topic of visible disability and facial differences.

Now for tips on drawing burn survivors (that weren't included in the last link);

Reference real people. 99.9% drawings of burn survivors seem to go through the same "increasingly garbled game of telephone" that Niki Averton mentions with how burn survivors are written, in that the newer the drawing, the less in common it has with how real people with burns look like because people reference from each other and none of them ever think to actually check if their depiction is accurate. If you just google "burn survivor" you will very quickly notice that burn survivors don't have that damn red overlay layer put on top of their skin. It just doesn't look like that, and basic research (aka Google Images search) will tell you that - and still, people color a hand with bright red and think that's how it looks like (it doesn't).

In the same vein, maybe don't just draw an able-bodied person and then put some scarring on top (or maybe do exactly that. No burn scar and no burn survivor is the same, and there are people that fit what I just described... but hear me out for a second). Think about how scars interact with their features - do they have both of their ears? Do they still have all of their hair? Do they only have parts of their eyebrow? Do they have all of their fingers? Can they move the same as before their burn, or are their scars limiting their joints? How did their body react to the post-burn hypermetabolism? Lots to think about. Take into account what type and thickness of burns your character has.

Ditch the mask trope. Just ditch it. There's no need to cover your character's scar from the world unless you as the author think it requires to be hidden, is too scary to show, or other ableist trope that seems to always come up with drawings of visibly disabled people, especially burn survivors. The one exception I will mention is a transparent face orthosis/mask (TFO) that facial burn survivors might wear while awaiting a skin graft early after their injury. But as the name suggests, it's transparent and doesn't work for the awful "ohh scary facial difference better cover it up and only reveal it in some hyper dramatic scene!!" trope because you can see right through it. (I will also mention that TFOs are a very modern thing. Your medieval burn survivor wouldn't be wearing one.)

No "body horror", no "gore" tags or trigger warnings or whatever. That's a human being. If you feel the need to warn your followers before they see a disabled person existing, you're better off not drawing them.

Some last notes;

Throughout this ask I used the term "burn survivor" rather than "burn victim" because that is, to my knowledge, the general community preferred phrase. Individual opinions will differ (because no group is a monolith) but "burn survivor" is generally the safest term to use and probably the best if talking about a fictional character.

Similarly, I used "facial difference" rather than "disfigurement". Just as the above, opinions will differ on what is the best to use but I personally, as someone with facial asymmetry and a cranial nerve disorder, heavily prefer the term "facial difference" over "disfigurement". (I am in this case The Individual Opinion Differing because you can notice that in the links above, facial difference and disfigurement are used interchangeably. The general community uses both, some people have specific preferences. I'm some people.) When talking about a fictional character, "facial difference", "visible difference" and "disfigurement" are all probably fine. Just stay away from calling a person "deformed".

mod Sasza

[internetegoist]

Of Shidou Ryusei ; And how his character connects towards sexual trauma

(Content warning: Major mentions of SA/CSA and abuse, minor mentions for NSFW behaviour. Most of them aren't in graphic detail, but please please be wary of it 🙏 There's also spoilers for CSM and A Clockwork Orange)

Shidou's character is one of those that sticks with you throughout the entire series. It feels like we know everything about him, yet there's something so mysterious about his behaviour that makes you wonder, what's with this guy? We know how he acts, his violence and vulgarity injected in his brain and blood, but yet we don't know why he acts the way he is. It is very heavily implied that he went through a sort of restriction, born in a bird cage which he freed himself from through going to Blue Lock, but what is that restriction? What was the bird cage which trapped him? What was it that was holding him back from searching for freedom and exploring the world?

Since then, there's been a large speculation of theories on what his backstory could be. But one of them I want to talk about is about how his backstory is connected to SA, and how he could have experienced it at a young age. At first, I was extremelyyy hesitant to follow it due to how it made me a bit uncomfortable to discuss about, and how I saw a majority of people supporting the theory use it for shock value rather than a chance to devolve into darker topics. Of course, not the case for everyone who supports the theory, just from my own personal experience in the fandom.

But now, I can see the extremely, deeply discomforting vision on how this could be true in a way. From both his favourite manga and movie involving SA as an integral part in the story, to the concerning side of him being slightly revealed in the Egoist Bible. (Eg. crying at the end of the day, when he's feeling nothing or when he's empty, as well as his dislike of gifts)

Due to my heavy interests, I wanted to explore this theory into a more deeper matter. I decided to analyze more of his behaviour, as well as doing some of my own research. I must say, Shidou's behavioral manner can be one that is similar to those of SA survivors, especially male survivors.

Okay okay, enough yapping around. Let me get straight to the point.

Shidou and his instinct's responses

Generally after experiencing sexual abuse, one's entire personality will change. Every behaviour change is different for every sexual abuse survivor. Sometimes they'll isolate themselves more often, sometimes they turn into a much aggressive and violent person. Because the world has failed them, the world is putting them in a place where they are no longer safe and are more vulnerable. Because when your entire sense of self and personal power is taken away by your abuser, you are left with nothing but fear and new survival instincts. Why I bring this up is because Shidou's entire personality is built on instincts. His instant response to even the slightest hint of dislike or threat is to immediately beat them up, no matter who they are. A noteworthy thing to mention is that one of the main responses from males following sexual trauma is anger, because it is more socially acceptable for men to react that way. Attacking someone is the best way of defense, and Shidou follows this way of defense entirely. This also follows up with the stigma with the male ethic of self-reliance, in which help-seeking behaviours can be seen as cowardly or unmasculine.

It's most likely the reason why he also dislikes Kunigami's philosophy of heroes; Considering the fact his entire character is based on wanting to be free from restriction, he must have lived in an environment and/or went through a sort of restriction which influenced his ideals of "I can fend myself, I won't need anyone". The world he has grown up in was nothing but survival against the abuse he went through, so for what purpose should he believe in the principle of a savior, if he himself could have never been saved? It doesn't help either when in real time, there have been many cases where survivors of sexual abuse are either never believed when they speak out about it, or never speak out at all in fear of not being believed.

And besides the fact he uses violence as a defense method, one thing I noticed about Shidou is that during the time he was locked up by Ego for inducing violence onto Rin. We see him, perhaps for the first time, being calm and offering a promise that he'll make sure to stop fighting and hitting others, as long as he is let out of that prison he's trapped in. You see, a common reaction victims will use during the process of the SA is to freeze. To stay silent and still. It's like how animals freeze to avoid fights or further harm to themselves, or play dead in order to prevent getting eaten by predators. Although the outer self may seem to be in a calm state, the inside are on high alert, because they are afraid on what will be their abuser's next moves. The option to fight or run away may seem easy to those who haven't experienced SA, but to the victim it may seem harder than you think. Because freezing is a body's instinct response to abuse, and it'll stay frozen until the abuse is over, it's almost like a human's way of playing dead, so that the assault induced will end sooner. Among the instincts of 'fight, flight, freeze', Shidou seems to use fight the most out of the three. However, when necessary times come necessary measures, Shidou, perhaps for the first time, switches to 'freeze' instead of 'fight'. Not only because he basically, cannot physically fight anyone at that moment, but also because he is afraid. Afraid of being restricted yet again, afraid of not having the chance to live his life, which is to play football. The worst position to be in when you're being hurt or abused is limitation. You can't move, you can't fight, you can't run away from your abuse from happening. Nothing but hope that the abuse happening to you will end soon, that your abuser will stop hurting you. That's exactly what is so terrifying about the freeze responses.

Shidou and his sexual behaviour

If any fan knows anything about Shidou, it's that he's not afraid to speak out what's on his mind, especially lewd and inappropriate words. More or less, this can be connecting to something called hypersexuality. Accordingly, hypersexuality is defined as an intense focus on sexual fantasies, urges and behaviours that can't be controlled. Hypersexuality can not only cause distress, but also problems in school and workplace.

Survivors of sexual abuse cope in one of the two ways: Either by avoiding sexual or intimidate interactions entirely, or seeking said interactions on a large and unhealthy scale. According to this article, a majority of men who suffer from hypersexuality or sex addiction have been either physically or sexually abused in their childhood.

We see Shidou quite literally compare scoring a goal in football, to sexual intercourse. (And also the part where he says he's gonna blow his load, with Sae also dismissing it, but it's just partners supporting each other!)

By now, we know that two things that Shidou is unable to separate from each other is life and football. Both the act of life and the act of playing football is interconnected. Because football is something that allows him to leave a mark, allows him to be known by the world. Because football is a biological phenomenon to him, rather than just a sport.

And yes sure, this is supposed to be a connection to his philosophy of leaving a mark on others, so that you can be remembered. But also remember what he says in his monologue: "Those who create something, those who want to become something, and of course, those who make children." The way humans create life is through intimacy, through intercourse. The two people engaging leave a mark on each other through creating that life, that child.

And while speaking about his monologue of leaving a mark, Shidou also mentions that wounding others are a way of leaving behind a proof of existence. Inducing abuse whether it'd be physical, emotional or sexual, can also be one of the ways to make someone remember you.

The abuser leaves the mark on the victim, the mentioned mark left on them can be seen as PTSD or trauma symptoms.

Abuse is not something you can just simply turn away, forget or overlook. Whether the effects of trauma are short-term or long-term, they are there, they are a proof of existence that it happened. Shidou's inability to separate the physical act of football and the biological act of life's desires, especially sexual desires, can be seen as hypersexuality. Hypersexuality can also be seen as a mark left onto the victim. And it's extremely lengthy to recover and remove those marks left on you.

Of Freedom and Shidou Ryusei

I think Shidou Ryusei and his obsession with freedom is something so interesting about his character, yet so many people tend to ignore it as a significant part of him. Because imagine if one day out of the blue, your entire bodily autonomy gets taken away from you, you're trapped in a cycle of repetitive abuse onto you. When it's finally over and you have control over everything again, the world suddenly feels so utterly different. So what do you do? Of course, cling onto that freedom that is now yours.

Bite any other hand that may seem like it's trying to take it away, because if there is one thing you do not ever want to repeat, it is someone isolating you once more against the world. So hold on tightly to the freedom you now have, and make sure it stays with you for eternity.

All of Shidou's favourite things, his favourite film, manga and song, are also connected to this in a way.

It would take too long for me to get into detail about both Chainsaw Man and A Clockwork Orange, but I want to say that both media and their protagonists have approaches to freedom of life and choice.

In Chainsaw Man, Denji is a child that has been depraved of even the basic of human needs; Just like Shidou, he wants to claim everything in his current life and not return to when he had nothing when he was a child. In A Clockwork Orange, Alexander who in the beginning of the movie has been committing heinous crimes with no one to stop him, is captured and put through inhumane experiments in order to rehabilitate him. His entire freedom is taken away from him and for the next hour, we see him go through immense suffering and torture by those who he had wronged to the point he attempts to commit suicide through jumping off a window. In the end, it doesn't seem like his mindset has changed at all. It makes us question whether or not letting someone be free to do anything they want is the better option even if it hurts others, rather than attempt to isolate them in order to transform them into a better human being.

I would like to talk a little about his favourite artist. For a bit of context, hide is popular for being an icon of rebellion against Japan's conformist society, and one of his songs PINK SPIDER, is listed as Shidou's favourite song according to the official Blue Lock Egoist Bible. I've seen a lot of interpretations of what the song truly means, but the main story is that it's about a spider trapped within and kills anything near it. Because it wishes to free itself away, it steals a butterfly's wings. It attempts to fly, and fails, and tries again. Whether or not the spider did actually succeeded in flying away is unknown to us. But, that's not all!

Around the chapter where Shidou scores a goal, the commenter calls it a 'rocket diving header'. This can lead to one of hide's other songs in the same album as PINK SPIDER, rocket dive; a song with the similar approach of freedom but with different tones. Compared to PINK SPIDER, rocket dive has a more cheerful approach. In the end of the song, the star mentioned in rocket dive successfully flies away and appears as a new shooting star in the sky.

Which brings me to point out something: Shidou Ryusei's birthday is on Tanabata, a type of Japanese celebration called the Star Festival which is celebrated on the seventh day of the seventh month.

His name, Ryusei, is also a homophone for shooting star in Japanese.

Shidou, born as a star on the day where two lover stars meet, yet when he was born, he was not allowed to fly and join the others in the sky.

But he overcame everything, achieved that dream of having the freedom to do whatever he wants. And even though he went through all that pain, all that abuse, and most likely had to learn how to escape by himself through football before Blue Lock, he made it come true, like a spell.

And eventually, he learnt how to fly, and let the world knew who he was.

[rel124c41]

BACK TO CHEST (SOUL TO SOUL). jade leech

Saprophytic organisms obtain their nutrients by breaking down dead organic matter.

tags: main character death (permanently tho?), dark magic, family dynamics, survivor guilt, established relationship, malleus’s unrequited crush on reader, & happy halloween

a/n: jade & floyd's mother's name siphon from @mochinomnoms

word count: 12, 802

When Malleus Draconia, prince of Briar Valley, overblotted, you were beheaded. 

Jade has been rolling that sentence in his head for the entire month. He has been trying to make sense of it. Like a student retyping a sentence, he changes it up every so often; when housewarden Malleus Draconia overblotted, you were beheaded; when Malleus Draconia, born January 18th, 202 centimeters tall, green eyes, a hundred or so years old, overblotted, you were beheaded; when Malleus Draconia, nicknamed Tsunotaro, overblotted, you were beheaded; when Malleus Draconia overblotted, Jade had to watch you be beheaded from Diasoma’s dormitory barbican. The facts do not seem real no matter how much he edits them.

Part of him deducts that it might be because beheaded is the wrong word. Beheaded implies decapitation: the head fully cut off from the body. You did not resemble a cleanly-made dullahan. The slashing, void magic Malleus Draconia sent out cut from your frontal bone diagonally down to your occipital bone. 

Jade hopes more fiercely than a child wishing on a star that it felt like a painful flick to your forehead than nothing else. He does not want to entertain the thought you might have been conscious, wondering when your hair caught fire as you suffered through incomprehensible pain. Visible brain matter stuttering with a few painful last thoughts as you were cut apart.

So, with that said, it has not really registered in Jade Leech’s own brain that you are really dead. He can find the words perfectly fine. He cannot find the meaning of that mysterious poetry, no matter how embellished or how nudely plain.

Which is why his brother has to say certain words to him real slowly. Make sure the meaning sticks. Elongating them, sometimes repeating, “Today’s (Name)’s funeral, Jade. You have to get up.” Which comes out as fuuuh-neeer-al, yooo-u, and uuuh-puh. 

Floyd has to repeat ‘get up’ four times because Jade refuses to. As he has been for the last month, he rots in bed. Luckily, Jade has always been an exemplary student so he will still be able to graduate his second year with all his high marks. Thank the Seven for small miracles.

“Cooome on, Jade. Jade, please, get up. Jadeee.”

Roughly, and then softly and sorrily, Floyd tries to shake Jade out of his pretend sleep. His brother has been doing that a lot – sleeping and then, not sleeping, but still laying in bed with his eyes closed. Who knows what is so alluring about the ebon made from flesh-shuttered windows. A week ago, Floyd had a thought that turned his stomach rotten. What if Jade has been sleeping so much so he can pretend he is still under Sea Slug’s spell, before anything happened?

He does not like to think about it. To be frank, he has been hating thinking this entire month. It makes bile poke its tiny fingers on the muscles in his throat, watching his mirror reflection lie somnolent in bed, looking halfway dead. Which is why Floyd shifts back to shaking Jade at a harsher pace – which he will eventually slow down again, feeling regret for being rough. 

“Jaaadiooo, waaake uuup. Jade. Jade Jade Jade!” 

Floyd wonders if he has to get Azul to assist him in picking up Jade. It is not that Jade puts up a struggle when getting dragged out of bed; it is just that his weight feels like dead weight and that makes Floyd queasy. He likes having Azul there. Azul dresses Jade; Floyd brushes Jade’s teeth. They both take turns taking cups of water and rinsing shampoo out of his hair.

However, Azul is not needed because Jade voluntarily opens his eyes a moment later. Dull, rusted gold and olive peers through black eyelashes. Lifeless eyes flicker, registering what the waking world is showing him.

Shoes that are worth a king's ransom crease because Floyd decides to crouch rather than kneel by Jade’s bed. His hair is neatly slicked back, gel fixating his black strand behind his piercing. Dressed in a simple black suit, Floyd gives a shy smile and whispers, “Hey.” Jade notices something that makes him close his eyes.

Floyd did his tie correctly this time.

“Hey, no goin’ back to sleep. Ya gotta get up today, Jade, c’mon. I’ll eat one of your mushrooms if ya get up. You can decide which one, whatever works for me. Hehehe, how does that sound? … Jade, please. Get up.”

“What’s the point?”

“Because you’re gonna be pissed at yourself if ya don’t. Ya gonna hate yourself more if you don’t get up.”

“Not possible.” Jade’s nose wrinkles when Floyd starts to run his fingers through his hair, combing back black hair.

“You have to get up today. If you do, next week, Azul and I’ll leave ya alone.”

“Leave me alone now.”

“Ya have to get up to say goodbye. Come on, (Name) deserves you there. You have to get up for (Name).”

Jade does the only thing that allows Floyd to know his brother is not a corpse - he sheds a tear. Dried-up, pruning corpses cannot shed tears. It comes with a double edged sword of relief and pain; Floyd watches the tear escape from Jade’s left eye, descending down over the bridge of his nose, and onto his pillow. 

Emptied of one of a thousand tears, Jade whispers back, tormented, “I can’t.”

In your absence, Floyd’s verbose brother has turned into a man of little words. As if the action of talking is just as strenuous as getting up. It is unnerving for Floyd who is so used to his brother talking so much. 

Grief shackles a body like an anchor. So used to swimming through life with dexterity, grief has tangled itself upon Jade like cutting, tangling fishing gear or stabbing, soda-can-holding plastic. Each limb is ten times heavier than it has ever been. His tongue is an iron paperweight.

And, Floyd knows. That weight has been crushing him too.

Floyd still looks towards your designated seat in Mostro Lounge by mistake. Waits with a heavy heart to see you sitting there, ordering one of their chocolate-or-caramel themed drinks. Waits for your voice to just suddenly be in his ears talking, asking about basketball practice or new menu items.

But, he has been brave for his brother’s sake. Which is why he requests, touching their foreheads together, “Then, get up for me. Get up for me.”

For the first time in the month, Jade brushes his teeth without help. He cannot manage to do his hair but Floyd gives no complaints, slicking his own hands up with opaque green gel.

Only one month after death, a body fully liquifies. Life deflating, the soft tissue starts to decay. Oval holes in the skin appear with the ease of stretched dough. Flesh’s solidity fails and melts like candle wax. In a month’s time, a cadaver is expected to expose its vulnerable skeleton. 

Against all physical laws, you have not rotted away like an apple attacked by fungi and bacteria. In fact, it would be appropriate to say you look alive. It is inappropriate though because of the downward, diagonal scar across your forehead. Magic keeps your body fresh but your grave-ushering wound remains.

They stitched you back up? Jade wonders which friend of yours had picked the top part of your cranium off the rain-soaked ground. 

Even though Ace and Deuce were the closest to you – both physically, you had thrown them out of the way of that slashing attack and emotionally, you had thrown them out of the way of that slashing attack –he cannot picture them picking it up. Neither Grim; paws are too small. Perhaps, aspiring not-yet-doctor Riddle Rosehearts had the guts in his tiny stature to scoop up the top half of your brain. Holding a hand under like one does with a napkin full of broken eggs, making sure nothing drips onto the floor. Jade grows too sick to think of the hypothetical of who stitches you back up. 

Jade only remembers shaking, cold due to the rain and the sight. A hand reaching up to his breast pocket to grab his magic pen. Then, Floyd grabbing his shoulders to stop him from making the awful mistake of firing a spell at THE Malleus Draconia. Jade forgets the rest.

Apparently, he screamed himself hoarse. Apparently, Floyd got a broken wrist from their tussle. Apparently, Azul knocked him out with a powerful sedative spell. Apparently apparently apparently. 

The following memory goes like this: waking up in bed the next morning, throat sore, thinking about what tea you might generously brew for him to fight off his evident illness. Usually in good health, Jade is a bit surprised that morning to wake up with a flu. Then, his world is torn apart. Then, Azul and Floyd explain to him slowly – they are always talking to him slowly now – why his throat burns. Not from bacteria-made illness, from screaming, from losing you.

Sometimes, just for a span of a few moments, Jade wishes another thing with childish ferocity — prays to a shooting star. 

He wishes he could have stayed in that peaceful dream — “There is no need to shed tears nor are farewells necessary! … A new world in which none shall ever experience the pain of loss!” he had said — that Malleus was bestowing upon them. I wish Malleus had succeeded in his overblot. With a similar vehemence, he wishes Malleus Draconia died. 

There is no graveyard on the northside of Sage’s Island. No one expects to bury a student. So, someone, perhaps Dire Crowley or your trio, has chosen to bury you just a bit off the hiking trails you and Jade use to venture on. A glade chosen by someone to put a coffin smack in the middle of, still on land owned by Night Raven College.

Your dead body rests ahead, laid in a virgin’s coffin. A tree line formed by an expanding corpse of trees marks a clean circle. Him, Floyd, and Azul come upon the funeral last. Right at the start of the column and rows of seats, Jade’s feet suddenly grow roots into the ground, on par with a neem tree which has the strongest taproot system. He is paralyzed by the sight: you, arms resting on your abdomen, laying in a fairytale’s glass coffin.

The casket is elegant beyond elegance. Silica sand dug from Al-Asim’s numerous deposits was smelted for the glass. Inscribed with gold, your name playfully stretches its arms across the coffin, bordering angels and swans kneeling before it. 

Your head rests on a pillow-bouquet. Speckles of white daisy, ivory white carnations, and eggshell white spider mums kiss your hair. The centerpiece flower is Easter lilies, though. Trumpet-shaped, with shooting stars of pollen branching out from the center of them, Easter lilies crowd the bouquet like purple prose in a literary work. They crowd around your resting, stitched head with delicateness. Another bouquet of identical pattern rests too in your hands.  

The fairytale ensemble makes you look like a martyr. 

You are not a martyr. Jade hates the very thought that that could become your legacy. Wrongly transcribed and reprinted, a publisher who does not know you writes you as martyr. It makes his stomach rot. Neither hero or villain, you are not to be idolized. Bread should not be broken in honor of you and wine should not be drunk in honor of you.

You were wonderfully simple, with flaws and strengths. Now, you are gone. 

“Jade, come. There is a spot up at the front for us,” Azul says softly and slowly. 

A gentle hand pushes on Jade’s back — Floyd’s hand. “They’re not goin’ to start without us.”

That’s not what I’m worried about. I’m worried that —! Jade, not really thinking well, rips himself away from his brother too fast. 

“Woah,” Floyd shouts like a cowboy whose horse has started acting erratic. His gold and olive-brown eyes flicker with concern. Once more, Floyd goes to put his hand on the back of Jade’s suit, only to feel more like he is touching stone rather than flesh. Hm?

Out of Floyd’s knowledge, students, close friends of yours, have started to turn around, and one of them happens to be Malleus Draconia — who makes direct eye contact with Jade Leech.

I can’t breathe. 

Eyes that shimmer like Sheecle’s green take their poisonous green hands, stealing oxygen from the eel-mer’s body.

Jade finds himself breathless. In his chest, his heart grows in weight tremendously. All of the hurt in his bones is pulled towards his center, acceleration like fire. Heavy as osmium. Heavy as tungsten. He feels like something is crushing him with a sleep paralysis-esque weight. Out of his nose, his last breath slithers away; out of his brain, all his thoughts file out of the building in fire-drill-fashion. Buh-bye, Jade! his thoughts wave as they go. His breath walks out like a scorned lover, never to be heard from again.

I can’t breathe. 

Suddenly, Jade’s motionless chest is grabbed by a wayward arm. His spine collides into a breathing, functioning chest. Over his shoulder, Floyd whispers to his brother, lazy drawl slithering in Jade’s ear:

“Follow along to my breathin’ pattern. Try-a match your breath to mine.”

The words are spoken carelessly, with a lazy drawl, but the intent is vigilant. Seeing his brother needing help, Floyd reacts. He holds him close enough to feel the bones of his ribcage. 

On Jade’s back, he can feel the rise and fall of Floyd’s chest — Floyd elongating his breaths to gather deep oxygen in the very bottom of his lungs. They come in slow, constant waves. An inhale causes his chest to expand. An exhale causes his chest to flatten. Each slow rotation hits Jade’s spine in measured breaths — that I’m supposed to follow along to. Match the tempo of. 

Jade closes his eyes so he can focus upon the rise and fall of Floyd’s living lungs. It proves difficult to hear the sound of breathing over the ringing in his ears, like detecting a single scent in a saturated perfume store. Earth makes itself into a curlicue of sensations. Amongst the raging riptide, Jade tries to grab his brother’s hand. Grab onto it and share the same breath. 

It takes a few moments, a continuous rise and fall. Deeper lungfuls of oxygen push at his spine; heavier exhales stir through his three-piece earring. In. Out. Jade is trying. In. Out. In. Out. 

He breathes in through his nose and out his mouth until he can complete the cycle of in and out with a skip between the steps. When he takes his first complete breath, eyelids fluttering open, he sees only the back of Malleus’s haircut and curling horns that hook up like antlers. As he studies ebony locks cascading into layers, Floyd whispers in his ear, “We don’t gotta go up. I’ll stay back with ya.”

A coward down to the bone, Jade nods his head. Well, not always a coward; he is quite a capable eel-mer. In this particular setting, he finds himself to be as cowardly as the lion in The Wizard of Oz. For this month, he has felt that only the worst traits of his personality have survived the aftermath of a torrential blot-storm. 

He lets Floyd push him down to sit at the last row on the right. Your friends in Savanaclaw and Pomefiore are in the back rows as you are not too close to either. Diasomnia and Heartslabyul are gathered close to the front. The remaining dorms are in the middle. 

Ebony locks styled into a jellyfish cut sit in the second row, left side. If Jade looks straight, he can completely dispel Malleus Draconia from his eyesight. Azul moves up to the front, perhaps to tell Dire Crowley or your friends that everyone in attendance, time to start. Jade is beyond grateful for the hand rubbing circles into his spine, as if the touch keeps his breath circulation working.

There are a few moments of talking. Deuce Spade shuffles a bit closer to hear what Dire Crowley is saying; Azul gestures with his hands and when passed a paper, passes it back in rejection; Grim, who now attends in Heartslabyul, starts to grow louder in volume but so far Jade cannot catch a word. Eventually, it is Riddle Rosehearts who stands up. In his hand, the paper that Azul recently rejected.

Even though it is given an introduction, explaining the contents, Jade would have known it without prelude. Off Riddle’s tongue, your poetry falls like a meteor shower, silver fish-tails stretching with warm tenor. The title and author already given, Riddle reads:

“In a sea of nightmares, I spy a rock

Smooth, with a thousand freckles of fresh rain

The maelstrom brings inky monsters and villains

When I place myself upon your shore, I stop drowning

Across the water, you and I are on a rock, braving the storm.”

You wrote a lot of poetry. You were never good friends with Rook Hunt though; you clashed a lot with Pomefoire, unable to make friends with them. Perhaps because your poetry and beauty is different. Not very often did you string words together amorously, rather the words were desolate. 

Your persona – the cultivated, embellished image of the artist you were – was always sort of tortured and damaged. That worst of you created poetry with the rigorousness of an inventory. This one Jade knows well – you wrote it for him. You were embarrassed about it but brave enough to tell him: “I wrote something. I feel … I feel it describes us.” 

He misses those nocturnally active times in the botanical gardens. Transcendent music playing between the spaces of silence, filling you with his feelings, sharing feelings like they were heat and you too were cold-blooded. Under a gazebo of stars on the edge of the universe, you once said. A pocket of paradise stolen was found in the moments creating and cultivating with him, you once said. It feels like a dream, you once said.

Jade stands up from his seat, not able to withstand hearing another word. This gross, wrong interpretation of your work feels like dirt and maggots grinding his mouth. It is not a poem meant for a funeral. Between Floyd’s knees and a chair, he squeezes himself tight to escape. 

Bystanders expect him to do just that: escape. Floyd anticipates it too. He takes those expectations and breaks them. In a domino effect, row by row, people notice Jade drawing closer. Murmurs start to rouse awake the sleepy, forlorn crowd. 

Undeterred, Jade walks closer and closer. When he briefly passes the second row, he lets his gaze flicker over to his left. Eyes pinched together in small slices, gold and brown irises catch just the briefest glimpse of rotating horns and a sharp nose. The curious quirk of Malleus’s lip has his heart electric with lightning bolts of hate. 

Across the water, across the wave, Jade approaches you on that lone rock. He is going to save you from the grave and help you weather this maelstrom. The divide between you and him in life and death is a thin, easily breakable glass barrier. 

“Jade,” Riddle questions.

Back to him, Jade responds, “You should sit, Riddle. Your words were very courteous but I have a few of my own to say. Can I ask you to forgive my gross impoliteness?”

“No,” Riddle fumbles with his words, “no, no it is quite alright. Go ahead … I’m - I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Your sympathy is much appreciated.”

The crowd watches on with gross intrigue, wondering what your boyfriend could possibly be thinking of or what his next move might be. Is it not obvious from your poetry – he is going to outstretch his shore towards you. He does this through violent action. 

Jade brings up a fist. Jade brings down a fist. 

Though it does not give easily, the glass still breaks in fractures. Triangles and rhombuses branch out from underneath Jade’s fist. Jagged, uneven connect-the-dots shapes make up a circular pattern that splinters from the point of contact. A little less than ten pieces fall into the tomb, landing on your ebony dress and bouquet. 

Steeling himself, Jade turns his attention to your face. Gloss from the glass makes you look angelic, like a shimmer of makeup glitter. Someone has painted your lips in a dark, blood red – (“I can’t stand bright lipstick! It makes you look like a clown. Jade, you’ll catch me dead before you catch me in dark lipstick”) – which boils up Jade’s month long, hidden away anger. 

His second punch causes glass to land on your dress like snow knocked off a branch, heavy with volume. The plummeting glass is also followed by a trickle of blood. Jade pulls back his bleeding hand, hooks it underneath a section of glass, and pulls it up like one might do with rotten floorboards. Glass pierces through the material of his glove, hitting bone. He grabs another part of the coffin, snaps it off like it is a mere graham cracker, and forms a fist with shrapnel of glass embedded in fingers. Fragile glass hovering over your face breaks and showers down like freckles. Steadily, he keeps punching and breaking off glass until none remains.

When he pulls back his right hand, the leather is thoroughly drenched in a red flood. Instead of spraying bloody water in thin sheets, it flows off his fingers like a spilled milkshake. Black and red combined, Jade adds the last color to the Snow White triptych. 

Avenging, he takes the bouquet of white flowers from your hands. The stems crunch in his harsh grip; the flowers sway in their downward descent. He brandishes them down by his thigh like one might hold a sword in the midst of battle. Nitroglycerin sweat bubbles and propane sweat pops on his palm. His black gloved hand catches fire, enveloping the bouquet in a blaze that rises vindictively up to his shoulders.

As the last bits of a fire spell, done without the conductor of his magic pen, start to shimmer away in ash and smoke, Jade lets the incinerated, curled inward, black flowers fall to the ground. He takes his dominant hand and slowly places it upon your cheek.

Soft. You are so soft. I should have taken off my gloves. His bleeding hand infects your skin with a new paint. Jade puts his thumb over your lips where someone has put clown lipstick on you. When your lips part slightly under his ministrations, no breath hits his thumb. 

His precious pearl, breathless. He wishes nothing more for you to open up your eyes and dispel his worries. 

“Jade!” Ah, it seems people are starting to come out of their stupor at the display Jade is presenting. He looks vexatious over his shoulder, briefly catching eye contact with Azul. “What are you possibly doing!” Jade also manages to catch his brother breaking comatose to stand up.

“There is no need to fret about me overblotting. I have a secure lid placed on my emotions. Unlike others.”

Hurt flashes in Azul’s eyes. Jade cannot stomach to check if his insult hurt who he intended it to hurt. Instead, he gingerly lifts you in his arms. Limp, you tumble into his embrace with gravity-obeying limbs. Your neck tilts back and your toes point down in Jade’s careful hold.

“Jade!”

This will prove difficult with both my hands holding them and no magic pen as a conductor. It is the only thought in Jade’s head as his brother shouts his name. Worry rarely crosses his twin’s face with such an intensity; most would judge it as anger. Ah, I am really being so impolite today. Sorry Floyd. The starting sparks of a teleportation spell start to pop around his shoulders and torso like fireflies. 

With a deep breath, Jade disappears in a supernova. 

More or less, Jade Leech has returned to being himself. Verbosely polite and formal; eager to lend a helping, subservient hand; jumping right back into the schedule he has: classes, duties for Azul, Mountain Lovers club activities, etcetera. He is a different picture of the man laying in bed, stricken with your absence; now, he has returned to the man he was in your presence. 

Is it because you two are reunited in presence? That old tale of Hercules and Meg, interlocked souls, finally touching again? Are you reunited? Azul cannot be certain that is true. Nobody has been able to locate your body since that day. 

Behind his glasses, Octavinelle’s housewarden traces the motions of his vice. He cannot see Jade’s expression, only scrutinizing over his back as he pens the order of a customer. It is a week after your uncompleted funeral. Azul’s stomach turns sick, watching Jade work effortlessly in Mostro Lounge, not knowing where Jade keeps your corpse. 

Corpse … All his limbs shudder at the word. It could be hidden under his own bedroom’s floorboards or locked away in Ramshackle with your three ghost companions. You could be anywhere.

Every thought Azul has on the situation makes it feel like salt and ice are colliding in his abdomen in a hissing burn. So, he decides to stop thinking about it. Which is why he is almost grateful when Jade comes up to him, distracting his mind from slipping into darker speculation.

Hand on his heart, Jade says, “Table Fifteen is requesting your presence. They have a question about one of our discontinued menu items – the salmon and lemon-ricotta pasta. I already divulged about the excess supply getting thrown out because of low demand. However, your presence was requested nonetheless.”

“Ah, thank you, Jade,” Azul says. It is just the distraction he needs before he thinks about anything more ghastly. Stock issues and dining will not haunt him with goosebumps and night terrors. He starts towards Table Fifteen.  

“Though … I can return and take care of it, if need be.” 

It is that odious sentence that gives Azul pause. Because that is exactly what the old Jade would offer, using a bit of rough, predatory treatment to de-escalate an issue. Same old Jade Leech, hiding a corpse somewhere on campus … who even knows if your body is on campus. 

“No … No, you are dismissed from the issue. Do whatever you please for the rest of your shift.”

“Very well. If you’ll excuse me.”

I have to go make preparations, Azul thinks as he goes to greet Table Fifteen. I don’t see it as necessary but, Azul glances one last time at Jade as the distance between them grows, Jade’s spine once again all he sees, I should prepare for the event of him overblotting.

Saprophytic organisms obtain their nutrients by breaking down dead organic matter. Fungi, bacteria, and water molds all have an exclusive diet of nature’s cadavers. In the simplest of terms, they eat death to sustain their own life. 

Not all mushrooms are saprotrophs. After all, mycorrhizal and parasitic and endophytic mushrooms have a different diet; it is just that a majority of the mushrooms one finds, one will find them living among them dead. As active decomposers, they refuse to let death be finite. As Jade opens his terrarium, chip-esque mushrooms that mimic the look of a body’s heat signals, he recalls fondly how saprotrophs are the easiest to cultivate. 

He takes out the turkey tail mushrooms, ripping them from their roots. Well, mushrooms have no roots but the image is still true. Turkey tail mushrooms are fascinating – they look so much like thermal heat vision, little branching waves of red, yellow, and white, thus making them look alive. And, they have a history of being used as medicine.

So vigorous with life yet bloated after a meal of death. 

Jade opens the book on his desk in the botanical gardens. People always chastised him for his love of mushrooms. If he had an affection towards flowers or perhaps even pretty yellow weeds, he supposes it would not be as frowned upon. He has always been this way, preferring the ugly duckling over the swan. You were of a similar disposition. 

Around his work station, an incense holder burns wisps of Worm’s Wort – which can dull the odor of anything. He flips through pages at a languid pace. From the window panes, moonlight slithers down a thousand maggots and makes their congealing home on Jade’s desk. Interlocking light lies down to rest as Jade stays awake into the night.

I’m so tired. The thought seeps in like a maggot in the ear of a cadaver. Numerous times, Jade changes his pair of nitrile gloves to rub at his eyes, warding off sleep. Moonlight maggots crawl over his skin.

It is only after his sixteenth failed potion (eighty-first if you count the others he has made in the past six nights after your funeral) with the wrong color, wrong texture, or wrong smell, does Jade’s head start to slip off his neck. On the verge of burning out, eyes blinking close, the desk rushes towards him like ground to a meteor, about to kiss his nose and face with pain, and – you catch him in your hand despite the smoldering sting of touching a meteor.

“You make and pick the strangest beds to fall asleep in. I can’t take my eyes off my Jade for a second, can I?” 

Jade blinks to see you resting next to him, forehead on your forearm which lies on the table. His cheek is warmed by your right hand which acts as a bridge between his flesh and the desk. Even though some of your hair is in the way and the left side of your face is shielded in the cradle of your arm, Jade can see it clear as day. There is no scar threading itself across your forehead. 

You give him a warm smile and Jade, who is a cold-blooded creature, replicates that warmth. The last exhausted fuses of energy left in him lift up his lovestruck lips. “Tired, baby,” you ask him.

“Mmmmh, just a bit. I have been at this for quite some time.”

“We should head back to Octavinelle then. Can’t have you knocking over a potion in your sleep.”

“No, no. Let’s stay here a little longer.” To bask in your presence, Jade needs that to a higher degree than he needs water or air. “Don’t go so soon.”

You are dressed in your school uniform. It has all of your soul’s idiosyncrasy in each article. Not really enrolled in Night Raven College, therefore lacking a uniform, you wear a leather jacket without pockets and a grid pattern collared shirt. The sleeves of your button-up gently pull away from being sandwiched by his cheek and desk. You busy yourself with brushing strands of black hair into its correct placement.

“Okay, okay. We can stay here for a while, but you’re definitely going to have a sore neck and sore shoulders in the morning.”

“Pamper me tomorrow?”

You hum, considering it. By now, most of the mismatched, colored tresses have been tucked gingerly behind his ear. You follow the diamond outline of a single sturgeon scale with your finger as you say, “If the price is right.”

Jade's smile grows stupid at that, showing just a sliver of his teeth. You always did like poking fun at his Octavinelle habits. Allowing himself to melt under your ministrations, he murmurs, “Anything for you.”

“Happy to do business with you then, Mr. Leech.”

You move the nail of your index along diamond scales’ edges, content to do as he says. Stay here a little longer under a gazebo of stars. Sevens, it might have been cheesily poetic what you said in the past, yet Jade agrees in totality with your poesy. The universe has collapsed, burnt away worries and responsibilities, and all that remains of creation is you and him. 

Jade lifts his face so the hand playing with his earring falls over his mouth. With pouting lips, he plants a field of kisses on your palm. Such a warm palm. Your hand smells of raspberries and whipped vanilla from a foam soap you were particularly fond of. Jade can even smell it over the Worm’s Wort. And, Worm’s Wort – that is meant to keep his potion-making a secret – is an overwhelming, astringent scent that blankets other smells with high efficiency. 

Everything, even his nose, narrows down to you. It is not an unpredictable feat. Azul once said your voice drags him out of any task with the ease of a siren working to drown a sailor. Which is why he hears you clearly even as you mumble, “Oh, I have this poem I want to workshop with you.” 

Jade mourns the loss of your hand when you move energized. Leaning back in your stool, both hands fall behind you to grip under the seat. You throw back your head, conjuring all the verses up in your head. When you tilt your eyes to look at Jade, you have this grin on your face that balances on the fence of being sleazy with gross intent or being liberative with genius intent. Like you will either tell him you found a dead animal or you found the cure to cancer. He is all ears for whatever you throw. 

He is only thrown for a bit of a loop as you swing your feet to the side and leap off the stool. Not perturbed over your body but rather an article of clothes. The noose around your neck is a blood-red tie with a stark white pattern of skulls upon it, mimicking the look of cut-out paper snowflakes. Patterned by two distinct rows: skulls connecting forehead to forehead then skulls facing the viewer. It vanishes from his sight as your back faces him. 

Out of your mouth, poetry diffuses in the heavy, wet air of the botanical gardens. 

“Wake up. (your feet carry you out towards the stretch of cobblestone, then playfully, you turn and disappear behind large, flowing leaves and unusual flowers)

Door Death, I knock upon thee (“(name)?” jade springs up, a deep fear swimming through him because you are out of his sight)

I ask the eternal question (when he pushes back the large leaves and peculiar flowers, you are no longer in that same spot; his head moves on a swivel, looking for you)

Has my life all been a dream? (your voice carries on the eastern air)

Has all my life been a dream? (your voice carries on the western air)

The eternal question unanswered (pressure falls over his eyes and heart, where are you!)

Door Death, I knock upon thee (a finger taps his shoulder-blade)

Wake up.”

When Jade turns, your embrace retreating slowly, you are holding out a solitary Easter lily out towards him. The gesture plainly tells him to take it. A white trumpet-shaped mouth yawns at him, five or so tongues of yellow pollen sticking out. It looks so correct in your hold that Jade almost doesn’t want to accept it.

Heart knocking with lingering desperation, he takes the Easter lily in hand all the same. In replacement to his palm, he rests his knuckles to his avalanching chest, careful of the flower in his caress. Before he can comment on the verses, you beat him to the punch. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret; my Jade isn’t stupid.” 

He chuckles at that, eyes squinting with mirth.“Don’t I always say you should set your expectations upon higher platforms when with me?” 

“My expectation towards your stupidity or your intellect?” 

“Oya? I’d prefer the latter.” A teasing eyebrow is raised.  

However, you grow grim like this is a matter of life or death. You twine arms around his neck and ensnare him to lean down to your height. In your eyes, a maelstrom of mental unease rages and causes your hues to appear milky-gray with worry. Under the concern of your bruised eyes, Jade responds, “You think I’m making a rash decision? Or perhaps, one that is not fully educated. I assure you that I have rigorously studied this.”

Your mouth quirks. “I think you are choosing the wrong method.”

“Then, enlighten me please.”

You lean close to him, nose to nose. Unlike the sweetness of raspberries and vanilla, your breath is something foul. Cadaverine and putrescine scent that he can only compare to the smell of his mushrooms at peak rot. Jade cannot focus on the scent because your voice hypnotizes him. 

Slowly, you recite a song like it is poetry. “A dream is a wish your heart makes; when you’re fast asleep; in dreams you will lose your heartaches; whatever you wish for, you keep.”

Whatever dust of happiness is holding Jade’s lips blows away. The frown cuts his features. It takes a great deal for him to respond over the commotion of rain and lightning storming around in his ribcage; he only manages one word, perfumed in hurt and hate. “Him?”

Your next breath smells like mint.  He imagines it would be something lovely to taste in a kiss. “I trust him. He is dear to me.”

Hate and hurt dull Jade’s casual loquacity. “But he hurt you.”

“So have you.” Now only hurt remains on Jade’s tongue. You do not let him refute, listing off, “So has Riddle, so has Leona and Azul, so has Jamil, so has Rook, so has Vil and Idia, so has Sebek, so has everyone that has known me. What is one more scar?”

It is the harsh truth, Jade knows. Magicless and fragile, you have been in the infirmary as often as an alcohol back to the liquor cabinet. Nothing worse than scratches and one broken wrist, nothing like this, Jade wants to desperately argue but your eyes silence him.

“So please,” you continue. “Please, give him a chance … You know, I’m still so sad that I never got to arrange that joint club meeting – Mountain Lovers and Gargoyle Research Studies. I think it would have been a peaceful walk at night, looking out for mushrooms and gargoyles. 

“You two are so alike. It amuses me.” This truth takes its knife and thunders itself into Jade’s gut. Maneuvering with incredible dexterity, truth stabs into the eight tic-tac-toe regions of his abdomen, cutting deep red mouths into pallid flesh that tell him: yes, this is a truth. We love the same person. Jade does not voice this growing pain. 

“I assure you, it is beneficial to have full faith in me. Have I ever made a split -choice decision? Do I not map out everything ahead of time? Besides, failing to my weaknesses in magical areas is not something I’m inclined to do, my dear.”

“Consider it. Anything for me, right?” 

Ah, how villainous you are. To use his own words against him like that is a quality he both adores and loathes. Jade maneuvers the Easter lily so it sits in his hand like a cigarette. A loving hand raises up to one of the arms entwined around his neck, rubbing along the sleeve, as he slyly objects, “Surely you can understand my hesitation. After his -”

“I almost died –” Jade’s heart stops beating, fear is a powerful clog to all his heart’s arteries. You continue softly, “ during Azul’s overblot. What happened –”

“Let’s not talk about it. Just trust me.”

“Jade.”

“(Name).”

“No matter how your heart is grieving, if you keep on believing, the dream you wish will come true … Please, consider it for my sake.”

“... I will play around with it in my head … No promises that I won’t crush it like it’s a bug.”

The tone of the conversation turns light. “I hope the sound of it buzzing annoys you.”

“How cruel of you.”

“Ah, NRC has really rubbed off on me. I’m just too wicked.” A laugh breaks your lips.

“The worst. Worse than the worst. Vile.” Smiling with a mouthful of glass, shark-like teeth, Jade finally closes the gap between the two of you. The scent of mint too enticing and the sight of you too dopamine-inducing, he has to kiss your lips until you cry or moan. It is in his biological nature. 

The gazebo of stars rebuilds itself. Each cedar wood paneling falls back into perfect placement. Yours and Jade’s lip find all the old familiar spots of pleasure; first just lip fat smooshing together until you both in perfect sync open your mouths to each other. It might be seen as tedious already knowing the moves but Jade thinks it is a testament to how truly made for one another each of you are.

And, of course, he never allows it to get boring. Tongues like magma flowing in combining rivulets, Jade takes to moving his hands down past the curve of your shoulders to the side of your cheeks. He tilts your head in the opposite direction of how he moves his, deepening the kiss. 

You grip the back of teal strands and real pain ignites on his skin. Pain made by your physical grip. Jade follows along to mimic that harshly loving gesture. However, when he rests his fingers to cup the back of your head, he stumbles upon a scar line. A few inches above your nape. It lies like a jagged river cutting apart two pieces of land.

A warning bell blares in Jade’s mind. The sound causes him to break away. It is not buzzing though, like you were predicting. 

Night Raven College’s clock chimes twice, deep in the bowels of dark, interlocking hallways. It knocks on Jade’s skull and pulls him away. When he lifts his head off the desk, blinking at the sight of potions, his shoulders and neck are incredibly sore. 2 A.M. Two chimes after all mean 2 A.M.  The air is so thick with Worm’s Wort that he almost chokes on it. 

He does end up choking. Not on something as flowy as Worm’s Wort smoke. Rather, he chokes on something rather salty and dangerously watery. 

At 2:47 A.M, Jade Leech walks into the Diasomnia dorm.

At 3:08 A.M, Jade Leech walks out of the Diasomnia dorm, a deal made.

Floyd wakes up facing an empty bed. This is not entirely odd; Jade has a scheduled A period while Floyd opts to keep his first period free. With thick fog still lingering in his brain, it does seem a bit odd not to see Jade because for the past month he has remained in bed. But – Jade is doing better. What gives Floyd pauses is the lingering thought: did I hear Jade come in at all last night? 

Floyd is a light sleeper, always has been, so he should have been able to hear him at least enter the dorm last night or exit the dorm this morning. He doesn’t even think he heard a ladybug on the creaking floor; all of Octavinelle was unnaturally still last night like a graveyard. Before he can ponder longer on dead silence, his phone rings. 

What Azul hisses over the phone has Floyd kicking his covers like they have caught fire. “Tell me you know where Jade is. Tell me right now; where is your brother?”

From point A to point B, Floyd and Jade Leech’s dormitory to Mostro Lounge’s VIP Room, the distance is about eight minutes for a normal person. Due to their longer strides, Floyd and Jade can cut this measurement by two minutes while Azul takes the full eight. It takes Floyd three minutes to point B, as while Azul curses his ear and Floyd curses under his breath. 

Floyd knows it bad when dogmatic Azul does not scold him for walking through numerous hallways and his precious Lounge without a pair of socks, and it gets worse when Azul does not scold him for still being in his pajamas – an XL shirt with poetry in a downward pattern saying: “®, 40S & SHORTIES, BAD DECISIONS. GOOD TIMES., WORLDVIEW” with a pair of white striped, blue cotton pants – at nine on a Tuesday morning. Two Azuls speak in unison, one on the telephone receiver and one in front of him, “I think he has sealed it up with magic.”

It is a book. Just as Floyd’s hand had fallen on Mostro Lounge’s  VIP door, he had inquired why Azul Ashengrotto of all people was having such a hard time getting a single book open. A book is easy to open; a book sealed with magic should be easy too, for a mage of Azul’s talents. 

“Well, can’t ya just break it? It can’t be anything stronger than what we learned in Practical Magic?” Floyd disconnects the call as he talks; he does not need two Azuls in his ear. 

“If the charm was something from that course then of course. This is more on par with the third year Conjuration course … or Ancient Curses.”

Though only seventeen, one would think with the maturity etched in Azul’s features that he was nearing twenty-seven instead. He has a hand depressed on his face and his eyes drawn into a sharp squint. Behind the shield of his glasses, a dozen speculations and calculations dance like sparks of lightning. Floyd hates it as much as he is glad to see that incisive prowess.  

“But … it’s just a book about mushrooms.” Which is entirely true. The book that Azul’s stare is burning a hole through has written plainly on it: Chanterelle Dreams, Amanita Nightmares. 

When considering current events, the title causes Floyd’s stomach to turn inside out. However, it is something Floyd has seen Jade read before Malleus’s overblot. It is just a boring book. A boring book that for some reason won’t open.

Azul verbalizes Floyd’s inner doubt, “A book that Jade left behind. A book that is not opening no matter what elementary magic I throw at it.” 

Left in the botanical gardens. Left there overnight when Jade said he was going to be right back after tending to his terrariums. Getting back into hobbies was a sign of healing from trauma, right? Floyd feels like the skin of stomach is not only inside out but being torched by fire.

“I‘ll open it. I’m on the same level as Jade. Can’t be too hard.” Just as Floyd starts walking up to Azul’s desk, he is stopped. 

“No! No … we shouldn’t risk your health if this takes something more to open.”

Vexation falls on Floyd’s face. His teeth displayed and brow crinkled, “Huuuh?” He stomps over to the desk. “It’s Jade magic. It ain’t gonna kill us.”

“No, but it might drain one of us. And,” Azul hesitates. But when Floyd slams his hands down on the VIP desk, determinate coals burn in his sky-blue eyes. He stares down Floyd without a single flinch. “And you run the fastest out of the two of us, so we cannot risk your energy.”

It takes a moment for him to back down. Reading the map of the plan on Azul’s expression, it comes to Floyd’s attention what exactly Azul is hinting at. “Fiiine.” Floyd’s dominant hand still crosses up to rest on his right shoulder. “Doesn’t mean I’ma be happy about it though.”

“Trust me, neither am I.” And he really isn’t. This entire situation leaves a bad taste in his mouth. 

On the ledge of Azul’s desk rests his staff. The octopus’s bulbous head keeps it steady on the surface. Authentic silver shines elegantly under the expensive lighting. Between the nest of curling tentacles, Azul’s gray gemstone sits, ready to be utilized. White gloves wrap around the sleek black handle.

When Azul holds his staff above the book, Floyd interrupts, “Ma called me two nights ago and said – (Floyd sits in his bed, stricken by the sound of his grown, emotionally shielded mother crying. The sound of her sobs feel so artificial in his left ear, like hearing a creature trying to mimic human speech patterns. Something so visceral wrong laced in the vocal cords of it. 

“Mama, Mama, what’s wrong,” Floyd pleads, about one breath away from grabbing a transformation potion and rushing to the Mirror Chamber. 

“Tell – Tell Jade to pick up his phone please – I just! I – auh – Floooyd,” his mother sobs. 

“Mama, he’s in class. He can’t pick up his phone right now. He’s in class. What’s wrong? Ma?”

That seems to soothe something in Narissa Leech. There is a slick sound of her wiping away tears, probably bringing talons under her eyelids and probably bringing her forearm across her nose. After a few tearful breath, she whispers, “He’s not sleepin’?”

“No, he went to his A period class. Mama, what’s wrong?”

“I,” she sniffles, “I had this awful dream. You and Jade were tiny and still sharing your bedrooms. I went to wake up both of you for breakfast but Jade wouldn’t wake up. I kept shaking and shakin’ him. It was like he was in a coma and just wouldn’t get up. He looked like a tiny corpse. 

“I kept calling for you and Dad, but neither of you would come help. My little baby. I kept trying to wake him up. I just tried and tried. Then, I pried his left eye open and ah!” His mother cries once more. “He looked so dead in his sleep!”). – and I haven’t been able to stop thinkin’ ‘bout it,” Floyd finishes.

It is very rare for either of the twins to show their fears. Fear is a delicious seasoning that gets you devoured in the Coral Sea. Though it wears a mask on Floyd’s face, fear is still evident in his voice despite the steadiness of each syllable. Sometimes friends can just measure how much fear the other has, even when it is not shown.

Azul frowns sympathetically. He has only really had his mother and step-father; worrying about a sibling is uncharted territory for Azul. However, if he had friends with a bond as close as a sibling relationship, it might be Floyd and Jade. It just might. 

It probably is not though. Probably.

“Since we were little, your brother has always been capable. Both in his magic and in his wit. Even … even in this instance, I doubt Jade will ever make a decision hazardously.” Which is exactly what worries them; Jade is brilliant, who knows what an odious mixture of intellect and grief could end up making.

Azul touches the octopus’s forehead to the cover of Chanterelle Dreams, Amanita Nightmares. In reaction, the room explodes with the power of a violet tornado.

“Fuck,” Floyd shouts as wind body-checks him like a obese linebacker. 

Azul’s hat flies off his head. His glasses would risk being magnetized into the same wind-polarity if he tilted his face away from the shimmering violet. However, Azul does not wither even once at the tremendously powerful locking spell. The violet that stains his face like grape only hones him into the irrefutable fact that this is Jade’s magic. Despite being on the verge of being knocked over by it, the realization fills Azul with relief. 

Floyd’s violet nails scrap lines into Azul’s desk but Azul does not twitch out of his resolve. Papers lying on his desk go airborne. The housewarden grits his violet teeth so hard that he risks breaking his jaw, his mole stretching down with the shape of his grimace. 

C’mon, c’mon! Slowly, the tentacles on Azul’s staff start to unfurl from their comatose state. His gem stone and the octopus head remain fixed to the handle unlike the squirming appendages. Silver metal moves fluidly and wraps itself around the cover of the book like a starfish. 

Then, with a burst of brighter violet that fades away to nothing, chanterelle dreams and amanita nightmares reveal their faces to the two of them. Well, not to Floyd. Temporarily blind due to the atomic explosion, he is wiping his eyes with his knuckles, blinking away little spots of endless black and blinding white. Which is why for a vital moment, Floyd misses the look of absolute horror that paints Azul’s face.

“Th-This –.” As the tentacles of his magic staff congeal back into their normal state, Azul sets the handle’s end down on the ground. Uncoordinated, it tumbles to the ground just as Azul picks up the book, holding it close to his chest.

“Wha? What’s in it? Shit, this kills,” Floyd hisses, hunched over. A stray tear falls down Floyd’s left eye as he slowly straightens out. “Stupid Jade.”

With each page flip, Azul’s face turns a lighter shade of white. When a hand reaches out to grab the book, Azul slaps it with so much force that Floyd groans in pain. 

“C’mon, let me see,” Floyd whines. It is not a childish whine but more of a warning, he is going to get violent if Azul does not hand over the stupid book now. Floyd grabs the desk and leans over the top, trying to get a glimpse of whatever Azul is hiding. All he sees is paragraphs of text and a block where an image is drawn.

He does not get to know what the image is because Azul slams the book shut and demands with urgency, “Where is your brother, Floyd?”

A dragon’s treasure is guarded and hoarded with a shield-and-sword-heart acting as its knights. Malleus has found his treasure to have become his memories of you. If each recollection was a shiny ruby or bright diamond, Malleus puts them all in an isolated, inaccessible cache. In times where comfort is needed, he returns to roll a precious gem in his talons, moments of just you and him unshared with others playing in his mind. Right now, Malleus rotates a rose quartz.

This particular rose quartz was formed by magma crystallization as all are. The time period it was formed in was before you knew his true identity. 

You two are perched miles above the ground, on one of the eastern turrets of Night Raven College. You curl into your notepad as Malleus takes in the scenery. 

He took you up here by teleportation. You have improved in leaps and bounds from your first time being maneuvered about the earth by a teleportation spell. Unlike your first time, you only gag now rather than puke. After a spell (not performed by his hands) of dizziness, you two took your seats upon the roof. Meters in front of you lies a single gargoyle. Wingspan extended out and the spine facing you. 

He has already explained it to you in great detail, and you listened. Really listened. So used to be stared through, Malleus has recently been finding his ears turn pink at how you look at him. Tonight, he has cut off his presentation earlier than normal. Bashfully empty of words burnt out from your smoldering eyes.

Malleus welcomes the reprieve with gratitude. Chirping crickets and grinding graphite is the only music playing in his ears – though he can sometimes hear the jazz notes of you going no, no, that line does work, no, what’s another word for … no, too pretentious and has to keep himself from chuckling fondly.

Soon, the crickets find themselves without any further accompaniment; you have stopped writing. Curious, Malleus looks away from the stone he has been studying. His neck rolls. Rejuvenated, his pulse pounds in the taut muscles found in his throat at the sight of you. What a sight you truly are, unafraid to be here with him. 

You catch onto his unshakable staring. Tongue in cheek, pencil clenched in hand, you announce “I.” The pencil weeps under your strength. “I think I got it now.”

Malleus raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

You tap your pencil on the edge of your notepad anxiously. Then, taking a deep breath, you read your haiku:

“Apathy on stone

My prince, do not reveal tears

Gargoyle, keep your face.”

The look you give him is uneasy. He imagines you are anticipating harsh criticism, writing a poem on a subject matter he is so endowed in. Rather than criticism, the only thing in Malleus’s heart is a quick skipping beat.

You have such a way with words that it leaves his spellbound despite the unequivocal fact that you are very magicless. The words seem so knitted together for his especial heart. His own face of stone. However, knowing you do not know he is a prince, he considers the five-seven-five syllable poem and covers up his growing blush with one inquiry , “tears?”

“Because gargoyles are waterspouts. So, I wanted to layer an emotion to the functionality, the rigid job.” For a moment, you consider the poem in your hand then your mouth moves a mile a second. “Ugh! Truthfully, I wanted to say ‘a prince must never cry’ so it can keep the chain of commands like ‘keep your face’ but then the line would only be six syllables! Ugh, I hate haikus! I can’t write a single good one.” 

You look about ready to crumple up and toss the note away with hatred. It would not be surprising, you do this a lot. Enough to the point where Malleus has a collection of crinkled up poems — “If you want them, you can have them. They fucking stink though,” you had first bemoaned when Malleus first asked to keep your workshopping words. This one though, Malleus wants you to be proud of it.

“I happen to think it is quite beautiful, spellbinding almost.”

The way your eyes shimmer when looking at him leaves Malleus choking on the night air. He continues despite his temperature rising in his gut and nape.

“The first and third lines feel impersonal, but the middle line is soft. It is the gentleness sandwiched and withered away by the stone. Despite the cold exterior, there is a heart in there.”

The way you look at him — all the ways you look at him, but even more so now — has him falling helplessly in love with you. Stars blaze in your eyes like he has opened up the jaws of the universe and plucked your favorite part of the cosmo down for you. He would do so for you. He would do so much for you – divide the ocean down the middle, change the phrase of the moon, or tear the sky in two. Wounded so tightly across your finger that it surely cuts off circulation. You look at him so sweetly, bathed by the night’s glow. Malleus bites his tongue bloody to keep from telling you that you have the prettiest eyes. 

“That’s — That’s actually really a revolutionary way to look at it. I —,” you glance down at your work, “I really didn’t have the optimism to see it that way.”

“You should be more prideful of what you create. Your work too has a heart despite its cold exterior, even at its most tortured.”

“Stooop, I’ll blush.” You raise a hand over your eyes but a sleazy grin is underneath your fingers. You enjoy praise a lot.

“I am just being honest with you, Child of Man. You always asked me to be.” He pauses then asks, “however, may I inquire why use the word prince?”

“I don’t know. Don’t they seem regal to you at times?”

“Hm, there seems to be a resemblance.” 

“They remind me of you a lot. Regal. Ah, not that you’re a prince though … What’s that grin for? Don’t tell me I inflated your ego.”

“Nothing of the sorts, Child of Man.”

“Ah, whatever.” Despite your grumbled tone, you flip to the next notebook page. It is the first one he has seen you save rather than tear up. 

Rain pitters on the building, starting out soft like the languid pop of popcorn in a microwave. No, not on Night Raven College’s roof. Rainfall taps like fingertips on Diasomnia’s dormitory, and Malleus realizes it is time for him to put this rose quartz back in his treasure hoard. When his and Jade’s eyes meet across the room, his breath grows thorn in his lungs. Now is not the time to reflect.

From the towering polygon windows, the icy clouds heavy with rain are just barely visible through the shower sticking to the panes. Worser weather is certain to come like an expected guest. Malleus, tongue heavy, announces, “All that is left now is to retrieve their body.”

Diasomnia’s lounge has been cleared of all its furniture and rugs. Tables teleport away and rugs roll themselves up. Black leather couches and chairs are depressed tightly on the southern wall behind Jade and Malleus, blocking the entrance. Not that they are necessary barricades when the bombay blackwood doors are locked firmly with ancient magic. 

It is set in motion to take place in the lounge’s heart. The nook bordered by two grand staircases and twenty feet below where Diasomnia’s throne resides. Upon the cement ground, illuminated by no light, lies a circle of complex patterns and symbols made of thorns. In the middle of linking sigils, Octavinelle’s vice-housewarden stands with an apathetic, stone face. The same expression he had worn when he and Malleus made their contractual deal. 

He keeps his cards so close to his chest, you once bemoaned on your nightly ventures. Malleus remembers it well; you were reaching tear-out-your-hair hysteria due to cooking a meal for Jade Leech and not receiving a clear glimpse into his opinion. He’s impossible to read!  Your teeth flashed with frustration. 

It is an appropriate analogy. Like an experienced gambler, Jade knows not to leave his hands vulnerable to any ill-intent strikes. At first, he was incredibly suspicious of your kindness until evolution changed your kindness to a craving. With Malleus, Jade hides his cards behind his back and then shields them with an illusion spell to change the faces of the playing cards.

Making this shrewd deal was one of Jade’s finer moments. Like an experienced brain surgeon, he knows where to pull with roughness or push with softness in the intricate webbing of nerve-endings. Using survivor’s guilt as keen forceps and using his own signature spell as hooks, Jade performed a deal Azul would have been praiseful of. 

Which is why he will comply with the terms, because he has already prematurely agreed to them. Green eyes watch him pull black gloves carefully from his hands. He folds them once, pockets them, then unclips his magic pen from his breast pocket. A collision of two stars bursts in bright colors on the surface of Jade’s pen.

From out of thin air, you appear. You fall into Jade’s arm with all the grace of a dead body. Jade catches you in a dancer’s standard dip. Limp, your neck stretches as far as it can while dangling strands of hair point down at the ground like a thousand knives. 

He plants a gentle kiss on your cheek. Mourning and love mix in his heterochromic eyes. Jade takes to silently brushing away the pieces that cover up your forehead’s scar as if to almost say to Malleus who watches Jade lift you bridal style: look at what you did to them, look. 

Malleus’s otherwise imperative stare moves to a window. The rain is starting to get gradually heavier. When Malleus looks back, Jade is kneeled in the middle of the circle of thorns, as was pre-planned. The stone-faced prince of Briar Valley interlocks his gloves underneath the gem’s handle base instead of just holding it in one hand.

“No matter what you see or hear, your focus must never flicker from the Child of Man. A single interruption is a breakage in a dam of irreversible consequence. I ask you to heed these words carefully … Jade.”

“Of course.” Curt and clip, Jade’s confirmation is nothing more than contractual obligation. 

The vines from the head base to gemstone bring to shift. Two interlocked vines rotate in a downward spiral, dancing around one another. 

“Then, let us not waste another second.”

The spindle’s wheel starts to spin. Slowly at first, it moves at a pace where one can keep track of the mismatched sized spokes. Gradually, the spindle picks up pace. Inner spokes start to move in a heartbeat-esque pattern, up and down from long to short to long to short. Bombay blackwood twirls; the natural grain melts together into one smooth surface. It keeps picking up pace, twirling faster and faster. It is now impossible to distinguish where the spokes lie as they all melt into nebulous black. Accumulating to its peak, Malleus’s spindle moves so swiftly that it appears to slow down, moving counterclockwise. 

Wind picks up in Diasomnia as if a tornado is tearing through the stone ribcage. Malleus’s hair flies around him like ebon seaweed caught along a boat’s racing hook. The obsidian markings on his forehead stay relenting to the fierce winds, tight upon his increasingly crinkling brow. Behind his pointed ears, ebon strands whip back and forth with a vengeance. 

Jade’s and your hair move in tandem, blown in the same direction. Despite the discord around, despite when Malleus starts to chant, nothing tears his gaze from you. His eyes are intent on you like a mere blink would cause you to dissolve into seafoam. Despite the lighting hitting the ground, he keeps his stare. 

A breath later, the lounge is plunged into green. 

On the tongue of a stone bridge, Floyd and Azul appear out of thin air. Not entirely out of thin air though; around their shoulders, the shimmer of the transportation mirror into Diasomnia fades over their bodies. Rain smacks them in the face with a grievous scorn. Azul loses his footing temporarily but Floyd catches him by the elbow.

He pushes up his glasses, rain falls so hard and fast that they become more of an obstacle than a helper for sight. Getting drenched by the second, Azul stops with Floyd to watch the show of dancing lightning. “By Sevens, do you really think Draconia is overblotting again?”

Diasomnia staff and students in Mostro Lounge had started checking their phones as Floyd and Azul stepped out from the VIP room. Apparently, there was a storm brewing in the Diasomnia dormitory. Apparently, the main foyer was closed off and the vice-housewarden was evacuating students. Apparently, Malleus Draconia is overblotting a second time. Who knows if the information is reliable. All that is important is Jade was seen days ago, walking on this very stone bridge past midnight.

“I don’t care. I know Sea Slug knows where Jade is.” Floyd’s lips pull into a beastly snarl. “C’mon.” 

A cold sweat breaks on Malleus’s forehead. From the two connecting diamonds imprinted on his forehead, sweat drops. It trails down over his nose to his lips which are harshly breathing air in and out. 

Malleus Draconia has to minutely remind himself how breathing works as the tornado rips through Diasomnia like a savage bear. Pressure stomps on his chest with an iron boot. Through all his wild chase to keep oxygen in his lungs, he recognizes it not as pain but rather a deserved punishment. I’m sorry, Child of Man. It is an unheard sentiment; even if said, it would be torn from his lips and thrown yards away by the wind. 

There are many unheard sentiments chopped by the furious air. Most of them come from Silver, Sebek, and Lilia, behindthe barracked door, drowned out by turbulent winds. Harsh air chops up the syllables like a knife, turning them into incomprehensible poetry. The sentiments matter little until among them a single voice shouts, “JADE!”

Stricken, Jade tears his hell-bent gaze away from you. He does not answer loud enough to be heard over the maelstrom but the sentiment is still sincere. “Floyd?”

“Ignore it! Focus on them!!” Under Malleus’s instructions, Jade fixes the nucleus of his sight back onto you. A resurrection can only be completed with the kiss of true love. Without that passionate embrace, the body will lose the returning soul it momentarily holds. A true love’s kiss seals it back in the body. He waits for the predestined moment where he can connect your lips together with unwavering focus. 

“Just a little longer now, my love.” Jade’s lips pull into a lovestruck grin. “Soon.”

Among the wind, voices converse:

“Pry open the door!”

“We have been trying to!”

“Your hands are not broken or bloodied! You obviously have not!!”

“Malleus, this could kill you! This could kill you both!”

“ Malleus!!”

“Jade, you fuck!”

Azul shouts with all his remaining strength, “Jade, don’t do this!!”

A black star forms silently over Jade’s head. 

All of his life, he has been unapproachable. All of his life, people have found his teeth nightmarish and his eyes ghoulish. All of his life, he has waited for someone like you. You mean the universe to him; driven to the point where he would do something as forbidden as this. Malleus grips his staff tighter and Jade grips you tighter.

The black star is an abomination. Quantum processes work in rotation, lapping over each other like yin-and-yang. Ebony water shimmer in the middle of the black star while the outer ring strangles the air atoms with thorns. Atomic particles split into twos, going smaller than scientists thought possible, with the strength of the semiclassical, gravitational abomination. 

It thumps like a grotesque, wet heart and churns with the sound of visceral tearing. From the black thorns, the atmosphere collapses into blue-gray dust, destroying the atoms in its way. The black star gives a pained groan before it expels what it has taken.

From the inky depths of a black star, wisps of smoke start to seep down like water from overhead greenhouse hoses. The plumes of cloud hiss with head-splitting volume. Slowly, those misty clouds spiral back into a congealing mass. A split tornado swirling back into its original shape. Smoke tightens and arrows down before erupting into a cloud over your face. You swallow it; from your eyes, to your nose, to your ears, to your mouth, you swallow all the mist until there is nothing left in the collapsing air. 

Perhaps you are not swallowing; perhaps it is entering.

Jade watches intent each centimeter square of your face with glassy eyes. He waits until each wisps of vapor diffuses into the very pores of your skin. When the air is clear of the smoke, he brings up his right hand to move hair that has fallen over your features.

Onto the skies of your lips, Jade Leech whispers his heart. “I love you. I cannot live this life without my heart and soul. Come back to me; where you belong, my love, is with me.” Under a gruesome black star, he kisses you. 

It is an unreciprocated kiss. When kissing a corpse, one should never expect to be greeted with tender amorous sensations. This is why Jade does not despair when he feels nothing, suctioning your lifeless lips in two kisses before pecking harshly for the third and final kiss. It is alright – he can have his real kiss soon – because the black star is killing itself. 

Collapsing air closes in a snap. Leftover blue-gray powder hangs in the air like dust particles seen from the sunlight’s rays. Slowly, green light starts to slither away, dimming in quanta measures. All is so tranquil; even the tornado winds bottled in the lounge start to dim away. Then, like your heart is trying to jump from your chest, you start to hyperventilate in Jade’s arms.

“(Na-Name) … (Name),” love washes over Jade’s tongue. You twist violently in his arms, throat and chest pounding up and down with irregular breaths. Like a cornered prey, your eyes are wild with confusion. “It’s okay … I got you. You’re safe … Oh, you’re so beautiful. My love.” 

Neck rolling back, seizure-like eyes go white and you cough out a mushroom-shaped cloud of blue-gray dust. Black blood drips down your left nostril and trails like a tear off your cheek. Exhaustively, your chest continues to punch in and out with air that misses their connection in your lungs by centimeters. If you do not find a way to breathe, you will surely die a second time. 

Not that Jade would let that happen after just getting you back. Jade maneuvers you with ease. He moves your back so it lies on his chest and whispers,  “I know it will be difficult but follow along to my breath. Feel it go in … out … in … out … in … out … there, there … out … in … good, so good.”

Your chest beats wildly like the tempo of a metal song while Jade’s chest beats with the measured drum of rhythm and blues. Ungloved skin rests, fingers spread wide, on your chest. Each groove of each other’s bones are felt. Past the layers of muscle, skin, and clothes, your lungs touch together in a kiss. Jade depresses his chest on your back, bending you into a hunch. His words are almost delirious.

“I love you. I love you so much. I love you, please see it and believe it. I would do anything for you, (Name).”

Slowly, the tempo of your lungs start to dim like the lightning, green lights, and wind do. Jade moves his hand from your chest to your left shoulder. He depresses his lips on your neck, holding onto you painfully tight. 

“ … Right where I want you to be again. Be here with me. Be awake with me. I love you.”

You capture your first real breath as the door to the lounge bursts open.

You turn, eyes wide as saucers. Behind you, Jade’s timid smiling face greets you from your eternal sleep. Another string of black blood drips down your face, this one coming from your right nostril. Your brows creases then flattens out, recognizing the face after a moment of hesitation..

“Jade?”

In response, Jade smiles with all his teeth.

Separate from you two, Malleus lies on the floor. His own heart and lungs beating erratically, panting like a dog on a smoldering summer’s day. Lilia may put his hand on his shoulder to try and vanquish the tidal wave of breathlessness but Malleus shrugs it off. His staff is knocked by his side from the explosion of the black star collapsing. Malleus uses it to push himself up on his knees. 

His heart floods with relief and love at seeing the sight of you breathing in Jade’s arms. Besotted beyond belief, he whispers lovestruck, “Child of Man.” Then, the calm expression melts off his face and reveals panic. Because that is not –!

“Jade!”

Floyd breaks into the room like a storm; shoulder-checks Sebek who is trying to reach Malleus; jumps over the furniture that prove to be useless barracks. “Jade,” he shouts again when he notices his brother has yet to turn away from you. 

Their eyes find each other across the room easily. It is incredibly hard to see in the Coral Sea, biological and environmental factors working double-time together to ensure they stayed in the middle of the food chain. Their shared beacon of gold keeps them tethered together in the sea and on the land. No one else, not even their parents have an eye similar to theirs. That’s my brother is what that single ring of gold means.

Floyd can recognize Jade as such even now at the worst of times. However, a marginal note is stapled onto the thought. That’s my brother and, right now, I’m terrified of him. It is an odious thought. Sevens, Floyd can feel the tap-dancers of bile make their merry way up his throat at this very moment. What keeps them tethered together feels more like a chain than a security line to use.

“Bad decisions, good times,” Jade reads off his t-shirt. “Hm, Floyd?”

How can he speak so calmly with that in his arms? Perhaps, that too is part of why Floyd feels goosebumps on the back of his thighs. A prey or lower predator has signals receptors to recognize danger. A cat shows its fear in a twitching tail; Floyd wonders how he must be showing his own fear. Call it animal insight but a part of Floyd knows deep down, that is not you in his brother’s arms. 

“Ja-Jaido.”

“Florido.”

Do this for me, Jade’s eyes seem to implore. Ah, you asshole, Floyd’s eyes respond. 

He walks forward through a graveyard of thorns. “They probably can’t walk that well. Gotta be winded.” Floyd outstretches his left hand; Jade’s eyes squint in gaiety and your own gape wide in curiosity. The grip Jade has around you is protective.  “C’mon, get up.”

“Thank you, Floyd,” Jade says, placing his hand on his brother’s.