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mlmxreader · 3 months

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Rainfall | Cooper Howard x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Getting caught in the rain together with the ghoul please? ❞

: ̗̀➛ You and Cooper have a heart to heart whilst in the rain.

: ̗̀➛ mentions of violence, swearing

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

A storm was brewing. Thunder clapping as the skies went from blue to a greenish yellow; almost the colour of sick and vomit as the grey and stained clouds fused and mixed together, flashes of light grey striking through them almost as often as the thunder clapped.

You looked to Cooper, frowning and silently asking what should be done, but he didn't pay you any mind; too busy rummaging through the bloodied chem box to even think about looking at you. It had been that way since he hired you.

But in truth, Cooper had forgotten why he had hired you in the first place; maybe it was that savage deathclaw problem down near the big river, or was it the synth drama near the mountains?

Didn't matter much now anyway. You had been travelling together for so long, and double the guns meant double the caps, and the money was awfully good.

You didn't question much about jobs, but you always disproved when he didn't try and raise the price for the more menial shit - help us defend our farm. My cat ran out of the vault and I need him back. Super mutants are stealing our crops. Menial, pointless shit.

"Hey!" You snapped, huffing loudly. "Earth to Ghoul!"

Cooper turned to look at you, grumbling as he sneered. "What?"

You gestured to the sky, folding your arms across your chest as you sneered back. "The weather, dickhead. Don't you think we should get some shelter?"

"Pop a Rad-X," he growled out. "You'll live."

"Contrary to popular belief, I don't wanna look like you," you told him. "With your stupidly dark brown eyes that I get lost in, and your fuckin' gloved hands and your fuckin' charming smile and your... fuck!"

He smiled to himself as he nodded slowly, refusing your gaze. "Keep talkin' like that, I might just stay here just to hear more o' it."

"Cooper," you growled out through gritted teeth. "This is serious!"

Cooper chuckled lowly, shaking his head as he pocketed whatever he could from the chem box, not worried about the blood smearing onto his gloves. "Alright, alright. We'll get you some shelter, Merc."

"Thank you."

You waited for him to get up, dusting off his trousers before he tilted his head back to check the skies; he nodded curtly, tipping his hat and waving for you to follow.

You were quick, just slightly out of his shadow as you fell into step with him; Cooper slowed down slightly, letting you be beside him as he lead the way.

But the second he felt a single droplet hit the back of his neck, he grabbed his hat, and all but smacked it onto your head.

"Keep the rads off ya," he shrugged. "You're no use to me if you're sick."

You smiled a little, fixing the hat so that it kept the rain from your skin. "Real noble of ya, Ghoul."

Cooper hummed, letting the rain hit his skin as he listened closely to the thunder; it was all getting closer now, like each droplet allowed the storm to creep an inch towards you both.

Wouldn't be long before he would also need shelter - the rads were one thing, but it wasn't ideal to be soaked to the bone and wandering around in the damp and cold. But then you smacked his shoulder, and he glared at you.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks," you told him, flicking the brim of his hat. "I know it kills you to be kind."

"Shuddup," he scoffed, slowly letting his arm rest around your shoulders as he did his best not to laugh. "For a merc, you're sure mouthy."

You grinned, leaning into him slightly. "For a bounty hunter, you're awfully sentimental."

"Hm." Cooper shook his head. "Well, ain't like we're strangers."

"We ain't," you agreed. "Y'know, you never did tell me where you come from."

He shrugged, clearing his throat. "Came from some place way out West... you know how I'm lookin' for my family?"

You nodded. "Yeah."

"My daughter," he told you. "And my wife... I just wanna know where they are, especially Janey. She... I just wanna know she's okay."

You nodded again, gently patting his back as you cleared your throat. "I wanna help."

"You don't-"

"I want to," you insisted, stepping in front of him and glaring him down. "I want to help you find them. No extra charge."

Cooper swallowed thickly, his heart rising and pounding. "Alright... but don't tell-"

"Another living being," you agreed. "I get it. It's not something that you want someone finding out and... y'know, I do appreciate the honesty."

He held his hand out, letting you shake it as he grunted softly. "Done deal, merc."

You pulled on his hand, your breath fanning across the stretched and scarred skin on his cheeks. "You trusted me, so I'm gonna trust you - but you dare even reference this when we're speaking around anyone, and I will gauge your eye out and make you eat it raw. Nerves and all."

Cooper smiled, grabbing the back of your neck. "Well, tell me."

"You're looking for your family, so I don't expect anything to come out of this," you started, "but recently? I've been having some... feelings about you that I don't think I've ever had before. I don't wanna put you on this and make you feel like you gotta abandon anyone for me, but I need you to know because you told me the truth."

The rain started to fall a little heavier, the droplets cascading from the brim of his hat and making it look like you were surrounded by the water; he smiled, licking his lips. Of course he still loved and adored Barb; she would always, always hold his heart, and she would always be the love of his life.

But he couldn't deny that he did feel something for you - it wasn't as much, and it wasn't as deep, but it was still there.

"We best get to shelter," he said quietly, clenching his jaw. "Fore this rain gets even worse. C'mon."

You didn't even hesitate, falling into step with him as easily as you had done earlier; a soft hum coming from the back of your throat.

"Y'know, we ought to find one of them portable radios," you told him. "It'd be good for us to have some music while we walk, don't ya think?"

He rolled his eyes as he did his best not to smile. "Next town's a day's walk, I'll see if we can find one."

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

thank you so much for reading, but if I may steal just a moment of time, I'd like to say that Mahmoud still needs help rebuilding his life after being forced to leave the Gaza Strip. If you could spare even just £1, then that would really, truly & honestly, make a massive difference to help someone in need.

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hd-wireless · 2 months

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📻🎶 H/D WIRELESS 2024 - WEEKLY WRAP-UP #4

🎤 Can you believe we’ve had four weeks of amazing creations already? We certainly can’t! We hope you’re enjoying the works inspired by music that hit just the right tone to make them into unique drarry fics, art, and podfics.

There are enough works for us to post for one last week of glorious Drarry goodness, so buckle up for the final countdown! 🎶

As always you can listen to the prompted songs for the works we post on two playlists:

Click here for Spotify (many thanks to @evaeleanor for helping us out there) ❤️ And here for the YouTube playlist.

🎶 H/D Wireless Art 🎶

📻 The Shape I found you in [Not Rated, Digital art]

🎵 Song Prompt: 'The Shape I found you in' by 'Girlyman' 🎵 Summary: But your heart was busy within, Building bomb shelters under your skin. That's the shape I found you in

🎶 H/D Wireless Fic and Art 🎶

📻 Thunder [E, 11,325, digital]

🎵 Song Prompt: "Dreams" by Fleetwood Mac 🎵 Summary: Harry and Ginny are on a break. Harry and Ginny don’t want anyone to know. Harry assumes Ginny is fucking their way through their Quidditch team. Harry punches Draco Malfoy in the face in his free time. Harry considers this a perfectly reasonable coping mechanism. Harry figures that as long as he keeps everything the way that it is, that everything will stay the same, and nothing bad will happen, and Ginny will stay with him, and Malfoy will keep quietly visiting his dreams.

🎶 H/D Wireless Fic 🎶

📻 crawlin' helpless on the floor [M, 1,525]

🎵 Song Prompt: Cure For Pain by Morphine 🎵 Summary: It doesn't take much to torment a man when he's three broken contracts away from being out of a job and down a newspaper.

📻 Hell is the talkin' type [E, 7,309]

🎵 Song Prompt: Dinner and Diatribes by Hozier 🎵 Summary: “Morgana, I need a drink,” Draco sighs. “Why did I let you convince me to participate in this torture again?” Harry chuckles. “Because I’m your husband, and you love me?” he offers. “Bah. Remind me not to let myself be so sentimental next time.”

📻 Mr Blue Sky [E, 69,024]

🎵 Song Prompt: ‘Mr. Blue Sky’ by ‘Electric Light Orchestra’ 🎵 Summary: Mr Blue Sky, please tell us why, you had to hide away for so long... After five years, Malfoy had finally escaped house arrest, and he moved in just a few streets down from Grimmauld Place. Overnight, the Daily Prophet seemed to fall in love with him. For his charity work, and his charming smile, and—Harry was sure—his prattish fucking personality. No matter how hard Harry tried, he couldn't stop running into him. He had bigger problems, though. His best friends in the world were having a baby together, which was fantastic, except that they weren't sure he could hold it together well enough to be Godfather. But despite being flat broke, with a dead dad, and no one willing to risk hiring him, Malfoy appeared to be completely in control of the narrative surrounding his newfound freedom. Maybe Harry could learn a thing or two from the best of the best. After all, he had the entire pregnancy to convince Ron and Hermione he was perfectly, entirely, 100% fine. If sometimes he had to fistfight Malfoy about it, well, that was nothing new.

📻 'tis the damn season [M, 2,892]

🎵 Song Prompt: 'tis the damn season by Taylor Swift 🎵 Summary: He doesn’t know why the universe seems to keep placing him in Potter’s proximity every time he returns to London. He doesn’t know how they keep falling into bed, every year, like clockwork. Draco has tried not to question it.

📻 Tecum Ad Astra [M, 3,257]

🎵 Song Prompt: Levitating by Dua Lipa 🎵 Summary: It's Friday night and Harry Potter is relaxing with a good book in front of a crackling fire. But he should be at the club.

📻 Music to my ears [E, 13,190]

🎵 Song Prompt: River flows in You, Yiruma 🎵 Summary: Harry is completely captivated by the beautiful music played on a street piano at a park in Cambridge. He is, however, unprepared for whom the pianist turns out to be.

📻 Pancakes for Dinner [T, 2,176]

🎵 Song Prompt: Pancakes for Dinner by Lizzie McAlpine 🎵 Summary: Draco’s on a trip to visit Harry in his new city at his new job. He’s not brave enough to say how he really feels.

📻 Seasons [E, 9,314]

🎵 Song Prompt: Águas de Março (Waters of March) by Antônio Carlos Jobim 🎵 Summary: Seconds pass, and it’s like he can see Draco worrying the sliver of glass in his heart, looking for a way to press it out, to expose the wound to the sun. It’s life; Harry can be patient.

#hd wireless #hd wireless 2024 #drarry #drarry art #drarry fic #drarry fic and art #weekly wrap up no 4

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timid-raccoon · 7 months

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New Year's

Another New Year’s Eve had come and gone without you. I still remember our first one, just shortly after we had met. I remember you looking at me across the small crowd with that dazzling smile, cheeks rosy from the cold and the drink in your hand alike. Your warm eyes sparkled with the fairy lights that were wrapped around the pergola on our mutual friend’s patio. This was the night we shared our first kiss, under the flashing lights of the fireworks illuminating the night sky that mirrored the fireworks erupting in my chest.

A quiet walk home, memories of a lost loved one, and a snowflake.

Author's note: This is the first fic I’m releasing into the wild, so please be nice, but also, constructive criticism is appreciated, as this isn’t exactly beta read (other than me sending this to my sister and her saying she liked it). I recommend listening to the piano versions of the EP “One” by Sleep Token - especially “When The Bough Breaks” - while reading, which can be found here.

Crossposted on AO3

Word count: 1.1k

I buried my head deeper in my scarf, pulling my shoulders up to shield myself against the cold gust of wind that tousled my hair. The fingers gripping my umbrella were starting to go numb despite the thick gloves I was wearing. The walk home was quiet, the fresh snow that was softly crunching under my feet laying a silent blanket over every sound, swallowing and muffling it. Hardly anyone was out on the streets – people were surely still sleeping or nursing their hangovers from partying until the early morning hours. It was only just after 9 a.m. on New Year’s Day, after all. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath of the crisp winter air through my nose to help wake me up, having only gotten a few short hours of sleep myself. The smell of the softly falling snow filled my lungs and I opened my eyes again, blinking into the bright white morning light as I exhaled a cloud of condensation.

It was only a few months later that we decided to move in together. From the very beginning, everything with you had just felt right. When Steven had first introduced us, conversation was immediately flowing easily, skipping the superficial small-talk and cutting straight to the deeper questions that life and the universe held. I was captivated by your intellect and the way you expressed yourself, going from profound philosophical musings to sarcastic remarks without missing a beat.

With you I had felt like a queen. You were very attentive, always making a point to remember every detail about what I liked or disliked, knowing what I needed before I even said anything. Like how once we had settled in our cozy 2-bedroom apartment with a small balcony and a beautiful view of the sunrise from the kitchen window, it was only natural to you that we would adopt a cat, just because I had mentioned once that I was bummed I couldn’t get one because my own 3rd floor studio apartment was too small for an indoor cat. When we went to the shelter just to look, it was love at first sight. He came straight up to us, happily meowing and pushing his head into your hand as you squatted down to pet him. I thought I might dissolve into a puddle at the sight. The two most beautiful creatures I had ever laid eyes on right before me – one with long auburn hair held up by a claw clip, eyes shining in utter adoration, the other mostly grey with barely visible tabby markings on his back, a white moustache, and the biggest blue eyes, purring contentedly. We took him home the next day after getting all the essentials and named him Frodo.

Sometimes you almost felt too good to be true and I was honored you had chosen me out of all people to do life with. The most mundane things turned into cherishable memories just because I had you by my side. Even the one New Year’s Eve we spent at home just the two of us because you were sick, cuddling on the couch with Frodo and watching old movies, felt special.

On our last New Year’s together I didn’t know you would be ripped from me just shortly after, leaving your own dreams and aspirations unfulfilled, leaving me and your friends broken and empty.

On that final morning when I left for work, I didn’t know I would never again come back home to you greeting me with the lightest of kisses on the tip of my nose, like you always did, making me scrunch up my face with a smile. Frodo kept searching the apartment for you for weeks, meowing at the front door, like he would when you were gone on tour, but this time I couldn’t console him by assuring him you would be back soon. Your office chair became his favorite place to nap in.

Nicholas and I still hung out every now and then, even though I only knew him because of you, him being your long-time best friend. We didn’t see each other often these days with you gone, but when we did it was always like greeting an old friend, being connected by the grief and pain we felt and a mutual understanding for it that was always there, without having to say a word. Even two years later I still saw little glimpses of you in him, tiny mannerisms and phrases he had picked up from you and I was sure you had left the same imprint on me for Nicholas to see. He knew, New Year’s was still just as hard for me as it was for him, that day being the last time he had seen you, so when he had asked me to come over for a small party with his closest friends, a sense of gratitude had flooded me. I wouldn’t be alone, I would be with people who understand, celebrating life in all its beauty and all its darkness.

I had left Nicholas’ place before most of the others had woken up, after roughly cleaning away the worst of the mess in the living room quietly, carefully stepping over the sleeping bodies on mattrasses on the floor and giving the still sleepy host a quick but tight hug goodbye, putting all my appreciation for him in it and promising to text him when I got home okay. The night had been fun, but with my social battery drained and the weight of everything still heavy on my heart, I just wanted to get home, take a hot shower, and spend the day wrapped in a blanket, cuddling Frodo.

When I arrived at the door of my apartment building, the snowfall had subsided and even the sun tried breaking through the tiny patches of blue in the otherwise still overcast sky. As I fumbled for my keys in my deep coat pocket, a lone snowflake flurried its way under my umbrella and landed right on the tip of my nose. A warm shiver spread through my body and I closed my eyes, scrunching up my face.

“Hi Noah,” I breathed into the air with a soft smile on my lips.

#I'm so nervous about posting this 😬#noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian fanfiction #bad omens fic #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian x ofc #noah sebastian #fanfic #New Year's #my work

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xxsp3llb0undxx · 2 years

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Blast from the past

Tommy Miller x Lost Lover!Reader [5.2k]

Disclaimer: Please do not repost my work to other sites or claim as your own, this is purely written from my imagination and from the help of the series. All rights of the main storyline goes to the writers and producers of The Last Of Us.

Summary: Tommy and reader were together way before the apocalypse, they were high-school sweethearts. When the cordyceps had begun to spread through the world, Y/n was on her way back to Texas after being gone for a few years, only to face the hard reality of the world turning upside down. Never knowing if Tommy ever came home or even looked for her.

WARNING: GORE ,, BLOOD ,, INFECTED ,, LOSS ,, MENTIONS OF DEATH ,, HEARTBREAK ,, SWEARING ,, PANIC ATTACK ,, MAJOR FLUFF

A/N - Listened to my 60s-70s playlist while writing this, highly recommend doing that when you're writing something set around an apocalyptic event, for some reason the music always pairs well with dystopian fics ??

MASTERLIST TLOU

Tommy, Joel and Y/n had all grown up together, went to the same schools and even lived a couple houses away from each other. Once Y/n and Tommy had hit high-school, they started to change; growing more mature. They were in sophomore year when Tommy had found the courage to ask Y/n to be his, he knew she was the one for him but the fear of never being enough always stopped him from telling her but then he did and it was the best decision Tommy ever made. Their relationship was the best it could be at their age, until Tommy left for the Army once they had finished high-school.

Y/n was alone for awhile, Joel checked up on her from time to time but he couldn't do it as often as he was a new dad and all that. Y/n had left Texas when Sarah had turned 4, two years after Tommy had been drafted, she thought it was for the best to leave this life behind and start anew. So off she went to Kansas City, she put herself through college, juggling 2 jobs just to keep herself afloat. Joel would send her pictures of Sarah every month, sharing the memories of their father-daughter bonding, what hurt Y/n the most was - there was no mention of Tommy in the couple years of her moving to another state, it was like he vanished. She wondered if he was doing well, if he had found someone who made him happy, if he ever thought of her.

It had been 12 years since Y/n had seen Tommy, no letters from him or even a fucking call. She tried to push away every memory she had of him, every joke he told her, every kiss they had shared. She wanted to forget about him because if she didn't, she would lose herself completely and that wasn't an option. Everyday was the same - wake up, shower, eat, work, sleep and repeat. It was infuriatingly boring. Y/n missed the light in her life, the enjoyment. So she went back home to Texas, maybe visiting Joel and Sarah would satisfy the loneliness following her around. She had packed her bags and put them in the trunk, it was around 12 in the afternoon when she headed off to Texas. When she had reached the state border checkpoint into Texas, it was blocked off by military trucks; the soldiers shouted out to those trying to cross - "Please get back in your vehicles and turn around, it is not safe here."

It all happened in a instant, the sky looked as if it were ablaze. Cars and trucks turned over, half blown up, smoke coming out of every crevice. There was chaos everywhere, the roads were jam-packed with abandoned cars, infected ripping apart anything with a pulse. Screams and cries all around, the noise making everything more nightmarish. The streetlights flickered, as if they were sending a message through Morse code - a plea for help. The streets of downtown Texas were dark, there was no one left for the cordyceps to infect; they had either ran off and tried to find shelter from this never-ending doom or they had met the same fate as those sprawled on the floor, lying in pools of their own blood and guts.

Y/n had finally made her way to the Miller house, the front door slightly ajar; something was terribly wrong. She had her way up the steps and walked into the dark home, it was eerily quiet as she walked around trying to find anything to help her find Joel and Sarah. Y/n had went to the kitchen and looked around for something to drink, she was dehydrated and probably suffering the effects of sleep deprivation, she finally found bottled water and stuffed them into a bag from beside the front door. Y/n put as much food and water in the bag as she could carry, picking it up and sliding it on to her back to carry. She picked up one of the kitchen knives that had fallen on the floor, hoping it'll protect her enough to get out of this fucked up place. A picture on the fridge, held up by a magnet, caught Y/n's eye; it was Sarah and Joel, they were smiling wide, eyes sparkling in the sun. She took the picture and folded it up, putting it into the front pocket of her jeans. Then she left, going somewhere she didn't know.

19 years later, June 15th 2023 - Omaha, Nebraska

It had been 19 years, 9 months and 11 days since the outbreak - not like anyone was keeping count though. The clocks had stopped, sewer systems barely working; even in the QZ's. The world had given up, let the infection win the war. Buildings now covered in vines and leaves, mother nature coming back to claim what was rightfully hers. Y/n had left the QZ in Lincoln about a year ago, sick of shovelling the ashes of those unfortunate enough to become subjected to the cordyceps. Omaha wasn't great, it was mostly populated by clickers and runners but it was big enough to keep distance from their colonies. Y/n still had her fair share of run ins with a group of clickers a few times, barely making it out alive.

The older woman had now set up camp in an abandoned subway station, the only place the infected never entered; though she could never understand why. It was dark when Y/n woke up after scavenging the surrounding areas, around 3am or at least she thought it was but no one could ever truly be sure anymore. The sound of rain hitting the steps of the subway station filled the air, it hadn't rained in what felt like years. Taking the opportunity to get more water, Y/n placed empty cans, that had been cleaned out, and bottles from her previous water, out to collect as much of the rain water possible. She had sat on the cold tiled floor for an hour or so before she heard a noise - footsteps. She could decipher two separate pairs but she wasn't entirely sure, all Y/n knew was they were coming straight for her.

With her back against the wall of one of the stone columns, gun drawn and held tightly in her hands. She was on high alert, trying to stay encased in the shadows to give her the upper hand. Once the two people had come down the steps and into view, she noticed it was a man and a younger girl, probably his daughter. The girl walked over to Y/n's sleeping area, rooting through her things; taking what was needed. The sound of a trigger being pulled ricocheted off the walls of the station, drawing the attention of the two strangers. Y/n crouched, moving along the tiled floor keeping distance between her and the two intruders. "Put my shit down or I swear, I will shoot you both and leave you as chow for the clickers." The threat made the girl put down what she had taken, backing away from Y/n's stash.

"Stop hiding in the shadows, if you wanted to kill us you would've done it already." The sound of a rough voice called out, he had an accent of some sort but Y/n couldn't put her finger on it. With her gun held tightly in her hands, she slowly walked out from where she had been hiding, aiming the barrel at the two people in front of her. The older male had deep brown eyes, his brown hair had flecks of grey running through it, same as his beard. Y/n thought he looked familiar, like she had known him in a past life. The girl, who was close to his side, had long brown hair pulled into a ponytail, brown eyes that held so much fear. She couldn't have been more than 15. The salt and pepper haired man wearily stepped forward, his hands in front of him in an attempt to calm the situation and not get himself shot.

"Hey. Hey, aim at me. She's just a kid, point the gun at me." Y/n diverted her attention from the young girl, now completely focused on the man in front of her. Half of his face hidden behind a shadow from his flashlight reflecting off one of the walls, casting dark shapes around the room. She noticed a small scar on the side of his face, grazing across his temple. His skin was tanned, slight wrinkles adorned his face. Y/n was in a trance, unable to process being slammed to the floor by the older male, her gun now being pointed at her head. She was scared but she knew better than to let it show, her eyes narrowed at the man above her; the more she looked at him the more he resembled someone she once loved. Tommy fucking Miller. But he was gone, and she knew it wasn't him but he looked so much like the man threatening to blow her head off.

The two intruders had tied Y/n's hands behind one of the stations columns, her gun now in the lap of the man who pinned her to the floor not to long ago. The young girl kept sneaking small glances at Y/n, her dark brown eyes wide with distrust. "Can you get your kid to stop staring at me, it's fucking creepy." Her voice came out hoarse, the man looked her way debating whether to acknowledge her or not. "She's not my kid. And Ellie leave the goddamn woman alone, you don't need to stare." His accent was becoming more noticeable, he had a southern drawl.

Y/n's eyes looked between the pair, trying to figure out why such a young kid would be with some man that wasn't related to her in anyway. Before she could voice her concern, Ellie started rummaging through her bag, pulling everything out. A picture fell out, the one of Sarah and Joel that she took the day everything went to shit. "Hey. Put that back, you don't get to fucking touch that." Her voice was raised, she thrashed about trying to get loose from the restraints. Ellie ignored her and spoke to the older male beside her and handed him the picture. He took it from her and stared at it with tear filled eyes, he hadn't see that picture in years, he had almost forgotten what his daughter looked like.

His head snapped up at Y/n, anger bubbled in the pit of his stomach. He needed to know how she had this picture. He took long strides over to her figure against the column, crouching in front of her; the picture now laying in her lap. "How do you have this picture? Now don't fucking lie to me either." He was ready to shoot Y/n and leave her here to rot or maybe even feed her to the infected lurking around. "Sarah.." Y/n whispered, her voice on the point of breaking. Soft cries wracked her body, hiccups getting caught in her throat. Then everything clicked in Joel's head, he finally knew who this woman was - Y/n, his annoying best friend, but also Tommy's ex.

Ellie noticed Joel's demeanour change in an instant, she didn't understand why he was acting like his world had just crumbled around him when he had been treating Y/n like shit 10 minutes prior, he was unpredictable. Ellie sat there watching the whole scene unfold in front of her eyes, it started with Joel undoing Y/n's restraints and bringing her into him, holding her close. Then were the tears, Joel fucking Miller was crying; Ellie was stunned, who was this man and what happened to the stubborn ass that never joked around? Joel and Y/n held each other for 20 minutes, just sat there clinging onto each other. Once everything had died down, Joel had turned to Ellie and waved her over, he wanted her to meet the woman that he cared dearly for.

Ellie and Y/n had fallen asleep a couple hours ago, Joel told them he'd keep watch even though Y/n had told him no infected ever step foot in the station. He was sat by himself, far enough from the two sleeping figures for them to not hear him finally let out his emotions as he cradled the picture of Sarah. He finally had a piece of her again, something to keep him going. The sound of rustling fabric broke him away from his little moment, he looked over to see Y/n walking over to him. "You need some rest, Joel. I'll keep watch, I wont let anything happen to you or Ellie." He shook his head at the young woman beside him, he didn't want to fall asleep in case everyone disappeared and he would be alone again.

The two sat in silence for awhile until the rays of the sun beamed through the cracks of the station, creating streaks of white and yellow throughout the building. Y/n turned to Joel noticing his hunched over figure still clutching the picture, she moved his head to lay on her shoulder hoping he would be more comfortable. A content sigh left his lips as he slumped more into the woman, his weight leaning against her smaller frame. Ellie had woken up a little while after, Y/n put her finger to her lips signally for the girl to stay quiet in fear she would wake Joel up. Ellie only nodded and pulled out a book from her bag and began reading it, stifled giggles broke through the quiet room Y/n look at the girl once more; she noticed Ellie reading 'No Pun Intended: Volume Too' by Will Livingston, a faint smile appeared on Y/n's face.

Joel woke up to the smell of coffee brewing, it reminded him of the past, the good ol' days. He opened his eyes, squinting slightly at the sun rays seeping into the room. "Ugh! The fuck is that?" Ellie's voice broke through the air, Y/n broke into laughter "You don't like coffee?" The question making Ellie look at her in disbelief. Joel grumbled before getting up and walking over to the pot, checking if the coffee was brewed. Y/n threw a granola bar at Joel, which he barely caught, telling him to eat up. "So, where you guys heading?" Ellie was the one to answer - "We're going to Wyoming, Joel said his brother was there." Y/n looked at Joel, he avoided eye contact afraid of her shouting at him for not telling her about Tommy. All she did was huff and filled up her flask with coffee, screwing the lid on tight.

One week later, June 22th 2023 - Jackson, Wyoming

Joel, Ellie and Y/n had left Omaha a week ago, carrying their lives in their bags. The trek across states was tiring, always having to look over their backs in case of any surprise attacks from infected or worse - people. The sun had gone down a couple hours ago, the sky littered with stars dancing around, it was a beautiful sight. The trio set up camp in a little cave by the riverbend, snow blanketed the ground all around. It was bitterly cold, puffs of smoke entering the frosty air whenever they let out a breath of oxygen. Ellie was stood on a small ledge beside the cave, Joel would never admit it but he saw a lot of Sarah in Ellie; the witty comments, the sarcasm, always wanting to be older. It was a bittersweet feeling.

"Come down from there. You're gonna break your neck." Joel's voice called out to Ellie, earning a sigh from the young girl before hopping down. A fire had been started to try and provide the group more warmth, Joel took out a flask and started drinking from it. He passed it to Y/n, in which she took a gulp, the liqueur burning her throat slightly. "Can I have some?" - "No." Joel didn't hesitate to shut her down, she was a kid for god sake. "What? Just to warm up. C'mon." Joel gave in, nodding his head at Y/n, motioning for her to hand the flask over to Ellie. The young girl took a sip and pulled a face of disgust, earning a laugh from Y/n. "Yep.. still gross."

Everything was quiet for awhile, the sound of birds calling out from above was the only noise in the dark forest. Ellie was the one to break the silence, asking a question about what they would all do after she saved the world. Joel told her he wanted to have a farmhouse, own a ranch full of sheep; the thought made Y/n smile, she knew he always wanted a peaceful life away from the rest of the world, even before the whole cordyceps world domination. Ellie was the next to answer her own question "It's probably because I grew up in the QZ. Behind you, there's ocean, and ahead of you, there's a wall." She paused before continuing "Nowhere else to look but up. I read everything I could in the school library. Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin, Jim Lovell.. But you know who my favourite is?" - "Sally Ride" A smile had grew on Ellie's face "Sally fucking Ride, best astronaut name ever."

Y/n never answered the question, she didn't know what she wanted really. She knew she wanted to find Tommy but she never took into account, what if he didn't want her anymore? What if he was happy with someone else, with a family of his own? The thought broke her heart, she knew it was a possibility but the thought of it would always shatter the only thing that held onto her life before all of this.

Joel and Ellie were still passed out, Y/n hadn't slept all night; exhaustion settling into her bones as she lent up against the stone wall behind her, Joel's rifle held close to her chest as she looked around her surroundings. The sound of joints clicking drew her attention to Joel, he was stretching his arms above his head, probably trying to shake the uncomfortable feeling from laying on the stone floor. "Don't give me that look, Joel. You needed to sleep, I can handle whatever comes at us, I'm not a baby anymore." He shook his head, he would never get used to Y/n being all grown up; he still remembers her and Tommy being kids running around on the front lawn as his mother shouted for them to come inside. Those were the memories that kept him going, kept him fighting for something better.

"You know, Tommy was heartbroken when he came home after serving. He kept asking me where you were, why someone else was living in your house." Y/n's eyes glazed over, she wanted to talk - say anything but her voice was caught in her throat. Joel placed his much larger hand into her smaller one, holding it as gently as he could; afraid he would hurt her if he was anything but careful. The gesture made Y/n look over at him, he looked tired, like the world had given up on him - which in some cases, it did. "I.. I never said thank you, so um - thank you for taking care of me all those years ago, Joel. You saved me from losing myself." That struck deep, he thought he was never enough, always fucking up and losing people closest to him. But looking at Y/n, he could still see the light in her eyes - though it had dimmed slightly. A ghost of a smile played on his lips, he felt like he finally done right.

Ellie had woken up shortly after Joel and Y/n's conversation, her hair now out of her usual ponytail, eyes wide open. "Hope I didn't interrupt your little moment." And there it was, her snarky comments. "Listen up, zombie child. Me and Joel didn't have a moment, we're not like that." Ellie stared at Y/n, stunned by what she had said. Then she had laughed, a cackle if you please, flipping the older woman off. "Okay, that was a good one. Joel take notes, be more funny like Y/n." Joel grumbled at her, a scowl replacing his once lovestruck features.

An hour and a half later - The river of death

The trio had made it past what they had originally thought was the 'river of death', relief washing over them. Then the sound of horses and people shouting disrupted the quiet atmosphere, Joel grabbed Ellie's wrist running back to where they had just come from but it was too late, the trio was surrounded by twelve or more riders all carrying guns. One of them hopped down and walked a little in front of the rest. "We ain't lookin' for trouble, we're just passin' through." - "Drop your guns." Nothing Joel could say would change this situation, they were fucked. "You.." The rider pointed at Ellie "Take five steps back." Ellie looked between Joel and Y/n, her eyes begging for help. Y/n had to think of something to help her, the kid needed someone with her right now so Y/n could only do one thing. "Hey, excuse me. She's my daughter, please let me stay with her, I'm all she has left." Y/n forced her voice to break at the end of her sentence, tears pricking at her eyes.

The woman on one of the horses nodded her head at Y/n, letting her walk over to Ellie; engulfing her in a warm embrace. Joel looked over at them, his eyes told the words he couldn't - I'm sorry for everything. "You been near infected?" the man had said, panic set in the pit of Y/n's stomach as she held Ellie closer. "There ain't no infected out here." Joel stated bluntly, trying to find a way to get out of this situation. "The hell there ain't." the man whistled, a dog running up behind him. "Last chance for a bullet. If you've been infected, he will smell it, and he will rip you up." Ellie whimpered, Joel turned his head towards them and mouthed - You will be okay, I swear. The dog, ran up to Joel, sniffing him; his paws placed against Joel's stomach as the dog checked for the smell of infection. He was clean, the dog turned his attention to Y/n and Ellie; his growls ripping through the air as he stalked towards them. Joel shut his eyes tight, scared to see anything happen to them. But all that was heard next was giggles and happy barks, the dog was licking Ellie's hands as Y/n pet him "Who's a good boy?" The dog barked in return before turning around and speeding off to his owner.

"You just bought yourself 10 more seconds. What are you doing out here?" The man was getting impatient, bored by the whole interaction. "I'm just lookin' for my brother. That's all, nothin' more." The woman on the horse perked up at this, like she was a mix between happy and surprised. "What's your name?" Her voice was as smooth as honey "Joel."

The group of riders had allowed Joel, Ellie and Y/n to ride their horses back to their settlement. Joel was on his own as Ellie clung to Y/n, arms wrapped tightly around her waist. They rode for half an hour or so, until they saw big wooden gates about 1/2 a mile in front of them, the words - Jackson - painted on a sign above it. Once they had made it to the settlement, they were met with masses of people walking around, buildings looking like they did before the outbreak. Then Joel noticed someone on a step ladder helping another citizen with something. "Tommy!" the name caught Y/n's attention, her head snapping in the direction of Joel running over to a younger male. Then it hit her, Tommy Miller was alive and he was a few feet in front of her. His hair was much longer now, he had sun kissed skin, freckles dancing across his face. "Hey, Tommy, listen.. I have someone you're gonna want to see." Joel walked over to the horse Y/n and Ellie were sat on, his brother trailing behind. Y/n wasn't ready, she couldn't face him yet, so she did was she does best - run.

Joel called out her name as she ran, looking for a place to hide. She found herself in the stables, pushed into the furthest corner of the building. Tears falling down her cheeks, her chest tightening as she tried to control her breathing. A sharp pain stabbed at her lungs, her breathing rugged and uneven. A hand placed on Y/n's back made her jump, she looked beside her and saw the man she had fallen in love with all those years ago, he was still oh so beautiful. "Hey, doll. You need to calm down, I'm here now." Tommy placed her hand on his heart, she could feel the hammering beating of the muscle, it calmed her down enough for her to breathe; though it still came out in sharp waves. They sat together for what felt like hours, his hand combing through her hair trying his best to calm her down as much as possible.

"I'm, I'm sorry for leaving. I- I didn't know if you were ever going to come back." Y/n tried her best to speak, hiccups breaking through every so often. Tommy shook his head, bringing her closer to him. If he knew she would've showed up in his settlement one day, he would've chosen his life a little differently. It broke him knowing he was going to have to tell Y/n he was no longer hers, how was he going to break the news? It wasn't his fault, him and Maria kinda just happened; it wasn't planned. But right now, all Tommy wanted to do was relish in this moment; memorise every bit of it and lock it away in his mind for safe keeping. He would always love Y/n but he was married now, about to have a kid; something he was too young to do with her back then. "Why did you leave me? Was I not enough for you?" Now that had shattered the remaining pieces of his heart, Tommy hesitated for a moment, thinking over what he wanted to say. "I didn't want to leave you, darling. I just.. I didn't feel like I belonged, I needed to escape from it all.. I'm sorry, doll. You were more than enough, I promise." Tommy's voice broke, it had betrayed him for the first time in years.

Their little moment was interrupted when Maria and Ellie entered the stables, the older woman glaring daggers at Y/n - who was still clinging to Tommy. She turned to Ellie and asked if she wanted to pet the pony, Shimmer. With Ellie now distracted, Maria walked over to Tommy and Y/n, forcing the younger Miller to stand up and pulling him away from the stables. Y/n's eyebrows knitted together in confusion as she watch the love of her life being ripped away from her, once again.

Joel, Ellie and Y/n were housed across from Tommy and Maria, who Y/n had found out to be Tommy's wife. The house reminded her of the past, the good ol' days. Memories of Y/n, Tommy and Joel as kids running around the Miller household flooded her head. Mrs. Miller calling out to the trio, telling them to hurry inside before it started raining, baking cookies with her, dancing around the kitchen while Abba was playing on a cassette Tommy had found in his parents room. Joel teaching Y/n to play the guitar, growing up with the both of them. Those were the times Y/n longed for, the times when everything felt right. She wanted everything to go back to normal, she would give up everything just to go back in time to relive those special moments.

A knock on the door sounded throughout the house, shaking Y/n out of her daze. She went to go answer it but Ellie had beat her to it. The door opened and there stood Tommy, he looked rough; eyes red and puffy, his skin flushed. "Ellie, Maria asked for you. Could you give me and Y/n a moment please?" His voice was broken, the last time Y/n had ever heard him sound like this was when his parents passed away. He went off the rails that day, Joel had to haul his ass all the way to Y/n's house because he didn't trust him enough to be at home on his own. Ellie nodded her head and sneaked past the pair, heading across the street to Maria's home.

"Tommy? What-" Y/n was cut off by Tommy placing his hands on her face and kissing her, it was gentle; something she had missed. He pulled away before she could kiss him back. "Tommy, baby.. what happened?" Y/n brought Tommy into the living room, making him sit on one of the sofa's. His hands were shaking, his eyes looked around the room refusing to meet with her gaze. "We- we broke up.. Maria told me to leave and- and never come back." His voice wavered, sobs wracked his body as he tried to remain calm. Arms wrapped around his frame, the soft scent of soap filling his senses. Her skin was delicate, faint scars littering her hands and arms. "It's okay, Tom. She didn't mean it, she loves you." Y/n forced herself to not breakdown, Tommy wasn't hers anymore and she just had to be okay with it.

Tommy turned to look at her, his eyes scanning her face; she hadn't changed much, hair longer, skin tanned but she was still the Y/n he loved, still the woman he longed to have a life with. "But I love you, doll. I always will and I can't push myself to live a life without you.." Those three little words struck at her heart, it felt like she could finally breathe again. But she remembered Tommy was married and she couldn't ruin what Maria and Tommy had made for themselves. Y/n pulled herself away from him, her head in her hands as she tried to think over everything that has happened in the last few hours. Tommy reached out for her hand and place it on his chest, like he had done earlier that day. "You feel that? My heart beats for you, no one else. It belongs to you, darlin'." Then he kissed her again, this time it was filled with pure love, the need to be with each other. He wasn't giving up on her this time, he couldn't lose her for the second time. He would follow her to the ends of the earth if he had to, she was his home.

Taglist: @ethereal-macleod @princessmk21 @gabrielemillersblog @strawbbyjamb @tsunchani @amethystwonders11 @slutforphoebebridgers @iraot @quinnverses @stupendouscowboycollective @grooveandshit @littlemisssunshine192

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queeniecook · 6 days

Text

January 25 - Part 2

The Sun came up and was halfway in the sky by the time Este and I reached BrindleBay. I drove us there, I don't see the point in taking the private jet for a trip like that. Plus Este has yet to be on a plane. I'm not sure how she'll handle it.

Jillian was still in her Pajamas at the house, which I don't blame her. She's been through a lot. I can't imagine going into labor in the middle of a snowstorm and having to seek shelter in an abandoned house. Not to mention what happened after that. It's a miracle she and Slade are healthy.

I told her I'd watch Slade while she cleaned up for the day. Este found toys in the nursery, so she was good for about a half hour.

He's a cute little guy. It's a bit weird. Holding the baby of a man you used to date and have really strong feelings for and will always care about - but I'm happy for him and Jillian too.

"I bet you're going to be a heartbreaker when you're older." I told Slade softly as I rocked him. I glanced down at my own child, who was busy playing with a harry puffer toy.

~A half hour later

"Don't get me wrong, we're all glad James helped you. But don't you think it's kind of weird he somehow knew were you where?" I asked Jillian after she filled me in on what she remembered from the night Slade was born.

Meanwhile, Este was making friends with Annabel Lee. I smiled briefly at that before looking back at Jillian.

"I guess I haven't really thought about it much because I've just been grateful my son and I are both alive." She admitted to me. "It is kind of odd."

"Yeah, he don't live here. He lives in Forgotten Hollow which is over an hour away." I told her, I remember the trips well due to my time going to see Caleb there. That seems like a lifetime ago now.

"Maybe it was just God's way of working things out?" Jillian asks, glancing down at Este and her cat.

"It could be. Just...be careful around James. Please." I requested. I don't trust that warlock at all. I'm sure she's seen a different side of him but Caleb has known him longer than the rest of us. He don't trust James and that's good enough for me.

About that time, Jillian's Mom- Denise Ambrose arrived. I had yet to meet her and I instantly liked her. It made me miss my Mom. I wish she had gotten to meet Este.

"You really do need to talk to Dakota. The longer you two don't talk, the longer it'll fester. The uglier it can be." Denise reminded her daughter after she set the table with a dish she made in an instant pot.

"I agree with your Mom, for the record. There's time I've wasted fighting with Caleb and I wish I hadn't wasted it now." I commented. Like after we found out Liberty is a "alive" and is a vampire. I didn't talk to my husband for weeks and it was while I was pregnant with our daughter.

"I know admitting you were wrong can be uncomfortable, honey but you need to." Denise said after sitting down to join us.

Jillian shoved a bite in her mouth to avoid saying anything.

"Both of you could of handled the situation better but nothing goes smoothly in the heat of the moment. You two love each other, it's time for talking and making up." Denise finished her thought before taking a bite of her own food.

I almost cried a little. If my parents were around, maybe I'd avoid some mistakes but then again, are kids ever good at listening to their parents? Even when they're older? Still. I miss them. Jillian is blessed to have both of her parents. I hope she knows that.

<-previous

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harri-etvane · 4 months

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Hug Prompts Vova and Maks

5- jumping into a hug and 7- hug from behind Although I'm greedy and would love to read them all 😅

Hello love! I'm sorry these took so long, I got a bit stuck into an Angst rabbit hole, but these are just.. almost 1k words of fluff. I hope you enjoy! Please do let me know what you think ❤️ xx

Hug from behind;

Maksym is usually very, very aware of his surroundings - aware of what is behind him, what is in front of him, where the nearest exits are, where to go if they need to get out of somewhere, where the nearest bomb shelter is. It's just part of his every-day, knowledge that helps him do his job to the best of his ability. It also means that he is very, very hard to surprise; he's always alert, always ready - listening, waiting. Vova has often wondered aloud if Maks has the same hearing ability as a bat - a comment that earned him a not entirely gentle jab in the ribs.

Volodymyr slips into Maksym's office noiselessly, padding across the floor in socked feet, a plan in his mind. He knows that Maks is usually difficult to surprise, but he's chosen his moment; there's time locked into Maks' calendar for him to review any upcoming trips and make a start on preparations. It's something he usually does alone in his office so he can concentrate, forming a plan before bringing the rest of his team in on it. His focus is absolute on the maps spread over his desk, a thin red line loosely tracing the route they will take across Europe, dots marking the places they will stop - how long for, who they will meet - what they need to anticipate, to plan for, to forestall. There is something comforting in a way, about planning - knowing that he’s doing everything he can.

He frowns at the route, muttering vaguely to himself, immersed in his own thoughts. When not with Vova, his ever-present awareness is ever-so slightly dimmed; not quite on edge as he ordinarily is, not second guessing every shadow in his own office, every creak of flooring. Vova shuffles a little closer until he is at Maksym's back. He reaches out a hand and places it gently on the other man's waist, expecting him to flinch.

"It's only me."

He receives a soft little hum in reply, a smile somehow still evident in that quiet noise. Taking it as implicit permission, Vova nestles closer, wrapping his arms around Maksym's waist from behind, pressing his rough stubbled cheek against his broad back. It feels like home, here - and he tightens his hold.

"Surprise?" is his tentative little utterance.

He feels a rough bark of laughter thrum gently through Maks, but doesn't loosen his hold, closing his eyes for a moment and breathing in the familiar smell of sandalwood cologne, the warmth of his body.

"Sorry to ruin it. Heard you come in."

"Seriously?! I took my boots off and everything."

"You'd be a terrible spy."

"Good job I'm not Budanov then, hm?"

"Everything okay?" a soft note of concern finds its way into their conversation, Maks pausing for a second, palm flat on the desk; the warmth of Vova at his back is.. nice, calming somehow. He finds an implicit comfort in having Volodymyr beside him, even just his presence is enough.

"Mmm. Missed you-"

"I- I missed you too.”

___________________

Jumping into a hug;

Volodymyr yawns, rubbing at the corner of his eye as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other on the platform, his gaze scanning the train as it pulls into the station. He can feel his heart thumping against his throat, nerves settling in his stomach. He flexes his hand, picking at the skin on the side of his thumbnail, an old habit he seems unable to quite let go of.

What if it’s different now? What if he’s not the same? What if it’s all so terribly formal and horribly awkward and he’s only coming here to be kind?

He brushes the thought aside sharply, wrinkling his nose. Of course it’ll be the same; they’re still the same people at heart - the two of them, no matter how much has changed. Briefly, he looks to the sky, to the quiet, calm blue of it, stretching out, endlessly above him for miles- the call of the birds still like the sweetest music, even now - years later. He takes none of it for granted; the sunrise, the sunset - the growth of the flowers in the gardens, the bloom of the trees on the acres of the Carpathian mountains, the sound of the river. Before, his joy had been so rare, rationed out into scraps that he took wherever he could; a text from Olena, a photograph of his son, a brief meeting with his daughter, a rare smile from Maks - moments shot through with the hideous agony of knowing that they would end. But, he takes joy now in the smallest of things that are simultaneously incomprehensible, the staggering beauty of his Ukraine, independent and free.

This particular joy is something else though, burgeoning inside his chest, waiting to bloom, eager to meet the sunlight. He scans the platform again, a few people disembarking from the train - none of them are the man he seeks though; they are not the right height, the right gait, the right–

Oh.

Before it registers with him entirely, before he realises exactly what he’s doing - Volodymyr Oleksandrovych is running down the platform, utterly uncaring of anyone watching. He launches himself into the arms of one tall, tanned, mildly bemused man in khaki green, with a battered kitbag at his feet - who catches him without question, holding him as close as he can, enveloping him in an embrace.

“Hello Vova,” Maksym’s voice is gentle, as it always was before, and always will be for Vova, his lips close to Vova’s ear as he holds him up, arms around the smaller man, cradling him close.

“Maks-” Vova’s voice cracks in two, an unexpected sob escaping him, his face buried into Maksym’s shoulder. Neither of them need to say anything else for the moment, content to stand there - holding on to one another, loathe to let go.

#Harriet writes #fluff #Vova & Maks

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little-diable · 2 years

Text

Addicted to You - Tommy Shelby (smut)

Somwhat inspired by the song and music video "Addicted to You" by Avicii, it fits just perfectly. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader and Tommy have shared a few intimate nights, he doesn't ask any questions and she doesn't speak much. At least till Sergeant Moss consults Tommy about a woman causing trouble in the Blinder's area.

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex, typical Peaky Blinders crime, somewhat of an open end

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader (2k words)

Divider by @firefly-graphics

I don't know just how it happened, I let down my guard, swore I'd never fall in love again, but I fell hard

“You don’t know where she’s from? Are you out of your mind?” Polly’s voice echoed through the room, loud and clear like a shot ringing in one’s ears, and yet the woman was by far more dangerous than any bullet piercing one's skin, leaving behind scars that may eventually fade with time. It took a few moments before a reply was heard, spoken softer than Polly’s words, and yet the reply carried more meaning than one could have ever imagined when listening from afar.

“No, and I won’t ask. We need help around here, she fits right in. That’s all we need for now.” (Y/n) wished to see the expression tugging on Polly’s features, wondering how she’d react to Tommy’s reply, and yet all (y/n) could do was stare at the door leading to his office, no longer paying attention to her task at hand.

She had weasled her way into Tommy’s life weeks ago, finding shelter in the Garrison when the sky had opened up, making rain pour from the sky like blood being shed on the streets of Birmingham. How ironic that the place owned by the Peaky Blinders had appeared safer than the darkness lingering in the streets outside.

It had only taken the two of them a few days to find their way back to one another, still remembering the words they’ve shared, the intrigue that had burned in Tommy’s pupils and the smile that had tugged on (y/n)’s lips. He had fallen for her the second she had looked at him for the first time, like a siren luring him into the soaring waves of the cold ocean, forcing him to give into death’s call without asking for any help.

The two had shared a few nights with their limbs quivering, their hearts racing and their thoughts drowned out by the pleasure thumping through their veins. He hadn’t asked any questions and she hadn’t said much – besides the sweet nothings overcoming her painted lips like a song echoing through the Garrison. It had been easy, almost too easy, and yet Tommy Shelby had been desperate for this kind of distraction, something he could drown himself in for a few hours, not having to worry about the blood clinging to his hands and the list of sinners he’d eventually work on, taking lives like chess figures taken from a chessboard.

“Don’t tell me you’re fucking her. You men are all the same, thinking with your cocks rather than your brains. By now I’m no longer sure you’re even capable of forming a proper thought.” The door to his office fell open, exposing Polly’s frame storming out of the room. She didn’t spare (y/n) a glance, leaving the building with hurried steps as if God himself was calling her home. A home she had fled from decades ago, welcomed in the home down below with open arms.

Lost in your eyes, drowning in blue, out of control, what can I do?

His eyes met hers, drawn to her like a moth to a flame, wordlessly calling her into his office. No words were shared as he pulled her in for a kiss, not giving (y/n) the chance to ask any questions, to share the confessions lingering on the tips of their tongues. Both were more similar than one could guess, and yet Tommy was oblivious to the darkness of her soul, distracted by the features he’d see the second he closed his eyes, forced to think of her – like a parasite nestling inside his system, not letting him rest.

“Fuck, here?” Tommy didn’t reply, gave her a push to press her front against his table, forced to spread her legs for the man desperate to claim her. (Y/n) didn’t fight his rough touches, allowing Tommy to push into her without another warning spoken. He fucked her ruthlessly, making bruises form on her hips, pushed against the strong wood of his table with every ferocious thrust.

The sound of their bodies meeting reverberated through the office, echoing off the walls as if to taint Polly, proving his point to the woman that hadn’t listened to him. There was nothing to worry about, Tommy knew how to separate the good ones from the bad ones – at least that’s what he was convinced of, the one thing he could trust on, his gut.

Her walls clamped down around his cock, begging him to push her over the edge without speaking another word. He groaned for her, set on marking the woman he selfishly wanted to own, not daring to even think of sharing her with those staring for a few moments too long. Tommy Shelby had rarely felt this possessive, he wasn’t used to chasing people, wasn’t used to having to fight for somebody’s attention, and yet he was awfully aware of the possibility of (y/n) eventually leaving him before he could bind her to him.

“Cum, let go for me, love.” His raspy voice made goosebumps appear on her skin, eyes fluttering shut as her orgasm clashed through her. Tommy fucked her through her high, pulling out seconds before his release could rip him down the stream, leaving his stain on her bare behind. Both were heavily panting, giving into the silence that was once again lingering in his office, a silence Tommy was all too used to by now.

And yet, before either one of them could speak up, the sound of somebody calling Tommy’s name rang in their ears. But while he reached for a cigarette, patiently waiting for Sergeant Moss to find his way to the office, (y/n) froze, darting out of the office before Tommy could inhale another breath. His piercing eyes were focused on the spot where she had been standing moments ago, wondering where she had just disappeared to, without speaking another word.

“Please, come in.” Tommy watched the sergeant step into the office, eyes hooked onto Tommy’s as he stepped closer and shut the door. The man neared the table Tommy had fucked (y/n) against moments ago, mind still focused on her, the way she had moaned for him, making him feel like an ethereal being.

“We’re looking for somebody; somebody who may have tried to blend in with the ones cherishing the Garrison.” The sergeant watched the smoke leave Tommy’s nostrils, like a river of blood he’d leave behind after doing deals with those no sane man nor woman would even dare to speak of. “A woman,” the man kept describing the one they were looking for, a woman just like (y/n).

“We’ve been looking for her for a while, she keeps on making trouble, robbing places and stealing too many things. If you hear something, I’d appreciate you telling me.”

I couldn't live without you now, I know I'd go insane

It had been days since the day where Moss had found his way to Tommy, days where he hadn’t seen her face – only in his dreams. Ever since he had heard of the things a woman like her had done, Tommy had started paying more attention to the crimes he normally wouldn’t focus on, robberies he found himself bored by.

“It’s her, right?” Polly’s eyes were zoning in on Tommy’s emotionless features, scoffing at the man that barely spoke a word, too deep in thought. Arthur’s chuckles filled the office, forcing all eyes towards him.

“It’s almost ironic, isn’t it? She played with you, while you were oblivious to the things she’s doing. I doubt we’ll see her again.” With a sigh spilling from his lips, Tommy closed his eyes, sorting through his thoughts. He wouldn’t be able to rest, not until he spoke to her again, asking the questions keeping him awake for the past days.

Why hadn’t she put her trust in him? She knew of the things he was doing, knew of the blood clinging to his hands, why not share the crimes tainting her life?

“Tell me if you hear anything, I don’t think she’ll leave yet.” Something dripped from his voice, something neither Arthur nor Polly could decipher, not able to see through his facade. His heart clenched in his chest, forced to accept that he may never see her again, that he may never get to stare into the eyes he’d search from afar, telling secrets to the night only those willing to listen would pick up on.

I wouldn't last one night alone, baby, I couldn't stand the pain

The night was dark as Tommy and a few of his men made their way through the streets, eyes focused ahead, inhaling the smoke of their cigarettes. No words were spoken as they moved ahead, eyes set on the bank, hands placed on their revolvers. Light was illuminating the bank, the big windows gave a clear view of a few people crouching on the ground and a woman standing on a desk, holding a gun in her hand. A woman with the same hair as (y/n), a woman with the same height as (y/n), a woman with the same dark smirk as (y/n) once wore around him.

“Don’t kill her,” was the only thing Tommy said as they stepped into the bank, eyes finding hers before they could even try to focus on the crying men and women on the ground. It took Tommy a few moments to speak up, not trusting his voice just yet.

“Drop the gun, (y/n).” He spoke calmly, softer than ever before, at least with his men surrounding them. She tried to wordlessly communicate with him, hoping that he’ll guide her through this situation, clinging to the man she had lured into her trap weeks ago.

“I can’t, you’ll shoot me.” Tommy’s gaze wandered down to her hand, clinging to the bag filled with money. A sigh left him, not sparing his men and how they guided the other people into safety any attention. She grew nervous, gaze flickering to the door, wondering how long it would take the police to turn up. Time was running out, and her only hope was the reaper of Small Health.

“How much’s in the bag?” The amount rolled off her tongue without thinking twice, praying that he’ll make a deal with her – money for her freedom. “You know how I deal with those causing trouble in my area, don’t you?”

(Y/n) couldn’t reply, mouth dry as she watched him alight a new cigarette, “You lied to me, you played a game with me. A game you’re losing just now. How much is your freedom worth to you, (y/n)?”

“Everything.” And with a hum rumbling through Tommy, he reached out his hand, helping her down from the table. Their eyes didn’t break contact once, making a small smile tug on her lips as she followed him out into the night, exhaling the air she had been holding. Darkness engulfed them, wrapping her in a blanket of false comfort, mind hooked onto the past moments, how her life could have ended right there and then.

“You see,” Tommy wrapped an arm around her, mouth pressed against her ear. “Everything isn’t good enough, (y/n). Not in my game.”

And with the sound of a gun being cocked, she was forced to freeze in his grasp, cursing herself for being addicted to the man that had no mercy lingering in his system.

Lost in your eyes, drowning in blue Out of control, what can I do? I'm addicted to you

#Tommy Shelby smut #Tommy Shelby imagine #peaky blinders imagine

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babybatss-blog · 27 days

Text

FOR YOU

Abigail (stardew) x reader, 2000 words

summary: Despite her own interests and sanity, Abigail can’t help but partake in your hobbies.

cw: preestablished relationship between Abby and reader, innocent reader, kissing, slight swearing

The two of you are sitting together in Cindersap Forest, a red picnic blanket separating you from the green grass and thick pines trees separating you from the blue sky. Your head is lying on Abigail’s lap, her hand subconsciously brushing through your hair as she scrolls on her phone.

Suddenly you gasp, words in your book captivating you like many times before. “You alright?” She asks, eyes leaving the screen to look at you. “Yeah. I just finished my book, and it was amazing! At the end… No, I won’t spoil it, but it was incredible!” The way your eyes sparkle as you sit up, voice pitching up in your excitement makes Abby grin. She honestly could listen to you rant and rave about your novels forever.

“I’m glad. You know I’m not going to read it though love, I haven’t picked up a book since forever.” You pout, your cherry red lips turning downwards like a sad little puppy. Truthfully just like a puppy, Abigail wants to shelter you, keep you safe from the world and carefree. She envies your innocence, forever getting muddy on your farm or barely escaping danger in the mines without any care. She on the other hand has other things to worry about, more important events like her pressuring father or decisions to make on her impending future. “Abby you have to read it! The plot twist blew my mind, and it has heaps of action in it and deaths and romance and-“ Unable to argue with your sweet soul much longer, Abigail breaks your rambling with a kiss. It’s light, barred by her pleased smile and the way you hum against her. You are each other’s biggest weakness, and every moment spent together always ends like this. Intertwined, private, heated.

That’s why not another word is exchanged for the following twenty minutes, ending with the two of you sprawled out on the blanket with desperate breaths for air once more. “I’ve got to go…” You manage finally, as Abigail uses every muscle in her body not to pull you in again. She knows that you need to go, because Robin needed you to come over at 4 to help carry planks. But why couldn’t you stay just five more minutes?

Eventually you’re gone, leaving Abigail on the blanket alone. You took with you all of your belongings, including your phone, basket, cutlery and leftovers. But you do leave… The book.

Whether you did it on purpose or not Abigail is sure, but the way it’s placed so perfectly entices her. The light shimmers of it’s glossy cover, pages worn yet intact and bookmark hanging out as you left it. Abigail picks it up, lightly flicking through the pages and inhaling the fresh smell it produces. Would it be so crazy to give it a read? No, surely not! It would make you happy, and it doesn’t look that long… right?

It’s now two in the morning, and Abigail is huddled under her bed sheets, eyebags fighting desperately with her mind to fall asleep. Truthfully, Abby didn’t really realise how long books can take. How was she supposed to know 400 pages was a lot? And what’s worse, is she actually likes it. Realistically she should tell herself to go to sleep, perhaps read more in the morning. But her eyes are stuck to the page, almost breathing in every word and consuming every feeling. And this goes on for hours more.

Three in the morning, her favourite character dies. It’s a painful, agonising death, which brings Abby’s usually strong demeanour to a crashing halt. Perhaps it’s the tired delusions, but she soon begins sobbing, body shaking and mouth covered by a weak hand to stifle her cries. Frankly she should’ve seen it coming, her favourite character was too sweet for this world. Sort of like you, and she wouldn’t let anything happen to you, no matter what.

It's the final page of the book, and the sun has well and truly risen. Abigail isn’t sure how, but sometime during the night she ended up on the floor and is now sprawled out, arms aching from holding the book up above her purple locks of hair. “No. Fucking. Way.” She says aloud, voice hoarse from making comments into the abyss during the night. Its an insane plot twist, one she never would’ve seen coming, yet it makes sense nonetheless. I mean, of course that was going to happen. The way it was set up, the subtle foreshadows and hints sprinkled in. How naïve she was to think it would go any other way.

But she can’t just sit here pondering the novel on her own when she’s got you! She gets ready quicker than ever, throwing on the first top and pants she sees, brushing her hair frantically and grabbing an apple from the kitchen as she walks out, despite her mothers confused cries. “Honey, your dad needs help in the shop today ~” Whatever, Abigail’s got something better to do.

When she arrives at your farm, you’re watering your crops and whistling some tune. Abigail can’t pinpoint the tune exactly, but it sounds like a lark’s song. One that you hear when your deep in the forest, that brings a smile to your face at natures raw beauty. “Hey love” Abby utters, hiding the book behind her back. Your eyes snap up to meet hers, and you grin in a way that makes her heart flutter. Without a word you set the watering can down and skip over to her, sending her stumbling backwards with an enthusiastic hug. As you do this you spot the book, and pull it out of her pale hands.

“Oh thanks! Did I leave it behind yesterday?” Abi nods, tucking your soft hair behind your ear to get a better look at you. “Yeah. But I did have a look at it…” In response you frown, tilting your head in confusion. You clearly don’t understand what Abigail is trying to tell you, and you understand even less when she gives you a confident smirk in return. “I read it love. The whole thing. And I have to admit, it was pretty good.

Just as she hopes, you squeal, jumping up and down and flapping your arms in shock. “No way! Oh Abs, I’m so glad.” You pull her in for a kiss, wrapping your arms firmly around her as she holds your head in place. The two of you try not to smile, but you can’t help it when you are locked in an embrace like this one, euphoria surrounding you. Finally you pull away, looking deep into her eyes with an intensity Abby loves all too well. “Come on, let’s get some coffee and talk about it more.” You lead her into your house with these words, looking back at her with an eager smile. Something tells her that a chat isn’t all the two of you will be doing.

#sdv abigail x reader #sdv abigail #stardew valley abigail #stardew abigail #stardew valley #stardew farmer #sdv #sdv farmer #babybatss blog

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jamiesfootball · 1 year

Note

please do tell me more about the brilliant “isaac mcadoo gets a one-eyed bunny” pearl you dropped on me last week i am so. I AM SO !!!!!! ABOUT IT.

Loosely based off of this and this and this and a few other posts about giving the Richmond lads pets

“What’s her name?” “A Good Samaritan brought her in, so we’re not sure. People don’t really microchip rabbits. We’ve just been calling her Bun-Bun.” “Then that’s her name,” said Isaac.

First Jamie with his monster cat, a true beast dressed up all fancy in an embroidered cravat, the two of them clogging up Isaac’s Twitter feed. (Isaac heard him out when he said he was trying to be better, but Isaac believed him when he saw him with the cat. The best-est cat in the world, he’d tell anyone, with a cheek-splitting grin on his face that rendered him almost unrecognizable from the man Isaac knew a year ago.) Then Dani with Jude of the forlorn eyes. A sweet dog, a real good boy, the both of them. (Isaac did not tear up when Dani showed him how to avoid petting the gnarled scar across his neck, from where a crueler owner left carelessness like a brand.) Then Dani had mentioned the other animals at the shelter, and well. It was a field trip now, wasn’t it? “This is Remy,” Moe explained as he cradled a small rat in his hand. “He used to be an explosives expert. Found land mines.” Jan scoffed. “That is not what the card on the cage said." “Doesn't matter what the card said, man. Just look at his eyes.”

Isaac ignored them, orbiting closer to Sam. The young man looked even younger than usual, his eyes wide with wonder as he peered through the glass. “You thinking about it?” Isaac asked. “I know nothing about snakes,” Sam whispered. Two orange shoelaces entwined together on a sandy rock. “I should let someone else find them. Someone who will know how to care for him.” Sam didn't sound like he believed a word he said. Isaac clapped him on the shoulder in sympathy.

Isaac wasn't looking for a critter to take home. Nah, he had enough on his plate. He was being smart about it. All the others, they could take on the weight and the care and the responsibility for a living breathing thing. Isaac had enough of those in his life: twenty-four of them in the locker room alone. At least if the whole team got pets, then he'd always have a good excuse to check in on them. Could say he was just in the mood to pet some dogs, or look at some fish, or perish under the weight of Jamie's massive behemoth of a cat. He could not imagine ever looking Moe in the eye and saying the words 'please let me hold your pet rat,' but he'd say them if it meant being a good captain.

The problem, he knew, with Moe and the rat was that once you named the thing you wanted, it made it impossible to want it any less.

Isaac hadn't know he wanted to be captain before Roy handed him that armband, and now it was all he wanted.

But he hadn't thought it would take so much work. Roy made that shit look easy. Even before Roy woke up from whatever coma he'd been in and started putting in the effort, the lads always followed in his wake. It wasn't like that with Isaac. He could command a room, sure, but did they listen? He could speak to them, but he couldn't move them. He couldn't remake their world the way Lasso rallied the team with his speeches.

He wanted to be the tides that could buoy hearts back to shore. It wasn't enough to have them listen if they didn't take his words to heart.

The team was a commitment that left no room for fuzzy little critters.

In a cage on the ground was a tiny bunny.

Isaac froze.

The bunny froze.

The enclosure was makeshift, nothing more than a cage on the ground with cardboard peaking out the sides. Hay tickled around the sides, and a tipped-over packing supply box made for a hidey-hole. Isaac towered in the bunny's sky. Far away on the ground the bunny huddled into a shivering ball no bigger than Isaac's shoe, a small black hole on the distant horizon.

One of the shelter's volunteers caught him staring and shimmered into existence at his side. "If you're interested in rabbits, that's our only one right now. Would you like to hold her?"

"Would I?" Isaac repeated.

The volunteer took that as a 'yes.'

The fur under his hands was immaculately shiny, a sort of brownish-black that parted under his hands like waves in a sea. She shivered. Isaac cradled her in his palms, following the volunteer's instructions to support her legs and back. Pressed next to his bicep, she looked like an afterthought.

Growing up Isaac had known with childish certainty that it was the feet of rabbits that went thump-thump-thump. As he held the small creature against his chest he felt the reality of its tiny heart singing thump-thump-thump.

"What happened to the ear?" he asked.

"It's a bit gruesome," the volunteer warned delicately. "But it sometimes happens after the mother gives birth--she gets a little carried away in the cleaning up. It worries some people off adopting, but the bunny is fine! Completely healthy, this one. so long as you don't mind a little imperfection."

The volunteer made it sound so easy. When Roy had handed over the armband, that had sounded easy too. That was how they got you. They dangled a carrot in front of you, and sometimes the carrot looked like respect or captain, and sometimes the carrot looked like a tribble and shivered in your hands, daring you to hold too tight.

Isaac did not need a pet. He had responsibilities, a weight upon his shoulders he'd never planned for.

Held aloft in the sky, the rabbit weighed hardly more than a feather.

"What's her name?"

#the greater Richmond pet acquisition #isaac mcadoo #ted lasso #ask box is always open #i'm not entirely happy with how this came out but frankly i needed to write something to counteract the recent bout of pirate brainrot #(the clown one not the gay one)#(the gay one is coming later tho)

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eywaseclipse · 1 year

Text

Written in The Stars Chapter 1: Happiness is Simple

Characters: Na’vi oc Tani, Jake, Neytiri, Lo’ak, Neteyam, Tuk, Kiri, Spider, RDA, Mo’at. Tanywral’s parents and dead sister Zetey

Synopsis: The series takes place over the course of the events in Way of Water with my own interpretations and artistic license

Warnings: Angst, violence against children, women, major character death and eventual smut;)

Word Count: 1k

Enjoy my first chapter of a very long series. You can even follow along by listening to the music that’s sequential to the film! I’m going to be naming my chapters after the song titles that follow the storyline, and potentially add my own if I see fit. Get ready for a very emotional ride please leave comments and send asks!!! (Original score is better imo that’s what I listen to)

Happiness is simple. During your relatively short life on Pandora you bore witness to all its glory. Your Great Mother providing you with food, safety, shelter, and the beauty of your forest ecosystem. The perfect balance between give and take. You spent your 26 rotations on the planet training amongst your clans most ferocious hunters. Molding you into the warrior you are today. Swiftly following the footsteps of your mighty mother Peyral and father Taktu, and late sister Zetey. They eventually fought alongside Jake Sully and Neytiri 15 years ago against the sky people who destroyed your hometree and killed many of your clan members.

You remember you’d begged your older sister to go with her to the battle field, paint already on your skin and she practically laughed in your face making you stay behind with the elders and children. Zetey was Neytiri’s age at the time, skilled with a bow and arrow like her. But when the war party had returned to back “home” you saw your father carrying your sister’s lifeless body. She and Tsu’tey had lost their lives battling the sky people. Two coveted mentors during your childhood.

You never truly felt alone though, as you regularly prayed to the spirit tree and spoke to her. Knowing her Tsu’tey and Neytiri’s older sister were with Eywa brought you comfort in moments of sorrow. And as time went on, the pain slowly became less agonizing for you and your parents.

15 years going by, you witness your dear friend Neytiri start a beautiful family with Jake, who was blessed by Eywa to transfer to his avatar body. You found yourself training a few of the Sully boys from time to time, watching them grow before your very eyes. And here you are today, leading your hunting party with the eldest son of Toruk Makto weaving your way through the vines of the forest. Your strong limbs leaping into the air with your hunt members, tracking your prey. Neteyam grew up to be a fine young warrior, much like his mother. Only 15, and he was able to complete his Iknimaya on the first try, his dream hunt, and was even the youngest warrior to make a clean kill for his first hunting party. Younger than even you.

You were happy to let him strip you of that title, but had it been anyone else you would’ve been a sore loser. You were close with all the Sully members, acting as an older sister to them. Your thoughts are interrupted with a yip. Your eyes turn to the noise, Neteyam’s tail upright with primal focus. He picks up a scent; the hexapede herd is near.

He signals for you to ready your weapons. You nod, others following suit, and let him track. Within minutes your targets are in your line of sight. With sign language you ready your team on your command to release their arrows at the same time. There are four shots, all aiming at the beasts. Your fingers signal the move, and the arrows zip into the air. Your aims are perfect. All four arrows making their kill. You cheer with a happy war cry, as the others join in. You prepare the food, mounting them on your shoulders making your way home.

You and Neteyam are first drop your kills off to your gatherers, for them to ready and cook the meat. “Good shot by the way Sully.” You say to him as you wash the blood from your hands outside the clearing. “Well, I suppose I might’ve learned from our clan’s mightiest hunters.” He mirrors your action, taking the cloth to his hands wringing out the red water into a bucket. “Oh and who might that be?” With eyebrows raised to him. “Peyral.” He say sarcastically.

You playfully gasp, throwing your rag at him, both of you laughing at his light teasing. After you’re cleaned up you make your way to the Sully family tent. Your dinner will be curtesy of you and Neteyam. Waves of pride always swell in your chest knowing you’re providing for your clan and family. You put your weapons down as you enter the tent hearing a soft cry.

“Lo’ak you stepped on its head!” The source of the sound being Tuk. With tears streaming down her face, and a decapitated Ikran toy in her hands, Kiri bends down to wipe her cheeks. You shake your head at Lo’ak somehow always causing trouble. “Way to go Lo’ak, making your sister cry before dinner time, must be a new record for you.” Kiri snickers to him. He did not return the amusement.

“I didn’t see it! It was just an accident, oh my god why does everybody hate me!” He huffs with an exasperated sigh, hands waving in the air. Jake’s back turned to you, fixing up some fruit for his kids at the make shift table, whips around. “Hey! Enough. Just apologize to your sister.” With a sigh from Lo’ak he apologizes in defeat, “Sorry Tuk.” Lo’ak’s ears now pinned to his head.

You feel bad, you knew it was an accident. Jake sometimes being a little too harsh with his reprimanding, you step in. “Don’t worry Tuk, I’ll make you a new one! You won’t even miss this old thing” Making your way to the crying girl, you bend down to examine the damage.

You definitely can whittle a better one, you think to yourself. Her ears perk up, and eyes widen with happiness. Wiping her snotty nose, she giggles. “Really?” Neytiri smiles at you fondly from across the room, knowing your intentions are to diffuse the situation. “Of course Tuk Tuk. Neteyam can help me too. Right ‘Teyam?” Your head now turned to him. He makes his way over squatting down to the mat where you’re all seated. “Sure.” He smiles at you and Tuk ruffling her braids playfully.

Tuk’s sniffles now disappearing and the energy in the room returning to a normal like state she smiles once again. “Okay! It’s alright Lo’ak. I forgive you.” She says smiling to her older brother. Jake brings the bowl of fruit to Lo’ak, a silent peace offering making him smile at his father. You knew Jake’s heart was in the right place, sometimes just clouded with worry and his military training he’ll probably never escape from.

Lo’ak joins you on the mat, sharing the fruit with you and the Sully siblings, as Neytiri makes her way over to Jake. “Neytiri aren’t you guys supposed to have date night?” You ask to the back of her head. Ever since her and Jake became a mated pair all those years ago, he implemented small human traditions into their routines to help him honor his life back on Earth. Neytiri didn’t like the idea when they first had Neteym, but she warmed up to everything knowing that Jake’s human time back on Earth was an essential part of who he was. Some things even becoming useful.

One of their routines included date night. She told you it’s when a mated couple goes out, without their kids, and spends quality time together alone. Usually intimate settings and romantic gestures are involved. Maybe not all the humans were so awful. “That we do Tsmuke sister.

"Ma’Jake, it’s almost eclipse should we leave?” Jake’s ears perk up to his mate. “Let’s get it done.” He responds with a soft smile. If anyone is going to make Jake weak in the knees, it’s Neytiri, and his girls of course. You very much included. He’d probably never tell you that to prevent from being teased by his boys though. They begin to exit the tent. “Tani, make sure these two knuckleheads stay out of trouble, will ya?” Pointing at Neteyam and Lo’ak. Neteyam’s ears perk up, “Hey what’d I do?” Jake and Neytiri laugh, and head out of sight.

Jake and Neytiri mount their Ikrans, and take off into the beautiful night sky. The bioluminescence on their faces scattered like the stars across their blue skin. Jake begins to pick up speed, circling around Neytiri and her Ikran Zrina. A big smile plastered on her face with the wind whipping in her hair, as he mimics the courting dance ritual in the sky teasing her. He laughs lightheartedly, as she makes her way above him and Bob. Both circling each other in harmony. They playfully soar in unison, weaving through the sky making their way towards the deep part of the forest.

Once their spot enters sight, they dip down into the trees to land. With their Ikrans resting in the branches, he grabs Neytiri’s hand and they make their way to a small lake. The water refreshes his senses, as Neytiri swan dives into the blue lit water. They swim for awhile, quietly enjoying each other’s presence. After their quick dip, he and her dry off on the plush grass next to their favorite mossy covered log. “Ma’Jake.” Neytiri grabs his neck, he smiles knowing what she wants. And who is he to deny his woman.

After several rounds of love making they sleep peacefully under the starlit night sky. Looking up at the stars Jake’s often filled with melancholy and nostalgia. Staring up where he came from, he sees a large bright flicker, much too bright to be a shooting star. No, this is not a star at all. He sits up, with Neytiri slumping off his chest, waking up from the sudden movement. He squints his eyes to get a better look. Humans. And they’re headed right towards them. He and Neytiri share a silent look, quickly standing up. The sound of the rocket ship now reaching the Pandora atmosphere.

“Run!” Jake screams to his mate. He grabs her hand and starts sprinting to outside the forest hoping to make it in time. The Ikrans called, and ready to fly, they hoist their bodies to their saddles and fly to safety. The flames of the rocket ship now ripping into all the flora and fauna, destroying everything within meters of its landing. The now incinerated leaves on fire, spreading quickly. Smoke can now be seen miles from the air.

Jake and Neytiri land within safe distance, running to the edge of the now demolished forest hill. Neytiri begins to hysterically cry, body shaking from fear. He holds onto her as she screams. “Hey, we gotta get out here, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Come on, we gotta go!” He cups her face gently and she allows him to lead her back to the animals. Taking off once again, now gaining speed into the night, he looks back at the damage, with his mate sobbing on her Ikran. He frowns at what just happened. He needs to go warn his people. The humans have returned.

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crossroadsdimension · 9 days

Text

FFXIVWrite 2024 Day 14

Prompt -- Telling

(FFXIVWrite 2024 Masterpost)

(Be warned -- Dawntrail spoilers below, post-first dungeon!)

“Say, um, Cross?”

The miqo’te turned her head slightly, glancing at the speaker with a flick of her ears and a slightly raised brow. “Wuk Lamat? What is it?”

The Second Promise sat down next to the Warrior of Light at the campfire, glancing between Cross and the campfire like they held some secret she couldn’t figure out. “Um…Erenville told me about all of your adventures, but…he acted like he didn’t know everything. Just like some of it was a bunch of rumors.”

Cross inclined her head and waited for Wuk Lamat to keep going. For whatever reason, the young woman needed time to get her thoughts together, and Cross knew when she had to be patient.

“Is…is it true? That you traveled to the edge of the universe? Did that part really—”

“It happened.”

Wuk Lamat turned her head sharply as her eyes went wide. “What? Really? I thought Erenville was pulling my leg when he said you traveled to the edge of the universe to stop the skies from turning red! You’re telling me that — that the people in Sharlayan really have a boat that can take you up into the sky and sail through the stars like it’s a giant sea?”

“Yes?” Cross’s mouth quirked upwards, amused. “Now you have me wondering what sorts of things you heard that you thought were rumors. Everyone in Old Sharlayan and across Eorzea knows I traveled to Ultima Thule to save the star, at least, so you could have confirmed that part of the tale before we’d left.”

It would be a little hard to confirm it now if Wuk Lamat went looking for people outside of their little group. Camping out at Many Fires didn’t give them a lot of people from across the salt to speak with.

“I-I thought it was merely a tale people told to say you were great enough to do something like that,” Wuk Lamat said quickly. “It does explain a few things about what Erenville said, though. But now I’ve only got more questions.”

Cross motioned to the fire. “Well, I am on watch, and it’s not like we need to be anywhere right now. We might as well get them out of your system before we go much deeper into the Rites.”

Wuk Lamat’s eyes brightened in an excited way that made Cross almost laugh. “I-is it true that you stopped a huuuuge war between people and dragons? Erenville said that one sounded even more crazy.”

“No, that one’s true, too.”

“How?”

Cross chuckled, but the sound came out fond and a little sad. “That is a very long story. I don’t think we’ll have time for it tonight.”

“Th-the shortened version is fine! Please, Cross?”

“All right, all right….”

Meanwhile, just on the other side of one of the shelters in Many Fires, Koana sat with his ears pricked as he listened to the conversation happening faintly on the other side.

“There’s nothing stopping you from moving closer,” remarked Thancred from his spot by the fire. “I doubt that your sister would notice.”

Koana frowned, then shook his head and moved closer to the fire, rather than closer to the other encampment. “I cannot help but wonder how much of your experience in the Scions is fact or fiction. Even among Sharlayan scholars, there are many who have their doubts.” He paused. “Is…is it true that you traveled to another star and found there proof of the ancient civilization that the Ascians were once a part of? With their advanced, lost technology?”

“Where did you hear all that?”

Koana ducked his head a little. “Hearsay, mostly. Debates over the contents of the most recently-released encyclopedia that covers recent events and locales not-yet-explored by Sharlayan scholars.”

“Aaah. I’m not surprised that’s how you found out.” Thancred chuckled and shook his head. “Yes, tis all true. We have traveled to a reflection of this star, and seen proof of the Ancients with our own eyes.”

“How? Is there any way the rest of us can access it and learn of their technologies?”

“That isn’t important to your current task, is it?”

Koana blinked, then frowned. “It could be. Something they do on their star could help us improve our lives here.”

“Oh, I highly doubt that. The people there are still trying to pull themselves together after a few rather cataclysmic events, after all. Very little of what they know would be able to help.”

“Cataclysmic?” Koana repeated. “You mean…the tales of rampant Light aether were correct? That—” He glanced over his shoulder, like his sister and one of her chosen companions would appear around the corner of the building right that second. He looked back at Thancred and lowered his voice. “That Cross Sylvan was nearly turned into a monster of opposite aetheric polarity to a voidsent?”

Thancred tapped one side of his nose, smirking at Koana. “Do you want to ask me to tell that tale, or Cross? For that part of our journeys on the First is not mine to tell.”

Koana frowned like he’d been caught. He set his jaw a little. “Then what are you willing to tell me?”

“Hmmm….” Thancred leaned back, glancing at the building that stood between their and Wuk Lamat’s camps in Many Fires. “How about we speak of the Crystarium?”

“The city supposedly run by the Student of Baldesion, G’raha Tia, for one hundred years?”

“Not ‘supposedly.’ Although speaking of the Crystal Exarch and his tale would require you to stretch your belief a little more than you already have.”

Urianger, lying on a nearby bedroll, turned over and gave the two of them a withering look. “Might I impress upon thee how important it is that rest be found at this time of night? Thou can speak on the intricacies of survival in the worst of situations when light has dawned.”

Thancred held up his hands and bowed his head to his astrologian companion, while Koana sighed and shook his head.

“Very well,” Koana said. “The Feat of Gold will not be won with tired mines. I will ask about this…’Crystarium’ in the morning.”

Thancred grinned at him, then returned to his bed roll when Urianger’s disapproving look persisted.

Then the elezen’s gaze turned to Koana. “Rest. I have no doubt we will be safe this night.”

“Because of your companions with Wuk Lamat?” Koana asked.

“Indeed. You will find naught happens that Cross will not be aware of. Rest. Thou willst need it.”

Koana wanted to ask where Urianger got that idea from, but the Archon had already turned over and gone back to rest.

He sighed and quietly shook his head before lying back on his own bedroll.

What strange traveling companions these former Scions made.

#ffxivwrite 2024 #ffxivwrite #ffxiv #cross' fanfiction #cross sylvan #dawntrail #dawntrail spoilers #miqo'te warrior of light #miqo'te oc #warrior or light oc

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doorsclosingslowly · 5 months

Note

5, 12, 25

For the character ask game, please!

thank you!!!!

12. What's a headcanon you have for this character?

I'm super partial to a past sexual relationship between Théoden and Gríma that started sometime after Théodred's mother died and Gríma first gained a higher position in Meduseld.I don't think it was particularly emotionally fulfilling for Gríma because he considered it part of social climbing and any admission of weakness towards Théoden would also count against his promotions. Théoden never wished to acknowledge the relationship beyond the bedroom. Gríma was almost relieved when Théoden was weakened enough by his and Saruman's magic to no longer recall Gríma's bedside duties.

25. What was your first impression of this character? How about now?

My first impression on reading the books that there was an outsider no-one liked in Rohan who'd earned everyone's contempt because of his secret loathsomeness and then later Gandalf idly discussed how much he'd suffer and did nothing to intervene. Naturally I imprinted on my fellow human monster (in my case, the secret loathsomeness that made no one like me was undiagnosed autism lol).

I've also always loved henchmen, and Gríma's a classic henchman. Henchmen get hurt and killed without thought while the Boss gets offered mercy (they both are offered mercy in Tolkien though and he has my respect for it).

I do think my child self is essentially correct, though now I add that Gríma is hot, Gríma's the only goth in jock Rohan in the movies and therefore gets extra solidarity, Brad Dourif does a great performance, and that perhaps Gríma did more things wrong than my knee-jerk solidarity child self was willing to admit

5. What's the first song that comes to mind when you think of them?

youtube

Sopor Aeternus & the Ensemble of Shadows - Do you know my name? / What has happened while we slept

We have revived the water... or perhaps it simply woke up on its own. Anticipating, it is murmuring now along its ancient bed. Where is the stone, the tower, that worships and reveres us? No such a stone is here, I swear, well feeling that there should be On hottest rods we're shooting through the night along a private garden-way, though we no longer have any business being here On the left-hand side the greenhouse of a market garden What fragile shoots are being sheltered there?! Merry Rock, dressed in the midnight gown of tears, he is sitting on the floor and cries, his eyes are gazing at the western sky Oh everything seems lost to him Tapping his shoulder gently, my desire hardly concealed: You've done a lot already, and much more you will achieve! Sweet syrup consolation is dripping from my mouth... Can I myself believe this solemn vow?

I shattered all the mirrors fearfully hoping they won't be able to remember my face. Darkest of all lights most greedy to embrace surrounded by demons or breathing in life... Between the tides the time seems endlessly the force of habit or whatever pulled me back into a well-known pain. What uses the knowledge of my progression when the old world is gone without a new in sight, with my new found life I am homeless again...

I adore this song and it's a sign of my favouritism towards Gríma that it makes me think of him but just listen, and think of Gríma after Isengard falls, forced to walk west...

#grima wormtongue

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thecrowmaiden · 2 years

Text

“Rising Wind”

Also on Ao3

Spoilers for the end of the Season of Seraph cutscene!

What was going through Misraaks' head as he watched the Great Machine leaving, and what that meant for his people.

Misraaks watches Eido scramble up the crates, as if they are a staircase with which she can reach the Great Machine. The sky shimmers and trembles as the silent white sphere lifts away from them all: away from his House, his people, his daughter.

Please, no

A breeze spins around his feet, and he wonders if it is the harbinger of a greater storm.

He did not live through The Whirlwind, but he lived through what it left behind. Eramis with nothing but her hate and pain. His mother a leader who would stick a blade in the side of her own child if he dared to question her. So many of their people torn and scattered with no hope for peace and barely any for survival. Scavengers. Pirates. Fallen.

What could a second one do to Eido?

Riis had been prosperous, settled and thriving when the Darkness tore through the Eliksni. The House of Light is not. They have food and shelter, but they lack quality ether. Their home is not yet a home, and there are still those in the City who look at them askance when they leave it. Such a foundation offers his people so little. They don’t even have the ships on which to flee.

He doesn’t know how much the shaking of his hands is from the ground or himself, when his comm unit crackles to life.

“It’s happening again. The Whirlwind.”

“Eramis?” Misraaks is surprised to hear her reach out to him of all people, even more surprised by the tone of her voice. She sounds pleased in a way he has not heard before, a mix of triumph and conciliation that concerns him more than her rage ever has.

“Don’t worry. The Great Machine will never abandon anyone again.”

His trepidation rings true, and her words make his ether catch in his throat.

“Eramis…please do not do this.”

He doesn’t know how to appeal to her, how to beg her to spare the Light even as it draws further from view. The Eliksni survived its leaving once; he has to believe they can do it again. They are not alone this time. They have the Saint and the Phoenix. Young wolves, Awoken and Cabal. Even if they can no longer see it, even if it goes across the universe, the Light will stay in those bonds if only Eramis will stay her hands.

“If you care at all for our people, if there is anything left in your heart—”

“For Riis.”

The glare of the targeting Warsats breaks through the clouds, and his own heart stops along with his words. He knows that Eramis is no longer listening, anyway. The brightness of the weapons is such that it reduces Eido to a silhouette in front of him, and he wonders if she heard his pleas and feels his fear. He wants to reach for her, climb the crates she stands on and pull her against him so she doesn’t see the Great Machine burn. But he cannot make his feet move.

He hopes that Eido will forgive him for it. She may even prefer it this way, since she didn’t want to be treated as a child anymore. And it was proper a Scribe should witness such an event. Regardless of if her father wished she didn’t need to.

But then the sky goes dull without the accompanying thunder of a world ending, and behind his helm Misraaks blinks his burning eyes.

Like another moon, the Great Machine still looks down upon the Earth. Neither destroyed nor departed. Eido points to it with not just one but two of her hands as she turns to Misraaks with wonder and joy, standing atop the crates like some sort of herald of a miracle. The image will remain in his memory forever, he thinks, as his fear is slowly replaced with relief that today is not the day he has to watch his daughter’s heart break.

He can no longer hear Eramis’ voice, but he can imagine her rage. She and the Witness will be upon them soon, and humanity will need all of its allies. There will be no rest for anyone in the Last City when they arrive.

The dust settles at his feet, the air still around him. Soon he will contact Saint and Osiris, make sure that they are well and unharmed by their near loss. He will see what they need of him and the Eliksni, what the Vanguard will ask of them all. Soon there will be bustle and noise and voices raised in fear and uncertainty.

But for now there is only stunned silence. Eido has turned back to face the Great Machine, bold and safe, and Misraaks can finally breathe.

#misraaks #mithrax #scribe eido #destiny 2 #destiny fanfiction #my writing #writing Misraaks was fun because of his vocab and speech style

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thedragonagelesbian · 2 years

Text

A Lesson in Drowning with Prophet Delilah Dubois

Adelaide first saw the headlights. The rain scattered their light, diffusing the fluorescent brightness into a hazy glare that consumed the whole world. She was standing square in the middle of the road, but she did not wince as the car beared down on her. She was too busy wondering what it would be like for it to consume her too. Would she also disappear into the white noise? Or would it be more like a classical devouring, replete with metal tongue and a cavernous chrome stomach?

She stood her ground.

Then, the jeep swerved. It missed her by inches, sent a shower of muddy water up her stockings, and rattled to a stop some yards away.

Adelaide’s next instinct was to run. She could sprint between the well-manicured lawns to her right or scale the nearest fence to her left and take her chances with Warwick Lord’s German shepherd howling something pathetic in his yard. But she had barely taken one step toward her escape when the driver’s door swung open. A tall, slender figure stepped out, features obscured in the storm.

Still, she knew who it was.

“Adelaide Lenora Dellouise, just what do you think you’re doing out here?”

The full name did make her flinch, but Adelaide squared her shoulders and set her jaw, trying to hold herself taut enough that she couldn’t shiver.

“Walkin!”

As he came around the back of the car, Adelaide caught a glimpse of her father’s dour expression in the red sheen of the tail lights, all furrows from his sandy hairline to the bridge of his nose.

“In the middle of a shelter-in-place advisory? Without so much as a raincoat on?”

For all his exasperation, Wyatt Dellouise didn’t have to strain to be heard over the sound of the raging storm. Then again, he had his deacon voice on. This wasn’t the soft muttering of a man who seemed perpetually ashamed to be alive for risk of deriving some pleasure from the whole ordeal, but rather the preacher’s booming, fit for a pulpit and louder than thunder.

Adelaide responded with a shrug. As much as she tried to hide it, though, she couldn’t ignore how cold and damp she was now that she had stopped moving. The wind ripped through the thin, soaked fabric of her sundress, and she had so much water in her shoes her toes squelched with every slight shift of her body. A moment later, her teeth began to chatter, and they wouldn’t stop knocking against each other no matter how hard she pressed her lips together.

Her father folded his arms and moved between her and the trunk of the car. Shadow eclipsed his face again, and all Adelaide could make out through the sheets of rain was his hazy red silhouette.

“Are you fixing to get pneumonia?”

“I was thinking I’d let the storm wash me out to sea, actually!”

The silence that followed delighted Adelaide so much she almost didn’t care how true her words were or how deep they hurt her. She’d swallow a knife and let it rend her from the inside out if it meant he knew it was his fault she was bleeding.

“Quit this foolishness,” her father said at last, sighing like a tempest gale. “Just come with me, Addie, please. We’ll go shelter together in the church.”

“Just drop me off at home!”

“Get in the car!”

And that was that, as Adelaide knew it would be since the moment the jeep rolled up, an outcome equal measures inevitable and terrifying. Who, after all, could ignore a direct order from Deacon Wyatt Dellouise? The voice of the First Church of Her Will spoke. You listened. That was the way the world worked, as immutable as any law of physics. Adelaide couldn’t fight that, no matter how hard she had tried over the last two years. For as many days as she had spent steeling herself against her father’s influence, in that instant she withered under his ironclad certainty like she was still seven years old and arguing about her bedtime. She could not help but be compelled.

She took a few teetering steps toward the jeep as an arc of lightning split the sky above them. In the crack of white, she saw her father’s face soften.

“Thank you, Addie.”

She shivered, tucked in on herself, and said nothing.

The worst part was that it actually was nicer in the car. Her father had already turned up the heat all the way, opened the passenger-side vents, and switched on the seat warmer. She didn’t want it to feel good. She wanted to resent it like she resented everything her father touched, but her body obviously hadn’t gotten the message. Feeling returned to her slowly, nipping at her numb extremities and stiff joints and hunched, frozen spine.

“Weeeeeell, Lady Dellouise… So kind of you to join us.”

Adelaide bolted upright as a low, smooth voice from the backseat interrupted her involuntary relaxation. She whipped around, damn near relishing her skittering pulse and tight lungs because it meant her defenses were still up, but there was no monster behind her. Just a man. Slimy John, as he was colloquially known, was certainly one of Harborview’s more disquieting citizens, with a penchant for selling knives to children. But he was still just a man, and he gave her a toothy, human smile.

“Johnathon and some other residents will be sheltering in the church with us.” Her father had climbed back into the car. There was a megaphone in the driver’s seat which he rested in his lap as he closed the door, dampening the storm. “Folks who’d be safer there than anywhere else, you understand. The Davises are cooking up dinner for everyone, and the Owens have lent us some camping equipment to help stay comfortable while we wait this thing out.”

“I am much obliged, Deacon Wy,” commented Slimy John. “Y’all really don’t have to go to so much trouble.”

“We’re a community. We take care of each other.”

Adelaide scoffed under her breath. She knew exactly where this so-called community’s care ran out, and it was at crossing her father.

They drove straight back to the church. As they trundled through Old Harborview, her father rolled down the window to blare his pronouncements about the shelter-in-place advisory and the church’s open doors, but he didn’t slow down to accept any other transients. Adelaide could only assume the new haste was for her benefit. The sooner she was locked inside, the better, right?

Adelaide dug her nails into her skin, glanced at her phone, and started counting the minutes til the storm’s passing, just like she and her best friend Nat used to do during Sunday School. Whoever could go the longest without checking the time got the other’s oreos during snack break.

She always lost.

Lit beneath by a pair of austere spotlights, the First Church of Her Will surged from the darkness, its single spire towering and curved like a giant rib jutting out into the night sky, a carcass picked clean. As the car pulled up, the wind’s rabid howling grew louder, screaming against the windows. Adelaide, who could finally wiggle her toes again, couldn’t decide which would be worse: braving the storm once more or facing whatever was waiting for her in the cathedral.

“I’ll get the umbrella out of the trunk,” her father announced. “No need for you to get any wetter than you already are.”

He turned off the engine. The car plummeted into darkness, and when the heat cut out, Adelaide shuddered, an ugly, reflexive twitch.

She snapped, “I’m fine,” and reached for the car door.

Before she could open it, however, Slimy John let out a long, low whistle of a laugh.

“Whew! She really got Melanie’s quick temper, don’t she, Wy?”

Adelaide and Wyatt both went rigid.

For her part, Adelaide was rarely ever equipped to talk about her mother, fifteen years gone and mourned more in the last two than at any other point in her life. On that particular day, when she was already hanging on by a thread, just the name was enough to send her trembling.

Worse than the name, though, was her father, who mirrored her tension in the corner of her eye. The symmetry between them, clamped tight around the same loss, made Adelaide sick to her stomach. Suddenly, she needed to get out of the car as fast as possible. Even the church had to be better than sitting in that moment of connection.

She threw herself out into the storm. It swallowed her up for a moment, but she ran up the slick steps and through the heavy double doors, and in an instant, the hurricane disappeared. In its place, the First Church of Her Will opened up before her for the first time in a year.

And in that instant, Adelaide knew she had made a mistake: this was worse.

Like her dad’s car, like the mansion down the road, like just about every inch of Harborview, it felt so much like it should’ve been home that she nearly burst. The memories slammed into her, cresting and crashing from every corner of the nave: the worn pews where she and Nat used to play hide-and-seek, the glinting prayer candles where she had knelt after her mother’s funeral, the lectern where her father had stood for so many days of so many years still larger than life, the painting behind the altar rendering the church’s founder, Our Lady Prophet Delilah Dubois, in severe beauty, each stroke of her countenance exactly as Adelaide remembered it after spending one too many sermons lost in her oil-slick eyes, each detail another mouthful of saltwater she couldn’t swallow.

And mercy, it was warm like the undertow wrapped around her throat

And it was full. The smiling faces of familiar strangers dotted her horizon, all brought together under the banner of community care and that stubborn, unerring streak of self-sufficiency that defined Harborview, and Adelaide hated it so much she could’ve choked on it.

The storm surge of her rage broke through its levee, and she was too full too sudden and sputtering for air as her vision blurred white-hot. Her mind churned, dizzy and desperate, around one furious thought: how dare?

How dare this no longer be her home? How dare he spoil that too?

And how dare they abide it? Her so-called family friends, the congregation that had raised her and now sat by twiddling their thumbs while her father drowned her?

“Adelaide!”

In one moment, the entire world was tilting around her, as if she were a liferaft thrown out to the roiling sea.

In the next, there was a hand on her shoulder. Her focus broke, and everything went still and straight again.

Nat’s father, Duke Owens, beamed down at her and tugged her inside.

“So good to see you, kiddo. How long’s it been?”

Adelaide blinked and stumbled after him. Sluggishly, the social scripts of polite society and normal conversation came back to her.

“Too long…”

“Well, it’s great you’re here. Sarah Davis is making her famous collard greens, and her, uh, third… the current husband brought over a huge batch of potato salad, and we’ve just put on a pot to cook some corn. We’ve also got water, juice boxes, even a lick of bourbon if you think you can get away with it.” He winked as he directed her down the aisle.

A shake clearer-headed, Adelaide got a better sense of who else was milling around in the shrine to her poisoned youth. About two dozen of Harborview’s fine citizens sprawled out across the pews. They were split half and half between those who were dispensing the charity and those who were receiving it. Among the latter, Adelaide identified a smattering of residents from the trailer park at the west edge of town, a stoned vanlifer, a young city couple whose car had probably broken down, a handful of farmers who didn’t trust the structural integrity of their houses, and Madame Tilly, the congregation’s oldest and most devout member.

The other half—composed of Mary Owens, her two sons, Sarah Davis, her daughter, her current husband, one of her ex-husbands, and another priest—clustered at the front of the nave. That, Adelaide knew, was her destination: the insufferable snare of small town small talk with people she had known all her life and resented.

The altar and the lectern had been pushed back to make room for a pair of mismatched folding tables. One held the Owens’ camping stoves and large, bubbling stock pots, while the other was attended to by the younger generation, who were setting out plates, bowls, silverware, and napkins. Combined with the drink coolers and the warming tupperwares of potato salad, the spread could have been any church potluck or community barbecue.

Indeed, the only indication of the hurricane was Adelaide herself, tottering to a stop in front of them and once again failing not to shiver.

The fussing began immediately.

“Oh, sweetheart, what happened to you?” cooed Mary Owens.

“Poor thing, you gotta go change!” exclaimed Sarah Davis. “I’ve got some spare stuff in my duffle…”

“Dang, Adelaide, you’re gonna get sick going out dressed like that,” tutted Nat’s older brother, Jack.

“That’s what I told her.” Adelaide felt her father’s hand on her shoulder like a vice. “I found Addie halfway back home. She got caught out in the storm when the advisory went into effect, but, mercy be, we’re all safe here now.”

The others, ever the faithful parishioners, nodded and intoned, “Mercy be.”

Smothering the urge to gag, Adelaide cleared her throat and mustered up her most charming cheerleader smile.

“Mrs. Davis, that change of clothes sounds swell just about now.”

The church’s holiness had never quite extended into the single-occupant bathrooms in the basement. The consecration stopped short at the harsh fluorescents, speckled linoleum tiles, grimy ceramic, and the half-empty trash can perched on its throne of wet, crumpled paper towels. The closest thing to sanctity in the room was the pastel cross-stitch wall art reminding its viewers that Delilah preached moderation in all things… except cleanliness!, and even that couldn’t compel anyone to actually throw their paper towels away.

It was as close to an escape as Adelaide was going to get.

She had to peel her sopping clothes away from her skin, like wearing away the adhesive of a band-aid until she was hunched and nearly naked in the middle of the bathroom with two handfuls of dripping fabric. Her flats were coming apart at the seams, and her stockings were so drenched and muddy that she abandoned any hope of salvaging them. Instead, she threw both articles of clothing in the trash before trying to ring out her dress over the sink. The twisting and squeezing yielded some measure of success, so she stuffed the dress into the plastic bag Jack had offered her.

She then began to rifle through Sarah Davis’ assorted athleisure: a pair of neon pink and green tennis shoes, socks that said namaste, two tight yoga pants, and an assortment of sporty tank tops emblazoned with bubble text that ranged from mere novelty (KEEP HARBORVIEW WEIRD) to outright suggestion (MY EYES ARE UP HERE). Adelaide picked one that said FINE LIKE WINE not because it suited her particularly but because it had the loosest fit. Both pairs of pants, however, were as form-fitting and skin-tight as the wet stockings she had just taken off, hugging every curve and divot of her legs.

In the end, she was dressed but exposed, unable to control something so simple as her appearance, hating the glimpses of herself she caught in the mirror.

Even her face seemed foreign to her. The rain had ruined her makeup, leaving streaks of mascara down her cheeks and blotchy patches of red lipstick on her mouth. Her hair hung from her in frizzing, ropey strands plastered to the sides of her face and neck. She didn’t recognize the face staring back at her with the tears rimming its wide, desperate eyes.

That other person trapped in the glass snarled, wrenched a paper towel from the dispenser, and clawed the rest of its makeup off. A moment later, it raked its nails through its hair in a biting impression of a brush, gathering the strands together in a loose ponytail with a scrunchie from Sarah’s duffle bag.

At least she had control over something.

At least she could still control the muscles of her unvarnished face, massaging out the furrows in her brow and slackening the tension in her jaw and schooling her lips into an effortless smile.

When she looked in the mirror one last time, she almost resembled herself again.

Supper was up by the time Adelaide went back upstairs. Townsfolk were gathered at the front of the chamber, salting and buttering ears of corn and taking deep, indulgent whiffs of the collard greens, laden with thick-cut bacon and leftover ham hock. Strains of jovial conversation reached her by the stairwell. How is so-and-so doing? Some weather we’re having, huh. Got any holiday plans? How old is so-and-so now? She’s where? Oh my, but they grow up so fast…

Adelaide heard Nat’s name in the mix—something about an athletic scholarship at Clemson—and felt sick again.

Her empty stomach grumbled its complaints as she turned away, but she ignored it, forcing her attention to settle on Madame Tilly, who had not joined the others for dinner. Rather, the old woman, sporting her trademark purple velvet cap and elaborate gem-encrusted beetle brooch, was still kneeling by a box of candles near the front door, lost to the world as she muttered her prayers.

Adelaide reasoned that that, at least, was a conversation she could handle.

Matilda Lawrence had been just as much a part of Adelaide’s life growing up as the Owens. For as long as she could remember, she and her father had been checking up on Madame Tilly after Wednesday service. It had been Adelaide’s earliest act of charity, a kind deed for a kind elder whose mind had wandered even in her youth. Even longer than those visits, though, Adelaide recalled her unwavering faith. As distracted as she might be elsewhere, in church, Madame Tilly was nothing but resolute and focused. Indeed, her knowledge of canticles, verses, and hymns was second only to Deacon Dellouise himself.

Adelaide used to think it would be nice to grow up and be someone like Madame Tilly: refined, devout, at peace.

Nowadays, she just barely had one of the three.

Adelaide squatted beside the prayer box, three tiered rows of tea lights set in small glass bowls. Only a few of the candles were lit, each a pinprick prayer glinting above a puddle of grey wax. She watched them flicker as she listened to Madame Tilly continue her supplications without so much as a glance in her direction.

The words were as familiar as the low, hoarse voice that mumbled them:

“That I may deliver my own salvation, I bequeath upon myself a clear mind and a strong heart. That I may shoulder my own burdens, carry my own weight, and discipline the limits of my own desires, such that I never exceed the boundaries of restraint and propriety. That I may survive the oncoming storm, I pray for clarity, fortitude, and tenacity…”

“And in so praying,” the words spilled forth from Adelaide’s marrow, deep and reluctant as every fiber of her being, “I grant upon myself such virtues as foreseen by our lady prophet.”

Madame Tilly lifted her head, blinking, and smiled up at Adelaide, slow and indulgent.

“Little Addie,” she murmured, gums stretched wide. “How are you?”

“Surviving by someone’s grace.” Adelaide didn’t know if it was her own or her father’s or Delilah’s herself. Probably wasn’t her own. “How ’bout yourself?”

“All is as we will it.”

Typical Order of Dubois bullshit response. Adelaide smiled back.

“Well, it looks like dinner’s up, if you’re hungry.”

“Oh, that’s very kind of you, but I can’t stop praying. There’ll be time to feed myself later. Harborview needs my prayers now. It is as our lady prophet says.” Madame Tilly tapped her forehead with the second knuckle of her right pointer finger, tracing a loose oval between her brows. “‘In seeing clearly, might all the Earth resolve itself in perfect and accurate order.’ Worship is the only way to a clear mind’s eye. A clear mind’s eye is the only way to a righteous world.”

Righteousness seemed a terribly inappropriate framework for understanding a natural disaster, but Adelaide’s good sense told her not to argue.

Instead, she picked up one of the lit prayer candles and tilted it forward. The melted wax pooled to one side, threatening to drown the pinpoint of light quivering inside the glass. When she narrowed her eyes, the flame blossomed into a thin white line across her vision. Its expansion was an optical illusion, she knew, but if she focused hard enough, she could trick herself into thinking that the glass was heating up, cracking, splintering, shattering…

“We could all use some clarity just about now,” Adelaide remarked as she spun the bowl, watching the silvery wax swirl like wine.

“Don’t I know it… You seeking clarity yourself, little Addie? I haven’t seen you around here in a while.”

“Y’know how it is.” Eyes open, eyes closed, flame thinning and widening and winking like blinding starlight, glass hotter and hotter against the pads of her fingers. “One day, you’re suddenly an adult, and you gotta take some time to figure things out.”

“I’ve been an adult for quite a while, dearie. I did all my figuring out long ago.”

“And how’d that go for you?”

“She simplified things a good bit.” Madame Tilly nodded toward the back of the church, and Adelaide followed her gaze to the oil painting of Delilah Dubois. The prophet’s watchful steely eyes stared back from underneath a windswept cowl. “I was a wild and wayward soul once upon a time, but I wandered back to her eventually, and she set me on the straight and narrow… You could always come back too, y’know. Give it all a second chance.”

Adelaide’s grip on the bowl tightened.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Ah, but showing up is only half the work.” Adelaide glanced back at her out of the corner of her eye. Madame Tilly responded by touching her finger to her forehead again. “You still have to have faith, dearie. Otherwise, it’s only a paper moon.

“That was the first lesson Lady Delilah taught us, after all. She saw the end of days on the horizon, the plagues and the storms and the fires that would burn this world to its core, and she turned to prayer. Not just mumbling a few half-hearted words, you understand, but complete dedication of body and soul to her worship. That was her salvation.

“And it’s saved Harborview dozens of times since then. Right before you were born, actually, we had another hurricane. This one got so close the state put us under an evacuation notice, so your daddy rented a whole fleet of buses and he went out in his jeep with his megaphone to round folks up and make sure they got out safe and sound before the storm got bad.

“But instead of leaving with them, he and Melanie came back here, and the three of us set about doing what Delilah mandated we do in the face of travesty. We dedicated ourselves to our piety. We didn’t eat, we didn’t drink, we didn’t sleep, we just prayed.

“And we were rewarded, as Delilah said we would be. For all those weather boys saying we would be wiped off the map, the hurricane only grazed us. Oh, there was some superficial damage to a few buildings on the Docks, and we lost the old community center to the flooding, but we survived. Harborview survived, as it always has, on the back of its own self-efficacy.

“That is the power of faith, child: making divine and mortal providence one in the same.”

But much of Madame Tilly’s sermon had fallen on deaf ears, for Adelaide could not let go of the thought of her mother holed up in this church listening to the world end around her. She pictured her crouched before this same prayer box, hands clenched, eyes shut, trembling.

Had she wanted to stay? Or had she been coerced, her husband never being one to let his things wander too far from his domain? She was a devout woman, but did her faith hold? Did she believe Wyatt when he told her devotion was the only way to salvation?

Did she have any other choice but to believe, to paper a smile over the worry and go through the motions of her worship while her fear gutted her from the inside out? How many screams and sobs did she smother because doubt was still the worse sin in the eyes of her husband?

Did she nurse some secret seed of resentment toward him for condemning her to die alongside him?

Adelaide’s own fear spiraled as sudden as a lightning strike. It was an old anxiety at this point, but it hadn’t yet lost its edge or its weight: that moment of feeling the entire ocean bearing down on her chest. Too tight to move, too heavy to breathe, just the water in her lungs trying to drag her down.

Trapped.

Crack!

The candle holder exploded.

Madame Tilly yelped as glass and wax showered the ground. The still-burning wick hit the carpet. A chorus of gasps and shrieks and questioning grunts surged from the other side of the church.

But all Adelaide knew was the flame. The orange glimmer cut through the fear, and for a blinding moment, she had that holy clarity that the Order of Dubois revered so much: a crystal-clear image of the church reduced to smoldering ash and burning rubble, so real she could taste the heat and smoke sweet on her tongue. If she just focused…

Some smell like ozone and chlorine hit Adelaide square in the nose. Her vision blurred, head swimming as that sublime image warped before her eyes. She tried to hold onto it, but it vanished out from underneath her, like missing the last step in the dark. For a moment, she reeled in the free-fall, stomach plummeting and body lurching, staggering back onto her heels.

Then, her vision settled. She was back in the church. It was normal and whole. The flame was out. And her father was staring hard at her from across the room.

Outside, the thunder boomed as loud as any pipe organ, deep enough to shake the church’s foundations.

The power went out.

The congregation gasped again as the darkness took them. The precious few points of candlelight were quickly joined by the glare of cellphones at the front of the nave. Madame Tilly merely shook her head and resumed her praying, while Adelaide stared at the faces huddled near the altar, cast in a waxy and uneven sheen by the weak flashlights they clutched to their chests. An anxious murmur bubbled up amongst them until their deacon cleared his throat so loud even the rain seemed to hold its breath for him.

“There’s no need to panic, folks.” Wyatt Dellouise only owned a flip phone, so for a moment, his voice seemed to emanate from the darkness itself, ever-present and ever-vigilant. Duke Owens switched on a camping lantern, suffusing the back of the church in a too-white glow. Wyatt appeared, his features ghastly as the light carved steep shadows into his countenance. “We knew this was a possibility, but the church has a generator precisely for this situation. I’ll go out back and turn it on. Duke, you mind if I borrow a flashlight or a lantern?”

“Of course, Wyatt, and if you need someone else to go out with you—”

“I’ll go.”

The glaring cellphones all turned toward Adelaide as she stretched her hand up into the air. A stuttered silence followed. Her father’s thin silhouette shifted.

“That’s awful kind of you, Addie, but—”

“You shouldn't have to go out there alone, Daddy!” Adelaide interrupted brightly. “I wanna help.”

He couldn’t deny her this, not when she was playing the dutiful, smiling daughter he wanted so badly to have back. With a nod and armed with raincoats and a high-powered flashlight, her father led her out the back door of the church.

Stepping back out into the storm, Adelaide’s mind wandered to her other childhood best friend, the one she tried her damnedest not to think about. Once upon a time, before Adelaide had ruined everything, Zak Ibis had been the genderqueer prom king to her prom queen. As the self-proclaimed arbiter of good taste and cultural relevance in a backwater town he resented, Zak could deliver gospel as well as any priest over DairyQueen blizzards or in the Barracuda’s locker rooms. Their vast but shallow reserves of amateurish expertise included computer science, film, sports, economics, and numerous pop science areas like sleep health, fad diets, and wolfpack dynamics as allegories for the human condition.

One such lecture came to mind as the first splash of rain hit Adelaide’s face, turned up toward a patch of clouds where the faint light of the moon filtered through the storm. She remembered one of her many late night break-ins to the lighthouse down the street from the Dellouise Mansion. With Nat giving her a boost, Adelaide would shimmy into the cracked second story window and open the door. Nat provided the snacks, Zak the weak booze, and they’d spend hours playing card games or listening to Zak pontificate.

Over cold, congealed nachos and watered down beer, Zak had once opined about the mammalian diving reflex— in his words, how to trick your lizard brain into thinking the world’s not ending by being in some water about it.

And in the storm’s totality, it did feel like being swallowed up by the sea: the whole world disappeared in the torrent, no ground, no horizon, no body, just the numbness where the droplets pelted against her skin.

Zak was right, it was kind of relaxing.

Would that she actually were in the ocean, sinking into the abyss so that her corpse could give rise to untold and monstrous ecosystems deep beneath the tides. Instead, the swinging of her father’s flashlight, cutting sharp through all that wet nothing, reminded Adelaide of where she was.

“The generator’s just back here.”

“Mhm.”

“Hold the flashlight, will you?”

Adelaide lifted the light up to illuminate the boxy grey generator on the ground and the paneling in the wall above it, which her father began to fuss with. She watched him work in silence, trying to puzzle out the function of the multitude of switches and blinking lights. She didn’t have the faintest idea what her father was doing with them.

Then again, that was the way the two of them functioned, wasn’t it? She didn’t have to know much of anything because daddy dearest could always solve all of her problems.

The irony of being dependent on a man who had dedicated his life to preaching self-sufficiency was so bitter that Adelaide drew in on herself, shivering in Mary Owens’ raincoat and Sarah Davis’ yoga outfit and despising the kindness they had shown her.

“What are you going to do if we ever have to evacuate?!” she shouted over the roar of the storm.

“We won’t need to evacuate,” he responded evenly.

“Sure, not this time around, but there’s always next time, ain’t there, and the time after that? We have a million fucking storms every summer, what are you going to do when one of them finally threatens to wipe this miserable shithole off the coastline?”

Her father’s hands paused, hovering over some button or another. Adelaide could not see his face, but she watched the outline of his Adam’s apple quiver.

“Watch your language, Addie,” he mumbled at last. He pushed the button, and light flooded out of the stained glass window suspended above their heads.

“That’s not an answer, and you fucking know it! Tell me what you would do!”

Desperation seized her as he finally turned toward her, mouth set like a tombstone to match the hard granite of his eyes. Adelaide could not feel her lips spluttering around her words, but she tasted the rainwater against her teeth.

“Would you let me go?!” She came so close to pleading that she wanted to retch. Barely swallowing the bile, she spat, “Or would you trap me here like you trapped Mama?!”

What little color was left drained from her father’s face.

“Addie, don’t—”

“You’d rather see me dead than gone!” The tempest didn’t stop for her like it did for him, but she could match its fury. “You’d let me drown before you’d let me leave!”

“I’d— I’d protect you!” He reached for her, stammering out familiar pleas and supplications. Adelaide shrunk away from his grasp. “I’d keep you safe, like I always have!”

“You’d just keep me!”

He tried to grab her again. Adelaide stepped backwards, slipped on the slick grass, and plummeted to the ground. He lunged to catch her, but she slapped away his hands as she fell. She’d rather have the pain: the sharp ache of a future bruise thrumming through her thighs and up her spine, the scrape of her knuckles against the ground, the twist of her wrist as she held onto the flashlight like a liferaft.

Standing above her, Wyatt’s face contorted, no longer the picture of the austere deacon but of a tired, sad old man.

“Addie, please,” he whispered, extending his hand again, “please just stop this. You’re only hurting yourself.”

In response, Adelaide chucked the flashlight as hard as she could in the other direction.

Somewhere in the darkness above her came a sigh, followed by heavy footsteps headed toward the flashlight, which had rolled to a stop near the fence of the cemetery. Still, Adelaide made no move to pick herself up. Instead, she leaned back to lay down in the mud, letting the rain wash over her.

She couldn’t see the sky.

She couldn’t see much of anything, but she knew Harborview’s geography well enough to draw a straight line from her outstretched fingertips to her father’s house, less than a block away but lost in the storm. She could extend that same, unerring line through to the lighthouse, that last bastion of unspoiled childhood, and she could stretch it out further to the ocean beyond.

She could feel it out there, roiling just out of sight. And if she closed her eyes and focused on her breathing, she could almost feel it inside her too. In her mind’s eye, she saw a wave as tall as the sky cresting over the town, poised just before breaking. It would flood every street, level most buildings, wash away thousands of lives, erase Harborview from the face of the Earth and drag its fractured remains out to sea… and maybe that could free her.

Maybe it would be enough to call her father’s bluff and scare him into breaking the magic that tethered her to Harborview.

Or maybe the magic would break on its own if there was no Harborview.

As soon as it had occurred to her, Adelaide couldn’t let that thought go. The flood, the catastrophe, the destruction, the death. The horror sunk its fangs deep into her, gnawing the edges of morality and logic alike, and she let that callousness fester because it burned oh so tenderly even as she was slowly losing feeling in her limbs.

Why, after all, should she care about the wellbeing of the people who showed up twice a week to suckle at the teat of her father’s dogma despite everything he had done to her?

Why shouldn’t they drown too?

Who was Adelaide to deny the prophecies of her Lady Delilah?

#adelaide posting #okay shes DONE #topping out at 6000 words #this was legit originally just going to be the convo about what adelaide & wyatt would do if there was an evacuation notice #and it was just going to be a bit of dialogue in their house #and then i was like 'wait wouldnt wyatt be at the church during a shelter in place advisory'#and things........ spiraled from there #i have so many meta thoughts but im trying not to add too much commentary for the integrity of the piece #just. ugh. im screaming a lot inside.

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