#prompt: thunderstorm

[devilander]

rain falls in love

homelander x gn reader. fluff, hurt/comfort, mentions of past abuse

Cozy Corner Domaystic: Thunderstorm

You were a light sleeper. Even minor disturbances would wake you instantly; your cat meowing, a neighborhood’s TV turned on, cars passing through the street. Whenever Homelander and you slept together you couldn't help but be slightly envious of how he could turn off the whole world—he slept like a stone, slept like the dead. 

Today, though, you doubted many could sleep through the thunderstorm that split New York’s sky. Each thunder louder than the other, sequences of lightning turning the apartment clear as day. And, courtesy of your boyfriend's gigantic windows, you felt enclosed in the roar of the night. 

For some, it could be an entertaining spectacle; nature's power a soothing balm, a way to make you contemplate how much of your worries were small and ephemeral—in the end, there was only the earth and the rain. 

You could, in theory, see the poetry of it. But all you felt was an overwhelming fear. The loud noises reminded you of your father's booming voice, the cracking of electricity too similar to his heavy hands landing on you. 

John was away, having left a week ago in some undisclosed mission. Undisclosed to the public, of course, because he told you in detail how, actually, he was going to take part in a non-authorized invasion of a terrorist cell. Or so he called it. 

You were alone. Only you and the storm and Popsicle purring in your lap, indifferent to his surroundings. 

After another furious thunder nearly frightening you to death, you decided to call John. Tears streamed down your face and you felt ridiculous—it’s only rain. And yet. 

He probably wouldn't pick up. If he did, he'd be too busy, what could he do?

In the first ring, however, he answered. “Hello, sweet face. Awake at this hour?”

“Oh, it's nothing.” You tried to disguise your sniffles, suddenly beyond embarrassed. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

Silence, and then—

“Is it the storm, sweetheart?”

“Yes, yeah. I can't sleep, it keeps reminding me of… you know. I'm sorry for bothering you.”

“Don't you ever apologize to me for that, ever,” he retorted, voice tinged with anger, though you knew it wasn't aimed at you. 

“Can we—” Another thunder, and this time you yelped, scaring Popsicle so that he ran to hide under the bed. “God, I hate this,” you whimpered. “I just want you here. I miss you so much.”

“I miss you too, you precious thing. Fuck, this is bullshit. A fucking week here and we accomplished shit. They sent me the most incompetent team of motherfuckers, I'm up my ass with their whining and ‘but sir, mister Edgar said we should be cautious’.”

You laughed. “Sounds like a trifle.”

“Ugh, fucking tell me about it. A week without you for this bullshit. Y’know what, I'm out. Hold on there, honey, I'll be with you in a moment.” 

And he hung up. And the storm raged on, but you felt a giddy warmness settling on you. 

Not before long, he barged in, completely wet, but you couldn't care less. You ran to his arms, letting the raindrops seep through your clothes as tangible proof of his devotion. 

“You didn't need to come.”

“Ah, but I promised, didn't I? I'll be with you anytime you need me, and you need me now, don't you?”

You giggled, forgetting all about the fears. It was washed over. “I do. And you need a hot bath.”

“Hmph. You too, little baby. C’mon, join me.”

You sat behind him in the tub, washing his hair, enjoying every second of this quiet moment. He moaned at the contact and squeezed your thigh as it circled his waist. 

If the storm was a demonstration of nature's power, John was both its likeness and antithesis—he himself was a force to be reckoned with, an amalgamation of sheer strength and might. Created by men, but a victim of them. You could understand that, quite intimately.

He gave you security in his power, and you gave him peace in your tenderness—the value of a whisper to a snowbank. 

“John,” you whispered. “I love you. I'll keep you forever, because you belong to me and I to you. Will you let me?”

You felt, more than you saw, his deep breath, swallowing back tears you knew were spilling down his cheeks. You didn't care what they said, what he did looking back in anger, because this was the only truth. 

“Yeah…” He choked up, but soldiered on. “Yeah, my love. I'm never letting you go. I fucking love you to pieces.”

As you lay in bed together you decided—in the end, there was only he and you. 

[dindjarindiaries]

When It Rains, It Pours

character: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

prompts: “Just breathe, it’ll be over soon.” and “I’m sorry—.” “No, don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault.”

main masterlist • prompt masterlist

"Cyar'ika?"

Din's voice draws you out of your slumber. Once you gather your bearings, you smile at the sight of Din's face and raise a hand to hold his cheek. "Hey."

Your thumb brushes just under his eye, and in doing so, you notice the lack of a sparkle in his dark gaze. The shaking of his hand that's still on your shoulder tells a frightening story. The concern drips into your tone as you give him a quick once-over.

"Hey." You hold his face with both hands, one of your thumbs lowering to run over his trembling lips. "What is it?"

Din's gaze averts yours. Instead, he turns his attention to the viewport on the opposite side of your room. His voice is quiet when he answers. "There's a storm."

You take a moment to listen for it. Sure enough, the rain is pounding onto the roof above your heads, and a distant roll of thunder makes Din's grip on your shoulder tighten for a moment. This is a rare occurrence for Nevarro, and for Din, it's a frightening one. You try to win back his gaze with another brush of your thumb over his lips. "Are you okay?"

Din hesitates, the breath he holds visible in the stalling of his scarred chest. When his gaze meets yours, his honesty wins out, and he gives his head a small shake. Your chest aches with the way your heart's shattered.

You don't need an explanation from him, nor would you ever ask for one. Thunder can sound like explosions, and explosions can bring Din back to many traumatic moments—but mostly the one that terrifies his inner child.

"Here, let's get some lights on." You sit up in the bed and lean over to the table on your side, pressing the button that activates the warm lamps throughout the room. Din's since taken a hold of one of your hands between his and you let him keep it there. "How about some tea?"

Din nods and watches as his thumb brushes over the back of your hand. "Yeah."

You smile at him. "Great." You take your hand from him only to make your way out of the bed. Din's tunic on your figure has already made you decent as you walk around the bed to his side. You take him by the hand to lead him out into the living area of your cabin. "I just picked up a new blend from the bazaar."

"That sounds—," Din starts, cutting himself short when a particularly loud roll of thunder interrupts him. He squeezes your hand and forces himself to take a deep breath. "Great. That sounds great."

You smile at his bravery as you begin to heat the water and set out two cups for each of you. "And you know what?" Once everything's set out, you turn back to Din and wrap your arms around his neck. He steadies himself with his hands on your waist. "I think you're doing great."

You urge him to lower his head to your shoulder, getting a quick kiss in on his cheek before he does so. When there's another crash of thunder, one that makes the cabin shake, Din pulls you tight enough against himself to make you lose your breath for a moment. He loosens the grasp, but still keeps it tighter than before.

"Just breathe," you say, your voice a soft and sweet breath. Your cheek presses against the side of his head as you run your hand over his back. "It'll be over soon."

After a long moment of silence, Din speaks up, his voice muffled by the tunic on your shoulder. "I was a child," he reflects. "You would think I could deal with this, now."

You lift his face from your shoulder to hold it between his hands, making him face you and the comfort of your gaze. "If only it were that easy." You smile and run your knuckles along his cheek, tracing the fading outline of a scar from many years ago on this same planet. "You're already a hero, Din. You don't have to keep proving that."

Din's face starts to flush as he looks down in shyness. "Thank you." His brow wrinkles when he gains the faith to search your gaze again. "I know I woke you up. I'm sorry—."

"No, don't be sorry." Your hand runs through the hair at the side of his head. "It's not your fault." You shake your head at him. "You can't help it."

Din looks as if he's preparing to argue, but the sound of the water boiling from behind you stops him. You step away from Din to remove it from heat and fill your cups with the prepped tea spices. Once you've handed Din yours, you hop up onto the counter and hold yours between your hands.

"Now, we have a few options," you present to him. Din makes room for himself between your knees, his hips resting against the edge of the counter as he raises an eyebrow at you. "We can sit here and drink our tea in silence if that's what'll help you, or I can talk you through it." You brush a piece of hair out of Din's face. "Or... once we're done with our tea..." your thumb finds his lips once again, "I can kiss you back to sleep."

Din chuckles and dares to lift the steaming cup of tea towards his lips. "The latter two options sound very enticing."

You smile as he sips from his cup and lets his brow loosen in relaxation. "Yeah?"

Din reaches up to make your forehead meet his own. "Yeah." He takes a deep breath and manages a genuine smile for you. "Thank you, cyar'ika."

You brush your fingers along his untrimmed chin. "You never have to thank me, Din." You draw him closer until you taste the new tea blend from him, an exchange of trust, love, and comfort that goes beyond words.

[wisteria-whump]

it's spring so i have to remind everybody that you can and maybe should make your characters afraid of thunderstorms!!

[queenofbaws]

hiii! hope you’re having a nice weekend :) could you write anything for ash x jess please ? <3

Oh, she hated games like these...she absolutely hated them, because no matter what was asked or who was doing the asking, what it came down to was always the same: Lying or being embarrassed in front of everyone.

Her two least favorite things.

"Never have I ever..." Hannah started, dragging each syllable out to buy herself some time, "...kissed...a...girl."

And the circle went nuts - there were a few jokes shouted as people put their fingers down or left them up, things like "Yeah, that tracks," or "Oh please, you're not fooling anyone;" there were wolf-whistles and cheers; there was so much laughter she thought she might combust; and, as she left her own finger up, Ashley thought her face might literally catch fire, she was blushing so hard.

She never could've gotten away with lying, not with everyone looking at her like that, so instead of watching them react, she lowered her eyes to the floor, and...and that was probably why she didn't notice Jess scootch in beside her.

Without warning, there was a hand tipping her chin back, a pair of glossy lips sliding across hers; "Now you have," Jess smiled against her mouth, pressing one last bubblegum-flavored kiss to the corner of her lips before pulling back, basking in the hoots and whoops of the group as Ashley struggled to remember how to breathe.

six sentence sat(or)sunday!!!

[nerdieforpedro]

Day Sixteen - Thunderstorm

Word Count: 452

Warnings: VERY SOFT Dave - that's the only warning?! 👀

Notes: Originally I thought of Jack Daniels getting caught out in a thunderstorm on a mission, but he'd have gear for that. I think... I wanted to do something else for Dave. Our former government employee (I'm not silly enough to say what the man does, I like living thanks,) has even more of a tender side than we thought. 🥰

Main Masterlist / March Spring Prompts 2024 / Writing Challenge

The forecast for this week didn’t mention rain at all this week. Today’s picnic with the girls went fine too, not a cloud in the sky. Dave was looking forward to catching up on organizing some files while you were sleeping in the king size bed across from him. He liked to watch you sleep after tucking the girls in and keeping an eye on them as they settled in, Alice always snuggled the white teddy bear she’d gotten two years ago on the girls first outing with you to the mall. Simple, he wasn’t sure how they’d react to their father being with someone other than their mother, his ex-wife. They took to you like white on rice and always asked about you, when they could see you again and what they were up to. It made the decision to marry you that much simpler.

The first crack of thunder made Dave flinch, a rare feat. He peered over to you, still, your chest rising and falling as you lay comfortably on your side. You’d curled slightly as you’d been talking to him prior to drifting off. It was known to few that Dave… was not fond of thunderstorms. He didn’t like the sudden booming sounds or flashes of lighting. He didn’t see one outside of the window, only the drops of rain hitting the glass. The rain would lull him to sleep and the thunder would wake him, frustrated at the cycle until he slept out of exhaustion or the storm had passed.

Another rumble with a burst of lightning following it closely told Dave that the storm had grown even closer. His papers soundly hit the night table as he stood and crossed the room to the bed. He removed his t-shirt and sweatpants, leaving them on the floor for now. He’d get to them in the morning. Peeling the covers back, he slipped into the bed beside you, his chest pressed against your back with a soft kiss placed to your neck.

A clap of thunder had Dave’s arms curl around your torso, pulling your closer to him, his chin was tucked itself over your shoulder, the night would be extended for York but he may still find sleep yet. His palm rose to your chest as he felt it rise and fall, counting your breaths until he reached the fifties and everything was lost to darkness save for your warmth. His safe harbor in any storm, Dave could stay asleep like this until the morning, maybe even late if time allowed. A partner as a source of serenity had eluded him until he met you and he would never let go as long as he had you.

[memepocalypse]

Thunderstorm

"Did you hear that?!"

"It's really coming down!"

"I hate the rain."

"I love the rain."

"Do you want to go run around outside?!"

"You're going to get soaked!"

"I saw lightning!"

"Oh, no, there's lightning."

"Did you hear the thunder?!"

"I hate thunder."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay -"

"Hey, it's okay."

"Do you need your ear defenders?"

"We don't have to go anywhere."

"Let's sit here and watch the rain."

"You want some cocoa?"

"I'll take care of you."

[anstarwar]

Request:

How about Kit Fisto and Monnk + thunderstorm?

Heyo! Thanks for sending this request! Here is some Kit and Monnk enjoying a thunderstorm. Dunno if you’ve ever had the occasion to experience rain while in the ocean, but it’s a trip!

[t3rm1n0s]

Didn’t quite get to finish it, but here is what I was working on for @moomoorare ‘s mcytblr’s March fancharacter fest with the prompt of rainstorm :)

Doc surveys the area while waiting for project thunderstruck to REALLY kick in (and some unforeseen consequences ;) )

[nature-wants-you-dead]

Society has collapsed. It's rebuilding slowly, one thing yet to come back is good weather forecasting. You remember getting weather alerts on your phone.

Now as a thunderstorm approaches your little Midwest US town one spring day you hope you remember what tornado weather feels like, looks like because there will be no warning.

[comfort-questing]

4. "obedience"

"we won't be long," she said, her eyes on the distant hills where they melted into mist and cloud.

"don't tell me it's not dangerous," they said, from under the edge of the blanket they were sharing across their shoulders. "going out beyond the fort line always is..."

"yes," she said, simply, and huddled closer, against the fine spitting rain from above. the uneven stone of the wall beside them made partial shelter from the wind, but the warmth of another body was worth far more than that, and for more reasons. "but you know, that's what we're here for, after all."

they sighed. "but come back to me," they said, into her hair, drawing her closer. "come back to me, all right?"

"I will."

-

two weeks later, the autumn rains had deepened, filling the low creekbeds among the scrublands to overflowing; the last of the leaves on the wind-twisted trees had withered or fallen, brown among the grasses.

they weren't the only one waiting, nervous and jumpy as the days went on. fourteen days, fifteen, more. but in the end the shout did go up from the folk on watch, and the trailing line of packhorses and scouts winding their way through the foggy valley drew nearer.

there'd been trouble. even before the gates opened that was clear to be seen, their pace slow on the march homewards, folk leaning on their comrades or riding with assistance on the backs of the horses, the quiet in the front courtyard turned to sudden tense activity, hurrying to help the injured, to take count of the missing, to hear reports of whatever had gone wrong.

they couldn't find her. they couldn't find her, their eyes going from place to place frantically across the chaos; and then suddenly they did, a familiar flash of auburn hair, of a faded green hood slipping back as a limp body was handed down from one of the riders.

they were there in a moment, by her side, taking over at the head of the stretcher she was laid on. her eyes were closed, the bloodless pallor of her face contrasting horribly with the red-stained bandages wrapping her arm and shoulder.

"wake up," they begged her, on the way to the infirmary. "wake up." but she didn't answer. not then.

-

not till later did she answer - hours later, in the dim hours between day and night, blinking open heavy-lidded eyes in a face drawn with pain. her eyes found their face above her, her fingers tightening on theirs atop the blankets.

"you woke up," they said, numbly, "you came back - "

"of course I did," she murmured, "you told me to, didn't you."

[lesbianlotties]

Ronance one shot idea that just popped into my head- Nancy comforts Robin after she discovers she has a phobia of thunderstorms. (PS you are my favorite writer on all of A03 💕)

“Robin… are you okay?” Nancy asked her carefully, leaning against the doorway of their bedroom.

“Perfectly!” Robin blurted out, and accidentally dropped the candle she was trying and failing to light up.

“Are you sure?” Nancy insisted, approaching her slowly. She didn’t want to say she was amused, she was just… endeared. The storm started about half an hour ago, and the power outage hit them fifteen minutes later. The result was that their living room was currently illuminated by… well, Nancy lost count around two dozen candles. Not to mention the fact that Robin’s hands were shaking so badly she couldn’t manage to light one more candle. “Here, let me do that,” Nancy said softly, taking over what was probably their last candle.

“It’s just that it’s weird, you know?” Robin blurted out, staring at Nancy and wriggling her hands in front of her. Oh, Nancy knew that tone in her girlfriend. She was in for a certified Robin Rant. “It’s like, we’ve been here in this apartment for just three weeks, you know, eighteen days actually! Which is like, amazing, perfect, wonderful, it’s heaven, I mean, for me, well, I’m sure you’re happy too, I mean, you haven’t left, which I think is a good sign? And, so, what I mean is, I love this apartment with my life, and I love living here with you, and it’s home, like more than anywhere else I’ve ever been, this is home, but also fuck, it’s just eighteen days and in eighteen fucking days I haven’t seen my home this completely and absolutely pitch black dark like every corner is a fucking black hole and when I even consider the storm out- Aahh!”

A particularly loud thunder hit just then, making Robin jump like a frightened cat and immediately reach out for Nancy. It was a little, well, Nancy didn’t want to think it was funny, but her heart also soared as she saw that, terrified as she was, Robin’s instinct was to be protective of Nancy. She wrapped her arms around her, pressed her close to her chest, and draped herself over Nancy as if she was scared the entire sky was about to fall on them and her body could take it instead of letting Nancy experience any of the pain.

“Um, are you okay?” Robin asked with a shaky voice.

Nancy couldn’t help herself this time, she chuckled fondly and wrapped her arms around her girlfriend. “Scared of thunderstorms, Robin?” she asked, placing a kiss on Robin’s shoulder after a new thunder made her shudder.

“They’re just loud and unpredictable and fucking stupid!” Robin confessed, leaning down, even more, to press her face against Nancy’s neck, hiding away behind the curtain of Nancy’s curls, feeling the safest she’d felt since the storm began.

“It’s okay, I got you,” Nancy told her softly, rubbing soothing circles on her back. When Robin calmed down enough, Nancy would guide her to the couch, where they would be surrounded by all the flickering lights of the candles. She would let Robin go on endless speeches to use the pent-up stress the storm was causing; or, if Robin preferred, she’d hold her close, play with her hair, kiss her knuckles, give her a massage, anything to help her relax; or, if it turned out that what Robin needed was for Nancy to kiss her until both of them forgot there even was a world outside of their tiny apartment, well, either way, Nancy would be beyond happy to help.

[direwombat]

In other wip wednesday news, have a snippet of jacob and syb acting like children

[takeyourpillsbitchh]

Ahhh, this weeks @galladrabbles prompt was so exciting for me, @iansfreckles loooove the prompt ⚡️lightening⚡️! Like so many of these prompts it can be interpreted in so many ways. I can’t wait to see what everyone else offers up, here’s mine💛

very loosely connected to this prompts I wrote three days ago:)

***

Rain was slapping against the roof, lightning flashing bright through the windows and loud, booming thunder shook the house. But it was no match for the pounding in Mickey's chest.

“I can’t find her, Ian,” Mickey desperately reached for his husband. “I can’t—”

“Mickey, she’s here okay? She wouldn’t leave this house,” Ian promised, kissing his husband's forehead. “Go check upstairs, I’ll check the garage.”

Mickey ran up the stairs. Throwing open the door to their room. Pulling the covers back on their bed, looking under it, checking their joined bathroom feeling like he was going to puke.

“Evie?!” He called out, breathless. “Evelyn!”

A loud clap of thunder.

The lights flicker.

A whimper.

And Mickey was flying towards their closet. Pulling the doors open, letting out a sigh that sounded suspiciously like a sob.

“Storm scary, daddy,” She whispered, looking up at him with big green eyes.

“Oh, I know, sweetheart,” Mickey whispered, gathering her in his arms and holding her tight, pressing a kiss to her freckled cheek. “You're okay. Why don’t we go get your dada?”

A head full of bouncy red curls nodded, clinging to his neck as they headed out of the room to find Ian.

continue reading on ao3.

[het-hell-ia]

I'll keep you safe.

@geritaweek

I kept running, faster than I ever did in training. Rain was constantly pelting me, and every few seconds was the harsh sound of thunder. But Germany was nowhere to be found. I kept screaming his name, but no luck. I couldn't find any shelter anywhere, and I was soaking wet.

Suddenly, a branch tripped me and I lost my balance. I fell face first on the ground, and I was covered in mud. I realized quickly I was unable to get up. I tried once more to yell the name of my boyfriend, but no answer. I was all alone, injured, stuck, and terrified. Violent sobs wracked my body, and I let out another bloodcurdling scream. I felt as if I was going to die, when suddenly...

I sat up swiftly, feeling a hand on my shoulder. I looked to the right where the other side of the bed is, to see the worried face of my boyfriend, Germany. I breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Thank god, it was just a dream.

"Feli, are you ok? Did you have another nightmare? What happened?" He sat me up, and turned me to face him.

Still shook from the dream, I could hardly bring myself to speak. I just let a few more sobs and hung my head down.

Suddenly, he pulled me into a warm and tight hug. I was a little startled at first, but I melted into the hug. I kept crying, wetting his shirt covered shoulder.

We stayed like that for a minute, and then he pulled back. "Are you ready to talk now?"

"SÌ." And then I started to tell him about the horrible dream I had. "I dreamt that I was caught outside in a terrible thunderstorm. I was running all over, and I couldn't find shelter, or you," I said between sobs. "I was stuck, a-and you were nowhere to be found, I-I was so worried, a-and terrified. It felt like y-you left me behind, a-and..." I choked out. I felt him squeeze my hand, which definitely gave me some comfort.

"Y-you wouldn't actually leave me behind like that, w-would you?"

He seemed to be taken aback by that last sentence. "Goodness, no! I would never leave you behind like that! That's the last thing I would ever even think about doing! I'll always be there for you."

"A-are you sure?"

"Absolutely. You have nothing to fear."

"Y-you promise?"

"Feliciano 'Italy Veneziano' Vargas, with all that I am I promise that I will stay by your side forever, through thick and through thin, through happy times, sad times, and scary times, and I promise that I will love you always. No matter what."

I chuckled a little through the tears. It sounded like he was saying wedding vows. "I love you, Ludwig. So much."

"I love you too, Feli. Always."

We sat up against the headboard, and I leaned on his shoulder while he wrapped his arm around me. He always makes me feel safe. He draped the covers on top of us, and I felt myself drift off. But before I was fully asleep, I heard him say something like:

"Don't worry, I'll keep you safe, liebe."

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Thunderstorms prompt for summer stories!! Any characters you like!

My dearest Razzy, of course...

So...this is another prequel for my main event story for THAUC...@dimdiamond if you want to maybe read this lol

Special thanks to @aeonianarchives for the encouragement and the pairing brainstorming ❤️

Words: 1,5k

Warnings: Storm, slight angst...

Characters: Thorin & Dís (implied past Thorin x Thranduil), Thranduil x Bard

Thorin rubbed a cold hand absent-mindedly over his stiff lips as the angry howling of the wind outside his window rose in a deafening crescendo.

The consistent summer rains – a regular occurrence out here – having overshadowed the last days had escalated into a full-blown thunderstorm, battering against the sturdy glass panes with a thousand furious hands that exploded upon impact with the unyielding shield.

Cheery laughter and desperate exhortations to save the game in progress drifted down the stairs and into his study like ghosts; he welcomed the distraction and smiled to himself.

The boys were evidently having fun, despite dreading that the power might be cut off and that their precious progress in whatever nonsensical game they were engrossed in these days might be lost, and it lightened his morose mood a tad.

It had been a night much like this one, he remembered, when he had stood facing a man he had never expected to lose.

“You have to make up your mind! Right in this moment, Thorin, or I’m going to walk!”

Even now, Thorin could remember the strangled quality of that melodic voice and the reflection of a flash of lightning illuminating those eerily pale eyes, awash with either tears or rain with perfect clarity; oh, how he had loved that creature, even in that very moment, his almost colourless hair plastered against the shapely skull like a helmet of finest silver and white gold, and yet, he had merely shrugged.

“I cannot wait for you anymore. I’m worth more than casual meetings in the rain.”

As he closed his eyes and let the roaring of the wind, ruthlessly whipping sheets of water into a frantic dance, take him back in time, Thorin could envision him standing there again – Thranduil the flawless – soaked to the bone and snarling with barely contained frustration.

He had been right. Thorin knew that and being keenly aware of how shamefully he had deserted the one he had sworn to cherish prevented this wound from ever really scabbing over. 

“I should get home,” he had said tonelessly, feeling his words being torn from his very lips and carried away by the icy fingers of the storm, “the children will be nervous in this weather. Dís needs me.”

“So be it then,” Thranduil had replied, every promise of violence and spark of tenderness drowned in the relentless downpour, “you have chosen.”

Thorin had never really felt as if he had been given much choice – neither at that moment when his furtive lover turned his back on him for good nor now – when it came to how he lived his life.

Duty and honour had ever taken precedence over selfish needs and desultory desires; nothing had changed since that night, and it probably never would.

“They are going to drive me insane,” Dís groaned as she entered his study, two tumblers of whiskey and a plate of cold meats and cheese in her hands, “they’ve eaten four pizzas already and another three are in the oven.”

Thorin’s head snapped up as he emerged fitfully from the whirl of memories the falling rain had submerged him in until he could barely breathe.

His sister, of course, remembered that night as well and she saw the echoes of an old hurt flicker in Thorin’s eyes as the sky was cleft by a flash of lightning.

“You could still reach out,” she said softly, setting down one of the glasses beside his right hand and stroking his hair tenderly.

“It’s too late for that,” Thorin smiled wistfully as he looked up at those features that were so similar to his own, “this love was dead before the pavement was dry. The deluge came and washed it all away.”

He took a tentative sip.

“I don’t hurt about it often,” he then mused in a hollow voice, “he’s moved on after I’ve chosen you and the boys, and I truly hope he’s happy. As I said, I don’t think about it…except when it’s raining hard.”

Dís nodded – they all had their heartaches and silent regrets bound to heavy clouds and sunny days – and took a swig of her own drink; she sometimes wished that her brother had prioritised his own happiness, but she was also not naïve enough to ignore the fact that she and her sons would never have made it to the point they were at nowadays without Thorin’s indefatigable support and love.

“Why don’t you go up and watch them play a little?” Dís asked carefully, “They’d be glad to see your face – despite what they say, they still get skittish when the storm is at its worst – and there shall soon be pizza.”

“Which pizza?” Thorin seemed to perk up as he considered sitting in the boys’ room – a sanctuary he had built with his own two hands and in which he was still always a welcome even if rare visitor – and listening to them bully poor Ori into committing a fatal mistake in the game. 

“Go up and bide your time, Thorin,” Dís chided with the severe and slightly impatient tone only mothers ever perfected, “and tell them to bring their laundry down.”

As Thorin stomped up the narrow stairs – already hearing the three youngsters screech and hoot – a smile crept onto his face; yes, he hoped that Thranduil was happy now because – for Thorin – there had never been an alternative to this: his sister, his nephews, and their friends.

It had been worth it, he told himself stubbornly, and it still was.

The beaming smiles that faltered as soon as the boys realised that he was not indeed Dís holding pizza made him chuckle out loud; this was where he belonged and that would have to suffice, even on rainy nights when his soul was aching for another kind of love that he, theoretically, had given up on a long time ago.

Thranduil was not happy.

His hands were white-knuckled and cold – gripping the iron railing of the small balcony overlooking the mooring area mercilessly – and his hair was whipped across his face by the shrieking winds. 

He barely heeded the rain falling like ephemeral needles onto his bare arms as he screwed his eyes almost shut in hopes to make out that single boat finally coming home on the horizon; the weather had turned so quickly and Bard had been caught in the storm unexpectedly. 

Thranduil was worried beyond what was reasonable; Bard was an accomplished professional and – no doubt – had seen worse storms than this before.

Of course, there was no way of getting through to him on the phone and so – like millions of wives of fishers and sailors since the beginning of time – Thranduil stood there like a statue and waited patiently while looking out fixedly on the wind-tossed waters.

He, as well, remembered that long ago night of tempest when his heart had been torn apart by Thorin’s refusal to take a risk like the night sky was cut by the white-hot blade of lightning; ever since that incident, thunderstorms held a bitter-sweet taste of loss for him.

Fear was creeping up his spine like ice-cold vines and he shook his head impatiently to dispel the urge to curl up on the slippery ceramic tiles and crumble under the weight of painful memories and unsurmountable dread.

It was a ridiculous notion, and he would have laughed at it being worded thus, but Thranduil was afraid of violent tempests; oh, it was not the darkness, the surprising flashes of blinding light, or even the eery voices roaring their displeasure in ever thunderclap, no, it was the ghosts that crept in through the pervasive shadow.

Memories – sweet and bitter alike – were dissolved in the looming clouds overhead and poured down his neck and into his heart like fragrant acid until his skin was crawling with that dull ache of reminiscence.

Bard would come back, he reminded himself, unlike Thorin, this sweet, reliable, tender sea captain would return to him – unharmed and smiling – at the end of the day. 

And yet…

The ambient chaos seemed to whisper of abandonment and loneliness and the rain streaming down his stubborn, stony expression tasted of salt and regret. 

Thranduil shivered, finally letting go of the railing to hug himself, veiled in the relentless cascade of water and shrouded in darkness streaked with pure light. 

At long last – after what felt like endless hours – a small vessel pushed through the black-on-grey background and, not bothering to put on a coat or shoes, Thranduil hurried out and onto the mooring deck, slithering and slipping as his bare feet slapped against the slick wood.

“My sweetling,” Bard exclaimed, pulling off his sealskin coat and wrapping it around Thranduil’s trembling form, “what are you doing out here?”

“I…” The other’s teeth clacked so violently with shudders running through him like pulses of pure electricity that he could barely speak, “I was worried about you.”

“It’s less bad out there,” Bard immediately assuaged the wild, feral fear in those beautiful, pale eyes he so loved, “let’s get you inside! I’ll make you a hot chocolate and we can talk about it. I’m here, we’re both fine, let’s go!”

As he was led back into the house, Thranduil smiled weakly; sometimes, he thought dazedly, the storm gave back what it had taken against all odds and despite his bleak despair.

So, that was another small sneak peek on the upcoming event story :D

As promised, some Barduil as well...

I hope you liked this <3

Lots of love

[drk-brain]

Don't know if you wanted prompts but 4. Rainy for the prompts list!

oh hell yeah, hadn't considered it but I am SO open to prompts let's fucking go, time to christen this place with my bullshit. Just know if you prompt me you're gambling with like a 90% chance it'll come back sid/anora

(fair warning I maybe went overboard I am not good at Short Things)

------

It never rains in Coerthas anymore. Not since the calamity. If Sidurgu were honest with himself (he isn't), he would perhaps admit he's missed it (he won't).

But as they near the base of the mountain, fog and mist turn to a drizzle, and that turns quickly to a downpour. It's cold rain, each drop heavy with the dream of being ice, and it's not so long before they are forced to duck into an alcove too small to call a cave seeking shelter.

He'd nearly forgotten it rains in Dravania. He knew before—had traveled some of these lands before, in days he no longer wished to remember—given the low elevation and the humidity, but it had been so long since he'd thought of any weather but snow...

Sidurgu is no longer well-traveled, despite what most in Ishgard might think upon uneasy first impressions. He could go anywhere now if he wanted, of course. But where would he go? Home? Home was never a place; it was always people. So, knowing there is no home to return to, he finds himself only treading the same paths day to day, counting cobblestones worn by his own feet.

Sohm Al is the furthest he's been from the city in two years, and had it not been for Anora, he would never have bothered. But he did, and now she is gone again, leaving him to walk the long road back. Again.

He allows a familiar scowl to cross his face as he settles onto the ground beside the wall of the alcove and picks through his bag. He finds the flint and hands it to Rielle without a word, and she crouches to clumsily light a fire for them.

"You miss her," Rielle says as she works, and somehow those words carry loud and clear over the sound of the rain in a way his own thoughts did not.

"Hmph," he only grunts, instinctively crossing his arms and leaning back against the stone. It's a habit he wears like a shield—petulant, perhaps, but effective.

But halfway through the motion he's reminded not so gently of his injury and, with gritted teeth, drops them back to his sides instead, open and vulnerable.

"More than before," she says pointedly.

"Nothing's different," he snaps, though his frustration gives up the lie. He's stopped trying to lie to Rielle anymore, anyway. But something about Anora being in his life again... It's brought out the self-destructive side he'd hoped he'd quelled forever.

"It's plenty different," Rielle says as a spark hits the tinder and finally catches. Satisfied, she sits back beside him. "And it's obvious to anyone with half a brain and at least one eye that you care."

He scowls at her, but she isn't looking, eyes cast out of their makeshift camp toward the skies, gray and stormy and an undeniable sort of beautiful.

"I know you're not going to say anything about it," she says, "but it's okay to feel like that. She just left. You miss her. It happens. And you know she'll be back this time."

As if it were that simple, he thinks. But Rielle is fifteen, sixteen at most, and he doesn't have the stomach to kill her spark of optimism.

So he only shrugs instead, ignoring the dread that's been stewing in his gut in the days since they'd parted ways again. The familiar one that always whispered to him in the dead of every night, asking if he felt ready for each goodbye to be the last.

He has no right to feel this, he knows. She needs no protecting, and even if she did, he would not be the one to give it. But still it aches, watching her go. He lets it tear new holes in his psyche, because that, he thinks, is easier than feeling helpless.

She’d crashed into his life like a thunderstorm, after all. It only makes sense, then, that she would leave wreckage behind her. But he’d always loved the smell of rain; the gray and gloomy skies; the electricity that hung in the air when it passed.

Perhaps it means he could learn to love this, too. The way she fashions new cracks in the iron mask each time she looks at him. The way he crumbles into sharp and aching splinters every time he watches her disappear again.