#storm comfort

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

Shelter from the Storm

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: past weather/storm trauma, tornadoes (nothing wild, there just is one kind of nearby), established relationship, hurt/comfort, fluff for days Word Count: 0.9k

Summary: There are tornado warnings, and you're terrified. Emily comes home and helps make it better.

You knew what the sirens meant. You’d known since you were a little girl, huddled in a closet with blankets and pillows and your mom’s arms wrapped around you. Since your dad at the storm door, clothes flapping in the wind, while your mom screamed, “Get in here! It’s coming!” You associated the sirens with the scent of fear, the sound of trains, with homes leveled to the ground–every home on the street but yours.

Heart beating rapidly, you dashed into the bathroom, throwing a quilt and blankets into the empty tub. The power flickered off, leaving you in complete darkness. You felt panic rising in your lungs, but sprinted to the bedroom to scoop up Sergio, who was hiding under the nightstand. You slammed the bathroom door shut, sat in the tub, and placed Sergio next to you, where he curled into one of the pillows. Shaking, you covered yourself with the quilt and placed a pillow over your head. You knew what to do. But you also knew that if the tornado really did hit you, none of it would matter anyway.

You weren’t a praying person, but you hoped with everything in you that Emily had made it to Quantico before the storms had gotten this bad. Or, even better, that the pilot had delayed their flight and avoided it altogether. You’d left your phone in the other room, so you couldn’t check, and you weren’t about to leave the bathtub safety cocoon you’d created.

You weren’t sure how long you sat there in the dark, your breath heavy and desperate and hot underneath the quilt and the pillows. You could still hear the claps of thunder, so powerful they shook the building. You could see the blue-white of lightning underneath the door. So you stayed hidden, uncovering your face every few minutes to take in greedy gasps of breath, each one only making your anxiety grow. Your fists were clenched so hard that there were little half-moons forming in your palms. You were exceedingly thankful for Sergio’s warm body pressed against yours.

You yelped when you heard a knock on the bathroom door, peeking an eye out from under the quilt to see Emily walk in and kneel in front of the tub, her face illuminated by a candle she set on the counter. You were equal parts relieved and infuriated.

“How you doing, honey?” she asked gently, pushing the quilt off of your head to reveal a very red, tear-stained face.

“Did you drive here in this!?” Your voice wasn’t nearly as authoritative as you wanted it to be. Really, you just sounded scared. You were shaky and weak from anxiety. “There are tornadoes, Em!”

“It’s just stormy now,” she reassured you, running her thumb along your eyebrow as she cupped your face. “No more tornadoes. I didn’t drive until I was sure they were over.”

“There could be more.” Your voice was barely more than a whisper.

“Well, why don’t we wait in bed instead of in the bathtub? Since the tornado warning’s over for now.”

A large boom of thunder shook the house and you gasped, shrinking back into the quilts and pillows.

“Come on, honey,” Emily said, taking your hand and gently pulling you to your feet. “I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

You let Emily guide you to the bedroom, where she’d shut the blackout curtains so you couldn’t see the lightning. There were several candles lit across the room, bathing it in a warm glow. It’d be romantic if you weren’t terrified.

Emily was so soft with you, so gentle as she removed your glasses and set them on your nightstand. Gentle as she pulled the covers up over your shoulders. Gentle as she climbed into bed next to you and pulled you into her chest, covering your ears with her hands when you jumped at another peal of thunder.

“Shh,” she said over and over again, her breath warm and comforting against your forehead. “It’s okay. I know it’s scary, but you’re okay. I’m right here. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You felt your heart rate slow down, the air return to your lungs in big, painful gulps. Adrenaline seeped out of you as if through a sieve, leaving you spent and exhausted.

Emily watched as you struggled to keep your eyelids open and smiled softly. If you could just go to sleep, you’d be fine. She ran a finger slowly across your brow bone and down the bridge of your nose, over and over, knowing it was impossible for you to keep your eyes open when she did.

“Are you trying to put me to sleep?” you accused, eyelids fluttering.

“Mmhm.”

“What if there’s another tornado?” you protested, but she could tell you were losing the fight.

“I’ve got the volume on the alerts turned all the way up, okay? I promise I will wake you up if I need to. Just go to sleep, honey. Everything’s gonna be alright.”

Her heart swelled as she watched you fight sleep and lose. Your chest rose and fell rhythmically, and she felt an aching, almost desperate love for the way your body curled toward hers, for your now limp hand that was wrapped around hers and held close to your face, so close she could feel your breathing.

She adjusted the covers once more, making sure you’d be warm but not smothered, then wrapped an arm protectively around you, planting a soft kiss on your forehead. The weather channel, Emily knew, had all but promised that the threat of tornadoes would be minimal for the rest of the night. But she also knew that if one happened to spring up, if it happened to come your way, if it happened to rip the roof off your house, to plow its way through your room, that she would not hesitate to cover your body with hers.

[theoldkyokodied]

Aaaaand more very quick stream doodles. This one shot was so fun to watch, it’s so sad that it had to end already. But oh well, let’s not dwell on that and let’s enjoy the good time we had, like disguised tiefling gale being both Karlachs and astarions type, wyll and gale having a spa day, bing bong in general (rip king, you will be missed), and of course the 8 strength fight for magic items <3 thanks to the cast for the chaos, I enjoyed it thoroughly

[scealaiscoite]

storm prompts ˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🍊 ꒱

⋆ “you should’ve told me you were afraid of storms.”

⋆ “i can’t sleep either through it either. wanna talk?”

⋆ “calm down, i’m not leaving- i’m just going to grab another blanket.”

⋆ “seriously? you’ve lived here for how many years, and you still can’t find your way around without the lights on?”

⋆ “god, you’re freezing! come here, let me warm you up.”

⋆ “please forget every time i’ve ever been irate with you over your candle collection.”

⋆ “i don’t care if it’s red weather warning outside, if you try and warm your icy little feet on me one more time i’m kicking you out.”

⋆ "don't worry, i won't tell anyone that my big bad partner/roomate/xyz is afraid of a little thunder."

⋆ "shit, is the power out?"

⋆ "was that lightning?! that was definitely lightning, right?"

⋆ "come here, i'll keep you safe. swear."

⋆ "god, please don't choose now to be the time you tell me you're afraid of the dark."

⋆ "you can sleep in my bed, if it'd be of any help."

[dvnieldraws]

wet cat dad and his strong protector daughter [q!missa & q!tallulah]

[fandoms--fluff]

You're Gonna Laugh

Female reader x Peter Parker

Summary: Peter is scared of thunderstorms and doesn't want you to know

Warnings: just a lot of fluff

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You two are right now asleep, well you are. Peter is laying on his back wide awake trying to suppress the feeling of tears away. He has been afraid of thunderstorms ever since he was a little kid. He'd always hide underneath the blankets, humming a song or he would go to Aunt May's room to cuddle with her.

He feels so stupid, no other sixteen-year-old boy is scared and on the verge of tears because of a lousy storm. It's hard for him to not flinch or move, scared that he'd wake you up.

Another blast of thunder erupted from the sky making Peter whimper and hide underneath the comforter. Soon after you woke up to light humming. You looked around the room and realized that your boyfriend was under the comforter making the humming noise.

"Peter? What are you doing?" You asked and went underneath the comforter too. Once you did his humming immediately stopped and he closed his eyes trying to pretend he was sleeping. You just smiled lightly and rolled your eyes. "Pete, what's wrong? I know you're awake" you said and started to lightly twirl strands of his hair between your fingers.

He turned around facing you with a tear-stained face. "Oh, Baby what's wrong? Is there anything I can do to help?" You asked. Peter just looked up at you and then nuzzled his head into your chest. "Your gonna laugh at me though" he complained, You looked at him "Bub I'm not going to laugh, I promise. You can tell me".

Peter looked up at you again and mumbled "I'm scared of thunderstorms." If you weren't so close to him you wouldn't have heard. "Baby that's okay a lot of people are scared of them" You soothed and started to play a bit with his hair. "Yeah, Babys and little kids, not teenagers," He said and another crack of lightning and thunder happened. Making him whimper and hug you squeeze your torso even more than he was already.

"Okay Pete, I need to be able to breath" You lightly laughed a bit. He pouted and loosened his grip a little, looking up at you.

"Don't worry, it'll be okay. The storm will go away soon" you said and brought him into your arms, holding him.

"In and out, there we go" You soothed him. You exaggerated your breathing as he followed suit.

You brought your right hand up to the back of his head and ran your fingers through his hair. He snuggled into you more and basically purred like a cat as you held him to you.

[ghost-proofbaby]

if it were anyone else (e.m.)

warnings: strong allusions to depression, disordered eating/rough relationship with food, mentions of smoking, description of a sort of panic attack. very sad. hurt/comfort? not edited.

wc: 1.6k+

a/n: this is literally entirely self indulgent and written entirely after i sat and cried and thought "i wish i had eddie here right now to hold me". maybe in like thirty minutes tops. this is for me and only me. go figure lol. sorry. yeah. anyways.

if you relate, my askbox is always open, and i'm very sorry you've felt this way as well. i hope you all take care of yourselves. drink some water, call a friend. be kind to yourself.

“I’m worried about you.” 

Four words that always manage to strike a certain type of fear in your gut. You don’t know how to react as he says it, how he wants you to react. You can only stare blankly, you can only wish harder for the earth to swallow you whole.

“What do you mean?” you laugh nervously, following it with a hard swallow.

You’re playing dumb. You know it, he knows it. The tremor in your bones and your numb appendages know it, too. 

“You’re…” Eddie stalls, licking his lips, letting his eyes rake over you, “You’re getting bad again.” 

You’re quick to shake your head, forcing another hollow chuckle from your chest, “It’s not that bad. I’m fin-”

“You’re not fine.”

The look in his eyes could crack your spine if you stare too long. Wet eyes, a trembling bottom lip, worry lines etched into his forehead that you realize might be caused by you.

You’re causing him worry. The last thing you want to do, you’ve accomplished. You’re on a fast-track to becoming a burden – the first step is always acceptance. 

You’re still unsure of how he wants – no, needs you to react right now. This conversation is a landmine for both of you, and you hold every breath with every step as you try to navigate it. If you make one wrong step, it could cause an explosion that spares no survivors.

You don’t mind if it tears you apart limb by limb. You do mind if it hurts him. 

“How… How do you know that?” 

It’s not a sarcastic snipping or defensive deterrence. It’s an unfiltered response of genuineness – you want to know the signs, you want to know what has exposed the rot this time.

And then, maybe next time, you’ll be able to better shield it from him with this knowledge. 

“How could I not?” he takes a deep breath in through his nose, and you focus on the flare of his nostrils rather than any of the tears beginning to gather at his waterlines, “It’s been happening for a while now, though, hasn’t it?” 

Your throat is a cage, tight and restrictive and ringing with a bitter metallic taste in its tenseness. You can’t respond with words. You can only nod. 

He chooses to answer your question more properly now that you’ve admitted it, “You’re cold all the time again. You’re always sleeping too much or too little. You’re smoking again, running yourself into the ground. Picking up distractions like they’re going out of style.”

“Hey, they might be. We never know-” you cut yourself off when your eyes meet his. Now’s not the time for jokes, “Sorry. I… I know. I’m sorry.” 

He’s right. Fuck, he’s right. 

“I want to ask you something, and I need you to answer me honestly,” his own steps across these landmines are just as delicate, just as feathery light, as your own. You hear it in his tone, see it in his body language. You wish your body could sink into the mattress you’re sitting on the edge of as he crouches in front of you, warm palms connecting with your knees. Grounding you. Tethering you. Holding you back from that sinking you crave. “Are you… Sweetheart, are you okay?”

If anybody else had built up to such a stupid question, you would have laughed in their face. You would have shoved those warm palms right off of your skin and you would have thrown up those ice cold hands of your own, shouted obviously not. 

Obviously not. I’m not okay. I’m so far from okay, it’s a bit comical. I am drowning. I am treading in freezing cold waters and I am barely capable of keeping my head above the waves. My engine is fucked, my tank is empty. I don’t think I’d even know how to be ‘okay’ again if you did manage to pull this mangled body of mine from these depths and sat me down on safe, solid ground again. 

You can’t say any of this, though. Not because you don’t trust him, not because he would judge you. But because the moment he asks the question that should make you scoff, you let out a sob instead. Something like a muffled, broken wail that tears from deep within you. It had already been ready and poised, laying in wait for a perfect moment like this one to escape. 

His eyes aren’t the only glossy ones anymore. 

“I-” you start, breathing already stuttering and chest already constricting, “I- I-”

“Hey,” he palms smooth up your thighs, carrying their warmth with them, as if he were trying to spread it across you. As if he had heard your thoughts. As if he already knew all about those dark, treacherous, freezing waters you were stranded in. All you can do is spew out another cry, strangled as you tried to swallow it down before it entered the atmosphere between you two, “Hey.” 

You only notice the tears when you crumple forward and he meets you halfway. Those warm palms, those hands so capable of safety and promise, cup your cheeks and his thumbs make quick work of swiping away the salty streams. 

“Hey, baby, breathe for me,” his voice is tragically gentle, “Just one deep breath, okay?” 

To demonstrate, you watch his chest expand dramatically, his hands forcing you to keep your eyes on him. 

You can’t see through the bleariness. 

“C’mon, sweetness,” he encourages again, “One breath. Just one.” 

If it were anyone else, you’d turn into a fit of rage at the coddling. You’d break everything in sight. You’d scream until your already burning lungs finally collapsed as they’d been yearning to for so long. 

But it’s him. It’s just him, it’s just Eddie. 

His chest rises dramatically again, and this time, yours does as well, albeit through stifling hiccups. You’re dizzy from the lack of oxygen and the flood of emotion that was wrecking you. 

“There you go!” his voice rises ever so slightly, and when you flinch a bit at the sudden volume, he retracts, “Sorry, sorry. But that’s it, sweetheart. Another one, okay?” 

Another breath. Another sob. Another wave of all the pain you’ve been battling off. 

You’re cold all the time again. You’re always sleeping too much or too little. You’re smoking again, running yourself into the ground.

He was right and it fucking killed you. None of those are things you could ever shield him from. You didn’t have the heart to pull away those numb and icey fingertips every time he’d reach out for your hand, or try to cover the shivers that managed to rack your bones even in the middle of summer. The sleeping situation had been spiraling, a pendulum of sleepless nights that would end in a sleep so deep that you could have been mistaken for resting with the dead. Maybe the smoking you could have hid, especially when you’d been so boastful about quitting. 

You weren’t running yourself into the ground. You had already collapsed into the dirt, you had already joined the worms. You’d buried yourself alive, six feet under, and nothing could have stopped him from sniffing out that scent of decay on you. 

The death of a soul and mind. The death of the thing that had propelled you forward for so long. No amount of sweet perfume, or hour long scalding showers, or minty gum to occupy your mind rather than a proper meal, can erase that stench. 

You never could have shielded him. He always saw right through you. Always had, always would. 

“I’m sorry,” you end up crying out. 

You don’t know what you’re apologizing for, but you echo the words again. Over and over, on repeat, until he’s rising from the ground. Until he’s sat beside you. Until his arms are suddenly encasing you and you’re awarded a warmth you didn’t feel deserving of. 

He doesn’t smell like the decay you’d surrounded yourself with. He smells like slow waking in the morning, dreary and calm and at a reasonable time. He smells like warm baths that only relax your bones, and don’t have to blister your skin in the process. He smells like three meals a day, all comforting and all effortless and that never linger with a sense of regret.

He’s not decay, never even treading close to death. He’s home. He’s the promise that you could be okay. Even if it isn’t right now. 

“Don’t apologize,” he murmurs into the crown of your head, squeezing you tighter into his chest, not even blinking an eye at the patch of wetness you leave behind from where your cheeks bury against him, “Never apologize. Ever. Not with me, sweetheart. Keep the sorries. I don’t need them.” 

If it were anyone else, the holding would have suffocated you. But it’s him. It’s Eddie.

You don’t fight him when he pulls you fully into his lap, situating the two of you comfortably on that mattress. 

You don’t know how long you let him cradle you like that. How much of that time is spent filled with your cries, or how many breaths he gently urges you to take with him. He never once has to verbally say what you already know; he never once promises aloud that it’ll be okay. He doesn’t put that pressure on you, not yet. Not today. Not when he knows the journey to okay is still such a long one. 

“I’ve got you,” he whispers to you instead, “I’ve got you, now, sweetheart.” 

If it were anyone else, you wouldn’t believe them. 

But it’s him. It’s Eddie. 

And he’s got you, for now and for as long as you need.

[st4r-t3ars]

Snapshot

Sleepy cuddles time

[demigods-posts]

i think it's incredible that percy's high school counselor knows that he's a demigod. after all these years of being belittled and ridiculed for learning disabilities that stem from his demigod persona. not being able to plead his case because no one would believe him anyway. then finally getting an in. a counselor who is not only armed with the tools to set him up for success. but in a way that coincides with his demigod persona. and aligns with his personal goals in the mortal world moving forward. he is no longer half a person. but a singular individual. i hope this continues to be a good thing for him.

[soft-arted]

this is so annoyingly niche that i can hardly believe i’m letting myself post it but my brain hasn’t been able to produce anything else as of late so. lab rats elite force characters if they were teenagers today and also not on disney channel

individuals sketches below the cut

[navarice]

the infected coming out of the american girls store was so important to me bc yes it’s one of the more on the nose easter eggs to the game but also somehow it feels so much more powerful as a symbolism to lost childhood and innocence of the youth. like a slap in the face when we know how much ellie still tries to retain her childhood interests despite knowing survival comes first.

[emoreooo]

so carry me from these walls, brother of mine

[sukibenders]

I kind of hope that Bridgerton gives us some Kathony moments, just the two of them, before the introduction of their children (which will probably only be their first at this point). Like, while it wouldn't be a bad thing to see them so excited over Kate being pregnant and all that ensues, I'm still mad that they didn't have many couple moments between them in season two, you know, the season meant to showcase their love. My thing is, if Daphne and Simon (putting aside the many problems there) were able to have moments of each other's time before Daphne got pregnant, I want to see the same for Kate and Anthony.

[girlsjustwannahavefun444]

Someone come comfort me 😭⛈️

[hoofpeet]

Going off the Ingo and Emmet had a big fight before Ingo gets ebbie debbied.

I can only imagine how Spice would feel about this. Like they try to psychologically torment Ingo who only as fragments of memories, at best, of who he was and the people in his life. Spice fails, ends up being the warden's partner, and worst of all ends up having an emotional attachment with this man. Spice won't admit it, but he's come to like the strange human.

Fast forward and Ingo get undebbied from the past. Spice and the other pokemon follow cause they care deeply for Ingo and don't want him to be on his own like he was in Hisui. A wacky adventure begins and everything really looks hopeful from here on out.

And then they find Emmet and then it all goes south. Spice (in his Zoroark form) and the rest wait out as the brothers talk, until they can hear yelling. They hear the slamming of a door open and see Ingo yelling at Emmet to just listen to him, but before he can finish Emmet pushes Ingo to the ground.

All hell breaks loose. The other pokemon react but Spice is faster. He gets in-between Emmet and Ingo putting some space between the two, and while facing Emmet, he transforms. Emmet now faces himself but this him is not smiling and his eyes are full of scorn.

Emmet's Psychological Torture 2: Electric Boogaloo. This time with intent to kill

Ougggh... good food

[shortcakelils]

I’ve been drawing ponies for the last week sorry guys

The unicorn is Silvia Star and the pegasus is Storm Stripe

[sneeb-canons]

Headcanon #400: Heart & Mind are usually never a neutral temperature. The area around them is like the sun & moon. Mind's being hot and Hearts being cold. They're body temperatures however contrast that with Mind always feeling cold like metal/machinery and Heart feeling warm like a literal heart.

[more in tags :}]