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#channel of the prodigal

crunchybees · 3 days

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the closer you come to the siddhic quantum leap, the more challenging and intense your patterns appear to become. They are not, in fact, becoming any harder, but you are becoming more and more aware that you are asleep, which in turn makes you feel more and more uncomfortable.

Richard Rudd, Gene Keys (The 33rd gift)

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proxima-writes · 19 days

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the harder the rain, the sweeter the sun

pairing: storm chaser!joel miller x storm chaser!female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 6.5k

summary:

Storm chaser-turned-weatherman Joel Miller hunts down his old crew in an effort to serve his wife with divorce papers. When a storm interrupts his efforts, he finds himself falling back into old routines and old feelings.

A Twister (1996) AU

author’s note: are you someone, like me, who was fucking obsessed with the movie twister and at one point made it your entire personality (maybe even at too young of an age)? then this fic is for you! this may be one of my favorite fics ever and i hope you enjoy it, too. please consider reblogging or commenting or even dropping into my ask box if you like the fic, i would love to hear from you!

amazing title art by @atinylittlepain

tags/warnings: explicit sexual content (18+ only, minors do not interact), explicit language, undefined age gap, able bodied reader (actions include running, lifting, climbing), no reader physical characteristic descriptions, dual pov, established relationship, estranged marriage, mentions of divorce, alternate universe - movie: twister (1996), not a direct rewrite of the movie but pretty close, storm chaser!joel, storm chaser!reader, natural disaster action scenes, mild angst, mention of reader’s parent’s deaths, praise, dirty talk, pet names, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, cum eating, minor character death.

masterlists: all characters | joel miller

support for palestine

The first person to notice Joel’s truck pulling up to the makeshift weather station site is his brother, Tommy.

“Look what the cat dragged in!” He says, hands on his hips. Joel gets out of his truck and Tommy envelops him in a strong hug. “Had no idea you were comin’ out here.”

“I didn’t plan on it,” Joel admits. He waves the envelope in his hand. “But I can’t get her to sign ‘em unless I track her down myself.”

The expression on Tommy’s face drops and he nods, clearing his throat. “She’s around here somewhere.”

“Probably hiding from you,” another voice chimes. Tommy’s wife, Maria, jumps from the back of a nearby pick up truck where she had been fixing a satellite. “Welcome back, Joel.”

“I ain’t back,” he grumbles, giving her a quick hug. “How’re you, Maria?”

“Sweaty,” she replies. “Heard you got yourself a nice channel gig. Must explain the suit.”

Joel looks down at his outfit of tan slacks and a matching suit jacket over a white button up shirt. He tries to think of a response, but another familiar voice calls out his name.

“The prodigal son returns!” Tess shouts. Her short hair has grown out since the last time he’s seen her, but the ever present camera around her neck remains the same.

He notices movement from the back of one of the vans. You emerge, wiping your hands on a grease stained rag and for a brief moment, a bolt of longing courses through him like a lightning strike.

“Joel,” you say, a smile on your face that doesn’t reach your eyes. “Wasn’t expecting you out here.”

“You won’t answer any of my calls,” he replies. A tense silence falls over the group until Maria nudges Tommy in the ribs and drags him off while Tess mumbles an excuse about checking the radio and escapes in the other direction. “Have you looked at the papers?”

“Yeah.”

“Is there a reason you haven’t signed them?”

“Been a bit busy,” you say, gesturing to the camp. “I got something you’ll want to see.”

You brush past him and Joel sighs, rubbing a hand across his face in exasperation before turning to follow you to one of the trucks. You pull yourself up into the bed and stand beside a large metal container.

“She’s here, Joel,” you say proudly, hitting one of the buttons. The lid on the unit pops open. “ELLIE.”

“No shit?” Joel asks, climbing onto the truck for a closer look. He picks up one of the spherical sensors, holding it up for inspection. “I’ll be damned. You really did it.”

“We did it,” you respond quietly. The expression on your face is painfully familiar, that combination of pride and sadness that he’s grown accustomed to in the last few years. He murmurs your name, tries to think of something else to say, but a shout interrupts his efforts.

“We’ve got action!” Tess yells.

The camp explodes into a flurry of movement. Equipment is packed away with speed and efficiency while anything else that isn’t fragile is tossed into the nearest truck or van. Joel watches it all and remembers when he used to be part of this machine, calling out orders and getting on the radio for coordinates as he hit the gas and peeled out in a cloud of dirt and dust.

He’s so caught up in it all that he almost forgets why he was here, and when he remembers you still haven’t signed the papers he curses, running for his truck and taking off after you down the rural roads.

“You comin’ with, brother?” Tommy’s voice crackles over his truck radio.

“She didn’t sign!” Joel says back.

“Keep lying to yourself, Joel!” Maria calls back.

It’s a race against time and God, the storm clouds overhead dark and churning ominously. The air is filled with static, lightning striking in the distance. Joel can feel it all in his veins, the adrenaline thick as he keeps speed with the rest of his former crew. The honk of a horn draws his eyes to the rearview mirror, where a gleaming black Surburban is gaining speed on him.

“Son of a bitch,” he snaps. He grabs the radio. “We got company!”

The Surbuban pulls up beside him, a woman in the passenger seat that refuses to look his way. Marlene, once a lab mate of yours and Joel’s in the early days of your career, is now the face of FEDRA’s corporate sponsorship. Sold out for shiny toys, Joel once said.

“What’s Marlene doin’ here?” Joel asks.

“Bet she’s wondering the same thing about you!” You chime in.

The convoy of uniformed vehicles speeds past him, the old trucks his crew still uses no match for them. In his distraction, he narrowly misses a fallen tree limb, careening off the dirt road with a loud bang.

“Fuck!” He shouts. His tire has gone flat.

This is the last thing he needs.

You watch Joel through the window of the little diner you’ve all made a stop at once the storm broke up on the radar as you had been driving to catch it. He’s across the street at the mechanic to get a new tire, having driven in on the spare that Tommy circled back to help him put on. You twist the plain gold band on your finger, lost in thought.

“Hey,” Tess says, sliding onto the stool beside you. “How are you doing?”

“Fine,” you reply quickly. Her keen gaze makes you fold. “Weird. It feels weird.”

“Yeah, I know. He’s in a suit.” She takes a sip of her drink. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“He looks good.”

“Sure, if you like ‘em with a stick up their—“

“What’s channel four doing here?” You ask, cutting her insult off. The news crew is unloading their gear from their van as the anchor speaks to Marlene, who’s gesturing to a piece of equipment that looks suspiciously similar to the culmination of your life’s work sitting in the bed of your truck. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you snap, racing for the door.

“This is ABBY, the first unit of its kind. It’s built to give us a look inside of the funnel, allowing more precise storm prediction that could mean a world of difference for preparation and survival,” Marlene says proudly. “Inside are hundreds of sensors that, once deployed, will spiral inside of the tornado and report back real-time, accurate measurements.”

“Hey!” Joel barks, coming up to the scene from the opposite direction. “What the hell do you think you’re doin’?”

“Cut!” The anchor yells as Joel crowds in close to Marlene.

“You really think you can get away with rippin’ off our idea?” Joel snaps.

“I only took your idea and made it a reality,” Marlene responds, holding her hands up placatingly. “Face it, Joel. Your team doesn’t have the same resources to get this idea off the ground. Literally.” She laughs. “Besides, what are you doing here? I thought you retired.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. ELLIE isn’t just a dream anymore. We’ve got her here.”

Marlene’s smile falters. “Is that so?”

“Yep,” Joel says. “And she’s going to be the first in the air.”

“We’ll see about that, Joel.” She steps back, addressing her crew. “Pack it up. Let’s hit the road.”

You stand there together watching as they pull out of the parking lot and back onto the two lane highway. When they’ve disappeared from sight, you give Joel’s shoulder a tentative pat.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” you tell him. “Hopefully you’re right.”

The look he gives you is serious, a furrow between his brow that you used to smooth with your thumb, back before things fell apart. You smile at the memory. The tension eases from his shoulders and his lips curl up the slightest bit, as if in response.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Tommy says, breaking your attention from his brother. “But we got another development on the radar.”

“Alright, let’s get her,” you reply, breaking away from them to get to your truck. Joel is still standing there when you chance a look over your shoulder. “You just gonna stand there, or are you coming?”

“You still haven’t signed the papers!” He shouts back.

“I can sign them in the truck!”

He curses but jogs after you, coming up behind you and beating you to the driver’s door. “I’m drivin’,” he says.

“No,” you argue. “This is my truck.”

“You think I forgot how to drive this thing?”

“I think you’re out of practice!”

“You’re wastin’ time, just get in the fuckin’ truck,” he snaps. You roll your eyes and do as he says.

Some things never really change.

“You have to get ahead of it!” You shout. Hail pelts the roof of the truck and bounces off the windshield as Joel drives down the dirt road. Wind whips through the trees and lightning flashes in the fields while the clouds churn and peak at threatening speed.

“I know!” He shouts back, both hands tight on the wheel. “I can’t fuckin’ see anythin’!”

“Just cut across the field!”

“I can get us further ahead on the road!”

“We’re going to get stuck alongside it!”

“Do you want to drive?!”

“I’d love to!”

Joel huffs, accelerating faster. The clouds gather more tightly, stretching from the sky towards the earth. He glances out of his window and catches a glimpse of the storm, his heart pounding as he watches the funnel organize. He watches it for a moment before slamming on the breaks, the truck fishtailing as it comes to a screeching halt.

“What are you doing?!”

Marlene’s team speeds by with angry honks of their horns, but Joel’s attention remains fixed on the tornado. “It’s goin’ to shift its path.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, squinting.

“Look at it, it’s a sidewinder. It’s headin’ left,” he confirms. He throws the truck in reverse, speeding back towards the road they passed. The rest of the team has caught up and follows them down the one lane road.

“There it goes!” You shout, smacking the dashboard in your excitement. You grab the radio. “Alright, tell us what you’ve got, Maria.”

“F2, shifting south. Repeat, shifting south. This thing is unstable,” she says, voice crackling over the speaker. “You guys have a shot but you’re going to be cutting it real close.”

You look at Joel, and he sees that spark in your eyes, the determination he’s always admired, even loved, and he knows he can’t say no. Not to you.

“Let’s get it.”

“We’re running out of time,” you tell him, binoculars held up to your eyes. “We’re not going to make it.”

“We will,” he insists. Joel brakes after another half of a mile and you’re out of the cab before the truck even comes to a complete stop.

The rain immediately drenches you, soaking through your clothes and wrapping you in an icy chill. You’re removing the tethers that hold ELLIE securely to the truck bed and turning the unit on when Joel joins you.

“We have to get it on the ground!” You shout, barely audible over the wind. One of the tethers is stuck, strap not coming loose from the buckle no matter how hard you pull. Joel jumps into the bed and tries to help but with the rain and wind, both of your hands keep slipping.

Joel looks up, eyes going wide. His hand wraps around your bicep, pulling. “We have to get out of here!”

“But ELLIE—“

“Now!” He shouts.

A sound similar to a freight train reaches your ears and panic courses through your veins. Joel pulls on your arm again and this time you follow, jumping from the truck and running as fast as you can. He reaches an arm back towards you, grabbing your hand and tugging you along. He veers to the left, the two of you sliding down a muddy embankment and landing in a ditch.

“Get up,” Joel urges, helping you to your feet. “We gotta get down over there by that bridge, come on!”

Together you trudge through the mud, wind picking up speed around you as the cyclone draws closer. You have your arm held up to shield your eyes from debris and your other hand in front of you, gripping Joel’s jacket tightly.

You make it beneath the cover of the bridge, a slight reprieve from the wind and rain. Joel squeezes his body tightly to yours, pressing you against the dirt and shielding you from the storm. You open your eyes, peering past his shoulder to where you can see the edge of the wide tornado base and the debris it kicks up in its wake.

Suddenly, the world grows quiet. The air goes still, the rain slows from a downpour to a shower. You can feel Joel’s chest heaving with breath against yours, cadence of it matching the pounding of your heart. He backs away slowly and lifts his hands, gently cupping your face.

“You okay?” Joel breathes, eyes searching. You wrap your hands around his wrists and nod. His thumb strokes across your cheekbone, slowly, before he releases your face. “Good. That’s…good.”

“Hey! You’re alive!” You both look up to find Tess at the top of the embankment, hands on her hips. “Tommy owes me twenty bucks!”

“He should know better than to bet against me,” Joel says. His attention returns to you. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Back at street level, you assess the damage. Your truck has been flipped, the ELLIE unit dented but still intact. More notably, the sensors didn’t deploy.

“Fuck,” you curse. “All of that and it didn’t even open.”

“There’s always next time,” Tess assures you.

“You know…we could all use a shower….and a meal,” Tommy says. You shoot him a look.

“No.”

“Come on,” he needles. “You’re covered in mud. We’ll need to get your truck towed somewhere for repairs.”

“I said no.”

“We haven’t had anything but shitty diner food and granola bars for four days,” Maria adds.

“You must really want a hot a meal if you’re willing to face Uncle Bill.”

“That a yes?” Tommy asks. Everyone watches you expectantly.

“Fine,” you sigh. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Joel rides in the van with Tommy and Maria while you go with Tess in her truck. It doesn’t take long to reach the familiar ranch style home that sits on four acres of farmland, complete with a barn that’s become more for show than for function in your Uncle Bill’s older age.

When the van pulls up to the house, Bill’s husband, Frank, is outside on the porch, sitting in a rocking chair with a drink in hand. He waves as Tommy honks to announce their arrival.

The front door opens, Bill’s large frame filling the doorway. His beard has grown since the last time Joel saw him, and it seems as though his ever present frown has too. Joel watches you run up the porch steps and wrap your arms around both men, though Bill is quick to shove you off when he sees the state you’re in. Despite the reaction, Joel can see the ghost of a smile on his lips.

Joel stays towards the back of the group as they approach. He won’t go so far as to say he’s hiding, but it’s a near thing. Handshakes and hugs are exchanged right up until Bill catches sight of him.

“Joel,” he says, crossing his arms.

“Uncle Bill,” Joel replies.

“Just Bill is fine.”

Joel clears his throat, avoiding the man’s gaze. you appear behind him, breaking the tension.

“I’m going to take a shower and then I can help you with dinner,” you tell Bill.

“Who said I was feeding you?”

“Frank did.”

“Sorry, honey!” Frank yells from the kitchen.

Joel escapes Bill’s attention with your distraction, darting into the kitchen to join the others. He helps Frank peel and dice potatoes while Maria and Tess make biscuits and Tommy helps Bill grill up a towering plate of steaks and burgers. Despite his outward show of annoyance, your Uncle Bill is a good guy who always takes care of the crew when they come rolling into his driveway, half starved and exhausted.

“Didn’t expect to see you back,” Frank comments, tone light.

“Didn’t expect to be back,” Joel replies.

“What brings you here, then?”

“Got tired of waitin’ on her to sign the divorce papers.”

Frank hums in response and Joel braces himself for a speech but a minute passes in silence. Then two minutes. Frank sets his potato peeler down and leans his hip against the counter, facing Joel.

“It’s a real shame,” he says, shaking his head and staring out the window to where Bill and Tommy are laughing together. “You two were really good together.”

Joel doesn’t reply, because what is there to say? Frank is right. You and Joel were good together. Where Joel was hotheaded, you were calm. Where Joel took things too seriously, you were more carefree. But perhaps the greatest difference between you two was where Joel let fear stop him in his tracks, you let it drive you.

It’s what started the arguments in the first place. He started feeling like he was getting too old, too worn out for chasing storms. He wasn’t as sharp as he used to be, not as quick, and it was starting to hang heavy over his head. Thoughts of retirement came to him more frequently and each time he brought it up, it would ignite an argument until he just didn’t have it in him to fight anymore. It was just easier to walk away.

“Shower’s free,” you announce as you enter the kitchen, no longer caked in mud.

“My turn,” Joel says. Frank gives him a sideways glance but doesn’t say anything about his silence and swift exit.

Dinner is ready when he's finished with his shower and he takes a seat in the open chair beside you. The whole scene, the normalcy of it, makes Joel feel like a ship returning to port after rough seas. He missed this -- the inside jokes, the playful ribbing, Bill's annoyed huffs and Frank's wide eyed stare as he listens to you recount the events of the day. You even pat his knee when you notice his leg bouncing beneath the table, like the gesture is second nature, even though you haven't done it in the two years since he's left.

He helps with the dishes after everyone has finished eating and puts away what little leftovers remain. Tommy and Maria decide to go to bed in one of the guest rooms while Tess remains in the living room, watching a rerun of Jeopardy with Frank. Joel notices that you're nowhere to be found, but he has a feeling he knows exactly where you've gone.

He leaves the house through the back door, heading through the field towards the barn. The sun is setting, casting everything in an orange glow as the sky begins to turn shades of purple instead of blue. The old wooden doors creak as he pries them open and steps inside the building, the smell of hay hitting him in the face like a wall.

There's a loft, accessible by a ladder, that he knows you've made your own. It's been your escape ever since you were a kid, when you came to live with your Uncle Bill after a storm that destroyed your home and ripped your parents from you. He climbs up to the loft, hoisting himself onto the platform.

You're sitting on the wood floor, a quilt from the house spread out beneath you. You’ve brought a lamp up with you, warm light beating back the rapidly oncoming darkness. You look up when he stands.

“Hey,” he says, stepping closer. He kneels onto the quilt with you.

“Hey.”

You shift your weight until you’re lying on your back and Joel does the same beside you, his shoulder brushing yours. You’re both quiet for a long moment, sounds from the field drifting in through the cracks in the wood.

“When will it be enough?” Joel finally asks. You sigh.

“Not this again,” you complain.

“What is it about retirement that scares you so damn much?”

“Retirement doesn’t scare me. I could take the easy way out, too. I could make a pretty little weather woman for some local news channel, but that’s not what I want. It’s never been what I want.” You take a deep breath. “So stop acting surprised that I won’t change for you or anyone else, for that matter. And if that’s something that you can’t love about me—“

“It ain’t about not lovin’ you. I love you. I have always loved you. I will always love you,” he interrupts, lifting himself so that he can look at your face. Your eyes are glassy, streaks of wetness stretching from the corners to your temple. “But I can’t ever be enough for you.”

Your expression changes, shifting from sadness to surprise to anger. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m gettin’ older, I’m not as good at this gig as I used to be.”

“That’s why you left? Because you think you’re…what? Holding us back?”

“Wasn’t I?”

“No! You big fucking idiot,” you snap. “I can’t believe this.” You sit up, shoving his shoulder and knocking him onto his back. You throw your leg over him, settling over his lap. His hands settle on your thighs, a reflex that hasn’t faded. Your expression is stern as you stare down at him. “You will always have a place with us. With me.”

Joel lets your words sink in, the light of them illuminating the dark parts of his mind that had convinced him you were better off without him. He slides a hand up your belly, over your chest, curling it around the back of your neck and urging you forward.

You come to him easily, your lips finding his.

It feels like coming home.

Joel’s mouth is eager as he kisses you, devours you, hands hot on your skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. You missed this, the feeling of being consumed by him, from your body and down to your soul.

He rolls the two of you over, easing you down onto your back and hovering over you. You gaze up at him, noting the deeper creases by his eyes and the grey that has started to become more prominent in his hair and the only thought that comes to you is how beautiful he is.

Joel leaves wet kisses on your neck in three spots — just below your ear, right over your pulse, and just above your clavicle, a pattern he established years ago. The warm air chills the spots he’s left behind as he moves lower, down your chest, pushing up your shirt to give the same attention to your belly. It makes your stomach flip, the way he peeks up at you with dark eyes when he reaches the waist of your jeans.

Instead of moving lower, his focus returns to your breasts. He moves the cups of your bra down to reveal your tight nipples, warm tongue circling each bud in turn. You squirm beneath his weight, cry out when his teeth scrape the sensitive skin. You can feel the smile that graces his lips.

“Still so sensitive,” he says. You gently whack his head in retaliation. “Quit it. Be a good girl or you won’t get your reward.”

“Yes, sir,” you murmur.

“That’s it, knew you could be good for me.” He squeezes your breast in one large hand. “Just needed the right motivation.”

He sits back on his heels and makes quick work of unbuttoning your pants, tugging the zipper down before curling his fingers into the waistband and dragging them down your thighs along with your underwear. Barrier discarded, he settles on his belly between your thighs, face close enough to your core that you can feel the quick brush of his breath on your needy cunt. You wiggle your hips, hoping to spur him into action, but a strong arm holds you still and you let out a low whine.

“What’s the matter, pretty girl?” Joel asks, fingers lightly tracing your skin. “Somethin’ you want? Somethin’ you need?”

“You,” you mumble.

“Louder.”

“You, Joel.”

He kisses your inner thigh, stubble scratching the sensitive skin and making you shiver. Your breath catches in anticipation as he draws nearer to your heat.

The first swipe of his tongue through your folds is like a bolt of lightning to your system, every nerve ending lighting up and your blood coursing hot in your veins. He starts off slow, just the way you like it, broad circles over your clit until you’re squirming in his hold. Then he dips lower, thrusting the tip of his tongue inside of you while his nose continues to nudge your aching clit.

He brings you to the very edge of release before backing off, just enough that you don’t tip over before he’s ready for you to. It drives you crazy, has you cursing his name and begging for him in equal measure, but he’s nothing if not stubborn, generous yet greedy.

“Joel,” you cry, his name a plea. “Are you going to let me come?”

“Of course, sweetheart,” he says. His chin is shiny with with spit and slick when he looks up, eyes a little wild and hair messy from your fingers. “But not yet.”

“Fuck!” You snap, head dropping to the wood floor with a thud as he presses two thick fingers inside of you, curling them with each drag from your body. His mouth rejoins the effort, lips wrapping around your clit. It’s too much and so good, that wave of pleasure finally coursing through you as you shatter from his ministrations.

He works you through it, tongue gentle and fingers stilling inside of you, your cunt pulsing around them. When your muscles finally relax, he sits up, holding his hand up to your face and pressing his fingers to your lips. You open your mouth obediently, the earthy taste of your release exploding across your taste buds as you lick the digits clean.

“Missed this,” Joel murmurs, watching you intently. “Missed you.”

“Missed you,” you reply. You reach your hand up, running it down his chest until you’re cupping the prominent bulge in his jeans. “Missed this, too.”

He laughs, shoulders shaking with the force of it. It pulls a smile from you, your beautiful man so carefree, no sign of that troubled wrinkle between his brows and his cheeks flushed with life, the same way they are when he’s coming down from the adrenaline of a chase. He unbuttons his jeans, shimmies the denim down just enough to free his cock.

Joel grips himself at the base, flushed head peeking from his fist. He teases your entrance, slipping his length through your wetness and bumping your still sensitive clit. Your back arches and a moan escapes your lips, one that Joel echoes himself as he slowly, slowly, slowly pushes inside of your tight heat.

“Joel,” you whisper, fingers curling tight into the quilt beneath you. “Joel.”

“I know,” he says. “God, I know.”

When his hips are flush with yours, he leans forward, elbows on either side of your head propping himself up. His cock fills you so perfectly, the stretch almost too much to bear as he starts to move. Each purposeful thrust has you seeing stars, has you gasping and moaning his name. He silences you with his lips, so messy and uncoordinated it can hardly be called a kiss. You clench around him, desperate to keep him inside of you with each drag from your body.

“Feel so fuckin’ good,” Joel groans. “Can you come for me, baby? One more time?”

“Mhm,” you hum. He picks up the pace, quick strokes that hit your g-spot with impressive precision. You feel the knot of your release grow tighter, tighter, until it finally unravels, every nerve ending lighting up like you’ve been struck by lightning. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, holding him close as he presses deep, cock twitching and spilling inside of you.

Joel presses his forehead to yours as you both catch your breath, sweat cooling on your skin as minutes pass. When he lifts his head and stares down at you, it’s with a smile on his face.

“That was—“

“Yeah,” you agree. “See? You still got it, old man.”

“Nevermind, I still want a divorce.”

You laugh, loud and carefree. For the first time in years, you feel a sense of peace.

A sense of home.

The two of you get caught in an unexpected downpour as you leave the barn and Joel follows the sound of your laughter as you run through the field back to the main house. Inside, you press a kiss to Joel’s lips, water dripping to the floor beneath you. You’re smiling and he swears he’s never felt more alive, even when chasing the biggest storm.

When you break apart, you whisper that you’re going to take another shower and change. Joel tells you he’s going to clean up the mess to avoid Bill’s wrath. Another kiss, and another, until you finally break away and shut yourself in the bathroom down the hall. He stands there for a moment, lost in thought, until the sound of the shower running spurs him into motion and he goes to search for a towel to clean up the water that’s pooled in the hallway.

As he passes by the living room, heading for the linen closet, he notices the TV is on, the room illuminated in its flickering glow. He stops in the doorway and Frank looks up at him, a knowing smile on his face.

Joel smiles back.

For now, it’s their little secret.

The next day, Bill deems your truck operational. It has a fresh new set of dents and scratches, but it’ll otherwise drive despite the abuse. You spend some time inspecting the unit and determine the lid latch is a little too secure, which explains why the sensors couldn’t deploy. Joel helps you loosen the bolts, the simple task taking twice as long with how often he distracts you when your crew members aren’t looking. You replace the latch with another tether strap that can be quickly released on deployment.

When all is said and done, everyone takes turns saying goodbye to your uncles. Frank tells you to be safe and Bill tells you to not be stupid, which is essentially the same thing. You watch as Joel receives a handshake from Bill that’s a tad too firm, if the grimace on his face is anything to go by.

“Alright, let’s head out,” Maria says, eyes scanning a computer screen. “Radar’s got something forming about twenty miles north of here.”

“What kind of something?” You ask.

“A big something.”

Joel catches your eye and gives you a wink.

“Let’s go get ELLIE into the air.”

The sky ahead of you is pitch black, clouds churning ominously. There’s a certain liminality when you’re driving into a storm that never ceases to amaze you, the image in the rearview mirror bright with sunlight but a foreboding darkness ahead of you.

“You okay?” Joel asks, drawing your attention. His hand rests on your thigh, fingers tapping against your knee. “Not gettin’ cold feet, are you?”

“About this?” You nod towards the sky. “Never.”

“That’s my girl.”

“Guys? You won’t believe this,” Maria says over the radio. You grab the transmitter.

“What is it?” You ask.

“There’s two cells. Radar maxed out.”

“They’re funneling back,” Tess adds. “This isn’t looking good.”

“You saying we can’t do it?” You ask.

The radio is quiet for a moment before Tommy says, “If anyone can, it’s you two.”

“What are we up against?” Joel asks.

“Cell one is measuring at the cusp of a three, cell two is reaching four,” Maria continues.

“Joel.” You tap his arm. “Look.”

A funnel has formed ahead of you, still teetering in the air and not quite making contact with the ground. It’s only a few miles ahead and Joel hits the brakes as he takes it in.

“What’s the trajectory of this?” He asks.

“Northeast.”

It’s heading your way. You both scramble from the truck, climbing into the bed to prepare ELLIE — Joel removing the tethers while you turn the unity on. The wind picks up speed as you work, dust from the road whipping around you and making it difficult to see.

“Let’s get her down!” Joel shouts. He jumps to the ground and together you ease the equipment onto the ground, removing the lid tether. After what feels like ages, ELLIE is ready and you both return to the truck.

Joel turns the truck around and drives in the opposite direction of the cyclone’s path. He stops and you can hardly breath as you watch the storm tear across the landscape.

“This is it!” Tess shouts through the radio.

You grab Joel’s hand as the funnel nears ELLIE, the wind making the unit shift and sway. You swallow nervously.

“It’s too light,” you murmur.

“No it’s not,” Joel says confidently.

Closer and closer the funnel moves, but ELLIE doesn’t lift from the ground. You’re biting your lip so hard that the taste of copper blooms across your tongue.

“We’ve got a shift!” Maria says. “We’ve got a shift, due north. Due north.”

“Fuck!” Joel shouts, slamming a hand on the steering wheel.

“Guess who just showed up?” Tommy adds.

Far across the field, a familiar caravan of black vehicles speeds towards the cyclone.

“What channel are they using?” You ask. There’s a brief silence until Tess calls back, “Six. Why?”

You switch the channel. “Marlene, you have to anchor the unit.”

“I’m a little busy right now,” she calls back. “Trying to make history over here.”

“Listen to me. Unless you manage to position your unit right under a touchdown, it’s not going to get picked up. And if it doesn’t pick up, it doesn’t deploy.”

“Maybe that’s just an issue with your unit. I can assure you ABBY will succeed where ELLIE failed.”

“Goddamnit,” you snap, tossing the transmitter down.

“Can’t fix stupid,” Joel says. He hits the gas, bringing the truck back to ELLIE. “Let’s load her back up, maybe we can catch the second cell.”

Pack loaded once more, you return to the cab. Joel is about to put the park in drive when you place a hand over his chest.

“Do you see what I see?” You ask.

Joel watches the twister, then Marlene’s team. He grabs the radio.

“Marlene, listen to me. That monster is going to shift and if it does, you’re in the path of destruction and that base is too wide for you to get out of there. You have to hang back now.”

“Radar isn’t showing a shift. I’m not missing this chance,” Marlene replies.

“You gotta look at the funnel action, too. Not just the radar. You’re goin’ to get yourself killed!”

“Clear this channel, Joel. I’ve got work to do.”

“Fuck!” Joel snaps.

Sure enough, the cyclone shifts its path, a minute change with dire consequences for Marlene and her team. The twister barrels toward the caravan, vehicles lifting from the ground.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, bringing a hand up to cover your mouth.

“I know,” he says. His throat bobs around a pained swallow. “We did what we could.”

Joel switches the radio back to your team’s channel, a flurry of panicked voices filling the cab. Maria’s voice snaps your name.

“Do you read me? The second cell has organized, five miles east moving north along 80.”

“Copy that,” you say as Joel drives in her suggested direction. “What’s it looking like?”

“Too soon to tell but the cloud base is massive.”

Joel drives parallel to Maria’s path suggestion, racing to get ahead of the storm. The funnel begins to form, dropping down from the restless clouds. It’s one of the biggest you’ve seen, more of a column of wind than a tapered cyclone. The strength of it grows as it hits the warm air, touching down with a contact point as wide as the funnel base.

“Wind speed is measuring at an estimated 270 miles per hour. We’ve found ourselves an F5,,” Maria says. “She’s slow, but strong. Movement only measuring at ten miles per hour, still heading east.”

Joel changes direction, heading towards the storm from the back, rather than trying to get ahead of it.

“ELLIE needs an anchor,” you remind him.

“I know,” he says, looking over at you. “I’m giving her one.”

“We’re using the truck?”

“You got a better idea?”

“No, no, go ahead. Can’t wait to explain this one to insurance.” You unbuckle your seatbelt and take the radio one more time. “We’re sending the truck up with ELLIE. If this works, get ready for the best data in history.”

“Roger that,” Tess replies. “Ready for the feed.”

Another mile ahead, Joel gets the truck speed up to fifty miles per hour before setting the cruise control. He unbuckles his seat belt and you follow suit, throwing the passenger door open and holding onto the grab handle.

“One,” Joel shouts. “Two!”

“Three!” You finish, jumping from the cab. You hit the ground hard, rolling through your landing, the air punched from your lungs. When you’ve caught your breath, you get yourself on your hands and knees, frantically searching for Joel.

He’s kneeling in the road, watching as the truck continues to barrel towards the twister. You crawl to him and he pulls you close, an arm around your waist to hold you up beside him.

“Go, go, go!” He shouts.

The sound of brakes squealing has you looking back over your shoulder to see your team has arrived. They gather behind you, Tess snapping photos at rapid speeds, Tommy recording video, and Maria’s eyes glued to her computer. You look ahead, just in time to watch the truck disappear into the swirling mass of debris.

Everyone is silent for a long moment, waiting. Watching. Hoping.

“I’m getting a read!” Maria shouts. “She’s up! ELLIE is flying!”

“Oh my god,” you murmur. “Joel, we did it.”

“You did it, baby,” he says.

The twister doesn’t last long. Its power wanes, the cyclone breaking up and retreating back into the sky. You have no idea where your truck has landed, but you don’t care. You and Joel stand up, your legs shaky from the rush of adrenaline. He takes your face in his hands, pulling you into a kiss.

“You owe me one hundred dollars, Tommy!” Tess shouts.

Joel pulls away with a laugh. “What did I tell you about bettin’ against me?”

“Does this mean you’re back?” Maria asks.

The arm around your waist tightens, pulling you closer.

“Yeah,” he says, smiling. “I’m back.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel tlou #no use of y/n #joel x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller tlou #joel the last of us #tlou hbo #the last of us hbo #joel miller the last of us #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic

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liskadeart · 1 month

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(I spent like 20 hours on this shit post) Gale is a wizard and Vaxx is a wild mage, and they don't always agree on how to magic.

Where Gale taps into the harmony of the weave to channel his like a musician, Vaxx channels the elemental planes of chaos like a lightening rod trying to connect the sky to the ground. Where Gale feels magic is to be conquered, Vaxx feels it is to be respected in its most raw and natural form. Where Gale has a prodigal talent to control it, Vaxx has the innate ability to cast it. Where Gale needs discipline to learn his spells, Vaxx needs discipline to direct it. They are polar opposites in several ways, and I love them, Your Honor.

#fanart #my art #baldurs gate tav #bg3 dragonborn #dragonborn tav #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #bg3 fanart #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 gale #gale x tav #wild mage #oc art #Vaccistar

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sam-glade · 1 year

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Writeblr Intro

Hi! My name is Sam (they/them), and I write SFF.

About me:

I'm queer, in my late 20s, and I live in Europe.

Pets? Two cats + 1 orange braincell

Favourite food? Please don't make me choose.

What I write? Hard fantasy with excessive worldbuilding

Favourite books? The Silmarillion by JRR Tolkien. The Stormlight Archive by Brandon Sanderson. The Traitor by Seth Dickinson. Red Rising by Pierce Brown. Uprooted by Naomi Novik.

Fiction I probably won't enjoy? Romance. Middle grade. Most High School YA. It's just not my cup of tea.

Outside of writing? I'm a mathematician-turned-programmer who wishes they've gone into a more creative career

Silmarillion blog: @ward-of-irmo

Personal blog: @careening-mind

Read all the snippets I've posted under this tag.

DMs/Asks/Tag games? Yes, please

This blog is a mix of things related to my writing, from snippets, through info dumps, to historical trivia and inspirations for the setting. Also, cats.

I'm happy to do beta swaps.

About my writing:

Expect themes of found family, battling inner demons, finding one's identity and strength. But also, superpowered sword fights and epic locations. Don't expect romance front and centre, and don't expect characters who are minors. Most of my characters are openly queer; I enjoy seeing people I can identify with partake in fantasy adventures, without their identities being a burden.

I write multi-POV stories, 3rd person only. I'm not that keen on seemingly unrelated POVs coming together, but I love seeing group interactions through the eyes of a different person each time.

I like turning 'what if' questions into stories - what if the Chosen One was chosen by the villain? What if a Bronze Age civilisation experienced a first contact with an alien race? What would crime-scene investigation look like in a setting where people turn to dust upon death? I also love learning, and I learn by researching random areas that are tangentially related to my writing projects.

Are my fantasy settings too realistic? Maybe. Am I having fun writing it? Definitely.

About my WIPS:

The Sunblessed Realm

Hard fantasy, queernorm setting inspired by Slavic folklore and the history of Central-Eastern Europe. The age of heroes has passed. The heroes remain alive.

A list of all stories and longer snippets in this setting that I've posted.

Days of Dusk trilogy [Tag]

Swords used to be the protectors of the world, channelling the power of the Elements to fight against the Primeval Darkness. Now that the threat is contained, they are perceived as a danger themselves. Their powers are feared, while any advantages they can give are made up for with developments in science.

Info dump posts: Map || Magic system || Fashion || Architecture || Cast

⚔️Gifts of Fate ⚔️

Intro post || [Tag]

The Witcher x Fullmetal Alchemist

Genre: NA hard fantasy

Pitch: The hero was chosen by the villain to become might incarnate. With all due respect, he'd like to decline.

Expect gratuitous superpowered HEMA fight scenes mixed with fridge horror.

Progress: First Draft done at 107k, beta readers' feedback received

⚔️The Prince's Shadow⚔️

Intro post || [Tag]

NA military fantasy.

The hero of the first instalment was deemed to dangerous to live or be killed. The Army's spymaster and the Chief Strategist set him up to die a hero's death.

Note: This was the first story I've written in this setting, with the pitch being 'the hero has just saved the world and needs to figure out what to do with his life'. It has evolved a fair bit since then.

Progress: Needs rewriting, now that the prequel is written.

⚔️Prodigal Children⚔️

[Tag]

Political fantasy.

The last - the only - war fought by Swords took place two millennia ago, and the memory of its horrors kept the princes motivated to stop it from happening ever again. When an uprising in one of the princedoms spills over the borders, it again becomes a real threat.

Now with more intrigue and sapphic romance.

Progress: First Draft done at 128k

To do: I've got feedback to incorporate

The Truth Teller [Tag]

Intro post

Urban fantasy version of the Eastern Bloc.

Three thousand years later, the heroes of the previous stories have passed into legends. There are no more Swords to protect, Crystals to heal, or Elemental Dancers to mend and build. There are only Knacked, shunned by the society.

Progress: Outline done, writing started.

Other

The Fulcrum

First Contact Sci-Fi from the point of view of the alien species. While their civilisation is comparable to early Iron Age ones on Earth, don't worry, they have nukes.

Progress: First Draft - 24k/100k

To do: more research

#writeblr #writeblr intro #writing #writers of tumblr #writeblr community

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scotianostra · 8 months

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The actor Bill Simpson was born as William Nicholson Simpson on September 11th 1934 in Ayrshire.

Most famous for his portrayal of Dr Finlay, Simpson was originally an announcer on the BBC before switching channels and being plucked from reading the news with Scottish ITV in Glasgow to start his acting career, his only film role I could find was an uncredited part in The 39 Steps, he did however appear in several TV movies including Green Cars Go East, The Highlander and Mother of Men all in the 50’s.

TV roles for Simpson though are aplenty, Z Cars, The Master of Ballantrae, Scotch on the Rocks, The Mackinnons and The Good Companions are just s few in a career spanning four decades, from the 50’s to the 80’s.

It is Dr Finlay that some of you will remember him from, Bill Simpson hailed from the wee fishing village of Dunure, like Dr Finlay, he was an ex-farmer and the fictional village of Tannochbrae could have passed as a fair replica of his home, in fact the prodigal son returned to Dunure to film an episode in the series. The show made stars of the dapper Bill Simpson, veteran actor Andrew Cruickshank and Barbara Mullen. Dr. Finlay’s Casebook ran for eight seasons over 9 years the final episode, “The Burgess Ticket”, being shown on 3 January 1971, Simpson also took the role for 104 audio episodes broadcast on Radio 4.

After being plagued with heart problems his roles thinned out in the 80’s and he passed away at his house in Mauchline in December 1986 from a bronchopneumonia

#scotland #scottish #actor #theatre #television #Fillm

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dk-thrive · 11 months

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A little silence, a little solitude, a lot of stillness will sometimes allow us to hear "the heart of the world" alongside of our own heartbeat.

— Henri J. M. Nouwen, The Return of the Prodigal Son (Doubleday, 1992) (via Alive on All Channels)

#Henri j. m. nouwen #henri nouwen #silence #quiet #still #solitude #heartbeat #soul #peace

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twicetolivetwicetodie · 4 months

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Tag Game: 9 Favorite Characters

tagged by @amemoryofwot

1. Rand al'Thor (The Wheel of Time)

"I will never serve him. In a thousand lifetimes, I never have. I know that. I'm sure of it."

2. Nynaeve al'Meara (The Wheel of Time)

"I'm not like you. If this test is about turning my back on the people I love, the people who trust me to take care of them, if being an Aes Sedai means trusting the Tower over everything and everyone else, I won't. Never."

3. Egwene al'Vere (The Wheel of Time)

"It didn't make sense to me, how we could connect to each other. At first, I thought it was like the warder bond. Then I realized that you can see our weaves too. You feel it when I channel because we're linked. We're the same."

4. Malcolm Bright (Prodigal Son)

"No one is born broken. Someone breaks us."

5. Ezra Bridger (Star Wars: Rebels)

"You think you can take whatever you want. Things you didn't make, didn't earn, things you don't understand. You don't deserve to have this art or Lothal."

6. Ahsoka Tano (Star Wars: The Clone Wars)

"You're a good soldier, Rex. So is every one of those men down there. They may be willing to die, but I am not giing to be the one who kills them."

7. Kaladin Stormblessed (The Stormlight Archive)

(Art by Yaili)

"I am death itself, Defeated One. And I've finally caught up with you."

8. FitzChivalry Farseer (Realm of the Elderlings)

(Art by Nientary)

"It was inside me. The more I sought it, the stronger it grew. It loved me. Loved me even if I couldn't, wouldn't, didn't love myself. Love me even if I hated."

9. Marc Spector/Steven Grant/Jake Lockley (Moon Knight)

“I kept wishing I’d fail and one of them would kill me instead.” -Marc Spector

“You’re all into that? Killing children? Maybe it’s just me but I draw a line at child murder.” -Steven Grant

"Hoy Te Toca Perder." (Today is your turn to lose.) -Jake Lockley

tagging: @agentmarymargaretskitz @hanorganaas @eddie-spaghettis-tozier @lordgolden @butterflydm @tragediegh @killervibe @barryallenis @usagi @rhaeneystargaryen @acesammy @procrastinatingsab

And whoever else wants to do it

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bonefall · 1 year

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Reply roundup: Maples, Flowerscar, Educators

Inbox still closed (I have sooo many asks) but here's a few quick answers to the replies✨

"Who was educator before Ferncloud? Who's the educator in other Clans?" @halogenwarrior

Dappletail was the Educator before Ferncloud! There's a tiny note in the upcoming outline for Firestar's Quietus where she decides to pass the torch to Fern before her death in TNP proper.

In other Clans, I simply haven't chosen the educator. WindClan and ShadowClan are still pending their Family Tree overhauls before I can comfortably pick one, but something about RiverClan is telling me they had strokes of pretty bad luck with theirs.

I think Lilystem (Shade and Heavy's mother) was one once, but the mentor/apprentice line was probably broken by TigerClan and Mistystar had to choose a new one in TNP. So if there's a background blorbo everyone's got who would make a good teacher feel free to shout them out.

(Re: Can't be Sedgecreek because she becomes deputy <3)

Mosspelt seems like a good choice.

"Are there maples in England?" @ashestosparks

Three! I'm only using two of them.

The only native maple is the Field Maple (Acer campestre), which is a pretty interesting tree in general. This is the one that produces edible sap that ThunderClan will want to trade for, and it has a unique quirk; it HATES forests.

It's so named because it likes being in open field environments. As a forest progresses outward, the population of field maples will also dance on the outskirts, attempting to avoid shady conditions. They like to stand as the lone tree in hilly plains, where the wind can scatter their samaras far and wide. So, only WindClan has access to these.

There's also the introduced Norway Maple (Acer platanoides) and Sycamore Maple (Acer pseudoplatanus). A Sycamore Maple is relevant as the tree that produces the tarspot-blighted leaves that Fireheart uses to channel Spottedleaf, but I won't be including Norways at all. Sycamores are also absent from the Lake Territories.

In Clanmew the word for "Sycamore" is not the word for "Maple." Clan cats don't see these as the same tree.

(Mapleshade's name is kind of a mistranslation, but Sycamoreshade would be pretty long in English. Maplewhisker/star of SkyClan would also be a Sycamore.)

"Do humans notice ShadowClan's project?"

Yes! Stay tuned!

"Who is Flowerscar?"

A background cat in ShadowClan I have become unreasonably attached to

Her canon name is "Flowerstem" and I wanted to conflict rename her so I could get some more cats with honor titles. ShadowClan is kind of low on non-Tigerkin prodigal fighters, so I've decided to beef her up from just being a background cat into a recurring strong brawler.

She's pure silver with a big, gnarly scar across her face and down her shoulder from where Bramblefake lands a nasty slash on her.

ShadowClan's family tree is so bad that I will be throwing it out completely, so it remains to be seen if she's going to remain the daughter of Grassheart and Stonewing, or even if Whorlpelt and Snaketooth are going to stay as her siblings.

"How do the cats enter the afterlife in BB!TBC and what are the rules?"

The sisters are still going to get a feature here, using their collective powers. They don't do it for the Clans, though, they do it because they understand very well that there is an evil god being born and he must die.

It is also in memory of Leafpool, a stranger who still died for them because it was the right thing to do.

Fallenleaf is also going to come off the bus for a moment to lend her strength to this massive channeling. They have just enough juice to send 2 cats from each Clan.

"Is Larkstripe in the Dark Forest?" @thesnailphilosopher

Sadly no. StarClan took pity on her and her courage in this instance. After the code change, they're much harsher on Clerics, but Larkstripe had lost everything in pursuit of saving 1/5th of StarClan.

If they had known she wouldn't be the last to push this issue, and that there would be a bloody rebellion a few years later, they would have been much angrier and sent her to the Dark Forest. But at the time, they decided to end this sad situation quietly.

She was one of the few to vote in favor of allowing Ripplestar into StarClan.

#Better Bones au #Reply Roundup

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crunchybees · 1 month

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Tuesday, march 26, 2024

11:21a I hate thinking about money. And I felt a surge of anger rise in me when I thought about how I send voice memos to [boyfriend] and he doesn't listen to them, and how I was talking to (at) my mom last night and she was playing fucking candy crush. ive thought about taking a vow of silence or something like that.

This morning when I woke up, I was meditating. Mindfullness. Just simple awareness of my place in space and the things I felt on my body, like my pillow and blankets. As im typing this though, im finding that I dont know a way to type that doesnt cause my hands to be fatigued. But I thought to myself, the thing in the last paragraph, and that I need a change. And I thought about it again when I woke up and went to the bathroom, when I went in the kitchen for “breakfast” (a belvita breakfast biscuit and tea – not a full meal), and last night, I talked to saturn. Lit the incense at my altar. Told him I was ready. Thats pretty much it. I also prayed for my mom. I was talking to her about how she has to take care of herself because she has high blood pressure now.

But yeah. Change. My own place. Passive income. Yeah. But this morning as I was thinking about that, I reached for some tea and I thought I was going to get the same old green tea with lemon. But I got green tea with mint! I immediately said, “thats that good shit,” and, “thank you universe.” it was a left over from when I had this type of tea when I lived at [dad's mom's] house. It has been my favorite from this brand. But what are the odds that I had it today, when I am in the mood for a change for the better! I am just really tired of this day in day out bullshit. I keep pondering to myself... should I get a part time job (insert crying laughing face)? Can you imagine!!! me??? a projector??? I saw a post this morning..

“no matter how isolated you are and how lonely you feel, if you do your work truly and conscientiously, unknown friends will come and seek you.”

like omg... so true... and I have spent so much time wondering... what is my work? I think my work is right here. Truly and honestly and conscientiously. This is what I have spent a majority of my time doing, what im excited to do, what I feel is very important to do, and what has already been proven to be successful when shared. Its my expression, or one of my expressions of my Channel of the Prodigal. I have these crazy experiences, I record them, and I share them with the collective. Because I know that there are so many people out there who would love to read about my life. So much potential to help people who might have gone through the same struggles. They can learn with me and grow with me, root for me or against me. But one thing is for certain. No matter how small or insignificant you think a project of yours is, it is your duty to share it with the world.

#projector #human design #aquarius #gene keys #humanity #journal #diary #online diary #art #pisces #metaphysical #meditation #mindfulness #channel of the prodigal #gate 13 #gate 33 #13-33 #33-13 #divinity

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lunarianscripts · 5 months

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Human Design: Group Types (Channels)

Group types are variations of Channel types; There are Individual Channels (Group Variation), Tribal Channels (Group Variation), and Collective Channels (Group Variation):

Individual Channel (Me) = Self-Development, Self-Knowledge, Adaption, Creation, etc.; Focused on themselves.

[Individual Channels = 01-08 (Inspiration), 02-14 (The Heartbeat), 03-60 (Mutation), 10-34 (Research), 12-22 (Openness), 20-57 (The Brainwave), 23-43 (Structuring), 24-61 (Awareness), 25-51 (Initiation), 28-38 (Struggle), & 39-55 (Emoting)]

Tribal Channel (Us) = Humanity (Inner circle), Family, Friends, Community, Revolution, etc.; Focused on their closest community.

[Tribal Channels = 06-59 (Intimacy), 19-49 (Synthesis), 21-45 (The Money Line), 26-44 (Change), 27-50 (Preservation), 32-54 (Transformation), & 37-40 (Community)]

Collective Channel (We) = Humanity (Whole), Society, Strangers, Evolution, etc.; Focused on the world.

[Collective Channels = 04-63 (Logic), 05-15 (Rhythm), 07-31 (The Alpha), 09-52 (Concentration), 11-56 (Curiosity), 13-33 (The Prodigal), 16-48 (The Wavelength), 17-62 (Acceptance), 18-58 (Judgement), 29-46 (Discovery), 41-30 (Recognition), 35-36 (Transience), 42-53 (Maturation), & 47-64 (Abstraction)]

⠀ Want to learn more about Human Design? Click here! Want to book a session with me? Click here!

#lunarianscripts #human design #human design chart #human design system #body graph #ra uru hu #generator #manifesting generator #manifestor #projector #reflector #human design channels #individual channels #tribal channels #collective channels #human design group types

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crcssrcads · 5 months

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title: unbroken when: post the tinkerer where: rome trigger warnings: none

There is a bone deep weariness settling over her frame as she leaves her conversation with Thanatos. It had been the right choice to make, she knows, but it is a choice that will bring its own difficulties as time passes. It was death’s ultimatum, his way of telling her she needs to shape up or his hand will be forced, and she cannot deny the fairness of the action. Again and again she had pushed his boundaries, bringing Keket and Remus and countless others because she wanted to give them just another chance. Because they deserve the chance her first family never got.

Trivia does not regret her choices, does not regret gaining Thanatos animosity because of her actions. She does not regret a single person she has brought back, not even Remus who had sold her away for a revenge that once fulfilled had left him aimless at first.

He was her son, she had brought him back into the world, made him one of the most fearsome creatures in existence, and she would do it again, even if it meant to suffer his betrayal once more. Even if it meant she would be used once more. Whether he chose to acknowledge it or not, she saw him as family, as yet another prodigal son she needed to wait at the table until he was ready to come back home.

No amount of betrayal would change that, not when she had cradled his very essence and imbued it with life once upon a time. Not when she had seen his hurt, his own desperation to survive and had known him just as she knew himself.

Trivia loved Remus through his betrayal, through his slow return. It was not easy, but she had always known not all love was.

Loving Keket was. Loving the daughter she had saved from the flames, who had lost her path once and decided to turn around and bring light to the world because she saw that the darkness stood strong? It was as easy as breathing, as falling asleep.

Thanatos’ eternal disappointment would never make her regret bringing her back, bringing him back.

But she understood his anger, and the deal he had brought forth was beyond fair. Taking it had been logical, simple, even to her overwhelmed mind, even to her broken self, so she had made her choice and made a deal with Death.

She floats through her interactions, brief moments of grounding amidst the ever increasing screams filling her head. A broken mind cannot be healed in a few hours, an identity cannot be stitched together with a wish, but what was gone in the future remains in the presence, leaving her staggering and trembling through the waves of despair clutching at her very veins.

Seeing Pluto again is like breaking through the water and taking a first breath of air, clarity striking as she sinks into familiarity like a ship clutching at its anchor amidst a gathering storm. Despite the betrayal that will be, she seeks him and his comfort, seeks the steadiness that he gives her as her mind is fracturing by the second. His words confuse her, drag truths that she hadn’t known forth, and she knows.

She knows she will forgive him, in the end, and she hears Circe berating her for her foolishness, Lilith laughing at her weakness.

As Lycaon’s presence approaches, the final hint of safety slotting into place, she does not care.

The world is harsh and cruel, ready to take and take, and she has always been anything but. Magic was a gift meant to be shared, and she gave it freely, would do it again even with the danger of the channeling. Her love has always been given freely, and to allow the cruelty of the world to take that part of her would truly break her in ways that even the Elder Great One’s couldn’t have.

That does not mean that there needs to be no change, but merely that she will not allow it to take more away from her. Not her kindness, not her forgiveness, not her magic.

Not again.

Never again.

Thanatos’ deal is the first step of the plan that begins to form as she mends herself with magic and stubbornness alike. Slowly, stubbornly, painfully, she mends her broken edges, fitting them like porcelain and pouring gold in the cracks until what was shattered is whole again, if changed from what it had been. It is a slow process, the one of healing, but it is one she is intimately familiar with, both from experience and from seeing Keket nudge someone’s life back into place with a precise touch.

Healing is not easy, but it must be done.

So Trivia does, rebuilding the foundations of her psyche step by step.

Once she is done —finally, painfully — she looks beyond herself.

She knows what to do now.

#{ remus } betrayer; son: there will always be a seat at the table for you #{ keket } saved from the flames; child of starlight; i see the future in your eyes #{ drabble }#{ headcanons } she ain't out to get you but she's better on your side

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heavenboy09 · 5 months

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Happy Birthday 🎂 🥳 🎉 🎈 🎁 🎊 To You

The Young Prodigal Child Of The Cyrus Family That Rose To Mega Fame in 2006 On The 1# Disney Channel Kids Show Of Its Time

She is an American singer, songwriter, and actress. Dubbed the "Pop Chameleon", she has been recognized for her musical versatility and continual artistic reinventions. Cyrus has been referred to as the "Teen Queen" of the 2000s pop culture and regarded as one of the few examples of a child star who went on to have a successful career as an adult.

Please Wish This Once Proud Disney Channel Child / Teen Star Actress Of 2006, Now All Grown Up. A Very Happy Birthday 🎂 🥳 🎉 🎈 🎁 🎊

You All Know Her

You Grew Up With Her Music 🎶 & Acting alongside Major Teen Pop Icons like The Jonas Brothers, Demi Lovato & Selena Gomez

& Even Though She is All Grown Up. She Has A Place In Our Hearts. She is The Best Of Both Worlds 🌎

The 1 & The Only

MS. MILEY RAY CYRUS AKA HANNAH MONTANA 👱🏻‍♀️ OF DISNEY CHANNEL

HAPPY 31ST BIRTHDAY 🎂 🥳 🎉 🎈 🎁 🎊 TO YOU MS. CYRUS & HERE'S TO MANY MORE YEARS TO COME

HANNAH MONTANA 👱🏻‍♀️ #MileyCyrus #HannahMontana

#Miley Cyrus #Hannah Montana #Spotify

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deadpresidents · 1 year

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“Compassion is always due to an enraged imbecile”

Attempting to besmirch each other, the two men ranted like spoiled adolescents. [Commanding General of the U.S. Army Winfield] Scott informed [Secretary of War Jefferson] Davis that he would treat all of Davis’s letters as official, “whether designed as private and scurrilous, or public missives of arrogance and superciliousness.” He characterized them as “examples of chicanery and tergiversation, of prodigality in assertion and utter penury in proofs and probabilities.” At one point, Scott declared: “My silence, under the new provocation, has been the result, first, of pity, and next, forgetfulness. Compassion is always due to an enraged imbecile, who lays about him in blows which hurt only himself, or who, at their worst, seeks to stifle his opponent by the dint of naughty words.”

Davis likewise leaped into the epistolary gutter. “Your petulance, characteristic egotism and recklessness of accusation have imposed on me the task of unveiling some of your deformities...” Davis went on to tell the general that his reputation had been “clouded by grovelling vices” such as “querulousness, insubordination, greed of lucre and want of truth.” Although Davis’s depictions of Scott were apt, he was seemingly unaware that he had descended to his antagonist’s level...To make matters even more embarrassing, Congress in December 1856 called for all the correspondence, publishing it in a volume of more than 250 pages for the entire country to see personal hostility and professional jealousy turned into acrimonious hatred.

-- William J. Cooper Jr. on the bitter feud between Commanding General of the U.S. Army Winfield Scott and then-Secretary of War Jefferson Davis during the Pierce Administration, in Cooper’s excellent 2000 biography Jefferson Davis, American (BOOK | KINDLE).

I’ve spent years looking for an original copy of the collected correspondence featuring this pre-Civil War feud between General Scott, the longtime commanding general of the United States Army and Jefferson Davis, who was the civilian leader of all military forces as Secretary of War during the Administration of President Pierce (1853-1857). The letters that Davis and Scott fired back at each other -- through official channels! -- are amazing due to both the viciousness and the pettiness of the language they used.

Over the years, I’ve found incomplete batches of the letters and fragments of the correspondence in various books that I’ve bought, but I could never find everything that I was looking for. However, I finally found the collected correspondence in the U.S. Senate’s Executive Documents from the 3rd Session of the 34th Congress (thanks 34th Congress!), and after searching all over the place, also found a place that would print them in book form for a reasonable price. So, I’m going to start sifting through the letters and will probably end up sharing some of the more entertaining exchanges because this feud is an absolute masterpiece of 19th Century shit-talking.

#History #Feuds #Antebellum Era #Winfield Scott #General Scott #Jefferson Davis #War Department #History Feuds #President Pierce #Franklin Pierce #Pierce Administration #Politics #Political Feuds

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