#eight crashing tides

[dustballdrawsartwork]

I finished putting up the toyhouse character pages, but I still gotta add the last few references and edit the text. Regardless, here's the last batch of dream images of my iterator ocs!

Enjoy!

#rain world #rain world oc #rain world iterator #rain world ocs #rw group alpha #rw oc #iterator oc #eight crashing tides #ruby skies by sapphire shores #last string of life #sunrise solar #starlight lunar #twelve far away dreams #AGH I'M GONNA GO PASS OUT NOW I'M TIRED AND EEPY

[groupalpha]

[LIVE BROADCAST] - PRIVATE Endless Beyond, Last String of Life, Eight Crashing Tides

This one isn't story heavy or anything, I know. But I wanted to ease things with something positive because of the comic posted today.

I may do more of these fun broadcasts to ease the tension and make everything not as serious all the time.

#rain world #rain world oc #rw oc #rw slugcat #rw slugcat oc #rain world iterator #rain world iterator oc #slugcat oc #iterator oc #ga broadcast #the amalgamation #endless beyond #eight crashing tides #last string of life

[ardienothesieno]

where is the most likely place for a bunch of iterators, slugcats, and ancients to all hang out and take a selfie together?

a wallmart parking lot, of course. and yes i misspelled that on purpose

tumblr has absolutely killed my image quality hgvcvghjjhb so clicking on it will hopefully make it look less terrible this was supposed to be finished a while ago but IM JUST GLAD I ACTUALLY GOT IT DONE. IT'S DONE. FINALLY.

a few weeks ago i decided that i wanted to give back to my favorite people on this site. my friends, mutuals, the people who inspire me. everyone who has made my venturing onto this website and into this fandom the absolute highlight of my year. i wanted to have a way to say thank you to the people who motivate me to keep creating. so. thank you, everyone. whether i included a character of yours in this drawing or not, thank you. thank you all for creating what you create, for the chaos that you cause, for being so kind. i love you all so much.

CHARACTER LIST (32 in total) Ashes from Above -- me! The Fidget & Spectrum of Colors -- @pookapufferfish Four Shiny Reeses Wrappers & Butternut -- @kakyogay Looks to the Moon design -- @ssagesaurus Anthro Monk design -- @draagu Lingering Fog -- @mothsakura Eight Crashing Tides -- @dustyfandomtrashbin Paths Left Untaken -- @fauxbia Sliver of Straw design -- @skybristle Ancient No Significant Harassment design -- @tanzytechgem Reluctant Abstinence -- @copepods Saturn's Foley -- @csavii Adamant Dune -- @druidshollow Three Star Songs -- @skyistheground Curtains Drawn Over Bone -- @bitsbug Unparalleled Innocence design -- @shkika Three Sparrows -- @spotsupstuff Anthro Artificer design -- @pansear-doodles Flickering Nightfall -- @flickering-nightfall Somnium of the Deep -- @stratusstormcloud Five Pebbles design -- @lyss-butterscotch Distant Frontier -- @daszombes Original Seven Red Suns & Spearmaster designs -- @faelingdraws Eleven Rivers -- @druidshollow Chasing Wind design -- me again! Smoke Upon Droplets of Rain -- @mothsakura Rot x Enot x Lizard Polycule -- @excessive-moisture

#if i got anything wrong with any of these characters please let me know and i'll try and fix it!! #rain world #rw iterator #rw iterator oc #rw slugcat #rw slugcat oc #rw ancients #rw ancient oc #rw oc #rain world oc #my art #oc

[zahraaziza]

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐘. 𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: yippie my first piece on abby is out!! mind you, i tried fighting off writers block with this one and i hope it worked, fingers crossed. enjoy reading!!

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. explicit sexual content. 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢.

—୨♡୧ now playing 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐧'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐭 (𝐬𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐨)

easing yourself into a warm bath with abby…

a sublime balance of bubbles meshed with fragrant petals adorned the glistening surface. the water cascaded a gentle, caressing tide, letting the warmth cradle your bodies entwined, as skin meets skin, like love's pallette imbued.

mist silken tendrils gracefully danced with shimmery beads of foam, steam unfurling from the tub's embrace, whilst the water enfolds you held in abby's arms, tending to her most beloved softer parts of yours.

in the flickering golden candlelight's tender envelope, the tip of her nose faintly brushed past the shell of your ear, leaving her lukewarm breath to lightly fan against the silhouette to the delicate nape of your neck.

her fine, dark blonde lashes tickled that very sweet spot, as she gingerly feathered her plump lips against your balmy skin, embedding an abundance of wet kisses just below the bone of your jaw.

the rough pads of her fingers drew small figure eights across those velvety, rosy folds of yours, sending gentle ripples to ebb and flow with each subtle trace of her digits lathering up your candied love juices.

abby's bare chest swelled, heaving up from behind against your dainty frame, hitched breaths parted her slightly agape freckled lips, whilst tenderly sliding the tips in-between yours, all slick and glossy aching to be filled up by her.

she roughly dug her nails into the soft, dampened flesh of your inner thighs, nuzzling the flat of her palm amidst the crease to where you need her most, prying them apart and unveiling your every desire for her pooling at your heat.

she gently swirled the tip of her finger around your drooling entrance in the depths of the tub, "nice and easy, baby. there you go".

sweet mewls bubbled away in your throat interlaced with the quiet whispers of the water crashing waves, undulating in sync with each motion of your hips bucking up from underneath her touch, in an effort to create that friction you so desperately yearned for.

her hold around your thigh grew stronger, as did those needy clenches of your plush, swollen lips her calloused knuckles barely grazed.

"take it, sweetheart, show me what it is that you need", she traced the edges of her nails down the avenue to your glistening slit once more, only dipping as much as the tip of her thick digit inside, just for her sheen pleasure.

beads of sweat dripped along the valley of her temple along with a pleased frown tugging at the corners of her eyebrows, whilst scissoring your puffy lips open. abby bit down on her tongue at the sight of you throwing your head back in utter bliss, slurring on your soft cries for release against her flush silken skin.

god, you were so good.

"let me give it to you, baby, please", she couldn't bear to keep lingering her fleeting touches at the brink of your blissful surrender, pulling at her heartstrings to guide her fingers to plunge into your heat, knuckles deep.

sparks took flight within those sleek, wet walls that engulfed her entirely, passion igniting like a flickering nerve of sensations upon feeling her stretch you out, thick and full.

"that's it, angel. let go, 'n feel good for me just like that", she mused gently nibbling on your earlobe, breath edging to shake, as she doted you into riding the wave, your bodies aligned.

༺♡︎༻𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: @scarstarlet @millersaurora @anchoeritic @ellabsprincess @seraqhites @cowgirlcherrie @abbyskitty @destielcore @elliessknife @dropsofs4turn @milllersfae @cherriesxinthespring @dixonsdolls @digit4lslut @porcelainbambi @angvlita @kissesskittens @fxiryverse @elliesbelle @starologist @kokomos @xioriae @machetegirl109 @abbys-wife @lightpinkprincess444 @hazywazysmind @winfleurs @elliephobic @lias-writings @lonelyfooryouonly @beforeimdeceased @angel4abby @hehatesmati

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶⠀୨♡୧⠀︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶

#the last of us #tlou #abby anderson #abby anderson imagine #abby anderson smut #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson fic #abby anderson fan fiction #abby anderson the last of us 2 #abby anderson tlou2 #abby anderson headcanons #abby anderson drabble #abby tlou #abby the last of us #abby anderson the last of us #abby anderson tlou #[♡ᵎ] 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬

[montereybayaquarium]

All hail the majestic king tides!

It’s that grand time of year when king tides rule the coast.

Today and tomorrow, and then again on January 21 and 22, 2023, the Monterey area will experience the highest high tides and the lowest low tides of the year. Over the course of the day today, coastal visitors can marvel at the dramatic change in the tides—from +6.91 ft. at 9:14 a.m. PT dropping down to -1.7 ft. at 4:52 p.m. PT—that’s an incredible tidal exchange of over eight and a half feet!

Be shore to check the tide charts for tomorrow’s just-as-dramatic highs and lows if you plan on going on a seaside adventure—these extreme low tides make for terrific tidepooling.

Let the wave of emotions roll over as the king tides crash the coastline!

#monterey bay aquarium #swell swell swell look whos back? #why are they called king tides? #because of their highness

[painted-bees]

September 23rd 2010

 i)   The tide was lower than Magritte had ever seen it.

  Perhaps ‘seen’ was the wrong word to use. The inky darkness of night swallowed the barren, stoney features of Smelt Bay, as well as the ocean that lapped distantly at its shore. Rather, she heard it; the white noise of the waves breaking unusually far away. All the better, honestly. She wasn’t here to swim. In fact, Smelt Bay was a terrible beach for swimming. It wasn’t just that the frigid coastline lacked in soft, warm sand; the uneven and slippery rockbed that composed the entire stretch of bay was covered, acre by acre, in countless oyster shells. They adorned almost every rock they could cling to, and their razor sharp edges could slice easily through hand and foot like a warm knife through butter. Which is why Magritte plodded along, slowly and carefully, in her brand new hiking boots.

  Raf had cautioned her against clambering around the beach so late at night and, usually, she heeded his anxieties about it. It wasn’t initially her intention to scramble down the bluff and onto the beach; she had only wanted to come out and watch the seafoam crash gently upon the stones. At night, under the moonlight, the contrast between white foam and inky water enchanted her with its otherworldly beauty. However, upon reaching the beach, the tide had been drawn out further than she could see. And so now, she was looking for it. 

  She had the good sense not to stumble forward in the dark, using her phone's flashlight to illuminate the path in front of her. She loved scouring the beach at low tide. Countless crabs of all sizes scuttled and scurried beneath the unnatural light of her phone. Her eyes met with the occasional, chubby pink and purple starfish that had been abandoned by the retreating ocean. Both the crabs and the brightly coloured starfish were a common sight on these beaches and, while she appreciated their company, they failed to make her pause. What did capture her attention was a fat, orange blob of a creature.

  What are you? Magritte stopped to crouch down for a better look, lifting her phone to shine upon it. Oh, just another starfish…   Well, no. Not really. It had one, two, three, four…eight…thirteen legs! She stared at it for a moment of deliberation before extending a tentative forefinger to poke its roughly textured, glistening surface. Before her finger could get within an inch of it, a gentle blanketing wave of frothy ocean fanned out between her and the creature, covering both it and her hiking boots in several inches of freezing water.

 With a startled yelp at the stabbing cold, Magritte bolted upright as she found herself soaked to the ankles.

  “Aw, shit-!” She lifted one foot out, and then the other in an awkward hopping skip, trying in vain to keep her feet up, out of the rogue wave. Apparently, the tide had been a lot closer than she thought. She continued her silly, wet, hop-scotchy walk back towards the bluffs with a self-depreciative chuckle. She expected the wave to recede.

  But it didn’t. 

  Instead, another wave layered itself on top, swallowing her calves, and then another that submerged her past the knee. The arresting shock of the cold was outcompeted by the jolt of fear that kicked her into a frantic scramble. As she abandoned caution, the forceful current of the tide rose past her waistline, shoving her forward and off her feet. The water’s piercing chill bit through her chest, squeezing a sharp gasp from her just as her head was pulled beneath the waves.

  Primal terror possessed her to reach forward with her hands and find purchase on any surface she could grab. Her fingers closed around fists full of jagged oyster shells that held like cement to the stones they were anchored to. As the ripping current suddenly dragged Magritte back, the soft flesh of her grasping palms may as well have been wet tissue for how well they maintained their structure. What little air she held her lungs escaped with the muffled scream that boiled out from her throat. She tumbled like a rag doll as she was pulled backward by the powerful riptide. Her knees and elbows painfully scraped across the oyster-laiden ground in intervals that only served to further disorient her.

  Panic crescendoed, blackening the edges of her vision just in time for her head to break through the surface of the waves. She treaded water with wild, unevenly flailing limbs, drawing in a sharp gasp that was quickly strangled by a fit of wet coughing. Chest, hands, arms, knees, everything burned. And what didn’t burn felt as though it were being needled by cold knives. She couldn’t stop coughing. She couldn’t draw a proper breath. Her head rushed with the sound of waves. Or blood. Her eyes were useless as strangled tears obscured her vision.

  Until, at last, her coughing subsided, and she drew in one…two…three shaky, shallow breaths. She held it for a moment, the best she could.

  And…it was quiet.

  The sound of water lapping at her jawline and behind her ears outcompeted the volume of waves across the distant shore.

 The very distant shore.

 She released her breath, surrendering to over-exerted panting. But, even her starving lungs were too constricted by the freezing water to draw in proper gulps of air. Her breaths were short, sharp, and uneven as she attempted to scan the landscape for signs of the shore.

  She could not see land; not even the light of distant houses. Beneath the starry sky, the world around her seemed unnaturally dark.

  A nervous laugh broke out of her throat, accompanied with a teeth-clattering, quiet little chant. “F-fuck, fuck, f-fuck, fuck.” 

  The searing hot pain of her oyster-inflicted wounds had, at least, subsided rather quickly. She didn’t attempt to move her fingers, let alone ball her hands into fists. She didn’t even dare to look at them. She could barely feel them at all.

  Experimentally, she drew in as deep a breath as she could, and stopped treading water. She felt herself begin to sink, and with more effort than it was worth, she shrugged off her jacket and kicked off her boots. Or rather, her boot, singular. Apparently, she had lost the other one already. Her feet were so numb that she couldn’t feel the difference. Shedding the remaining boot hardly made her more buoyant, but it felt like it helped.

  She attempted to curl her lips into a smile. “O-okay, w…well…If I had to choose…between f-freezing to d-eath or drowning, I’d rather freeze. S-so let's focus on that, I g-uess.”

  Bleak.

  Was there any point in swimming when she couldn’t see the shore? How long could someone survive in water like this? Was she afraid of dying?

  Not nearly as afraid as I was just a few moments ago.

  She should have felt…more upset than this. It seemed strange. Maybe she was just too cold to think properly, but most likely, the reality of her situation hadn’t set in yet. After all, the situation was salvageable. A boat could come along and haul her out of the water. The tide could wash her up onto the shore. There were lots of different little islands around here, she was bound to wash up on the shore of one, right? What were the chances of that happening before she could freeze to death? 

  …How long would it take for the hopelessness to set in? If she could keep making light of the situation, it couldn’t be that bad, right?

  “And, yan-n-no…it’s been a g-good run.”

  …Hasn’t it?

  Truth be told, things had only just started getting really good.   Well, kinda.   This year was a rough patch. Uncle Bill’s passing in late April had really…thrown things askew. But the island was a perfect escape from the fake sympathies, the incessant phone calls, the social obligations…all the stress… It was gonna give them the peace, quiet, and space to properly grieve.   We were gonna start playing music again.   They had only been on the island for a week. The cottage Bill had left to Raf was so nice. It had a piano. It was cute. Warm.

  Of all things, it was the thought of the cottage’s little black wood stove that made Magritte’s eyes water with a sudden stab of helpless dismay. 

  No, why? That’s so stupid.

  Why the stove? Why not the grief of her parents? Why not the fact that she’d never be able to play music again? Why not–

  “Raf.” It came out as a croak that she barely even recognized as her own voice. “S-shit. I’m sorry, Raf. M-man. This was my s-stupid idea. It was my id-dea to come here, it was s-s-supposed to be so good. B-but…th-this is r-really…gonna…wreck you, isn’t it.” 

  There was a long pause as Magritte bobbed uselessly with the waves, trying to will her numb, sluggish limbs to move in a manner that allowed her to survey her surroundings once again for any sign of land. Maybe she should just start swimming in a direction, would that have been better? Would it make her feel warmer? Or…would it just exhaust her faster?

  She was already so tired.

  I don’t want to be anyone’s traumatic loss, I just want to be warm.

  How the hell did this even happen? What caused the ocean to hit her so suddenly, like a river?

 It doesn’t make sense. What if this is just a really bad dream? I could wake up in bed, soft and warm, and held…coffee...and…eggs. Over easy in front of the wood stove. Pyjamas…slippers, but like…not the linoleum kind, it needs to have enough structural integrity for breakfast…to support the…workload and drive me to the–

-PIFFF-

  Magritte hadn’t realised that her eyelids were closed, but the sudden explosive hissing that erupted right beside her caused them to snap wide open. For a second, she thought that something had fallen off the top shelf of her closet. But almost as quickly as she imagined that, the biting cold water encroaching on the corners of her nose and eyes reminded her of where she was. 

-FIFFFFF-

  The same sound again, slightly further away. Panic rejuvenated her for a brief moment until she saw the source of the noise. A jet of pale mist erupted from the surface of the water, and in its wake, a dark, triangular silhouette glided smoothly downward. The wet, rubbery flesh glistened in the moonlight before sinking beneath the rolling waves.

   Whales.

  Magritte attempted to lift her head enough to see if she could spot them again. Sure enough, three or four more of the creatures surfaced silently. The ghostly silhouettes of their dorsal fins were all that gave away their position. These must have been the orcas the neighbours had mentioned. Even Raf once managed to catch a glimpse of them from the shore, but Magritte hadn’t been with him to see it. She had wanted so badly to look at them…

  “Oh…well, thanks for showing up, guys.” Her teeth weren’t clattering anymore, but she could hardly bring her voice above a whisper. For some reason, her throat felt so tight. “Please don’t toss me around like a seal… I’ve seen what you do to them…on t.v.”

  The whales responded with a series of loud, spouting breaths; some nearby, others further away. As she recalled the image of a half flayed seal rag-dolling through the air, anxiety blossomed in the pit of her stomach, Magritte turned her gaze upward and hung it on the three bright stars of Orion’s belt. 

  If making noise is encouraged as a way of deterring bears from harassing hikers, maybe the same was true for whales and swimmers. I can be weird and loud, can’t I?

  She attempted to sing a song. Her strangled voice rasped, fruitlessly struggling to be heard above the sounds around her.

  “What are you hunting up there in the stars?

  Is it beasts, or demons, or old battle scars?

  Do you remember the warmth of my palm in yours

  Is it buried in rubble from all of those wars?

  You’ve lost yourself so far, far away

  Searching for ghosts and impossible prey.

  You’ve flown too far from the earth and the sea,

  Please come back…come back…

  …Come back to…”

  As her words drifted, so too did she; down, down, into the cold, quiet void.

  And it embraced her, lovingly.

  ii)

  Raf’s eyes opened to the sound of ocean waves and a dull ache in his neck. Light poured out from the cottage windows, pooling warmly across the sprucewood deck and the white, woven hammock that cradled him. An earbud filled his left ear, but no music played. Either his iphone had come to the end of his playlist, or it had run out its battery life while he slept.

  With a tired groan, he sat up and stretched, gingerly tilting his head to loosen the painful knot in his neck. He hadn’t intended to fall asleep, but he should have expected it after a relaxing joint and some quality tunes. He wasn’t sure what had woken him up. Perhaps it was the chill. It wasn’t cold enough for his breath to hang in the air, but it was chilly enough for him to wish for a sweater–rather than a t-shirt–beneath his jacket.

  Or maybe it was the concussive sound of the waves.

  The ocean wasn’t visible from his cottage. There was a strip of dense forest that lined the property and separated it from the bluffs. Still, the white noise of the ocean could always be heard through the trees. The salt could be smelled on the breeze, and it could be felt collecting in his hair. It must have been exceptionally turbulent out there tonight, for he could hear the waves crashing with an unusually loud clarity.

  Raf lifted his phone and turned on the LED screen to check the time. Its battery life was still good, but as he had suspected, his playlist had played through to the last track. 

  1:34 a.m.

  The corners of Raf’s mouth twitched.

  Magritte hadn’t woken him up to herd him into bed when she came home. Was she pissed off at him for declining to walk with her? 

  In fairness, he had been…difficult to manage the past half year. And it became increasingly obvious that Magritte’s bountiful patience had been running thin over the past month or two. She had begun to adopt his defensive snippiness–not at him, but at the things she knew infringed upon him. Phone calls, text messages, the gestures of concerned friends and colleagues reaching out to see if he was okay. The cold, prying interrogations–thinly veiled by hollow sympathies–querying for available pieces of his uncle’s estate.

  The man’s body hardly had time to grow cold before Ephrem representatives began hounding Raf about the company shares he had inherited. His family in Monaco had gone so far as to request the retrieval of Uncle Bill’s body. “He should be put to rest on home soil”–but his will had detailed what was to be done. By his request, Uncle Bill’s body was kept here, in British Columbia. Raf had to take care of it all; the estate, the funeral, and the vultures.

  All he wanted to do was hide.

  And, in a way, that’s mostly what he did. He managed as much as he could, but once the funeral had been concluded, his energy and willingness to keep on top of things dissolved. He just couldn’t…deal…with the people. Any of them. At some point, they had all stopped resembling human beings, and felt more like a pack of feral dogs with no purpose greater than to sate their gluttony. Every interaction bloodied him with clawing, hungry teeth.

  Magritte picked up the slack for him. It was…beyond her ability, honestly. But she did her best, at the expense of indulging her passions. While he isolated and avoided the torrent of his unwanted responsibilities, Magritte had lived those months constantly on the backfoot, attempting to hold things together and never quite managing to see any of it through properly. It was simply too many balls for her poor little arms to carry, and as she tried to pick up the ones she had dropped, more always spilled out. 

  Last month, it had finally driven her to tears.

  Raf had been woefully inadequate at showing his appreciation for her efforts and, even as he watched her sob in frustration, he found it difficult to provide any meaningful comfort. Nothing broke his heart quite like seeing her cry, but he couldn’t muster up the energy to promise any fun distractions. He couldn’t tell her, in earnest, that things were fine. He couldn’t give her the reward of knowing that she had been able to make everything right and good for him. He could only tell her that he knew she was doing her best, that he was glad to have her with him, and that he loved her. 

  More than anything, he loved her.

  Talk was cheap. He knew that better than anyone. But living in ‘survival mode’ left very little in the way of emotional resources, and he had become very cold, irritable, and distant. Still, Magritte sought out his company. She wished to share good experiences with him and did her best to take care of him despite his diminishing reciprocation over the past few months.

  Retreating to Cortes Island had been her idea. She had never visited the place before, but when Raf described it as a tiny, isolated little community with no supermarkets nor chain restaurants, no hospitals nor police stations, and with the population of a small school, her eyes lit up.

  “It’s perfect! We could just disappear there and take a year–or five–to just…recover from everything!” Her tone had taken on a conspiratorial tone when she added, “We don’t have to tell anyone.”

  She had underestimated the scope of work that accompanied ‘disappearing to a small island for a year’. In contrast, the workload was all his mind could fixate on. But– a body of water separating him from the relentless chaos of the mainland was appealing enough for him to commit to the move. And so, they made their hasty preparations, packed up, and left without a word.

  A week had passed since they moved into the small cottage, and Raf had to admit that the quiet calm of the island was…a relief. 

  He had asked Magritte for a month. A month of nothing; no outings, no plans, no obligations–just rest. It was the closest thing to hibernation he was ever going to experience, and she had agreed to it. It didn’t stop her, though, from inviting him out for walks, and to see the ocean with her. It was the bare minimum, and he should have obliged her more often than he did. But truly, all he wanted to do was stay home, smoke weed, listen to music, and sleep.

  And that’s what he had chosen to do when she invited him to watch the waves with her, some time after 10pm. She didn’t seem bothered when he lazily declined to accompany her, but perhaps she had grown cranky about it during her time out. Seeing him passed out in the hammock, she probably left him to endure the natural consequences of his poor choices, and went to bed without him.

  Honestly, catching a chill and a sore neck was negligible punishment compared to the guilt of disappointing Margie. On the other hand, he had asked her for a month–just one month–to be as lazy and absent as he wanted to be, and she had agreed to it. So if she was pissed off at him–

  Her shoes were not at the front door.

  Usually, Magritte kicked her boots off before entering the house, and rarely brought them inside. Raf opened the door, expecting to see them on the shoe rack, but they weren’t there either. Nor was her jacket strewn over the back of the couch as it should have been.

  He stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and marched quietly up the steep, narrow little staircase to the second floor. Down the short corridor, his bedroom door was still open and he could see through to his window and the night sky that overlooked the foot of his bed. Peeking his head in, the blankets laid smooth and undisturbed across the mattress, folded over to expose the neatly arranged pillows.

  Raf pulled himself back into the tiny corridor with a bewildered frown.   “Margie?” It wasn’t a yell, but his voice projected loudly enough to be heard throughout the small cottage.

  There was no answer, only the gentle hum of the fridge downstairs, accompanied by the rustling of leaves in the breeze outside. And the crashing of waves upon the unseen shore.

  With an agitated groan Raf dropped back down the stairs, towards the front door, and hastily put on his sneakers. Something at the beach must have captivated her. Maybe some weird sealife, maybe partying campers. Either way, she had lost track of time, and now he had to go find her. At least she couldn’t be disappointed with him if she had chosen to stay  out at a worryingly late hour.

  The beach wasn’t more than a fifteen minute walk away, and all he had to do was follow the gravel road down the slope, onto Potlatch Road, and then down to Smelt Bay. There were no lamps lining the street, and so Raf found himself relying on his phone torch to light the path ahead of him. Despite the darkness, it wasn’t an eerie nor dangerous walk by any means. Accompanied by the singing of crickets, he was comfortably familiar enough with these streets, trusting them even with a lone, wandering Margie. 

  As he made his way briskly down the long, paved length of Potlatch road, his curiosity was tickled by just how close the sound of lapping ocean waves seemed to be. Perhaps it was the way it echoed off the treeline, but it sounded as though it were almost right in front of him.

 Raf rounded the broad corner towards Smelt Bay–and stopped.

  The pavement directly beneath his feet had become gradually more wet, as though a heavy rain had passed through recently. That would have been strange enough on its own. He’d have definitely noticed if it had been raining, and there wouldn’t have been such a clear,  sudden border between dry ground and waterlogged asphalt. He lifted his phone light to shine it further down the road, and frowned.

  Ahead of him, the street was covered in a thin layer of water, seafoam lapping over concrete and into the grassy ditch. As he continued a tentative pace forward, the water wasn’t quite high enough to spill over the rubber soles of his shoes. He walked until Potlatch met with Smelt Bay Road, where he was granted an unobscured view of the beach. The ocean’s waves broke over the bluffs, flooding the street and the grassy plots of land that faced the open bay. 

  “...The hell?” He muttered, barely above a whisper. 

  The ocean had to have risen a fair few feet in order for it to breach the bluffs. Was it possible for the tide to get this high? He watched as an empty bottle, tangled within a plastic bag, washed across the street alongside a random toque and a mess of uprooted reeds. Debris, both natural and unnatural, lined the waterlogged road. An enormous, sea weathered piece of driftwood that had spent years as a reliable landmark on the stony beach–now sat wedged askew in the ditch. A flash flood?

  Tsunami.

  Wait–

  Anxiety closed its claws around his gut, and twisted.

  “Margie?!” He barked out her name in the direction of the beach.

  He took a few automatic strides towards the submerged bluff before halting, and he turned his phone over in his hand. Opening his contact list, he hit Magritte’s number and pressed the phone to his ear. Cell coverage on the island was spotty at best, but to his relief, the call connected. As it rang, he paced, his feet kicking up cold water into his shoes.

  “Come on, answer your phone. I’m not gonna be mad at you, just answer your damn phone.”

  He let it ring until the robotic voice of the phone operator made him hang up.

  And then he tried again, to the same result.

  What the hell could he do?

  What was he supposed to do?

  Don’t catastrophize, it’s not the worst case scenario, it never is.

  Immediately, his brain had filled him with thoughts of Margie getting bowled over by enormous waves and dragged to sea. But, based on the fact that no one else was out inspecting damages or lamenting their losses, things probably hadn’t happened as suddenly nor as violently as his imagination pictured it. Realistically, she likely saw the tide start to come in and watched it from a distance, perhaps with some other folks who were hanging around the area. Plausibly, she was at a campsite somewhere, talking about it over smores and cheap booze. Or something like that.

  But then, why didn’t she answer her phone?

  Raf had already turned around and began walking in the direction of the camping lots. All he had to do was find one that still had a fire going at this time of night. But, as his feet left solid pavement and marched onto the dirt road of the Smelt Bay campsites, he found that the tide had flooded this area as well. The inch of water blanketing the ground turned it into a muddy mess. There were no tents pitched in any of the lots. No campfires, either. Two or three of the lots housed a parked RV, elevated off the ground. Dry, and oblivious to the seawater beneath their tires. None of them showed any signs of waking life.   Magritte wasn’t here.

  Coming upon one of the empty lots, Raf found a sturdy tree stump that had clearly been fashioned for seating, and dropped himself down on it. He buried his face into his hands with a fraught sigh. There had been tents here, he knew that much. The inhabitants likely packed up and abandoned the lots in favour of finding a dry place to spend the night. If the RVs and trailers were still here, clearly there couldn’t have been much of a panic. The waterline hadn’t risen catastrophically.

  Still, Magritte was missing.

  He tried to call her one more time, and was greeted unhelpfully by the operating system once again.

  What if she had gotten home after he had left to find her?

  The thought pulled Raf back onto his feet, and what started as a swift walk home hastened into an anxious jog. 

  The tide, he noted, was slowly receding. A length of road that had been submerged when he first arrived was exposed once again to dry off in the chilly night air. For some reason, the sight of it relieved his anxiety somewhat. There was nothing inherently dangerous about the strange tide; it wasn’t any kind of disaster. Likely, Margie was at home, worried and waiting for him. Her phone battery must have depleted. It would explain why she wasn’t calling him back. 

  It wasn’t long before he was walking down the long, rough, unpaved driveway; under the boughs of spruce and cedar trees and into the clearing of the cottage's wild, grassy property.

  Approaching the house, he called out her name across the yard to no answer. The lights were still on in the living room and kitchen. He climbed the two steps of the porch up to the front door and, calling her name once more, he opened it.

  No response.

  Before stepping inside, he kicked off his muddy shoes and then closed the door behind him. 

  “Margie.” His volume was conversational as he scaled the narrow flight of stairs to the second floor and diligently checked each of the bedrooms. 

  No. She wasn’t here.

  Then…where was she?

  Not the ocean. Not the ocean.   Not in the ocean.

  Sitting down on the foot of the bed, Raf stared at the floor and tried to fight off a wave of despair.

  There was no way.

  There was no fucking way. It would have been beyond cruelty to leave him like this. He wasn’t gonna be able to…it wasn’t something he could handle.

 Steadying himself with a deep breath, he scooted over to his side of the bed, took his laptop up off his night table, and unfolded it on his lap. A phone jack tethered it to the wall behind the nightstand and provided a serviceable internet connection. He opened a browser and typed into the search bar; “How long to wait before making a missing person report?” 

  Apparently the answer was “not at all”.

  Raf looked up the appropriate number to call, picked up the phone, and dialled. >>part iii, iv, and v<<

#Hi-Note #this is just the beginning...there is more to come dw haha #Cortes meet-cute lmfao #if u can call it that #Rafael #Magritte #Cortes

[cosmicanakin]

tides of change | prologue.

pairing. james kelly x female reader.

outline. returning home to new orlean's help your mother with funeral arrangements and grieve the loss of your sister, lauren. you find solace in your niece and nephew - her kids.

contains. angst, death of a loved one, grief, & emotional distress.

authors note. this is basically an introduction for the series! but don't worry james will make his appearance very soon <3

the sky was overcast and dreary as you looked out the window of the plane, matching how heavily your heart felt in your chest. you had gotten the frantic call from your mom just a day ago, unintelligible sobs coming through the speaker as you struggled to make out what she was trying to say. once you had managed to calm her down enough, the words still rang in your head - your older sister lauren was dead.

shot down in the middle of the street on her way to work, a senseless act of violence that had ripped another loved one from your life. you and lauren had always been close growing up, her taking on more of a motherly role for you after your dad passed when you were young. the news had devastated you, a raw ache settling deep in your bones that only growing distance from new orleans could numb. but now you were returning, having to face the painful reality you had tried to escape for so long.

the cab pulled up outside the familiar green house you had spent your childhood in. everything looked the same yet felt wholly foreign now. you paid the driver and got out, dragging your suitcase behind you as you walked slowly up the weathered wooden steps of the porch. you could hear noise from inside - no doubt your mom was surrounded by friends and family offering their condolences. steeling yourself, you rang the bell and waited.

the door swung open to reveal your mom, her usual brightness dimmed by tired eyes puffy from tears. "oh honey," she breathed, pulling you into a tight embrace. you hugged her back just as fiercely, both of you finding solace in the comfort of family. after a few moments, she pulled away, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. "come in, sweetie. everyone's been expecting you."

you nodded, following her inside. the living room was filled with more people than you could count, all turning to offer you sad smiles or hugs as you made your way through. your mom led you to the kitchen, putting on a pot of coffee. "i'm just so glad you're here. it helps to have you for lauren's children."

at the mention of them, a fresh wave of grief crashed over you. aiden and lily, your beloved nephew and niece, who had just lost their mother in the worst way. "how are they doing?" you asked gently.

your mom sighed. "as well as can be expected i suppose. aiden tries to be strong for lily but i know he's hurting inside. they're upstairs if you want to go see them."

you nodded, giving her shoulder a squeeze before heading to the steps. you climbed slowly, dreading the pain you knew seeing them would bring but needing to be there all the same. stopping outside lauren's childhood bedroom, now occupied by her kids, you took a steadying breath before knocking lightly.

"come in!" came aiden's voice.

you opened the door to find them sitting side by side on the bed, coloring books and crayons scattered around. lily's eyes lit up when she saw you. "auntie!"

you managed a small smile for her sake, coming over to sit on lily's side and pulling them both into a hug. "i'm so sorry i couldn't be here sooner."

aiden just nodded, ever the serious eight year old. but lily clung to you, always the more openly affectionate of the two. "mommy's in heaven with grandpa now, right?"

a lump formed in your throat at her innocent question. "yeah sweetheart, she is. and i know she'd want you both to know how much she loves you."

you talked with them for a while, trying your best to comfort the grieving children as they grieved the mother they would never see growing up. eventually, though their growing tiredness became evident, and you put them both to bed with soft kisses to their foreheads before retreating back downstairs.

the crowd had dispersed some by then, leaving your mom washing dishes in the kitchen. you moved to help her dry. "how are the kids holding up, really?" she asked cautiously.

you sighed. "well they're alright? i guess. aiden seems to be shouldering a lot though, trying not to show how sad he truly is. and lily... she just misses her mommy." your voice broke on the last words.

your mom pulled you into her side, rubbing your back comfortingly. "they have you now though. and i know your sister would be grateful to have you here for them."

you nodded mutely, not trusting yourself to speak. the weight of responsibility for lauren's kids now rested heavily on your shoulders. you couldn't imagine their pain at such a tender age, having the stability and love of their mother ripped away. but you were determined to be there for them, to honor your sister's memory by helping to raise them the best you could.

the following week, preparations blurred by in a haze of funeral arrangements and grieving relatives. you focused your energy on aiden and lily, keeping them entertained and trying to give them as much normalcy as possible through the sadness. the service was a sombre affair, tears falling freely as lauren's casket was lowered into the ground beside your father's plot.

after, you helped your mom host the gathering back at the house. old friends regaled stories of lauren through watery smiles, no doubt wondering how someone so full of life could be taken so prematurely. as the crowd dispersed in the evening, a heavy tiredness settled over you. all you wanted was rest to escape the grief for a while.

"why don't you go on and get some sleep, hon. i've got things handled down here," your mom insisted, ever perceptive of your drained state.

you gave her a grateful hug. "thanks, mom. i love you." you head upstairs and collapse onto the bed with a tired sigh. the soft mattress enveloped you in comfort, lulling your mind towards sleep.

just then there was a soft knock on your bedroom door. "come in," you called quietly.

the door opened to reveal your niece lily, clutching her favorite stuffed animal tightly. her eyes were filled with tears as she looked up at you. "i had a bad dream, auntie y/n. can i be with you?"

you gave her a gentle smile and opened your arms. "of course sweet girl. come here."

lily hurried over and climbed into bed next to you. you wrapped her in your embrace, rubbing her back soothingly until her tears subsided. "it's okay, you're safe now. i'll be right here all night to keep the bad dreams away."

eventually, her trembling slowed as exhaustion overtook her small body once more. you placed a soft kiss to her forehead, watching as she drifted into peaceful slumber curled up against your side. finding comfort in caring for lauren's children helped dull some of the aches in your own heart. for now, sleep was what you both needed most. and so with lily's quiet breaths filling the silence, you closed your eyes and surrendered to rest at last.

tags — comment or send an ask to be put on the taglist!

@starlitblair @emotionallybruisedx @anakin-pilled @spcncershasting @freezerbride95 ୨୧ ⋆ ˙ ⊹ ˚ ⋆

#﹙ kari writes 𝜗𝜚 ﹚ #james kelly #james kelly series #james kelly x y/n #james kelly angst #james kelly fluff #james kelly smut #james kelly x reader #james kelly x female reader #hayden christensen #hayden christensen angst #hayden christensen x y/n #hayden christensen x you #hayden christensen blurb #hayden christensen fluff #hayden christensen fic #hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen fanfiction #hayden christensen x female reader #hayden christensen smut #american heist #adrien brody #akon #jordana brewster #mechanic au

[is-this-a-valid-iterator-name]

Are these valid iterator names? The last one probably isn't but I'll slap it in anyways XD

Endless Beyond

Thirteen Elder Stories

Eight Crashing Tides

Last String of Life

Twelve Far Away Dreams

Ruby Skies by Sapphire Shores

Extracted Prism Sunsets

Threats of Ongoing Loops

Forecasts of Forgotten Truths

Outsourced Onslaught Precision

Sunrise Solar Starlight Lunar

last can probably be turned into an ancient name

these go hard. puts them in my mouth as per the validating ritual

#iterator #rain world iterator #rw iterator

[owlespresso]

for the fanfic trope ask thing, i think fake dating + sleep intimacy is always so fucking good

pretending to date the esteemed Dr. Ratio has a bevy of benefits. you're not sure if his preoccupation with your health is one of them. 1.1k words

The night is late. Stars shimmer in broad bands of pure light above the resort, a reminder of what you miss so thoroughly when you're at home.

You stood on the balcony of your room for likely an hour, forearms pressed up against the cool railing. The air is warm enough to permit it, balmy and sweet with the scent of wildflowers and the ocean. The tides crash against the nearby beach, close enough to be heard as you stare into those unblinking cosmos.

The glass door slides open, breaking you from your reverie. Your companion lingers in the threshold, and you can already picture him with arms crossed, eyebrows raised in silent expectation.

"It's getting late. If you want to get a regular eight hours, I would recommend retiring now." Veritas insists.

"Eight hours, huh... You don't need to worry about me. I run fine on less." you inform him, drumming your fingertips on the cool metal of the railing.

"That may very well serve you while alone with only your research to worry about, but to 'run on less' at the wedding of an esteemed relative and colleague would be impolite at best and irresponsible at worst, given the hand you had in organizing this entire affair.” As per usual, he wastes no time with his scolding. You’ve been on the receiving end of many such lectures, especially after long periods of time spent without rest, buried amongst the old tomes and binders which contain the bulk of your work and research material. As a fellow scholar, you had once hoped he would understand the need to forgo sleep for the greater good—but he’s still standing there. 

You can practically hear him roll his eyes. This is fake dating. You’re dating for convenience alone. You needed a date to your friend’s wedding and Veritas wants to take samples of some of the flora on the island for his own convenience. There’s no need for him to reach out beyond that, and still—he’s been awfully intent on shepherding you around.

���Need I remind you of today’s incident? You nearly fell asleep on your feet. Had I not been there, you would have fallen nose-first into your mojito.” He continues on. 

"Fine,” you acquiesce with a sigh, if only to stop his blabbering. You would rather jump off than admit it, but he has a good point. The jetlag and your duties as assistant wedding planner have wrung you dry and kept you busy. So busy that you assumed you wouldn't be getting any good sleep until you returned home. You accepted that fate. Divine intervention reaches down in the form of one Veritas Ratio, whose nagged you to sleep twice now. Going for a third time tonight.

“Spare me your complaints,” Veritas clicks his tongue. The door slides shut behind you, curtains pulled tidily back into place. “You’ll be thanking me tomorrow, when you’re able to think clearly, make good decisions, and remain standing up for more than fifteen minutes at a time.”

And that, you suppose you cannot dispute. You navigate through the suite, passing the canopy bed and ducking into the lavish bathroom, hastening to the sink. Running through your bedtime routine serves to settle your ruffled nerves. There’s something stabilizing in those repetitive motions, in cleaning your face and brushing your teeth. The creature in the reflection of the bathroom mirror looks more honest, divested of concealer and powder and lipgloss. The luggage under your eyes shines dull and deep. 

“Do you see now?” Veritas steps up behind you. Even in sleepwear, he clings onto his bravado, broad chest and strong arms hidden underneath the gauzy, deep blue of his robe. The fabric is incredibly sheer, nearly transparent. You can very clearly see each defined plane of muscle held beneath, his broad shoulders and ridiculously big arms painfully clear. You don’t get your gaze wander any lower, for the sake of propriety. He cradles a half-empty wine glass in one of his hands. “Why getting an adequate amount of rest is so important?”

“You look like a recent widow whose husband died in mysterious circumstances.” you say, without really thinking.

He snorts. “Hush,” he gently chides. The wine glass is delicately slipped onto the wide sink counter. His fingers gently prise decorative pins and clips from your hair. Your spine goes rigid as he delicately removes each one, expecting the telltale sting of a pull. But not a pinch of pain pricks your scalp. He lays them out across the speckled marble. The gold and silver gleams underneath the lighting, the lights above the mirror set to dim. It’s easy on your tired eyes. 

You, against your better judgment, relax into the delicate touch. Your eyes flutter shut, palms pressing flat to the cold counter, general chaos of the day sliding off your shoulders like fresh rain. Any possible retort dies on your tongue, weary from all of the small talk you’ve endured.

“There,” Veritas hums. The last pin settles on the counter with a quiet clink. “All done. Now do us both a favor and come to bed. I won’t get a wink of sleep if you keep fussing.”

“I wasn’t fussing. I was standing on the balcony. Outside of our room.”

“And the door to said balcony makes the most horrendous squeal whenever you open it,” Veritas sighs as though immensely put upon. “Now come. You have accrued six hours worth of sleep debt in short time we’ve been here.” He leaves the bathroom, the silken river of his robe swaying around his toned calves as he departs.

“Alright, alright,” you grumble, following. 

Veritas, of course, is not one to let you get the last word in. He braces a palm at the small of your back for a fleeting moment, gently urging you forward. 

“Don’t sound so put out. I’m looking out for your well-being, like any prospective partner should. If anything, you should be thanking me,” he says, and you know you’re not imagining the slight, self-satisfied smile on his face.

The blankets have been pulled back, revealing the downy, cream-colored sheets beneath. It looks near heavenly after the very, very active day you’ve just endured. Divesting yourself of all propriety, you dive underneath the blankets. They’re buttery and cool against your warm skin, smelling of sandalwood and sweet, lovely lotions. The mattress creaks as he settles in beside you, but you pay him no mind as you melt atop the mattress, muscles released of the day’s tensions. This is a professional arrangement, after all. You have nothing to worry about from him.

“We’re not really dating,” you mumble, only after several minutes of tossing and turning and nestling into place amongst the sea of pillows. There’s a clicking sound. He’s turned off the lamp.

You open one eye to peer at him. He’s smiling, cheek gracing the palm of his hand. In the dim, his eyes seem to glow and glimmer like dying embers. “I’m well-aware. “

#hungering for hsr #dr ratio/reader #dr ratio

[star-girl69]

Ultraviolence

Natalie Scatorccio x Fem!Reader

—-

a/n: sorry for the late chapter!! i wrote this once before and then my phone died before i could save it 😭 but i’m back! and i hope you all enjoy!!

warnings: injury, blood, swearing, crying, coach ben mental breakdown…. tell me if i missed anything!!

Chapter Eight - Ever Since the Lake

Chapter Eight - Ever Since the Lake

—-

1996-

Being happy is a foreign feeling.

After the plane crash, after a thousand deaths and a thousand cuts, the feeling of a smile winding its way onto your face is different. Like you’ve forgotten how to.

The sand under your feet is warm, like a fluffy blanket, and it kicks up and flies all around your feet as you run down.

The other girls start kicking off their pants mid-run, belt buckles clinging, shoes mismatched and tossed around.

Maybe you should be looking for food right now, for a place to sleep tonight, but the allure of the refreshing water is too much, and this place is so safe- what could ever hurt you here? Nothing bad dwells in these waters, nothing but small fish and plants and just the feeling of floating in the water and being free.

It takes you a moment longer to get undressed then everyone else, carefully trying to lift your shirt above the bandages still wrapped on your face.

Van reaches the water first, slowing down the deeper she gets, until she abandons the pursuit and dives right in, surfacing to shout encouragement to the other hesitant girls.

“It feels fucking great!” she shouts, her hands in the air, red hair falling all around her like a small fire.

In your heart, something burns as you wade into the water, even through the cold rush, something that first makes your stomach twist in nerves.

You’re just happy. And your heart is too.

The water is filled with laughing and splashing, and you try to think back to the last time you were this relieved, this happy- but nothing comes to mind. Not in a place like this, where there’s so much newness, and you mind can only focus on cooling off in the cold water.

Travis splashes one of the girls, Mari, and she laughs and tries to splash him back- but he’s already diving out into the water. You feel awkward with your one-size too small bra, courtesy of your mother, and the t-shirt bandages around your face, but you take in a deep breath.

The water gets into your lungs, making you feel young and restless.

“Is Travis actually… hot?” Jackie asks, crossing her arms. Natalie scoffs and crosses her arms.

“It’s been three days. You guys can’t be that desperate, can you?” her words are accompanied by a light smile, but the undertone of her words hits hard in your gut.

In a place like this- it really sucks to be alone.

But, this is the lake, and nothing back can happen here, so you lean down and cup some into your hands, splashing it onto your chest, letting the water wash away the dirt and sweat from the hike, from the crash.

“Is it not fucking cold?” Jackie asks, and you only smile at her, leaning down as if you’re gonna splash her, and she yelps and hides behind Mari. You laugh, and carefully, to avoid your wound, run some water off the back of your head, letting it drip down your shoulders.

And while you do it, you can feels someone’s eyes on you.

—-

By now, most of the girls have cooled off and gotten clean, and are using the lake like a private pool. Maybe if they close their eyes, they can imagine some grand resort.

But you don’t even need to close your eyes. Anything is better than being near that plane.

You’re sitting against a piece of driftwood, left by the tide, your head tilted back, listening to the sounds of girls playing chicken fight. A loud splash and someone’s fallen, so you smile.

“This seat taken?” Natalie asked, looking at the spot next to you from where she stood, white t-shirt, and small smile on her features.

“Uh-huh,” you say, shaking your head. She sits down, cross-legged next to you, looking out onto the lake. You swing your legs over and join her sitting up from on your back.

Sometimes you feel too young to hold onto moments like these. Like soon, your life will keep moving, and there will be so much to remember- the simple, happy moments like this will fade away. Only to be conjured by a specific feeling, a certain smell, a feel to the air that only this place and this moment could match perfectly.

“You don’t like the water?” you ask, eyeing her almost dry clothes.

“It’s too cold for me.” She looks out on the water, towards another round of chicken fight. Van topples over with another girl on her shoulders, and you both chuckle, before she looks back to you. “How’s your cut?”

“Oh, better,” you mumble, feeling like a bit too much in the world. Taking up a bit too much of everything. Feeling like a bit too much of everything. “I feel so stupid with these weird bandages, you know?”

She smiles and meets your eyes.

“Nah. You look great. Makes you look badass, huh?”

“Sure,” you say, thinking about if the wilderness will even care. You doubt it will.

You imagine the dawn breaking overhead, reflected onto this lake. You imagine sitting there like this, just like this, with this same girl next to you.

Maybe you’d be closer, or at this distance, but your hands would be touching, or there would just be something around the two of you that sings that you are matching scars in each other’s souls.

You want her to be the scar in your soul, and maybe that’s your fear talking, the wilderness, or maybe you’ve always spent a second too long looking at her, maybe you’ve always felt like this and this place is just freedom. Freedom to explore it.

“Guys!” Lottie suddenly shouts from the water. She pointed off into the distance, a small patch of light on the hillside. “Look!”

The girls all erupt in shouts and whispers, asking what it is, claiming in looks like a reflection.

“There’s something on the hill!” someone finally shouts, a culmination of all these little pieces, and the girls all spring into action, jumping up from sitting and out of the water, grabbing their clothes and backpacks and getting ready to hike.

“Another hike,” you remark to Nat, slipping on your shirt.

“Mhm.”

—-

With the promise of something up here, whether it just be a piece of glass, or a speck of civilization, whatever it is- it makes the journey much easier. The uphill climb doesn’t make your legs ache.

Finally, you reach a plateau, a cliff, and suddenly- standing before you is a cabin.

It’s wooden, covered in green plants and the windows are thick with dust, but still- it is manmade. It is evidence that once, someone was here. And maybe they still are.

You all run up to the cabin, the girls banging on the windows and doors, shouting, asking to see if someone’s home.

You put your palm to one of the wooden support beams on the porch, hissing as you narrowly miss a crooked, protruding nail.

Finally, Jackie and Shauna manage to open the rusted door, revealing a sharp smell, dust, creaky floorboards, and cobwebs.

“Maybe they went out for a hike?” one of the girls asks, but you all can see the dust, see the way that this place is so eerily still. It empty, in a way that something that has been untouched for years is. It is still. There isn’t even wind to rustle the unmade cot in the corner.

“Yeah, like a decade ago,” Jackie scoffs.

You are all tired and sick, and thinking of your beds at home, of warmth and of familiarity.

You have changed so much in these past few days, physically and mentally, there must be something in the woods, in the water of the lake- the very essence of the wilderness.

You bring your sleeve up to your palm, wiping the dust across the window, a stray spiderweb with it. You can see the forest more clearly now, sprawling green, a stack of wood left by whoever once lived here.

“It reeks in here,” Jackie says.

You turn back around, eyeing the deer skull mounted above the fire place- antlers like a huge crown around its small head.

“Jesus,” you hear Nat say, and when you turn- there’s a metal plate left on the table, bones left in it, and a sharp knife leaning against the rim.

There’s more things, an old open can of something, a half-melted candle, but what intrigues you most is the knife. You already have the axe from the plane- there might be another one here, judging by the chopped wood, and now this knife.

“You guys, check the pantry, see if there’s any food,” Taissa instructs.

You walk forward and let your fingertips graze the knife handle, wonder who the last person to touch this knife, this entire place, was.

“Everyone else, look around for stuff we can use. First aid, flashlight, tools.” Taissa shouts.

You think about grabbing the knife, but before you can, Taissa and Jackie are fighting again. You look up, and Jackie has a rusted can in her hands.

She opens it, and Tai looks up from her search at the sound.

“What the hell? Jackie, that’s not your personal buffet.”

Jackie gasps, and suddenly the can is falling to the floor, landing on its side, and a bright green sludge seeps out of it. You’re reminded of something from a cartoon.

“Gross,” one of the girls mutters, while the rest groan and try to get away.

“See, this is why we should have stayed in the plane!” Jackie yells.

Taissa scoffs.

“Yeah, well, we didn’t.” Jackie turns to Van. “So this is helping how, exactly?”

Jackie shakes her hand and storms out of the cabin.

With the commotion died down, and your legs aching, now that the adrenaline of this new place and safety is gone, you let your backpack slide to the floor, pulling out the chair in front of the abandoned dinner plate.

Everyone goes back to searching.

Natalie pulls out the chair at the other side of the table, reaching across to tenderly hold the knife in her hands.

“You’re gonna cut yourself and die of like, tetanus, or something, you know?”

She smiles up at you.

“My guess is rabies, actually.”

“Well, hello!” Van shouts, slapping a pile of magazines onto the table. “Don’t worry, guys. We might be stuck in the middle of nowhere, but, hey, at least there’s porn.”

She holds up a magazine with a tan blonde woman on the cover, her outfit leather, a cigarette hanging out of her lips.

“Holy shit,” Mari laughs, and you can’t help but grab one from the pile, titled “Big Bodacious”, and flip through a few pages.

You let out a small laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Porn in an abandoned cabin.

“Hey, this guy kinda looks like you, Flex,” Mari smiles, holding an open magazine out to Travis.

“If only any of you actually looked like her,” he says.

“Oh, yeah. Very funny,” Van says.

“Do guys, like, actually jerk off to this stuff?” Mari asks.

“Nah, we-we hate that shit. Y-you can’t even tell what her favorite book is.”

“Hm. Ha-ha,” Van says, before flipping him off as he walks away, his head down.

—-

Since this cabin is the only form of civilization you’ve found, and you’re all hungry for normalcy, it seems the most natural place to settle down. Not only is it a place to point to, a place to go back to, but it’s four walls and a roof.

A house. A cabin.

The girls slowly start returning from the lake, bringing the bags they didn’t carry, ready for night to fall and a small dinner of the last plane rations.

You lean against that same wooden post, this time careful of the nail, trying to see the lake out past the trees. If you squint, it’s just barely there.

The old wooden floor creaks behind you.

You don’t know why you and Natalie keep gravitating towards each other. But it’s nice to not be alone in a place like this, surrounded by people.

“What’d you think? Of the cabin, I mean,” she says, coming around you to lean on the other side of the beam.

“Smells,” you say, crinkling your nose.

“Hey, at least we’re not stranded in a landfill, or something- some fucking radioactive island, you know?” you laugh.

You think back to the lake, how this is the first time you’ve felt like this- just so free.

“At least this place is nice to look at, you know?” you look around the beam, but she’s staring out at the forest.

“Yeah,” you agree, but can’t find it in yourself to look away from her.

Something falls to the ground.

Natalie shoots you a surprised look, and you slowly make your way to the front of the porch, before a sharp shout rings out.

“Fuck!” the voice shouts, so sharply you stop for a moment. Natalie stops right behind you, her front pressing against your back, while Coach keeps screaming, hitting the ground.

It takes you a moment to realize that he’s not hitting the ground. He’s hitting his amputated leg.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” he shouts. “Why? Goddamn it, fuck you, fuck you!” he looks around the crowd of girls that have surrounded him, watching with blank faces.

Coach had been on the end of a rope for days. Hanging off a cliff by his fingernails, and he had finally slipped. You all had seen it coming- this breakdown was no suprise.

“What the fuck do you want?!”

Silence.

Misty crouches down. “It’s alright,” she says, reaching out towards him, and even thought Misty is the reason he’s alive to be miserable, to scream and cry like this, he rounds on her and slaps her across the face.

“Get the fuck away from me, Misty!”

You gasp, taking a frightened step back. Natalie places her hand on the back of your arm to steady you.

Ever since the lake, it’s all changed.

Blood pools at Misty’s lips. and you can’t help but reach up to your own face, touching the bandaged gash.

Determination wrenches it’s way onto her face.

She crawls forward again, sitting at the edge of the porch, dragging him up so he can lean against her.

“Shh,” she whispers while he heaves and pants. “C’mere, it’s alright, c’mere,”

“I can’t just be like this now,” he cries, the blood on Misty’s face forgotten, as he collapses into her, let’s her place her hand against his head, holding him. “Why couldn’t I have just died?”

“Because we needed you.” Her bottom lips curls up, like she’s imagining some fate worse than this.

She closes her eyes while her voice takes on this wistful quality, like she’s living a life behind her eyes, one she can never live.

“And I’m here for you, Ben. I’m here for you.”

—-

taglist:

@sweetdayme4427 @dreaming-for-an-escape @peachydoki

#yellowjackets x reader #natalie scatorccio #natalie scatorccio x reader

[dustballdrawsartwork]

BEHOLD!!! Chart with my ocs added in! I just wanted a comparison so I knew how to draw them. If you wanna draw em shorter or taller, go ahead!

Just my ocs, just slugcats, and just iterators under cut!

#not tagging with any cannon characters as this is just for my oc refs #rain world #rain world oc #rain world iterator #rain world ocs #rw group alpha #rw oc #rw slugcat #iterator oc #slugcat oc #the crossroader #the collector #the savior #the amalgamation #coral the navigator #sunrise solar starlight lunar #outsourced onslaught precision #forecasts of forgotten truths #eight crashing tides #endless beyond #threats of ongoing loops #thirteen elder stories #last string of life #ruby skies by sapphire shores #extracted prism sunsets #twelve far away dreams

[groupalpha]

[LIVE BROADCAST] - PRIVATE Last String of Life, Extracted Prism Sunsets, Eight Crashing Tides

#rain world #rain world oc #rain world iterator #rain world iterator oc #ga broadcast #extracted prism sunsets #last string of life #eight crashing tides #ga lore #they're just talking idk what you're on about #i promise it's just talking

[bullet-prooflove]

Stormy Weather - Captain Joe Milius x Reader

Tagging: @witches-unruly-heart @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @oureternalbond

It’s the storm that wakes Joe, it’s loud and violent. The wind rattling the windows of the bedroom as the rain spatters across the glass panes in large droplets. His heart races and he reaches for you only to find your side of the bed empty.

That’s right, he remembers, you’re gone.

You’ve been gone for over a week now.

He rolls onto his back, slinging his arm above his head as he stares at the ceiling. There’s a crash of thunder outside, it seems to vibrate through the building before the lightning flashes and for a second, he sees spots dotting across his vision.

He wonders where you are, if you’re being safe. It’s a ridiculous thought, he knows it. You’re an NCIS agent, trained for all sorts of eventualities, but he can’t help but worry. His existence before he met you…

He wasn’t living, not really.

The moment you had stepped into his life it was as if his world had blossomed with colour. He hadn’t realised how rigid he had become in his years as a Captain, how focused he was on his job. You reminded him how to live in the moment, to take the time to experience the world.

A universe without you in it, it doesn’t bear thinking about.

“How long?” He had asked as he leaned against the dresser. He’s watching as you pack some of your clothing into the black hold all. You’re doing a terrible job, jamming every single item in instead of folding them neatly. It should drive him crazy but tonight it doesn’t because there’s more important things for him to think about.

“A couple of days, maybe a week.” You say, your fingers tugging at the zipper as you try and get the bag to close. “You know undercover work isn’t an exact science.”

He pushes away from the dresser. His chest tucking into your back as his lips brush over your hair. His arms wrap around your waist, cradling you close, his palms coming to rest upon your stomach.

“This has to be the last one for a while.” He murmurs, his thumb ghosting over the space where the baby resides. “I can’t stand the thought of losing either of you.”

Your fingers thread through his, cradling the precious cargo you’re carrying.

“It is.” You promise, leaning back into the shelter of his arms. “I just can’t let this guy disappear again, those girls… They didn’t deserve what happened to them. I can’t let him do that someone else.”

He knows what you’re talking about. Everyone has a case that keeps them up at night and yours is this. Eight trafficked girls left in a storage container to starve to death. You still have nightmares about it.

“I know.” He whispers, his lips brush ghosting over the curve of your throat.

It’s the reason he hasn’t put his foot down over the whole thing, he knows you’ll never have peace until guy is dead or in prison. Trying to stop you taking on this assignment is like trying to change the tide, impossible and exhausting.

The sound of his phone chiming brings him out of his thoughts. He rolls onto his side, his hand grasping for his cell phone on the nightstand. He sees your name before opening the message and something inside him settles.

“Just got back to Pearl. Be home soon x.”

Love Joe ? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#captain joe milius #joe milius x reader #joe milius #joe milius x you #ncis hawaii

[reyesstrand]

wip wednesday

tagged by my beloved @lovesgalores <3 from the 4x18 coda/honeymoon fic that i’m hoping to finish over my days off!

He feels alive as he moves with TK, with his husband, their matching gold bands and lovesick smiles linking them intrinsically together. TK’s brighter than he’s ever been, singing along and curling one arm tight around Carlos’ neck. They bump into bodies around them on the dance floor but nothing matters but this, the two of them together under the lights. Carlos’ only focus is TK until the song shifts, and the familiar intro strikes him with a memory: him at thirteen, watching as Ana and her friends sing loudly and off-key in the basement covered with half-made pillow forts, dancing along with remote controls in their hands as makeshift microphones. Their father had gone on shift, a long overnight that would unknowingly fade into three long days of him tracking down a trafficking ring, and Carlos already missed him. A recurring theme, he’d already realized, and it hits him again.

Carlos blinks and he’s five, he’s eight, he’s twelve, slowly aging out of being able to run to his father in the middle of the night, slowly growing too big, too gangly, for the pajamas printed with footballs and dinosaurs and trucks. Carlos blinks and he’s sixteen, scrubbing the dirt from his knuckles after helping his cousins at their family ranch, listening to their deep voices as they shared stories and jokes he forced himself to laugh at; he’s seventeen and feeling too big and too small all at the same time, towering over his parents as he brings their world crashing down around them. He’s too old for his father to hold him, to promise him the monsters will never get close enough to touch him, to be gently rocked as he cries after a nightmare. Part of him is angry that so much of his time was lingering in a shadow, knowing of a pair of shoes he felt he could never fill, and yet Carlos, at his core, just wants his dad.

He misses him. He misses him like he misses air when he pushes himself that half a mile too hard too fast and his lungs constrict. He feels like that little version of himself in that grainy video that’s been replaying in his mind, caught in time, left in free fall without his papa there to catch him. Carlos’ breath catches in his throat and he squeezes once, twice at TK’s waist, fingers dragging over the enticing warmth of his skin as he slips his hands out from under his shirt and murmurs something about needing some air. The music is loud, the voices singing the familiar chorus are loud, and yet the flash of concern across TK’s face is somehow louder. He lets him go, but TK’s eyes follow him as he slips out of the bar, as he inhales the salty fresh air, as he’s greeted with the calming silence of the tide crashing against the beach.

no pressure tagging @carlos-in-glasses @alrightbuckaroo @strandnreyes @safeashousespdf @paperstorm @rmd-writes @welcometololaland @marjansmarwani @tailoredshirt <3

#tag games #my fic #tarlos

[mistresslrigtar]

Chapter Twenty-eight: Veil (written for @zelinktines24 day 28 prompt) Tysm @floraunderground for betaing! I appreciated your feedback so much!

Read below or HERE

Not long after that blissful day in the schoolyard, Link asks Zelda to marry him. Sitting on the sandy shore of Hateno Bay, toes digging into the cold, wet sand, the blazing sun warming their blond heads, and having just broken apart from a kiss, he hands her a perfectly shaped scallop. Something flashes between the creamy pink shells, and her already racing heart from the heated kiss, picks up speed, as if heading to an unseen finish line.

When Zelda carefully lifts the top shell, an exquisitely handcrafted ring of Zora silver and Gerudo gold filigree, dotted with tiny polished Rito sapphires and Goron diamonds cut to look like silent princess flowers sparkles in the sunlight.

Zelda tries and fails to swallow the sudden lump in her throat and blink away the tears springing to her eyes before giving it up as a lost cause. When she looks back at Link, he’s shifted to one knee and says simply:

“Marry me.”

Her ‘Yes’ comes out as a cracked, blubbery noise she barely understands, but the way Link smiles crookedly at her with shining blue eyes that match the glittering ocean before them, tells her he needs no translation.

Plucking the ring from its case, he wordlessly slips it on her finger. It fits perfectly, and he tells her he commissioned the ring long ago when he’d taken his Zora armor to Yona to be repaired. When he explains that the gold, silver and gemstones came from the former Champions weapons, her heart breaks just a little. Not for herself, but for those dear friends from another time who never had the chance to love and be loved the way they so richly deserved. Zelda nods, feeling tears pricking her eyes once more.

Link gently cups her face and wipes them away with the pads of his thumbs. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“No, it’s beautiful… perfect, Link. I’m just… it’s just… we’re getting married.” Zelda can’t seem to get a handle on her emotions. They’re a swirling mass of happiness, sadness, fear, and excitement vying for dominance. The combination makes her lightheaded, as if she’s been drugged. She smiles widely, tears still streaming down her cheeks. She thinks she might look deranged.

“You’re practically speechless… and turning purple.” Link’s own cheeks are pink, reflecting her giddiness. He kisses her with smiling lips.

She covers his hands with hers, and happiness bubbles with her. Never in her wildest dreams since the first time they kissed had Zelda ever dared to think this day would ever come. If her father were still alive, would he give them his blessing? Zelda has no doubt Rauru and Sonia would be the first to announce the glad tidings.

Link wraps an arm around her shoulders, and pulls her close. Resting her head on his shoulder, she holds her left hand out, focusing on the facets of the gems glittering in the bright afternoon sun. The familiar sensation of Link’s hand, gently running up and down her arm, along with the smell of the briny sea and the rhythmic crash of the waves soothes her chaotic thoughts and emotions.

“I would have waited, but…” Link trails off, his hand absently continuing its course along her arm.

She hears the worry and concern in his voice and draws her arm back, wrapping it around his waist. The weight of the ring, connecting Zelda even further to Link, is comforting. Pushing the veil of any lingering fear and uncertainty aside, Zelda focuses on this precious moment. If they’ve learned anything through all the trials and tribulations that have been thrown at them they need to cherish the here and now they’ve been given.

“I’ve never been happier in my life, truly, Link. I’m ready to leave our past behind us and focus on our future and rebuilding a better Hyrule together.” She turns her head, tilting her chin toward him.

As their lips meet once more, Zelda’s eyes flutter close and she surrenders herself to the crashing tide of her emotions. She allows herself to be swept away, fully embracing every dream they’ve ever dared to hope for.

One day in this quiet village, they will start a family. In the years to come, with Link by her side, Zelda is certain Hyrule will overcome its past and be on a path toward eternal peace and prosperity. They will share their incredible journey with their children and show them the beautiful home in Akkala where, despite all the odds, their love triumphed for the third and final time.

Thanks for reading! Likes and reblogs are most welcome.

#legend of zelda #zelink #the legend of zelda #tears of the kingdom #breath of the wild #beach proposal #it’s about time! #zelinktines24 #daily prompt

[incorrectlasthours]

Introducing: The Malevolent Tides

A Post-TLH Story - synopsis below!

Please note: The worldbuilding, TID, and TLH characters all belong to Cassandra Clare. I took the liberty to make up the children of the TLH characters (partially based off of the inaccurate Clockwork Princess family tree, but mostly from my own imagination). This story will contain spoilers for Chain of Thorns!

September, 1929: Coming of age during the mundane’s Great War and the Spanish Influenza, the young Shadowhunters of London are no strangers to demons and despair. In fact, compared to the hordes of demons attracted to Earth by the mundane conflicts of their youth, things have been relatively calm as the children grew from a troubled youth into a tentatively hopeful adolescence. Things are looking up… but little does this future “lost generation,” know, their light-hearted, wild youths are about to come to an abrupt end, as darkness and violence comes to claim the mundane - and shadow - worlds once again.

New York City, USA: Elizabeth Herondale has finally left her family’s home… and her drama with her brother, Owen, and his fiancée, Lydia, behind. Elizabeth is eager to forget her troubles in the vices that make New York City the center of the modern world; touted as a place where anyone can arrive a pauper and leave a millionaire, where women are free to move through the streets unaccompanied by men, and where illegal vices - booze, cards, jazz - are easier to find than avoid, Elizabeth is ready to relocate for good and reclaim her future. Accompanied by her intrepid parabatai and cousin, Margaret Blackthorn (who is more comfortable behind the lens of a camera than onstage in a flapper hall), Elizabeth has no plans to return to London any time soon. Then comes October, and the infamous crash of Wall Street that plunges the entire globe into economic recession. Elizabeth does not want to return home, but her and Margie might not have a choice in the matter…

Athens, Greece: Edmund Blackthorn was supposed to return to London and his family eight months ago… and he did, but something drew him back to Athens once more. Picking up his Uncle James’ love for the ancient classics from a young age, Edmund always knew he wanted to do his travel year in the center of it all: Athens, Greece. While he expected his year abroad to be full of research and sightseeing, he did not expect it to be entirely thrown off course by the witty, brilliant Cadia Sedgewick. Together, the two have uncovered an ancient mystery; while other Shadowhunters are urging them to focus on the rapidly-approaching and grim future, Edmund and Cadia are drawn further and further into the past. All the stories are true, after all, and this mystery might just be the key to aid the present and save the future.

Berlin, Germany: Owen Herondale didn’t plan to fall in love with Lydia Kingsmill… but Herondales love only once, as his father and grandfather told him from the time he was young, and Lydia was the only one for him. The Treaty of Versailles that ended the mundane Great War has thrust Germany into despair, and the Shadowhunters of the German institutes are feeling the side effects; indeed, as the churches and government are no longer able to tithe, many Shadowhunters have packed up and left for more lucrative cities, or returned home to Idris. Owen desperately wants Lydia to come to London with him, but Lydia doesn’t want to leave her family - and the institute she grew up in - behind.

Amsterdam, the Netherlands: Vienna Fairchild was determined to embark on a grand voyage like her father, and she wasn’t going to let the fact that she was a woman stop her. At the start of her travel year, Vienna ran to the last city full of glittering nightlife and wild parties in Europe - and indeed, Amsterdam is the last European stand of the ‘Roaring Twenties’ as recession grows over the continent like a shadow. Planning to pack her trunks and flee for the Americas with her best friends Lizzie and Margie, Vienna is stopped when the local institute desperately needs help. Their issue, however, is much larger than Amsterdam itself…

Alicante, Idris: The youngest of her siblings and cousins and friends, Alaina Blackthorn is thrilled to finally have her turn at Shadowhunter Academy. The Academy is, after all, a legendary place for life-changing bonds… it’s where her Uncle James and Uncle Matthew decided to become parabatai, and where her brother Theodore and Graham Fairchild first became friends - and now they, too, were parabatai. Flanked by her friends Raya Fairchild and Taron Carstairs-Lightwood, Alaina cannot wait to finally experience freedom - until the world starts to fall apart, and all their parents summon them back to London.

London, England: The adults of the London Enclave are certain the worst is behind them - they defeated Belial when they were teenagers, and the mundane world has finally calmed down after over a decade of war and pestilence. But the wicked never rest, and dark forces are gathering - and their target is London, the city that started it all.

#would people want to read it 🥹 let me know!! #there are SO many characters not in the synopsis #this is just a sneak peak hehe #but don’t worry all of our tlh faves have kids in this story!! #the last hours #tlh #the malevolent tides #james herondale #matthew fairchild #lucie herondale #cordelia carstairs #thomas lightwood #alastair carstairs #jesse blackthorn