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howaboutcastiel · 1 year

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The Robe and Crown [18+]

The Robe and Crown: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Joel and Tommy are raiders. Not by choice, not for the thrill. They’re doing what they must to survive. So why, then, is Joel letting you tag along when you’re just another mouth to feed? [Series Masterlist]

CONTENT WARNING: dark fic. Weird fic? Like, Cult stuff. Beatings, whippings. Handmaid’s Tale level subjugation of women. Smut with dubious consent, past physical abuse. Past sexual abuse. TLOU-level violence and language. More warnings to be added if necessary?

If you think that the apocalypse can’t be any weirder, you’re asking it to prove you wrong. That’s the one thing Joel had learned in the three and half years since the world ended. He’d had some idea before of just how crazy some people out there were, but the things he had seen first-hand after outbreak day had changed his perspective on the world.

Making their way north proved slower than they had anticipated. Joel and Tommy were traveling together in a pack of five total, hoping the rumors of more-humane QZs in New England were true. The married couple and ex-marine they had picked up in New Orleans were as skeptical as Joel, but Tommy maintained enough hope for all of them that there was something in Boston worth the journey.

Now, though, stuck in winter in Appalachia and running low on food and gear, it was obvious that they were going to have to get creative. Joel had a plan to raid the stockpile at a nearby church—the place was free of infected, and had more than they could carry in the way of emergency supplies. Armed guards were stationed outside of the chapel, but they seemed easy enough to distract and, at this point, Joel had no problem with taking them down if it came to that.

No problem at all.

Joel had never claimed to be a good person. He knew what he was—a killer, a manipulator, a survivor. He knew he was violent, erratic, and ruthless. He knew that there was blood on his hands from people who deserved better. Joel knew that he was bad people, and he had come to terms with that.

Still, Joel Miller wasn’t a monster. He wasn’t a sadist, wasn’t cold, wasn’t cruel for the sake of cruelty. He did what he had to, but he wasn’t a demon. He surely wasn’t the devil himself.

But he was about to meet him.

Only one man was stationed at the back entrance. A foolish mistake, Joel thought, but he wasn’t complaining. The guard hadn’t even seen Joel coming until it was too late, and a strong arm around his neck was leaving him incapacitated. Tommy went in first, trigger-happy as always. They hadn’t expected the room to be vacant, but Joel was still surprised when Tommy ushered him in to greet a group of three.

An old man, a young man, and you.

The provisions were stacked behind the pews, just as expected, but Joel couldn’t make himself focus on the task of grabbing whatever looked useful. The younger man pulled a pistol from a holster on his side, holding it out shakily. He couldn’t decide whether to point it at Joel or at Tommy. On any other day, neither one of them would have hesitated to shoot the man and go about their day. The problem was, the image in front of Joel had him utterly stunned.

“Jesus,” Tommy whispered. Anger brewed in Joel’s gut.

The older man stood in the center of the pulpit—a Bible in one hand and a scourge in the other. He seemed unphased by the intrusion, continuing to spout scripture in a patronizing, almost bored tone. You were facing away from the elder, kneeling in front of him with nothing on but your undergarments. You held your arms to your chest, covering your front as he brought down the whip repeatedly on your back. It looked like all three of you had been there awhile.

For a moment, Joel locked eyes with you. A young woman, barely old enough to call a woman, with welts and lashes covering your frame. You looked healthier than most of the people he’d come across, judging by the soft layer of fat and water covering a well-toned physique and a surprisingly large frame. He expected—well, at this point Joel didn’t know what he should be expecting, but still—some sort of fear or pain to be painted on your face. He expected you to be bound in place, forced to take the beating with rope tying you to the altar. None of this was what he saw.

Your expression was entirely distant. It was numb, or even calm. Your hands were folded obediently across your chest and you made little movement as the whip made contact with your skin over and over again. Joel couldn’t understand what he was seeing—why were you letting this happen? Judging by your frame, you seemed more than capable of overpowering the elder. Hell, you could probably knock Joel on his ass if you caught him off guard.

You broke your gaze away from him, the same distant eyes staring down at the floor instead of at Joel. The younger man’s arrogant voice made Joel look up.

“You can’t be here,” he spat at the two brothers. His gun was decidedly trained on Tommy now, as his sawed off shotgun pointed right back. Tommy’s tone was generous, but non-negotiable.

“We ain’t here for you,” he explained. “We’re gonna take our fill of food and supplies, and we’re gonna leave. No need for a fuss.”

But the young man wasn’t satisfied. Neither was Joel.

“What’re you doing?” He heard himself ask. The scripture the old man was spouting was way too pretentious for him. He could make out a couple of words—general church talk like “sin” and “penance” and “salvation”—but everything else was lost on him. Joel didn’t know why he was so angry.

“You need to leave,” the young man repeated.

Joel drew his gun. “Answer me.”

“Joel, let’s just—” Tommy tried.

“You better start fucking talking!” By this time, the elder had looked up from his book, an unphased expression on his face. Joel almost had the inkling that he should be pointing the gun at the old man instead, but it stayed trained on the spot between the eyes of the younger.

Tommy started backing toward the stockpile, not wanting an unnecessary commotion. The young man stuttered when Joel’s gun leveled with his face.

“My—my wife. She’s receiving discipline—mortification of the flesh. The penance… we’re hoping that God will bless us with a child.”

The anger in Joel’s gut began to rise to his throat. “You’re telling me you’re beating this girl ‘cause you can’t knock her up? How the hell is that her fault?”

Tommy was stuffing meds in his pack. “We don’t got time for this, Joel. It isn’t our business.”

“Behold,” the old man interjected. He seemed at most inconvenienced by the armed men yelling at him. “Children are a gift of the Lord, The fruit of the womb is a reward. Like arrows in the hand of a warrior, So are the children of one’s youth.”

“I don’t much like poetry,” Joel muttered.

The old man shook his head. “It’s Psalms. No other woman in this village is barren. A woman without her womb is a candle without a wick. This girl shames us all. She shames her husband. There must be retribution.”

The anger was in Joel’s throat, bubbling into his mouth. He almost swore he could feel steam coming out of his ears. Why was he so angry? He didn’t know this girl. This wasn’t his business. He just needed food.

“Those provisions are for the children,” the young man griped. “I can’t let you take them.”

“There’ll be plenty left,” Tommy argued.

Joel didn’t care about the food. “How is this her fault?”

The young man’s tone grew shorter. “It’s none of your concern.”

Joel pulled back the hammer on his gun. “Tell me.”

“The Lord demands retribution from all sinners.” He tried.

“That doesn’t answer my fucking question. What has she done wrong?”

The young man snapped. “I have no use for a woman who can’t make me a father. She better hope the reverend can beat some purpose back into her.”

And Joel snapped, too.

The young man’s body fell limp on the ground—a round, clean hole between his eyes leaking blood onto the altar. A shrill, muted cry of horror escaped your mouth, but you didn’t move. Joel’s hand rose steadily until the gun was pointed at the older man. The reverend snapped shut his book and set aside the scourge. He was plenty self-assured for a man staring down a gun.

“The discipline is finished for today.” He spoke simply. His eyes danced along the lifeless body of your husband, not an ounce of fear or hurt inside of the gaze. The reverend threw a robe in your general direction and, when he turned away, you scrambled to wrap it around your half-naked body.

“How big is this village?” Joel inquired. He knew the sound of the gunshot would be drawing more men. Tommy was his only reinforcement for now, but he wasn’t too concerned about their odds.

“Big enough to need a leader, son.” The elder stepped forward. Tommy started throwing things in Joel’s pack. “And certainly big enough to avenge one.”

“This ain’t leadership,” Joel spouted. He figured he should just shoot the man and get on with his journey before there was a full shoot-out on his hands, but Joel pressed on. Something about the situation, he couldn’t fathom. He wanted to know. “My mother took me to church every Sunday for eighteen years. Never once did I see my preacher beat a girl senseless, much less for something she can’t even help.”

A crooked grin grew on the reverend’s face.

“And where is your preacher now?”

Joel’s grip tightened on the gun. He should just pull the trigger.

“I am building life out of ashes. Keeping folks in line with God through the end of days. This ain’t Sunday School, and it ain’t sunshine and roses. This village survives through order and obedience. You’ve already given me a young widow to deal with. Take your pick of the food and leave.”

The reverend’s hand came to the back of your head, petting your hair. You closed your eyes and held yourself still.

He muttered, not quiet enough for Joel to miss it. “Not that anyone would want this one.”

“Joel, we gotta go.” Tommy zipped his pack and motioned for the door. They both knew more men were waiting outside for them.

“How much ammo you got left?”

Tommy shook his head. Joel fumbled for the knife in his coat. The reverend sighed dramatically.

“I would rather there not be a bloodbath in my chapel. It’ll do us no good to lose any more men.”

“Yeah? Well we’re not leavin’ without the food.” Tommy pointed his gun at the door. “Why don’t you go tell your men to look the other way?”

“I’m sure we can come to an agreement.” Joel didn’t want an agreement. He didn’t want to look the other way. He didn’t know what he wanted, but it wasn’t to walk away with two packs full of food and forget that this happened.

The reverend’s face shifted, like an idea had befell him.

“You’re raiders, aren’t you?” He grabbed a fistful of your hair, throwing you forward. “Here, then. Take the spoils of war. I’ll tell them to stand down.”

The…the spoils of war? Joel would have tasted bile in his throat if fire hadn’t gotten there first.

You immediately scrambled to Joel’s side. Obedient. Joel scoffed. “How very godly of you.”

The reverend only sighed. “Read the scripture. Deuteronomy 21. You’re within your right to take her. Just try not to make a widow of any more of my men’s wives.”

You stood idly with your arms by your sides. Joel thought you looked like someone on autopilot—going through the motions, following directions, but otherwise barely there. When your eyes locked with his again, there was a tinge of something beyond the haze. Something that made Joel all the more angry. Something he didn’t know how to describe.

But he knew that he couldn’t leave you here. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself. For all this talk of God, the man before him was surely the devil. And Joel couldn’t leave a young woman alone with the devil.

Joel should have just shot the man when he had the chance. Now he was outgunned. Outnumbered. All he could do was grit his teeth and nod his head—a succinct, curt nod—and the reverend was leading the three of you out through the crowd of armed men that were waiting outside.

The reverend called to the men, as if making a formal proclamation. “These men are raiders who’ve killed one of our own. They are, within their right, taking a small amount of provisions in agreement to lay down arms.”

He gestured to Joel. “As he has made her a widow, this man now claims our daughter of God as his wife. She will be leaving with them.”

As his wife? Joel didn’t know if that made the implications better or worse in all of this. Either way, it left a sour taste in his mouth. Something like bile, actually.

It set Joel’s teeth on edge that the men seemed unbothered with this proclamation. They turned their guns toward the ground as Joel and Tommy passed through, with you sandwiched in the middle of them. The same distant expression was still on your face, though silent tears had started streaming down. You walked away from the church and around the corner, until the men were no longer in view. With only a robe covering you, you shivered in the cold.

He had no idea what to say to you. What to do. How to even start. Tommy led the three of you to where Joel had left the horses, and it was eerily quiet. It only occurred to Joel after two blocks of walking that you hadn’t hesitated to follow him out of the church.

“I want to make sure those wounds on your back don’t get infected. After that, you can go.”

You glared at him, puzzled.

He added. “I’ll give you a coat.”

For the first time, you opened your mouth to speak.

“Go?”

Tommy moved to untie the horses. He didn’t seem to be happy with the new addition. “We can get you to the Charlotte QZ. We don’t have room for hitchhikers.”

“Tommy.” Joel grimaced at the label. Hitchhiker.

You blinked at him. “You want me to go?”

Joel pulled himself onto his horse, offering his hand while Tommy boosted you up from behind. You hissed when his palm made accidental contact with a laceration on your side.

“I figured you’d want to get somewhere safe. They got electricity in the QZs. They have rations.”

You hesitantly wrapped your arms around Joel’s stomach, steadying yourself on the horse. He flinched under the touch initially. His body heat was warm against your skin, but you didn’t dare lean any closer.

Joel flinched again when your voice rang softly in his ears. “I thought that you wanted…”

You couldn’t exactly form the words to finish your sentence.

“We gotta get going.” Tommy mounted his own horse, wasting no time in directing her forward. “Iz and Mateo are gonna assume we’re dead if we don’t get back to the randevou spot by dark.”

“Maybe they found somewhere to hole up that still has running water,” Joel pondered aloud.

“Sure fuckin’ hope so,” Tommy quipped.

Joel was more comfortable with your voice this time. “You’re not alone?”

“There’s five of us.” Joel shook his head. “But a lot of good safety in numbers does when we split up all the fucking time.”

Tommy let out a dry laugh.

You cleared your throat. “There isn’t a quarantine zone in Charlotte anymore.”

Joel turned his head, as if to look back at you. “How do you know?”

“I lived there,” you replied solemnly.

Tommy pondered out loud. “You reckon there’s one up in Raleigh?”

“That’s a long fucking detour. We’re better off just going straight to Boston.” Joel jutted his leg against his horse, moving ahead of Tommy.

He rolled his eyes. “We got two packs of food, Joel. Split that five ways, it’ll last a couple weeks. If we’re lucky.”

“You don’t know that the lovebirds didn’t find more supplies.” The lovebirds, of course, being the young married couple Joel and Tommy were traveling with, Isabelle and Mateo.

Tommy stopped in his path. His voice rose in volume. “Joel, what are you doing?”

You both turned to look back at him. Tommy’s expression was deadpan, exasperated.

“What’re you talkin’ about?”

“You know damn well what I’m talking about. We don’t need another mouth to feed.” You flinched at his words—at the short tone of his voice. You turned to stare at Joel’s back, holding yourself steady.

“Don’t take that personally,” Joel whispered to you. “It’s been a hard couple of months.”

He projected his voice—and attention—to Tommy.

“I’m not leaving her here. We’ll get more food.” Joel’s horse picked up more speed, and Tommy’s followed suit. “I’ve been feeding you for thirty-four years, Tommy. Don’t hear me complaining.”

Tommy scoffed, muttering, “You do plenty fuckin’ complaining.”

That was where the conversation ended. You rode in silence all the way to the randevou.

~~•~~

Isabelle’s clothes were too small to fit you. Instead, Joel simply offered you one of his shirts while Mateo’s pants seemed to be the closest to your general size. The both of them eyed you suspiciously, but they eyed Joel more suspiciously when they saw a young, half-naked woman on the back of his horse. The lovebirds didn’t dare comment on your presence, though. Joel had kept them all alive for this long—he could bring along whomever he pleased.

The last member of the group, a combat veteran named Colin, arrived shortly after the lovebirds did. While the couple had managed to grab another duffel full of provisions, the ex-marine had managed the biggest strike of luck—hot water. A solar-powered farmhouse in the next town over seemed virtually untouched from outbreak day. Mateo called first dibs on the lone shower inside of the house. Everyone would get their turn eventually, though.

“Radiators are busted,” Tommy observed. He tinkered with all the appliances in the house upon entry, while Isabelle logged all of the food they had found and planned a meal for the night.

“You think we can get away with lighting a fire?” Colin checked the locks on all of the doors.

“I doubt anyone will see it,” Joel decided. “But if they do, let ‘em come. I’m tired of sleeping in the fuckin’ cold.”

Mateo emerged from the bathroom with still-wet hair. He was wearing sweats, but no shirt, and he looked to be in absolute bliss.

“That’s the best fucking shower I’ve had in three years.” He grinned. Droplets fell from the black curls on his head and he ran his fingers through the mop of hair.

Iz cooed from her spot in the kitchen. “It’s the little things, isn’t it?”

“What’re we cooking, chef?” Tommy called back to her.

“There was a lot of canned soup in those apartments,” she explained. “And we actually got fresh meat this time. So, venison in gravy. Over rice.”

“We got rice!” Mateo smiled wider.

Isabelle laughed. “Lap of luxury, baby. It’s almost ready.”

Joel went about exploring the basement of the house while Tommy finished his tinkering with the water heater. As Colin stoked the meager fire in the fireplace, Mateo took the opportunity to shave in front of an actual bathroom vanity. No one noticed how you silently moved behind Iz in the kitchen, gathering dishes and forks and towels and setting the dining table like a picturesque scene from the Waltons.

“Food’s done!” She called loud enough for everyone in the house to hear. Joel froze in place as he reached the top of the steps. Isabelle only looked amused as she sat the pots of food on the table.

That little feeling in his chest was heating up again and, even though it wasn’t anger, Joel felt himself tense his jaw and clench his fists. Mateo and Colin took seats at the table without comment. When Tommy came into the room, he laughed.

“Since when do we eat like this?” He eyed Isabelle, who shook her head at him.

For some reason, Joel didn’t find it funny. “We don’t.”

He grabbed his plate, plopped a helping of food on top of it, and left the room.

The rest of you ate in silence, save for Mateo’s inappropriate noises of content every few bites. You focused on your food, methodically eating bite after bite and not daring to look up at any of the others. Save for the occasional glance from Tommy, none of them took the chance to look at you, either. But dinner was good, and warm and filling. So, you supposed all was well.

Joel scarfed down his food just as fast as always. He didn’t bother savoring the fresh meat, too busy focusing on the ramming of his heart against his chest.

…what the fuck was going on with him?

He hadn’t sat down at a table to eat dinner in years. In three and a half years, actually. Not since his 36th birthday. Not since he’d forgotten to buy the pancake mix.

But it wasn’t just that. Joel had spent enough time with his grief to know that feeling by now. There was something else. Something about that damn look in your eyes that he couldn’t identify. Something about the way the reverend had sneered and offered him the spoils of war. Something about how you didn’t protest when he all but threw you into Joel’s arms. It didn’t sit right.

He couldn’t pretend to be a man of God by any metric. The last time Joel had set foot in a church was when Sarah had been baptized as a baby, and that was mostly to put her grandparents’ minds at ease. Joel wasn’t exactly born again, but he had spent enough time in the pews as a child to know what church was supposed to be. And this simply wasn’t it. Joel had come across a lot of strange things in the past three years. Clickers, raiders, slavers. Cannibals, even. But he hadn’t come across something like this.

And you? Whoever you were, whatever this church had done to you? It dumbfounded him. He couldn’t let it go—and he downrighted hated that he couldn’t let it go.

His plate was empty, but the burning in his chest didn’t stop.

When Joel finally made his way back up to the ground floor, the table was clean and the group had disbanded around the place. Isabelle and Mateo shared the couch while Tommy snored softly in the recliner beside it. Colin laid claim to the bedroom on the first floor, shutting in early and vowing to shower in the morning. You weren’t there, which made Joel’s heart sink.

“Where is she?” He muttered. Mateo saw the look on his face and shook his head in reassurance.

“Taking a bath. We figured she should go first, and Tommy said something about her back?”

Joel ran his hand over his face. “Yeah. Gotta make sure she doesn’t need patchin’ up. I don’t think she was bleeding much.”

Isabelle grimaced. Her words fell on dead silence.

“What happened?”

And Joel felt like his dinner might come back up. Tommy had stopped snoring, but his eyes were still closed. Joel figured he was pretending to be asleep, which was probably for the best. He leaned against the wall where the fireplace was, letting the heat soak into his side.

“I don’t know how to explain it.” His eyes flashed to the floor and back up. “But I couldn’t leave her there. She probably doesn’t want to talk about it, either.”

“So… she’s with us now?” Mateo questioned. Joel nodded.

Isabelle leaned into her husband’s chest, a tired smile creeping at her lips.

“I guess we should learn her name, then.”

~~•~~

Joel couldn’t bring himself to appreciate the hot shower. There was more tension in his muscles than a few minutes of steam could work out, more grime and filth under his skin than on top of it. Still, the warm water felt nice on his face. The smell of shampoo was a nice contrast to the bar soap he’d been using to bathe in streams and lakes over the past months. He took his sweet time underneath the stream of hot water.

Tommy had laid claim to the couch to sleep for the night. Mateo was upstairs in one of the bedrooms, waiting for Isabelle to join him after she took her own bath. And again, Joel didn’t know where you were when he emerged from the bathroom, but there were only a handful of places to hole up in a house so small.

His knees creaked as he made his way up the narrow set of stairs to the second floor of the home—more accurately an insulated attic than an actual floor of its own. Still, there were two bedrooms atop the main level, and a snoring Mateo alerted Joel to which one was his own.

He opened the door slowly. The room was barely big enough for a chest of drawers and a bed, the latter of which was neatly made with fresh seats.

And which you were sitting on the edge of, arms crossed in your lap and wearing nothing but your briefs and the shirt that Joel had lent you. Again, your eyes were hazy as they met with Joel’s. But your expression wasn’t so vacant this time. It was anxious. And Joel felt himself blush as he stepped into the room.

“Having trouble sleeping?” He asked quietly. You gave a confused look. “I didn’t realize you were up here. I’ll go to the basement.”

You shook your head. “I was waiting for you.”

“You…what?” Joel absently closed the door behind him. His heart panged in his chest, then he remembered. “Oh. Your back.”

He moved closer to the bed and you frowned at him. “Isabelle bandaged it for me. She said it will heal just fine.”

“Good—that’s good,” he stuttered. Joel didn’t know what to do from there.

There was an awkwardly long silence, and then Joel shuddered when you spoke again.

“Where do you want me?”

He was confused. Heat seared in his throat. “What do you mean? I told you I would take the couch.”

“But that isn’t… right…” you trailed, struggling to explain. You didn’t understand why he didn’t understand. “I wouldn’t make you do that.”

“Uhm…okay?” Joel stared at you.

You repeated, “but where do you want me?”

He scoffed, dumbfounded. “I guess the couch.”

You closed your eyes, hands still folded in your lap. Joel got the feeling that he had done something wrong.

He heard himself stutter out, “Is there something I’m missing?”

“You killed my husband.” The blank expression was back. “I watched you shoot him.”

Joel’s face was on fire. His chest was on fire.

“I did.” He shifted his weight. “Are you gonna try to kill me, now?”

The look on your face was utterly offended.

“Why would I do that?”

Joel almost could have laughed.“Wh—I…I don’t know what you want from me.”

And then you nodded, and Joel’s whole body was on fire.

“I know what you want from me.”

Oh, God. He was burning alive. Joel could actually feel the flames on his skin. Your expression was deadpan.

You punctuated each word.

“Whatever you need, I’ll give it to you. So where do you want me?”

~~•~~ Next Part.

so uhhh. Yeah, second installment coming out pretty immediately. I know this is a weird religious cult fic with an oddly specific reader backstory but like… sue me?

I’m going to tag @romanarose just because I was an absolute menace to her about this fic. Also my guys @rmoonstoner @theaussiedragon

#Joel miller #the last of us #joel Miller x reader #tlou #tlou hbo #joel tlou #pedro pascal

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tagsecretsanta · 5 months

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From @gaviiadastra

From @gaviiadastra to @womble1

Hello to my wonderful gift recipient! I’m certain this was a gift to me; I got to write my all time favorites. Thank you! I hope you have a wonderful holiday and that you enjoy this story, and special thanks to TAGSS for organizing the exchange this year.

My prompts were:

1. FishTank (Virgil & Gordon) and woodland dappled light.

2. Alan having to deal with life outside the island.

3. Anything christmassy. Who am I kidding, I'll be happy with anything. 😁

___

Along Country Roads

Summary: a place can hold unique memories for different people - sometimes it’s the same one, just different.A/N: I promise, it’s a balanced level of sappiness and brother time with some light h/c. For exact warnings: references to depression and avalanche aftermath, in which I headcanon Virgil was present with Lucille. Gordon’s hydrofoil accident is always in the background. But there’s laughs too, aaaand I’ve continued to use crafty!FishTank as a plot device.

~*~

For as much as Scott fought the GDF for them to have a family holiday, the IR commander sure managed to make himself scarce, Virgil thought bitterly. It was the first time they’d managed to take International Rescue offline for a full week without there being an excuse of a serious injury prompting the decision – a fact that hurt his heart to think about. Still, Virgil awoke to a mostly empty household despite the homely comfort of coffee still warmed and the gentle brush of heat throughout the cabin from the controlled flames stoked in the fireplace.

But, no, that wasn’t necessarily fair to Scott either, and Virgil recognized his sleepiness taking control of his thoughts. He’d known his older brother would need to take some time in DC, and it wasn’t actually all that far to the Capitol. All would be well, as long as Scott’s business was concluded by Christmas, like he’d promised them. It still felt strange to be offline; not knowing what was happening in the rest of the world left an uncomfortable itch that ran through his blood, which was only eased with the knowledge that Eos was still watching, listening, and would alert them if they were needed.

The distance away was exactly why they'd chosen here in the first place - a remote location for the full step back and reset they needed after months of running on exhaustion.

These days, the mountain cabin and its surrounding property belonged to Virgil, even if he still thought of it as one of their family’s winter homes. It was only after their mother’s death that they started vacationing here in Appalachia. The hills of Shenandoah were different enough from the ski lodge, so he’d been able to form new cozy Christmas memories within its walls, comforted by the East Coast’s gentler, wiser mountains. The Blue Ridge Mountains to the east and the Alleghenies to the west and were among the oldest on the planet. They knew loss.

The ache in his soul then had been raw and bare, and certainly it had taken a few winters for him to heal enough to step foot into the snow. But he'd wept with the song of the ancients and walked stronger for it.

Home, through country roads, indeed.

That morning, though his heart rang with the distant echo of the constant activity of their childhood, he’d walked in instead on just Gordon cozied by the fireplace, wearing more layers than his usual attire and with a blanket thrown across his feet. Virgil recognized the hank of heathered blue and dusky grey, now spun into a usable yarn cake, that Gordon had selected for a pair of fingerless mittens for Scott. And it was that which had reminded Virgil of their brother’s planned departure that morning; Scott’s absence had given Gordon some privacy to finish his Christmas gift.

In lieu of a greeting, Gordon finessed his foot from beneath the blanket to waggle his toes at him, while continuing to crochet the stitches in the round. “Do NOT tell him how close I cut it.”

“Ugh, gross. Good morning to you too.” Virgil parked himself in the adjacent recliner, far enough from potentially stinky feet and near enough to a side table for him to comfortably drink his coffee while watching the flames flicker within earthen stone. “And I would never.” It was the curse of the homemade gift - always the best of intentions and never enough time.

The fireplace mantle he usually kept bare save for a large, framed painting of a creek running through a grove of autumn red oak trees. The brush strokes were ones he knew as well as his own. He’d studied from them, committed them to memory. And though their mother never knew the cabin home, the scene could’ve easily been something right outside their door, albeit in a different season. The deciduous trees were spectacular in the height of color-changing foliage, and he’d had the pleasure of seeing them many times in their travels as children for their father’s business, then again with International Rescue through which he’d seen many of the world’s marvels as well as its strifes.

When they arrived, the first thing they did together was pull out the old holiday decorations, and so for the first time in a long while the artwork shone from a podium of garland, the green of blue spruce with wine-red bows interspersed in the artificial branches.

“What are you thinking about?”

Virgil flicked his eyes away from the painting where Gordon had pulled his earbud away, his yarn work resting in his lap while he rotated his wrists to stretch.

“Mom,” Virgil answered, glancing back to the landscape captured in time.

“Oh, I always thought that was one of yours.”

Virgil shook his head. Coughed. “Where is everyone else off to?”

Gordon rambled in answer, but Virgil was versed enough to catch the key points: that Scott was, of course, in Washington; John was in the office on a conference call with his editor in New York; Grandma had gone into town for supplies – “I would’ve gone with her had I known” – and Alan was still asleep.

Virgil glanced down at his watch.

“He was up until four modding for one of Brandon’s livestreams,” Gordon defended on their youngest brother’s behalf.

“I’m going to pretend I know what that means.”

“It means let the kid sleep.”

Virgil knew he’d have to trust Gordon on that one. Besides, he wasn’t one to argue over late mornings; he’d done his fair share of staying up late to catch the sunless sky for this art project or that over the years. He nodded in acknowledgement and took another sip from his coffee as Gordon settled back into his project, replacing the ear bud.

It had been rare, in their childhood, for Virgil to enjoy spending time with Gordon like this, not because of the age difference between them though that certainly played a small part, but because they existed on different schedules. Even more so than his space-faring siblings, Virgil was like the moon to Gordon’s sun. His late nights, however, were not a product of scientific interest, but rather an overactive imagination and trauma-based insomnia, and later - as he got older - the artistic outlets to alleviate the worst parts of them both.

When they were younger, Gordon would be the first awake and the first to wake everyone else with his volume and exuberance. He didn’t really like Gordon for that back then, but it was also something that he didn’t realize he missed until it was gone. That was something that had changed drastically over the years between Gordon developing a discipline for a morning routine with his swimming and then his subsequent military experience. And though the vivacity came back after the accident, there was a time Gordon understood Virgil’s own mind more than Virgil ever wanted his younger brother to.

The Gordon he knew now was plenty more considerate than his younger self, among the most carefree spirits he knew despite the scars on his heart, and still the most resilient, most tenacious person he’d ever met.

They made a good team. His light was good for him.

“You’re thinking so hard, V.” Startled, Virgil tried to regain control of the remaining coffee in his mug so it wouldn’t spill. “Honestly,” Gordon added, laughing, “I can’t even focus on my stitches.”

Virgil watched as Gordon stabbed his hook in the top of the stitches from the row before, grabbed his working yarn with the hook, then struggled to wiggle it back through the loops. It budged eventually, but mid row, Gordon stopped and had to stretch again.

Virgil gently placed his drink down on a coaster to protect the wood of the side table. “You should take a break,” he suggested.

Gordon shook his head. “I have to finish these by tonight.”

“Scott’s out the whole day, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but - ”

“So come for a walk with me?” He glanced out the window. Outside it was a clear day, deceptive in how bright the sun was, dappled through the branches of the trees. “I’ve been meaning to check the markings along the trails. Make sure they are clear or if they need a new coat of paint. Come with me?”

Gordon hesitated, squinting at his progress. “You know the cold isn’t my thing.” Suddenly, frustration cut through his concentration as his brow furrowed. “My stitch count is off! For fu-”

“Ooookay, you definitely need a break.” Virgil hopped out of the recliner and pried the work out of a grumbling Gordon’s hands before he could unravel the whole thing unnecessarily, gently placing the hook, yarn, and partly-finished mitt on the adjacent table. “Come on. The air will be good for you. It doesn’t have to be for long, and we’ll be walking the whole way, which’ll help with the cold.”

“And walking for the whole time?” he pressed, eyeing Virgil warily, like he knew better in trusting Virgil’s word when it came to the wonders of natural beauty. He had to hand that one to Gordon; there was some truth to that lack of faith.

“For the whole time,” Virgil promised. “I won’t even bring a sketchpad, scout’s honor.”

“You weren’t ever a scout,” Gordon countered.

“Still.” Virgil beamed.

~*~

They met back in the lounge after Gordon changed and located a hoodie to slide over his long sleeve, and after Virgil had poked his head in the office to check on John, realized he was still on his call, then slid a note for him under the door. He handed Gordon his sherpa-lined puffer jacket, then donned his own hooded flannel with fleece interior. They each had their own preferences for winter accessories – so Gordon grabbed his pair of grey fingerless mitts and a matching knit hat from the closet, while Virgil wrapped a wide scarf in ivory white loosely around his neck.

Virgil’s core body temperature always ran a bit warmer than his siblings’. There had been many a winter growing up with one (or both) of the terrible two tucked into his side.

With the additional layers on, Virgil’s skin crawled with the heat from inside the cabin stifling him, so he didn’t linger in the entryway while Gordon tied up his hiking boots. Outside in the crisp chill he breathed deeply, his nose finding the gentle tickle of pine and woodchips, before he exhaled a cloud of breath that warmed his cheeks. He stepped down from the porch, and the frozen patches of amber grass and earth crunched under the heel of his boot.

“Ugh, it’s so cold out here!” Gordon exclaimed in the clamor of him joining Virgil in the great outdoors. “My hands are going to get so dry.”

Virgil fondly rolled his eyes and started to reach for the top of Gordon’s head before he remembered he would be blocked by the hat. “That’s what hand lotion is for,” he said instead, further loosening the knot of his scarf.

From the front porch, the road curved past a line of bare trees before it disappeared down the mountain. The drive there was treacherous enough it sat comfortably on Scott’s favorites list between testing hot sauces and bungee jumping. Despite the drop close to the road, deceptive with the blanket of trees, Virgil trusted his older brother behind the wheel. The cabin was only midway up the mountain, and it really was only one large stretch of hill that was particularly touch and go. Scott was plenty capable, and the lack of land rover was an indicator that Scott had driven himself into the nation’s Capitol. He might be back a little later than expected, but Scott thrived in his time behind the wheel. Relaxed even. Those hours to decompress would be beneficial for him – plenty of time to mentally leave work behind so he could fully and completely join the family for the holiday.

“So, up or down?”

Gordon, his covered hands tucked into his jacket pockets, twisted toward him then glanced at the two paths as he shifted onto toes to stretch his back. With a sigh, “Let’s get uphill over with. As long as you promise not to linger at the look out.” Virgil held his hands up, palms out, to prove he was without his art supplies as promised.

As they walked, Gordon excitedly shared the latest on his co-written article for Marine Science Daily, which Virgil knew was the exact reason Gordon’s Christmas project plans had been derailed. He nodded along at the appropriate talking points, having read the article but always more engaged when hearing it from the aquanaut directly. Meanwhile, Gordon subconsciously kept moving closer to Virgil’s side. Eventually Virgil untied the scarf completely, letting its length fall unsecured down the front of his jacket. Like a tie at the end of a long, wild night. Not that he would ever admit to having those. What happened at college stayed at college.

“Do you know my favorite Christmas?” Gordon asked, pulling Virgil from his fond memories of theater afterparties and post-concert celebrations. But Gordon hadn’t waited for Virgil to answer, his eyes unusually bright against the reddening of his cheeks with the bite of the wind. “I used to hate the cabin when we first started coming here. I was too young to remember – uhh – before, but I remember how it felt against all that change and you were so different and always so sad all the time. The first time it snowed, I remember you running back inside like it burned you, and Scott ran in after, leaving John to help Al and I with our snowman.”

The lump in Virgil’s throat grew.

“But then one year, it actually snowed on the holiday. A for real white Christmas! And I remember thinking – this is it, this is what we’ve been coming here for. It wasn’t a massive snow; just enough to cover the grass – definitely not enough for a snowman, but we made our fun anyway. I had just made the perfect snowball out of what little was there. And any moment, you would come join us. I just knew it. And then I saw you watching us from the window, and it didn’t look like you were going to come.

“It was just enough time distracted for John to launch his freezing projectile at me. He hit me square in the face and I dropped my perfect snowball. And as I cleared the snow off my face, I caught you actually laughing about the snow. You did eventually come out that Christmas. Scott encouraged you to sit with him on the porch stoop first, and then you walked out on your own. I know you leaned a lot on Scott in those days, but there was just something about that laugh – it made me feel like I helped you take those steps, even if I wasn’t the one at your elbow to keep you steady.”

Virgil swallowed hard. He remembered that year, and Gordon had only been a child. “You did plenty.”

Their breaths expelled in little huffs as they continued the climb, where Virgil noticed, as he figured might be the case, certain spots where the red paint had faded on the trees. It could use a refresh to make sure the trails were clearly marked. If he didn’t get to it this season, he’d be sure to prepare for next time he visited his cabin. Beside him, Gordon trampled over fallen branches, grumbling about the temperature between curse words, especially as they reached what had seemed like the top of the last hill only to see another awaiting them.

Virgil chuckled as he waited for them both to catch their breath at the top of the hill before they continued to the lookout just a few more steps up the final hill. His mountain was not among the tallest nor the smallest of the range, and so the top was a vision of both the valley below and the neighboring peaks. He loved the view; when it was cold enough, the mountains were sometimes snowcapped, the trees blanketed in white as soft as the cumulus through which he’d often soared.

So far, the sky had yet to open. But, oh, how she teased. Nimbostratus in neutral grey with a cobalt undertone approaching from the east, mottling the sunlight.

Beside him, Gordon took advantage of the flatter land and Virgil’s brief examination of the sky to stretch. Virgil recognized the movements in his periphery, and when he glanced back over, Gordon’s hands were placed purposefully on the small of his back as he twisted both directions.

The sway of the wind had been absent of Gordon’s familiar idle chatter for a while, he realized, and there was an unusual balance to his stance that hinted at stiffness in his joints.

“Are you okay?”

Gordon didn’t answer, but rather smirked at him and gestured with a flourish for Virgil to lead the way.

Virgil was barely two steps forward when he felt a weight launch onto his back. Squid arms quickly slung around his neck, squeezing, and Virgil leaned forward, his hands instinctively moving to catch his younger sibling before he fell off his back.

“Help me, Virgil-Wan Kenobi. You’re my only hope!”

“Oh my GOD,” Virgil grunted, already shifting him into a better position. “You’re fine.”

“I am, mostly,” Gordon laughed at the back of his head. “Carry me anyway.”

An arm around his neck loosened as Gordon lifted it to point one finger onward up the mountain.

“Don’t you dare say it.”

“I’m going to say it.”

“Gord-!”

“Thunderbros are go!” His laughter echoed, past tree and stream and along the paths they’d traveled.

Virgil couldn’t let him go if he tried.

He carried Gordon piggyback the rest of the way, a short sprint upward that had his calves straining, but the ache was minor compared to some of the training they did at Grand Roca. Only once they reached the lookout did Gordon hop down, giggling, while Virgil worked on calming his heart rate.

“Thanks!” Gordon skipped past him.

Virgil was tempted to throw something. In fact…

He tugged his scarf the rest of the way off his neck, scrunched it into a ball, and sent it sailing at the back of Gordon’s head. It unfurled some, but Gordon hadn’t gotten too far ahead, so he definitely felt it hit before the rest of it dropped to the ground.

“That’s no way to treat your accessories. I’m offended.” Gordon snorted. He retrieved the scarf, gave it a shake that sent a few leaves in Virgil’s direction, and then wrapped it around his own neck. “You don’t get to have this back now.”

Feeling light despite the burn in his legs, excited to witness the lookout once again, and without any real anger towards his brother’s antics, Virgil joined him at the bench nearer the view and positioned safely away from the edge. He hadn’t known how to respond to his brother’s sudden introspection about their childhood, though his own version of the memory lingered with him.

He hadn’t known that year mattered so much to Gordon. Nor was he able to recall the events leading up to him walking in the snow. Those details were fuzzy for him, but he remembered the warmth. He remembered the laughter. He should’ve realized the mark his sadness had left on his family, and before he could think any further about it, Virgil was apologizing. For dragging Gordon out in the cold, for all the years he couldn’t help the littles with their snowmen, for not doing more to make sure they had the Christmases they deserved without the weight of loss.

“Sorry? Whatever do you need to apologize for?” Gordon interrupted. He shook his head. “No, Virgil. Don’t do that.” He stared out to the mountainscape, his lips thin, as slowly he raised his palm to catch the first snowflakes in the center of his hand. One, two, then they melted into the knit fabric. “I don’t think I ever thanked you.”

Virgil gaped at him. “For what?”

Gordon lifted his gaze from his clenched fist to meet Virgil’s baffled expression, fiery resolve softened into humility. “I told myself, if Virgil could learn to re-love the snow – I don’t think you understand how important that was for me to keep carrying forward. I know I can get so stuck in my own head sometimes, but your support has always been incredibly grounding. You’re like… having a sturdy shore to return to for when the tide ebbs too far. I can’t imagine having another co-pilot as good for me as you are.”

It was too much.

His own words, his own thoughts about Gordon, mirrored back to him, about him.

“Well,” he rasped, clearing his throat of the overwhelm of emotion, “we are Tracy’s after all.” It didn’t say nearly enough, but it also said exactly what it needed to. Perseverance ran through their blood, after all, and they’d both been through the unimaginable.

Virgil turned his head towards the sky, the feather fall of snow catching in his lashes, and in his hair, and on his flannel.

“It’s also entirely your fault my project’s not finished.”

“My fault?”

“You promised no lingering for art purposes, and I definitely heard a whispered phthalo earlier.”

“Cobalt,” he corrected.

“Same thing.”

“It’s not at all -”

“Soooo, do you think John’s done his meeting yet? Maybe he’ll make us hot chocolate?” Gordon hopped off the bench, clapped his hands together resolutely, and started walking back towards the trail and away from Virgil’s disputes.

“Gordon! They aren’t the same color. They don’t even sound the same!”

Smiling, Virgil had no choice but to follow.

#thunderbirds are go #tag team secret santa #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction

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space-mermaid-writing · 1 year

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The witchling and the god [Loki x Witch!Reader] Chapter 21

Summary: The Avengers were looking for someone to help Loki fit in with the team. To become socially acceptable, so to speak. He had been given the choice of sitting in a cell in Asgard or serving some sort of community service probation on Midgard. The Avengers and Shield both felt that as long as Loki was on Earth, he should be under supervision. This is now your job. Why? Because you’re a witch. You’re not sure why this qualifies you, but here you are, giving it a shot. What could possibly go wrong?

Tags: Witch!Reader, Magic, Witches, slow burn, everybody lives in the tower, character development, Loki‘s redemption, Stephen Strange is a friend, Loki and Stephen are frenemies, Tony Stark is a good bro, kids love Loki, Tony has stupid nicknames for everybody, eventual smut

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Read it on AO3 | Previous | Next

Chapter’s Note: Everything goes down. But not the way you think it will... Beta by @zaria-04

Chapter 21: The cards were right

You're nervous. You keep telling yourself that the Avengers are the most powerful people in this world and that whatever would happen, they could handle it. Thor and Loki were even literally gods.

Still, your premonition remains. The cards never lie.

You try to distract yourself, working in your cottage, visiting Yvette and taking a delivery to Eloise, who asks about Loki. You explain to her that he's gone away for some time for work.

"What a busy young man," she comments.

With all this going on, you find it hard to concentrate. You keep glancing at your phone to see if you've gotten a new text. But there are no alarming news. The cleanup is going well, the dam was repaired and stabilized in time before a bigger disaster than the hurricane hit.

Originally, a week had been scheduled for the mission. In the end, the Avengers stay for ten days. There are sixty-five injured, eight of them life-threatening, eleven dead, and four people remain missing.

As soon as access to the buried site was cleared, reporters had gone there and for a while photos and videos of the Avengers flooded the media day and night. It’s good press.

You breathe a sigh of relief when Jarvis reports that the Quinjet has landed on the roof. They had announced their return ahead of time and Pepper had ordered fast food for everyone. Burgers and fries pile up on the large table in the lounge and as promised you had baked a tray of brownies.

She waits with you for the men to return and gives you a sympathetic look as she watches you nervously pace back and forth between the table and the kitchen.

"No matter how many missions he's done or how harmless it is, I'm a little scared for Tony every time," she confesses to you.

You give her a grateful smile, even though it's not the reason for your unease. At least not completely. But you don't correct her, because at that moment the door from the elevator opens and the heroes emerge.

They all look worn out, tired and dirty. It had been exhausting for them, both physically and mentally. Still, they are happy to see the both of you and even happier to see the food on the table.

You spot Peter Parker walking alongside Loki. "That was very cool. Like, super chill of you," the boy beams at him.

"You would be surprised about how chill I am", deadpuns the Asgardian, not really listening to him. His gaze is on you and a smile spreads across his lips. A golden glow passes over his body and in the next moment his clothes are clean and he looks like he's fresh out of the egg.

You gape at the banter of the two of them. The others don't seem to find anything strange about it. You wonder what the hell happened in Appalachia.

"Peter taught me about the memes and the grapes", Loki explains to you.

"It's Vines", the boy corrects him.

"Yes, those too."

Amused, you give him a kiss on the cheek, but that's not enough of a greeting for him. He puts his hand on the back of your neck and steals a real kiss.

There are whistles from the Avengers, which you ignore. "Welcome back", you breathe, "There's food waiting for you."

"You're the best." Smiling, Loki puts his arm around you and steps alongside with you to the table where the others have already poured over the food. You sit down at two empty seats, and Loki pulls the tray of brownies toward him possessively. You smirk at that, treating yourself to a burger.

"You did good work", Pepper praises the group. "The press loved you. You guys were all over the morning news every single day."

Tony takes a bite of his burger and responds with his mouth full so you can barely hear him, "Of course. We didn't want you ladies to forget our pretty faces.

Pepper rolls her eyes, but smiles. She is used to Tony's antics and she seems to secretly like it. She must, or she wouldn't be able to stay by his side for so long.

You get up and go to the kitchen to get more drinks. There are still some sodas cold in the fridge, which Jarvis always orders in stock. And while you're here, you also look in the cabinets for napkins, because your fingers are all greasy from the burgers.

"Your sister is calling", Loki calls from the lounge. You left your phone on the table.

"I’m back in a second. You talk to her." You find the napkins in a drawer and immediately grab a whole stack for the others. "Jarvis, do we have any beer left?" you ask the A.I. meanwhile.

"Not on this floor. Should I have some brought up, Miss-"

"Witchling." Loki stands in the doorway, his look so serious it makes you queasy. In his hand, he holds your phone, which he hands to you.

"Bell?" you ask, your voice is all agitated.

"Thank the gods you’re there.” You have never heard your sister so wound up. “I think something happened to Gabe. He was supposed to come by today, but he didn't show up. At first I thought he just forgot, but he's not answering his phone." She takes a deep breath. "And the door to his place isn't working," she adds a little more quietly. "I have a bad feeling."

At her words, a dark foreboding comes over you, grabs you by the shoulders and makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You have to think of your cards.

Quite dazed, you notice your sister calling your name. She sounds quite distant, and not just because she's on another continent.

"I'll meet you there," you promise, “five minutes."

"Okay."

You hang up and hurry out of the kitchen, Loki close on your heels. The drinks and napkins are forgotten. The Avengers look up as you shoot past them, ignoring them.

"Sabrina?" calls Tony after you, but you're already in the elevator, pushing the button down. Gabriel lives in Canada, it's too far away for any means of transportation. If your sister's portal doesn't work, it means that it must be destroyed on Gabriel's side. The only way to get to him that fast is through a ritual circle. And for that you need to go to your room. There you have the necessary components.

Your phone rings again and you automatically pick it up. "Bell?"

"What happened, Sabrina?" It's not your sister's concerned voice, but Tony's.

"Family emergency," you reply curtly as you wonder if the elevators in this tower have always been this slow. It feels like an eternity for the doors to open with a 'bing'.

"Do you need backup?"

"I don't know. I'll be in touch." You don't have time to dwell on Tony and hang up again, running down the hall. Loki appears at your side, but you can't tell if he was with you the whole way or just teleported to you.

"What did your sister say?" he asks you without slowing you down.

"Something happened to Gabriel." Your focus is not on speaking, but on opening your door. In your mind, you're already going over the next steps. "I need to get there."

You hurry to the table in your room and rummage in the drawers for a Sharpie. Chalk wouldn't hold up on the floor here. Luckily the floor is smooth and not covered by a carpet. That's one of the worst bases for circle magic.

You remove the cap of the permanent marker and start drawing. The symbols and signs are familiar to you and you work almost automatically with your muscle memory. The only variables that need to be changed are your destination, but you have already visited your brother a few times in Canada and the runes are also built into your door portal.

Loki stands a bit away from you, watching your actions.

"There's a bag in that closet over there that I need," you instruct him as you double check your work. The slightest mistake can get you stuck in a space between. Or your body being torn apart. "Bottom shelf on the right."

The Asgardian finds it easily and hands it to you. It's an emergency bag where you have everything important for first aid. You also have one in your cottage and only recently decided to store one here in the compound. Although the tower is equipped with everything important, you prefer to trust in your own abilities. And at this moment you are glad that you have been so prescient.

"Do you want me to stay here?" Loki asks you as you enter the circle.

"I don’t know… I can't make a decision right now… step in or stay outside." Your voice is harsh, but your eyes are apologetic. All you care about is your brother. The dull feeling in your chest becomes stronger and stronger, you can't shake off the thought of immense danger.

Loki steps into the circle and you take his hands. You take a deep breath before you begin to mutter the incantation, careful not to forget a syllable despite your panic. Under your words, the circle begins to glow. A breeze comes up, the smell of ashes in the air. Briefly, your vision is obscured by a fog, then it clears and you stand in a suburban street.

Seven minutes have passed since Elizabeth's call.

You know the area, having visited Gabriel here a few times. It's a quiet suburb, made up mostly of bungalow homes. But today there is chaos: loud sirens from an ambulance and the sirens of approaching fire fighters. Stunned, you stand in the middle of the street and stare at Gabriel's house, which is on fire. People are in the street, paramedics who have just arrived and concerned neighbors who have stepped out of their homes.

This can't be happening. You hope this is just a bad dream you're about to wake up from. Not your little brother.

Your feet start moving. Elizabeth is nowhere to be seen. She should have been faster than you, but maybe she tried again to get the portal door to use.

A paramedic steps into your path. "Miss, please stand back," he instructs you. "This is not saf-…" You silence him with the help of a spell and push past him. You don't have time for that.

During all this, you weren't paying attention to Loki. All you can think about is your little brother. So you don't notice the Asgardian canceling your spell. Then he grabs you by the wrist and pulls you along with him.

"Loki, what are you doing?" you complain, trying to tear yourself away from him, but he's stronger than you.

"This way." He makes a beeline for the vehicles and covered by them you slip unnoticed into the garden behind the house. There, too, you see the black smoke rising through the broken windows. But the flames are less intense here.

You know that the back patio door is always locked, but it wouldn't be hard for you to magically open it. You have to try. If Gabriel is in there, you have to get him out!

Loki's hand is still holding you as you try to move in the direction of the house.

"Let go of me!" you yell at him.

"You won't survive the fire."

"I have to try." You just about lash out, but Loki puts his arm around your waist and presses you close to his body. His grip is strong. "Gabe!" Your voice is high and tears well up in your eyes. But you can do nothing but watch the flames helplessly. "Gabriel!"

There's a loud crash in the house as something collapses and you wince in shock.

"Please," you breathe softly as your voice betrays you. "Not another one! Not Gabe."

________________________________________

(Ironically, you weren't wrong about this meme....)

Did I mention that Gabriel is my favorite side character in this story?

Tag List: @lokisgoodgirl @lokixryss @itsybitchylittlewitchy @yokshi-unbeliebubble @fictional-hooman @elennair @all-envy-suyu @purplekitten30 @elisadmaggiore @baebeepeach @ceo-of-stfu @moonlightreader649 @ronipiamka @fluffybunnyu @ninjarose23 @ozymdias @huntress-artemiss @thedistractedagglomeration @rosaline-black @sofi786 @moonlightreader649 @paetonnn @eldriidd @r4inlov3r @eleniblue @eleniblue @maeisonline @marvel-love24 @sinsandguilt @kalinaselennespeaks @ohtellmelove @eleniblue @msrawog @hyojin-2579 @just-someone11 @marygoddessofmischief

#loki x y/n #Loki x reader #loki layfeyson x you #loki laufesyon x reader #Loki x you #imagine loki #the witchling and the god #imagine marvel #mcu prompt #loki odison x reader #marvel x reader #mcu x reader #loki fanfction #slow burn #loki odinson #loki laufeyson

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canisitsnotlupus · 2 years

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Someone on FB posted a retort to the "good dogs" message about how we're asking too much from dogs, they weren't bred for that, etc. It's a load of bullshit. One of their points is that "we focused on work" and... again.. bullshit. A working BC, a breed literally developed HAND IN HAND WITH HERDING TRIALS, needs to be able to walk through a crowd without losing its shit. Needs to be able to be around dogs without being a risk. Needs to be calm and level headed with stock, with strangers, with strange dogs. And yet the majority of BCs are fucking batshit. A working retriever needs to be able to sit still for *hours*. Needs to be a family dog in the off season. Most "old timey" retriever people take their dogs everywhere; maybe not inside, the dog sits in the truck, either the bed or the cab, and waits. It goes to greet the kids getting off the bus, it barks at strangers and shuts up when told. It, too, can walk through crowds, accept strangers and strange dogs: goldens are what I know best, but literally a breed made for the elite. Meant to be shown off, meant to work with other dogs, meant to work around strangers. They're *meant* to be stable, historically. (Flat-coats, given their relation to goldens, would fall into this; on the other hand, Chessies were also guard dogs, so they're *meant* to be stranger danger dogs that are fuck around, find out) A hound is meant to work tightly with other hounds. Most hounds run in packs, or came from packhounds. They're meant to work with strangers - 20 or so horses and riders to do fox hunts, or men on foot to chase down their hounds in the middle of the night when something was treed. Coonhounds are from foxhounds. They're meant to be stranger friendly, dog friendly, pack friendly, etc. And you know what? Given they've not until very recently been hit with the conformation bug, MOST ARE. And in the off season, these are dogs meant to be safe to be around the hunter's kids. Safe for the KID to go out to a pack of 10+ hound and toss scraps and kibbles without danger. I can't speak on other dog breed's histories. I don't know them that well. But largely, it is bullshit to say 'dogs were bred for work, not for being good dogs (i.e. friendly in public, safe, nonreactive, etc.)' It is bullshit. Even if you remove 'our grandparents took dogs into woolworth's' and whatever else, most working dogs were ALWAYS meant to be sane and safe for strangers and other dogs... of course, again, barring breeds bred for guarding/aggression/etc. purposely. People in older times were not alone. They had communities. They had people coming over to help with the harvest, to help with the sheep, to hunt together, to go to the market, etc. And when you live in a fucking community, you have community safe dogs. Stop blaming owners for "expecting too much" out of their dogs because they want a pet that can do things in public safely and start looking at breeders that aren't breeding stable stock.

Also, we literally JUST, the last seventy or so years, started to drift from the 'community-focused' living way. Dogs were bred up until that point to be community-focused, as well: accepting of people coming over for harvesting, of hunting with another random dog, etc. Dogs that did not do well in community focus were not dogs kept (and usually, culled in some manner.)

Really, if you want to look at this topic, PLEASE look at the dogs of Appalachia. Not just the Redbones, etc. The Carolina red mutts, the random mixy mix born on a neighbor's porch. These are dogs that STILL live in a community-focused environment and they're far more safer than walking in a park in my city of 50k where other dogs are.

#wild rambles

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a-mustard-seed · 3 months

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Poem — this was a poem I wrote for an assignment. The task was to write a personal version of George Ella Lyon’s poem, Where I’m From. I used some of her formatting, but tried to make it more of my own. This poem is primarily focused on my childhood spent in Appalachia, which many people close to me don’t know about because I’ve been embarrassed of my heritage for a long time. If you have any questions about it, please ask!!

Up the Long Dirt Road, Where I’m From

I am from pine-covered hills and threadbare boots, from fiddles and azaleas. Where rivers run rich with brook trout and minnows, little legs surrounded by pebbles and broken glass. I am from whiskey pacifiers and sweet apple dumplings, from venison suppers and red plaid tablecloths. I’m from Mama’s bitter coffee that shaped my tongue and trickles through my veins.

I am from Pew Bibles and weighted Stoles, from god-fearing chopped blonde curls. Where road signs preach and billboards shame, wooden posts breaking under their pressure. I am from Little Liberty and train tracks, from graffiti crosses and neon slurs. I’m from the carpenter’s wood that carved my limbs and left splinters in my palms.

I am from lingering marijuana, from bonfire perfume and Jack Daniel’s breath. Where pans shatter homes and diesel growls at children, sore bare feet running alone in the night and robins stopping to greet them. I am from beer can targets and stick beatings, from moldy bean bags and rotted food. I’m from bedtime war stories and shoe box memories that left scars on my ears and scrapes on my skull.

In a cabin by the pond, just up a makeshift road, is a hidden tongue and an embarrassing voice. The sound of intelligent ignorance and a banjo’s cries, flatfoot stomps and disappearing laughter. Where I’m from, we learn to be silently stupid and camouflaged by the trees.

#poetsandwriters #poets on tumblr #poetry #poem #appalachia #religious trauma #appalachian culture #writers on tumblr #writing #original poem #religion #religious imagery #appalachain gothic #southern gothic

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tanlotts · 1 year

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Greetings from Appalachia! 🐊💚

Drew my Fallout 76 vault dweller OC, she loves visiting all of the Appalachian theme parks when it’s hot outside. And yes, she also NEVER takes off her Russian ushanka hat, even if the weather is melting hot (she’s gotta keep the aesthetic Russian, especially if she’s wearing an American flag bathing suit that she found while scavenging).

#wavy willards is so cool #i love visiting this location when I play #minus the scorched #this is so giving fallout Appalachia vibes and I’m loving it #i love this oc #fallout 76 #fallout oc #angelina #fallout #fallout art #fallout things

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andromedaexists · 10 months

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The Binding of Bloom Mountain || Siggy Chambers

★★★★★

TW: HORROR

omg you guys I genuinely can't think of anymore triggers on this holy shit abut also WHAT THE FUCK

Where do I start? Right here:

This book feels like home.

That's right, this book that I had no idea existed until last month feels like home to me. I wish I could rate it 6 stars, it's re-framing my rating system in my head. It is 11pm a night, hours past my bed time, and I am going to tell you everything I can about this book.

This is an Appalachian Folk Horror. A genre I had no idea existed and now I need more of it. From the very beginning I felt peace through the descriptions. The book is set in Virginia, but it rings true of northern West Virginia and southern Ohio Appalachia too.

I argued against Celeste all the way through the book. There are just certain things you learn being raised in the boonies. Things such as NO DON'T GO OUT TO GREET AN UNKNOWN CREATURE THAT BECKONING YOU TO THE WOODS and RUN BITCH WTF

From the beginning you can tell that Celeste isn't going to follow those tried and true rules, she has something against the small rural town of Milton (that doesn't surprise me, she's living in DC when we meet her)

I also just love the inclusion of natural remedies in the book. Again, it makes it feel like home. I can't tell you the amount of natural remedies and things that people would consider witchcraft in the day and age that I was raised on. We take care of nature and she will take care of us, after all

And the horror element was so perfectly executed! It wasn't super gore heavy or really super horror heavy, but the horror that was in here really hit home for me. It was shadows in the forest and always being watched and creatures that just Aren't Right. I love it

This book changed me just as fundamentally as Angels Before Man did, but in a wholly different way.

There aren't many quotes that I want to pull out of this story, just two really:

the spirit wanted something to tend, something to watch grow and thrive, something to love. And it wanted to feel that love in return.

"The trees knew I was coming..." "More than that, Celeste. They were calling you home."

Okay, now that that's over let's get into the spoiler heavy stuff:

OH MY GOD ABRAM WAS HER GRANDFATHER!!!! I literally messaged Doom like 3 lines before that reveal because that's when I put it together holy shit it's sooo good!!!

And the way that literally everything is foreshadowed:

Ellie being shown as soon as Celeste enters Milton

Celeste being told that she might meet something worse up there and then being hunted for sport by her grandpappy

All the foreshadowing about how Celeste is not only a good fit to do the binding, but The Fit (because she has the blood and magic of one of the mountains guardians pumping through her)

AAAAA I'm SCREAMING

I cannot wait for the sequel to this book omg Doom you better give me that sequel holy shit

This is definitely being added to the recommendation shelf. Holy shit.

I am planning on writing little things like this every time I read a book just to help me keep track of them. If I don’t write down my opinions and thoughts right away I am liable to forget them. I am hesitant to call these a review because i’m really just not comfy with that lol I will do my best to make sure I appropriately tag and warn about topics. If I miss any please let me know!

#andi reads #book reviews #booklr #bookblr #lgbt books #queer books #queer book directory #the binding of bloom mountain #siggy chambers #doominique #appalachian folk horror

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ta-creech · 8 months

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Speaking of Halloween Specials!

Old Gods of Appalachia does one every year and they never disappoint. Never, not once. My favorite is still the first one I heard, Bumper Crop.

Since I was little, every year, without fail, I've had a pumpkin. I wouldn't be able to carve it into a Jack O Lantern every year, but damn it, I got that pumpkin. Sometimes it was a tiny thing (and I'd take it with me everywhere), and some years it was a big hulking beast of a thing. Mutant sized. I couldn't carrying those big bastards around, but I would greet those ones everyday I got home from school, on my way out the door, whenever I crossed its path.

Halloween is pumpkins and ravens and scarecrows. It's the dark night and the sickle of a bright crescent moon. Wood smoke and leaf rot underfoot as I went outside to play and hunt my sister and breathe deep of a mystery I was only learning to recognize, nevermind understand.

I had forgotten, for the last few years, what Halloween felt like. My teenager knows it and he tried to draw me back in, show me what I had lost. Y'all know how adulting is though. Bills to pay, obligations, responsibilities. Duty. But then I found OGoA and the Bumper Crop episode and it was such a huge punch to the gut. Reminded me of all the reasons why I love this season. So, if you lost that feeling, maybe give it a listen. In fact, I'm so determined not to lost that connection to Halloween again, it's now a permanent day off in my year where I take very few says off for anything short of an emergency.

#halloween #amwriting #old gods of appalachia #fandom

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canarygaywriting · 2 years

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[ID: A small black and white banner with lightning in the background. The large text says "Blackburn". The small text says "The Doctor Who Electrifies The Dead." End ID]

WIP Intro (#wip: blackburn)

Genre: Science Fiction, Southern Gothic

Series: Divine Bodies Duology (Book 1)

Premise:

Doctor Blackburn, an apathetic apothecary owner by day, moonlights as a scientist by night in order to pursue their theory that the right amount of electricity has the power to bring the dead back to life. Meanwhile, its small town of Heavenly Hollow is on guard when Lysander Willworth, a friendly doctor from across the ocean, enters its bounds.

Both without a friend in the world, the two form a connection steeped in familiarity, a connection severed after the townspeople stone Lysander to death in the streets for suspected wrongdoings. Having been powerless to stop them, Doctor takes the power back in the only way they know how: by bringing Lysander back to life

Setting:

The story takes place in late 1800s Georgia in/near the bottom of Appalachia. The setting for the first act and a portion of the third is Heavenly Hollow, a small town with a population of less than a hundred. It's the town Doctor's lived in all their life, and they've been around the townsfolk long enough to know that it's anything but heavenly.

Tropes and Themes:

Mad Scientists

Reanimation

Morally Grey Characters

Negative Character Arcs

"Is it really ethical to play God?"

Revenge Plots

Found Family

Seemingly Nice Small Town With Dark Secrets

Queer Person In A Conservative Town

Nonbinary x Nonbinary Slow-Burn Romance

Trans Bodies As Monstrous (the way society sees them) vs Trans Bodies As Divine/Angelic

Just Trans Bodies In General, Really

Making The World A Better Place (and how to go about it)

Content Warnings (at least the ones I know of for now/list might be updated):

Animal Death (and reanimation)

Transphobia/Misgendering

Religious Themes and Symbolism

Surgery/Genitals (Non-Sexual)

Murder

Corpse Description

Ableism

Characters:

Doctor Blackburn:

They/It . Nonbinary (Maverique) . Enbian

Doctor is the town's apothecary and the only one with sufficient medical knowledge. After an illness wiped out most of Heavenly Hollow's population, they took it upon themself to open the town's only apothecary, providing a much needed service.

This doesn't stop it from being disliked, however. It's apathetic about being the town outcast, and in fact, it doesn't mind very much, as being left alone has given it more time to devote to its experiments, working on the first step to helping humankind defeat death forever.

Deep down, however, they feel a very profound sense of loneliness, and even deeper down, buried under all the apathy and pain is rage, and the more they're exposed to all the corruption in the world, the more it bubbles to the surface.

Lysander Willworth:

They/Them . Nonbinary (Maverique) . Enbian

Lysander is a fish out of water. Having arrived from England after a falling-out with their father over some...less than legal surgical procedures and experiments, they decided to travel to America, a country where nobody knows their name.

Their arrival in Heavenly Hollow, however, feels less than welcoming, since while the townsfolk seem friendly on the outside, something about them just doesn't feel right. Perhaps it's the whispering behind their back or the feeling they're being watched. Or perhaps it's simply just paranoia combined with the fear and isolation of being so far from home.

Regardless, they try to keep their spirits up, politely greeting and conversing with the townsfolk as if nothing is wrong. But when they're told to stay away from the town apothecary, they can't help but feel like they've found someone who just might understand them.

Angel Vidal:

Shey/Shem . Transfeminine Nonbinary (Demiwoman) . Lesbian

Angel has always been a naturally adventurous spirit, but the dread of being gendered as a man has turned shem into a recluse. Fortunately, it's also given shem more time to work on various inventions, usually designed to help improve the inn sheir father runs.

The only time shey really feels shey can be shemself is when shey sneaks out to a seedy bar in town for the express purpose of wearing dresses and embracing the femininity shey knows shey has, but can't express anywhere else.

Despite being a recluse, being locked inside most of the time drives shem mad, and when a new client at the inn offers shem an opportunity for a change of sex, shey almost believes it too good to be true. Almost.

Heart Willworth-Blackburn:

Zie/Zir . Nonbinary (Maverique) . Pansexual

Heart is a creature created by a collaborative effort from Doctor and Lysander. Zie was created in an attempt to figure out what a human with a distinct sex (other than internal and external genitalia) might look and function like. Zie's hasn't developed much of a personality, though zie's able to pick up on information really quickly.

And that's it for the introduction! It's probably not surprising to find that this book contains quite a few homages to Frankenstein, including the title itself. Anyway, I don't know how to end things, so I'm just gonna say bye.

#wip intro #writeblr #writblr #writers on tumblr #queer writers #writer community

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3stabsandapancake · 1 year

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The Intro....

Greetings!

Well, this will be my umpteenth attempt at having a blog/podcast so I guess we will see if it sticks this time!

I know you are probably wondering about the name “3 Stabs and a Pancake”. Well, it’s the title of one of my poems from last year. It was based on a day when I woke up and got hit with a few different things that were going to set the mood for the day, in a bad way before I even had breakfast. So, I got served some bad news and a pancake for breakfast.

The poem?

Awake not ten minutes

A heavy depression sets in

Anger’s not far behind

Confusion is just ahead

All of this before breakfast

3 stabs and a pancake

That’s how my day begins

26 JUL 21

So, there you are. Lol.

Now, I’m not going to be completely grammatically correct in this series, I’m just going to speak like I would if I was hanging out in person with my friends. So, all of you spell checkers can just stop before they get started lol.

What is this blog going to be about? Well, I’m up for any topic really. Sometimes I’ll talk about a bad day or experience, my frustration with the general public, mental health issues, music, movies… you name it.

I hate this part of any introduction even in person with any new people. I’m one of those quiet till I get the vibe of the room/person before I decide just how much I’m going to step out of my shell.

Just to get it out there and out of the way… I’m Fozz aka The Godfozzah. Middle-aged hillbilly from Appalachia. I’ve got aches and pains, money troubles, and health issues both physical and mental and I’m pretty open to talking about it. My openness may be the thing that someone needs to see that the process isn’t that bad and maybe help them along on their own journey.

So, there we are. The introduction. I hate it lol. I’m going to do this series as I see fit. No timelines, not specific release dates. Just open thoughts on open paper. I’m going to partner this up with a YouTube channel and my Instagram account, maybe even a TikTok or two lol.

Anyway, if you’re reading this, thank you for checking it out and I’ll be back with some more later.

I gotta make like a transformer and “roll out!”

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steelbvtterfly · 1 year

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Greetings mobile-bound friends and compatriots! Thank you for stopping in, here’s what you need to know (this list is abridged from the main pages for brevity’s sake).

Rules

1. No smut. Fade to black will be employed as needed, but I expect that to be rare.

2. I will never ever make you write something you aren’t comfortable with. If there’s something you want me to stay away from in threads, let me know and I will. If a thread is angling towards something that makes you uncomfortable, let me know and I can change it. If I even just write a reply and you don’t know what to do with it, let me know and we can work it out!

3. This is a multiverse blog! All threads happening in a given verse have the same verse tag but all ships are happening in separate versions of each verse unless discussed beforehand. Aeira also may not necessarily live in the same place in all versions of a given verse.

4. Mild ‘godmodding’ is permissible as long as you aren’t speaking for my muse or filling in her thoughts - if you aren’t sure, just ask!

5. All of my icons are found in various places and edited for hair color when needed by me.

Mun Info

Hi! I’m Tass, 30s, she/they, and I’m in the Central time zone in the US. I’ve been RPing since 2010, on various platforms. I’m terrible at picking icons. I love new friends so feel free to come say hello!

Muse Info

Aeira was born on April 15th in California, her parents’ first child. As such, there was a certain amount of pressure placed on her to be the Good Daughter, especially after her sister came along and she had someone to Set the Example for.

As she grew up, she found that her inclination wasn’t to follow in the footsteps of her mother down a path of softness and alternative medicine. Instead, she found herself drawn to the city, and to the rush of fighting. As you might imagine, this didn’t go over so well with her mother

In main verse, she is 23 years old, cis female, straight-ish, and single (by choice but not necessarily by desire).

side note: aeira is 'mostly fandomless', but takes a brief dip into the world of Old Gods of Appalachia when she's about 18.

Writing Resources

important ooc posts open starters memes plot wishlist desires tag (includes wanted opposite FCs) writing tag (just threads!)

Verse Info

Main: {&silent screams and wildest dreams}

Aeira lives in a relatively small town, in a house that doubles as her practice for the alternative folk medicine that she learned from her mother at a young age. After trekking from one side of the country to the other mostly on foot (and all that came with it) she finally settled down on the east coast. She will help anyone who comes to her, whether that’s with her strength or her softness, and her home is always a safe place to rest.

Travel: {&miserable and magical}

This verse covers the time from when Aeira runs away at 16 until she reaches the east coast of the US when she's almost 18. Interactions can take place at any point in her travels, both before and after the biggest event that had the greatest impact on her (but you'll learn more about that in threads) and can be of any number of different sorts! She meets all kinds of people in her travels, so there's room for just about anyone.

Uni: {&americana exotica}

In this verse, Aeira didn't run away at 16, instead finishing her schooling and going on to become a kinesiology major at a college on the east coast (literally the opposite end of the country from where she'd grown up) with intention of applying it in some kind of physical therapy career down the road. Thread can fall at any point in her time at school, and all forms of connections to her are welcomed!

The Old Guard / Immortality: {&wolves in the shadows}

In this verse, Aeira is an immortal in the style of The Old Guard (because I'm trash and I can't help myself). She dies in the midst of the trauma she endures in the Rocky Mountains during her travels, but comes back. Whether she finds more people like her or just has to learn to cope with potentially being mostly alone for the rest of eternity depends on how interactions play out. The possibilities are endless.

Grisha: {&what trouble might you make ~ ravka}

Aeira’s basic Grisha plotline, wherein after a childhood spent moving around quite a lot, Aeira runs away from home as a teenager, ultimately finding herself in Ketterdam and then, with some outside help, in Ravka. Crossing the fold doesn’t exactly… go to plan. She survives, but only just, and bears the scars of the endeavor afterwards.

{&even songbirds must be survivors ~ privateer}

After escaping experimentation in Shu Han, Aeira does whatever it takes to get out of reach. Whether by skill or by luck, she got far away from there, far enough that she didn’t stop for any real length of time until she’d made it to Ketterdam. The urge to run, the need to get away, hadn’t yet faded, and so she attempted to stow away on a ship there… Attempted being the operative word. Ultimately she managed to land herself at least a short term place on the Volkvolny, which later became far less short term.

{&brave and clever and strong ~ ketterdam}

Ostensibly Aeira’s in Ketterdam this time for the university, but anyone who knows her will tell you she can’t keep herself out of trouble that long. This is the only verse where she has the room to press the boundaries of what her Grisha abilities - technically a Durast, she quickly bleeds into Alkemi, then figures out tailoring after that, and once she’s gotten that far, little to nothing can stop her from testing the limits even further.

Faerie: {&shimmering beautiful}

In this verse, Aeira is a changeling child, glamoured to look human, a replacement in exchange for a human baby. For most of her life, she has no idea what she really is. As a teenager, she learns the truth and ventures back into the world she was born into to find the girl whose place she took, bringing her back to the family she was meant to be with all along. And since she's never fit in around them, Aeira sees no reason to stay after doing so - she goes back to learn as much as she can about what she really is. By present day, she's learned enough that she's comfortable coming and going, visiting the human world as often as she can.

Mer: {&in the shallows}

In this verse, Aeira is a mer, but she’s not part of a pod. At one time, this wasn’t the case, but after a series of events chipped away at the family, the numbers dwindled until Aeira was the last one left. Rather than seek out a new pod to join, she’s opted to stay on her own, exploring wherever she likes. Key points about the mers in my mythos: mers have a lot of impact on the weather of the coastal areas, especially those who are the leaders of pods; mers can change into something resembling a human if they are outside of contact with water, but the process isn’t pleasant; physical touch is a big deal for mers.

And I think that about covers it! Thanks for coming to my TED talk read this info, I really appreciate it! Hope to see you around!

#{first things first I'm the weirdest ~ ooc}#mobile info

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sleepysera · 2 years

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7.28.22 Headlines

WORLD NEWS

Ukraine: Russia attacks Kyiv area for the first time in weeks (AP)

“Russian forces launched a missile attack on the Kyiv area for the first time in weeks Thursday and pounded the northern Chernihiv region as well, in what Ukraine said was revenge for standing up to the Kremlin.”

Mexico: 94 migrants escape suffocation in truck (AP)

“Authorities in Mexico said Thursday that at least 94 migrants had to bash their way out of a suffocating freight trailer abandoned on a highway in the steamy Gulf coast state of Veracruz. Carlos Enrique Escalante, the head of the state migrant attention office, said migrants had to break holes in the freight container to get out, some apparently through the roof.”

Canada: ‘Rescind the Doctrine’ protest greets pope (AP)

“Pope Francis celebrated Mass on Thursday at Canada’s national shrine and came face-to-face with a long-standing demand from Indigenous peoples: to rescind the papal decrees underpinning the so-called “Doctrine of Discovery” and repudiate the theories that legitimized the colonial-era seizure of Native lands and form the basis of some property law today.”

US NEWS

Floods: Central Appalachia flooding kills at least 8 in Kentucky (AP)

“Torrential rains unleashed devastating floods in Appalachia on Thursday, as fast-rising water killed at least eight people in Kentucky and sent people scurrying to rooftops to be rescued.”

Economy: US economy shrinks for a 2nd quarter, raising recession fear (AP)

“The U.S. economy shrank from April through June for a second straight quarter, contracting at a 0.9% annual pace and raising fears that the nation may be approaching a recession. The decline that the Commerce Department reported Thursday in the gross domestic product — the broadest gauge of the economy — followed a 1.6% annual drop from January through March. Consecutive quarters of falling GDP constitute one informal, though not definitive, indicator of a recession.”

Climate Change: Unexpected deal would boost Biden pledge on climate change (AP)

“An unexpected deal reached by Senate Democrats would be the most ambitious action ever taken by the United States to address global warming and could help President Joe Biden come close to meeting his pledge to cut greenhouse gas emissions in half by 2030, experts said Thursday, as they sifted through a massive bill that revives action on climate change weeks after the legislation appeared dead.”

#current events #news #ukraine #russia #war #mexico #immigration #canada #pope #united states #floods #global warming #climate change #climate crisis

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fishbians · 2 years

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honeysuckle weeps for me.

its dewy tears call my old neighbors:

bumblebee, bobcat, and bluebird

but they’re washed away by warm summer rain.

she tastes her own sad sweetness on the tributary tongues

of the chesapeake,

she shudders and shimmers as her cloudy eyes

glass over and water –

as her chest ripples and rises –

flood tide.

why don’t you come round as often, darlin?

god, we missed you so.

look at you, now, c’mere –

you’re all frostbit from the sting of the north

as soon as I see her –

her many arms

trimmed with tassels of spartina,

parched, i take root in the hot soil,

dark and rich, begging for her

salty, silty embrace.

my skin sings under her relentless sun

that wraps me in a hug, too warm, too bright,

just right.

appalachia rolls over to catch me right before I leave

faster than she has in a million years,

heaving with her bursting, bustling green

that entangles its greetings of oak and birch

in my hair.

we missed you from the bottom of the earth.

when I have to tear myself away

the cicadas wail.

but poplar and sassafras

and elm and oak

and appalachia,

dear appalachia,

clasp my hands and rumble

as I barrel down a ribbon of tar,

begging for the wind to ripple the fabric,

throw me off course,

and send me back –

dear,

with the salt of the chesapeake

in each tear,

with the breath of each tree

in your lungs,

with the warmth of her sun

in your eyes,

and with the song of the bluebird

in your heart,

we are always with you

and you are never far.

-- virginia

#delete later #i am having myself a little homesick moment dont yall mind #personal #also i hate tumblr's new text format just throwing that out there. so dumb #ill recover by tomorrow ill be fine dw. i am just having a moment

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compositography · 2 years

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Bee Rock Tunnel Appalachia Virginia

Always interested in your reaction to my posts. Thank you

In search of Trolls This troll greets those about to cross over the Powell River and hike along the Powell River Trail in Appalachia Virginia. Trolls were reportedly seen by the men constructing the tunnels and while camping along the river said they heard voices saying “come help me” Powell River is a 195-mile river that runs from Southwest Virginia into East Tennessee Built in 1891 by…

View On WordPress

#hiking #Mountains #Nature #Railroad History #river #trolls #tunnels #woods

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fallout-fallen-knight · 3 years

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Meet My OCs masterpost!

It’s been a while since I’ve done one of these and I’ve gotten a lot of new followers and several new OCs in that time. Enough now that I should probably put them under a read more. OCs are divided up by main setting that they fall under - even though all my Fallout content takes place in its own ‘verse (distinct from the canon Fallout verse in that there are horses, among other differences), the various coasts tend to be pretty separate. Without further ado:

Fallen Knight

Fallen Knight is a longform fic that is currently and irregularly updating. It takes place in the Commonwealth in 2287-2289, featuring a mix of canon characters (often modified to my own convenience) and OCs. It can be found here.

Christopher Farris, aka the Fallen Knight (Lone Wanderer)

[image ID: a drawing of Christopher Farris by @scarecrow-forest. He is a white, blond man wearing a baseball cap, a green shirt, and a long tan vest. He is holding a baseball bat and has a pip-boy on his arm. End ID]

Christopher is my lone wanderer that I ported to Fallout 4. He is (currently) a Brotherhood of Steel Knight alongside Paladin Danse. He is the main character of Fallout: Fallen Knight. He has a strong moral compass and idolizes the knightly ideas of protecting the weak and confronting the strong. Content for him on my blog can be found at #fallen knight.

Kristine Finch, Minuteman General

[image ID: a screenshot from Fallout 4 of Kristine Finch. She is a light-skinned woman in a blue shirt and tan jacket, with a cowboy-like hat. She is standing in front of a ramshackle wooden building with a neon sign that says “Minuteman HQ”. End ID]

Kristine is my Minuteman OC and the General of the Minutemen. Under her leadership, they have worked to make the commonwealth safer by uniting various settlements to exchange resources and provide mutual defense. She has also published the Minuteman Guide To Commonwealth Travel, also known as the Blue Book, a handy pamphlet for settlers and traders making their way across the Commonwealth. Content for her can be found at #one if by land.

Thomas “The Trigger” Calvani

[image ID: a screenshot from Fallout 4 of Thomas Calvani. He is a white, brown-haired man in road leathers with various leather armor layered over it. He wears a pair of reflective aviator sunglasses and a green bandana covering his face. He is standing in front of power armor with flames painted on it. End ID]

Thomas Calvani is a ne’er-do-well from the Atom Cats who has somehow managed to continuously fall upwards, somehow culminating with him as the Overboss of the Nuka World raiders after trying to go to Nuka World with MacCready and Cait. Content for him can be found at #tales from the commonwealth.

Greetings from Appalachia

Hector Sanchez (Reclaimer)

[image ID: a Vault Tec ID card from Fallout 76. It belongs to Hector Sanchez, a latine man with brown hair, a Vault 76 jumpsuit, and a van dyke beard. He is smiling and giving a thumbs up to the camera. End ID]

Hector Sanchez is an amateur cryptid hunter from Vault 76. Raised in the vault on his mother’s stories of cryptids before the war, he left the vault with his best friend Hazel in search of cryptids to find. Content for him can be found at #greetings from appalachia.

Fallout: Brave New World

Brave New World is a collection of various OCs who end up in the Mojave wasteland at the same time, in around 2289 or so. While no unifying narrative yet exists, I am planning some ficlets/short form fic around these OCs.

Ace (Courier 6)

[image ID: a screenshot from Fallout: New Vegas of Ace. He is a latine man with an eyepatch, a black cowboy hat, and a black leather coat over blue jeans, with several belts and bandoliers. He is standing in front of Dinky the Dinosaur and pointing a gun off screen. End ID]

Ace is my courier, and a member of the Great Khans. Still a teenager when Bitter Springs happened, he was separated from the rest of the Khans and spent his remaining teenage years doing odd jobs around the Mojave and avoiding the encroaching NCR, culminating in a fateful job for the Mojave Express. He now finds himself down one eye, hunting the Mojave for Benny and the platinum chip. Content for him can be found at #ace in the hole.

Sophia Mobius

[image ID: a screenshot of Fallout: New Vegas of Sophia Mobius. She is a white woman with white hair and round, cat-eye glasses. She is wearing a red labcoat and has the holorifle strapped to her back. End ID]

Sophia is a Followers medic turned disciple of Doctor Mobius after a chance encounter with a crashed satellite sent her to the Big MT. She later traveled to the Sierra Madre casino with Arcade and Veronica to hunt down and stop Father Elijah. She is now working with the Veronica and Christine to convince Brotherhood members to leave, smuggling out technology if possible, to assist the Followers of the Apocalypse. Content for her can be found at #followers of mobius

Martin Goldberg aka the Silver Canary (Reclaimer)

[image ID: a drawing of Martin Goldberg and Emmerane Black, aka the Silver Canary and Coal Black, by @rotarydials. Martin is a dark skinned man with silver hair and a beard. He is dressed in the Silver Shroud’s outfit - a black and gray trenchcoat and fedora with a silver scarf. He carries a submachine gun, which he is pointing off camera. Emmerane is a white woman with short black hair. She has black goggles and a black cloak over a white shirt and red vest. She is doing air-guitar motions. They both have pip-boys. End ID]

Martin Goldberg, known better as the Silver Canary, was a pre-war vigilante and the inspiration for the Silver Shroud. As a staunch anti-fascist and anti-capitalist, he had several encounters with the movers and shakers of American industry, notably Robert House, whose suite Martin broke into while he was visiting a West Virginia plant. Upon learning about Vault-Tec’s plans for Vault 76, he broke into Vault Tec University, changing the list of vault residents to a list of random West Virginia citizens, as well as himself.

While in the Vault, Emmerane Black, a moody young woman born in the vault, declared herself his nemesis. When they left the vault in 2102, he learned of this, and instead decided to take her under his wing, forcibly adopting the young supervillain. Though they clashed often at first, they quickly found they had more in common than they realized, and soon teamed up to take on certain targets - most notably the Brotherhood of Steel.

At some point in the following years, both Martin and Emmerane ghoulified, and in the late 2200s, Martin traveled west, to find his old nemesis, Robert House. He now haunts the areas around Vegas, a mysterious spectre doling out justice to the wicked. Content for Martin and Emmerane can be found at #the silver canary and coal black. Emmerane belongs to @corsairesix

Caroline Keene, Ranger of the Wastes

[image ID: a screenshot from HeroForge of a black ghoul woman with short braids. She is wearing a cowboy hat, long duster, cowboy boots, and a shirt and pants that are all brown with tan accents. She has a revolver and a knife strapped to her hip and a repeater on her back. She is offering a hammered tin cup to the “camera”. End ID]

Caroline Keene was a park ranger in a firewatch tower in Monongahela National Forest when the bombs fell. After a few days of quiet introspection, her and some of her fellow rangers agreed to make their way to the nearest town to find survivors, slowly making their way to Flatwoods and then Morgantown to join the Responders.

After helping the Responders stabilize Appalachia in the wake of the Great War and faction infighting that followed, Caroline traveled west, continuing to help out those in need as he crossed the country that had once been America. During this time, she began to ghoulify; though initially and understandably distraught, a community of ghouls in what was once Texas helped her to accept her condition. Upon arriving in the Mojave, she found that her reputation as the “Ranger of the Wastes” preceded her, and she was recruited by the desert rangers, though she left again when they were incorporated with the NCR. Now, she has settled in the Mojave, starting a brahmin and bighorner ranch with her partners, and helping shelter, teach, and raise lost and disaffected youth in the Mojave. Content for her can be found at #ranger of the wastes

The King of the Road (Chosen One)

[image ID: a screenshot of Heroforge of a dark skinned ghoul in a black suit. He has a red tie and a red cape, and is wearing round glasses and an opulent crown. He carries a spear and has a holstered revolver on his hip. Near his feet is a pile of coins and a gray cat, ready to pounce. End ID]

The King of the Road was once the Chosen One of Arroyo, but became disatisfied with the duties of ruling and the pressures of being the tribe’s chosen one. In 2244, he left Arroyo, wandering New California as a drifter. He abanoned his name and title, choosing instead to take the name of the King of the Road as his renown as a drifter grew. He ghoulified due to his exposure to radiation over the years, but took to the change rather well. He continued to travel the roads of New California, eventually finding his way to the Mojave wasteland as the NCR did. Content for him can be found at #king of the road (when I make it).

Angelia King

[image ID: a Heroforge mini of a white woman seated on a white horse. She is wearing a tan jacket over a brown chest piece, chaps, and tan cowboy boots. She has a red bandana around her neck and several belts around her waist, one of which holds a holstered pistol. Her left eye is covered by an eyepatch and there is dark makeup around both of her eyes. She has short dyed blonde and red hair that is shaved on one side. She is brandishing a rifle towards the camera and there is a sawed-off shotgun on her back. End ID]

Angelina King, the leader of the Nightstalkers, a gang in the Mojave in 2289. When Ace drives the NCR out of the Mojave, she at first believes that she will be allowed to operate with relative impunity; however, when the NCR supply trains stop coming from the west (no longer needing to fight a war that has been lost), she starts hitting caravans first and then larger settlements, carving her way across the Mojave towards New Vegas. Content for her can be found at #the nightstalkers strike again.

Other OCs

Hannah Alton

[image ID: a screenshot from Heroforge of a white woman wearing a forest green cloak. She has a brown cloth wrapped around her chest and blue jeans on. She has a quiver of crossbow bolts on her hip and is holding a crossbow. She has red hair and several piercings. End ID]

Hannah Alton is my PC for our Fallout: New Orleans campaign run by and using the PBTA hack Powered by the Nuclear Apocalypse made by @corsairesix. Hannah is a “raider” from a gang called the Robbin’ Hoods, a gang dedicated to stealing from New Orleans’ ghoul aristocrats and redistributing their wealth to the town they’re based in. Content for her can e found on #fallout New Orleans and #powered by the nuclear apocalypse

#queue #fallen knight #one if by land #tales from the commonwealth #greetings from appalachia #ace in the hole #followers of mobius #the silver canary and coal black #ranger of the wastes #king of the road #fallout new orleans #powered by the nuclear apocalypse #the nightstalkers strike again

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