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theflyingfeeling · 5 months

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💖 it's here, it's pink, it's sparkly, and full of fluff 💖

Hiiiiii and welcome to witness my attempt at an Olli/Allu Advent Calendar, in which I'll give you ~a cute little something~ about these two idiots in love almost every day until December 24! My plan is to use prompts from this list to either write a fic based on the prompt or just some good ol' delulu thoughts if all else fails. I cannot guarantee there'll be a post literally every day, but I'm really excited to try this out and I thank you for your support along the way in advance 💝

The biggest thanks and a million hugs go to one of my favourite human beings @kraeuterhexchen for making the adorable banner!! I mean helloooooo?? 😭 Go show them some love ❣️

For December 1, the prompt list is titled One True Pairing Moments, and the prompt I chose was 'calling just to hear their voice' 🥺 You can read the fic below, I hope you like it <3

PS. Even though this is an advent calendar of sorts, I'm not planning on making this particularly Christmassy. I hope no one minds terribly!

Falling for Aleksi had, in a way, sneaked up on Olli, at least if he fooled himself a little. He could pretend he didn’t feel any different about the man than he did about, say, Joonas or Tommi, but that strategy only worked for so long – that is to say, approximately until Aleksi as much as smiled softly at him from across a room or bumped his shoulder into his jovially when walking down the street and Olli would feel his breath getting caught in his throat or stumble in his words, his tongue tangled like shoelaces, which was so unlike him as well and frustrated him to no end. It really took a special kind of fool to not only develop some level of feelings for a friend, a colleague, a bandmate for Christ’s sake, but also become so hopelessly enamored with him that you rolled awake in bed in the dead of night, grabbing your phone and tossing it back on the nightstand again and again because you couldn’t decide whether or not you should, on some erratic 2 o’clock impulse, call him to let him know he was the very reason for your insomnia.

Turning on his back, Olli groaned (only a little desperately) as he remembered losing himself in the lingering hug they had shared just before the arrivals lobby at the airport, inhaling Aleksi’s scent and wishing they wouldn’t have to go home just yet, even if Olli was more than ready to finally sleep in his own bed again. Ironically, ever since they had returned home from tour, Olli had spent night after sleepless night missing Aleksi terribly: his stupid jokes and playful banter that bordered on being flirtatious if Olli allowed himself the benefit of delusion; his quick, subtle smiles that probably meant nothing; his little touches Olli hoped meant something; his smell and his touch and the softness of his hair at the back of his neck, compared to which the blanket Olli was grasping in his fist was like sandpaper. (How he had come to know of the qualities of Aleksi’s hair in such detail, he preferred not to dwell on too much to save himself from the heartache, so let’s just leave it at ‘stressful, emotional week far away from home’ and ‘a little too much to drink’).

Above all, Olli missed Aleksi’s voice. He hadn’t even thought that was possible, until the other morning when Olli had woken up to a voice message Aleksi had left just hours earlier, rambling about a song idea he had gotten in the middle of the night – something he did from time to time – and Olli had spent the next several minutes replaying it over and over again as he had lied in bed procrastinating getting up and and instead closing his eyes to better imagine Aleksi lying there beside him, turned on his side to face Olli, talking to him sleepily like they often did when they shared a room on tour and were just too lazy to join others at breakfast. Much like the hug at the airport, Olli wished those moments would have lasted way longer than they did, often ending abruptly when either of their phones would go off with Santeri’s name on the screen, a passive-aggressive interruption to the soft, low tone of Aleksi’s early-morning thoughts. (Sometimes, when Olli was lucky enough, he had been blessed with the bliss of feeling the light touch of a fingertip tracing along his collarbone, cut short just as frustratingly by their well-meaning tour manager politely enquiring whether the two of them had plans of dragging themselves downstairs for some toast and coffee, or if they’d rather starve until lunchtime, for which he wasn’t at all sure they’d even have time that day.)

The lovesick idiot that he was, his thumb hovered over the ‘play’ button of Aleksi’s voice message, probably for the millionth time that week. The chest-carving hesitation turned into a heart flip when he noticed Aleksi was online.

Then Aleksi began to type, and Olli held his breath the entire time until a new message appeared in the thread, anticipation holding him by his throat.

You awake?

Olli exhaled and typed his affirmative reply, leaving out the reason why.

He blinked at the screen, waiting for Aleksi to ask him a random question that clearly couldn’t wait until morning, or perhaps talk about something related to another late-night Twitch stream (from what Olli had gathered, Aleksi had been doing a lot of those recently, and with his last remaining braincell Olli had managed to resist the temptation to watch every single one of them, because he knew that if he did, it would only dig his grave of pining and longing deeper, seeing Aleksi smile and giggle about but not being able to do that with him or snuggle up next to him when he was wearing that flannel Olli often used as a blanket in the tour bus). But instead of another text appearing on the screen, Olli’s phone began to vibrate in his hand, and it took him an embarrassingly long while to understand it was because Aleksi was calling him.

“Hi,” he sighed when he finally collected himself enough to speak. He prayed he’d be able to hear what Aleksi was going to say from the thumping heartbeat echoing in his ears.

“Hi,” a soft voice said. “Sorry, I know it’s late…”

“No, not at all,” Olli hurried to say, “I mean, I wasn’t sleeping. Not even close, actually.” Part of him hoped Aleksi wouldn’t ask about it, but in some foolhardy way the possibility intrigued him.

Nothing much, he would have likely said anyway, but what would happen if he told Aleksi how it really was? That he squeezed his pillow imagining it was him instead, or wailed into it because something had reminded him of a moment-that-was-probably-not-a-Moment™ they had shared? What would Aleksi say if he knew Olli sometimes touched himself the way Aleksi had touched him That One Night they never talked about? The only obstacle between Olli and that knowledge was a bottomless ocean of cold sweat and cowardice, and Olli had never been a great swimmer.

“So, ummm…,” Olli said when Aleksi’s end stayed silent. “What’s up?”

A short breath of laughter sounded through the phone line.

“Honestly? I don’t know, I… It’s just been a… weird week, I guess.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, like… my head’s just been so full of… everything and… I’ve been so busy and kinda tense and… fuck, this is going to sound crazy,” Aleksi laughed that brief laugh again, although to Olli it didn’t sound particularly cheerful. Tired, more like. Strained, somehow. Not sad, but definitely a little troubled, and Olli intended to find out why.

“I’m all for crazy, you know.” Olli hoped his sorry attempt to lighten Aleksi’s mood would work, and so he smiled in relief when he heard Aleksi chuckle at his comment.

“I know,” Aleksi said softly, in that tone of voice that had Olli melt against his bedsheets. “So yeah, it’s been a rough week, but… in between all that stupid shit, I’ve been thinking a lot about… umm… well, the tour and– and… about you, for some reason,” (the troubled laugh made its return) “and… yeah. That’s sort of helped me a lot recently.”

Olli listened to the words carefully, not fully believing what he was hearing, yet clinging on to them until they were all but swirling around in his otherwise empty head like dry leaves in October wind.

“And tonight I just couldn’t fucking sleep for some reason and nothing I did seemed to help and so I thought I’d call you. And I’m–” If it hadn’t been dead silent otherwise, Olli wouldn’t have heard the shaky breath Aleksi paused to take, “I’m sorry I’m calling you at this hour and bothering you with this all but I guess I just… wanted to hear your voice. To see if that would help.”

“Does it?” Olli asked. Aleksi’s confession had made him clasp his blanket close to his chest, as if that would do anything about his rapidly beating heart.

“Yeah. It does. So maybe just… keep talking?”

Despite his mind living a life of its own, completely unfit to form a single coherent thought, for Aleksi’s sake Olli tried his best to think of something to say, but everything he came up with was something he was not ready to tell him quite yet.

“Uuummmm…” he said to buy himself some time, but while he waited for his useless brain and mouth to form any actual words, Aleksi spoke again.

“Fuck, I’m– I’m sorry, this is too weird, I shouldn’t have– I’ll let you go back to–”

“I miss you,” Olli blurted before Aleksi would hang up on him. He squeezed his eyes shut when Aleksi went silent, too silent for too long for it to mean any good.

The line stayed open, however, which Olli took as a positive sign, even if the seconds during which all Olli could hear was Aleksi's quiet breathing seemed endless.

“And I you,” Aleksi finally replied. “A little too much, probably, or at least that’s what it feels like,” he chuckled. Olli almost missed the quiet sniff that followed.

He had to steel himself for his next question.

“What do you mean?”

“Just… forget it.” Aleksi said quietly. Contrary to Aleksi’s request, Olli knew he was going to all but ‘forget it’ for the next 3-5 business days; mentally he booked all his evenings as well as most of his mornings and noons for pondering what exactly had been in Aleksi’s mind in that moment or why he had sounded so sombre, almost disappointed. He’d probably never come to any satisfactory conclusion about it though, at least not without a little help from Aleksi himself.

A ridiculous idea popped into his head, and before he could stop himself, the words flooded out of his mouth.

“Do you wanna come over some time? To hang out? When your schedule’s a little less tight, I mean.” He sucked on his lips and closed his eyes as he waited for Aleksi’s answer, ready to hang up the moment he’d decline the offer on some obvious and logical reason for why Aleksi couldn’t possibly make nor want to take a trip to the north to see him, such as ‘didn’t we just spend over two months on the road together?’ or ‘damn, buddy, I miss you alright but not quite that much, I’ve done enough sitting in public transportation for one year, thank you very much lol’ or ‘what about Rilla?’

“You could take Rilla with you, you know.” Olli hurried to say, just in case, the deranged part of his brain thinking there might be a chance Aleksi might be at least considering it.

“Oh! Well, umm… I actually might have time next week? If– if you’re actually being serious about this.”

Funny you should ask, Aleksi; I’ve actually never been more serious about anything in my entire life than I am about having you here with me so that I can hold you and be held by you and see your face when I wake up in the morning and say goodnight to your annoyingly cute face instead of via text message and maybe, if the stars are in position and the northern wind won’t discourage me too much, I might actually be brave enough to torment you with the knowledge of just how miserable I’ve been since we last saw each other.

“I think it would be cool,” he said, because he had a feeling what he wanted to say would’ve been a tad too much and sudden. “I mean, if you’re up for it, of course. I understand if you can’t make it though, I know you have all those side projects.”

“No, I think it might actually do me some good to get out of the capital area for change.” Then there was a muffled ‘ouch’, followed by a laugh that sounded much brighter than any of the other ones Olli had heard from Aleksi that night. “Sorry, correction, it might do us some good. Rilla just told me she’s most definitely coming too. Rilla, stop nibbling on my toes!”

Olli smiled tiredly at the mental image that was painted in his mind of Aleksi and Rilla cuddling in bed, both minding their own business from what it seemed while still minding each other as well, very much indeed.

“I’ll be sure to set up a bed for her in the guest room.”

“The guest room? Do you not know her at all? If she’s not getting the master bedroom, she’ll ruin all your rugs and most of your shoes. Probably also gossip about you to all the neighbourhood dogs. And she’s brutal.”

Olli held his stomach as he laughed, tears almost forming in the corners of his eyes. In his defence, it was late and he was finally becoming tired, thus too far gone to help himself, let alone feel embarrassed about being in stitches about something Aleksi had said that was only mildly amusing. (It wasn’t the first time that had happened either, and likely not the last time.)

“So yeah, ummm, I can take a look at some flight options for next week and let you know, alright? I’m gonna let you sleep now and… I should get some myself too.”

Olli wanted to tell Aleksi he’d love to stay up chatting until dawn, but the yawn he let out when he opened his mouth to speak implied Aleksi had a point.

“Yeah, let me know. And… thanks for calling, I… you have no idea how much I needed this tonight.”

That was as close to a confession as Olli was able to get as of now.

“Probably not half as much as I did.”

Olli chuckled at Aleksi’s response, mostly to hide his own agony.

If only you knew. If only I knew how to tell you.

It didn’t take long for Olli to doze off after they hung up, and when he woke up to the kids from next door having a snowball fight under his window in the morning, he noticed new messages from Aleksi, sent half an hour after their phone call had ended, complete with screen captions of airplane schedules.

Would these days work for you? I might be free all week actually 😇

Olli cuddled into his pillow while typing his reply, hoping it wouldn’t wake up Aleksi.

yeah I’m free as well. I’ll pick you two up from the airport 🖤

From then on, Olli started counting the days until he’d see Aleksi again.

#blind channel fanfiction #blind channel rpf #ollixallu #24 days of gift-giving by theflyingfeeling #<- that's the tag i'll be using for these btw #everyone stop and look at the banner!! 🥺💖#it's not QUITE like the original one ju made first but maybe one day you'll get to see that masterpiece as well 😏#but ooff the way i've gone from having 'a plan' to having 'a better plan' to having 'no plan whatsoever' with this? 😂#so yeah idk what kinda fics/posts there'll be in this series... stay tuned and see for yourself! 🤭#some of them might be in the same universe/plot. others may not. who knows? not i 😌#(...but as you can see from this fic the door for a multiple-part story is definitely open 👀)#some of the fics may not even be based on a prompt though if i'm not feeling like it. honestly i'm curious to see how this will turn out!#(and if this ends up being the only post i ever make that's alright too! i refuse to bully myself with a hobby i'm doing for free <3)#however: i'm not taking requests per say BUT feel free to snoop on the prompts for each day and send me your ideas or hopeful wishes 👀#there are certain ones i'm more drawn to but i haven't really set anything in stone #one could say i'm just going with the flow. fuck around and find out if you will ✨#also: not sure if/when i'll be bothered to post any of these on ao3 #probably i'll just see how many fics i manage to actually finish and dump them all at once on ao3 on christmas day lol #anyway! enjoy & let me hear from you <3

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cakeinthevoid · 3 months

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Only A Dream

scurries out of the haunted walls of academia and real life responsibilities—coughs this out and scurries away again but my leg is broken

heyyy everyone!! Sooo….. I had this dream. And somehow, I was able to write this neat thing! It’s nearly 3.5k words long… And I did too much research…. I’ll just… leave it there… wait last thing: I’d die for John and Juno. Ok that’s all.

Contains: pirate whump! Hurt comfort! Snarky MC! Angry MC! Female MC! Forced to join! Vague flashbacks to physical and emotional trauma! Gun fighting in the background! Manual labour! (Feel free to send in an ask if you want more deets before opening)

The crew was packing, moving ships to make room for supplies. First mate Juno made sure everyone was doing something useful.

Which is why Delia could not fathom why she was made responsible for labelling crates.

Labelling. Crates.

She still couldn’t believe it, even as she was writing gunpowder on the parchment and sticking it onto the barrel with paste.

She bet half the crew couldn’t even read!

And yet Juno led her to the abandoned smithy where they were holding supplies, handed her a roll of parchment and ink and told her to mark every container. They only said not to write ‘too fancy-like’ and left to go do whatever they needed to do so the crew could leave by noon.

Whatever they were doing, it was certainly leagues more exciting than labelling crates.

Delia moved onto another crate anyway. Before she could peak inside, a clatter at the entrance sounded—someone tripping over the debris lying around and cursing.

Delia wasn’t startled; it was only John and it was already his third or fourth time tripping over that junk.

John made his way over, a crate of something in his arms; only his forehead and cloud of black of hair peaked over its height. He tried setting the box down gently, but it still clanged as it hit the floor.

He wiped his brow and the colourful beaded bracelets he wore jangled against his dark skin. “No ‘hello, John’? Are you okay, John? Thank you John for bringing me another crate?”

Delia rolled her eyes. “Do you expect to hear it every time?”

John made a show of thinking, bringing his hand to his chin and furrowing his brow. “Hmm. Yes, actually,” he said at last. “Some more appreciation around here would be welcome.”

“Tell me about it,” she muttered. “So what’s all this then?”

“Fragile merchandise,” he said, wagging his finger. “Juney wants it labelled as kitchenware.”

“Why doesn’t Juno come in and label it themself then?”

He clicked his tongue. “Little bird, that’s your job.”

“It’s a dumb fucking job.”

John made a noise of disapproval. “A year with pirates has fouled your mouth so? For shame, Cordelia.”

She pressed her lips in a tight line and glared. He’s lucky he didn’t call her your highness or Princess.

John laughed. “Easy now, I come bearing good news! This here is the last crate. Last one I’m bringing, anyway.”

“There’s more?” There had better not be.

“Eh,” he shrugged, “Not sure. Probably not. Most supplies went to the Mayflower.”

The Mayflower. Captain Mor’s latest pirated ship. Erik would be manning it, and Delia would be on his half of the crew—the rest sticking with Captain Mor on whatever new ship was added to their fleet.

It was also the one on which Delia truly became part of the crew. At least she thought so. Hard to tell when she was suddenly demoted to labellor.

“Who labelled the other crates then?” Maybe she wasn’t truly alone in her suffering.

John cringed at that. “Ehm. They weren’t.”

Delia stared at him in silence for a beat.

She tried to keep a level voice: “What do you mean they weren’t.”

“Ah well, they might’ve! They likely were! I just didn’t see. I’m old, you know.”

“You’re like, twenty-five,” she said dryly.

“Older than you,” he amended. Only by three years, she thought, annoyed.

“So basically Juno gave me a fools errand.” She had already suspected, but for it to be true… it hurt a bit, to her surprise.

“No, no of course not!” He reassured. “They do everything for a reason, surely you know that.”

Delia sat and slumped on a crate labeled blankets. “Mhmm.”

“Hey,” he crouched to be at her eye level. He opened his mouth to say something, but an explosion sounded outside.

The both of them startled upright simultaneously, but John got on the move quick.

“Stay here,” he said seriously, halfway to the entrance. “Protect the kitchenware!” And he was gone.

Delia pulled out her pistol, the weight of it comfortable in her hand.

Then she waited.

The ruckus grew outside, and Delia felt stupid hiding away in an old smithy when she was just as good a shot as needed.

She found a small part of her wishing for some of the action to make its way to her. She imagined some hooligan storming in, how she would raise her pistol and—

Bullets came flying in through the walls. Delia dropped for cover behind the blanket crate, pistol in hand and pointed in the direction of gunshots and yelling.

The noise began dying down long minutes later, cries for doctors ringing clearly.

Delia was trying to focus on the sound of footsteps running down the street, getting closer.

She caught glimpses of familiar figures through the new bullet holes in the wall and got up from behind the crate.

Juno stormed in first, their normally composed demeanour full of anger.

“Wesley, Novin, Clive, Kingston, start loading the crates. Aiken, Grace, cover them. Now!” They barked.

Everyone called upon scrambled out, grabbing the nearest crates, whether they were labeled or not.

“Delia!”

“Yessir,” she responded immediately.

“You’re coming with us. The Mayflower had to go off—damn bastards bombing the damned port—“ they cursed almost to themself.

Delia didn’t understand why this warranted a one on one. “Did… was someone-“

Juno shook their head and twirled their gun around their finger, heading back out. “Thank God no—not yet anyway. No, go load the crates, but I don’t want you boarding that ship until I get there, understand?”

“What? Why?”

But they were already gone, rushing back from where they came from.

Delia had half a mind to chase them down, but pulled herself together, going for a crate. Novin was already back to pick up another one, so surely this new boat wasn’t far.

Best get back to work then, she thought and followed Novin out, crate in hand.

——

With the initial bloody chaos from the explosion nearly settled, it wasn’t difficult to make it to the new ship and back.

At least, it wasn’t difficult for the first few rounds.

By her… fifth box maybe? The exertion was getting to her. The lack of the usual crew banter as they prepare for departure made her that much more cognizant of soreness in her arms and the painful way the crate would jut into her stomach.

Juno was running a tight operation. And Juno being stressed was as good an indicator as any that the rest of the crew should be stressed too.

Delia only caught a glimpse of them as she was dropping off yet another crate at the mouth of the dock where Aiken sat twirling his gun. Juno was carrying up a body into the ship.

When Juno caught her staring, he yelled across the docks for her to get back to work. She quickly jumped into action, running back to the smithy to replace the cold dread in her chest with the heat of her lungs burning.

“Where’s the fire?”

Delia whipped around as she neared the smithy. Grace.

“Grace! Juno—body, on the ship,” she panted, out of breath.

Grace looked away. “Right…”

“What?”

She hesitated. “Delia…” she started slowly.

The ice was back in her heart. Time froze.

…and was promptly shattered by Novin, bursting out of the smithy and snapping.

“These crates aren’t lifting themselves! Can we hurry up already? I swear…” He shoved between Grace and Delia, despite the room around them, and headed to the docks.

“I’ll let you get back to it,” Grace said quickly. She disappeared to wherever she found the best view to keep watch before Delia could form words.

Damned Novin. Rascal of a little brother behaviour.

——-

Several crates later, she was dying of thirst.

Not dying, no most definitely not; she had endured far worse. But she was definitely thirsty enough to try her luck with Aiken.

Unsurprisingly, he told her to piss off.

Another few crates later, her vision was growing a little spotty. The sun was rising and she was already sweaty enough from the labour.

After dropping the next box in front of Aiken, she stumbled forward, off kilter. She caught herself on the crate and blinked the spots from her eyes, taking a few breaths.

She looked up to see Aiken staring at her, brown eyes wide under the shade of his hat.

“Can I please have that damned water now?” She said through gritted teeth.

He gave her his canteen.

She took greedy gulps, but left enough in the canteen. You never left someone without water. She handed it back to him without saying anything and turned to go get another blasted crate.

Another several crates later and she thought her arms would fall off. Her neck was sore and her legs were cramping. She pushed herself off the crate she was leaning against only to bump right into Kingston, who was going for a crate to take up to the ship.

“Don’t get up on my account,” his deep voice rumbling with humour. “Wesley, Clive, Novin and Grace are getting the last of the crates. You’re all good.”

Delia slumped back down, very relieved. “Thanks,” she mumbled, closing her eyes.

The heat was unbearable. She had half a mind to jump into the ocean right now.

She looked behind her where Kingston was already at the top of the ship ramp—carrying two boxes no less. It helped that he was the size of a house.

She rested for a while, the sound of Aiken messing around with his gun keeping her company.

It wasn’t long until she was getting annoyed again. She had just realized no one told her to start carrying crate up to the ship deck.

Either she really looked that pathetic right now or Juno had them under the same orders.

She decided to try her luck. Despite her muscles protesting, she picked up a barrel.

“What are you doing?” Aiken snapped, not unkindly.

“Might as well help Kingston with the crates.”

“In your sorry state, you’re gonna fall right off the ramp.”

She scoffed. “Sure. Try and stop me then,” she challenged, walking away with the barrel in arm.

She heard a sign and the patter of shoes hopping off a seat and making their way to her.

“Give me that,” he said, reaching for the barrel.

She angled it away. “No. Why?”

“I’ll take it up if you want someone to help Kingston so bad. You keep watch.”

“What if I wanted to take it up? And you’re a better shot than me.” It pained her to admit, but she needed a point.

“No one’s messing around on this side of the dock anyway, you’ll be fine. Sit back down, girl.”

She dropped the barrel down angrily.

“What’s going on?” She demanded. “Why isn’t anyone telling me anything? Why can’t I go on the damned ship? Are you planning on leaving me here or what?” She fumed, fists clenched and jaw tight. She’s had enough beating around the bush.

Aiken said nothing for a moment. Then he admitted, “First Mate Juno told me to keep you down here. Didn’t tell me why either,” he shrugged. “But I doubt it’s to leave you behind.”

“You only doubt it?”

Aiken shrugged. Mouth stretching in an expression that said I don’t know what you want from me, man.

“Right well, I don’t care.” She moved for the barrel again, but he intercepted.

“I mean it, Delia. I’m not losing Juno’s favour over you.”

They stared off for a few beats, then Delia threw her hands up in the air in exasperation. “Fine! Take it up yourself, then! I’ll be relaxing like a lazy cat until His Majesty Juno deigns to explain what’s going on!” She pivoted on her heel and stormed away.

Once she was settled back on the crates, she risked a look behind her. It seemed Aiken was actually taking the barrel up.

She turned forward at the sound of Grace’s laughter. Normally, Delia revelled in the sound of her laugh, but she was bitter and annoyed and now jealous that someone made her laugh like that.

She waited for the three of them, arms crossed.

“Hey, give us a hand, why don’t you!” Novin called out. Clive shook his head at his antics, white hair stark and gleaming in the sun.

Delia got up anyway. She took the barrel from Novin’s hands, much to his visible surprise, and stacked it on top of another barrel, all without saying anything.

“Sheesh,” he drawled, sticking his hands into his pants pockets.

She ignored him. “Where’s Juno?”

“Likely the Captains Cabin. I’ll fetch him,” Clive responded quickly. Delia wished he spoke more; she quite liked his strong English accent. Reminded her of… good times.

She pushed the thought away before it could fully form.

When it was just Grace and Novin left, Delia rolled her eyes. “What, did Juno forbid you from the ship as well?”

Novin muttered something foul and got to work. Grace frowned and let Novin get ahead.

Out of his earshot, she spoke softly to Delia.

“Juno is trying to help you. And I’m here for you, too. I didn’t agree with his plan, just so you know. So… if you want to go on the ship with me before he gets back…”

A Delia not already pissed and annoyed would have said yes. But this Delia was bitter—irritated that it wasn’t only Juno, but her best friend discussing her behind her back.

Against her better judgment, she said coldly, “I think you have a lot of crates to carry until then,” and turned away to avoid whatever look would appear on her face.

She heard Grace get back to work, but only risked a look back after she counted to 100. Aiken was coming back.

But she had a plan for that. As he approached, Delia occupied herself by lifting crates at random. Naturally, Aiken couldn’t resist inquiry, asking what she was doing.

“Just lifting the boxes. Trying to guess how much they weigh. Not much else to do here,” she muttered under her breath, but just loud enough to be heard.

Aiken just hummed.

Delia lifted another box, one she carried here herself.

“How much do you think this one weighs? We can say the same number on three. If we say the same, we win.”

“My God, you really are bored.”

“Just lift the box,” she said. “Careful though, might be weapons in here.” She handed it to him.

As soon as Aiken grasped the box, Delia pivoted and gunned it to the ship.

She heard Aiken cry out, but he needed to set the box down carefully. It was just the head start she needed for her sore body after carrying dumb crates all day. This time, her body burned with adrenaline.

She skidded on the dock, the ship a blur in her sights, and used her momentum to launch herself up the ship ramp. She caught a glimpse of Aiken not even halfway down the dock. She couldn’t help but laugh.

Finally, a win.

Cackling to herself, she sped up the ramp, landing on the ships deck with a jump.

“Ha ha ha!” She grinned wildly and walked with purpose to the centre of the main deck. To her right, she saw Grace and Clive looking down with alarm from the quarterdeck.

“I mean, seriously, with you guys acting like the guard—“ she snorted, giggling. She let her gaze wander to her left, to the main mast. “I don’t know, maybe there really should have been something… something…”

Her eyes stuck on the main mast. They weren’t parsing the information they saw very well—why did the mast look odd, she knew that mast, she had felt it because was it not—was it not the very same mast—

Running. Cold water. Screaming.

The mast filled her vision.

Pain, pain, PAIN and fear, so much fear. He was gone, she was alone. He was there, there were people surrounding her.

She put a hand on the mast. It had a different texture, like it was sanded or glazed, she couldn’t tell. She could only feel—

Thick ropes. Burlap. Thrown to the ground. Refusing to cry. Crying anyway. Hard wood of the mast. Tied to the mast, tied to the mast, tied and gagged and stripped—

There were hands on her shoulders, pulling her away. She pulled out from under them, gaze skittering around. Suddenly, everything was painfully familiar. The grain of the deck, the details in the guardrail. Every swirl and pattern that she had counted. She was so bored, she needed the distraction—anything. She begged, she remembered begging, please stop, stop stop stop, please I beg of you stop please—

“Stop, stop I—“ she came to herself in an instant, like ice water flooding her mind. “Get away from me! This was where—this is where—“ she stumbled backward as she turned, gesturing. She felt nauseous.

“Delia—“ Grace tried and good Lord it struck her how she was Cordelia once.

“This is why you kept me from boarding?” She looked around wildly, too quickly to properly identify faces but she thought she saw Clive on the stairs coming towards her—but then it was Juno’s voice.

“Calm yourself! You’re going to fall off the damn ship!”

“You… sick bastard! Why didn’t you tell me! You wanted this—it was always mind games with you—getting me to break and—“

“Delia!” Grace cried, affronted.

Grace went on to say something but there was a rushing in her ears and dread was growing in her chest and she felt trapped and contained but she was out on the open air and all she could think to do was dodge Juno and run to the forecastle of the ship, lunging up the stairs. Too many people on main deck—someone was blocking the ramp—

Juno let her, the sane part of her mind realized. Juno needed no effort at all to stop her advance, and yet they let her past.

She was shaking now, shaking with fury and a hidden grief she refused to recognize because it would break her. To realize, to accept, that she had joined the very people who had kidnapped her—literally pirated her.

Cordelia crumpled to the ground. She needed to get her breathing under control. She would not become undone at the mere sight of some—some stupid mast when she had survived the damn thing and more!

“Breathe with me. Come on, hold it in longer. In…”

Grace… Cordelia choked on her breath, shaking her head.

“You can do it. Can I help you? Please, Cordelia…”

In the corner of her vision, she saw Grace gently place her hand out on the ground, right near her own tightly fisted hand.

With great effort she moved to hold it, gripping it tight.

Grace took it as the permission it was to help her fully. Just like old times.

“Come on,” she said softly, moving around Cordelia. She put a hand around her back to help shift her upright, leaning against the balusters of the guard rail.

Cordelia brought up her knees, wrapping her free arm around them. Her other hand was still wound around Grace’s.

“I got you.”

Cordelia shuddered.

“I got you,” she whispered.

Delia leaned into her body, hiding her face in her shoulder. She felt like memories would pull her back any second—

“What’s wrong with her?”

She stiffened, but didn’t pull away. But if Novin dared to come any closer, she couldn’t be held responsible for decking the new kid.

“Oh, nothing to worry about!” Captain Mor’s booming voice travelled across the ship, accompanied by rumbling laughter. “Our Delia here has just gotten a reminder of the last time she walked this ship!”

Delia gripped Grace’s hand tighter. She glided her free hand up and down Delia’s arm.

“Some bad memories I gather!” Captain Mor said in response to something. “Again, worry not, lad! Things are much better now—for starters, we have food!” She laughed. “Isn’t that right, Delia?” She called up.

Her heart was still hammering in her chest, but she managed a small, unconvincing affirmative.

“She says yes, of course, Captain,” Grace said much louder than Delia could’ve at the moment.

Thankfully, the Captain moved on. Just as well.

Delia had no more strength to muster. Exhausted physically and emotionally, she let herself melt into Grace’s arms. She tried not to think too much, hoping that her body and mind would shut off without fuss.

She hadn’t wished for that in a while.

But maybe she could just pretend, that if not the past several long, long years of her life, if not this whole adventure, that this one day could be a dream. Only a dream.

If only she was that lucky.

—*—

#my cake #pirate whump #one shot #manual labour #original characters #OS Cordelia #OS Delia #OS Grace #OS Juno #OS John #only a dream #female whumpee #hurt comfort #let me know what else I should tag :P #hope y’all enjoyed!!! In the process of writing I actually have soooo much looooore #feel free to send in asks if you’re curious #I prolly won’t be writing for this ever again otherwise :P

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thecoolertails · 1 year

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ZOINKS! a ghost!!!

(redraw of this concept art:)

#click for higher quality #ignore the fact that the original pic has like 5 pixels total lol #this is just what i have and ever since google changed their backwards image search its basically useless #fuck google lens all my homies hate google lens #if anyone has a higher quality version of the original feel free to add it on or send it to me ill gladly take it #my posts #my art #scooby-doo #daphne blake #fred jones #shaggy rogers #velma dinkley #redraw #scooby doo where are you #fan art #i actually did line art separate from the sketch for once #usually i just clean up the sketch and use that

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actual-changeling · 1 year

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I found the first part of this in my drafts, dating back all the way to February (written right after episode 5 aired I believe), and I simply had to finish it. It's just a little ficlet for once, no title, nothing big. Just the missing scene where Ellie gets the hug she needs and Joel reaches an important understanding.

It's the way Ellie looks at him, Joel realizes afterward, when the bodies are buried and they're walking along overgrown rusted cars and rubble. She is a child, fourteen years old and without anyone who ever took responsibility for her. No one to raise her, protect her, give her the comfort of a parent keeping their child safe. FEDRA takes in whatever healthy children they can find (usually not even bothering with the ones that aren't) and raises them to be soldiers, to follow orders, emotional care deemed unnecessary. They're not the only ones only focusing on how to survive in a world that doesn't know a Before, only an After.

Joel remembers how it should be, though. Remembers Sarah in his arms, small and helpless, screaming for him because it was the only thing she knew how to do. He always came, every single time she cried for him he answered. There is a look of complete and unconditional trust children have for their parents, their caregivers, an acceptance of an unspoken promise.

I will take care of you.

It was the last thing he saw in Sarah's eyes before she died.

He subconsciously recognizes it in Ellie, Sam's blood spattered across the floor, her face, her clothes, and his instincts drive him to act, leaning forward to get to her without any hesitation. The same deep-seated parental fear lives on, too, it always will, and it sparks up in him again and again and again with every threat to Ellie's life. Kill the soldier, shoot the infected, keep her away from harm, get her somewhere safe. Joel would have build a new world for Sarah, brick upon brick stacked with his bare hands, but he lost her before he could try. Ellie is his second chance.

Henry stops him from getting to her, growl building in his throat, and then Henry is gone just like his brother, and Ellie's whimper echoes louder than the gun shot. Pain flares in his knees when he finally drops down next to her, arms outstretched, grasping, and she falls into him stiff with panic, eyes wide open. She is warm, alive, and Joel can feel her frantic heartbeat pounding beside his own as he cradles her against his chest. The sudden silence rings in his ears, drowned out only by the tiny, hiccuping sobs ripping through her, and Joel responds without thinking, pulling her further into his lap and gently rocking them back and forth.

Twenty years ago, he did the same covered in blood with a dead daughter in his arms, and the memory fades in and out in time with her breaths, suffocating him as a part of him expects every exhale to be her last. One of his hands comes up to cup the back of her head, fingers buried in her hair, and Joel carefully pushes her face down until it fills the space between his neck and shoulder, eyes covered and kept away from the death lingering around them. He whispers mindlessly against her scalp, less coherent words and more soothing noises, not seeking to quiet her but to provide whatever comfort he can.

They're both shaking with adrenaline and fear, and Ellie clings to him so tightly their tremors are one and the same, her fingers clawing at his shirt, nails digging into his back. His skin is wet with her tears and Joel can't help but press his lips to her temple in a desperate attempt to help her calm down, previous resistance gone. All of his walls and defenses shattered the second she screamed his name so loudly her voice broke, begging him to safe her, and no matter how much he denies it, he will always be a father at heart. Joel needs a purpose, a reason to keep going, to let a child cry in his arms because he is the only thing standing between her and the world, committed to shielding her from whatever horrors he can as long as he is alive.

Ellie trusted him and he failed her today.

In-between sobs, she quietly whimpers his name like a chant, asking him to take away a pain he knows she shouldn't have to bear, aching with the awareness that she will never be the same after all she had to endure.

Joel soothes his hand along her spine, rubbing circles up and down her back, and he makes a promise to himself, to her, to Sarah's memory on his wrist.

He won't let another daughter die.

#alex writes tlou #the last of us #tlou #joel and ellie #tlou episode 5 #joel miller #ellie williams #ellie needs a hug #and she gets it #hurt/comfort #mentions of sarah because im mean #cause that is apparently all i know how to write but boy do i love doing it #anyway do you think joel ever managed to get sam and henry's blood out of her clothes #or did she walk around with whats left of them on her for like three months #also tentatively working on the requests i got but pls feel free to send more

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