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theresascove · 2 months ago

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whispers in the dead of night ₊ ⊹

brother’s best friend!ellie williams x f!reader

you started to avoid Ellie when you fear she won’t return the feelings you have, turns out—after a little confrontation in your kitchen at 3am—she feels the same

tw: not proofread, confessions, friends to dating, slight hurt w comfort, kiss at the end, kiss gets a little passionate (then brother walks in on them), r described to be able to put her head on Ellie’s chest

wc ✎ 1.6k

You knew Ellie, but only through your bother. If you two had a conversation, it was because he had invited her over. If she watched a movie with you, it was because he had invited her over. If she ever said happy birthday to you over the phone, it was because he was calling her first.

He was her friend, before she was yours. You were used to seeing her and a few of his other friend’s over, hanging out in the basement or his bedroom. It looked like fun, but your brother’s obsession with keeping his friends away from you was a bit weird. He would tell you to keep away or else you’ll embarrass him, whatever that means—you fear he already does that enough himself.

She was over again, settled on the couch while your brother was somewhere in the house. Her eyes were locked on her phone, scrolling on some media. You mumbled your hello, moving past the living room to grab something from the kitchen. She was doing absolutely nothing, but the sight of her made your heart race.

“Uh yeah, hello to you too,” she says, tone playful, “haven’t seen you all day, where’ve you been?”

“Homework,” you reply, reaching up into a cabinet to grab food. It was a bold lie, but you didn’t want to say you’ve been avoiding coming downstairs as long as possible since you heard her voice.

You see, since you’ve begun to notice how your heart races whenever she was around—you’ve been hiding away as best you can. Not ignoring her, just not being as friendly and close as you were before. You didn’t tease and come sit beside her, leaning on her shoulder anymore. You kept a distance, a friendly normal distance.

“Right,” she says, slowly, “anything going on? You seem busier.”

Shit. You turn your back to pour a bowl of cereal, hands getting a little shaky from the question. You feel like a spy, having to hide a secret from her.

“Just school life, I mean it’s the middle of the year—it usually picks up.”

“That’s true. You could come join us, we’re going to go for a swim.”

Absolutely not. If you saw her in a swim suit you’d fumble and your middle school crush on her would shine like a prism through a glass window. It’d be so embarrassingly obvious.

“I don’t want to impose, my brother would hate me.”

“Who cares, he can suck his own dick. Come join whenever you feel, we’re about to head out.”

You didn’t. You stayed in your bedroom, listening to them talk through the window in your room. It sounded like his other friend eventually joined, the one you’ve all known since forever since they live next door. You assume she probably overheard them in the pool, and came over. There was splashing, laughing, before it grew quiet. You peeked through and saw them resting, talking quietly with one another. No surprise, but seeing her in the pool made your heart jump. It was ultimately a good choice to avoid this, it saved you the hurt of loosing your dignity.

Time flew. Especially when you had fallen asleep, face laid out on your textbook and papers. You felt the deep headache growing in your skull as you sit up, bringing a hand up to rub at your forehead.

“Fuck,“ you say, looking at how dark your room was now. Going off of the fact that you didn’t hear anyone outside anymore—you assumed they had all gone home. As far as you knew, neither of them were staying over—she wasn’t staying over.

Your stomach growled again. You signed, pulling on a sweater as you made your way down the stairs. Sure you had cereal earlier, but it was so easy to make so you picked the box out again—unaware of the socked feet walking behind you.

“Why’re you up so late?”

Goosebumps rose on your arms, head whipping around to find Ellie looking at you tiredly. Her hair was dripping, the drops sliding down her face and wetting her band shirt.

“I’m getting a snack.”

“I can see that, I meant what kept you up?”

“I actually was asleep, I just randomly woke up starving”

She leans against the counter, eyes following you around. It was quiet for a minute. The kitchen click ticking the seconds became so loud, even as you’re putting the cereal and milk away. It was suffocating.

“Hey, might be overstepping here. You don’t have to answer—I just, are you avoiding me—?”

You felt the air grow cold in your chest, eyes darting at everything except her now. She caught you, and now you really can’t escape—but she can’t know. You’d die before you’d ever let her know. She’d take your dumb feelings and mock you for life, possibly stop showing up as often, stop treating you like a friend—you’d loose her.

“I’m not avoiding you, Ellie,” you respond, voice a whisper. You hope she couldn’t catch onto how your voice wobbled just slightly. Her eyes are watching you, flicking around your face.

“Woah, why’re you crying—hey.”

She’s crossing the kitchen, making quick steps to come stand in front of you. You push back slightly, “there’s nothing, really. I’m just tired.”

“Well there’s something if you’re crying,” she sighs, “please talk to me, I just feel like you’re avoiding me and I don’t kn—“

“Well I like you,” you shove her back for real this time, wiping at your face when you feel a tear slip, “it’s stupid, I know. We’re not even that close, you’re so much closer with my brother. I can’t even explain why, really. It’s dumb—and just whatever, goodnight.”

You push past, not caring to even grab the cereal that you made. There were far more important things at hand, like escaping further embarrassment.

“Oh shit—I, wait a second,” she twists, reaching an arm around to try and reach for you in some way, “fuck, wait. I like you too.”

You laugh, the sound coming out watery and it just further makes Ellie feel all the more nervous, “oh fuck off Ellie.”

“No im serious,” she draws, “I’m so serious. I’ve liked you for so long.”

You stand there, eyes red and looking her straight in the eye with a sharpness of hurt beneath them. She’s breathing hard almost, chest rising and falling as she looks to you with a sad grimace almost.

“Please, talk to me,” she begs, and it turned out to be enough. You stayed, hearing her out, listening to each detail of her story.

“I really do, I really really do like you. I’m not mocking you, I would never do that.”

With your arms wrapped around you, you wrap them tighter—seeking comfort as you take in her words. It felt like a fever dream. Somehow you were more accepting to hear her “deny” you than to spill her feelings.

She reached a hand out, pulling you closer to her again. Reluctantly your body shuffles closer until you’re resting in her embrace—head on her chest. Her hands are warm, slightly shaky as they rub at your back. Ellie’s eyes are looking around at the ceiling, her heart racing so fast against your ear you almost smile. You almost forgot how much of a dork she really is.

“You wanna go out on a date with me now, or something,” she asks, trying to seem nonchalant.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d love to,” you whisper, “but I do need to get your phone number.”

“Yeah… I don’t know why I’ve gone along with your brother’s bro code. What the fuck, yeah, I need your number.”

You laugh quietly, leaning back to look at her.

“Ellie?”

You say, but it came out more like a hush—mumbled against the air and falling warm against her skin as she moves in closer. Her fingers are moving on your face, brushing it gently.

“Can I kiss you?”

You smile with a nod and it was enough to melt Ellie. She’s dreamed about this, literally. She’s had nights where she’s woken up, fake memories of the two of you hanging out. And now it’s real. She’s holding you in her arms and she’s about to actually kiss you—wow does she feel like she’s dreaming.

It was so sweet, the first moment when your lips touched. You smiled wider snd leaned in again. She kissed back happily, moving forward to chase after you. You wrap your arms around her, pulling her closer just as she does the same.

The kitchen has the same ticking sound of the clock, but now there’s the added sounds between the two of you. You stand there for who knows how long, pressed against a counter and Ellie’s body. It’s a contrast for sure—the difference between her warm hands, and cold chest from her dripping hair.

You gasp just a tad when her mouth fumbled and pressed against your jaw. The sound drove her crazy, hands fighting against your clothes and pulling you closer. Before she could even try and kiss there again, the lights to the kitchen switched on and you felt like a deer in headlights.

Your brother stood, looking between the two of you, “Ellie dammit—“

All she could do was smile awkwardly. For the first time that week, you laughed full heartedly.

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havanillas · 4 months ago

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i got some questions on the brushes i used for drawing kezia so i'd like to make a short guide on it!

keep in mind that this is very clip studio specific so it may not be for everyone

most of kezia and the props were drawn with this brush that almost everyone seems to have (it's one of the most downloaded csp brushes i believe)

it's nothing fancy, i just like that it can do lineart and rendering in the same brush

to answer the question on the thickening and wavering lines, that was just my drawing habits breaking out of containment, star rail linearts are a lot more consistent in terms of thickness compared to mine (i like doing that thing where the line intersections are really thick)

and i don't know if this is a tip but i like to do shading above the lineart layer since it's a lot easier to make changes on the go, it doesn't work for every artstyle but i think it worked for star rail

for simple-shaped details like her buttons and necklace i used the border effect to save time

the background sky was entirely this cloud brush just for texture, filling the negative space with this kind of light texture helps the detailed character blend in better with the scene

not the most proud of this part, but the fence and the ground were drawn on top of open source assets to save time (the brick is a default csp material)

i added the prism effect at the last minute because i realized aventurine's splash art had it, but found out that it's actually pretty useful for filling up negative space. might try it on other drawings too

there's probably a different prism brush out there that's better suited to my needs but i didn't want the hassle of looking for it, it does the job

for the paint-like edges i used the dry ink brush, i believe it's one of the default brushes

i think that's about all i have on my mind, tbh drawing this was a wild shot in the dark but i definitely learned a lot more about game art in the end!

#havanillas art guide #also sorry if you got a notification for this when there was nothing in here #i accidentally hit the post button before i was done with it

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mariacallous · 3 months ago

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“There are only so many books on Ukraine we can review each month,” an editor from a major British newspaper tells me at one of the country’s largest literary festivals. He looks a bit uncomfortable, almost apologetic. He wants me to understand that if it were up to him, he’d review a book on Ukraine every day, but that’s just not how the industry works.

Since the start of Russia’s full-scale invasion, I’ve had a glimpse into how several industries work: Publishing, journalism, and the broader world of culture, including galleries and museums. Even before the big war, I knew more than I wanted to about how academia works (or rather doesn’t) when it comes to Ukraine. A common thread among all these fields is the limited attention they allocate to countries that do not occupy a place among the traditional big players of imperial politics.

Cultural imperialism lives on, even if its carriers often proclaim anti-colonial slogans. It thrives in gate-keeping, with editors and academics mistrusting voices that don’t sound like those higher up the ladder, while platforming those who have habitually been accepted as authoritative. “We’ve done Ukraine already” is a frequent response whenever you pitch an idea, text, or public event centering the country.

The editor who can’t keep publishing reviews of Ukraine-related books walks away, and I pick up a copy of one of the UK’s most prominent literary magazines to see their book recommendations. Out of a handful of reviews, three are on recent books about Russia. It seems like the space afforded to Russia remains unlimited. I close the publication to keep my blood pressure down.

Keeping my blood pressure down, however, is challenging. When my social media feeds aren’t advertising another production of Uncle Vanya, they’re urging me to splash out on opera tickets for Eugene Onegin. What happened to the dreaded “cancelling” of Russian culture? The Russia section in most bookshops I visit in the UK is growing daily with everything from yet another translation of Dostoevsky to accounts of opposition figures killed or imprisoned by the Kremlin.

The international media focus on the August 2024 release of Russian political prisoners was yet another example of how the more things change, the more they stay the same. While these released prisoners were provided with a global media platform to call for an end to “unfair” sanctions on “ordinary Russians,” there was no mention of the thousands of Ukrainian civilians who continue to languish in Russian jails.

The ongoing international emphasis on all things Russian goes hand in hand with a reluctance to transform growing interest in Ukraine into meaningful structural changes in how the country is perceived, reported on, and understood. Although there has been some improvement in knowledge about Ukraine since 2022, the move is essentially from having no understanding to having a superficial grasp.

Each time I read a piece on Ukraine by someone not well-versed in the country’s history and politics, my heart sinks. The chances are it will recycle historical cliches, repeat Kremlin propaganda about Russophone Ukrainians, or generalize about regional differences. And to add insult to injury, such articles also often misspell at least one family or place name, using outdated Russian transliterations. A quick Google search or a message to an actual Ukrainian could prevent these errors and save the author from looking foolish. Yet aiding this kind of colonial complacency seems to bother neither the authors nor the editors involved.

I often wonder what would happen if I wrote a piece on British or US politics and misspelt the names of historical figures, towns, and cities. How likely would I be to get it published? And yet the same standards do not apply when it comes to writing about countries that have not been granted priority status in our mental hierarchies of the world. We can misspell them all we like; no one will notice anyway. Apart from the people from those countries, of course. And when an exasperated Ukrainian writes to complain, I can almost see the editors rolling their eyes and thinking, “What does this perpetually frustrated nation want now? We’ve done Ukraine. Why are they never satisfied?”

It is not enough to simply “do Ukraine” by reviewing one book on the war, especially if it’s by a Western journalist rather than a Ukraine-based author. It’s not enough to host one exhibition, particularly if it is by an artist or photographer who only spent a few weeks in the country. Quickly putting together a panel on Russia’s war in response to a major development at the front and adding a sole Ukrainian voice at the last minute doesn’t cut it either. This box-ticking approach is unhelpful and insulting.

It is important to acknowledge that some Western media outlets have significantly enhanced their coverage of Ukraine over the past two and a half years. They have typically done so by dedicating time and resources to having in-house experts who have either reported from Ukraine for many years, or who are committed to deepening their knowledge enough to produce high-quality analysis. However, many of these outlets still seem compelled to provide platforms for individuals entirely unqualified to analyse the region. Surely this isn’t what balance means?

Since February 2022, more than 100 Ukrainian cultural figures have been killed in the war. According to the Ukrainian Ministry of Culture, by May 2024, over 2,000 cultural institutions had been damaged or destroyed. This includes 711 libraries, 116 museums and galleries, and 37 theatres, cinemas, and concert halls. In May 2024, Russia bombed Factor Druk, the country’s biggest printing house.

When I attended this year’s Kyiv Book Arsenal, Ukraine’s largest literary festival, each panel began with a minute of silence to honor the memory of colleagues killed in the war. All this is in addition to mounting military losses, many of whom are yesterday’s civilians, including journalists and creatives who have either volunteered or been drafted into the army. This is the current state of the Ukrainian creative industry.

To save time for Western editors, publishers, and curators, let me clarify what all of us perpetually frustrated Ukrainians want. We would appreciate it if they turned to actual Ukraine specialists when working on Ukraine-related themes. Not those who suddenly pivoted from specializing in Russia, or who feel entitled to speak authoritatively because they discovered a distant Ukrainian ancestor, or those who have only recently shown interest in Ukraine due to business opportunities in the country’s reconstruction. We would be grateful if they took the time to seek out experts who have been studying Ukraine long before it became fashionable, who understand the country in all its complexity, and who care enough to offer Ukrainians the basic dignity of having their names spelt correctly.

I like to fantasise about a time when editors of top Western periodicals will choose to review books on Ukraine not simply because the country is at war and they feel obliged to cover it now and again, but because these books offer vital insights into democracy, the fight for freedom, or the importance of maintaining unity and a sense of humor in times of crisis. I hope for a day when galleries will host exhibitions of Ukrainian art, not just because it was rescued from a war zone, but because the artists involved provide fresh perspectives on the world.

I also dream that we, the perpetually frustrated Ukraine specialists, will eventually be able to focus on our own scholarship and creativity rather than correcting the mistakes and misleading takes of others. This will happen when cultural institutions, publishing houses, universities, and newspapers acquire in-house experts whose knowledge of Ukraine and the wider region extends beyond Russia.

Dr Olesya Khromeychuk is a historian and writer. She is the author of The Death of a Soldier Told by His Sister (2022). Khromeychuk has written for The New York Times, The New York Review of Books, The Guardian, Der Spiegel, Prospect, and The New Statesman, and has delivered a TED talk on What the World Can Learn From Ukraine’s Fight for Democracy. She has taught the history of East-Central Europe at several British universities and is currently the Director of the Ukrainian Institute London.

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mewziesart · 1 year ago

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hehe i made a rainbow dash kinsona! this is Prism Splash, a rainbow making weather pony 🌈 they didnt get the rainbow in their hair until they did their first rainboom!

#mlp #my art #oc #my little pony #my oc #digital art #rainbow dash #prism splash #kinsona

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hunnylagoon · 1 year ago

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hey! I want to request a fluffy one shot about ellie being a parent with the reader. The rest is in your hands, write what comes to ur mind!

Small Hands

Summary: People say that the magic disappears when you have children, that never applied to you and Ellie, you are just as hopelessly in love as the day you were married. You celebrate Christmas with your friends and family despite a few bumps in the road.

A/N: I usually don’t fuck with kids but this concept actually seemed really cute to me. This chapter is a bit shorter, sorry if it’s rushed, I wrote this while studying for my exams. Thank you for requesting! If anyone else has requests, feel free to leave them and I will get around to them! There is the smallest teensiest weensiest smidgen of a angst in the middle but it comes from a third party. Warning for mentions of postpartum depression

The air was infused with the spicy aroma of gingerbread and the warm glow of twinkling lights as a group of friends gathered for their annual Christmas party. The cozy living room, adorned with tinsel and stockings, echoed with laughter and the jingling of bells. The adults, each holding a mug of steaming cocoa (with a splash of Bailey's), exchanged stories of the year gone by while the children, eyes wide with wonder, eagerly awaited the arrival of Santa Claus.

The living room sparkled with the joy of reunion, as friends who had become family over the years shared in the holiday spirit. You being the hostess of the party, had a flair for festive decorations, you had turned your home into a winter wonderland, complete with a towering Christmas tree and a crackling fireplace. "Levi, get away from there!" Your eyes went wide and you slammed your mug onto the coffee table before you ran to retrieve your son who was wearing an elf onesie and had been attempting to pull out bottles from the wine rack. Your friends and family laughed at the scene "Geez," You grabbed him from beneath his arms and scooped him up, quickly bringing him close to your chest. He had just turned four and was rapidly getting too big for you to carry him. You put him on the ground and ushered him toward the game room telling him to go play with his sister while all of the children were playing some kind of board game or watching the Polar Express. "Where is your mother?" You mutter under your breath, gaze suddenly focusing on the sink full of dishes, you sigh and walk towards them, figuring it easier to get them done now as opposed to when the part has ended and you're too exhausted to do so.

In the tranquil kitchen, the rhythmic cadence of water splashing and the clink of porcelain against stainless steel create a melodic backdrop as you diligently tend to the post-dinner ritual of washing dishes, humming along to the song 'Last Christmas' which you could hear ever so faintly rise above the busy chatter of the living room. your hands, adorned with soap bubbles, move with a graceful choreography, navigating each plate, glass, and utensil with practiced efficiency. The moonlight streaming through the window illuminates the dance of water droplets, casting a prism of reflections on the gleaming surfaces. The scent of citrus-scented dish soap permeates the air, as you, lost in thought, scrub away at remnants of roast chicken and mashed potatoes.

"There's my girl," You feel a pair of arms snake around your waist, you didn't need to turn around to tell who it was; it had of course been your wife, you looked down at where her hands rested on your midriff, her silver wedding ring glistened beneath the warm overhead lighting in the kitchen.

"Are you aware your son is trying to get into the wine rack again?" You turn around to face her, her hands changed from their spot on your waist to the edge of the kitchen sink, leaving you stuck between her and the counter, faces inches apart.

"What can I say? He's got drinking problems," She teased, gaze flickering to your lips for a minute.

"That's all you," You said, your faces were so close that you could've sworn that you could count every single freckle on her face. Without warning, Ellie puts her hands back onto your waist to pull you close, she plants little kisses on your neck, earning a giggle from you "Really?" You laugh "Is me washing dishes really that attractive?"

"Oh, absolutely," She thought you were so incredibly stunning, even in something as simple as a red cable-knit sweater with faded mom jeans and hair tied up sloppy in a claw clip. You had only bought the claw clip in the first place because your daughter told you they were trendy.

"Okay, seriously, there are kids here," You laugh, gently pushing Ellie away from you "We can save that for later."

"You just look so beautiful," Ellie wears a goofy smile on her face.

"In mom jeans?"

She shrugs "As beautiful as the day I met you, if not more."

You can't help the huge smile that consumes your face. You and Ellie had met in college, she was a bartender and you went to her bar every single Friday just to see her, all of your friends sat in a booth but you would always push for them to sit at the bar when they refused, you sat alone just to talk to the pretty girl behind the bar. "Do you remember how we were spending Christmas in College?"

"One bottle of peppermint schnapps and a bag of chocolate-covered pretzels."

"You're forgetting a game of strip poker," You add.

"That's probably because I was hammered off my ass," She says bluntly and it makes you laugh. Back in college, the pair of you made plans to fly home to see your families but a snowstorm had other plans, with arrangements cancelled you went back to each other, cozying up on Ellie's beat-up couch and dumping schnapps into eggnog, god it tasted awful but the sound of Ellie laughing, her cheeks and nose pink from cold air almost made it taste better.

"You know..." You say, drawing Ellie's attention "I think it might be time to start the gingerbread house contest."

Ellie is way ahead of you, she leaves the kitchen and enters the game room, you can tell the exact moment she announced it by the kid's reactions all you heard was cheering before a dozen kids stormed out of the game room and gathered around the dining table where you had meticulously placed a gingerbread house decorating kit at each chair as well as little bowls full of several colours of frosting and miscellaneous candies lined down the center.

Parents sat next to their children or stood behind them, either rooting for them or guiding their small hands along the gingerbread, aiding the decorating process. Ellie sat between both of your children "Levi, you can eat it after you build it," She chuckled, gingerly moving the plastic butter knife of icing to the edge of a wall for the gingerbread house, "See? You put icing along the edges and then you stick it together and then when it dries, you have a house!" She explained in simple terms to your youngest, turning her head to look at your daughter who was too busy conversing with her friend to decorate "You should be listening to this too, Kenna, useful tips," She teased. Kenna rolled her eyes, she was ten years old and at that stage where she was starting to get embarrassed by her parents. Ellie laughed at your daughter's reaction, locking eyes with you from your spot by the doorway where the two of you share a look of understanding.

"Uh oh, looks like Papa's intervening," Dina said, she stood next to Jesse, cradling her baby, JJ, in her arms, watching the scene unfold.

"Alright, kiddo, here's what we're gonna do." Joel shooed Kenna's friend away, replacing her. Under hushed whispers he explained a plan to Kenna, the two were discussing a layout to win the gingerbread contest.

"Oh, it's getting heated now," Ellie said, now moving her focus onto Levi's sloppy gingerbread house.

Everyone was in the festive dining room, laughing and talking, truly in the Christmas spirit, all except for one; you heard what sounded like faint sobs coming from the kitchen. With furrowed eyebrows, you followed the sound and found none other than your friend, Catherine crying into her hands.

"What happened?" You break the silence, catching her attention.

Catherine begins to wipe away tears, shaking her head "It's nothing, it's so stupid-

"Well, it's not nothing if you're crying." You cross your arms. Catherine can't seem to get the words out, she just shakes her head and squeezes her eyes shut in her best attempt to push back tears, her blue eyes red and puffy "Whatever it is, I'm not going to judge you."

"It's just-" She takes a deep, shaky breath" Sometimes I wish I wasn't a mom, I just wish I could pack up my bags and leave in the middle of the night and never come back." Catherine was an English teacher at a middle school, you had met her not long after you met Ellie. She was also a new mother, she had only had her baby girl, Clementine for six months; you saw how tired she was, she always for dark bags under her eyes, she used to intricately braid her dirty blond hair every day but now she only had the energy in her to tie it up into a loose bun. "I'm sorry," She laughed "I don't know why I'm crying."

"Because it hurts." You answer, eyebrows furrowing with concern.

Your daughter ran into the kitchen with a huge smile on her little face "Mom, you need to see my house, Papa Joel is helping me and it looks really cool so far-" Her smile faded in the slightest when she saw you with Catherine, "Is Cathy okay?"

"She's fine, sweetheart," You kneel to eye level with Kenna "Her tummy just hurts from too much hot chocolate so I'm gonna take care of her for a bit." You brush one of Kenna's lose hair behind her ear and plant a kiss onto her freckled forehead "Just go back to making your house, I'm sure it looks awesome, I promise I'll come see it when it's done but I think your auntie Sarah would love to see it." Kenna nods casting one last look at Catherine who turned around to hide her tear-stained face from your daughter and hurried out of the kitchen. "Cath, let's talk outside." You move towards the sliding door on the other side of the kitchen, you hold it open for Catherine who follows you outside, immediately hugging herself in an attempt to fight off the cold. "So, where is this coming from?"

Catherine looks around the snow-covered yard, she sees the snowman that your children made with Ellie the day before and it only adds to the unbearable weight on her shoulders "I'm not good at this, I'm a bad mom-

"No, you're not-

She lets out another sob "Like just now, you are so patient with Kenna and Levi, you and Ellie have this incredible house and an amazing family, you guys never fight and I just feel like I'm falling behind."

"You're crazy if you think Ellie and I don't fight, we argue all the time about the stupidest things, like earlier we fought about who would pop that champagne cork. We fight, but that doesn't mean that we don't love each other, I'm sure you feel the same way about Emmet."

"I love Emmet," She says "I really do and I love Clementine so so much I just wish I had a minute to breathe." Catherine can hardly look you in the eyes "I work with kids all day and take care of them and then I get home and it's just more of the same but there's cooking and cleaning and it's endless."

The silence stretches between you two. Catherine's face is scrunched up, her pale turning red from the cold. With each unsteady breath, she heaves, a cloud of carbon dioxide emerges. The sleet covering every inch of ground acts as soundproofing over the neighbourhood, the only thing you can hear are birds flapping their wings and Catherine's heavy cries.

"Do you remember when I wanted to be a writer?" She asks "When I used to have dreams, I would hole myself up in that one corner booth of that coffee shop every Sunday and I would write for hours on end."

"And every time someone mentioned a book or movie that they like, you would ask what they liked about it so you could use bits of it in your writing." You say, your lips stretching into a thin melancholic smile at the memory.

"Well, it's all gone out the window." She was shaking by that point, not from the frigid air or her now wet socks but from misery "Two years ago I was hosting wine-tasting parties and Emmet was taking me out to these beautiful high-end restaurants. I could fit into sleek back dresses and wear high heels for hours without getting blisters, now all I eat is Kraft dinner and takeout. Every nice blouse I own has gotten baby vomit on it."

The way Catherine is speaking, she sounds bitter with despair hanging in her tone. You at a loss for words, postpartum depression was common but you hadn't realized just how much Catherine was suffering. She had spent six months feeling this way with no one to talk to. When you first adopted Kenna you were terrified, you thought that you wouldn't have a mother's instinct and that you were going to screw her up in some way or that she would resent you because you aren't her biological mother.

"I haven't got a full night of sleep in six months, all I hear is that fucking screeching cry. That's all she does is scream, she screams when she's happy, when she's sad, when she's upset and angry, it's all I hear and I'm so fucking sick of it." She buried her face into her hands "Emmet just loves her so much, he does everything with her without complaint and I can't help but hold the slightest bit of resent for her, I probably sound evil right now."

"You don't," You pulled Catherine in for a hug. Embracing her and all of her sadness, if it belonged to her then it belonged to you as well. "I'll tell you this right now, it's going to get a whole lot worse before it gets better." Her head was tucked into the crook of your neck.

"That isn't helping-

You pushed her away, holding onto her shoulders, forcing her to face you. "Remember when you adopted that dog?"

"Toothless," She smiled at the thought of her old Labrador.

"He was a puppy when you adopted him, he had way too much energy, barked at every sound, and pissed and shat on the floor of your apartment a lot," You say, face dead serious despite the subject matter "That night before exams when you were exhausted and all you wanted was to sleep, you tucked yourself into bed and Toothless was right beside you and then he pissed all over your white duvet. You called me and you just cried and cried because you were so stressed and that was the tipping point. How about that time he dragged your period-stained underwear out of your laundry basket when you had a date over-

"Okay, I get it," Catherine laughed.

"My point is, when that puppy stage passed, you were in love with that dog, you blew off plans just to take him on walks downtown. If you had a bad day, you would curl up on the couch with him. Not that I'm comparing your child to a dog but when this postpartum leaves, that child is going to be the light of your life. Fridays at the bar won't sound appealing when you can make popcorn and watch Disney with your daughter, nothing else is going to matter as much as that girl. When Clementine gets older you'll find that every eye-roll means you're doing something right."

"Is that true?" She asks "About the eyerolls?"

"No," You laugh "It's just something I say to make Ellie feel better."

Catherine chuckles, wiping away what remains of her tears. "Thank you."

"I know it feels like it's the end of the road but it's not. It gets easier every single day but that's the hard part, you need to get up and face it every single day." Your words calm Catherine down. Her tears dissipate and with a deep breath she is no longer shaking "We should go back inside now, I wanna see who won the gingerbread building contest." You sling an arm around her and guide her back inside through the sliding door.

"But my socks are wet." She says, hesitant to step back inside.

"I'm sorry for making you stand in the snow but that conversation needed to happen," You urge her inside anyway, not caring if your freshly cleaned kitchen floors get wet "I'll lend you a pair of slippers."

You and Catherine return to the dining room where the contest is just wrapping up, both in fuzzy slippers; the pair Catherine wore had little black spotted cows on them while yours were teal and made to look like Perry the Platypus, a gift you received from Ellie out of the blue because she thought they were hilarious and wanted both of you to have a matching pair. "Just in time," Dina says, she's wearing a white turtle neck and blue skinny jeans, leaning against the wall, watching her husband with a smile "They're about to announce the winner."

Ellie is speaking in a hushed voice with Jesse who is holding JJ in one arm, she's acting as serious as ever and even pretending to ask JJ for his opinion, the baby just babbles in return "Interesting, thank you, JJ," She says. Ellie turns to the crowd, everyone goes silent waiting for her words "The consensus is... You are all winners!"

Many of the older kids groaned in annoyance, all of the adults knew this was coming that didn't stop Tommy from saying that it was outrageous.

As the night unfolded, the kids, bundled up in cozy sweaters, gathered around a table filled with art supplies to craft their ornaments. Laughter filled the room as little hands carefully adorned paper snowflakes and painted wooden stars. The parents, caught in the infectious energy of the children, joined in the crafting, reminiscing about their childhood holiday traditions.

With bellies full and hearts warmer than ever, the group of friends settled into a circle around the fireplace. The children, tucked in cozy blankets, many of the kids fell asleep in the game room while 'Home Alone' played on the TV.

As the night drew to a close, the guests exchanged hugs and well wishes. The flickering lights of the Christmas tree cast a soft glow on the scene as the friends, with their children in tow, bid farewell, knowing that the memories forged on this magical night would linger in their hearts long after the last snowflake had fallen. Parent hauled their sleeping children away into their cars, putting a close on the night.

Ellie took Kenna, hand in hand, to the bathroom, making sure that she thoroughly brushed her teeth. She tucked her daughter in, giving her a kiss on the forehead. Kenna tried to argue that she wasn't tired but the second her head hit the pillow her eyes shuttered closed and any chatter she had in her was replaced by soft breaths emerging from the sleeping girl.

You had taken Levi straight to bed, he was already passed out when you found him curled in a ball on a blanket in the game room. He gently put him down on his bed and pulled a Spider-Man blanket over the top of him to keep his little body warm. You made sure that his night light was plugged in before stepping away and closing the door, but not all the way, you left it open a crack, just the way he liked it.

And so, the echoes of laughter, the warmth of shared moments, and the spirit of togetherness lingered in the air, a reminder that the company of cherished friends and family had just left, leaving you and your little family to sit in the static quiet of the fireplace crackling.

The air is still tinged with the scent of cinnamon and pine, and a soft glow emanates from the myriad of twinkling lights that adorn every corner. The Christmas tree, a majestic centrepiece, stands tall and proud, its branches adorned with an array of ornaments that glisten in hues of red, gold, and silver. A cozy fireplace crackles merrily, casting a warm embrace upon the room. Festive stockings, embroidered with care, hang in anticipation of surprises. Plush blankets drape over sofas, inviting you to sink into their warmth. Every surface seems to gleam with the holiday spirit, from the gleaming silverware on the dining table to the festive wreaths that adorn doorways. The ambiance is a symphony of holiday joy, where every decoration tells a story of cherished traditions and the magic of Christmas despite the displaced blankets and dishes, as well as random craft supplies that were somehow everywhere.

"We should probably clean this up before bed," You say, bending down to grab a throw blanket off the floor.

Ellie grabs your wrist to stop you "That's what tomorrow is for," You turn to face her "Right now I just want to be with my wife."

You grin "I don't think I'll ever get sick of you saying that."

"I don't think I'll ever get sick of saying it."

You kiss Ellie, she has one hand pulling you in from the small of your back. "I think I have a crush on you." You giggle.

"A crush on your wife?" Ellie raises an eyebrow "Who could imagine that."

"No I mean, I obviously love you but there's a difference between being in love and having a crush, we've been married for fourteen years and I still get excited when you call me pretty. I can't help but stare at you in a room full of people and when you look back I get butterflies because I just can't help but be thankful that I got lucky enough to have you." Your lips curve up into a smile "I don't think that was corny enough," You say sarcastically.

Ellie kisses you again, it is simple and sweet, like the taste of sugar resting on the tip of your tongue "I guess I have a crush on you too," She looked so pretty in her jeans and red flannel, sporting the haircut you gave her with pride; whenever someone mentioned her haircut she would get all giddy and say 'My wife did it!'. An idea snaps into your mind, and you swiftly break away from Ellie and kick off your Perry the Platypus slippers, jetting to the kitchen to the sliding door and running outside. Ellie calls after you, with no response, she follows your trail of teal slippers. She pokes her head outside "Honey?" She calls into the night, and instead of your voice answering her she is decked in the face by a snowball. "Ow!"

With rosy cheeks and twinkling eyes, your breath forming clouds in the cold, launched the first snowball, its trajectory guided by both precision and mischief. Ellie, undeterred, retaliated with a well-aimed throw which truthfully fucking hurt when it crashed into you as she used to play softball and didn't know how to gently throw anything. The world around you transformed into a playground, each snowball being thrown with more power.

As the not-so-friendly competition unfolded, your movements became a dance—a graceful ballet of dodges and throws. The landscape bore witness to their camaraderie, marked by the hushed giggles (trying your best to stay quiet enough that you didn't wake the kids) and the occasional shrieks of delight. Frost-kissed eyelashes framed your beaming faces, capturing the essence of a moment suspended in the magic of winter.

The cold air filled with the warmth of your connection. You both paused, momentarily breathless, her laughter echoing in the serene stillness of the snow-covered landscape. Amidst the snow-laden trees and glistening ground, you and Ellie shared a quiet gaze—a fleeting, unspoken acknowledgment of the bond that stayed unbroken with each tossed snowball.

Your cheeks flushed with both the chill of the air and the thrill of the game, finally forfeited, coming out from your shielding spot behind the shed, you laughed as you approached Ellie, moving your delicate hands to shake snow out of her hair. The memory of the evening lingered, a cherished chapter in the story of your enduring love.

#ellie williams #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #the last of us #the last of us ellie #tlou #ellie williams x reader #ellie the last of us #Ellie is down bad #christmas #you have kids with Ellie #Ellie Williams X reader fluff

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cozage · 2 years ago

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Hello!! I love your writing and would love to see a follow up of the captured by marines ask where they go and rescue the reader :)))

A/N: This is the last of the Captured by Marines/Rescued by Pirates short fics! Luffy’s and Law’s were posted earlier today, check them out :)

Characters: female reader x Ace

Cw: angst, torture, reader in peril

Total word count: 3k

Part 1

Rescued by Pirates - Ace

It wasn’t long before he saw the Navy ships, and he smirked to himself. How easy it had been to get to them. He wondered if the Marines even knew who they had, if they knew what kind of death sentence that had placed upon themselves by taking Whitebeard’s crew. By taking you.

He heard cannon balls splash around him and knew he had been spotted, but he wasn’t concerned. His Striker was too fast and too small to be caught by a stray firearm.

Watching the Navy scramble around like that on the ships made him laugh. Actually laugh out loud. So loud that he knew his crewmates could hear it. That you could hear it.

The navymen on the ships took aim and fired to no avail. He wondered if they knew it was a lost cause. Not that it mattered. They should’ve known he would come after them. They really should’ve prepared better.

He lept off his Striker and jumped up to the deck, smirking at all the wide-eyed marines. Everyone just stood there unmoving for a second, shocked by his sudden appearance.

“Hey there fellas, you wouldn’t happen to know where my crew mates are, wouldya?”

His question nudged them into action, and they all began firing. The bullets went right through him, and he stood there, letting them empty their rounds of ammo. Once they were done, he shrugged and ran past them down the stairs.

His division had taken a few ships like this hostage, and he was familiar with the layout. He didn’t worry himself with the Marines staring at him. They’d all be at the bottom of the ocean soon enough, but he couldn’t sink a ship with his crew on it.

“Ace!!” He heard a small group of about five men cry out, finding them locked behind a cell of sea prism stone. He cursed the substance, but smiled at the men regardless.

“Hey guys, howya been?” He looked around, but you weren’t there, and his heart sank a little bit. This would be a lot easier if he knew you were here fighting with him. “Any idea where the key is?”

“The vice admiral!” One of them shouted.

“Be back soon!” He tipped his hat and ran back up the ship to find the keys.

He found the Vice Admiral holding the keys out over the edge of the ship. The man looked very nervous, and Ace knew he was a coward without even speaking to him.

“Give me the keys, and I’ll spare your life. How’s that?”

“No way,” the man’s voice trembled as he spoke. “I don’t make deals with pirates.

Ace didn’t argue. He just held out his fingers to create crosshairs aimed at the man.

“Listen here,” Ace said, his voice deadly serious. “I don’t have time to play around. Either you give me those keys and I let you and your men go, or I send everyone on this ship to a watery grave. Your choice.”

It turned out that Ace had picked the right ship, because the vice admiral was nice enough to give him the keys for every jail cell on every ship. Ace ran back down the stairs with the keys in his hand, and the feeling of success on his shoulders.

He unlocked the cell and his crewmates rushed to hug him, but he waved them off. “Tie up all the marines and hold them hostage. Once we have everyone, we’ll put them on one ship and let them go.”

The pirates look at him like hes crazy, but he shrugs. “I got the keys without a fight. That was the trade off. I’m a man of my word.”

The second ship was as easy to take as the first, but you weren’t on that ship either, and Ace was starting to feel nervous. Three ships with Marines this weak shouldn’t have crushed the third division of the Whitebeard Pirates so badly.

The third ship was quickly taken over as well, and you were still nowhere to be found. His crew mates must have sensed his panic, because finally someone spoke up.

“They took her separately since she had devil fruit powers,” a crew mate said. “They said she was too dangerous to keep on these ships. She’d be..” the man trailed off, scared to finish.

“What? What’d they say?” Ace said, trying to rush him.

“They said she’d be good bait.”

“Bait…” Ace could feel his skin catch fire at the words, and his crewmates backed away from him. He wanted to destroy the small fleet of ships they had just captured, and he struggled to keep his cool in the moment.

“Get on the other ship. Now. Sail back to Whitebeard.” He handed Whitebeard’s Vivre card to a man and stood as they all scrambled away.

He weighed heavily what to do next, and forced himself to clear his head before he decided what to do. Once the Navy ship with Whitebeard’s pirates were out of sight, he stripped two of the Navy officers of their clothes and put one outfit on, saving the other for later. He burned their main sail, and made sure all of the men were tied up tight on one ship. He took the small transponder snail with him, and then as he left, he set the second, abandoned ship ablaze without looking back.

He moved fast, following your vivre card again. He hadn’t even thought to look at it while he was freeing the others on the ship, but it wouldn’t have mattered. He couldn’t have left his family there, in the hands of the marines and sentenced to Impel Down. Unlike with you, he would’ve had no way to find them again, and they’d be gone forever. He knew he had made the right choice, but it still hurt to know you had been moving further away from him rather than getting closer.

He sailed through the day and into the night before he saw lights of other ships. He quickly extinguished his own boat light and watched the ship closely. He wanted to go in as wild as the fire he created, but he was certain the members of this crew would be significantly stronger than the last ones he encountered, and he needed to get you out alive.

As his Striker crept up to the side of the ship, he was surprised by the lack of watchmen. He was expecting infiltration to be harder than this. And then his Striker tapped the side of the boat.

“Did you hear that?” Ace heard a voice from above, and he silently cursed himself.

“Hear what?” An older voice huffed.

“I dunno. Sounded like something hit the boat, I think.”

“I think you’re hearing things, Cadet.”

“We should probably check it out.” The voice moved closer, and Ace readied himself for a battle.

“I told you kid,” the older voice spoke. “The Captain said that the Whitebeard Pirates wouldn’t come until a public execution was set. They’re going to take this time to rally their forces, and they’ll attack when it’s a public event. It’s much less impressive to kidnap some girl from a Marine boat, but to fight the entire Navy while the world is watching? That's the spectacle the pirates will want.”

“How do you know?” the kid asked.

“I was around when Roger was executed-” Ace flinched at the name. “-and it was the same thing. Pirates everywhere, waiting for someone else to make the move. But nobody ever did, and he was executed because of it. That won’t happen again though. They’ll take a stand. They’ll make a show of it.”

“You were there for Roger’s execution?” Fascination filled the young man’s voice, and Ace rolled his eyes. “What was it like?”

“Ha! Let’s go grab a drink and I’ll tell you all about it.” The older man’s voice was paired with footsteps leading away from the railing, and Ace tied his Striker to the ladder and climbed up it.

He peeked his eyes over the railing and only saw two other men on deck, other officers who were probably on watch. They were facing away from him, and he silently jumped over the railing and landed on the deck.

He smoothed out his Marine uniform and straightened his cap, trying his best to blend in.

This ship was similar to the last three he had taken over, and he had to resist running downstairs to find you. Instead, he walked around, trying to figure out where the keys were. He found a board with a schedule for watch duty on deck and watch duty for the prisoner.

As he was staring at the board, another man came up to him. He looked to be about his age.

“You wouldn’t want to take my shift watching the bitch, would you?”

Ace’s anger flared up, but he smothered it quickly to keep up the appearance.

“I don’t know, man. When do you have to watch her?” He said, eyeing the man next to him.

The man was about as tall as Ace, but extremely skinny. It looked like he was too tall for his own body, like he hadn’t filled out his own skin yet. He had bright orange hair and a crooked smile, and just looking at him made Ace want to punch him in the face. Though Ace wasn’t sure if that was because of the man’s comment about you or his appearance.

The man chuckled. “In thirty minutes, and I'd love to go back to bed. Had a bit too much to drink, if you know what I mean,” the man chuckled, and Ace joined along halfheartedly until the man continued. “Last thing I want to deal with in the middle of the night is that chick.”

Ace raised his eyebrow. Of course you were giving them hell. “She that bad, huh? Have you seen her?”

“Just when she got on the ship. She was kicking and screaming until they put a gag in her and knocked her around a few times.”

Ace gritted his teeth. “Sounds feisty.”

The man snorted. “You can go find out for yourself just how feisty she is in about thirty minutes if you want.”

“You’ve intrigued me,” Ace said, pretending to be casual. “I’ll take it if you switch for my shift tomorrow.”

“Deal.” The man held out his hand, and Ace took it. “I’m Rogan.”

Ace nodded. “Nice to meet you. Chance.”

“Well, you’re really doing me a solid, Chance. I’ll see you in the morning.” And with that, the orange-haired marine walked off to bed.

Thirty minutes. Ace had thirty minutes to keep a low profile and find the key to your cell, and then you would be free. He grabbed some coffee from the cafeteria to rejuvenate him, and got a small snack as well. He had been fighting and sailing for over a day, and the exhaustion was starting to catch up with him.

He must’ve dozed off at some point, because a loud speaker jolted him awake to alert a shift change. He cursed himself, now he wouldn’t have time to find the keys to your cell.

He walked down the stairs to the jail cell, and found another man waiting for him.

“Here,” he said, shoving a rod at Ace. The man’s eyes flicked nervously back to the cell behind him. “If she acts up any more just stick her with that.”

The man started up the staircase and then turned back to Ace. “Just some advice: Don’t taunt her. She’s…” he paused, and his eyes shifted back to the cell where Ace guessed you were. “Just don’t acknowledge her. The other guy should be here soon, and I know we’re supposed to only guard in doubles, but I can’t take it anymore.”

The guy disappeared from sight, and Ace heard your voice chirp up from behind him.

“If you think you can subdue me, you’re wrong.” He could hear the animalistic growl in your voice, and he shuddered to think about what you had been through while you were parted.

“Oh,” Ace laughed, turning to face you. “I think I can handle you just fine.”

He could see your eyes shift when you caught sight of his freckled face, hatred instantly turning into relief.

Your eyes flicked to the doorway to make sure nobody was there, and then you looked back at him and smiled. “That Marine outfit suits you,” you said, your voice returning to the sweet sound he was used to. “I get why Garp wanted you to live this life.”

Ace laughed loudly, and then clamped a hand over his mouth as you both looked towards the doorway.

“I don’t have the key to get you out,” he said disappointingly.

“The next guy who comes will,” you said. “He should be back in about 10 minutes I think.”

Ace raised an eyebrow at you, and you smiled wickedly in return.

“They think I’m weak because I’m a girl,” you scoffed, and you saw his lips tug upwards at the corners.

“It’s a dangerous thing to do, underestimate a pirate.” He winked at you, which made you erupt into a fit of giggles.

“Quiet down now, spitfire,” Ace chided back to you, and you rolled your eyes.

“I’m going to sleep,” you said, leaning your head back against the wall. “Wake me up when it’s time to move.”

Ace turned away from you, watching the door. He waited for someone to come, and finally the door opened a bit.

“She’s finally asleep, huh?” a hushed whisper came from the door.

Ace nodded, glancing back at you slumped against the wall.

The man smiled sinisterly, and Ace’s entire body tense watching his expression.

“Good,” the marine hissed. “Hand me that electro-rod. I need to teach her a lesson.” He grabbed the keyring around his belt loop and unhooked it as he walked towards your prison cell.

So that’s what Ace had in his hands. An electrified rod. He had seen them used before, but he had never been hit by one.

Ace frowned at the man. “I thought we weren’t supposed to-”

“Shut up, boy,” the man snapped. “She mocked my honor. I’ll be damned if I let a pirate laugh at me, and a female one at that.”

He unlocked the door, and held his hand out for the rod. “Give it here, and get over here if you want to see a show.”

“No,” Ace said, pressing the button to activate the rod. “I don’t think I will.”

The man looked at Ace with a baffled expression, and Ace jabbed at him with the rod quickly. It was such a swift and sudden movement, the man didn’t have time to react, and he fell backwards.

Your eyes snap open and your throw your hand around the man, using the chain on your cuffs to act as a clothesline around the man’s neck.

Ace stands over the both of you with a dark look in his eye. “You made a mistake, and it’ll cost you now.”

He jammed the prod into the man again, and you covered his mouth to muffle his screams.

“You underestimated her.” He prodded the man. “You underestimated me.” Another prod. “And you underestimated the Whitebeard Pirates.” This time, he smacked the man with the blunt rod, and you felt the marine go slack in your arms, unconscious.

He grabbed the key ring and unlocked your shackles quickly, his eyes watching the door.

“Ace!” You cry out, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him into a hug. “You’re so scary!” He can hear the smile on your lips, your voice full of pride.

You both wrap the Marine in the shackles and relock the door to the cell. Ace looked back at you, watching the man with hatred.

“What did you do to him?”

You smiled slightly. “He’s just sensitive about some things, that’s all.”

Ace gave an impressed whistle, but didn’t ask anymore questions. “You ready to do this?”

You look at him and raise an eyebrow. “You think this is gonna be hard?”

“Not with you by my side.” He gave you a quick kiss on the lips. “The hard part is over.”

He was right. The few marines that you encountered were quick to take down. It made you nervous. You kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. But it never did. You all dropped onto his Striker without anyone being alerted of your absence.

“The Marines I heard earlier said they weren’t expecting Whitebeard to make an appearance until an execution was set,” he explains, reading your thoughts. “Makes sense why this was so easy.”

“They only took me separately because I was a devil fruit user.”

“They had no idea who they captured,” he said, and he roared his Striker to life. “Stupid mistake on their part.”

You hum in agreement at that. “Still seemed too easy,” you said, frowning.

His arms wrapped around you, and he kissed your cheek. “You’re so used to fighting powerful foes, you don’t know what to do when we catch a break.”

He started to take his Marine outfit off, but you stop him. “Keep it on,” you say with a wink. “It suits you.”

He smirks, looking down at himself and then at you. “I’ve got an extra one if you want it.”

You scrunch your face. “No thanks.”

“Fine, but I’m taking off the hat.”

He took his Navy cap off and placed it on your head, and then he unbuttoned his shirt, but kept it on for you. For now. Ace opened a side compartment of his Striker and found his hat, placing it back on his head, feeling a lot more comfortable.

“Perfect!” You said, pulling him in again for another sweet, long kiss.

#one piece #one piece scenario #one piece imagine #one piece x reader #portgas d ace #portgas ace x you #portgas ace x reader #ace x y/n #ace x reader #✧˚ace✧˚

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