#storm tw

[voidnull-crow]

Before The Sun Is Rising Up

Pairing: Yunho/Yeosang

Word count: 1,050

Additional info: fluff, cuddling & snuggling, established relationship, storm watching, severe weather tw

(title is from "Mist" by ATEEZ) (this is set in the same world as my other yunsang fic)

Read on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59293573

Yunho awakes with a start. In the safety of his room, under the comfort of his covers, the quiet of night is disrupted by intermittent claps of unmistakable thunder. He takes in the world around him for a moment as he wakes up. Laying with an arm and a leg draped across his body is Yeosang, his soft breathy snores drawing Yunho to the present.

He closes his eyes and tries to go back to sleep. He’s warm and cozy and he has an angel in his arms, what more could he ask for? Taking some deep breaths, he tries to will that brain-empty feeling he gets before sleep overtakes him. The rain is a pleasant white noise. Even though he’s finding it hard to be sleepy, he’s not all that upset about getting a chance to enjoy the sound of a storm and cuddles to boot. 

It’s the lightning that piques his interest. When it flashes, it’s bright enough he can see it through his eyelids. Nearly subconsciously, he starts counting. When he doesn’t reach 30 before thunder sounds, he opens his eyes again. That’s a close storm. Curiosity calls to him, and oh how he’s failing to resist it.

He moves Yeosang’s arm gently off of his chest and slips his legs out from where they’re tangled together, leaving only the wrinkles of the covers to remember where he was. He tiptoes out into the living room.

Yunho draws the curtains and ties the strings to hold them open, revealing the storm outside. The windblown rain batters the windows of the glass doors. But inside, dry and safe, Yunho gives a small squeal of happiness at the dramatic show of nature. Slowly, as if in a trance, he sinks down to the floor, sitting back with his legs tucked up into his chest to watch the storm in awe.

The wind shakes the trees violently, and through the glass he can hear the leaves trembling like shivering teeth. The branches are whipped around but hold strong to the test of power. 

Rain hammers down, thrown from the clouds in buckets. It spatters on the ground, crafting a low misty haze; fog-like and mysterious. Cloud-to-cloud lightning zips across the sky every now and then.

He hears a noise behind him and nearly jumps out of his skin. Drawn out of their room by the sound of the storm or by the lack of Yunho cuddling him, Yeosang, pouty and fluffy-looking with a big blanket wrapped around him, shuffles across the room. He flops down next to Yunho in front of the big glass doors and puts half the blanket across his shoulders. Yunho hadn’t even realized he was cold. He scoots closer and adjusts the blanket around himself. Yeosang holds onto his arm and puts his head on his shoulder, yawning. Yunho rests their heads against each other.

The bloody battle of nature against itself continues. With a gruesome cracking noise, a well sized branch on a tree across the way snaps. Both Yunho and Yeosang gasp softly. It hangs on by mere sinews, dangling helplessly until the wind takes pity on it and finishes the job, letting it drop to the ground. Lightning highlights the grim scene. The onslaught of rain weighs it down, keeping it in its resting place. 

Thunder booms deep in the sky, rumbling through his body in a way that sets off his most primitive urge to hide. He loves the feeling. Yeosang clings a little tighter to his arm, but smiles at Yunho when he glances down to check on him. Yunho intertwines their fingers.

The storm reaches a point where the lightning strikes so often that the roar of thunder gets no break. The rain’s beat picks up, faster and harder and heavier. It tiptoes along the edge of hail. Yunho can’t quite see the difference, but he can hear it in how the rain hits the concrete in sharper, less muddled sounds.

He pulls the blanket up higher around his and Yeosang’s shoulders, feeling the chill of the storm leak through the seals of the doorframe. He could go for a warm drink, tea or cocoa or even coffee so he can stay up to the end of the storm, but is far too enraptured by nature to put the thought into action.

The rain gives way into hail, droplets morphing into hardened orbs of ice. They pelt the ground like a battery. The longer it goes on, the more the hail begins to collect along the edges and corners of the house, but none are big enough to stay frozen. The white center of each ball is molded out of shape by the falling of more hail overtop, leaving only slush.

The power of the storm begins to dwindle. The hail’s anger melts back into rain, the lightning no longer has the energy to reach the ground, the thunder's voice grows hoarse. The trees stop shaking in fear, and the haze along the ground disappears entirely.

As the clouds begin to lighten and separate from each other, the night sky peeks at the disheveled aftermath of the storm. She blinks her pretty, and many, eyes at the world, and at the two watching her. Or rather, the one watching her. Yeosang fell back asleep on Yunho’s shoulder at some point. Yunho isn’t sure when.

It doesn’t matter anyways. The rain has faded into a drizzle, light and boring. The adrenaline of the storm wears out of him, and he finds himself fighting heavy eyelids. Carefully, he takes the blanket off the two of them, folding it as best he can and setting it aside. Even more carefully, he shifts them both around so he can pick Yeosang up.

Slow and steady, he stands up off the floor with Yeosang in his arms. Yeosang’s head droops and falls against his shoulder, cheek squished against Yunho’s arm. Yunho’s heart tightens with fondness.

He takes them both back to bed, setting Yeosang down gently and then climbing in right next to him. Feeling sleepiness settle in his bones after the excitement of the night, he doesn’t linger on the marvel of what he experienced. He’ll talk all about it with Yeosang in the morning, when the sun is ready to greet the world.

[bodyhorrors]

I think the tornado missed us!!

[lvebug]

i hope that anyone who may be along the us west coast is out of the path of the tsunami warning and that everyone is staying safe!!! ❤️

[hatchetfieldhighschool]

michigan is getting a shit ton of thunderstorms and we just got a tornado so you know what that means ….

…. ✨ the apotheosis is upon us ✨

[bwabys-scenarios]

WELP!! If I don’t answer messages it might be because my power/internet has gone out or smth lol

[missxnsuppxrt]

Tornado just caused a massive explosion somewhere near my town. It was an oil tank. The sound was crazy. I’m being safe. Stay safe fellow Oklahomies.

[jarkonian]

Here’s my first prototype for a self-contained boss fight!

[bitch-spectrum]

Tornado

folks with special interests/hyperfixations NOT related to media (book series, tv shows, movies, etc), what are they and what do you like about it?

[ltwilliammowett]

Eye of the Storm, by Harut Danielyan, 2025

Source

[reginalusus]

Might have to click for detail.

Terrible and fucked up AU where after Harvey kills Jason's dad for being a dick, he becomes his new dad(s). (This is just an excuse to draw Harvey with baby Jason).

Bluesky Ko-Fi

[kokyuchusei]

OOC: I'll try to do drafts today maybe now that I'm calmer

my grandma is out of surgery and alright. I couldn't talk to her because when I went to sleep she was supposed to be still sleeping (and I didn't want to risk talking to that woman) and when I woke up it was too late. but I asked my bf to call and he told me everything was fine (because I absolutely cannot count with her daughter to FUCKING TELL ME THINGS THAT ARE IMPORTANT). but I feel calmer now. we are supposed to get another storm today, so let's hope is not when it's still night/I'm alone.

[lvebug]

i hope that everyone who may be affected by the storm is safe & im sending lots of good vibes and well wishes your way!

[andrew-garfielld]

STORM wielding Mjolnir as The Goddess of Thunder in ‘WHAT IF…?’ SEASON 3 Official Trailer

[alexandraxsuoh]

♠ Soo.. Right now, I’m in a panic state because I’m scared as hell of storms. The wind is really strong, dark black cloud and maybe might have thunder. I’m gonna stay low and hid until it passes. 

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

What if instead of threatening to take Ford's eyes, Bill just took Fiddleford's?

Tate still remembered the night his father's sight was taken from him.

"What have you done to me, Stanford?"

He felt the storm coming even before the first lightning struck. From the very moment he opened his eyes that morning until the very moment he lay back down to bed, he could feel a vicious tension brewing in the otherwise serene household.

Storms were very uncommon at Tate's house, and on the rare occasions they did arrive, they never stayed for long.

Yet, after a quiet breakfast full of anxious, unmet glances and clattering cutlery that rang far too loudly in the silence of the table, he knew that this storm was going to be unlike any other storm he'd witnessed before.

A prickling, disquieting static seemed to have made itself at home underneath his skin, that day. It had made every hair on his body stand on end, and an odd stinging sensation to dance across his spine and tongue; an uncomfortable urge to duck and take cover low on the ground nearly overwhelming his every sense. It was like waiting for the shattering thunderclap to sound after the sky turned white with a blinding flash of light. He knew what was coming, and the anticipation was unbearable.

His mother and father had acted as though nothing was wrong; as though they didn't feel the looming presence of the darkening clouds growing like a murky gray forest on the ceiling.

He hadn't been able to fathom at the time how adults could seem so all-knowing, and yet simultaneously be so utterly clueless about the very obvious happenings that surrounded them. Now, though, he just found it strange how adults often tend to assume children don't feel the stifling weight that they hung around themselves; as if children didn't breathe the same bitter choked air as their parents did. It wasn't even as though they did a very good job at pretending; his parents always were terrible liars.

When the lightning finally struck, it set the house ablaze.

He heard the thunder from his room, and felt the crackling heat crawl up the stairs and seep through the gap beneath his door. He'd laid in his bed, hand clasped nervously across his chest and looking up at his room's cloudy, weeping ceiling as a cacophonic explosion of noises came bursting from the living room downstairs. The fight had erupted with such unprecedented force that in Tate's young mind, he'd felt genuine fear of the house collapsing atop them all from the sheer force of the yelling.

The smell of burnt tongues gently wafted through the air, and Tate briefly wondered if it hurt his parents when they scorched their mouths with such scalding words just as much as it hurt for him to hear it.

It was a big fight; a terrible, big fight; so loud, and so very angry, and helpless, and desperate, and betrayed, and sad.

The back and forth screeching seemed endless, and eventually the screaming words began to muddle and merge into one another until they hardly even sounded human anymore. Suddenly there were animals wailing in the living room downstairs, and Tate could do nothing but listen helplessly and grip his interlocked fingers tighter; hoping that if he stayed still enough, then the growling beasts that were shattering plates downstairs wouldn't come upstairs.

But then,

then,

something changed.

The shift was all too sudden; too abrupt; too quick even for the usually sharp witted child to catch on, and before he knew it, the screams of anger suddenly shifted into one of pure, unadulterated horror.

"Fiddleford, your eyes- good lord, your eyes! Let me look at them!" "Don't touch me! I- I must call Stanford, he's done something to me. Him and that demon, they've cursed me." "For Heaven's sake! Please, forget about that damned Stanford of yours for one moment and listen to yourself! My husband's gone mad, mad!"

And suddenly his parents were human again.

Tate was restless in his bed as his heart seemed to beat bruises against his ribs, his sweaty fingers digging crescent shaped grooves into his skin as fear enclosed its frigid claws around his throat in a vice-like grip. He couldn't breathe.

The storm was over, and it should have reassured him, and yet he was anything but.

Curiosity and fear had been what forced him to kick the sheets off himself and creep his way down the rickety wooden steps. He had to know what happened, he had to know what damage the storm had caused, he had to know.

His steps were far from quiet, and the creaking of the floorboards beneath his feet hardly did him any favors, but no one answered the calls of the squeaking wood. No one came peeking out from the living room to stop the obviously sneaking presence that was tip toeing through the halls; No one called out to check on their little child; all was silent, and calm, except for his mother's soft sobbing coming from the kitchen.

When Tate eventually found his father, he saw

devastation.

The storm had been merciless. It had left nothing behind but a shuddering husk of a man. His father was shaking like a leaf, shoulders tense and back hunched over as though bowed by an incredible burden. The telephone receiver was held in his hand like a lifeline; as if it was the only thing in the world that was keeping him tethered to sanity, and somehow, Tate didn't doubt that it was.

Curled up on the floor in the dark, muttering and trembling, he dared say his father looked... small.

It almost felt surreal to see his father in such a state, like witnessing a God collapse, or a star's light dim to nothingness. His father had always been a solid, permanent pillar sho seemed able to hold up the whole world on his shoulders, and still stand tall and proud despite the weight.

And yet, the crumbling remains of a once impermeable monolith now lay scattered across the hallway floor and splattered across the walls.

The sight had scared him.

At the time, Tate hadn't known what had happened. Even to this day, he still wasn't too sure he understood what exactly had taken place in that living room for his father to have so sudddenly gone from seeing to blind in the matter of seconds.

His mother had tried, in vain, to explain it to him later, to try and make him understand when he was eventually old enough to hear the gruesome tale; but still, he struggled to fully wrap his head around it.

"It was as though his eyes just sunk into his skull," his mother had recounted to him with a haunted look in her eyes. "They suddenly just vanished into the empty sockets of his face, like someone pulled them out from inside his head. There was no blood, no resistance, no tearing. It was as if his eyes were simply plucked out of sight by some invisible hand."

There had been blood on the walls when he had found father back then, a long trail of gorey wet red smeared all across the lovely yellow wallpaper. He realized only now, recalling the memory, that the blood back then had not been from his father's eyes, but from the deep gouges he had dug into his face with his nails, his searching fingers desperately looking for eyes that weren't there beneath his empty eyelids.

"What have you done to me, Stanford?"

Tate had never heard his father's voice sound so raw, so afraid. It was so unlike the familiar comforting drawl he'd grown to love and recognize, it almost sounded alien, coming from his father.

"I can't see, Stanford, I can't- my eyes, they're gone. Why are they gone? What have you done?" "Answer me, damnit, what have you done?"

His father never got his answer, because whoever was on the other side of the line soon hung up, and his father was suddenly left blind and alone.

[galacii-gallery]

The man who carries a storm.