Can I request a moodboard of the character and au of your choice, only with the prompt being summer thunderstorm? If you feel like it. Thank you! 💕
i am so, so sorry because the twin peaks pope au is probably not what you were wanting, but it was all i could think of with this prompt lol
The porch screen door slams shut behind you, the sky a deep bruised purple as lightning streaks across the sky. There's a chill in the air, despite the muggy July heat, and you shiver.
The ring on your finger sits heavy, and you're overcome with the sudden urge to rip it off, and toss it into the greenery surrounding the cabin. Instead, you take a few steps forward, out from under the shelter of the porch.
The rain whips at your face, doing little to wake you up the way you'd hoped. Instead, your nightgown catches in the mud, and twigs scratch at your face.
"What the hell are you doing?"
A jacket is dropped onto your shoulders, Pope's arms wrapping around your waist just as you reach the treeline. It smells of tobacco and wet wool, but it provides no warmth.
You lean back against his chest, watching the lightning split the sky, illuminating the jagged teeth of the Douglas firs.
"I needed to breathe," You whisper, though your voice is swallowed by a low, rolling rumble of thunder.
Pope’s grip tightens around your waist. He presses his lips against the crown of your head, his breath hot against your wet hair. "You're freezing," he mutters, his gruff voice vibrating through your spine. "Come back inside. Before someone sees."
You pull away just enough to look at him, the heavy gold ring on your finger burning like ice against your skin. The dread from your dream is bleeding into the fresh air, thick and inescapable. "Pope... what if he knows? What if he found out?"
Pope lets out a short, rough laugh, the sound entirely grounded and dismissive. "Hey. Look at me. There is no way in hell he knows. He's away in fuckin' Utah. Even if he were here, he'd be too drunk to figure anything out, anyway."
Down in the mud at your feet, the rain washes away the topsoil, revealing a perfect circle of pale, white stones. Inside the circle, your shadows don't match your bodies; they are entirely separate, dancing a slow, erratic waltz completely out of time with the wind.
Pope keeps holding you, his chin resting on your head, entirely unaware of the shift. He murmurs, "See? Nothing out here but us."
But his voice doesn't come from his lips anymore. The words come directly out of the dark woods ahead of you, whispered in a flat, echoing cadence that sounds exactly like your husband's.
