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illyrian-dreamer · 9 months

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Our girl – Part 3

Summary: Deeming you unfit for a mission, the Inner Circle have betrayed your trust and shattered your life’s mission to avenge you sister. And the two males you love most were at the centre of it all.

Word count: 6.5k

Warnings: Grief/depression

The Spring Court lake had weathered the same depletion as the rest of the state. Empty wooden cabins sat abandoned and unused, the sand had turned grey and the flourishing fruit trees that once aligned it hacked down to stumps. Hybern had drained Spring Court of so much of its natural resource and beauty.

“It’s a disturbing sight, isn’t it?” your uncle muttered, placing two steaming mugs of tea at the table beside you, joining you on the porch. His bark-like skin had weathered and aged since the last time you had seen him, untold sorrows hiding in his deep within the ripples. What atrocities had he witnessed during the war? And what bargains had he had to make to keep his own cabin standing amongst a sea of homes destroyed?

“I’m so sorry Finbark. I should have returned to help you sooner,” you said, your heart clenching as the males eyes warmed with a pain smile.

“I did not write for a reason. I would never want to drag you into this mess,” he said, waving his hand to the desolate land around him. “Not when you were so aligned with an enemy court.”

You raised the mug to your lips, casting your eyes to the lake before blowing on the hot liquid. He was right, you had no business entering Spring Court at a time like that, never mind that you were completely preoccupied with serving your duties alongside Cassian and Azriel. Gods, your heart ached more than it should just at the thought of them.

You cleared your throat quietly, trying not to dwell. “It sparkles the same,” you spoke distantly, distracting yourself. “The lake, I mean. It still sparkles in the way I remember.”

Finbark chuckled, his eyes warming again. “You and Meryl spent so much time in that lake, I remember your parents debating on how they would have to bribe the two of you out of it.”

You forced a smile back, clenching your mug a little tighter.

“It was the same for my cousin’s nephews, they adored playing in the water, they would beg their Aunt to come stay for weeks on end.”

“Whatever happened to them?” you asked, unsure if you could handle the truth.

“Of Alis and the boys?” He paused then, clearing his throat. “They fled to Summer, with some luck and no deniable assistance from your High Lady.”

You had to physically swallow at Feyre’s mention, but the relief was greater to know Finbark’s family was safe. “Well, she’s no longer my High Lady,” you corrected.

“I’m sorry, I don't mean to upset you.”

“Not at all Fin,” you smiled softly before drawing a deep breath. “I know she is a generous and caring ruler, and I’m grateful your family is safe. I only wish I could have done more.”

“I was protected too Y/N. How do you think it is my home is still standing, or that I am here at all? I’m clever, but not that clever,” he winked. “I have no doubt my relation to Alis and your parents kept me well and safe during the war. No wagons found the trail to my home, no one knocked on my door demanding answers or resources, or to pick up a weapon and fight. It was if I didn't exist at all.”

It clicked then – of course. Alis had been Feyre’s maid at the Spring Manor. Feyre had spoken of her so fondly. And you had been so worried for Finbark’s safety, confiding in your High Lady who had merely comforted you at the time, reassuring you that he would be safe. She and Rhys never mentioned their connection, or the magic they spent to keep Finbark hidden. Your heart ached at the reminder of their generosity.

“Y/N?” your uncle waved a rippled hand in front of your face, and you blinked before straightening, drawn back from your thoughts.

Fin sighed with a knowing look. “You don't need to feel guilty about the magic that kept me safe, sweetheart. They wronged you in a very serious way.”

Your eyebrows clenched as you blinked back the sting of tears. “But they are good people Fin, the lot of them.”

Finbark’s hand rested atop of your forearm, his face soft with understanding. “It changes very little, young spark. The damage is all the same.” Your uncle once again waved his hand out to the barren land around you.

You stood now, setting your tea down – you needed to get out of your head. “I will make one more trip to town tonight, there are some homes still without firewood.”

“At this time? You’ve been working since dawn Y/N, why not rest? It’s not as cold tonight.”

But you were already reaching for your axe. The more you moved, the less you would have to think. “It’ll be alright uncle, I’ll return before midnight.”

He didn't say anything further as you sheathed the weapon to your back, heading up the trail to town where the sun had already began to set.

————

It had been five months since you had found home in Spring Court.

At first, you found work serving your uncle’s town. Much of the remaining fae had rural upbringing, with little skill to sustain themselves after their farms, once lush with crops and animals, were destroyed.

Word spread quick of help from an outside court, and when you were sure the locals could stand on their own two feet, you began to travel, finding town after town with more fae in need. So began your course, trailing further away from your uncle’s cabin at the border and nearing the centre of the court.

Magic found you easier here too. Whether it was the exhaustion from a hard days worth of work, or that you rarely had a moment to think about yourself, you didn't know.

Soon enough, you learned to summon your sparks, lighting fires in homes in an instant or heating food and teas for the ill. It wasn’t much, but you had never yielded so much control, and didn't remember a day when you hadn't feared your abilities since Meryl’s death. Finbark was particularly delighted when you showed him your new trick, clapping with a cheer, reminding you of why he dubbed you young spark.

So much of Spring Court reminded you of your sister, and while it had never been your home, memories of pleasant holidays surrounded by loved ones seemed to wait at every garden, field or bubbling brook you encountered. You welcomed those memories, letting grief wash over you when it came, using it to fuel your determination to keep on working. Grief was a weapon of kinds, and you were only now learning to yield it. You would build a better world for those who were left behind, just like you.

And over the course of those months, the land around you slowly came to life. Not from your work alone, but as the fae of Spring Court worked together to heal and rebuild, the land began to give back. The grass was greener and more lush now, flowers blossomed instead of dying at the bud, and trees bristled as gentle breezes passed through their luscious leaves. The land wasn’t yet singing, but it began to hum – it was healing, and so were you. And you were sure somewhere out in these lands, so was its High Lord.

————

“Damn it Rhys! Let us go!” Cassian slammed his fists on the table, silver cutlery and porcelain plates rattling at the force.

Rhys’s gaze was cold as he glared back at the General. “No,” was all he answered.

Feyre fidgeted with her hands in her lap, her dinner now cold where her knife and fork set at her plate minutes ago when tension began to brew. She knew there would be another fight tonight – neither Cassian or Azriel had taken the order to begin training the new recruits at the House of Wind well. It reminded them too much of Y/N, and they had spent five months furious with both her and Rhys for placing them on court arrest, stopping them from scouting Prythian to find you.

“Feyre, please,” Cassian begged, his brow clenched in anguish.

She swallowed, her heart pulling at his pain. “You know we can't Cass, Rhys gave her his word.” The black ink-like marking on her forearm itched at the mention, the symbol of a cross inside a triangle – a treasure and its whereabouts locked in secret. The mark had appeared the same moment Rhys had promised to not trail your location, an identical mark etched to his forearm too.

As part of that promise, the High Lord and Lady had ordered Cassian and Azriel against anything they could do to find you – there was to be no tracking your scent, no using intel from other courts, and no leaving the Night Court to investigate.

Cassian roared in frustration, throwing his head in his hands, gripping at the roots of his hair. “We only want to know she’s safe. If you care for us at all–"

“Enough Cassian!” Rhys bellowed, night filling every void of the room. Everyone froze.

Rhys pinched his nose, the clouds of his magic lower to a thick fog that covered the floor. “You do not question our care for anyone in this family.”

Azriel spoke then, stiff and stoic from his seat. “It is worth the breach of the bargain you made. We will burden the consequence.”

“It’s not just for the consequence, Azriel,” Feyre answered, meeting the Shadowsinger’s hardened stare. “This was Y/N’s choice. How do you think she will feel knowing we have breached her trust again?”

“I will deal with that after I know she is safe.”

Rhys ran a hand over his face before rubbing at his temples. “As I have said countless times, you will not be granted permission to track her.” Rhys’s power tightened then, yanking on a leash he had kept around the General and Shadowsinger’s necks for months.

“How can you do this to us?” Azriel seethed, knuckles white from where the gripped the table.

“I don't know Azriel. Perhaps the same way I kept Y/N grounded when you ordered her unfit to kill Alvar.”

Azriel stood then, his seat thrown back. “How dare you,” he spat, shadows racing towards the High Lord.

Rhys stood too, night magic clashing with shadows, a fight for dominance. “Calm yourself,” Rhys growled, staring the Shadowsinger down.

Mor sighed, swirling the wine in her glass from where she sat, fingers strumming the table impatiently. “Can we not go a single dinner without it turning to a fight?” she said flatly, before drawing a long sip.

Azriel’s teeth drew back to a snarl as he whipped his head to her. “Since when did you become so heartless?”

Mor stood, levelling her brown eyes at the Shadowsinger. “Don’t be a fool, I care for Y/N just as much as you. But I trust in my High Lord and Lady to dow that is right. When was the last time you exercised that same loyalty you swore to this court?” Mor paused before speaking again. “You’ve become undone, the both of you. And you will unravel this family if you continue down this path.”

Feyre threw Mor a grateful look.

Shadows continued to bulk at Azriel’s frame. “She is our love, Mor. Are we not worthy of her whereabouts?”

“No,” Mor said, her voice flat and cold. “You are not. That is your consequence for holding her too tight.”

Azriel’s nostrils flared, his eyes widening as he recoiled ever so slightly. Cassian could not raise his head from where it still hung in his hands, but for a moment he stopped breathing.

Mor softened then, seeing how deep her words had cut. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice still stern. “But it’s true. And I’m tired of having our family torn apart because of a decision that was her right to make. We have to rebuild what is here, what we have left. Otherwise our family will be ruined, and with it our court.”

Cassian took deep, shaky breaths, trying to hold the anguished cry that begged to be released. He had endured months of restlessness heartbreak, and there was no sign of it easing. It was torture.

Azriel looked back at his brother, knowing that pain, feeling it writhe within himself. Wordlessly, he walked to Cassian, clasping a firm hand on his shoulder and winnowing them from the room.

————

It was early one morning after you had set off from your uncle’s cabin, days worth of resources and tools hung from the back of your horse.

The horse was noble, a once well-kept steed that had been abandoned since the war. He had found you in a field, bucking and neighing as you approached. But with a gentle hand to his nose and some soothing commands, he had yielded, reminded of his connection to fae.

Every great steed deserved a name, and it found you instantly – Podie. It was Nyx’s way of saying “pony”, his chubby finger pointed at the array of horses in the stables when you had taken him with your family, the lot of you chuckling at his adorable attempt. Your heart ached as you thought of the child, of how much he must have grown since you had left the Night Court. So you named your horse in his honour, and relished the comfort it was to feel feel that little bit closer to him.

Finbark had waved you off as the sun was rising, and it was only a few hours later when had you entered the trail you had become so familiar with, headed for the next town on your map. The quiet was tranquil in Spring Court, but in that moment even the birds stopped singing, and an eerie sensation swept you over you, the hairs on your neck standing. Podie’s nostrils flared as harsh breaths blew from his snout, his ears twitching nervously.

Something, or someone, was watching you.

You immediately dismounted, not wanting to zap or upset Podie as began power tickling at your skin.

“Who’s there?” you spoke, your heart fastening at the rustle from behind the trees.

For a moment, you thought they had found you, and your heart thundered as you prepared to confront Cassian and Azriel. Would they try to apologise again? Were they here to convince you to return to the Night Court? Perhaps they would go as far to drag you back, kicking and screaming?

Bile rose in your throat as you searched for the peaks of wings or siphons glowing amongst the greenery that rustled. Instead, antlers poked through before revealing narrowed green eyes. Heavy paws padded against the ground as a half-elk, half-lion emerged, prowling towards you.

You startled, fumbling back a few steps, too shocked to find your words. The beast approach, sniffing as sentient eyes scanned you with a knowing look. And as you stared back, you realised quickly who the creature before you was.

Before you could demand it, Tamlin morphed to his fae form, blond hair cropped to his strong shoulders, sharp green eyes fixed on you as he stared you down with a tight jaw.

There was no question of his beauty – Tamlin was incredibly handsome, even with his face fixed with such a stern and threatening stare. He was not cloaked in green as Feyre had often described him, instead he wore brown working pants and a black shirt that were rolled at the sleeves revealing strong, veiny forearms. He was dressed no better than the working class of his court.

“High Lord,” you greeted as you bowed your head, lowering slightly at one knee. This was his court at the end of the day, no matter what he had done to ruin it.

He watched you intently, unspeaking and his face softened ever so slightly, his jaw unclenching only a little.

“Can I help you with something?”

“I’ve come to meet the Night Court emissary who has been assisting in the refuge of my land.” His voice was deep, commanding even after everything he had lost.

“I assure you, I am no longer affiliated with the Night Court. There is no treason to be found here.”

“I know.” He said with a straight face. “I’ve been tracking your work for months.”

You gulped at that. You had hoped to blend in, an anonymous helper with no past and no future.

“Did you think you could enter my court unnoticed?” he questioned, and sharp brown quirking.

You found your eyes narrowing. “From what I was told, your borders had fallen, and your lands used as a place for sanction after the war. I did not think announcing my arrival was necessary, and you were certainly in no position to refuse my aid.”

Tamlin was unmoved at your tone. Instead he ran that pointed green stare down your body and back up again, flicking them to Podie who stood to the side, grazing on some grass, before settling them back on you. “Why?” he asked.

“Pardon?”

“Why have you come to aid my court?”

“I care to help those in need.”

“There are plenty across Prythian in need.” Tamlin was scowling now.

There was a beat of silence between you, only the sound of the heavy breaths that left Podie’s nostrils to fill it.

“What did they do to you?” Tamlin asked. There was no softness in his question.

Now it was your turn to scowl. “I sought your court, High Lord, because I have an uncle who resides by the lake in the south. I knew there was work to be done here, and I had a home at his cabin.”

If your answer satiated Tamlin, he did not let it show, his green eyes continuing to pierce through you. It was a conscious effort not to let your power overcome you in the grasp of his stare.

“Come to my Manor.”

You choked. “Pardon me?”

The High Lord shuffled then, his first natural movement, and you could have sworn a slight blush tinged his cheeks. “My apologies, I’ve spent so much time in my beast form, it’s easy to forget my manners. Please, join me for a meal at my Manor. It’s the least I can do, to thank you for your contributions.”

Your stare on Tamlin harshened. “I did not do it for you.”

Tamlin merely shrugged. “I’m aware. Regardless, I am grateful.”

You had only heard of Tamlin’s Manor through Feyre’s stories, how he had warded the home, trapping her within, hurting her with that uncontrollable rage of his. You had little interest in seeing the place where this occured, a small tether of loyalty to Feyre ignited at the thought.

You may as well have said it out loud, as Tamlin tracked the movements in your eyes before bowing his head.

“The choice is yours, of course.”

You swallowed, observing the male before you. A High Lord would never bow their head for such a thing.

That smallest of behaviours begged so many questions. Was he sorry? Was he ashamed? Was it possible Tamlin had learnt from his mistakes, and had grown to be a better High Lord?

He reminded you so much of the males you once loved – a good heart with mislead direction. If he had shed of his possessive and controlling nature – you craved to see it, you needed to know it possible, even if it was in someone else.

So you realised there was a part of you that wanted to go to the Manor and join Tamlin for an evening, to answer that question alone. You could attend for one meal, just to plug the hole in your heart for a night.

“Alright. I’ll visit your manor,” you said impartially.

Tamlin nodded once. “Is there a time that suits you best?”

You looked back at Podie, waving an arm to the gear and resources strapped to his saddle. “I will spend three days in Rellford to assist with building a new market. With another afternoon of travel I can make it to your Manor in four days time.”

Talmlin nodded again, smiling softly now, the pull of his mouth catching your breath as his handsomeness was further revealed. “I look forward to it, Y/N L/N.” After a low bow, Tamlin was once again a beast, treading away and leaving you to continue your journey.

————

You stood awkwardly at the door to the Tamlin’s Manor, your hand hung in the air, unable to make the first knock.

The gate had willed itself open, and you were surprised to see the exterior well kept, almost immaculate. Rhys had described it differently from his last visit, ivy overgrown and no maids or servicemen to be seen. But a stable boy had helped you dismount on arrival, guiding Podie by his reins with a polite bow.

You smoothed out the skirts of your dress, self conscious of the scent of the horse you undoubtedly carried. You wore a humble frock, feminine and loose, one that allowed for a few hours of riding. The countless bold and revealing gowns you had once loved were left behind at the Night Court, they had no place in the new life you were building. With a final shake of your head, you willed yourself to knock on the large arched doors.

But before your fist made contact, the doors swung open, revealing a maid.

“Hello,” she said sweetly.

“H-hi.”

“Come inside.”

And so you did, taking in the impressive home. Natural light poured in from all around, floor length windows cast open as sheers danced gently as the breeze passed through. Tasteful vases of Spring’s finest flowers decorated the space, with countless rooms joining the space and a grand staircase that led to reveal even more of the manor.

The maid lead you to a sitting room, the space just as light an airy, with no door, just an open archway. This was not what you had imagined at all.

“The High Lord is expecting you, but he apologises as he has a meeting that has run over. He won't be too long, but would like to convey his apologies,” she said with pep. “You can wait here, M’Lady. Would you care for something to drink?”

You silently took a seat at the lounge she had waved at, looking behind at the floor to ceiling bookshelves that aligned the room. It was a tasteful room, and you thought you could spend all day he curled up with a good book.

“No, no thank you,” you eventually said, slow to respond in your awe of the house.

With a bouncy courtesy, the maid left you to be.

Standing immediately, you moved to inspect the books, fingering their spines and muttering their titles aloud.

“Flora and Fauna of the Spring Season. How to Care for Roses and Thorns Alike.”

Your ears pricked as two sets of footsteps making their way down the staircase, and deep voices spoke in discussion.

“I would be grateful for the resources Tamlin. And it’s clear you are mending your court. I would be happy to align with you once again.”

You knew that voice – Tarquin.

“I’m glad, and yes, we are making progress. Though it would be insincere of me to accept any credit. I thank the people of my court, and I have had aid from others too.”

The males passed the open archway to the reading room, Tarquin stopping in his tracks.

“Y/N?”

You froze, book still in hand. “Greetings, Tarquin,” you said thickly, barely able to swallow.

Tarquin cast his magnificent blue eyes to Tamlin for just a moment, and you were sure if you had blinked you would have missed it. You glanced at Tamlin too, who showed no sign of discomfort.

Tarquin was quick to recover from his shock, making his way over to greet you, embracing you with open arms and a quick kiss to each of your cheeks.

“I’m sorry to have heard of your departure from the Nigh Court,” he said, blue eyes fixed on you with a warm, sorry smile.

You smiled back softly, rubbing his arms where they held your shoulders. “That is kind, Tarquin. I am sorry too.” You fought the urge to embrace him again – it was so nice to see a friend.

Tamlin waited by the archway, his hands behind his back as he watched your interaction with passive curiosity.

“And how did you find yourself in Spring?” Tarquin asked.

You shrugged. “I have an uncle here, and I wanted to work to help repair that lost in the war.”

Tarquin nodded. “Yes, Tamlin was telling that he was quite impressed with you. And I must say, it’s encouraging to see how much progress has been made.”

You flicked your eyes to Tamlin who remained unmoved. He had credited you to another High Lord? You blushed lightly, shifting uncomfortably on your feet.

“And what of Varian and Cresseida? Are they well?” you skilfully diverted the conversation.

Tarquin grinned. “Varian is well, and Cresseida is engaged.”

“Engaged!” you burst, a smile so wide on your face as you thought of her. She was always a romantic.

“Yes, she’s quite excited, as is the rest of the family. You will keep your eye out for an invitation to the wedding, yes?”

You blushed again – you were unsure how the news would be received by the other High Lords of your leaving, it was nice to know you were still considered you a friend at Summer. “Of course, Tarquin. I would be honoured to celebrate with you all.”

Tarquin smiled at that, before turning back to Tamlin. “What a jewel you have here in your court Tamlin. You won't take her for granted I hope.” You could sense the warning laced in his tone.

Tamlin lowered his eyes slightly, a small gesture, but in the language of High Lords it spoke volumes. Understanding, submission, guilt even. “I wouldn’t dare of it,” he spoke, hands still clasped behind his back.

Tarquin seemed reassured at that. “I must journey back. A delight to see you Y/N, do take care, and come visit whenever you find suitable.”

You agreed to that, watching Tarquin shake Tamlins hand before leaving the Manor.

“I apologise for making you wait,” Tamlin said with a soft smile. He seemed stiff still, and you wondered if he nervous to host you.

You eyed the High Lord up and down. “Not at all. I’m just… a little surprised to have our meetings overlap.”

Tamlin nodded with understanding. “I have nothing to hide Y/N. It is a lesson I should have learned long ago.”

You nodded at that, looping your arm through Tamlin’s outstretched one as he lead you through to on a tour of the Manor.

————

The meal with Tamlin was far more enjoyable that you had thought it would be, food and company alike. He did not lead you to a dining room, instead, a small table was set in the balcony overlooking the estate, the warm spring breeze gentle as the sun set over the groomed gardens, rows of trees and flowering bushes tinged with orange from the sunset.

The conversation was awkward at first, Tamlin was nervous, and it didn't help that you headed every comment with caution. But after a few sips of wine, and a few jokes exchanged, it seemed you and the High Lord had much in common.

You felt yourself relaxing, joking and laughing with ease. It was nice to chat and enjoy the company of another, something you hadn’t done since Azriel killed Alvar. You hadn't realised that in throwing yourself in work, you had deprived yourself from any true fun. Perhaps Tamlin had seen that, perhaps that’s why he invited you here.

He hadn't asked or pried of your past, only talking of your work with immense gratitude. And when you told him of your childhood memories in his court, Tamlin beamed with pride, his face fixed with a smile and his posture a little more straight. That of course, lead to the conversation of Meryl.

“And what of your sister?” Tamlin asked. “Where does she reside now?”

“Ah,” you said, before drawing a long sip of wine, taking a moment before you could will yourself to respond. “Unfortunately Meryl was murdered by one of Hybern’s own spies.”

Pain sliced across Tamlin’s face, his green eyes panicked before he bowed his head in shame. “Gods, Y/N. I am so sorry.” Blond strands fell in front of his face, his strong hands clasped together so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“Tamlin, it’s alright. It was many years ago, well before the war.”

He looked at you then, his face softening. He knew what you were saying – it was before he allied himself with Hybern. He was not to blame.

“I was a fool to have ever opened my borders to him,” Tamlin said thickly, casting his eyes down.

“I could not agree more,” you replied, before offering him a tight smile. You were certain he regretted many of his choices, but it was reassuring to hear.

“Was your sister’s death how you found yourself as a Night Court emissary?”

You nodded. “That’s right. I was motivated to protect others, and largely driven to avenge Meryl.” Speaking of your past after all that had happened, it seemed to foreign to you now. You no longer knew the girl you were when you had found a home in Velaris.

“It would seem that is still very true,” Tamlin complimented.

“In some ways, yes,” you agreed, unsure if he caught the blush on your cheeks. “But also untrue in others.”

Tamlin waited patiently, but didn't push. The choice was yours to continue.

So you told him of your time at the Night Court, of the decade you had spent training with Cassian and Azriel. You spoke of the extent of your training, and how after a few years friendship had turned to love, and the family had welcomed you with open arms.

Dancing around the details of the Night Court, you were careful not to expose Velaris or other sensitive information – you were not here to damn the court, you were only telling your story.

And as you spoke, Tamlin listened intently without casting judgement, just patiently absorbing your story, nodding where he understood and asking questions where he didn’t. He never pried, nor did he ask for more detail of the Night Court, or of Feyre and Rhys.

Finally, you explained what lead to you leaving your old life behind, how you were betrayed by your loves and wider family, and how your one true shot to avenge your sister was stolen from you.

As you finished, you drew a big breath, and an even bigger sip of wine. You slouched further into your seat, relaxing as you felt free from the weight of bottling your truth for so long.

Tamlin watched you for a moment, before drawing a long breath. “Would you like to know what I think?”

You raised your brows, toying with your glass of wine. “Do tell.”

“I feel you were treated with an utter lack of empathy, and it was cruel to not at least tell you of the mission. I’m sorry that you were hurt in such a way. They are fools to have mistreated you so greatly, and I know this because… not only am I fully capable of such behaviour, but it is so similar to how I had treated Feyre.”

Your eyes went wide at his confession, your brows clenching at the way it made your heart ache.

“I know what it is to love another so fiercely, you stop seeing them as someone, and start seeing them as something. It was a lesson I learned only when I lost everything – my love, my council, my entire damn court. I was vengeful, jealous, and I would have torn the world in half to claim what I thought belonged to me. But I had no one to blame but myself, and I’ve learnt nothing is mine to ever own or control, no matter how much that scares me. In all truths Y/N, I am sickened that so many were hurt and lost for me to learn that lesson, and I’m so sorry that you were hurt for Azriel and Cassian to learn theirs.”

You blinked at Tamlin, swallowing your shock. “That is… a very honest confession.”

Tamlin gave you a tight smile before shrugging. “Honesty is all I have.”

You returned his smile, extended a hand to rest on his forearm. “If you ask me, honesty and trust are the only true currency of this life.”

Tamlin raised his brows then, whether he was shocked by your words or by your touch you couldn't tell. His green eyes met yours, sincerity swarming as he held you in a soft gaze. “Fae like you have known that all along though. And it is males like me who hurt those infinitely wiser, like you.”

You chuckled then. “I’m not perfect Tamlin, far from it. I think all we can do is try to be better, and work to ensure we don't hurt those that we love through our imperfections.”

Tamlin’s eyes warmed. “I think you’re right,” he said softly, his voice almost a whisper.

And maybe it was the wine, or the way your heart swelled at the honestly and sincerity of his confession, but all of the fibres of your being begged you to lean a little closer, to bask in his warmth and comfort, and even press your lips to his.

With a flick of his eyes to your lips, you knew Tamlin felt the same draw to you. He placed a large hand over your own that rested on his forearm. “Y/N, you must know I didn't invite you here to… disrupt, or interfere with–"

“I know,” you interrupted him, smiling softly.

Tamlin paused, eyes darting between yours. “Your company has been a delightful surprise. But I would hate for you to regret–"

“My life in the Night Court is behind me Tamlin. I have built a life of my own, and this is the path I choose.”

Tamlin moved then, a large hand coming to cup your face, his thumb stroking your cheek and he gave you a pained look, as if physically trying to restrain himself. “I don't mean to lecture the more wise,” he said softly. “But if you feel that I can change or grow or learn from my mistakes, don’t you believe Azriel and Cassian can too?”

Your eyes fluttered close, your brow pulling at the weight of his question. “I suppose.”

“And if they have changed, or at least try to, do you think that you might want to forgive them?”

You opened your eyes, holding Tamlin’s gaze with a serious expression. “Forgiveness is one thing. But I will never return to the life I had with them Tamlin, not like that. Too much has happened.”

“Hmm,” Tamlin hummed thoughtfully. He waited a moment, green eyes drinking in your face, scanning your features delicately as you blushed, closing your eyes again to bare the intensity.

When Tamlin spoke again, his tone was a lot more assured. “I can see you have are still in the thick of processing what has happened, Y/N. And for that reason alone, it would be improper to kiss you right now, despite how much I want to.”

You were frowning as you opened your eyes, finding a sorry smile planted on Tamlin’s face.

“You’re a cruel High Lord,” you joked flatly, returning the pained smile and holding the hand he kept to your face.

“I’ll work on that,” he chuckled, pulling both your hands in his before kissing them.

“Come,” he said, standing from his chair and offering you his hand. “I’m yet to show you the gardens.”

————

“Coming!” Amrin barked at the third rapping on her door, the knocks growing more impatient. Slinking into a silver silk robe, she opened the door to reveal Cassian and Azriel, their cheeks more hollow and bags even darker than the last time she had seen them a few weeks ago.

“Gods, you both look awful,” she said plainly before walking further into her apartment, not checking to see if they followed.

“Where the hell have you been?” Azriel grumbled.

“Working from home, if you will.”

“Why?” Cassian asked defensively.

“You know the answer, brutes. All of that fighting and tension, it gives me a headache.”

Azriel scowled, crossing his arms across his chest, shadows stretching across Amren’s apartment with familiarity.

“You’re sensitive at the best of times,” Cassian bit back.

“Why are you here?” Amren spoke plainly, sounding bored by their presence.

Cassian approached Amren while Azriel lingered back. “Help us,” Cassian said.

Amren scoffed. “You know I can’t, boy.”

Cassian’s brows clenched before he moved to his knees, squatting in front of Amren as she lounged in a chair. “Please, Amren, do you have anything? Information from an outside court, or a lead on her whereabouts?”

Amren levelled her silver eyes with his brown ones. “Why do you torture yourself with such questions? Y/N is quite capable of taking care of herself, you know.”

“C’mon Cass, let’s just go,” Azriel said tightly from behind. From the tension in the room, it was hard to remember they were serving the same throne.

“You want my advice? The both of you need to be patient. If it takes her an eternity to forgive you, then so be it. There is nothing you can do to force that.”

“We can't just switch it off Amren, it doesn't work like that.”

“The Illyrian possessiveness, or the hopelessly in love part?” Amren mocked. “Y/N is mending herself, and I applaud that. I suggest you take a page from her book and start to do the same.”

Azriel had already stalked for the door when Amren started to mock, but she called him a few paces shy. “Whatever you took, I suggest you leave it behind,” she said, her tone almost playful.

Azriel froze, before letting go of a gold piece of card, the paper fluttering to the floor as he and Cassian stalked out, slamming the door behind them.

“What was that?” Cassian asked with a whisper.

Azriel hushed him, nodding as he walked forward, waiting until they had made it a few streets from Amren’s home.

“A wedding invitation. For Creseida.”

Cassian’s eyes light up. “Do you think–?”

“Perhaps, but I don't think we’d be welcomed company if Y/N does attend. Rhys and Feyre will surely keep us here.”

“So we keep our walls up. We won’t disclose to know of the wedding, and that way the bargain will never be broken.”

Azriel nodded. “The only risk is Amren, should she mention that I saw the invitation.”

Cassian sighed, running his hand through his long hair. “I sure as hell hope she can keep her mouth shut.”

--------

Part 4>>>>

AN: Omgosh, you guys have been so so patient with this part, thank you from the bottom of my heart. I sincerely hope you liked it, it was so much fun to introduce Tamlin and explore the way he might be healing after the war. Not to mention writing a few wins for our reader?? She deserves it.

Also how the Inner Curcle is just falling to shit without her 💅🏼 I so look forward to exploring the TEA at this wedding.... I always want to know what you guys think, so feel free to drop a comment, and if you'd like to join my general tag list, or just for Our Girl, drop a comment too :) Thank you always for your support <3

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joelscurls · 5 months

Text

a heart for melting

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 2.7k

warnings: post-outbreak, implied age gap, themes surrounding child loss and grief, some angst but mostly festive fluff, grumpy x sunshine dynamics (Joel is a grinch & reader loves the holidays), reader is described as having long-ish hair

summary: Jackson's first annual Holiday Market brings about more than just cheer.

a/n: Merry Christmas @thetriumphantpanda; I'm your pedrostories secret santa! I hope you enjoy this lil festive take on grumpy!joel x sunshine!reader — I had lots of fun writing it 🤍🎄 🥧 🪵 🦌

Joel doesn’t want to be here — surrounded by garland and ribbons and so much unadulterated joy, it’s nauseating. No, he was forced to be here.

Please, Ellie had begged, it’ll be good for you to do something other than patrol or drinking with Tommy. Plus, they’re too good to keep to yourself.

They, being wood carvings — the tiny sculptures of deer and bears and birds, tufts of hair and bunches of feathers drawn out of driftwood with the tip of his blade. It was only ever meant to be a hobby, a way to busy his hands after they’d been wrapped around the cold metal of his rifle all day. Something lighter, creative rather than destructive, an act of giving rather than taking.

But sharing them with other people? He hadn’t been interested. Maybe he’d make one for Ellie or Tommy. Wrap it up in a piece of cloth and offer it as a gift for their birthday.

Not that he thought they were any good, really.

With the announcement of Jackson’s first annual Holiday Market, though, came Ellie’s pleading. “I’ll help you,” she’d bargained. “You don’t even have to give me anything!”

“Who said I would anyway?” he’d grumbled, digging his spoon into the bottom of his bowl of stew and sifting out a chunk of meat.

Joel despises the Holiday Season. He’d welcomed its disappearance with the end of the world. Because he had no reason to celebrate, with Sarah gone. Her absence stung like salt in an open wound on any normal day. But on Christmas, memories of her hanging her favorite ornaments on the tree and sneaking one of the cookies baked for Santa burned behind his eyelids. Left him heaving through hot tears.

The holidays had no place in his world, but they certainly had a place in Jackson. The first time he and Ellie had strode through those gates, they’d been met with that damned Christmas Tree, towering over the settlement like a beacon. And he hated it, hated the way it brought about that pounding in his chest and that spinning in his head.

How could anyone find any good in such a poignant reminder of loss?

Tommy says it’s about new beginnings, finding ways to be happy again. And what’s happier ‘n Christmas? God damn Santa Clause, hot chocolate, children singin’ carols?

Still, Joel isn’t convinced — not yet.

Standing across the mess hall, at your table piled high with baked goods, you are far too cheerful. You’re humming some song with a jovial beat, absentmindedly swaying as you rearrange rows of gingerbread and muffins and scones — all of which are draped in white icing, like flocking on Christmas trees. You pause to wish a happy holiday to everyone who passes through.

Joel knows he’s seen you before, flitting in and out of the community’s kitchen, always with that signature smile scrawled across your face.

And god, you’re so bubbly, taking to everyone you meet like a bee to honey, letting them in without a care in the world. Popping from table to table, making sure they have enough to eat. That they’re doing well.

It shouldn’t surprise him that you’re so…spirited, too. You seem to find the good in everyone and everything, after all.

It infuriates him, nonetheless.

Joel groans to himself. Stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans as an elderly couple rounds on him.

He grumbles a hello to them when they approach. They offer him half-smiles in return, beginning to pick up some of the carvings laid out on the table — turning them, inspecting them.

“This one’s nice,” the man says to his wife. She hums in agreement.

“You got any tigers?” the man asks.

“Tigers?”

“Yeah — I used to love ‘em as a kid.”

“Got what’s on the table,” Joel grumbles.

“You make ‘em custom? I can offer some homemade jam in return — elderberry.”

Joel sighs in annoyance.

“Don’t make ‘em custom. Got what I got.”

The man seems defeated, nodding and walking off without another word. The woman follows closely behind.

Just as they leave, Ellie appears. She sidles up to Joel and shrugs her jacket off. Pulls a chair up next to him.

“There’s so much cool shit here!” she exclaims, too loud. A judgemental set of eyes flit her direction. She glares right back at them.

“Do you mind?” Joel huffs, jaw ticking.

“Jesus, who pissed in your Cheerios?”

“How do you even know what Cheerios are?”

“Don’t,” she admits. “I read it in a book.”

“Of course you did.”

Ellie leans back in her chair, pulling an apple out of her backpack and biting into it. She shuffles some of the carvings around on the table. “Gotta fill in these gaps, man,” she says, juice dribbling down her chin.

Joel ignores her. He sneaks a glance at you; finds that you’re already looking. Your expression is unreadable, gaze unmoving as he studies you.

Despite your upbeat disposition bothering him, he can’t deny that you’re gorgeous: bright, beckoning eyes, siren-like smile — it’s like you’re peering into his soul.

He didn’t think he still had one of those.

“Dude.” Ellie nudges him. He peels his eyes from you reluctantly. “I asked how many takers you’ve had.”

“Uh.” He pretends to think.

“You have no fucking idea, do you? Too busy staring at that girl.”

“Wasn’t starin’,” he clips defensively.

“No? Well she’s coming over here, man.”

Sure enough, you’re striding right toward him, abandoning your post. Joel barely has time to prepare for impact.

He unconsciously straightens up and pulls his hands out of his pockets. He brushes them on his jeans just as you stop in front of his table.

“Hi there,” you say.

“Hi!” Ellie chimes.

You pick up a carving of a two-headed deer. His favorite.

“This is beautiful,” you coo. “The craftsmanship is lovely.” You’re running a finger along the grooves in the wood, holding the piece delicately in the palm of your hand — as if it’s made of glass, not wood. “You have a real gift…”

“Joel.”

“Joel,” you repeat. He ignores how sweet his name sounds coming out of your mouth. You tell him your name, and it fits you, he thinks. It’s pretty.

“How long have you been making them?”

“Just since I got to Jackson. ‘ts somethin’ to pass the time.”

You nod. Continue scanning over the intricacies of the deer. “I was never much of a baker before I got here, either,” you joke, gesturing back toward your table.

“Good one,” Ellie laughs. “You’re funny — isn’t she funny, Joel?”

In his head, he’s glowering at her. Outwardly, he feigns amusement.

“Real funny.”

“I’d love to see how you make these sometime,” you say, then, placing the deer back on the table gingerly. “Do you have a workshop?”

“In our shed,” Ellie pipes in before he can say anything. “You should come by tomorrow! Joel’s off patrol.”

He shoots her daggers. She pretends not to notice.

“I’d love that! I have to work in the kitchen, though. I could come by after?”

Joel starts to shake his head no. Ellie’s hand wraps around his arm like a vice grip. He stills.

“Sure,” he grits.

“I can bring some pastries, if you’d like.”

“Don’t like sweets.”

“Oh,” you say, a little thwarted, but you’re undeterred. You shift on your feet. Chew your bottom lip. “Well, how about something not sweet, then?”

Your brows lift, narrowed eyes on him as you await a response. Joel still isn’t thrilled about the prospect of a visitor. Really, he doesn’t like anyone on his property that isn’t Ellie, or Tommy and Maria if he’s invited them. But you don’t seem so bad, offering to bring him food.

He can probably deal with your sunny disposition in exchange for a full belly. Lord knows he went too long without that luxury, and he’d be a fool to deny himself of it ever again.

So, he agrees, the garbled sure less than enthusiastic leaving his mouth. Still, you don’t seem too offended. In fact, you smirk at him, wordlessly sauntering back to your table, sneaking glances at him every so often for the remainder of the afternoon.

Sure enough, the next evening, while Joel is whittling in the shed, you show up.

You’re wielding a basket of savory hand pies, as promised, and Joel has to stop himself from drooling. They smell incredible. And they’re still warm, somehow, steam wafting off of them even after your walk here.

“Come in,” he gruffs, his nose following the scent like a dog’s as he trails behind you inside.

His set up is minimal: a rocking chair next to a bench, a couple stools he made for when Tommy comes by to play poker. But his works are scattered throughout, every surface in the small room cluttered with little carvings.

He settles atop one of the stools as you begin to wander around the room, plucking sculptures off shelves and awing at them with such genuine admiration, it causes something to pull in his chest.

Every so often, you make a remark about the details in a piece, how the fur on the deer looks real, how you can practically smell the replica evergreen in your grasp.

And something shifts — carried by your kind words through the stuffy shed.

Taken by the slight lilt in your voice when you speak to him, the almost-shy smile that pulls at the corners of your lips — Joel is attracted to you.

He’s following the line of your neck down to your collarbone, ogling at the exposed skin there when you pick another carving up off the shelf. And he feels guilty — he shouldn’t be looking at you like this. You’re just being nice, being neighborly, and he’s gawking at you like you’d have any interest in him.

No; you’re young, beautiful, could do a lot better than an old grump like him.

He averts his gaze quickly when you suddenly set down the tiny, carved bird that had been in your palm, round the workbench and perch yourself atop the stool next to his. You retrieve a handpie out of the basket and pass it over to him.

“It has braised rabbit and carmelized onions in it,” you explain, taking a bite and letting the steam roll out.

He follows suit and — it tastes just as good as it smells, if not better. He’s salivating again, letting the dough melt in his mouth before swallowing.

The two of you eat in comfortable silence, getting through the entire basket in mere minutes.

When you’re finished, you ask him where he’s from.

The question shouldn’t feel like such a shock to the system. But after a year of being in Jackson, successfully avoiding conversation about his life before the outbreak, it sets off a panging between his eyes, a dull ache in his viscera.

“Texas,” he tells you plainly. “From Austin, originally.”

You nod. And you must be able to tell that he’s not used to talking about himself — by the tick of his jaw or the lack of eye contact — he’s not sure. Because you don’t pry. Instead, you say, “you can ask me something.”

He nods. Thinks on it for a moment.

“When did you arrive here? To Jackson?”

Unlike him, you do not grimace at the intrusion. Instead, you tell him: about your parents, their untimely deaths, the harrowing road that led you here. You do not cry, but Joel can see the pain in your shiny eyes.

It’s inevitable; there isn’t a single person here who hasn’t been dealt a bad hand. But you wear your past like a badge of honor, like you’re still grateful, after it all, to be alive.

Joel envies your tenacity.

So when you ask him about Ellie, if she is his daughter, he lets the walls around him down — just an inch. He doesn’t get upset when he stumbles over his words while telling you about Sarah. He finds comfort in confiding in you, in the way you so attentively listen, quietly nodding along as he recalls his version of the end of the world.

“Thank you,” you say when he’s done, burying his hands back in his pockets.

“For what?”

“For sharing that with me. I know it can be difficult to relive it.”

“I relive it everyday,” he admits. “Everything reminds me of her in one way or another.”

“I understand,” you nod. He believes you do.

So sweet, gaze like honey, you are an enigma to him. He hasn’t met many people who are kind just for the sake of it — not in a long while. Maybe that’s why he’d been so bothered by it at the market. It had felt almost unnatural to him, bound to be laced with an ulterior motive.

He’s still learning how to trust people again. It doesn’t come easily after twenty-odd years of rationing it like the pills he’d stowed. Still, there is something innate about baring his soul to you. Letting you in through the cracks in his battered being. You are safe, he’s sure of it; benevolence radiating from you like warmth.

It drips off your tongue when you ask him to show you how he does his craft — slips down your fluttering lashes. No longer can he deny you of anything — he’s accepted this swiftly — and so he obliges.

A half-whittled fox materializes from his coat pocket, along with his blade. He passes both to you and pulls his stool closer to yours.

He guides you, taking your hand in his, encouraging the press of the blade into the wood. Shows you how to round out a corner with a subtle twist of the knife. You’re a fast learner, Joel notes, attentive, taking every instruction like gospel.

The slow drag of steel, your fingers wrapped tightly around the handle; you’re so focused that you jump slightly when he places a reassuring hand on your knee.

“Doin’ great, darlin’,” he says, and your lips pull around pearlescent teeth. Joel feels as enraptured by you as you do the carving — the loose tendrils of hair that drape over your shoulder, the clinging of cotton to your soft curves. Though he hardened into stone a long time ago, he feels smelted in your presence. So he cannot help it when his fingers begin to drift up your leg, settling at your side as he turns his body toward yours.

The blade stalls, tip still stuck into the wood, puncturing the fox’s non-existent spine, and your face lifts.

“Is this okay?” he whispers. You nod, gaze flickering between his eyes and his lips.

You’re so close like this; Joel can smell the floral perfume dappled along your neck, can feel your warm breath fanning his face. He has half a mind to stop himself from sealing the sliver of distance left between you. But then you’re sighing, placing the blade and the wooden fox on the tabletop. And it’s your turn to guide him — winding your delicate fingers around his wrist and settling his hand at the small of your back.

The air in the tiny workshop grows heavy with unspoken desire, a longing to disrupt; to create. Your body forms to his languidly, arms interlocking behind his neck, fingers weaving in his hair to pull him closer to you. And then your lips press to his — hesitant at first, then not. You drink from each other until you are drunk, breathless and giddy when you separate.

“That was nice,” you whisper, and Joel chuckles.

“Just nice?”

“Great,” you amend. “It was great. Better than I imagined, even.”

“You imagined this?”

“Yes,” you smirk. “On a loop since I first saw you at the market.”

He pulls you back in. Gives you another chaste kiss. “For good measure.”

“Joel,” you say then, “will you and Ellie come by mine on Christmas? I could even cook — it’s just-”

“Yes,” he’s accepting before you can finish. “I’d love that. As long as you make more of those,” he gestures toward the empty basket on the workbench.

“That can be arranged,” you grin.

As soon as you leave that evening — sent off with a goodbye muttered between slotted mouths — Joel starts on your Christmas present.

end notes: thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging or leaving a comment if you enjoyed <3

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller oneshot #joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal as joel miller #pedro pascal #pedrostoriesgift23 #pedrostories

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creative-caramel-coffee · 10 months

Text

Cuddles and Colds

Prompt: “I don’t have time to sleep off a little cold.” (From Sombre Sapphics blog prompts)

Pairings: Wanda x R

Word count: 1.2K

Summary: your sick and wanda is there for you like always but your being difficult

TW: fever, flu (i think thats it let me know if i missed any)

Entering the room Wanda frowned at the sight. You were curled up in bed with the lights off and curtains drawn despite it being past midday. Your laptop was resting on your knees on the lowest possible brightness and yet you were still massaging your temples. Your cheeks and nose were a tad bit pink and you were sniffling softly.

“Baby?” Wanda called hesitant to make your obvious headache worse.

“Yes?” You said sounding mildly congested. Wanda winced at the sound knowing you didn’t feel good. “Are you feeling ok my love?” She asked coming to sit beside you on the bed. Frowning when she saw the mission report you were working on.

“Baby enough. It’s obvious you don’t feel good. You should rest not work. I can write that for you if you like.” She reached out to shut your laptop but you pulled it close to your chest making her frown.

“No. I cant.”

“Why not my love?” She asked always patient when it came to you and being sick.

“I don’t have time to sleep off a little cold.” You sniffed and couldn’t help the whine that left you when the air grated against your raw throat.

“Baby please. I know you feel like you need to work but let me help. You’ll let me help you right baby?” She cooed running her hands through your hair and frowning slightly at the damp warmth you were radiating.

“But- but I don’t have time.” She could see you were caving to the idea and she had to be gentle.

“You do my love.” She said gently, taking the laptop in the air with her magic so she could continue to stroke your hair. The red wisps closed it and placed it on the bedside. “Now sleep my sweet I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Ok ma’be a s’rt sl’ep” you slurred through the congestion and exhaustion which muddled your words.

You fell asleep quicker than normal nestled into Wanda thigh as she ran one hand through your hair and used the other to start finishing off your report.

You slept for about a half hour before Wanda could feel more and more heat radiating into her leg from your sleeping form. Knowing she had to wake you up to take your temperature she began running her hands up and down your arm.

“Sweetheart? Baby I need you to wake up for me my love.” She cooed softly and you eyes began to flicker. Her concern only grew as she saw your glassy eyes which looked at her seemingly unseeing despite your open eyes.

“Damn wan’s what dib u do while i was ‘seeping i fell awf’l” you croaked sounding much worse than earlier.

“Honey,” she frowned, “you feel way too warm. I think you have a fever.” She cooed.

“M’k bu’ can you geb rib of the mag’c now” you said still awfully congested.

Wanda frowned and read your mind as she realised you thought she was using her magic to make you rest. “honey” she said storing your damp hair and studying your face carefully to monitor how you felt. “My love I think your delirious and we really need to take your temp.”

“No no.” You began to squirm not really understanding “Need to work.” Gently Wanda pushed you back down into the pillows as you caved and sunk back into your little nest. “Baby I finished your report for you its ok” She was concerned at how easily you relented knowing you still didn’t understand.

You pulled the laptop off the side table and started keying in your passcode slowly struggling to read the keys.

“No no no my love” Wanda said scolding softly, “you need to rest or you wont get better. Now can i take your temp my sweet? Its just to make sure we don’t need to see Bruce and your brain is doing ok.” She said placing the laptop back on the bedside table.

“Depends” you sniffed and Wanda smiled softly at your bargaining. “will i be rewarded afterwards?” You asked

“You can have snuggles” Wanda shrugged glad you were being more agreeable.

You thought about it for a second before opening your mouth indicating wanda to put in the thermometer. Wanda chuckled softly at your antics

“let me go get it first my love.” She said using a finger to shut your jaw. “stay here now while I do my sweet.” She turned to you and and lent down the place a kiss on your warm forehead frowning at the warmth still burning under your skin.

“Ok” you said drowsily as you snuggled into her side again. “Don’t go.” You said as she began to pull away to find the thermometer. She would use her magic but she didn’t know where it was other than then general vicinity which wasn’t enough for her magic to work.

“I’ll only be a minute my love.” Wanda says peeling you sweat dampened form off her thigh. You whined like a child and Wanda shushed you softly.

“None of that now my love just a minute.” Once she had sat you back into the pile of pillows she darted off to the bathroom to grab the device.

Returning a moment later she guided you into a sitting position again. You lent heavily against her and without opening your eyes opened you mouth again. Carefully Wanda guided the thermometer into your mouth using a gentle finger to slowly close your open mouth. You swayed slightly and Wanda wrapped her arms around you shoulder to keep you upright until she could take out the thermometer.

“Oh baby you really don’t feel good do you my sweet?” She asked and you hummed a response. “Its ok I’ll look after you.”

The thermometer beeped and you jolted slightly as it surprised you in your fevered haze.

“Shh shh baby its just the device. Your ok.” She said brushing the pad of her thumb over your glistening waterline as tears gathered. With nimble fingers she removed the thermometer and looked at the number. She hummed her discontent.

“Is it bad?” You asked still slurred and tired.

“Its not good baby.” She placed it on the bedside and floated a container of fever reducers over to her hand she she ran her nails over your scalp. “You have a fever pf 102.7 and we need to get it down.” She guided the water to your lips and helped you take the tablets.

You moaned slightly when she placed a cold damp rag on your forehead and another on the back of your neck.

“Ok love you can sleep now.”

“S’eep?” You mumbled leaning into her side again. She guided your head back to her thigh and adjusted the cloths again before coaxing you back to sleep before she picked up her book from earlier.

You fell into a fitful fever sleep but Wanda occasionally check your temperature with the back of her palm content at the lowering heat she decided to let you rest.

Even in your unconscious state you were grateful for your girlfriend. She always knew what you needed and how got give it to you.

Its was a few hours later when Wanda woke you again for another dose of meds, she was glad to see more understanding in your eyes as the fever lowered further. After taking your temp and seeing it had gone down she was confident all you would need was some more love and care until you would be ok again.

MASTERLIST

#cold #flu #marvel #the avengers #wanda maximoff #wandanat #natasha romanov #sicfic #natasha romaoff #wanda marvel #wandanat x reader #wandanat comfort #wanda sicfic

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daydream-cement · 10 months

Note

i just need lots of miranda smut

Breakfast (NSFW)

Miranda Hilmarson x Reader

Some good old cunnilingus from sweet Miranda <3

Author’s Note: Short little fic but I needed Mir giving god-like head :)

“What do you think you’re doing?” You smirked, gazing down at the determined blonde. You knew damn well what Miranda was up to, but you liked to tease anyway.

Miranda has been feeling pent up all morning. Waking up with your body pressed up against hers was enough to drive a woman to madness, but watching you make breakfast in a tiny, sheer nightgown had her losing her mind. It started with kisses over your shoulders and hands pushing up the nightgown to touch the skin under your navel. Now she pulled you away from her breakfast and pushed you up on the countertop, choosing her own desires over your hunger, “I’m having breakfast.”

“If you must…” You were happy to indulge Miranda’s urges, laying back on the counter to show you were ready to receive the many orgasms Miranda was destined to give you.

It started slow. She bit, licked, and sucked her way across your inner thighs. The constable needed her mouth on your skin like she needed the air she breathed. You tried maintaining level breathing, but Miranda knew just where you liked every little touch. Your back rose up off the countertop, your shoulders painfully pressed to the granite countertop. You just needed Miranda to touch you.

“Stop the teasing,” You hissed.

Miranda did as she was told, never one to disobey her love. Her tongue pressed against the fabric of your panties, dragging up the length of your aching sex before finally pulling your panties to the side.

The manner in which Miranda feverishly ate you shocked you each time. Her tongue lapped through your folds, not quite stimulating your clit yet. That you would have to wait for. Miranda needed to savor the way you tasted, much like it was her last meal on earth. The constable’s mind tended to go blank in these moments, only spurred on by your moaning and writhing.

Your eyelids began to flutter when your first orgasm washed over you, but Miranda’s pacing wasn’t any slower. The blonde’s jaw ached but her pain was secondary to the task at hand. Miranda needed you to feel her love and passion. She needed you to keep cumming until you were begging for Miranda to stop.

Miranda’s hands rested on your abdomen, keeping your hips from bucking too wildly. Your moans grew louder and louder, Miranda was entranced by your voice as always. She picked up the pace of her tongue swirling around your clit causing your chest to convulse from another orgasm crashing down upon you.

Miranda wasn’t about to stop there. No. Not when your cum hit her tongue. That was the reward she was looking for. How better than to thank you for the treat than with more orgasms?

——-

You were sweating. This was more of a workout than you bargained for. Four orgasms. Was it four? You had lost count. You could feel every cell of her body buzzing and needed a break.

Miranda was unrelenting. Her jaw was on fire, but she was mindlessly fingering you, her tongue lapping up anything you had to offer. Every few seconds she would expertly swipe her tongue over your clit, sending a jolt through your body. Your breath shuddered with each gasp and your cunt flexed at the overstimulating sensations.

You attempted to roll your hips away first, but Miranda’s grasp on you was ironclad. Next, you pushed a hand into the blonde’s hair, attempting to push her away once more, but Miranda took that as an indication to move her lips back to your clit. When Miranda began sucking at your clit, that's when your eyes began to water from the overstimulation. You pinched the back of Miranda’s hand, writhed your hips and groaned, “Please…. Enough, baby…”

Miranda pulled away wide eyed, finally drawn from her trance. You were trying to steady your breath, but the over abundance of pleasure made coming down a challenge. The blonde apologetically kissed the backs of your hands followed by kisses to your navel and thighs. Her words were quiet and sincere, “I’m sorry… Did I hurt you?”

“On the contrary… I just… need a moment… You did very good… Too good… I… Jesus… Where did you… learn that?”

“You… and I think about doing that do you during most of my free time..” Miranda admitted softly, gently rubbing her hands up and down your thighs, ready to be there for you when you wanted to move off the kitchen counter.

——

The rest of the morning you were singing Miranda’s praises. Not just for the sex but for Miranda being Miranda. You knew the blonde melted at each praise and compliment, so the only true way to pay her back for such a delightful morning was to play into her praise kink.

You laid together lazily on the couch, ignoring the tv in exchange for each other’s company. A blush never left Miranda’s face as you showered her with quiet ‘I love you’s’ and sweet terms of endearment. Each one causing the blush to deepen and spread to the constable’s ears.

Taglist: @charymobile, @bri-sonat, @weemswife, @smutuniversesblog, @opheliauniverse, @renravens, @whenyouhaveanobsession, @shyladyfan, @rubberduckiesbathing, @mcufanisme, @peanutbutterprincess, @Alexthefavgay, @ladylarissaweems, @lvinhs, @myzzjolanda, @principal-weems09, @imlike-so-gaydude, @emilynissangtr, @xuukoo, @brienneswife, @kay-liah-scope, @oculusalien, @kimiinou, @sweetderacine, @giogwensversion, @milciak, @gela123, @maximoffslovergirl, @thevillagegay, @katiemcgrathsbitch1, @naomi-m3ndez, @mysaviorfalsegod, @salems-spaghettios, @imgayforwoman69, @bychrissi, @fyrecatz, @bitchr-mkay

#gwendoline christie #gwen christie #miranda hilmarson smut #miranda hilmarson x reader #miranda hilmarson #top of the lake #smut #oneshot

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haladrielficxch · 2 months

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Author Reveals are here! Read below the cut to see who wrote your favorite fics!

don't let it in with no intention to keep it by alicuntisms for @nuclearnik

galadriel is in need of a human - halbrand is in need of a warm place to sleep. a bargain is struck. if only galadriel knew who she was striking a bargain with....

A Lust for Light by cozy_ships for @liminal-zone

The magic is always just there on the periphery of his lands, threatening to spill over. Sometimes he swears he can feel it in the earth beneath his feet, taste it in the water, clear and bright and so utterly unlike his own. The flowing currents of it had drawn him to these lands, led him to stake his own claim and build his fortress along the borders of the Golden Wood. He knows who resides within, hiding herself away amidst the forest’s glittering bowers.

Tempered by eye_of_a_cat for @cozy_ships on Twitter

She focuses instead on smaller things. She notices the edges of him: the sewed seams of his bracers, the way they press against the skin of his hands; the shadow at his neck where the cloth of his collar falls loosely; the way the fuzz of hair on his arms glows a little in reflected firelight. He is all edges and joins, scars and soldered seams. There will be a way to break him apart.

at the dawn of our folly, we took from the tree that was rotting by ichabodcranemills for @lisenberry

Stranded togehter in the middle of nowehere, political rivals Galadriel and Halbrand learn they have more in common than they could've possibly imagined.

Love is heavy and light, bright and dark by lisenberry for @softlighter

There was a time in Lady Galadriel Artanis Noldor’s life when all she had to worry about was keeping her face out of the sun and her feet out of the mud. Her nose in her embroidery and her hands soft as lambskin. Her brain empty and her mouth shut.

Many things had changed since then.

and I feel like I just got home by Lizzen for @eye_of_a_cat on Twitter

A third age haunting of a sort; an alternate version of life as seen through the looking glass, and the impact resonate.

She is Everything You Want by MyrsineMezzo for @alicuntisms

As he looked at that tight braid with the light reflecting in her hair, Halbrand realized he knew who she was. Everyone knew who she was. Galadriel Noldor. She was the best and the brightest; the pride of the university who had been profiled in the recent campus magazine because she was on a sure ride through the NCAA fencing tournament system even as a sophomore. He realized Mel had followed his gaze when he heard a low scoff.

“Noldor. A loner who thinks she’s above it all. Now there’s a challenge worthy of the highest of prizes.”

the only song i want to hear by MyrsineMezzo for @ichabodcranemills

5 times Halbrand kissed Galadriel in exchange for a secret, and one time he did not.

Set throughout the first season of Rings of Power.

Deeper, Darker Things Than You by nuclearnik for @formerlyIR on Twitter

He is effortlessly charming—and everyone besides Galadriel seems to eat it right up—but something hiding just below the surface, coiled and restless, calls to her.

don't answer me (i'm calling just to hear you scream" by poeticmemory for @the-sweet-hibiscus

One year after her eldest brother‘s murder, Galadriel and her friends find themselves in the sights of a horror-film obsessed killer.

everything (except what it is) by softlight for @myrsinemezzo

“And what are you going to say?” “That I can be civil if you can."

Rival teachers Galadriel and Halbrand sign up to run the school show. Things do not go as expected.

the Curse of Linhir by TheSweetHibiscus for @justatinycollector

The morning of October 28th I, along with my unwilling companion, managed to flea the decrepit town of Linhir. I had ran, cloaked in nothing more than a t-shirt and the threadbare soles of my brother's old hiking boots, nearly twenty miles to the Regent's port home in Númenor. Each step was agony – the ill-timed impromptu marathon more than enough to cause my lungs and thighs to burn like coal cinders. Yet it was nothing compared to the sinking dread — a fear I hadn't gotten far enough away.

By the Moonlight by justatinycollector for @wyrd-syster

It would seem to Galadriel, in their first few encounters, that Halbrand would always leave her with something. Later, she’d come to learn that he never left a place empty-handed.

The Highwayman AU.

stones that move (and trees that speak) by Wyrd_Syster for @bad-surprise

Halbrand wants power and Galadriel wants her inheritance. There is no cost too high, no price too steep, to stop them from taking what they want.

A Macbeth AU with a dash of Sleep No More.

#haladriel #haladriel fic exchange #ao3 fic #galadriel x halbrand #fanfiction #haladriel fanfic #ao3 works #fanfic event #rop #sauron x galadriel

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buckets-and-trees · 1 year

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Consort

Fandom: MCU Characters/Pairings: Namor x female!Reader Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: Diplomatic fraternization is never easy and situations can turn on a dime. When you accompany your father to negotiate future ties between your two underwater kingdoms, one mistake changes everything.

Content Warnings: SMUT, thigh riding

Additional Notes: Before this week it had never even as a WHIM come across my radar to write anything Namor. But two-almost-three-days ago @artsynellyyy shared a ridiculously gorgeous unfinished piece of art she was working on, asked for some input, and it spurred a plot concept that just GRIPPED my brain and had me feeling THINGS. I don’t think I will be writing a lot of Namor, but I do know there’s certainly a part two to this because…there’s more story for these two in my head. There’s a particular moment that exists for them that as this developed, I knew could not happen yet for them, it would’ve been too rushed. So… just… Happy fourth installment of the 2022 Holiday Extravaganza!

A/N 2: Be gentle! This is my first attempt at Namor. I did some canon diving and research, but I did not dive deep into the Namor fandom because I didn’t want to get too influenced about established patterns or too intimidated about what’s already out there. Honestly kind of terrified to publish this one, so just... jumping out of the airplane and pulling the parachute okay bye.

“Let us speak without pretense,” the king of Talokan’s voice resonates powerfully through the throne room. “Tell me why you sought private audience with me today, Hamal.”

Standing at the right hand of your father, you observe the way he draws his shoulders up just a fraction more, the way his nostrils flare just before he speaks again. “Fine, I will speak plainly, Namor. Your recent dealings with the surface, particularly with the kingdom of Wakanda, is concerning to the kingdom of Fourchon.”

“Why should it concern you?” Namor patiently humors the conversation further, but you can read that the patience is wearing thin.

“King to king, I find it concerning because it calls into question whether we are moving into a state of volatility for all who dwell in the oceans, and I have no wish to see my people drawn into hostilities or war of any kind.”

“And you are here to ensure continued peace between our nations?”

“I am.”

Your heart isn’t racing, but the beats thrum more swiftly against your chest as you will this to go well.

“And what do you propose, Hamal? What does the kingdom of Fourchon possibly have to offer Talokan?”

There’s a moment of silence that hangs between the two rulers, then your father answers, “Her.”

Every muscle in your body seizes with dread, your heart skipping a beat. Your eyes widen, but every bit of diplomatic rearing mercifully allows you to keep your mouth from dropping open in complete shock.

“My daughter.”

You cannot look at either king, looking straight ahead to keep your composure, but you register the sharp change in Namor’s voice. “Fourchon is neither enemy nor ally to Talokan, and yet you come to my court with the arrogance of demanding peace between our countries when for more than three hundred years there has been nary a quarrel. Indeed, your small kingdom has meant nothing to me, an inconsequential player amongst underwater realms. We have maintained social civility only because you were not worth any more or less to me.

He pauses, and you can feel the tension rolling in waves off your father.

“Your offer is horrible, but I will give you what you came here to bargain and secure today for the sake of your people, despite the prideful blunder of their king. Now leave.”

You are desperate to acquiesce to Namor’s command after the humiliation of being offered first as a trinket or some form of tribute and then receiving by association a political rebuke, and you turn immediately to depart with your father.

“Not you, Princess,” his voice halts you.

You watch your father leave; he doesn’t look back at you or Namor.

“Come here,” the king of Talokan says.

You turn back to face him, squaring your shoulders and looking straight at him as you approach. Your father had asked for a private audience, and you are grateful for that as no one else saw the disaster that just took place.

He regards you openly. You focus on breathing evenly when all you want to do is flee from this room and let your emotions rage. When his gaze meets yours again, he tilts his chin and narrows his eyes ever so slightly.

“Do you not kneel for your king?”

Heat rushes from your chest up to flood your cheeks, and your throat feels thick with anger, but you manage to speak. “You are not my king.”

“Did I not accept the terms offered?”

“An offer you called horrible,” you say as you sink to your knees and bow your head as is customary.

“The offer, not you.”

Your head snaps back up at these words.

“And the offer was horrible in relation to you, not me.”

Your brow furrows in question.

“When your father made the overtures for this meeting, I asked my ambassador to share with me his outlook on your kingdom and your court.”

“You said we were inconsequential.”

“But an element that still exists.”

He evaluated the full landscape. You were under no illusions that the kingdom of your birth was small in comparison to Talokan or Atlantis, but he was a ruler who wasn’t fool enough discount the smaller players.

“My ambassador said,” he continues, “that your people love and respect you and that it is a loss to Fourchon that you were both second-born and a daughter of the throne instead of a son.”

Resentment spreads through your veins at these words. You’d fought the unrest of what you would not be able to do while also feeling confident in your brother’s ability to rule, that he’d proven himself worthy of his birthright.

“He said you were your father’s favorite.”

You had thought that, too. And yet… “How easily he would bargain me away would say otherwise.”

“It was clear you had no indication of his intent.”

A bitter laugh escapes your throat. “Truly. I thought he valued my presence, my counsel, even perhaps my help in diplomatic relations, but I was only a pawn.”

“No.”

You narrow your eyes and cock your head to the side.

“I think you are wrong. Stand, Princess.”

You rise slowly, with as much grace as you can.

He moves from the throne, stepping over the jaw that frames his seat of power, and moves down the steps toward you.

“In future you kneel for only me, no one else.”

You remain in your place as he slowly circles you.

“I did lecture your father for his arrogance on an improper read on the state of affairs, assuming Talokan would turn on Fourchon. However, as a king, I do not fault him for caring for the welfare of his people, or for overestimating the value of his kingdom,” he states, his voice warming with this admission. He comes to a stop in front of you. “And to negotiate safety and peace for his people?” He raises his right hand and draws his fingers down reverently along your jaw. “He offers you, his greatest treasure. He insinuates you are worth more than an entire kingdom.”

You open then close your mouth, unsure how to respond to this interpretation. Your eyes search his, but all you can see there is a resoluteness that he truly means what he’s just said. It’s disarming, and with the way your world fell out from under you only minutes ago, you’re unsure of what to trust now.

Namor radiates confidence, it rolls easily off him in waves, but when he takes a step closer, you can feel the heat of him. His fingers move over your shoulder and down the length of your arm, and you shiver but keep holding his gaze. Your instincts tell you that every moment in this room has been significant, it’s determining your future, every movement, every word, every observation.

He takes half a step closer, only a whisper of space between you now, and you hold your ground. He almost smiles, then he turns away, seizing your hand and leading you up the stairs of the dais, and you quickly lift your skirts so you can ascend quickly behind him. Up close you can admire the artistry of the jaw that encases his throne. Like him, it’s charming, beautiful, and dangerous, each intricate designs carved into the bone, and the teeth replaced with jade stones.

“Your father was right to anticipate a shift in my rule.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve been king of Talokan for centuries, but my dealings with Wakanda have me considering eventualities of the future.”

Namor takes steps over the jaw, then draws you carefully in with him, still holding your hand as you step over the mighty frame, before finally releasing it. He turns back to look out over the throne room and further the drop off to look out over the kingdom of Talokan, but angles himself slightly toward you as well, and you mirror him. It’s a breathtaking view, and you imagine it is an altogether different manner of beauty with the court or an audience of people called to convene. But like this, still and quiet, it’s ethereal.

“You will be my queen.”

“That’s a bold declaration.”

“You’ve been offered to me in exchange for a promise of peace for your people, would you renege?”

You close your eyes briefly but square your shoulders and shake your head.

“Now you can choose your course in this.”

“Enlighten me,” you can’t hold back, though you do manage to keep your voice even.

There’s a flicker of something in his eyes, but he’s speaking again before you can decipher it. “If I’m to have an heir, to secure the future, ensure stability for my people, I need a queen; but whether you merely bear my child or become my consort is something I cannot determine for you. I would prefer the latter.”

In the next second, he’s pulled you to his side and captured your lips in a kiss that is altogether slow and searing. His arm winds around your waist, bringing you flush against him, and your hands move of their own volition to rest on either side of his neck. Heat runs through your veins, and you know without question he could consume you.

You break off the kiss, but he respectfully retreats. He takes a seat on the throne, and you see he’s as breathless as you are.

But you broke off the kiss to ask the question that will haunt you if you don’t ask it.

“You’re truly ready to bind me to your side, just like that? You don’t even know me.”

“This is not a marriage of convenience. This is a marriage of opportunity.”

“I’m not–“

He holds up a hand to silence you, but it’s not in impatience, you can see that in his face, and he immediately says, “I will grant you that we do not know each other yet, but I know enough to know who you are. I have the trusted insight of my ambassador, but I also have accounts from people who have served and interacted with you here in my own kingdom these past two days, and biologically prolonged life or not, a king also doesn’t keep his crown or the respect of his people for as long as I have without being able to judge those around him well. You were taken by surprise today, but you are not naïve. You came to my court to be of counsel, serve, influence. Why should that not still be your fate?”

“A foreign princess?”

He shakes his head and holds his hand out to you. “A queen consort.”

You search his face again. This was the moment. You could not read any falseness, arrogance, or cruelty. Indeed, though he was surprising you with this swift and forthright proposition, your intuition doesn’t question him or his intentions.

You take the hand he presented, and he pulls you forward, placing his hands on your hips once you are close enough and guiding you to sit astride one of his powerful thighs, the rich fabric of your dress sliding up your legs. You place your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself.

“I want your mind, your body, and your soul,” he says, sealing it with your name, not your title.

“I want the same,” you say.

“You’re sure?”

“I need the same.” Being this close to him is both invigorating and steadying. The way he is looking at you, the way he is holding you, it’s also intimate and heated, and those feelings are amplified as he pulls you just a little closer.

“Then take what you need,” he commands in a tone that makes your heart soar and desire bloom in your stomach. He flexes his thigh against your core, and it spurs you to lean in and kiss him again, hungry for more.

He matches your eagerness. When his tongue seeks entrance, you open your lips, moaning. He begins rocking your hips back and forth over his thigh, and you know he can feel the heat and the wetness of the desire he’s stoked within you seeping through the silk of your underwear. As you take control of moving against him, his hands travel up your sides until he reaches your breasts, and his thumbs brush over the tender flesh. You both moan, him in approval, and you with pleasure. You’re swept away completely in all the sensations, in his passion, your body singing for him. He is a powerful force, one you will have to be sure to meet with your own spirit and fire so you aren’t lost. This union is for fulfilment for you both, not to be destroyed, diminished, or tossed away.

As you speed up, he drops one hand down to anchor on your hips, helping you grind down on his thigh. He keeps flexing it against you, and you whimper, head falling back.

“Keep going,” he growls against the column of your throat, kissing his way down to the sweet spot at the base of your neck. “I love the way your body is trembling; I can tell you’re so close.”

“Yes, Namor,” you keen.

“K’uk’ulkan,” he says, and your head snaps back up, eyes locking intensely with his.

“K’uk’ulkan,” you repeat – the invitation to use the more personal name drops the intimacy between you two to a deeper level.

You both move with a desperate frenzy now, you craving the release and him eager to give it to you, his lips searing every inch of the exposed skin available to him at your neck, collar bone, pulling at the neckline of your dress.

“So close,” you cry.

“Let go.”

And you do, tight coil of ecstasy peaking and releasing, you cling to him, and as your body begins to relax wish pleasure, you press your forehead to his, both of your eyes closed now, sealing the moment in your memory.

His hands are slowly running up and down your back. “Jach ma’alob,” he croons softly. “This is enough for now; there will be so much more, my queen.”

Jach ma’alob = very good

PART TWO: COMPANION

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

If you enjoyed, reblog to help others find this story AND to normalize the fic-reblog culture. There are so many talented writers, and a reblog really fuels the muses of the soul more than you know - we all appreciate it whether we're big or little fish in this pond.

My askbox is always open. See you on the flipside for day four of AHE...

#namor the sub mariner #namor smut #namor x you #namor x y/n #namor x female reader #namor fic #tenoch huerta namor #aspen wrote something #aspen's holiday extravaganza #ahe 2022 #namor x reader #to become his queen series #female reader

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genericpuff · 6 months

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That panel of Demeter floating away with the green streaks following her kind of looks like an attempt to "clap back" at your "add the glow back to LO" edits from awhile back, NGL. It's like her going "See? I can still do them! Shut up, haters!" but she still did them in such a half-assed way that they still look bad. IDK how she could forget the methods and implementation of her own ideas over the years, but here we are.

LMAOO there are a few recent panels tbh that def feel like her 'attempts' to bring back old LO art but if anything it just goes to show how far her style has fallen because even when she tries to make it look like she put in the same effort as S1 LO it just... doesn't u.u

Different but related, it reminds me of this panel:

Like, it screams "see! old LO!" but like many of Rachel's attempts to address criticism, it feels like it misses the mark entirely of the point people are making (and yet also proves that Rachel's not putting any effort into the comic anymore because that sketch is better than anything that's been in the entirety of S3, it's such a Catch 22 situation she's gotten herself into with this LMAO).

S1 had sketched panels like these because they were literally concept sketches she simply reused in the comic.

(literally the actual scene of Artemis proving her skills to Zeus was in the pilot version of the comic but never included in the originals for some reason).

The panel above is more intentionally drawn to look like a sketch just to pay lip service to that old stylization and so it feels so disingenuous (and yet , again, it's still drawn better than all the usual panels we get!) and like a bad attempt to draw people in with false promises of "the art is getting better!" when it isn't, it's just one isolated semi-decent panel out of a sea of shit ones LOL

It's like when someone tries to "prove" they've changed by doing one little thing that they've been neglecting/falling through on, but then immediately backpedal into old habits because that attempt at change wasn't really genuine, it was performative. You can't just do one thing and say "see, I've changed!" because that's just not how it works, you won't know until positive change has truly sunk in until after the fact when you can look back on it and go "wait, it's been a while since things have been that bad, I can't believe I used to be like that!" and that can only happen through regular and repetitive efforts, not single 'big' ones to 'prove' to others you've changed. LO is very much in its bargaining "fine, I did the thing and proven myself, reward me now!" stage of self-improvement IMO.

#lore olympus critical #lo critical #anti lore olympus #ask me anything #ama #anon ama #anon ask me anything

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achaotichuman · 2 months

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This is another fic my lovely friend @lorcandidlucienwill sent me <3

I think @kateprincessofbluewhales made a post about this ages ago that I just remembered. But imagine Feyre wants to be with Tamlin but she is mated with Rhysand and Tamlin feels her slowly drifting away each time she comes back and and and... Part 1 until I come up with more shit.

"Feyre! Feyre, are you alright?" Tamlin rushed to her, needing to touch her, smell her, see her face, just to know that she's alright- "I'm ok," Feyre gasped. She looked at him, and Tamlin scanned her face. No visible wounds, but the worst wounds were often internal. Tamlin knew better than anyone. He still hadn't told her that she wasn't the only one who had been sexually assaulted under the mountain. That he had been raped again and again by Amarantha while she had been safe in the human lands as he had planned. He still couldn't bring himself to do it. He loved her so much, his angry feral little woman. But Tamlin knew that if he showed her the full extent of his darkness, 500 years worth, she wouldn't be able to handle it. Not now, maybe not ever.

She hurt so much, but even then, she was twenty years old. So young, so hopeful. Her human experience, enjoying and being in awe of everything at once, feeling all emotions in such a small space of time, living a full life in an eighth of his, was incredible. Tamlin couldn't help but be drawn to it. And although her body might have been changed, Feyre was still a human at heart. Tamlin couldn't, wouldn't break her with his own pain. He only wished he had the courage to ask her about her own. Thankfully Lucien had got a bit out of her, but Tamlin wanted her to open up. Wanted her to continue being open and human. He didn't want her to become like him.

"Did he torture you? Did he...touch you?" Tamlin hated that he had to ask it, hated that he hadn't been powerful enough to stop Rhysand from taking her away from him. Unbidden, he recalled his conversation with Feyre before he had sent her back to her human family.

I can hold my own, Feyre had insisted. Beautiful girl. Beautiful, angry, naive girl. She was good with a bow, but she stood no chance against this woman. He had to ensure she understood that. You can’t. Because I can’t. I can’t even protect myself against them, against what’s happening in Prythian. Even if we stood against the blight … they would hunt you down—she would find a way to kill you. I don't understand. Tell me, she had demanded. Sweet, brave girl. All that was good in the world. He had to keep her safe. Far away from Prythian.

He felt just the same as he had mere months ago. Only instead of Amarantha, it was Rhysand who he was helpless to stop. He despised it, the stupid Fae bargain, everything. He hated everything about the Fae. Everything Fae was why they were in this position now. "No," she reassured him. "He mostly left me alone." Tamlin tried to scent out a lie on her, but nothing. Truth, then. Tamlin heaved a sigh of relief. He had been torturing himself for days, ripping furniture to shreds, else bawling in his room. Finally, Lucien, tired of playing babysitter, had demanded he use healthier coping habits.Tamlin had started writing depressing fiddle songs that he knew were terrible, but Lucien had listened to each one and even clapped when necessary. Truly the greatest friend one could ask for.

They kept searching all of Prythian for solutions to the bargain. Even after Day had offered up nothing. They'd search the whole damn world if they had to for their cursebreaker. Their Cursebreaker. For she may be Tamlin's bride, but she was also Lucien's friend, and Prythian's hero. A fully-fledged war hero. Tamlin could still scarcely believe it. A mere human girl. Her fierce heart never ceased to amaze him. Though the silly woman had taken months to figure out a simple riddle, she had done it in the end. In a far more incredible, epic fashion. And she'd been gifted with immortality. Immortality with him.

"Come and eat. When you feel up to it, tell me what you remember of the Night Court." Tamlin hated to do it, but he couldn't waste this chance to learn more of Night- not when they were sworn enemies and knowledge could free Feyre. Although...daemati. Fuck. Was there a way to check if someone's mind had been meddled with? He asked Lucien about it later when his future bride had fallen asleep. "I could ask Nuan to talk to someone in Dawn about it," Lucien said. "They're the foremost experts in this healing shit, they could probably tell instantly whether or not her brain has been meddled with, and probably fix it too."

Tamlin breathed, "What if it can't be fixed?" Tamlin started breathing rapidly, feeling the panic attack coming on. Lucien's hand gripped his forearm. "Tamlin. Tamlin. Relax. I will bring Thesan himself here if that's what the fuck it takes." "Thesan? Would he even come?" Deep breaths, Tamlin. Deep breaths. Lucien snorted. "For the Cursebreaker? Zero hesitation." He walked away. Right. Feyre was something of a demigod, an idol, to these people now.

Tamlin tried to enjoy his time with Feyre, but it felt like a ticking time bomb. Every day her inevitable trip to that monster's house loomed closer. Who knew what he would do this time. Maybe he was trying to lure her into a false sense of security. Maybe he was making her forget things. Tamlin's imagination ran wild; so wild he had to vent to Lucien so as not to scare Feyre. Lucien sometimes outright facepalmed at his idiocy. "Well, if it makes you feel better, I managed to get Thesan to come here soon." "How soon?" Tamlin asked. He hated how desperate his voice was. It had been nothing but desperation his entire life, like some kind of rabid dog. Would he ever be free?

Lucien said, "A couple of weeks. He's doing some rebuilding and reconciling, but he can come around then." Tamlin slumped in relief before stress began to surge through him once more, causing a headache. "That's after Feyre goes back to Rhysand. By then, he could've caused irreparable damage to her brain." "It was the best I could do," Lucien said. "Tam, Thesan is the High Lord of Dawn. If anyone can do something about it, it's him. I can assure you, a week or two won't make a difference."

Tamlin gripped the edge of the table so hard wood came off in his hands. "Get out," Tamlin said quietly. Lucien opened his mouth to continue, but Tamlin roared, "NOW!" Lucien scurried away.

He felt guilty for how he'd yelled at Lucien, but Tamlin had to be alone now. He just had to. Not even Lucien knew the true extent of the darkness in his heart. Lucien was nearly two centuries younger than him. In spite of all the torment he had been through, he was still a living flame. Nothing like Tamlin. Full of tangled thorns, but outwardly a rose.

The second time Rhysand came to pick up Feyre, Tamlin damn near ripped him to shreds right there. Goddamn his superiority complex convincing himself that he's the most powerful guy around, Tamlin could take him on. They'd been friends once. Rhysand had learned all those oh-so-great Illyrian techniques of fighting. Hadn't stopped Tamlin from beating his ass to a pulp every time they'd sparred. He was a pale, skinny, dorky little man. Fighting was not his strength. But a High Lord fight here in his territory, with Feyre in his arms, that bargain in his favor...not the best idea. So, Tamlin controlled himself, even as his mind screamed, even as his heart pumped so hard he knew he gave away every feeling in his heart to Rhysand. Indeed the asshole smirked, as if he thoroughly enjoyed it. Brat.

A broken chair. Another broken table. Lucien had stood there, blood streaming down his face from the shrapnel, trying to get him to stop. When he'd finally gotten him to stop, Tamlin had taken the thoroughly scratched fiddle in Lucien's hands, trying to express himself through his music, the beast within longed to shred faeries to pieces. So, he played sad fiddle songs to appease Lucien, and when Lucien was elsewhere, searching for solutions to their little problem, Tamlin went into the forest.

And he shredded whatever ilk remained in the forest with his bare hands. Savored the scent of blood in the air. Tore out throats with his teeth as he had with Amarantha.

He didn’t come home until blood dripped from either side of his mouth, till his face was marred with scratches, his clothing ripped to shreds, his wrists sore from killing so many creatures. It took longer to let out his anger now that his power had returned. It was easy now-too easy. So, while Lucien was gone, he’d sometimes be out there for days at a time. It was the only way he could play the perfect, noble High Lord. No one needed to know the roars in the forest were him.

When Feyre returned, Tamlin checked her again. She looked the same as she had last time, but Tamlin trusted nothing. He didn’t trust Rhysand as far as he could throw him. He was now certain some kind of mind manipulation was happening here to make Feyre forget her torment. Otherwise, why would he even make such a bargain?

Unless he had done it for the simple pleasure of taking something from him. For the simple pleasure of torturing him. Or even more simply, he wanted Tamlin’s attention somehow. Some way. Tamlin couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. Was it his friendship that he desired so badly? After all this time? Rhysand was worse at making friends than Tamlin was; now that he thought about it, Tamlin might be Rhysand’s only friend ever.

Feyre shook her head in disgust when they were sleeping beside each other on the bed. “He can sense my emotions through the bond,” Feyre whispered. “He can spy on me- has seen me many times.” She shook her head. “I don’t feel safe anymore, Tamlin.” He was going to kill Rhysand. Inch by inch. He would savor every bit of it. And he’d do it in fucking beast form. Then he’d put Rhysand’s head on a spike and parade it around Spring like a fucking victory flag. He pulled Feyre into his arms, tucking her head into his chest. “I’m sorry sweetheart,” Tamlin murmured onto her head. “I’m sorry.” He vowed to remember it. Every bit of sorrow, of hurt he had felt from Feyre. And he’d make sure Rhysand felt it all before he died at Tamlin’s hands.

“Kiss me,” Feyre whispered against him. Tamlin stilled. “Are you sure? After all that-” “I want to forget,” Feyre insisted, and some of that old snappiness and anger returned to her voice. “Can you do that?” Tamlin understood better than anyone the need to forget. So, he obliged her.

Thesan examined Feyre, a soft glow emanating from his hands. “There’s no mind manipulation or brain damage as far as I can tell,” Thesan assured Tamlin afterwards. “The daemati think they’re sneaky, but a powerful healer can detect changes. There have been none in Feyre. She is still your bride, Tamlin.” Bride. Right. Tamlin had almost forgotten amidst the massive pile of horseshit that was Rhysand and his stupid bargain. Well, that was one thing off his chest, at least. “Not even memory loss? Or stolen memories?” Thesan shook his head, clasping his shoulder. “Worry not, my friend. Lady Feyre is perfectly alright.”

Tamlin ought to have felt comforted by the thought. But his paranoia got the better of him. Was it just him or was something different about her? Every time she left, she felt a little more distant. Tamlin could’ve sworn he saw her staring back at Rhysand in longing once. It was that look that had worried him more than anything else. “Is it the bargain magic? Is he manipulating you?” he had asked. Feyre had shaken her head. “The bargain magic has its limits. But…he tugged on something else last time. I couldn’t tell what it was; it was in the ribs, and it made me long for him. I didn’t like it at all, Tamlin. My heart belongs to you.”

Tamlin’s heart stopped. Simply stopped beating and dropped out of his chest. It was more still than it had been in Amarantha’s time. He had a very bad feeling about what it was affecting Feyre. And he knew why Rhysand had made that bargain. He had known before even Tamlin had.

Mates. Mates. Mates.

His beloved Feyre, unversed as she was in Faelore, did not understand. But Tamlin did. And he hated Rhysand even more. He hated him so much he couldn’t breathe. He hated him so much that he made an oath right then and there.

He swore to the Mother herself that if he didn’t kill Rhysand within the next twenty years, may the Mother claim his body as hers.

Amazing writing as always. Kate, you are also a genius. this is a very good theory and Amita you executed it incredibly well. The anguish between them, and the feeling of Feyre being so far away and Tamlin wanting to protect her is so heartbreaking, I love it.

Also fuck Amarantha, I want to murder her more than anything in the world.

Feyre still clearly wants to be with Tamlin. And I love how her mating bond is portrayed as almost similar to Tamlin's mother's, where it's fake love for Rhysand, the mating bond making her long for him rather than her own head. It's deliciously angsty and I want nothing more than for Tamlin to rip Rhysand to shreds.

This was amazing. I loved every inch of it, thank you so much!

#mita the writer #acotar #pro tamlin #tamlin #feyre archeron #pro feyre archeron #feylin #pro feylin #anti feysand #anti rhysand #acotar au

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counterfeitphantoms · 3 months

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Maro!! (drawn by @bootleggreely obv, he also helped me fit this all together!!

their whole deal is that they're the child of Hart (Giraffe Alpha) and Greely; both from a world that's long-gone now due to the phantoms originating there taking total control over it & assimilating it

(lore-ramble under the cut)

most things from that world (animals esp), understandably, just… flat out didn't make it. if they're not dead they're as good as dead; but hart managed to escape with maro (when they were like 9) by using the magic stored in other alphas' alpha stones (a pretty fucked up thing to do! it basically damned the alphas they stole from, but they got desperate). they had offered for their worlds greely to escape with them, but he denied & instead chose to stay behind to attempt to fend off the phantoms (which was futile and i think. he knew. but yk captain goes down w/his ship analogy and all that)

one of the ancients also escaped with hart, a younger one that didn't like what her siblings were doing to this world. they only had a brief connection with the giraffe alpha before they split their separate ways, though; with her fleeing to one world while hart & maro went to another.

despite managing to flee in time, hart & maro still weren't safe. they were constantly being perused by the ancients, who had grown angry over both escaping. this lead to most worlds the two visiting eventually, inevitably, being attacked by the same world-hopping ancients, dooming those worlds to the same fate while the two would flee over and over. it went on for years, and even as maro grew up and became their own person (currently, they're 18-20, max), harts rampant paranoid terror led them to shelter maro, never letting them out of their sight for even an hour. they were desperate to keep their kid, the only other thing from their original world that escaped, safe (at this point they assumed the young ancient that fled with them had died, or that they had second thoughts and rejoined their older siblings in their pursuit to consume more and more worlds)

but eventually. they fled to a weird world. OITTS "current" world. and they…. reunite with the ancient that fled with them all those years back. they were alive, and they had become this worlds phantom queen. who up until that point had escaped the hateful gaze of her siblings, and had been attempting to settle down in a world. this new world was cruel, but phantoms thrived in relative peace. (a parallel with her siblings that the queen doesn't see; she believes shes taken over this worlds jamaa for her subjects/children, not for anything malicious, and thus she believes that separates her from them) of course the two are ecstatic to reunite, that last bit of hope that both had that SOMETHING else had survived from their shared original world turned out to be true. but that'd quickly turn to horror as hart realizes what they've done. they've practically lit a beacon for the ancients right in the world that the queens worked so hard to hide from their prying eyes.

for once, hart doesn't flee. they can't. they couldn't in good conscious leave PQ here to fend off her siblings on her own. not when they're the reason they'll find her. they decide to stand their ground until they inevitably discover this world and invade it when that confrontation happens. the ancients have actually been having quite a fun time chasing hart around; they made it easier to jump from world to world with their own efforts, and the ancients have gained quite a footing due to them. so. there's a proposal (from hart. i think. more than anything else)

just. leave this world be, leave maro here, leave your sister here. and hart will join them. they don't want too, obviously. but it's the only bargain those things will consider. and of course, its taken. so the ancients trade out one of their own for another (PQ for hart). and hart can finally let go of maro and let them exist and be their own person in OITTS world, it's the thing that finally separates them

Hart breaks the cycle of fleeing and consuming resources (they ultimately became just as bad as the ancients, in the end. they'd steal resources and heartstones/alpha stones from worlds they visited just to fuel their own magic, just so they could run) and lets their kid finally settle down in a world that isnt kind, but it isnt horrible. and PQ can also finally let go of her terror of her siblings and reflect upon what she did to OITTS world (which, again, wasn't far off from what her siblings did, she just thought it was "justified"). and maybe they can work on making OITTS world someplace thats livable for animals and phantoms. not just one or the other. the damage done to OITT by her cannot be undone, but at least there can be somewhat-security for everyone living in it going forward

#jamblr #aj #animal jam #aj art #aj oitt #aj au

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fieldofdaisiies · 1 year

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In Love With A Fairytale

for my two year writing anniversary I planned on doing something special and something a little different, which will now be acotar x Grimm fairytales. thank you @ultadverb for the initial idea and @autumndreaming7 for being such a great help in developing the story lines etc. 💛💛💛

✥ Sleeping Beauty (Elain x Azriel) 🦋

When exploring the garden, young Elain meets a to her unknown malevolent old woman and stings herself on a rose and falls into an endless sleep, there is only one person who can help her, a male borne of shadows and darkness. he comes for her, but can he save the young woman's life and win her heart? (for Elriel month)

✥ Hansel & Gretel (Emerie x Morrigan) 🌶️

On a search for food that takes Emerie and her brother to the forest, the young woman does not expect to instead of food discover a witch who is not only absolutely intriguing, but also nothing like Emerie had imagined a witch to be.

✥ 12 Dancing Princesses (Nesta x Cassian) 🌫️ 🦋

The three sisters go dancing each night, lying to their father. The father is furious and wants to find out their secret, young men from the kingdom are tasked to discover their secret but all of them fail. Until one man, Cassian, returns from war. He walks through the woods, is gifted with a cloak of invisibility and can so secretly follow the three sister. What he does not expect is that in his attempt to discover their secret he slowly falls in love with the oldest of them.

✥ Red Riding Hood (Elain x Lucien) 🌶️

On her way home from her sick aunt when the sun already starts to set Elain stumbles upon a fox. What she does not know is that this fox is a beautiful man who wants nothing more than lure into his fox’s burrow, wanting to show her all the pleasures their night together has to offer.

✥ Rapunzel (Gwyn x Azriel) 🦋

Escaping her haunting past Gwyneth saves herself in a tower that is locked from the inside without a chance to enter. In order to pass her time there she reads and sings. Her song is so enchanting that a young man is drawn there and keeps returning to the forest, but will she let him enter? Will he help her heal and live again? Or will he be just another whisper between the trees?

✥ Cindarella (Eris x Azriel) 🌫️

Newly crowned King Eris wants to bring about change and reform in the Autumn Kingdom, after his father, the late King Beron passed. He knows he can’t do this on his own so sets out to find the one and holds a ball, inviting every nobleman and woman to a masked ball to celebrate the kingdom and to find his intended. Azriel, who barely sees the light of day, living in his father’s dungeon and being treated as nothing more than a servant in the family household, hears there is to be a ball and longs to go and get lost in the music of the evening. Little does he know what the future holds? (for Azris week)

✥ The Devil With the Three Golden Hairs (Feyre x Rhysand) 🦋

The king is looking to marry, and Feyre’s father would do anything to ensure his youngest daughter - Feyre Archeron - will marry King Tamlin. The king wants proof that she is worthy of wearing the crown and bearing him heirs, and so sets her a quest - to steal the three golden hairs from the devil. Feyre sets out on her quest for the Hewn City, unaware that the devil is already waiting for her arrival. What will Feyre find in the Hewn City, will she be able to outwit the devil or will she have to strike a bargain to get what she needs to save her family?

#elriel #elucien #gwynriel #azris #nessian #feysand #emorie #acotar #acosf #a court of thorns and roses #a court of silver flames #acotar au

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medium-bloodcrafter-scion · 11 months

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The Legendborn Cycle Theory Time!

So Tracy Deonn finally dropped us a delectable little breadcrumb for LB3 (6/6/23) via an Instagram post and I am now going to proceed to overanalyse the shit out of it because I cannot help myself.

So Ms Deonn is introducing a new magic system (exciting!) and she posted flowers 🌷🌷🌷🌷- fiery-looking tulips in the foreground. She also mentioned that the scene where Bree is introduced to this new system will involve some kind of emotional payoff. So, my theories:

Disclaimer: I just spitball when I make my theories, they are like 50% thinking and 50% intuition. In other words, I may or may not have a logical reason behind them, I'm just here to have fun.

1. Initially I thought it could be Morgaine magic, but Morgaines also use aether, just a different style of it, and I can't see the emotional ties there. May have to think more about it.

2. Fae magic was my second/related thought, but I cannot see the emotional link at this point. Also Fae haven't been (officially?) introduced in this series, though they are present in Arthuriana so it would make sense to have them.

3. Given how Sel mockingly suggests Bree's mom used magic to 'grow prettier flowers,' back in LB, I'm wondering whether this is a magic system that Faye created with Natasia (Sel's mommy). We've seen them blend magic together already for Bree's sake, so maybe out of love for their children and the realisation that they would be separated from them, they ended up devising something entirely new. Maybe the new magic is how Natasia was healed of demonia? We're definitely getting a Natasia story, where we'll probably learn more about Bree's mom via Nat's pov as she explains to Bree. Bree meeting her, learning more about Faye's secret life as a Rootcrafter/Bloodcrafter who befriended a Merlin will definitely be quite touching.

4. Back to a semi-theory /idea I made in a comment on someone's post... Could be possible we see the Shadowking follow through on his promise and drain Bree of his power, almost killing her in the process. Maybe more HC than theory, I can imagine Bree reconciling with Vera and all her mothers in the ancestral plane as she almost dies, and in the process learning from them that there is magic that is borne out of love, and not pain or bloodshed the way bloodcraft is. This 'higher' magic wouldn't come at the cost bargaining your life away or from theft.

Imagines the ancestral plane transformed into a field of tulips, Bree and her mothers all clothed in pretty white dresses... At very least I may turn this into a fic because 😭

5. Linking back to the previous point, tulips represent forgiveness and pure love, suggesting those elements could be at play in this new magic system. It hearkens back to Bree's ancestor - Jesse I think - who drew on her power by thinking about the love she had for her mom (? Can't remember specifics). Maybe she had the right idea, but wrong magic (bloodcrafted root).

6. There was an article where some of Tracy's favourite books were listed, and it was fun to refer to that list to find out where she may draw some of her inspiration. Of note was the Dark is Rising (DiR) sequence, a series of children's stories that is fantasy based in Arthurian legend. I skimmed through the Wiki for that series and noted lots of themes and ideas overlapping with Legendborn. Notably, the magic system of DiR features three types of magic - Old Magic, Wild Magic, and High Magic. Old Magic is elemental and reminds me of Aether as used by the Order in LBC (Sel explains how magic is physics and aether is an element), Wild Magic is drawn from nature and would be similar to Rootcraft in LBC, and then the third type in DiR is High Magic, - cosmic in origin, and more powerful than the other two. ALL THIS TO SAY I think the new system we'll be introduced to will be incredibly powerful, moreso than what we've seen, and possibly tied into higher principles like love, sacrificial love, forgiveness, truth, etc.

Anyways that's enough rambling for now. I'm actually most excited about seeing how Tracy uses the new system as part of Bree's healing journey. Honestly this series is just so impactful and I know that third book will make me cry (in a good way).

#legendborn cycle #legendborn #legendborn theories #Lb3 #tracy deonn #bree matthews #the legendborn cycle #bloodmarked

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mcbenson25 · 1 year

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More Than He Bargained For Part 7

A/N: Hellooo from the ether here of trying to come back from a bad time. I've been wanting to come back to this for a month now after almost a year hiatus and here it finally is! Hope you all enjoy this!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Final Part

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"He's a crony."

"Anachronism."

"That's what I said."

You glanced back and forth between Rory and Professor Stein, feeling a sense of bewilderment and uncertainty wash over you.

Anachronism?

Sara seemed to have read your mind. "Lately we've been dealing with anachronisms," she let out a tired sigh, "It's people and things displaced throughout time."

Oh great.

This day just kept getting better and better.

Iris scowled, already annoyed, as she asked, "OK but why would Nazis from 1945 want to crash my wedding?"

Sarah blew a frustrated breath through her lips and shrugged. Who knows?

Rory, on the other hand, regarded Iris with a serious expression. "Crab legs," he said with mischievous smile, "they were absolutely delicious." Iris rolled her eyes but couldn't help but smile and you giggled.

Alex glanced up thoughtfully, "Iris has a point, though," she began to walk in the middle of the room trying to piece together what little information they had, "If they were out of time, they would've targeted the military or law enforcement."

You nodded in agreement, recognizing the logic in it. After all, most troublemakers were drawn to places where they could obtain something valuable in return, rather than a random wedding.

"Tommy was plucked five years ago and put into Prometheus Wardrobe?" Felicity asked skeptically. "That doesn't make any sense."

None of this made any sense. You glanced over to the other side of the room at Harry who had seemingly zoned off.

"It does if we're not dealing with anachronisms," Caitlyn chimed in.

That could only mean one thing.

"Visitors from another Earth?" You and Barry asked in unison.

"Jinx," you said out of habit and Barry gave you a goofy smile.

Jefferson appeared puzzled as he looked at the two of you. "Woah. There are more than one?"

Kara nodded as she crossed her arms. "There are 52, actually."

Wonderful. You knew there were more Earths out there, Harry had mentioned a thing or two before but 52? That was a lot to grasp.

With an exasperated sigh, Professor Stein paused briefly before speaking: "Though I'm hard pressed to think of one where Nazi are ascendant."

"I can."

You jumped, not realizing Harry had moved right next to you and was now leaning on the door frame. He offered you a sheepish smile. "Sorry I didn't mean to scare you."

You felt your cheeks flush as you struggled to process the fact that he was standing so close to you. "It's okay."

He lifted his gaze back to the rest of the room, his gentle smile replaced with an expression of seriousness. "There's a 53rd Earth," he paused, "It's called Earth-X."

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As you watched the video on the screen, your eyes widened in disbelief. You couldn't wrap your head around what you were seeing - an alternate reality where the Nazis had emerged victorious, and the world was engulfed in darkness and despair. The scale of devastation was almost too much to bear as you looked away. Harry noticed your uneasiness and gently placed a hand on your shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. You turned to look at him, and as your eyes met, he gave you a small, reassuring smile.

"It doesn't have a designation," he waited until everyone had looked away from the screen before speaking again, knowing that they needed a moment to process what they had just seen, "It's a place so awful, so horrific, no sane person would ever travel there." His hand left your shoulder and found its way to yours, fingers lightly brushing against each other. You laced your hand with his as he continued to speak. "It's basically our Earth- same history, same timeline- with one crucial and critical difference."

"So let me hypothesize," Professor Stein sighing before continuing, "The Nazis developed the atomic bomb before the United States did, and they were more than happy to use it."

Harry gave your hand a squeeze, "Yes. The Nazis won the war, and New York, London, Moscow Paris- all obliterated." He let go of your hand as he used them to explain. "The SS set up outposts not only throughout Europe but also throughout the Americas and Hitler continued his brutal reign, aided by Prime Ministers and Presidents sympathetic to him until his death in 1994."

"Now they're not just happy ruling one Earth," you heard Felicity said but your focus had shifted back to Harry who's hand had rejoined it place with yours and he was intently listening to Felicity. His cheeks were still tinted red, whether from you or the long winded talked he had just given, and he had loosened up his suit, unbuttoning the two top buttons of his dress shirt. Only he could still look good even whe-

Kara's urgent voice shattered your thoughts, "We have to find them!" Harry caught your gaze, arching an eyebrow when he realized you hadn't been paying attention. Your flushed cheeks and widened eyes betrayed where your focus had really been. He gave you a cheeky smile and you looked away, embarrassed. How could have been doing, whatever that was, instead of listening to how the hell you were going to take down the freaking Nazis that had just invaded this Earth?

You shook your head, as if to banish the inappropriate thought that had just occupied your mind. Barry's determined voice cut through your thoughts, "Let's get to work on finding our new friends from Earth X." With a deep breath, you and Harry locked eyes, silently agreeing to set aside any distractions and focus on the mission at hand. You both nodded, ready to track down these scumbags.

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Hellooooo. I apologize for taking so freaking long to make this it's just been a rough year and a lot of self doubt but I'm trying to get back into the groove of things. This is a short chapter but I promise the next one will be long and full of exciting events between the beloved reader (you!) and harry and Eobard! I wanted to just get a little bit out there as a good start. Feel free to comment or message me with any thoughts, ideas, opinions. I love you all and thank you so much for being there for me!

Taglist: @khayrrilrainxwells @kirareaper13 @i-dont-care-lol @cursedfaechild @lovepeaceorelse @roryjames82 @brianllama

#harrison wells #harry wells #harry wells x reader #harrison wells x reader #eobard x reader #eobard thawne x reader #eowells #eobard thawne #earth x #the flash cw #reverse flash x reader #reverse flash #fanfiction #fanfic #love triangle

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fbfh · 1 year

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light up the dark [XIII] - Leo Valdez x reader

wc: 2k

genre: drama, minor angst, action

warnings: minor Leo self loathing, Leo crying </3, questionable and obscure mythology usage, generally sketchy at best plotting (this outline is very old), Leo looks really fucking pretty in the snow

summary: Leo gets something important off his chest, then chases after you to make ammends. When he looks for you, he's met with soemthing entirely different than he expected, and way more than he bargained for.

song recs: pretty when you cry - lana del rey, meant to be yours - heathers obc, wasteland baby - hozier, roll up - the struts

a/n: okay we're getting to the last few parts aka where the outline gets questionable as fuck but the whole thing is hinged on the questionable parts so there's really not a way for me to change anything at this point we're all just along for the ride!! also this chapter (and maybe the next/last couple) will probably be on the shorter side bc I wasn't sure how much outline I would need to actually make a chapter so I undershot a little. the second reason is I'm burnt out lol. anyway enjoy!!

@yesv01 @magcon7280 @avashaye @perseajohnson @afidiofobia @thatmultifandomloser @yelenabel0vaswife @almostjollypizza @Fictionalcomforts @lizziebitch33 @jacksondeeznuts @girlfriendwhoseawitch @urmum-xoxo @Asunnyhunny @dustyinkpages @cowboylikekelsey @legramilis @youkissedareaderinthedark @mrscarolscaramoucheplease @cosmiq-cloud @anything-forourmoony @i-dont-remember-a-lot @chasingpj @1dpjohoohp @mystic-writings @babiesimagines @dreamerball @demirunner @if-only-i-was-fictional

It’s safely early morning now, and people are beginning to wake up. Throughout the different rooms in the house, blankets are flipped back and bedroom doors are opened, curtains are drawn, and groggy conversation is made over face wash and toothpaste and running water. After enough time wallowing in his self loathing, Leo gets up to look for you. Being petty like that only felt gratifying and justified for a few fleeting moments. After that he just felt bad. Like, really bad. He knew what he said was probably too harsh as soon as the words left his mouth and you bolted. Gods, why can't he just be a little more patient?

He bets that Jason never would have said something like that to you, yet here he is, screwing up again. He tugs on the rest of his clothes, ending with a hoodie for the unseasonably cold weather, and leaves to find you. As he descends the stairs, a gust of freezing air washes over him. He looks for the source, and sees the front door is ajar. Snowflakes blow in, along with a few small, downy feathers that look almost pink in the diffused morning light struggling to get through the heavy dark clouds that continue to roll in.

"Morning." He hears Jason's groggy voice behind him, "You're up early.” He turns around to see Piper standing next to him, yawning. They’re wearing matching pajamas, and have matching bed head. They’re so cute together it would make Leo a little sick on any other day. Jason's hair is sticking up in every direction, and he wipes the smudges off his glasses with the hem of his shirt. Leo hasn't seen his friends since last night, when they backed him up in front of Calypso - something he hadn't been expecting.

Just the sight of them brings back a highlight reel of all the things that they said - along with the rest of his friends - in his defense. That paired with how much he wishes he could see you right now, make sure you’re okay, is enough to have tears welling in the corners of his eyes. Sure, what he said might have been coming from feeling very justifiably upset at the way he’s been treated until now, but that’s not your fault. He shouldn’t have lashed out at you like he did.

“You okay?” Piper asks, a note of concern in her voice. He’s clearly not, and she wants to know why right now. He takes in a shaky breath and squeezes his eyes shut. After a few moments, he tells them what happened - or at least he tries to. He barely gets out about half the story before he stops, really not wanting to cry more than he feels like he’s about to. Jason and Piper share a look. It’s so early and they’re barely awake, but that’s not going to stop them from trying to help him. In their drowsy stupor, they hear the worst in his fumbled explanation.

They share a regretful look. What they piece together is really disappointing, but they can’t say they’re totally surprised. They definitely are disappointed, they were really starting to root for you - especially compared to Calypso. It’s not your quick wit or sharp tongue that surprises them, it’s that you directed it at Leo. They’re not sure exactly what words were exchanged, just that Leo is really hurting over this, which is the one thing they don’t want. To make things worse, he’s really worried about you. They hear footsteps behind them.

“What’s going on?” This time it’s Annabeth’s groggy morning voice, and she’s closely followed by Percy, who looks like he’d rather still be asleep.

“They got into a fight,” Jason says, trying to bring them up to speed - granted, he doesn’t have much more information than they do now. Leo lets out a frustrated sigh, trying to squeeze away his tears and pressing his hands into his face. He shakes his head before his eyes land back on the door. The wind blew it a little further open, and he can see your footprints make long, panicked strides in the growing snow on the ground.

“I-” he chuckles, weepily, “I have to go find her…” He’s already descending the stairs when his friends start to protest. It’s so early and they’re all barely awake, the last thing they want is for him to jump into something if they’re not awake enough to help him out yet.

“Wait,” Piper starts, “maybe you should stay here.”

“Yeah, maybe we should talk about this before you, you know, rush into anything.” Percy agrees.

“Or make a stupid decision for a manipulative bitch and get nothing in return.”

Everyone stops dead in their tracks as Calypso’s voice echoes through the hall. A collective sense of being found by the T-Rex in Jurassic Park passes over everyone, and the room stills. Only Calypso could make a room full of people with ADHD stand totally still.

“She’s gone. Good riddance.” Calypso says, without a sliver of concern in her voice. “I mean it was just a matter of time before that little whore finally showed her true colors, and-”

“FOR GODS’ SAKE CALYPSO! CAN YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP?! PLEASE?!”

The room falls silent again, and all eyes turn to Leo. He looks exhausted and exasperated and completely and utterly done. She stares at him, mouth agape, refusing to believe he’s talking to her like that.

“Excuse-” She starts, but before she can finish, he keeps going. He’s not going to let her steamroll him, not anymore.

“I mean, really! We can’t get through one goddamn day without you ruining something. Do you have to work at being like this?” He demands rhetorically, “Cause it seems like you must work pretty fucking hard to be so miserable all the time!”

No one could have ever predicted this. No one could have imagined that Leo would ever be the one to put Calypso in her place like this.

“I am not-”

“No, no, no! I don’t give a shit!” He roars with an exasperated laugh, “I don’t want to hear any more of your bullshit or whining or constant complaining! I’ve had enough. We’ve all had enough, so just…” He laughs, trailing off as he realizes that he’s never going to get through to her. His only option is to get away from her. Or, he supposes, get her away from him.

“Get out.”

It’s silent again. All the commotion brought the last few people out of their rooms, so Nico, Will, Frank, and Hazel all heard most of what he had to say. They all stand there in shock as Calypso spews some more bullshit about not needing to take this and storms back into her room, presumably to pack her shit and leave. There’s a sense of giddy elation when she leaves. They have been waiting so, so long for him to really be able to stand up to her, to refuse being treated as shitty as she treats him. Percy makes some sassy remark behind her, and Piper is the first to congratulate him. Or she would have been, if he had stuck around long enough to celebrate. Piper jogs half way down the stairs, getting a glimpse of his dark, curly hair contrasting sharply with the snow. He’s out of the door before she can call his name.

Leo barely registers how strange this whole snow storm is. It’s supposed to be spring, it should be ambiently warm with little flowers blooming, not look like a trailer for Frozen. In spite of how weird the weather is, he doesn’t care about that right now. He just wants to find you. He tracks through the snow rapidly accumulating on the ground, following your footprints until he loses track of them, getting lost or covered up by what is quickly turning into a blizzard. He shivers, pulling his jacket around himself tighter. He's a Houston boy, he's not prepared for all this wintery bullshit. He still loves snow, he thinks it's one of the prettiest, most magical things in the world, but it's not pretty when he’s worried about you being outside in it.

Finally, he sees a figure in dark clothes shrouded in the blindingly white snowy landscape standing at the edge of the yard. He runs over, calling your name. He continues trudging through the snow, and when he’s close enough you turn around. Except it’s not you he’s met with. He stops dead in his tracks, stomach dropping as he struggles to remember her name after so many years. After a moment he remembers.

“Khione?!” He demands. He’s about to ask what the fuck she’s doing here. Before he can, she steps closer, lifting his chin up with her finger.

“Well, well, well…” she says, and Leo’s surprised that he can hear her perfectly over the roaring wind of the storm. The storm she probably created, he realizes. “You are just as easy on the eyes as I remember you being.”

A sickening chill runs down his spine at her words. Before he can even think of a reaction, she continues.

“I’m sure you’re curious as to what brings me here.” She states, walking around him, eyes never leaving him. He feels like he’s being circled by a shark. “Well, you’re a smart boy, I’m sure you’ve heard the stories of how I got two gods to fall in love with me.”

He hasn’t, but now doesn’t seem like a good time to bring that up.

“Poseidon, I had wrapped around my finger.” She chuckles. “And Apollo…” The laughter evaporates, and her smile disappears, replaced by something more bitter.

“Apollo…” She stares into space, then her gaze hardens. “Apollo broke my heart.” She spits, turning away from him as she continues.

“I swore I would never love again, I’d never let myself be fooled by a beautiful man with warm eyes and charming smile. And then,” she whips around to him, her gaze dangerous. “You showed up.”

She walks closer to him, and Leo retreats a few steps on instinct.

“You showed up, and were tantalizingly close, almost in my grasp.” Her expression grows cold. “Then you rejected me.”

His stomach drops.

“I tried to talk some sense into Apollo, get him to see what he’s missing, but he’s too much of a fool to see the prize in front of him.” She spits before flashing another dangerous grin. “But I got my revenge on him, you can be sure of that. He stole my heart, I stole something of his right back.” Leo’s brow furrows, trying to piece together what her words really mean, trying to connect the dots between this and everything else that’s going on. She lets out a crazed chuckle.

“But I got my revenge.” She continues, getting even closer to him. She sizes him up, glowering at him predatorily. She chuckles darkly, and Leo sees something unhinged deep in her eyes starting to rise to the surface.

“And now, you will be my lover,” she laughs maniacally, “IN AN ETERNAL WINTER WASTELAND!”

Her laughter reverberates through the swirling snow, and Leo’s stomach drops. Chills creep over his skin, but it’s not just from the cold.

“Okay!” He yells over the howling wind, as thick snowflakes collect on his eyelashes. “You are seriously in-fucking-sane!” He’s not sure she can even hear him, but it doesn’t matter. He’s not letting her get away with this, he’s not going to let her turn the world into a giant snow globe forever. He pulls his arms away from being wrapped up tight around himself and holds out his hands. They’re stiff from the cold, but that doesn’t stop him from summoning two huge balls of fire. They engulf him all the way up to the elbows, thawing him out a little. He takes a deep breath, steadies himself, and prepares to fight. Or more specifically, kick her frigid ass.

#heroes of olympus #heroes of olympus x reader #heroes of olympus fanfiction #leo valdez #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez fanfiction #light up the dark #the struts are so underrated #peak YA adventurecore music #fr fr #leo's just so #aaaaaughh

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guppybubbles · 9 months

Text

Maybe I'm the Monster.

Set after the court trial for Juana Flippa's life. Juana Flippa is brought back to life, but Charlie is still paranoid. In an attempt to make sure he can protect her, he calls an old friend.

CONTENT WARNING: Rituals, Dealing with the Devil

WORD COUNT: 2,251 words

“The monster's gone, he's on the run and your daddy's here. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful girl.”

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

This wasn’t paranoia. It was far from it.

If anything, this was just a parent making sure mistakes— misclicks— don’t happen again, Slime justified. This was right.

On the large branch growing out from his balcony, an ashy finger traced the bark and formed a circle. Slime drew a symbol in the middle of the circle, holding a candle in his other hand to even make out whatever he was smearing on the wood. It was the dead of night, everyone on the island has gone to bed after doing another day of completing tasks for the eggs.

JuanaFlippa wasn’t home. After that entire court fiasco, Mariana at least had the effort to be there for his daughter more frequently than before- even if all it took was a case of murder. Mariana took Flippa back to his own home, and Charlie went back to Sacapuntas. He’d been invited to join them in telling Juana a bedtime story and a lullaby, even being offered to sleep right next to Mariana but he declined.

Flippa’s death terrified him to his core. The moment his anger subsided after watching her death unfold in a recording, it was quiet. So horribly quiet. He kept checking the list of tasks they had to accomplish and sat quietly in her room, waiting for her to pop out somewhere like it was a horribly late April Fools’ Prank, but she never came and the tasks were left unchecked for days.

But thanks to that court case he bargained for, she has her life back, and Charlie will make sure this would never happen again.

Slime carefully lit candles and gently placed them down on the border of the circle. This could’ve been a fire hazard, putting down candles right on top of a flammable structure, but most of his home was still blown up anyway so more damage wasn’t that big of a problem. “You better show up.” He stepped away from the circle and stretched an arm, holding his hand right above the center. A sharp knife slid across his palm in a swift motion, and slowly blood dripped down.

The thick liquid seeped into the ash and the poorly drawn summoning circle started shifting to a dark red hue, faintly glowing. The candles’ flames waved wildly in different directions, not following the gentle breeze of the night. Then, all together the candles were hushed and the faint glow slowly died.

Slime frowned. It didn’t work. He did everything right and it didn’t work.

Like an explosion, the flames erupted once more. Aggressive, unnatural, and way bigger than the standard flare. The red glow turned brighter until it all calmed down. Standing in the middle of the circle stood an imposing figure.

“Hello, my friend!” Pitch-black eyes shined with glee. A tall bear demon with red fur finally showed himself after a dramatic entrance. “So good to see you, how have you been?”

“Flippa almost died.” Charlie went straight to the point, staring directly into those void eyes. Afraid that if he blinked, he’d lose dominance over the ruler of Hell. “I need- She needs something more to protect her.”

“More? But doesn’t she have a gun?”

“Does she- Do you see the monsters out there?! They weirdly have stronger armor than most of us on the island do. I need something… something more!”

“More?” The demon asked.

“More. Something bigger, something stronger. Please, I’ll do anything.” Slime begged.

Rubius rubbed his hand against his chin in deep thought. Charlie kept his hands clasped together. He knows he's asking for too much, first, it was a weapon for his daughter, then a court case to bring her back to life, now, he's asking for something more.

Could you blame him? Flippa is the first ever egg to perish, it instilled fear in every parent that their children were very much capable of dying. Even worse, she dies at the hands of his partner. It didn't even matter that the dragon might come back and reign hell on him and Mariana, what mattered was his baby was gone.

A single mistake and his beautiful daughter died in her sleep.

Slime won't let that happen again, ever.

“Okay, I think I know something that can help you—”

“Yes- yes! Anything, man. I'll take anything and everything you can give.”

There was a look of annoyance in Rubius' eyes, and Charlie should've known to apologize for cutting him off.

The demon held his hand out, and Charlie gladly took it.

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

It was the next morning. JuanaFlippa munched on the sandwich that Papa Mariana packed for her.

Papa guided her back home to La Ciudad del Sacapuntas but stopped a decent distance away from Papa Charlie’s blown-up house. It seemed despite beginning to get along after the trial for her life, there was still a long road ahead of them before they return to that stage of disgusting romance where they brag about every romantic thing they do to each other to everyone (and she means everything).

Papa kissed her forehead goodbye and she excitedly ran to the broken part of the wall. Flippa wasn’t sure if Papa Charlie continued to sleep in his place when it was still a very long time until it could be fully restored to its normal condition, she hoped he was sleeping somewhere safe and warm. Perhaps she could ask Leo if her dad could rebuild the house. Then again, Uncle Foolish tends to charge quite a lot, and she’s heard building makes him a bit crazy…

Both of her papas agreed that Flippa cannot stay in her room for a while until everything is fixed. The ashes and fumes she might inhale are highly dangerous, she may have been brought back to life, but her life was still as fragile as it was before.

Flippa waited patiently, staring up at her papa’s elevated home and expecting him to greet her with a loud smile and a healthy lunch pack in his hand. She knew out of the two of them, papa Mariana was the better cook, but Papa Charlie genuinely does try his best to make stuff she likes. He makes a lot of avocado toast, which is what he is mostly capable of cooking, but she doesn’t mind, it’s her favourite after all.

She coughed slightly, her hand beginning to cover her nose and her mouth to shield it from the floating dust. This is bad… Papa always warned her to wear a face mask whenever she was going to enter and leave Sacapuntas. There were times when she didn't listen to his lectures and felt fine, yet it was beginning to be a bit more dusty than usual.

Was this normal?

Flippa stumbled backward as she tried to evade the forming clouds. She almost tripped but still attempted to hold herself upright.

That's when she felt it.

Steady, rhythmic rumbles of the ground. Shaky hands pulled out a gun with a red bow tied on top, matching with her best friend who had a smaller green ribbon used to tie her braids on their gun as well. She remained the brave, little girl her fathers raised her to be. She'd just have to wait until Papa Charlie comes down to protect her (though she remembers times when she had to help him instead, shooting down monsters and helping him up when he's fallen).

A giant hand gripped the side of the wall, and another slammed to the ground. She almost screamed in terror, if not for the fact that air caught in her throat and she began coughing once more. Flippa closed her eyes in fear of the big monster in front of her, wrapping her arms around herself to calm her fearful quivers.

“Oh- Flippa! Are you okay?”

It’s her papa. He’s here to stop the scary sounds, the scary rumbles, the scary giant. Flippa shakingly reached for him, who sounded so close yet so far. “Are you hurt? Sorry, papa went through some… changes.”

She realized the rumbling she had sensed earlier had stopped, and the giant’s presence still loomed, but how? Papa got rid of the monster, it sounded like he was right above her! Flippa opened her eyes, breath quickening as she immediately noticed the large hand still on the ground. She looked up and met eyes with her papa Charlie.

Papa smiled, that same smile he reserved specifically for her, the smile that soothed her troubles and made her feel safe from any scary monsters under her bed… but it was wrong. “Good morning, Flippa.”

While she knew her papa wasn’t completely human, he wasn’t… part giant or monster at all. No, it was wrong. She knew her papa. She knew he didn’t have black, protruding horns, ones that resembled the demon that she met during the afterlife. He didn’t have sharp teeth either, his teeth were strong enough to rip into a zombie’s flesh but it didn’t look like a large knife that could easily chew and gobble her up. He just.. looked wrong. The giant may share the same face, the same voice, the same smile as her papa, but he’s not her papa. No. Not her papa.

“Papa…” Flippa quietly called out for her papa, her real one.

The monster’s pointy ears twitched, another trait she knows he doesn’t have, and he replied like how her papa would. Same tone and all. She wouldn’t be fooled, she knew it was a trick. “Yeah? What do you need, Flippa?”

“Papa…” She whined, calling out again. She could feel her fear reach her eyes, and tears began to well up. Her voice was breaking as she backed away. “Papa..”

Flippa could see the monster twist his face in concern, piecing together something in his head. Whatever he was piecing together, she doesn’t know. “Oh, Flippa..” The monster moved, and she almost screamed again, yet she couldn’t find it in her to do so. He lowered himself even more despite kneeling already, trying to be at eye level with her. It doesn’t work, he’s still so big. “I- I know Papa looks different, but it’s okay! It’s still me, see? I’m not gonna hurt you.” His hand was slow, maybe he did it on purpose to not scare her, but as it approached her and took more of her vision, it only raised her heartbeat even more.

“NO! Go-... GO AWAY!” She found her voice, and she yelled. The monster looked hurt, maybe it would be the same face Papa would make, she wouldn’t know, she’s never yelled at her papa before. She never will. Yelling at the monster seemed to work though, because he stopped his attempt at grabbing her.

“Flippa, don’t cry… It’s me, Charlie, your papa?-”

“NO! YOU’RE NOT MY PAPA!” Flippa cried out, clenching her fists and stomping stubbornly on the floor. “I want… I WANT MY PAPA!”

“Slime..?” Papa Mariana’s voice was quiet, so quiet. Yet they both heard it. Flippa immediately ran to his side, hugging his legs and sobbing quietly. Her tears stained his yellow pants, she felt her papa’s hand gently hold the top of her head.

“Slime, it’s- what happened to you, man?” Flippa tugged her papa’s shirt gently. No, that’s not Papa Charlie. Don’t speak to him, let’s go to my real papa. She wanted to speak, to warn him, but sobs and whining only came out of her throat. Mariana didn’t take it as a warning, wrapping an arm around Juana’s legs and lifting her up, she began to hide at the crook of his neck, arms wrapping over his shoulders.

“Mariana…” The monster whispered, sounding like he was pleading, trying to be sympathetic. Juana whined again, moving impatiently on her papa’s arm so he could pay attention to her. Quietly, she mumbled. “I want to go home…”

Mariana adjusted her position so she’d have less of a chance of falling as she moves around in his arms, he looked at her in the eyes. His face softened up, gently kissing her forehead. “Bien, te llevaré a casa ahora mismo.” He softly spoke, wiping away the stains of tears on her face.

Somehow, the monster heard them. “You- are you taking her home? Let me come along. With you, please.” He begged. There was a look of uncertainty in Mariana’s eyes, he looked at Juana again. She shook her head a little, gripping tightly on her papa’s shirt. At the corner of her eye, she could see a slight twist of expression. He probably saw her shake her head.

“Sorry, Slime. Let me take Juana home, okay? Let’s… Let’s talk about this later.”

Without another word, Mariana turned away and Juana rested her head on her papa’s shoulder. She was facing the giant again and she almost regretted saying no. The monster was looking at Mariana with a dejected expression, maybe even apologetic. She turned away, hiding beneath the crook of her papa’s neck again and pretending to fall asleep.

Charlie wanted to plead with Mariana, even plead for Flippa to just stay a bit longer, but he saw their fear. Flippa had never yelled at him before, always so soft-spoken and sweet, his daughter. Yet, she’s the one who turned and ran away in fright. He would never hurt her, or Mariana. They had to understand that, but he couldn’t force them here and make them listen to him, so he stayed where he was.

And just like that, Charlie was left alone.

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

“Bien, te llevaré a casa ahora mismo.” ;; “Okay, I’ll take you home right now.” (Sorry if it's a mistranslation, I used Google translation. Please tell me if it's wrong so I can fix it!)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I wrote this a really long time ago, literally like, right after Juana Flippa was revived, I immediately pulled out my laptop and began writing 💀 I finished it during my hiatus, but I never found the courage to post it. To celebrate (not) Flippa's return, I decided to post this!! I hope you enjoyed reading it :) *disappears back into the shadowss*

#guppy writes!#giant!slimecicle #tiny!juanaflippa #qsmp g/t #qsmp gt #mcyt g/t #mcyt gt #g/t au #g/t #giant/tiny #mcyt gt community #mcyt g/t community #t!juanaflippa #g!slimecicle #g/t writing #g/t community #sfw g/t

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