#it's certainly a look of all time. i support them. for this look. giant head why not! why not

[front-facing-pokemon]

#garchomp #hi queuing this up waiting for class to start. never could have imagined what garchomp would've looked like from this perspective but y'kno #it's certainly a look of all time. i support them. for this look. giant head why not! why not #honestly it's hard to even recognize as garchomp from this angle. isn't that fun #anyway. 4x weakness to ice my belovèd. shoutouts to this competitive menace

[crescent-witch]

it rains in hell (and angels could be bad)

ship: demon!wanda x angel!reader

summary: wanda wants to watch you squirm.

warnings: dom!wanda, sub!reader, praise, degradation like once, worship/religious kink, corruption kink, pet names, magic restraints, double-sided strap-on, slight spanking, temperature play if you squint, a little bit of mean wanda, wanda in her emo era | MINORS DNI

word count: 1.5k

a/n: this is possibly one of my favourite fic ideas I’ve ever written.

You bounced on the balls of your feet, softly humming as you glanced around yourself. You were a bubbly, giggly ball of sunshine. It was hard not to be, given what you were. It’s rare that you meet a grouchy angel. You couldn’t contain your smile if you tried, an excited grin spread across your face and you waited.

“You seem excited, Angel,” you nearly squealed when you heard the voice behind you, but you knew better than to turn around and face her. “Any reason?”

You giggled as you felt Wanda come up behind you, her heated hands running up your arms as the soft feathers of your wings brushed against her.

“Nuh uh,” you shook your head with a small smile on your face, excited to play her game once again.

“No?” Wanda questioned, her hands drifting down to the swell of your ass. You gasped when she gave it a harsh smack, the ruffles of your dress swaying from the impact. “You weren’t waiting for me?”

“No, was just standing here,” you said, trying to maintain your innocent facade and not melt into her.

“Oh, princess,” Wanda huffed, a pout on her face as her spare hand began running up and down one of your arms again, the other supporting your lower back. “And here I thought you were looking forward to seeing me.”

Wanda was suddenly pushing your back, throwing you forward until your knees hit the soft, yet solid, clouds beneath you, like a giant pillow. Your hands hit the clouds, catching you before you fell flat on your face as Wanda circled you like a predator.

“How cute,” Wanda cooed at you, tilting your face up to look at her, cupping your cheek in her hand. “Perhaps I should get you a little leash and collar set.”

The thought made you whimper. The idea of Wanda dragging you around on a pretty leash, knowing Wanda probably a pristine pink or white colour, did nothing to stop the growing wetness in your underwear.

This was the first look you had gotten at Wanda in months and, unsurprisingly, nothing of her appearance had changed. She still wore the same style of clothes, black and red and leather. Her brunette hair still hung messily around her face, surrounded by a pair of twisting black horns growing out of her skull. You could see her glistening fangs poking just out of her mouth, grazing her bottom lip with their razor-sharp tips, and you longed to have them sinking into your neck. Or your thigh. Or really anywhere Wanda could find.

You yelped as Wanda’s hand pulled back and connected with your cheek, snapping your head to the side. It wasn’t the hardest slap Wanda had ever given you, not by a long shot, but it certainly pulled you out of your thoughts.

“You’re thinking too much, Angel,” Wanda tutted, soothing the already growing red mark on your cheek with soft strokes. “Need to knock all those silly thoughts out your head, huh?”

You nodded, nearly sticking your ass up in the air for her as excitement overtook you. Wanda chuckled, noticing the way your eyes lit up at her words.

“Aw, little lamb, I bet you’ve been so desperate the last few months. You’ve just been waiting for me to ask you to meet again, huh? So eager for me.”

She wasn’t wrong. Most of your days since the last time you had met with Wanda was spent waiting for her to summon you again to fuck you raw and senseless. One of Wanda’s many rules was that she decided when you would see her and where. You didn’t get a say in your meetings, and you were expected to come running every time she beckoned you. It wasn’t fair, but you were far too hopelessly devoted to her to notice.

“Go on then, Angel. Have your fun,” Wanda said, lifting up the skirt of her dress to reveal a long red strap dangling from between her legs. It was both yours and Wanda’s favourite, long enough that every stroke had you gagging around the toy, and what Wanda called your ‘special treat’ being pumped out when she finished.

You moved to sit up on your knees, the tip of Wanda’s strap nearly touching your lips, and as you did so you felt light tendrils wrapping around your wrists, tugging them behind your back. Restraining you was a common thing Wanda used her magic for.

“Come on, sweet girl,” Wanda urged you, hand reaching out to hold the back of your head, fingers absentmindedly playing with strands of your hair.

You wrapped your lips around Wanda’s strap, taking the tip in your mouth and sucking harshly.

You’re cheeks hollowed out from sucking as Wanda pushed herself further down your throat, breathing through your nose as she had taught you, but it did little to minimise the gagging noises coming from you.

“Fuck, so good,” Wanda breathed, the top end of the strap moving instead her, wiggling agaisnt her walls as your mouth moved up and down it, tongue lathering the faux cock in saliva as drool dripped down your chin.

“Such a perfect little Angel,” you looked up at Wanda with large eyes, throat bulging, stuffed full of dick as more of your innocence dripped away, like water down a drain.

“Imagine if your God could see you right now,” Wanda chuckled and your eyes widened as Wanda referenced the shunning you were sure to receive if anyone ever learned of your sins. “On your knees for such an unholy creature like me, servicing me, head full of sinful little thoughts.”

You knew the chance of actually being caught by anyone was slim. You and Wanda met on the brink of heaven and hell, a sort of no-mans land where God could not touch or oversee and you knew no other Angel would dare to set foot. But shame still overtook you as the thought made you clench your thighs together, the image of one of your fellow Angels, who saw you so pure and full of light, caught you on your knees for a demon, pleasuring her in the most wicked of ways.

“No hiding, pet,” Wanda tutted when she noticed the way your thighs pressed together, kicking your knees apart wide with her heavy boots, putting your drenched white panties on display for her. “Look how pretty, is this all for me?”

Before you could even attempt to nod or choke out an answer Wanda’s boot cruelly landed a kick directly on your cotton-covered clit, causing you to scream out around her strap, eyes watering.

“Sensitive little thing.”

The kicks continued as Wanda forced your lips to remain around her strap, brought down on your clit and folds and thighs again and again until your thighs were aching and your pussy was stinging and dripping with need for the demonic woman.

Wanda was quickly approaching the edge, her hips bucking and pushing her strap even further down your throat as she moaned for you. Your hands came to rest on the back of her thighs, steadying her as her legs began to shake and knees buckled.

“Shit, I’m close!” She cried out, fingers now woven into your hair and gripping hard, nearly pulling your hair from your scalp at her roughness. “Make me cum, slut. Fuck. M-make me cum and I’ll give you a nice little reward.”

Your efforts increased in fervour and the promise of being rewarded, nose touching the soft skin of Wanda’s stomach that her dress was hiked up above, as the strap was pushed all the way down, the bulge prominent in your throat as you gagged and whimpered.

“Oh. Just a little bit more, that’s it,” Wanda told you, hips stuttering as she began to lose control and suddenly her load was being shot from the end of her strap, her real cum coating her end of the strap and leaking out of her, milky white substance running down her thighs.

Her moans began to cease as she squeezed the strap, emptying every last drop of fake cum down your throat, laughing as she watched the way you struggled to swallow it all coming to quickly, some of it spilling out of your mouth and flowing down to spill on your dress.

“Oh no, baby love,” Wanda said with mocking sympathy as she yanked the strap out of your mouth.”Your pristine little dress is all ruined.”

You pouted as you looked at the light stains left behind by the demon’s release, coating the bodice of your dress.

“Looks like you’re gonna have to face God with your dress soaked in your sins. Unless, of course, you want to turn up in heaven stark naked.”

Your eyes widened in fear, terrified at getting cast out of heaven for such a simple mistake, but Wanda shushed your fretting quickly.

“Don’t worry, we’ll fix it, Angel,” she promised, hand returning to gently stroke at your hair. “But for now, wouldn’t you like your reward?”

You nodded, reluctantly letting your fear go as you stared up at the goddess of a woman above you.

“Good girl. Hmm should I take you in your ass or that soaked little pussy?” She chuckled warmly, the kindest you had ever heard her, as your looked up at her with excitement and eagerness. “I wish I didn’t have to send you back to that awful ‘paradise’. But at least when you face God again, you’ll remember who you really worship.”

#demon!wanda #c: wanda maximoff #angel!reader #briar’s kinktober special 2022 #wanda maximoff x reader #briar writes

[gt-jar]

Two Worlds among the Stars

7. CHAPTER

<- previous | next ->

Word count: 4.125

The next time Noah woke up everything hurt. His entire body was aching. He was hoping it was just the consequence of his escape attempt yesterday, but his throat was just as sore as his muscles, and his head felt like he had run straight into a brick wall. There was no denying it, he was sick.

Great, that's exactly what he needed right now.

He lifted his head from his knees, only now noticing how stiff his neck was. Sleeping the entire night in a sitting position on a wooden table was definitely not one of his best ideas. But Noah was nothing, if not stubborn. And he had gotten his message across last night, so it was worth it. Maybe it finally went through the man's thick skull that he could shove his hypocrisy somewhere else. Speaking of which, where was that guy?

One look around showed that the giant wasn't sleeping in his bed anymore, Noah couldn't hear him either, which meant he wasn't nearby.

Just like that his morning felt a tiny bit less horrible.

Hopefully he would be gone for a while, Noah certainly wasn't in the mood for any talking, and with how great things were going for him at the moment the man surely was going to say something like “deserves you right for running away” or “it's your own fault that you're sick now”.

Not that he would be wrong. Just thinking about yesterday sent shivers down his back. All things considered, he was pretty lucky that he got off lightly with just a cold. Things could have ended a lot worse. But the last thing he needed right now was a lecture. His head was killing him already and he would like to avoid making it worse.

Noah let his head drop on his knees and closed his eyes again, maybe his headache would lessen like this. The position may be extremely uncomfortable, and he sure as hell wasn't doing his neck a favor, but it wasn't like he had better options right now. With the giant gone he was stuck on the table after all.

He still very much preferred the current peace over getting to the pillow on the man's nightstand. At least that's what he told himself.

He must have fallen asleep again, because the next thing he knew was that he woke up to a snapping sound. Noah forced his eyes to open, and sure enough the giant was snapping his fingers in front of his face. Why couldn't he just leave him alone?

“You okay, kid?” he asked with a furrowed brow.

“Sure, why wouldn't I be?” Noah answered, his voice involuntary taking on a defensive tone. Sure, he felt even worse than before, but that didn't mean he wanted to rub it in the man's face. If Noah was smart about it, the man wouldn't even notice that he was sick. Miss Harris never did either.

John didn't look convinced though. But as long as he would drop the matter, Noah didn't really care. He didn't have to believe him, Noah just wanted him to stop bothering him. Just until he felt better. Was that really too much to ask for?

“If you say so,” the man said.

He still eyed him suspiciously, but took a seat, so Noah counted it as a win, “how about some breakfast then? I'm sure you're hungry.”

Just like yesterday he prepared a plate with bread and jelly for the teen, pushing it half way between them. Noah already knew what was coming next and gritted his teeth in frustration.

“If you can sit with me to fool me, you can do it today as well,” he tapped his finger beside the plate, prompting him to come closer, “And remember, I'm not taking ‘no’ for an answer.”

Noah flexed his fingers, pretty much everything else felt sore. He braced his hands on the table, before pushing himself up. Just standing up made him dizzy, but he pushed through it. His legs felt so weak, like they had no bones in them to support his weight. He made his way over to the food, every step was exhausting him further. Noah just prayed that the man would leave him alone after this. Unfortunately, the spinning in his head only got worse, everything was starting to blurry. He had no control over his body and before he knew it he was falling towards the table.

Before he could hit the hard surface though, a pair of large hands caught him. His arms and legs were swinging and kicking, trying to find out where up and down was. He tensed when something cold touched his head. He realized that John's thumb was pressing against his forehead, and that's when he heard a hiss from above.

“When exactly were you going to tell me that you have a fever?” The man didn't sound too happy about the fact that Noah had tried to hide his sickness from him. Noah didn't understand why it was such a deal though.

“Why would I? It's just a fever. It's not like I haven't dealt with those on my own before. I can take care of myself.”

Noah swore the man looked like he wanted to say something, but decided against it.

Good for him.

Instead he huffed, and pulled him close as he walked over to his bed. As Noah was cradled against John's chest he realized just how cold he was.

Damn fever.

The desire to lean into the warmth the man's body was providing was almost unbearable. That guy was basically a living furnace! Thankfully, before he could do something really stupid, he was placed on the pillow that served as his bed.

Then John placed the plate with his breakfast and a thimble filled with water beside him on the nightstand.

“Get some sleep while I'm gone, and please do me a favor and try to eat something. I'll be back soon” After that he walked out the cave, probably to “work” as he called it.

For once Noah was too weak to argue and lied back down. John finally left him alone. That's what he had wanted after all.

Right?

John ended his patrol earlier than usual. There was no need to drag this out, after the show he pulled off, John doubted there would be any trespassers any time soon. And besides, he wasn't truly focused on his work anyway. His thoughts were somewhere else, worry clouding his mind, distracting him. To go home was an easy decision, the kid's well being was more important than his patrol right now.

When he got home, Noah was fast asleep, his breathing shallow and uneven. His blanket had slipped down a little in his sleep, so John pinched the hem between his fingers and pulled it up to Noah's chin again, carefully tucking the blanket around his shoulders. From the looks of it, the kid hadn't touched his food. Nor the water.

This wasn't good.

Neither of them had eaten last night, which meant the kid had skipped two meals already. John may not know much about humans, but this couldn't be healthy. Noah was already awfully light, even for a human, barely weighing anything to him. He needed to eat. And even John knew that it was important to drink enough fluids, when you were running a fever.

Ever since the village incident, John kept messing up. First losing his temper, and now the kid was sick, which was partly his fault. As if their situation wasn't bad enough as it was already. He could have avoided this, if he just made sure that Noah had properly dried himself off last night, instead of giving him a lecture. That could have easily waited until the next morning. John sighed, there was no point in dwelling on things that couldn't be undone, he needed to focus on the important things. Right now the kid needed his help, no matter what he claimed. And John was determined not to mess things up this time.

But who was he kidding, how could he not mess this up? He had no idea how to take care of a sick child, let alone a human child! He himself rarely got sick. What was he supposed to do? What if he accidentally made it worse? Okay no, overthinking wouldn't help Noah. Right now the kid was sleeping, which was probably good. Rest was good. What else? Right, basic needs. Noah still needed to eat.

John tried to remember what his mom used to cook, when he and his sister were sick. She always made them something that was easy on the stomach and didn't require much chewing. So he started to make soup.

The moment he wanted to throw the cut vegetables in the pot, a coughing fit startled him.

When he looked over his shoulder, Noah was sitting up, his body hunched over and cramped up. Coughs rattling his entire body. This probably was more than just painful to watch. John walked over to his nightstand and kneeled down beside it. His intention was to rub Noah's back to help him through his coughing fit, but when his fingers as much as brushed his back, the kid recoiled from contact as if his fingers had burned him. The boy sent him the nastiest glare John had seen in all their time together. He put his hands up to show that he meant no harm. Not that it had worked the last times he had tried to convince the kid that there was no need to be afraid. But hey! At least the coughing had stopped.

“Would you drop the act already?!”

John, for the first time truly oblivious to what the kid meant, asked, “What act?”

“Don't play dumb with me! You know exactly what I'm talking about! Stop pretending to be so nice!”

“What makes you think I’m pretending to be nice?”

“Oh, let me think. First of all, you have been terrorizing my village for fucking ages. And did you forget that I saw how you acted back at my village? How you threatened us. And now you want me to believe that you're a good guy? I don't know what you're hoping to achieve with this, but it won't work. So stop it.”

Well, the kid had a point.

John debated his next words. If he wanted the kid to believe him, when he said he didn't need to be afraid, he had to tell him the truth. Hopefully he won't regret his decision later.

“Okay, you got me, I was pretending,” before Noah could say anything about being right, John continued, “but I'm not pretending right now. I'm gonna be honest with you, this whole… big bad giant thing, how I acted at your village, that was just an act.” Noah made no move to Interrupt him, which he took as a good sign.

“I know you probably don’t believe me, but you're a smart boy. You probably figured out already that I'm just a normal guy. Except for my size there is nothing really special about me. And you're old enough to know that I didn't just… poof into existence.

I’m not the only giant. I have family. Friends. There’re a lot of other giants out there. And all these tales about us, that humans spread over the years, they are just a scheme to scare you off. We’re not blood-thirsty monsters, but… we pretend that we are, because it's the only thing that keeps us safe from you-”

“Safe? From us? You're kidding, right? What on earth could someone my size possibly do to threaten a fucking giant?” Noah barked.

“Kid, where do you think I got these from?” He pointed at his scars, “One human may not be able to do much damage, but numbers can make a big difference. And humans, who think their lives are at risk, are not known for their great decision making. You experienced that first-hand.”

“I'm sorry you got dragged into this. I truly am. I wasn't thinking when I took you with me, but I had to play along. I'm just trying to protect my kind.” John said, hoping Noah would understand.

“I'm not asking you to trust me and I'm not trying to gain anything from this, but please let me help you, at least until you're feeling better. You're more than welcome to go back to hating me after that. Just-”

“Could you just leave me alone?” Noah grumbled, no longer looking at him.

John sighed and stood up. This went as well as expected. But he knew he wouldn't achieve anything by force. All he could do was give Noah the time and space he needed and hope for the best.

Not much later, the soup was ready. John took a spoon and tasted it. It was not as good as he remembered it, but it was pretty decent, if you asked him. His mom would be impressed.

He went back to his nightstand to get Noah, who was asleep once again. John couldn't help but frown. The kid looked even smaller, curled up under the blanket like this.

So fragile.

Like he could actually break, if John wasn't careful. Instead of waking him up or picking him up, he carefully slid his hands under the pillow and carried it with Noah on top over to the table, where his meal already waited for him. The poor kid wasn't even aware of it.

Now came the hard part.

John sat down and gently nudged Noah's shoulder with his knuckle. Noah stirred a little but didn't wake up.

“Time to wake up, kid,” he whispered and nudged the kid again.

Thankfully, the boy's baby blue eyes finally blinked open. They were all glazed over, a far cry from the sharp gaze the kid usually had. It made something inside John's chest squeeze.

“Hey, I made you soup,” John said in a hushed tone.

“Not hungry” Noah mumbled and wanted to roll over, but John couldn't let him do that.

“Hey, none of that, you need to eat, if you wanna get better.”

John slipped his hand under Noah's back and guided him into a sitting position. He didn't pull his hand away though, the man doubted that the boy had enough strength to sit up on his own, with the way he was leaning against his palm.

“Work with me here, kid. Just a few spoons and then you can go back to sleep,” John scooped up some broth with his other hand and brought the spoon to Noah's lips. But all Noah did was turn his head away. John wondered if the boy was just trying to be difficult or if it was really this bad.

“Noah, you need to eat. Please,” John subconsciously started to rub Noah's shoulder with his thumb.

“And then you'll leave me alone?” At this moment Noah looked so much younger than fifteen. With his bleary eyes and frail voice. If John hadn't been worried before, he definitely would be now.

“Yeah, promise.” John gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. After another moment of hesitation, Noah finally opened his mouth.

“There we go,” John murmured, being visibly relieved about finally getting the kid to eat something. The process continued for a few minutes, with John whispering soft praises. He was able to feed Noah a few spoons, before the boy stopped to open his mouth, signaling that he had enough. He didn't eat much, but it was better than nothing. A few drops of broth dribbled down Noah's chin and John used the pad of his thumb to gently whip it away. The boy didn't even try to bat it away. At this point the poor kid could barely keep his eyes open.

John slowly lowered his hand down onto the pillow and pulled it out underneath Noah's back. As soon as his head hit the pillow the boy was out like a light again.

The man tucked him back in and let him sleep. Sleeping was probably the best for him right now. John debated on carrying the kid back to the nightstand, but decided against it. This way he could keep a better eye on the kid.

While Noah slept, John spent the rest of the day working on his newest little project, glancing over to where the human was laying from time to time. The piece of wood slowly but surely shaping into what he had in mind. Sure, he could be more productive, but John didn't have the heart to leave the sick child alone. He wanted to be nearby just in case he needed something, when he woke up.

He knew that it was very unlikely, but it was a possibility.

John had thought the silence would be a welcomed change, but it had the exact opposite effect. It filled him with dread. He would prefer it, if Noah kept insulting and glaring at him, if that meant the kid was feeling better. Seeing Noah being so still made him uneasy.

He glanced over again and saw that the kid was silently watching him, his eyes half-lidded, but awake nonetheless.

“Hey there, sleepy head. That cold took its toll on you, huh?” John looked at him with a sad smile.

“Been worse,” Noah said even though that was a complete and utter lie, he couldn't remember the last time he felt this awful.

He flinched when the man reached for him and placed his thumb on his forehead to feel his temperature again.

“Shh, I'm just checking.”

Maybe John was just imagining things, but to him it seemed like Noah was warmer than this morning. No wonder he was sleeping so much.

The man didn't pull his hand back right away. Instead he brushed his thumb over Noah's head a few times, almost tenderly stroking the hair out of his face. “See, everything is okay.”

Against Noah's will his eyes started to water, so he closed them. He couldn't remember the last time someone touched his head not to strike him. The gentle strokes felt so… good. Almost soothing his headache away. He could fall asleep like this.

But then the comforting touch was gone again.

Noah blamed his current state for wanting it back. How childish of him to even think such a thing. The fever was starting to mess with his head. Noah hoped this wouldn't last long.

“You can say it, y'know?” The boy rolled onto his back, so he didn't have to see John's face.

“Say what?”

“That it deserves me right for running away.” Noah just wanted to get this conversation out of the way.

There was a pause, then a sigh.

“Noah, believe it or not, but I don't enjoy seeing you like this. I really do want to help you. Here how about this, what would you usually do when you're sick?

“Working,” Noah answered dryly.

“You're kidding, right?” Noah's dead-pan expression told him otherwise.

“But didn't you say you're fifteen? I know I'm not a human expert, but I'm sure children aren't supposed to work.”

Noah scoffed at that.

“So? Money was always tight at the orphanage. And Miss Harris used to say, if I wasn't gonna be adopted, I could at least make myself useful.”

“Why would she say that?” The man asked quietly. Softly.

Noah let out a humorless laugh “Who would want a brat like me?” He almost wanted to turn his head to see the man's face, but decided it wasn't worth it. Then he added in a much softer voice, “And besides… I’m too old to be adopted anyway. People want the little kids, y’know the cute ones.” And with that he rolled over, signaling that their conversation was over.

Later that night, John was still sitting at the table, watching over Noah. Usually he went to bed relatively early, but worry kept him wide awake. His assumption had been correct. Noah's fever got worse. Through the day he had been drifting in and out of consciousness. Right now it seemed like he had settled in for the night, although it looked far from a peaceful slumber. The boy was curled up into a little ball and his brow was knitted in discomfort.

But that wasn't what had John worried.

In addition to the fever, Noah had started to have chills around noon, shivering under his blanket like a withered leaf in the wind, even after John had put more wood into the fire. It even seemed like the shivering just got worse the more time went by. John was running out of ideas. He couldn't just go to bed and leave the kid like this. Then an idea crossed his mind. Maybe it was stupid, but it couldn't hurt to try.

John gently rubbed Noah's shoulder to see if he would wake up. Luckily, the kid remained asleep. John took a breath and carefully scooped Noah up in his hand, who was not happy about being disturbed and the loss of his blanket. The kid started to stir, a quiet whimper escaping him. John quickly shushed him, silently praying that Noah wouldn't wake up. “Shh, I know, I know. Just sleep, everything is okay.” Thankfully that seemed to work and Noah settled down again. John just hoped it stayed that way, because there was no way the kid would let him do this if he was awake.

John placed the boy in the crook of his arm, if the fire wasn't working, maybe body heat would. Just when he pulled his hand away, Noah's face scrunched up. John wanted to kick himself for thinking this would work, an excuse already forming on his lips, but to John's surprise Noah didn't wake up.

No, quite the opposite actually. He rolled over, now facing John's torso, and curled up. John didn't dare to move. Or breath. He let a few moments pass to see if the kid really wasn't going to wake up. But even after several minutes Noah remained asleep.

This was… unexpected.

Unfortunately, the kid was still shivering. But maybe if he…? John knew he was pushing his luck, but still lowered his hand again, cupping it behind Noah's back, providing warmth from both sides. Absent-mindedly John started to stroke his thumb over Noah's back. Soon the shivering stopped and for the first time Noah's body seemed to relax, his troubled expression slowly melting away, and turning into something softer, still not fully relaxed but much more at ease.

It was hard to believe that this boy was the same one that had yelled at him yesterday. The boy had never let his guard down. Always ready to fight or flight. Always on alert. It made John's heart sink, that this was the only time the kid was this calm around him.

It was easy to forget just how young Noah was. But right now you could see past the mask he was wearing. With him being sick and John holding him like this. The man being well aware that he was holding Noah in a way someone would hold a child much younger than him.

He was just a kid. A kid that went through a lot already.

There was this tight feeling inside his chest again, but he ignored it.

Just when John wanted to relax now that the shivering had stopped, the kid began to move again.

The man, already fearing the worst, prepared himself to be cussed out.

Imagine his surprise when all the kid did was nestle closer to him, burying himself deeper into the warmth. And to top it off he grabbed his shirt in a loose fist and let out a content little sigh.

For a moment everything stilled.

John couldn't believe that really just happened. The kid was seriously snuggling up to him, even if it was just to seek warmth. Or maybe there was more to it.

But now was not the time to think about it.

Instead John went back to stroking Noah's back, while his shocked face turned into a fond smile. Under different circumstances he would consider this the most adorable thing he has seen in his entire life. But he knew if it weren't for Noah's bad state of health, this would have never happened. The kid still hated his guts.

And yet…

“And you say you're not cute,” John chuckled quietly, shaking his head.

The man leaned back in his chair, making himself more comfortable. Looks like he was going to sit here a little longer.

Though, John found that he didn't really mind.

Taglist: @da3dm @himbogiants @coffehbeans @mehs-mini-magic

#giant/tiny #g/t #g/t community #g/t writing #OC: Noah #OC: John #my-writing-jar #parental g/t #gtwac #gtwac day 21 #if i don't get any comments i'm gonna cry /hj

[jazzy-man13]

WFC Megatron x GN titan cybertronian reader

Megatron ran across the battlefield, gun in hand, firing rapidly at any autobot that crossed his path. Taking note of the swarm of bots that was forming on his left, he left Shockwave to deal with them and sprinted towards Optimus.

"PRIME! YOU CANNOT ESCAPE YOUR DESTINY! NONE SHALL LEAVE WITHOUT MY PERMISSION!" Megatron shouted. Jumping over a pile of corpses, Megatron pushed forwards with such fury that it blinded him of his surroundings.

Suddenly, before he could reach the prime, the ground below him gave way. He had failed to take note of Warpath spotting him and blasting what was left of the support beams under the platform he was on.

Crashing down with heaps of metal landing on and around him, he found himself to be trapped. Cursing Optimus's name under his breath, he notified Soundwave of the situation. "Soundwave, I require assistance immediately!" The reply came fast. "Acknowledged. Sending retrieval team to your coordinates," Soundwave said.

Sighing, Megatron looked around to see if there was any way out. No luck. The most he could do was crawl out from under the metal beams that had previously landed on him. Sitting up and looking around, he saw that he had landed further down than he had first anticipated. The light of day wasn't even visible, and the sounds of war raging above were incredibly faint.

Suddenly, the metal ground started to shift. Startled, Megatron fell back with a yelp and tried to scramble to his feet again. As the ground around him shifted, he found himself unable to get his footing and promptly stumbled once more. The floor started to move, and Megatron found himself on a transforming platform heading to the surface.

As the light of day and the sounds of war flooded his sensors, he looked up to see a face. A very, very big face. You opened your optics, the light of them washing over Megatron. "What in the name of Primus?" He muttered to himself. Feeling a bit dumb, he realized all too quickly that he was in the hand of a titan. He had heard of dormant Titans that were left underground, but he hadn't imagined that any of them were still functional.

Remembering that you were right in front of him, he snapped back to reality and started questioning you. With a sly grin, he asked "What is your designation, titan?" "(Y/N)" you responded, still looking at Megatron.

"(Y/N)... a fine name indeed. I am Lord Megatron, leader of the decepticons. Join me, and we shall bring glory to Cybertron!" Megatron said, taking the time to check out your features. You certainly weren't as big as Metroplex, but you came close. Megatron was intrigued when he noticed that you had 2 giant canons attached to each of your arms, and a massive null ray on your hip.

"I will fight for you, as a show of my gratitude. I am forever in your debt for awakening me," you said. Startled out of his thoughts, Megatron grinned at you. "Soundwave," he started. "Call off the retrieval team. I don't believe we'll be needing it anymore."

On the battlefield below, many had stopped fighting to look up at you in horror and awe. Optimus among the crowd, he noticed Megatron in your palm. "Scrap," Jazz muttered. "It appears that Megatron has found himself a new ally. Perhaps it would be best if we regroup and create a new plan." Optimus said, promptly telling the autobots to roll out before any more chaos could ensue.

Not enough stories with titan readers, so I took it upon myself to write one 🫡

I'll probably make a part 2, I had a lot of fun with this lmao not me casually making my tumblr into a transformer fanfic blog

#transformers x reader #megatron x reader #Megatron #Wfc megaton #war for cybertron #Wfc

[dearsnow]

SALT FARE, NORTH SEA

- when a dragon falls from the sky, decimating your ship and bringing a strange boy along for the ride, you begin to question if the some of the targaryens are really as bad as they seem. (aged up!lucerys velaryon x fem!reader, angst to fluff, ur burning hatred is quenched by time spent on the sea 🤞) MAJOR SPOILERS FOR HOUSE OF THE DRAGON! au where vhagar doesn’t kill luke, arrax just gets absolutely mauled and falls out of the sky. aged up luke because I didn’t realize he was that young when i started writing 💀. ⚠️ TW for death, suicidal thoughts, and trauma.

word count: 4,213 (jesus christ)

a/n - ohhhh my god guys i’m back!!!! this was certainly a labor of love. i don’t know if I’ll start writing consistently again, but i really hope i do. i love you guys so much and thank you for the continued support even when i’m on hiatus! also i’m sorry if luke is ooc because i choose to believe he’s quietly funny and a little bit of a menace 😭

As the waves batter the sides of your ship, you don’t feel seasick. You feel the spray, see the occasional silvery fish zip by under the water. The sun beats down on your exposed neck and the motion swirls your mind, but you are sick for an entirely different reason.

Betrothal. God, you hate how that word sits on your tongue like a hot piece of meat. You are to be sent off to the their of family, married into their lineage and forced to bear their children until your womb shrivels like a sun-dried date. Of  all of your options, the Targaryens are certainly the worst. 

Aemond, in particular. You’ve heard stories of his cold demeanor, how he could kill you with a look. With his hands, too. He is quite the skilled swordsman, not that you would ever wish to witness it. He is the one you are set to marry.

Oh, the misery. The horror. You can feel bile rising in your throat whenever someone mentions him or his mother, great Queen Alicent.

You figure, though, at least it isn’t his brother.

You come from a noble family. It was bound to happen anyways. Trade your Martell name for some haughty lord’s and become his sow for the rest of your life. Your short, miserable life. In some ways, you are a bit grateful. You will never want for food and you know you’ll bring great honor to your family by marrying into the Targaryens. 

You just wish you could marry for another reason, not just forging alliances and heating up old, cold ones. You could have a happy life with the person of your choosing. You could sell fish on the shores of the sea and pick flowers in a field.

You play with this notion in your head before you hear a mighty crash and the sound of splintering wood.

The screams come mere seconds later. They pierce the air as snapping bones and rending flesh ring out. You stumble back, nearly falling off the edge of the ship. Large chunks of meat have started raining from the sky, crushing everything in their path.

You feel your heart beat so fast it nearly leaps out of your chest as you scramble for friction. Fuck, what the hell?

With the meat there comes blood, great amounts of it. It trips the sailors up, sending them careening over the wooden edges and into the sea. 

You narrowly miss the giant dragon wing that splits the boat in two. The entire thing has started sinking, and your blood runs cold. 

The ship is tilted from the massive gash in the center. Water is mixing with blood, and your dress is soaked to the bone. You can’t help but think that the finest silks Dorne can offer will drag you to the bottom of the depths.

As you clamber to the top of the ship’s bow as another fast-moving figure falls into the water. You don’t notice it in the moment. 

A shove comes from behind, pushing you to the side. Your back aches where you were struck.

“M’lady, m'lady! The lifeboat, you must take the boat. Go, go! Right now, m'lady.”

It’s Finhard, the deck swabber. He has two missing fingers, a lame knee, and a million stories. He swabbed the deck of The Sandstorm from port to port, collecting any and all information he could along the way. You loved talking to him so much it made the trip almost worth it. He always helped you sneak food to the cat stowing away on board. The cat you’re sure is now dead.

“What about you?” You question, voice loud but shaky. You can’t just leave him here.

“I’m a dead man, m’lady. I don’t matter.”

“But you do!” You insist, tugging on his arm. The screams are still ringing like alarms, and your limbs feel locked and like jelly at the same time.

“No, no. I might sink it. Girl’s damaged already. Please go, girlie. Jus’ remember me when you eat your next fish, alright?”

A pit pools in your stomach as you whip around to look at the small lifeboat. He’s right. The boat wouldn’t be able to hold you and a grown man, at least not one of Finhard’s size.

“Get on. I’ll push ya off, and you better have a damn good time with that prince of yours.”

You feel tears welling up in your eyes as you watch your trusted confidant steel his gaze.

“I’m sorry, Finhard. I’m so so sorry,” You sob, clutching his rough palms. “I promise I’ll think of you always.”

“Thas’ all I ask for.” His voice is rough and uncut, hardened yet soft, like a feather made of chainmail. He picks you up like a sack of potatoes and places you in the rickety boat with the gentleness of a father setting down his newborn. He gives you one final kiss on the forehead before untying the boat and shoving it into the roiling water. 

Small hairs cling to your forehead as the ship lights up in a blaze sure to be seen from the shore. Your face is so wet with tears you feel as though the ocean is the product of them.

You sob into your hands as the people who took care of you on your journey sink, their bawls leaving a scar in your memory.

It’s not even ten minutes after the foremast begins to sink that you see a dark shape bobbing along in the water next to you. You stifle a gasp, thinking it must surely be a shark or a dead man. The water around it was red and heavy. 

When it floats closer to you, you see for the first time that it’s a boy. A boy who must be around your age, maybe sixteen or seventeen. His wrist gives a little twitch, and you resolve that you must rescue him. 

He wasn’t on your ship unless he was stowing away in the barrels, as teenagers often do. No matter his situation, you grab his soaked shirt and give a hard tug. 

The effort almost tips your boat, nearly sending you spiraling into the water. You give a little huff. The waterlogged boy is definitely heavier than you expected.

You try again, managing to get his arm hooked around the side of the boat. From there, it’s just a game of strength- you pull him up, using his clothing as a sort of lever to shimmy him out of the water. You roll him over, the water streaming off of him re-splattering your already wet clothes with water and fresh blood. The boat dips a little with his weight, but it does not sink. You praise the Seven under your breath. He has a cut on the side of his head, one that requires medical care far past the simple fixes you’ve learned.

You try to dress it anyways. Ripping a long strip of cloth from the bottom of your underskirt, you wrap it up and pray he doesn’t lose much more blood. 

You can still hear the creaking of The Sandstorm, though any humans were sucked under long ago. It makes a melancholy sound, blending with the waves and the seabirds and the rain that has started pattering down. A lump forms in your throat as you gaze at the wreckage. Hot water slides down your face as you sit in your little lifeboat, waiting for death that will most certainly come for your throat. 

It’s about two hours of lonely drifting before the boy wakes up. He opens his eyes slowly, then they widen as he gives a gurgling shout.

“Augh!” You stifle a giggle, though your voice is still wobbly from sobs.

He notices you and sits up, bewildered. As he takes in his surroundings, you sit and watch.

“Who are you? Where am I? Where is Arrax?” 

“I am nobody now, and we are in the middle of the ocean,” You gesture to the water surrounding every inch of your sight. “And I don’t know who Arrax is.” He sure has a lot of questions, though you can’t fault him for it.

“Arrax, my dragon. I… I think he’s…” He doesn’t finish his sentence.

You stare at him in shock.

“Your dragon? The dragon that fell out of the sky in twenty pieces?” You question, voice heated. “The one that just killed a crew of fifty-two men?”

He’s silent for a moment. “So he’s dead?”

“Of course he’s dead, you imbecile! Did you not hear what I just said? He killed them. All of them. I’m the only survivor.”

“I’m sorry.” He mutters. He brings his knees to his chest and hugs them. “It was never my fault. It was him that killed Arrax, so it is him that killed your crew.”

“Who is him?”

“That bastard of a prince, Aemond. He and his dragon, Vhagar, chased us across the skies and attacked us in the air.”

Your hands tighten into fists as your throat constricts like you swallowed a spiny rock. You regret ever saving the boy, and you regret not slitting your throat when you heard of your betrothal to the murderer. Everything you’ve heard about Aemond is true. Your rage boils into hatred, and you swear that if you ever see him you will die and take him with you.

“So that must mean you’re a Targaryen too?” You say, trying to keep your voice level. It’s a skill you had to learn as a noble lady, but the hate building in your chest is almost too violent to quiet.

“Lucerys Velaryon, my lady.” He eyes you, taking note of your expensive yet ruined dress. He must know you’re not a commoner either.

You know the Targaryens are the only ones with proper access to a dragon, but you should have known that only someone descended from one could cause such absolute and utter destruction. It’s not Lucerys’s fault, you tell yourself. Don’t put the blame on him. Put on a smile and become your best even-tempered and kind self. But gods, the way you want to wring his neck for an event he seemingly had no control over.

“Why did he do it?” You ask. The tears from earlier start creating a pressure behind your eyes again. 

“Because I took his eye.” Lucerys’s voice is weak, but it has the strum of nobility that you know like a well-oiled harp. “He wanted revenge, an eye for an eye. So I ran. He found me in the sky and bit my dragon in half. I never meant to kill anybody.” So they’re all the same, the princes. Hardened and cruel and psychopaths. “Did you save me?”

“I suppose I did.” You want so badly to say ‘but I shouldn’t have’, but you hold your tongue.

“That is a debt I can never repay. Thank you. I’m truly sorry.” You shake your head. It’s not his fault, you repeat. You still cannot find it in yourself to forgive him. “What’s your name?”

You think for a brief moment. It wouldn’t hurt, you think, to tell him your name. That way when you both die, at least the man you’re stuck with will know the name of the woman that hated his family the most out of anyone in the world.

You speak your name, including your Martell family name, and he looks at you, eyes widened so much you think they will pop out of his skull.

“Aemond’s betrothed?” You are marrying into the greens, and Lucerys feels as though he should hate you for it. Unluckily for his honor, he cannot despise the girl who pulled him from the sea.

“Yes, what sorry luck.” You spit. “I would rather drown than go through with it.” You think of the promise you made to Finhard. “No, I would put poison in his chalice and watch him drink it.”

He laughs a bit, his voice ringing out against the repetitive sound of waves. “And I will buy the poison.” You allow yourself to smile. You hate it, but you smile.

You’ve always been the weirder daughter, yet the one that tries to talk with the lords and ladies and puts on a shining performance. That’s where the smile comes from, from all the times you’ve had to put your pearly whites on display. The morals have gone to shit, but the reflex is still burned into your person.

“You needn’t call me ‘my lord’. We’re even here, out on the sea.” He says. You can feel that’s not the only reason. A spark of guilt shimmers in the corners of his eyes. “Just call me Luke.”

“And you may call me by my name, Luke.” He’s right. There are no titles, only salt water and spray.

You watch the moon in the sky as it shines its beams down on your face. It sees everything. Every deal in secret, every promise you’ve ever made. It’s a gentle reminder that every person sees the same thing every night. You and Luke sit in silence, staring up at it. You wonder if your mother sees it too, from her ship. Can Finhard and the other sailors see it, from their watery graves? Can they forgive you for not saving them? For saving the life of a boy, whose mass is just under the weight limit of the boat? You glance over at him.

He’s staring at you, at how the soft rays of the moon highlight the curves and edges of your face. He feels a pit in his stomach, one that is not from hunger. It’s a gnawing feeling, guilt. He hates that he had to trade his life for fifty sailors. He thinks he would rather be at the bottom of the sea than see more tear tracks on your face. Another feeling eats at him, though he’s not sure what it is. It makes his insides churn and scrambles his mind.

He averts his eyes and looks at the stars once more.

You spend another two days floating in the water. You’re both sunburned and salt dried, and his skin is red and peeling. The conversation between the both of you had been dry up until today.

“May I have the flask?” He asks. You hand it over. For two whole days, all you have had to eat and drink is two flasks of water, a packet of dried fish, and some bread that has gone mushy from the water slowly seeping into your boat. You have to bail it out every hour or so.

“Do you think we’ll ever get out of here?” Luke questions, his voice rough. “Is anyone coming for us?”

You sigh. “I don’t know. I would like to think there are boats out searching, but truly, they must expect us to be dead. Besides that, we have drifted so far away from the shipwreck that we might not be found even if they were searching.” He shakes his head, hair stiff from the salty spray.

“I would like to keep hope alive.”

“You are the only one.” You hear a small laugh from next to you. 

“You know, I could not ask for a better person to be stranded with.” He screws the cap back onto his flask carefully.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you certainly know how to ration supplies. And your optimism is inspiring.” A giggle bubbles up from beneath your buried feelings. 

“Is that sarcasm, my dear lord?”

He smiles. You can’t help but notice that his smile is contagious, the kind that reaches his eyes. The kind you found yourself dreaming about, and the kind you are certain your betrothed never wears. 

“Only if you make it out to be.” He pauses. “So, what was your life like in Dorne?”

Your eyes narrow. Small talk? It brings you back to your past. Talking to potential suitors and bearing their questions as they try to judge if you’re worth their money. It’s almost nice, the reminder. Before the wreck, you had been happy. Cheerful, even. You were nothing like you are now, hardened and weak and so close to putting sand in your pockets and drowning you can taste the seawater. 

“Why do you ask?”

“I figured it would be nice to know you. To really know you.” His words bring an odd sense of comfort to you.

“It was much nicer than this. I had friends and family, that was the best part. I never wanted for much of anything. I suppose I felt out of place sometimes, and I felt lonely like nothing else, but it helped to know that I could always have a home with the people I loved.” He nods, and the waves push against the boat. The sun is setting, condemning you to another sleepless night. “What about you?”

“I love my home, my people, and my family. I never felt up to the task of being lord of Driftmark, though,” He confesses, “and sometimes I still feel like a fraud. Gods, I don’t know why I told you that.” He knows. There’s something about your eyes, something that makes him want to spill every secret he has ever had. He wants to tell you about the time he stole Aemond’s knife, causing Aemond to pick a fight with Aegon. Or when he heard an argument between his mother and stepfather, or when his older brother snuck a frog into the pocket of a handmaiden. Your eyes burn with stifled anger and buried hopes and love.

You look at him with an odd expression. “It’s alright. Might as well get everything out while you can.” You know the feeling of not being enough well. “I’m sure you’ll do wonderfully when we get out of here.” You find yourself comforting him for god knows what reason. You should be angry, full of hatred and buzzing bees, but you can only feel sympathy for the boy across from you.

“When we get out of here? Where was that optimism earlier?” He teases, making you smile.

“It was killed and brought back to life. I have decided that I’m not going to die.” His laugh rings out, showering you in a feeling that makes you shiver.

“That’s a good thing to decide. I swear it too, we are not going to die. Aemond will never kill our spirit nor our bodies.” He takes your hands, palms rough and calloused. It makes your heart pound in a way you never expected. “We will be alright.”

You nod, hope blooming in your heart. Suddenly, the world seems just a little bit brighter. That’s when you see it; the seagull flying overhead.

You gasp, pointing up to the sky. It lets out a sharp cry as it circles around, and soon Luke is looking at it too. You’re so relieved that tears well up in your eyes.

Land must be near. It has to be. 

“Praise the gods.” He grins, dropping your hands to shield his eyes from the sun. “We will surely reach the shores soon.”

“I can only hope.” You whisper.

You spend another day on the water, your hopeful eyes searching for mountains or fields. All you can see is blue water, blue skies, and Lucerys Velaryon. You found that you’ve grown to like him, as fucked as your past self might have considered it. He actually treats you like a person. 

He squints into the distance. “I still don’t see anything. Maybe… maybe the bird was a fluke. A gull straying too far from the shore.”

You hit his shoulder lightly. “Don’t think like that.”

“It seems we’ve switched roles,” He smiles, “you’re the positive one now.”

“We certainly have rubbed off on each other.” The corners of your mouth lift into a little grin. Truth be told, your own hope is starting to fade, but you will never let him know. 

You’ve begun to notice things about the sea that you have never seen before. Schools of small fish darting below the surface, the pattern of the waves, even how chilly the water is. As the sun shines down, the water is peaceful. Maybe it’s a side effect of the trauma, or maybe it’s just you growing more comfortable with the idea of salt water. In any case, you suppose you need to look at its beauty to fan the dying flame of light burning inside you. It’s far easier to love than to keep hating. 

“The day is quite beautiful, isn’t it?” You whisper. 

“I suppose it is.” He says, but he’s not looking at the sky.

You are infatuating. The way the sun glints off your eyes enraptures him and keeps him in a state of lovely drunkenness. “Do you wish to marry my uncle?” There’s a hint of something more behind his voice. It’s almost desperate, and the thought makes you shiver.

You hesitate. “Not particularly. It would bring honor to my family, that I am sure of. So I will do it, but I will likely not enjoy it.”

“I understand that. I myself am betrothed to someone I can’t see myself loving.”

“The lady Rhaena Targaryen?” You know of her. The idea of him marrying the girl painted by the gods twists your heart in a way you can’t even comprehend.

He sighs. “Yes. It is my duty, but I cannot see her as anything but a sister. That’s all she’s been to me my entire life.”

“Duty is a wicked thing,” You muse, “pulling us away from opportunities to enrich our own lives.”

He nods. “If you could choose, is there anyone you would want to be married to?”

You think for a bit but eventually shake your head. “Do you have a special someone?”

“I am beginning to discover one.” He says. What does he mean by that?

When you look at him, staring far into the distance, you start to realize.

When the days grow dim, you huddle into each other for warmth. That’s why you fall asleep tonight, softened by his touch. Finally, you sleep for more than half an hour at a time. Luke’s arms are wrapped around you, as the lifeboat leaves little room for comfort, and the rock of the ship lulls you into a dream.

You wake to a jolt. You have no idea how long you’ve been asleep, but the moon is out and there is sand underneath your hull. Sand. Ground. You scramble to sit up, pulling Luke along with you. “Sand! Luke, it’s sand. We’ve made it! Gods be good, we have made it to land.” You grab at the wet grains, letting them clump and filter through your fingers. He lets out a loud cheer and pulls you in.

Out of nowhere, as you still have earth in your hands, he kisses you. His lips are rough and dry, but so are yours. He tastes like salt water and love.

When he finally pulls away, he is grinning like a lunatic. “We’ve made it, my lady. We survived.”

“What happened to our no titles agreement?” You tease, still flustered. Your cheeks are as hot as the surface of the sun.

“We’re on land now. The rules of society apply again, I’m afraid.” His whisper ghosts against your ear like he’s almost afraid to lose the closeness he gathered over the course of the last few days.

“Of course,” You say, pressing your lips to his cheek, “I would expect nothing different from such a high-ranking and strong man such as yourself.” 

He places a hand where you kissed him. Your skin may be chapped, but that damned kiss was sweeter and softer than spun sugar.

“I’m glad we’ve come to an understanding, my lady.” A glint of humor dances in his eye.

He steps out of the boat and offers a hand to you. The ground wobbles under your feet and you almost fall, but he is there to steady you. “Wait, I know this beach!” He realizes as he gazes upon the scenery. “It’s the beach off Dragonstone. I’m… I’m home.”

“Really?” You feel hope bubbling through your body. “You know where we are?”

“I do. Dragonstone is there, above those cliffs. Come on, let’s go!” He tugs your arm just a bit too hard, sending you sprawling into the sand. You grab onto his sleeve and pull him down too, leaving you both in a fit of giggles. 

You’re both weak and tired and sore, but your flames grow brighter every second you’re on solid land. “Race me!” He yells, taking off from the ground on shaky feet. You dart after him, all your earlier burdens seemingly gone.

You probably won’t catch him, but it’s okay. Right now, your future is ahead of you, your rage is behind, the land pounds beneath your feet, and the boy with brown hair is calling for you to join him.

Reblogs are greatly appreciated!!

Taglist (bolded means unable to tag): @mmmimilan @its-halleys-comet @savagemickey03 @persephonesportal @lovelyliliya @the-jess-life @spaceandstars @bbosica @hopelesswritergall @watercolorskyy

#solar eclipse. #house of the dragon #lucerys velaryon x reader #lucerys velaryon #luke velaryon x reader #lucerys x reader #hotd x reader #hotd fic #lucerys strong #hotd x y/n #house of the dragon lucerys

[seshatsdomain]

Praise The Body

Pairing: Pagan Fertility God Thor x Black Fem Reader

Wordcount: 1,644

Warnings: SOFTDARK!THOR. DUBCON. Sexual Manipulation. Pagan God Thor. Mentions of Pregnancy. Mentions of Fertility and Infertility. Mentions of Marital Abuse. Smut. 18+. 

A/N: This is my first foray into writing darker themes, so be easy with me. I wrote this for @syntheticavenger’s writers camp. @syntheticavenger was incredible and helped me work out the kinks of the fic. She was also just so nice and supportive. I’m so grateful that I was able to work with her, and if you aren’t following her yet, go and give her a follow!

Banner by @maysdigitalarts

Divider by @firefly-graphics

She should have listened when the old woman told her not to marry Arne; maybe then she would have been happy. 

The stories told by the old folk — the ones with hands too gnarled to weave, who sat upon chairs and watched the world through filmy eyes — are ignored by most. Their wise warnings went unheeded. She crawled back to the old woman on her knees. She had held the woman's crooked fingers in her own callused hands and begged for advice. She hadn’t listened once, she would not make that mistake again.

 The old woman had urged her to go to the temple. To make her offerings regularly, to pray earnestly, and when the time was right to find her rest among the gods. 

 “A night spent in the presence of the divine will bless you ten times over.” 

She looked up at the elder from her place on the floor. She was grateful to have a plan, some action to take, even as outlandish as it seemed.

“How will I know when the time is right?” She questioned.

The crone cackled, the noise loud within the small house.

 “You’ll know.” The old woman patted her hand. “You’ll know.” 

*

 Her sandaled feet slipped in the mud as she ran. She landed hard on her knee, pain radiating from the spot. Her arms quivered as her hands sank into the soft earth. The wind howled as it shook the trees that towered over her. Rain drenched her face, a single drop falling from the tip of her nose as she brought her head to the sky. 

Her destination was not far. She could see the stone spires of the temple, Looming shadowy in the distance. It beckoned to her, and she knew she must answer. Her feet found purchase in the wet dirt, driving her body upright. The steps she took were wobbly — unsure— but she kept a steady pace. The trees rustled around her. She could see the temple now, the warm yellow glow of the interior candles. A lighthouse even in the cold dark of the forest.

Come. It seemed to whisper to her. Come home.

Her sandals slapped wetly on the stone stairs, She winced as pain sliced up her back. The familiar chamber of the temple eased her bruised feelings. Her cloak, heavy with rainwater, landed on the floor with a splat. Her skin prickled as the cool night air brushed her bare shoulders. She limped forward, her box of offerings clutched in her palms. The giant throne sat before her, the large statue there always lording over the room. She knelt at the feet of the altar, esoteric mumblings falling from her lips. The box was placed in between the colossal feet of the figure. 

“Accept my offering, O’ God of thunder. May my devotion honor you ‘thus.” 

She repeated her prayers twice more. It wasn’t necessary, but she continued. For she did not want to leave the temple. Leave this God’s presence. It may have been silly — the others in the village certainly thought it was — but the temple, this temple, was more of a home to her than her house with Arne had ever been. Which was yet another thing for Arne to quarrel with her about. She had always been diligent with her worship of all the Gods. She dutifully gave her offerings to each of them. But Thor? The powerful and benevolent God of Thunder held a special place in her heart. 

She paused as her eyes fell upon her strewn cloak. Her limbs were unwilling to move, her feet frozen upon the cold ground. 

Do not leave us. The temple whispered. Stay here. Stay home.

The croaking voice of the old woman came to her then. The advice that the elder had given her.

 A lightness flooded her veins as she made her decision. She fell asleep with joy singing in her heart, even as her clothes grew damp from the cloak she laid upon.

*

She dreamed of him. Stone turned into golden flesh. Blonde hair artfully tousled on his shoulders. It brushed her thigh as he moved between her spread thighs. She jumped as he lapped at her center. His deep chuckle reverberated through her flesh. She wiggled her hips towards him, wanting more, craving more. She only ever felt like this in her dreams, her mind creating the kind of pleasure her husband could only wish to give her. Maybe it was wrong to dream of a God this way, she would never speak of it to anyone. But in her dreams? She let herself go. 

“Yes! There!” 

He mouthed at her clit before sucking it between two full lips. Thick fingers prodded at her entrance; he slipped two in and thrust. She cried out as he scissored them within her, not giving her time to adjust. The feeling built in her, a tingling at her lower back that moved upwards. Just when she was on the precipice, right on the edge, his lips detached from her heated flesh with a wet smack. 

“Wake, sweet girl.” 

No. She didn’t want to wake. She wanted to reach completion, she wanted to stay here with the beautiful god between her legs. She didn’t want to wake in a broken bed with Arne-

“Wake.” 

Her eyes fluttered open, the gauzy dream fading around her. 

The early morning light streamed into the temple, bathing the room in softness. 

“There you are, sweet girl.” 

Her head snapped up. There kneeling between her spread thighs, was Thor, God of Thunder. 

She scrambled back, her elbows hitting hard stone, her back scraping against the ground.

He grabbed for her. Two huge palms locked around her thighs. The fingers of his right hand left streaks of wetness on her skin as he pulled her back toward him. 

“What’s this?”  

He moved his hand between her legs once more. Spreading her folds before gently petting her clit. 

“Come now, sweet girl, you can’t be afraid. Have you not been praying to me for months?” 

Her back arched as his gentle petting became insistent. He circled her clit, and the feeling made her breath catch. He stared at her with vibrant blue eyes that cataloged her every expression. 

“I’ve heard them. Accepted every offering you gave me. And now-“ 

Heat surged through her body as she came. Her center clenched around empty air. His eyes snapped down to observe it. 

“- Now your faithfulness shall be rewarded.” 

He sat back on his heels, spreading his legs slightly. She gasped as she caught sight of it. His cock was larger than any she’d ever seen. It jutted towards his muscled stomach, bobbing as he circled it with his hand.  The tip was red and angry, dripping with pre-cum. 

He leaned forward, notching the head just inside her entrance. She took in a sharp breath. 

Power rolled off him as he looked at her.

“Tell me you want this.” 

“I-“ the words lodged in her throat.

“Tell me that you’ll bear my seed.” 

Time seemed to suspend itself as their eyes locked. Brown meeting blue. 

“I want it.” She whispered

Then he thrust into her. He gave no time for her walls to stretch and accommodate him. He hammered into her. The sounds of their skin slapping together filled the quiet temple. 

Her legs rested on the outside of his. Thor spreads his knees, widening her legs in turn. 

His massive hands encircle her entire waist, his grip firm as he moves her into him again and again. 

Her high-pitched moans joined the chorus of their slapping skin. Her own hands reached up to play with her thick nipples. Thor groaned at the sight. 

He angled himself, and suddenly he was hitting something within her that made her see stars. 

“Thor!” She cried. “My lord, please!”

He hushed her, his tongue darting out to lick at his pink lips.

“I know, sweet girl. I know.” He thrust into her harder, and she thought she would shatter.

He placed his hand back on her clit, rubbing in small circles before he sent a zap of blue lightning into her. She jolted, her entire body tightening.

“Come for me.” 

It felt as if her soul had left her body. Like she had ascended to the heavens and would never come down. Thor was still thrusting into her, rhythmless now as he chased his own completion. The Earth shook when he came, his roar echoing off the stone walls of the temple. With his head thrown back, he shot rope after rope of his seed into her. His chest heaved as his hips began to move again. 

“No more.” She pushed lightly at his arm. Her body twitched with overstimulation.

He smiled indulgently at her even as his hips continued to move.

Thor caught her shaking legs as he finally moved away from her center. Little jolts of electricity tailed after each brush of his hands on her skin. He stroked at her legs, coaxing them closed. She flinched as his hands moved to rest her legs over his bare lap. Her body elevated, just enough to lift her hips. 

“You should know, sweet one,” his deep voice rumbled as he settled her against his side. “That it was not you. It was never you.”

“What-“ her mind was slow to work, “what’s not me?”

Thor pushed his nose into the crook of her neck. He inhaled deeply, and she could feel his cock stirring at her hip.

“You are quite fertile, I can smell it on you.”

 She gasped.

“Then, Arne-“

“Do not speak of him.” His voice went dark. Blue streaks of lightning lit the early morning sky as he tipped her face towards him.

“You shall come again tonight. Yes? We must make sure it takes.” 

Her eyes widened as his lips descended on hers.

#thor x reader #soft dark thor x reader #thor x black!reader #thor x black reader #pagan god au

[wilcze-kudly]

Had an idea for the Avatar Bolin AU: what if the Beifongs & Zaofu are like a sanctuary, of sorts, if the Red Lotus still occurs?

Basically the arrival at Zaofu is the same, and Lin and Su still make peace. although I think unlike Korra, I can see Bolin getting more involved as a calmer mediator between the two of them & maybe gives them the space to still have their fight but also forces them to sit down and actually talk to each other about their issues.

He strikes up a friendship with Opal and Wei, to which he forms an immediate connection too. Bolin spends increasingly more time with Wei and they realize they've fallen for each other and begins a romantic relationship that ends up being very intimate but also very grounded. Mako being Mako is very distrusting/suspcious, but he eventually warms up (maybe Su and/or Lin privately talks to him?) And of course, Wing is one of the Wingmen along with Opal.

Regarding Wei & Opal, perhaps they're possibly the two individuals who Bolin feels he can be pretty open with? Like, Mako is very paranoid, Tenzin is basically on Dad mode, Korra and Lin will throw themselves at anyone trying to actively harm him... so with Opal and Wei he can sort of feel comfortable enough that he can talk to them about anything without the underlying anxiety that they'll freak out or tell him "I'm doing what's best for you/it's for your own good"? And like, Wei emphasizes his point that he loves Bolin, NOT the Avatar (Opal backs her brother up on this notion). Wei couldn't care less about Bolin's status at all. The three's relationship ends up being one of mutual, calm emotional support & trust; and considering how close the two are with Su, she totally ends up adopting Bolin into the Beifong family. Maybe she's like a mother/cool aunt figure?

What do you think of all this?

Oh my gosh that sounds so great! Yeah, i think that most of the plot of this AU would go quite similarly to the og show, so there would definitely be a stop in Zaofu. Lmao I think Bolin would either do really well with mediating the conflict between Lin and Su or make it 50 times worse.

Honestly the idea of Zaheer the renowned short king having to lug Bolin's beefy body around like he did with Korra is really funny to me.

Suyin would absolutely look at this lost puppy himbo of an Avatar and go: is anyone gonna give him the warmth and safety of a mother's love? No? Gotta fo everything by myself here.

But yeah, I can certainly see Wei giving Bolin a more "grounded" relationship than the rest of the Krew, maybe with the exception of Asami. Since in this AU I'm thinking of Korra maybe being Katara's apprentice, who joined the Krew to basically bodyguard the Avatar.

I think Wei and Bolin's dynamic would be kinda similar to waht I envision for them around the og show. With them bickering and butting heads at first, due to the fact that they see thtough one another's bullshit, before eventually coming to respect, admire and like each other. And then fall in love.

Both of them not being very well socialised would make them incredibly awkward when flirting, I think?

I think they can also both bond over the experience of being "handled" by other people. They'd defined try to support one another in becoming more independent and the idea of Wei being Avatar Bolin's biggest supporter is really cute. Think Katara threatening to beat up anyone whose mildly mean to Aang lol.

This honestly adds even more comedy to the sparring scene in B3. Because Wei seeing the Avatar, a literal demigod, with the power of the 4 elements and going: "I'm gonna throw a meteorite at this loser" is both in character and hillarious.

Also while pondering Bolin as the Avatar I remembered that this monstrosity actually exists in the canon show.

Giant Blue Avatar Spirit Projection Bolin can't hurt me, Giant Blue Avatar Spirit Projection Bolin can't hurt me, Giant Blue Avatar Spirit Projection Bolin can't hurt me, Giant Blue Avatar Spirit Projection Bolin can't hurt me

#considering having wei and opal somehow join the krew in this au lol. y'know for the girls and the gays #now i have to many ideas for this that would also paralel kataang in some way lol #bolin #wei beifong #weilin #legend of korra #avatar #tlok #the legend of korra #avatar the legend of korra #atlok #lok #bolin x wei #wei x bolin

[nonuggetshere]

Some small AU specific headcanons let's a go

The Palelight family is one of these families that hug and kiss each other's cheeks as a greeting and goodbye. The kids also get hugs and kisses for goodnight, and yes that includes the adult ones, they're not escaping this (if they want to, of course, no show of affection is forced). Generally, in Hallownest, kissing on the cheek is a fairly common greeting amongst family members. Hornet is less than thrilled about thos 50% of the time, she's not the most physically affectionate person out there.

Flower prefers head bonks though and it's what they do with Hornet and PK. WL gets a proper greeting and a hug, maybe a gentle bonk or a nuzzle with a purr. With PK they just bonk their heads together like cats, and it's no gentle baby bonk either but a proper skull slamming. WL can hear the dull thud from across the room and wonders how either of them can just laugh about it and not even wince or get knocked back. She sometimes jokes that one of these days they're going to give each other concussions or get their horns stuck together. Hornet and Flower are similar, their bonks range from sensible ones to at this point I'm pretty sure they're just trying to see who gets knocked out first.

When WL gets comfortable with somebody she will just. Pick them up and move them while saying excuse me instead of asking them to move. She mostly does it with her kids (this includes Hornet) and PK.

The first time Petunia and Lummis get moved they don't know how to feel about it. Flower reassures them it means she likes them.

Idk if I even mentioned it, but when Flower was being taught all the necessary things to be an heir and shadowing PK while he worked Petunia also joined them, wanting to be an active part and supporter of Flower if they ever had to take up the throne (spoiler alert, unfortunately they do). Lummis joined them for a while but came to the conclusion that it wasn't for him. Of course, some nobles will get up in arms about a commoner joining their meetings but they quickly learn that's not gonna fly.

And Petunia, Flower and PK are surprisingly a fun trio for me to write. PK and Flower express their love for each other through friendly bullying and Petunia is much the same so it just works, they Click. The two are giant nuisances for PK at times but he can be snarky right back. They generally enjoy each other's company, it's almost surprising how well Petunia and PK get along considering she hated his guts just a few years before that.

Circling back to the nobles, it's worth noting that thanks to PK's and WL's...unique treatment of Flower for most of their life, there's some wild gossip about who they are. Considering their resemblance to their parents yet the way they were treated, the most popular one is that they're an affair baby of either PK or WL (nobody can agree whose they are). Unfortunately, this perception that they're a bastard holds on in some circles and affects how they're treated by them. Not all of them are bad, naturally, but there are groups that are and even think of Flower as lesser simply because of their former roles/not always being an heir.

Similarly, some of them are upset about Flower choosing to be with commoners. The nobles are a mixed group with different outlooks but there are certainly ones who are very classist and look down on Petunia and Lummis (and any court members, which includes 3/5 great knights also) for coming from humbler origins.

Some if Hallownest's nobility are downright obsessed with procreation, seeing as passing down their family names is very important to them they view bloodlines in ways that aren't always the most progressive, if you will. There is definitely a small subset of nobles who believe commoners being let into the royal family is a disgrace and tainting the king's bloodline, and an even smaller subset that believe this + the rumour of Flower being a bastard have an even lower opinion of Petunia and Lummis being part of that family. This gets even worse when Petunia falls pregnant before they're married, some of them even made comments about "less than half-bred" since they're the children of a bastard and a commoner, before very quickly learning that these sorts of comments will not fly around the king.

By all means not every noble is like this, but the ones that are are...very vocal. Now that the infection is long gone and PK gets a first hand look at how they treat people they perceive as lesser than them maybe it's time for some reforms.

Heading in a completely different direction. Genderfuckery.

Flower primarily uses they/them but they also don't mind any pronouns

They've also been trying out it/its in a reclaiming it way, but only allow these closest to them to use it

PK and WL avoid using it for obvious reasons though and Flower completely understands. They tried it for a bit but it left very bad taste in their mouths, Flower is just happy they gave it a go in the first place - they completely understand why people involved in their life when they were a vessel wouldn't be fully comfy with it so it's something mostly their partners and friends use. Still sporadically though, they prefer they/them 9 time out of 10

As for gendered terms, Flower doesn't mind any of them, though their preferences lean towards gender neutral and feminine terms. Their children call them mama, they go by heir, prince, princess, what have you, in court.

In Hallownest "king" is a gender neutral term used dor the primary ruler (Sting is next in line and she will too use the title king despite very much not being a man). Flower uses both it and sometimes monarch, with an occassional queen thrown in there.

Higher beings don't really have the same concept of gender as mortals (Flower and Hornet are kind of an exception since they were raised amonsts mortals), and neither PK nor WL exactly have a gender and simply rolled with the terms their followers came up with for them. After retiring (against his will) PK decides to try out more gender neutral and feminine pronouns and terms (I call PK "they" half of the time by accident anyway so why the hell not).

And lastly, a small idea I had. Before taking on a smaller form to be with her husband and becoming the queen of Hallownest, White Lady wad originally known to her followers as Mother Tree. Now this title very much remains unused and near forgotten, at most appearing in some history books and archives.

#thylacines can talk #faaf au #WOW this was longer than expected #oc: petunia #oc: lummis

[thought-42]

Critical Role, 1350 words, Laerryn, Dweomer

Pounded this out over my lunch break and posting it between meetings, pray to the mobile formatting gods

----

The second year after Quay and Laerryn's engagement, the Court of Workings asks for a six percent annual funding increase and gets an Aeormaton instead.

"This is called regifting and I've been told it's rude," Laerryn yells after the Magisterial aid who had delivered the message, and then she forgets about it entirely because Patia wants her to go present at some bullshit philosophy conference in Zemniaz, and Quay wants her to attend a charity event for starving orphans (she assumes), and Evandrin keeps calling her to wax rhapsodic about Zerxus' arms and also remind her that Elias has a birthday coming up and attendance at the party is not optional.

So, a month later, when Calum requests she actually emerge from under the battery housing where she's doing repairs instead of just talking to her through the access hatch, her first reaction upon seeing the giant automaton is to drop her multi-tool and begin the somatics for Firebolt.

"Architect," Calum says, pointedly, "this is the Aeormaton we were told about last month. It-- apologies, she's just arrived on one of the supply ships."

Laerryn picks up her multi-tool and her dignity, and almost holds out a hand to the automaton to shake before she thinks probably that's not a thing they do and also it's kind of a weird thing for her to do as well.

"Great," she says. "What... do you... do?"

The Aeormaton inclines her head slightly. "What do you need me to do? I'm a skilled artificer, but I've been told I'm a quick learner."

It takes a moment to process. "You're a what?"

"A quick learner," says the Aeormaton, with the distinct implication that it's a quality only one of them possesses.

"Well," says Calum, taking a few steps backwards. "I believe this is where I leave you."

He scuttles off before Laerryn can call him a traitor to his face.

"Right," says Laerryn. "Um. Ok. You're very tall, and I'm not used to looking up at people. Or... things. People. Robots? What do I call you?"

"I am an Aeormaton," she says. "My name is Dweomer. I'd imagine you may call me that."

"Do you name yourselves? Why only one name? Do the naming conventions change with who produces you?"

"In order? Yes; because a family name would make the soul touched acknowledge the potential for social connections among Aeormatons, making the fiction of charmingly selfless talking equipment harder to maintain, which might make someone uncomfortable; and no, but also there is only one... "producer"."

"God, I hate Aeor," says Laerryn. "Do we need to do a thing about your legal status?"

"Do you know the citizenship status of other Aeormatons in Avalir?"

"I can find out. I don't really have time to support a revolution, but we can make it work if we need to. What's your artificing specialty?"

"Primarily weapons development. But as I said, I am adaptable."

"What an ominous fucking answer coming from Aeor," says Laerryn. "Let's talk about conversion of raw ether to kinetic energy through a mechanical lens. Whatever wizard bullshit you've learned, forget it, it's quantum physics time."

"I arrived here as cargo. I would not like to remain as such."

"Sometimes all it takes is one case to set a precedent. That sounds way easier than a revolution, I know people."

Laerryn pulls out a notebook and starts scribbling furiously. "I'm making you a book list. You're useless to me until you've read all of this. Is it true Aeor is developing mutant attack trees?"

"If it were, I certainly wouldn't be permitted to share that information with you. Are these books available at a standard academic library or are they the more... discreet sort of literature?"

"I hate that implication a lot. Mutant trees are acceptable. Banning books is just obnoxious."

"That's a word."

"Start with the city's admin staff-- it's possible you'll be able to get your status changed through a municipal records request. If not, you have to go to our fucking Magister, who won't do anything, and then come to me and I'll give you the name of a decent lawyer. I'll stand as witness or support or whatever if you need at any point in the process. Don't send me memos, I don't read them. I'll add you to my masks if I still like you in six months."

"I appreciate your support, Architect Coramar."

"Yeah, well, I appreciate your shitty situation. And your sentience, that's interesting."

*

A year later, Dweomer tells her, "That first day we met. You would have been within your rights to have me decommissioned for the things I said."

Laerryn very carefully sets her coffee cup down. "Did I pass the test?"

"Yes."

Laerryn is having a feeling and she doesn't know what to do with it. She stands up. "Come on, there's one more project I want to show you. Nobody else knows about this one."

*

"Listen, fuck off," says Laerryn, laughing and clutching at her fourth stupid pink cocktail thing, "I could have other friends. You don't know me."

"The robot doesn't count," Zerxus says, and Laerryn throws her drink, glass and all, in his face.

*

Dweomer overhears Nydas call Laerryn 'Your Eminence' one time. And one time is all it takes for her to adopt the form of address. When Nydas says it it’s respectful and fond and a little of that pirate captain flirt. When Dweomer says it it's an even split between awe and teasing, because Laerryn is doomed to be surrounded by assholes with too many feelings.

*

The whole group is down on the far edges of the Labyrinth, Laerryn and Calum and Dweomer and the twins, trying to figure out what keeps weakening the effect of the Broomstone in this area. Quay's there, too, because he stopped by to bring her breakfast and then never left. She's pretty sure he's hiding from at least one member of the Ring of Silver.

Laerryn's hyperfocused on the calculations she’s working on, a detection spell running in the back of her head as she paces slowly along the wall. When the generic Chancellery guard melts out of a nearby hallway to demand they explain their business in this area, she waves a hand dismissively at him, tossing words in his direction absently as she notes the power fluctuations. She knows she hasn't made a sentence, but Quay will explain what she means.

She does hear Quay's voice, charming and boisterous, but she also hears another, soft and courteous and unyielding. It doesn't click until hours later that Dweomer understands how her brain works well enough to translate for her in the same way that her fiancé does.

*

One of Evandrin's knights --an elf who had been entering training shortly before Laerryn dropped out and had later mentored Evandrin-- is the first person who actually thinks to tell Laerryn that Evandrin is dead. It's been six hours. She thought he was on an upswing. She'd thought it was safe to go to work for a few short hours, just long enough to check on things.

She's frozen after the knight leaves. She can't finish the repairs she's in the midst of; can’t explain to her staff that she's going to be gone for a while; can't make sure all the records of her Leywright are hidden beneath even more layers of security; can't get herself away from anyone else so she can have a meltdown in private; can't call Quay or the rest of the Ring of Brass to tell them.

Dweomer can.

*

Laerryn's on her fourth day awake and her seventeenth hypothesis regarding the instability of objects returning to this plain via the Leywright when Dweomer says "My application for full citizenship and all the rights that covers is being decided on today."

"Mmhm," says Laerryn.

There's a long pause. "I-- it would be very meaningful to me, personally, if you were there."

'politically, too,' the tiny Quay voice in her head offers.

"I of course understand that you are occupied with far more important work--"

Laerryn drags her attention away from her work like scraping her brain across sandpaper. She stands, and looks up at Dweomer.

"I said I'd make time for the revolution," she says, and what she means is "I said I’d make time for you."

#tumblrfic tag #critical role #laerryn coramar seelie #cr exu tag

[foggyfanfic]

Mirabel's Super Secret Adventure

Movie AU

Chapter Preview: “Is there more? Is there anything else? S-some clue!? About how to fix all this?” Mirabel called over the wind.

Tío Bruno furrowed his brow, concentrating, but shook his head, “The vision-, it’s not ending by itself, b-but the path forward, I-. I’m flying blind here, I don’t know what way-.”

Prologue Prev Next Masterlist

9. Circle the Wagons

Gabriel backed out of the dining room, only dropping the shield when he was sure everybody was free and clear. The room didn’t completely collapse, but it certainly didn’t hold up well without the extra support.

“Is anyone hurt?” Julieta called out, and received a series of no’s.

“What happened?” Señora Guzman asked, turning to Abuela, who was still in her chair, looking shell shocked, “Alma?”

Abuela looked up at the sound of her name, and the shock faded from her face. She stood, all at once going from a frightened old woman to the unstoppable force Mirabel had known all her life. 

Seeing the strength lift Abuela's shoulders, Mirabel felt some of the tension drain out of hers.

“It’s alright, we’re prepared for this. Mirabel,” Abuela held her hand out to beckon Mirabel to her side, once Mirabel was under her arm, Abuela gently lifted her chin up, “I believe it is time for you to use your magic.”

Mirabel gulped, “I-I don’t know how to-.”

“Of course, of course,” Abuela cut her off, “Bruno, did your vision show you how Mirabel’s magic would work?”

Tío Bruno pressed his lips together, glancing at Tía Leandra and her Má, then shook his head.

“We can take Mirabel to Bruno’s vision cave and look,” Tía Leandra said, “show her what the miracle is expecting. I-in the meantime, do you think we should…?”

When Tía Leandra trailed off, Abuela filled the silence, “We should do what we can to make the dining room safe, then clean it up. Octavia! Do you think you could make a simple structure to reinforce the walls?”

“Uh, yep, that I can do,” Octavia nodded, after glancing at her mother for permission, “I’ll just go grab some earth.”

“Gabriel, Luisa, help her,” Abuela ordered and the three of them hurried out the front door.

“Perhaps we should prepare for the worst,” Tío Félix suggested, “just in case.”

Abuela looked pained, but agreed, “We still have the tents from last year’s camping trip.”

Félix nodded, and began delegating jobs to the remaining cousins. Meanwhile, Tío Bruno began urging Mirabel towards the stairs, then he beckoned her parents along as well. The entire journey up to Tío Bruno’s room was filled with tense looks shared between Tío Bruno, Tía Leandra, and her Má.

Mirabel looked at her Pá, he didn’t seem to be a part of the tense look club. 

When they got to his room, Tío Bruno didn’t take them up the stairs, instead, he ushered them behind the bottom of the sand curtain, and took them into the cave system. The walls were lined with glowing visions, everything from dinosaur digs, to robots on mars, to giant squid were displayed along the cavern walls. The green light they emitted seemed to make the air heavier, somehow darker than if it was just dark.

Eventually, after they’d been walking up a slight hill for what felt like forever, Mirabel realized they were in the secret passage to Tío Bruno’s tower.

“So,” she said, when the silence became too oppressive, “the cracks. Wow!”

Her Má gave her a gentle smile, while her Pá chuckled, but Tío Bruno just sighed, “I should have told you sooner.”

“We should have told you sooner,” Tía Leandra corrected, “we just thought we’d have more time.”

“I think it’s more accurate to say we hoped we’d have more time,” her Má said, shaking her head, “the cracks had been growing steadily, but not nearly that fast.”

“Wait, hold on, you knew about all this?” Mirabel asked her Má, who nodded, then looked at her Pá.

“Oh, not me, no. I knew there was a ‘this’ to know, but I didn’t know what that ‘this’ was,” her Pá shook his head, then turned to Julieta, “although I was promised you’d tell me when it was safe to.”

Tío Bruno looked over his shoulder at them, then sighed again, “There’s less of a ‘this’ to know than you think.”

“What?” Mirabel asked, losing track of the conversation.

Tío Bruno stopped walking and turned to her, “Mirabel, about your vision, the one that changes?”

“The one about me being the miracle's back up plan?”

“Uuuuuh well, technically, maybe,” Tío Bruno made a wavy gesture with his hand.

“Maybe?”

“Maybe.”

“What do you mean ‘maybe’?!”

“We kinda, sorta, y'know… lied,” Tío Bruno said.

“What?!”

“Ok, hold on, we didn’t outright lie,” Tía Leandra held up her hands, “the vision wasn’t very clear and there were multiple ways to interpret it, so we chose the one that uh, didn’t make it seem like-. We chose the interpretation that would create the least amount of trouble for you.”

Mirabel stared at her Tía, she understood everything the woman had just said, and none of it at the same time. The silence dragged on, until Tío Bruno apparently couldn’t take it anymore.

“We don’t actually know why you didn’t get your gift,” Tío Bruno blurted, “w-we think it’s because-. I-I really do believe it’s because you need to not have a gift to fix things, b-but we don’t know.”

Mirabel took a step back, then another. She shook her head.

A lie. 

Her whole life had been a lie. 

No, not even a lie, a lie needed some truth, a solid fact, to divert itself from. A guess. Her life had been built around her Tío’s best guess.

Her parents seemingly teleported to her side, Mirabel stared up at her mother. She had known this whole time that Mirabel might be not just giftless, but completely devoid of magic. And she never said anything. Why? Was it shame? Was Julieta afraid that word would get out that Mirabel was useless? Dios, what her mother must have thought of her this entire time.

“Mirabel, this doesn’t change how amazing you are,” Julieta interrupted her thoughts.

“Absolutely,” Agustín nodded, “you have always been the kindest, most clever child a parent could hope for.”

Mirabel stared at the shadows cast by the visions on the walls. They held no answers for her, so she looked up at Tío Bruno. He watched her with a pained look on his face.

Her life wasn’t built around his best guess, it was built around a guess that would protect her.

“Is- you said you picked the interpretation that would cause me the least trouble. So, is-? What’s your most likely interpretation?”

He rubbed nervously at his arm, “W-well, at the time, that did seem like the most likely answer. But, you know, as you grew I started to think maybe Leandra’s guess was the best one.”

Mirabel looked at Leandra, who shrugged, “You’ve always been a good kid, I figured the miracle was just plain old getting weaker, and you might make it stronger again just by being you.”

“So does that mean you think I didn’t get my gift because, w-what? Chance?”

“You’re one of the best people I know, if anyone deserves a miracle, it’s you. So it has to be pure bad luck, nothing else makes sense to me,” Leandra shook her head, beside her, Tío Bruno half nodded to show he agreed.

Mirabel wasn’t sure how to take that. Under most circumstances, she would be pleased to be told she was good and deserving of miracles. But what Tía Leandra was suggesting just seemed so… cold. Like the universe had screwed her over, not for any particular reason, but because some Saint or Angel messed up their great cosmic paperwork.

A tear slipped down her cheek and her Pá immediately pulled the square out of his pocket to hand to her.

Despite it all, she still managed to give him a polite smile as she accepted it.

“So, i-if I don’t have any magic to fix things, then, then, how? What am I supposed to do?”

“Mirabel, if we’d figured out how to fix things without magic by now, we would have done so,” Tío Bruno shook his head, “you’re not in that vision because of what you are, or what you can do. You’re in that vision because you are Mirabel. Because you’re kind, and brave, and really smart. We will do everything we can to help you, but far as I can tell, it’s all going to come down to you.”

Another few tears slipped loose, and Mirabel dabbed at them with her Pá’s handkerchief. Silence prevailed for another long while. This time, nobody interrupted it.

She nodded slowly, then took a deep breath and said, “Show me the whole vision.”

Tío Bruno nodded solemnly, and they climbed the rest of the way up to his tower in silence.

His pep talk helped Mirabel to feel a little more stable, about as stable as a person could be when they just found out their entire life was built on a guess sold as fact. She eyed his back in the dim green light, sorting through the mix of emotions roiling in her stomach. She was angry at him and Tía Leandra, but she also understood why they did it and was grateful, she both trusted them more and less now that she knew they were willing to lie to the whole village to protect her, bit more than anything, she worried  their faith in her was misplaced.

They had guessed that there was magic stored inside of her, but they didn’t know. And now Tío Bruno looked at her with such utter trust, but was he just guessing she had what it takes to fix things?

They entered his vision cave through a concealed door that stood opposite the big round one. Tía Leandra popped out to grab the herbs and incense Tío Bruno would need while they discussed who would stay and watch the vision. The cave was big, but not quite big enough that all five of them could safely stand in the eye of the sand devil Tío Bruno’s vision would create. As a general rule, if more than two adults (or six small children)  tried to join Tío Bruno in the cave, somebody was getting sand in their eyes. Tía Leandra opted out, correctly guessing that Mirabel would want one of her parents with her. Julieta sighed heavily, and opted out as well, since she had apparently already seen the vision.

Mirabel watched her go, nowhere near ready to unpack how she felt about her mother helping to keep this secret. She got it, she did, and she couldn’t imagine what else her they could have done. But it still felt weird knowing her mother had helped keep such a big secret from the rest of the family. From her.

The two women stood in the round doorway, waiting for Tío Bruno to give them the go ahead to close the door.

A large hand landed on her back, and when she turned, her Pá stood next to her. He gave her a soft smile, and she felt her lips tug themselves into a watery smile right back.

“How are you doing?” he asked, keeping his voice low so Tío Bruno wouldn’t hear him from where he was setting up his herbs.

“I-,” she had started to say that she was fine, but she was sick of hearing those words, so instead she said, “I don’t know Pá. I-, díos, I think it’d take me like… a year to figure out everything I’m feeling right now.”

He chuckled, and nodded, pulling her into a side hug. He didn’t say anything, just let her lean on him until Tío Bruno called them over.

They sat in the sand, and her Má slowly closed the door. The last thing Mirabel saw before the room was plunged into near darkness was the concern on her mother’s face. 

“Right, h-hold on,” Tío Bruno said, his silhouette reaching out to either side. The three of them waited in the dark, hands joined while Tío Bruno delved into the future. At first, all she heard was Tío Bruno taking deep, calming breaths, then she felt the wind pick up. Finally, swirls of green appeared in the air, the rest of the sand invisibly circling around them.

Two glowing green eyes appeared in the dark, looking between Mirabel’s and her Pá’s shoulders. Then, Tío Bruno was illuminated by the image behind them, looking grim. 

Mirabel took her own calming breath, then turned to watch the vision unfold.

It was terrible.

It started with the candle toppling over, then the mountains broke in two, Antonio was almost crushed beneath a falling door, and then there was Mirabel, once again standing in front of Casita as it broke and healed behind her.

“Is there more? Is there anything else? S-some clue!? About how to fix all this?” Mirabel called over the wind.

Tío Bruno furrowed his brow, concentrating, but shook his head, “The vision-, it’s not ending by itself, b-but the path forward, I-. I’m flying blind here, I don’t know what way-.”

“The butterfly!” her Pá suddenly called out, pulling his hand from Tío Bruno’s to point. 

Tío Bruno whipped around to see the butterfly, then stood, pulling Mirabel up with him, “The butterfly, of course, follow the butterfly!”

Mirabel led him a few steps forward as the butterfly passed them by, then realized he probably meant that he needed to follow the butterfly using his future vision and not that they literally needed to chase the sand apparition around. Her Pá appeared on her other side, his hands warm and steady on her shoulders.

“Look, the candle,” Tío Bruno narrated, somewhat unnecessarily, “it’s burning brighter!”

“Why?” Mirabel shouted.

At the same time her Pá yelled, “How?”

“I’m looking, I’m looking,” Tío Bruno shook his head again, fingers buried in his hair, his teeth were gritted in either determination or frustration, “it’s all out of order! Everything is jumbled up, there’s so many ways this can go. Wait. Look! Here! This matches your theory Mirabel!”

In the sand, Mirabel and Isabel hugged, and the candle glowed.

“Theory?” Pá asked.

“Pain causes cracks, love heals them,” Mirabel yelled back.

“Heals…? Has this happened before? If the cracks have been forming and healing naturally, what’s changed?” 

“We think it’s something that’s been allowed to fester,” Tío Bruno said, eyes tracking things Mirabel couldn’t see, images half forming in the sand. He was beginning to look a bit gray, and his breaths were getting ragged.

He shook his head again. If his voice wasn’t so raspy, the sound he made next would have been called a groan, and if he wasn’t so gentle, Mirabel would have called it a growl. The sand began to coalesce in front of him.

“There’s too many ways it can go, I can see a lot of ways to make the candle glow brighter, but I don’t know if any of them fix things permanently. But here,” Tío Bruno plucked the tablet out of the air and handed it to Mirabel, “this is where the butterfly leads.”

On the tablet, the butterfly glowed bright gold, perched on a blade of grass. Mirabel stared at it.

“What does that mean?” her Pá asked, looking at it over her shoulder.

Beyond the dim glow of the vision, Mirabel could just barely see Tío Bruno rubbing his head, “As far as I can tell, if you see that butterfly, it means you’re on the right path.”

Mirabel nodded, although she didn’t think her Tío’s eyes were open to see it. 

“Come on hermano,” Pá said, gently taking Tío Bruno by the arm, “let’s get you off your feet.”

“Uh, n-no offense, but I think I’d rather let Mirabel help me. I don’t want to get off my feet uh, accidentally.”

“Well! Bruno, I am shocked! Absolutely shocked that you would imply I-,” her Pá started to joke, then was cut off when he somehow managed to trip over the only rock in the sand, “oof.”

Tío Bruno began coughing, a sound that was suspiciously close to a laugh trying to break free of sealed lips.

Mirabel took her Tío’s arm, leading him towards the door, “Here.”

“Gracias, Mirabel,” he said, managing to get his laughter under control.

Behind them, her Pá sighed, and she could hear him brushing himself off, “I don’t suppose I can convince anyone I did that purely for comedic effect?”

Tío Bruno snorted, “You might convince us to pretend to believe it.”

“That would be most kind of you.”

Tío Bruno opened the door, groaning when he was accosted with the low light of the outside world. Mirabel handed him off to Tía Leandra, who all but hefted him onto her broad shoulders in her rush to coddle her husband. He sighed and tried to grumpily insist he “had been doing this since he was five” and didn’t need her fretting. The effectiveness of his argument was dampened by the way he leaned heavily on her, and into her hands as they massaged his temples.

Meanwhile, her Má rushed forward, arms open, and scooped Mirabel into a hug. “How’d it go? Are you alright?”

“There weren't a lot of answers,” Mirabel said, letting her Má see the vision tablet, “but we think if we see the butterfly then everything will turn out alright.”

“That’s… very vague,” Má said, turning to Tío Bruno with a raised eyebrow, “your visions have never been this vague before.”

“Tell me about it,” Tío Bruno grumbled, resting his head on Tía Leandra’s shoulder, but still gesturing broadly, “I-I think the miracle was showing me uncertainties to try and help? I don’t know, it definitely didn’t feel like a normal vision. That’s all I can tell you.”

“Hm,” her Pá said.

While Tía Leandra cajoled Tío Bruno into eating some of the dried ginger they kept to soothe his stomach, and taking a painkiller, Mirabel and her parents stared at the golden butterfly. Well, her parents might have been staring at it, but Mirabel at least, was staring through it.

No family was perfect, Tía Leandra had always made a point to remind her of that over the years, and there were so many potential small problems that could have developed into large problems to consider.

With that in mind, Mirabel caught her mother up on their current theory, then said, “So, if we’re right, we need to figure out whose pain isn’t healing. Somebody is burying something and allowing it to fester. We need to help them, remind them we love them.”

“It could be a combination of a bunch of little problems that have festered into medium problems,” Tía Leandra pointed out, “if say, half the family has something bothering them that they’re not sharing with anyone else, that could look like one big problem.”

Mirabel nodded slowly, although something about that didn’t sit just right. She turned it around in her head for a second, then was distracted by the entire house groaning and shivering.

“We need to hurry,” Má breathed.

“Sounds to me like our best bet is to divide and conquer,” Pá agreed.

“Right. Ok, right. Pá, you need to talk to Luisa about taking more time off,” Mirabel said, reviewing where she’d seen the cracks, “Má, can you check if Dolores and Mariano have worked things out? Somebody should talk to Gabriel about how overprotective he is, I mean I get why, b-but still. A-and Tía Pepa is under way too much pressure to keep her emotions in check, so another grown up should probably talk to her. And Isabela! I’ll talk to Isabela.”

“I’ll talk to Pepa,” Tío Bruno volunteered, meekly raising a hand, “I can probably annoy her into letting go a little.”

“Then I’ll talk to Gabe,” Tía Leandra said, helping Tío Bruno stand and pulling him towards the stairs.

“Can’t we take the nice dark tunnels?” he whined.

“Do you trust them not to cave in on top of us right now?” Tía Leandra pointed out.

“Well, no. But at least it would make the headache stop.”

#Mirabel Madrigal #Bruno Madrigal #Agustin Madrigal #Julieta Madrigal #Encanto #Encanto AU

[llyncooljones]

ladle your love on me - rowaelin month day eight.

ao3 || masterlist || rowaelin month ‘22 masterlist 

prompt: rowaelin dancing

word count: 1314

trigger warnings: language, slight sexual content

tag list: @rowaelinscourt @live-the-fangirl-life  @rowaelinismyotp  @rowanaelin @fireheartwhitethorn4ever @elentiyawhitethorn  @autumnbabylon @leiawritesstories @backtobl4ck

their kitchen, dinner time.

It was their first night in their own apartment. Aelin was sat snug on the countertop, between two teetering towers of moving boxes. If she tipped her head up, to read the messy handwriting in black permanent marker, she would discover they were full of her clothes.

In other words, the movers—Lorcan, Fenrys, Elide, and all the rest of their ragtag group of friends—they’d hired—bribed with Rowan’s cooking and Aelin’s stellar company—had done a shit job and deserved to be fired—kicked out of the living room they were lying down in, sans Rowan’s cooking.

Neither Aelin nor Rowan had thrown out any of their stuff nor did they want to. They weren’t hoarders, but when you put two lots of twenty-two years’ worth of stuff it certainly did appear so. Two sets of everything, double the amount of art than they had wall space to hang art.

She had a feeling that the next few months would be spent crying as she and Rowan donated copious amounts of stuff to charity shops and homeless shelters. She had a feeling that the next few months would be spent shouting at each other trying to figure out whose bedsheets were nicest, and whose plates were the newest, or the nicest, or the least likely to break when inevitably dropped by Aelin and her famed butter fingers.

Now, though, during their first night in the first place they can call theirs, she doesn’t worry about it. Or at the very least she tries not to worry about it all. Instead, she occupies herself by eavesdropping on the conversations their friends are having in their brand-new living room.

She joyous laughter jumping around from Fenrys, the low grunt that Lorcan rarely supplies their friend group with. The echoing slap as Elide swats at his upper arm, the chuckles Aedion and Lysandra blurt out, turning into one another’s arms for support.

And she just sits there, praying the teetering boxes don’t fall down on her head, thankful for all she has. Because she isn’t sure she could have done it—do anything, alone and cold.

As the voices quieten down, as turns her attention to the hulking figure in the same room as her, the giant who is cursing the too-short countertops and stopping every few minutes to roll his shoulders out and stretch the tightening muscles in his back.

And what a back it is, she thinks, staring intently at the muscles rippling and the way his tattoo peeks up at the neckline, and the way his bulky shoulders flow down into biceps you could squash a man’s head with.

“I can feel you staring at me, babe. Something you want to tell me?” his voice is smooth and scratchy, delicious in a way she can’t quite define.

She opens her mouth to answer him, suddenly shy. She taps her tongue against the back of her teeth, thinking up an answer that isn’t fuck me, right now. She can’t. She honestly can’t fathom a thought beyond the stunning looks of her boyfriend, her new live-in boyfriend.

“Taste test?” she asks, now with an excuse. Her boyfriend turns to her, his eyes raised, suspicion written all over his facial expressions. She knows it’s flimsy, why would she be staring, drooling over her boyfriend if all she really wanted was to taste his food. It doesn’t make sense, but ever the Aelin-lover, Rowan ignores her silliness, opting instead to grab a spoon and dip it in the sauce that was simmering, slowly thickening and becoming sticky.

He takes one measured step to the island, to her, before slotting himself in between her legs. Automatically, she wraps them around him, ankles resting above the curve of his ass. The ass she’s obsessed with, that she dreams about, that constantly wants to take a bite out of.

A hand goes under her chin, tipping her up to her boyfriend’s level, thumb and forefinger gripping her jaw, the others curled under to support her chin. The hand holding the spoon taps against her lips and she accepts the offering as if she’s a goddess and Rowan is her worshipper.

She feels the analogy fits, because the food he gives her, is a form of worship, and if it isn’t already should absolutely become a form. The rich flavours, the textures that just feel like heaven over her tongue, the skill and effortless passion he puts into his food, the way he cares for his recipes like he would a pet, or a family heirloom.

He slowly pulls the spoon from between her lips, she purposely bites on it, just so her boyfriend—ever irritated by the sound of teeth on metal—smacks her lightly on her hip, enough to sting, enough to heat her blood. With her legs still wrapped around his waist, her arms join the party: winding around his neck, her finger scratching at the short hair at the nape of his neck.

The trill of him placing the spoon down on the quartz countertops acted as a beat for them to begin to. With practised hands, Rowan grabbed her under her ass, pulling her up, spinning her around, and letting her slide down his front until she was on her feet.

Knowing some cosmic beat, Rowan timed them as they swayed. Her head tucked into the junction between his neck and shoulder, her arms slung lowly around his waist, thumbs snaking a journey under his shirt, playing with his waistband and the hot, supple skin there.

The thick arms of her boyfriend were slung around her shoulders, tightly squeezing her to him, and the delicious heat and weight of his body against hers. He swung them around the kitchen area, sometimes slowly, sometimes quickly, sometimes dramatically, sometimes subduedly.

It was gorgeous, the intimacy between them, how calm and in tune, they felt. They forget their food cooking on the stove, they forgot they had friends to feed, boxes to unpack, worries to worry about, and lives to live. All that seemed to exist was their imaginary music and the other.

Together.

two years later, their wedding.

Rowan and Aelin had not stopped laughing, crying, and smiling since the speeches had begun—over an hour and a half ago. Once one of their friends finished a speech about them, another took the stage, uninvited but very welcome.

Now, all their friends took to the stage and began their ‘together’ speeches, talking about times between all of them.

“Now, as a special treat to the married couple, we want to share with a video of the two of them, on a date over two years ago, on the day they moved into their apartment. If anybody were to ask me, ask any of us, when was the first time we realised Rowan and Aelin were never going to stop loving each other, would always be together, I, we, would tell you about this moment,” spoke Fenrys, “and I am man enough to admit, that watching this video brought tears to my eyes every single time.”

On a projector screen that had previously displayed slideshows of guests and the couple, was now a massive play button. With much fanfare, Fenrys reached onto his phone screen to press play.

The noise of socks against tiles filled the hall, and the slow breaths of whoever was filming it, they filled most of the screen—the rest obscured by a door frame. Squashed together on the screen were Rowan and Aelin.

Looking at the video, neither could tell where one of them began, and the other ended. They seemed to be one person. The video was short, but the swaying dance and the quiet murmurs of their conversation were enough to get their point across.

Was enough to have tears welling in both Aelin and Rowan’s eyes.

#rowaelinmonth #rowaelin month 2022 #rowaelin month #rowaelinscourt #rowaelin #aelin galathynius #throne of glass #tog #tog fic #my fic #my writing #llyncooljones' writing #rowan whitethorn

[filament-max]

At the Catch Ch. 9 Preview #2

I have good news and bad news.  The good news is I have a preview for you!  It does, however, develop major plot points, so avoid if you don’t like spoilers.  It’s also angst, though I cannot emphasize enough that 80% of this chapter is not angst.  The bad news is I haven’t had as much time to write lately (thanks to work + vacation + training), and am only about 20k into this chapter.  Which I think is about half-done?  Hoping my pace will pick up these next few weeks, but I don’t want to promise anything.  Thanks for your patience!

“Kara!”

And she didn’t even have time to look towards the source of the shout before Kara was dragging her along behind, threading through the clumps of supporters waiting on rowers.  When Lena finally managed to look, it was difficult not to see Clark, standing at least a head taller than just about every other person in the crowd and swamped with clamoring fans.

He did appear distinctly, almost irritatingly heroic, standing tall, shoulders square, a muscular arm cocked with sharpie in hand as he dashed off a series of autographs on every shirt and scrap of paper offered to him.  When he glanced over, he flashed them a smile, though it wasn’t exactly megawatt, and it faded quickly as they approached.  He reached up to the side of his face, in that same way that Kara always did, frowned as he fidgeted with the black frame of his glasses.

Frowned at her.  Frowned about her.

It hit her then—had Kara not told him?

And sure, she could see why she wouldn’t be anyone’s first pick, but it still stung to see the disappointment in real time.

“Clark!”  Lena tore her eyes away, let them rest on Kara instead.  It was stupid, how the sting in her chest grew that greater bit more, seeing Kara’s excitement.  Kara should be allowed to be excited to see her cousin, even if he didn’t like her.

Even if he tells her you’re not good enough.

Luckily, a brash voice broke into her thoughts, stopped her from sinking into them.  “Okay, folks, I’m afraid he’s closed for business!  Allow me to direct you to other roadside attractions, including—but not limited—to:  the giant ball of twine, Carhedge, the Grand Canyon, etc., etc.  Drive safe now!”

A woman with dark hair came into view as the crowd started to clear, standing next to Clark, but certainly not on his arm.

And that had to be-.

“Lois Lane.”  

She offered her hand, and Kara stepped forward to take it in her free one.  “I’m Kara.”

There was something so interested, so focused in how Lois looked at Kara then, and Lena could feel how Kara was holding her breath, how Kara’s fingers tightened around her own.

And then Lois smirked at Clark, said, “I see why Smallville hid you away.  You’re gonna steal all his adoring fans.”

Kara let out a guffaw, choked it back.  Shrugged herself through her obvious discomfort, shifted closer to Lena’s side.

Smoothing her thumb over Kara’s knuckles, Lena stole a glance at Clark.  Found him looking right back at her, almost through her.  Her stomach dropped, and she turned her gaze away coolly, was nonetheless grateful when Lois spoke again.

“Not too many adoring fans from Valcourt though, I suppose.”

Kara hummed low at that, a thoughtful sound. Thankfully didn’t seem bothered by the question.  Lena would intervene the moment that seemed the case.  

“No, I guess not.”  She felt Kara take a deep breath, let it out.  “Valcourt wasn’t good for me.  I wasn’t…happy there.”

“Mm.  I’m glad you moved on, then.  Courageous of you,” Lois said.

Kara rubbed the back of her neck, gave a stilted chuckle that just screamed that a bout of adorable rambling was nigh.

“Oh, I…uh…I don’t know about that.  But, um, it’s so nice to meet you!  I really admire your work, your investigations I mean—the articles!  That one about the governor…huh, wow. But the one I think I like most is that series of…um, profiles, I think?  Profiles of houseless folks!  Back in 2015? That housing program started right after, and I think that’s just…so freaking cool.”  

Lois’s eyes gleamed, and she reached over with her free hand, squeezed Kara’s arm.  “You do your homework, Midvale.  Looking forward to working with you this summer.”

It was sudden then, how Lois’s eyes fell on her.  “And I know who you are.”

Lena tensed for what would follow, what always followed.  Wondered if it were healthy that she had about a dozen tried-and-true responses for hostile reactions to her last name.

The corner of Lois’s lips quirked up, barely restrained amusement fighting its way into her tone. “But I didn’t know you were Kara’s girlfriend.”

Amusement.  Lois didn’t seem to mind she was Kara’s girlfriend, was even amused about it.

It felt a little like missing a stair, precarious and unbalanced and caught totally off-guard.

“Yes!  Right.  Sorry,” Kara whispered the apology, suddenly ducking close, bringing warmth with her.  Just as quickly gone (though the warmth remained), facing Lois and Clark.  “This is Lena.  We’re together.”

And that steadied her, warmed her still further, from the inside out, stirred at the perfect way Kara had put it—they were together, and stronger for it.  The look she caught Kara shooting at Clark then rippled with muted defiance, with firm assurance.

“Let me just-.”  Lois stepped between Clark and Kara, offered her hand.  Shot her a canted smile.  “Nice to meet you, Lena.”

She had to let go of Kara’s hand to take Lois’s.  Did so, if a tad reluctantly, the sting still aching there in her chest.  “Nice to meet you too.”  Prepared to reach for Kara’s hand again when Clark’s was suddenly there, palm-up.

It felt, bizarrely, like an apology, even before she’d looked up and met Clark’s eyes, found them as deeply blue and deadly earnest as Kara’s, puppy-like in their contriteness.

The sting faded a bit more.

Tentatively, she took his hand, turned it so they could shake properly.

He cleared his throat. “I’m…uh…I forget to give people the benefit of the doubt sometimes.  Not quite as good at that as Kara here.”

And she couldn’t quite keep herself from saying, “Maybe if you’d spent more time with her.”

Didn’t look away even as a thick silence swallowed them, Clark’s eyes moving over her face with wide-eyed appraisal.

It might have been a few minutes or an eternity, but he finally tilted his head to the side, looked between her and Lois for some reason.  And smiled. Smiled like he couldn’t be more pleased at being told off.  

“You’re not wrong there.  It’s good to meet you, Lena.”  He let their hands slide apart, and all Lena saw then was a blonde blur, Kara beside her one moment and hugging Clark with desperate strength next.

It felt private, suddenly, and she turned back to the crowd.  Couldn’t keep herself from overhearing the whispered exchange that followed:

“I missed you.”

“Missed you too. I’m sorry, Kara.  It’ll never be like that again.”

And the joy she felt for Kara then chased the sting away, briefly, incandescent in her chest.  Even if Clark didn’t like her, at least he’d be there for Kara, at last.

Lena felt, more than saw, Lois sidle up next to her, whisper, “They’re such softies.”

She snorted at that, at how true it rang.  Shook her head a little.  “That’s why they’re the best.”

Lois bumped their shoulders together.  “Agreed.”

The crowd was starting to clear, now, the Metropolis rowers trudging off with their families and a few of their NCU teammates making their way to the bus.  She took a step forward, scanned the crowd for a familiar bald head.  He had to be around here-.

“I see you’ve all started without me.”

She whipped around to face the voice.  “Lex.”

And she didn’t quite launch herself like Kara had at Clark, but she did take a few brisk steps and pull him into a tight hug.  Closed her eyes and inhaled his familiar smell, high and sharp and minty.

“You act like we haven’t seen each other in years which is,” Lex chuckled nervously, patted her back lightly, “…factual.”  

She hugged him tighter, remembered how wrenching it’d been to say bye to him that brief visit during her junior year. Thought, with astonishing clarity, that she didn’t know if she could go so long without seeing him again.

“Were you always a hugger?  I don’t remember you being a hugger.  Perhaps it’s your exposure to…well, to your girlfriend, if you’ll stop hugging me for long enough to introduce us.”

She scoffed, but still felt impossibly light about the whole thing, drew back to look him up and down.  He looked the same, lean and distinguished in a tailored black suit.  Glanced over at Kara and nodded for her to approach.  “Lex, Kara.  Kara, Lex.”

“There’s that Luthor efficiency.”  He reached past her to take Kara’s proffered hand, shook it energetically.  “You know, you’re the first girl Lena has properly introduced to me, so I’ve got years, years of embarrassing stories all stored up-.”

“Lex!”

He continued to pump Kara’s hand up and down, his attention fixed squarely on her.  “You just say the word, and I can tell you all about Lena’s-.”

“LEX!”

Lex rolled his eyes, faux put out.  “Fine.”  Turned suddenly sly, grinning at her.  “You’re safe. For now.”  He released Kara’s hand.

For her part, Kara seemed a little shell-shocked, took a moment to speak.  “It’s so good to meet you!  I owe you a drink sometime.”

Lex squinted at her, tapped his chin.  “Did we make a bet I’m forgetting?”

“No, but you told Lena she should trust me.”

“Oh, well,” Lex gestured, his hand fluttering aimlessly, “you seem quite harmless.”  He lowered his voice, mumbled under his breath, “Cleared the background check too.”

“Lex.”

He coughed.  “In any case, if you’d like to redistribute some of your limited student wealth upwards to me, I’d be a knave to accept the gesture.  Good thing I fit the bill.”

“You don’t say.”  Clark stepped up, chuckling.  “It’s been a long time, Lex.”

Lex stilled, which Lena knew to most people made it look like he was less nervous, less jittery.  But it really just meant he was holding it all inside.  “Clark.”

“It’s good to see you again,” Clark said, care put into each word, as if he’d never met anything more.

She brushed Kara’s hand with her own, twined their fingers together.  Looked between Lex and Clark to see what would come next, her stomach tight and anxious.

After a few heavy moments, Clark gestured and said, “This is Lois, my fiancée.”

“Who doesn’t know Lois?” Lex said, feigned carelessness in the way he spoke, the way he rested his hand on his neck.  “You made things…difficult…for me when you pushed the governor out.”

Lois grinned.  “Well, if I don’t make your life a little challenging, who will?”

“That’s true,” Lex said, reflective rather than careless now.  “It’s a relief to start fresh, sometimes.”  

Blinking, he seemed to remember himself, his eyebrows furrowing.  He edged away slightly.  “Well, it’s been…pleasant.”  He met her eyes, softened.  Opened his mouth like he was going to say more.

Clark beat him to it. “Wait!  Before you go, I did want to ask you about something,” He rested his hands on his hips.  “I heard you withdrew your donation for the new dock and training center.”  There was something easy even in the confrontation, as if it were all just a misunderstanding.

A chill ran down her spine as it dawned at her—where else but at Valcourt would Lex think of making such a donation?

She watched Lex’s eyes flick over to Kara briefly, watched them return to Clark.  Had the same thought that Lex probably did—he doesn’t know.

The chills only spread, flooded her, and she desperately tried to catch Lex’s eye, but surely, surely he would understand not to tell.

And he did seem to realize, his voice flat, toneless, almost bored—“And?  I’m not hearing a question.”

Clark frowned.  “Was there a reason you did that?”

Her breath hitched in her chest, and she held it.

Don’t tell, Lex, don’t tell, please don’t-.

“Not that comes to mind.”

Slowly, like gathering storm clouds, Clark scowled, eyebrows descending.  “Don’t be like that, Lex.  Those boys are devastated.  When you make a promise, the least you can do is keep it.”

“Well,” Lex raised a hand, his lips twisting into a thin smile, clearly nearing the end of his patience, “it’s obviously not the least I can do. I think I did the least I can do.”

Clark huffed, took a step towards him. “You’re…why would you do that?”  He shook his head like a disappointed parent.  “But I guess you don’t have that sort of money to spare.”

“Maybe you could help them hold a bake sale.  I read somewhere that builds character.”

It seemed effortless, how Lex was winding Clark up now, Clark’s mouth opening and closing like a fish’s.  And perhaps this was how to treat Clark when he patronized you. It certainly didn’t seem unfamiliar to Lex, this routine.

“It’s unbelievable how selfish you can be when you put your mind to it,” Clark said, his voice seething with quiet anger.

There had always been something subtle, something secret about Lex’s hurt.

She hadn’t learned to hear it, to see it until a few years ago.

It didn’t flash across his face, or creep into his tone, or settle in the low slope of his shoulders.

Lex didn’t lash out in anger or sink into sadness when he was hurt; no, when Lex was hurt, he doubled down on his smugness, on his own untouchability.

And Clark’s last words must have hurt, for the absolute shit-eating grin Lex directed at him, how it screamed, I know something you don’t.  Then, Lex said, “That may be, but it’s not a program I can support any longer.  At least not under the current leadership and the…culture…it allows.”

Time slowed, and she turned to Kara.  Saw the first wave of emotion, the surprised lift of her eyebrows, the way her lips parted.  Shifting, her lips curling up in a smile, something like wonder, like relief lighting up her eyes.  The realization that Lex had cancelled his donation for her.

And then.  And then.  

Kara’s thoughts catching up.  

Working out that Lex knew, her expression stiffening. Working out that Clark and Lois were watching, turning to them.  

And Lena followed Kara’s eyes, turned to Clark and Lois too.  

Saw that Clark looked confused, still.  

Saw that Lois didn’t.  

And then, under her breath, almost too quiet to make out, Lois muttered, “Fuckers.”  

Lena glanced back at Kara, all the heaviness of this slowed series of moments catching up, dragging her down with their combined weight.  

And Kara.  

Kara leaning forward, sinking into herself, shoulders rising as if to protect herself.  

But that didn’t stop it from happening.  Didn’t stop Lois or Lex from knowing.

A brief moment, wheels clearly spinning in Kara’s head, working overtime, fighting for purchase.  

Working out how Lex must know.  

They felt even slower then, even heavier, those few seconds Kara spent to face her, to look at her.  

To stare at her like she’d just pulled a knife out of her back, bewildered and hurt and spiraling—you?  

Or perhaps, if Kara were feeling literary—et tu, Brute?  

And the last thing Lena felt before time sped back up, started to go far too quickly, was Kara letting her hand go.

#at the catch #supercorp #did someone say self indulgent angst

[enjomo-arch]

Such  a  thing  would  go  unexpected.  Anyone  who  ever  heard  his  name  certainly  in  this  life  would  not  expect  that  the  same  sinister  pirate  who  is  wanted  practically  all  over  the  world  is  actually  a  good  dancer.  Altrough  it  wasn't  a  thing  Ace  would  go  and  babble  about  when  it  came  to  his  personal  experience,  Sanji  really  looked  eager  to  learn.  Luffy  probably  told  him  about  it,  or  was  able  to  deduce  it  himself  as  Ace  was  able  to  entertain  the  crew  with  dance  moves  during  parties  and  camping.  More  for  fun  than  anything  but,  it  was  pretty  endearing  to  see  the  blonde  cook  excited.  It  didn't  escape  him  how  awe  was  painted  on  his  face  when  Ace  performed  the  basic  steps,  really  more  as  a  showcase  than  anything  before  actually  letting  the  cook  get  a  hang  of  it.

The  rhythmic  sound  of  music  coming  from  one  of  the  transponder  snails  quieted  down  when  Ace  finished  his  performance.  Both  hands  rested  on  the  said  hips  that  seconds  ago  were  swaying,  almost  as  if  Ace  was  weightless  and  the  passion  of  his  movements  didn't  fail  to  capture  the  cook's  attention.  

❝  If  that's  what  y'think.  It's  really  simple  basics.  Try  it,  lemme  see  what  y'got.  ❞  Dancing  without  proper  shoes  was  kind  of  a  challenge,  but  Ace  didn't  even  have  them,  natural  body  movement  came  from  the  experience  especially  when  he'd  hum  the  marines  with  Samba  performances  when  he  was  operating  undercover  to  get  the  information  he  needed.  His  finger  tapped  the  snail  to  play  the  music  and  seeing  how  Sanji  practically  immediately  failed  to  impress  him  with  the  observed  movements  he  shook  his  head  with  a  chuckle.  Arms  wrapped  tightly  on  his  chest  as  he  watched  and  couldn't  tell  it  was  as  easy  as  Sanji  thought  it  was.  ❝  It  looks  terrible  lemme  be  honest  y'dance  samba  almost  like  y'have  a  giant  stick  up  your  ass,  cook.  ❞

Ace  got  up  from  his  seat,  approaching  the  blonde  and  putting  a  palm  on  his  waist.  Holding  it  tightly  and  pulling  him  closer  until  the  bottom  part  of  their  bodies  crashed  against  each  other.  ❝  Relax,  we  are  learning,  aight  ?  In  the  end  y'wanna  impress  Nami  so  imagine  I  am  her.  No  need  to  be  shy,  touch  as  much  as  y'want.  ❞  His  words  were  supportive,  or  at  least  tried  to  be  when  Ace  adjusted  their  position  a  bit.  ❝  The  whole  art  is  'bout  bein'  comfortable  with  your  weight.  Make  your  movements  loose,  wanna  try  leadin'  me  or  should  I  ?  ❞

@kickxsscook : "Sure, that looks easy enough." Sanji noted with a faux confidence, after watching Ace perform the basic steps of Samba. The way he moved to the music was so fluid, so natural as if he was born to dance, skill and confidence evident in every sway of his hips. Sanji couldn't help but feel somewhat mesmerized. (It was a dance full of passion, anyone with a sense of beauty would have admired such a performance... Anyone, right?) "Just imagine Nami-san in a tight red dress, a long slit on the side." Yes, that thought should do it. Hands clasped together and he donned an overexcited smile at the mental image. "I can't wait to twirl her around until she has no choice but to fall in love with me." Swooning ceased quickly and he tried to mimic the steps Ace'd shown him earlier. Sanji did have a certain grace about his movements, but frankly, he looked like a ballerina trying to do hiphop for the first time. Not completely hopeless, but certainly strange. "It doesn't look right, does it?"

#kickxsscook #AHH dancing thread < 33 #「003」 𝗜𝗡 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗖𝗧𝗘𝗥 #「004」 𝗥𝗘𝗣𝗟𝗬

[believingispowerfulmagic]

Miracles Can Happen

Summary: On July 16, 2013, Regina Mills and her son Henry boarded Storybrooke Airlines Flight 815 from Orlando to New York. Robin Locksley boarded the same flight. During the flight, a moment of bad turbulence rattles the passengers. But it gets worse when they land and find out that they've somehow flown five years into the future. 

Now the passengers must navigate a world that has moved on without them and find where they belong in it. While they started as strangers, Robin and Regina soon find themselves relying on each other as they try to figure out what happened to them. And as they do, they start to wonder if maybe it all happened for a reason.

Chapter 1: FFN | AO3 | Wattpad

Chapter 4: Reconnecting

FFN | AO3 | Wattpad

Excerpt: 

Regina took a deep breath before stepping up to the doors of the building in front of her. They slid open and she stepped into the air-conditioned lobby, pulling her blazer tighter around her. She approached the reception area, unnerved by the giant portrait of her and Henry hanging behind it. It certainly looked as if they were dead.

She leaned against the counter and stared down at the receptionist, a young blonde woman who was engrossed in something on her computer screen. "Excuse me?"

The woman looked up, her blue eyes widening. "You're Regina Mills!"

"Uhh, yes," she replied, feeling a bit uncomfortable. "I'm here for the support group meeting."

"Of course," the woman said, jumping up. "I'll take you there. Follow me."

Regina thanked her and followed as the woman led her down a nearby hallway. The walls were painted a nice beige color and portraits of the passengers on her flight hung on them. It gave it a more welcoming feel, like she was walking through a friend's house rather than an office.

The woman stopped in front of a red door with a little window, reminding Regina of Henry's classroom. "This is it. My name is Tink, if you need anything," the woman said.

"Thank you," Regina replied, wondering how the young woman got that name. She then pushed it from her mind as she entered the room, her stomach a jumble of nerves.

Several people sat in folding chairs that were arranged in a circle. Regina recognized all from the plane and though she couldn't remember all their names, she greeted everyone she passed and exchanged pleasantries with them. There were only two empty chairs and she was happy to see one was next to Robin, who straightened up in his chair as she approached him.

"Hello there," he greeted, kissing her cheek as she sat down next to him.

"Hi," she replied, kissing his cheek in return. "I'm glad you came."

He smiled at her. "I wouldn't let you face this by yourself. Besides, I think it might be good for all of us to talk. Who else is going to understand what we've been going through except each other?"

She nodded, knowing that Robin had been one of her greatest resources. He was always willing to talk to her and always understood her concerns and difficulties-just like she understood his. But unlike her, he had a wife who had remained loyal and who he was trying to reconnect with. The last thing they needed was her always leaning on him. She hoped this support group would help her do so a little less, just to give him some more time for his family.

A red-headed man wearing a green sweater vest over a white shirt and brown pants entered the room. He carried a pad under one arm and a cup of coffee in one of his hands. Blue eyes surveyed the room behind tortoise-shell glasses before he took the only free seat. "Hello, I'm Dr. Archie Hopper and I'll be mediating these support group sessions," he announced.

"And what experience do you have with what we went through?" one passenger asked. He sat across from Dr. Hopper, slouched in his chair and with his arms crossed. The man glared at the doctor and overall had a sour demeanor. Regina recalled that his last name was Grump-which she only remembered because she, Robin and Henry had commented on how fitting it was for him.

Dr. Hopper didn't seem fazed. "That is a fair question. I will be honest with all of you-this is uncharted territory. The closest experience I can cite is that I've worked with patients who have been in comas for long periods of time, years in a few cases. In many ways, you are experiencing some things they do-waking up to find life and the world has gone by without you."

Regina was impressed by his answer. She appreciated his honesty but admitted that his experience probably made him the best to help them. "Thank you, Doctor," she said as others nodded.

"You're welcome," he said. Setting his coffee down, Dr. Hopper looked around at everyone. "So...who wants to go first?"

A nervous looking woman raised her hand, her wide brown eyes darting around the room. "I guess I will."

She introduced herself as Astrid Nova before talking about the difficulty she had re-integrating into the world. Her apartment had been leased and most of her stuff donated or sold by her landlord as she hadn't had family or friends in the area to take care of it for her. Since returning, Astrid had been staying at a convent with some sisters she had volunteered with before the incident. They had let her pick clothes from the ones donated to them for the poor and used some other funds to help her get some necessary items.

"I'm really grateful to them," she said, "but I feel like a failure. Like I should be able to provide all of this for myself. But I can't. I'm still trying to get my accounts unfrozen. I'm trying to find steady employment. And until I get those, I can't find a place of my own."

Many around the circle nodded. They shared how they had trouble accessing accounts as well and finding places of their own. Some were staying with family and others were couch surfing amongst friends. A few others were relying on the kindness of organizations much like Astrid. It made Regina glad her parents had taken control of her accounts and had continued to maintain her townhouse. She didn't have to worry about money or shelter for her and Henry thanks to them.

"I have a house, thankfully," Robin said beside her. "And my wife still had our accounts so adding my name back on them wasn't too hard. But I am struggling to find a job. Most of the colleges and universities have their staff set so it's been hard to find an opening somewhere."

"There has to be someplace looking for even adjunct staff," another person said, frowning.

He sighed. "There are, but the five years is hurting me. You wouldn't think there would've been many advancements in English-it's not like it's science or math-but many colleges want me to go back to class to get caught up so I'm not teaching anything outdated."

"So take the damn classes," Leroy replied, "instead of complaining to us."

Regina bristled and frowned at him. "I thought this was a place where people could share their struggles and not get judged?"

"It is," Dr. Hopper confirmed. He glanced over at Leroy. "I'm going to ask people to respect that or you will not be invited back to participate."

Leroy glowered as he sunk down in the seat, crossing his arms. He muttered: "Fine, fine. Whatever."

"I'm sorry, Robin," Dr. Hopper said. "Please continue."

Robin glanced over at Leroy. "I am planning on taking the classes but it's not like I get a discount or anything. They are expensive and we just have my wife's income. And a son about to start kindergarten. So it'll be like going back to school."

"I'm sure you'll find something," Regina assured him, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze.

He gave her a soft smile. "Thank you."

"Maybe you'll find a place that will let you teach while you take classes," Astrid said hopefully. "That would be a help, right?"

Robin nodded. "It would be. And I hope I can find that too."

Leroy narrowed his eyes as he studied Regina. "You've been awfully quiet, sister. Did our plane ride not fuck up your life? Is everything perfect? Why are you here?"

"Leroy," Dr. Hopper said sharply. "Don't make me warn you again."

Regina met Leroy's eyes. "My fiancé married my best friend and my son can't understand why we don't just get back together again."

"Never mind. You're just as bad off as us," he agreed, leaning back in his seat again.

She raised an eyebrow, not sure if that was a good thing or not. "Thanks?"

"Is your son struggling with any other parts of adapting?" another woman asked. "Because mine is."

Regina nodded. "My son always struggled to make friends and now the ones he did make are teenagers while he's still ten. A couple have been good about coming by to spend time with him, but it's awkward. They have different interests and care about different things now. I feel like he's back at square one."

"The same is happening with my son," the other woman replied sadly. "I just wish I knew what to do to help him."

"We can discuss it afterwards," Dr. Hopper said kindly. "And that goes to anyone who wants to find a personal solution to their problems. I am available after our group sessions and you can arrange to have a private session with me."

Regina made a note to ask Dr. Hopper for a private session after the meeting as the conversation moved on around her.

#once upon a time #outlaw queen #oq au #oq ff #manifest au #miracles can happen

[ditttiii]

I’m glad you haven’t forgotten me (the granny whose name starts with a k, yep that’s me) Trust me, if you are to blame for such a long time of silence, I’ll eat my shoe. I even have your box of goodies put together but never managed to send it off!!! (Promise I’ll purchase all the edibles and send it off first thing tomorrow!)

I’m sorry to hear that life hasn’t been the best, I know that we all have learning lessons, but some of them just suck and hurt more than they should. I hope that the hurt has faded to a memory that you can put behind you. And while I’d hope to commiserate and offer support for any bad choices, I won’t make you relive them. Instead, tell me about the brightest and happiest choice that you made if you would like to brag about it, I’d love to hear!

Toto has gotten so big!!! Such a fluff ball!!! It looks like he’s enjoying life~ lol. Mischievous huh? Have any stories about that? I’m curious!

Also, you’re such a sap! I’m glad you’re happy to hear from me, but we all know that you’re the light of our lives~

- 🍅🍞XOXO

heck no ofc i havent forgotten r u kidding me 😭 u r one of the very few friends i always think of that i feel like live in my alternate life hidden away from others on this hellfire site. i also am veryy proud of how much i feel like ik about you ahah 💗😚 and noo way you STILL DO?? 😭 istg i will actually lose it if that happens and you will most certainly have to bear my baby ass crying for joy and being sentimental over it all for the rest of our lives aaah i cant even wrap my head around the fact that u still remember let alone have a half packed box maam u r going to make me BAWL 😭💗😭💗😭

*sobs*

those learning lessons do hurt like hell yeah and i m still working through a few things but a lot of that hurt is yeah thankfully a memory. some of the same triggers are still present in my life but the way i handle them has changed for the better i think.

and ooo hmm have i made any bright choices this year lol? but mmmm i think choosing to break up with my boyfriend and realizing my self worth? i really battled with crap mental and physical health this year and the relationship that i had previously so deeply cherished and been vulnerable in turned toxic and very absent and i think finding the strength to pick me and choose me and hold onto my love for me and being real enough to acknowledge what had already fallen apart was...something. it made me grow as a person making that choice and helped me feel as though i have somehow reclaimed my pride and peace from the shambles of that relationship after losing so much in it. the whole thing still hurts but i am also so dang proud of myself. it was my first time being in love maybe and yeah, i m just really protective and proud of me now. which coincidentally, you're on your kid? slaps. the song slaps for me. mother taylor knowing whatsup always 🙇🏻‍♀️

toto issss a giant furr ball now truly like its 6:30 am here and i can hear him barking and running around in the yard out. he feels no remorse ever for waking us up at ass crack dawn to pee lol. and ooo gosh i have so mant toto stories, just the other day he tackled my cook lady to the couch and jumped on her lap to give her lickies and kisses. ofc hes a 30+ kg mammoth with far too much excitement running through his veins so the whole experience was a little less cute for that lady who is now parts soft parts terrified of him. but yea he lovess car rides and will huff and glare and pout until i concede and take him out and ofc coming back it is. never. enough

🤡

my man's not too high on iq.

#you are all my stars #sun and moon. not even up for debate #U R SO FKN TALENTED AND NICE AND KIND AND LIKE DO U HAVE ANY IDEA MISS #ily heck loads u r my star and i ll fite on that hill 4 life #ditttiii asks #🍅🍞 anon #ALLLL M Y HUGS AND KISSES BB #xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

[claire-starsword]

Bloodline of the Sacred Dragons - Chapter 3-4 & 3-5

The weather didn't look good.

The sky was full of heavy clouds, ready to rain down at any moment.

Having arrived at the east edge of the plains, the people of Pao began setting up their bazaar. They put up frames, and wrapped them up in thick cloth to make walls. Then more fabric was used to cover them and the job was done. In less than an hour, the Pao Train was surrounded by colorful tents that had blossomed like flowers.

For better or for worse, the rain began once the tents were already up.

To the plains, the rain was a blessing.

But to Bleu's group, it was only something to delay their departure.

To confirm that the rain wouldn't let up any time soon, they went to see Queen Koron.

As if she had predicted the time of their visit, she had all her main aides reunited there for an audience.

"Sir Bleu, hurry to Uranbatol as fast as possible. This rain brings misfortune."

Coming from a prophet, those words sounded terribly ominous. That worry wasn't lessened by the panicked soldier running up to them.

"I've came to report. A squad of devils is invading the bazaar right now. There's dozens of them. One is a giant squid monster."

"A kraken. Seems that Ziduur hasn't given up on the Manual yet," Camallia whispered as she heard the report.

"Are these the devils that crossed the ocean to steal the Manual? In that case, we have to make them regret challenging us."

Queen Koron turned to her aides, her right arm pointing energetically to each of them. The bright blue shawl covering up to her fingers flapped, exposing her sleeveless emerald dress with golden embroidery.

"Take out our soldiers and wipe the enemies out. We'll gather all civilians in the Pao Train and then station it away from the battlefield."

The people hurried away to fulfill Koron's orders.

"Is it possible to see the enemies from the head car?"

"Yes," a soldier from Koron's personal guard answered firmly.

"Then, please follow me. Sir Bleu, you and your group shouldn't leave this train."

"No, we will fight too," Bleu said to the queen.

"That won't do. Leave this matter to us."

"No, those who can fight shouldn't be wasting time here. I'm leaving the Manual to Karin. Tyrin, Randolf, Guntz, Camallia, let's go."

Calling his companions, Bleu made his way to leave the room.

"Wait, I'll go too," Karin stopped him.

'Why can't I go but Camallia can?', she accused in her mind.

"You protect the Manual," he told her, and took the others outside. Koron only called for Guntz to stop.

"I have a request for Sir Guntz. Please come with me."

Taking him with her, the queen went to the head car. Karin, Krin and Karna, having been left behind, followed them without being told no.

***5***

Swinging its ten legs full of suction cups, the kraken pounded the tents repeatedly as it advanced.

It was a monster from the ocean, the depths of it no less, and would never come to the surface by itself. The land wasn't its territory. As proof of it, it couldn't support its huge body, dragging itself through the ground slowly.

This was all in vain, thought Ziduur as he stared at the summoning circle he had inscribed in the ground with his own blood.

He certainly would have the upper hand if attacking them at sea. But, he was afraid of losing the Manual in the waters. Finding the semi-transparent object there would be near impossible.

If he didn't come back with the Manual, his master would destroy him. For sure.

Anxious, Ziduur decided to rush things.

At least the rain, that he had brought down using more of the Devil Jewel's power, was washing away the magic circle he used to summon the kraken and the other monsters.

"Go, steal the Manual, and kill the Sacred Dragon and all his followers."

Ziduur ordered the devils shaking his left arm, the only one he had left. The monsters advanced towards the Pao Train. They were half men half-fish known as soulsowers, and purple worms and gargoyles, with the kraken as their main force.

The soldiers of Pao were well ready to welcome them.

They dodged the anemone-like feelers of the purple worms and stabbed them with their lances, and cut down the hard scales of the soulsowers with their Battle Axes.

The problem were the gargoyles. Bleu was good against flying enemies like them, but they were too many. The ones he failed to finish off began chasing the retreating train. Bleu went after them, and the kraken after him, knocking down the soldiers in its way.

Its many legs, ondulating heavily like waves of a storm, stretched towards Bleu. If caught by one of those suction cups, he would be slammed down to the ground with no escape. Bleu made the best of his flying skills to fly around the kraken. Its huge body also proved itself terribly resistant to Bleu's lightning breath.

"Let's hit it while it's chasing Sir Bleu," Tyrin shouted. He was leading soldiers carrying Buster Shot cannons loaded with explosive bullets.

Estimating the timing of Bleu's and the soldiers' actions, he cast a Freeze spell. The cold storm assaulted the kraken while turning the falling rain into a hail. A soft part of the monster's body couldn't stand the attack and froze, white. The soldiers concentrated their shots there. The power of their weapons, built in Prompt thanks to the legacies of the Ancients, smashed the kraken's frozen skin.

Leaking blue blood, the monster's anger changed its color to black, and released its poisonous ink, the Aqua Breath, in the direction of Tyrin and the soldiers.

A soldier failed to dodge and was completely covered in the ink, perishing.

"Are you okay, Tyrin?"

Randolf came by after cutting a purple worm into slices, grabbing Tyrin's arm and carrying him to a safe place.

"Couldn't you be a little more gentle?" Tyrin yelled, with water dripping down his beard like a waterfall, and covered in mud. If he had enough energy to complain then he was just fine, Randolf laughed.

"Are you two alright?" Bleu had come back, worried. "Where's Camallia?" He asked, not seeing the girl there.

"She went after the gargoyles, to protect the train. Leave that place to the girls," Randolf said, pointing to the Pao Train, and then the kraken with his thumb, "our priority is doing something about that monster."

Water came down with no mercy on his open mouth.

The train's large shape could be only be dimly seen in the pouring rain. Because of that, it looked farther away than it really was, and Bleu felt anxious. An indescribable fear ran through his veins at the realization that he had left Karin somewhere he couldn't reach.

"Don't worry, Queen Koron and Camallia will handle the girls and the Manual somehow. You heard the King of Bustoke, you don't fight by yourself. We gotta do what we can in our area. Right now, that's defeating that monster," Randolf shouted, sensing Bleu's fear. The rain was so strong that being that loud was the only way to talk.

"Alright, let's do it Tyrin's way one more time. Randolf, you lead the remaining knights and open further the wound they made before. I'll deal with its movements and poison somehow."

Giving these short orders, Bleu flew once again.

Translation notes:

Devil Jewel is written 悪魔のジュエル, with my translation being as literal as it can be (I guess Devil's Jewel could also work, but my translation feels better as a name). However, this is exactly what the Jewel of Evil is called in japanese SF2 as well. They're clearly not the same jewel, as that one is blue, but I figured I'd note that.

Soulsowers. If you don't remember, they are fish enemies from SF2, and I'm using the same name the localization gave them so people can recognize them right away. Their japanese name however is completely different, インスマンス (Insumansu). The term seems to come from the H. P. Lovecraft novel "The Shadow Over Innsmouth", which features fish-faced people. The term インスマス面 (Innsmouth-face, sometimes spelled as インスマウス面 instead) seems to have become a general term for describing characters with fish-faces, or just distorted faces with wide eyes spread too far from each other, or at least that's the gist i got browsing pixiv and nnd. So that mostly explains the name, but I couldn't figure out if the spelling used here is another known alternative spelling or something unique to Shining. Don't ask me where the localization got soulsower from, though. I tried looking the term up and, I just get actual SF2 results lol.

In SF2, the kraken has eight legs and ten arms, here no distinction was made between arms and legs.

Also, Aqua Breath is not poisonous there, but I totally understand the writer changing it to something more threatening and deadly than bubbles. Curiously, Final Conflict, which was released a year after this novel, did include a kraken enemy variant in a different color that had poison attacks. Coincidence? Most likely, but why would I pass an opportunity to mention Final Conflict.

I'm somehow not done talking about the kraken, did you know that it really is coded to be weak to ice magic in SF2? But you don't have access to ice magic in that part of the game so it goes wasted. This was pointed out in at least one strategy guide so the writer might be referencing it. On the other hand though, Freeze is just supposed to be Tyrin's specialty anyway.

#shining series #shining force #shining force 2 #shining force novel translation #bloodline of the sacred dragons #sf bleu #sf2 tyrin piper #sf2 randolf dongo #sf karin #sf koron #sf guntz #sfbotsd ziduur #here he reveals his true evil: cephalopod abuse #seriously man what do you intend to do with this #besides bringing up The Most Recurring Shining Force Element independent of environment i guess #also i do have to give ziduur the 'not as stupid as geshp' credit here. mf realized that drowning the people whose artifact you want is bad #can anyone explain what geshp intended to do after sinking the nazca ship??? i think about it every day #and yes the treatment of the girls besides camallia is getting pretty bad and i unfortunately can't entirely promise you it gets better #i will rant about it once the chapter ends it's part of why these have been coming out slowly #but they are not out of the action if they were i might have legit never translated this novel lol #they are incredibly cool and deserved better look forward to the next part