#tried to escape arcadia and then gets yanked back like..! she wants to see her people restored and she wants param and salantiras love too?

[tunafishprincess]

Hunter Prince (Dark Medieval Fantasy AU fanfic).

Chapter 1: Darkness before Dawn  

Two households, both alike in dignity. (Romeo and Juliet, Act 1, Prologue, Shakespeare)

The remains of the human army were scattered against the grounds of the small village. A particularly gruesome image if he ever saw one. 

Not for long, he thought with a grimace, as members of their forces crept in to take whatever scraps they could find. The sound of bones crunching and tendons popping nearly made him vomit on the spot. The pungent smell of the dead did not help matters. No doubt the entire place would be cleared before daybreak, the bellies of his countrymen filled and ready for the return march ahead. 

He adjusted the sword at his hip. It was too large for someone his size, stuck between man and troll, but he could use it well enough. Years of training had prepared him for this. 

His upper lip snagged his tusks. By the Void, he wished his teacher were here. Alas, Blinkous of Galadrigalia would not step anywhere near a battlefield of this sort. Too many bad memories and old wounds, he told the boy as he aided him into his armor. Though the troll knew all the ins and outs of swordplay, he refused to pick one up, preferring the company of books and his students to the glory of war and conquest so many of their kind revered. 

Alas, unlike his dear tutor his fate left him no room to avoid this type of work. It was times like these he wished he’d been born of another destiny, one where his status and birth didn’t determine his lot in life. 

Fog clung to the earth and sky, drenching the area in miserable dampness. Even within the chainmail and furs the biting cold snuck into his veins, burrowing inside like sparrows at the advent of winter. He shivered as another frigid wind tore through the lines of soldiers, so howling and fierce he almost believed it to be alive. Perhaps they were. More than once his mother spoke of the old gods. 

He wondered if the weather was indicative of their current mood. Out of respect, he whispered a small prayer. It was the least he could do. 

Half-frozen mud squished beneath his feet. As a child he heard wondrous tales about the Grand Canals of Arcadia, yet to see it in person left him rather disillusioned. Of course, by Spring this narrow, barren valley would be a rushing river, carrying the winter snows out towards the southern seas, but now it was little more than a makeshift border between these territories. 

His gaze rested on the town before him. Though he lacked the intellect of his mentor he understood well enough their reasons for this ‘visit.’ 

Dying embers rose from the makeshift chimney as the night’s frost glistened off the roofs and doors. As the troops searched the area for food, weapons and mead, he could not help but feel a tinge of sadness.

Humanity had slowly been encroaching on their lands due to the excess of ore and salt deposits, huge commodities in a kingdom that survived largely off of cattle and farmland. Twas no wonder that within a few years several new settlements had sprung up across the boundary, despite their warnings of retaliation.

But this was only supposed to be a skirmish. A scare tactic, nothing more. Instead, his father’s forces had massacred the entire population.

Crimson mixed with dirt and early morning frost. Here and there he saw them, those who fought thrown haphazardly across the mud and those who tried to flee huddled and died together in small piles. While tradition deemed the enemy warriors to be burned, the soldiers of this regimen did not adhere to such rules, taking what they liked however they pleased instead.

He opened his eyes and then closed them; it mattered not. His stomach lurched. 

A large hand covered his mouth.

It was not his own. 

He stilled. Seconds ticked by before the wielder bent down, gruffly remarking into his ear, “Do not sully our sire’s reputation, half-blood. Purge your conscious elsewhere. Tis no place for the battlefield, especially our own.”

A battlefield was it? He wanted to laugh but found no energy to do so. Instead, he swallowed back his emotions, tilting his head upwards to face the other. 

“I’ll do no such thing, brother.” He added softly, “I am a warrior.”

Bular shot him a doubtful glance. “Is that what your nursemaid tells you?”

He regarded the other in annoyance. While others would be cowed by his elder brother’s fearsome regalia (the blood-colored armor a stark contrast against the gloomy landscape), he held his head high, refusing to back down. 

“Blinkous is not my nursemaid. He knows more about tactics and battles than you ever will.”

“Tactics mean nothing in the heat of battle. It is brute strength that decides the victor, not fancy parlor tricks and maneuvers.”

“If that were true, you would have won the Battle of Killahead and the Battle of Glastonbury Tor,” he pointed out, tongue sharp and ready to cut. Eager to best his brother through the only medium he could, he continued, “Now, is there a particular reason you have graced me with your most honored presence? After all, we all know what a comforting elder brother you are.” Without thinking he ended his counter with a barb. “I almost wish her Highness were with us today to see what loving siblings we’ve become. Perhaps then she would allow you to return to court.”

Darkness swept over his brother’s features as pallor overtook his own. 

An insult like that would not go without reparations. Though Bular was his elder, there was no love lost between the two. Losing face in court had drastically damaged the other’s reputation and rising stardom amongst the ranks of their kingdom’s military. Their sire had seen to it that Bular had a legion to command, but he would never regain the powers he once wielded so long as he and the Queen continued to be on the outs.

The same Queen who bore him.

He scowled, eyes burning like bright coals in the night. “Mind your words. The next time you act so brazen I will not hesitate to remove one of your horns, shared blood or not.”

He nodded curtly. As loathe as he was to admit it, he should have stayed quiet. Had they been common Gumm-Gumms, only one of them would still be standing at such an affront. 

Bular leaned forward, claws tightening around his head as he spoke. “The Queen and her elk may choose to coddle you but I will not. It is I who am in charge here, not you. Your bearer can keep her impure minions in her so-called court for all I care.” His eyes narrowed. “From the look on your face, I can already tell I’ve wasted too much time in bothering to try and teach you. Know this, little brother: the only reason you stand here is at father’s request. Remember that.”

Without warning Bular yanked him by the hair at his nape so that he fell backward. His brother’s followers chuckled at the display.

How humiliating. Cheeks burning, he quickly returned to his feet, storming off in the opposite direction, lest he made more of an embarrassment of himself amongst his brother’s soldiers.

It was a familial power play and one Bular would always win. While he was faster than the older male he could not hope to match his brother’s brute strength and height.

No matter how smart or cunning he could try to be, he would always be half-flesh.

James, Son of House Lake, First of his Name, Heir to Two Thrones—it was an endless list of empty titles. Here, on the “battlefield” and in front of his father’s battalion, Bular and his army saw him as nothing more than a whelp playing soldier. 

A bitter sigh escaped his lips.

He was starting to wonder if they were right. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Death nipped at their heels. Her ally’s fatal injury didn’t help matters. He limped behind, holding the wound at his chest with his dominant hand while the other scrambled for purchase up the steep hilled terrain. 

The tall beautiful trees that greeted their arrival now sent a shiver down her spine, no longer so beautiful and majestic as she’d been led to believe. Stepping into the forest had robbed them of sense and direction, the burning village behind them their only indication of navigation. Not even a full moon could penetrate the dense canopy above them, which rustled and swayed like the sea.

These were not the lands of her brethren. She’d been born on Arcadian grounds, far inside the midlands where the capital stood. The forests there were colorful, evergreens and cedars that happily shaded the berry bushes she once plucked from as a child.

She knew she’d passed the boundaries but the look of the landscape. Here, the woodlands were dark, primal and contorted in manners she had never seen. No berry bush or fruit-bearing could ever hope to grow in harsh lands such as these.

Branches snagged at her cloak, threatening to impede her every step. 

Claire bit back a sob. It was all her fault. If only they had kept moving instead of resting for the night. But she had underestimated her enemies’ desperation. The assassin struck right as the armies across the border arrived, leaving them no time to regroup or find a healer.

Not that Sir Kanjigar could recover from such a wound. They’d been lucky he’d not petrified immediately, though she wondered if that would have been a better fate than the encroaching death before her. 

She clutched her chest as he finally keeled over.

“No, you must get up!” She said, joining his side. “We can still make it.”

Inwardly, she knew it was a fruitless endeavor, but the innocent young girl she was before all this still clung to the faint hope that everything would turn out well and good. 

“I’m afraid this is where our journey ends, milady,” he said, grunting as the poison worked its way through his system. “A thousand apologies.”

She shook her head. Wetness gathered at the corners of her eyes. Sir Kanjigar had been all she had left. She had left everything behind for this. 

Her hands clutched at his chest. “No, this is not where you shall spend your final breath, Sir,” she ordered, hoping she sounded as authoritative as her birthright.  Listen to me: you are the Trollhunter. You have survived countless battles. We will find a healer, but you must get up. Think of Trollmarket. Think of Draal. They would be lost without you. I would be lost without you.”

“It is not—"

“I will not allow you to die. I forbid it!”

She could barely stand to look him in the eyes. They both knew what was to come.

Her fist smacked against his cold ground, again and again, until at last, he spoke. 

“Milady,” he wheezed. “Enough.”

He lifted her chin with his remaining hand. It pained her to see him in such a state. 

Sir Kanjigar of Trollmarket was like no other. He was a battle-scarred old warrior, face etched with the centuries of service he’d provided both kingdoms. Countless Nuñez had relied on his aid and counsel throughout the years. It broke her heart to think she would be the last.  

“I cannot take you the rest of the way,” he stated, stroking her face like her father once did. “You must part with me. The longer you stay here the faster our pursuers can find you. My son…will live on. The Amulet will find a new champion; it always has. But you must hurry. Dawn will break soon. Our liaison lies a day’s journey to the north of the sunrise, just beyond this forest. Get there. You will know him when you see him. He will take you to safety.”

Her chest shook, body numb and unwieldy. “This isn’t fair. I can’t do this without you.”

“You must. The fate of your family and the kingdoms obligates you.”

The amulet began to blink. Slowly, he removed the device from his chest, the magic dissipating from his body. Her throat seized at the sight. The poison had spread throughout his upper and lower halves. 

“May the Grace of Daya guide you through the Void to your ancestors,” she recited as she took his last gift.

His lips perked up as his vision began to fade into white. “And…may the Mother guard you…for all your days.”

She nodded. She could not look away as he gave his last breaths, determined to stay by his side. 

It was in this small moment she allowed herself to grieve. Grieve for her family’s misfortune, grief for her inability to protect her kingdom and people, and grieve for the lives lost in order to get her this far. 

Her gaze flickered to the sky. His words proved true; dawn was coming. She didn’t have much time. 

“Goodbye dear friend,” she whispered, wiping her tears before setting off on her journey.

Her feet scurried across the cold forest floor. Leaves scattered in their wake. Now, without her protector, the forest took on a more sinister nature. The hairs on her neck prickled in dread as she traveled silently through these woods. Every sound made her heart lurch. Though she knew it merely her mind playing tricks, she could not help but think of the assassin, and whether or not he brought any others.

No, she could do this. Her fingers squeezed the amulet within the folds of her robes. The cold metal reminded her of what she must do.

Though her heart bled for the lives lost, she willed herself to go forward. Once she found a safe place she would properly mourn her fallen comrade. For now, however, she needed to move.

A sound intruded, wrestling her out of deep thought.

She didn’t even have time to scream when the creator of the noise came upon her. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

She squirmed within his grasp. Jim adjusted his hold. The human was petite, but her eyes held a ferocity that promised far more than what she could likely give.

“Unhand me, fiend!” She hissed.

Had it been any other day he would have. Humans were a strange sort. Though his mother imbodied their appearance, she was of another sort of being all together, born of magicks and a world no longer accessible to their kind. It was one of the reasons his sire took her hand after all. 

Amongst others. 

But today was different. Whereas before he had placed humanity out of his mind, now, after the carnage, an unsettling sensation of responsibility weighed down upon him. She had not caused this battle. Her only fault was being the wrong species in the wrong place. If Bular or one of his soldiers found her she would be carved up and eaten like the rest.

And Jim could not allow that to happen. 

Leaves crunched beneath unforgiving feet. The marching had begun. Quickly, he pulled her behind a thicket of gathered trees, hoping his scent would cover her own. 

“Please stay silent, miss,” he whispered. “They will hear you otherwise.”

Her body tensed at his words. Around them, the procession grew louder. Armor clinked together, held in rhythm to the vibrating beat of their drums and deep barking songs. He dare not translate the words to the human, knowing what revulsion they would bring. 

He could not help but examine her. The night was dark but his eyesight blessed him the vision before him. Dark windswept hair framed her heart-shaped face, highlighting the contours of her cheeks and rose-colored lips. While he had little experience with human ages, he guessed her to be near his own more or less.

His heart thumped wildly against his chest. This was the first time he had ever been so close to a maiden. He wanted to speak, to impress her with his knowledge of her native tongue, but instead kept quiet, desperately wishing not to embarrass himself in front of her. 

As the marching began to fade, he loosened his hold on her. It was only just. She quickly pulled away; he let her. A few tense seconds fast before she broke it with her words. 

“How could they?” she spat, fingers clenched around the sides of her cloak. “Honorless barbarians. They were only miners and their families and they slaughtered them.”

He lifted an eyebrow, realizing she knew not who or what he was.

He would have found it refreshing, if he wasn’t so overcome with guilt. 

“Can’t say I disagree at this point,” he mumbled, throat tightening at her remark. 

Was this what being a warrior was about? Jim bit the inside of his cheek. More than once he had sat at the foot of his sire, listening to the tales of old, when magic ran wild and honorable knights protected their kingdoms. Every battle had a story, a purpose, and an ending. Even the Battle of Killahead had its place in his father’s halls, sung to bring about nostalgic melancholy in those there and not there.

So where was the glory in murdering these innocents? How had a border skirmish broken out into slaughter?

It set him on edge. 

By the Void.  Jim shook his head. He could scarcely believe what had happened. This was his first excursion with the company and he hoped it his last. Being put in his brother’s battalion had been a foolish error on the head advisor’s part. Not that anyone could persuade the troll outside the king himself. Sir Dictatious was the complete opposite of his brother.

It was no wonder they hated each other. 

The girl continued to rant. “How dare they attack Arcadian soil. Do they want to start another war with the kingdoms?” Her voice grew hoarse. “Does the Treaty of Avalon mean nothing now?”

“A war would be most disagreeable for everything I should think,” he answered.

She blinked, cheeks reddening as she straightened out her linens to curtsy. 

“Excuse my manners. Thank you for your assistance. I am utmost in your debt. With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”

With whom indeed. Jim glanced at her outfit and features. This was no peasant, he gathered, but someone more highborn, though how much so he could not determine by sight alone. While her cloak was ratty and riddled with holes the cloth beneath was well-made, shielding her from the Darkland winds. She lacked the pockmarks and blemishes other humans tended to carry too. 

His eyes widened as he realized how quiet he had been. He coughed into his hand, head bobbing. “It’s Jim, milady.”

“Thank you, Jim. It’s good to know I’m not the only one who survived.”

He winced. She believed him human. He supposed, in the darkness, night-blindness would suggest it as such. While taller than most of their kind he was significantly shorter than a majority of trolls. 

“You’re traveling alone?” He asked. Perhaps he could return her to her group before she realized who he was.

She paused, shoulders shaking. “My companion…He didn’t make it.”

“My deepest apologies,” he said and he meant it sincerely. “Is there anything I can do? A lady such as yourself shouldn’t be out here alone. Where are you heading to? Perhaps I can lead you there.”

Already he formulated a plan to get her away, far from the Gumm-Gumms that still lingered in these forests. 

It would have worked, he could have gotten her as close to her destination before disappearing at daybreak, if something else hadn’t spoken up instead, breaking the fragile peace between them.

James of House Lake.

Instantly, he drew back, back ramrod straight at the power the voice possessed. It chilled him to the bone, clinging to his eardrums in a soft echoing whisper. He knew not where it came until the girl fished it from her robes. He thought it one of Blinky’s strange time devices until he noticed the pulsating blue magic that lay beneath its metallic parts.

“Did,” he began in a breathless manner, “Did that thing just say my name?”

Her brows furrowed. She held the circular object out plainly, squinting as she looked between it and himself. 

“But it’s never chosen…who are you?” She asked, pressing forward.

Jim accidentally backed into one of the trees, horns biting into the bark. A familiar scent was picked up through the air, coupled with equally familiar footfalls.

His breath caught in his throat. Through the blackness, he could see the figure approach.

A haphazard plan based on foolishness and Gumm-Gumm tradition arose within him. His cheeks burned at what he was about to do. He had hoped—no, that kind of life was not accessible to one such as he. 

He looked back to the girl, confusion, and fear spreading across her face. She did not deserve this fate he would bring her, but he could not bear to see her die this day. 

“I am so very very very sorry for what I am about to do,” he said, inwardly praying to the Void for his actions. 

He muffled her scream with his gloved hand, the other tilting her neck for access.

The taste of copper met his tongue and suddenly he understood why so many of his countrymen developed a taste for it.

It was over in an instant, but he knew, somehow, that he had changed both their futures.

Whether for better or for worse was yet to be determined.

The bushes rustled behind them, branches snapping as his elder brother strode onto the scene.

Carefully, Jim lifted his mouth, wiping the red from his lips with the back of his hand. The girl below him held the nape of her neck tenderly, eyes shooting daggers at him. 

Bular regarded the two with an unimpressed brow. “Father will be most displeased when he hears of this.”

“Salutations to you, brother,” he replied.

The girl shuddered within his grasp, now likely putting together the pieces of his identity. “What have you done?” She whispered, face alike to a corpse. 

The other balanced his broadsword on his shoulder, clearly taking pleasure in Jim’s act. “A messenger arrived from the castle. Our arrival is expected.” He looked the girl up and down, measuring her with a growing sneer. “If you wanted a bloody fleshbag for your intended you should have just asked. I’m sure one of my men could have found you one with more meat on her bones than this twig.”

“It seems our taste in wenches diverges. I quite like twigs.” Jim sent his brother a cold smile, refusing to react to his insult.

Bular sniffed, features smoothing over into disinterest as he set off back towards the legion. “Have it your way.”

Once his presence was gone, the girl collapsed, her shivering now full-blown shakes. 

“This is disastrous,” she cried.

Jim shared the sentiment and wanted to voice it, but thought better of it. Scooping her up into his arms (and ignoring her feeble protests), he began his march towards home, knowing that his actions would not go unpunished.

#trollhunters #jim lake jr #tales of arcadia #trollhunters fanfic #dark fantasy #jlaire #bular #claire nuñez #medieval

[helloallthethingsilove]

Broken and Alone

Requested by @peterwandaparker: “Hey could you do a Bellamy imagine where the reader is overwhelmed by a lot of things but keeps it for herself until Bellamy asks her what's wrong and she just breaks down and he comforts her. A lot of fluff plz, I just discovered your blog and I love it!!”

Warnings: Anxiety, feelings of worthlessness, fluff

Bellamy Tag-List: @jodiereedus22 @colie87 @coffeebooksandfandom @littlelaia23 @littlegirl-fox

A/N:HOLY SHIT THE FEELS WITH THIS ONE not going to lie, I may have cried a bit writing this, but I’m a baby. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed this writing, because I most certainly enjoyed writing this! Requests are open, as always, and enjoy the rest of your guys’s day/night!

Song to Listen To: Human by Christina Perri

I pace the control room anxiously, waiting for everyone else to come in through the locked door. I had managed to get in through the ventilation systems, but I was in here mainly for if the plan went down south. I couldn’t work technology like Monty, but I at least know how to hit the power button.

I pull at the roots of my hair as time ticks by, gnawing on my nails anxiously in the thought that Bellamy got caught, that maybe he’s already dead. I sit into a chair, rolling back as I run my hands over my face. Ever since I got out of the mountain with Clarke, I’ve had this paranoia clawing at me from the inside. Everything has been making me overthink, and causing me to go into panic attacks in case everything doesn’t go right.  

I jump to my feet as Bellamy, Monty and Clarke come into the control room, President Wallace in front of them. Monty jumps up from besides me as well, and I pull out my gun to point it at the older man’s head.

“What the hell is he doing here?” I demand, loading the gun instantaneously. All that I can see is him allowing Dr. Tsing to experiment on my friends, for refusing to let me leave when I initially got to the mountain, for almost killing me as I tried to escape. I wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in his face.

“Y/N, relax,” Bellamy says, stepping forward to put a hand on my arm, lowering it back to my side. He steps in front of me as he sees the scared look in my eyes, bending down to meet my gaze, “He’s just here as leverage, alright? He’s apart of the plan. He’s not going to do anything to you, I promise.”

I look at him with a shaky breath before nodding my head, tucking the gun away back into the band of my jeans. “Okay,” I say shakily, running a hand over my mouth before stepping away with my gaze down to the ground.

“The command center’s live,” Monty says from behind me, and everyone turns to look as the monitor’s buzz with life.

Immediately my eyes go towards the screens with movement, my hands shakily pulling on the hems of my shirt as I see Raven strapped down onto a table. The other’s say something, but I can’t hear anything through the blood rushing through my ears. All I can focus on is my friend’s tied to the wall or to the tables, and the doctor’s circling them with drills in their hands.

“Tell them to stop, now!” Bellamy and I both say at the same time, and Bellamy shoves a radio towards Wallace. The man just gives him a glare, spitting out, “I won’t do that.”

“You will,” I tremble, yanking out my gun once more before pointing it at the Wallace, “Or you die. Your choice.”

Clarke negotiates with the younger Wallace over the radio, but I don’t move my gun away from him. Bellamy comes up behind me, putting his hands on my shoulder, and I can feel his breath fanning past my ear.

“Y/N,” He starts, his thumbs moving in circles against my skin, “I get you’re upset, we all are. But I need you to calm down. We’re going to get our friends out of this. Do you trust me.”

My bottom lip trembles, and I shake my head, “Yes, but I don’t trust him,” and I jut the gun forward as an example, “I’m not moving, not until I know everyone is safe.”

“I can’t do that,” The younger Wallace speaks over the radio, and Clarke gives me a look of determination. She nods her head at me, her eyes flicking to my gun. I grit my teeth as I load the gun once more, stepping closer to the man I have the barrel trained on.

“Clarke, Y/N, we need him,” Bellamy pleads from besides me, and I close my eyes to blink back tears as Clarke responds over the radio, “Don’t make me do this.”

My hand shakes violently as I hold the gun with a death grip, trembling in anger, frustration, and sadness. “I didn’t want this,” Clarke says towards President Wallace, and he shakes his head sadly, “Neither did I.”

A gunshot echoes through the room after his words, and my eyes widen at the noise. Wallace and I drop to the ground at the same time, my knees buckling with what just happened.

Clarke lowers her gun, and her eyes flick to me in slight disappointment before turning her attention to the monitors once again.

“I didn’t pull the trigger,” I mumble, my gun clanging to the ground, and my hands go to my hair once again, “I didn’t pull the trigger, Bellamy, I didn’t shoot him.”

“I know, Y/N,” He says, dropping to his knees besides me and pulling me against him, “I know you didn’t, Princess, you wouldn’t.”

I cling to him in a desperate attempt to sink into reality, my body convulsing against his chest, “I didn’t kill him.”

-

I laid in my old bed facing the wall, a blank look covering my face. After we had gotten everyone out of the mountain, we brought them back to Arcadia. All I could do was watch and made sure everyone got through the gates before I locked myself away.

My emotions were running wild. Every breath I took feel like it was going to choke me, and my throat was so tight I could barely breath. My heart was conflicted with everything that I was feeling, but my mind couldn’t figure out what to do with them.

The door to my room opens, and then clicks shut again. I don’t move from my spot as the bed dips down behind me, and strong arms wrap around my waist to pull me closer.

Bellamy tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, kissing my temple gently, before resting his chin against my shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?” He mumbles softly, tracing small patterns against the skin of my hip.

Instantly my eyes unwillingly fill with tears, and my lips tremble. I shake my head at the same time as I inhale sharply. I turn quickly to face him before the tears could fall, shielding my face into his chest.

He holds me tight, as if he’d let go and I’d break into a million pieces. I weep, him being the only thing keeping me from falling apart, and I can feel his shirt growing wet beneath my cheek.

“It’s okay,” Bellamy murmur’s into my hair, sitting up slightly so I can curl into his lap, “You’re going to be okay.”

“I’m not though,” I sob, wiping away at my tears angrily, but they just keep coming, “I’m not okay. Every second of every day, I spend in fear and panic. And I’m sick of it.

“All I see is the mountain men killing off our friends, and I think about those we lost before then. I see Clarke walking away from the gates, away from us. And everyone looks at me like I’m supposed to be strong, but I can’t. I’m not as strong as everyone thinks I am. At this point, I have more scars than I have friends, and I, I-”

I quit talking as my breathing picks up, and soon enough, I’m hyperventilating. I cry because of the emotions running through my body, and I cry harder at the fact that I can’t breath. I feel like I’m slipping away from my sanity.

“Y/N, breathe,” Bellamy orders, cupping a hand on either side of my face and forcing me to look him in the eye, “You need to slow down, take a breath. Please, Y/N, for me.”

And from his words, I eventually manage to take a breath again without feeling my throat burn, and the ghost of a smile finds its way to his face. “Good…” He starts off with a nod, “Now, listen to me. I get that you’re scared, everyone is. But you are not going through this alone. You have people, you have me. You’re not okay, and that in itself is okay. You are not obligated to be perfectly fine after everything we’ve been through, and that’s fine. Feel what you feel, but don’t let it control your life.”

Bellamy doesn’t take notice of my silence that follows, brushing his thumb along beneath my eye to catch the last tear. “I miss my happy girl,” he whispers softly, his own sad look flickering in his eyes before going away.

“I’m afraid to be happy again,” I admit, looking up at him desperately, “Whenever I get too happy, something bad always happens.”

Bellamy looks at me sadly, and for a moment we are silent together. Then he leans forward, brushing his lips against my forehead, before pulling away all too soon to look at me again. “It’s going to take time, there’s no doubting that. But I will be here for you when you are ready. When you’re ready to smile at the plants just because you think they are pretty, I’ll gather a bunch of flowers for you. When you’re ready to laugh at something, I’ll be there telling the joke. When you are ready to be happy, I will be there.”

My bottom lip trembles again, but for an entirely different emotion than sadness. I sit up on my knees and throw my arms around him, nuzzling my face into the crook of his neck, and his arms circle my waist once more.

“I love you, so much,” I mumble as I pull away, it being my turn now to cup his face between my hands, “No matter what.”

Bellamy offers me a small smile in return, but I can see the pain behind it still. We both have healing to do, but that’s why we are together. We will be healing with the help of one another.

“I love you, more than you will ever know,” He says, and I lean forward to kiss him softly, our lips fitting together like puzzle pieces.

After everything I’ve been through, yeah, I may be broken. But when something’s is broken, you can glue it back together. For me? Bellamy is my glue.

#bellamy blake #bellamy blake imagine #bellamy blake imagines #bellamy blake one shot #bellamy blake the 100 #the 100 #the 100 imagine #the 100 imagines #the 100 oneshot #bellamy blake x reader #bellamy blake x reader insert #bellamy blake x reader inserts #bellamy blake angst #bellamy blake angst imagine #bellamy blake angst imagines #bellamy blake fluff #bellamy blake fluff imagine #fluff #angst

[tunafishprincess]

hey! so for the au ficlet send in thing, I think you were the person who had a "Barbara being possessed by Morgana" au a while back? so maybe something angsty (with Jim too?) in that situation?

Oh yeah! I still love that AU. I wish I had more to write on it, but I’m juggling so much with school, my internship, and the fanfics I’m already working on, lol. 

Okay, here’s a small piece. This is probably right around when Jim finds out and is coming home to confront her. I’m making this a What-if Season One ficlet, so Season 2 never happens in this scenario. I wrote this real quick so sorry for any grammar mistakes. 

……………………………………………………………….

It’s raining when he gets home. Darkness descended upon Arcadia hours ago. Fog rolled in from the north a day before, bringing an unexpected storm, right in the middle of California’s driest season. Normally, Jim loves the rain. Rain meant cool nights and video games with his best friend. The soft drumming of raindrops against the roof does nothing to calm his nerves however. 

He hesitates at the door, fingers centimeters away from the doorknob. A cold wind blows through from the west. He shivers. 

Maybe they’re wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time. If his mom really is…Morgana, then wouldn’t she have tried to kill him already? After all, he is Merlin’s chosen. What purpose would it serve to keep the Trollhunter alive when the witch so desperately wanted him dead?

They have no concrete evidence, not really. Only snippets, messages intercepted by NotEnrique between Janus Order members. “Lake Mother” could be anyone. 

Jim took a deep breath and pressed forward. 

The front hall appeared normal enough. His eyes immediately flew to the key rack, which, to his relief, were empty. She was probably still at the clinic. Wanting to assure himself, he picks up landline phone hanging on the wall nearby. Dialing the number he knew by heart, he waits patiently for it to connect.

“This is Arcadia Medical.”

“Karen, is that you?”

“Jim? Hey, kid, how are you doing?”

His shoulders lower, a small smile appearing on his lips. “I’m good. I was wondering if mom was going to be pulling an all-nighter again.”

The line went silent. 

“Jim…Dr. Lake isn’t here anymore. I thought you knew.”

His breath hitches in his throat. He grips the phone tight, the plastic creaking. “What do you mean? She’s been going there every day.”

“She put in her two-week notice three months ago. I can’t believe she didn’t tell you.”

“I-I,” he swallows, mouth drier than a desert. “I completely forgot. Whoops. My mistake. I’ll call her new office. Thanks for answering.”

“No problem, kid. Have a good night!” 

Hands shaking, he struggles to put the phone back on the hook. 

Somehow, whilst on the phone, the sound of rain had disappeared. Jim turns to face the window. Despite how quiet the inside of the house was, a storm raged outside. Even in the darkness he could see the trees sway dangerously, as if they were about to topple over. 

“I know you’re there, Morgana.” Jim said. “Show yourself.”

In the corner of his eye, a dark shadow formed, quickly gaining solidity with every passing second. 

“Oh, Jim. I didn’t want you finding out like this.” It is his mom’s voice, his mom’s face which gives him a soft saddened smile. 

He wants to cry. 

“Give me back my mom.” He growls. 

She flips a switch, casting the room in light. “It doesn’t work that way, unfortunately.”

“What are you here for then? I won’t let you kill me without a fight.” Jim says, hand reaching for his amulet. 

Before he could even enchant the words, her eyes glow a sickly green, his amulet yanked out of his pocket and into her waiting hands. 

“Who said I was going to kill you, sweatheart?” Her words ooze with affection, so much Jim feels like he’s going to vomit. “All I want to do is talk.” 

“Talk.”

She steps forward, palms facing outward in a placating way. “Of course.”

“Talk about what? About how you want to release Gunmar and his army from the Darklands? About how the Eternal Night will destroy humanity and any trolls that oppose you two? Is that what you want to talk about?”

“Gunmar is merely a means to an end. Once his role is completed, I’ll dispose of him.”

Jim wants to vomit. It is there, in her face, the inflection of her voice, the way she carries herself; everything about her is Barbara and yet none of it is the woman he knows. 

He would give anything to wake up from this nightmare. 

“I’ll stop you. No matter what. I won’t allow you to destroy this world.”

“Destroy? Oh no, Jim. I’m going to bring life back to this world. Merlin’s love of humanity has allowed them to poison this world. They are an infestation. I promise not to kill all of them though. I understand how important your little friends are to you.”

“Life?” He spits out. “How could you say that when you’re about to allow the genocide of our own people? And wow, allowing my friends to live when everyone else suffers? Did you think I would go along with the destruction of my own species?” 

“Oh, little Lancelot,” she sighs, drawing closer. “’Our people’? There’s so little you know about this world. Trollmarket has muddled your brain with lies. Come with me. It’s time I showed you the truth.”

Jim steps back, brows furrowing together so tightly his forehead wrinkled. “Don’t call me that. And I’m not going anywhere with you, Morgana.”

He calls the amulet to his hand by will alone. She watches, still as a statue, as he transforms, expression unreadable. 

“So this is the path that you have chosen for yourself.” She says. 

Jim brings forth his sword, barely holding back the tears. “Let my mom go, and no one has to get hurt.”

“It’s too late for that.” She remarks, snapping her fingers. Portals emerge around them. Hundreds of glowing yellow eyes zoom in on Jim. His eyes scan for an escape but he finds none. 

“I won’t allow you to hurt anymore people, mom.”

“And I won’t allow you to get in my way.” She motions her wrist at Jim. “Capture him.” 

Jim readies his blade and charges forward. 

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