#lightning✌️

[notninani]

@marble-wolf I can only do sketches for now ;w; I owe you the coloring 🙇🏻‍♀️❤️‍🩹

[phoenixcatch7]

Cap should be allowed to teleport to the rock with his transformation lightning. I mean that's where it's coming from, after all.

He would use it to get out of so many situations XD.

Batman: captain, do you have a minute to stay after this meeting?

Billy, going to be late for school if he doesn't hup to: um haha sorry the wizard wants me back at the rock I'm already pushing it hahaSHAXAM

The wizard, looking up from his orb: *raises an eyebrow*

Cap, transforming back with more lightning and rushing for his bag: I'm sorry I'm sorry Mrs Ermine is going to KILL me if I'm late again this week!

The wizard, to his rapidly retreating back: this is the seventh time this month you've used me as an excuse.

Billy, halfway down the hall of sins, voice echoing: I said I'm sorrrryyyyyyy!!

Batman, left all the way on the watchtower: :|

[spaceratprodigy]

Thank you for the tag @hibernationsuit 💖💕

> used this picrew and this quiz <

❤️ – Faith (the Outer Worlds | she/her)

open tag to anyone who wants to jump in!

[j-a-nuary]

I can't decide if the stitches make it better or not, so you get both versions

Also tagging @chans-room to bully her into writing Minginstein for her spooktacular

[mugiwara-lucy]

@lizajane2 will LOVE this!!

Gotta think about ya!

A bunch of happy Kakashi to brighten your dash ☺️❤️

[icequeenlila]

Shoutout to my dad who doesn't know shit about pjo, but immediatly figured out who's the lightning thief when watching the series✌️

[jscrawls]

Grave mistakes

Gotham City is full of a lot of characters, criminals, creepy clowns, man eating plants, eccentric billionaires. But all that rolled into one decrepit house?

Warning: contains mention of blood, spirits, witchcraft, general spooky stuff, it's an Addams reader they're gonna be freaky,

Prologue: what a miserable time!

🔹🔹🔹

It's cloudy today as you shuffle into the house with the heavy boxes in your arms, the place is decrepit and leaks in the roof have water stains coloring the floors and ceilings around you a mottled gray color, it's absolutely dreamy. it's been a busy day moving things out of the Uhaul and arranging them in your new house. The movers had left quickly after seeing the old bloodstains still staining the dining room floor, so it was up to you to move the old carpets to expose it so you could properly arrange around the dark mark in the wood to make sure it's the centerpiece. Who likes white carpet anyways.

🔹🔹🔹

As you move onto the kitchen to unpack your cauldron and recipe books you notice the lights are flickering at random, you hope it's a ghost or even better, a demon. If only your pendulums and charred bones weren't still in the truck wrapped in bubble wrap, perhaps a little bloodletting will excite the potential spooks in your new home.

🔹🔹🔹

Putting up cobwebs, tearing down the colorful new curtains so you can put up your tattered rags, rearranging the living room for your Ouija board and coffin collection, it's been a long, horrible day.

You collapse onto your bed wth a satisfied sigh, tomorrow you'll start putting up your grimoires and bones in the library and if you have time you'll rip out the colorful flowers in the front yard to make room for your weeds.

There's a strange cheerful sounding ding going off in your home, you quickly roll out of bed to instigate and hopefully find turn it off permanently. You find yourself in your front room walking towards the front door, huh, you didn't know doorbells could sound like anything but a bloodcurdling scream. Guess even a horrible place like Gotham isn't perfect.

“Hello?” You open the door that has a slight creak, you'll need to water those hinges later and make sure they're properly rusty.

*“Ahem,* yes good day, good day. You are…. The new neighbor yes?” An older man stands in front of you in a dark suit and bowtie, looking slightly put off by the sight of you. He holds something in the crook of his arm. You smile warmly at him and open the door wider

“Yes I think that'd be me, nice to meet you my good sir!” you hold a hand out for a handshake which he hesitates for, before shaking your hand. “…the pleasures all mine, mx…?” he pulls his hand back quickly, something about you is…unsettling.

“(Name) Addams, of the Addams family.” lightning crackles overhead, a crow screeches in the distance after your introduction.

“…. Alfred pennyworth, I live next door.” He seems unimpressed with you as he gestures over his shoulder at the manor across the hill.

“Well it's very nice to meet you, my friend. Please come in, come in and I'll make you something awful, do you like or hate tea?”

“…I enjoy tea.”

“Bummer, that's all I've got to offer while I'm unpacking. Step in before the sun comes out or something!”

You all but yank the old man into the house, not really giving him a choice as you excitedly walk towards your kitchen.

🔹🔹🔹

M.list | next

A/n: there's a new creep in Gotham! I've been watching Nikhil Clayton for inspo but I'm not gonna copy his work. check out his YouTube or TikTok for Addams family in Gotham stuff y'all ✌️😚✌️

[the-californicationist]

This or That Tag Game

Thank you so much to @gemmahale and @cosmicpro for the tag!!

Coffee or tea | early bird or night owl | chocolate or vanilla | spring or fall | silver or gold | pop or alternative | freckles or dimples | snakes or sharks | mountains or fields | thunder or lightning | egyptian mythology or greek mythology | ivory or scarlet | flute or lyre | opal or diamond | butterflies or honeybees | macarons or eclairs | typewritten or handwritten | secret garden or secret library | rooftop or balcony | spicy or mild | opera or ballet | london or paris | vincent van gogh or claude monet | denim or leather | potions or spells | ocean or desert | mermaids or sirens | masquerade ball or cocktail party

NPTs: @vampirekilmerfic // @kit-williams // @madstronaut // @sageyxbabey // @pricesugarwife -- and anyone who sees this, please @ me so I can check your list out ✌️🩷

[isa-beenme]

Whispers of Secrets and Starlight

Btw another thing I DESPISE in the original is how sjm made this fuck ass old people discuss like teenagers in high school topics that 1: was super heavy and 2: WASN'T THE MOMENT they were talking abt war and suddenly everyone had beef with each other and they had to throw it in their faces

Anyway, won't talk too much abt or I'll take 2000 words just here, enjoy 😝✌️

Warnings: Use of Y/N, ACOTAR rewrite, female main character, 2% book following the original book is a Frankenstein now, mentions of PTSD, death, more trauma, Tamlin??? idk he is mentioned that's horrible enough, fighting, blood, mentions of war, Rhysand 🙏🏻

Whispers of Secrets and Starlight - Masterlist

Chapter 11: As The World Caves In

You fought like a storm. The darkness slithered around your fingers, curling and snapping like a living thing as you winnowed between enemy soldiers, cutting them down before they even knew where you’d gone. Hybern thought they were prepared for the Night Court’s tricks. They had fought Rhysand’s forces before. They had strategies, countermeasures. But they hadn’t expected you. Between you participating in the planning and strategies or fighting alongside Rhysand, Hybern couldn't have prevented you.

Because as much as you fought with Illyrian precision and speed, your power was something else entirely. Shadows swallowed your form, stretching and shifting with every movement. When a Hybern general tried to cut you down, you became the darkness, slipping behind him before plunging your blade between his ribs. You moved like a wraith, your power flowing through your limbs like a second skin, an extension of your very being. And you weren’t alone in this battle.

From above, the Illyrians rained hell upon Hybern’s army, their wings slicing through the smoke-filled sky as they dove, blades flashing like streaks of silver lightning. Cassian led them with brutal efficiency, his siphons glowing a fierce, deadly red as he tore through their forces. Every time his sword struck, another enemy fell, their screams swallowed by the chaos of battle. Azriel was a shadow among shadows, a phantom slipping in and out of the fray. You watched as his dagger found the throat of a Hybern commander, quick and precise, before he disappeared again, unseen and unheard, a silent executioner.

But it wasn’t only the Illyrians proving their might. The Darkbringers of Hewn City fought like creatures of nightmares, their darkness not just a weapon but an entity of its own. They struck in coordinated movements, vanishing into the blackness before reappearing behind enemy lines, slitting throats and dragging bodies into the abyss of their power. One of them, a tall male with onyx-black eyes, cast a tendril of pure shadow that wrapped around a Hybern soldier’s neck, tightening, tightening—until the male collapsed lifelessly to the blood-soaked ground. One of the reasons why the Darkbringers were so useful was because of the little thought they put into killing people. They enjoyed it.

A female Illyrian fought nearby, her twin curved daggers dripping with red as she weaved between enemies with terrifying grace. She met your eyes for the briefest moment — a flicker of recognition, of mutual respect — before she melted back into the fray, her blades seeking more blood.

And Rhys watched you, his violet eyes gleaming with something dark and proud. He knew you were powerful. But this? This was the High Lord's power. His power. Even if yours burned a little dimmer, unclaimed by the Court's blessing, it still called to him in a way that made his blood sing. His mate. His equal.

With the intelligence gathered from the captured Spring and Hybern soldiers, you had already predicted their formations, their numbers, their weaknesses. Could easily find their generals. And one by one, you and Rhys tore through them, breaking their ranks, cutting down any hope they had left. A Hybern warlord, clad in thick steel armor, raised his blade and roared, trying to rally his men. You could see the desperation in his eyes, the flicker of doubt. Too late. You darted toward him before he could even register your movement, winnowing to his side. His sword swung down — an attempt to cleave you in two — but you dropped to the ground, sliding beneath the strike with inhuman speed.

Your own blade found the weak point beneath his ribs, slipping through the gaps in his armor. His breath hitched. His eyes widened. You twisted the dagger once before pulling it free, stepping back as he collapsed to his knees.

“Your mistake,” you murmured, voice quiet, “was thinking you stood a chance.”

The final wave of Hybern’s forces was already faltering, their formations breaking, soldiers hesitating. Some tried to run. Others dropped their weapons, trembling as they fell to their knees. Begging. Rhys landed beside you, his wings still spread wide, his hands coated in blood that was not his own. You met his gaze, breath steady, power still thrumming in your veins.

“No survivors,” you reminded him, voice cold.

Rhys’s lips curled. “Together, then?”

The darkness around him flared. Yours answered. And in one swift, unrelenting moment, you both unleashed your power. The remaining Hybern soldiers didn’t even have time to scream. One second they were there, and the next, mist. Blood, bone, flesh, reduced to nothing but a red mist staining the battlefield.

The silence that followed was deafening. You exhaled slowly, your magic settling back into you, the thrill of battle fading as the weight of what you’d done settled in.

Rhys reached for you, his bloodstained fingers brushing against yours. “You did well,” he murmured, voice low and reverent.

You turned your hand, lacing your fingers with his. “So did you.”

Behind you, the Illyrian forces cheered, the Darkbringers grinned in quiet satisfaction, and Tarquin watched — silent, calculating. The battle for Adriata was over.

And Hybern had just learned why they, and no one, should go to war with the Prythian and expect to survive.

Tarquin’s turquoise eyes flicked between you and Rhys, his expression carefully neutral, though the way he subtly narrowed his gaze at you didn’t go unnoticed.

Rhys, ever the picture of relaxed arrogance, only smirked. “We can speak after we’ve had a chance to clean up, Tarquin” he said smoothly.

Tarquin’s gaze lingered on you for a heartbeat longer before he gave a short nod. But you could feel the questions swirling in his mind.

You ignored them, turning instead to Cassian and Azriel. “Bring healers,” you told them. “Just in case. Once the wounded are stable, come back with Amren and Mor for a meeting with the High Lord.”

Cassian, still bloody and grinning from the fight, gave you an approving nod. Azriel merely inclined his head, shadows curling around him like a whisper of acknowledgment.

But Tarquin… Tarquin hesitated. His brows pinched, his lips parting as if he wanted to ask something but wasn’t sure if he should. But Rhys listened to it. His smirk widened, and he stepped closer to you, his arm sliding around your waist with deliberate ease. The blood still staining his fingers left faint marks on your armor.

“She gives commands,” Rhysand murmured, his violet eyes twinkling with amusement, “because she has every right to.”

Tarquin’s expression didn’t change, but you saw the way his fingers flexed at his sides.

Rhys chuckled under his breath, reading whatever thought had just crossed Tarquin’s mind, before tilting his head. “Two or three hours, then?”

Tarquin exhaled slowly, as if forcing himself to relax. “Fine.”

Rhys dipped his chin in a lazy nod before steering you away, his hand still firm on your waist. You didn’t look back, but you felt Tarquin’s gaze on you long after you were gone.

☆

Rhysand barely shut the door behind you before his hands were on your body, and you were on him. The battle had left its mark, not just in the blood on your skin but in the tension thrumming between you, in the raw need to ground yourselves in something solid, something real. The shower was quick, intense, and necessary. Water sluiced away the grime and sweat, but nothing could wash away the fire burning between you. And neither of you wanted it to.

By the time you stepped out, your breathing had steadied, but Rhys still looked at you like he wanted to drag you right back in.

Instead, you reached into his pocket realm, pulling out the garments you’d prepared. A dress, soft, flowing, a shade of blue so luminous it seemed to capture the very essence of the sea at Summer itself. The fabric shimmered like sunlight reflecting off the ocean, and the gold jewelry you set beside it was pale, almost white, delicate but undeniably regal. For Rhys, a suit. Still unmistakably Night Court in cut and style, but the usual black was softened by accents of deep blue and crisp white, as if the sea breeze had woven itself into the fabric.

Rhys arched a brow as you laid everything out, his violet eyes full of amusement. “You’re dressing me like a peacock,” he murmured, his voice warm with laughter.

You only smirked, slipping the dress over your shoulders. “We need to match the scenario, no? We are in Summer. Don’t expect me to dress like death itself under this wonderful sun, not when the sea is glowing behind us.”

Rhys let out a soft, knowing chuckle, shaking his head as he pulled the suit on without another word. No argument. No teasing remark. Just quiet obedience, as if he would have done anything you asked.

But before you could adjust the final piece of jewelry, he reached into his pocket realm and withdrew something small, something delicate. A tiara. Not an overwhelming crown, not something meant to dominate the room, but a piece designed for elegance. Slender white-gold filigree, woven with tiny, glimmering blue stones, like captured bits of the Summer sky at night.

“For the look,” Rhys murmured, stepping behind you to place it gently on your head.

You met his gaze in the mirror. Something unreadable passed through his expression, something softer than amusement, something deeper than admiration.

But he said nothing else.

And neither did you.

☆

The meeting was tense at first, the weight of battle still pressing on the room, but it shifted the moment Morrigan laid out the numbers.

“The exact count is difficult,” she admitted, fingers trailing over the paper before her. “Since Rhys and our dear friend here—” she nodded toward you, “—misted a considerable portion of Hybern’s forces. But our estimates are as follows.”

She listed the numbers with precision: the dead from Hybern, the fallen soldiers from Summer and Night, the wounded, the civilians affected. Every word was measured, calculated, the gravity of the loss clear.

Then, she pulled out another sheet and slid it across the table to Tarquin. “This is the sum we are prepared to contribute to the rebuilding efforts.”

Tarquin barely glanced at it before looking up, utterly stunned. His counselors exchanged incredulous glances, their own shock mirrored in his expression.

“Wait—wait,” he said, leaning forward as if to make sure he had heard correctly. “You’re offering to help with the aftermath? Are you offering any help at all?”

You inclined your head. “We’ve been preparing for Hybern’s attacks for a while now,” you admitted. “I wish it hadn’t been Adriata first, but our intention was always to stand against them. And, more than that—” you met his gaze evenly, “—it is our intention to be friends.”

Silence filled the room. Tarquin and his counselors sat speechless, processing what you had said. What you had done.

“…Why?” Tarquin finally asked, voice laced with genuine confusion.

Rhysand, seated beside you, leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. His violet eyes were calm, open in a way they rarely were in these kinds of meetings. “Because we would have helped any court in this situation.” His gaze flicked to Tarquin’s. “But especially you.” Tarquin frowned slightly, but Rhys went on. “You were the only High Lord who never looked down on me for what happened Under the Mountain.” His voice was quiet but firm. “The only one who never saw me as just Amarantha’s whore. And for that alone, you would have had our help.”

Tarquin’s expression shifted, the tension in his shoulders loosening ever so slightly.

Rhys sighed, running a hand through his dark suit. You took the opening, “The Night Court has spent too much time alone in Prythian,” you admitted. “We are done with that. We want allies. We want friends.”

Tarquin studied Rhysand for a long moment, then turned his gaze to you. You held it, unwavering. And, slowly, his lips parted, just slightly. Just enough for the first flicker of something new to appear in his eyes. Maybe, just maybe, it was hope.

The room was still heavy with silence when Amren, ever impatient, cut through it with her sharp voice.

“There is an alliance between Spring and Hybern.” She tapped a clawed finger against the table. “We need to consider the possibility that Tamlin knew about Adriata’s weak points in advance.”

Tarquin stiffened, his ocean-blue eyes darkening. “He could have,” he admitted after a moment. “Spring Court has had diplomatic dealings with Summer in the past. It wouldn’t have been difficult for Tamlin to retain information about our city’s defenses.”

Amren nodded once, sharp and decisive. “Then we have our answer.”

A cold weight settled in your stomach. Rhysand exhaled through his nose, his expression unreadable. He had suspected Tamlin’s involvement, but a possible confirmation still made his jaw tighten slightly.

Tarquin drummed his fingers against the table, deep in thought. Then he lifted his gaze, determination solidifying in his features.

“If what you all are saying is true, we need to call a High Lords meeting,” he said. “As soon as possible.”

Morrigan crossed her arms. “You think they’ll come?”

Tarquin’s lips pressed into a thin line. “If they don’t, they’ll regret it.”

Rhysand hummed in quiet agreement, tapping a finger against the polished wood of the table. The conversation was going exactly as planned. What you said before was true, none of you hoped Summer would be Hybern’s first attack, if you and Rhys were being truthful, both of you bet - and hoped - it would be Auremere, Autumn's capital. But you knew in advance one Court would be attacked, and none would've been warned. The fact you all got there so fast would be credited in Spring's information.

You needed real proof Hybern was a force to be feared. You needed proof Night Court had enough power to deal with the attack. And needed another High Lord to call in the meeting, if Rhysand did none of them would listen. But a young High Lord who just started to deal with his Court and is already fighting a war, while his only help is the terrifying Night Court who never helped before? All of the others would listen. To let the attack happen was a small sacrifice for a bigger picture.

“Then we send out the summons,” Tarquin said, his voice smooth but laced with steel. “And we prepare for a meeting, wherever that may be.”

Tarquin’s counselors still looked wary. Their gazes flickered between Rhys, you, and the offer of aid Morrigan had placed before them.

“You’re asking us to trust you,” one of them, a stern-faced male with silver streaks in his dark hair, finally said. “To trust that the Night Court, which has spent centuries hidden away from the rest of Prythian, now suddenly wants to play the part of an ally.”

Rhysand chuckled under his breath, shaking his head slightly. “No,” he corrected. “I’m asking you to see the reason. Hybern doesn’t care if you’re Summer, or Night, or Day. They only care about conquest. And unless we stand together, unless we truly ally against them, they will burn their way through this continent, city by city.”

You leaned forward slightly, your eyes catching the light like a predator’s. “You saw what happened today. You saw what they were willing to do to your home. That was just the beginning. But we can stop this.”

A heavy silence settled over the room. Tarquin’s fingers curled into fists atop the table. His counselors exchanged glances, their expressions uncertain.

And then Tarquin exhaled slowly and met Rhysand’s gaze. “You speak of alliances,” he said carefully. “But alliances are built on trust. And trust must be earned.”

Rhys inclined his head. “Then let us earn it.”

Tarquin studied him for a long moment, then turned his attention to you.

“And you?” he asked. “You were human, fought against Amarantha as if it was nothing more than a game. You disappeared from Spring with your cousin and suddenly showed up acting as a High Lord for Night. Was this all a plan? What power do you have inside the Court?”

You met his gaze evenly. “I have been fighting a war long before Hybern set foot on your shores,” you said. “I've experienced grief, and fear, and sadness after leaving my home for so long. When Tamlin started acting weird because of whatever promises Hybern made to him I ran back to the place where I belong. Rhysand had kept his promise and helped me and Feyre. We have spent months preparing for this, gathering intelligence, strengthening our forces, identifying Hybern’s weaknesses.”

Rhysand’s lips curved slightly as he glanced at you. “She has been by my side through all of it,” he murmured. “Strategizing. Now fighting. And winning.” His violet eyes gleamed with something proud and dangerous. “And when this war is over, and Night Court celebrates the victory, it will be because of her as much as it will be because of me.”

The weight of his words settled in the room. Tarquin’s turquoise gaze flickered between you and Rhys, something thoughtful, perhaps even calculating, shifting behind his expression.

After a long moment, he nodded once. “Very well,” he said. “We will consider your offer.”

It was not a confirmation, not yet. But it was a start. And in this war, a start was enough.

☆

It took a few weeks for a place and day to be decided. In the end, every High Lord invited, which didn't include Tamlin, who was starting to distance himself and his Court from Prythian, agreed on Vivereos, a city in the Dawn Court, which contained an ancient palace by a lake, surrounded by pillars of sunstone. The location was chosen because it is considered sacred ground, making it an appropriate place for the gathering of all seven High Lords to discuss the war.

The golden halls of the Dawn Court glowed with the light of the setting sun, casting long shadows across the polished marble floors. The meeting had yet to begin, but already, tension buzzed in the air like a storm on the horizon.

Rhysand stood at your side, exuding his usual aura of casual arrogance, though you knew him well enough to see the careful calculation in his violet eyes. Across the grand chamber, Helion Spell-Cleaver lounged in his chair, the sheer opulence of his golden robes an intentional contrast to the severe war discussions ahead.

"You look well-rested," Rhys drawled as he approached the High Lord of Day, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Helion arched a brow, swirling the goblet of wine in his hand. "I am well-rested. Unlike you, it seems." His amber eyes flicked over Rhys, then to you, something knowing in his gaze. "You and your Second-in-Command have been busy, haven't you?"

You tilted your head slightly. "Planning for war tends to have that effect. But I'm not the second in command, contrary to popular belief and… gossip."

Helion laughed, rich and smooth as honey. "Of course, apologies for my mistake. And yet, somehow, you both still manage to look impossibly beautiful together. It's infuriating, really."

Rhys chuckled, shaking his head. "You're just upset we beat you here, Helion."

Helion sighed dramatically, taking a sip of his wine. "Yes, well, some of us prefer to enjoy our time rather than winnow from one end of Prythian to the other without so much as a moment to breathe." He lifted his goblet slightly. "But tell me, Rhysand, do you think the others will listen to you? Or will they let their centuries-old grudges outweigh their survival?"

Rhys’s smirk faded slightly, his eyes turning sharp. "That remains to be seen."

Before Helion could respond, a flash of white and blue caught your attention near the entrance.

Vivianne of the Winter Court entered, her silver-blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, her bright blue eyes scanning the room before they landed on a familiar figure. Morrigan. In an instant, Mor was moving, crossing the chamber with easy grace before pulling Vivianne into a tight embrace.

"It’s been too long," Mor murmured, squeezing her friend.

Vivianne laughed softly, pulling back just enough to look at her. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten about me."

Mor scoffed. "Forget about you? Never."

You watched as the two of them fell into an easy conversation, the warmth between them a stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere of the gathering.

Kallias, the High Lord of Winter, approached with a measured pace, his expression cool as frost. His piercing blue eyes landed on Rhys, and though he inclined his head in polite acknowledgment, the tension between them was unmistakable.

"Rhysand," Kallias greeted, his voice smooth but distant.

Rhys inclined his head in return. "Kallias. I appreciate you coming."

Kallias's gaze flickered to you briefly before returning to Rhys. "War demands unity. And as much as I might enjoy the cold silence of the North, even I cannot ignore what is coming."

Rhys's lips twitched. "Pragmatic as ever."

Kallias didn’t respond, but there was something unreadable in his gaze. Mor and Vivianne rejoined the conversation then, their laughter softening the edges of the tension.

Vivianne glanced between you and Rhys, curiosity and something akin to admiration in her expression. "You two certainly made an impression at Adriata. From what I heard."

Rhys let out a soft chuckle, his arm brushing yours in a silent gesture of acknowledgment. "That was the idea."

Before Vivianne could respond, a chime echoed through the chamber, signaling the start of the meeting.

The time for alliances, for war, for Prythian’s future, had arrived.

The last rays of sunlight streamed through the towering windows of the Dawn Court’s grand meeting hall, casting golden light across the shining lake that centered the place. It was massive, filled on top of shimmering quartz, its surface smooth enough to reflect the faces of the High Lords who now took their seats.

You stood beside Rhysand as he pulled out your chair, his violet eyes flicking to yours in silent reassurance. You had prepared for this. Every argument, every possible resistance, you were ready. But still, as the room filled with the most powerful Fae in existence, a weight settled in your chest.

Helion lounged in his chair, golden robes draped over one shoulder, his amber eyes glittering with amusement as he observed the others. Tarquin sat stiffly, his ocean-blue gaze wary yet resolute. Kallias was composed as ever, his cool expression betraying none of his thoughts, though Vivianne sat beside him, her presence a quiet comfort.

And then there was Beron. The High Lord of Autumn leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, his sharp features twisted in distaste. Beside him, his sons were absent, Eris the only member of his court granted a seat at this gathering. His amber eyes burned with unreadable emotion as they flicked between Rhysand and Helion.

Thesan, the High Lord of Dawn, presided over the meeting, his elegant hands folded before him. “We all know why we are here.” His gaze swept over the room. “Hybern has silently but sure, declared war, and none of us can ignore it any longer.”

No one spoke. You forced yourself to breathe steadily, to hold your ground.

Rhys was the one to break the silence. “We’re not here to settle old grievances,” he said smoothly, his voice calm, unwavering. “We’re here because Hybern does not discriminate. We know how the king plays his ward and he will not care which Court you rule. He will not care who your ancestors warred against centuries ago. He will only care that you are in his way.”

A muscle ticked in Beron’s jaw. “Bold words, coming from you.”

Rhys only smiled. “I’ve always been bold.”

Helion let out a low chuckle, but Tarquin cut in, voice firm. “If we are to stand a chance against Hybern, for the same to not happen to your courts as it happened in mine, we need to share our resources. Information. Soldiers. Otherwise, we will all fall.”

Kallias’s cold blue eyes flickered. “And what, exactly, are you proposing?”

You met his gaze. “An alliance.” The word hung heavy in the air. “A real one. Not just a ceasefire, not just words on parchment. A true alliance.”

Beron scoffed. “And who, precisely, would lead such an alliance? You, Rhysand?”

Rhys didn’t flinch. “We’re not here to discuss who has the biggest boner, Beron.”

A few of the High Lords stifled their amusement, but Beron only sneered.

You leaned forward, holding Beron’s gaze. “We’re here because our people are going to die. Because this war has already started, and if we don’t fight together, there won’t be courts left to rule.”

Silence.

Then, slowly, Thesan nodded. “Let us speak plainly, then.” His golden eyes darkened. “How do we win this war?”

Helion was the one to break the silence, drumming his fingers against the quartz table. “Let’s start with what we know,” he said, tilting his head toward you and Rhysand. “You’ve been preparing for this war for a while now, haven’t you?”

Rhys inclined his head. “Yes.”

Beron sneered. “How fortunate for you. And yet, this all started in Spring. Right before the half-breed got there, and now that she is with Night suddenly they have the upper hand. How bizarre.”

All eyes turned to you. You met Beron’s gaze without flinching. “No.” The single word echoed in the vast chamber. Beron’s lips curled, but you went on before he could interrupt. “I won't let you sit there and make assumptions like that of me. I lost every single piece of family I had because of the lengths Hybern can get into manipulating people and making them believe to have a power they don't. I almost lost my cousin because of what Tamlin would do to make her a puppet and make all of you believe his claim is right as he has the Cursebreaker on his side.”

“And why, pray tell, the Queenslayer is here but the Cursebreaker is not? When both of you reside in Rhysand's Court?” Beron's smile was weak, but was there. Bastard.

“My Court too, may I tell you. And she's not here because she is not a pawn, but I am a player. The fact that I flee from that suffocating place is not a conversation we should focus on now. But the fact that we ran away and because of that, and only that, we were able to realize what was happening there is the reason why we have the upper hand” you breathe calmly, settling back at your chair. “If the Lady of Spring was granted the possibility of thinking before, Tamlin’s plan wouldn’t have worked. And maybe we wouldn't be having this conversation because we would be kneeling to Tamlin's reign on Prythian.”

A ripple of understanding passed through the room. Even those least inclined to side with Night Court fell silent. Vivianne let out a quiet breath, shaking her head. Tarquin muttered something under his breath, while Helion simply looked at you with something akin to admiration. Even Kallias’s icy expression softened slightly. Beron said nothing.

Helion, ever the one to latch onto the heart of a conversation, leaned forward, eyes gleaming with curiosity. “And where, then, is this Cursebreaker?”

You leaned back in your chair, unfazed. “Training.” Helion lifted a brow. You smirked slightly. “We’re seeing if she has any power as a High Fae and if she does, how to train it. But for now, she’s focused on reading and writing.”

Thesan gave a small nod, his expression unreadable. “A worthy pursuit.”

Beron scoffed. “So she’s useless.”

You didn’t so much as blink. “She is learning. Sometimes you should try it.”

Rhysand smiled faintly, but there was steel beneath it. “And just that is more than Tamlin ever allowed her.” The weight of those words settled over the room.

Kallias sighed, his voice quiet but firm. “Enough of Spring. Let’s return to what matters. How do we win this war?”

And just like that, the conversation shifted, but the understanding remained. The High Lords had seen the truth of Spring Court. Of Tamlin’s choices. And not a single one of them had defended him.

Cassian leaned forward, resting his forearms on the smaller chair he was granted, his hazel eyes sharp with intensity. “We strike first.”

The room went utterly still.

Azriel, shadows curling around his shoulders like living things, spoke next. “The soldiers who invaded our territory provided valuable intelligence before they were dealt with.” His voice was quiet, calm, but every High Lord felt the weight of it. “Hybern’s army is moving. Not just toward us, but toward Spring. They have Tamlin on their side. They expect to march straight through his lands unchallenged to later deal with each Court, building their way up to the north.”

Cassian’s wings twitched as he continued. “If we wait for them to set up camp, to dig in and entrench their position, this war will drag on for months, maybe years, just like the first one. But if we meet them before they reach Spring's landmark, while they’re still moving…” He smiled, slow and deadly. “We can cut them down before they even have a chance to fortify.”

Silence.

Kallias, his fingers still pressed together in careful thought, finally asked, “And you’re certain of this intelligence?”

Azriel merely nodded. That was enough to answer.

Helion exhaled, running a hand through his golden curls. “You’ve had spies in Hybern’s forces this whole time?”

Rhysand’s smile was almost lazy. “You didn’t?”

Beron scowled. “And what of the Cauldron? What of their magic? We were asked if the temple that contained our part of the Cauldron was robbed and it was. How do we deal with that?”

You answered before Cassian could. “Amren is working on that.”

A flicker of something like unease passed through the room. Even Tarquin, who had warmed slightly to your court, stiffened at the name.

Morrigan, ever the perfect mediator, offered a smooth smile. “With the information we’ve gathered, and the fact we protected our piece, even if Hybern is able to use the power partially, we believe we can disable the Cauldron long enough to give us an advantage.”

Beron scoffed. “And if you can’t?”

Cassian’s wings flared slightly. “Then we fight the way Night Court always have.”

The war general’s words rang in the silence, brutal in their simplicity.

Rhysand's voice was quiet, but no less firm. “Night Court is ready for this war. Our armies are trained, our plans are set. We know where Hybern’s forces will be, and we know when to strike.” His cold, calculating gaze swept over the room. “Do you?”

Not a single High Lord answered.

You let the silence stretch for a long moment before leaning back in your chair. “Does anyone have a plan to add to ours?”

More silence. But this time, it was tinged with something else. Understanding. Because for all their power, for all their titles, only Night Court had been paying attention. Only you had truly prepared for this war. And not a single one of them had anything to say about it.

☆

The cool night air greeted you as you stepped outside, Rhysand at your side. The meeting had been long and tense, but ultimately, it had gone as well as it could have. Now, all that was left was returning home.

Before Rhys could winnow you both away, Kallias called out. "Rhysand."

Rhys stopped, glancing over his shoulder as the High Lord of Winter approached. Vivianne was right behind him, her sharp eyes flicking between the two of you.

Kallias stopped a few feet away, his face unreadable. Then, quietly, he asked, "Back Under the Mountain… the children who were killed in Winter." His voice was steady, but something beneath it wavered. "A Daemati was responsible." His gaze locked onto Rhys. "For a long time, I was told it was you."

The words hung in the night, heavy and cold as a snowfall. Rhysand’s entire body went rigid beside you. You felt it instantly, the way something dark and painful curled at the edges of his mind, the way his hand twitched at his side. He didn’t even need to say it.

Before he could react, you reached for him, lacing your fingers through his. A silent message: ‘I’m here. I see you.’

Rhys blinked once, as if grounding himself. Then, slowly, he exhaled.

"It wasn’t me," he said, voice quiet but firm. "That was a lie spread by Tamlin."

Kallias stiffened. Even Vivianne’s expression darkened.

Rhysand continued, his tone controlled but edged with something raw. "There was another Daemati under Amarantha’s rule. She ordered them to do it, and I was locked in my room while it happened. I had no say. I had no control over many things. All I could do during that time was…" His throat bobbed, and his grip on your hand tightened. "I did what I could. I erased memories from her spies when I could get away with it. I hid people when I had the chance. But I couldn’t stop all of it. All of that was a game but after a while, I started to realize how far I was going and I couldn't go back anymore." The Inner Circle lowered their heads as they heard what their High Lord — and family — was telling, pieces of story not even they heard “After some time, it was just easier to pretend I was what everyone said about me. And I thought one day she might grant me the freedom to see my family again. All of you had at least someone from your Court with you. I had no one.”

Silence. Kallias’s face was unreadable.

Then, after a long moment, he exhaled. "I believed that lie for too long," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. His ocean-blue eyes met Rhysand’s, something like regret flickering there. "I should have doubted it before now. Should have looked deeper. Should have known. I lost myself in anger and couldn't question it."

Rhys shook his head, though the tension in his jaw hadn’t fully eased. "It wasn’t safe to question it. And you didn't had a reason to."

Kallias hesitated. Then he said, "I’m sorry—for what happened to you there."

The words settled between them, raw and unguarded.

You stepped in then, your voice even but pointed. "If every High Lord had the courage to step up the way you did during those times, maybe Feyre and I wouldn’t have needed to sacrifice ourselves at all."

Kallias flinched slightly.

Vivianne, however, let out a small huff of amusement. "But then we wouldn’t have you here, having this conversation with us." She stepped closer, slipping her arm through Kallias’s in a way that grounded him. Then she met your gaze, then Rhysand’s. "You two will run the Night Court better than any High Lord before you," she said, eyes twinkling with something warmer now. "Better than any in history."

And with that, she turned, leading Kallias away, leaving you and Rhys alone beneath the stars. For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Then Rhys turned to you fully, his thumb brushing lightly over your fingers. "You always know exactly what to say," he murmured.

You huffed a soft laugh. "That’s because I know you."

Rhysand tilted his head, violet eyes warm despite the exhaustion. "And yet, every time I think I can’t possibly love you more, you prove me wrong."

Your breath caught for half a second, and before you could respond, he leaned in, pressing the lightest, most reverent kiss to your forehead.

"Let’s go home," he whispered.

Taglist: @rcarbo1 @raisam @itsinherited @romantic1stories @nebarious @mystirica-18 @willowpains @xelladarlingx @lucilia9teen @lifetobeareader @hjgdhghoe @carmenadkins78 @ireadsstuff @oiolabomdia @jaybbygrl

[vixloyaldecepticon]

Looking at the baby blue sky, two birds soar freely, flying higher and higher with no hesitation, and under the tree of its shade. The sunlight shines through the openings as the warmth of its light reflects on his golden and black paint.

Had the sudden urge or motivation to do this in digital. Finally finished this for three days although at the first day I made the base, bg, and lightning before the next following two days had been little work and late night sleep. My back kinda hurts and my stylus pen is in need of charge sometimes, I need to learn and watch more lighting, shadin, bg, and perspectives since its a pain in the ass- Hope y'all like it ✌️

[sebmindbreak]

HII! I’m a really big fan of ur fanfics and I’m already done reading cherry blossoms in your dreams and i’m kinda waiting for more hehe. Anyways you’re so talented and ever since I’ve read ur fanfics, my writing improved by a ton! So i’m really thankful ❤️

anyways request, could you make a doublefedora angst into fluff smth? Like where Mafioso meets Chance in the dreamscape and then they get along and stuff lovey dovey blah blah and then when chance is forced into a round, mafioso’s the killer for the round. Just pls kiss the brick before throwing it at me heh. But I cant handle angst that well so if u could, put some aftercare with a cherry on top, the rest is your choice! ✌️😼

HHIHIIH TY FOR READING THE FANFIC<33

it makes me alot happy u liek it!! <33

however just read the rules of this blog , this is a blog for character x you <33

BUT ITS OKAY! <3

WARNING: this oneshot cointain depiction of blood!

TITLE : blade and blood

The dreamscape was always quiet here. A little too quiet.

Chance’s boots tapped softly against the polished marble floors of the mafia hideout, the hallways long and winding like an old memory half-remembered. This version of the hideout wasn’t quite real — they could feel it in the way the lights flickered but gave off no heat, in the way every picture frame along the walls seemed to blink out of focus the longer they looked at them.

And yet, Mafioso was here. Real as ever. Crisp suit, gloved hands folded behind his back, that half-smirk curling under his carefully trimmed facial hair.

“Didn’t expect to see you in my dreams,” Chance said, walking backward now with their hands stuffed in their coat pockets. “You’re starting to haunt me, love.”

Mafioso chuckled, low and smooth. “Darling, you’re the one who wandered into my mind. I believe this is my corner of unreality.”

Chance gave a mock bow, cocky grin never leaving their face. “Then I’m trespassing. Hope you don’t charge extra for that.”

They walked together in silence for a while. The soft steps. The flickering chandeliers. There was no need to talk. Here, time didn’t move right. Chance could pretend they weren’t waking up soon. That the real world.

But of course, dreams don’t last.

BZZZZZT.

The sound ripped through Chance’s skull like a lightning bolt. Their eyes opened to a timer, glowing red, the round beginning.

They sat up, rubbing their temple. “Damn... guess we’re back.”

It didn’t take long for them to realize who the killer was.

A familiar British voice echoed over the intercom. Smooth. Cold. Calculated.

“Let’s make this quick, shall we?”

Chance felt their stomach twist.

It was him.

The map was a maze of crumbling city ruins and flickering lights. Chance ducked through alleys, climbed over chain-link fences, heart pounding. They weren’t usually the type to panic. They lived for the chase, the thrill. They gambled everything even their life for the rush.

But this was different.

They’d laughed with Mafioso just minutes ago. In that dream, it had felt like something was blooming between them. Something real. Something warm beneath all the masks and danger.

And now they were prey.

Chance stumbled, nearly tripping over rubble. Their breath hitched, sharp and shallow. They could feel him getting closer. The sound of footsteps behind them was too calm. Too patient. Mafioso didn’t run. He stalked.

And then a corner.

A dead end.

“Shit,” Chance breathed, turning around.

Mafioso was already there.

He looked different in the cold light of the real world. Harder. Sharper. Still beautiful, in that terrifying, refined sort of way. His expression was unreadable.

They both stared at each other. No words. No weapons drawn.

Just tension. And something heartbreakingly soft beneath it.

Chance was shaking now. Not from fear of death they were used to that. It was the betrayal that cut deeper.

“You’re gonna do it, aren’t you?” Chance whispered. “Even if I come back. You’re still gonna kill me.”

Mafioso’s eyes dropped for the first time.

“I don’t want to.”

Chance’s lip trembled. They hated crying it felt like losing a bet. But right now, it all cracked open.

“It’s just a round,” they whispered, voice cracking. “But why does it feel like more?”

Silence.

He gripped his weapon

And stepped forward.

in one swift mention he tore the sword into their chest , but in an almost hesitant way like he was afraid of shattering them he wrapped his arms around Chance’s trembling frame, pulling them close.

“I’m sorry, dove,” he murmured against their hair. “I wish this world made more room for softness.”

Chance sobbed into his coat, clutching the lapels like they were afraid he’d vanish. “I don’t wanna keep losing you…”

“You’re not losing me,” he whispered. “Not here. Not now.”

Mafioso lowered them to the ground slowly, cradling them like something precious , the sword pressing deeper into the wound , blood dripping. The sound of the timer ticking away meant nothing now. He pressed his forehead against theirs, voice barely above a breath.

“You’ll come back,” he said. “And I’ll be waiting. I always will.”

Chance looked at him, eyes red and watery, but a flicker of that reckless smile returned, even if blood tricking down their chest and to the ground. “Yeah… but next time I’m chasing you.”

Mafioso smirked, brushing his thumb across their cheek. “Then I suppose I should start running.”

And in that quiet moment, before the round ended and the lights went red, he leaned in and kissed them not with fire, but with the gentleness of a promise unspoken.

HEHEH I HOPE YOU ENJOYED!

ngl those lil headcanons and oneshots are very easy to write!

[deepestnightcolor]

You are an angel for providing us with well writing stardew content🫶

Can you write somthin about the first time Sam saw the farmer on her first day in town?❤️❤️❤️

ᴀ/ɴ: Some softness delivered for you, darling, I hope you enjoy it :) as a treat for my maths exam being over. 😙✌️Also, enjoy guest star Sebastian that I still cannot freaking write.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Sam (SDV) x fem!Reader

ᴡᴄ: 300 words

ᴍᴅɴɪ ✧ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: feel the fluff peck your head.

☾ ʟɪɢʜᴛɴɪɴɢ ☽

It felt like the stars raining from the sky, light dripping on his skin and filling his pounding heart. No, wait, it felt more like the sun itself had sent out an angel that kissed his head oh so affectionately, with an affection only the skies would ever know. No, wait! It felt like all the skies collided, carefully creating the most beautiful creature ever known to earth -beautiful enough to make him want to sink on to his knees and weep. Actually-

“Stop staring and say your fuckin’ name,” a voice next to him hissed, a pinch to his side bringing him back into reality with a brutality that almost knocked the air out of his lungs. Momentarily, he feared that he would be in his bed in the blink of an eye, cruel brain having fabricated all of this in its sleepy state of mind. But no. Sebastian was still right there, standing next to him with a clenched jaw as he tried to keep up the smile that had been plastered on his lips, side-eying him with a cocked brow. More importantly, though: you were still there. Looking a little confused, he had to admit, the smile on your beautiful lips wavering ever so slightly, as you held your hand outstretched toward him. Gosh, how long had he kept you waiting? How long had he gotten lost in the beauty of your eyes?

With the swirling of feeling still deep in the pit of his stomach, he gripped your hand, giving it a gentle shake.

“Sam.” “Nice to meet you, Sam.” There it was again, the smile that had struck him like lightning. Could something like love at first sight really be real? Sam deemed yes, because if it wasn’t, then actual lightning must have struck him.

[2af-afterdark]

Lord of the Mountain

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Content: Malleus x afab!Yuu|Player (you/your), fantasy au, oral sex (Yuu recieving), Malleus is a dragon-man and we monster fuckers shall feed, yuu is shy, first times, yuu is a virgin, double dicks for our dragon✌️ A/N: Planned for this to be longer, but the spot I hit was cute sooo... Also, you know, real life is kicking me in the teeth right now Word Count: 912

Malleus – the fabled terrible lord of the mountain whose moods controlled the very weather and earth around him; whose happiness made crops grow plentiful and healthy and whose anger split the sky with lightning and thunder – held your knees apart to admire the space between your legs that you'd been trying to hide by closing them. His emerald eyes bore into you, a thousand questions dancing at the tip of his tongue but not one being asked as he concerned himself more with studying every inch of your beauty; the shape of your hips, the build of your frame, the swell of your breasts hidden behind the cup of your hands, the shyness on your face as you looked away from him, he etched all of you into his eyes and committed it to his very long-lived memory.

He intended for more senses than simply his sight to admire you. He buried his head between your legs, pressing his lips against your lower ones. His long, black tongue dragged through your wet folds, then effortlessly doubled back to get another taste of your chastity. 

He savored the flavor of your arousal, demonstrating the restraint of a saint so as to not ravish you entirely despite his desires. You were, at the end of the day, only human and he had to use a delicate hand when handling you or else you may just break beneath his claws. 

But when he glanced upward, you were not looking at him. Your eyes were turned away, while your lip was practically red from how fiercely you had been biting it to muffle your own voice. You were the perfect visage of nervousness and anxiety, but he intended to chase that expression away.

His hands slid beneath your buttocks, lifting your hips enough to lift them into the air and press firmly against his mouth so he could slip his tongue inside of you. The small, surprised gasp you made as he licked the sides of your inner walls threatened to test his patience. After all, you were a feast. So much so that he had to forcefully pull himself away before he devoured you whole.

Malleus pulled away from your dripping hole. “That should be enough to allow your body to accept me.”

“My lord,” you said with warm cheeks as you stared away from your own nudity, trying to ignore how your lower half burned and throbbed with want after what he had done, “I don't think there is a human alive who could welcome all of you.”

He didn't have a frame of reference to compare himself to a human male, but surely he wasn't that much larger. Not enough to be of concern at the very least.

He repositioned himself between your legs, sitting up so he could rest his hardness – both of them – against your mound. The hand holding your left leg open was replaced by a tail curling around your thigh so Malleus could press a spot on your lower stomach.

“They will only reach to here.”

Only.

As if the place he was touching wasn't a hair's breadth from your belly button. As if you were supposed to find it comforting as he brushed his fingers over that spot. As if you weren’t lying under a man – well, a dragon technically speaking – for the first time.

“My lord, that's still quite the feat.”

“Is it? It seems normal for a female dragon to take this much. Are humans different?”

“I wouldn't know, my lord.”

The corners of his mouth pulled slightly downward. “We've spoken about using titles and you’ve already uttered mine three times.”

You felt your face grow warm in shame and embarrassment as he pointed out your behavior. “I'm sorry. I'm not used to referring to you by name yet.”

“Even now?” He asked.

“Even now,” you confirmed.

“Shall we delay the ceremony until you're more comfortable?” He continued to ask, but the way his erections twitched against your entrance in anticipation told you that he was eager to proceed.

“No, my lord.” As nervous as a part of you was, you wanted the same thing deep down. “I'm ready and willing. Please allow me to officially be your bride.”

Bride was the term given to those residents – male or female, man or woman, old or young, rich or poor – of your village and many others nearby that were sent as a sacrifice to the lord of the mountain. When the fields were barren and the water ran dry, they were expected to throw themselves at the lord's mercy and convince him to grant prosperity to their families and neighbors. But you would be different than all his previous brides, because you would be the first one to truly be his mate – or, that was the term he used, at least, but it sounded so animalistic that you still chose to use the phrase you were more accustomed to.

As soon as he had your permission, you could feel something fat pressed against your entrance, already pushing its way inside.

An unease rose up in your stomach for what you knew would happen next. “M- my lord?”

“It's only one and I shall be gentle,” he promised as he leaned over you. He laid his palm against yours to lace his fingers with yours. “Tell me if you would like to stop.”

“I don't plan to,” you replied as you curled your fingers around his. “Please continue.”

[complete-clownery]

Watched all cars movies

(I didn't know there was cars three until recently)

So yeah, felt like making some quick character designs for it, esspecially after I tried to look up fanarts and---

Okay, all I ask of you guys is to stop yasifying Mater

I hate to break it to you but he probably looks gunky as fuck, in my design I still would have liked him uglier if im being honest hes still too handsome like this

but whatever these are just quick sketches anyways

Oh and Lightning McQueen is transmasc obviously ✌️😘

[kidvoodoo]

Käshweek24 Day 6: Comfort

Thank you @hotcat37 for hosting Käshweek! This has been a lot of fun!

(Drabble under the cut ✌️tw for description of panic attack)

Jere doesn’t even remember how it got this bad.

He’s been here before, the same spinning room with the same walls closing in on him. He was here in a hospital bed as the doctor explained a life-altering surgery, but he was high on medication so the room only pulsed and shook, not the ceiling threatening to collapse on him like right now.

But the screaming is the same, like a rush of noise and sensation only he can hear, a thousand voices and shrieking sirens and metal scraping. Above him, the lights turn to muzzle flash and bolts of lightning.

He can’t remember how he got here.

He was flying, where did he fly too? Somewhere too far away from comfort and home. He’s in an airport. The language on the automated announcements is foreign to him. He’s not in Finland.

Someone is saying his name. Not Käärijä, if Käärijä were here right now he wouldn’t be dying like this. He wouldn’t have frozen stock still in the middle of an airport with people around him. Käärijä would have walked right through the curtain of anxiety and shame. Käärijä doesn’t get panic attacks.

But Jere does.

And Jere is all alone in his head with no one to pull him out of the whirlwind of fear that threatens to swallow him whole right now.

He had a therapist say the panic attacks don’t always have an easy to understand trigger, that sometimes it’s from anxiety or fear, from anger or even excitement. Sometimes the air is too sharp and the lights are too hot and all the noise turns into tidal waves. Overstimulation, the doctor said.

Käärijä thrives in the storm of color and sound, Jere drowns.

But someone is saying Jere’s name again and it’s a clear and crisp sound that easily slices through the screaming, crushing walls.

His paralysis is broken when his knees crash to the ground. A moment of sharp pain snaps his vision focused again. He sees a tall man with pale skin and long brown hair approaching, Jere’s name comes out of his lips.

Jere’s breath and vision are swallowed by the panic and his body seizes. He is dying.

He is dying in an airport in front of strangers all alone. His mind can’t even begin to comprehend how he must look to the unsuspecting public right now.

He is dying.

Someone is calling his name again.

Jere doesn’t think he has the strength, there is a rushing in his ears that makes it hard to move but he tries. He tries to force his eyes to see past the explosion of color and light and find the person saying his name.

His eyes lock on a face in the storm. A pale man with long brown hair and worried looking eyes. The voice he hears comes out of the man’s mouth. He knows that voice.

He’s heard it laugh and shout and sing. Heard it groan from satisfaction and whisper filthy things in his ear at night. He’s heard it say his name before like a prayer, a secret and a spell, soft and sacred just for him.

Tommy.

Jere tries hard again, he tries so hard to find sensations outside of his head but it’s hard. He opens his own mouth to try and tell Tommy but the sound that comes out is a breathless whimper. That’s right, he still can’t breathe.

He’s going to die in front of Tommy and in front of strangers in an airport from a panic attack. What a way to go.

Tommy says his name again and this time there are other words too. Jere tries really, really hard to hear them but it’s hard. It’s too difficult and he’s so embarrassed he can’t understand Tommy, he tries to apologize but it’s a choked gargle of words that make no sense.

Tommy’s hand moves then, slow and deliberate. Jere watches it from behind the smokescreen of light and color.

And with a gentle touch of his hand on Jere’s cheek, there is a break in the storm.

Jere’s vision clears first and he’s looking into Tommy’s familiar eyes, the worried look is gone and only calmness remains. Tommy always had a knack for composing himself. It was a game sometimes for them, see how Jere could get him to lose control.

But now Jere is grateful the control is there in Tommy’s eyes, he can see it’s safe there. It’s going to help.

And just like that, the sensations of reality come crashing back into him.

Where once his body was being shaken apart and floating away, he’s slammed back into it so jarringly he lurches forward, only Tommy’s arms catching him keeps him from face planting into the ground. The pounding in his ears is his own heartbeat, the stinging on his skin is cold sweat, his muscles are seized and aching, his knees hurt from falling, the sound around him is his own panicked breathing.

Tommy holds him gentle and comforting, commanding him softly to count back from ten.

He does so shakily in Finnish, the familiarity of his mother tongue grounds him further, he can hear Tommy counting with him in English. They count back from ten several times. At one point they reach zero together and Jere’s vision is clear again. They are no longer in the airport.

“Where-“

“Someplace safe and private.” Tommy whispers back. He must have pulled them off to a secluded spot. Safe.

Safe. Quiet.

“Shh, it’s okay baby,” Jere hears gently against his ear. “You’re okay, just breathe for me.”

And so he does. How could he refuse when Tommy says his name so sweetly? He lays there in Tommy’s arms and breathes, his heart slowly returning to normal rhythm and his blood cooling and calming.

The color storm is gone, everything is slightly blurry and he realizes he’s crying and the tears in his eyes are warping his vision. He shudders and Tommy holds him firm.

Tommy tells him they are staying in here as long as they need too, that there is nothing to worry about, Tommy can take care of it. All Jere needs to do is breathe. He can do that.

The panic is gone and Jere feels hollowed out afterwards. It’s a fugue state that happens and he doesn’t remember much of what happened before. But it doesn’t matter right now. Right now Tommy is holding him and whispering sweet nothings into his hair and Jere can’t remember the last time the storm subsided with something like a happy ending.

Jere closes his eyes and soft colors fill the darkness behind his eyelids. The screams are a distant memory fading to the quiet calm, he buries his face into Tommy’s neck.

[valgeristik]

'Tis the dragon age season, and i am here with a DA Oc Lore Post.

Not about every single one of them (yet? question mark?) but a general...timeline. Mostly about Zea and Lora. An explanation of why i keep saying 'its honestly a wonder Zea turned out as well adjusted as they did'

putting it under the cut 👍 it got LONG (also, Veilguard Spoilers Tm closer to the end of the text, so uve been warned)

Vetted Gaza Evacuation Fundraiser List

E-sims donation

So basically, in my heart in my mind all three of my DAO wardens exist at the same time:

Lora (elf mage), Nikolai (dwarf commoner) and Noel (human noble)

(for those unfamiliar with DAO, each of those have their own origin story. i linked the wiki but tbh tbh tbh i highly recommend playing DAO for urself instead. is it old with old graphics? yes. is it an absolute banger regardless? YES.

I tweaked a few things here n there for each of the backstories, but maybe i'll elaborate on that in a separate post. who knows!)

Anyway. Somewhere along the way the team would come across a village in the middle of a darkspawn attack. They get there early enough to save some people, but too late to save the village itself. You know, Blight things.

This is where they'd find Zea, who survived only because, well, turns out they're a mage! and the magic got triggered by the fact that they were sosososo scared. They are also 5 years old at that point in time.

Lora is the one who finds them, which is fortunate, because they DO try to hit her with some lightning. Which she's well-practiced with redirecting. (u know those big AOE elemental spells you can get in DAO? my main tactic while playing as Lora was to just stack those three on top of each other. So.)

Anyway, she calms them down n gets them out of the building that used to be their home. Whatever family they had is dead, and Lora does realize that

1. Zea is a mage

2. and also an elf

So the chances of them being raised in a nice loving environment are pretty low. And let's be honest, Lora would feel incredibly opposed to the idea of this little kid suffering any more than they already did (<- already getting attached)

It's like finding a blind baby bird on the ground and not being able to put it back in the nest.

Zea would also immediately latch onto Lora as the first like. Adult that they can rely on now that their own mother is gone. (i have not thought about their family too much, but leaning towards the idea that they were being raised by a single mother. )

Lora would make them feel safe, even if she isn't the best parental figure, being 19 (JUST had her Harrowing) and this being her first time in her memory that she gets to leave the mage tower and travel the world. And, you know, having to help stop the Blight. She's got a lot going on.

The initial plan is to either find someone in some town who could help, or give Zea to the dalish, possibly. Wynne suggests the mage circle, but Lora is very much against it, for reasons mentioned above. (and some others. like the fact that the Fereldan mage circle was just completely fucking wrecked.)

But they don't find anyone in town, and by the time they get to the dalish everyone kind of decides that it's not been too bad, actually, and maybe the kid should stay with them. Especially because Zea would probably (definitely) cry a lot if they were to be left somewhere with yet another bunch of unfamiliar people.

Zea is pretty much being raised communally. Nikolai is actually the one who's the best at being a parental figure, as Lora...again, does not think of herself as a parent for the longest time. (Which, who can blame her, really)

And Noel is. Well. Noel.

A brief aside.

Zea, being 5, is old enough to remember things from before the darkspawn attack. They would know

their name and surname

exactly two lines from a song their mother used to sing to them when they were scared or upset

enough of their childhood for the memories of it to haunt them on n off forever ✌️

along with other things that will fade away with time, like their mother's face and what her voice sounded like. etc.

Anyway, that is to say, they will develop a habit of singing those two lines from the song to themself when they need to calm down or distract themself or the like. A self-soothing method, if u will. (<- link to a thing i drew about it)

I have this image in my head of this toddler noticing that Lora is having a rough time at some point (maybe just got woken up by one of those archdemon nightmares) and coming over to sing it to her....because even at that young age, they want to help (foreshadowing)

(the song is actually this one bcs those two lines got stuck in my head while i was playing DATV for the first time n then i was like hey. i could use that....... the specific lines are from 0:37 - 0:49, if u care)

Anyway.

The wardens do what wardens do and end the 5th Blight. Yuppie!

The group splits, with some going their own ways, and some sticking together.

Nikolai and Alistair become like the Normal Uncles to Zea, who occasionally babysit them when Lora is off in the deep roads or whatever.

As for their primary caretakers. well.

My opinions have changed many times over the years regarding the question of Who Would Lora Romance.

At first the answer was. No one.

And then i thought it would be really funny if it was Zevran.

And THEN i thought that it would be even funnier if Noel was their occasional third.

She is the cool aunt who comes over a few times a year to give Zea the most expensive ass gift and to flirt with their parents and then fuck off again.

So Zea is essentially being raised by Thedas' weirdest polycule.

No wonder they can't help but disrespect authority. And. Well. [gestures vaguely in their direction] Other Things.

Now, you can sigh with relief, i'm not going to describe every year that follows.

But there are a few Key Events.

1: The Accident

As mentioned before, Lora did not really consider herself a parent. She wasn't cold to Zea or anything, but she did not take a lot of responsibility, and also did not consider how much her actions and demeanor might influence Zea. Who, let's be honest, would kind of end up idolizing the lot of them, but Lora especially.

So, a couple of years after DAO ends (or maybe During? I haven't quite decided yet, but it's before they turn 8), Zea gets it into their head to try and imitate not-mama.

They've seen her stand in the middle of a lightning storm she summoned on the battlefield, and they were like. Well, lightning kinda comes easier than other things, so let me try that too!

And it goes terribly wrong.

They end up almost dying, but Lora is quick enough to react and get them help. (Which, it had to have been someone else. Maybe Wynne. Because I don't think Lora would know or be any good at healing magic, and I'm SURE she felt so normal about that fact in that moment.)

And this is the event that really hits her over the head with the realization of just how much influence she has on the kid.

So, when Zea recovers, Lora takes it upon herself to teach them how to use magic Properly. Which, hey, ends up working out great.

This is kind of a pivotal moment for her, because she realized just how attached she's gotten, and how easy it would be to lose them. And if she becomes a bit over-protective for the next few years...well. Who Can Blame Her.

This is the moment when she starts thinking of herself as a parent.

2: The Talk (the birds and the. archdemon blood)

As mentioned previously, and even several times, I believe, Zea would idolize Lora and the others, and by extension, would think that grey wardens are the coolest people in Thedas.

Zea is also what I would describe as a bright-eyed idealist. They want to leave the world a better place. They want to help people. And most of all, they want to prevent what happened in their home village from happening again, wherever they can.

They also think their mama is Stronger That God And Will Never Die, and they want to be just like her! 🤗

So they voice as much, when they are about 11-12. They tell Lora that they want to become a grey warden when they grow up.

Now, her plan for them was simple: she wants them to live a long and happy life. Which does not go hand-in-hand with being a warden. She also knows she won't be around forever, even if she's actively searching for a way to prevent the Calling. And also also, she couldn't give less of a shit about the secrecy of the order when it comes to her kid's safety.

So she tells them everything. From the Joining to the Calling, every little detail of being a warden, every drawback. She makes it sound as unappealing as possible, trying her best to discourage this dream of Zea's.

What she doesn't consider is the fact that...Well.

Even if they know they will suffer, they will do it anyway.

Zea has an uncommon relationship with death, lets say. They know that it will happen. To them, and to others. It's not something to be afraid of, necessarily, on the grand scale of things. Suffering must be prevented as much as possible, of course, but death itself does not bring suffering with it on it's own. And so, if they're going to die anyway, what's 30 years or so if they can help save so many more lives? To them, it sounds like a sweet deal.

Sure, they could dedicate their life to saving people in some other ways. But the topic of the blight and darkspawn is particularly personal.

And, knowing about the Calling now, they know that Lora will not be around by the time it's their turn, and so will not be hurt by it.

If they survive the Joining, that is, but eh. Details.

(Although they were fully aware they might die. And they prepared accordingly. With a letter to their family and all, in case things went bad.)

They join the wardens when they turn 20, without telling anyone.

Lora only finds out afterwards.

Obviously, she's not happy about it, but it's not like she can reverse it (yet?..).

So, they talk, they argue, they make peace, and she supports them as best she can, while also redoubling her efforts to find a way to prevent the Calling.

The events of Veilguard happen when Zea is 27.

(spoilers start here)

Lora and co. are in the south of Thedas, helping fight the blight there, and so they cannot come and help out.

And Zea doesn't want them to. They want to prove that they can handle it all on their own. They don't even tell their family that they're involved with All That until shit really hits the fan.

Even after Weisshaupt.

(They try writing a letter to Lora to tell her that they're alive, after. They can't finish it, because they hate how it keeps spiraling. They don't need her to come over and fix everything, they can stand on their own two feet, they have a Team, they WILL handle it.

But, damn, they do want that Mom Hug.)

Before all that, they never really encountered a situation in which they thought they will die. Not since they were 5.

It tests them, their bright-eyed idealism, their inherent urge towards kindness above all.

(Yes, they did punch the First Warden. And yes, they did feel incredibly bad for him once they found him in the underground Weisshaupt replica later. And yes, the memory of his death does haunt them sometimes, even if killing him was an act of kindness.)

But in the end, no matter how angry they were at Solas, or how much they wanted to punch him, too, they chose to talk him down instead.

Because, despite it all, they still want to leave the world better than they found it.

Thats it, thank you so much for attending this lecture 🫡

(and also, yes, Noel DOES teach Zea how to stab people so so so well. It's her own way of caring)