#Momma Wisp | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

amuromi · 2 months ago

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★ ₊ ⊹ ⋆˙ ┈ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 X ᶠ!ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ┈ 7.7k

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐀!𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ┈ I would just like to thank the girlies for showing me the light of the Dominican-French Connie headcanon. Truly a beautiful thing that you’ve all created.

✮ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 & 𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓!! ✮

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ┈ NSFW! modern!au, hurt/comfort, previously established relationship (childhood sweethearts to exes), pet names (baby, mami, mamita), oral (f!receiving), mentions of birth control, untranslated Spanish, ooc!Connie (canon is only a suggestion)

It’s late, just on the cusp of twilight. The sun is setting behind the skyline in flecks of amber light, flickering over the culdesac like a dwindling candle. Soon the streetlights will come on, buzzing in bright halos over the cracked pavement of the basketball court. It’s so strange to see the changes that had gone unnoticed in years prior suddenly become glaringly obvious. The old pavement of the basketball court has always been cracked and faded, dandelions pushing up between the rivers of dirt that worked their way through the broken concrete. The green paint has long since been washed away along with the white lines and red free throw lane. Somebody–probably the same person that tagged the mailboxes up the street–has made an attempt at renewing the paint job, wobbling lines of spray paint marking out half court and the foil line. The rest of the park is just as neglected, having never been updated since its first installation. The swings are old and rickety, creaking under the slightest weight, and all the plastic pieces of the playground have been bleached pale under the sunlight. But it’s still standing.

All the pocketknife etchings in the picnic tables and sharpie scribbles on the underside of the tallest slide. This park has always been well-loved. There are memories tucked into the cracked asphalt and carved into trees. Some aren’t even tangible, just the wisp of a thought tucked to the back of your mind that comes loose when you hear just the right song at just the right time. A car driving by with the windows down, in the stifling heat of midsummer. Mostly just bass rattling through the frame of someone’s hoopty as they ease down the block just as it starts to get dark, hollering at someone loitering by the stop sign at the end of the road. Hear just the right baseline at just the right time throws you back to somewhere easier. When the biggest worries in life were getting home before the streetlight turned on.

Age came through and shattered that simplicity. First crack was sacrificing half the summer to a job at some pop-up carnival that closed as soon as school started, then school started getting serious the closer it got to graduation, and that ceremony sent everybody off in their different directions. Like pulling out threads of a sweater until it starts to unravel. Mikasa went one way and Armin another. Eren stayed local. Coming back together has been like finding a dusty puzzle at the back of a closet and hoping it still had all its pieces. Mikasa graduated the same time as you, but Armin and his big brain still have two more years to go for his bachelor’s. Sasha is fresh out of culinary school and looking to set up something local, a little restaurant somewhere in town.

What started as a throwaway story post that you expected nobody to see or care about–a simple “back where it all began” when you decided to walk to the park at 1AM–had turned into a rallying cry that brought everybody out of the woodwork. Now, after all the new neighborhood kids have gone home, the park is still full of people. A bunch of twenty-somethings too big to be messing with all this playground equipment. The streetlights buzz to life as the sky goes black, bugs crowding around the yellowish light, but no one moves to go home. You’re all grown. The only thing that can tell you to go home now is a half exasperated text from your Momma wondering how long you plan to be out of the house for. It’s still early enough in the night–hardly past nine–that you don’t need to worry about getting called home because you’ve been out of the house for too long or some other nonsensical reason. And even that won’t bother your Momma who’s out living her own life now that you’re older. Something about a weekend trip with her friend Mr. Vick, which you know from childhood, is something she calls all her dates, like it’s an inside joke that she still goes out and has fun. “Acting grown,” as you’ve always called it.

And besides your Momma, you don’t really need to worry about much of anything right now. With a degree under your belt, this little return to living at home is only temporary. A brief stop while you’re waiting for everything with your new employment and the leasing office of your apartment to clear. Soon you’ll be working your own little corporate job with an office and everything, and you’ll have your own place away from your Momma’s house, too. Life is sweet and seeing all your old friends is making it sweeter, but there’s still that barest hint of bitterness lingering on the back of your tongue. No one has mentioned it, too busy focusing on who’s here rather than who’s not, but there is one glaring piece missing from the little jigsaw of your old group of friends. One soldier that didn’t answer the call of duty.

Mikasa and Historia are over on the swings, Eren and Jean are playing one on one on the beat up court, and Sasha and Armin are sprawled out on one of the jungle gym platforms. You’re comparatively alone, sitting at the picnic table all by yourself. It’s like something frozen in time. The same chipped paint and rusted bolts. In so many years, it seems like none of the kids have added anything else to the splintered collage you all left behind. There’s still the little lopsided heart that Historia etched out after being convinced that no one would care if she defaced this particular piece of public property. She was always a stickler with things like that. But the park belongs to you guys more than it does anyone else anyway. It’s always been the property of the kids and it’s almost sad that they haven’t added their own touches in the time since you all graduated. Maybe they’ve hidden their tags in different places. On the underside of the jungle gym written in sharpie, or the frame of the swing set etched into the creaking metal.

After a while, the sound of sneakers scuffing on concrete pauses just long enough for a shadow to cut across your line of sight, eyes half closed as you rest your head on the table.

“Don’t tell me you’re tired,” Eren teases. He somehow looks the same as you last saw him yet so much different. He’s bulkier and his hair is longer. He’s sweating, looking sticky as honey under the golden haze of the streetlights as he smiles down at you.

“M’not tired.” It only sounds the slightest bit fatigued as you mumble the words into your folded arms, but you’re not. You slept in today and even when you woke up you only got out of bed sometime in the afternoon. You’re as well rested as can be, but longing is making you a bit lethargic. Something about a watched pot never boiling. Each minute has stretched to a small eternity as you stare up the ridge of the slight hill that flanks the park. The road is mostly invisible from where you’re sitting but you keep hoping you’ll see someone coming down the dirt path worn through the grass. Eren follows your eyes then kisses his teeth, pushing your shoulder as if to break you out of a daze.

“If he shows, he shows. Don’t sit here waiting for him.” Eren at least has the sense not to sound pitying. It’s not like he’s had the smoothest relationship in the past four years either. He’s been on and off with half a dozen girls since graduation, never seeming to settle down with any one of them. Eren is lucky he’s easy to like because he’s never been hounded by any disgruntled ex and it gives you hope for your own past, but that candle you’ve been holding is burning lower and lower everyday. Soon it’ll hiss out in a puff of smoke and that’ll be that. Another door closed, another chapter ended.

“C’mon, you’re not ’bout to spend the night over here looking sad. Come by my cheerleader while I break Kirstein’s ankles.” Eren has always been something like a brother. Older by a couple months, always pretending he was more mature and had all the answers. Usually he’s no more insightful than you, but he means well and tonight it’s a welcomed distraction. You sit at the edge of the court on one of those rickety benches that rocks and sags under your weight, hooting each time one of them scores just so Eren can huff about you “only cheering for him.” By the time they’ve played themselves out everyone has gathered at the edge of the court.

Armin has settled between your legs, shoulders knocking into your knees as you card your fingers through his hair. It used to be longer. Back in middle school he had a thick mop of hair that matched Mikasa’s. They’ve both shorn off their hair to something more cropped and manageable now, still matching somehow. Historia is leaned up against your shoulder, half-asleep but perking up now that Sasha has started talking about food. Something about everyone coming over to theirs tomorrow for brunch. It’s getting late enough that getting up early is starting to sound like a chore but the promise of a home cooked meal courtesy of your favorite chef has you setting an alarm in your phone. Jean sinks one more shot from half court before wiping his face on his soiled shirt and agreeing to call it a night.

Home is only a couple minutes away, the path lit by merging rings of light pouring down from the streetlamps. The pavement strewn with grass clippings is far less intimidating than walking around campus at night. Here you know house 13 is Ms. Emma’s and the blue car parked on the corner belongs to Mr. Leroy. There’s nothing haunting the streets but a stray cat that meows at you as you split off from Historia at the end of the block. She lives in the next neighborhood over–where the sidewalks aren’t as cracked and the houses not so weathered–and you watch her drive off until her tail lights disappear around a corner. Your phone pings as the group chat erupts with the obligatory “I’m home” texts. You send your own before turning in for the night, trying not to mull over the missing name in the text chain.

Morning comes in shades of pink and electric buzzing as your phone vibrates through your alarm. It’s early or at least earlier than you’ve gotten up in a while, but Sasha is already up and texting, reminding everyone that food will be ready by noon. There’s a pang of nostalgia as you get ready in the bathroom that saw you through so many formative years. It smells like your Momma now that you’ve spent so long living in dorms instead of at home. Her perfume and hair products, the sweet smell of vanilla and cocoa butter that clings to nearly every room of the house. Even your own perfume mimics the comforting scent as you spritz yourself in a generous cloud before stepping out for the day.

A pair of sunglasses sits low on the bridge of your nose as you make the drive to Sasha’s new apartment. She moved out soon after she finished culinary school. A modest apartment that isn’t too far from the restaurant she works at. It’s humble but it’s hers, and you’re proud to see how well life has been treating her. A notification from Sasha pops up as you check your lipgloss at a stop light, asking you to run to the store for her. Something about running out of eggs. Historia chimes in a moment later asking if any of the liquor stores are open so she can make mimosas. You turn right at the next light and bemoan the lack of cars in the parking lot of the grocery store. It’s not so early that no one’s on the road but you hate to be that person rolling up into the store before everyone’s settled into the work day.

Just make it quick, you tell yourself as you pass through the doors. There’s an immediate gust of frigid air conditioning that raises goosebumps over your skin as you grab a basket. The store is nearly empty as you meander towards the dairy section. There’s a lady pondering over avocados as you pass through the produce. About as old as your Momma, though her hair is finely peppered with streaks of gray. There’s a vague familiarity to her that comes with growing up in the same place. She might’ve been your old daycare lady or a secretary at your elementary school. You push your sunglasses a bit higher on your face, trying to hide behind the wide lens. It’s too early to navigate through a half recalled stroll down memory lane. She barely glances up as you pass, but you still take a sudden interest in the speckled pattern of the tiled floor, skirting past a display of tomatoes until you can dip around a corner. Halfway down the line of aisles you see an old classmate working the seafood counter. There’s a moment of hesitation before he nods at you and you return the gesture hoping that will be the last of the familiar faces you see until you get to Sasha’s place.

By the time you make it to the self checkout you’ve only seen three more people in the relatively large store. No one that you knew, luckily. The scanner happily chirps to not forget your receipt as you tuck the eggs into your reusable bag, the motion interrupted as you hear a familiar song ghosting past your ears. It’s quiet, muffled, sounding like you’re only hearing it from a distance. It draws your eyes despite the machine reminding you to remove all items from the bagging area. There’s no one behind you to stir up a fuss about you lingering too long at the register, half lost in a memory. In fact the only other person in the self checkout area is a man that looks devastatingly familiar. Even with his back towards you, you could pick Connie out of the biggest crowd. His hair is a bit longer now, grown out of his militaristic buzz cut, and his shoulders have gotten broader since you last saw him, but it’s him.

The music is coming from him, of course. A relic from a bygone era of your life, a song older than either of you that his mother used to play. A comforting sound from those awkward years of middle school. It’s faint but you can hear the soulful belting of the love song even from a distance. It sends you back to the time when you first met Connie. He’d been on the fringes of your life throughout childhood. That friend of a friend that you’d never formally met until your sixth grade English class when he was sitting next to you and cheating off your answers. It took a few months before you realized he was an ESL student and suddenly cheating wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

The register chirps at you to pick up your groceries and grab your receipt and you nearly drop your bag and break your eggs in your rush to leave. Connie glances up from his own scanning at the sound of the commotion. It’s only a cursory glance from the corner of his eye but you see the recognition spark immediately. His whole body goes rigid, suddenly lined with tension at the mere sight of you. It’s too early for this kind of confrontation. Four years suddenly seeming too soon to see him again. You’re halfway to your car before you consider that he might not have recognized you. You try to rationalize that he could’ve just been bothered by some random woman staring him down while he’s trying to get groceries. It makes the lack of any notifications on your phone make more sense. The Connie you knew would’ve been texting you, then calling if you didn’t answer quick enough for his liking. He wouldn’t have let you walk away from him so easily. But, after so long, the Connie you knew only exists in memories. Like the song you only remember as a melody, no true words, just sounds and a feeling.

It’s so strange how a day can sour so quickly. The bubbling happiness of getting to see your old friends has dissipated to a rueful melancholy. You get to see every friend but one.

Masking your upset is easy when you can blame your lack of enthusiasm on the early hour despite having gotten more than enough sleep. Sasha puts you to work anyway, nudging you towards one end of the counter with a bowl and instructions to scramble the eggs. There’s a debate between Jean and Armin over adding milk to the mix, then Historia starts another over how much cheese qualifies as too much. Sasha bats all their hands away with a spatula, tossing in more cheese with a petty grin as you lament that you’re just following the chef’s instructions. You find yourself humming the song Connie had been playing as you cook, struggling to remember the words in Spanish.

If anyone notices your overindulgence in the mimosas, they don’t question it. Historia seems happy to play mixologist as she measures out generous amounts of champagne colored with a splash of orange juice. By the fourth glass you’re feeling fuzzy and warm, like floating in a sun-dappled cloud. Mikasa’s shoulder is a nice place to rest as you drift in and out of the movie Armin put on. Some long, pondering art house film that you’re sure wouldn’t have been any easier to understand if you hadn’t only been half conscious through the whole runtime. The morning tastes like maple syrup and melted cheese. Sweet and savory as you try to ignore the soured note of your shopping trip. You try to imagine what might’ve happened if you hadn’t tucked tail and ran, then decide it was better that you had left in such a hurry. Connie had seen you but he decided to go back to what he’d been doing, ignoring you as if you were a stranger.

By the tail end of the second movie you’re sobering up and thinking of an excuse to duck out early. Sasha is back to banging around in the kitchen, cooking a late lunch, or maybe an early dinner, but you don’t have the energy to pretend to be upbeat for much longer. It isn’t quite sadness. That already came and went years ago. But it’s a strange aching like an old injury flaring up with the rain. Some time to yourself will help clear your head as you obsess over every second of the momentary interaction. Had that been a frown at the corner of his mouth or was it simply a trick of the light? Had he even considered following after you or was he glad to watch you go? The alcohol had dampened the anxiety but with each sobered moment it came roaring back to the forefront with a vicious ferocity.

You make up some excuse about cleaning the house before your Momma gets home from her weekend getaway, ducking out of Sasha’s apartment to a chorus of disapproving whines. There’ll be other days together. You’re staying at home for at least another week and you weren’t moving so far that visits would be out of the question. Fifteen minutes was barely a drive at all, just a quick shot up the road from the high rise you’d closed on. They’ll be able to suffer one evening without you while you get yourself in order.

Connie is all you can think about as you drive home. Him and the way he’d looked at you in the store. Like you were a ghost, a memory meant to be forgotten. And really, you have no right to be mad because isn’t that what you’d done to him? You’re strangers now. Hadn’t talked in years. What would you even say if you did? You consider the park as you drive past, but the sky has turned a steely gray and you’re not feeling like getting rained on in the name of nostalgia. It smells like lawn clippings and petrichor when you get out of the car. It’s still warm despite the storm clouds, a sticky sort of heat that ruins hair and melts makeup. The first crash of thunder comes rolling through as you lock your car, and you nearly unlock it just as fast when you notice someone sitting on your front step.

The porch is outfitted with a cute set of chairs your Momma got from a yard sale a while back but Connie has decided to sit on the steps. He looks up at the sound of your approach and you try not to notice the way the hazel color of his eyes have shifted with the weather. They’re pulling more brown than green in the muted light of the storm as he watches you stomp past him. You hear him scrambling to follow after you even over the jangling of your keys as you rush to unlock the front door. But the porch is small and he’s already there by the time the deadbolt clicks out of the way. The weight of the screen door lifts from your back and the cold glass is replaced with the warmth of his breath skirting over the nape of your neck. It’s the closest you’ve been in years, too close to slam the door on him as he follows close behind you. He shuts the door like he lives here, locking it behind him with a sort of finality. There’s still the back door for you to escape out of and you’ve hopped enough fences to circumvent the enclosure of the backyard, but you aren’t about to let this man run you out of your own home.

There’d been a draining sort of grief settled over you before but now it’s turned to boiling anger. He’s always been a bit desperate for your attention, though he looks a bit confused to be standing in front of you now. His eyes glance around the front room, taking in every detail as if he wanted to commit it to memory. It had been so long since he’d last been in your Momma’s house and you imagine it felt like wiping clean a window to allow the light through, the haze of dirt and lost memories removed as he breathed deep a smell that must’ve lingered in the back of his mind the same way the scent of his cologne lingered in yours. There’s an awkwardness to him that sits far too foreign on his large frame. His hands are shoved into his pockets, deep enough that they’re pulled just low enough for a peek of elastic to poke out over the waistband. You try not to focus on the strip of skin showing above the band of his underwear. If you look too long you’ll get lost in your head and you can’t let nostalgia cloud your judgment when he’s standing in the middle of your Momma’s living room uninvited, looking so fondly at the pictures of you she has framed on the wall.

Connie seems to know you’re about to speak before the words even leave your mouth because his hand catches your chin. He tilts your head up to look at him as his thumb brushes over your lips, smearing your lip gloss just as soon as your lips part.

“Not yet, baby,” he says and you can tell he talked to his mom recently. He’s got that little twang to his voice that he gets after speaking Spanish for an extended amount of time, the accent he outgrew somewhere in middle school slowly creeping back into his voice. You hate that you recognize it. That you wonder what he said to his mom, if he mentioned you. She used to keep a picture of the two of you in her wallet. The same picture your Momma still has framed somewhere. She took it down years ago when you’d come home in the middle of the semester with tears in your eyes, babbling about breaking up with Connie. But she never got rid of it, she said you’d regret it someday. Now, you were slowly starting to understand her insistence on preserving the sweet memory.

The two of you were laid up on a couch, squished together even though you were small enough that there was more than enough space to spread out a bit more. One of your arms is tucked under your head while the other is laid over Connie’s back as he drools on your chest, leaving a wet spot on your shirt. You can still remember the sights and smells of that day. It was the first time you’d been invited to one of his family gatherings.

His cousins had loved you, prattling on in a quick rush of Spanglish that you tried your best to follow as his mom kept handing you plates of food. Connie stuck close to your side the whole day, translating the slang that you missed and stealing your food when he got hungry.

So many of your memories with him were so precious. It seems almost impossible that it had all come crumbling down so quickly. All it took was one phone call for your world to come crashing down because he couldn’t even give you the respect of doing it face to face. Maybe because he knew he wouldn’t go through with it if he could see your teary eyes. He always hated seeing you cry. Even just a pout would have him jumping to fix the problem. Any problem but your broken heart. You almost want to push him away as he leans his head against yours but it feels so good to be in his arms again. Almost like nothing has changed. But it has, and you aren’t about to let him pretend like it hasn’t.

“Not yet.” He says again and this time he kisses you, stealing the words out of your mouth. It isn’t the kind of kiss you’d been expecting, though you truly hadn’t been expecting one at all. It’s deep and searching as if he’s trying to pour every kiss he’d missed giving you in the last few years into one. It feels like drowning and breathing all at once. As if you hadn’t realized you were starving until he gave you food and told you to eat. He tastes sweet, like cake.

“You can be angry,” he promises between breathless kisses. “Later, you can be angry. But right now, let me pretend I never let you go.” But he had, and it hurt, and you are angry. Yet your hands are pulling him closer.

“Not here.” He says between kisses, urging you towards the hallway. He remembers which door is yours–second on the left–even after so many years away. It’s damning how well Connie knows his way around your childhood home. He’s spent countless hours within these walls the same as you. It was like a second home for him. Now it’s like he never left as he guides you towards your bed. It isn’t the luxurious queen size you ordered for your new apartment, just a modest double that was just big enough for the two of you. Usually with room to spare because Connie never did like to sleep on his side of the bed. He doesn’t make an attempt at taking up any space after he sits you on the edge of the mattress, retreating towards the door as if he’s suddenly scared to be this close to you.

It’s a mutual feeling, the excitement and hesitance. It’s like being lethargic and hyper all at once, locked in some shuddering equilibrium that will go off kilter the moment one of you makes a wrong move. So Connie stays pressed up against your door, hands back in his pockets like that’ll be enough to keep his hands off you after he’s already got the taste of you on his lips. He never was one to be satisfied with just a kiss.

There’s nothing hiding his eagerness as you catch the shape of his dick pressing through the gray fabric of his sweatpants clear as day. The sight is enough to lead you down a well-worn path. It’s easy to go along with his wish, to pretend he never left, when you’re surrounded by the familiarity of the past. It’s like you’re eighteen again, watching Connie fight back tears as you tell him you’re leaving for college. It was the beginning of the end yet you can’t find it in yourself to regret it. College had been the right choice and you’re not sure what your Momma would’ve done if you told her you weren’t going to your first choice school just to stay close to a boy. Even if that boy was Connie. But that doesn’t matter right now. Later, he said, you can be mad at him later. Right now you want to forget all the lost years and unspoken emotions standing between you.

There’s a bashful hesitance as you shrug off your shirt, trying not to think of how long it’s been since he last saw you like this. You look different, surely, but Connie doesn’t seem perturbed. His mouth falls open as if he hadn’t expected it to be that easy to get you undressed. Of course you should be a little less forgiving, more steadfast in your anger, but that can all come later. For now, you’re nearly tripping over your feet to get your pants off. Connie stays pressed up against your door, hands solidly in his pockets, but his eyes are greedy as they rove over your undressed form. Light eyes drag down your body, taking in the way your bra strap slips off the curve of your shoulder and your panties are slung low around your hips. It’s mismatched, nothing special, but Connie licks his lips and bites back a smile.

“Show me.” He sounds breathless. “Show me what I’ve been missing, baby.” There’s a soft thud as he head falls back against the door. His eyes are half lidded, lashes fluttering as his eyes take in your state of undress. The slight gravel to his voice has your knees knocking and cheeks warming, and suddenly you don’t feel as confident as you did a minute ago. Connie smirks, a soft laugh falling from his lips. “Don’t be shy now, baby. Lemme see.”

There’s an awkward tremor to your hands as you slide your panties off, thighs closing as soon as you kick them off your ankle. Connie clocks you immediately, sucking his teeth at your coy behavior.

“Uh uh, mama. Spread your legs. Lemme see.” There’s something so familiar in his voice, that slow drawl as he looks down at you, that has your body reacting before you can think. Your legs slide open and Connie groans. “There she is. So pretty, baby.”

He finally pushes off the door to come closer and the sight of him rushes over you like deja vu. It eases your nerves, the familiarity of it all. It’s been a while but not so long that your bodies have forgotten each other. Connie fits between your legs the same as he always did. Falling to his knees the instant he’s close enough to touch. His hands slide up the inside of your thighs, pushing your legs farther open, before dipping over the curve of your hips to pull you to the edge of the bed.

“Missed this,” Connie says as he buries his face between your legs. “Missed you.” The words are spelled out with his tongue as he laps at the wet heat hidden between your thighs. His short hair still prickles against the palm of your hand as you look for something to ground you as he takes his time to reacquaint himself with your body. He’s mumbling a litany of English and Spanish that hums against your clit as he sucks the sensitive bud between his lips, tracing the shape of his name like he never left. The way he’s gripping your thighs, tight enough that his fingers are leaving dimples in the soft flesh, it feels like he wishes he hadn’t left.

There’s regret and possession radiating from him as he eats you like a man starved. He catches you watching him as your nails scratch at his scalp, hazel eyes sparkling up at you as you squirm on his tongue. He’s looking at you like you’ve hung all the stars in the sky as you cum. He groans loud and long, eyes rolling as your legs try to snap shut. He lets you, loosening his grip on your thighs just enough to feel your legs lock around his head. Connie has the nerve to look perfectly happy to suffer the suffocation as he keeps sucking at your clit. It’s not until you’re pushing him away, whining about “too much,” that he comes up for air. He’s got a dopey smile on his face, your slick shining on his cheeks and chin. He licks his lips and kisses the inside of your thigh, leaving a shiny, heart-shaped mark. He does it again and again, a trail tracing up your stomach before he buries his face against your chest, tongue tracing hot shapes across the pebbled peaks of your nipples. He’s mumbling something, low and barely coherent as he sucks marks into the plush skin of your breasts.

“–me.” It’s a slurred mess on his clumsy lips, his attention divided between spouting his little mantra and tracing the shape of his name against your collarbone with the tip of his tongue. “Only me.” He says it over and over. Only me, only me, only me…

“Tell me, baby,” he says, suddenly crowding over you. He’s pushed you up the bed so your head is resting on your mountain of silk-covered pillow. “Tell me it’s only gonna be me.” His voice, usually deep and dulcet, has risen to an almost whimpering tone as he blocks everything but himself from your vision. The bulk of his arms crowds your periphery, keeps your head from moving as he sits nearly nose to nose with you. He’s close enough that you can reacquaint yourself with the pattern of his hazel eyes, easily parsing which flecks are green and which are brown. “Tell me.”

There’s still a shy hesitance as you thread your arms around his neck, but it’s less about the sudden proximity and more about the sudden outpour of emotion shaking itself awake, like frost melting in the sunlight. Connie has always been familiar even after so long apart, but the emotions he dredges up have been buried beneath years of hurt and the intensity of it all bursting through the wall you’ve carefully built around your heart is almost enough to drown you. Tears come unbidden, burning at your lash line and threatening to make your mascara run.

“It’s always been you,” you promise him. “It’s only ever gonna be you.” It wipes the slate clean. Anyone you’d been with, anyone he’d been with, in the years of distance are wiped away with only a few words. They didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered but the two of you. Connie nearly drowns you in his next kiss, tongue dancing over yours as he groans into your mouth. You can taste yourself as he sucks at your tongue like he’s trying to reacquaint himself with every facet of your body. It’s a shared sentiment as your lips find that beauty mark at the edge of his jaw that you always pressed fluttering kisses to. He laughs, low and breathless, returning the favor as he finds all those favorite places he liked to put his lips. It’s soft and loving, staving off the inevitable as his dick ruts between your legs. Each thrust has his leaking tip pressing wet kisses against your clit, adding to the mess he’s already made between your legs. His hand is clumsy when he finally reaches between your bodies to guide himself home.

“Fuck.” The word comes out as a languid drawl as he fills you to the hilt, reaching to hitch one of your thighs around his waist. Your body remembers the shape of his, bending and bowing with the practiced motions, but you can still feel the changes. Connie has bulked up since you last saw him and he was already a pillar of corded muscles the last time you’d touched him. You can feel the softer parts of your body pressing against the hard contours of his muscles as he wraps himself around you. His arms curl under your back, pulling you closer until your hearts are beating in tandem, chest to chest as he stretches you to your absolute limit on his dick.

“Bésame,” Connie groans, nosing under your chin to lift your mouth to where he needs it. He hovers a hair’s breadth away from your lips, each panting breath mingled with yours. “Bésame, mami.” He says again and you realize he’s waiting for you to kiss him. You’re happy to close the gap he’s left, letting him swallow all the little noises you’re making. It’s reminiscent of the days before when you had to be quiet so your Momma could at least pretend she didn’t know what the two of you were doing behind closed doors. But she isn’t home now, so you’re free to make as much noise as he can draw out of you as he rocks his hips against yours. He isn’t going for speed. Instead Connie fills you with slow, deep strokes that stir up your insides and make you feel him in your stomach. It punches the air from your lungs, leaving you to breathlessly slur his name as your nails leave marks across the broad expanse of his shoulders.

“That’s right, mami.” His teeth scrape against the shell of your ear. Each gruff sound slipping past his lips echoes in your head as he presses his nose against your temple. “Mark me up. Quiero ser tuyo.”

“Tú eres mío.” You say, leaving sticky marks along his neck, lipgloss and spit shining between the beads of sweat. Connie groans as you nip at his pulse, hips stuttering as he pulls you impossibly closer.

“Eres mía, mamita. Dilo, mami, dime.” He’s slurring his words, each one bleeding into the next as Connie fucks you into the mattress. You’re on the cusp of mindlessness as he reaches between your bodies to find your aching bud, nearly too far gone to understand what he’s saying. It’s only because it’s him, only because you’ve heard it a thousand times in what feels like another life, that you know what he wants to hear.

“Soy tuyo,” you whine as he spells his name on your clit. “Soy tuyo, lo sabes!”

“Yo sé, mamita.” His voice is damning. You can hear the smile in his tone as he grinds his hips in deep circles, drawing out the inevitable as you teeter on the cusp of a blinding orgasm. It burns low in your stomach, thrumming at the base of your spine as he kisses your fluttering eyelids.

“Mírame.” He says, tone just short of begging. “Mírame cuando tu vienes.” When you open your eyes, all you can see is Connie. His half lidded eyes and parted lips as you cum with a choked cry of his name. He spits out a gruff “mierda” as your legs lock tight around his waist, keeping him locked in place as your body writhes underneath him. You can feel your muscles tensing, toes curling and back arching as pleasure sings through every inch of your body. You vaguely feel Connie’s fingers fumbling clumsily across your arm, pressing and squeezing like he’s looking for something. When he doesn’t find it, he sits up, lifting your body with him as he sits back on his knees. It draws forward the vague memory of when he used to poke at the little plastic bar in your arm; your birth control. It’s gone now, having run its course in the years since you’d last seen him.

Still, you keep your legs locked tight around him.

“Tu turno,” you pant, circling your hips until Connie reaches to hold you still.

“No puedo, mami. Tienes que dejarme salir.” He says, patting your thighs where they’re still wrapped tight around his waist. It only makes you squeeze tighter and Connie groans, falling on top of you as you tighten around him.

“Está bien, papi,” you whisper, rubbing soothingly at the marks you’ve left on his back as Connie nearly vibrates with how hard he’s trying to focus on not cumming inside you. Neither of you had been worried about protection before and you’re not worried about it now as you flex your legs, catching Connie by surprise as you roll the two of you over until you’re on top.

“¿Lo quieres?” You ask, but his hands are already loosening, no longer holding you still. He paws at your thighs, nodding sheepishly like he isn’t sure if he’s truly allowed to want anything from you. He shouldn’t, not after what he did, but that’s a problem for later. All the anger and confusion can come after he does.

“Dime,” you say just to tease him. It looks like he’s on the cusp of insanity, lips poured and eyes glassy as he stares up at you like you’re the only thing that matters to him.

“Te quiero!” He barely gets the first syllable out before you’re moving. Red lines appear on his flushed chest where your nails scrape for purchase against his muscles, pressing him into the bed as you bounce on his dick. Fatigue is creeping in, singing each stroke with the sting of overstimulation as the pleasure begins to burn away. But Connie’s close. You can tell by the way his vocabulary has shrunk to only a few desperate words, mainly your name, as his fingers dig into the bruises he already left on your thighs.

“Hazme acabar,” Connie all but whines. “Estoy cerca.” He sits up suddenly, almost knocking you over as his arms wrap around your waist. He’s holding so tight that he nearly squeezes the air from your lungs as he cums with a hoarse shout of your name. It’s thick and graveled, resonating in your chest as he holds you against him. He’s gripping like you’re going to disappear the moment he lets go, looking at you like this’ll be the last time. Later, he kept saying. Later is now as you feel him spill inside you.

“Lo siento,” he whispers against your lips as he steals a final kiss. It sounds more like a goodbye than an apology and the finality of it digs out the hollow that has been sitting in your chest all these years. When Connie pulls away it suddenly feels like no time has passed at all, like it’s the beginning of the end all over again. Later is now but the anger you felt before won’t come. Instead all you feel is desperation as you cling to him, sticky with sweat, as he lays you across the sheets and kisses your forehead. You can feel him trying to leave again. He carefully detangles himself even as you try to hold onto him, pressing deceptively sweet kisses to your lips as you whine for him to “please, stay.” It’s like he doesn’t hear you as he slips from the bed and pulls on his sweatpants. But when he leaves the room you don’t hear the telltale sound of the front door slamming. Instead, you trace the sound of his steps towards the bathroom, hear the faucet turn on. A few moments later, he’s back.

“Don’t cry, baby,” he coos as he wipes away the mess he’s made of your body. “If you wanna be mad at me; be mad, but you know I can’t stand seeing my girl cry. No llores, mami.” He insists, wiping away the tears along with the sweat and cum slipping from between your legs. That had been an impulsive decision. One that will have to be dealt with eventually. Later, you think distantly. You can deal with that later. Right now you’re more worried about Connie. He sits sheepishly at the edge of your bed, offering his shirt for you to wear. It feels like a peace offering as you pull it over your head. It smells like him, it smells like home. You watch Connie fumble in his pockets until he pulls out a ring, one you recognize in an instant.

It wasn’t one of those cheap Pandora princess rings that every girl in your grade got as a promise ring. It was something far more precious. You’d seen his mom wearing it for years before it suddenly appeared in the palm of his hand all those years ago when he asked you to be his forever. He hadn’t wanted to take it back when you broke up. Even as he broke his promise, he wanted you to keep the ring. It’s cold when he slides it back on to your finger, but it fits like it’s always been there, like these last few years had only been a few moments instead of a small eternity. It felt strange to let go of everything so easily. All the pain, all the anger. It shouldn’t be that easy but everything slides back into place as if it is. Everything is different now, yet still the same. You’re different, he’s different. But it reminds you of something your Momma said about distance making the heart grow fonder. She could never muster any trig anger towards Connie because she said this is what you needed. A brief interlude to become your own person after years of entwining yourself with Connie. Now you understand what she meant by all that. It’s too soon to tell if it’s worth it but you suppose you can worry about that later.

#connie ★#connie x reader #connie x reader smut #★ mine!#aot smut

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jungle-angel · 1 year ago

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The Snow Princess (Bob Floyd x Reader)

GIF by cowboybarbie

Summary: You and Bob hold a special place for the first born girl in your family

Warnings: Mentions and details of childbirth, breastfeeding etc.

Bob was so awestruck by the tiny little baby in his arms, made tinier still by his large biceps that bulged out of his white t-shirt. She may have been tiny beyond all reason, but to him she was absolutely perfect.

Diedre Brigit Floyd had decided to make her grand entrance into the family, the labor pains having started late on the night of December 6th and by eight in the morning on December 7th, you and Bob came face to face with your sweet little princess. Her aunt, Reagan, Bob's oldest sister, had even come to help and had stayed for two weeks to make sure everything went well.

Out of all your babies, Diedre's birth had been the easiest. You couldn't have done it without the encouragement of your husband and your sister-in-law, laboring through the night in your shared bedroom until it was time. All it took was four pushes and out she came, falling into her aunt's hands before she was placed into your arms, the first girl born to you and Bob and Auggie and Patrick as her proud big brothers.

He wished more than anything that Diedre would open her eyes, just so he could see what color they were. Of course they would be blue, that beautiful, deep, Irish blue that ran in his family like the rivers in the hills. Oh she was beautiful, ten perfect little toes and ten perfect little fingers, delicate wisps of dark gold hair. He could have held her for hours when her tiny little fists rose to her face, a sleepy little coo coming from her throat as she stretched.

"Good morning princess," Bob cooed. "You wakin up?"

Diedre yawned, her eyes barely opening.

"You're so pretty," he whispered. "Just like your momma. You're our sweet little snow princess."

Bob looked up from where he had been sitting in the rocking chair, to find you awake with a tired smile on your face. "She awake?" you yawned.

"Just started to wake up," Bob said with a broad smile. "I still can't believe we made her sweetheart, she's so perfect."

You hummed happily as Bob rose from the rocker, the snow falling harder outside your window as he carefully placed Diedre in your arms. She whimpered a little, having been stuck back into your arms after being with Bob for so long, but calming right down as soon as you were propped upright in bed. Bob's large but nimble fingers, undid the front of your lacy, sleeveless nightdress so your baby daughter could root and feed. A sleepy, peaceful look appeared on your face as Diedre suckled away, Bob nuzzling her soft tufts of hair.

"Does it feel weird?" Bob asked quietly.

"Does what feel weird?" you asked him.

"Does it feel weird finally holding her?"

In a way it did. For some strange reason, though you didn't know why, she felt so much lighter when you held her in your arms. She had been much heavier all curled up in your belly and with hardly any room to move around. Yet you hadn't noticed it until now.

"Sort of," you chuckled a little. "But in a good way."

Bob smiled and kissed your lips before crawling under the covers beside you. When Diedre was finally full enough, the three of you went right back to sleep, reveling in the quiet winter's hush that had fallen over the house.

#top gun maverick #robert bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #dagger squad

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saphiccarma · 2 months ago

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And I loved you, but you're a killer

Warnings: Death

Relationships: Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal

Summary - Agatha had simply wanted the power to protect her son, but she ended up doing the opposite

A/N: This isn't what I neccesarily believe what happened, but I thought it made for something fun to write. Also, I'm down to take requests....

______________________________________________________________

Agatha cradled the book in her hands, gently holding the leather material. The tips of her fingers were blackened, taking over her nails and delicate skin. She clutched the Darkhold tightly. Nicholas was beginning to get curious, and it was worrying her. He, in his young mind that was always curious, was beginning to ask where she was all the time.

She didn't have the heart to tell her son that she was meddling with evil forces. He was too vibrant, too brilliant, too innocent. Flipping the book open, Agatha read the pages, words written down on how to gain more power. Words on all the forbidden magic in the world.

Purple magic bloomed on her fingertips, over taking the black as she read the words aloud. Her voice started out as soft, slowly increasing in volume. The power in her hands grew in power. It swirled around the room, coating it in a mist of purple. She could feel the power surrounding her - all powerful and consuming.

And then, the door creaked open. A little head popped in, fluffy black hair and innocent eyes.

"Mama?" Nick's voice called. He sounded so happy, so filled with life and joy.

Agatha tried to stop the magic, tried to get it to return to her hands. But the purple continued to swirl around the room and her mouth kept moving. Stepping into the room, her son looked around, his eyes wide and filled with wonder - yet a healthy dose of fear. He reached out to touch a purple wisp, yelping when it burned him. Agatha felt her throat clogging up, but the ancient words of the spell wouldn't stop flowing.

"Mom?" Nick asked, his voice soft, he looked her straight in the eyes, "What's happening?" She wanted to scream at him to get out, but her voice wouldn't work. Nick took a step forward and her panic increased. He needed to leave, to get out until she was done. "Momma?"

Managing to shake her head, she conveyed as much emotion as she could into that one movement. Her son looked up at her with watery eyes, a small sniffle escaping him as he cupped his hands close to his chest. Now she noticed a drawing in his hands, a small picture that she couldn’t make out.

Now the magic whipped around the room, blowing her hair around and swaying Nick's small form. He braced himself, trying to take a step closer and latch onto her. The magic slapped at him, purple turning his skin red and blistery. Agatha wanted to scream and cry as her son did, but her mouth once again continued to chant the ancient words. Still, even as he cried out in pain, her son persisted, reaching her and grasping her skirt. He held on, clinging to her and using her as an anchor.

Levitating in front of her, the book pages turned for her to read, allowing her hands to remain spread out and produce the magic. Her body felt tired, her arms felt like they were filled with rocks. Desperately, Nick clung to her skirt, peering up at her with watery eyes.

The magic inside and around her grew stronger. Nick buried his face into her skirt, pressing against her legs with a familiar warmth. Agatha's eyes watered as she neared the end of the spell - the final words spilling out of her mouth.

Exploding, the purple wisps consumed the two of them, bursting into a giant cloud. Agatha was knocked back, Nick torn away from her as she was slammed into the wall. Smoke was billowing around her. She coughed. Her fingertips tingled, filled with a new sense of power that ran through her veins. It felt wonderful, a new level of power that consumed her and would allow her to keep her son safe from all the dangers.

Her son. Nicholas.

Agatha scrambled up from her slouched position against the brick wall. She waved away the smoke, it disappeared instantly with a wave of her hand - not that she noticed. And then, she saw a broken form lying on the ground. Hurrying towards him, Agatha slid to her knees, cradling her son's head in her lap.

She stroked his hair gently, carding through the soft black curls. He coughed a little, his entire little chest heaving. Nick's breathing was wheezy. Tears filled her eyes as she hugged him close. No. He would be okay, it would be okay.

"Shh, baby," she whispered when he coughed once more, "It's okay, momma's got you."

His eyes fluttered open, "Momma?” The joy was gone from his voice, replaced with a sense of tiredness and she could feel the life draining from him.

"I'm here, I'm here," she brushed the stray strands of hair away from his. Wiping his face of dust, she smiled down at him and his beautiful, innocent eyes. A hand was pressed onto her back and Agatha jolted. She looked behind her as a figure, clad in black, moved to stand in front of her.

Rio stood in front of her, a knife in her hand, and black clothes covering her frame. Panic seized her and her heart clenched. No, Rio was here to comfort her, help her. She wasn’t going to steal her son. She would never. But as she looked up at her lover, her perfect, soft, lips were frowning, and she wasn’t making eye contact.

"No," she shook her head, "Don't do this to me. Don't."

"Mi amore," Rio crouched down, her hand cupping Agatha's face, "I'm sorry."

Tears streamed down her face, tracing tracks in the dust, "Rio, no," she pleaded, "Please."

Pulling Nick closer, Agatha looked into Rio's eyes. Her lover looked sorrowful, for the first time when she was doing her job, Agatha saw sorrow in Rio's eyes. The personification of Death, cupped her face with two hands, pressing a gentle kiss onto her nose. She wiped away Agatha’s tears, pressing her forehead onto Agatha’s own.

"I have to," she whispered.

A sob was pulled from Agatha's throat as she cradled her son. He was her beautiful boy, the light in her life aside from Rio. He had loved the other woman, always enjoying when she came over and played with him. Pulling away from Rio, she bent down, burying her face in his curls. Her lips pressed a soft kiss onto his head. Slowly, she felt his breath start slowing even more.

In an act of desperation, she looked up at Rio, her eyes filled with a plea, "Rio please. Don't take him from me." There was a crack in her voice. The famed Agatha Harkness was breaking. Rio didn't say anything, instead pulling her knife closer. Scooching away frantically, Agatha clutched her son. "No!" she lashed out, now angry and a snarl in her voice, "You can't take him."

As she took a deep breath, Rio looked truly regretful, her eyes fluttering shut as her movements faltered. But then her eyes opened, and they were filled with a determination.

"I can't make exceptions for you Agatha," she said softly, "You know that"

Tears were still streaming down her face, but Agatha didn't move, and Rio came closer. The knife, a small object that held so much power, was brought to her son's chest. Agatha, despite all the power running through her blood, was powerless against Rio as her lover plunged the knife into his chest. Sobbing increasing tenfold, Agatha bent over Nick's body, shaky breath's escaping her. Arms were wrapped around her, pulling her close even as she clutched her son.

Rio gently carded her hands through Agatha's hair, whispering soothing words of comfort. The famed Agatha Harkness was broken.

"You're not broken," she faintly heard Rio say, "You're still powerful."

And for some reason, those words shattered something in her. She shoved Rio away, allowing her son's body to fall to the floor. Launching to her feet, Agatha snarled at Rio.

"Don't say that" she spat, "I just lost my son."

Rio stood to match her stance, rubbing dust off her jacket, raising a brow, "And who's fault is that?" The words hit her like a punch to the gut. Anger taking over, Agatha launched herself at Rio, prepared to tackle her to the ground. Then, a force stopped her, holding her back. Even though she was filled with a new magic, she was sore and tired, and Rio was still stronger. Her lover looked at her with a mix of sorrow and anger. "Calm down."

"Get out."

Rio reeled back, "What?"

"You heard me," Agatha took a step closer, her lips curling into a snarl, "Get. Out."

Shock filled Rio's face as her brows furrowed, before it was slowly replaced with anger, her snarl a perfect mirror of Agatha's.

"I was just doing my job!" she shouted, the danger in her hand waving around. Blood dripped from it onto the floor. Agatha watched it, hate filled her as Rio waved it around carelessly. She had just used it to take her son's life, his soul - just as she had done for hundreds of others. Rio caught her gaze, looking at the knife, then she looked back at Agatha. Resignation filled her eyes, "You know what? Okay."

In all honesty, Agatha hadn't expected Rio to accept it like that. But The Green Witch turned around, making for the door. Just as she had opened it, Rio turned around, a bitter smile twisting her lips.

"Te veo."

With those words, Agatha collapsed to the ground. Her son's body lay beside her, blood dripping from his chest. Looking down at the ground, Agatha noticed a piece of paper covered in dust. She picked it up, blowing away the dust. There were three figures on the paper. Her, Rio, and her son. They were all holding hands, a big happy family. Grief filled her, overwhelming the power in her system as a fresh set of tears streamed down her face. They dotted the paper with little wet patches.

Nothing had ever broken her like this before.

#agatha all along #agatha harkness #rio vidal #rio vidal x agatha harkness #agathario

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sci-twi · 5 months ago

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Set in the same universe as my SonAdow fankid, Spark the Sable (with a cameo here!), Blaze and Amy have been together for a little longer than Sonic and Shadow and eventually adopt their own daughter: Lotus the Bearded Dragon. She is the crown Princess of the Sol Empire.

She's a spunky, adventure-loving, hopeless romantic like her momma Amy. While also being kept to herself, stubborn, and independent like her mother Blaze.

Much like her momma Amy when she was younger, Lotus has found herself infatuated with her best friend, Spark the Sable. Unfortunately for Lotus, much like Spark's dad, Sonic, the sable does not return the feelings.

Lotus has a companion Jade Wisp named Clover who likes to play pranks on people and helps Lotus (get into trouble).

#sonic the hedgehog #sth #amy rose #blaze the cat #blazamy #blazamy fankid #spark the sable #sonadow fankid #sonadow fanchild #sonadow implied #gonna dub this au...#one way dream au #sonic oc #sonic fankid

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dujour13 · 24 days ago

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Owlcatober 31. Funeral

Fandom: Wrath of the Righteous

Not exactly a funeral but appropriate for today 👻

cw: spooky?

Massive spoilers for the game & secret ending & my sequels Wandering Stars and West Wind.

Also on AO3

Ozone. Chemical solvents. Arcane flame. Metal and lightning. Nothing living in this place, and yet the air felt charged with tension as if holding its breath, suspended in time.

He paused in the corridor to get his bearings. He’d been here before long ago, more than once. Black crusts of demon blood smeared across the floor attested to the last time. Barren walls rippled in the stuttering light of a shattered arcane barrier. Splinters and scorch-marks were all that remained of the door beyond it. Violence wreaked by the fury of Elysium.

To the heart of the laboratory. His rose-gold glow and fresh, floral breeze followed but the darkness behind quickly swallowed them as he passed.

On the ramp leading down, the demonic trap was still active but it could no longer read him. It conjured disjointed, dreamlike tableaux that shifted one into another: beckoning azata under a starry sky; the bowsprit of the Light of Heaven plunging through warm sea-spray; a shady grove of pomegranate and poplar in Kelesh. A slim, horned shadow perched on a rooftop, turning a tender, laughing yellow eye his way. But these surface dreams rapidly gave way to a vision of Golarion flooded with starlight and joy, and finally the sky of his domain clear and unblemished by the darkly burning star.

He kept walking.

The lab stood just as he’d left it: charred husks of demons lying amidst broken glass and spilled chemicals, books just as Nenio discarded them pell-mell on the tables, the projector flickering, the stand where the Lexicon had been placed still illuminated by a bright beam once meant to lure him to it.

Slowly he went around the shelves reading the spines of the books, touching some to absorb their contents, avoiding others, until he came to a mechanism set into the wall. Curious. One they never managed to open. A constant purple light burned in its center. No amount of fiddling seemed to activate it until on impulse he looked straight into it and said, “It’s me.”

And then one of the bookshelves warped into another dimension and opened onto a secret storage room.

His own Elysian glow the only light, within its radius he made out shelf upon shelf of jars, tanks, and oblong metal boxes. He stood breathing the stale air, feeling uncannily afraid of what lay in those containers.

Something flitted past his peripheral vision and he turned sharply, but it was gone. Bone-deep cold and foul moisture clung to him, raising goosebumps even on his divine skin.

Then in the utter silence a whisper as light as a moth wing startled him: “Who is here?”

He peered deeper into the darkness, where a wisp of pale smoke hung between stacked boxes as if hiding itself.

“It’s me,” he said again.

“Oh.” A soft child’s voice, as if from far away. “You grew up.”

He squatted so he was eye-level with it. “Who are you? I can’t remember.”

“You never met us,” the voice sighed. “We only watched and listened. We heard you screaming.”

“You’re a ghost now. Who were you before?”

“I don’t remember. I think I had a momma and papa in a sunny place but maybe I just thought about that to feel warm.”

“You were one of her experiments,” he said, heart rising painfully.

“So were you.”

“Why was I the lucky one?”

“We didn’t think you were lucky. We heard you screaming and screaming. We heard her talking about how you were splitting open and how she had to stop it before it killed the ghost she was trying to sew inside us. That she sewed inside you.”

“She hurt you too, didn’t she?”

“Not long. We died.” It paused. “But you kept screaming.”

All that remained were nightmares pushed to the edges of his consciousness. He didn’t want to remember. It hurt him to think he was not alone. “But you’re still not at peace or you wouldn’t be haunting this place.”

“As long as she lives we will stay. One day she’ll come in here to look for something and we will remind her.”

He said gently, “How about if I do that for you, so you can rest?”

The ghost was silent for a while, a mist drifting across the wall as if trailing a hand on its familiar surface. “All right,” it sighed at last.

He reached out a lightly glowing hand. The mist inched toward it, coyly at first, and then nestling against it, and with his ethereal form he drew the ghost into his arms and cradled it close.

It clung to him, absorbing his warmth. He felt small arms around his neck.

“This should never have happened to us,” he whispered.

“Thank you for coming back.”

“Everything’s all right. Sleep now.”

And with the faintest sigh the mist evaporated in his arms, leaving a rime of frost on the walls as it went.

He stayed squatting on the floor for a few moments, and at last wiped his eyes and stood.

As he exited the storage room he saw her. Hardly a surprise.

“I wonder why you are here,” she said, fixing him with that surgical glare that seemed only to have sharpened since she realized she had succeeded in her experiment.

“There are still things I need to know.” He fixed her right back.

“Then ask.”

“Why did you choose me?”

She flinched very subtly, as she sometimes did when he spoke as if he were only Siavash and not an amalgam of her design. Or her son.

“As you know, you were not the only one I chose, but there were several practical factors that made you a promising subject. You were healthy, a long-lived half-elf with that particular half-breed fissure in your psyche that could be prised open to implant a graft. A stable, average family so that I could easily control variables and keep you safe while I observed your progress. An affinity for chaos that made you a suitable host. And you...” She frowned. “When you collided with my legs in a bookshop in Almas you were carrying a copy of Evocatio Daemonium which I perhaps foolishly took as a sign.”

Desna at work? he wondered. “Why foolishly?”

“When the graft took I ceased searching for a better host, believing in portents and signs like some superstitious Sarkorian. As it turns out, you were too good a host. You absorbed him. You overpowered him. I should have—“

“I won him over. I invited him in. He’s me.”

She smirked humorlessly. “And now, you are an eternal teenager.”

His own smile was not so humorless. “Tell me more about this affinity for chaos.”

“Why?” Always probing.

“There are things I still need to understand,” he repeated vaguely. She already knew about the dark star but perhaps not about this latest development, and although she might willingly help him if he told her, he didn’t want her to have that leverage.

“You know already,” she said. “You discovered on your own that you are div-touched.”

“For some mortals that’s a death sentence. Why not for me?”

“My tests told me little, but they did assure me your soul was stable.”

“You don’t know, in other words. What if my soul isn’t stable after all? What if ascension did something to it?”

She looked at him hard, as if she could see into the structural essence of his stolen divinity. “That is not impossible. Will you allow me to perform a few tests?”

“After what you did? No.”

“If you are referring to the unfortunate series of events with your husband, know that it was not my intention that he try to steal the objects alone. I hoped only to provoke a confrontation with Taurvi so that we could all be rid of her. She is a threat.”

“How about ‘I’m sorry I accidentally condemned your husband to Hell’?”

Her lips tightened. “I did not expect him to be so foolish.”

It wasn’t foolishness. It was love. “And yet it played right into your plan, didn’t it? A nice little experiment to test the full extent of my power. To see what would happen if I... lost control.”

“An unhoped-for opportunity.”

“Well. It sounds like I’m getting neither an apology nor the answers I came for. I have one more thing before I go.”

“And that is?”

“A reminder.” With that he released the cold wind that whirled in his heart. The long, long years of pain and loneliness. The weeping of children torn from their homes and stripped of their humanity, made into experimental subjects and discarded. Left cold and comfortless to die.

She was blown back among her shelves. Sheaves of notes and shattering jars flew at her like a hailstorm. Frost coated the wing she threw up to shield herself. In a flash of angry, Abyssal light she vanished.

#pathfinder: wrath of the righteous #my writing #owlcatober 2024 #siavash #areelu vorlesh #pwotr spoilers #pwotr pals #happy halloween 🎃

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hiddentrails7 · 7 months ago

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Assigning the FFVII party all a Glass Animal song (mostly based off vibes) bc they're one of my favorite bands + one of my favorite game casts <3

Cloud "Needs Ibuprofen" Strife- Youth

“I want you to be happy

Free to run, get dizzy on caffeine

Funny friends that make you laugh

And maybe you're just a little bit dappy

Fly

Feel your mother at your side

Don't you know you got my eyes?

I'll make you fly

You'll be happy all the time

I know you can make it right”

Tifa "Just Wants Someone To Support HER For Once" Lockhart- Pools

“We float before the sea at dusk

In heavy mist, in glitter dust

I smile before I want to

I smile because you want to

We sip the wind through lips of lust

And out it comes, warm wisps of love

I smile because I want to

I smile because you want to"

Aerith "May Have A Folding Chair" Gainsborough- Helium

“My momma said their used to be white pyramids

They float above the sand they're slowly sinking in

Are our foundations destined to keep crumbling

Just 'cause we started this with zero innocence?”

Barret "Dad Of The Year" Wallace- Agnes

“Agnes, just stop and think a minute

Why don't you light that cigarette and

Calm down now stop and breathe a second

Go back to the very beginning

Can't you see what was different then?

You were just popping Percocet

Maybe just four a week at best

Maybe a smoke to clear the head”

Nanaki "Goodest Boy" aka Red XIII - Solar Power

“I hate the winter, can't stand the cold

I tend to cancel all the plans

But when the heat comes, something takes a hold

Can I kick it? Yeah, I can”

Cait "Just A Little Guy" Sith- Walla Walla

“I bet I can make you smile

In the pools of moonlight

Watch this little trick of mine

Say with me this tiny rhyme”

(Bonus) Reeve "Tumblr Sexyman Contender" Tuesti- Cocoa Hooves

“Come on you hermit

You never fight back

Why don't you play with bows and arrows?

Why don't you dance like

You're sick in your mind?

Why don't you set your wings on fire?”

Vincent "Barbie Girl Waist" Valentine- The Other Side of Paradise

“Bye bye baby blue

I wish you could see the wicked truth

Caught up in a rush, it's killing you

Screaming at the sun, you blow into

Curled up in a grip when we were us

Fingers in a fist like you might run

I settle for a ghost I never knew

Superparadise I held on to

But I settle for a ghost”

Cid "!&#%?^@" Highwind- Hot Sugar

“So cool but we don't talk

Hotels and alcohol

Pool paintings on the wall

Hot rubber on the tar”

#ff7 #final fantasy vii #final fantasy 7 #ff7 rebirth #cloud strife #tifa lockhart #barret wallace #aerith gainsborough #nanaki ff7 #red xiii #cait sith #reeve tuesti #vincent valentine #cid highwind #glass animals #spotify

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impala-dreamer · 1 year ago

Text

Captives of The Court - Chapter Three

A Supernatural Series

~Strange things are brewing in Connecticut, so Dean and Y/N go check it out. After stumbling through town, they fall into something that’s been going on a very, very long time. Can they put an end to the bloodshed and make it out unscathed or will they need a little help this time?~

Starring Dean Winchester x Y/N Y/L/N

Chapter Three Word Count: 349

Series Warnings and Info may be found on the Masterlist Here

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works

Tiny flames danced on the edge of his vision, burning as he struggled to wake. Every flicker was like a pinpoint of pain in the darkness and Dean shook his head quickly, desperate to focus.

He sucked in a deep breath and a wave of aching pleasure flowed over him, carried by the oxygen. The sweetness of apples baked in cinnamon hit his brain and he moaned happily, his thoughts dissipating back into darkness as the smell covered him like a blanket.

Wait. No. Think. Get up.

The plush carpet tickled his bare arms as he shifted and lifted his head, blinking quickly to clear the wetness from his eyes.

“Y/N?”

He could see her eyes, blank and empty as she bobbed on his cock. Her pretty lips were swollen and thick from sucking. Drool spilled from the corners of her mouth as it sank down his shaft; her tongue was flat and hot, the tip flickering against the patch of overly sensitive glands under the rim of his leaking head. He shuddered at the sight, at the tight pull of her mouth and felt himself weaken. There was too much happening, too much pleasure sizzling through his body.

“Fuck… please-”

Get up. This isn’t right.

He tried to lift his shoulders but everything was heavy; his muscles tensed as she sucked faster, harder. She hummed and the vibrations sent him reeling.

Jesus. Think!

His fingers clawed through the soft pile as he came; his jaw dropped in a silent cry. Y/N kept going, sucking him dry. He shuddered and reached for her but his hand dropped down, unmet and too far away.

Y/N pulled back to take a shallow breath and a purple wisp of light flowed from her lips and floated across the dark room.

He tried to follow it, to see where it was going, work out what it was, but his eyes were heavy. The spicy warmth of the cinnamon was wrapping around his brain and sweet orgasmic bliss was pulling him down deep.

He whispered her name and everything went black.

2023 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@aditimukul @agirlwithdemonblood @amanda-teaches @akshi8278 @alwayskeepfightingsweetheart @b3autyfuldisast3r-blog @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @because-imma-lady-assface @bloodline1632 @charred-angelwings @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @covered-byroses @djs8891 @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @deansyahtzee @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @iamsapphine @idreamofdeanie @ilsawasanacrobat @impalaspixie @jawritter @justcallmeasmodeus @kazsrm67 @kittenofdoomage @leigh70 @lovealways-j @lyarr24 @mariekoukie6661 @maggiegirl17 @mistressofallthingsgeeky @pandaxo79 @peachy-vans @rachiem4-blog @roseblue373 @sacriceria @samwellwinchesterthebrave @sexyvixen7 @spideysimpossiblegirl @spnexploration @stevekempscocktails @the-wounded-healer05 @thoughts-and-funnies @vulgar-library

#spn fanfic #series #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #angst #citrus

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carriedreamerxx · 6 months ago

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"Smile"

A brief reflective essay by Carriedreamer

******

There is something... Extraordinary about reclaiming something that was stolen from you as a child.

Something you didn't have any control over.

Something you tried so desperately every day to fix, trick after trick, remedy after remedy. Online or from books.

Something you begged on your knees for. Hands clasped, desperation in your voice as you saw the judging nonchalant cruelty only adolescence ... Puberty and finally teen years was capable of.

You begged. You pleaded. You bargained.

To no avail and then you were out.

You were out on a cold February morning lost and terrified.

You were out with a bag of necessities and a little else.

You were out with a mask and the fear of the unknown as you caught your family's gaze in the silence that was Quarantine.

You were staring in a mirror, wishing with all your might this last trick would do the task you were so desperate for it to do as you began a life that was new.

Again.

You closed your eyes and took the needles, the drills, you squeezed the arm rests and told those around you to do one thing.

Save your smile.

It took a year.

A long...long year of appointments, of tears, of curses, of broken hearts and equally broken voices. It took competing against an invisible clock that's chime still emanated through the air.

Tick. Tock.

Every visit found something new. A memory you'd long shelved, of pain that had abruptly vanished one night, another day at the breakfast table whispering your mouth really really hurt...

Momma... Can't we go?

No they're evil and take all our money. It's a scam. I'm a nurse I know better than you.

Each memory. Each wisp. One by one. Week after week. Month after month. Bill after Bill.

But you can't stop.

She cost you everything.

But she's not taking away the one thing she never stole.

Drills. Water. Lasers. Putty.

Tears. Hand squeezes. The rancid taste of a mint long past it's prime.

You're fine. You're doing so good.

Raise your hand if you feel anything.

We can get through this.

One week. Two weeks.

Three weeks... 4 months.

Six months.

.... A year.

You're in the chair again. Your cheeks are stained with silent trails of tears that you don't even murmur.

Your tears are... Trained like that.

You close your eyes and open your mouth.

One more.

Just one more.

It's another two hours.

Your jaw is numb. Your face frozen. Your hands folded neatly in your lap as you close your eyes and it begins again.

But for the first time when all is said and done.

When you are given the okay to leave. Same old, same old they know you here after all. You're on first name basis with them all.

But for the first time.

You ask for a mirror.

A mirror that your hands shakily turns around and you remove the dental glasses, your eyes are still squeezed shut.

You wept. You pleaded. You begged on your knees.

You tried. You failed. You kept going.

She failed you.

Those memories churn through your mind like a storm as you keep your eyes closed. The kind assistant puts her hand on your shoulder and tells you it's okay.

Count with her. Okay?

One.

Two...

Three.

They're not perfect. Oh no, pearly whites are hard with your coffee habit, that's not something you're willing to give up thanks but...

They're...white all the same.

The tears come again. You didn't even realize you were crying until a tissue is pressed in your hands. You stare and stare, the reflection moves with you, blinks with you...

Dear God it...

It is you.

She took everything from you. Home. Career. Family. Safety.

Humanity.

But through it all you smiled. You made yourself smile through the pain as the only comfort you had left. To spend energy smiling versus wallowing in the hell your life was.

She took everything but...

She didn't take that smile.

No...

You took it with you.

And now... Looking at those... Mute whites that to you sparkled like the sheerest, finest and most immaculate diamonds you had ever seen...

You realize your nightmare is over.

She...is gone.

You realize that that reflection. That new woman staring at you in the mirror practicing her smile.

Is... You.

She is gone. She can never hurt you again.

You are free.

I'm....

free.

Fin

*****

"smile"

#my writing #stream of consciousness #ptsd recovery #Domestic Abuse survival #art therapy #reflections #I am a domestic abuse survivor #Reclaiming parts of my life one milestone big or small at a time

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narrans · 1 year ago

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The Orion's Daughter : To Lands Beyond | Chapter Two : Words Cobbled with Stone

**~~~~~**

Chapter Two | Words Cobbled with Stone

**~~~~~**

I ran as fast as I could through the cobbled stone streets, past the shops, and practically leapt through the door as two other female patrons were leaving.

“Sorry!” I called after them, to which the two mothers with children on their hips began muttering about unruly behavior.

Rude.

Anyway! Moving on!

I scurried to the counter past the beautiful array of dried flowers and rocks cracked open to reveal veins of nameless color. The smell alone had me hypnotized the moment I stepped into the stone building.

“Kendel?” I called, poking my head up over the counter to spot the middle-aged man trimming an aloe plant by the back of the counter. His smile had a youthful vigor to it and his eyes, hidden slightly by a pair of oval spectacles that perched on the edge of his nose, had a way of twinkling like geodes.

Yes.

I liked this place.

Unlike some of the other adults here in Creewood, Kendel didn’t care about my background. He never got that look in his eye like the others did when they saw me.

“Well, sprout, good ‘te see ye’,” he said, his odd accent giving him a twang of charm. I smiled, liking the way he called me sprout. “Wha’ brings ye’ in t’day?” He continued scraping the aloe from the plant into a thick, clear glass jar. The goopy, clear liquid plopped into the jar with a satisfying *thunk*.

“Trading some herbs and stones,” I said, hoisting my bag onto the counter. “And, if I’m lucky, I won’t miss a lot of story time at the school.”

“Ah! I see! Well, sprout, I’ll not keep ye’ long. Just le’ me nip ‘en tuck this right ‘ere. Now, what’ll ye’ ‘ave for me?”

I wasted no time in pulling out all of the things momma gave to me, and Kendel’s eyes widened when he saw some of those items.

“Oh, dis ‘ere is some quality product,” he smiled. “Le’ me fetch some coin.”

“Thank you,” I replied, suddenly remembering some of the things I collected. “Oh! Wait! I found a few things here too.”

Kendel’s soft green eyes latched onto my satchel as I pulled out the few stones and flowers I harvested.

“Oh! Mighty treasures indeed,” said Kendel as he gingerly took the stone from my hand and examined it, brushing back the few wisps of brown-white hair from his face that were not latched into his low ponytail. “Well, I’ll take the stones from ye’, but ye’ ought ‘ter keep those plants. Wood sorrel is good for cuts an’ scrapes. So is tha’ yarrow.”

I stared at the plants in my hand in awe. I learned something new! This was shaping up to be a great day.

Kendel gave me a sack of assorted coins, which I made sure to count like momma taught me, and waved good-bye before leaving the shop and heading back into the open air outside. The smell of fresh bread wafted through the air as did the scents of flowers and roasting meat. It was an odd combination, but it would have to wait.

I had places to go to.

As fast as I could, I raced toward the schoolhouse, toes burning on the sunbaked cobbled stones, so I could hear story time.

As I ran, I could feel the eyes of some of the townsfolk on me. They probably suspected where I was going, and I sensed their disapproval. I glimpsed a few of them shaking their heads. It made me angry and sad all at the same time.

Why?

Why did they have to treat me like that? I haven’t done anything to them. It’s like they’re mad I’m here – alive.

“There she is again, tearing through town like that. You’d think her mother would teach her that a lady isn’t supposed to run, especially in a skirt,” said one snobbish looking woman as I ran past.

Water on stone. Beat me to the bone. Your words run right over me.

It was something momma taught me to say.

Sad…

It used to make me feel better all of the time. Now, it is only some of the time.

I ran all the way up to the school, choosing to not let it bother me, and crouched low so that the teacher and other students didn’t see me under the windows. They’d close the windows if they saw me coming.

Closer and closer, I crept until I made it all the way to the tree that gave shade and cover. I ducked low, hoping my auburn curls didn’t give me away, and nestled down under the window to hear Mr. Lowran read.

“Chapter one, The Knight. None saw the darkness arise, but only one rose to fight it – The Knight,” read Mr. Lowran. I have heard this story probably a dozen times before, but it didn’t stop me from absorbing every word. While the boys in the school were supposed to do their work while these stories were read aloud, I made sure to make my assignment to memorize every story from front to finish.

I couldn’t read, at least not very much, and these stories spoken into the air were all I could cling to. I wished more than anything I could sit in there with them, but rules were rules – even if they were stupid. Have enough money for a tutor or be a boy.

Stupid.

Dumb.

I didn’t want to change who I was. I just wanted to go to school. I just wanted to learn. Was that such a crime?

I mouthed the words as they dispersed through the air.

“- and with a mighty swing of his sword, he cut down the wicked king. Even as the malevolent ruler drew in his last breath, The Knight felt pity. The king was slain not of malice, but of righteous justice, and The Knight was the sword. Should any other do such a thing, it would be revenge, which was wrong. Only one pure of heart could accomplish such a task and restore peace – and that was the soul of The Knight.”

I wanted to be that knight. I wanted to venture to far off lands, test my courage and strength, and then move onto the next adventure. Sadly, only boys could be knights. I could be a guard, but that wasn’t the same. It didn’t have the same ring to it.

If only.

I listened all the way to the end of the story before I listened to the bells chime their familiar song.

School was out, and I had definitely stayed too long. It was a constant battle.

Did I stay?

Or did I go?

If any of the boys saw me, I needed to leave.

If they didn’t see me, I needed to wait.

Sadly, the only way to know was to leave my spot under the shady tree – my sanctuary of stories and knowledge. I took the chance. At any rate, I was faster at running and grass sprints than any of the boys in Creewood.

I poked my head out from behind the bushes and glanced to one side and then the next.

Nothing.

Good.

I crept out, my skirt rustling behind me and tugging at what felt like every branch behind me and stepped out onto the main road.

I felt a breath of relief escape me. I was going to be alright today.

I barely made it to the corner when I heard them.

“Hey Illy! We thought we saw you lurking outside the window.”

I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Jul and his group of thugs.

My insides lurched and, all at once, I felt sick. I made it three steps before the other two emerged from the nearby alley.

“Hey Illy!”

“What were you doing at story time, Illy?”

“Didn’t your dad teach you it is rude to lurk under windows? Oh wait… of course not – Illy.”

My throat tightened. Every impulse in my body screamed to run, but I reacted too late. I was surrounded – encased by their taunts, and there was no good way out.

Not even momma’s phrase about stones and words would have helped me now.

~~~~~^*^*^*^*^~~~~~

Continue

Beginning

~~~~~^*^*^*^*^~~~~~

Book One: The Orion’s Factotum

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athena-xox · 6 months ago

Text

- Shear terror (toh)

- chapter 3 (d. ginger)

- Light and dark (fgt)

- Snacky time (k&s)

- Pretty is as pretty does (asckl)

- Cooking lessons (k&s)

- Mommy makeover (k&s)

- A fairy fitting (fgt)

- Banned books (asckl)

- Overly perfect (asckl)

- Ugly duckling (ntv)

- Tower years (asckl)

- Prologue (tsbol)

- Introduction (ouat)

- Cedar Wood and the end of summer (ouat)

- Ashlynn Ella and the mysterious woodsman (ouat)

- Hunter Huntsman and the forest maiden (ouat)

- Kitty Cheshire and the tricksy day (ouat)

- Simply unquestionably perfect (tsbol)

- Briar Beauty and the jewelry thieves (ouat)

- Madeline Hatter and the upside down day (ouat)

- Dexter Charming and the yellow eyed changeling (ouat)

- Darling Charming and the razor eel (ouat)

- Lizzie Hearts and a home for the hedgehogs (ouat)

- Never touch the mirror (tsbol)

- Always doing in how it’s undone (tsbol)

- Maddies chat with the voice (tsbol)

- That dangerous word (tsbol)

- A tale of two tales (series)

- Never after again (tsbol)

- Maddie in chief (series)

- Apples princess practice (series)

- Here comes cupid (series)

- The looming threat of legacy day (tsbol)

- Beware of the glare of her fair hair (tsbol)

- A hot mess of wolves and screams and pastries (tsbol)

- The unsigned page (tsbol)

- Catching Raven (series)

- A hero in every story (tsbol)

- Maddie bothers the narrator again (tsbol)

- Darkness scampering (tsbol)

- Stark mad Raven (series)

- True reflections (series)

- Her very name could cause an earthquake (tsbol)

- Briars study party (series)

- The shoe must go on (series)

- Cedar wood would love to lie (series)

- Almost through the wall of briars (tsbol)

- Cute and cuddly things (tsbol)

- Plump red apple white (tsbol)

- Maddie pesters the narrator yet again (tsbol)

- Red paint on the wall (tsbol)

- A noticing game (tsbol)

- The undiscovered vault of lost tales (tsbol)

- The horrible power of evil (tsbol)

- Born to wear it (tsbol)

- Going off script (tsbol)

- A tale of legacy day (series)

- Treading water in a well (tsbol)

- Prologue (tuota)

- Not your momma’s fairytale (tsbol)

- Maddie annoys the narrator one last time (tsbol)

- Rewrite ignite restart (tsbol)

- Mysterious epilogue (tsbol)

- The cat who cried wolf (series)

- Prologue (aww)

- A spoonful of porridge (tuota)

- The day after ever after (series)

- In service of destiny (tuota)

- Maddie chats with the narrator (tuota)

- Just be happy torches and pitchforks (tuota)

- Maddie catches up with the narrator (tuota)

- A smile and a friend (tuota)

- Time to take off the hood (tuota)

- A children’s treasury of fairytale heirlooms (tuota)

- Maddie gabs with the narrator (tuota)

- Prologue (aww)

- The uni cairn (tuota)

- Banished (tuota)

- Such scullduggery as this (tuota)

- Wisp whispering (tuota)

- Maddie chara with the narrator (tuota)

- Blessed beast of terror (tuota)

- Fairyball (tuota)

- The opposite of quiet (tuota)

- The buzz of a spell (tuota)

- Smile like you mean it (tuota)

- Irrefutable evidence (tuota)

- Maddie pesters the narrator (tuota)

- Happily ever afters (tuota)

- Epilogue (tuota)

- Replacing raven (series)

- Blondies just right (series)

- chapter 1 (d. ginger)

- chapter 2 (d. ginger)

- chapter 4 (d. ginger)

- chapter 5 (d. ginger)

- chapter 6 (d. ginger)

- chapter 8 (d. ginger)

- Rebels got talent (series)

- Mirrornet down (series)

- Candy wish fish (ouap)

- Class confusion (series)

- True hearts day (series)

- Once upon a table (series)

- Blondie branches out (series)

- Poppy the roybel (series)

- O’hairs split ends (series)

- Birth order (toh)

- Ginger in the BREADhouse (series)

- A delivery for ginger (k&s)

- Kissing booth (k&s)

- Spells kitchen (k&s)

- Dumpty’s doubts (k&s)

- Science and sorcery (k&s)

- The desperate deal (k&s)

- Hocus pocus (k&s)

- Frog talk (k&s)

- Ms. Breadhouse to the rescue (k&s)

- Fairy blackmail (k&s)

- A wonderful wish day (k&s)

- A sleepless night (k&s)

- Frog forever after (k&s)

- Eenie Meenie (k&s)

- The golden rule (k&s)

- A non poisoned picnic (k&s)

- The princess ploy (k&s)

- The ever after swamp (k&s)

- Happy hopper (k&s)

- Beyond boring (asckl)

- Strong is as strong does (asckl)

- Dexters dilemma (asckl)

- The village smithy (asckl)

- The stress of being distressed (asckl)

- Gallant sir gallopad (asckl)

- Bad news betty (asckl)

- If the suit fits (asckl)

- Princely pox (asckl)

- A cry for help (asckl)

- Squire darling to the rescue (asckl)

- A charming confession (asckl)

- Questions and crisps (asckl)

- Marian by moonlight (asckl)

- A damsel parade (asckl)

- A knight in dented armour (asckl)

- Happily ever after (asckl)

- Chef ginger (k&s)

- When in doubt shout! (aww)

- The lone tree on the hill (aww)

- Maddie converses politely with the narrator (aww)

- The tragedy of Aquilona (aww)

- A baby bandersnatch (aww)

- Maddie tried to just listen politely (aww)

- A twisted kind of wonder (aww)

- Wonder worms are a go! (aww)

- Storybooker share slam! (aww)

- Reasonably by accident (aww)

- A wobble of uncertainty (aww)

- Wonderland found me (aww)

- Trapped! (aww)

- Narrator takes a sick day (aww)

- Swamp juice in your tea cup (aww)

- Running from deadly terror (aww)

- Takes of wandering un-books (aww)

- More vorpal (aww)

- Yellow wallpaper (aww)

- The vorpal sword awaits (aww)

- Beware empathy! (aww)

- Hedgehog croquet (aww)

- A ruler of nothing (aww)

- Madness is life (aww)

- Friends would be aces (aww)

- Accidentally becoming friends (aww)

- Epilogue (aww)

- Kittys curious tale (series)

- Swan song (ntv)

- Royal roomies (ntv)

- Lizzie’s fairytale first date (series)

- A charming crush (ntv)

- The cauldron room (ntv)

- Rebel roll call (ntv)

- Duchess’s dilemma (ntv)

- A scoop of snoop (ntv)

- Madame’s message (ntv)

- Swan secrets (ntv)

- Duchess’s decision (ntv)

- Princess practice (ntv)

- Horse course (ntv)

- Hood’s house (ntv)

- Sweet Sabotage (ntv)

- Fairy dust feast (ntv)

- A house of cards (ntv)

- Broken hearts (ntv)

- Ravens room (ntv)

- A rebel revealed (ntv)

- Ravens ruse (ntv)

- Horsing around (ntv)

- The end is just the beginning (ntv)

- Lizzie shuffles the deck (series)

- The beautiful truth (series)

- Maddies hat-tastic tea party (series)

- Duchess’s swan lake (series)

- Cerise’s picnic panic (series)

- Throne coming (series)

- And the throne coming queen is… (series)

- Best feather forward (series)

- Spring unsprung (series)

- Ashlynn’s fashion frolic (series)

- Save me darling (series)

- Forest festival (series)

- Apple’s birthday bake off (series)

- Way to wonderland (series)

- What’s in the cards for Courtly Jester (series)

- A big bad secret (series)

- Rosabella and the BEAST’S (series)

- Dragon games (series)

- Moonlight mystery (series)

- Wish list (series)

- Tale of two parties (series)

- Piping hot beats (series)

- Thumb-believable! (series)

- There’s no business like snow business (series)

- Epic winter (series)

- Watery witch (fte)

- Corals spell (fte)

- A magic wind (fte)

- Fairest feet (fte)

- Floatation device (fte)

- An Apple day (fte)

- Tea trouble (fte)

- A pair of princes (fte)

- StoryTeller2 (fte)

- Above the waves (fte)

- Club day (fte)

- Down the drain (fte)

- Enchanted lake (fte)

- Sports day (fte)

- The secret prince (fte)

- Mirror beach (fte)

- Rescue repeat (fte)

- Out of hiding (fte)

- The true tale (fte)

- The legacy orchard (series)

- Sugar coated (series)

- Meeshell comes out of her shell (series)

- Happily glees (fte)

- Swimming lessons (fte)

- Croquet-tastrophy (series)

- Fairest on ice (series)

- Heart struck (series)

- Bunny and Alistair forever (series)

- Wings and things (fgt)

- Pyramid practice (fgt)

- The cheer factor (fgt)

- A bit of advice (fgt)

- A perky prediction (fgt)

- An abundance of blue (fgt)

- The vault of lost tales (fgt)

- A deed of most deviousness (fgt)

- Wilted wings (fgt)

- Greek tragedy (fgt)

- Flight grounded (fgt)

- Boiling blood (fgt)

- Dark fairy discussion (fgt)

- A golden opportunity (fgt)

- Twinkle toes (fgt)

- Humphrey the hunk? (fgt)

- A dark confession (fgt)

- Pyramid perfection (fgt)

- Curtain call (fgt)

- Bookish in bookend (toh)

- A sparrow on the stairs (toh)

- Tower hair salon (toh)

- Zero stars (toh)

- Growing backwards (toh)

- Some nimble advice (toh)

- Tall tales (toh)

- Rapunzel’s advice (toh)

- Hairy magic (toh)

- An unhexpected visitor (toh)

- Sister act (toh)

- Swan style (toh)

- Ruined reputation (toh)

- Rapunzel’s tower (toh)

- A mothers twintuition (toh)

- Fairytale ending (toh)

- Time for a change! (tcsc)

- Did somebody say Cinderella? (tcsc)

- Time for chores (tcsc)

- Scrub-a-dub-dub (tcsc)

- One candy coloured coach coming up! (tcsc)

- A wolf in princess’s clothing (catb)

- Does this ballgown come with a hood? (catb)

- Better together (catb)

- Anybody lose a sneaker? (tcsc)

- Acting the part (catb)

- Not a clue! (rattb)

- On the case (rattb)

- Everybody, dance now! (tcsc)

- Bookball, anyone? (tcsc)

Just one of the girls (catb)

- It’s coming from inside the castle! (catb)

- Let’s be real (catb)

- If the sneaker fits…(tcsc)

- The sweetest stepmother (tcsc)

- The plot (and the porridge) thickens (rattb)

- bear facts (rattb)

- Just a hunch (rattb)

- Ever after evidence (rattb)

- The scene of the crime (rattb)

- A spell to remember (tcsc)

- Introduction (catb)

- A case of the mixed-up cheerhex (rattb)

- Unusual suspects (rattb)

- Fowl play (rattb)

- A critter culprit (rattb)

- A big bad trap (rattb)

- Cold case (rattb)

- the beast bust (rattb)

- Story solved (rattb)

- Beanstalk bravado (series)

- Tri-castle-on (series)

6 notes · View notes