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#Ripples- fanfic
shyguygubbs · 7 days
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I was thinking about kotlc recently and how the Black Swan originally wanted to wait to bring Sophie into the Lost Cities until way later, probably when she turned 18, and how different of a person Sophie would have been if that were the case.
Like at the start of the series, she's this child prodigy who has to go to community college in the fall at the age of 12 because her parents won't let her go to Yale (a totally valid parental choice btw), and the thing is I think she would have THRIVED in that environment. Like at first she would be scared and hesitant because in all other school environments she has been bullied for being as smart as she is, but now she's going into a school that people choose to go to in order to learn. Community college doesn't just have mean, jealous teenagers who attend, there are people of all ages and all walks of life who are ready to learn. Sure, Sophie would still be the youngest one there, and I doubt it would be super easy with the whole mind reading thing, but she would be in a much more supportive environment when it comes to learning than anything else she's experienced.
She'd be able to make friends with her peers, being able to bond over a shared love of whatever they're studying, and these friends don't think she's too smart or too weird. She maybe finds some way to muffle the voices in her head better than her earplugs did. Yeah, she still gets headaches, but she can manage it. I can see her taking as many classes as she can, figuring out her passions and what she might want to do as a career. She'd be in a fantastic place academically to transfer to any school she wants when she turns 18. I can even see her parents letting her graduate when she's 17 and allowing her to transfer to a four year college to get a bachelor's in whatever she wants to study, whatever she finds her passion for, because she worked hard for this, and doesn't hate school now, and has found a path for herself in life that feels right.
And then the Black Swan shows up and whisks her away from all of that, and she's heartbroken because she doesn't need to be taken away from everything she's worked so hard for. Yeah it feels nice to finally have the whole mind reading question answered, but she doesn't need a new place to belong, she has one. I imagine this Sophie being a lot more confident in herself, but a lot angrier too. She's fascinated by her new world, but desperately wants to go back home, to just live out the life she's been working towards. I can see her working side by side with the Black Swan from the jump, because she's in a world with injustice and she can't just sit back and let this slide, but constantly fighting back this resentment for them and how they took everything from her. I think of how canon Sophie had a brief moment of hesitation when it came to training her Telepathy, and I think this older Sophie would be conflicted between wanting to know more about this abnormality that she's been dealing with her whole life, and wanting to cling to her human identity and her old life as much as she possibly can. Because she's been ripped away from it, and no matter what her genetics say, this Sophie still views herself as human.
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raiinshowers · 1 month
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Some sketches I got to clean up and colorize sometime buuut this was my first time drawing Poppy!! I was putting it off for so long, but actually enjoyed it! Also drew Branch for the second time, they r waving @ each other ofc.
+ (gross) Ripple and (pre-breakup) JD from my fic at the bottom !
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toonsforkicks22 · 9 months
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I FINALLY updated “Chemistry” 🔥💧
Chp 2 is a little longer than I thought I typed.
CHAPTER 2
Drew some scenes from said chapter, just Ripple/Lumen family wholesomeness. Brook WANTED that hug.
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sunstone-smiles · 6 months
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The Crying Game, With a Twist
Author’s note: Merry Christmas / Happy Holidays everyone! And happy holidays to @cutesmokes! I’m your Secret Squealing Santa! 🎁 It was a pleasure writing this fic for you and writing for the characters of Elemental for the first time! Naturally, I rewatched the movie for research purposes, so I hope did them justice! I hope you enjoy!
Once again, a big thank you to @hypahticklish / @squealing-santa for hosting the event! Now on to the fic!
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Series: Elemental
Characters: Wade and Ember
Word count: 2,700
Provided prompt: [Elemental: Ember and Wade (More of tactics but yeah -) kisses/ raspberries/cheer up/games]
Summary: After a slight baking incident involving an attempt at making fire food, Wade becomes disappointed that he didn’t make kol-nuts properly, despite his efforts. However, Ember finds a way to cheer him up with a round of the crying game that has a few different rules than how he remembers it. 
_ _ _
A surprising wave of heat engulfs Ember as she walks through the apartment door. Smokey air, yet with a pleasant aroma like the burning logs of a fireplace, fuels her senses. She closes the door behind her and moves further into the apartment, following with her eyes an airborne trail of smoke coming from the kitchen. A familiar figure stands behind the counter.
Ember places her bag on a nearby table, her gaze fixated on the kitchen. “Wade?”
“Ember!” Wade jumps and juggles a tray between his hands to keep it from falling. He regains control of the tray and slides it on the burners of the stove. “Sorry, I didn’t see you come in.”
“You seem to be busy,” she says cheerfully. She then catches a glimpse of a second tray on the counter. Charred spheres, stacked in the shape of a small pyramid, are on the tray. On closer inspection, many of the balls are lopsided, but Ember recognizes the look of the rounded snacks anywhere.
Ember points to the tray. “Are you making kol-nuts?” a smile grows as she asks.
“Yep! Or…trying to anyway,” Wade replies with a bashful shrug. He positions himself in front of the stove, where a pile of logs awaits him. “That last batch came out a little toasty,” he says over his shoulder, “but don’t worry! This next one should be perfect.” 
Wade picks up a pair of metal tongs. He grabs both ends of a log with the tool, dips the log into the open flame of the stove’s burner, then begins the attempt of crushing the log into a rounded shape with the cooking utensil. 
Usually, kol-nuts are made with the bare hands of those that can control their own flames. However, for a water person like Wade who’s missing those elemental expertise, he needs assistance from tools that can help him handle the flames and the compression process of the logs, hence the use of the tongs. 
“I think I’ve got the technique down,” Wade mentions. Everything moves smoothly as he starts to crush the log between the grip of the tongs, but the closer he compresses the log towards the desired shape, the more difficult it becomes. His momentum begins to stall. He squeezes the handle of the utensil as far as it’ll move together, even adding his second hand to gain more force. Despite his efforts, the kol-nut does not compress into a perfect ball.
Wade nervously laughs over his shoulder and releases the lopsided kol-nut on the nearby tray. He grabs another log with the tongs, dips it into the fire, and tries again. He clearly struggles.
Ember tries to peek over at his work, “Wade-”
“All good here!” Wade reveals a second nervous laugh and misshapes another kol-nut. He places it on the tray then picks up the pace with the other logs, partially in a panic. He squeezes each of the logs one by one, distorting their shape and placing them on the tray like a well-oiled machine with a malfunction in its production.
“Wade-” 
“Everything’s fine! Totally fine!” He drops the last kol-nut on the tray, picks up the sheet, then spins around to show Ember the finished product. 
“See!” he breathes heavily, “Kol-nuts!” his face shows a false smile. His facade of an expression falters the more he looks at the charred piles of failure in front of him. The corners of his mouth finally drop in defeat. 
“Burnt…hard…and completely the wrong shape,” he slides the tray on the counter and his head droops. He shuffles his way to the sink to throw the tongs in with a metal clang. As he does this, Wade’s mouth quivers and he starts to cry. Ember quickly goes around the kitchen counter.
“Oh, Wade. Don’t cry,” she grabs his hands. She reaches up and tilts his face towards her, showing him a soft smile to say that it’s going to be alright. 
Wade sniffles. He wipes away tears with the back of his hand. “I know, I’m sorry.” Another stream of tears replaces the ones he had wiped away. “It’s just that, I wanted this to be special.” 
Ember reassures him, “Wade, you even making the effort to bake them is special.”
“But I wanted the kol-nuts to be perfect,” Wade stares at her with tear-filled eyes before another stream of his sorrows runs across both of his cheeks.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Ember takes his arm and leads him to the couch. She gently plops him down on the (fireproof) cushions and sits next to him. “Take it from me, making kol-nuts for the first time is hard, not to mention how difficult it can be to control the consistency of the flame. Sure, they might be a little lopsided, but they didn’t come out so bad.” She pauses to smile. “Plus, I don’t mind them well-done with a bit of extra char.”
Wade lets out a chuckle at that. 
“See,” Ember wipes another tear from his eye. She wraps her hands around his neck to soothingly rub across the back of it. “So there’s nothing to be upset about.” 
Wade chuckles again.
“What?” Ember giggles too, “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” Wade says with a third chuckle and squishes his neck to his shoulders. He gently grabs one of Ember’s wrists that was rubbing the back of his neck. “Your fingers are tickling me.”
“Oh, sorry,” Ember releases a soft laugh of her own. She pulls back her hands, but notices that Wade’s face still has a hint of a crestfallen expression. A mischievous idea pops into Ember’s thoughts.
“Hey, I know what will cheer you right up,” Ember switches the subject. “How about a round of the crying game?” 
“Really?” Wade tilts his head at her. “But I was just crying a minute ago,” he gestures to the kitchen as if to provide context to his statement. “Any mention of my attempted kol-nuts and you would easily win.” His back slumps forward.
“Ah, but I’m talking about a different version of the crying game.”
Wade straightens up a bit. “A different version?”
“Yep. Instead of trying to make someone cry tears that are sad, the other player’s goal is to make their opponent cry tears of joy.”
Wade laughs. “Where did you come up with this?”
“Just now,” Ember replies with a grin. “So what do you say? Want to play?”
Wade perks up a little more. He shows Ember a soft smile. “Okay.” His eyes scan around the room in search of something. “But don’t we still need a timer?”
“Nope!” Ember leaps for him and tackles him into the cushions.
“E-Ember!?” Wade exclaims. “This isn’t part of the ga-ahahame!” Wade’s sentence suddenly overflows with giggles when Ember starts tickling the upper half of his torso, where his ribs would be if he had them. 
“It is now,” she says with a smug look. 
“Ohoho, I see how you’re trying to win!” Wade squirms backwards to reach the arm of the couch. “Well, game ohohon!”
Ember grins. With the game in full swing, Ember darts her hands to his sides, causing Wade to bark out a laugh. He quickly slaps both of his hands over his mouth, letting out a snort. Through the clear water of his hands, Ember watches as the corners of Wade’s mouth twitch upwards the longer he attempts to contain his laughter, nearly boiling over with giggles like a tea kettle. 
“Trying to hold in your laughter, huh?” Ember smirks from above him. “Not on my watch!” She dives her hands into Wade’s underarms, resulting in him clamping his arms down with another jolt of laughter.
“Ehehehember!” He successfully eases his laughter down to a giggle, purposely controlling himself from exploding into tears of joy. 
“Yes Wade? Is there a problem?” Ember says with a smirk laced in her words.
“P-Prohohoblem? Nohohope! No problem at ahahall!” Wade snickers through his sentence. He kicks himself back further on the arm of the couch and tries to curl himself up. Any attempt to keep himself from bursting into a tsunami of laughter. He can feel the drop of a single joyful tear start to form.
“Really? Because it looks to me like you’re about to lose the crying game,” Ember teases, seeing that she’s reaching closer to victory. The playful, yet competitive spirit burns up inside her.
Wade tries his best to feign an unfazed demeanor. “Noho way! I’m nowhere close to cryi–ING!” Wade leaps like a large wave crashing into the ocean when Ember scribbles at the center of his belly. The dam containing Wade’s laughter finally crumbles and a flood of the joyous sound pours from Wade.
“Gotcha now, Wade!” Ember exclaims, clawing at his tummy with one hand while the other lies on his chest to pin him down. “Caught you by surprise didn’t I?”
“Surprihihihise is an understatement! Hahahaha!” Wade wiggles. He takes some lighthearted shoves at Ember and her hands.
“Well, I don’t see those happy tears yet! So time for a second surprise!” In less than a second, Ember takes a deep breath and presses her lips to Wade’s stomach to give him a big, tickly raspberry.
The squeal that comes from Wade is nearly high enough to shatter glass. The combination of heated air from Ember’s fire sends an extra tickly reaction across Wade’s entire stomach of water, like the bubbles of carbonation surging across his entire torso.
“Ehehehehember!!!” Wade screeches with laughter, kicking his legs in front of her. His expression lights up with a smile even wider than before, one that nearly takes up his entire face. Tears of mirth finally spill across his face like two waterfalls. Ember smiles with success, and for good measure, provides him with a few more raspberries across his tummy.
“Nohohohot ag-AIN!” Wade arcs his back and pushes at Ember’s head.
“Again?” Ember teases. “If you insist!” she says and delivers another raspberry on his stomach, making Wade squeal.
“I GIHIHIHIVE! Yohohohou win!” Wade squirms from side to side to protect his tummy, until he rolls right off the couch. 
Ember perches herself on the cushions, looking down at her partner with a giggle. “You good, Wade?”
The man of water flips himself over like a seashell being turned over in the sand. Giggles still trickle from his system, even as he sits himself up.
“That was evil,” Wade jokes as he wipes a leftover tear of joy from his eye.
“Sorry Wade, but I had to cheer you up somehow and those are the rules of the game,” she shrugs with a smile. Ember turns to lift herself off the couch, “You also got me fired up with the competition–Whoa!” Ember falls back to the couch from Wade wrapping his arms around her in a hug.
“Hold on a second,” Wade says as he pulls Ember tighter into his arms. “You had your turn at the crying game,” his voice rings with innocent mischief. “Now it’s my turn.”
Ember gasps. She tries to pull herself out of his hug, only to realize that her arms are pinned to her sides. She nervously giggles, “Uh sorry! But that version of the crying game only has one round so–Eeek!” 
Ember cuts herself off with a squeak when Wade plants tickly kisses to the back of her neck. An abundance of giggles and squeaks from Ember follow as Wade continues providing her neck with kisses.
“Wahahade!” Ember giggles and squirms in his hug. She lets out another high squeak when Wade blows a raspberry into the side of her neck, returning the favor. Ember tries to twist her head and squeeze her neck to her shoulders as squeaky laughter pours from her like melted glass. With another effective raspberry to her neck, Ember attempts to pull herself from his grasp. 
“Not so fast, Ember!” Wade tightens his hug, now changing tactics and using his hands wrapped around her to scribble at her sides. 
Ember unleashes a squeal and tugs herself forward to escape. Wade loosens his hold and the forward momentum causes Ember to plop face first into the cushions. With her arms free, Ember quickly tries to launch herself over the side of the couch, but Wade catches her by her sides and squeezes her torso. 
Ember releases another adorable squeal and sinks her head into the cushions to hide her face. Wade chuckles, skittering his fingers up and down Ember’s sides. “Aww, that squeak was so cute.”
Ember lifts up her head to throw her voice behind her. “Quiet yohohohou! It was nohohot cute!” she attempts to deny it. Feeling fingers nearing her underarms, Ember curls herself up into a ball and rolls over onto her back, now facing Wade. She grabs at Wade’s hands and flails her limbs while a bright smile lights up her already illuminated face of fire. Her eyes are squeezed shut and an eruption of laughter flows from her like lava. An amber-colored tear forms at the corner of her eye, like dew about to drip from a flower.
Wade notices the liquid gem below her eye. “Aha! A tear of joy! I win!” Wade pulls away in victory, allowing Ember the chance to relax. She lies flat on the cushions with a hand on her middle, taking heavy breaths like a train burning coal to keep pushing up a steep mountain. But instead of stream releasing from an engine, residual giggles release from Ember with each exhale. 
Wade lends her a gentle hand to help her sit up. “Are you alright?”
“Hehe, yeah,” Ember wipes away the tear of fire from her eye. “Looks like we’re both winners of the crying game this time.”
Wade giggles. His eyes catch sight of his baked snacks still sitting on the counter. “At least one thing ended in a win today,” he mentions. “What are we going to do with the kol-nuts? Throw them out? Ah, but that would be such a waste.”
Ember places a hand to her chin, thinking. An idea clicks, and she speaks up before Wade can start crying sad tears again. “I’ve got an idea. Watch this.” 
Ember lifts herself up to go to the kitchen. She grabs two mugs from the cabinet, milk from the fridge, and a box of chocolate powder from the pantry. With the same effortless speed she uses to make her glass art, Ember pours some milk into the mugs, heats them up quick by grabbing the bottom of the cup with her fiery hands to skip using the stove, drops a spoonful of cocoa powder into each, stirs, then places two of Wade’s homemade kol-nuts into both.
“Ta-da,” Ember grabs the mugs and heads to the couch to hand one to Wade. “Kol-nut hot chocolate. Try it.”
Ember passes a mug to him. Cautiously, Wade takes it. He looks at the liquid, then takes a sip. He smacks his lips together. “Hey, this is really good.”
“And it was made with your kol-nuts.” Ember soaks the kol-nut in her own drink like a cookie dunked in milk. She plucks the treat from her mug and takes a bite, now that the rock-hard form has become softer, then finishes her mouthful. “The flavor isn’t bad! Not as good as mine of course, but not bad!”
Wade bounces with an airy laugh. “Thanks Ember.”
“What are you thanking me for?” she takes a seat next to him. “You made them. So, thank you for making them.”
“No, not about that. About you cheering me up.”
“Oh,” Ember smiles as she hears his words. “Of course Wade. You’re welcome.”
Wade takes another sip of his hot chocolate. “Things are better when we work together, huh?”
“Yeah,” Ember nods. “Meaning next time, I’ll help you with making kol-nuts to get the batch just right.”
Wade chuckles. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He returns a softened expression and holds out his glass towards her. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” Ember repeats and clinks her glass to his. She leans forward to give him a kiss. For the rest of the night, the two sit and enjoy their hot chocolate—made specially with the combined elements of each other's assistance.
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the-lonelybarricade · 10 months
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A Ripple, A Tidal Wave - Part I
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Summary: An AU where Feyre encounters a very different faerie in the woods. One she decides not to kill.
A contribution to @officialfeysandweek2023. Starfall = fallen star = sad, injured bat, right?
Read on AO3
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The forest had become a labyrinth of snow and ice.
Feyre flexed her fingers. They’d gone stiff from the cold. The worn leather from her father’s old carving glove hardly fought off the chill of the gusting wind that cut through the clearing, lashing against the thicket of trees at its parameter where she had been crouched for the better part of an hour.
It was impossible to keep her hands from going numb in these conditions. Still, she flexed them, praying for the blood to rush back into the fingers she had curled around her drawstring. Feyre had overheard the village’s hunters in the marketplace, talking about the wolf tracks they had seen. Pawprints as large as your head. An embellishment, surely, but that didn’t change that the wolves would only come this close to the village for the same reason that Feyre would delve this deep into the woods.
They were hungry.
Winter was harsh for everyone. Even the forest was restless—too quiet, too still. She wouldn’t have risked coming here, knowing there were wolves, if her family wasn’t desperate. As far as they were concerned, Ferye would either return with food, or be taken by the forest so that they had one less mouth to feed. It was favorable for them either way.
Unless Feyre returned empty handed, which was looking more and more likely the longer she crouched in the snow, watching the sun’s slow descent across the horizon through gritted teeth. Only a few more hours left of daylight. Soon she would need to turn back lest she try to navigate her way in the dark and double her chances of getting eaten by wolves.
In the back of her mind, she could already hear Nesta’s disapproving snort. The way her vicious eyes would cut immediately to Feyre’s empty hands, how she’d cross her arms over her chest and hurtle all number of accusations without saying anything at all. Nesta had a gift for communicating her every hostile thought with one single, withering glance. Feyre had witnessed her sister grind men to dust without so much as opening her mouth.
Sometimes, pinned beneath that look, Feyre wanted to cry to her, then why don’t you do it?
But Nesta wouldn’t. And neither would Elain. And their injured father couldn’t. So it was Feyre, stalking through the woods, letting the ice soak into her bones. One day, someone would ask what had turned Feyre Archeron so cold and she would point to the forest. It was here her heart had frozen over. It was here, she’d traded her innocence for survival.
Here, it was kill or be killed.
Feyre began rising from the snow-heavy brambles, stifling a groan at the protest of her stiff limbs. She froze, mid-way through stretching, as a great, terrible noise erupted through the forest. It was pure, blood-pumping instinct that threw Feyre’s body back to the ground, covering in the bramble like she expected blowback from the sound. Like the warning rumble of thunder before the lethal strike of lightning.
The howling wind stilled. There was no mass retreat of wildlife, no birds escaping to the skies. It was like everything held its breath, terrified of being caught by the creature as it bellowed another anguished roar.
It wasn’t like any wolf Feyre had ever heard.
She needed to leave. Now.
Still ducked beneath the bush, Feyre angled her head towards the forest, eyes darting across the tangled roots and underbrush to chart the best path back to the village. One that would offer coverage, would give her a fighting chance if the beast—whatever it was—decided to pursue.
The noise came again. Softer, now, more wounded. Had it been attacked? Or was it mimicking injury to lure its prey closer?
Her heart was beating so quickly that each beat leapt into her throat. The brush rustled on the other side of the clearing. It was coming towards her. It was too late to run. She drew her bow, ignoring the tremble in her fingers, how the air was collecting in front of her in short, breathless exhales.
Feyre peered through the thorns.
The wings stood out to her first. Large, membranous bat-like wings. They had been what caused the rustling, for they dragged against the ground, catching on the underbrush.
More startling than the wings, however, was that they belong to a man. No, a faerie. He was too far away to glimpse his pointed ears, but the wings certainly gave it away. He was stumbling forward, an arm slung protectively around his bleeding stomach while the other pushed aside the wayward tree branches. His entire body slumped inwards, around the wound at his center that trekked blood in a ruby-red path behind him.
When he made it to the center of the clearing, his knees gave out, and he stumbled face-first into the snow. Feyre held her position for several breaths, eyes fixed intently on his shoulders, watching their shallow rise and fall as pool of blood collected beneath him.
Her arrow was still notched, still aimed at him through the brush.
He was a faerie. She should have killed him for that fact alone.
His body twitched, then stilled.
Maybe he was already dead. Maybe she should shoot him, just for good measure. Put him out of his misery.
It would be a waste of an arrow, she decided. He looked dead. Besides, there was still the threat of whatever had done this to him. She pushed her aim higher, monitoring the thicket he had come from. She should be running. She should be gone.
Her aim dipped back to the male lying helpless in the snow.
Snow-tipped wind nudged playfully at the wisps of his blue-back hair. It was the color of the night sky when no stars touched it.
From the amount of blood coloring the snow beneath him, he was almost certainly dead.
Feyre lifted from her crouch. The icy snow crunched under her fraying boots. Her mouth felt dry.
He looked so… so still.
She drew her knife and edged closer, more of him coming into view. Those wings were so much larger—so much more stunning, more horrific—up close. Now, she could see the sun warming their leathery surface, glinting off the sharp claw that rested at each apex. A useless part of her stirred, the part that was fascinating by colors and shadows and the way the sunlight illuminated the veins in his wings. She felt oddly tempted to reach her hand out and touch them.
Except they twitched, and Feyre faltered a step back, nearly stumbling.
Not dead yet, then.
Her grip on the knife tightened. It was difficult to tell with his face in the snow, but Feyre thought he looked young, not much older than Nesta. Though the fae were immortal and he could just as easily be centuries old.
For a creature that could defy time itself, he didn’t look very intimidating now. If she looked past the wings, she could almost pretend he was just a wounded man. Someone who was suffering with every slowing breath. Someone who… someone who needed help.
Inwardly, she was screaming at herself, wondering why she didn’t just bury the knife in his back and run. Or better yet, the asharrow that had sat unused in her quiver for the last three years.
She touched his hair. It was soft, silken yet damp from the snow. She tightened her fingers and used that grip to, as delicately as she could, turn his head to the side. He groaned, a barely conscious sound that told her he was still alive.
For a moment, Feyre could do nothing but stare at the face before her. He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, even with the sweat and snow clinging to his skin, and the way his face pinched in pain. He had full, sensuous lips that she ordinarily might have been tempted to study, were they not parted open to expel slow, shallow breaths.
His eyes were shut, and behind his eyelids she could see his pupils moving rapidly.
It wouldn’t even be necessary to stab him. She could leave him here and he would undoubtedly be dead by morning, buried beneath layers of snow. No one would miss him, certainly not in the mortal village. And judging by the mortal wound his own kind must have dealt him, Feyre doubted he would be missed beyond the wall, either.
She stared at him, feeling an unexpected sense of dread, of pity, rise within her. Objectively, she knew that it was absurd to feel bad for him. He was a faerie, and if he weren’t gravely injured, it would likely have been her blood seeping into the snow.
But no one would care if she didn’t come out of the woods, either.
It could have been her laying face down in the snow. No one would have bothered to come looking for her. No one would have helped.
Praying for mercy from the long forgotten gods—as if they would even indulge her for being so foolish—Feyre sheathed her knife. Their options were limited. Sundown was fast approaching and he was… he was ginormous. It wasn’t as if she could run to the village for help, they would sooner finish the job. And he was too heavy to carry back to the cottage. Not that she would. Nesta and Elain would never agree to help him.
No, she needed to take him somewhere close and out of the snow so that she could take a closer look at his wounds. The only thing that came to mind was a small, deserted hunter’s shack further in the forest, leftover from a time when humans felt comfortable enough to venture that close to the wall. Or a time when they were desperate enough to risk it.
The first difficult task would be getting him onto his back. She’d need to drag him a way’s through the forest and she couldn’t risk the dirt and undergrowth catching in his wound. With the wings, turning him over would be a cumbersome task—especially given that they looked heavy.
After several moments of deliberation, puzzling over the best approach, Feyre decided to forgo caution and just move him. It was better than letting him bleed out in the snow. But the second her hand curled around the edge of his wing, his eyes snapped opened.
Feyre dropped it immediately, letting the massive appendage fall back to the snow with a soft smack. He groaned.
His eyes fluttered shut again, giving her the confidence to step forward. “I’m trying to help you,” she said to him. “I don’t… I’ve never met someone with wings before. So you have to be patient with me.”
He made a gurgling noise in the back of his throat, like he was choking on something liquid. Then a moment later his wing fluttered, trying to lift it, and Feyre decided she could meet him halfway. With the faerie taking some of the weight off, she was able to fold the wing to the side.
“Thank you,” she said. Then, “If you thought that was bad, this next part isn't going to be very fun.”
Feyre could almost mistake his answering grunt for a laugh. She took that as permission to haul him upwards from beneath the shoulder, trying to both lift and roll him onto his side. He hissed—a weak, agonized sound that raised every hair on her arms.
“You’re almost there,” she said, not letting the noise deter her movements. If she did, it would only prolong the pain. “Just suck it up a little more.”
It felt like pushing a boulder up a hill. Feyre was panting by the time she got him propped on his side, and from there it was only a matter of letting gravity do the rest. She rolled him, inelegantly, onto his back, wincing at the way his wing had folded under him. It wasn’t perfect, or comfortable, but nothing about this experience would be.
He slumped into the snow once it was done, tilting his head back in exhaustion like he had been the one to lift a male twice his size. Though, from the wounds splitting across his torso—the worst of them a deep gash stretching from his sternum to his naval—Feyre supposed she shouldn’t be complaining.
The sight of the gore made her feel dizzy. She turned away, pressing a hand to her mouth like it might do anything to ease the rising bile in her throat. Feyre swallowed, trying to steady herself. Would whatever creature that had done this to him come for her next for trying to help? Would they come for Nesta and Elain?
“Rh—ys.”
It took Feyre a moment to register that he had spoken. Or tried to, at any rate.
“What?”
“Rhys,” he choked out, eyes opened to barely-there slits.
“Is that… your name?”
He just huffed, which Feyre took to mean yes.
“Well, Rhys,” she said, stepping around his body to kneel at his head. Her arms slid under his shoulders, securely his body beneath his armpits. “I hope those wings aren’t sensitive, because you and I have a long journey to make through those woods.”
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zootopiathingz · 5 months
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I take back what I said; writing Elemental smut is fun
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the-darkdragonfly · 4 months
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NEW CHAPTER! A Trick of the Light
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Chapter Eleven: Home Winds
Hello lovelies! I think we all owe a HUGE thanks to @donteattheappleshook for making sure I stayed on track for this long overdue chapter ♥️
♥️♥️♥️♥️
“So,” Emma said over a mouthful of toast- would you like some bread with your honey, love?- Hope lying at her feet under the table, happily singing old tavern songs Emma pretended not to hear. “Let me get this straight.” 
The Knights has called a Round Table, Emma snorting into her tea as the paige delivered the request for Killian’s presence- it’s just just such a wonderful use of corporate jargon, that’s all- to discuss the future of the kingdom, and to catch the new king up on anything and everything they felt he needed to know. 
Which was practically everything, much to his chagrin. 
“No one knows where Arthur is.” 
“Correct.” 
“No one knows what happened to Merlin.” 
“Correct.” 
“No one has seen or heard from Lancelot in ‘they can’t remember how long’.” 
“Correct again, love.” 
A small hand appeared beside Killian’s elbow and he leaned down to nip gently at the wiggling fingers, the hand disappeared at the same time as Hope’s manic giggling broke the comfortable quiet from beneath the wooden frame before her small hand reappeared, trying again. Killian smiled and pressed a slice of apple into her waiting palm- what do we say, lovie?- and her voice floated up to them amid the crunching of her treat- t’anks, daddy. 
Emma grinned wickedly at him for a moment and he narrowed his eyes at her- no, Swan, don’t- before she flicked her hair, correcting him as she usually did- Jones- and tucking the inevitable daddy comment away for future yielding.  
♥️♥️♥️♥️
Read the rest here.
Read my other stuff here.
♥️♥️♥️♥️
CS Tag List (let me know if you would like to be added!):
@elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @sailtoafarawayland @teamhook @wefoundloveunderthelight @caught-in-the-filter @ultraluckycatnd @veryverynotgood @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @jrob64 @kmomof4 @artistic-writer @gingerpolyglot @xarandomdreamx @justanother-unluckysoul @zaharadessert @karlyfr13s @tiganasummertree @wyntereyez @klynn-stormz @onceratheart18 @rkrbirdgirl @ouatdaily @blowmiakisscolin @courtorderedcake @winterbaby89 @pirateprincessofpizza @superchocovian @deckerstarblanche @jlsadphoenix @alexa-fangirl-forever @stahlop @undercaffinatednightmare @lostintheskyfaraway @anmylica @motherkatereloyshipper @last-tsarina @lfh1226-linda @hookedmom @yikes-00 @midnightsuki @paradiselady19 @jonesfandomfanatic
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wolfmarian · 4 months
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New comic im doing, will be kinda long. Compilation pages 12 to 22.
It will be about werewolves, but also many other themes.
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The fanfic has been on pause because I have been invested in it being an original narrative (I love them too much to have them stay fandom-related and it’s really expanded); however, if you want the Next Gen AU to be complete, it’ll happen. I just need to see if there’s enough reason for it.
If not, the fanart can be its own thing and the fanfic will be permanently shelved. Don’t worry, the blog will remain.
You all have a week to let me know.
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starsfic · 8 months
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"listen to me, don't trust wish granting entities. do. not."
Long Xiaojiao leaned away from the dark-furred monkey. "Uh…okay?" Honestly, when he walked into the shop, she hadn't gotten the crazy vibe like she did with other customers. She had gotten the "cranky and in need of sleep" vibes.
"Good," the monkey said. Before she could make an excuse, his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. Xiaojiao yelped, but he didn't let go. "Now, I need you to round up the pig and the scholar and the big blue guy…" She was fully ready to call Pigsy at least, even though he would get mad at her interrupting shopping time. But something made her blink.
"What big blue guy?"
The dark-furred monkey paused with his eyes wide, as if she pronounced his death sentence or something. "Sandy," he said, as if that meant something. "You know? Big blue guy? Always drinking tea? Has that crazy cat?" He looked around, as if said guy was about to pop out of nowhere. "I saw him when I was heading over here, so I know he didn't get erased from reality."
Erased from…
"Sir, did you get hit with spider venom?" She flexed her hand. No dice. His grip was solid as steel. "I've never met a guy named Sandy-"
"Because you met him-" The guy groaned, face palming. "Fuck! That's right! You met him through Qi Xiaotian."
"Who?" The minute she asked that, Xiaojiao's heart twisted.
Something about that name made tears prick at her eyes. Why was she crying? She couldn't tell you. It was just an overwhelming wave of grief. The steel grip around her wrist pulled away and, on sheer instinct, Xiaojiao reached up.
Her face was wet.
"Look." Macaque. That was his name. He stared at her with tears beading up in her own eyes. Anger burned hot in her chest. Why was he crying? "Look, I screwed up. But I promise, I'm going to get him back."
Xiaojiao didn't know how she knew him or what had happened. But she both trusted and didn't trust him.
"Promise?"
"…yes."
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raiinshowers · 17 hours
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And the first night that you saw me, nothing was gonna stop me? I laid the groundwork and then, just like clockwork;
The dominoes cascaded in a line
(Know It’s for the Better: Ch 16)
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toonsforkicks22 · 6 months
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Wadember Day 13: Chaos
Slight spoiler for my fanfic Chemistry
It’s not going to be an “unwanted celeb status breaks couple apart” cliche, I promise.
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neoncherryblossom · 4 months
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Glass castles have been built, calm falling over the Kwamis like never before, and Plagg is determined that this peace should be destroyed.
And for once, Nooroo couldn't help but agree.
(Let Destruction give way to Creation, let bonds be built stronger than before.)
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zootopiathingz · 6 months
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Guess who’s recovering from creative block!
Anyway, here’s a good ol’ hurt/comfort Elemental fic because I refuse to let a main character’s trauma get overlooked. Feel free to give it a read!
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the-darkdragonfly · 9 months
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NEW CHAPTER!!! A Trick of the Light
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Chapter 10: The Sword in the Stone
..... it's been 84 years....
but srsly tho - sorry dudes.
♥️♥️♥️♥️
The human body has, on average, 1.5 gallons of blood. 
Emma had gagged, turning to the boy she’d befriended from class, useless as that endeavour was, she would be gone in a month regardless of how many people she left behind. The boy had smiled, miming an explosion and catching a glare from the teacher who paced back and forth at the front of the class. 
It had been a fact she remembered at random again one afternoon while walking through a Boston hardware store with Killian, undecided as to what colour to paint the baby’s room, Henry and Hope trailing behind them holding wooden stir sticks like swords, Killian’s quiet voice providing advice as Henry spun and slowly parried his sister’s outstretched weapon held tightly between two chubby hands.  
Emma had settled on a soft green paint which looked like forest moss when the waiting buckets of primer caught her attention. She’d tapped her nail on the lid, Killian’s hand on her hip as he warned Henry not to wander off, his hook snagging through the hood of Hope’s jacket as she howled in indignation- you alright, love?- and she’d smiled remembering when she’d leaned her cheek against his shoulder in the cool dark of the barn, the smell of horses and hay around them, recalling how his face had scrunched up knowledge as she watched him bend to hoist up his enraged daughter. 
The human body has, on average, 1.5 gallons of blood. 
Red gathered like a rising tide around her feet, Killian bellowing with rage as he slashed his way towards her, stunned onlookers and knights clearing from his path. 
Killian’s voice rang through the throne room, Alec already moving, a stolen blade from a now fallen knight in his grasp as he kept Liam tucked to his chest- get my children out of here!- and Fiona slashed out with a dagger Killian hadn’t noticed before. 
Find Henry! His command was met with only a nod from the older man, a man so much a father to him. 
His blade, the sword of a king, had severed the head of the man who had kicked her, the power of his blow still smarting her ribs. She watched as it rolled away without ceremony under a table which held a scattering of glassware, Killian’s voice booming like thunder from above her. 
Release my wife. 
♥️♥️♥️♥️
Read the rest here.
Read my other stuff.
Tagging:
@elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @sailtoafarawayland @teamhook @wefoundloveunderthelight @caught-in-the-filter @ultraluckycatnd @veryverynotgood @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @jrob64 @kmomof4 @artistic-writer @gingerpolyglot @xarandomdreamx @justanother-unluckysoul @zaharadessert @xsjax @karlyfr13s @tiganasummertree @wyntereyez @klynn-stormz @onceratheart18 @rkrbirdgirl @ouatdaily @blowmiakisscolin @courtorderedcake @winterbaby89 @pirateprincessofpizza @superchocovian @deckerstarblanche @jlsadphoenix @alexa-fangirl-forever @stahlop @undercaffinatednightmare @lostintheskyfaraway @anmylica @motherkatereloyshipper @last-tsarina @lfh1226-linda @hookedmom @yikes-00 @midnightsuki @paradiselady19 @jonesfandomfanatic
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wolfmarian · 5 months
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New comic im doing, will be kinda long. Compilation pages 1 to 11.
It will be about werewolves, but also many other themes.
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