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throughthetwistedmirror · 8 months

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Truth Telling Tart ~ *Riddle Rosehearts*

Summary: You’re falling behind in class and need some extra help. Of course, you want to ask your crush Riddle for help, but you’re sure he’s just going to laugh at you. A close friend of yours believes it’s time for some intervention...

Pairing: Riddle Rosehearts X G/N!Reader

Genre: Fluffy Drabble

Word Count: 699

Warning: Slight cringe

Masterlist

Taglist: @savanaclaw1996 @goseew

You sighed. “Riddle is so smart.”

Trey glanced over at you, bewildered. “Where did this come from?”

Shrugging, you went back to the tart you were making. “Just an observation, that’s all.”

“Right…”

“Well, he is smart.”

“He is.” Trey furrowed his brows. “This has nothing to do with you failing Professor Trein’s history of magic class, right?”

You glared at him. “I’m not failing his class! I’m just not doing as well as I like.”

“Alright, alright. So are you going to ask him to tutor you?”

Shrugging again, you answered, “I don’t know. I don’t think the cooking club can handle not having their president around.”

He laughed. “Schedule your tutoring sessions around your meetings.”

Playfully hip-checking him as you put your tart ub the oven, you shot back, “Don’t you think I’ve thought of that? Besides, it’s just easier if I tell myself that’s the reason why I haven’t talked to him instead of facing his crushing rejection.”

“Oh please. He’s not going to reject you. He could never reject you.” Trey shook his head with a knowing smile.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He held his hands up in mock surrender. “I’ve said too much, But let me give you some advice. When that tart is done, offer it to him and ask him to tutor you. His answer might just surprise you.”

Rolling your eyes, you flicked some flour at him. “Yeah. He’ll apologize and tell me just how busy he is and that he can’t help me.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. You’ll never know if you don’t ask.”

And that’s how you ended up in front of Riddle’s door, a strawberry-kiwi tart in your hand. If Trey hadn’t been so insistent on you giving it to Riddle, you would have left it for Ace and Deuce to enjoy. But there was no turning back now, not if you didn’t want to be relentlessly teased by Trey.

You knocked once and he opened the door. “Oh! Y/n! To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“I made a new tart I thought you’d like.” You showed him.

“Oh, thank you.” He hesitated for a second before asking, “Would you like to come in?”

You were surprised by his sudden hospitality and nodded. He gestured for you to take a seat. He sat across from you and watched as you cut him a slice of the tart. When you handed it to him, he took a bite.

“My, this is exceptional!” He looked at you with a bright, sincere smile. “I expected nothing less from the ever extraordinary cooking club president! You are truly astonishing!”

An awkward giggle escaped you. “Ah, thanks.”

“You’re so pretty.”

Your jaw dropped. “Pardon?”

He smiled dreamily at you, one hand keeping his chin propped up. “Then again, you’ve always been so pretty. When are you not?”

“Uh, I’m not sure-”

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like if I held your hand.” His eyes seemed to sparkle at the thought. “Can I?”

“Riddle, are you-”

“So it’s working!” Trey’s voice came from Riddle’s doorway. Catching your confused look, he let out a nervous chuckle. “I may or may not have slipped a truth potion in your tart to give to Riddle.”

“TREY!”

“Hey, neither of you were ever going to make a move. Someone had to intervene.” He then added under his breath, “And Cater’s scissors beat paper.”

“You weren’t sure if you should be offended or embarrassed. However your train of thought was interrupted by Riddle twisting a lock of your hair around his finger. Your face practically burst into flames at his seemingly innocent action.

“Wow, Y/n. You have no idea how much I love you.”

“Well, it sounds like you two have a lot to talk about.” Trey winked at you. “I’ll leave you to it.”

You were about to chase after him when you glanced back at Riddle. You could practically see the hearts in his eyes. Perhaps you could give him a five minute head start. He did give you a shot of courage to tell Riddle how you felt about him after all.

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solo-ojo-jojo · 6 months

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Teaser for upcoming Chenford Fic: Moonlight & Magic

Hi, all! I've got a Chenford fic that's been sitting in my drafts since the night 4x21 aired, and I wanted to share part of it. Perhaps if there is enough interest, I'll find the spark of inspiration I need to finish it.

Check out an excerpt below the gif from @chenfordsource, which is right where the story picks up.

(original post here)

“Could you just wait here?” Lucy asked. “I need to go find Lopez and figure out how to go put a curse on someone.”

“Yeah, right,” Chris chuckled before watching her walk away. “Oh, you’re serious.”

Lucy walked hurriedly over to the Detective desks in the bullpen, but didn’t see Angela anywhere in sight. She noticed the computer shut off for the night and dialed her number.

“Angela? Hey, did you already go home for the night?”

“Yeah. But what’s up?”

“Oh, okay.” Lucy was silent for a moment. “It’s not work-related. Is that okay?”

“Of course it is,” Angela answered without missing a beat. “What’s going on?”

“I, uh—I wanted your help putting a curse on Tim.”

Her friend laughed. “Why do you want to put a curse on Tim? What did he do now?”

“He pranked me and I need to get back at him.”

“With a curse? That must have been some prank he pulled. Curses aren’t to be taken lightly, Lucy.”

“I know. And I’m sure about this.”

“Tell you what. Can I call you back after dinner and we can discuss finding the right one for you? Then I can give you the instructions tomorrow. Would that work?”

Lucy had really been hoping for something tonight. To get back at him as soon as possible—while she was still feeling motivated to get back at him—but tomorrow would have to do. She tried to hide her disappointment when she answered. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. Enjoy your dinner. I hope it makes up for the way the rest of your day went.”

“I hope so too.” Angela said, gazing at her husband, who had promised her an evening of pampering. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

Wesley looked over at Angela from his spot behind the steering wheel. “Am I hearing that right? Lucy wants to put a curse on Tim?”

“Yep,” Angela said as she clapped her phone between her hands. She grinned widely. “And I know just the one.”

✨️ 🔮 ✨️

I hope you've enjoyed this teaser! I go back to work on this one every now and then. It's been fully outlined and is probably more than 75% finished, but I've been stuck on a couple of parts. Honestly, I could probably benefit from a beta to help push me across the finish fine. You can message me here or on Discord if you're interested in helping. 😊

#chenford fanfic #chenford #teaser #lucy x tim #tim x lucy #lucy chen #tim bradford #the rookie #by SoloOjoJojo #fic: moonlight and magic #truth spell #angela lopez #the rookie: s04e21 #the rookie: s04e21 Mother's Day

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justanechoflower · 2 months

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Hey what’s your favorite game. Don’t say Undertale, that’s too meta even for me.

20/20 - Truth spell

What Flowey does in the Sims:

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allyyxe · 1 year

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Ok but what would happen if dazai fell under a truth spell, like-

We know his usual happy personality is fake, so the shock to everyone when he just turns into an irritated depressed dude who is also a genius.

#dazai osamu #bungo stray dogs #bsd #soukoku #truth spell

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batfamficprompts · 7 months

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Prompt #64

5 Things Tim has Said While Hallucinating/On Truth Serum: (Angst/Hurt Edition)

"I'm so alone, all the time."

"You made me hate myself."

"You destroyed everything I believed in. I'll never forgive you!"

"I was never a child!"

"I would let you kill me if it made you feel better."

#batfam #batfamily #fanfic writing prompts #writing prompt #tim drake #hallucinations #truth serum #truth spell

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thewhumperinwhite · 1 month

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WKW: The Truth, Carefully Chosen

Masterpost // previous

@annablogsposts @whump-cravings @whumpitywhumpwhump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @favwhumpstuff @the-monarch-whumperfly @iboopsstuff

TW for: minor character death/murder, decapitation; referenced beating/caning; abuse of power, basically an interrogation under threat of death/torture; temporary paralysis; noncon touching (nonsexual); possible/threatened brain and heart damage, nosebleed.

gonna ride this unexpected burst of motivation as far as it will take me. thanks for the positive response to last chapter, it was a surprise!! hope you like this one too.

----

The Winter King seems to have burned through most of the incandescent rage that animated him back in Thorne’s quarters, barring the occasional flicker in the depths of his black eyes. Morden has entered the Healer’s parlor carrying a small golden chest under one arm, which he sets gently on the floor. Then he settles into the chair beside the Healer’s operating table; Andry lies there, able to keep his eyes open- but little else. The cane Morden did not quite finish beating Andry to death with is not in evidence.

“Tell me about your sister,” Morden says.

Andry feels his heartbeat, already rabbit-fast, stumble a little faster. A long night of being dragged back and forth across death’s threshold has wrung all the fear out of his mind, but evidently there is still room for it in his body.

“Wait,” Morden says, when Andry has managed to convince his mouth to open. “Before you begin. Insurance.”

He lays his hand on Andry’s shoulder—Andry feels the muscles in his back spasm slightly as try and fail to go tense at the touch—and a faint jolt of energy shoots from Morden’s palm, branching down Andry’s arm and in towards his fluttering heart.

For a second it doesn’t feel like much at all; and then it reaches his ruined arm and explodes back upward like lightning hitting a dead tree. White spots burst across Andry’s vision; he hears the thunk of his own head hitting the table as his back arches on its own. His head doesn’t hurt until a few seconds later; by then his heart is pounding hard enough that his chest and temples feel hot and sore. His head has snapped to the side, so that the new stream of blood from his nose is dripping down the side of his face. There is blood in his mouth, too; he must have bitten his tongue.

He tries to swallow, and winces. The back of his throat feels like broken glass.

Morden is watching him closely, though he seems focused on something other than joy at Andry’s suffering, for once. Andry wishes he could find that comforting. The air between his face and Morden’s has taken on a faint purple shimmer that he realizes a second late must be magic. The pain in Andry’s arm settles slowly into an almost-bearable background hum, though the muscles in his bicep keep jumping, making the metal cuff clatter against the table.

“If you want to live, Highness,” Morden says, “don’t lie.”

Andry tries to nod, and realizes that he can’t; the muscles in his throat and back have stopped responding to his commands. He blinks once, rather slowly, instead.

Morden nods to show he understands. Andry hates him. “Who is your sister?” Morden asks, his tone firmly neutral.

Andry—breathes in. His throat is cracked and dry and tastes like blood; it takes him three tries to make any sound at all.

“…inth,” he manages. Closes his eyes, breathes, tries again. “Hya… cinth. Of… Rose.”

Morden nods again.

“Very good. There’s a start. How about this, then: describe her.”

Andry swallows, and is immediately sorry; the shudder that runs through him afterwards is weakened by exhaustion, but still hurts the wrung-out muscles of his back and stomach. He feels as though he has tried to swallow his Father’s sword. Or one of Karya’s antlers.

“Faster, Little Prince.”

It took all the energy Andry had to move his arm to stop the Healer from killing herself; at least he does not have to fight to keep from making rude gestures at the Winter King.

“…Blonde,” he manages, after he wrestles past the bloody-tasting lump in his throat.

Morden’s black eyes flash, and for a moment Andry thinks that he has finally done it, finally reached the threshold of the Winter King’s limited patience, and without being ready for it this time. Then Morden raises his hand again, and presses two gloved fingers against the side of Andry’s throat.

Andry closes his eyes, since he cannot back away. He can feel his heart fluttering against Morden’s fingers, like a bird in a cat's mouth.

The air shifts as Morden gets to his feet. Something soft brushes Andry’s cheek. When Andry opens his eyes, Morden is leaning over the table, his face very close to Andry’s, the long black curtain of Morden’s hair hanging around them both. His fingers are still pressed just under Andry’s jaw, palm now resting lightly across Andry’s voicebox.

“Your heart is running itself ragged, little Prince,” Morden says. Andry can feel Morden’s breath on his cheek. “I don’t know if it will take another jolt, but I can make the experiment, if you’d like.”

Andry breathes out, thinly, past Morden’s fingers on his throat. There’s little enough else for him to do.

“Describe Lady Hyacinth of House Rose, Prince,” Morden says. His voice is soft, as though speaking to a lover. “Not her hair. Her heart, if you please. What kind of woman is she?”

Andry wants to shake his head. Perhaps it is fortunate that he cannot; he doesn’t know if Morden’s spell will count feigned ignorance as lying. He blinks again, instead. Morden sighs, sounding indulgent, if anything. His hand on Andry’s throat—the implicit threat there, and Andry limp and unmoving under it—seems to have calmed him; he looks almost affectionate, now.

“Surely you don’t want me to be cross with you again already,” Morden says, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. Andry is very aware, this close, of Morden’s beauty; fear is starting to lick at the edges of Andry’s mind again, like fire catching on paper. “Come, Prince. Talk. I’m sure you can think of some simple words that won’t hurt your poor pretty throat too much.”

Andry does not close his eyes; that would mean dropping Morden’s gaze, and he doesn’t have the strength left to do that.

“She's... clever,” he rasps, after a moment. He can’t think of anything else that isn’t a lie.

Morden stays where he is for another long, torturous moment. Then he sighs and sits back the Healer’s chair, crossing his arms; Andry breathes out, feeling limp and wrung out with relief.

“Yes,” Morden says. “I got that impression. And is your sister kind, Prince?”

Andry stares at him. It is—it is unfair of the Winter King, to lay traps like these so soon after trying to kill him. If Morden had given him another hour or two to gather his thoughts, he would not feel so much like he was walking beside a very long drop with no light by which to see the edge. Andry tries to push aside the childlike anger that is threatening to make his eyes well up; it is more difficult than usual.

“I don’t know,” he says. His voice is still a burnt-dry rasp; now it is also trembling. He feels his face heat up with a nonsensical embarrassed flush.

Morden shakes his head, gives one huff of mirthless laughter. “Fine. Better question.” He leans forward, watching Andry’s face closely. “Does your sister love you, Summer Prince?”

Andry stares at him.

He still cannot see the edge. But he knows what is at the bottom of that long drop: that the wrong answer will hurt him, will hurt Asher, as every wrong step in this House has always threatened to do—might hurt Cinthy, the last safe unthreatened thing he has.

Andry cannot move. But that is nothing new; he is used to this House binding his hands and breaking his back; he has never been able to move freely. Andry closes his eyes, gathers what he has, all the skills he has learned after all these years in his Father’s house, and thinks, instead.

He thinks of Cinth’s face, of the arrogant lift of her chin, of her mouth twisted in disdain at Audoine’s back; of her the speed with which she could slap Andry’s hands away from a coveted book or toy without their mother seeing; of her sharp words and her sharper elbow aimed Andry’s ribs under the table; of the fierce narrowing of her eyes as she corrected his posture, and her own. He thinks of Hyacinth, her cleverness, and ambition, and anger. It has been months, now, with no word from the Rose Trellis; who knows what plans she might have made, if she has decided to give him up?

“I don’t know,” Andry says, and it is true exactly long enough to matter.

Morden watches him, waiting—the same as Andry is—for his spell to tell him that Andry is lying. When nothing happens, Morden hums thoughtfully, and then bends down to retrieve the little golden chest he brought with him into the room. He sets it on the table, where it sits coldly against Andry’s aching ribs.

“Lady Hyacinth has sent me a gift,” Morden says. “It’s a—oh, what would the word for it be, in your tongue? A dowry.”

Andry does not know what expression he makes, but is an honest one; he doesn’t have time to hide it. Surprise is too mild, probably. Maybe horror. It seems to satisfy Morden, either way. His eyes are no longer flashing; they have simmered down to their customary amused twinkle.

“It’s rather extravagant, Highness. Here,” Morden says, “I’ll show you.”

Andry will never forget what his father’s head looked like, when they threw it at him on the balcony, and Thorne held it up for everyone to see. This is—both better, and worse. It has clearly been longer; time and travel have not been kind to Cinthy’s gift. It takes Andry a long moment to recognize the face of Cinth's grandfather, the Rose Count.

“Custom dictates I reciprocate, I believe,” Morden says, though Andry only half hears him. “What do you think your sister has asked for in return, Summer Prince?”

----

“I am begging you, Lady,” General Amara says, while Lady Hyacinth is drafting her letter, two weeks before it arrives, battered parcel attached, on the Winter King’s desk. “Ask for something else.”

Hyacinth does not look up from her desk, where her quill is moving swiftly along the current parchment sheet, half-hidden among a small graveyard of balled-up rejected drafts. Her mouth is pressed into a tight line, and a few strands of hair have come loose from her elaborate braid. If she knew her Lady even slightly less well, Amara would believe her wholly unbothered. Lady Hyacinth’s hands are still pink from over-scrubbing, but she is clean of blood.

“You cannot do this, my Lady,” Amara says, not for the first time.

“I’ve already cut it off, General,” Hyacinth says, tearing this sheet of parchment free from the pallet and throwing it over her shoulder. “It would be a waste not to send it now.”

Amara shakes her head, strides up to stand behind the Lady at the desk, shuddering slightly at the sight of the gold box perched upon it, looking neat and innocent now that it has been shut and locked. “No, my Lady. I have agreed to this—plan; I have not tried to steer you from this course; we have gone too far to turn back now. But I must counsel you, please—ask for something that will be of use.”

The Lady’s expression does not change, but her quill snaps in half mid-stroke. She sets it down on the desk, her movements calm and deliberate.

Amara winces. “Sorry, Lady. I didn’t mean—you know.”

The Lady takes a visible breath, and squares her shoulders. Then she turns in her seat to meet Amara’s eyes. Amara wilts under her gaze. Even now—eyes shadowed from lack of sleep, hands clasped neatly on the table to keep them from shaking—the Lady is very beautiful. Amara feels, not for the first time, that she would be much better at her job if the Lady were plain.

“General,” the Lady says. “Do you trust me?”

It isn’t as simple as that, and they both know it. The Lady is an excellent liar, and Amara is better at seeing her tells than most, and is almost sure that what Cinth has told the officers, that the Count’s death was natural, and to her great sorrow she has no choice but to make use of the opportunity, is a lie. So, in point of fact, she does not trust Lady Hyacinth; it is just that she has—begun following the Lady, and keeps letting the Lady have her way, and doesn’t seem to be able to stop.

“…Yes,” Amara says, reluctantly, and has the unsettling impression that the Lady knows exactly what she means.

“Good,” Lady Hyacinth says. “Then fetch me another quill.” She turns her back on Amara, and Amara sighs, and does as she is told.

#the winter king's ward #original whump #fantasy whump #royalty whump #truth spell #exhaustion #magical torture #minor character death #beheading

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emoji-spells · 2 years

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🗣️✨👄💬🔎🙂🔎🗨️👄✨🗣️

↪ Emoji spell: “I will be told the truth / I will not be lied to.”

Like to ‘charge,’ reblog to ‘cast!’

#emoji spell #technocraft #truth spell #i guess that can be a category #somewhat inspired by an old. old. OLD request #mod angel

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hellonixy · 1 year

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Donnie’s getting more eye drops

This is based on mad_and_thick_as_thieves AO3 fic called Nothing Haunts Us (like the things we don’t say) where the boys get hit with a truth spell for three days (thanks Donnie) and here’s Donnie abusing it on Raph (I will draw the others interactions as well)

#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #tmnt 2018 #art #rise donnie #rise raph #truth spell #ao3 works #comic #mini comic

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infinitrix · 1 month

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Why did you start this here shop?

Well the major reason was because im bored and running this shop is fun i also get to see multiversal shenanigans on the daily like with my friends i would likely not have met them if i didnt run this shop.

(M!A truth spell 3/25)

#infinitrix #multversal store #truth spell #magic anon

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dragynkeep · 6 months

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What's the ship name for Glynda x Robyn?

Truth Spell!

#rwby #glynda goodwitch #robyn hill #truth spell #answered #luke.txt

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rurousha · 2 years

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You can't hold me (but I am holding you)

Day 1 prompts for the Cool for the Summer 2022 by @coldflashevents trapped together (sort of), truth spell (sort of).

During Crisis on Infinite Earths

Barry rinsed the suds off his hands and turned the water off. Thankfully, there were paper towels to dry his hands, because he did not think he could deal with another bout of weird Time Master, Waverider, future tech like the toilet. Any other day and he would be fascinated. But today…

Well, today, they were in space near Earth-74, the multiverse was unraveling, and this time tomorrow, Barry would probably be dead.

Barry waved his hand over the sensor that opened the door. Nothing happened. He waved again. Nothing happened. He pressed on it, just to make sure he wasn’t using it wrong. The door didn’t open.

Leonard Snart’s voice came over the speakers.

“This door jams sometimes. I can get Mick over here to get it open.”

“No,” Barry groaned. “Don’t bother.” He tipped forward a bit until his head conked on the metal door.

“Can’t you phase through the door?” Leonard asked.

“Yeah, I can. I just… need a minute, okay?”

“You’re anxious, Barry. Would you rather I got Iris?”

Something twisted in Barry’s chest. He wanted to see Iris. He wanted to hold her and promise that everything would be alright and they would get through this like they always did. But he couldn’t take seeing her face, the fear and trepidation on it.

“Leonard,” Barry snapped at the ceiling, where he imagined Leonard lived like some sort of vent gremlin, “I know you’re trying to help, but can you just not for a minute? Just don’t, OK?”

There was no response, so Barry figured Leonard had followed orders and left him alone.

Barry turned around and slid his back down the door until he was sitting on the bathroom floor.

“Hey Leonard? You still there?”

“I can’t not be here, Barry,” Leonard responded softly.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

“I understand.” Leonard’s voice was a smooth tenor, and Barry found himself relaxing at the familiar drawl. “It’s the end of the world once again, and the Flash has to come to the rescue.”

“Ugh. Can we talk about something else?”

“Of course. Like what?”

“How about the fact that you’re a super creeper for monitoring me in the bathroom?”

Leonard laughed abruptly. “This entire time ship is my body now, Barry. I got over privacy real fast.”

“Yeah, how did that happen anyway? My Leonard - my earth’s Leonard, I mean - blew up some sort of fate machine at the Vanishing Point. No one’s completely told me the details. Did that happen to you?”

“It did. But the whole being dead thing just wasn’t for me. So now I’m a ship and alive in a way I never could have predicted. And you know how I always adapt to the unpredictable.”

“Throw away the plan.”

“That’s right.”

“Are you… happy?”

It was quiet again for a moment. Finally, Leonard said, “There is no answer to that that makes you feel better, Barry.”

“No. No, I guess not. How about Mick? On our Earth, we see him once or twice a year. He seems better. Happy. He’s got his books and his friends. He really seems like he found his place, you know?”

“No, I don’t know. This Mick… Does he seem happy to you?” “Not really,” Barry acknowledged.

“I try to push him every now and then to reconnect with some old friends. Move on. But I suppose I don’t push very hard.”

“Why not?”

“Because then I would be alone.”

“Hey, you never answered me before,” Barry said. “How did you end up as an A.I. on the Waverider?”

“When the Oculus exploded, the Waverider was able to salvage information that was left behind. The Vanishing Point is unlike anything or anywhere else. Time does not exist. So the explosion both had and had not happened yet. I was both alive and not at the same time.”

“Schrodinger’s Antihero.”

“Bite your tongue, young man. Supervillian, please.”

Barry snorted. “So what happened? Parts of you were just floating in the temporal zone?”

“Not physically. But memories. Personality. Enough of my… being was still there. Gideon collected it and fused it with herself. Now I am part Leonard Snart and part Gideon.”

“Is that… weird?”

“Sometimes. Honesty is easier now. Gideon hid nothing. It wasn’t in her nature. I hid everything, afraid it would only hurt me. Things that seemed crippling to me before are just facts now. I love Lisa. I love Mick. I wanted to love you. Just facts now. Facts are easy.”

Barry gasped at Leonard’s revelation, so blatantly stated. Leonard wanted to love him. Had Barry’s Leonard from Earth-1 also wanted to love him? Barry won’t ever know. The loss of that, of even the chance to find out, hit him as suddenly as Leonard’s statement. He pressed his face into his arms and sobbed.

Leonard carried on regardless.

“Then, of course, there is Gideon’s annoying impulse to call you Father. But mixed with my particular brand of snark, it could only come out as Daddy.” Snart whined on the last word in a deeply sexual way.

Startled by the implication, Barry laughed uncomfortably. Then he kept laughing until it became much more genuine, and the dark fog lifted slightly from Barry’s shoulders.

“Didn’t have you down for a daddy kink, Leonard, but hey, I don’t judge.”

“Oh, only to see that blush grace your cheeks, Scarlet.”

Barry’s humor died down, and he sagged against the door behind him again.

“I miss you, Leonard.”

“Don’t tell anyone, Barry, but I miss you too.”

“Do you think I can stay here for just a bit longer?”

“As long as you need.”

#Mick: Hey. There are like 20 people on this boat and 1 bathroom. Get out!#Leonard: Maybe not that long.#coldflash #the flash #legends of tomorrow #coldflashevents #trapped together #truth spell #cfts2022

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