acknowledge his plan

Yes, Solas’ plan involves killing a whole bunch of people

I’m so glad you guys liked my Solas character analysis. Thank you so much for your comments and for sharing. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one in hell over this sad elf.

I’ve gotten a few comments/questions about stating “ripping down the veil will cause the end of countless lives.” And, um, yes. Let’s talk about that, shall we?

Keep reading

Infliction, chap. 2


A gun pointed to your mother’s head as your father shovels over wads of cash; threats being spitted all over the place as you peek through the meager crack in your door - only a distant memory.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14

Kim Myungjun.

Kim Myungjun is the name of the man stumbling behind you as though he was drunk, which at the time, who knows if he was or wasn’t.

“Yeah yeah, keep walking..” he growls, trekking through the woods behind you; the machete still securely gripped by his side while his other hand holds effortlessly onto your neck. You could try and run, knock his grip off your neck and dart the opposite way, but he doesn’t seem like he’s going to let that happen - at least not without a machete to the back of your calf.

Keep reading

If I Had Lost You...

Castiel imagine requested by anon, details contributed by fracturedhaloburntwings. Since this imagine has been edited for reposting (just to stock up on details. My writing was a bit scarce back when I wrote this), I no longer have the request. A summary should suffice. “Castiel and the reader embark on a high-risk demon hunt, leaving by wing, only to find the stakes to be much higher than anticipated. When the reader’s life in endangered, Castiel’s emotions seem to fall in line." Hope you like it!

WARNING: This imagine is particularly gory.

You were nothing short of thrilled when Castiel requested your assistance on a routine demon hunt. Why he invited you was a mystery; he could flick his wrist and reduce every last demon in a five-mile radius to sulfur, he could send pillars of acrid smoke spiraling through the floorboards on their way back to Hell… yet he stood before you, hand extended for you to take, his emotion-void eyes bright with a sense of duty. With a grin, you eased the text you had been researching closed, a light sprinkling of dust rushing from the closed pages. You set the tome aside, your joints crackling like a firepit’s peak inferno as you stood, sliding Ruby’s old demon knife into your jacket’s sewn-in holster before reaching for his hand, your smooth skin sliding over his rough palm, fireworks jumping within your chest. The explosives were a bit too close to your heart for your liking, but the rush was always welcome. You’d take a hands-on hunt over translating ancient textbooks any day of the week, and the angel’s presense added a special kind of appeal. As suddenly as he had appeared in your motelroom, which is to say in the literal blink of an eye, he retracted his hand from beneath yours, his arms falling to his sides, his eyes boring down into yours. His sapphire irises were troubled, almost pleading, solidifying into rock-hard gemstones when they met yours, locking his emotions away before they ran rampant across his stoic facade. It was as if someone had severed a wire, and a bomb had been diffused within the angel, sealing away every last emotion with the closing of a vault door. He cleared his throat audibly, his posture unconsciously tilted towards you, his shoulders becoming very much like a shield. Always eager to protect, this one. Probably the halo that brought the Mama Bear instincts out of the awkward little angel. Speaking of the Heavenly creature before you, it was customary that he insisted you stay out of the line of fire. You pondered the sudden change of tide, the unexpected burst of trust. Perhaps you were growing on him. His chest heaved to accommodate for his release of breath, his face settling further.

“Y/n, you are free to decline my invitation. The demons I will face today are merciless. They will not take prisoners. If given the chance, they will kill you. Do you understand?” he explained, his voice painfully professional eyes drilling holes into your skull with the force and intention behind his unrelenting stare. You rolled your eyes, leaning closer to him, your hand inching outward to lay against his wrist. Your action shifted the cuff of his beloved trenchcoat, unintentionally revealed the glimmer of the angel blade he had sheathed in his sleeve. You smiled, shrugging your shoulders to exhibit how little you cared for his warning, your lust for safety snubbed long ago, back in the days when a gun held no specific name in your mind, no number or make or model, back before you believed all bullets fit into every single weapon, that there was no size or length or regulation, back in the days of night lights and most definitely before the figments of your imagination sprung to life, straight out of a Grimm fairytale. Everything tried to kill you these days. His warning was about as useful as left-handed scissors were in chopping wood.

“It’s in the job description. Let’s go,” his eyes deflated, a part of him obviously wishing you would chose to stay, to abide by your usual arrangement, his chest swelling with contrasting approval. His hand twisted, wrist turning until it was he who held you. clasping around your wrist as he pulled you closer, his movements confident through his initial hesitation, still unsure of how to react to casual contact, the mannerisms of humans confounding him still after literal millenniums. The fireworks began another round of sparkling starbursts, the embers rattling against your ribs as the angel pulled you to his chest. You sighed, gripping tight to his hand as the wind began to roar in your ears, tucking your face into his chest to avoid both his eye and the aggressive gusts of air. You shut your eyes against the gale force swirling at your every side, your ears thudding loudly with the force of your frightened, excited heartbeat, your fear spiking with every pulsation. You cringed into Castiel’s chest, his opposite arm winding around your back to secure you to his form. Had you attention left to spare, your mind would be glued to the warmth of his palm against your spine. Unfortunately, your thoughts were otherwise occupied by the loss of solid ground beneath your feet.

You shook, tremors rolling over your muscles, stomach dropping to the soles of your feet, your frame jolting as your feet made contact with something other than open air, a tepid fluid instantaneously soaking through the thick leather of your sturdy hunting boots. You swallowed the bile rising in your throat, shaking away the unbalance and disorientation of traveling via angel express, relieved to find the amusement park ride was over. You were bombarded with the pungent scent of decay and rot, the stone walls of what you took to be a sewer system glistening darkly with what you sure hoped was water. There was a multitude of substances you didn’t want to see trickling down the stone, the names, origins, and descriptions of which were best left unknown. The sounds of tearing flesh reverberated off of the walls, sickening crunches muffled by layers of skin and muscle punctuating the wet noise like a sinister symphony. Your stomach roiled, your hands clenching into fists. Castiel’s hand grasped your arm, completely encircling it, his eyes managing to sparkle even in the absence of light. You noticed his hand was still against your back, his chest still flush against yours. Your heat hammered once against the confines of it’s bone cage, your eyes adjusting to the shadows as your pulse slowed. Though your vision was hindered by the overwhelming darkness, you could make out the line of his finger pressed to his lips, the universal signal to call for silence. You backed into the wall, his hand allowing for the movement by shifting to your hip, a substance you’d be forced to identify when you removed your shoes and jacket moistening your back as your spine molded with stone. Your heel dug into a soft, squishy… something, sending a new wave of caustic air to eat away at your lungs like a starving parasite, the stench alone enough to nauseate, the texture underfoot adding to the horror stew you were currently brewing. You dared a glance downward, waiting for your incapacitated stare to shift and bring clarity of vision, your eyes slowly adjusting to the inky shadows. You gulped back vomit in horror, your head reeling. Castiel’s palm pressed against your mouth, clamping down against the potential cry of terror.

Your foot was nestled comfortably in the half-decomposed and fully severed head of a man long dead, his eyes holding yours, though swimming with maggots. Strands of his hair were surrounded by flies, slabs of scalp falling away from his skull. Your foot was taking residence where his brain had been, an unlikely and terrible tenant.

You moved your foot away in near paralysis, Castiel’s hand moving with your face as your gaze traveled, a faint hush of his breath quieting your laboured breathing. You noted the rest of the crime scene; the lack of a jaw on the man was among the first of your observations… it had been sawn off completely and lay a foot or so away from it’s original home. The moist quality of the ground beneath your feet must have come from the rest of the man’s body, wherever that may be now. Cas wasn’t kidding when he said no prisoners. His hand clasped your shoulder, palm shifting your face upward until you met his eye, his ocean irises exposed by his attentive, worried stare. He was asking you, without words of course, if you culd handle the rest of this hunt. You were positive he would fly you home in a heartbeat, but you were determined to continue the hunt, no matter the graphic content you had just witnessed. He tugged you away from the lone head, pulling you first to his chest for balance before shifting to your side, bodies crouching, leading you by the hand to the adjacent wall, your eyes following his gaze to the soft glow of firelight. Sconces, or torches perhaps, exposed the silhouettes of three male demons through an archway mere feet away from your current position, their hands busied by the act of tearing away at a recent kill, a hunk of human flesh whizzing so close to your head that you felt blood splatter onto your cheek, which Cas wiped away with the rough pad of his thumb, eyes once more shooting you an escape route. Once more, you declined. He tilted his head, the command lingering in the silence. You wondered again why it was that you had tagged along. You mind screamed “date,” your logic dismissed the thought. Stepping in a dead guy was as far away from romantic as you cared to explore.

You nodded, acknowledging his plan of action, shaking the thought of romance from your head, the both of you standing in synchronization, prepared to storm the torture chamber. The men turned, glossy ebony eyes igniting with malice as they abandoned their recent kill in favour of the fresh meat that had just strolled through their front door, their teeth gleaming in the light of their fires. The first charged Castiel without hesitation, and without hesitation, he was killed, Castiel’s angel blade skewering through his chest within seconds, the gleaming tip of crimson-soaked silver poking through the vessel’s back. The second demon lunged at your cheek as you removed Ruby’s weapon from your jacket, his fingernails tearing through your skin, heat flooding the ragged edges of a fresh wound as blood pooled and dripped from your chin, your blade puncturing his heart right through his sleek power suit. You twisted the knife. wooden handle warming from the electricity you were invoking in the demons chest. He fizzled through the skin of the attorney he was wearing, crumpling at your feet. You turned, ready to assist Castiel in the clean up, so sure he had handled the final demon, the face awaiting yours dominated by two pools of pitch black, every pore and scar on his face visible, close as he was. You moved to fight, the demon swatting at your wrist as a mother might nonchalantly smack something dug from the ground out of a toddler’s pudgy clasps, your knife flying away. His hand closed around your wrist, wrenching your arm backward, pulling your body to his front, his stomach on your back, an arm crushing your throat like an iron noose. The arm was not meant to strangle, but to hold… and hold it did. You struggled until you found your attempts useless, the demon jolting you still. Your eyes focused, staring at Castiel, who set his blade down in surrender. The demon chuckled, his voice poisoning the air with corrosive seduction, his arm tightening on your throat, your breath becoming more laboured, but possible.

“Well, well, Castiel,” the demon sneered, victory tainting his slimy voice. He clicked his tongue, tsking at the angel, whose eyes remained locked on yours, face less composed than usual, revealing his concern for your well-being. “Looks like this is checkmate for you. How’s about you walk away now, leave me be… and I’ll kill her quickly. Five minutes tops, you have my word. She’ll barely feel a thing.” Castiel took a step towards you, palms raised as if to calm the demon. The demon responded by jerking you back a step, countering Castiel’s advance, his lips in your hair, breath scorching your ear. You twitched away from the monster, his lips brushing against your earlobe as he spoke. “One more step and I’ll smoke down that pretty little throat of hers. It’ll be lights out, Cupid,” he moved his lips to your cheek, pressing them along the gashes his brethren had left there, the oils on his skin stinging like acid. “How’d you like to stab yourself in the stomach with a rusty coat hanger? If that’s not your poison, I could always make you pull your fingernails out with your teeth. That’s always a ball,” your captor turned back to Castiel, tightening his grip on your trachea. You choked, mouth opening to the world (which, you reminded yourself, allowed for prie access to your controls, were the demon to follow through with his threat of possession), spluttering a cough, your face burning as colour rose in your cheek. “What’ll it be? Say the word, and I’ll just snap her neck, nice and simple. We don’t have to subject poor Miss Y/n to anything… drastic.” Castiel rolled his shoulders back, his eyes never leaving the demons. He spoke your name, voice filled with a low resonance, conviction painting his features… and you knew. You ducked your face into the crook of the demon’s arm, brilliant white light growing to infiltrate even the darkness you had found. The demon, in a last-ditch attempt to cause damage before his oncoming demise, made one last attack, his hands, which you had assumed were the only weapon he needed, grasping a knife from the table behind him, plunging the blade into your chest. You cried out as you both fell, warmth spurting from around the blade, your eyesight growing dim despite the illumination. A figure hovered over you, sheathed in glorious light, his features fading as the weapon was wrenched from your body, a brighter glow spreading warmth to the cavity the blade had left. You blinked your eyes open, vision restored, Castiel’s fingers spread on your chest, gawking at you, relief exuding from his every expression. He pulled you to your feet, his eyes on your heart.

“Are you alright?” he mumbled, voice tainted for one of the first times with potent emotion, his eyes shocked through with panic. You inhaled, your breath propelled by a strength you hadn’t noticed before, the angel’s hand retracting from your chest as you nodded, his palms gripping your upper arms, holding you at a distance to inspect the damages he had healed. His eyes met yours, the stormy seas within rolling with seriousness. “Y/n, I was unsure of the extent of your injuries, and how much time you had before you perished. I did everything in my power to keep you from…” he paused, shaking his head slightly, never once breaking eye contact. “I have lent you a fragment of my grace to ensure your survival.” he breathed, your eyes widening at the angel’s words. “Splitting my essence… it is a tactic I’m unfamiliar with, but the effects of my grace are minimal, I can assure you.” Castiel licked his lips in stressful contemplation, his face drifting closer and closer to your own. He reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingertips brushing your cheekbone. “It seems as though you’re only… glowing,” You opened your mouth to speak, a million questions on your lips before Castiel’s were, his sudden burst of courage shocking you as much as he shocked himself, pulling away with a raging blush blooming across his cheeks. He cleared his throat, gravel rattling from within. “Forgive me… I…“ he deserted his attempts to speak, grasping your hand in his, guiding you to his chest his eyes averted, preparing to take flight.

“Cas-” you began, your mind spinning. The angel’s eyes lowered to your own, hands leaving  yours to mold around your back, locking you gingerly to his body. When he spoke, his voice was low, words spoken with a steady, if flustered, patience. He sounded perfectly sincere.

“I must apologize for assaulting you. I’m… not sure what came over me. Seeing you in his hold… seeing you so close to death… if I had lost you, Y/n…” he trailed off once again, his features softening. “I believe I may love you.” he breathed. Your heart fluttered, alight with a shard of Castiel’s grace, of Castiel himself. All those hunts he’d insisted you sit out, the look of panic in his eyes as he hovered over you… was because he loved you. “Come, we have much to discuss,” he smiled, the wind beginning to roar in your ears… but you were no longer afraid of flying. Perhaps it helped to borrow a pair of wings.

i just found out that paul mccartney is signing with capitol records and would you look at that … even though he’s one of the biggest artists in the world he’s still taken the time to have a press release published and had a promotional picture taken.

anyway i’m posting this because it’s yet another example of why harry’s ~solo~ situation with columbia is so unnatural and why so many of us still think there’s something hella shady going on there.