burn all the bones

12x10 rewatch: gosh, dean really hates how the “lily and her daughter” story went down in 1901. it probably reminds him of the fact that cas is not human and used to be a real “angel’s angel” back in the day (even if we know he’s always had a tendency to rebellion and compassion, but i dont think dean knows). 

dean can’t even look at cas after he knows what happened with lily (well, the “official” story)

(poor sam, always in the middle)

and before that, cas was so afraid of what dean and sam would think of him (but mostly dean). 

(all gifs are mine)

After The After Party

A little drabble for my honey’s, @goblackhatwithme , @delos-mio @princesse-de-ravenclaw because they’re awesome and I love their work so much and wanted to surprise them. 

Sirius Black x Reader (Female)

Summary: Two best friends give into the bubbling feelings that have slowly grown over the years.
Words: 564 


Originally posted by nellaey

“You look as though you had as much fun as me,” Sirius said as he slumped beside her, the party having ended as quickly as it had begun. She moved her legs to allow him more space as he rested his head against her shoulder, “I turned down a girl tonight, I think I may be ill." 

Her eyes looked at him as she smiled, lowering the bottle to her lap, her head resting on the back of the sofa as he looked at her. The electricity that began to crackle between them wasn’t something either could ignore, her eyes tracing from his eyes to his lips in several sweeps. Their lips met briefly, the bitter taste of the liquor on his lips transferring to hers, his eyes opening wide to meet hers as he moved back frowning. 

"I shouldn’t, I – um, didn’t mean to,” Sirius said as her hands cupped his cheeks and pressed her lips against his. This time with more intention, more passion.  

His hand grasping for her back, their drinks mixing on their lips as she held on to him, the feel of his unshaven face against her palm. The desperation in the way he held her and kissed her, lit all of her up and filled her, completed her. His hands carefully lifting her up as she ran her fingers through his hair, her body near flush with his and yet still he wanted her much closer to him. 

For a brief moment, their lips parted, just enough to know they needed to reconnect. She was breathing him in as Sirius did the same to her. Her eyes traced his cheekbones, the wicked smile that was growing before he captured her lips and stole all of her thoughts once more.

Sirius…” She gasped between kisses as he lifted the two of them up, shuffling over to the seat beside them without breaking apart.

“Someone spilt - a drink -,” Sirius whispered between kisses, “didn’t want you - to ruin that - lovely dress.” His silver eyes darkening as he took a moment to stare at her, really take her in, and she could feel his gaze burn her down to the bone. The air was crackling all around them as Sirius stared boldly into her eyes, his finger brushing a loose strand from her face. "I am going to kiss you again,“ he said full of determination. 

"O - okay,” she whispered as her smile curved, moulding into his lips as they made contact with hers, the feel of his hips rolling between her spread legs as his lips traced down her jaw to kiss her neck. Sirius tongue gently traced her skin, passionately and lightly nipping lightly with his teeth as she let out a shuddered moan that made her grasp more of his hair. Her mind was becoming frazzled and foggy; her usually active mind had disappeared off somewhere as soon as he had kissed her. She didn’t protest, giving in to the way it felt to be touched by him; to be held and kissed by him - her best friend. 

Her eyes shooting open, realising quickly what she was doing and with whom. Sirius had tensed, his own eyes wide with panic as his fingers froze on her hips. 

“I…” she began to stutter as she rose, flattening out the creases on her dress. 

“I’m sorry that was…" 

”… I liked it,“ she said in surprise as he slowly began to smirk. Her finger touching her lips, just where his had been tracing only moments ago. She liked it, really, really enjoyed it. Hesitating, unsure on whether to press herself against him once more before she shook her head, deciding against it. "I should go." 

"Um… okay?" 

"Okay,” she repeated, standing up looking at him, near hesitating to kiss him again when she refrained and hurried from him. Each step feeling as though it was wrong to leave him, her head warning her that it wasn’t the case as her heart attempted to persuade her. With a close of the dormitory door, she sighed, the smell of his aftershave coating her as she flung herself on her bed.


xoxo

Week 2 Challenge of @spnhiatuscreations, creation #1

week 2 (may 29 - june 4): urban legends


As opposed to dealing with one of the urban legends that has already been on the show, I wanted to create something involving one of the few urban legends that the Winchesters have not faced in the 12-season run of Supernatural. I decided to go with Kuchisake-onna, otherwise known as the Slit-Mouth woman. The basic story is that she’s a Japanese ghost whose mouth was split open by her husband when he found out she was cheating on him.

Modern legends say that she walks around with a surgical mask on her face, asking passerby if they think she is pretty. Answer no, and she’ll stab you with scissors, killing you. Answer yes, and she’ll take the mask off, revealing her slashed face, and ask again. Answer no, and she’ll slice you in half. Say yes, and she’ll slash your face to look like hers. You may be able to trick her by giving a noncommittal answer such as, “so-so,” confusing her long enough for you to escape.

You can bet that the Winchesters would plan to distract her until they were able to burn her bones. And we all know that before Cas could give his planned answer of, “Beauty is a social construct designed by humans,” Dean would blurt out, “Hell no,” forcing them all to fight for their lives instead.


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  • Ifrit: i was raising hell babies before you were born
  • Nyx: don't you ever shut up
  • Ifrit: i know you did
  • Nyx: yo
But scripture burns holy
between our bodies and I know,
any hell would be heaven if I went for you.
—  I love you more than god and maybe that means you’re divine, maybe it means I’m not | p.d (via phi dean vulpe)
Memories

Characters: Dean x Reader, Sam, Castiel, John (mentioned once), Crowley (mentioned), Rowena (mentioned once), Lisa (mentioned once), Jessica (mentioned once)

Word Count: 3,272

Warnings: Loss of memories, a little bit of angst, This was loosely based on “Regarding Dean” but I changed a lot of it around

Summary: You get hit with a curse that makes you lose your memories. How can you cope without knowing who is who? 

Author’s Note: Please, leave requests that you want me to write! Also, if you want to be tagged for future fics and for my Series Rewrite series coming soon, let me know!

@jensen-jarpad @supernatural-jackles @jpadjackles  @inmysparetime0 @wildfirewinchester @deathtonormalcy56 @spnfanficpond @notnaturalanahi @mysteriouslyme81 @wildfirewinchester @scarlet-soldier-in-an-impala @27bmm

If you wish to not be tagged and I have tagged you, please let me know and I will stop.

Originally posted by bittercasblogger

“Man that hunt really kicked my ass.” You huffed as you exited the car.

“Yeah are you sure you’re okay? You took a pretty big fall back there.” Sam asked as he followed suit.

“Yeah, I feel fine. I just need a shower and some rest. Then in the morning, I’ll be good as new.” You smiled at the boys before going I side the Bunker and to the bathroom.

You were covered in guck and grime from the ghost hunt you and the boys came back from. This ghost happened to be in the woods and was chasing you so you could buy time for Sam and Dean to find his bones. They got to them just in time because that ghost was out for blood and it wanted you.

You peeled off your clothes and put them in the bathtub before climbing in the shower. You had just gotten finished with washing your body when you had a splitting headache. You cried out in pain and held your head, hoping the pain would stop. It felt like your brain was sizzling from the inside out and there was nothing you could do about it.

You knocked over some stuff but within the next minute; it was gone. You gasped and you tried to wrap your head around what just happened when there was a knocking on the bathroom door.

“Y/N? You okay in there?” You heard Dean call for you.

“Yeah! I’m fine! Accidentally knocked something over and it scared me!” You lied. You didn’t know what that was but you didn’t want to worry the boys about it.

“Oh okay, just checking.” You could hear the retreating footsteps of the older Winchester. You sighed and finished with your shower before getting out. You wrapped the towel around yourself and walked back to your room. You were just about to get dressed when you felt a pair of hands grab your waist.

“You smell so good.” You heard Dean say as he nuzzles your neck. You jumped up and scrambled to get away from him.

“Dean! What the hell are you doing? Get out!” You tried to cover yourself up because why would Dean be in here?

“Whoa, sweetheart, relax. I’ll go.” He put his hands up in surrender and left your room. You had your towel gripped between your hands and you tried to slow down your breathing and heartbeat.

You walked over to your closet and frowned when you saw that there were less clothes than usual. Thinking that they were in the laundry, you grabbed a pair of sweats and one of Dean’s old Led Zeppelin shirts and put that on. You walked outside and to the library where you heard hushed whispering.

“Dean what the hell were you doing in my room?” You crossed your arms when you saw the boys.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’ll ask the next time.” Dean apologized.

“I was naked, you could have knocked.”

“I’ve seen you naked before.” He chuckled. Your eyes widened at this. No, he hasn’t so why was he saying he had?

“No you haven’t. I think I would remember you seeing me naked.” You crossed your arms across your midriff as if you were hiding yourself.

“Yes I have. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine but you haven’t. Why do you think you have?” You sat down across from them. Shit was getting weird.

“We’re dating? We’ve had sex before.” He chuckled nervously.

“Again, I think I would remember if we had sex.” You’re not going to lie; Dean was attractive as hell and you would think you would remember if you had sex with the man who was sex on bow-legs. Dean and Sam looked at each other and got up. Dean walked over to you and put a hand on your forehead.

“She isn’t burning up.” Dean frowned.

“What are you doing?” You looked confused.

“Call Cas.” Sam suggested. At the mere mention of his name, the Angel appeared inside the Bunker.

“Why do you need to call me?” Castiel looked confused.

“Something’s wrong with Y/N.” Dean looked concerned.

“There’s nothing wrong with me. Why do you think that?” No one answered you as Cas made his way over to you and placed two fingers to your head. You looked up at Cas and watched as his face contorted from confusion to concern. He pulled his hand away and looked at Dean.

“She’s losing her memories.” You scoffed at this.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

You and your love for not easily conquered is literally me... such a masterpiece!!!!!

i am glad to know someone Understands

The Parent Trap - Part Four

Character: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester

Warning: None

Word Count: 1,479

Part One - Part Two - Part Three

Summary: Ramona and Mitchell have been using their friendship to get their parents in the same rooms for over a month. This time, Mitchell and Ramona approach Sam when he’s alone and hatch a plan to speed up the process.

Story:

   There’s a reason you haven’t dated much. Not necessarily because Mitchell had a problem with your dates or they had a problem with your son, although both have happened once or twice. You have a secret, and not the normal kind. No one in town knows what you did before motherhood; the people who do know are dead or as good as. Honestly, you’d like to fall in love, get married, give your son a father, but they’d all run if you told them the truth. They would bring trouble for both of you, and you can’t risk that.

   This is your secret: you were a monster hunter. You quit to raise Mitchell, but life before the baby was all about exorcising demons and burning bones. The finer points and specifics have rusted over time, but you’ve found a use for some skills. To this day, you slip protective hex bags into your son’s backpack. Sigils are etched into the kitchen cabinets, a demon trap is painted beneath the carpet in Mitchell’s room, you carry a silver knife wherever you go, and there are two shotguns in the house – one in your dresser drawer, and one in the garage. No monster will ever hurt your son, but you can never tell him or anyone about any of it. It makes relationships tricky.

   That’s why this Dean thing is always on your mind. He’s sweet, Mitchell likes him, and you honest to God like him too. Winter segues into spring. Mitchell’s school organizes more events, and Dean is there for whatever you are. It isn’t coincidence – your children are in the same class – but you find yourself looking forward to his company. At the school play, he takes the seat beside yours. Your parent-teacher conferences are back to back. You chaperone the same field trip. On Parent Day, you listen to him explain his job to twenty third-graders. With every encounter, you learn a little bit more about him – that he wears a lot of flannel and is married to his car, for example – and succumb to his charm that much more. Sometimes you want to say you’re falling in love with him.

Keep reading

Tough Cookie-Sons of Anarchy Imagine

Requested: No

Warnings: Gory descriptions, some swearing

A/N: I just started watching Sons of Anarchy and I love it so much! I don’t have a pairing for the reader and a character, but I might do a sequel to this imagine so let me know if anyone wants a specific character to be paired with.

Y/B/T: your body type

Originally posted by anarsistpenguen

  It started off as a normal Thursday night at the hospital: a few severe burns, some broken bones, and a routine surgery. These were all things Tara could handle and was used to dealing with as a doctor. She was about to leave after a long shift when a large biker pulled up to the parking lot on a huge Harley with someone slumped against his back.

   “Can I help you?” Tara asked, a little suspicious since she didn’t recognize the man.

   The man didn’t speak but shoved the person who was sitting on the backseat onto the gravel parking lot before speeding away. The person landed in a heap just a few feet away from Tara without a sound and Tara knew instantly who they were when she saw them.

   “Y/N!” Tara quickly ran over to the young woman and gently rolled her onto her back.

  Y/N was in bad shape: there were cuts and bruises all over her legs and the part of her chest that was exposed by her cobalt minidress. Her face was badly injured since her left eye was swollen shut, her lip was busted, and she had several cuts all along her y/s/c face. Her y/h/c hair was tangled and matted against her forehead and she was shaking but barely breathing. Her y/b/t body was covered in blood, but she wasn’t making a sound.

   Typical Y/N Y/L/N.

   Tara quickly lifted the woman into her arms and carried her back into the hospital. “I need a bed, stat!”

   The on duty nurses immediately came with a gurney and helped place Y/N on it. She groaned a little but didn’t say a word. One nurse put an IV in Y/N’s left hand.

   “She was just dropped off her by some biker, not a Son. We might have to do surgery but we are losing her, fast!” Tara said as they hurried down the hall, pushing Y/N. “Y/N, I need you to talk to me. Did you break anything?”
   “Don’t know,” Y/N croaked out. “Ribs…hurt.”
   “Possible broken ribs, multiple contusions all over her body,” one nurse said.

   They brought her into an empty room and immediately began trying to clean Y/N up. 

   “Y/N, I need you to stay with me,” Tara said as some female nurses began stripping Y/N of her torn up mini dress. “Can you do that?”

   Y/N blinked her uninjured eye in response.

   “Okay, good. Can you tell me what happened?” Tara asked as she watched Y/N’s vital signs.

   “B…blindsided,” Y/N said.

   Tara almost said “obviously”. Y/N had to be one of the toughest women Tara had ever met, especially since Y/N held no qualms about starting and finishing fights with men no matter how big they were. She could certainly hold her own with her words and with her fists, which made her perfect for the job as SAMCRO’s bartender. Y/N was good at her job, but she never got in over her head, especially in fights. So whoever did this really did have to blindside her.

   “Okay, do you remember anything?”

   “Someone c-c-cut me,” Y/N whispered.

   The heart rate machine began beeping dangerously as Y/N began losing consciousness.

   “No, stay with me, Y/N! You can do this,” Tara said.

   But Y/N’s good eye closed and the heart rate flat lined. 

   “I need the AED, stat!” Tara yelled.

   A nurse rushed in with one and Tara worked quickly to rub the paddles together before shocking Y/N. Y/N’s body jolted, but nothing was appearing on the heart monitor.

   “Clear!”

   “Come on, Y/N,” Tara muttered.

   She shocked Y/N again and her heart rate went back up to normal. Tara relaxed only slightly because they still had a lot of work to get done. She and the nurses worked diligently and got Y/N’s scans and X rays done in record time. It turned out that the poor girl did need surgery, but they would have to wait until her heart rate got up to a place where it was safe to operate. This gave Tara enough time to inform the Sons of what had just happened.



   Ten minutes later, Jax, Chibs, Tig, Opie, Clay, and Juice barged into the hospital waiting room. A couple of nurses stepped forward, somewhat prepared to hold off the members of the biker gang.

   “Can we help you, sir?” one asked, directing her attention towards Clay.

   “Yeah, tell us where Y/N Y/L/N is,” Clay said.

   “I’m sorry, but we can only give out that information to family,” the other nurse said.

   “We are family,” Jax said.

   “Cool it,” Tara said, coming forward. “I can handle this.”

   The nurses nodded and went back to their posts at reception.

   “Tara, what’s going on?” Jax asked.

   “Someone showed up on a motorcycle and dropped Y/N off.” Tara sighed. “It’s bad, Jax, real bad. Whoever did this was trying to kill her.”

   Jax rubbed his hand over his face and turned away. “Great, when can we see her?”

   “Possibly tomorrow; we’re waiting on her heart rate to normalize so that we can perform surgery. She’s got several broken ribs, a fractured hand, and a broken kneecap,” Tara said.

   “She did put up a fight, though, right?” Juice said. “She wouldn’t let someone beat her like this without a fight?”
   “From what I can tell, she did her best,” Tara said.

   “Why didn’t you bring her to us, first? Hale’s gonna wanna question her,” Clay hissed.

   “She got dropped off here, I helped her,” Tara snapped back.

   “Why don’t you two cool off?” Tig interrupted. “We’ll stay in here and you go back there and bring Y/N back.”

   Clay relaxed slightly and let Tig pull him away and sit him down in one of the open chairs. Jax stepped closer to Tara.

   “Did you see the guy? Can you describe him?” 

   “Kind of: he was big, white, probably, but I couldn’t see much, he made sure I couldn’t see his face.”

   “What about the bike? Do you know what model?”

   “Just some big Harley that I’ve never seen before.”

   “Probably from Vegas, that’s where she’s been for the past four days,” Opie said through gritted teeth.

   “Wait, what?” Tara asked.

   “Clay made Y/N go on vacation since she never takes a day off unless she’s real sick,” Jax said. “So, she and some friends went to Vegas and last I heard, she was killin’ it at blackjack.”

   “I’ll call around down there, see if anyone knows anything,” Chibs said.

   “Good call,” Jax said.

   As soon as Chibs walked away, Gemma burst into the waiting room. She was wearing her usual black top and skin tight jeans with high heels. She looked calm but also tense as she marched over to Tara.

   “What the hell happened to my kid? How is she?” Gemma demanded.

   “Someone beat her up while she was away, Ma, Chibs is looking into it right now,” Jax said.

   “I knew I should’ve gone with her. We all know how she gets when she drinks and gambles,” Gemma said.

   “Relax, she’s stablizing now and I’m sure she’ll be good as new, Gemma,” Tara said. “I should go back and check on her.”

   “Please, go do your job.”

   Tara shot her a look before disappearing to the back. Gemma fell into the chair next to Clay and Jax and Opie joined her.

   “I can’t believe this happened to Y/N,” Gemma said.

   “That girl once took on three grown, drunk men at once, didn’t get a scratch on her,” Clay said. “Whoever did this knew about her and about us.”

   “You saying that this could be a message to the club?” Juice asked.

    “Could it be the Mayans?” Opie asked.

    “No, Tara would’ve recognized the bike. It has to be someone in Vegas,” Jax said.

   Chibs came back over to the group. “I’ve got the Vegas charter looking around. They’ll tell us if they hear anything.”

   “So now we’re just supposed to wait?” Gemma asked, shaking her head. “When we catch the son of a b*tch who did this, I’ll kick his teeth in.”

  “Might have to fight Y/N for that one,” Opie said.

  The Tellers and the Y/L/Ns had been family friends ever since Y/N’s parents moved to Charming. Y/N and Jax had practically grown up together and had become the best of friends. When they met Opie, they became the Three Musketeers. Y/N’s five older brothers used to tease and bully her a lot about her crush on Jax, so she learned how to fight and defend herself at a young age. When she finally became old enough, Clay let Y/N start working for SAMCRO as the bartender. She could mix drinks like no one else and she brought in business since she certainly wasn’t bad looking. Plus, she always put the Sons and other men in their place when they needed it. So, her attack had hit them all pretty hard.

   Gemma notified Y/N’s parents—-who moved to Sacramento shortly after Y/N, their youngest child, moved out of the house—-of her situation and Jax took the responsibility of telling Y/N’s older brothers. They all said that they would be back in Charming by the next day.

   Tara came back into the waiting room after three hours, which was great timing since the bikers and Gemma were getting restless.

  “How is she?” Jax asked.

  “The surgery was a success. All of her bones are reset and she’s been stitched up,” Tara said. “She just needs to rest right now but it looks like she will be okay.”

  “Thank God,” Gemma said.

  “You should be able to see her tomorrow.”

  “Thank you, Tara,” Jax said.

   Chibs clapped Tig on the back and Gemma released a sigh of relief. 

  “You all should go home and get some rest,” Tara said.

   She knew it was no use though. The Sons were fiercely loyal and Y/N was an important part of their organization. There was no way any of them would be leaving any time soon. 

   Tara went back into the room to check on Y/N. She was sleeping peacefully and was all bandaged up. “What did you get yourself into?”

Part 1 | Part 2

….. I seriously need to practice writing battle/action scenes.


Unlike normal schools, the afternoon classes in UA consisted of classes involving hero trainings, and most of the time that meant special lessons. On other times, such as now, they were instructed to do a light spar with each other. There were good reasons for the seemingly simple activity, but mainly it was to simulate real battles between quirk users and blowing off some steam once in a while.

Oh, and sometimes it’s better to exchange punches to convey something to each other, or so Kirishima had said after a rather heated battle with Bakugou, one that had resulted in many broken bones and burn marks.

“Yo, Todoroki.”

Out of all people, Todoroki sighed inwardly as he turned towards the owner of the rough voice, “Yes?”

Bakugou fumed inwardly at the disinterested reply, “The sparring. Fight me.”

“Why should I?” The ice-fire user asked, still using the same tone.

The other boy grit his teeth in irritation, “What, are you scared? Well, I can’t blame you – at the very least you’re going to escape with an even more disfigured face, if you’re lucky, that is!”

Bakugou knew he touched a nerve when Todoroki’s hand twitched to fix his bangs on his left side. A sinister grin warped his expression when a piercing dark glare returned his challenging gaze. The class had started to notice a rather rare pair having a glaring contest, and when Aizawa asked whether they agreed to be each other’s pair in the sparring match, they both nodded silently.

Everyone cleared away, too afraid to get caught up in the ‘light spar’, especially knowing how messy the fight back at the sports festival had turned out.

“Remember, the goal is to incapacitate or to capture, not to inflict injuries,” their teacher reminded and sighed, as if knowing no one would actually listen to the last part. His students were geniuses, but they all had this tendency to disregard rules, much to his distress.

Bakugou glanced at your direction for a mere second, satisfied at the fact that you were indeed watching intently. He was going to use this opportunity to prove he was stronger by a whole lot of margin and therefore raising your view about him. This was also a good chance to pay Todoroki back for the empty victory he was forced to took the last time they had fought. He was going to win back his pride and your admiration in one strike.

“How childish,” Todoroki’s low and indifferent voice held a venom he had never used before.

Bakugou’s smirk dropped, “What the fuck did you just say?!”

The whistle was blown, signalling the start of the match.

Neither had the leisure to protest at the sudden starting signal. They had learned since the start that nothing were fair in the world of heroes and villains. Only the strong could survive, flourish, and reach the top.

The wall of ice barely caught Bakugou as he used the momentum of his explosions to propel his evasion. The recklessly huge output caused frost to cling over Todoroki’s left side, and the white of his breath as he straightened up showed a repeat of their match few months ago.

And yet this time was unlike the previous time they fought; the two-tone haired boy didn’t hesistate in using his flames to regulate his body temperature, and he was more than ready to defend against Bakugou’s barrages of explosions as the boy charged towards him. Ice shields appeared on appropriate timing and angles nullified Bakugou’s attacks. Truthfully if he hadn’t been pissed out of his mind, Bakugou would have felt an ounce of respect at the insane precision Todoroki was showing.

Soon enough the two were wrapped in a deadly dance – one trying to gain distance and the other closing in like a shark onto its prey. The two had known more about each other’s quirk and fighting style throughout the time they spent together in training and their hero duties. This knowledge burned into their minds and affected the way they faced each other, a huge difference from their battle back several months ago in the tournament.

On the flip side, Bakugou knew his classmate hadn’t been running on full power, and it added more oil to his flaming rage.

“Why aren’t you using both of them at the same time, bastard?!! Think you can make me keel over from these flimsy ice?! Don’t fucking underestimate me, you spoiled daddy’s boy!!”

Taunts and raw combat power had always been Bakugou’s specialty, and if Todoroki were only slightly annoyed before, he was now despising the fact that Bakugou knew about him well enough to knew which buttons to push just to spite him.

Todoroki’s eyes flickered to his opponent’s arms when the blond let out an irritated yell. He saw Bakugou’s right arm muscles contract and swung, just as he predicted. With only a split second span to act, his left arm went to guard, and he held the urge to wince as hot searing pain travelled through his senses.

Amidst the pain clouding his mind and weighing him down, his right hand swiftly touched a particular grenade like automation. Shards of ice enveloped half of Bakugou’s right arm in mere miliseconds, thin yet sturdy block of ice clinging stubbornly despite the hot air from the explosion. While Bakugou cursed and stumbled because of the sudden drop in temperature, Todoroki was thrown backwards by the explosive power, and although his arm hurted like hell he felt thoroughly satisfied with the result.

Todoroki fully knew he was close to copying Midoriya’s move he saw long ago in their first mock Battle mission All Might had been supervising, but that was a part of learning, wasn’t it? Besides, the fact that he had sustained damage from a similar move would surely rile Bakugou even more.

And boy how right he was. Bakugou seemed to recognize the situation, and he looked downright murderous at the nostalgic situation. Todoroki couldn’t help but slipped out a tiny smile, the rush of adrenaline fervent against his veins and nullifying the pain on his left arm.

One arm down, one more to go.

He placed his left palm on the ground and watched as a burst of flame travelled from his palm, baring its fangs towards Bakugou. It was the largest output he could manage as of now, and if it was another opponent he was facing, he would’ve feared for their life.

The awed gasp from you drew Todoroki’s attention, his concentration wavered and causing the flames to flicker for a split second. The small opening made enough time for Bakugou to evade, albeit the burn marks and singed clothes on his side, and he had more than enough time to aim his good left hand towards the distracted boy. Dilated red pupils lit aflame with crazed bloodlust as the blond shouted–

Todoroki felt a shiver down his spine and pressed both of his palms to the ground, his instinct screaming danger. He needed shields, and fast.

– Bakugou ripped the safety handle of his customized armor out from its lock.

“DIE!”


Aizawa acted faster than both teenagers. Taking his place behind Bakugou, he instantly erased Todoroki’s quirk and kneed the other, which sent the enraged boy’s aim off by a huge margin. The overly powerful explosion burnt a hole into the training building’s wall, and he knew the principal really was going to chew his head off this time.

Seriously, why did he became a teacher?

“Enough,” Your teacher said with finality in his voice, although he still looked as bored as ever as he easily restrained a shouting-and-struggling Bakugou with his special capturing fibers.

“You both fail,” the announcement made Bakugou stood still, frozen, “I have no idea why you never listen, Bakugou. And I honestly expected better from you, Todoroki.”

The former looked away from his gaze, scowling, and the latter’s gaze locked down at the ground. You along with your classmates watched in worry as the two started to realize how much damage they had inflicted on each other and their surroundings. The pro hero sighed in disdain and turned towards you, catching you in surprise.

“[l/name]. Get moving and bring one of them to the infirmary.”

You blinked at your teacher, “One? But–”

“I’m not risking having these idiots in the same room when they’re clearly after each other’s throat.”

You frowned and your gaze fell upon–

[ A ] Todoroki

[ B ] Bakugou

What a Witch!

Originally posted by marilynmay

Dean was, well, the love of your life. His beautiful green eyes made you feel like you were walking on the moon; his deep, rough voice sent chills through your spine every time he said your name. His lips, oh god his lips were the softest thing you could ever imagine. And you did imagine them, several times throughout the entirety of your friendship; But that’s all it was. A friendship. Those lips belonged to another woman, those eyes were hers to cherish; not yours

Keep reading

chocolatewitchharmony  asked:

Who do you think is the tall and terrible woman beside Euron in Aeron's vision? I've heard lots of theories, from the TV show hinting at Cersei, I read an interesting blog about The Mad Maid of Hightower, and a film theorist video about Dany going mad. Who do you think it is and how do you think it will affect the rest of the series.

Thanks for the question, @chocolatewitchharmony​!

First, the show isn’t the books.

Second, there’s a caveat in that, as amazing and mind-blowing as The Forsaken was, it’s not the final copy yet and liable to changes and revision. Meaning, that tall and terrible woman could possible be written out of the story. I definitely think it won’t because it’s a very evocative image, but the possibility could happen.

So, with all that said, I’ll say my piece on the chances of those women you mentioned as the “tall and terrible women.”

Dany isn’t going mad. And while one could take symbolic representation of Dany with the woman being “long and tall and terrible” and Dany’s taste in men lean towards people like Daario and Euron, both men having evocative parallels and similarities, (though I don’t blame her when her golden standard was Drogo…), even Dany recognized Daario was awful:

Dany was appalled. He is a monster. A gallant monster, but a monster still. “Do you take me for the Butcher King?”

Better the butcher than the meat. All kings are butchers. Are queens so different?”

And Euron is far worse in terms of seeing humanity as chattel and butcher’s meat. He openly practices Valyrian-style slavery and atrocities (all men are meat, anyone?) As much as Dany is fully capable of exercising cruelty onto slavers and innocents (the wine-seller and his daughters), she’s committed herself to ending the slavery institution that her ancestors were masters to.

Dany and Euron are foils, two sides of the Valyrian coin, two ways of utilizing “fire and blood.” While Euron unleashes unrepentant suffering to fuel his magical ambitions (the true heir to Old Valyria), Dany has unleashed the dragon’s fire to consume the slavers and dehumanizing institution that has reduced men to meat in service to the slaves, her people and children.

I just don’t see Dany go that extra step of stamping her foot into darker depths and accepting Euron as a paramour or partner… willingly. I definitely acknowledge magical detainment as a possibility for Dany (though I hope not) with all the deep-seated sorcerer atmosphere emanating from Euron and I certainly theorize Dany’s certainly going to be tempted by him after she blows up King’s Landing… but no, she’s going to burn him as a final test before facing off the eldritch slavers, the greatest dehumanizing masters of them all: the Others.

Cersei, I don’t see either. Besides the fact that Cersei has her own rich story of a queen laboring under patriarchy, a woman dealing with misogyny, both others’ and her own internalized kind, a victim of fate wanting to break destiny’s knees and a daughter who’s going to destroy herself trying to be her father’s heir, as @poorquentyn​ pointed out the other day, she’s not going to cut it for Euron. He’s got his eyes on this prize:

“So are the contents of my chamber pot. None is fit to sit the Seastone Chair, much less the Iron Throne. No, to make an heir that’s worthy of him, I need a different woman. When the kraken weds the dragon, brother, let all the world beware.”

“What dragon?” said Victarion, frowning.

“The last of her line. They say she is the fairest woman in the world. Her hair is silver-gold, and her eyes are amethysts … but you need not take my word for it, brother. Go to Slaver’s Bay, behold her beauty, and bring her back to me.”

Now, Euron emphasizes Dany’s beauty as a factor and it’s possible for someone to think that might lead him to Cersei… but I think Euron was emphasizing how Dany appears the very ethnicity that once dominated the world and sees marrying her as another step closer to realizing his role as Old Valyria’s heir. Plus, Euron’s political platform was this:

“I know as much of war as you do, Crow’s Eye,” Asha said. “Aegon Targaryen conquered Westeros with dragons.”

“And so shall we,” Euron Greyjoy promised. “That horn you heard I found amongst the smoking ruins that were Valyria, where no man has dared to walk but me. You heard its call, and felt its power. It is a dragon horn, bound with bands of red gold and Valyrian steel graven with enchantments. The dragonlords of old sounded such horns, before the Doom devoured them. With this horn, ironmen, I can bind dragons to my will.”

Asha laughed aloud. “A horn to bind goats to your will would be of more use, Crow’s Eye. There are no more dragons.”

“Again, girl, you are wrong. There are three, and I know where to find them. Surely that is worth a driftwood crown.”

And his talk with Victarion reveals this to be a personal ambition as well:

Euron seated himself and gave his cloak a twitch, so it covered his private parts. “I had forgotten what a small and noisy folk they are, my ironborn. I would bring them dragons, and they shout out for grapes.”

“Grapes are real. A man can gorge himself on grapes. Their juice is sweet, and they make wine. What do dragons make?”

“Woe.”

Cersei can’t give Euron dragons. And he doesn’t want to rule Westeros so her being queen doesn’t matter. Euron’s grasping eye is looking to devour something beyond the physical. On a metaphysical level, he wants to be Old Valyria’s heir, consuming the world and bringing woe to countless people. A dragon will help elevate him from ironborn king to draconic slaver.

Malora Hightower … I don’t see it. I mean, The Winds of Winter might give more grounds to this theory, but it seems the evidence leans more towards her trying to save humanity as a whole in the long-term while neglecting it in the short-term with her father:

“To be sure. Lord Leyton’s locked atop his tower with the Mad Maid, consulting books of spells. Might be he’ll raise an army from the deeps. Or not. Baelor’s building galleys, Gunthor has charge of the harbor, Garth is training new recruits, and Humfrey’s gone to Lys to hire sellsails. If he can winkle a proper fleet out of his whore of a sister, we can start paying back the ironmen with some of their own coin. Till then, the best we can do is guard the sound and wait for the bitch queen in King’s Landing to let Lord Paxter off his leash.”

I personally think Malora and Leyton are tragic figures, people trying to handle and tap into the magical and metaphysical, all in an effort to save humanity from the Long Night… but ultimately end off neglecting humanity from its immediate time of need and paying the price for it in the end, laying the metaphysical minefields that’ll ignite upon Euron’s descent into Oldtown.

So, what I do think personally? Well, my first gut instinct was that it was either Dany or Melisandre, given the possible textual evidence than the others:

Slender she was, graceful, taller than most knights, with full breasts and narrow waist and a heart-shaped face. Men’s eyes that once found her did not quickly look away, not even a maester’s eyes. Many called her beautiful. She was not beautiful. She was red, and terrible, and red.

Melisandre cried, “We thank you for Stannis, by your grace our king. We thank you for the pure white fire of his goodness, for the red sword of justice in his hand, for the love he bears his leal people. Guide him and defend him, R'hllor, and grant him strength to smite his foes.”

She was stronger at the Wall, stronger even than in Asshai. Her every word and gesture was more potent, and she could do things that she had never done before. Such shadows as I bring forth here will be terrible, and no creature of the dark will stand before them. With such sorceries at her command, she should soon have no more need of the feeble tricks of alchemists and pyromancers.

That being said, I shot this down. Melisandre is a religious zealot and ex-slave with a genuine desire to save the world who’ll commit to unsavory means to net-positive ends. She doesn’t take pleasure or emotional catharsis in suffering. She causes suffering through her burnings, and that’s worth condemning, but it’s for her notion of the “greater good”, not out of joy.

The very notion that Melisandre would work with Euron, who is essentially an Other in human skin… it just doesn’t work. I can cite logistical problems, but, from a character-driven level, any working relationship between them doesn’t add up. Maybe a female follower of R’hllor, given the white fire that Melisandre ties with R’hllor, but otherwise, this just doesn’t work for me.

So, after thought, this is what I’ve decided: a female representation of the Others that Euron’s going to colliding together with.  

Shadow?

Will saw movement from the corner of his eye. Pale shapes gliding through the wood. He turned his head, glimpsed a white shadow in the darkness. Then it was gone.

“We have white shadows in the woods and unquiet dead stalking our halls, and a boy sits the Iron Throne,” he said in disgust.

“The cold gods,” she said. “The ones in the night. The white shadows.”

Long and tall?

Tall, it was, and gaunt and hard as old bones, with flesh pale as milk. Its armor seemed to change color as it moved; here it was white as new-fallen snow, there black as shadow, everywhere dappled with the deep grey-green of the trees.

Sword-slim it was, and milky white.

Terrible and laughing at human suffering?

The bear was dead, pale and rotting, its fur and skin all sloughed off and half its right arm burned to bone, yet still it came on. Only its eyes lived. Bright blue, just as Jon said.

A horse’s head emerged from the darkness. Sam felt a moment’s relief, until he saw the horse. Hoarfrost covered it like a sheen of frozen sweat, and a nest of stiff black entrails dragged from its open belly.

The watchers moved forward together, as if some signal had been given. Swords rose and fell, all in a deathly silence. It was cold butchery. The pale blades sliced through ringmail as if it were silk. Will closed his eyes. Far beneath him, he heard their voices and laughter sharp as icicles.

A woman?

The gathering gloom put Bran in mind of another of Old Nan’s stories, the tale of Night’s King. He had been the thirteenth man to lead the Night’s Watch, she said; a warrior who knew no fear. “And that was the fault in him,” she would add, “for all men must know fear.” A woman was his downfall; a woman glimpsed from atop the Wall, with skin as white as the moon and eyes like blue stars. Fearing nothing, he chased her and caught her and loved her, though her skin was cold as ice, and when he gave his seed to her he gave his soul as well.

He brought her back to the Nightfort and proclaimed her a queen and himself her king, and with strange sorceries he bound his Sworn Brothers to his will. For thirteen years they had ruled, Night’s King and his corpse queen, till finally the Stark of Winterfell and Joramun of the wildlings had joined to free the Watch from bondage. After his fall, when it was found he had been sacrificing to the Others, all records of Night’s King had been destroyed, his very name forbidden.

As for the pale, white fire, a fair counterpoint. I assume a Others-friendly glass candle because how would Euron otherwise make his deal with the Others, given the distance between them? And there’s some precedent, textually:

Alleras nodded at the glass candle.

Sam stared at the strange pale flame for a moment, then blinked and looked away. Outside the window it was growing dark.

Precedent, motive, characterization, textual support, a representation of all the sorceries Euron “demon in human skin” Greyjoy wants to conquer and take over is the perfect mate. Who better to help herald in the apocalypse for a man who wants to consume all the metaphysics and reign as king over the dragonfires and, with this mate’s help, the frozen lands?

Hope this helps!

What the Hell is a Ghostfacer?

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Request: 

Warning: Swearing and ghostfacer hate?

Your name: submit What is this?


“For the last time Dean, I only wore the dress cause you dared me too” You were in tears when Dean started telling embarrassing stories about his little brother. It was quite refreshing from the research and the “hey so get this”. You were currently in baby, getting ready for one of the most easiest hunts alive. You still don’t know why Sam couldn’t go alone and leave you and Dean to what the cool kids call ‘catch up’.

“Yeah okay Sammy whatever helps you sleep at night. So hunt, drinks then ice-cream and strippers for Sammy? Whaddya say babe?” Hunting was something you were honestly thankful for. Knowing that the supernatural exist isnt quite stress free, so from time to time letting out steam is necessary. Especially if you can gank any son of a bitch that comes your way… also saving a few here and there.

“I agree. When was the last time you got laid Sam? I mean someone other than your hand”  Dean let out a hearty laugh which was louder than the rumble coming from the Impala. Sam simply sat there staring at you two, giving what you like to call ‘his moosiest bitch face’.

“Yeah yeah whatever, Y/N. I can get laid if I want to. So get this” You groaned at his famous topic changer, and to think seconds ago you were on a break.

“Anyways so, Eric Withers. Slaughtered his wife after going insane then he shot himself in the head. After his death, every female who stayed in that house in the last 4 years died and they all looked like his wife. His bones remain publicly unknown but polices files say it’s either inside the house or in the backyard. So Y/N, you and I, we’re gonna search the outside while Dean looks inside for the remains, alright? But you gotta stick close to me since you fit the previous victims profile. Also he always attacks at 3:00am and it’s 2:40 now. We have about 20 or less minutes to find the bones, okay?” You nodded and looked at Dean who was worried. He originally wanted to be with you and keep you safe but Sam knew his emotions would get the best of him if anything went south. Which wouldn’t happen, obviously since it was such an easy hunt.

“Hey babe it’s okay. I’ll be fine” You leaned forward and placed an innocent kiss at the back of his clenched jaw, he loosened at the simple and comforting gesture.

“Yeah okay, we’re almost ther-SON OF A BITCH” You jumped at Dean’s sudden outburst. He quickly pulled over in front of the house and got out of the car, which you and Sam soon followed after. As you exited you saw a van parked in front of the abandoned home with the word “GHOSTFACERS” written on it.

“What the hell is a ghostfacer?” You thought you remembered Sam once mention something about ghost hunting rookies almost getting everyone killed. Though you also recall Sam saying they were quitting the business after Dean busted their only shot into Hollywood.

“Ghostfacers are the best asskicking ghost team ever. We face the ghosts when other’s will not” Two full grown ass men emerged from the van wearing spy clothes. If Dean wasn’t so pissed right now you would be on the floor laughing.They look like 14 year olds, spying on their hot neighbours. Reluctantly you decide to speak.

“Waiiiiiit… are- are they hunters?” You turned towards Sam expecting an answer when he only shrugged in return. Dean let out a dark chuckle which kinda turned you on, in a freakishly weird way.

“More like douchebags, Harry. Ed. What are you geeks doing here? I’m pretty sure the buffy the Vampire slayer convention is in May.” Dean simply said as if it was some fact in a book. You bursted out laughing choking on nothing but air, it was an amazing quality of yours. Regaining control you just sighed out loud while still chuckling. They seemed unmoved of Dean’s insult and when the shorter ones eyes fell on you he not so subtly tapped the other man notifying him of your presence. You squinted when the one with glasses shone his bright light at you and soon enough you became annoyed.

“Alright Dr Who, how about you drop the light before I punch you square in the face.” Normally you’re nice, to anyone really, but if Dean had a reason to hate someone then most probably they’re dicks. Especially if they’re ghosthunters on tv. It pissed you off knowing people exploit the supernatural world for their own shameless entertainment, the jobs about saving people and hunting things. Not recording things, and show the whole world.

“Sweet lord of the rings Harry, she’s beautiful, funny, and fierce.” Dean’s demeanor became defensive when he walked in front of you, guarding you from the irritable couple.

“Look’s like she’s taken Ed. Maybe we should save her Liam Neeson style” You rolled your eyes at their horrible attempt to flirt. Your eyes later landed on Dean and you saw his Jaw tensing in the moonlight while his green eyes became a shade darker. No way… Dean was jealous from those two idiots? Literally Sam has a better chance in getting in your pants then them… and you see Sam as a brother.

The one called Ed walked up to you confidently and grabbed your tense hand pulling it to his lips, in disgust you pull it away wiping your hand on your jeans. Dean growled at the frail boy causing him to fear Dean for a single second before returning to his annoying self.

“Ma lady, I am Ed Zeddmore and my partner here is Harry Spengler. We hunt ghosts and you’ll be safer with us than these two meat heads” You looked behind him and saw Harry smile and wave at you. Sam walked towards Ed backing him into Harry.

“Don’t fucking talk to her, in fact don’t even look at her” Dean menacingly spoke from your side causing Ed and Harry to scoff and fold their arms.

“You don’t own her, it’s a free country. Fifty shades of way too much protein. Am I right?” Feeling Dean tense under your touch you gently patted his back in reassurance that everything is fine. His knuckles weren’t worth bleeding over two self absorbed idiots.

“Yeh okay Romeo and Juliet. How about no. But uhm enjoy the sausage fest while my partners and I have a ghost to gank.” You motioned towards your animalistic boyfriend and his moose of a brother to enter the house while you grabbed the equipment needed for this ten minute mission. You walked towards the Impala as Sam and Dean spoke to the two baffled boys, from a distance it looked like parents scolding their children and the image of Mama Sam and Daddy Dean made you belly laugh. Opening the trunk you grabbed salt rounds for all, three shot guns, your iron ring and some plain old rock salt. When Dean finished chewing up the boys he signalled that it was 2:46, dammit you wasted six minutes on this crap. You distributed the weapons and grabbed Dean’s hand out of instinct, walking towards the house you left the two facers behind in the dark to fumble with their cameras. The minute you entered the abandoned home you’re persona changed from normal Y/N to badass huntress Y/N.

You carefully made your way into the house making sure nothing popped out at you. Looking around you observed and admired the run down house, the chandelier that effortlessly dropped from the ceiling or the antique furniture placed so perfectly in the living room and the marble based stairs that spiraled upwards. If you weren’t on a hunt you probably would have drawn the houses interior as it was so amazingly vintage. Twirling your ring on your finger out of habit, you turned towards Sam who was still outside but you saw the two idiots grabbing their equipment and entering the house before Sam.

“No dammit stay ou- SLAM” As soon as the boys entered the house the doors slam shut, frustration was an understatement to what you were feeling. You heard Sam yell for you and Dean but you couldn’t open the damn door. Supernatural lockdown, freaking amazing. Dean went to every corner of the house to check for any opening possible and not so surprisingly, they were all tightly shut.

“SAM FIND THE BONES AND BURN THE DICK” Dean yelled to his brother while he marched upstairs leaving you with the two unprofessional ghost hunters. They simply stared at you winking and creating a superior stance which you found incredibly hilarious.

“For fuck sake. What time is it Y/N?” Dean yelled from upstairs as he tried finding a possible way out. Your heart was now racing from the adrenaline, these idiots wasted your time and now a simple salt and burn turned into a game of don’t die from the fucking crazy ghost.

“2:50” Your voice echoed through the halls and Harry began recording you inappropriately.

“Ghostfacers here, we’re locked in the house haunted by Eric Withers.” Ed made a horrible ghost sound effect that made you wanna punch him in the dick. Harry faced the camera at you and started complimenting your physical features like you were the first women they’ve seen in years. You rolled your eyes and walked around the house investigating every crook.

“Shit we had about 10 minutes before the son of a bitch showed up. Why would he lock us down now?” Dean spoke as he walked down the stairs  You saw Ed and Harry holding their cameras tight to their chest frantically looking around the room. Do they even know how to hunt? Yup… you were going to die because of two possibly frustrated virgins.

“Maybe uh, maybe he felt us come in and he’s trying to stop us from finding his bones which is most likely out-freaking-side.” You ran your hands through your head and sat down on the nearest chair.

“She’s smart and beautiful, Harry.” You flipped them off as your vision was focused on the floorboards. Now was not the time to argue, you needed to find a way out and help Sam. Your flashlight started to flicker and when you hit against your palm it blew out. Great, that’s never a good sign. Dean let out a sigh and his breath became visible when the temperature suddenly dropped about 10 degrees. You held your shotgun up but jumped at the touch of Harry’s arm on your shoulder.

“It’s okay Y/N, I’ll be your knight in shining armor.” Harry shamelessly smiled when he tried pulling you into his side ‘protectively’. It’s funny, if you threw him in front of a wolf he’d probably be dead within seconds, knight in shining armor. Please. Dean saw you struggling to get out of Harry’s grip and marched towards him about to punch his face in and luckily for the idiot, you stopped Dean.

“Baby it ain’t worth it and you know it right now we’ve got a crazy ass ghost on our hands. Deal with that now” You kissed the tip of his nose and lightly squeezed his hand. Dean didn’t like to admit it but he’d sometimes get insecure no matter who flirted with you. How could they not? You were beautiful in so many ways that even angels would become flustered around your presence. So when you would get hit on it made Dean feel not worthy of your love but never once did you show that. You always ignored the flirting and always reminded Dean that you were his and he was simply yours.

“Yeah okay babe, You two… stay away from my girlfriend because if I won’t kick your ass she most likely will and that’s something you don’t want” You smirked and chuckled but that soon came to halt as Deans flashlight started to flicker and the room became even colder.

“Harry, Ed! Grab the salt from my duffel, make a circle and stand in it.” You and Dean were now back to back waiting for the circle to be made.

“You want us to make the circle in the duffel bag?” If you weren’t in a life or death situation you most probably would have pulled your hair out.

“NO you idiots. Just make the damn circle.” You saw Withers ghost appearing in the corner and shot him right in the face. You heard Dean shoot next while Ed and Harry scrambled to make the protective circle admiring your skills in the process.

“Holy crap Ed… I think I’m in love” Dean aimed his gun towards Harry and shot right beside his face. The blood drained from his face as he cowered in fear falling into a ball.

“Sorry there was a ghost behind you” You were about to laugh at your jealous green eyed hunter but then your guns were magically flung out of your hands leaving you with your pure iron ring and dean with a crowbar.

“Alright Eric come at us.” Suddenly he appeared next to you and Dean got to him before he got you. You looked in front of Dean and punched Eric straight in the face, Dean turned around and swung next to your head while you ducked. Harry and Ed just stared at you two in sheer astonishment. From their point of view it looked like you and Dean had choreographed your moves when in reality you two just knew each other so well where you can actually assume each others moves. It was as if you two were soulmates. You were about to punch him again but then he spontaneously bursted into flames screaming in the process. Dean shielded your body from the heat and rested his body against you since you did the same. You stared into his eyes smiling while you were out of breath. The doors became unlocked and a sweaty and greasy Sam came to view

“Holy crap, you should’ve seen the amount of nastiness in that coffin.” Sam bent forward wiping the sweat off his brow.

“Good job Sammy” You leaned into Dean about to kiss him when the poop faces ruined your romantic moment by their obnoxious clapping.

“HOLY ROBIN AND BATMAN Y/N YOU’RE SO PERFECT! SO SEXY THE WAY YOU PUNCHED THAT GHOST. AND YOUR LEGS OH DEAR GOD THE WA- OWW!” you straight up punched Ed in the face for being really fucking annoying. You heard Dean laugh and whisper “thats my girl” while you twisted Ed’s arm resting your knee on his lower back. Sam was laughing at the mere sight while Harry just stood awkwardly, shifting from leg to leg, not knowing how to deal with this situation.

“Listen here dick-wad, I’m pretty sure I made it clear that Dean and I are dating yet you still disrespected that which is a majjjoooorrr turn off. Not only for me but for all women around the world and shocker… you’re single. Honestly learn how to talk to a woman properly instead of treating her like an inanimate object with boobs and a vagina. Good Night or day. Whatever.” With that you dropped the withering boys hand and held Deans calloused one instead. His grin was wider than a childs on christmas morning, you didn’t notice it until you were packing up your stuff by the impala.

“What’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?” In instinct your hand went to your hair in an attempt to fix it but Dean just grabbed your hand pulling you into a long awaited kiss. His lips glided against yours as if they were made for eachother. Pulling apart he still left soft kisses before leaning his forehead onto yours.

“How did I get so damn lucky?” You smiled and breathed in his sweet scent of leather and cologne. Even after a hunt he still managed to smell fine as ever.

“Hmm its because of your car. It does things to a lady” He obviously knew you were kidding and in response he merely slapped your butt playfully which earned a groan from Sam.

“Don’t worry Sammy you’re still gonna get laid tonight.” You sat in the impala leaving all thoughts of the ghostfacers behind you for, what you hoped would be the, last time.

anonymous asked:

Ok so just gonna point out three main reasons why i thin the TK/Sanzu ship won't work: First off: Sanzu's in a relationship with Blublu i believe? Second: TK is technically a kid right now soo.. yup. and Third: Sanzu hates TK. Like. The kind of hate where he wants to slowly and painfully grind all his bones to the finest powder, then burn the powder on a bonfire with a TK doll sitting on top, and then make a disgusting cake out out the dust that remains, and feed it to other people he hates.

He….got used to AUs wanting him ded by now…….QuQ;

obsessive compulsive is an empty animal

and i wish i could
drag it back outside. hold it up
by its little toes. leave it stranded
in my garage. make it pay
for all the nights it forced me
to scream for both of my shoulders.
the compulsion

is to scream for
both of my shoulders. the compulsion

is to stare at
death. the compulsion is to be face to face
with your murderer, and make it feel
like functioning.

for seventeen years my body has
been a circus. all of my parts
in on a secret game, and i
a useless mouth. every night, i

come back to my town. burned alive.
a traumatized civilian. all of
my bones, loudly pulling themselves
out of my skin. i tell everyone of
the tragedy that has happened.
tell everyone about the housefire. tell them

flame is stuck to everything.
i don’t know how
i’ve survived this long.

they stare like birds at seed.
i, a glassless window. a sugarless fruit.
they are too afraid
of the trauma i’ve made of myself.
too afraid of what they’ve heard
to call for any

help.

—  obsessions // spencer wollan
On Seidou.

He was just a boy, an ordinary boy. He had a nice mother, an obnoxious sister, a cute dog. He went to the CCG academy with dreams of his own heroism, with a desire to transcend his own ordinariness and be seen for what he was, what he truly knew he must be inside…a hero. Maybe he read of ghouls and those who conquered them, or maybe Seidou’s head was filled with other heroes, heroes with muscular bodies and stable minds who swooped in at the hour of crisis and pulled ordinary people from the jaws of death. 

But he was a boy. An ordinary boy. And when it came time to take his classes, he did well. And when it came time to take his tests, he did well. And when it came time to practice his physical fitness, he did well. But he was an ordinary boy. He was afraid of ordinary things like ghouls, like pain, like death. He was a boy vulnerable to being eclipsed by others. And this, his ordinariness, became an albatross on his shoulder, a shackle on his ankle, a weight he could neither shed nor bear to carry. 

He knew, some part of him knew, that he would have to do something amazing, something heroic, something frightening, something incredible if he were ever going to surpass Akira, if he were ever going to impress Houji. Moving that impossible distance - ordinary to extraordinary - would only happen in a moment of heroism and self-sacrifice. A moment to be remembered for. A moment that could define a person, a story, a career, a lifetime. 

And maybe, just maybe, he could feel his moment coming. Maybe when he sat down to write his will some part of him felt, or thought, or sensed, or guessed that his moment was imminent. We don’t know, can’t know, but we do know that the very core of him was coiled up in mortal terror, body shaking, sweating as he etched the words into the pages of a will, “I DON’T WANT TO DIE.”

But in the moment, he ran toward danger, not away from it. Through his shaking and his tears and the snot running from his nose he chose to deny Amon’s direct orders, chose to stand his ground. It was his moment, as he was faced with the cold gaze of the fire-breathing ghoul before him, it was his moment to shine, to fight, to be the hero he had always wanted to be, strived to be, feared he might not ever be. 

And so, he fought through the paralysis of his own terror. And so, he lifted his quinque. And so, with Amon’s blood on his palm, with his heart pounding, with his limbs trembling, with tears in his eyes he chose to stand his ground. He yelled furiously, he activated the flames of his quinque…

And he was lifted up, the ground swept away from his feet in one swift move, as he looked into the cold eyes of a ghoul that demanded to know if Houji was his superior. He might have wondered what was going on or he might not have, too replete with confusion and terror to wonder anything at all. And with one quick motion he was tossed in the air. And then his arm was gone. It happened so fast he didn’t even really have a chance to process the pain or what had happened, a single “No way….” leaving his lips before he was swallowed up into darkness, Amon’s screams echoing in his ears. 

What happened next, we can only piece together with the scant evidence we’re given. When he woke up, his body had been invaded by the very enemy he fought. He must have been terrified, possibly restrained. He might have cried, he might have screamed and shouted, he might have prayed and begged and sobbed for mercy. But there is no mercy for the devil. This fallen angel, dragged into the depths of the very organization which he had fought so hard to overcome. 

Who knows when they started the torture, the tests. Who knows when Eto appeared before him, naked or wrapped in bandages, laughing and whispering of revolution, of his place in that revolution. Who knows how many times he lost fingers, toes, how many times he chewed through his own lips in his anguish. Who knows how many times he was relieved of his limbs only to watch them grow back, sinews snapping into place over newly formed bone, all of it burning, burning, burning until he could no longer feel the pain. And then there was the hunger. The gnawing ache of it, the madness of it, a hunger that he’d never imagined or felt before. The hunger consumed him like a flame, burned through him until he felt nothing else, until it was the entirety of his being. 

We know that at some point, death was no longer a frightening prospect. In fact, it probably began to feel like a welcome friend, a dream he could let himself float gently down into, a warm embrace, a field of flowers…and yet, death wouldn’t come for him. There is no mercy for the devil and, despite his previous misgivings, he must have realized at some point, must have known that death is its own form of mercy. 

At some point, he must have realized that he was no longer an ordinary boy. At some point, he might have marveled that in a previous life, his ordinariness had been his albatross, his shackle, his curse. He might have cursed himself and his own naivety, for what wouldn’t he give - as he grew weapons on his shoulders, on his back - what wouldn’t he give for just a moment, a taste, a hint of the ordinary.

Perhaps the plan came to him in waves and stages. Perhaps it came all at once. Perhaps it was a mantra that carried him through the torture, the tests, the torment. Perhaps it sustained him just as much as the sweet flesh of those he used to count among his friends, his colleagues, his superiors, his compatriots. We can’t be sure, but what is clear is that at some point, Seidou decided that he simply needed to swoop in at the right time, to save Houji, who had once considered him to be so weak, to save Akira, who had spurned and shunned and outranked him at every turn, to destroy the raging beast that was Tatara and save the lives of those he knew he still cared for. The heads he’d plucked, the flesh he’d eaten, none of it would matter if only, if only he could prove himself. 

After all, the CCG was making its own half ghouls now, wasn’t it? They would accept him back into the fold. Houji would look at him with pride shining in his eyes. Akira would look at him with awe, admiration. He might even be made a special class right away…after all, he was strong now. He was no longer afraid of death. 

He had become death. 

There, on Rue island, Houji and Akira fought against Tatara, the ghoul who had snatched Seidou from the ground and thrown him into the mouth of Noro. Seidou might have waited, might have allowed his former colleagues the time to realize the desperation, the hopelessness of their situation before he swept in to save them. This was his time, his chance, his moment and this time he would not cry or scream or hesitate. He would take Tatara out with ruthless efficiency. He would end the ghoul who had killed so many investigators and agents. He would prove his use, his power, his extraordinariness. 

But there is no mercy for the devil. And just as Seidou emerged from the fight, victorious and sweating, relieved, ecstatic, he was met with the guarded stares of those he had just rescued. 

He was confused. Why were they staring? He’d saved them. They were saved. Why was Akira staring? Why was Houji? Why weren’t they crying from relief, running to him, welcoming him back into the fold, taking him home? Why weren’t they recognizing the gift he had given them? 

Smiling, Seidou opened his arms. Eyes wide, he let Houji’s name tumble from his lips. They had to understand. He’d saved them. He was a hero. He was the strongest, now. He was ready. And then Houji spoke. 

And the dream that had sustained him through the torture, the torment, the horror of this nightmare life evaporated into so much smoke. And the world slowed to a crawl. 

Perhaps he shrieked, perhaps he howled, perhaps he screamed as he cut through the investigators like they were so much warm butter. We can’t know, but we do know that as the dust settled, as his fingers gripped Akira’s neck like a vice, Seidou asked why, why, why? He wanted her to be different. He wanted her to accept him, to see him, to really see him. 

But she told him that Houji’s betrayal had been a mercy. A mercy. And Seidou knew that Akira, too, would have to die. 

He had been a boy, an ordinary boy. A boy with hopes and dreams and aspirations, with fears and flaws. And as his hand closed around the neck of the girl he’d spent so much of his life loving, he watched all those ordinary things fade away and grow dim, just like the light in her eyes. 

There is no mercy for the devil. 

Secret Identity (lame title kms)

Word Count: 1.9k

Genre: Angsty trans!Phil

Warnings: Abuse!! Depression!! 

A/N: I actually really enjoyed writing this like wow, but I like the beginning more than the end oops :/ Sorry if it sucks, I really tried <3

Phil had a secret. In Dan’s eyes, he was a normal 22 year old guy living at home with his parents. He was close to his family and got on well with his brother Martyn. They went on holidays together, took trips to the cinema, and even had frequent pizza nights that Dan was often invited to. Things were great for Phil from Dan’s perspective.

What he didn’t know was Phil wasn’t happy. His dad hated him, and made that very clear through the medium of verbal and physical abuse. Hell fire consumed Phil’s days where he was constantly reminded of how abnormal he was, and that he should go straight back to hell.

It was funny, because he was practically the son of the devil.

Phil’s secret was really only know by a select few. His family (sadly, he had no choice in that one), his friend Anya, and his doctor. Really anyone who had known him before age 17 knew. It wasn’t something he could really hide either, it was more of a physical ordeal.

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@ofnoconsxquence

Verstael had warned the Chancellor against taking in the boy. He was the weakest of all candidates by far, so small and delicate that the scientist did not anticipate him living beyond his formative years. He had cautioned Ardyn, warned him not to get attached (not that he expected it) and so when it came to pass, there was no sympathy.

Plans to send him to Insomnia as a spy fall through when the infection begins to spread, corrupting his organs bit by bit by bit without a soul noticing. During training, Prompto collapses on the shooting range, spewing black blood from his mouth and onto the ground. 

There’s no love lost between Verstael and his son. Perhaps it comes as something of a relief.

The man formlaly discharges him from the program and pushes him into Ardyn’s care. Gives him a timeframe and what to expect, co-signed with a warning (I don’t know if he’ll change but you should be prepared to end it before then) and that’s all. There’s no further assistance from him, the Chancellor can care for his pet MT any way he sees fit.

There are good days and bad days. 

Today is a particularly bad day.

The plague eats at him from the inside out. He’s burning up and chilled to the bone all at once, drenched in sweat but unable to stop shivering. The door to his bedroom opens and he turns his attention from the TV and to Ardyn, mustering up a smile despite the chattering of his teeth.

“Welcome home.”

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Fic donated by: @manika-on-a-whim. :D Thank you manika for your promo donation! :) See you at the festival!!


She Is The Spring

As the faint rays of sunlight peeked-in through the small iron-barred window of his cell and fell upon his blindfolded eyes, Sasuke Uchiha shuddered in realisation of the fact that yet another torturous morning has arrived. Another morning where they’ll drag him out towards one of those interrogation rooms and throw him on the stool; Ibiki Morino sitting directly opposite him. Then they’ll start-off with the usual questions and as always he’ll remain tongue-tied because truth be told, he really has nothing to inform them. Nothing at all…So when their talking won’t work, they’ll begin removing the numerous bindings and the straightjacket from his form to start with the real stuff. They’ll pull out all types of knives and needles and pliers and whatnot!

He shuddered again and instinctively huddled closer to himself in one corner of the cell. The sensation of his fingers being broken and then mended in an iterative manner was still fresh in his mind. This is the worst part of all these sessions— they break his bones and burn his skin and then don’t even heal him completely. And this partial treatment of his wounds is what keeps him awake for most part of the night, the other part being his sleep full of nightmares.

He sighed again and waited anxiously for another one of those nasty guards to fetch him for the day. To his surprise, an hour passed away without anyone entering his cell. Then another hour passed…and another..and another..and then, all of a sudden he heard the echoing of footsteps descending down the stairs that led to the dungeon and finally stopped before his cell. He felt as if he were being watched but no one actually spoke.

“Get him already.” One of the anbu guarding his cell spoke up.

The man that he felt was watching him, responded, “No..not today. I just came to inform you that we are celebrating today so you guys must also join us for the evening.”

“Who’ll guard this little monster?” Another of the anbu guards asked jokingly.

“Ah..well..Lord Hokage is looking for someone who’ll willingly waste their time watching over him instead of enjoying the festival.” The unknown man informed.

“I see. Then..we’ll leave here and join you as soon as that person arrives.” The first guard assured.

“Farewell then.” The man left.

Left…

Without any words about him being required to be sent to the torture department’s room or anything like that and Sasuke let out a breath in relief. He knows that today is some kind of celebration day in Konoha as he had heard cheerful banter of children and excited conversations between some elders through that small window in his cell. He didn’t really care much but still, a small part of him felt irritated at being left out of all of this even though he has returned peacefully and with no ulterior motives of revenge. He must not be locked-up inside some stingy, dark, underground prison. He should be allowed to reclaim the Uchiha compounds as their sole-surviving owner and even be given freedom to rejoice with Team 7. How much do they want him to suffer before finally granting him pardon?

He sighed again and tried to get some sleep…

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