“You fainted, Potter? Is Longbottom telling the truth? You actually fainted?”
Malfoy’s eyes were narrowed maliciously.
“This is very easy,” Malfoy drawled, loud enough for Harry to hear him. “I knew it must have been, if Potter could do it… I bet you’re not dangerous at all, are you?” he said to the hippogriff.
“Potter, you can skin Malfoy’s shrivelfig,” said Snape.
But Malfoy’s eyes were shining malevolently, and they were fixed on Harry. He leaned across the table.
“Staying here, Potter?” shouted Malfoy, who was standing in line with Crabbe and Goyle. “Scared of passing the dementors?”
“The dementors send their love, Potter!”
“You’re going to take Malfoy’s advice instead of ours?” said Ron furiously.
“Got plenty of special features, hasn’t it?” said Malfoy, eyes glittering maliciously. “Shame it doesn’t come with a parachute—in case you get too near a dementor.”
“Pity you can’t attach an extra arm to yours, Malfoy,” said Harry. “Then it could catch the Snitch for you.
“I know that,” said Harry, striving to keep his face free of guilt or fear. “It sounds like Malfoy’s having hallucin—”
Then he dreamed that Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherin team arrived for the match riding dragons. He was flying at breakneck speed, trying to avoid a spurt of flames from Malfoy’s steed’s mouth, when he realized he had forgotten his Firebolt. He fell through the air and woke with a start.
Harry was now marking Malfoy so closely their knees kept hitting each other. Harry wasn’t going to let Malfoy anywhere near the Snitch…
Donnie reached out slowly to try and retrieve the very
flammable documents that Chompy was sitting on.
Chompy immediately let out a trilling squeal, and released a
spurt of flame from his mouth.
“NO!” Donnie cried,
scooping his brother’s ‘pet’ off the now burning papers and frantically tried
to pat the flames out. Chompy wiggled in his grasp, and Donnie could feel him
heating up to release another spew of fire. So he did the sensible thing.
He dropped Chompy in to a bucket he’d prepared for the space
tortoise; though Raph had ignored it when he’d come to drop his pet off, and had simply left Chompy on Donnie’s desk even though he’d said not to.
Chompy chirped and trilled from inside his slippery metallic
prison, and Donnie elected to ignore the plaintive sounds.
“Naughty tortoises go in the bucket,” Donnie told him
sternly, to which Chompy chirped morosely.
Donnie relented somewhat at that, and conceded to drop some
treats into the bucket. If only because Chompy sounded so sad.
“Then how about percabeth hogwarts au where annabeth is the perfect student and percy is her punk boyfriend please? (I read about this in some headcannons once and i just really loved this au-also im such a sucker for punk percy omg) thanks :)!”
Well here you go dis-be-yo-homegurl, I hope you like it. I might make this into a mini series thingy???
((I love punk!Percy too btw, I live and breathe it if you can’t tell from all my fics))
It was on the Hogwarts Express, on the way to their seventh year, that I found a certain raven haired peer.
Percy Jackson, seventeen years old, Slytherin, half blood and a bloody good wizard. I had noticed him from my first day at Hogwarts, (how could I not? His presence alone demanded attention.) despite my awe for the most magical place in Britain. It took four more years, during the middle of fifth year, that he finally had the courage to ask me to Hogsmeade and eventually kiss me. That was, according to our friends, the start of a very long awaited era.
Authors Note: here you go babes. I saw a thing by the lovely @angelina-figjam and couldn’t pass it up! A special thank you to @elnabu and @propshophannah for helping me get into the characters heads
Nesta Archeron had heard the snap of the mating bond when Cassian shielded Azriel. A part of her had known that he was her mate, her equal, at that snap. But the the thought of what it meant for her, for him. But before she could think about it, before she could process it, she died, Elain died, and he nearly lost his wings and her sister was taken to the Spring Court. There were so many reasons to not have to face the bond. But now there was. The war was over, they had survived. And so did the bond.
“What are you going to do?” Feyre asked, leaning against the bar at Ritas. Her sister’s face was a mask of calm and interest. But she knew that Feyre was assessing her as well.
A lie or the truth? Perhaps a middle ground instead, “I’m sure it’s not your business,” Nesta said, “But, you know how mating bonds work.” Her sister was mates with the High Lord, she would understand her hesitancy, uncertainty.
Mor and Feyre looked at eachother with scheming in their eyes, Nesta narrowed her eyes as they both said at the same time, “Go to the cabin.”
Nesta arched a brow, “The cabin?” As in the same cabin that her sister…
She narrowed her eyes at Feyre whose response was a half-grin. Mor grinned at her slyly, she returned the grin with an icy glare. She just rolled her eyes. Before Nesta could respond, Feyre cut in. “Yes. Spend the next week thinking about what you want, Nesta.”
May 31 1916–Room 40′s intelligence had caused the Grand Fleet to put to sea the previous evening, but by the early afternoon of the 31st, Jellicoe had reason to doubt this initial assessment. At 12:48 PM, he received a message from the Admiralty which read:
No definite news of enemy. They made all preparations for sailing early this morning. It was thought Fleet had sailed but Directionals place flagship in Jade at 11:10 AM GMT. Apparently they have been unable to carry out air reconnaissance which has delayed them.
This message was based on a report by a certain Captain Jackson. Jackson had nothing but contempt for the civilians in Room 40, and made only his third visit to the room that day, to ask a single question: where was the call sign DK [normally corresponding to Scheer’s flagship] signalling from at present? The staff in Room 40, knowing Jackson would not value any additional comments beyond the answer, and not knowing the information would be directly passed to Jellicoe, told him that DK was still in the Jade, as was indeed the case. However, Scheer had switched his call sign when leaving the Jade, precisely to fool the British; the staff at Room 40 knew Scheer had done this before (and would receive explicit confirmation of it later in the afternoon from the decryption of a German signal from yesterday).
This disastrous piece of misinformation caused Jellicoe to slow his fleet to conserve fuel; this would place him an hour or two behind Beatty’s battlecruisers–a delay which would make a huge difference in the upcoming battle.
At 2:10 PM, Beatty’s battlecruiser force began a turn to the north, in order to rendezvous with Jellicoe, as he had been ordered the previous night. Far on the port wing, the light cruiser Galatea had difficulties seeing Beatty’s flag orders, and took several minutes to confirm them In the meantime, they had spotted smoke on the horizon, and decided to investigate. They found a Norwegian steamer, followed by two German destroyers that had been searching her. At 2:28 PM, the Galatea opened fire.
Beatty, eager to catch any Germans before they escaped, quickly ordered pursuit. However, this order did not make it to the four dreadnoughts accompanying him; their commander, Admiral Evan-Thomas, was strictly trained to follow orders and let Beatty steam off by himself, delaying their entry into the battle by 25 minutes.
At 3:45 PM, Beatty’s and Hipper’s battlecruisers engaged, opening fire simultaneously (despite the better range of the British ships). Beatty thought he was facing Hipper alone (and with the support of Evan-Thomas’ dreadnoughts) and could make short work of him before he could withdraw back to the Jade (as Hipper had done at Dogger Bank last year). Hipper waned to draw Beatty into Scheer’s High Seas Fleet, where they would be vastly outnumbered.
A midshipman aboard the battleship Malaya recalled his experience:
My thought were really more like a nightmare than the thoughts of a wide-awake human being. I don’t think I felt fright, simply because what was going on around me was so unfamiliar that my brain was incapable of grasping it. Even now I can only think of the beginning of the action as through a dim haze. I remember seeing the enemy lines on the horizon with red specks coming out of them, which I tried to realize were the cause of projectiles landing around us, continually covering us with spray, but the fact refused to sink into my brain.
At 4:00, Beatty’s flagship Lion suffered a hit to one of its turrets, and likely only escaped a devastating magazine explosion due to the quick action of a Major Harvey; despite having both legs crushed, he was able to drag himself to a voice pipe to order the magazine flooded and its doors closed.
At 4:02, the Indefatigable was hit by two shells from Von der Tamm, one of which hit a turret. An officer aboard the New Zealand described:
There was an interval of about thirty seconds and then the ship completely blew up. The main explosion started with sheets of flame, followed immediately by a dense dark smoke cloud which obscured the ship from view. All sorts of stuff was blown into the air, a fifty foot picket boat being blown up about two hundred feet, apparently intact though upside down.
By 4:10, Evan-Thomas’ battleships had arrived and opened fire, putting Hipper at a disadvantage. However, at 4:26, the Queen Mary similarly blew up. A minute later, the Princess Royal was obscured from view by multiple waterspouts from both sides, and it was briefly reported that she had blown up, as well. At this, Beatty famously commented, “There seems to be something wrong with our bloody ships today.”
At 4:35, Goodenough’s light cruisers, which had proceeded further south to cut off Hipper, sighted Scheer’s High Seas Fleet itself. Within five minutes, Beatty realized the trap that Hipper had set for him, and turned his ship to the north. However, due to yet another error by signal officer Ralph Seymour, the order was not conveyed to Evan-Thomas’ dreadnoughts for another 14 minutes, at which point they were within range of the High Seas Fleet; they managed to escape, but not before suffering several hits.
The Germans now chased the British to the north for the next hour, continuing a running gun battle. The back and forth chase and the deteriorating weather lowered visibility, and at 5:59 Hipper’s ships emerged from a bank of mist to find themselves 16,000 yards from Jellicoe’s dreadnoughts, which finally had arrived after increasing their speed at 2:35. The aim of Scheer and Hipper had been to draw out Beatty, never to engage the whole Grand Fleet, and they were taken completely by surprise.
However, Jellicoe was not in the best position to take advantage of this, as the poor visibility (and slowness of communications with Beatty) prevented him from knowing exactly where Scheer was heading. Nevertheless, Jellicoe needed to deploy his fleet, and quickly, and at 6:15 PM ordered his ships to form a line to port. This would put them further away from Scheer, but hopefully put the Germans at a disadvantage both in terms of visibility (due to the angle of the sun) and in positioning; Jellicoe hoped to cross the German T.
While this was happening, however, Hipper scored another success, as the Invincible, a battlecruiser attached to the Grand Fleet, blew up at 6:30, just as the Indefatigable and the Queen Mary had.
Within another three minutes, the British had deployed, successfully crossed the German T, and was pouring fire into the High Seas Fleet. Scheer, realizing his entire fleet was at risk, ordered “Gefechtskehrtwendung nach Steuerbord!” at 6:36.Each ship was to independently make a 180 degree turn to starboard and head south (contrary to common practice, where ships always followed a leader). Within a few minutes, the High Seas Fleet had disappeared into the mist and smoke to the west.
Jellicoe, unclear as to where exactly Scheer had gone, altered course slightly to the south, but did not pursue aggressively, fearing torpedoes (one would strike and damage the dreadnought Marlborough) and knowing he was in a good position to cut Scheer off from retreat to the Jade.
Scheer was surprised that Jellicoe did not follow. Despite having the worst of the brief combat, 12 of his 16 dreadnoughts, all his pre-dreadnoughts, and the battlecruiser Moltke were still relatively untouched. At 6:55, Scheer unexpectedly ordered another Gefechtskehrtwendung nach Steuerbord, turning his ships back towards the Grand Fleet. Whether he hoped to surprise Jellicoe, thought he could quickly slip past the Grand Fleet to return to Germany, desperately wanted a real encounter with the Grand Fleet, or did it on a whim, is still unknown. He later admitted that “if I’d done it in a peacetime exercise, I’d have lost my command.”
Regardless, the attack did not work; he was spotted soon by Goodenough’s cruisers, and by 7:14 they were taking heavy fire from Jellicoe. He could not effectively reply; even the battlecruisers at the front “could scarcely see anything of the enemy who were disposed in a great semi-circle around us. All we could see was the great reddish-gold flames spurting from their guns.” Those battlecruisers, already heavily damaged from the afternoon’s combat with Beatty, took even more punishment; Derfflinger was hit fourteen times in four minutes. Only two German shells hit British dreadnoughts, wounding five men; the only casualties from German gunfire aboard the Grand Fleet’s dreadnoughts in the whole battle.
At 7:21, Scheer ordered another Gefechtskehrtwendung nach Steuerbord; under extremely heavy fire, this did not work as well as the other two, and some ships nearly collided. To buy him some time, he ordered his destroyers to conduct a torpedo attack on the Grand Fleet as his capital ships withdrew. This posed the greatest threat to the British, and Jellicoe turned his fleet away in order to present the smallest profile and escape their limited range. This worked, and no torpedoes scored hits, but it gave Scheer 17 crucial minutes to escape.
The sun set at 8:19, with the fleets now well out of sight of each other. However, Jellicoe lay between Scheer and the Jade, and prepared to block his escape and destroy him at dawn.
Sources include: Patrick Beesly, Room 40; Richard Hough, The Great War at Sea; Robert K. Massie, Castles of Steel. This account is primarily drawn from Massie’s chapter on the day of the battle, which I highly recommend. There are also many monographs just on Jutland; it is sadly not a subject I can even come close to doing full justice in this format.
GM: an intense cone of orange flame spurts from the barrel of your pistol engulfing the three war flowers, when the smoke clears you see the blackened figures for a brief instant before they disintegrate into dust
Gunslinger: I turn towards the others to see their reactions
for @ofgeography ‘s birthday enjoyment, part one of a story about a spunky princess and a histrionic dragon– naturally I thought of her while writing it
What can you
do with a princess no one else wants?
Bargtn hadn’t known there were
princesses that no one was interested in questing for or paying a ransom to
rescue. Just his luck, to get stuck with
the seventh daughter of a penniless king.
How was he supposed to show off his valor and success now? His mother had always been careful about
reminding him how a dragon’s hoard reflected his character—treasure from
placating bribes and gifts are testaments to a dragon’s fearsomeness. A few singed coats of armor hung in an
entrance hall will always look impressive to visitors.
Princesses are a different
matter. They’re annoying and hard to
feed, and in and of themselves, have very little redeeming value.
“You can’t even hunt for yourself,”
he grumbled at his captive after the third week without any sign she would be
leaving his company. He still couldn’t
believe humans actually had to eat every day.
“If I could, I’d certainly pick prey
that was more edible than this.”
Bargtn wasn’t sure if he should be
thankful that at least she wasn’t boring or peeved that her responses were so
bratty. He huffed in frustration,
allowing small spurts of flame to rise in his nostrils. The girl didn’t even flinch as she had when
he’d first taken her; she just picked at a gash in the sleeve of her gown and
stared disdainfully at the charred ox he’d brought for her midday meal. I am a
He flopped down on the cave floor;
the princess’s disgruntlement was audible as she jumped to avoid his tail.
“You’re pathetic,” she said.
“What would you expect of a dragon
who can’t even properly ransom a princess?”
He did not bury his face in his paws soon enough to miss her eyes roll.
Abraxi applied heavy concealing makeup under her eyes. The bags were awful and her dreams were filled with scars and hazel and blue eyes and flapping wings. The nightmares were so intense that her mentality felt like it was starting to fray. But she steeled her spine and put on the matching dress that Rajni picked out for her. It was her brother’s day, and she was not going to ruin it.
Rowan Whitethorn slid into his black jacket, buttoning the green stone buttons, running through the proceedings in his mind. He was orchestrating his son’s wedding and wanted it to be perfect for him. His fireheart and Manon were each walking their sons down the aisle.But tomorrow his children will once again leave to face the rebels. He prayed to the gods that his children would be safe, but he felt that his prayers would go unanswered.
He gripped the sides of the dresser, trying to control the frenzy in his blood. One day. That was all he needed. His children and his Fireheart happy. He would sell his soul to make that happen.
Gavriel came into the room, “Rowan.” Urgency filled his voice.
Rowan turned and looked at him, “You feel it to, don’t you?”
“Something is coming.”
“Protect her, Gavriel. Protect my daughter on this mission. No matter what happens, do whatever you must to protect my child.”
“With my life.” Gavriel nodded, “We should get down to the chapel, we can’t start the wedding without the officiator.”
Lyria straightened Sam’s jacket. His metals glinted in the firelight. Her brother was fidgeting and the fireplace flames were spurting. She needed to fix this before his nerves took out the castle, “Sam,” she said softly.
He kept his gaze trained on the feather in his fingers. She tried again, putting a chilled finger tip on his cheek, shocking him back to her, “There is nothing to worry about. Its just the family and even Father is officiating.”
After a minute of just the crackling embers, Sam asked, “Lyria?”
“Do you think I would be a good parent?’ Well she didn’t expect this question.
She mocked lightly, “Sam. Did you knock up Ciel?”
He laughed. That was a good sign, “No, Ria, I did not knock up Ciel. I was just thinking, you know? He is so great with children. I’m not. Not really. Just Sammy and Connie.”
Lyria snorted, “You will be a great father one day, Twin. I will look forward to teaching the child all the wicked little tricks I know to get around parental rules.”
The flames died down in the fire place, the regular fire returning. “Well little brother,” Lyria offered the crook of her elbow, “Let’s go get you married.”
Asterin Blackbeak curled her blond hair, cascading it over her shoulder. The dress Manon picked out for her was spectacular. She was thrilled for her prince and her beloved Sam to get married. But she could feel it. The wind is warning them. Three separate threats. And tomorrow the next generation of fighters were heading out to stop them. She just hoped that they all came back alive.
She smiled at her daughters, “You girls ready to show these posers what you are made of?”
They grinned wickedly at her.
“That’s my witchlings.”
Ciel stood with his chin raised while his father pinned his medals on his chest. Rajni was curing her hair, light kohl lined her eyes, making her gold eyes pop. Ciel sighed, “I manage to find the absolute best tux in this whole kingdom and my kid sister still looks hotter than me. Where is the justice?”
“Fate is catching up to you Ciel. Rajni looked at him in the mirror, over exaggerating her squinting, “Are those wrinkes under your eyes?”
His father had pinned the last metal when Ciel gasped, “Take that back, Nini.”
She laughed, “Not on your life. Soon you’ll have the 2.2 kids and will be that mother who cooks her children three square meals a day.”
Ciel rolled his eyes and grinned, “Better me than Sam. I love the male but the only thing he can cook is heated up oatmeal and even that is debateable.”
His father hugged him, and sly said, “You’re going to be a great husband and mother, Son.”
Artemis pulled the silk green shirt over his head and shrugged the silver jacket over it. He looked good.
“Why did Lyria give you permission to go on the mission?”
Artemis didn’t need this today, “It’s not like she had a choice, Father. So I suggest you build yourself a bridge and get over it.”
Her father huffed a line of curses while he buttoned his shirt.
‘Looking at his mother, he said, “Nothing is going to happen to me. But you must agree with me that I can make a difference, You did.”
Her mother smiled wickedly, “Show the world just what prowls under your skin, Artemis.”
Marion’s abilites were picking up the nervous tentions and and excitement for the wedding. But underneath it all, she could feel darkness start to fill the world from three different points. Morath, The Wastes, and Doranelle. Tomorrow she and her friends would set out to defeat this new level of threat but today, today they were going to celebrate Sam and Ciel’s wedding. There was going to be toasts and speeches and dancing.
Aelin had it all ready. Every last piece in the curch was decorated lavishly for her son and Ciel. She had found the country’s best cellist. Sam loved cello music, claimed that he could feel the vibrations the instruments played in his soul. That it made him feel both empty and full at the same time. It was a beautiful thought.
She looked at Manon, “I’ve been waiting for this day since you gave birth to Ciel.”
Manon grinned back, “Same.”
Tomorrow the war went on, but for today and tonight, light and celebration would reign over the darkness.
A Winchester brothers preference requested by fayereed15! “Maybe something wintry themed? Like how they stay warm inside the bunker when it’s snowing or something… think tea, coffee, books, journals, snuggles :) But anything you think of is fabulous! And I don’t think you can go wrong with Team Free Will! Happy holidays love!” Preferences tend to run shorter than a full imagine, but multiple characters and scenarios are given. This particular preference includes Sam and Dean. Hope you like it!
You didn’t know what you expected from the bunker’s near-ancient technology, but you were sure the heat wasn’t too extreme a request. The Men of Letters had been completely scatter-brained whilst constructing their inner sanctum; the furnishings were beautiful, if dated to your modern eye, the library was practically overflowing with parchment scrolls on every creature of the night from Arachne to Wendigo, and the table in the foyer was capable of exploding with pinpricks of light, each star bursting to illuminate the shadows that may harbor a hunt, the entire table painted like the Milky Way. One thing the geniuses had neglected was a proper heating system; everything old or a bit exposed in the copper-wire department was easily replaced or hardwired by the ever practical technological mind residing beneath fiery hair, but even Charlie couldn’t install central heating or a fireplace into half a ton of concrete. When the snowstorms blew through the town, the bunker was always an uncomfortable fortress to be taking residence in. Your only antidote to the unrelenting chill streaking through the air was a pair of reliable arms and the stove-top embrace that belonged to none other than Sam Winchester.
Out of every luxury the bunker had to offer, the safety, the roof, the unlimited resources and sense of home, you were reliant on Sam to be your space heater. It was because of his ungodly temperature that you often found yourself snuggled in his lap, his arms slung around you in a makeshift cradle, your bodies sinking into one of the library’s more spacious armchairs, books of lore opened against each other, your proximity allowing for the gentle hush of paper against foreign paper as the backs of your bindings brushed, the barely-tangible force of your breathing just enough to stir the books against each other. Sam’s arms, wound around you as they were, supplied endless amounts of delectable heat, the warmth increasing with the tender touch of his lips to the crown of your head, your temple, the plane of your cheekbone, even going so far to distract you from the current case’s research as to press his lips to your neck, your resolve melting like margarine on heat as his simple actions stole your attention from the already dull Latin transcriptions. For a hunter so Hell-bent on completing his work, his usual routine of peeling your eyes from the tomes of ink and illustration came as a casual shock, his hazel eyes blooming with affection when you finally gave in to his allure and turned your face to his. The movement disrupted your careful cling-wrap coating of warmth, a deadly shiver running along the vertebrates of your spine like a careless instrumentalist smashing his wand against a xylophone, your shoulders curling inward as you fought the creeping chill. Sam’s arms constricted around yours, setting his book aside, binding to the ceiling, pages to the end table before snatching yours as well, laying them beside each other like lovers or fallen comrades, perhaps both. He sighed, pulling you closer to his chest, heat exuding from his body like waves off an August blacktop. His lips pecked against your hair, his back sliding further down into the upholstery.
“It’s a meat locker, I know. I don’t know how they managed,” he whispered, his breath encompassing the tips of your ears with delicious heat, a rarity you couldn’t take for granted in so volatile conditions. His hands began to rub along the length of your arm, friction sparking more fire through your veins as he moved. You grinned, tugging the sleeves of your sweater over your fingers, your toes curling against the oncoming rush of cold.
“Clearly, they didn’t have a furnace of a boyfriend,” you laughed, propping your feet up against the chair’s armrest as Sam chuckled, your bodies shaking as one. You snuggled closer still to his beating heart, resting your cheek against the expanse of muscle where his shoulder met chest, his actions halting as you shifted, a calloused finger probing your chin upward. You had little time to relocate yourself before his lips were upon yours, his mouth moving with a tender, peaceful patience so difficult to come by, especially considering your so hectic profession. The bunker’s frigid air was broken only by the suction sound of your lips separating, Sam’s rough palms spreading over your cheeks, fingers inching further along your face until they had tangled in your hair, securing your face to his as his embrace shattered tongues of flame throughout your every bone, microwaving your marrow as he did so. He broke away from your kiss to rest his forehead against yours, his lashes separating to behold your face, eyes scrutinizing each minute detail, his pinking lips upturned in an almost awe-struck grin. You smiled, closing your eyes to welcome more bliss, his lips brushing against yours just briefly before the sound of heavy boots infiltrated your fortress of comfort and security. Your eyes snapped open, Sam’s face moving away from yours as Dean strolled into the library, eyes rolling, before ducking into a hallway, mumbling about public displays of affection as if the sight of his brother and his lover doing something as innocent as kissing had been the equivalent of burning a Bible. Sam’s chest jolted with his scoff, his lips diving back to the corner of your mouth, arms tightening around you, spreading heat alongside his love.
You settled into another evening with your personal inferno.
As a hunter, your body had been to Hell and back, though perhaps not quite as literally as your boyfriend Dean… but there was still only so much physical discomfort a woman could take. You’d been stabbed and shot at, covered in grime and salt and sulfur, yet the minor inconvenience of the Men of Letters bunker’s faulty generator had you rolling prematurely in your unmarked grave. Visibly, all was well in the underground batcave, save for the lack of electricity. The boys had brought matches to an entire store shelf of Yankee Candle hardware, petals of fire kept at a strategic distance from everything and anything flammable (meaning the library, your Holy Grail of priceless information, was shrouded completely in murky black shadow), your world illuminated only by the sparse flickering lights, your senses overloaded with intoxicating aromas. If you so much as laid eyes upon another gingerbread house, you’d vomit. The situation was less than ideal, that much was obvious, but it did allow for a bit of romantic creativity. Dean Winchester, the professional hit-man of all things that go bump in the night, the hardened assassin, the business-as-usual murderer, was now forced into candlelit quiet with you. If it weren’t for the unbearable chill creeping beneath your skin to rattle your rib cage, you would’ve been ecstatic. It was a rarity in itself that you had date night (which usually yielded a beer and public access television, a burger if you were lucky), let alone anything that so much as scraped by the candle section of the store.
Dean shuffled to your side, socks hushing against the wooden floorboards, your body curled beneath his bedsheets, the dim light cast by your molten wax perfume shop catching tendrils of mist as they rose from the steaming beverages he held in his hands, his face focused, a mask of concentration as he struggled not to trp in the darkness. He extended a mug towards you, your hand snaking from the safety of the woolen barricade to grasp the flaming porcelain, skin burning from cold before your flesh was scorched by the cup. You sighed, inhaling the stale scent of unadulutrated caffeine, the scent almost lost in the warzone of cranberry peppermint and lilac blossoms. Dean smirked at your so typical dependency on the beverage, setting his mug atop his bedside table before shifting the sheets aside, exposing you, if briefly, to the icy tundra that had overtaken your home. You shrunk into a ball, all knees and elbows, coffee mug protected from the air’s icy fingers, the porcelain held against your chest as Dean joined you beneath the blankets. He was courteous enough to tug the sheets back into place around your arms, his fingertips brushing along your shoulder as he retracted his hand, turning from you to retrieve his cup of falsified full-night’s-rest. He ducked his lips to your forehead before taking a swig of coffee, your own lips burning against the pool of tar reflecting the yellow spurt of flame from the vanilla cupcake monstrosity resting on Dean’s bedside table. His arm snuck around your shoulders, exposing his skin to the arctic air for the sake of keeping you warm, always the chivalrous protector. You tangled your feet with his, pulling yourself closer to his torso, melting into his chest, watching the emeralds set behind thick lashes dance in the light of the fires.
He eventually caught you staring, his brow pinching in amused curiosity. You sipped at your drink, shaking your head to dispel his confusion, his eyes rolling at your blatant, unblinking examination of his features… but how could you ignore his beauty? Each shadow on his face was accentuated by the fire’s light, the shards of gold within his eyes were sharpened drastically by the addition of vivid yellow perched atop cotton and wax wicks, his glossy eyes projecting each spot of light back to you as a perfect, if smaller, replica. He exhaled quietly, his hand on your shoulder tugging you into the crook of his neck, your head tilting onto his shoulder, his head then angling to accommodate for your new position. Your misery and frustration was fading, replaced by the warmth of Dean’s full attention, of his company The fire within you was not a physical warmth, per say, but a heat no less. You sat in perfect silence, too overwhelmed by fragrance and too awestruck by the light show to speak, your stillness occasionally disrupted by Dean’s lips on your forehead, his touch supplying an additional jolt of heat to your body, relaxing into the peace your indoor winter had brought to your evening.
Aelin really, really did not want her children and their mates to go after these groups. She could go-
“Fireheart. You cannot go.”
Whirling around, “And why not?”
“Because you and I need to stay here to defend Terressen. Sam and Lyria will be okay-”
The fire in the fireplace spurted blue flame, “That is what you said last time! Have you not seen the scars on our son’s back? He obliterated half of a mountain range from the pain. I failed him. I promised him he would never feel the pain that me and you went through.”
Rowan wrapped his arms around her, “You did not fail him. We did not fail him.” Looking down at her, “Ciel would sooner die than let him get hurt again.”
“Why isn’t Ciel crown prince anymore?”
Rowan rubbed the back of his neck.
“Hello, Buzzard. Answer me.”
Before Rowan could answer her a soft knock echoed through their private chambers.
The only person who knocked like that was Sam, “Come in, Sam.”
Sam pulled Ciel in with him, “Ah yes,” his mother said, “is my son the reason you are no longer crown prince of Adalarn?”
“I wish to stay here in Terressen with Sam. With your blessing of course.”
A laugh escaped his mother’s mouth, “Of course you are welcome to stay here. Live here. Hell you can live in the castle if you want.”
“There is one other thing,” Sam said, shifting in his boots. Ciel put a frosted hand on his back, cooling his fire.
“Yes, Sam?” There was a small smug smile on his mother’s lips.
Steeling his spine, Sam rose his chin, forcing himself to look at his mother, “We got engaged. We are engaged. Ciel and I would like your blessing to get married. Just something small before we depart for the mission.”
His mother’s eyes lit up. The queen loved parties.
“No son of mine is having a small wedding. We are going to throw you the grandest wedding this kingdom has ever seen!” turning to rowan, “Get the events planner” clasping her hands together, “I am so very happy for you both!”
“Mother, really, you don’t have to-”
“Hush. My baby is getting married!”
Oh gods. All the people. Sam’s stomach started to turn. He tried again, “What about the mission?”
“One week. That is all that I am asking. Sam, you are Crown Prince and this is your mate. We just need to wait for everyone to get here. I’ve kept tabs, they all could be here in three days.”
Something must have showed on his face, at the discomfort of being surrounded by so many people because Aelin said, “Actually, you know what? Lets have a small one. However you want. Just the family.”
Sam smiled at his mother and thanked her for understanding.
Ciel gave her a grin, “Thank you, Queen Aelin.”
“No. if you are getting married to my son it is just ‘Aelin’ to you. But i will warn you, just this once, Ciel, if you harm my son in any way I will end you, is that understood?”
“I would sooner Yield my life than hurt Sam in any way.”
His mother’s eyes were bright, “Good. I will keep you to that promise, Ciel.”
Rajni shifted through the reasons why she would be called to her father’s guest chambers. It all boiled down to two things. Either it was about the mission or about the future leader of Adalarn and the Witch Kingdom. Either way, they both gave her a headache.
Opening the door, Abraxi was leaning against the wall with her arms crossed and was glowering. If Brax was pissed it had to be about Ciel and if it was about Ciel then it was about the future of Adalarn and the Witch Kingdom.
Rajni sat on the sofa, an arm across the back, “Going by Brax’s glowering, I would say that I was called here to talk about the fate of our kingdoms.”
Her father nodded, leaning back in his own chair, “Yes. Ciel has given up the crown as you well know. Which leaves you and your sister to decide who will be the future ruler of the kingdoms.”
“I do not see why it cannot be both of us. Together. Her heart and my mind. Together we can lead the two kingdoms.”
Her father nodded to himself, “Abraxi, what do you think?”
Brax put a hand over her heart, “I would be honored to rule next to Rajni. Side by side.”
Rajni crossed her legs, “Then it is settled. Besides, we all know that Lyria refused to take the crown unless Sam ruled next to her.”
Lyria decided to spar, or at least try to, instead of heading out for a fight. She had all of this pent up energy that she needed to burn. The words were echoing in her head. She knew how precious witchings were. And Hekabe’s daughter was killed because she helped Sam. Her brother, her twin. The Crown Prince of Terressen.
Gavriel tripped lyria, she landed on her back. Glaring up at him, “Cheap shot.”
He grinned at her, offering her a hand. She pushed it away and stood up.
Lyria turned to find Artemis who now had short hair and a more masculine look today, Lyria wiped the sweat from her brow, “Artemis! How can I help you?”
“I heard about the meeting and what you guys are going to do. Let me come with you! I can help!”
Lyria tried to think out of a way to not have to answer this. Artemis was her friend and she didn’t just want to say no. She looked at Gavriel. Yes. He was Artemis’s grandfather, he could tell shifter no. Gavriel looked back at her, reading her thoughts. He sighed and looked at Artemis, “Look, Arty. We have this covered. Besides you are too young for this kind of mission. Not to mention the fact that your father would castrate me if I let his child go into a potential war zone.”
Artemis’s face darkened, “Ria. I am useful. Let me help!”
She wasn’t going to be able to get out of this, Lyria sighed and said in her “i’m going to be queen so listen to whatever I say” voice, “No. You are too young and that is final.”
Artemis flared ver nose and whirled around, shifting into a ghost leopard and ran into the forest.
For the ask prompt writing thing. Fraxus (romantic otp). Freed and Laxus get sent into the past (somehow) and have to explain their relationship, and how strong they both have gotten, to their younger selves and the rest of the guild. Just some fluff with the younger versions releasing that grown freed/laxus look attractive and they both grow out of their dorky phases. This would be so amazing if you could write this, please message me if you are interested or planning on writing this!
A/N: This is gonna be a long one. It’s not exact but I hope
you enjoy it anyway! Please forgive me if it’s bad. ;u; First time writing Fraxus. Sorry for not messaging
you beforehand! I couldn’t seem to be able to message you.
Title: Nothing to Worry About
“Where the hell are we?” Laxus looked around,
expecting to see some foreign place.
“It seems like we’re Magnolia.” Freed answered him
as he put a finger to his lips. “Though it does seem a bit
“I told those two idiots to be careful with that spell
book.” Laxus grumbled with crossed arms.
Freed gave him a smile, “I’m sure Bixlow and Ever
didn’t do much damage. After all, it does seem like they just changed the town
“Yeah, I guess.” Laxus looked around. Something
didn’t sit right with him. Something was different.
“Well, let’s go find those two idiots, shall we? They
must be back in the guild.” Freed held out his hand.
Laxus gave a noise of indifference and held Freed’s hand
without a second thought. Freed couldn’t help the dorky smile that formed on
his face along with a hint of blush. He still wasn’t use to the fact that Laxus
would hold his hand without thinking. It made his heart skip a beat.
They made their way towards the guild, Freed was too happy
to notice the strange looks they were getting but Laxus couldn’t help but
notice the looks. They weren’t looks of disgust. Just surprise and confusion.
Not only that, Laxus has seen a couple of these faces before. They almost
It was when they finally reached the guild that Freed
finally noticed that something was wrong.
“The guild…” Freed gasped.
“It’s the old building.” Laxus’s eyes narrowed,
crossing his arms and letting go of Freed’s hand to Freed’s dismay. “What
the hell is this?”
“It’s almost like- Nevermind, that’s crazy.”
“What?” Laxus looked at Freed. “It’s your
idea, I doubt it’s crazy.”
Freed blushed at that hidden compliment, “Well, it’s
almost like we’ve traveled back in time.”
Laxus stared at him for a while before looking at the guild.
He thought about it for a while.
“Nevermind. It is crazy.”
Freed gaped at the Lightning Dragon Slayer,
“Calm down.” Laxus patted him on the head, without
looking his way. “I was joking.”
That didn’t stop the adorable pout from forming of Freed’s
lips. Laxus gave him a sideways glance. He felt his cheeks become warmer. Damn,
Freed was cute sometimes.
Laxus sighed, “Stop making that stupid face. I was
joking. Maybe we did travel back in time. Let’s go inside.”
Freed simply nodded and followed Laxus through the guild
door. The guild was as noisy as ever. Nostalgia filled both of them as they
remembered their time in the old guild. It was so simple yet so nice. It had
such a friendly feel to it. Freed couldn’t help but smile. It was where he met
first met Laxus.
Heads turned once they heard the door open and gasps rang
around the room followed by loud whispers.
“Laxus?!” A small voice yelled.
Laxus immediately recognized who it was coming from. Sure
enough, a little Natsu was standing in front of him, in awe of the fully grown
Laxus in front of him.
“Whoa! You got a growth spurt!” Natsu grinned.
Laxus sighed, heavily. Typically Natsu. He opened his mouth
to tell him what was really happening but someone else bet him to it.
“He didn’t get a growth spurt, Flame Breath!” Gray
yelled from his seat.
“Oh yeah! Then explain how he looks like that, Ice
Princess!” Natsu gritted his teeth.
Gray stared at him. He had no answer to give.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought!” Natsu grinned
proudly, with his hands on his hips.
“Huh?” Natsu turned around to look at Freed as did
the rest of the guild.
“We came here by time travel. We don’t exactly know how
but we ended up in the past.” Freed explained.
Everyone stared at him with wide eyes. It was unbelievable.
“That’s-” Natsu began to say.
“Bullcrap!” A voice yelled in the back of the
guild. Everyone, including Laxus and Freed, turned to see a teenaged Laxus
angrily waking over to the adults standing in front.
“You expect me to believe that you’re me from the
future?!” Teenaged Laxus growled while he looked at the so called
“Laxus” in front of him. “Like that time travel shit
Laxus simply stared at his teenaged self before raising a
fist and bonking him in the head, “You should really watch your mouth.
They’re kids here.”
Teenaged Laxus look at him with a mix of surprise and anger.
Who did he think he was hitting him in the head like that?
“I don’t give a flying crap about that! You’re an
imposter. You’re not me!”
“Geez, was I really this much of a brat?” Laxus
shook his head.
“Who are you calling a brat?!”
“Um, Laxus?” A quiet voice interrupted.
“What?!” The younger Laxus spun around to face a
teenaged Freed with shoulder length green hair. The much older Freed simply
stared at him. It was a weird feeling seeing your younger self in person.
“I think they’re telling the truth.” Teenaged
Freed looked at his older self. “How did you come here?”
Freed smiled at his younger self, “Evergreen and
“Who the hell are they?” Younger Laxus crossed his
arms, still not convinced.
“Some good friends you’ll meet soon.”
The teenager scoffed, “I don’t have friends.”
The younger Freed couldn’t help but look hurt. It caught the
eye of older Laxus. He couldn’t believe how much of a jerk he used to be.
“Well, you’ll make them. And you’ll learn to love
them.” Laxus told his younger self. Younger Laxus glared at his supposed
“Okay, if you’re me, then tell me something only I
Laxus smirked. The classic line. Laxus leaned over to tell
his younger self something only he knew. Younger Laxus’s face turned a deep
“Okay! Okay! I get it! You’re me!” The blonde teen
yelled as he covered his face.
Laxus gave a small chuckle. Success. Both Freeds gave him a
“what did you say” look. Laxus just waved them off.
After the younger Laxus had composed himself, he looked back
at his older self.
“So you’re me?”
Laxus rolled his eyes, “That’s what I’ve been trying to
The younger Laxus turned to look at the older Freed.
“And you’re him?”
Freed smiled and nodded.
Teenaged Laxus folded his arms, “That’s surreal.“
A younger Freed gave a laugh, “Very surreal.”
Freed and Laxus smiled and nodded in agreement.
“Well, how the hell are you getting back?” Younger
“We actually don’t know. It’s what we’re trying to
figure out.” Freed admitted.
“Master isn’t here but when he comes back you could ask
him.” Younger Freed suggested.
“Good ol’ gramps.” The Laxuses said in unison.
“I suppose we can wait here until he comes back.”
“Until then you could answer some questions about the
future!” Natsu spoke up.
Freed and Laxus looked up to see the entire guild looking at
them. They had forgotten all about them, watching their entire conversation.
“We can’t some much because of the whole space time
continuum thing.” Laxus told them.
“But we could answer some questions.” Freed
“I am super strong in the future?!” Natsu grinned.
“Like that’ll happen.” Gray mumbled.
“Shut up, Ice for Brains! You’re probably the weakest
in the guild!”
“Oh yeah, Dragon Breathe?! I probably won more fights
than you have!”
Erza slammed her fist against the table, “Stop it, both
“Yes ma'am!” Gray and Natsu squeaked.
Laxus shook his head while Freed laughed. Nothing had
“You’re both very strong mages. All of you are.”
Freed told them. “This guild is strongest guild in Fiore.”
“Whoa, really?!” Someone exclaimed.
“How did that happened?” Another asked. Even the
kids were surprised.
Laxus answered them before Freed could open his mouth.
“Our bonds. Our trust. Our friendship. That what makes us strong.”
Everyone looked at Laxus with surprise. This wasn’t the
Laxus they know. Freed couldn’t help but smile at him. He’s gone a long way.
Natsu was the first to cheer.
“Yeah, that’s what I’m taking about! We are Fairy
Tail!” With that the guild exploded into noises of excitement and honor.
Younger Laxus looked at his older self, “How strong do
Laxus simply smirked and ruffled his hair, “Strong
enough to protect your family.”
“What about me?” A younger Freed look at his older
self. “I’m so weak.”
Freed bent down do he was eye level with his younger self,
“You’ll be strong. Strength isn’t only your magic power or muscles. It
also comes from your heart. Remember that and you’ll be strong.”
Younger Freed smiled brightly and nodded, “One more
“Will Laxus ever love me?”
Freed let out a small chuckle, “Watch this.” Freed
stood up straight and looked at Laxus. Laxus’s attention was on his younger
self. Freed looked at his younger self and gave him a wink before leaning over
and kissing Laxus on the cheek.
Laxus froze in his place. The blush rising to his cheeks was
impossible to hide. He whipped his head around to look at his green haired
“W-What the hell was that for?!” Laxus sputtered.
“Just because.” Freed said, happily as he entwined
their fingers together.
“Don’t go getting weird on me.” Laxus grumbled
before looking away, blush still evident on his face.
Freed look back at his younger self with a smile, “I
think you’ll be okay.”
Younger Freed laughed and looked at younger Laxus with
“Don’t you dare try that on me.” Younger Laxus
warned. Younger Freed just continued to smile and took a step forward. Younger
Laxus took a step backwards. Freed took another step forward and Laxus another
step backwards. Then it broke out into a chase with Laxus running away while
Freed laughed and chased him around.
“We’ve come a long way, huh?”
Freed looked at Laxus who was smiling at their younger
selves. Freed smiled too.
a/n; i wanted to write a bit of killian feeling vulnerable & lost, & emma being there to comfort him. so here - have some flangsty post-reunion hurt/comfort! read it on ao3
“Go to sleep, Emma,” Killian grouses as he breathes in steadily. An arm is flung over his face, covering his eyes, and he huffs as he feels Emma shuffles beside him.
“What are you talking about?” she responds lightly. “I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re smiling,” Killian laughs lightly, his voice laced with sleep. “And thinking too loudly. Go to sleep.”
“How would you know? You’re not even looking at me.”
Killian groans in amusement as he removes his arm from over his eyes and flops onto his side to face her. He peeks one eye open, catching her fleeting smile as she immediately attempts to mask her features. He rolls his eyes at her innocent expression, finding that he can’t be annoyed at her despite his severe lack of sleep, before he twines his arm around her waist and tugs her to him. She nestles against his bare chest, the tresses of her hair silky and smooth against his skin. Her breath washes over the heat of him hotly and he melts all over again from the inside out. A smile presses against the skin right above his now beating heart as he lets out a disgruntled noise and adjusts against the overwhelming warmth of her presence.
“I can feel you smiling, my love,” Killian says, his lips grazing her forehead as she chuckles against him. The sound of her laughter is warm, melodic, soothing, and graceful - a cacophony of sounds that resembles the sorrow and angst and hopefulness of a symphony. It’s a sound that he never thought he’d hear again, a sound that he found himself missing and trying to remember, foolishly and hopelessly, when the walls of the Underworld’s caverns had been closing in on him. He had replayed everything there was to her in his head to keep himself sane: her name being a tragic and stark reminder, her laugh being a body-warming comfort, her touch being something to hold onto, something to hope for, something to dream about, and her kiss reminding him of the hard and honest truth - his reason to once live for, then his reason to move on, now his reason to continue hoping, dreaming, and living.
Manolo had no idea where he was, or how he got there. The forest he was wandering around in was like nothing he had ever seen before. For one thing, there were so many colors. He only ever saw this many colors on the Day of the Dead back home. It was a little difficult to appreciate them, though, when half the animals and plants in the forest seemed intent on killing him in one way or another. Whether they recognized him as an intruder, or just wanted to eat him, he wasn’t sure, but either way, he wanted to go home.
“Woah!” Manolo yanked his foot off of a hill that had suddenly grown teeth. He stumbled backwards, only to have something behind him breath a misdirected spurt of flames over his shoulder, singeing the shoulder of his suit in the process.
That was it. To hell with being cautious, it wasn’t getting him anywhere. Manolo bolted, just running straight ahead into the forest. He had no idea whether he was headed for the edge of the forest or deeper into it, he just knew that where he had been standing a few minutes ago had been a bad place and he had to get away from it.
Finally, he couldn’t run anymore, and half fell, half sat on a log to rest. Thankfully, the log was just a log, not a monster, nor was it housing any monsters, which was lucky for Manolo, or else he probably would have died for his lapse in caution. The calm proceeded while Manolo caught his breathe, and he reflexively pulled out his guitar. As he strummed the strings, he felt calm flow through him, and soon the small clearing was alive with a simple yet upbeat tune, helping him forget where he was, even just for a moment.
4k words - 11x21 coda because I need a conversation between Dean and Cas to help save Cas from Lucifer and I’m not holding my breath for SPN to deliver. AO3
Sam finds Dean in the garage under the Impala. The portable radio that he set up in here is blasting Korn because it’s loud and angry and about the only thing drowning out his own thoughts. Sam shuts off the music and Dean prepares himself mentally for a confrontation.
“The fuck, dude? I was listening to that!” Dean’s growls from under the car.
“We need to talk,” Sam says as nudges the side of Dean’s leg. “You’ve been hiding out in here for two days. What’s up?”
Dean sighs loud enough to piss off his brother and rolls his eyes even though he knows Sam can’t see it. He’s tempted to tell him to go away, but he knows Sam will just press on and he’d rather just get this touchy-feely crap over with. He rolls out from under the car on his creeper and looks up at Sam.
“What’s up? Chuck fucked up my suspension, that’s what’s up. Seriously, God or not, I’ll stab him in the face if he keeps zapping my car around.”
Sam gives him a warning look, “You should probably take it easy with him. I mean he is… God. He’s kind of got a reputation for smiting people who give him shit.”
Dean gets up and slides the creeper to the side, walking over to put his tools carefully back in their drawers. “Yeah, well, he doesn’t act like a god. I mean, he’s a mess. You know this morning he used the last clean towels and left the wet ones on the floor. Isn’t cleanliness supposed to be close to godliness?”
Sam just shrugs. That’s one cliche that is far from the truth. Chuck never washes his dishes, leaves beard trimmings and toothpaste chunks in the sink, and helps himself to whatever he wants in the bunker. I mean who uses another guy’s robe without asking?
“I’ll tell you one thing,” Dean grumbles, pointing at Sam, “it’s a damn good thing he was willing to move Baby out here. What the hell was he thinking, putting her in that room? If I had to take her apart to move her, he would be one homeless deity!”
“I don’t know, Dean, we were just happy to not get thrown into the void by your creepy stalker.”
“Fine!” Dean surrenders, “he gets a pass for answering a prayer… finally.”
Sam shifts on his feet and Dean can tell he’s revving up to bring up whatever crap he came in here for. “So, Chuck and Lucifer are upstairs trying to figure out our next steps. We could kind of use your help.”
“Dude, do you listen to yourself? We’re bunking with God and the Devil himself and you think they need the help of two humans? And why the fuck does our life sound like the opening line of a joke?!”
Sam huffs a small laugh but presses on, “They do need us, Dean. And you are the one with the Darkness immunity idol, so yeah, you should probably get up there and help.”
Yeah, he knows that this crappy connection he’s got going on with Amara might just be the key to finding her, but it’s been two days of Lucifer hanging around the bunker and it’s driving him crazy. Every time he catches a glimpse of tan trench coat or blue eyes his heart does a flip before he remembers, that isn’t really Cas standing there. And now, he can’t even look at his brother. Turning away, he drags a hand down his face and finally admits, “I can’t do it, Sam.”
Sam, of course, misunderstands. “Dean, we aren’t going to let Amara do anything to you. We’ll find another way.”
Dean can’t help it. A defeated laugh bursts out of his chest and he shakes his head. “That’s not it, man. I can’t… sit across the table from Lucifer.” Dean feels a damn prickling behind his eyes and blinks it away before turning around to face his brother. “He’s sitting there wearing Cas’ skin like fucking Leatherface.”
“We’ll get Cas back, Dean. But… we need Lucifer to re-cage Amara.”
“C’mon, Sam. You really think that even if he does help us, once the Darkness is gone, he’s going to just give up that vessel? There’s pretty much one other option on earth and that’s you, which by the way isn’t happening either so don’t think about it!”
“We’ll find a way. We’ll trap him or exorcise him or… I don’t know… get Chuck to throw him back in the cage.” Sam argues desperately. “We just need him to do this first. It’s what Cas wanted.”
“What, and let her get her hands on Cas again? No way, Sam!”
Sam opens his mouth to argue that they now have Chuck and Amara won’t be able to take Cas and Lucifer again but Dean interrupts him.
“Don’t, Sam! You know she used Cas to get to me? You don’t think she’ll do it again? She was torturing him and somehow she figured out how to get into my head through him. We can’t let her get near him again.”
“And he’s sitting right there. Right across the table from me and I can’t even talk to him. I look at Lucifer and… fuck! I know Cas is in there but Lucifer won’t let him take the wheel and I don’t even know if he’s OK. I mean, Crowley said - ” Dean’s voice breaks and, dammit, he feels a tear wet his cheek. But he coughs and continues, “Crowley said he’s too far gone and I don’t even know what that means. We may never get him back and I can’t sit across the room from the asshole who’s holding him prisoner.”
“What if there was a way to talk to him?”
“We tried that, Sam. Crowley said he barely even acknowledged him.”
“Well, yeah, Dean, that’s Crowley. He and Cas aren’t exactly besties.”
“We’re kind of out of other options, here. Cas’ family all try to kill him every time they get near him so who else are we going to get to jump his bones?”
“I was actually thinking… you.”
Dean squints at him, “Dude, that’s not what I meant when I said jump his bones.”
Sam just barely stops himself from rolling his eyes. “Yeah, save that for after Lucifer exits the building at least.”
“You’re hilarious,” Dean grouses. “Besides, I already asked Chuck to expel Lucifer. He won’t.”
Sam sighs, “Yeah, I know.”
“Kept going on about how this was Castiel’s choice and he has free will and he won’t take that away. How the fuck did we end up Air BnB-ing the most useless god in the universe?”
Sam just makes a bitch face because he’s still breaking out of his Chuck fangirl phase.
Dean grabs a beer off of his tool bench and turns back to Sam, “You know he said he’s actually proud of Cas? Proud! Of Cas for understanding free will and using it. A lot of good that did him. Now he’s trapped in there with the damn devil.”
“Look, Dean, Lucifer isn’t going anywhere. He knows that if Amara wins he loses too. We all do. And once we deal with the Darkness, we force him out, with or without Cas’ permission. I’ve been thinking about this, and I think if you could talk to him, he might just be able to expel Lucifer. He overcame Lucifer briefly before. We just need to get you in his head, let him know what’s going on out here.”
Well, wouldn’t that be nice? Dean has tried praying, but he doesn’t even know if the prayers are getting through. Lucifer is an archangel and Cas is just a beat up soldier with clipped wings.
“Sam, Lucifer’s a pretty strong firewall. How do you suggest we get past him?”
Sam suddenly looks excited, and Dean knows that face. Sam has found something. “I’ve got an idea. I found this spell. It’s for temporarily incapacitating an angel by putting them to sleep. I figure we set up another trap and ward it with Rowena’s spell, summon Lucifer and put him to sleep then you get in with African Dream Root.”
Dean just stares at him for a moment. “Three layers of spells, what could possibly go wrong?”
“Hey, I’m just saying, if you want to talk to Cas, this is how we do it.”
Dean chuckles and tips his head back to take a swig of beer, “What the hell, right? Go big or go home.”
Michael wasn’t normal by any standard.
In his natural form of a fire dragon, he was small and long, two sets of feathery wings adorning his glittering body. His horns curled back to his shoulders, shining gold in the sunshine and emerald in the moonlight.
When he hid as a human, he was uncharacteristically angry, his eyes occasionally changing into a reptilian form during his outbursts. Even more rare than that were the moments when the heat fueling his anger became so overpowering that flame spurted from his mouth.
He had another form as well, one that no one got to see, the form of a hybrid. It was his favorite of any of his forms, the one he found most natural, with wings on his upper and lower back, and horns winding down past his clawed fingertips. Everything was clearer like that to him, his eyes were not hindered by a human form nor were they limited to greys by a huge beast.
He lived alone, completely secluded from everyone, and intended to stay that way.
Until he met the hunter.
// Crap this one is going to be hard XD I’m sorry if this sucks miserably~! I can see him being able to control fire~//
Leaning her back against the thick trunk of a willow tree, Miku sat back and watched Sebastian play around with quick spurts of flame from a lighter. Making it rise and fall, expand and dissipate at his command. With a playful smile spreading across her lips, she pointed a finger at one of the willow branches, having it come down and tap his shoulder a few times before sending it back up. Before he would look up from the entertaining flame of the lighter, Miku quickly shut her eyes and rested her head back, trying to make it seem as if she had dozed off.
TAYLOR AND EVERYONE ELSE HAS HYPED THIS ALBUM SO MUCH I EXPECT FIREWORKS WHEN I OPEN THE CD I WANT A HOLOGRAM OF TAYLOR TO POP OUT IM EXPECTING THE CD TO BURST INTO ACTUAL FLAMES AND SPURT CONFETTI ON ME I WANT A RAINBOW TO APPEAR AND UNICORNS AND GODDAMMIT TAYLOR SWIFT IF I DONT GET A FUCKING POT OF GOLD I S2G