flame spurts

Black Sheep (Part 1)

Originally posted by spderman

Summary: Not only are you the outcast at school, but also in the hero world. After a gruesome fight, you realize maybe being different isn’t so bad afterall.

A/N: Not requested, but I’m super excited to start this series

Pairing: Peter x reader   Part 2 {x} Part 3 {x}

Warnings: Bullying, swearing, fire, murder, blood

“Whaddup, it’s Penis Parker!”

The yell coming from Flash’s idiotic mouth made you turn your head to see him perched over Peter’s shoulder, staring him down. He muttered an incoherent phrase for a response, which made Flash grab him and turn him around, slamming his back into the open locker. 

“What did you say to me, punk? Do you really wanna test me now?”

Ned emerged from the crowd surrounding the fight and pushed himself between Flash and Peter. Flash sneered at Ned, then looked around the hallway, trying to catch someone’s eye to torment. As he began scanning your side, you quickly averted contact, staring into the blackness of your open locker.

“Hey, (Y/N). I got a bone to pick with you!”

You heard the skid of sneakers increase in speed and volume, and then a hand came to your locker, slamming it shut. You turned your neck lightly to see Flash, red in the face, breathing heavily, mere inches from your nose.

“This is probably the most attention you’ve ever gotten in your life, right here, right now, is it not? How does it feel, knowing you’re alone? No friends, family’s always out of town… Honestly, I envy them; they don’t need to see your hideous face everyday.”

You scoffed and turned on your heel, but Flash ripped you back by your shirt and threw you to the floor. He and his friends stood over you, and he crouched down to your height.

“Awe, is somebody gonna cry?”

Flash’s face got blurred by tears, and for the first time, you felt powerless. Being a superhero didn’t mean you were always beloved and admired. You were the silent sneak, a shadow master, a wallflower. You were quiet, observant and became known when it was needed. But, when you really wanted to give some justice, you were seen as a menace. The black mask you wore gave the wrong impression, but it became comforting. Especially when you were losing a fight.

Flash grabbed the collar to your shirt and pulled you closer to his face.

“No wonder you’re worthless. You can’t even fight back.”

He was right. You couldn’t fight back. Your chest felt heavy and you pushed Flash off of you. Swiftly, you grabbed your bag and flung it over your shoulder, pushing through the crowd. In the back you saw Ned and Peter watching you with pitiful eyes. When your eyes caught, they looked away, shunning you.

Scoffing lightly, you continued to run out of the clustered hallway and sprinted to the doors, pushing to get home.

You sat on a rooftop to building on the corner of 49th, peering down at the streets, busy with people and cars. In one hand you had a half eaten apple, the other held a police scanner, listening to calls. You waited in the shadow, alert for anything they couldn’t reach in time. Yet, you knew what would happen if you showed your face. They would try and shoot you down instead of the true criminals.

“We have a bank robbery at 52nd, four guys holding up workers, all armed.”

“I’m at 19th. 204, where are you?”

“I’m at 23rd.”

You sighed, pulling down your mask and hoisting yourself up, sprinting to the edge of the building, taking a running and hopped across the tops of apartment. Clearly, you were faster than any of the police cars, as you got to the bank in less than a minute. Jumping down from the roof, you turned on your heel and opened the bank door silently. A man was holding a gun up to the lady at the counter, two others were holding knives to hostages throats or waving it around. The final guy was most likely packing up the money, you couldn’t see him.

“I don’t think that’s how you open a savings account. You can totally learn about it in jail, though!”

Both robbers with knives were the first to respond, turning and sprinting towards you. The first goon began swinging his arm rapidly, and after a few failed efforts, you grabbed his wrist and threw him into the robber behind him, they both fell to the tile in a heap. Without a second glance, you turned to the armed criminal who began pointing the gun at you.

“Don’t make me use this, freak!”

“Awe, you think that intimidates me, how… naive.”

As his finger repeatedly hit the trigger, you dodged them, making a beeline straight for him, grabbing his torso and flipping him over your shoulder. You twisted his arm, and he dropped the gun. You put your foot on the weapon and snapped the guys arm. He screamed in agony and coddled the arm in tears. 

The people in the store stared at you in fear.

“Go! Run now!”

You pointed at the door, and without another look, they took off.  You hopped through the window of the teller and began walking towards the back for the final goon. He emerged with a full duffle bag and a large gun.

“Only one bag, really?”

The guy cocked the gun, which began glowing a bright orange. You charged at him, and once you began tackled him, his gun blew fire to the ceiling. You threw punches as the gun kept firing spurts of flame around the bank. Finally getting off of the unconscious goon, you looked around the bank in shock. The ceiling was falling, the glass was shattered and the two goons you first encountered were bleeding on the white tile floor. You gasped, knowing you unintentionally killed them.

Yet, looking around this bank, you didn’t feel awful. The fire began nipping at your feet, and you took a step forward, breathing in deep, bathing in the smoke. You hopped back through the teller window to have your ankle grasped by the broken armed robber.

“You… you sick freak.”

You smirked, picking up the gun on the floor, and pulling the already loaded trigger. The door to the bank opened swiftly, and you turned to see Spiderman, him shocked by the sight. You, a vigilante, standing over a body, gun in hand. He looked to see the other two dead in a heap and he began shooting webs in your direction. Dodging the webs, you fired a shot at Spiderman, wounding his thigh.

“Ah, fuck!”

You began sauntering up to Spiderman, and as he reached out to shoot another web, you took your hand and twisted it to the sky. He screamed in agony, and you put the gun in your pocket. Taking your newly freed hand, you took Spiderman’s masked face in your palm.

“You know, this wouldn’t have happened if I wasn’t seen as a nuisance. There could’ve been really cool super shit we would’ve done together. You, shooting the webs and me, kicking ass, right? But, you have this town in your hand. They just adore you.”

You grabbed his face tighter, and you felt him whimper.

“The time for a hero is long gone, Spiderman. Newsflash, there’s a new sheriff in town, and I don’t fuck around. Especially not with vermin like you.”

Bringing your leg up, you kicked Spiderman in the chest, heaving him into the wall behind him. You opened the door to the bank, and looked around at the police swarming the bank, guns raised to kill. Slowly pulling your gun from your pocket and setting it down on the sidewalk, you raised your arms above your head. Then, you kicked off the ground and jumped to the top of the adjacent building. 

You sprinted away, hearing the screams from citizens as the bank collapsed in itself. 

squattingpotatodreamtofland  asked:

Donnie babysitting Chompy? (ehm srry ehm trash)

Donnie stared at the cosmic guardian on his desk.

Chompy wagged his tail and chirped.

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.

Hogwarts: Percabeth AU

“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.

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@teetum117 (ugh! sorry I can’t tag you!) requested “things you said when we had to escape via the (fire)swamp” and I took this to mean a Princess Bride au? So here it is, the Princess Bride au no one one person asked for, with gender-swapped roles, not beta-ed, and I haven’t seen the movie in a while so I went completely from memory.

“Jyn, we can’t go in there.”

“Why not? Would you rather be caught by Krennic?”

“We’ll never make it out alive.”

“Nonsense. They only say that because no one ever has.”

Blaster fire interrupted their conversation, as Krennic and his deathtroopers appeared at the top of the ridge. Cassian had no choice. He followed Jyn into the fire swamp.

“See, it isn’t that bad!”

Cassian looked at her, eyes wide and mouth agape.

“I mean, I’m not saying I’d build a summer home here, but the trees are rather quite lovely.”

Cassian rolled his eyes.

“So how did you end up in Wobani?”

“It’s a long story, really.”

“Does it start with the man in white?”

“With Krennic? Yes, I guess you could say it does.”

They’d made it through a good deal of the swamp unscathed, just errant vines and muddy sludge to maneuver through and around, when suddenly there was a popping sound. Cassian paused, looked at Jyn. Moments passed and nothing happened, so they both shrugged and moved on. Flames suddenly licked at their heels, and Cassian screamed as he hadn’t been fast enough to avoid them. He fell to the ground, the bottom hem of his pants on fire, and Jyn immediately ripped off her scarf and smothered them.

“Better?” she asked, with a reassuring smile. He nodded, sweat beading on his brow.

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1st Place Winner: Lysialle

The old dragon let his eyes wander over the plains on the other side of the precipice. “Are you sure of this?” he asked his companion, his grumbling voice making the earth below their feet shudder faintly. “I understand your wanderlust bringing us up here, you got your treasure, but this is madness.”

The woman turned to face him, a broad grin on her face, and shrugged. “Wanderlust is my business partner - madness is my lover!” With this she spun, once, twice, three times, stopped with her back to the cliff, and winked at her old friend, golden treasure clutched tightly in her hand. For a moment he hoped, against his better judgement, that she had reconsidered.

Then she jumped.

In an instant he was behind her, leaping into the air, but keeping his wings folded, only two of them opened slightly - enough to correct his course while he dropped like a stone. He hoped, prayed he would be fast enough, trying to keep one eye on the ground and one on his human. Would he…? He had to!

The distance between them lessened, but so did the distance to the ground. The dragon snorted a curse, trailing behind him as smoke before the wind tore it apart. Foolish woman! But did he really have a right to complain? That was, after all, what had always drawn him towards her.

It did not make him feel better about the current situation, but assigning blame could always be done when they were not falling to their almost certain doom.

The dragon’s wings twitched, instinct telling him to spread them, abandon the foolish human and save himself. Growling, he corrected his trajectory again, reaching out with a claw, hoping to grasp the woman. But she was still too far away, her early start giving her an advantage his superior weight could not easily compensate for.

They approached the ground at a worrying rate, and the dragon could not take it anymore. His instincts took over, all four of his wings unfolded and slowed him down painfully, carrying him further away from the cliff and his still falling friend. All of his fear, his rage, his pain and guilt coalesced into one screaming roar, thrown back from the stone behind him and spreading out over the plains, sending birds flying and all other animals running.

He had let her die, he…

A melodious chirp, questioning in tone, had him flapping his wings against the wind almost violently, greatly slowing him down and forcing him to land before he crashed into the ground. His head whipped around before he had found his balance again, and only his instincts and tail managed to prevent a fall.

At first he could not believe what he was seeing - surely it was not possible? But it was impossible to deny what was in front of his eyes for longer than a few heartbeats. There was no human body he could see, not even with his sharp eyes. Instead a phoenix, one of the legendary beasts thought extinct, roughly the size and weight of his human friend, fluttered towards him. The creature seemed to be unused to its wings, flying like a drunk dragon, but it was definitely headed towards him.

Once more the dragon snorted, smoke billowing from his nostrils, but this time there was no cursing underneath it, just hope. Because if someone could have managed to lift the Malediction while falling from a cliff, a dragon behind her and no idea at all how to do it, it was her.

It did not sound like much of a chance, if you had never met her. But the dragon hat spent the last five years following her on her travels, and at this point likely knew her better than anyone else left alive. She had been right when she had called madness her lover - the one she always went back to, the one whose arms she fell into at the end of each day, and the one who carried her to safety whenever things became too much. It seemed like she had been protected once more, by whichever deity was looking out for her. Maybe it was herself - the dragon would be foolish to discount that possibility, after everything he had witnessed her surviving and surpassing.

The phoenix had arrived, stiffly flapping its wings while trying to slow its approach, and suddenly there was light everywhere.

The next moment a small form fell towards him, familiar in shape and situation, and without even having to think about it the dragon opened up his wing, the thick layers of skin softening the impact while he slowed down his human’s fall. The collision ripped through the topmost wing membrane, causing him to growl and spit out a spurt of flame, singeing the grass in front of his claws. But all the while he kept the woman safe, moving his wing in a slow arc and carefully setting her down. His wing would heal, and now, if she was injured, so would she.

The dragon turned his head to get a better look at her while she was merely sitting, staring into nothingness. “Are you well?” he asked. It had proven advantageous to ask in the past - she tended to hide her injuries, for some unfathomable, probably human reason, but told him when he asked her about them.

This time it took her a while until she looked up, but then it was with a broad smile on her face, one the dragon associated with her more daring undertakings. It was another reason why he found her fascinating. “I flew, on my own wings! And you said it was impossible.”

The dragon slowly shook his head, pleased that she seemed to be healthy and happy. “I did not. I said it had never been done before. And I knew that, even if it was impossible, you would always find a way to do it.” At this point he stopped, tail beating the ground once, twice, then continued: “However, I had not expected it to happen…quite like this.”

Hearing this, the woman laughed, finally completely looking like herself again. “Are you truly surprised, old friend? It is the only path I ever followed.”

If there was only one truth in the world, the dragon knew, it was this. She did not do what she was expected or commanded to do, only what she decided herself. If you asked her for something, she might decide to help, or she might expect you to do what she did, leave it all behind and do it yourself. She was passion, freedom, movement, life. There was no room for placidness, and her own brand of kindness was only rarely recognised.

The dragon lowered his head, curling his tail slightly around his friend. “I am glad you survived.”

A laugh, quiet, sounding almost like a sob, reached his senses. “Be careful,” the woman warned, “or I might start to think dragons can have feelings.”

His wings twitched as the dragon gently blew warm air at her. “We cannot have that.” His voice was soft, as soft as the scales of a fresh hatchling. Vulnerable in a way he only rarely was, this soon after her assumed death and sudden success. Breaking the Malediction, becoming a phoenix…even for her, that was…impressive.

The woman smiled and moved slowly, laying a hand on his shoulder and rubbing the scales there, dusty from long flights and not enough baths. “We really can’t - what would people think?”

A snort sent ashes flying from the recently burnt ground, smoke welling up from the dragon’s nostrils, his tail tearing up grass from the earth around them as it whipped around in a silent laugh. “If I had not the pleasure of knowing you, I might believe it to matter.”

She looked up at him, eyes wide, shining, innocent, if not for the gleam of inner flame in them, visible only to those close to her, always there - watching, waiting, ready to strike. “But it does matter.” Her voice a susurrus, she lowered her eyes to the ground, the torn and partly singed grass seemingly catching her attention. Her foot kicked out, scattering a pile of blades, then she looked back up, grinning wildly, eyes filled with mayhem. “It is important to always find the correct moment to look at them, to see their eyes feel with despair.”

The dragon merely stared at her, wings unfolding slightly. “I assume you were looking for the word ‘exasperation’.” None of his amusement seeped into his words, flat as the plains they had landed on.

Her hand playfully slapped his shoulder, followed by her laughter. “Aren’t these the same?” She shook his head, hand thoughtlessly rubbing over his scales. “Let us stop talking and fly instead.”

With a low, soft growl the dragon let his warm breath envelop her once more. “As you wish.”

Now her face grew tense, brows furrowed, and she was quiet. For a moment the dragon worried, then he realized what she was trying to accomplish.

“You do not know how to change your shape, is that it?” he asked, tone carefully modulated in a way that would not startle her. In turn he was not surprised by the fist that hit his shoulder where, only seconds ago, her hand had played with his scales.

“You don’t have to be smug about it,” she growled. If he had been anyone else she might have attempted to tear out his eyes, he observed. Luckily they were friends. She disliked it if what she considered hers was hurt.

And she was mistaken. “I am not…smug.” He said this word with obvious distaste. “It was merely an observation. I…enjoy seeing you overcome obstacles.”

Despite his intentions these words managed to break her concentration and made her explode into giggles. “Be careful, old friend, or I might see that as a declaration of love.”

The dragon’s tail twitched, unsure of what to make of this, then he decided to follow his human’s advice and simply ignore it. Instead of gracing it with an answer he grasped her body with his teeth, careful to avoid hurting her in any way and marvelling at her trust when she simply let it happen, then threw her up into the air, sending a blast of fire after her, following memories that may have been older than himself.

The woman exploded into flames and chirping song, newly discovered wings flapping desperately to keep her aloft. Slowly she sank down towards the ground, the dry grass miraculously not catching fire, then the phoenix pecked at the dragon’s wing, action careful but insistent.

“Do you want me to teach you about the winds?” he asked, amused. It seemed his woman had not yet rediscovered her ability to speak even in this form.

She trilled and nodded her head - such a human gesture coming from a bird of fire. The dragon blew smoke, tail and wings twitching again..

“It is instinct, to be known, not  to be learned. Be not afraid - it will come to you.” Everything did, eventually. Even a dragon.

His human - his phoenix - ruffled her feathers and flapped her wings, hacking one last time at his wing. Her failure was such that the dragon only knew it had been aimed at him because she struck his head with one of her wings and trilled before trying to take flight. That sound was filled with triumph.

The dragon took a careful step backwards, hesitantly unwilling to stay close to the fiery storm his friend, now a phoenix, could turn into if provoked but all the more fascinated. Her wings, yet mostly unused and new to flying, were strengthening by the second, growing in muscle where there had been close to none before, giving her the power to lift off from the ground. It seemed like no distance at all, she could have covered as much simply by hopping, but she had not, she was advancing rapidly.

Such was the power of the phoenix, and hers.

Dinner for One: A Nessian Fic

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.”

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inspired by the lovely @thoughtsof-r i have decided to share a crazy childhood story <3

so i used to get bullied a lot. from kindergarten to like second grade i used to tolerate ppl’s bullshit bc i didnt wanna get in trouble for beating their faces in bc i had (and still have) a HOT ass temper.

but in third grade i stopped taking shit and quickly earned the rep for being violent which is some bullshit lmao ppl still think i am. i can be, but my rage is more calculating now. still hot like the flames spurting out of satan’s dick hole, but more calculating. now i would just put a hex on ur ass :3


so fourth grade was an especially rough year for me. i was not having it. i was also a fucking weirdo so ppl would try me even more. i have (innatentive) ADHD and ppl w ADHD tend to miss social cues or just be fuckin weird in social situations.( i’ve mostly gotten past the missing social cues n shit but it still happens.)

kids would STAY coming for me. and a lot of them were guys. The guy this story is about was one of the main guys who used to fuck w me. Once he skipped me in line and he’s tall af and i’ve always been shorter than everyone, but i was stockier and stronger than i would appear. Whe he skipped me in line and i punched him in the jaw.

buuuuut thats not wat this story is about

we were going to lunch and i was already PISSSSEDDDD THE FUCK AWFFFF bc this gang of girls were messing w me but i did my best to ignore them so i wouldnt get into any more fights.

so im in the lunch line like

Originally posted by gynaika-lykanthropos

As You Wish [a Barry Allen AU]

a/n: we needed a Princess Bride au in this fandom

“Farm boy? Barry was a fool. He would constantly talk about this girl, I assume you, and there was only one word he said when I went to kill him; please.” the masked man hums, sliding his fencing sword in the holder at his waist. His black knee high boots rock back and forth on the heels slightly, toe barely tapping the ground. 

Your cheeks puff out in anger and you stand from the bolder, hands clenched at your sides, thumb wrapped in your bright red dress. “You mock my pain.” you spit through gritted teeth. 

He puts a foot on a rock, “Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who tells you differently s selling something…” the man fires back, turning. Out of furry, you push him, sending the man in black tumbling down the hill. “As…you…wish!” he shouts, along with a few grunts. 

Your eyes widen; the only person who said that was… “Barry!” you scream, going after him; you trip halfway, making you roll on the grass. With a loud ‘oof’, you land a few feet away from him and turn your head, seeing that his mask has been forgotten.

“I told you I would always come for you. Why didn’t you wait for me?” Those shimmering green eyes stare back at you, a smirk lying just above his sharp jawline. Scooting closer, you watch him cup your cheek.

“Well…you were dead…” you whisper, touching his pale hand. 

He shakes his head, messy brown hair dangling over his eyebrow. “Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while.” he mumbles, arm holding your neck up. 

A smile breaks out across your lips. “I’ll never doubt again.” you promise, eyes beginning to become puffy. 

He leans down, open collar of his black shirt slipping off his shoulder, exposing some of his moles. “There will never be a need.” he swears, lips puckering against yours for a tender kiss. Your arms snake around his shoulders, pulling him deeper until shouts interrupt you. “They’re here. Follow me, quickly!” Barry orders, standing you up and grabbing your hand, scurrying down the sandy path. “A few more steps and we’ll be safe in the Fire Swamp.”

You grip his bicep, dress fanning around your ankles as the gold ropes at your waist bounce up and down. “We’ll never survive.” you warn in a timid voice, feet still moving. 

Barry snorts while he leads you both into the dark swamp with dead trees hanging limply. “Nonsense. You’re only saying that because no one ever has.” he replies in a chip tone, drawing his sword out. 

Biting your lip, you follow him, holding his hand tightly. Your dress sways around you and you take careful steps, mindful of your flats. “I do not understand, they told me you were captured by pirates?” you say, eyebrows crinkling in confusion.

Swatting through the trees, he makes an airy chuckle, peering back at you, black shirt swaying on his arm. “I was.” he confirms, “I was held prisoner by Dead Pirate Wells, who actually isn’t dead. He taught me how to sword fight. Yet, every night he would say the same thing,” Barry pauses, picking you up as fire erupts from the ground, “‘Good night, Barry. Good work. Sleep well. I’ll most likely kill you in the morning.’ Then, one night, he called me to tell me that he wasn’t actually Dead Pirate Wells. See, the title was passed down from the real Pirate Wells to another and so on. He gave the honor to me.” he beams, slightly out of breath.

“Oh.” you mumble, continuing to walk. So, your farm boy is a pirate now? Interesting. Suddenly, you’re sucked into the sand with a yelp. Barry cuts a tree branch, quickly hoping in after you. The dust spews from your mouth as you cling to his back, coughing; he heaves himself out of the sand, flopping on the ground. Sand sprinkles in his eyelashes and brown hair as well as yours and he stares at you, breathing.

After a moment, you stand up, shaking your dress out. You stop, sitting on a branch, “We’ll never succeed. We may as well die here.” you mumble, covering your face with your hands.

He shh’s you, brushing your hair out of your eyes with a charming smile. Sand still clings to his leather pants. “No, no. We have already succeeded.” he reassures, “I mean, what are the three terrors of the Fire Swamp? One, the flame spurt - no problem. There’s a popping sound preceding each; we can avoid that. Two, the lightning sand, which you were clever enough to discover what that looks like, so in the future we can avoid that too.” he grins, rubbing the back of your hand.

“Barry?” you ask timidly; he hums in response. “What about the R.O.U.S.’s?”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes, “Rodents Of Unusual Size? I don’t think they exist.”

Preference; Keeping Warm

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.


The destruction of the HMS Invincible at 6:30 PM.

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. 

Today in 1915:  Allied Advance up the Tigris

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.

Squadre Next Gen: Part Ten


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.

“Let’s get the show started then shall we?”

Witness me!

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

GM: they’re too busy fighting and do not see you

*the Gunslinger sighs*

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 failure.

           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.

Keep reading

@a-genuinely-spooky-kid​ liked for a starter!

    JEEZUMS! Watch it, you ass!” Victor hissed, rocks crunching underboot as he jumped back. He only narrowly avoided the spurt of flame that erupted from the unholy union of lighter and hairspray, and he looked over himself briefly to confirm he was unharmed before shooting a glare Patrick’s way. “I’m getting REAL fuckin’ sick of almost getting burned ‘cuz you can’t be bothered to look both ways, Hockstetter. D’ya wanna loose your hairspray privileges?”

Squadre Next Gen: Part Four


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.

She looked at Gavriel, “That went well.”

thedragonwholovesart  asked:

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 different.”

“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 a bit.”

“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 looked younger.

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, “Laxus!”

“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.

“Time travel.”

“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 exist?!”

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 Bixlow.”

“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 older self.

“Okay, if you’re me, then tell me something only I would know.”

Laxus smirked. The classic line. Laxus leaned over to tell his younger self something only he knew. Younger Laxus’s face turned a deep red.

“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 tell you.”

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 Laxus inquired.

“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.” Freed agreed.

“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 finished.

“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 of you!”

“Yes ma'am!” Gray and Natsu squeaked.

Laxus shook his head while Freed laughed. Nothing had changed.

“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 I become?”

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 question.”


“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 boyfriend.

“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 a smile.

“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.

“We have.”

the fire of the heart

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.

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What Dreams May Come

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.”

“We won’t.”

“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.”

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