flames they licked the walls

kemmlerthekitschmaster  asked:

Can you elaborate more on how the Alys-Sigorn wedding was awesome and its like a baby that conquered the world? I just really like Alys/Sigorn and want to hear more about it.

Whew, where to begin? The Alys-Sigorn wedding is IMO a strong candidate for “best scene in the series,” and it’s probably exhibit A in the case for ADWD as the best book in that series (give or take Dany X and the dragontaming). It’s the surest sign that GRRM still knows what he’s doing and that the sedimentary layers of story are producing more powerful moments as he goes. It’s such a narratively dense event with so many resonances that you could spend days teasing it apart. Here’s just a brief overview.  

At one level, the wedding symbolizes and enacts the alliance between the Stark North and the Free Folk, presided over by the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch (himself having been raised in Winterfell, but also having ridden with the wildlings). It’s very ceremonial and ritualistic, GRRM taking his time setting it up and lingering on every detail so you really get what a momentous deal this is: a powerful wildling leader and the daughter of a significant Northern house joining to forge something new. This carries such weight with us because we’ve been living with this bitter divide and the knowledge of how longstanding and entrenched it is for multiple books. Climbing this hill seemed nigh-impossible back in ASOS when Stannis proposed it; now, we see a real ray of hope. And of course, this dovetails so beautifully with what happens at chapter’s end: the horn blast announcing Tormund Giantsbane’s arrival to cement that pact. 

This sense of harmonic resolution wouldn’t mean much, though, if it didn’t also extend to the bride and groom specifically. Alys coming to Jon (specifically as Ned’s son) and securing his help against Cregan and Arnolf marks a symbolic reconciliation between Houses Stark and Karstark. Instead of the latter house as an enemy, as they’ve been since early in ASOS, we now see them as a complex family riven by internal conflict, and there’s a chance to set things right. It helps, of course, that Alys is immediately one of the most lovable characters in the story: “Let him be scared of me.” As for Sigorn, his father died at Castle Black thanks to Jon’s defenses, and earlier in ADWD, Sigorn himself opposed assimilation to the point of threatening Jon’s life. Here, however, he brings the Thenns into the larger realm and makes a very moving peace–and of course he, too, is written to encourage empathy in the wedding scene, coming off nervous, awkward, and ultimately good-hearted. 

But what really makes this scene shine, undergirding and emphasizing all of the above, is the imagery. It…glows. 

And Melisandre said, “Let them come forth, who would be joined.” The flames cast her shadow on the Wall behind her, and her ruby gleamed against the paleness of her throat.

Jon turned to Alys Karstark. “My lady. Are you ready?”

“Yes. Oh, yes.”

“You’re not scared?”

The girl smiled in a way that reminded Jon so much of his little sister that it almost broke his heart. “Let him be scared of me.”The snowflakes were melting on her cheeks, but her hair was wrapped in a swirl of lace that Satin had found somewhere, and the snow had begun to collect there, giving her a frosty crown. Her cheeks were flushed and red, and her eyes sparkled.

“Winter’s lady.” Jon squeezed her hand.

The Magnar of Thenn stood waiting by the fire, clad as if for battle, in fur and leather and bronze scales, a bronze sword at his hip. His receding hair made him look older than his years, but as he turned to watch his bride approach, Jon could see the boy in him. His eyes were big as walnuts, though whether it was the fire, the priestess, or the woman that had put the fear in him Jon could not say. Alys was more right than she knew.

“Who brings this woman to be wed?” asked Melisandre.

“I do,” said Jon. “Now comes Alys of House Karstark, a woman grown and flowered, of noble blood and birth.” He gave her hand one last squeeze and stepped back to join the others.

“Who comes forth to claim this woman?” asked Melisandre.

“Me.” Sigorn slapped his chest. “Magnar of Thenn.”

“Sigorn,” asked Melisandre, “will you share your fire with Alys, and warm her when the night is dark and full of terrors?”

“I swear me.” The Magnar’s promise was a white cloud in the air. Snow dappled his shoulders. His ears were red. “By the red god’s flames, I warm her all her days.”

“Alys, do you swear to share your fire with Sigorn, and warm him when the night is dark and full of terrors?”

“Till his blood is boiling.” Her maiden’s cloak was the black wool of the Night’s Watch. The Karstark sunburst sewn on its back was made of the same white fur that lined it.

Melisandre’s eyes shone as bright as the ruby at her throat. “Then come to me and be as one.” As she beckoned, a wall of flames roared upward, licking at the snowflakes with hot orange tongues. Alys Karstark took her Magnar by the hand.

Side by side they leapt the ditch.

“Two went into the flames.” A gust of wind lifted the red woman’s scarlet skirts till she pressed them down again. “One emerges.” Her coppery hair danced about her head. “What fire joins, none may put asunder.”

This is hope rendered in radiant red and gold; this is what endgame looks like. We saw it, just a flash of it, as their leap (like Theon and Jeyne’s, several chapters later) reached its apex. This leap over the flames and everything that goes with it exists in defiance of the Long Night, in spite of the army of the dead. It’s a fire to circle around, a well from which to draw strength, and a foundation for what comes next. House Thenn’s sigil is appropriate; they represent the Dawn.

all i have is love

the love of my life turns 27 today. happy birthday @arrogantbullyingtoerag​. here is the time traveller au i never thought i’d write. you deserve all this and more.

She is a young girl squatting in a field of wheat, the reeds rustling reverently around her as she holds her breath. Her sister will not find her here. The other boys might. Her red hair marks her out as sure as a bloodstain pooling on white snow, and yet she sways with the reeds, her knees buckling, the joints aching. They will not find her here. She can hear them calling, bloodhounds baying in the late afternoon sun, sniffing out her scent, the sprig of honeysuckle she plucked from the hedge down the road clutched tight in her sweaty palm, the sweetness of it dancing around her ears, in her head. Why is her head spinning? She is hiding. The cicadas are bleating all around her, soft ripples of activity jumping from plant to plant. She can hear a bike rolling its wheels past her on the gravel path behind the field. The trees are blustering in the gentle wind that ripples through. The reeds talk. She can hear them coming. She can hear their voices. She wants to be far, far away from here. The scent of honeysuckle is making her head ache. Take me away. They are coming closer. Take me away. She closes her eyes, and disappears.

A musty bookstore in Edinburgh. The shelves talk. The books rustle. Everything is coated in dust and candlelight. Hello? she wants to say. She’s holding her breath. She dare not say a word. The floorboards creak beneath her feet and the deep jade carpets bring up clouds of dust around her ankles, like there are ghosts trying to grab her by the calves, like they are trying to keep her here. Hello? This is like a perverse game of hide and seek. She wanders down the corridor, stepping into rare pools of candlelight, the heavy carpet leading her into the front room. The world is dark outside the windows. She wonders if she will ever leave this place, if she can ever leave. There is a heavy, baroque desk in the middle of the room. The bookshelves seem to climb up into nothing, into the stars. Hello? There is a man behind the desk. He looks like he has just stepped out of the bookshelves. His hair is white as a sheet, whisker-thin, climbing about his face like static. She wants to breathe but her lungs are full of dust. The man smiles at her, showing yellowing teeth, and speaks aloud the word that is stuck inside her head. ‘Hello,’ he tells her. She runs. She screams.

There is a tall manor house she went to once with Petunia and her parents, stuck in the middle of the countryside, so quiet and polished, like a French château. The people were musty but the house was not. She got bored and went wandering from room to room, surveying the display cabinets, chatting with the ghosts. That is where she is now. ‘Hello,’ says the lady of the house. Lily cannot remember her name. ‘We didn’t expect to see you back here so soon.’ The lady rings for tea, and Lily excuses herself. It is exactly like she remembered it, but without the warmth of her sister beside her. The house is whispering to her like it did the last time she was here. She cannot hear what it is saying. She wants to hear what it is saying. So she follows the whispers through the walls, trying to find its source, hear its secrets. She plays sardines with the suits of armour and ends up stuck in the airing cupboard, crying for help. Everything is so dark. She feels like she has been here before. She is in a dream. Everything is in a dream. She tries to reach out and touch the towels, the linens, but there is nothing. There is only darkness.

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Player Two (Full Story) Be More Chill Fanfiction

“Awesome party, I’m so glad I came” Michael jeered sarcastically, giving a lonely glance at Jeremy, who chatted away happily, completely unaware of the anger and betrayal Michael felt. He clenched his teeth in disgust and hurt and stormed out the door.  

  As Michael slowly shuffled away from the house, he felt his throat began to close, and hot tears brim his eyes. When he cried, there was a rawness to it, like the pain was still an open wound. He would clasp onto something for support, anything, a table or the back of a chair, and then his whole body would shake, but since he didn’t have that at the moment he gripped the sleeves of his hoodie. The sobs were stifled at first as he attempted to hide his grief, then overcome by the wave of his emotions he broke down entirely, all his defences washed away in those salty tears. When he at last turned his face to the house, to face Jeremy, his face shone a picture of grief, loss, and devastation. It was the face of one who had suffered before and didn’t know if he could do it again. Then, just when he thought the breakthrough would come, his shutters would come down, his emotion walled off behind a mask of coping. He would just wear it until everything was right again, he didn’t know another way. He tore off his black thick-rimmed glasses, and he wiped the remaining tears from his eyes. His dark hickory eyes, once filled with delight and cheerfulness, had now lost their light and filled with hurt and betrayal. His dolce skin, was now flushed from his crying, and Michael put up his signature red hoodie, to conceal his face, and continued to walk.

  He didn’t get very far when he heard a wail from, presumably a female student, coming from down the street. The alarms sound, an odour of smoke in the air, and Michael can see the black curling particles visible, swirling out of the house. The glowing embers leaped and twirled in a fiery dance, twinkling like stars in the cool October air before cascading to earth like gleeful fire fiends, setting alight and lighting up the darkness of the night. Michael gaped at the scene down the street, the house emitting the choking black smoke from the windows, and into the air. Michael slowly stepped towards the the burning house, his body felt numb and he felt suddenly disconnected. This wasn’t the house, this couldn’t be the house where they were throwing the Halloween party. His senses soon returned and adrenaline kicked into his veins, he bolted towards the house, running past and shoving other students who were trying to run away. “JEREMY?” He cried out, looking desperately for his friend, even if Jeremy didn’t consider him it anymore. His brain began foggy and Michael felt the panic begin like a cluster of spark plugs in his abdomen. Tension grew in his face and limbs, his mind replaying the scenarios of what could’ve happened to him. His breathing became more rapid, more shallow. In these moments before his personal hurricane, he glanced around at the other students, hoping to see him among the crowd, or even one of them seen Jeremy leave the house. Their faces were covered in ash and soot, and coughing up the remaining smoke from their lungs, their clothing seared from the burning flames. “Jeremy!!” Michael shouted again in desperation, ignoring the tightening in his chest, and fear plastered on his face, his eyes sparked with concern. The other students turn and glanced at each other, murmuring to each other, some among the lines of, “I haven’t seen him” and “I don’t think he got out”. They turned back to Michael, with worry and remorse for the teen and simply said, “I don’t think he got out Michael”. Michael gasped, he ran his hand through his thick umber hair, and cletched his teeth, feeling as if he’s been punched in the gut. A student came up to him and put a hand on his shoulder to ground him, “It’s ok Michael, it’s going to be ok.” Reality spun around him and came crashing down, and he bit his lip, desperately trying to refrain the sobs from deep within his throat. He glanced at the house, “You think he’s still in there??” Michael asked, his voice soft and worn. “Michael I…” the female student responded, before Michael tore from her and bolted to the house. “MICHAEL!” the female student cried, her protests for him going in vain as he ran inside the burning building.

   The black smoke curled around him, fogging up his glasses up with ash. “JEREMY!” the Filipino called out, looking among the burning ashes for his friend. Michael gasped for air as the black smoke filled his lungs and coughed into his hoodie, trying to block out the rest of the thick smoke. He wandered through the house, the fire burning around him as it licked up the walls. The flame burns with colours he never thought were possible from a fire. With each flare another possession alights, and the house is closer to collapsing in shambles. The videos of house fires bare such little resemblance to the real thing. The screen shows a TV version, small and cold, black smoke billowing toward the sky. In front of the real thing the radiant heat is intense, scorching Michael’s skin. It’s more like a colossal campfire than anything else, casting its yellow glow into the night. The smell dominates every breath and the flames are louder than he expected, roaring as they consume what was once a fine home. Within the house the fire spread with ease, turning the once pretty first floor into a maze of flame. Black smoke billowed up the stairs and the alarm soon died a long time ago. As Michael dodged the burning flames, and falling debris, he heard his headphone beep a small melody, signaling bluetooth has been connected. “Wha-?” Michael started, before coughing into his sweater once more. “Michael Mell” a male voice came through the speaker’s, “Jeremy Heere’s best friend.” “Jeremy? Where is he?? Is he ok?” Michael grew anxious, the fire soon burning brighter around him. “I am his Sqiup, and in order to help him, you must do what I instruct” the voice ordered calmly. So this was the pill that made Jeremy ditch him. THIS WAS THE PILL THAT STARTED ALL OF THIS! “How do I know that you’re actually going to help me? I mean, why should I in the first place, considering I’m WAY too lame for Jeremy!” Michael barked at the voice. “Have you considered that if Jeremy, ‘doesn’t make it’, I’ll cease to exist as well” the Squip answered back cooly. “Fair enough” Michael growled, and continued searching through the house. “Oh, and Michael” The Squip said, “I was wrong.” Michael hummed in response, honestly he wasn’t concerned how wrong he was, he just wanted to find Jeremy. “Take a left here” the Squip commanded. Michael broke into a sprint, and followed the Squip’s directions. “Y-You nEEd tO hUrRy Michael!” the Squip said, his voice glitching through the speakers of his headphones. Wait, the computer actually sounded…worried. “JEREMY!” Michael shouted. “JEREMY!”, he ran and turned a corner and saw a wooden door blocking the way. “He’s in here, isn’t he” Michael stared at the bathroom door, which was blocking his way to his friend.

The door was scratched and dented with chipped brown varnish, it had a brass door knob dulled with age and greasy fingermarks.

He placed his hand on the door to see if any heat was radiating from it. He learned the trick from the hundreds of demonstrations of what to do in a fire in middle school, he just never thought he would actually need to use them.

  The door wasn’t warm, so Michael reached for the doorknob and jiggled it; the door was locked. Michael furiously twisted and turned the knob for no avail, but what startled him the most is that there was no keyhole for the doorknob. The door wasn’t locked, it was jammed! The Filipino again felt the panic rise in his throat. Michael began to kick at the door, and ram his shoulder into the wood, being not very successful. “JEREMY!” he called out, hoping his buddy would hear him and know that he wasn’t alone. Michael tried again and again and became increasingly frustrated with his futile attempts to gain entry. He planted one foot on the ground, grasped the door frame and thrust the other foot with all the might he could muster and slammed it into the door with a loud yell…hoping to unhinge the door from its frame.  The door began to rattle, and the center began to bulge slightly with each blow. The knob looked as if it would pop out, and dust puffed out from the frame, which started to separate from the wall. Michael took a few steps back to prepare himself for the final blow and rammed his shoulder again into the door, causing it to collapse with a loud crash. Michael collapse with the door onto the hard tile floor of the bathroom and let out a groan. He grasped his now injured shoulder and looked around the smoke filled bathroom. A boy was curled against the side of the old white tub, his slightly curly caramel hair flopping delicately over his left eye, his stripped red and blue shirt hard to miss among the flames that were now licking towards the ceiling. Michael gasped softly and bit his lip from crying out, “J-Jeremy?”. He shuddered, blinking away the tears forming in his eyes. “JEREMY!” Michael choked out and skidded to his friend side, fiddling with the zipper of his jacket and tore it off, wrapping it around his friend to guard him from the flames and suffocating smoke. He held his unconscious friend tightly in his arms as the fire swirled around them, choking black smoke filling the room. They were going to die, Michael didn’t see another option. Michael stared at Jeremy, his breathing was wheezed and shallow, and his face was pale, far too pale. “Don’t worry buddy, I’m gonna get you out of here. I promise.”

  Jeremy’s eyes fluttered open, although only half-way, Michael can still see Jeremy’s bright green eyes stare back at him, glazed and seemingly tired. Jeremy smiled softly staring back at him, before collapsing back into Michaels arms, his grin fading. “JEREMY? Oh god! Stay with me buddy” Michael gripped Jeremy’s shoulder tightly. He could see the orange flame forming just outside the fallen door and he knew the bathroom exit was no longer an option. His only option was the window that hung just above the toilet, luckily it was just big enough for Michael and Jeremy to wiggle through. Michael wheezed into his arm and coughed violently, shutters going down his spine as his charred lungs begged for air. The Filipino soon regained his strength after his coughing fit and his body kicked into an adrenaline rush, just seeing Jeremy’s motionless body in his arms. He lifted his friend up, who was surprising light, and heaved him onto his back. He gripped Jeremy’s arms to tighten them around his neck to keep him from slipping, and climbed onto the toilet to open the window. Michael fiddled the window’s handle and swung it open, releasing the fresh cool air into the room. Michael gasped, taking in the air into his lungs and started to swing his leg over the window sill. He stared down and sighed, thankful that they were on the first floor, and leaped from the burning building.

   The fall wasn’t long nor should it have injured them, but Michael must have fallen on his ankle wrongly and gritted his teeth in pain, giving a glance at Jeremy reassuringly. He limped to front of the house as the flames burned. He released Jeremy and held him in lap, removing the red jacket from his shaking frame. Jeremy had 2nd degree burns traveling up his right arm, it was angry red with blisters forming in his skin. Michael winced seeing the injures his friend gained in the fire. He rewrapped the red jacket around him as he rocked back and forth, gripping Jeremy, pulling him close and becoming overcome with emotion. His crying was both ferocious and noisy. He blinked briny tears from bloodshot eyes, his thick lashes stuck together in clumps as if he’d been swimming. The tears made wet tracks down his face and dripped from his stubbled, wobbling chin staining his shirt. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he repeated over and over gasping for breath. Jeremy’s jade eyes slowly opened and stared at Michael, “M-?” He wheezed, and sat up quickly hacking up the smoke from his lungs. Michael rubbed his back reassuringly and gripped his shoulders to steady him. Jeremy relaxed and settled back into Michael’s arms. “Michael?” he choked out, his eyes slowly returning to normal. “I’m right here buddy” Michael smiled warmly. “You came back” he sounded surprised. “Of course I did! You can’t get rid of me that easily.” Jeremy whimpered softly and stared into Michael’s eyes, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” his body became wracked with sobs. “Hey! It’s ok! Oh god, Jeremy!” Michael frowned. The two boys huddled there watching the flames devour the burning house until the wailing of the ambulance finally arrived.

   Jeremy had 2nd degree burns along his right arm and grazes on his forehead and cheek. The doctors praised Michael for his bravery saying Jeremy wouldn’t have survived if he remained in the burning house. Michael shrugged and said any good friend would have done it. Michael suffered a sprained ankle, bruised and bandaged shoulder and was required for crutches for a few weeks. As Jeremy was recovering, Michael wobbled in his hospital room and made his way to the chair next to Jeremy’s bed and sat down. He stared at Jeremy who laid peacefully in the hospital bed, bandages wrapped up his right arm which were red from slight bleeding. Michael sighed and leaned back in the chair. Jeremy looked over at him and smiled softly, “‘ey Mike” he said raspily. Michael grinned back, “How ya feeling buddy?” Michael asked. “Pretty sucky honestly” Jeremy laughed. The boys laughed together until Jeremy broke into a coughing fit. Michael put his hand on his shoulder, and waited for the episode to subside. “Michael” Jeremy looked at his friend, guilt filled his eyes as his coughing fit died down, “I’m really sorry. I was such a douchebag to you! I know you didn’t deserve it, and yet you still came back to save my sorry a-” “Jeremy” Michael interrupted his rambling, “I forgive you, it’s ok. You’re my player two man! We promised each other we would always have each others backs! I wasn’t planning to break that promise especially since you almost died!” Jeremy played with the fuzz on his sleeve not making eye contact with Michael. His eyes glazed with tears finally made eye contact, “I don’t deserve you” he stared at his lap, “I don’t even deserve to be alive right now!” “Hey!” Michael shouted. “Don’t say that! Don’t ever say that! You’re my player two! I need you! We need each other! Please!” Jeremy gave Michael a guilty look and they finally clasped each other in a warm, slow and luxurious hug. Their chests rising and falling against each other, their breaths in unison, and the warm blood that they could feel in each others’ embrace. “No matter what! We’re always going to be a team.”


Happy AkuRoku Day! ♥ I actually wrote a completed one-shot for you guys this time! All fluff and afterlife feelings, so I hope you enjoy!


They didn’t go out and watch the latest superhero movie. They didn’t make a reservation at that one restaurant they both like, which didn’t always have the best entrees but always had a decent bread basket and that sea salt cheesecake they could never say no to. They didn’t do anything the couples magazines told them to do–flowers, jewelry, scented candles, a new dress and suit, some ludicrously expensive gold-leaf and champagne infused candy from that one store that opened downtown.

They were both thankful for that.

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Sweet Boy

Summary: Credence is getting off by grinding against a pillow. All is great, except it gets unmistakably greater when Mr. Graves stumbles upon the erotic scene. Inspired by this Sin that I posted a week earlier. Also read it on AO3. (WC: 2,020 words)

Warnings: Filth. Straight filth. Very NSFW.

Credence’s head thrashes as his eyes snap open, blown pupils casting up towards the ceiling and chest heaving as dim images of biting teeth and dancing tongues and entangled limbs linger in his thoughts. He isn’t quite sure if it’s arousal or guilt that turns over in the pit of his belly, but it still makes him swallow and shift uncomfortably in his too warm, too sticky bedsheets. His shirt clings to his damp back when he sits up, the prominence of his spinal column and shoulder blades visible even beneath the shirt, the outlines of the bones gliding with the thin fabric when he brings his hands up to rub his face. And when he hangs his head and runs trembling fingers through his disheveled hair, he is suddenly face to face with his throbbing groin.

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Pyrophilia - arousal from fire

Flames had fascinated Ciel since that day - fascinated and terrified him. Nothing threatened his composure the way that fire did, but nothing else had the power to satisfy him as much either.

“More, Sebastian” came the desperate order from the over stimulated Earl. They hadn’t even made it to the bed this time, the Demon sinking himself into his Master on the floor and bringing them both to the very edge of ecstasy. “I need…. more….”

Sometimes it was like this. The fire between them wasn’t quite enough, Ciel needed the real thing.

“Yes, My Lord”.

The glow was subtle at first before it erupted into a blazing inferno. The room lit up, flickering as the flames licked at their naked bodies, shadows dancing along the walls as they moved. It didn’t hurt - Ciel could feel the warmth on his skin, an almost ticklish sensation, and the brilliance of it all made his head spin.

“I’ve got you” murmured the red-eyed Demon above him.

Of course the flames wouldn’t hurt. Fire could never harm him, not when Sebastian was there, and Sebastian would always be there. He had promised, and he could not lie.

Ciel’s movements became uncoordinated as he allowed the flames to engulf him, consuming him in a blaze of vibrant colour. He screwed his eyes shut and felt his Demon move inside him as the fire crackled and sizzled and he was lost to it as strong arms gripped him tightly, keeping him safe, finally safe….

He gasped for breath when it was over though his lungs were clear of any smoke. There was no damage to his body from the flames, just a thin sheen of sweat now that everything was dark once again.

The fire was more than an addiction. It was proof - the flames had burned his entire world to ashes, destroyed everything he held dear, but they would never take him. As long as he controlled something even more powerful then he controlled the fire. The only way Ciel was willing to give up his life was like this, right now; in the arms of his Demon.

You’re Not Her: 6. Fire and Ice

Shout out to @squirrellygirlart for beta reading this for me!!!!

Sorry for the wait everyone!! @polkadotsdesign @justa-dork


Start                                <—– Previously

Marinette was suspended. Her parents were angry of course but once Marinette had explained what had happened they understood. She was, however, grounded for the duration of the week because “violence is never the answer Marinette.” Being grounded was fine by her, it was an excuse to keep from socializing, but that didn’t keep Adrien from stopping by and dropping off notes and instructions for their group project. Marinette wished he would leave her alone. Thus far Adrien had caused her more problems than she currently needed in her life right now. She knew it was irrational to be angry at him for Chloe’s behavior but she couldn’t help but feel a little bitterness towards the model. If he left her alone Chloe would have less incentive to approach Marinette of course after the stunt Marinette had pulled Chloe would probably keep her distance when tormenting her now. Maybe her dislike of Adrien stemmed more from Chloe than it did from his actual actions but Marinette couldn’t find it in herself to change that. She was exhausted by people. Talking to anyone, even friends became a chore. The only emotions that came easily now were overwhelming sadness, anger, or complete apathy. Sometimes it was easier to just mask over one’s sorrows with the all consuming hate that anger brought. It was a reprieve from the drowning misery of grief. All this made it easier to dislike Adrien. He himself might not be the problem but by being associated with him it had caused more face time with the people of her class, and to her utter horror, more biting comments from Chloe- neither of which Marinette wanted.

Unable to intercept Adrien at the front door, since she was grounded, Marinette’s parents scheduled a time for her to come by his place and work with him. Marinette was hoping that she could just do all the work by herself, her parents, however, did not agree that that was fair. So Marinette stood in front of the Agreste Mansion, ready to get through this as quickly as possible. The gate stood slightly ajar. Marinette looked to the telecom used to beep people in and grimaced. She didn’t need any extra interaction today. Talking to people was like forcing herself to chew on glass. It was painful, forced, and left her feeling mangled and raw. With a deep calming breath Marinette pushed the gate open and wound her way up the long walkway to the door. She rapped on the door and waited. There was no answer. Agitated about already having to be here Marinette knocked again this time more forcefully. A tall dark haired woman answered the door a confused and harried expression pulling her face.

“How did you get in?” The woman asked suspiciously.

“The gate was open,” Marinette explained. The woman’s eyebrows shot up, realization crossing her features. “I’m here to see Adrien,” Marinette said expectantly.

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anonymous asked:

Firefighters AU. Imagine person A is <b>really</b> bad in the kitchen and keeps burning things and person B is the firefighter who keeps showing up and save the day.

“Aw, spaghetti, no,” Clint protested. He’d only gone to check his email for like five minutes, a huge stockpot of water shouldn’t boil away in that amount of time, but based on the blatting sounds coming from his ceiling and the roiling smoke clogging up the hall, that’s exactly what had happened. Either that, or he’d left a loaf of bread on the stove again and turned on the wrong burner. He’d done that, too. 

It couldn’t be microwave popcorn, this time, because he hadn’t put popcorn in. He was pretty sure, at least. Exhaustion had a way of having him running on autopilot. He knew he was tired, he had three part time jobs, all of which worked him a precise 32 hours per week because that was the most amount of hours he could have without qualifying for any sort of company health insurance. Not that he needed the insurance, but he would have liked some fucking overtime pay for the amount of hours he put in. 

It wasn’t the first time it had happened. It probably wasn’t going to be the last time, but it might well be the last time here. The fire department had been very clear, last time; one more house fire in this building and Clint was going to get fined. 

A fine was going to mean he couldn’t pay rent; which meant he was going to lose his nice comfortable loft apartment, and– 

God, the smoke was thick

What Clint needed was a fire alarm that would shut itself off when he yelled, “hey, I’m cooking here!” at it. 

His head was spinning lazily. The walls weren’t quite. Right. 

And the air was really, really hot. 

This wasn’t a cooking fire, Clint realized, suddenly, a few wisps of burned crumbs. Or even a more substantial cooking accident, like melting the stockpot onto the stove trying to make turkey broth. This was… an actual fire? 

Clint went to his knees in the hall. 

If it was an actual fire, even if it was something in the kitchen, and he’d left it on, at least the fire department wouldn’t be able to fine him. That was a good thought. His eyes were blurry, tears streaked his cheeks. Lucky was under his hands, whining. The dog bit hold of Clint’s tee shirt and tried to drag him down the hall. 

What the hell? 

The shirt ripped and Lucky barked frantically before erupting into some terribly painful sounding dog-coughs. 

Come to think of it, Clint was coughing, too. 

The floor was nice. Cooler. He laid down. 

(there’s a readmore line here; I always post to A03 within an hour of this post going live, so you can find it there along with my other fic)

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bedeliainwonderland  asked:

Bedannibal + 4 (in front of the fireplace). Thank you ♥

Thank you so much for the prompt! ❤️❤️ Be warned, this thing is disgustingly fluffy 😂 Set somewhere between s2 and s3.

The fire snaps and crackles behind its metal grate, and occasionally a brazed log cleaves and withers into molten red and ashy white cinders. Outside, snow falls slowly, lazily, blanketing the rustic cottage in a layer of white, muting all sounds from the world outside.

This is the hidden time when the sky bruises a dusky purple-indigo, the moments that hover between the final vestige of night and the first exhale of dawn. These are the lost hours only found by passion, by soft blankets, by firm limbs and pliant, willing skin. Time seems to close its eyes, unobtrusively creating a lull in the general flow of things, a hush, a precious interlude, keeping all the secrets inside like tightly closed lips.

He sits on a large fur rug on the floor in front of the stone fireplace in the bedroom, leaning back against the foot of the bed with his legs unfolded before him, warmed by both the fire and the heat of her body. Bedelia is facing him, sitting astride his thighs, knees bracketing his hips. A heavy knitted quilt is loosely swathed around her, bowed low across her back like the gently curving arch of a raindrop.

It would have been impolite to let his new wife shiver in bed as he made love to her. And he prides himself greatly on his ability to be a perfect gentleman. The best thing to do, he had concluded earlier, was to lead her to the soft rug in front of the hearth and make love to her there instead. A conclusion upon which he had then proceeded to act - twice.

“Are you warmer now?” he teases in the afterglow, trailing the tip of his nose down the column of her throat, pressing a kiss to the divot at the base of her neck, tasting the sweat.

“Yes, thank you,” she murmurs, and places her palms on his face, covering his cheeks with her fingers so he can feel their warmth for himself.

She seems calm, almost lethargic, insouciant in her state of satiation. He had not expected this. He had hoped for it, longed for it, burned for it while they had both sat demurely in their respective seats within their respective boundaries. 

“Is this the role you intend for us to play?” she asks him quietly, in that same low voice she uses to offer him wine, to thank him for dinner, to stick him with a pin when he is deceptive or avoidant during therapy.

“I am not playing,” he tells her. “This,” he says, seriously, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer, “this is not a game to me.”

She holds his gaze steadily in that mesmeric way she has, the way that could have seen right through his person suit, had he been wearing one.

Finally she sits back and shifts off him, unfolding like a golden scroll of parchment on the thick rug, holding the blanket up for him. He follows, a sailor guided by his very own polaris, slipping beneath it and stretching out behind her.

The wool blanket is pleasantly large, so that the tassels adorning the perimeter of the quilt are spread on the floor in a comfortable contour of their bodies. He thinks of sand ceremonies, of being united by such an outline, two separate lives symbolically becoming one, joined in marriage. The softness of her hair finds the pillow of his arm and he curls his body around hers like a question mark, though he has fewer doubts with each passing moment. Their legs twine like the logs burning in the hearth before them. Her back presses into his chest with the swell of every breath, a tide rising to meet its shore.  

He takes her hand in his, thumbing the two new rings on her fourth finger, the polished silver of them glittering in the orange glow from the fire that has painted everything in this room the colour of a velvet sunset.

“I am not playing, either,” she murmurs.

She threads her fingers through his, both their rings clinking together. He thinks of the sound as the clinking of champagne glasses, a celebration. She tucks his arm between her breasts, his hand testing the weight of one teardrop-shaped swell.

Moments pass in which the only sound is the softly erratic sparking from the hearth, the only movement the lick of the flames as their flickering shadows dance across the cottage walls and spill across the wooden floor like ballerinas on a stage.

He is content, for once, to simply observe.

#11-Matt the Radar Technician

“I think he’s hot”

Words: 752

Warning: None


You sat against the wall, unwrapping the sandwich you had gotten from the cafeteria. Your belt dug into your stomach, and you sighed. Eying the bread that covered the lettuce and tomato middle. As you peeled it away and grabbed a fork from the container, you looked up to see Matt, the new guy, walking towards you. Instead of sitting at the plentiful of open seats, he slid down the wall, right next to you. Pushing a strand of thick blonde hair away from his black eyebrows, you smiled softly and leaned back further.

“Hey, Matt,”

“Hey…” He mumbled, biting into a bagel. He chewed silently, before noticing one of the other technicians walk in. He had dark hair, but light eyes and a built stature. He glanced over at you, watching you look down at your food with blushed cheeks.

Matt had begun to sit with you from the day he started working on the base. You had been there for a year before him, so you were assigned with the task of helping him out. You didn’t mind, but it annoyed you how awkward he was. You would constantly have to ask him why he was so nervous or to stop stuttering. It was cute, in a way.

Pushing up his glasses, Matt nudged you with his shoulder. Furrowing his eyebrows as he studied you.

“What?” You tried to hide your embarrassment. But even he could see through it.

“You like him.”

I think he’s hot.” You sighed and then continued. “There’s a difference.”

You looked over at Matt, his eyes gone darker. Before you could open your mouth to say more, he had gathered his lunch and was walking away from you. You sat there, not knowing what just happened. Matt seemed to be always interested in your personal life. Who you liked, what you did off duty.


Later that day, you went looking for Matt. You spotted him sitting on the ledge of the worker’s room. Kylo’s lightsaber was next to him, and the panel behind where he sat was destroyed. Deep slashes and cut wires with small flames licking up the walls. You leaned yourself against the doorway, clearing your throat.

Matt looked up abruptly, pushing the lightsaber behind him and sitting up straight.

“Y/N… Um… I just…” Walking over to him slowly, you hopped onto the ledge and looked at him. Swinging your legs so that your feet hit his calf. You were considerably smaller than he was. He made fun of you for it, but you didn’t take it to heart. He would make up for it with a compliment. At least, once in a while… He was like that. He didn’t know how to communicate. You didn’t mind. Not with him… Matt’s eyes met yours, and he pressed his thick lips together. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did back there.”

You didn’t say anything. Instead, you found yourself drawn closer to him. Leaning in, your breath hitched in your throat, and you wrapped your hands around his face. Matt smelled like orange juice and metal. You sucked in a breath as your lips met his. They were warm, soft. They fit against yours, and Matt kissed you back. His glasses pressing against your cheeks while your face became hot.

Pulling away, your whole body filled with jittery butterflies, and you smiled down at your feet. Your lips tingled with the lingering feeling of his. And you thought about kissing him again. Running your fingers through his hair, burying them in the thick blonde curls.

However, he beat you to your thoughts, and you felt Matt wrap his large hand around your chin. Pulling you into a deeper, longer kiss that made your hands shake against his chest. He was warm, comforting. You felt safe, and a giggle built up in your throat. Suddenly, you were laughing hysterically against his mouth. Matt smiled, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry-I just-This is happening.”

“Why do you think I wanted to be assigned to you?”

Pulling back, you raised your eyebrows. “What?”

Matt’s face then fell as he realized what he had just said. Silence engulfed him as he didn’t know what to say, but you laughed again and pulled him into another kiss. “It was kind of obvious.”

“Hmm… It was?”

“You’re a sucky actor, Kylo.

First Mission

The paladin reached his plated glove to the ground and behind his helm twisted his lips. It had been another brutal scene to behold. Reports of attacks from the Amani had escalated, the trolls were becoming restless and these warbands were becoming emboldened. It had been nearly a year since the first messages, a rumor here, a missing box, a robbery, then an assault, a fire, murder, and now this small villa was the latest scene.

“Captain Sunshatter, your orders?” The boots of the Phoenix guard interrupted the thought of the young man. Captain… Itrius instinctively looked for his brother, scanning to find Irigir.

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Daddy Saved The World (part 1)

Pairing: father!Sam x Reader (established child, Fiona Isabelle)

Word Count: 2,570

Warnings: not a daddy!kink fic, pregnancy (not graphic), ANGST, fluff, smut, canon divergence (seasons 1-5)

A/N: This was intended to be a oneshot, but I decided to split it into 2 parts. If you want to be tagged in part 2, send me a message!

The life you’d lead was riddled with danger.

You and Sam met in college at Stanford, both twenty-two and in your junior year. The two of you had formed a relationship that – within a year – resulted in a baby girl. Her creation hadn’t been intended, but when you’d first seen the little + sign on the pregnancy test, you didn’t expect the waves of elation that crashed over you.

Sam had been equally happy. Rather than telling you get out of his life and never contact him again, he had insisted that you move out of your dorm and into his small apartment. Over the nine long months of your pregnancy, he made sure that you never stressed out over your load of homework, always reminded you to take your prenatal vitamins (double-checking if you hadn’t already), and on November 2, 2005, at 3:16 in the morning, you welcomed Fiona Isabelle Winchester into the world. Even though the covering of baby fat on her cheeks and the pinkish-red of her newborn skin, you could tell she had her father’s nose and eyes.

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I need 600x more Danny Phantom horror than there is.

The kid died. He got stuck halfway between this world and the next. Like, I want fic that just takes that to the next logical body horror step.

In the show he bleeds red and green because there’s ectoplasm in his blood. Ok, his blood is red and green, but it’s on the cellular level, so instead he bleeds muddy brown, like something that clotted and dried weeks or more ago, old blood, dead blood

Danny wakes up stiff and sore and sluggish and chalks it up to too many late nights spent fighting ghosts, but really his brain forgot that autonomous reactions were a thing it still needed to do because it mistook sleeping for being properly dead, finally, and rigor mortis started setting in and now his brain is relying on ectoplasm to keep functioning after the extended lack of blood flow

Sometimes he spends hours staring into space, totally blank. He would lose days and weeks like that if there weren’t people around to jolt him back into the world of the living. His friends start setting timers on his phone to remind him not to drift, to stay anchored and breathing

Ghosts in canon have obsessions, fixations. The other half ghost Vlad isn’t exempt from this, being obsessed with Maddie Fenton, so why should Danny? What does he fixate on?

Maybe he’s lucky. Maybe it’s his life. Maybe he fixated on playing at being alive, at being Danny Fenton As He Would Be, As He Should Be.

Maybe he’s unlucky. Maybe it’s Amity Park, As It Is, As He Thinks It Should Be. His territory, his home, his lair. He chases other ghosts out unless and until they prove they have a place there in the fabric of his town. He keeps the ones there that are vital to it-Sam, Tucker, Jazz, his parents, etc. Danny’s Amity Park. The world outside falls away.

Vlad recognizes it, after a long time, after it’s far too late. After all, he too is part of Amity Park, one half the mayor, the other half Danny Phantom’s arch enemy. He still needs someone to fight and thwart, after all, someone to defend. So by the time Vlad sees it he can’t stop it. After too many failed attempts, he gives up. Maddie’s here too, after all. He might as well stay.

Danny has scars, but only some of the time. The electrical burn scar that branches up his arm and across his chest from his right hand is a death wound, of a sort, and it shows up in times of distress. The rest of the time, his body forgets it should be there, and so it isn’t.

The scars from ghost fights similarly don’t show up. He doesn’t remember that humans can’t get up and walk away after being thrown into buildings hard enough to break not just bones but the walls they hit, that flames licking across his skin and blasts from lasers should hurt longer than the length of a battle. Bruises, conversely, linger. Black and blue and green and purple mottled across his ribs and back, taking too long to fade on his cheekbones and under the mess of his knuckles.

I Have to Tell You Something...

Request: one shot where Barry tells you (his girlfriend) that he’s the flash the same day you were going to tell him you’re a metahuman.

Pairing: Barry Allen x Reader

Warnings: Fluff and character getting hurt (If that’s a warning?)

A/N: Hey! This took awhile to write but it was fun once I got the ball rolling. I hope it’s okay I changed a few things in the request. Love you! Requests are always open, just be patient. lol

Your breath catches in your throat and it takes everything to let it out.

“Barry I have to tell you something. And it’s important.” A beat. “I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to tell you…I just wasn’t sure how’d you respond, but I just can’t-won’t lie to you anymore.” You can’t look away from your hands. The creases and lines that have formed over years of use are suddenly mesmerizing. “I’m….I…I can control things…with my mind. What I mean is….I have powers.” There. You finally said it. The words you’ve been dreading to say out loud were finally out.

           Finally, you look up from your hands. But instead of Barry, you’re a-dork-able boyfriend, you find yourself looking back at you. The cold emptiness of the restaurant bathroom suddenly feels very real, reminding you of where you were. If only I can say that to Barry, you think and take a good look in the mirror. Outside, not far away, Barry was sitting in the hustle and bustle that was Jitters on a Saturday night. But as much as you were nervous, you knew you had to tell him. You were falling for him, hard, and lying to him began to hurt more than imagining his reaction if he found out. With one final glance at your reflection and a quick, deep breath to calm your nerves you stepped outside.

           Barry notices you almost right away. He lifts his hand up to wave you over to him, a small smile enveloping his face. If you didn’t know better, he almost looked as nervous as you were.

“Hey Bare,” You greet as he pulls you in for a short but gentle kiss.

“Hey Y/n,” he returns, “Are you okay?”

           He knew you too well. That’s what happens after being together for six months. You begin to know everything about each other. Their laughs, the face they make when their sad or happy, and in this case Barry knew the face you made when you were worried about something. Your eyes would be serious despite a smile you would use to try to hide it, but the small crease between your eyebrows was a dead giveaway. He knew you like a book…but he didn’t know all of it.

“I-I wanted to talk to you.” You state slowly, and his eyebrows furrow together, his hand still lingering on your elbow from when he pulled you in for a kiss.

“Actually, I did too…” He pauses for a minute as he looks at you. He looked so nervous and all you wanted to do was use the sleeve of you sweater to wipe away the sweat that began at his temple. But Barry being nervous made you nervous. A little more than you were now.


“Can you believe it?” Barry and you look up to see who interrupted, and you’re greeted by the face of Iris West. You smile, always being good friends with Iris, but Barry presses his lips into a line. Looking annoyed and relived at her interruption.

“Believe what?” You ask and she nods her head towards one of the televisions in the room. It’s playing the news, one of the breaking news reports that when it begins is followed by the sound of trumpets in a quick jingle. A woman, with a little too much purple eyeshadow for your taste, talks about a sudden fire at an apartment building. It wasn’t far from where you all were, only a couple blocks. You turn to look at your boyfriend, his nervous face replaced with one of intense anticipation. When his eyes finally meet yours, you’re met with the sound of buzzing. Barry looks quickly down at his lap, most likely at his phone and gives you an apologetic look.

“I got to go, I’m so sorry,” Barry apologizes but you give him a reassuring smile. You glance back at the TV, now showing a picture of a burning building, most likely one taken from Google. When you look back, Barry’s gone.

Quickly, you grab your purse, “I have to get going, too,” you tell Iris quickly and she smiles knowingly. She was the only other person who knew your secret.

“Going to help the cops with your Jedi mind tricks again?” She asks, a smirk playing on her lips.

“Can’t leave all the superhero-ing to the mysterious Flash now, can I?”

“Just, be careful.” She warns and you smile to reassure her.

           You’re rushing out of the place now, nearly running to the apartment. It wasn’t hard to find. You followed the sirens and smoke.


           The entire building was engulfed in flames, orange and yellow licking up the red brick walls. Police were beginning to push passing spectators away, trying to give room to the firefighters arriving on scene. Between all the messes of chaos, you push your way past and into the building.

           Almost immediately, you start coughing, smoke filling your lungs fast like ants to a picnic. In that moment something, almost a blur, rushes past you and causing a gust of wind to make your hair fly up. You know who it is before thinking twice. The Flash. Your thoughts are interrupted by a scream.

“Please, somebody!” The voice calls out, and you follow it, pulling your shirt over your nose to try to breathe a little better.

“Please! I can’t move!”

           That’s when you notice the arm. It’s waving, almost frantic. With one hand you keep the shirt over your face, and with the other you outstretch it in front of you. You concentrate, focusing on the charred flaming beam that is pinning the person crying for help.

“I’m going to help you, stay still,” You reassure. A tingling sensation begins at your wrist and spreads to the tips of your fingers. A breeze passes you, but you ignore it, concentrating on lifting the beam. With a loud crack, it lifts by itself like it’s being pulled up into the air by invisible strings.

“How are you—“

           Turning to your side, you see the flash, who’s standing in bewilderment at the levitating object.

“Get her out of here!” You yell out at him, referring to the girl on the ground, finally freed. The flash looks like he was snapped back to reality. He looks at you for a moment, the orange light from the flames making his red suit glow in the room, before rushing the girl in and out of the building.

           You mind slips from its hold on the beam as you watch the blur race passed you, and the beam comes crushing to the floor in seconds. The crash causes for the flames to quickly rise and push smoke and dust up into the air. Your lungs contrast deeply inside your chest as you struggle to breath; every second is getting worse. Falling to your knees your whole body is racked with ugly coughs, trying desperately to get rid of the dark smoke that’s entering inside you with every inhale.

           Between the sounds of your coughs, crackling fire, and the police sirens from outside you don’t hear the noise of wood snapping above you. Before you know it, something has crashed against your skull from up above. The taste of blood instantly entering you mouth.

“Y/n!” You hear someone yell, but your mind is foggy.

           In an instant, you can’t feel the heat of the wild fire and smoke no longer feels like it is burning its way down your throat.

“Y/n?” The same voice says your name, softer and less panicked this time. You open your eyes, gasping for clean air. You’re lying down, something cold and thin touches your back, maybe its grass. Looking up, a familiar face stares down at you. His soft green eyes are covered in worry but his smile is filled with relief, comforting you like it always has.

“Hey, it’s me. You’re okay.” He says, pushing a piece of your hair behind your ear. He’s leaning over you, dressed in a red tight suit, the same one you’ve seen in the papers and inside the building. Only now his mask is off, hanging behind him like a hoodie would, exposing his face.

“Barry…you…you’re the flash?”

“I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you. I wanted to so bad. I just—“ You reach up and trace the curves of his cheek with your fingertips. He relaxes to your touch, leaning into the palm of your hand.

“It’s okay…” You say, lingering your hand on his face, “I should have told you too…I was going to… tonight… but then…”

“I know. We both have some explaining…” He breathes deep and for a second you’re nervous. You had imagined this moment a hundred times, when Barry would find out about you. They all ended up with him feeling angry, hurt, or betrayed. Now, however, as you look up at him, he looks calm, his eyes shining with hints of joy. He flashes a smile at you and continues, “But tonight, you’re going to rest.”

“Barry, I’m fine-ow.” You try to sit up as you say these words, but your head begins pounding the minute it leaves the comfort of the grass.

“No, you aren’t.” Barry remarks and before you know it, his arms are wrapped around you and you place your arms around his neck, unconsciously. He lifts you up and you feel secure inside his arms.

“My hero,” and with that you press your lips against his.

****** Thank you to the lovely @yohoyohoafandomlifeforme for requesting this!


Alright this one kind of got away from me but I’ve been writing&rewriting it forever so at this point I figure c’est la vie.

A Remus & Lily friendship fic.
One where they just can’t seem to ignore the two boys driving them crazy.

Unrequited II  
Unrequited III


  • “Lily?”
  • She had gotten so lost in staring at the way the flames of the dying fire licked the stone walls that she hadn’t heard the first, or second, or even third time the hushed voice had called out her name.
  • Yet, once the figure came into frame she lifted her face from the curve of the armrest on the couch and cringed.
  • Her cheek ached from being in one place for far too long.
  • As she attempted to focus her eyes the realization that her whole body had gone numb from lack of movement dawned on her.
  • She ignored the painful tingling of her senses springing to life and simply blinked twice to relieve her emerald eyes of their dryness.
  • She gazed up to meet those familiar amber ones that she had been seeing at the same time every night this week at the same moment the first words left his lips.
  • “Can’t sleep.”

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My sweet friend and muse, the wonderful @isamthereforeiam gave me this amazing idea. I just hope I’ve done it justice. Thank you.

What happens when both parties in a relationship keep the same secret?

Let me know what you think (keep in mind that English is my second language, so there might be mistakes I didn’t find when I read through it). Also, let me know if you wan on or off my tag list.

Word count: 2900

The phone tickled my thigh as it buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out, grateful I had remembered to set it to silent. I intended to decline the call, but Sam’s picture shone on the screen, and I pushed the green button before I even thought about it.

“Hey, darling,” I whispered, hoping my quiet voice wouldn’t give me away.

“Hey, Y/N. Am I interrupting anything? Why are you whispering?” He whispered back automatically. I don’t know why, but that was always the case when we phoned each other – mirroring the other’s mood or voice. Personally, I think I did it because of my profession, but some people are just natural mimics, I guess.

“Just working,” I replied, hoping my voice was neutral enough to hide the surge of adrenaline that coursed through me. “I’m in the middle of a… meeting. Can I call you in a few? Or was it something important?” I could hear him move around, and then something heavy clanged to the ground.

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                    ( @arsuledin )

                    “ I wish I knew magic.  Owlish eyes glimmer in the dark of the cave as she watches the cryptic lamp spark to life. From Solas’ fingers sprouts a wealth of VEILFIRE, the heatless flames licking against the stone wall, illuminating its matching rune with a soft tinkling sound. She smiles at the trick, her focus absorbed in the glow of the fire, and she lifts her hand toward the head of the torch. She closes her fingers near the flames, then opens them quickly with a whooshing sound effect, as though creating the fire on her own. And yet, her archer’s hand remains flameless. “ It would be so WONDERFUL to light candles. 

Story (Chato Santana x Reader)

Warnings: Mentions of Blood, Chato’s tragic backstory, car crash

(A/N: Ain’t it a happy story? ^_^)

Huge shout out to my dearest @amee99 , my co-writer on this one.

Originally posted by suicidesquadsource

Her sobs filled the small rented taxi cab. The driver sighed as the girl cried louder and louder.

He tried to focus on the road but her uneven breathing didn’t help as it would make him check her from the rear mirror every now and then.

He took a turn when she started hyperventilating. She clutched her shirt and tried desperately to take a breath, just a little of oxygen to help her carry on. Her eyes stung and her face became even redder.

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Jon turned to Alys Karstark. “My lady. Are you ready?”

“Yes. Oh, yes.”

“You’re not scared?”

The girl smiled in a way that reminded Jon so much of his little sister that it almost broke his heart. “Let him be scared of me.” The snowflakes were melting on her cheeks, but her hair was wrapped in a swirl of lace that Satin had found somewhere, and the snow had begun to collect there, giving her a frosty crown. Her cheeks were flushed and red, and her eyes sparkled.

“Winter’s lady.” Jon squeezed her hand.

The Magnar of Thenn stood waiting by the fire, clad as if for battle, in fur and leather and bronze scales, a bronze sword at his hip. His receding hair made him look older than his years, but as he turned to watch his bride approach, Jon could see the boy in him. His eyes were big as walnuts, though whether it was the fire, the priestess, or the woman that had put the fear in him Jon could not say. Alys was more right than she knew.

“Who brings this woman to be wed?” asked Melisandre.

“I do,” said Jon. “Now comes Alys of House Karstark, a woman grown and flowered, of noble blood and birth.” He gave her hand one last squeeze and stepped back to join the others.

“Who comes forth to claim this woman?” asked Melisandre.

“Me.” Sigorn slapped his chest. “Magnar of Thenn.”

“Sigorn,” asked Melisandre, “will you share your fire with Alys, and warm her when the night is dark and full of terrors?”

“I swear me.” The Magnar’s promise was a white cloud in the air. Snow dappled his shoulders. His ears were red. “By the red god’s flames, I warm her all her days.”

“Alys, do you swear to share your fire with Sigorn, and warm him when the night is dark and full of terrors?”

“Till his blood is boiling.” Her maiden’s cloak was the black wool of the Night’s Watch. The Karstark sunburst sewn on its back was made of the same white fur that lined it.

Melisandre’s eyes shone as bright as the ruby at her throat. “Then come to me and be as one.” As she beckoned, a wall of flames roared upward, licking at the snowflakes with hot orange tongues.

Alys Karstark took her Magnar by the hand.

Side by side they leapt the ditch.

Amidst all the entropy and failure of the Feastdance, surrounded specifically by chapters about capitulation and cynicism and endless grinding semi-cold war from the Riverlands to Slaver’s Bay, we see it: the Dawn, if only briefly, a ripple sent backwards in time.  

It’s a state of mind as much as a social project; an existential victory, a temporary resolution of “the human heart in conflict with itself,” made practically literal in Melisandre’s two-hearts-as-one framing. The sheer density of personal and political material in the Alys-Sigorn wedding could fill a goddamn book; suffice to say that it’s one of several such the-future-we’re-fighting-for moments in Jon’s ADWD plot, as when he comes across the Castle Black snowball fight (among GRRM’s most blatant metaphors for innocence, and most effective) or the moment in the weirwood grove beyond the Wall when he formulates his later argument to Bowen Marsh, that the wildlings are included in the “realms of men” the Night’s Watch are sworn to protect. 

But Jon’s ADWD arc ends with a false revelation: the Pink Letter, which I’d bet anything ain’t gospel even if we can’t agree on who wrote it. And Jon’s reaction, accordingly, is delusional clarity, if that makes sense; he has banished all the uncertainty that has clouded him throughout ADWD (“Now he was a man grown and the Wall was his, yet all he had were doubts. He could not even seem to conquer those”), but only by overtly refusing to consider the consequences. As relatable as the Shieldhall speech is on a gut level, the Fates punish him for it, because the Dawn won’t come that way. To rebuild Westeros in the image of the Alys-Sigorn wedding, you need to do more than fight evil, whether it be Ramsay or the Others; you need to fight it for the right reasons, which I think will provide much of the (internal, existential) drama for Jon, Dany, and Tyrion in ADOS. 

It’s similar IMO to how Sansa and Sandor are working their way out, with each other’s help in person and from afar, to the revelation that their ultimate triumph is refusing to break, insisting on making their ideals live all the more strongly because the world doesn’t reflect them like they once thought. I said a while back that ASOIAF is about reconstruction as well as deconstruction. GRRM doesn’t want to just leave all the fantasy-shards lying around after his exquisite explosions, he’s trying to rebuild them into something better, genuinely shattering and so then genuinely inspiring: an earned heroism. No matter what’s foretold for you, it’s still you that has to face the fire (or the ice), grab each other’s hands, and leap the ditch. 

X-Men: Charles/Reader

Hi! Could I possibly have a young Charles Xavier imagine (somewhere in between the First Class movie) where y/n has really bad nightmares so one night she lets Charles in her head for the first time and he comforts her and stays with her the rest of the night? Thank you lovely!

Young Charles Xavier imagine/oneshot where Charles walks In on y/n while she’s panicking because her powers are getting stronger and she is having trouble controlling them? You can decide how it ends . :)

(Hope you like it!)


Queen of Geeks

There are days where being a mutant is a blessing. And then there are the days where being a mutant is a curse. Let’s start of with the curse aspect: there is a very high chance of me setting things on fire. That may or may not include people. The blessings? I can simple wear jeans and a t-shirt while there is ten feet of snow outside the mansion.

Everyone was layered in clothes that covered themselves while I wandered around the mansion barefoot, my feet against the cold wooden floors. My feet were warm however and I felt comfortable.

“(Y/N)?” I turned when I heard Alex call from one of the rooms. “You mind lighting the fireplace?”

I stood there and stared at him. “I don’t really think that’s a good idea.” I admitted.

“Please, we just need to warm the place up.” Raven added appearing behind him.

I sighed and walked into the living room where they were sitting. Everyone had taken their seats and I stood in front of the fireplace. My hands were balled up at my sides and I knew I had to light the fire. I only needed enough to light the fire.

Slowly, I held out my hands to the fireplace and focused. My hands were growing warmer and fire quickly jumped off my arms. However, it wasn’t just a few little sparks or flames, it was huge roaring flames that made everyone jump back. I stumbled and fell feeling weakened by using my powers. I took a deep breath and nausea washed over me.

“What’s going on?” Everyone turned their heads to see Charles had walked into the room.

“I tried lighting the fire.” I gestured to the fire that was burning brightly in the fireplace. Charles walked over and held a hand out to me. I took it and let him pull me up despite the fact I was ready to vomit.

“Are you okay?” Raven asked as I pressed my hand against my head to stop the pounding.

“Yeah, I think need to go and eat something.” I told her.

“I’ll take (Y/N) to get some food.” Charles announced leading me out the room.

Usually, that would leave everyone snickering about how Charles refused to leave my side or vice versa. Instead, they stayed quiet and the only sound that filled the room was the sound of the fire crackling. Sometimes it would lead to Charles leaving me a few minutes and then Alex and Raven teasing me. I’m not sure if they teased Charles…

Charles and I went into the kitchen where I was lead to a seat. Falling into it, I took a deep breath to hopefully stop my headache. Nothing happened. As I sat with my head in my hands, I could hear the fridge door open and things being slid around before being closed. Looking up, I saw Charles had a plate in his hands as he looked for a tray to cook the food in.

“I can heat it up.” I told him.

“You just used all your energy.” Charles reminded me. I smiled and leaned back in my chair. Charles heated the food up and brought it to the table with a knife and fork. As I began eating, I could feel my energy coming back.

“What were you doing?” Charles asked next to me.

“I thought I could light the fire.” I explained. “Except my powers are growing stronger.”

“It’s been fine up until now.” Charles noted. I nodded. “(Y/N), is everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just, my powers go a little awry during the winter. I think it’s the weather.” I shrugged my shoulders. Charles nodded and I finished the food. “What if something happens?”

“(Y/N), the mansion if one of the safest places for you to be. If there’s anything you need, let me know.”

“I will.”


Once everyone had eaten dinner, the house went quiet. Everyone retreated to their bedrooms or to do whatever they needed. After changing into sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt, I crawled into bed and fell asleep quickly.

However, it wasn’t a good night. I tossed and turned in my bed as nightmares burned themselves into my mind.

Fire. My arms were on fire and everything else was ablaze. Flames were licking the walls and the ceiling. Everything was catching fire quickly and burning. There were screams as everything continued to burn. So many people were getting hurt.

I woke up screaming and sweating. My bedroom door flew open and standing in the doorway were the rest of the X-Men. I brought my knees to my chest as I struggled for air.

“Guys, go away.” I told them exhaling. There was no sound of them moving.

“Everyone can go back to bed.” Charles told everyone from behind the back of the crowd. Everyone retreated to their rooms in silence. I shook as I kept my head down. The bed shifted as Charles sat down on the edge of it.

“A few years ago, I thought I was getting sick. I had a fever and everyone though it was a flu. Everyone went to bed and then next thing I knew was that there was fire.”

“I knew that.” Charles tapped his temple and I nodded.

“It feels better to actually tell someone though.” I sighed and rested my chin on my knee. “Charles, I know that this is odd, but could you stay?”

“Yes, of course I can.” Charles sat down next to me and I rested my head on his shoulder. “If you need to talk about anything, you can come to me.”

“Thank you Charles.” I smiled lightly when he kissed the top of my head. Charles wrapped an arm around me and I could feel warm thoughts filling my head.