just flexing my wings with it

BTS as shit my sister says pt dul (2)
  • <p> <b><p></b> <b>Jin:</b> i gotta stop looking in the mirror. Im damn cute.<p/><b>Yoongi:</b> *just woke up* can i take a nap?<p/><b>Hobi:</b> *screams incoherently* there was a fly.<p/><b>Joonie:</b> so, i may or may not have broken the closet door. If you see it hanging off the hinges. That wasnt me it was the dog. *she doesnt have a dog*<p/><b>Jimin:</b> i did one sit up, wanna see my abs?<p/><b>Tae:</b> cantaloupe and cant-a-loupe. Which ones the animal?<p/><b>Kookie:</b> look at this... *flexes her arm, and jiggles them* wings<p/></p><p/></p>

Originally posted by cedrcdiggory

whenever drunk, before dating his s/o, and sometimes after they’re together, Warren puffs out his chest, stretches and puffs his wings to full glory, and just so happens to be flexing his arms, for no reason of course, when you enter the room.
(and yes, there was one instance when he took Scott’s glass of water and poured it on himself for extra affect while flexing)

Encore (4/5)

Ichigo pushes to his feet again, trying his best not to grind his teeth. “Shinigami,” he explains flatly. “Their reiraku is red. Damn it.”

And as though the enemy has been waiting for that cue—or as though they’re desperate not to be discovered—screaming green light fills the air, turning those caught in it to stone.

“Defensive formation!” Shuuhei cries, sword in hand even as Ichigo calls out his first kido spell and knocks a man dressed all in brown away. “Move!

But it’s too late, and the battle dissolves into bloody chaos.

The patrol is late returning.

Byakuya stands in his office, by the window, because the only other options are pacing the room or going to the gates and pacing there. Neither one of those is acceptable, not for someone of his standing and reputation, so he forces his feet to stillness, forces his eyes to fix on one point in the sky.

And if that point happens to be near the gate, if he has his senses open and his ears straining, well.

No one has to know, and the only person who would dare to call him on it is currently four hours overdue to return.

Byakuya shifts his weight, resisting the urge to cross his arms and instead clasping his hands behind him—an acceptable pose, for a captain, but it feels like a lie, like the tension in his shoulders and the faint twisting of his stomach turn it into something entirely undignified. He lets out a slow, careful breath and closes his eyes. (It lets him stretch his senses out even more, lets him search just that little bit further for the carefully bound and restrained reiatsu that he’s seeking, but that is simply a coincidence and not worth contemplating.) The sun is setting, staining the ground with a familiar orange he hasn’t seen in years now.

He doesn’t need to see it. He doesn’t need that daylily hair to know that Kurosaki Ichigo has come to dwell in Soul Society, right under the noses of those who knew him before.

Sometimes, in idle moments, Byakuya wonders at his lieutenant’s choice. Surely he would have been greeted with a hero’s welcome had he chosen to return immediately. Now, with this careful distance from his former friends, this false existence, there will doubtless be cries of betrayal and anger when the farce is done.

Except, he will realize at other times, watching the quiet, dark-haired, surprisingly competent man who has become his second. Except that it is not a lie, not a farce, and the hero’s welcome is the very reason Ichigo has chosen to hide himself so very cleverly. Concealed in plain sight, as it were, and there is nothing about Shiba Kei that is not Kurosaki Ichigo, it is simply that no one ever took the time to see that the hotheaded ryoka boy was far more than they gave him credit for.

Kei smiles, but Ichigo did as well, if more subtly.

Kei is brilliant at tactics and planning, but so was Ichigo, adjusting and attacking and winning every time that truly counted.

Kei is diligent and hardworking and capable, and had they ever given Ichigo the chance, Byakuya has no doubt he would have proved the same.

It is his belief that Shiba Kei is not so much a mask as a revelation, presenting the inner core of the man when before all they were shown was the gruff exterior.

Alone in the privacy of his office, Byakuya allows himself the faintest of smiles, because he took a chance that day at the Academy. The first moment Shiba Kei appeared before him, Byakuya knew. Kei had a weight to his gaze, a wariness that no student—much less one from a noble family—should have possessed. That black sword, those bright-sharp eyes, the familiarly immense reiatsu no matter how it was choked off and chained—not even a student’s blues or a quickly donned mask of emotion were enough to hide Kurosaki Ichigo from his gaze, and Byakuya wonders at what fools his fellow shinigami are not to see it.

A knock at the door pulls him from his contemplations and he opens his eyes, half-turning to look at the intruder. His former lieutenant hovers there, wary and worried and quiet clearly wound up in knots of agitation. Byakuya surveys him for a moment, remembering that the Ninth had joined the Sixth’s patrol today, remembering Ichigo’s mention of Lieutenant Hisagi, and nods to the other captain.

“Renji,” he says, and steps to one side to make room in front of the window.

There’s a moment of hesitation before Renji slinks into position next to him. “Thanks, Captain,” he says, and Byakuya wonders how long it will take him to break the habit of that title. They’re both of the same rank now, after all.

Byakuya inclines his head. “Third Seat Akon of the Twelfth says that there were numerous strange energy readings in the 54th District,” he says. “He had asked the squads to investigate.”

Renji’s features are tight with anxiety. “Yeah,” he answers roughly. “Said that those signatures started multiplying a few hours ago, blocked out all trace of the squads. Kyoraku said the Captain-Commander’ll give them a full six hours before sending out another party, just in case they were simply delayed.”

That, at least, is news, and Byakuya clenches his hands together until the knuckles strain. He has never been one to argue with the Captain-Commander of the Gotei 13, but this is a situation with known hostiles. While Byakuya is unfamiliar with Hisagi, he knows very well that Kei would not delay their return without sending some sort of message to explain the circumstances. But there has been no contact, no sign, and that puts Byakuya on edge more than anything.

Kurosaki Ichigo was never a friend—comrade, shield-brother, ally, but never friend. As Shiba Kei, Byakuya would like to think that they are. He has little time for frivolities, and less for useless emotion, but Kei knows his steps before he takes them, reads his actions and expression regardless of whether they are in battle or Byakuya simply desires a cup of tea. He is a good lieutenant, a good shinigami, and Byakuya does not fear when he knows that Kei is following him, as ever three steps behind and one to the side. Not a doormat, not afraid to argue, with a sense of humor and a maturity that is rooted in loss, and Byakuya can respect all of those things. Does, in fact, and it is…amusing, that it is the upstart ryoka who can inspire such a thing in him of all people.

Byakuya well remembers his grandfather’s words, back when he was a child. Quick to anger and hotheaded, the man had said, and that is also amusing, to think that he and Kurosaki Ichigo have such a thing in common.

“You’re worried,” Renji blurts suddenly. Byakuya casts him a sideways glance but says nothing, and Renji winces slightly. “I mean,” he hurries to add, “not that I didn’t think you would be, but, ah, Shiba’s only been your lieutenant for…”

“A year and three months,” Byakuya says, returning his gaze to the sky above the gate. “Do you think that I would not have been so concerned had you been the one returning late from patrol, Renji?”

That earns him another wince. “No, I just—that’s not it. But you always seemed as if you disliked Kaien, and you’ve never cared much for Kukaku or Ganju, and I thought—”

“Shiba Kei has proven himself a capable lieutenant,” Byakuya interjects, before that foot can get lodged any more firmly in Renji’s mouth. “He is also quite powerful, and keeps much of his strength in reserve. If something has delayed him this much, it is very likely to be the source of the attacks.”

Renji looks grim, and he knows that the same has occurred to the Ninth’s captain. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah.” A pause, and then he adds abruptly, “I volunteered to go out after them, soon as the Captain-Commander lets us.”

Byakuya nods, just once, and keeps his eyes on the horizon. “As have I,” he murmurs, feeling the weight of Senbonzakura at his side like a taunt, a promise of action just beyond his reach.

“Fuck!” Ichigo ducks under a bolt of green light, feels it scrape against the edges of his reiatsu, and tucks forward into a roll that brings him right back up on his feet again, still moving. Shuuhei is on his right, Kazeshini in shikai, and he turns as they round an outcropping of rocks, the scythe spinning from his fingers. There’s a spray of blood and one of their pursuers cries out, but the others don’t even pause to see to him.

“What the hell happened to teamwork?” Ichigo mutters with what little breath he can spare.

Shuuhei grunts an agreement, stumbling. Ichigo catches his elbow and drags him on before he can fall, and he bobs his head in thanks. “Mixed blessing,” he pants in return. “Not stopping to help each other, but not helping each other against us, either.”

Ichigo concedes that much with a huff, then shoves Shuuhei out of the way of another bolt of green. The older lieutenant tumbles to the ground as Ichigo regains his footing and spins, raising one hand. “Hado 58: Tenran!”

There’s a collective cry of dismay and the enemies scatter, but it’s already too late. A whirling, tornado-like blast of power shoots straight at them, hurling some away but mostly spreading chaos. Ichigo takes the opportunity to lever Shuuhei to his feet again and launch into his fastest shunpo, dragging his friend with him.

They land in a small hollow, surrounded on all sides by stark-jagged rocks and small trickles of clear water, and slump to the damp ground with shared relief.

“Damn,” Shuuhei mutters, quickly tearing off the already trailing hem of his shihakusho and gingerly pressing it against the freely bleeding gash over his ribs.

“Seconded,” Ichigo agrees grimly, flexing his tingling fingers. They’re threatening to go numb, which is just about the last thing they need. He suspects that the knife that winged him was poisoned. “But why the hell are they trying to take prisoners now? Those other patrols—”

“Weren’t being led by lieutenants,” Shuuhei reminds him, offering up another scrap of cloth. Ichigo takes with a faint grimace and ties it around his upper arm. They don’t have the reiatsu to spare for healing kido, even if one of them was good at it, which they aren’t. “They took our squads as bait.”

“They’re morons,” Ichigo growls, and for once he doesn’t give a flying fuck if this is a Kei reaction or not. His squad is back there, trapped and helpless and being used for fuck knows what, and Ichigo isn’t going to stand for it. Not one damn bit. Retreating to regroup was bad enough.

Shuuhei is watching him with serious grey eyes, equal parts determined and wary. “You specialize in kido,” he says finally. “That spell they used to freeze the others…”

“Didn’t recognize it,” Ichigo sighs, slumping back against the rocks, even as he keeps his senses alert for sounds of pursuit. “Of course, it’s possible that one of them invented it. Not unheard of, even if it is difficult.” He closes his eyes, flexing his fingers again. “Damn. Damn. And it’ll take me time to break this goddamned barrier, time we won’t have as soon as I start poking at it. Can’t break that kido spell, either, without getting right up close to our squads, and I’m certain they’ll have guards.”

Shuuhei hums in agreement, and then says, “Still.”

“Still,” Ichigo agrees, opening his eyes and offering the other man a crooked smile. He pushes to his feet, offers Shuuhei a hand up. “Squads first?”

“You even have to ask?” Shuuhei lets Ichigo pull him to his feet, expression set in stubborn lines. “If I give you time, can you get them free?”


“Can you?”

Ichigo grits his teeth, but nods. “In theory, a stronger practitioner can always break through a weaker practitioner’s spells. If I have to, I can just use brute force. But against all of them, Shuuhei…”

Shuuhei smiles at him faintly, not commenting on the use of his first name. “I’ll be fine, Kei,” he returns. “Don’t underestimate Kazeshini, or me. Melee fighting is something we’re good at. Focus on the kido.”

Before, Ichigo would have been the melee fighter, leaving the spell-casting to someone else. But now, as Kei, he’s good at it, enough that a far more experience lieutenant is trusting him with it. He huffs out a breath and nods. In terms of brute strength, he’s got more than enough for something like this, and he’ll use it even if it gives something away. He always knew this charade wouldn’t last forever, and some things are far more important than keeping up the act.

“Hopefully they’ll send out reinforcements,” Shuuhei says, casting a glance in the direction of the Seireitei.

Ichigo shakes off the last of his nerves, calls up the determination that let him face down a god, and bares his teeth. “Let’s make sure there’s nothing for them to do when they get here,” he offers, and Shuuhei matches his will with a steady stare and a grim nod.

“Let’s,” he agrees, and they flicker away.

Shuuhei has always known, of course, that there are shinigami who finish the Academy but never pass the entrance exam for the Gotei 13 proper. They’re entirely trained and often skilled, and some of those who fail are quickly taken on as bodyguards for noble families.

Others, it seem, become rogues.

They’re a ragtag group, certainly, but far too powerful and numerous to write off as failed shinigami. Shuuhei sidesteps a blast from one, mentally gauging her power, and it’s a bit disheartening to conclude that she’s roughly on par with a seventh seat—not a challenge to a lieutenant, of course, one on one, but that’s not the case here. It’s twenty on one, and the sheer numbers will wear Shuuhei down before long, even with Kazeshini released.

He twists to evade a sword-strike, dodges another jet of green, and ducks under a halberd that skims an inch closer to his skull than is entirely comfortable. Melee has never been his best area—he’s better at single combat, where psychological attacks are just as devastating and unbalancing as physical ones, but that isn’t the type of tactic that will be useful here. With a flick of his wrists, he sends Kazeshini out, both ends whirling in an impromptu barrier, and risks a glance behind him at his companion.

Kei is crouched beside the frozen figure of Shuuhei’s ninth seat, fingers of one hand weaving, lips moving in what is either a kido chant or a mental deconstruction of the other spell. Then a blast of green just missing his ear pulls his attention back, and he tries to pinpoint the caster. If he can take out the main kido user—

A wordless cry of satisfaction is accompanied by the sound of shattering stone, and Shuuhei doesn’t bother to fight a grin. Figuring out how to break an unknown kido spell, in the midst of a hectic and entirely outmatched battle, with all the odds against them, while wounded and losing blood—Kei’s a genius, and if they get out of this in one piece Shuuhei’ll kiss him square on the mouth. Fuck, the kid just became his new favorite person.

Half a heartbeat later, Shuuhei decides he likes him even more as green kido rebounds off an inverted pyramid of light that bursts into existence around him. It fades a moment later, but then Kei steps up to his side, already casting another barrier.

“It’s a power-drain,” he says, eyes focused on the regrouping enemy. One of their own has been hit by that strange spell, and Shuuhei can’t be anything but vindictively pleased. “It freezes whoever gets hit in some sort of leech-stone shell and transfers all of their power to those marked by the caster. Those civilians must have been drained before they were killed, and now the bastards are moving up to actual shinigami.”

Shuuhei curses softly, and asks, “Our people will survive?”

Kei nods. “They’re fine. I’ll break the rest out and send the stronger officers to help you. Just keep from getting hit.”

The barrier shatters with a sound like a struck gong and Kei flash-steps back to the field of statues behind them. More stone breaks, and then more, and Shuuhei steels himself as he’s rushed.

Foot soldiers, he thinks, even as Kazeshini reaps more lives, as he binds and cuts and slashes and tears through their ranks, trying desperately to give Kei the time he needs to free both squads. It’s a thought that’s guided by blind instinct, and urged on by experience. 

These are foot soldiers. Where are the generals?

The 54th District is little more than a collection of roads, a grassy, hilled expanse colored green in the winter and dead-brown in the summer, with craggy pits of stone and sudden drops to catch the unwary. Renji surveys the terrain, though it’s covered by a shimmering barrier of silvery red light, and tries his best not to grind his teeth. Bakudo, and one he’s not familiar with.

No wonder they haven’t been getting any readings from the missing squads.

“Shit,” he mutters, rocking back on his heels. He can’t see much past the shifting shine of the ward, but from what he can make out the squads clearly aren’t camped out and waiting for them, not that he really expected it to be that easy. Still, the universe giving him a break once in a while would be nice.

From his left, a deathly soft voice intones, “Scatter, Senbonzakura,” and before Renji can so much as twitch out of the way a thousand petal-bright blades hurl themselves against the barrier and rebound. He yelps and leaps back, but Byakuya’s control over his zanpakuto is too good for collateral damage. The blades whirl away and rush forward again, and then again, and again before Byakuya finally raises his hand and calls them back. His sword reforms and he slides it away without a word, face still completely calm.

It looks for all the world as though that were entirely deliberate, when in truth it’s the closest Renji’s ever seen Kuchiki Byakuya come to losing control.

He barely restrains himself from gaping at his former captain. It’s little relief that Hitsugaya’s eyes are also faintly wide, and Matsumoto looks entirely serious.

“Someone very skilled at kido will be necessary,” Byakuya says flatly.

There’s a snort from behind him, and Shiba Kei’s sister elbows him out of the way as she steps forward. “Good thing you brought me, then,” she snaps. “Move it, kid.”

Steely grey eyes narrow, even as the captain shifts to the side. “I do not recall inviting you along, much less requesting your presence, Shiba-san,” Byakuya says, in a tone that for anyone else would be a growl.

The Shiba matriarch levels him with an entirely unimpressed stare. “You’re still just as much of a brat as you used to be, Kuchiki,” she sniffs. “As if I’d leave a bunch of shinigami to rescue my cute little otouto. Step back. This might get messy.” With a fierce grin, she raises her left hand and cries, “Shut tight the seven gates. Bind the three storms and seed the five winds with chaos. Beyond the eighth sea, fall to pieces. Bakudo 71: Shatterpoint!

A crack like thunder fills the air, followed by the sound of a vast pane of glass breaking, as white light envelops the barrier. There’s a long, breathless moment where Renji doesn’t know whether to curse or cheer and then it fades away like mist, taking the barrier with it. He breathes out in relief, almost shaky with it, and Kukaku lowers her hand, savage satisfaction on her face. Her green eyes are bright with fury, and she unsheathes her katana as she strides forward.

It’s telling that Byakuya is the first to fall into step with her, and that his hand is resting on the hilt of his own sword. Shiba Kei seems to inspire loyalty the way Kurosaki Ichigo used to, and it’s a little unnerving to watch. Renji follows them, because he’s worried about Shuuhei, and he can’t do anything else.

And then a wave of released reiatsu sweeps over all of them, nearly sending Matsumoto to her knees and knocking Renji off balance. He tries to breathe, tries to move, and then—

The power cuts off as suddenly as it appeared, and half a moment later a surge of figures in shinigami black crest the hill and sweep down towards them, moving at a flat-out run. Behind them—so many, all alive—come two more at a slightly slower pace, leaning heavily on each other and splattered with blood that belongs to more than just themselves. Renji barely pauses to register the two dark heads bent together, the fact that his lieutenant has Kazeshini out and in shikai and that even Shiba has his zanpakuto drawn, before he’s sprinting towards them. His Ninth members acknowledge him as he passes, smiles or weary nods or a rare salute, and Renji hears the Sixth’s members greeting their captain as well. He manages a few pats on the shoulder, a quick smile here and there, but most of his attention is on the two lieutenants.

“Captain,” Shuuhei says as he nears, looking up with an exhausted half-smile. “You won’t believe what happened to us.”

Renji shakes his head and ducks forward, grabbing Shuuhei’s free arm and slinging it over his shoulder. “Probably not,” he agrees, “seeing as you look like you just went through a damn war.”

“Only a small one,” Shiba mutters, sounding utterly drained, half a heartbeat before a red-and-white blur all but tackles him to the ground. He takes the hit with a yelp, releasing Shuuhei to grab his sister as she wraps herself around him for three seconds, then pulls back, hauls off, and smacks him in the head.

“Idiot!” she bellows. “What the hell were you thinking?” She smacks him again for good measure, grabs ahold of his ear, and drags him back into another hug.

Renji and Shuuhei trade glances, and the captain raises one brow. “I’m happy to see you, too,” he drawls. “But sorry, I don’t think I’m that happy.”

Shuuhei snorts. “No worries. I think I’ll survive you just helping me to the Fourth. The rest of the squad should get checked out, too. A lot of them got their energy drained.”

“Drained?” Byakuya says sharply, shifting his attention from where he’d been watching with amusement as his lieutenant got chewed out by a woman five inches shorter and a good twenty pounds lighter. “What do you mean?”

At that Shiba manages to drag himself out of his sister’s clutches and face his captain. “A new kind of restraining kido,” he explains. “It transfers energy, from what I could tell.”

“Kido?” Hitsugaya echoes, eyes narrowing. “These enemies, they're—”

“They’re shinigami,” Shuuhei confirms wearily. “We found tracks and Kei identified their reiraku, but before we could head back we were attacked. It’s my belief that they’re Academy graduates who didn’t pass the test to enter the Gotei 13.”

Byakuya’s expression is grim, and he turns on his heel to survey the land the squads just retreated from. “Come,” he says. “Have the well carry the wounded if they cannot travel swiftly enough. It is imperative that the Captain-Commander be told of this at once.”

Shuuhei and Shiba exchange glances and then pull themselves upright, weary but determined. They’ve obviously taken the brunt of the assault, and Renji feels ridiculously weak right now, can’t help but think that he should have been there even though there have been similar patrols for weeks that have never encountered any problems.

Captain’s prerogative, he supposes, but nevertheless it fucking grates.

The intent was to protect Steve as much as he could from the blast of the dirty bomb, but the concussion blast sent him sprawling over Steve’s head and face first into the dirt. His ears rung loudly and for a few moments all he could do was lay there, coughing, while debris rained down around them. When he opened his eyes again, Steve was pushing to a sitting position, his lips forming words that Danny couldn’t hear. 

Danny slowly pushed up onto his hands and knees, drawing in a deep breath. With a sharp shake, bits of grass and dirt shook free of his wings and they tucked up behind his back, out of the way as he slowly turned to sit down heavily and hold his head in his hands. Angelic grace he may have had entwined into his human DNA, but that didn’t stop him from suffering the same indignities of the human race that every other mortal did. Unfortunately, it made sense given his status was still very much mortal. 

And thanks to the blast, his wings hadn’t done a damn thing to protect Steve like he’d hoped. 

He felt a hand on his shoulder, the sudden weight almost toppling him over when Steve leaned too heavily. Before he could demand what Steve was up to - not that Steve would be hearing much more than he did at the moment - Steve was reaching up, fingers running over the feathers, his eyes wide, mouth open in a look of wonder that made Danny forget for a moment that he was looking at possibly one of the most damaged human beings on this earth. 

The feeling of Steve’s fingers against the feathers of his wings sent a shiver down Danny’s back that overrode the aching feeling of being tossed around in the explosion for just a moment. He flexed them against Steve’s hand with the practiced ease that came with experience. Then Steve was plucking out stubborn pieces of debris, tossing it aside, and he found the twin holes where the wings ripped through the fabric of his shirt. He could feel the palm press between his shoulder blades. 

“You said - “ Steve shouted, then shook his head, rubbing at his ears and wincing. Drawing in a breath, he started again. “You said you were my guardian angel and I know - I know what I thought I saw, but this - Danno, you’re really an angel.” The shouting and ringing in harmony made it hard to discern the tone. 

“Yeah, some angel,” Danny shouted back. With some difficulty, he pushed to his feet, then leaned forward, hands resting on his knees as his head spun, his body trying to regain equilibrium. “I didn’t do much to protect you right then, did I? You’re the one who protected us.” 

As he drew in a deep breath, suddenly Steve’s hand was on his shoulder. He glanced up, his partner still staring in wonder at the wings before he met Danny’s eyes again. He grinned that shit-eating grin that alternately made him want to kiss and smack him.

“Maybe that’s because, buddy, even guardian angels need a little guarding sometimes.”

dubonet  asked:

Got any Warren Worthington Head-canons for me lovely?? You said you were bored so I thought I'd help out!! :) x- Lyn


Originally posted by claracivry

  • Warren is totally super (lowkey) protective of you. Like, he wants to protect you S O B A D and keep you away from everything that could hurt you but he doesn’t want to lose you and he definitely doesn’t want to stop you from doing anything you wanna do so he does his best to back off
  • Warren aka The King of Lowkey Bein Jealous - need I say more? he will get jealous ALL THE DAMN TIME SERIOUSLY THIS BOI NEEDS TO CHILL
  • Warren is also so damn proud of you and is SUPER aware of what you’re capable of. If anybody says chats shit about you he’s like “ohH BROTHER YOURE G O N E” and he just waits for you to do your thing
  • Also Warren tries so damn hard to impress you it’s honestly embarrassing sometimes. Like he’ll throw you over dramatic winks and flex his muscles and stretch his wings out and act all cool with his cute, dumb leather jacket whenever you’re near and you just have to be like. “Warren, s t o p!! You’re embarrassing yourself, good lord” He’ll keep doing it anyway just to annoy you
  • oh my gosh also don’t even get me started on Warren’s damn wings. He just about busts a nut when you touch them and he will deadass refuse anyone else’s request to touch them.

~ Clara

Fire & Brimstone: Nessian Angst/Smut


AO3 Linkage

Side Note: This isn’t really the Nesta we currently know. I’d like to think that once Nesta realizes being fae can give her emotions the agency they need to control her life, she’ll calm down a little. She’s still snarky and pissed off here, but she’s also coming to terms with a lot of baggage, so she’s more the Nesta I’m hoping we’ll end up with in Book 3 - aka one who isn’t quite so mean all the time.

Lots of angst. And a small bit of smut that defies the rules of physics, but oh well. But mostly angst.

Fire and Brimstone

“It’s a spa.”

“It’s a geothermic pool in the ground brimming with sulfur and minerals that are good for the skin and known to be purifying to bodily toxins.”

I stared at the steam rising from the geothermic pools and called bullshit. “It’s a spa.”

Cassian scowled. “Call it whatever you want, sweetheart. It wasn’t my choice to drag you here. You can leave whenever you want, although I know you’re dying to see me with my shirt off in all my bandaged, bruised glory.”

In light of what had happened to Cassian’s wings, his humor had turned from an arrogant bravado bordering on sultry to a self-deprecating brand I wasn’t quite sure how to cut. The implications of it, however, still pissed me off.

“No thanks,” I replied. “Ugly and bandaged brutes aren’t quite my thing.”

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Angel Dust

Originally posted by claracivry

Title: Angel Dust

Summary: Why were you suddenly covered in white dusty particles?

Paring: Warren x Reader

Word count: 1291

Warnings: language

A/N: My mom has a cockatoo and when he preens, he leaves little piles of what we as kids called “Paco dust”, ‘cuz his name is Paco and it looks like dust.


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by Karl-Shakur -Tumblr Instagram  Twitter

The Day I Almost Died

So I was in the middle of Nowhere, Kansas exploring some rock valley🏃🌄 so I could get some sick shots for😏 insta as usual and I come across this cow skull💀. You know I had to pick it up and flex for the gram 📷one time. After gettin a couple of pictures, I throw the skull in my trunk so I can do some more cool artsy stuff with it later like painting or whatnot. I continue driving🚙💨. After a while, I open my trunk at a gas-stop and low and behold, the heavens haths bestowed upon me; a plethora of extremely thick spider webs 😷😮INSIDE MY FRIGGIN TRUNK. My nigga senses started tingling. Confucius say; wherever there is an extremely thick spider web, there must be an extremely thick spider. So I’m just like *nope*🏃💨 I slam the trunk and keep driving like ain’t nothing wrong. I ain’t about to be dealing with no tarantulas. Heck naw. After getting to my hotel and unpacking everything but the trunk, I mustered up some courage, reminding myself that I possess a pair of nuts🍆. I go back out to my car trunk armed with like 3 cans of bug spray🔪🔫🔨 and like 7 fly-swatters. I open the trunk and there’s a black widow spider in my shiznit. BLACK WIDOW SPIDER!!!!!!🌚🔫. google that stuff fam. One bite can kill a grown man. That nigga had a red hourglass marking on its back and everything. I ain’t even have the balls to take pictures or nothin. No way. I didn’t travel🌊🏄✈️ all the way from the mother-land to come and be killed by no eight-legged-cobb-web-making-no-wing-having-ass-insect-wannabe. You know I had to go Bruce Lee on that nigga👊👋💪. How *smack* dare *smack* you *smack* try to *smack* creep *smack* up *smack* in *smack* my *smack* life *smack* and *smack* try *smack* to *smack* kill *smack* me. *sprays bug-spray till spider drowns*🔫🔫🔫 Moral of the story is, know your lane. Ain’t nobody sent me to be pickin up skulls💀 in the middle of the wilderness just for a gram flex. That stuff ain’t for brothers like me. Holla at me. I’ll be over here in my bed on YouTube😴💻💿 and Soundcloud doing normal nigga shit✊✊✊. Cuz I ain’t about this near-death-experience life. I ain’t no Nat-Geo-Explorer

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azureoverland-deactivated201610  asked:

"You want me to do what?” Sabriel~

Sleep was something Gabriel didn’t need, but that didn’t detract from his enjoyment of spending the night with Sam. The hunter was currently halfway to dreamland, head tucked up under Gabriel’s chin, knee jabbing uncomfortably into his hip, as Gabriel gently massaged his fingers through Sam’s hair.

Sam shivered. “M’coal,” he mumbled.

“Wassat?” Gabriel murmured into his hair.

“I’m cold.”

Gabriel adjusted his arm, pulling Sam closer to his chest and wrapping his other arm around him. “Better?”

"Thnk y’shd yuzure wngs.” Sam’s jaw hardly moved as he spoke, if such a sophisticated word as “speaking” could even be used to describe the muddled sounds.

“You’re entirely incomprehensible, moosey,” Gabriel chuckled softly. “You want me to do what?”

“Wings,” Sam sighed into his neck. “Use ‘em.”

Gabriel smirked. “Spoiled brat,” he muttered fondly, and carefully warped the space surrounding them until six enormous golden-orange wings unfurled across the mattress, one set of three already cushioning under Sam’s body. They moved almost silently, with just the slightest brush of sound as they curled, enfolding the hunter in soft, feathery warmth. Sam purred contentedly against Gabriel’s shoulder, flexing his limbs gently to feel their silky caress. He giggled sleepily when a stray feathertip tickled the shell of his ear.

You, my big bad hunter, are completely too adorable for your own good.” Gabriel smiled against Sam’s forehead and pressed a kiss there. Sam’s breathing slowly evened out, and the archangel bided his time until Sam would start dreaming so that Gabriel could hold him close there, too.

Reylo Song of the Day #14: Ridin' Solo by Jason Derulo

Inspired by fan art of Rey wearing a “riding solo” shirt, here’s one just for fun 😜

Reylo Lyrics:

Telling me to get my shit together

Now I got my shit together, yeah,

Now I made it through the weather

Better days are gonna get better

So flex how I spread my wings

Loving myself makes me wanna sing

I’m feeling like a star, you can’t stop my shine,

I’m loving cloud nine, my head’s in the sky.

I’m solo, I’m riding solo, I’m riding solo, I’m riding solo, solo.

Riding solo, solo, yeah

It’s like S… O… L… O…

S… O… L… O…

S… O… L… O…

Living my life ain’t got stress no more

Follow my spotify playlist “don’t be afraid. i feel it too.” by poisonedbrownies_ for 260+ other Reylo songs!

anonymous asked:

HC for Poe showing off for reader? My favorite that I keep running around is when he runs a meeting and he gets authoritative. (Like the 'we take out their big gun' scene in TFA) 😍😍


  • he would get cocky during flight practice and do tricks and stuff, like barrel-rolling or just doing something crazy. he’d announce it over the coms and be like “(y/n) WATCH THIS” and you’d just laugh and tell him not to die because the resistance can’t lose their cockiest pilot
  • poe dameron is totally The Type that if he’s doing push-ups or something, and you walk by, he’d skip to a really high number like “99… 100!” you would just roll your eyes and he’d throw you a playful wink
  • while working on your x-wings he’d totally try and mess around to get your attention, like flexing when you glance over or trying to get everyone to sing along to some catchy song
  • based off of the meeting, he WOULD SO GET AUTHORITATIVE. he knows you like a guy who can take control without being a dick, and he does just that. (not to mention it’s V V attractive seeing him in commander mode, planning out strategies etc)

if you guys have any more to add, feel free to reblog and add or send them in my ask! <3

12. - In the Name of Secrets, Lies & Betrayal, Amen.


It was hitting close to 6:00 in the afternoon and I was still held up at NYPA. I had attended my normal class today, however I was required to stay back to practise on my solo dance routine that I would be performing at the showcase. I had no more than a few weeks to come up and perfect a ballet routine.

A week after my surprise visit from none other than Mr Christiansen, Mrs Rose had pulled me out of class to deliver the good news. Being chosen to do a solo dance in front of directors, talent agents, sponsors and more was more than an just an honor. This was a huge opportunity to get my name and skills out there, not to mention all the possible doors this could open for my future career.

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Monster Tamer (charming family + cs ff)

A fic based off this conversation, namely the idea that if Emma were raised in the EF she would go around befriending all manner of magical creatures and stressing her parents out greatly.

Set in an AU where Regina was defeated before Emma’s birth, and Killian Jones’ story happened in the present. That means no Milah (and thus no hook), but he did lose his brother to a corrupt king and became a pirate.


It starts with the Huntsman’s wolf.

Emma’s barely walking, and she hasn’t seen the man since he was named godfather shortly after her birth (the Huntsman is fond of Snow but not of civilization, and despite being welcome any time rarely takes advantage of their hospitality), but she seems to recognize him immediately, throwing her arms in the air and grinning hugely wide.

“‘Unsman!” She laughs, and when he doesn’t move to pick her up immediately, wobbily pushes herself to her feet to go to him instead. The Huntsman, Snow, and David watch her progress fondly (and in the Huntsman’s case, obviously bewildered), as she toddles slowly across the room towards the man dressed in hunting leathers.

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Mind Cavities - Fratboy!Luke Smut

    Plot: College bad boy Luke sees something he likes. He’s always tried to get what he wants. Sometimes he succeeds, other times…it’s the sweet trip of the drug that’s enough satisfaction. Tonight…he gets both. 

First Person POV (Luke’s)

DISCLAIMER: Drug & Alcohol Use, Angst 

Rating: Explicit

Side note: This was loosely based off of Ariana Grande’s song “Hands On Me” per anon request. Enjoy! xoxo

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little-wind-mage-deactivated201  asked:

"Hmm~ And just who are you?" Vaati sat mid air, watching the other, the wings on his head flexing with interest.

“I really must applaud you for the gall of you to come to my home and question me. Uninvited, would have wished to have known I’d have company, after all, I could have placed out hors d’oeuvres…” Dethl said, boredly, placing his hand against the fist of his resting arm. The demon glanced up at the floating mage from his comfy seat on his throne.

“But I suppose I should reward you with a response. My name is Dethl…” he purred, closing his eyes, “And you, intruder?”

anonymous asked:

ok my absolute FAVE headcanon is cas purring when his wings are stroked so dean just pets him and cas is lowkey embarrassed but it feels good


listen though. The first time Cas showed Dean his wings, Dean was floored by their beauty. He looked like a little kid, eyes wide in awe, staring at Cas’ back like it belonged in a museum.

“Wow, Cas,” Dean had breathed, reaching out to touch them. He didn’t even notice five minutes had passed until he heard the soft rumbling sound coming from Cas’ chest, hitching, then starting over.

“Cas,” he said slowly, astonished, “Dude, are you purring?”

Obviously, Cas was mortified, blushing and pulling his wings away. “No. I’m not. That was… a breathing issue,” he had rambled excuses, and Dean found himself missing those feathers in his fingers.

But then Dean convinces him over the next few days that he really didn’t mind, he didn’t at all (in fact he thought it was kinda cute). The next time Cas shows him his wings, they’re on the couch, Cas’ head in Dean’s lap as they watch TV. Dean is stroking his fingers absently through Cas’ wings and Cas just starts purring without holding back, the sound rolling from him like a happy lion as he nuzzles closer to Dean and flexes his feathers out for him.

Or sometimes, Cas is straddling Dean’s lap when they’re cuddling and Dean’ll just play with those feathers, massaging his wings in all the right spots, and Cas will purr a thunderstorm and melt right against him.

Cas really likes his wings being pet, and Dean really likes petting his wings. ᐛ

sabriel-38  asked:

Sabriel and 4 please? Sorry if I'm annoying you with all the requests, but your oneshots after so cute

4. “Do you…well…I mean…I could give you a massage?”

Oh my God, thank you so much! And don’t worry, you’re not bugging me; I adore getting prompts, so please send away if you’d like to, I really don’t mind! I love writing these pieces, and there will definitely be more now because this is my last week of school. Here’s Sabriel and 4, hope you like it!

Sam first noticed it five minutes ago. They were both in the library, taking a breather in between cases. For once, Gabriel was actually silent and still, settled comfortably in the armchair opposite Sam as he read through a Russian text. Sam was working through an Enochian translation, and had just taken a glance up to rest his eyes when he saw it.

Gabriel was shifting, his face tight with discomfort. Before Sam could ask what was wrong, the archangel calmed and was solemnly reading once more. Internally shrugging, Sam returned to his task.

But a few minutes later, he heard a sharp gasp, and he looked up to once again see Gabriel twitching, though this time the discomfort was more pronounced in his expression, and he was digging the back of the armchair into his shoulder blades as he grunted in frustration.

“Gabriel?” Sam questioned tentatively. “You okay?”

Gabriel nodded stiffly, flexing his shoulder back. “Yeah, just…” he grunted, brows pinching together. Then he sighed and sagged forward, raising his resigned gaze towards Sam. “It’s my… It’s my wings.”

Sam gaped at him. “Your wings?”

Gabriel nodded. “I’ve kept them hidden during my time spent as Loki, but keeping them from being visible on any dimensional plane eventually hurts like a bitch. They’re just really sore, that’s all.”

Sam blinked, mind blank from this revelation as he watched Gabriel settle into a slightly different position. And all he could think of to say was, “Do you… Well, I mean… I could give you a massage?”

Gabriel’s amber eyes snapped over to him, slightly wide in surprise. “Really?”

“Only if you want to!” Sam was quick to assure. “I just… thought I’d offer.”

Gabriel stared at him, and Sam faltered under the heavy gaze the archangel was giving him. But soon enough, Gabriel was suddenly grinning widely at Sam, leaping out of his chair and dropping his book on the cushion.

“Sounds good to me!” Gabriel beamed. “Lead the way!”

Moments later in his room, Sam could not believe that he was in this position: hovering over Gabriel, practically straddling the back of his legs, while the shirtless archangel pressed his face deeper into the mattress, his muffled moan vibrating through the bed as Sam’s firm fingers dug into the tense knots between Gabriel’s shoulder blades where the wing joints were. He pressed his thumbs in more deeply, and Gabriel jerked and groaned in a way that made Sam’s blood pulse and his face flush.

Because no Archangel of the Lord should ever sound that obscene.

Saaaam,” Gabriel keened when Sam’s fingers rubbed through the tension in Gabriel’s back, fists clutching the bedspread. “Jeez, you’re like the human epitome of Magic Fingers, kiddo, ‘cause – Ohhhh, God!”

Despite the horrid blush and racing heart he got from this experience, Sam couldn’t help but smirk. “Isn’t that considered blasphemy of a sort?” he asked, sliding his fingers into Gabriel’s neck.

Gabriel moaned loudly, practically melting under Sam’s ministrations. “I’ve gone centuries without a good back rub, I’m sure He’ll cut me some freaking slack.”

Sam chuckled, continuing his massage. Out of nowhere, he was overwhelmed with a feeling of boldness, and before he could stop himself he paused his fingers, much to Gabriel’s vocal displeasure, and leaned down, brushing his lips against Gabriel’s ear.

“If you’re interested,” he murmured roughly, sliding his open palms up Gabriel’s back. “I can think of other ways to loosen your muscles.”

Gabriel’s responding groan and shiver struck a chord within Sam. Before the hunter could blink, Gabriel flipped himself onto his back, a hand clasping the nape of Sam’s neck and the other gripping his shoulder, heatedly staring up at Sam under hooded eyes. Sam shakily smiled and adjusted his legs so that Gabriel’s lower body was tucked a bit more securely beneath him.

Hells yeah, I’m interested,” Gabriel purred, trailing a finger from the back of Sam’s neck to his mouth, lightly caressing Sam’s bottom lip. “Let’s put those Magic Fingers to further use, shall we?”

Send me a SPN pairing and a number??

Mate’s Property - Castiel Imagine

Originally posted by magneticcas

Well I hope this shit hurt you in the ovaries as much as it hurt me. 

(first person view.)

“Cas?” I call out into the broken midnight air. I could hear nothing echoing around me in the empty bunker room. Crickets did not chirp, Sam and Dean had fallen asleep at least they went to to their room, no hustling wind to make up a smooth melody with the branches out side. It was three feet of concrete between me and the outside world. And I had began to wonder if Cas can even hear me. Because I heard nothing; I felt nothing in this shallow place. 

He is known for turning of his angle radio every once in a while, and for being so wrapped up in one subject that he could not hear the calls of ones who longed to see him.

My mind drifts as I close my heavy eyes, turning on my side to smother my face in the warm pillow. Taking in the fresh scent of the linen, I finally let the first tear fall. 

“If your listening,” I whisper into the air, pulling away from the pillow and sitting up. “Please come home; come back to me Cas.” I whisper, letting my legs dangle on the side of my bed. “Please, I need you.” I add, wiping away the tear of pain, I gather up the small lap blanket that fell on the floor and drape it over my shoulders. I slip on my glasses, needing to take a break from the silence. It makes me feel empty, the constant tune of nothingness. I wipe away and evidence that I was crying and make my way out of my room. 

I quietly find my way around the bunker, sneaking pass Deans door, which he left open. His lights were off and nothing came from his room like mine. I wonder if he is asleep right now. 

I make it past his, but run into Sam. 

“What are you doing awake?” He catches me from my almost fall, saving my ass from a very painful fall. “I-I Uhh.” I stutter, feeling my cheeks burn. “Couldn’t sleep. I’m heading down for tea.” I state into the cold air. 

He nods his head, pushing away his brown locks. “Uh, want to come?” I ask raising an eyebrow. 

“Yeah-yeah sure, I guess I could use a cup of tea.” He mumbles. I’m taken away by his shortness of words, because Sam has been very off lately. “Whats wrong? I noticed that you haven’t had much sleep.” I state, linking my arm through his. We slowly descend down the stairs, making our way through the library. 

“I’ve just been having bad dreams lately. Nothing too bad.” He says.

“Has it um, been about-Oh no. Lucifer has been long gone. He is just crazy talk now. But I feel regular again, with regular nightmares.” He states. 

“I’m only half relieved Sam. However hearing the not so normal thing I could live without.” I state.

“Why is that?” He quizzes, raising an eyebrow. 

“You’re Sam freaking Winchester, there should be nothing normal about you.” I state, pulling away from him to grab the small kettle from out under the counter. 

“Besides, you’re much less boring being, I don’t know, not normal?”

“How so?” He takes a seat, resting his chin on his palm. 

“Well, you geek out over books a-” he gives me a sour expression, “Which isn’t a bad thing, I do it too, I just enjoy geeking out together.” I smile, filling up the kettle, setting it on the warm burner. 

“And you always have fascinating things to say, you’re just like a walking google account to us.” He chuckles softly. 

“I could say the same for you.” He brushes his hair away. 

“Yeah but you have a couple more years on me.” I laugh as he rolls his eyes. I pull out two mugs and some tea bags, preparing everything. When the water is hot enough, and small talk was just picking up, we could both hear wings flutter. 

“You made a house call?” Sam asks not surprised at all. 

I blush, “I needed guidance from a certain little angel.” I guess the brothers did not know about us. We didn’t particularly try to hide what we had going on, we just kept to our selfs. Our strange hours made it hard on us, but not hard keeping things on the low in front of the boys.

“Next time call Yoda, Cas worries me some times.” Sam states, picking up his warm tea cup. 

“I can hear you Winchester, with being a Angel and all. Nothing is safe.” We hear him state from the other room. 

Sam rolls his eyes. 

“Like that time in the 10th grade you decides to sneak out for, what was her name again?” Cas starts. The younger brother blushes. “Castiel I’m giving you two seconds to stop digging in my brain before I pluck everything you got.” Sam starts walking away as I giggle. Sam starts his journey back to his room as I felt a familiar body against mine, hands holding my waist gently. 

“You heard me.” I turn around in his grip, leaning my back against the counter.
“I always do.” He leans in, pecking my lips softly. My knees go weak, and I get so caught up that I steal another kiss from him. 

“Are you here on official angel business or did you just drop by for me?” I ask, jumping up on the counter top, pulling him in between my legs, locking my ankles behind him. 

“As of, 1 hour and 34 minutes ago, I decided to take a leave of absence. Its only temporary though.” In his features I could see discomfort, his eyes looking red and irritated. His scruff is long, almost to a beard point, and his hair a devils mess. 

“You look like you’ve seen the devil himself Cas, whats wrong?” I’m only now starting to take in his features, seeing that his eyes didn’t seem to shine the bright blue his is known for.

“Nothing is…” He leans in, kissing me gently, his head cocked to the right. My fingers slip through the small curls that where forming at the base of his neck. “…Wrong baby.” He mumbles against my lips. “Just missin’ you is all.” He hushes against me, his forehead leaning on mine. 

“Why are you so?… So hairy?” I laugh softly, pulling my fingers through his messy mop and then through his beard. “If I didn’t know any better I would say its almost as you’ve given up on personal hygiene and shaving.”  I state matter of factly. 

He just rolls his eyes, leaning in for another kiss. “Just have had better things to do than worry about my beard.” There is something he is not telling me.
I hand him over my cup of tea, letting him take a sip. I almost notice that his shoulders slump automatically, some stress that he had cooped up left. “You humans have weird stress relieving things.” He sighs.

“Cas what’s bothering you?” I ask. 

“Noth-The truth Castiel.” He knows 

I’m not playing because I made aware of his full name, not joking.
His eyes dart around the bunker kitchen, and suddenly the scenery changes in a blink of an eye. From the kitchen to my room. 

I am laying on the bed, and Cas is standing, his features looking at ease to be in such a familiar place. “Last time I was in here- we where fighting and you left.” I finish his statement. His eyes glue to the floor. “Not my proudest moment, along a lot other unmentionable.” His slowly begins to strip off his coat, letting it fall to the floor. His tie and blue pressed shirt soon falls off his body too, showing his light olive skin color. His body is breathtaking and last time we have been this close was a long time ago. 

“Cas what are you not telling me?” I call. He doesn’t answer, but turns around. His wings flexed from his back, spanning out to immense proportions. His left wing looks beautiful, glowing bright and seemed to be just as strong as the last time I saw them. His right one how ever, is crumpled up, his veins running a bright red under the feathers, the wing skin glowing a bright pink that didn’t begin to look healthy. 

Some feathers had fallen off, and dried blood replaced its stump. He flaps it momentarily, groaning out in pain as he swings it to cover his shoulders. “I was out scoping for demons trying to come after me. Kill them before they killed me. They casted a spell which didn’t completely hurt me. It knocked me down for a few days after I escaped. My feathers began falling out yesterday, and I presume the spell they chanted was one created by evil himself. If I’m correct, they meant harm on my wings; casting them to make all my feathers fall out.” He states. 

I shoot up from the bed, curling around to meet the front of him. “All? Like y-you wont have wings any more?” I ask, tears gathering in my eyes. Seeing my angel broken-well it made me broken. 

“No need to cry,” his finger wipes away the tear that started its journey down my cheek. “They will regrow back, but its a painful process and it just makes me tired.” He states. His hand settles around my jaw, bringing me in closer. Our lips meet softly, and I felt his warmth around me. He made me stop feeling sad, with his angel powers. I somehow forgotten the need to cry and feel bad for the featherless angel in front of me. 

“Cas make it stop,” I tell him. “Make me sad again, don’t take that away from me.” I state firmly. 

He catches a short breath. “No, I don’t want pity from you.” He turns to walk away from me, but I snatch his hand. “Castiel, I demand you to give me back what is mine, now.” I use a direct tone, pulling him closer to me. His blue eyes look upon me, glittering with tears. “Then don’t cast your pity and sorrow onto me, I don’t need it nor deserve it.” Within a second, tears stream down my face, and I felt pity, nothing but pity and sadness that some half dick demon blazed his angel feathers. 

“C-can I mend to them? I want to help Cas.” I whisper. 

“No, no can do.” He pulls away from me, taking a seat on my bed shaking his heat.

“What? Why?” My voice breaks. 

“Wing touching is exclusively for mates, a priority of loving and willing person. Property to the one who hold me and my heart in heavy times.” He sighs.
I blink away my tears, taking a step to him. “T-then let me help you find your  mate Castiel. Let me help you find her so she can fix your wings.” I say selflessly. Even though it pained me; I wanted to help him, even if it meant giving up the angel I’ve fallen for. 

“No, I can’t just go fetch my mate whenever I need her. And besides, I’ve already met her, I don’t want to put her through the burden of fixing me up while I heal. I’ve already asked too much of her.” He says, reaching back to scratch, groaning when he scratches too hard for relief, pulling a group of bloody feathers out. 

“Oh Cas!” I run to him, dropping on my knees between his legs, “Please we have to get her.” I rest my head on his knees feeling tears fall. “Your bleeding so bad, we need her, you need her.”

Tears kept falling as I watch him try his best to stretch his wing out, seeing him double in pain, gripping onto my shoulder as he shakes it out, more feathers falling on my bed, blood starting to matte his top layer.  

“Besides, we wouldn’t have to fetch her at all when the woman I love is crying before me, weeping at my pain. I would be asking too much to have you help me.” He whispers while still doubled over. “I’ve fetched you one to many times to mend things for me.” I reach up, grabbing his cheeks. I could not form words, my mouth going dry as the information he just provided me shook me to the core. Me? His mate? Castiel loving me when we haven’t even put a label on us or anything. Our many casual hookups and time spent together didn’t mean that we were mates. Or together. 

“Its been more than just hook ups and our time spent together. We truly bond, you can’t see that. Our souls have been separated for a long time, and when you healed me all those other times, they finally became familiar, they crossed paths and woke up, and clung together tightly. That’s why I’m most powerful around you, and you ache so much when I’m gone. The headache that you have been having and not telling anyone about, is your soul calling out for me, they didn’t take it lightly when they meant love is ugly and hurts.” He speaks softly, his pain subsiding.

“Cas please, just do this for me. I-I’m your mate, like you said this is my priority.” I could see his pain peak up again as he folded his wing around his arm. I felt the soft strokes his feathers left when they brushed against my skin, and it felt, excuse my wording, but heavenly. 

“My wings give me more than just the ability to go places, but they help give me power, when people believe in angels with wings, we get stronger. And when angels meet their soulmates, their wings burn hot because they are working over time." 

I question him, "What do you mean by that?”

“Its like you, believing in my every second every day. My wings stay strong and healthy. But the spell has wea-CAS! Just shut up and please let me help you!” I stand up, pulling him to his feet. “Just let me help.” I whisper into his lips, kissing softly. His hands rest gently on my waist, and my heart flutters softly. He steps away and rests back down on my bed, stomach first. I straddle his lower back, seeing where his wings met his shoulders; they where crusted with blood and grey substance. 

“D-do I just clean them?” I ask, reaching for the red area. 

“I-I don’t know.” He mumbles. So much help. 

But in seconds, it felt like angel 101 came crashing into me. I felt like I just read an entire book on how to heal a broken wing, how to stitch it back up. I get up and gather some cloths and a small bowl to hold cold water in, knowing that warm water was not good for the pores. I begin on the skin that connect his self to the wing, gently wiping away all the clots and grey debree. I run my cold fingers along the spine of his damaged right wing, hearing him groan and cry out in pain. I saw his fingers gripping tight at the sheets below us, his teeth digging into the memory foam. 

“Cas just, try not to think about it.” I whisper, leaning in to kiss the base of his neck while continuing to run my fingers along his long feathers. 

“Yeah, just try not to think about my severely hurting wings. It feels like they have been torched off.” He mumbles, followed by a moan of pain. 

“I’m so sorry baby.” I cry, cleaning at the blood around damaged spots. Its was like thinking hair, but thinning feathers. Completely bald on some spots and bloody. At the base of his wing, was a little gland that held oils to protect the small hairs, which I somehow just found out. I rubbed the small bud, hearing him whimper out. “T-that feels so good.” His back arched lower into the bed, and I dipped down with him. “D-don’t stop.” I feel like rubbing this gland was satisfy him more than anything. “Sounds like an Angel porno in here.” I laugh to myself as I gathered the oil it produced and began rubbing it softly on the swollen nubs that once held together a feather. 

It seemed to be a instant relief to him as he sighed, like putting aloe on a sun burn. “That feel so good baby.” He whispers. I kept at this, rubbing the gland and spreading the oil until his whole wing was greased and smooth with oil, catching the light and shining.

“I-I feel bad for asking bu-Yes, I will.” I whisper, reaching over to the other wing, and began giving it the same treatment, covering the whole span in oil. When I was done, I massaged what was left on my hands into his shoulders, leaning down to kiss all along his neck as I did so. Strangely, his oil smelt amazing. It was like a natural musk, and I could not get enough of it. 

In a brief second, the scenery changed around me, and now I was laying underneath Cas, both of us stripped down to nothing. I snake my arms around his neck, seeing his eyebrows no longer pinched together in pain. “H-how did you know all of that?” He asks. 

“I don’t know, its like it just came to me.” Is state. He leans his head down onto mine, his eyes closing as he drew in breath. His cheeks tinted a bright red color, “T-Thank you. It felt… Words can not describe how it felt.” He adds. I drag my hands down his chest smoothly, “It was nothing Castiel.” His eyes flicker open in a drop of a dime.

“Why do you call me that? Why use such mockery of my name?” He ask. I knew that he did not like me calling him by his full name; in which he insisted that only I could call him by Cas, confessing that he loved the way it sounded coming out if my mouth. Also admitting that his heart skipped when I did, something that I just now realized must be a mate thing.

“Because I love you Castiel, so much.” Instate in a serious tone, trailing my hands sown farther. It wasn’t like Cas wasn’t going to be thrown around alot tonight, we both had much more to look forwards too.

“I love you to angel.” He kisses me roughly, his teeth pulling at my bottom lip. 

“So much that it hurts.”

And it did hurt, because that’s what happened when an angel falls in love with his mate; something that rarely happened; seeing as angels could not love anyone because they where made to love everyone, and secondly, because they where forced apart from there mate forever, damned by the King of Hell for eternity, because he was the one who casted the angels away from their mates, for he could not find his while trapped in his cage.

"Cheesy and Sweet but Shockingly Wild"

((A friend of mine got an ask for a proposal drawing between Bog and Marianne that was “Cheesy and Sweet but shockingly wild” and neither of us understood, so a few hours later I wrote a fic for it! It’s short but nice! Enjoy.))

“Do you ever want to punch me in the face?”

“… What?”

Marianne had been silently studying the cracks and edges on Bogs throne, entranced by the complexity of it. While Bog had been standing at the other side of the room, reading a report from Thang. Bogs question had thrown Marianne completely off guard, in fact she’d almost forgotten he was there. She peered at him from behind the throne, he wings slowly flapping back and forth as she hovered above the chair.

“… Have you ever wanted to punch me in the face?” Bog asked again, a little annoyed this time.

Marianne kicked her feet around and planted her rear on the top of the chair. “I have punched you in the face.” She laughed, “when we first met.”

Bog rolled his eyes, “Fine, picky,” he fluttered his tattered wings and began walking towards her. “Have you wanted to punch my face recently?”

Marianne slid down the arm of the throne, her wings right behind her and her legs crossed, a finger on her chin. “Hmmm.., can’t say that I have. Why? Do you want me too?” She flexed her fist in the direction of his face.

“Cuz I can, just get a liiiiiittle closer…” She acted like she was aiming, closing one eye and sticking her tongue out, reeling her arm back as he stepped up the stairs to the throne. “No, I jus-” Marianne swung a punch at him, cutting him off mid sentence, hitting him square in the nose. “Oh!” She gasped.

“I’m sorry!” She held both her hands up as he rubbed his nose, and sputtered out a couple curse words.

“Marianne!” He bellowed, “I’m trying to propose to you!”

The room went quiet for a minute, as Bog lifted his head, a trail of blood dripping down from his nose. Mariannes face was white, then red with embarrassment. “What does that have to do with me wanting to punch you!?” She finally screeched. Bog, angry now, stood up and over her, looming like a giant. “Well if you would have let me finish-” “what then so you could use some cheesy pick up line?!” She cut him off, which sent him swirling into a rage.

“Oh yes interrupt me again! You just want to argue and avoid the topic!” He yelled. She turned toward the chair and scoffed, throwing her hands into the air, “Oh please! You just want everything to be my fault!”

“What? I do not! Maybe if you would just listen-” Marianne spun around and went to hit him again but he caught it and continued yelling, without even flinching from the punch, “you’d understand that I just love you!” She threw another punch and he caught it, holding her fists tight.

“I just want to be with you!” She screamed, letting her arms go limp. Bog held her tiny hands in his. He stared at her, his expression soft and kind, and she began to unravel. Her wings; which had been flexed high above her head, lowered to the ground. She looked away from him, but he slowly lowered his forehead against hers.

“Your father said…” He turned her hands over in his own, interlocking their fingers. “If you found a… Boy,” he hesitated, unsure if to describe himself as a “boy”.

“And he took your hand in his own,” he let go of one of her hands to place his palm gently on her cheek. “Looked you in the eye…” There eyes met and she melted. His baby blue eyes were the kindest, smoothest thing she’d ever seen.

“And I didn’t want to hit him.” She sighed. He smirked in return, “and if you didn’t want to hit him,” he agreed. He ran his thumb over her lips and she smiled back up at him, calmly nuzzling her forehead against his.

“Then you’d consider it.” He finally finished. Marianne didn’t realized how hard this had been for him. She didn’t see his knees shaking, or his wings trembling. All she saw were his eyes, which never faltered or faded, he hardly even blinked.

She blew air into his eyes, making him blink furiously, then kissed him deeply. As their tongues intertwined she felt the twinge of blood on his lips, and laughed softly into the kiss before pulling away and whispering, “of course I’ll marry you,”

He wanted to say something sarcastic or witty, but was overcome with joy, and just kissed her again, pinning her to the throne, and smiling into her lips.