@withacertainflourish liked for a starter

Magnus had been having a rather decent night sleep when a sound came from the livingroom. Initially the warlock assumed it to be Chairmen Meow causing a ruckus and had attempted to simply ignore it. The sound came again, this time louder. Magnus with a groan would sit up, a groggy look of aggravation on his face. Cat like orbs moved down the the raven haired Nephilim asleep beside him before quietly sliding out of bed, not wanting to wake him. Scuffling his way into the livingroom he’d expect to see a mess caused by a mischievous cat, instead he’d be shocked to find a portal. Upon approaching said portal he’ll have quickly regretted it as the magic caught hold of him and sucked him in. 

Magnus, butt bare naked, had just been sucked into a portal to god knows where. Once tossed out the other end, he’d stumble, somehow managing to keep his footing in the process. Quickly glancing up he’d find himself in the center of a pentagram, much like the ones he’d used to summon demons in the past. Standing before him was a shorter male, wearing gaudy clothing, heavy makeup and his hair done up all nice. The taller male would only stare in surprise, hands quickly moving down to shield himself from prying eyes. The portal would close behind him and he’d be left standing in front of a stranger that oddly reminded him of himself. 

“Not to be overly blunt, but what the hell is going on here?” 


as they scuffled in the grass, adam closed his eyes and leaned his head back. he could nearly scry just like this. the quiet and the cold breeze on his throat would take him away and the dampness of his toes in his shoes and the scent of living creatures would keep him here. within and without. he couldn’t tell if he was letting himself idolize this place or ronan, and he wasn’t sure there was a difference.

By nugget—master

For Sixpenceee’s Campfire Day

About 5 minute reading time

This is my first story, please enjoy and leave feedback!


The scuffle of my feet on the sidewalk echoed throughout the empty cobblestone street, my hands stuffed into the pockets of my black hoodie. As I walked past, a lamp post flickered before giving up. Here was my stop. I leaned casually against the lamp post and waited, enveloped by the shadow of the burned-out bulb. Perhaps I was on the wrong street…No, this was definitely the right place.

From the distance, I heard the unmistakable rumble of an engine and the screech of tires, accompanied by the blaring music that ricocheted off the buildings surrounding the street. The car came into my view, swerving wildly between the two otherwise vacant lanes. As it neared, I noticed the drunken girl who was controlling the vehicle held a phone in her free hand. Foolish girl. She should know better to tempt me.

The car rapidly approached. Almost casually, I wrote down her name on a pocket-sized notepad I had pulled out of my left pocket and ripped out the paper. From my right pocket, I pulled out an envelope. Once the paper was inserted into the envelope, I glanced up before removing the wax paper from the envelope that protected the adhesive. I sighed. She was still headed straight for me, too occupied with her phone to realize the car had drifted away from her control.

I revealed the adhesive and folded the envelope over, closing it. There was so say she could save herself now. Her fate has now been sealed.

A black mailbox materialized a few feet behind the lamp post. I placed the envelope in and flipped up the flag.

Instantaneously, the girl emitted a terrified scream as her car met the pole of the lamp post.

The screech of her car alarm replaced her music. The lamp post crashed into the store along the street once her car barreled into it. I solemnly walk up to her car. What a shame.

Her still body slumps halfway out the windshield. Shards of glass protrude from her face as blood drips from the wound on her impaled stomach. Her remaining eye meets mine and widens in fear. She whimpers for help, for aid, for anything to make the pain go away.

“Don’t worry,” I lean down and whisper. “I’ll make the pain go away.”

I pull at a loose thread from my hoodie. I twist and twist and twist it around my finger and with a sharp yank the thread is separated. The girl huffs out a final breath.

Police and ambulance sirens wail in the distance.

I set off for my next destination.


Just a quick update about my kittens! As they’re both boys (and from different litters), they’ve been tussling and scuffling a lot since I brought them home. But in the past couple of days, they’ve really begun warming up to each other, and yesterday I found them like this. Talk about a big improvement! :)

You can follow their Instagram (@leoandmayo) for daily photos/videos!

Thanks to @mkhunterz and @moandean for assuaging my concerns and telling me that they’d become friends eventually.


@andraia452, here’s your commission!

I had so much fun drawing this angsty turtle you have no idea.
Cause I mean, come on.
What’s better than seeing Donnie Boy when he’d had enough and is ready to kick some shell?

The story behind this one is pretty open ended and up for interpretation, buuuuut it looks like this isn’t the first scuffle Don’s been in recently….hmmmm…..

anonymous asked:

"It's midnight! Where the hell were you?" - theagentturnedwanderer

“It don’t matter, I’m fine.” He responded, limping further into the barn. The man was soaked from head to toe, his bloody trench coat clinging onto his thin frame as he stumbled about. “Just got into a scuffle.”

Tear Down Every Wall (Just to Keep You Warm, Just to Bring You Home)

Long Way Down


Blood painted Oliver’s hands scarlet.

The bright red splashed color on the gray table, puddled on the gray cement floor.

Tommy lay on the table, still at last, colorless like a black and white photo but for the livid gash, freshly resewn along his side. And the crimson smears on his skin. Oliver carefully erased them with a wet sponge, his back to the room, his eyes focused intently on his work and jaw clenched tight.

But his chin trembled. His fingers shook.

Tommy’s screams rang in his ears.

But after the fresh injection of sedatives had taken Tommy under, a hush had fallen over the foundry like a tomb. There had been only the terse, quiet scuffle as Oliver and John and Roy worked to restitch the wound Tommy had torn open, to reinsert his IV where it had ripped free from his elbow in his struggle. The emergencies dealt with, Roy and Digg had faded back, and Oliver had gruffly taken over the rest.

He turned to the tall, wheeled tray beside him and dipped the sponge into a waiting, shallow bowl of water, squeezing and twisting it in his fists.

Bursts of red clouded the water, darkness spreading, infecting the clarity.

Ripples travelled across the surface, and in them Oliver saw Roy’s face. Slade’s. Snarls of rage and mad eyes full of hatred.

How many more friends would his life bring ruin to?

At times, Oliver felt he carried a sickness in him. A contagious violence that tainted everyone he loved, everyone he touched, twisting through them with roots and shoots poison-black with corruption.

Wringing the excess moisture from the sponge, he turned his attention to Tommy’s face, where a trace of dried, flaking rust-brown darkened the light beard on his jaw. Oliver gently dabbed at it with sponge until he left Tommy’s face pale, clean.

What a mockery.

As if his hands could leave Tommy clean.

A heavy lump in his throat, Oliver swallowed thickly and set aside the sponge, resting his palm against Tommy’s cheek. Real.

But miracles and damnation were both real.

Pressing his lips tightly together, Oliver let his fingers brush through the hair at Tommy’s temple and bent at the waist til his forehead met Tommy’s. Eyes squeezing shut, he rested there just a moment and tried to hold onto the idea of a miracle.

When he straightened, shoulders rolling back and chest swelling with a deep breath, he turned to face the room and opened his hands for damnation.

John and Roy stood together by the weapons bench, speaking quietly, postures tense and tight. At the foot of the staircase again sat Laurel, one hand resting lightly against her throat, eyes unfocused and staring into her lap. Oliver winced to see the red mottling the skin of her neck already. Tommy had had his hands around her throat for seconds—less than a minute—but she would wear bruises for days.

That damage, at least, would fade.

The haunted look in her eyes would take longer.

But the confusion he found there—confusion and fear and worry that reflected his own—that could be answered much sooner.

Turning his head towards Felicity’s tech station, he found her curled in her chair—a sight that struck him like a brick to the chest, impacting sweetness with the ache—feet in the seat and knees drawn up, her arms looped loosely around her legs. Her hands rested at her ankles, the fingers of one hand toying absently with the laces of her left shoe.

She was watching him, face drawn and eyes bright and alert.

Oliver cleared his throat. “Felicity.”

She stared at him, waiting, but the others turned their attention to him and he cut them a quick, inclusive glance, meeting each set of eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he began softly. “I know this is hard. But after—” his voice caught, tripped in his throat. He drew a long breath through his nose. “After what just happened. With Tommy. We need you to give us some answers.”

Keep reading

I'm Smoking A Cigarette In An Alley

An old man passes by and cheerfully grumbles, ‘That’ll kill you’
I smile then joyfully exclaim, ‘I’m counting on it’
He stares at me with an odd blank look before carrying on with his day
I don’t want to die
I just don’t need him to know that
Not now anyways

My footsteps hum some song I made up in my head earlier
Turning like wild flowers in late spring
Maybe if I try hard enough I can trick myself into walking with a purpose

The moon’s on the other side of the world but I can hear it weeping if I try hard enough

I decide to take a nap on a park bench
I close my eyes for ten or so minutes
When they open I see a bird fly and land on a branch directly above me
It looks down
I know that look
It tries to take a shit on me but I jump up before it hits my face
Is the natural world out to get me?

My legs take me somewhere
Iced coffee
Taco truck
Night sky
It’s nothing special

Home (Soulmate AU)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader
Warnings: Slight Angst, mild language
Word Count: 1,342
A/N: So this is my second shot at writing. Hopefully it’s better than As If You’d Let Me, but idk. Civil War is referenced, but I haven’t seen it yet so nothing is spoiled. Anyway, this is my attempt at the ever popular soulmate trope, this time with Steve. Again, I’m not to sure how i feel about this. Hope you enjoy!
P.S. If you want to be tagged in my next one-shot, just reblog this one-shot or message me.


Steve Rogers shuffled along the barren street, wounds smarting from his latest scuffle. He knew Bucky would kick his ass for being reckless (for the umpteenth time), but he didn’t care. Lately, everything seemed so dull to him. 

Maybe it was because he’d tried as much as he could to enlist into the war, but nothing worked. Maybe it was because he was denied yet another job for being to ‘scrawny’. Maybe it was how useless he felt whenever Doris the landlady asked for rent, and Steve could hardly contribute anything while Bucky paid. But deep down, he knew it was because of his soulmate.

Or, lack thereof.

All his life he’d hear stories of how soulmates were so essential to ones’ life, how even before you’d meet them they were always with you. From the moment their names appeared on your arm, they were a part of you, forever and always.

Keep reading

Another Legends of Tomorrow, AU De-ageing prompt

Mick Rory, Ray Palmer, Martin Stein and Kendra Saunders are all turned into toddlers, minds and all, but still with their powers.

Mick and Ray immediately plonk themselves onto Len’s lap, loudly declaring “Mine!” Before glaring at each other.

Len finds himself breaking apart multiple scuffles afterwards, but Mick won’t let anyone else pick on HIS nemesis.

Jax finds himself trying to talk a, frankly, far too gleeful Martin Stein out of their merge, but the little shit does like to zip about.

Having toddler Mick stare at them like that is a little unnerving as well.

Baby Kendra is adorable, and she loves Sara. But Sara finds herself using her Assassin trained strength and flexibility to rescue the poor girl when she gets stuck on one high apparatus or another because of her wings. Which are so awesome….. “SARA….. HELP!”

Rip just wants everything back to normal…. please…. for the love of Kronos…. “PUT THAT DOWN.”

I wouldn’t mind seeing art as well.

*nudge nudge*

Long Live The Future

“Long live France! Long live the future!” Jehan shouted. If they were going to kill him, they would make him a martyr doing it. What else could he be? So when he was tackled to the ground by a burly man and didn’t get hit by the bullet meant for him, he was understandably disoriented.

There was the sound of a scuffle happening while Jehan was being carried away down alleyways, further and further from his friends and the barricade. He was beginning to feel the bruising from the beating they had given him. Traitor, they had labeled him. Insurrectionist.

He hadn’t told them that when the ruler betrays the people, the ruler forfeits the people’s allegiance. He hadn’t told them that Les Amis de l'ABC were the bringers of the dawn of a new era. He hadn’t told them that soon they would see just how wrong the king was. He hadn’t told them that insurrection was the only option.

In other words, he had let down his friends. Maybe that’s why he yelled what he had. He wanted his friends to know that he had never forgotten the central tenants of their organization. Even at the end, Jehan was a loyal member of Les Amis de l'ABC.

So why was he being dumped unceremoniously on a straw mattress in a dingy basement?


Read the rest on AO3!

(1177 words of pure jehanparnasse sadness)




Crouching low to the ground, you crept forward, watching with wide eyes as a group of crocottas surrounded a bearded man wearing a black jacket.

You normally weren’t one to enter an unprovoked scuffle, having learned that avoiding violence was the most effective way to survive Purgatory; however, leaving the bearded man to be mercilessly slaughtered was against everything you had ever stood for.

Who said losing your humanity mean’t that you would need to give up your morals as well?

Inhaling a deep breath, you pounced forward, sprinting up to the monstrous creatures as they pinned the man to the hard ground. Now up close and personal with the clashing brutes, you could tell that the jacketed man was in fact a vampire, his second row of teeth clearly visible as he helplessly snapped his jaw.

I suppose you two had something in common.

With an animalistic growl, you opened your mouth wide, flashing your own razor-like teeth before clamping down on the meaty neck of the largest crocotta, severing his spine with ease. Cringing at the taste of flesh on your tongue, you looked down towards the vampire still struggling in the dirt, his shocked crystalline blue eyes catching your attention for the briefest of moments.

“Watch your back!” he shouted from the ground, his thick southern drawl ringing in your ears even as one of the two remaining crocottas grabbed you by the hair. Screeching in pain as the monster threw you against a rotting tree, you wrapped your hands around her neck, nails ripping at her dirty skin as you held her soul-sucking mouth away from your throat.

Kicking into the gut of the crocotta still pinning him down, the vampire rolled out of reach, only to scramble onto his feet, and slice through the creature’s neck with a rather large make-shift blade. His expression filled with a pleased furor as he watched the crocotta fall onto the dirt, the bearded vampire assessed your current situation, making the decision to help when he took note of the woman still fighting to get her face close to your neck.

Following the vampire’s earlier example, you thrust your knee into the female crocotta’s stomach, nearly knocking her off of her feet. She stumbled backward in an attempt to regain her balance, but it was of no avail, for standing behind her was the bearded vampire, his blade decapitating her before she had the chance to take another breath.

“Thanks.” you said wearily, eyeing the vampire cautiously as he nimbly twirled the handle of his blade. Not taking any chances, you stepped away from the tree, making sure that the man wouldn’t be able to corner you, should he try to attack.

“I should be the one thanking you, darlin’.” he chuckled lightly, also seeming to be a bit hesitant of the situation. You couldn’t necessarily blame him, however. Purgatory was a volatile place, and most individuals didn’t go out of their way to rescue a creature they had never met before. “If you’da come along a few seconds later, I probably would’ve been a tea-time snack for those son’s of bitches.” Sensing that the man was no threat, you released the tension in your shoulders, before reaching up to wipe away the sour crocotta blood from where it stained the corners of your mouth. “Can’t say I’d taste very good, though.”

“I’d have to agree with you.” you laughed, crossing your arms over your chest. “Vampires are known for their bitter taste.”

“You say that like you’ve tried it.” he stated with a smirk, his resonating southern twang bringing a smile to your face. “I hope you ain’t some sorta cannibal.”

“We’re in Purgatory, my friend. This place is crawling with vamps who would kill someone like me, just for the sake of doing it.” you explained, a twisted feeling arising in the pit of your stomach when you came to the realization that the man most likely knew much more about this place than he was letting on. “If it comes down to it, sure, I’ll take a bite out of someone trying to sink their teeth into me.”

“Someone like you?” he inquired, his blue eyes filling with a heavy suspicion. “What do ya’ mean by that?”

“I’m a loner.” you revealed with the shrug of your shoulders, watching as the man’s suspicion was replaced with a look of understanding. “You of all people should know that a vampire without a nest, is a vampire with a target on his or her back.”

“And what makes you think I don’t have a nest?” he asked, his tone teasing.

“If you actually had a nest, I wouldn’t have been the one to save your ass.” you stated matter-of-factly, moving to place a hand on your hip.

“You’re probably right.” he replied, verifying your earlier thought. Adjusting the jacket as it began to slip from his shoulders, the vampire smiled, his bright white teeth seeming to glisten in the daylight. “Ya’ know… I’m lookin’ for the back entrance to this godforsaken place, and I could really use an extra set of eyes.” Giving him an incredulous look, you raised your eyebrows, unsure of what his intentions were. “Why don’t you tag along? I think you and I would make a pretty good team.”

“You’re asking me to follow you around, so you can search for some exit that might not even exist?” you asked with a scoff, rolling your eyes at the incredibly ridiculous idea. “How can I trust that you aren’t just trapping me? Hell, I don’t even know your name.”

“Sure ya’ do. I’m your good friend, Benny.” he interjected, looking over his shoulder as a branch fell from a nearby tree. “Benny Lafitte.”