sound-of-fire

I hope my brother knows how lucky he is to wake up to the magical sounds of Earth Wind and Fire’s classic hit September blasting through the house on his day off

I am done asking this room to hold any more of my wailing this year,
It has gone on long enough and, more importantly, I am tired. 
I am done asking an ax to understand the burden of 
Nails and ceramic pots. Done asking the ax to be softer, kinder. 
Such a shallow aching tool will never fear gravity.
I am reckless in all my thirst and my mouth waters
When I scrape my knees (barely breathing)
Diving headfirst into the velvet sunset pool (barely breathing)
I do not cry out or tell anyone.
(barely breathing) I imagine sirens and their anguish, their hollering,
How it became a weapon feared and it sat in their throats.
I want men and axes to tremble when they go through my waters,
Push their hands to their ears and pray to their gods my voice 
Doesn’t wash their bodies one more time, 
One more time, barely breathing, I inhale.
One more time, you will hear what rage sounds like when set on fire.

Men, Axes, Abusers | Max Ullman

Oh shit moments in overwatch

-you hear the tap tap tap of Genji feet behind you

-“I’ve got you in my sights” *cue panicked 360s trying to see where that old man is yelling from

-“fire in the hole-” *tire noises and you do a REALLY panicked 360 trying to see where it’s coming from

-“nerf this” and it’s time to fucking book it for cover and god bless your soul if there’s nowhere to go

-“RYU GA-” *that horrible whooshing, creaking wood sound and you see hells fire as you die

-PINNED

-turrets shooting you, whether it’s Torbie’s autolocking onto you or symmetra’s slowing draining the life from your walking corpse

-“JUSTICE RAINS-” *right above you

-“DIE DIE DIE” *right behind you

-“HAMMER DOWN” *right in front of you

-“GROUNDED” *especially if a roadhog DRAGS YOU DOWN INTO A HOLE WITH HIM CUZ IF HE GOES DOWN, you go

-Saw the Bastion a second too late

-saw the TURRET a second too late

-walked stupidly into the turret four times thinking you could take it out but just giving Torbjorn a humiliating play of the game Congo

-“aw you look tired”

-“Helden sterben nicht” *the lights of hell as your demons return to you

-Mei tosses her Ult at you and you can’t run and soon you can’t even walk because there’s an icicle in your eye sockets

-“bombs away!” *GET IT OFF GET IT OFF GET OFF

-“it’s hiiiiiiigh noon” *IT'SHIGHNOONIT'SHIGHNOON KILL THE BASTARD OR DUCK

signs as sounds

aries - crackle of a fire
taurus - peacefully chirping birds
gemini - the sizzle opening a fizzy drink
cancer - rain hitting a window
leo - the voice of someone you love
virgo - crickets chirping
libra - wind chimes
scorpio - thunder
sagittarius - crunch of snow from your shoe
capricorn - grandfather clocks
aquarius - genuine laughter
pisces - naturally flowing water

signs as musical instruments

aries: trumpet / triumphant, youthful, wild sound like a battlecry

taurus: cello / sound mimics the human voice, resonating like a low, warm hum in the chest

gemini: guitar / gemini rules the hands and guitars have such a diverse sound, able to be tuned in many different ways and able to blend into any genre of music

cancer: drumset / instinctual and improvisational, music in its most basic form calls back to the origin of music, rhythm

leo: alto saxophone / colorful, theatrical, and expressive sound like a breath of fire, demands a solo

virgo: violin / sounds of weeping, emotionality expressed by meticulous technique and training

libra: harp / sound has a lawful quality, like a chorus of angels reciting your sins to you 

scorpio: bass guitar / sexy, smooth sound evoking the mystery and allure of the deep sea 

sagittarius: flute / agile, clear, sounds of flight, playful but knowing

capricorn: double bass / supports the whole band with rhythm and a strong, mature, vocal sound

aquarius: piano / the accompanist, ties the different sounds and musicalities of an ensemble together, but has a unique, rebellious voice of its own 

pisces: theremin / otherworldly sound, quite literally untouchable, like a psychic instrument

they call her maid maleen

for the first few trembling years of her life, she is a princess. she is the daughter to the king, born of his beloved wife and of her visage. her dark eyes have the appearance of a smoky quarts and her mother carefully twists her mass of black hair into a hundred small braids down her back. she is a beautiful, quiet child, and for a while all is well. they call her princess maleen.

then her mother dies. it seems as if the king is determined to bury his love for his daughter along with his queen. he moves her to a different wing of the castle, and refuses to see her. her tutors are let go, and the nobles’ children are no longer allowed to play with her. only the maids look after her now.

the king remarries. the new queen gives birth to a son, and maleen is forgotten completely, banished from a home she still resides in and a life she can now only watch unfold.

the maids take care of her, braid her hair and kiss the blisters on her fingers, teach her to scrub at porcelain and polish silver, to clean a fireplace and mop polished marble floors.

they call her maid maleen.

~

the king has a son by his new wife, and then a daughter. they are pale and fair-haired like their mother, with only their dark eyes to show they are the king’s children. but they inherit none of their parents’ beauty, have faces that don’t look quite right and bodies that get stuck between gangly and chubby and never settle into one or the other. princess gisella and prince jan are privately regarded as unfortunate products of a lovely union.

maid maleen spends long hours working, and has neither the time nor funds for creams to soften her skin or oils to care for her hair, has never used face powder or lip color.

maid maleen is twenty three years old, and the most beautiful woman in the kingdom.

her braids are wrapped carefully atop her head, but when she lets them loose they hang past her hips. her dark skin is made even darker thanks to long hours working in the palace garden, and her eyes have never lost that same curious light. she walks straight and strong, years of hard labor giving her muscles and definition to her body that she never would have had as a princess. boys and girls give her long, considering looks and flirtatious smiles, and nobles have to double-take when she passes them by.

no one speaks of it anymore. but maid maleen looks ever more like her beautiful late mother, has the same eyes as her father, and dressing in ill-fitting cast offs and running her ragged can’t hide the truth.

maid maleen is the king’s daughter.

she has accepted her life as a maid in the palace she was one day set to inherit, and tries to see it as a gift. she sleeps with who she likes, may marry whichever of the charming boys from the city who’s smile she likes best. in the maids who raised her she has more mothers than she has fingers, and perhaps she longs for the days when she was a small princess, when she was the apple of her parents’ eye, when the whole of their nation was to be hers to inherit.

but then the blacksmith’s daughter lets her hands linger a little too long on her wrists, and maleen knows that she won’t be sleeping alone tonight. there are some things that worth more to her than a throne she was born to. she doesn’t miss the little girl she used to be.

until.

tensions have always run high between their kingdom and the neighboring one – too many squabbles over borders, over trade agreements, over patrols, over anything and everything the kings can find a reason to be upset about, it seems like. so when prince wolfgang is sent over, the whole palace is abuzz. the prince seems determined to inherit a peaceful land, and is coming over to talk with the king to do it.

maleen does not care for princes. nor for nobles of any rank, in fact. she remembers how they turned on her, she sees the small acts of pettiness and cruelty they thoughtlessly inflict on their servants, and she wants nothing to do with it. commoners may not be as educated as nobles, may not have as many objects to call their own, but maleen finds she prefers their company to that of lords. she’s uninterested in this prince, which is perhaps why she’s the one that gets sent to his rooms. her moms can trust that she at least won’t fawn over him.

“sir wolfgang,” she murmurs, pushing open his door and giving a low curtsy, keeping her eyes trained on his mud covered boots. “is there anything you require?”

silence. she can only stay bent in a curtsey so long before she loses patience. she’s almost given up on him, is about to cut her losses and call it a night when he says, hesitant, “queen sabine?”

her mother’s name is punch to her gut, and her head snaps up at the sound of it, the rolling fire of her temper bubbling just below her skin. “i am maid maleen,” she snaps, then tacks on “your highness,” after a moment’s consideration.

his cloak is half unbuttoned as he stares at her with a slack mouth. she supposes he would not look unhandsome if he were not currently doing his best to imitate a frog. he appears to be only a handful of years older than she is, and if she were not furious she would be impressed that he remembers her mother well enough to see sabine in her.

“maleen,” he repeats, and for a moment she wonders if he will recognize her as well, but he only says, “my apologies. if you would help me with my cloak, i would be much obliged.”

she’s instantly suspicious. she’s met nice nobles before, ones that were considerate and remembered her name and thanked her when she brought them wine. but she’s never met a nice prince before – they’re always of the worst sort. “yes, your highness,” she says, and the cloak is soaked through and clinging, it’s no wonder he’s struggling with it. once she’s gotten it off she hangs it to dry, then goes back to him. she slaps away his numb, struggling fingers and undoes the rest of the buckles and loops of his overly complicated clothing. she’s gotten down him down to an undershirt and pants when his hands grab hers. she blinks and looks up. he has freckles dusting across his nose.

“this is inappropriate,” he says, but honestly she’s stripped a lot of nobles, it wasn’t weird until he took her hands and looked at her like no one’s ever looked at her before.

“yes, your highness,” she agrees, and takes a step back. she places his clothes in front of a fire, curtsies, and leaves. she can feel the weight of his gaze on her all the way back to her room.

wolfgang continues his diplomatic agenda, having long meetings with the royal family. after, maleen goes and tends to him, setting out his food and taking care of his clothes, straightening up any mess that he’s made. at first he’s quiet, and he just watches her, but he quickly discovers that maleen has opinions and thoughts and isn’t afraid to share them. soon they’re debating the finer points of trade routes and arguing the effectiveness of a sliding tax scale, and maleen comes to cherish the evenings she spends with the prince, likes the way he speaks to her and looks at her, likes the shape of his smile.

weeks in she enters his room, dinner steaming in her hands and eager to continue their conversation about state funded orphanages versus a state funded foster system. he’s pacing and tense, shoulder stiff. “wolfgang,” she sets down the food and wipes her hands on her apron, “is something wrong?”

“is it true?” he asks, and he’s not looking at her. he’s always looked at her before.

“is what true?” she flinches away from his coldness, is already preparing to retreat and hide and beg someone else to watch over him.

he turns to her, and she’s baffled by the mixture of hope and anger on his face. “are you the king’s daughter? are you princess maleen?”

she takes a step back, “i am maid maleen.”

“please,” he follows her as she steps away from him, and her back hits the wall. he stops when he’s almost close enough to touch. “my father sent me here with the goal to seal our new treaty with a marriage. he expects me to marry princess gisella. but if you are the daughter of the king – then he will allow me to marry you instead!”

“who says i want to marry you?” she retorts, but he gets on bended knee and she freezes.

he holds a hand for her own, and against every bit of logic, she gives it to him. “maleen, i’ve never felt this way about anyone. i was willing enough to enter a loveless marriage before i knew what true love is, but now i do, and i can’t go back. marry me.”

she wants to. she thinks she loves him. she hadn’t been planning to fall in love with anyone. “i am the king’s daughter,” she tells him, “but i am no princess. i haven’t been a princess in a long time.”

he brings her hand to his mouth so he can kiss each one of her knuckles, “then we’ll have to change that.”

~

wolfgang goes to the king to make his case, to return maleen to her birthright and allow her to marry him.

it goes even worse than maleen had feared.

her father is furious. he’s so angry at the audacity of this request that prince wolfgang is thrown from the kingdom. so incensed is he, that guards drag maleen from her bed in the middle of the night and throw her into a tower. the door closes shut behind them, and she bangs on it and screams but no one comes for her.

there are no windows, and only one door with a sliding metal grate in the bottom. she’s high in the tower, she thinks, from the number of steps she’d been forced to climb, but she stands on a dirt floor. the room contains only the bare minimum needed for survival, and nothing more.

once a week food is slid through the slot in the door. she has to be careful, because if she eats it too fast they will not provide more, she will just starve. days turn to weeks turn to months, and she despairs of ever being let out of this tower. months turn to years, and she gives up hope entirely of leaving this tower. she considers refusing to eat, killing herself slowly through starvation, because death is preferable to life locked in this tower.

one night there’s a scuffle, and shouting, and for the first time since she was shoved inside the door opens. there’s a guard standing there, and princess gisella tentatively steps inside. “maid ma – i mean, maleen?”

maleen stares. this is the first time she’s seen another person in years, and suddenly for all the screaming she’d done she can’t find her voice. gisella takes another cautious step forward, “maleen, please – we don’t have much time.” she holds out her hand, “come with me.”

gisella is sixteen now. although she’ll never be a great beauty, she’s grown into many of the features that she was once mocked for. “where?” she asks, but takes gisella’s hand and lets her lead them down the twisting staircase. anyplace is better than the tower.

“i’m to be married in a week’s time to prince wolfgang.” maleen feels a sharp pain go through her chest. had wolfgang forgotten her? their farce of a romance was such a quick, shallow thing. she was a fool to fall for it in the first place. “i’m not going to show up. you are.”

she stares, “what?”

“wolfgang started a war over father locking you in the tower,” she explains, “but eventually it got to a point where neither could justify it, so our father and wolfgang’s decided our union would mean peace between our countries, as intended. but i don’t want to marry prince wolfgang, and he does not want to marry me.”

“i don’t understand,” she hadn’t paid much attention to the girl when they were in the palace together, and she’s regretting that now.

they finally reach the end of the tower. it’s the first time she’s breathed fresh air in years. she tries not to get distracted by it, and instead focuses on the carriage to her left, and the pure black mare laden like a pack mule on her right. “i’m leaving,” gisella says, “i don’t want to be wolfgang’s bride because i want to be klaus’s,” the guard smiles, and he must be klaus, the princess is rejecting a prince to run away with a commoner. “there’s a map and everything you need in the saddlebags. the wedding dress is waiting for you at the castle. no one will know you’re not me until wolfgang unveils you, and by then it will be too late. he will marry you, and i will be gone.”

“why are you doing this?” she asks.

gisella shrugs, “you’re my sister, and father is an idiot. i want you to be happy, and i want wolfgang to be happy, and i want to be happy too. this way we all get what we want. our brother will be waiting for you in wolfgang’s castle. he’ll help you.”

maleen is speechless. gisella grabs her in a quick hug – the only one they’ve ever shared – and then goes to the carriage with klaus trailing behind her. “i’ll see you again, princess maleen!”

she doesn’t have time for tears. she gets on the mare, and rides for the palace of the neighboring land.

~

she makes it just in time. she sneaks into the castle the night before the wedding, ducking around servants until she find her way to jan’s door. she knocks, tentative, wondering if this was a mistake and all one elaborate trap. but the door opens and his face slackens in relief, “finally!” he pulls her inside, and sits her down. there’s lukewarm water waiting for her so she can clean herself, and jan stands with his back to her the whole time, outlining the wedding and how it will go so she knows what to expect the next day. “father isn’t here,” he assures her, “he didn’t want to leave the kingdom, so i’m here in his stead.”

“won’t you miss your sister?” maleen finishes washing and wraps herself in a soft blanket.

“when i am king, gisella will return,” he says confidently, “she will come home and bring klaus, and you will rule here with wolfgang, and all will be well. our countries shall be great allies when it is me and wolfgang on the throne.”

he’s only a year older than gisella, just seventeen, and maleen feels oddly old next to them, feels old next to these children who know what they want and take it and don’t let anything stand in their way.

“we need to get your hair rebraided,” he says, “you should look perfect tomorrow. it’s your wedding day.”

she stares, aghast. “that will take all night!”

“i’ve brought help,” he says, and sends a servant down the hall. the servant returns with a half dozen of the maids who raised her, and who crowd forward and hug her and kiss her cheeks and say how much they’ve missed her. princess or not, bride or not, to them she will always be their little maid maleen.

~

it’s clear gisella picked her wedding dress with maleen in mind. it fits her for one thing, and is clinging and heavy, and it must have looked awful on gisella, but on her it’s perfect. her dress is accompanied by white silk gloves and a thick veil so that no one can see her, so that no one will know she’s not the daughter of the king they’re expecting to be there.

wolfgang is at the end of the aisle, looking like he’s going to an execution, and it takes more self control than maleen was anticipating not to go running to him. she turns to him, and he lifts her veil. he sees her and freezes, mouth sliding open. she winks at him, because they just need to keep it together until they’re married, he just has to keep his cool for a few minutes and they’ll have won it all. wolfgang closes his mouth and says nothing about how this is clearly not the bride he was supposed to marry. they turn so none of the guests can see them, and the priest gives maleen a confused look, but with a glare from wolfgang he continues on with the ceremony as if nothing is out of place.

“you may now kiss the bride,” the priest says, after what seems like an eternity.

wolfgang grabs her about the waist, dips her, and kisses her soundly on the mouth. her veil falls off and she can hear the horrified and shocked gasps of the guests, and under that jan’s laughter. when they break apart, foreheads still pressed together, she whispers, “hello, prince wolfgang.”

he kisses her again, quick and sweet, and does nothing at all to disguise the joy in his face. “hello, princess maleen.”

and they all lived happily ever after.


read more retold fairytales here

Hold On, I’m Coming

Summary: You’re in a serious car accident, and a certain firefighter Winchester comes to the rescue

Pairing: Eventual Firefighter!Dean x Reader

Word Count: 3,000

Warnings: Serious car accident, descriptions of aftermath, wreckage, injuries, trapped!reader, moderate injuries to reader, pain, blood, panic, fear… 

Title Inspiration: Hold On, I’m Coming, by Sam and Dave

A/N: @deanssweetheart23 I warned you not to tempt me… and now it’s here. This could turn into a little mini-series if you guys are interested, so let me know. (Fire photos are mine/from my local department, Dean is from google)

Quick language guide for those of you who don’t live with a police scanner providing constant background noise: BOLO (be on the look-out), MVA (motor vehicle accident), ALS (advanced life support), Car 3-2 (Lieutenant’s vehicle)

Check out the Series Masterlist

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Punk (Chap. 11)

Originally posted by coporolight

Summary: You’re head over heels for your best friend Bucky and hate the nickname he gave you as it doesn’t exactly scream romance.

Word count: ~2500

Warnings: Language, mission/war related violence and gore, shooting, battle related injuries/casualties/mayhem

A/N:  My sincere apologies for how long this has taken.  I’ve been dealing with some personal things and, quite frankly, it took away all desire to write.  I hope you like this chapter, the photo with the shield later on in the story is actually the inspiration for the entire series.  So you can get inspiration from anywhere :)  I want to thank everyone who stuck around waiting and who has been so helpful and kind to me.  Also, I’m very excited to continue writing more chapters!  Thank you for your continued patience.

As always, feedback is always appreciated.  Please let me know how the ‘action’ plays out as I am always looking for ways to improve my storytelling.  Thanks!



Your face fell in horror, but you seemed to be the only one moving, the rest of the world seemed to be stuck in some sort of time lapse.  Bucky was still just crouching there, holding the boy, with that stupid, beautiful smile still plastered to his face, not yet seeing the danger, not yet registering your alarm.

No no no no no no NO!  Your mind was screaming the words as you tore your gaze away from the scene.  The man was getting closer.  NO!

You bolted forward, shoving the woman into the alley screaming for Bucky to run, ripping your vocal chords in the process. Your legs felt like they were trudging through molasses, like some force was pulling you back, weighing you down. And each step on the pavement felt like an elephant stomp making the ground shake.  But it was as if you weren’t moving any closer.  But you had to.  You had to.   Because what was about to happen could. not. happen.

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Chekov: So, what’s the plan? We go in there and just pow, pow, pow! - And pick up the hostages?

Sulu: What was that noise?

Chekov: Phaser fire.

Sulu: No, Pavel, I think you mean pew pew pew.

Chekov: That sounds like fire works.

Scotty: Technically, they are like pa-choo, pa-choo, pa-choo.

Uhura: Ok enough with the sound effects. Besides it’s more like blam, blam, blam.

Chekov: What?

Sulu: No way.

Scotty: Wrong.

Kirk: Guys focus.

Butterfly Wings

Keith:

Lance was not happy.
Allura had woken them up two hours earlier then normal to tell them that two of them had a mission.
Once the terror of being woken up by a loud blaring alarm passed, everyone settled in as the Princess explained she was sending Keith and Lance to a jungle like planet and needed the others awake as to help monitor the mission.

Twenty minutes later the two were flying down in red to the planets surface, with Lance pouting the whole time.
“I don’t see why we couldn’t of done this later.”
Keith rolled his eyes not even bothering to look back at the blue paladin.
“Because there’s only a small window where the storm clouds are safe to pass through.”
Lance blinked in surprise. If there were storm clouds then would there be rain?
Lance suddenly found his legs bouncing up and down as nervous energy eradicated any lingering tiredness in his system.
The landed on a sandy outcrop just on the edge of a large jungle.
The plan was to go in and find this supposed miracle plant that could be used to heal a person almost as well as the pods.
After more then one close call Allura had decided it would be best for the Paladins to be equipped with something for out in the field.
Lance practically ran out of Red, taking his helmet off just so he could breath in the familiar scent of ozone that only came before a storm.
“What’s got you so excited all of a sudden?” Keith asked joining him on the sand.
“Smells like home.” Lance grinned while Keith watched him.
He didn’t really understand what Lance was talking about, but he looked too happy to question it.
“Ok… come on we have work to do.”
Lance gave him a mocking salute “sir yes sir.” He smirked back at Keith as he walked into the forest.
———————————–
Walking through the thick foliage was difficult on the two of them.
The fact that the air was stiflingly hot too didn’t help.
They barley made it a mile before they were both drenched in sweat and out of breath.
When Keith had stumbled for the third time into Lance, he had enough.
“Let’s take a break.” Keith decided.
“What’s the matter got shot? Can’t handle a little walk?” Lance tried to sound cocky, but the fact he was practically gasping for breath afterwards suggested he needed a break just as much as Keith.
“Humour me.” Keith shrugged as he sat down on a large purple moss covered tree branch.
After a moment Lance joined him, the two heavily breathing and sitting in comfortable silence.
Then the rain started.
It came on so hard and suddenly that it was like someone above them had turned on a faucet.
Keith had groaned thinking about how much harder their mission was going to be with the poor visibility. When he looked over at Lance to complain he found the words die in his mouth.
Lance was staring straight up with the biggest smile of his face.
His hair was plastered to his head and Keith decided to pretend that the tears running down his cheeks were just rain drops.
For a single moment, the world seemed quite as Lance watched the rain and Keith watched Lance with equal fascination.
Then the branch The were sitting on woke up.

The two were suddenly flung from their seats hitting the floor roughly.
Keith hit a tree having the air knocked from his lungs.
He couldn’t figure out what had happened until he saw what resembled a giant green gorilla with a long thick tail and razor sharp claws standing over him.
He grabbed his bayard and quickly turning it into its sword for right as the creature swiped at him.
Keith managed to roll out of the way, avoiding being sliced in half like the tree directly behind him.
The creature tried to grab him but a cut to the hand made it back off, but not for long.
It swung its giant tail like a battening ram, moving much faster then anything that size should be able to.
Keith couldn’t help but wonder why Lance wasn’t helping him.
He dodged under the tail and got his answer.
Lance was sitting on the ground looking confused.
There was blood running down his face from a head wound.
Keith cursed under his breath, he looked pretty out of it.
The second he spent distracted was all the time the creature needed, grabbing Keith with one of its giant hand, pinning his arms by his side.
“Lance!” Keith yelled struggling helplessly as the creature brought him closer to his face.
Keith closed his eyes sure he was about to become a giant monkeys dinner, when he hears the familiar sound of Lance’s gun being fired.
Keith was suddenly dropped and the creature was holding its eye in pain.
It blindly swipes at Lance hitting it’s mark and sending him flying.
Keith didn’t waste his chance.
He drove his sword through its neck and jumped off as it fell to the ground dead.
“Lance?” Keith asked looking in the direction the blue paladin lay.
He crept over to him gasping at the sight.
A single deep claw mark was slashed across Lance’s torso stretching from his right shoulder down to his left hip.
Keith dropped his sword and surged forwards to the lump paladin.
“Lance? Buddy come on I need you to wake up. I need you to look at me, insult me, anything!”
Keith yelled shaking him.
“Allura? Shiro?”
He only got static from his helmet.
Keith felt the panic begin to rise in his chest.
There was so much blood and Lance just wasn’t moving.
“Lance please… I need you.” Keith sniffed as he felt tears prick his eyes.
“Mullet?… you…ok?”
Keith would of thrown his arms around him if he weren’t hurt so badly.
“You jerk! I thought you were dead.”
Lance smiled, but the pain was still obvious on his face. “Can’t leave you… who else… would keep… you…alive?”
“Shut up.” Keith laughed wiping his eyes.
“How bad is it?”
Keith held his breath, he had hoped Lance wouldn’t ask.
“It’s not good.”
“Really cause this feels fantastic.”
Keith rolled his eyes but felt a small spark of hope at the banter.
“I can’t get through to the castle… I don’t know what to do Lance.”
The fear on Keith voice made Lance’s eyes widen.
“H-hey it’s ok… it’s ok. Your annoyingly smart… right… so use.. that brain of yours… and-”
Keith’s head snapped up “the flowers!”
Lance smiled “there you go.”
Keith stood scanning the area, he couldn’t see far thanks to the rain and couldn’t see a single flower that matched Allura’s description.
“Go.” Lance said so quickly Keith almost missed him.
“What?”
“I said… go… I can’t keep up… with you… find the… flower… come back.”
Keith felt a flash of anger “I’m not going to just leave you here!”
“You don’t have… much of a choice!” Lance yelled but started coughing, blood sprayed from his mouth.
Keith couldn’t do anything while he coughed but soon as he finished wiped the blood from his face along with a strange brown substance.
Keith looked at it for a moment before he noticed the pale patches just visible on Lance’s skin.
He decided now wasn’t the time to ask.
Lance was running out of time.
“Don’t you dare die before I come back.” Keith warned kissing Lance on the forehead before he took off running.
———————————–
Every second Keith spent looking was another second closer to Lance bleeding out.
His chest was heaving and he could barely breath as he ran, but Keith didn’t slow down for a second.
His foot caught a tree root and sent him tumbling down a hill.
“Ouch.”
His ankle was throbbing with pain.
If he couldn’t stand how could he save Lance?
Just as suddenly the rain had started it stopped.
Without the thick curtain of rain Keith could see he fell into what looked like a meadow filled with various coloured flowers.
Then Keith saw it.
A patch of small blue flowers that almost seemed to glow.
He crawled towards it and nearly cried with joy.
He had found it.
He grabbed a handful, putting one in his mouth and chewed.
The effects weren’t instant, but the pain was dulled enough for Keith to stand and limp back to Lance.
Getting back took longer then it had before.
His ankle hurt but Keith kept pushing until he spotted blue armour stained with red.
He ran ignoring the protests from his body.
Keith dropped to his knees in a pool of blood that stained the ground beneath Lance.
His skin was a sickly grey colour and his breathing was slow and laboured.
His eyes were open but Keith doubted he actually knew what was going on around him.
Keith got to work, he took his water from his belt and ground up a few of the flowers before adding them in.
As gently as possible, Keith tilted Lance’s head up and slowing brought the flask to his lips.
For a moment nothing happened.
Then Lance began to drink.
By time he had finished the bleeding had slowed down and the pained crease in his forehead had eased slightly.
“Hang on Buddy I’m gonna get you home.”
———————————–
If Red hadn’t come to meet them, Keith really wasn’t sure how he was going to get Lance back short of carrying him.
Soon as Red burst through the castle hangar doors Keith had come running out of the Lions mouth struggling with Lance in his arms and screaming for help.
Shiro was there in an instant, not even asking what happened he took Lance from Keith and ran towards the infirmary trailing blood behind him.
Hunk and Pidge began bombarding Keith with questions but Keith couldn’t hear them.
All he could do was stare after Lance.
———————————–
Two weeks Lance was in the pod.
The creature had managed to clip his lung.
According to Allura, if Keith hadn’t of gotten him the flower when he had, Lance would of died.
Keith barley ate or slept.
He never left Lance’s side once.
He was surprised to see that his skin was covered in the pale patches, but it seemed like the others weren’t.
Keith figured they must already know, or just didn’t care.
It was late when the pod finally opened and Lance fell into Keith’s waiting arms.
“Lance! You feeling ok?”
Lance rubbed his eyes tiredly “yeah… I’m good just kinda tired.” He shrugged.
Keith smiled helping walk over to one of the beds.
Lance sat on the edge and patted the space next to him.
Keith didn’t hesitate to join him.
“Thanks… you know for saving me.”
Keith laughed “you did save me first, can’t have you one up me.”
Lance smiled as he rested his head on Keith shoulder.
Keith tenses for a moment before relaxing and wrapping him arm around Lance’s waste.
“Thanks for the kiss too.”
Keith blushed “anytime.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” Lance smirked up at him making Keith’s heart skip a beat.
“Lance… about your skin.”
Lance but his lip “yeah? It’s erm just Vitiligo… do you think it’s ugly?”
Keith shook his head “no I think your beautiful? that it’s beautiful… like butterfly wings.”
Lance smiled “yeah o think so too. I think I’ll stop covering it up.”
Keith smiled pulling Lance closer to him “I’d like that.”

Heat

Originally posted by hohbi

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre: street racing au, smut, angst

word count: 23k

description: Street racing was your dirty little secret, you could never get enough of the thrill, of the adrenaline that pumped through your veins like a drug. You were used to being the best. The competition would all fall miles behind as you thundered down the empty streets. 

But then Jung Hoseok showed up in town, bringing with him an arrogant manner and cocky attitude and you’re soon forced to acknowledge that you aren’t as undefeatable as you’d once believed. 

warnings: mentions of alcoholism


For you, street racing had always been an addiction.

You had told yourself it would be a one off thing. After all, it was reckless, irresponsible, dangerous and so very unlike you. You who had been so studious and dedicated your entire life, you who rarely drank and had never even tasted the bitter smoke of a cigarette.

It was hard to remember the first time you did it, you’d been so high on adrenaline that the details of the night all seemed to melt together into a confusing smudge of events. All you knew was that when you had sat behind that wheel after finally being persuaded, when your foot pressed down hard on that accelerator and when you heard the tumultuous sound of the engines roaring, you felt more alive than you ever. Nothing else had mattered, handing in work before the deadlines, wondering how you were going to pay for dinner, fixing the leak in your roof, all those things became so laughably unimportant. Your only objective was to cross that finish line.

It felt better than getting good grades, better than alcohol, better than sex.

Of course, the next morning, like any student with a good reputation, you were desperate to sweep your temporary recklessness under the rug. More than reckless, street racing was completely illegal. You were aware of the risks, you could get fired and kicked out of university, you had already stepped far too close to treacherous territory.

But like all drugs, once you get hooked, despite your better judgement, you always keep coming back and back for more. You constantly chase that elusive feeling, the feeling you got the very first time. So you donned a biker helmet, the kind where even the eye screen was made of blacked out plastic, just to ensure no one would ever figure out who you were, and you gave into the addiction, you let it consume your very being.

And it couldn’t be denied, you were a fucking good racer.

So good in fact, that after about a year of racing, no one could beat you. No one, that is, until Jung Hoseok showed up in town.

Keep reading


Dylan’s Last Birthday and September doings

On September 11, 1998, Dylan turned seventeen. Our gift to him was a nod to his prodigious appetite—a small black refrigerator that he could take with him to college the following year. He loved it and insisted on carrying it right up to his room, the cord dragging behind. As soon as Nate found out, he showed up with a companion gift: a supersized bucket of fried chicken, all for Dylan.

That month, he volunteered to do the sound for a Halloween production of Frankenstein at school and rekindled his friendship with Brooks Brown. The two of them had drifted apart after the conflict between Eric and Brooks the previous year, but they fell back into an easy friendship while working on the play.
Dylan was proud of Frankenstein; he used a wide variety of unusual audio sources to develop the eerie soundtrack. The cast and crew recorded a surprise video to thank the drama teacher. In the video, Brooks, Zack, and Dylan clown around—saying they hope she’ll buy them beer, or pay them to pass down their senior year production know-how to the next crop of students. Judy Brown threw the wrap party, and took a picture of Dyl laughing at the video along with everyone else. - Sue Klebold, A Mother’s Reckoning.


Watch the entire CHS Frankenstein 2016 spring production   (I’m sure the script is basically the same and perhaps some of the props are reused from the nineties)

You can imagine Dylan creating the audio sound effects

“Don’t get fire within twenty feet of the pants,”  Dylan warned, referring to my ‘Frankenstein monster” costume.  “There were about thirty different chemicals put into that.” (This was true, actually.  Dylan and I made the pants using an old pair of jeans that we soaked in gasoline and paint thinner to make them look as horrible as possible.  After the final performance, we took them out to a field and flicked a cigarette at them.  They immediately burst into flames.)
 
–Brooks Brown, “No Easy Answers”

See Frankenstein Roast.

Made with SoundCloud
heaven

Draco Malfoy x Harry Potter
Warnings: swearing, alcohol
I can’t deny this was totally inspired by @sappypotter :)


Draco could hear the muffled voices through the thick, wooden door of his dorm. He was planning on staying in bed all night, but the voices from the common room kept getting louder and louder, and it was doubtable that Draco would get any sleep.

When he was sure of hearing Pansy’s cackling laugh from the next room, he finally decided to just go and join them. 

A small silence fell over everyone when the blonde boy entered. Draco quickly scanned the room, which consisted of: Blaise Zabini, who wore the usual smirk on his lips, but seemed truly surprised to see Draco; Pansy, short hair tickling her neck, her chin tilted up with her usual demeanor; Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, whose legs were tangled together affectionately, his arm hung loosely over her shoulders.

And last of the bunch, who probably looked the most out of place next to Draco himself, was none other than Harry Potter, who pushed his wire-framed glasses half an inch up his nose as he stared at Draco, along with everyone else.

They all sat in a circle on the floor of the Slytherin common room, which wasn’t rare, ever since McGonagall implemented the new house unity rules for their eighth year. Draco sucked in a breath and regretted coming out of his room.

He just wished Potter would stop staring at him. It made him want to fidget.

“Well, look who decided to join us!” Pansy said, and Draco could tell alone from the tone of her voice that she was a little drunk. It wasn’t until then that he noticed the bottle of firewhiskey in the center of the circle, and all of the plastic cups scattered around the five of them.

When Draco didn’t respond, Blaise said, “Are you gonna sit, Malfoy? Or stand there and continue to stare at us all night?”

Clearing his throat, Draco nodded and muttered,”Yeah, I’ll sit.” He then proceeded to plop down where the biggest gap was, which just happened to be in between Pansy and Harry.

“Well, pour him a drink, Blaise,” prompted Pansy, as Blaise was refilling his own cup. But before Blaise took out a new cup for Draco, Harry blurted, “He can have mine. I’m done for the night.”

Draco turned to look at the curly-haired boy, who was holding out his half-filled cup of firewhiskey, almost like a peace offering. Harry’s glasses had fallen back down his nose, and it took a lot of willpower for Draco not to lean over and adjust them himself.

He tried to think of some witty insult about Potter drugging him, but Draco couldn’t even think straight when his pale fingers brushed against Harry’s warm ones, through the exchanging of the cup.

“Oh,” he mumbled, avoiding eye contact. “Thanks.”

Draco turned back to face everyone, and he could practically feel Pansy’s stare digging into his skin. When he finally looked in her direction, she raised an eyebrow at him, her dark purple lips upturned into a suspicious smile.

She knew his secret. There was no getting past his best friend.

Draco took a big sip of the firewhiskey.

HIs eyes roamed around the room, which happened to be vacant saved for the six of them on the floor. Not many Hogwarts students returned the year after the war, and the majority of the ones that did weren’t very social.

Blaise began rambling about something Draco had no interest in, so he zoned out, his fingers wrapped tightly around his cup of alcohol that had previously belonged to Harry Potter.

What a weird turn of events his life had spiraled into. Less than a year ago, Draco was sure he was going to die in the Room of Requirement, when it was completely engulfed in hot flames during the battle.

He truly thought his life was over, but Harry Potter, dirt-streaked and sweat-stained, swooped in on a broomstick and carried Draco to safety.

And ever since that horrid day, Draco hadn’t been able to completely wipe Potter’s face from his mind.

The only sounds present were the fire crackling in the fireplace and Blaise’s smooth voice, rambling on about Merlin knows what. Draco practically jumped a foot into the air when he felt a hand on his left arm.

“Sorry,” Harry whispered, flicking something onto the carpet with the hand that had just grazed Draco. “You had a thread on your sweater.”

Trying to remain calm and ignore the heart palpitations inside his chest, Draco cleared his throat and mumbled, “It’s okay. Thanks.”

Was it a sin that, after that, all he wanted that night was for Harry to touch him again?

~~~~~

Within a matter of hours, the night had unraveled into an unnerving game of Truth or Dare. 

After about five minutes, Ron had ended up without a shirt and Pansy had already shared a very detailed account of her last date with a girl she’d been seeing. Draco’s blood felt as if it were boiling with anxiety under his skin, and he wished he could just rewind the past couple of hours and retreat back to his warm bed. 

But he couldn’t escape. “Truth or dare, Draco?” Pansy’s voice rang, dripping in sugar and venom.

The alcohol was blurring Draco’s thoughts slightly, but he was still very aware of the close proximity in which Harry was sitting, cross-legged, next to him.

He thought he had dodged a bullet when he answered, “Dare.” He didn’t want to deal with facing his secrets head on in front of everyone.

Pansy’s lips curled upward into a grin, and Draco’s stomach did flips. “I dare you to kiss the most attractive person in the room.”

Fuck.

Everyone else hummed a collective, “Ooooh,” as Draco was forced to face this challenge (which he had never signed up for in the first place).

In attempts to play it safe, Draco moved toward his right - toward Pansy, whom he had always thought of to be nice to look at. But mostly because he hoped she would just help him out with the situation at hand.

It didn’t work, because Pansy leaned backward and Blaise blurted out, “Oh please, Draco, we all know you’re about as straight as the sky is red.”

Ron snickered, and Draco saw Hermione try to hide her smile as well, as she buried her face into Ron’s sweater. He shot them a look with daggers in his eyes before waiting for a reaction from Harry, which never came.

It was at this precise moment that Draco decided to down the rest of the firewhiskey in his cup, as the rest of the eighth-years stared him down. Draco needed as much courage he could possible get if he was going to do what he was about to do.

In one swift movement, Draco threw his empty plastic cup to the floor, scooped Harry Potter’s face into his hands, and kissed him hard on the mouth.

Harry was taken aback, naturally, and Draco felt the brunette’s whole body go rigid. Draco just kissed him harder, because he knew this may be his only chance - he’s never have the right confidence to do this again.

Draco was finally about to pull away, when Harry seemed to regain control of his body and began to kiss him back.

Draco felt like melting right then and there, and he probably would have if it weren’t for the fact that Harry’s face was sitting in his hands. The golden boy’s own hands made their way to Draco’s blonde hair, and it felt like…

Heaven. That was the only word Draco could think of as the two boys moved their lips against one another’s. He wasn’t even religious, but that’s exactly what it felt like to Draco - heaven.

It was sloppy, and wet, and utterly wonderful.

When it was finally over, they pulled away and just stared at each other, for what felt like a lifetime.

The common room was dead silent, as Pansy, Blaise, Hermione, and Ron stared in complete surprise and fascination. Draco had nearly forgotten he had an audience - no, they, had an audience.

Draco wasn’t sure any of them would ever speak again until Blaise finally whispered, “Damn,” his voice sounding low and raspy.

That’s when Draco finally ripped his eyes from Harry’s and looked around at the spectators, who stared back looking quite dumbfounded.

No one had probably ever expected none other than Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy to bump lips, let alone be in the same room and not at each other’s throats.

When Draco looked back at Harry and his forest-green eyes, he was met with Potter’s crooked yet beautiful grin staring him in the face.

Things had changed - Draco could feel it in the air, and certainly in the tingle of his lips. He smiled back at the curly-haired boy. Draco was ready for a change.

Huntress

I really like the feel that the last story had, with a bit of a horror, So I’m going to do another along those lines.

“What do you mean it escaped? Where is it?” The administrator’s throat frill twitched in irritation.
“We don’t know. It managed to slip out of its containment cell somehow, we don’t know how.” Slurn’s color paled in submission.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about this thing you were supposed to be studying. Why isn’t it showing up on life scans?”
“By all rights its should be. It did when it was in containment.”
“Can it cloak itself somehow?”
“It never showed that ability before. We have workers combing the ship. From what we have seen of the settlement the specimen was taken from, humans are classified as non aggressive omnivore agrarians. So its probably scared and hidden itself somewhere sensors are just not catching it. Maybe a cabinet or under some heavy equipment.
“Its visual system appeared to be predatory.”
“It appears to have descended from a more predatory species, but has lost basically all other traits. Vestigial claws, reduced dentation. It’s probably terrified somewhere.” Slurn’s color returned with his confidence. “It’s just a matter of time.”

Ranken was irritated. He was probably going to get a reprimand for this creepy pink thing pulling this nonsense. He grunted as he lifted himself from the floor of the storage bay. It wasn’t under this land craft. He pressed the activation button on his communicator with a clawed thumb. “Service bay 17 is clear.” Something shifted behind him. He turned quickly, but saw nothing. A tool clattered to the ground somewhere in the room. Guarded, he began to lift the communicator to his snout, but didn’t manage to activate it before the storage rack beside him suddenly lurched away from the wall, raining heavy parts and containers down upon him before collapsing itself to pin him to the floor. Dazed, he could see the human scampering quickly over the debris. Its long dark skull growth hung low obscuring most of its face, but as it approached him he could see that it had bared its teeth at him, and held some twisted sharp piece of metal in its paw. He tried to free himself as it moved closer, brandishing the metal like a weapon. He couldn’t get enough leverage to move. It perched above him, and looked down with…pity? Was that what was gleaming in its eye? The metal pressed into him firmly and not nearly quickly enough to be called merciful. As his vision blurred and darkened, he watched as it slipped silently back into the shadows.

“Dead?” The administrator reddened in surprise
“The search teams found him under a parts rack that collapsed. We’re guessing he knocked it over on himself while looking for the human. Something impaled him, and tore itself free as it fell. He ended quickly.” Slurn was disappointed to have to give this news on top of everything else that happened that day. The reports back to homeworld were going to be a headache.
“Do you think the human had something to do with it?”
“The creature is a non aggressive primary herbivore, it only has a flight instinct… No fight.”
Slurn was interrupted by a terrified voice whispering over the comm channel. “The human is here.”
“Talik did you catch it?” The administrator replied.
Talik responded, “No sir.” His voice wavered with fear. “It killed Fen and disappeared.”
The administrator balked, “What do you mean it killed Fen?”
The returning voice was a jumbled gush of panicked words, “It came out of nowhere… Just.. Dropped from somewhere.. And it was screeching and blood… Blood was everywhere… And it.. Fen fell down… And it rolled off..and I can’t find it. Its somewhere in here… I don’t know where..”
“Where are you?”

“Engineering… Under my workstation.”


“Under your…” The administrator cut off. “Get out from under there and catch the damn thing. Its soft and half your size.”
“But.. Fen sir.. It took his.. Oh egg.” The comm went dead.
“Talik… Talik…” He started to yell into the com receiver, but there was no answer.
“You don’t think…” Slurn gulped as the comm clicked. A bubbling kind of bark came from the com. A maddening jibberish of sound, followed by some kind of crooning. “That’s the human.” Slurn said, “I’ve heard it bark like that before.”
“What does it mean? Can it be translated? You said it has a language.”
“We were still piecing it together.” He began to tap at his personal device, activating a translation program. “ The first part was called a laugh… Usually reserved for merriment or to relieve social tension.”
“So its nervous?”
“Maybe.” The device chirped, and began to attempt to turn the creatures sounds into real language. It seemed to be speaking in a melodious way.. Sing songing.
“I’m coming to get you… I’m going to get you all… one by little one. You can run, you can hide.. But I’m going to find you.” More laughter followed.”
“Is it…?” The administrator found himself gulping this time.
“I think its… Hunting us sir.”
The com chirped again, “Goodnight, rectums.” said the human, just as the ships main power went offline.
They looked at each other in disbelief in the ruddy glow of the emergency lighting system.
“Egg.” They said in near perfect unison.


Main life support had been off for hours, and the ship had gotten cold… Very cold. Slurn’s legs were getting cramped in the small cabinet he found himself hiding. He had been there since the administrator had died. They thought they had been hunting the human, tracking movements and anomalies on the ship’s scans. The human seemed capable of moving from one place to another without traversing the space between. Perhaps that was how it had escaped in the first place. Slurn was about to mention this thought to the administrator, was leaning around a corner when he suddenly made a gurgling noise, dropped the single rifle they had found, and fell. Slurn looked down in surprise to see that the adminitrator’s face had been cleaved open. The human slowly came around the corner. A heavy sharp blade fashioned crudely from some piece of scrap from the ship was clutched in its forepaw. Its naked body was slicked with gore from its kills. The admin twitched, drawing both the attention of, and a fresh screech from, the human as it brought the weapon down into the administrators body once more. Slurn took the opportuinity and managed to grab the rifle from the floor. Fumbling with fear, as the human worked the blade from the body with a wet slurping sound, he fired it and cleanly missed. The human turned, narrowing its eyes at him as it bared its teeth. Its long head growths hung heavy and wet with the blood of his comrades. It started to come toward him, taking long fearless strides, and raising its weapon. Slurn managed to cycle and fire the rifle again, this time the energy pulse struck the human just above the heavy bulge of its right mammary gland. It fell back, clutching the wound. Slurn’s hearts leapt for a moment. It bent low, and paused. Had he managed to defeat the beast? Just as any creature Slurn knew would have been collapsing to the floor in shock from the wound, the human instead turned its face to him again. The look on its face communicated a message of murderous rage, recognizable to any species. Slurn froze for a moment as it screeched even louder at him than he had ever heard it screech before, and bolted at him almost faster than he could register. Slurn was suddenly , blindly, fleeing. The high pitched keening he heard, a sound not unlike the sound a new hatchling made to cry for its mother, he realized was coming from his own throat. He scrambled as fast as his feet could carry him, claws digging into the deck plating. Now he was in his bedchamber, hiding in the small dark space behind a rack of his own clothing, as he had when he was a frighten child. The human had started its taunting call again, that sing songy sound, as it moved slowly closer. Slurn drew and held his breath as the door to his chamber opened. It called into the room. Slurn’s hearts pounded… Part of him was sure it could be heard by the thing following him, but he found… He couldn’t hear it. Was it in the room with him? Did it move on? There was no way to tell. His lung burned, reminding him that he hadn’t breathed yet. He let his breath out in a single heavy puff. The Human laughed again… Inches from the door to the cabinet. Slurn’s muscles completely locked up in terror and exhaustion as the human slowly opened the door. The whites of its teeth and eyes bright in the dim room. The world faded away as he mercifully passed out from fear… The last sound he heard was the human quietly and breathily barking her single sound at him.

“Gotcha.”

Humans are terrifying.