the signs as dennis reynolds screaming













I read about girls made of sunlight and moonlight, girls that make you feel at home just by walking into the room, girls with gold hearts and bright eyes.

i read about these girls and think about how I don’t fit in. i think about the dirt under my nails, the way I’m always too loud, how I can’t get through a conversation without saying the wrong thing. i think about how distant I can be.

i’ll never be able to relate to the girls who weave stars in their hair, the girls Aphrodite bows too, the girls with voices like rain. but I think that’s okay because
there are girls with voices that echo like thunder and I’m still listening. there are girls with eyes that don’t remember how to brighten, girls who forgot what it feels like to have the sun on their skin, girls who are just trying to make it to the next day so they can make it to the day after that.

there are girls who feel like hurricanes, girls who only feel like hurting, girls with enough anger in them to take out a whole city block.

there are girls who don’t want to be called yours, girls who keep tasers in their back pocket and by god if you get close they will use it.

i read about all the sunlight girls and the moonlight girls and
i think about the girls who are neither, but still just as worth it.
i think about how I am neither, but still just as worth it.

anonymous asked:

3?? :)

This one was a fun one to write! Enoy! Here’s #3: “I may be an idiot, but I’m not stupid.”

“I just don’t get it.”

“Oh you will, I’ll drag your little wolfy butt down there and make you try it. Grilled cheese mac n’ cheese will never be the same.”

Derek raised an eyebrow while he looked at the man currently draped across his lap. Amber eyes looked back almost in a challenge, a teasing smirk directed to Derek. He leaned down, hand wrapped in thick chestnut hair as their lips met. Arms wrapped around his shoulders, eyes fluttered shut, and before Derek could let himself enjoy this moment thundering footsteps echoed through his ears.

He reared back, eyes cast to the door as he tried to piece together who was on their way in. Stiles was already off the couch, flailing as he got on two feet. Derek let his eyes bleed to blue as he stood up himself only to pause when the undeniable scent of floral laundry soap, medical supplies, and pet dander hit his nose.

So when the loft door opened to expose Scott he wasn’t entirely surprised.

“Oh good Christ, Scotty it’s just you,” Stiles breathed, tone relieved and calm.

Scott rolled his eyes, feet stomping down the stairs like a toddler, “yeah just me. Scott McCall, your best friend.”

“What? Scott are you okay dude–?”

“Okay look,” Scott said, effectively cutting off Stiles much to Derek’s surprise, “I may be an idiot, but I’m not stupid.”

The air was thick as the tension steadily rose, his eyes flickered between the two others in the room. It was obvious that years of friendship allowed them to do this silent communication thing until Scott looked stricken and Stiles more or less looked terribly confused.

“Can you,” Derek started, Scott giving him a glare as he did, “explain?”

Scott growled, “are you kidding? You’re a best friend stealer! I never get to see Stiles anymore, he just says he’s got things to do. So I followed him this time around and I find him here? Look I don’t know why he’s choosing you over me but listen I’ve known him since babyhood! We’re baby brothers!”

Derek looked to Stiles, only to find the younger man biting his lip as laughter bubbled up from his throat and echoed through the loft. He fell in sync, his own laughter fell from his lips and made his chest tight at the sheer stupidity that was Scott at the moment. The loft was heavy with the smell of anything but platonic emotions and sex. Scott should’ve been able to smell it before he even opened the door.

There was another threatening growl and it sent him and Stiles further into laughter.

“You’re a terrible werewolf Scott,” Derek said once he managed to sober up.

Stiles huffed and Derek suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder then his cheek, then lips were on his. The familiarity of it make his eyes shut and his arms wrapped around Stiles’ slender waist. Scott was in the room, they both knew that, but it made Derek cringe and pull back. There was a huff and a wheeze from beside them.

Scott’s jaw hung dangerously low, his face bright red, and Derek found that he enjoyed seeing Scott scrambled.

“You–and?…Him with…? Oh my god,” he stuttered.

“I’m not stealing your best friend, I’m just spending time with my boyfriend,” Derek said with finality and Stiles arched an eyebrow at his choice of words. He gave Stiles a reassuring nod and it sparked something behind bright amber eyes that sent a shiver through him.

Stiles turned to look at Scott, “I promise, we’ll play some COD or something later…but Scott, get the hell out because I don’t think you wanna see what I’m about to do to my boyfriend.”

Derek let out a growl of his own as he moved them towards the bed, and with that Scott let out a flow of curses and gagging noises. The last thing Derek caught before Stiles got his full attention was the loft door as it slammed shut.



the sun whispered her silent plea
into the heavens for a quenching rain
to ease her searing heart
her unanswered cries turned to ashes
they lingered briefly
on a glass lake of broken promises
then drowning
until they lay on fertile ground
in the serenity of her dream she knew
just how much she loved the storm
his calming breeze
his cooling rain
her ashes lingered
the watery depths
of hope’s murky waters
she could feel her storm in the distance
the thunderous echo of his pulse resounding
knowing he too could sense her lament
she was consoled only briefly
she pondered
would he ever know that this celestial sky
with its bruised blue and lavender hues
had always belonged to him
made only for him
in the stillness of her waiting
two dark birds perched gracefully
in tangled branches
and began to rue with longing
even they knew
the melancholy tune of a lost love
her illuminating beams of light grew dim
she drowned in hope
waiting with an eager patience
desiring that calm hidden in the eye
of her most perfect and holy storm
that was to come


Thunderstorms || BF!Jimin || DRABBLE

gif is not mine

Genre: Fluff
Word Count: 1.4k
Warnings: Language (i guess?)

Description: In which thunderstorms make you feel feeble, fragile, and frightened – but Park Jimin shows you how to love them a little more.

Request: hellooo, i know people are busy with their lives but i can’t help think how cute bf!jm would be when his gf is scared of storms. like he would comfort her and try to make her laugh and aw !! thankss

Keep reading

thunder echoes behind
the words you speak—
a storm caught unaware
in your lungs as you
inhaled more and more air

simplicity of sleep—
the wind steals golden leaves
while you’re absorbed by
the sun’s rays

chameleon mind
losing your identity
by pretending that
everything’s fine
(you are built upon
false pretenses)

a moon melting into
the rising sun,
how soft it fades away,
leaving behind just a faint trace

loud voices are never lost
between a crowd of
forgotten thoughts,
so you make sure to be heard
(you are a siren with your words)

early morning fog
hangs suspended in midair
enshrouding the roads to come
obscuring the future sun

wild flowers and
grass untrimmed,
nature grows best
without interference

blueprints and
rough drafts
it’s hard to prepare
for the past

laugh lines and
no concept of time
perpetually chasing
the next adventure

cracked cement and
broken glass—
you feel compelled to fix
what will never last

a million eyes peering in
keep your emotions hidden
become the doll they see instead

unfamiliar reality
stuck in a parallel dimension
of your personal creation
(you cannot escape your own mirror)

safe (jung hoseok)

Originally posted by myloveseokjin

Type: Fluff

Word Count: 903

Summary: There’s a storm raging outside and you don’t know what to do, so your call you ray of sunshine to clear away the pouring rain. 

Reader’s POV

You sat against your door, wincing every now and then at the sound of thunder which slammed against your walls, echoing in the room.

Fumbling around your floor in the dark, you grabbed your phone and dialed the first number that came to mind.

As a couple rings passed, they picked up, a cheerful voice on the other end saying,“ y/n!!! What’s wro-” when you interrupted.

Keep reading

Bang The Doldrums

Pairing: Draco x Reader

Requested by an anon: Hey :) Can you please do a imagine where the reader ( slytherin) is cedrics best friend and when he dies in the triwizard tournament draco is by her side and comforts her? Lots of love from Germany!


A thunderous crack echoes through the jittery hords of people as the final champions arrive. The crowd erupts into a pandemonium of frenzy. Trumpets blare out and add to the euphoric atmosphere; quickly joined by the percussionists. 

Glimpsing Cedric’s form on the patchy grass, your face breaks into a relieved and triumphant grin. You push past the Slytherins surrounding you and race towards him. You vaguely catch an agonising scream coming from a member of Beauxbatons but shake it off. 

There’s a thick crowd surrounding Potter and Cedric. There’s a muffled sob emitting from the centre of the crowd and your heart stops for a moment. Soundlessly, you push through the frantic photographers and sullen Professors and stare at the heart-wrenching sight before you in incistent denial. 

You make no sound as you sink to the ground beside his lifeless body. Potter’s cries and clinging clutches fade out of reach along with every other peripheral backround noise as though they’re being drowned. 

Some point during the dissociation from reality, Potter is taken away and Cedric’s body is fully visible. You observe the tears in his clothes, splotches of mud and the patches of dried blood from cuts he obtained during the task. 

Your hand runs through strands of his walnut hair while your other presses against his chest above his heart. Countless memories of you both laughing until you had to go Madam Pomfrey as you had broken a rib, his grey eyes alight with joyous triumph and the feel of his beating heart when you rested your head against his chest flit through your mind.

Your body begins to shake when there’s no thud against your palm. Gritting your teeth in attempts to reel in your emotions, you feel the rush of persistent tears well up in your eyes. You let one single tear escape and it triggers a waterfall to cascade down your cheeks. But that’s such a glamourised description. The tears were more like acidic rain eroding the ground and all its life form’s souls, thus reflecting your grief, sorrow and incomprehensible anger towards this moment.

His cheeks are still flushed, as though he’s only asleep and he will awake at any moment which only has you pleading more to any “Superior God” out there to bring him back. 

Being so distant from the world around you, you gasp when you feel a strong arm wrap around your waist and pull you against their chest. The feeling sparks a thread of disconsolating realisation to rip through you and every foundation you had built for yourself demolishes.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” you whisper continuously like a damaged record at Cedric’s unmoving body.

The person holding you grips you tighter and kisses the top of your head softly. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.” they mutter into your ear and you recognise it as the voice of Draco Malfoy. 

“Everyone’s time to go passes eventually.” He says after moment, “We don’t have the ability to change monumental or fixed points in the past without triggering problematic occurences. They have an impact on the world as we know it and that in turn creates a paradox in the space/time continuum-” he trails off when he catches sight of your baffled and surprised expression and he blushes heavily. You can’t help it. A small smile appears at his antics, though tears continue to fall. 

He smiles rather bashfully but continues. “My point being is that the only way to get past the sempiternal sorrow is to live your life preserving the memories of those you have lost. To remember the happiest moments spent with them and keep them stored in your mind. Don’t be sorry for something you don’t have the power to change.” he says gently while brushing away your streaming tears with his thumb. 

You feel waves of despondence wash over you but determinedly blow them away. Cedric was your best friend. Someone you knew better than yourself and vice versa. You know for a fact that he would be cursing you from heaven, if it exists, should you dwell in sorrow for the remainder of your life.

Amos’ agonsing cries resound through your mind and clench at your heart; acting as a stimulus for your own recently quelled pain to flare up again. Draco notices and pulls you up. “Come on, love. It’s okay, let’s go for a walk.” he mutters softly and you nod shakily. It rips your heart to leave Cedric, but you can’t stay there. 

As you stumble away from the chaos, Draco’s arm wraps around your waist and rubs soothing circles into your hip. The flashes of cameras, harrowing cries and frantic whispers fill the once silent air.

Draco turns and holds you tightly in a grasp that demonstrates to you that he will never let you go. “I’m here, sweetheart. I’m here.” he whispers in your ear as you sob into his dampening chest.

You continue to cry vexatiously but find a sense of deep comfort as he continues to rub his hands up and down your back.

“And I always will be.” Draco whispers vehemently as he looks to the swirling storm above and prays to his lucky stars that he’ll be able to be.

Haunted Prompts

Send a character and a number and I’ll write a drabble or ficlet!

  1. A heartbeat thundering in the dark
  2. One last little light
  3. An echoing scream
  4. This house is ours
  5. A stranger in the house
  6. “Did that just move?”
  7. “I don’t believe in ghosts.”
  8. Imaginary friend
  9. Whispers
  10. “It’s staring at me.”
  11. The rocking horse kept moving
  12. It was in the mirror
  13. A psychic connection
  14. In the walls
  15. A cruel history
  16. Written in blood
  17. “Look at the picture!”
  18. The doll’s head turned
  19. “It’s just the wind”
  20. Making contact
  21. A floorboard creaked
  22. An odd tapping
  23. Children’s footprints
  24. Slamming door
  25. “S/he died seven years ago”
  26. The book lay still at an open page
  27. a sour smell
  28. “It said my name” 

‘Hadn’t had a good time since you know when.
Got talked into goin’ out with hopes you were stayin’ in.
I was feeling like myself for the first time, in a long time.’

‘Then you roll in with your hair in the wind, baby without warning
I was doin’ alright but just your sight had my heart stormin’’

The rain pelted against the roof of the training chamber, thunder echoing in the distance as Vegeta wiped the ever pouring sweat from his brow. He’d long since lost track of time. Once the weather report that morning had called for near emergency conditions he’d decided now was a better time than any to lock himself away for several hours in the metal room; if anything to at least to burn off the cabin fever creeping up his spine. He could only sit still for so long without wanting to murder something, so he felt as though he’d done some sort of benevolent service to the world.

The only irritating thing about locked away for so many hours were the thoughts, the somewhat repressed memories that came rumbling as deep as the storm overhead. He’d been practically taken prisoner on this God-forsaken planet; had been unwillingly integrated into some silly band of misfits determined on saving the world. Their leader Kakarot was of the same lineage as him, but had all the grace and poise of the village idiot. How that miscreant lower class Saiyan had surpassed him, the Prince, in raw power to become a super Saiyan was beyond him. But that was why he instructed the earth woman called Bulma to build him the training chamber. Despite her hostile and aggravating personality she’d agreed and encouraged his endeavors. Surely she was aware of what he was intending to do; his plans of immortality had gone awry on Namek but there were Dragonballs here on Earth as well. It was his duty as ruler of his people to be placed back in power again and becoming immortal would only assist him in that endeavor. Earth, while a lowly little planet could in fact be of some use to him. Frieza was no more, so what else was there to stop him? Kakarot perhaps…but once Vegeta, Prince of all Saiyans achieved the super level there would be no one to stand in his way.

Vegeta exited through the electronic doors, the sounds of the storm even louder now. Capsule Corp was one of the safest places to be in conditions like this, so he wasn’t the slightest bit concerned. He’d had worse. Much worse. Although, he noted as he passed by a shatter proof window that the sky was pitch black, no stars to be seen. A quick glance at the watch on his wrist (a gift from the annoying Bulma who insisted they were a necessity) told him it was almost midnight. Perfect. He would be alone if went down to the kitchen to raid the pantry.

He outwardly growled however when he noticed there was indeed a light on, the sounds of a radio on low. The music was absurd; whomever was singing had an odd accent he’d never heard before. He managed to creep to the doorframe, peering in to see Bulma, mug in hand on a barstool. And per her usual MO she was wearing hardly anything: a loose fitting white shirt and a ridiculously tiny pair of pink sleep shorts. Vegeta sneered, arms crossing. He didn’t understand it. Clothes were meant to be functional. They covered your body to protect it. And here she was, nearly naked just waiting for some predator.

Just as he was about to turn and leave without being noticed, a loud clap of thunder hit shaking the house and Bulma actually yelped. She jumped up, knocking over her stool and whatever liquid was in her cup came splashing out all over her flimsy night shirt.

“SHIT!” She swore through clenched teeth, pulling away the dripping front of her clothes. Vegeta couldn’t help it, he barked out a laugh and her head snapped to the doorway, eyes narrowed, “Yeah, yeah… Laugh it up you stupid jerk.”

Since he’d blown his own cover there was no use hiding anymore. Vegeta plastered on his best smirk and strode into the kitchen, “Ha. I could have guessed a weakling like you would be afraid of thunder.” He pulled open the fridge, seeing there was a platter of steaks with a yellow post it note right on top with his name scrawled across it. At least the blonde woman Bunny (unlike her obnoxious daughter) was good for something. He pulled out the entire thing, shirking utensils and instead grabbed a whole slab of meat with his hands and ripped out a large chunk with his teeth.

Bulma made a disgusted face, reaching down and picking up her stool, “Ew. You could have at least washed your hands you heathen.”

Vegeta’s face grew hot as Bulma bent over, her shirt riding up her back giving him a particularly nice view of the rounded underside of her ass cheek peeking out from beneath her shorts. He coughed and waved the steak at her, averting his eyes back to his meal so that he would no longer be distracted, “If you haven’t noticed, I’m not the one covered in liquid. Speaking of, it’s all over the floor. You might want to mop that up.”

Ah yes. That was the perfect comeback. Point for Vegeta.

“Shut up you ass-” whatever other insult she was ready to let loose was cut off by another loud boom. Bulma cowered on her stool, covering her ears.

Vegeta raised an eyebrow, still chewing, “Seriously?”

“I-it’s just loud.” She finally managed to whisper, “I’ve always hated thunder storms.”

“Tch,” He’d already finished the first steak and was starting on the second, “weak.”

“Whatever.” Bulma mumbled, turning the dial on the radio to make it louder. It was that music again; Vegeta realized with some annoyance he didn’t mind it as much as he should have. Not that he ever listened to music anyways. The Saiyans were not known for their love of the arts.

Against his better judgement, curiosity won him over, “What is this?” He mumbled, gesturing with the steak again towards the radio, trying to not sound interested.

“Oh, do you like it? It’s country.” Bulma said, her voice bright, “I like it because it’s romantic.” She sighed, “I’m still waiting for my cowboy.”

“What in the actual fuck is a cowboy? Sounds stupid.”

Bulma rolled her eyes, “Oh please. They’re hunky men who ride on horses and wear tight jeans and chaps.”

Vegeta scoffed, “Sounds stupid to me.”

“You don’t even know what any of things are! Actually,” Bulma smiled, waggling her eyebrows, “you’re a little bit like a cowboy, all handsome and rugged.”

The Prince froze mid chew; despite the fact that he knew she was teasing him, he was alarmed by the warmth behind her words. And that smile… What was she getting at? Feeling his cheeks heat up, he turned back to the fridge, looking for something…anything to get away from her gaze, “I’ll take that as an insult.”

Bulma sighed, “Huh, that’s too bad,” Her voice was suddenly soft behind him, “I really did mean it as a compliment. You’re a tough guy, but I know there’s more to you than that-”

He spun around and within milliseconds his hand was clutching her throat across the kitchen island. Bulma’s eyes went wide, their blueness startling. There was a glimmer of something akin to alarm in her face, but it was quickly replaced by that warmth again. She didn’t fear him. She never had. He could crush her right now and she wouldn’t care. For some insane reason she trusted him; knew he wouldn’t harm her. It made him feel weak. His fingers twitched around the softness of her skin, feeling her pulse throbbing… he was trying to will himself to squeeze and it just wasn’t happening.

What was wrong with him?

Her hand wrapped around his outstretched wrist. It was so small…her nails painted a pale pink nearly the color of her shorts. The touch was light and for a brief moment he welcomed it, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been touched when it hadn’t hurt. Her fingers moved and she brushed her thumb soothingly over his knuckles.

“I could kill you.” He said darkly, fingers twitching again, “it wouldn’t take much. You are-.”

Bulma’s thumb continued stroking his knuckles, “Weak, I know. But if you really wanted to, you would have done it already. I told you, I know there’s more to you.”

“No, there’s not-”

“YES there is.” Now Bulmas other hand was touching his face, brushing down his tightly clenched jaw. Vegeta squeezed his eyes shut and with near desperation tried to resist. But it only took a few moments before he pressed his cheek into her palm. Damn it. What was happening? “Come on cowboy,” she whispered, “let me in a little.”

“I…” He could feel his fingers slowly releasing her throat, trailing them down to her collar bone and running across them with a touch so soft if he didn’t know better he would swear it wasn’t his hand. Bulma breathed something that sounded like his name, her hand leaving his face and running through the onyx hair at his temple. The music was still playing in the background, and she was still looking at him in that way that made his stomach feel sick. If it wasn’t for the island separating them he might just…

He retracted with a snarl, knocking over his platter of steaks to the floor with the sudden movement and stormed out of the kitchen hearing her call his name behind him.

He didn’t turn around.

He couldn’t face her.

That tiny woman had made him lose his composure even if it was only for a moment. He was a prince, one of the last of an extinct race. His reputation needed to stay intact. Any distractions were unwelcome…

But her hands were so soft.

Unwelcome and unwanted…

But her eyes were bluer than any sky he’d ever seen.

He couldn’t afford to be taken advantage of again.

But oh how he wanted her to break him.

That last startling thought caused him to stop in his tracks right in front of his bedroom door, hands tightening into clenched fists. The same hands that had killed thousands she had caressed as if I were the most natural thing in the world. What on earth was this insignificant earth woman doing to him? The door almost buckled after he entered and slammed it shut.

After a time Vegeta managed to lay on his bed staring broodingly at the ceiling, fingers twitching restlessly behind his head. The sound of the rain was making him anxious. There was a time where he would have had no issue eliminating a woman like her; she was brazen, outspoken, dangerous. A Prince like him could not afford to be distracted with such treacherous feelings.

And yet…

Why did she consume his thoughts? He’d done his best to berate her, ignore her, curse her, tease her and yet here she remained. She claimed to see something in him, but what?

A heat began radiating through his palms, an outward manifestation of the turmoil raging inside of him. He needed something, a distraction…

The radio he’d never used on the desk in the corner caught his eye. Deciding that Bulma was probably asleep by now and wouldn’t hear the music he rose and made his way to it. The copious amounts of buttons threw him for a moment (obnoxiously unnecessary if you asked him), but after some button mashing the radio blared to life, his fingers rotating the station knob scan until…

There was that music again. The one he didn’t mind. He turned the volume down until it was barely audible and this time pulled the blankets on his bed down and crawled beneath them. Wishing these new and unwelcome emotions gone, he shut his eyes and tried to block out his thoughts.

There was a soft knock on the door and Vegeta stiffened. Damnit.

“Vegeta? Are you awake?” The voice was muffled through the door, but he knew it was her.

He was at the door in an instant, pulling it open and seeing her large eyes staring at him. Bulma looked startled, but quickly composed herself, “Hey look, I’m sorry. I don’t say that often but-”

He grabbed her around the waist, pulling her inside his room and closed the door behind them. Vegeta pressed her back against the wall, lips seeking hers in the darkness of the room. She let out a gasp, fingers winding into the hair on the back of his head.

“Damn you,” he murmured against her lips, hands already pulling down her sleep shorts and palming her wet heat. She mewled, hips bucking, hands trying to pull down his shorts as well.

Vegeta was broken. But now he knew why. It was her doing. She stirred him in ways he thought had died along with his home. Just a child lost among a sea of stars and death, he’d witnessed more in his lifetime than most would in a thousand. None had affected him or caused him to lose any sleep in a long, long time. The life chosen for him had hardened his soul and that was how he had survived after all this time.

But she had broken that. All it had taken was a crack,

“I know there’s more to you than that-”

But was there really? She had no clue the things he had done, the man that he was. His fingers stilled against her hardened nub, her breath hot against his neck.

What was he doing?

“Vegeta?” Her voice reverberated against his skin, it was breathy and low, “what’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer. Eyes closing tightly, he hung his head until it rested against her shoulder. The warmth from her womanhood was strangely comforting against his fingers, sticky and wet. Could he allow this? To lose control with her? It went against everything he’d ever been taught. Then again, everything he knew was told to him by the alien that had destroyed his world. He was free, so why did he still feel caged?

Bulma said his name again, gently nudging his cheek with her nose. He opened his eyes, and she looked into them without fear. Her hand moved from his waist down the front of her shorts, covering his slick fingers with hers. She began to guide him, never once breaking eye contact.

He watched her with fascination, noting the way her thighs clenched around his hand when he hit just the right spot, how her pupils expanded as her breathing became more ragged; her fingers stilled and yet he continued, circling until she shuddered against him, so trusting and un afraid.

The waist of his shorts slipped lower after a few moments, Bulma freeing his arousal to the open air. Her hand encircled him, and he hissed out her name. Morality had never been his strong suit, so boundaries be damned. He pulled away from her, grabbing her by the shoulders and pushing her down on the bed. Within a breath, he was between her legs and slipping inside her.

The sounds of the storm outside and the radio within the walls were soon muffled and lost among the sounds of her moans and his ragged breathing. After a time he managed to growl out her name and spilled himself within her, this slip of a woman who had somehow torn a way around his defenses. Bulma pulled his mouth down to hers and this time he didn’t even try to resist, her lips were too soft and he was tired of pretending something within him wasn’t changing.

The storm within him had calmed; even if it was only an imperceptible amount. She was the cause and he could no longer hide the fact that he knew this.

It was enough for now.

'The moon went hiding,
stars quit shining,
rain was driving,
thunder 'n lightning.’

'You wrecked my whole world when you came, and hit me like a hurricane.
You hit me like a hurricane.’

Song credit: Hurricane by Luke Combs

Gimme Shelter



Dean yanks open his bedroom door to find the bunker bathed in cool darkness, the sound of the driving rain sending echoes bouncing off all the walls, punctuated by a violent clap of thunder. The lights flicker on for just a second, just long enough to illuminate Castiel, standing pinned to the wall outside his own bedroom, eyes wide with fright, before the darkness returns and with it another loud crash of thunder. He hears a pained yelp come from Cas’ direction, and the rain lashes against the building with more fervour.

“Cas, buddy, it’s just a storm. It will pass.”

Dean fumbles around on the table near his bedroom door in search of the flashlight he knows is there, and manages to turn it on. He shines the beam of light down the corridor towards Castiel’s room, and finds his angel just where he was before: clinging to the wall with his chest heaving and his skin ashen grey. For a second he wonders if something else has happened, if the sound of the storm drowned out some other noise he should have been listening for; Castiel can’t be this scared of thunderstorms, surely.


His name leaves the angel in a fearful, broken whisper, and Dean beckons to him, unable to stand the petrified look in his clear blue eyes for a moment longer. Cas hesitates, then crosses the few steps to Dean’s room as though he were walking across a disintegrating bridge over a canyon, and collides brutally with Dean in his desperation to get inside and get safe. Dean’s arms automatically come up around the angel, and feels the tremors racking through him. He almost smiles; almost. If Cas wasn’t so completely shaken by all this, it would be mildly amusing. Adorable, even. But right now the angel needs reassurance, not ridicule.

“Dean, what’s going on? It sounds like the sky is falling!”

Cas is still standing in Dean’s arms, his own wrapped tightly around the hunter’s waist, his terror overriding every social skill he had spent so long learning, and Dean finds himself rubbing Cas’ back to try and transfer some comfort though his touch into his shaking friend. It’s so bizarre that Dean wonders for a moment if he’s dreaming: the famed Castiel, angel who had commanded thousands and fought in battle over centuries, is frightened by thunder.

“It’s just a thunderstorm, Cas. You’ve experienced these before, surely?”

Another clap of thunder splits the air and Castiel yelps, loudly, right by Dean’s ear. The lights flash on and off again, the wind and rain outside playing havoc with the power lines, and for a moment Cas’ white face is illuminated, only inches from Dean’s. All humour in the situation dies as Dean sees the tears in his friend’s eyes and the tense, defined lines between his brows and crossing his forehead. Cas is really scared, and it’s not so funny any more.

“Hey, come on. It’s OK.”

Dean manoeuvres them both back into his room and kicks the door shut. Cas is still clinging to him, reluctant to let go, so it takes Dean a minute or two to get them across the room to sit down on the bed. Thunder splits the air again and Castiel tenses violently. Dean sets the flashlight dow on the bed, angled so that it casts the room into as much light as possible, and reaches over to turn his iPod off. He had been listening to a little classic rock, trying to wait out the storm, when he had heard Castiel cry his name from down the hall during a light instrumental. Shadows are jumping across the walls, and probably not helping Cas’ nerves but the only other option is total darkness and that’s less than preferable right now.

“Dean, what’s happening? This is what a thunderstorm sounds like on earth?!”

“Yeah, Cas, what did you think it would be like?”

“It’s so loud. Does it sound this loud to you?” Cas’ eyes are wandering fitfully around Dean’s room, evidently trying to work out if the hunter finds it all as overwhelming as he does. It’s normally Castiel and his angelic powers making the weather storm like this, knocking out electricity and sending rumbling shockwaves through the air. Dean supposes it makes sense for the loss of that control to knock him for six.

“Yeah, Cas, it’s loud. But hey, after thirty-something years of experiencing them, you kinda get used to it. Maybe your angel mojo is magnifying-“ Dean is cut off as another rumble splits the air between them, twice as loud now. The storm is directly above them, and the lights flash and flicker on and off sporadically, making Cas tremble and Dean has to admit that this is one of the more violent storms in his recent memory. The wind is screeching outside, and he’s pretty sure that when they eventually venture out into the main area of the bunker that the rain will have seeped in under the door. Cas has his head in his hands, trying to calm himself down, but Dean can sense it isn’t working. He reaches over and grips his friend’s shoulder, rubbing gently and murmuring nonsense to him.

“It’s OK, Cas, it will pass. The thunder can’t hurt you. It’s the lightning you have to worry about, and we’re safe from that in here. It’s fine, you’re fine.” He shifts closer to Cas on the bed as another rumble crashes through the bunker, and the air between them is thick with Cas’ emotion. He brings his other hand up, moving Cas to face just a little away from him, and starts to massage his shoulders with gently but insistent fingers, trying to work through some of the tension. Cas leans back into his hands with a low sound of relief, tensing and cringing again at another crash. Dean moves closer, running his hands up and down Castiel’s upper arms, feeling tremors rock through his angel and trying to shush and calm him with his touches and low murmurs into his ear.

He doesn’t know how they end up lying back on his bed together. He doesn’t know how his arm ends up under Cas’ head, the angel using it as a pillow while Dean plays with his hair, or how his other arm ends up thrown over his friend’s waist, pulling him close. He can’t work out how their legs got tangled together, or how Cas’ hands are fisted in his flannel overshirt, his too-blue eyes studying Dean’s face, dropping down to his lips then back up until ocean-blue meets sparkling green. Being so close to his hunter is calming Castiel; the sound of the thunder seems to be fading into the background the longer he looks into Dean’s eyes, and his heart rate is steadily dropping back to somewhere near it’s normal region. Dean’s calm, controlled presence is exactly what he needs, and he’s staring back at Cas with an unreadable expression on his handsome face. Castiel thinks, not for the first time, how beautiful his hunter is, especially this close.

Dean doesn’t know what passes between he and Cas at that moment. Cas is looking at him strangely, an expression of awe and longing on his face, the fear all but ebbed away, and as Dean gazes at him he feels one of Cas’ hands come up to brush over his jaw with feather-light fingertips. Then over his cheekbone, temple, then back down…to his lips. Cas passes a thumb lightly over Dean’s full bottom lip, watching the movement of his own hand curiously as though he’s powerless to control it. His breathing is slow now, deep and controlled, and his brows are furrowed with intrigue rather than nerves. Dean’s hand plays gently in Cas’ hair, his other stroking circles onto the angel’s back as they lie and study each other in the semi darkness, warm and safe in the bunker, the driving rain and crashing skies all but forgotten. Minutes or hours pass them by, lost in each other as Cas traces the lines of Dean’s face and Dean pulls his angel closer and closer, and it’s only a matter of time before the inevitable happens.

If asked, Dean would have no clue who made the first move, who kissed whom. It just happened, the crescendo of their years of skirting around each other and swallowing their feelings. It was gentle but deliciously explosive, the feel of Castiel’s mouth against his, his chapped lips soft but persistent; Dean can feel him holding back years of want, trying not to push too hard with their first kiss. Maybe he’s worried Dean will pull away. Maybe he’s worried he will pull away. That’s when Dean takes control; he tangles his hand firmly in Castiel’s hair and locks their mouths together with a low, drawn out moan of pure joy. Cas’ lips part beneath his and Dean dips his tongue in curiously, tasting Cas and pouring all his love and adoration into his kiss. He holds Cas close, tight to his body, and Castiel returns the embrace and that’s how they stay, pressed together in an intimate embrace, using their mouths to memorise each other and commit this moment to memory, even as the thunder splits the skies above them.

He’s kissing his angel, and his angel is kissing him right back and this right here is what heaven truly feels like.

AO3 Link

“Explain to me again, why we thought this was a good idea?”

Aelin titled her head slightly, blonde hair falling off her shoulder. She watched the scene before her unfold with narrowed.

“There’s no we.” Feyre looked over at Fenrys, her brows pulled into a glare. “This was all you.”

Aelin shoot Fenrys her own look when he looked to her for help. Because Feyre was right. This was 100% his fault.

“It wasn’t all me.” Fenrys crossed his arms.

“It doesn’t really matter whose fault it is at the moment.” Mor stepped forward. A loud bang, like thunder rattling the skies, echoed across the court yard. “What matters now is who is going to stop it.”

“You want to step into that mess?” Lysandra raised a perfect eyebrow.

“Well someone’s going to have to soon,” Aelin sighed as another crash sounded. “I actually like no court yard in one piece.”

She should have known something like this would happen at some point.

Not that Aelin regretted inviting High Lord Rhysand and High Lady Feyre of the Night Court, and their inner circle, to her court. Far from it. It was something Aelin always dreamed of doing someday once she got her throne back. She was always so fascinated with Prythian and their ways. Especially their courts. So when Aelin managed to get in contact with the first High Lady ever in Prythian history, Aelin was all for inviting her to stay.

She prepared everyone, of course. Her court knew who was coming weeks before. She had a lengthy talk with Rowan before she even invited them. But, while everyone else seemed onboard with the idea, Rowan wasn’t. Not fully. Not that Aelin expected he would be. The Fae of Prythian were a different kind of Fae compared to them. Of course Rowan was going to be on his guard.

But since the Night Court arrived, everything had been going well. Until now.

Aelin and her whole Inner Circle were out in the court yard training for the afternoon, like they always did. And of course, Aelin told Feyre that her and the Night Court were more than welcome to come.

It was amazing, really. Getting to fight alongside the Fae of Prythian was so exciting, at least to Aelin. To watch and learn their fighting style. How the Illyrian used their wings to their advantage. How they used their magic, how Feyre used her magic. It all blown Aelin away.

Aelin would never be able to get the image of Fenrys and Rhysand’s fight out of her head. Watching them both disappear then reappear, Aelin never saw anything like it before.

Then Fenrys had to make a comment.

Rhys and Rowan were both on edge around each other. More Gods damn territorial Fae bullshit. Both Fenrys and Cassian had been pushing their buttons all week. And the easiest way to push their buttons? Talk about Aelin and Feyre.

Fenrys and Cassian always asked them about their mates. Comparing. Asking who had the better mate. Of course, Aelin and Feyre paid no attention to any of it. But Rowan and Rhys… Just the other night they got in a two hour debate over this.

So when Aelin invited the Night Court to come train and fight with them, she should have known something was going to happen.

“I vote Fenrys.” Amren had a look in her eyes as a dangerous smirk grew on her face.

“Do you want me to blood?” Fenrys glanced down at her before looking away quickly. “Don’t answer that.”

“You are the one who made the comment, Fenrys.” Gavriel pointed out.

Fenrys dramatically rolled his eyes. “I simply stated that I wondered, out of Aelin and Feyre, who had the strongest mate.”

“And you knew that would set them off.”

“Did not.”

“Shut it.” Aelin spun towards Fenrys, a look to kill on her face. “Of course you knew. You’ve been pushing them all week. Now stop this before my court yard is in pieces.”

If it was anyone else on the end of Aelin’s glare, they would already be running. But this was Fenrys. Aelin was sure he didn’t back down from her simply to bug her and piss her off.

“You want me,” Fenrys placed a hand on his heart before pointing to the tangled, fighting mess that was Rowan and Rhys. “Me. A male Fae. To step in-between two territorial males who are in the middle of fighting over their mates.”

Aelin could feel her fingers starting to heart up. She was moments away from throwing a fireball at that damn smirk on Fenrys face when Feyre stepped forward.

“Cauldron boil me.” She let out a frustrated sigh, before grabbing Aelin by the wrist. “Come on.”

“Where are you going?” Mor raised an eyebrow at the two.

“To stop this territorial bullshit before the whole castle is on the ground.”

Feyre let go of Aelin’s wrist as they marched towards the two males.

They were a whirlwind of disaster. Blood and sweat covered them both. Mostly sweat, thank Gods. They were both using every trick they had. And honestly, Aelin couldn’t even tell who was winning at this point.

Rhys throw a punch towards Rowan, who blocked it no trouble. But just before Rowan could return the favor, Feyre sent a gush of wind forward, separating the two long enough for Aelin to put up a wall of fire.

“You both need to stop.” The look Feyre was giving the two males made Aelin proud. “Before you destroy the whole damn place.”

Both males were silent. They simply starred each other down, looking through the wall of fire.


Rowan’s eyes snapped towards his mate. He was breathing heavily, sweat coating his bare chest and blood running down the side of his face. His face softened slightly when his eyes met hers. And Aelin was slightly thrilled to see a bit of fear in his eyes. Good. She was pissed.

“Who cares which one of you is stronger.” Aelin looked from Rowan to Rhys and back. “You have badass mates who can damn well protect themselves. So it doesn’t really matter how strong you males are.”

“Rhys.” Feyre’s face was hard. Her and Rhys locked eyes for a moment. Aelin wasn’t sure if it was just the look Feyre was giving him, or if they were talking through their bond, but after a few moments, Rhys backed down. 

And when Aelin was pretty sure the two males weren’t going to attack each other, she lowered the wall of flames. Both males walked over to their mates.

Aelin grabbed Rowan’s arm and the four walked back towards the group. Rowan and Rhys were still on edge, but they didn’t seem like they were going to attack each other soon. Save for the looks they kept throwing each other.

“Looks like you both are still in one piece.” Fenrys smirked as they reached the group.

“Fenrys.” Aelin growled a warning.

Aedion sighed and started to shake his head. “You actually have a death wish.” 

“Your month is almost as big as Cassian’s.” Mor sent a look to the male next to her.

Cassian shook his head, smirk on his face. “Trust me. No one has a bigger month then me.”

“That’s not something to be proud of.” Azreil said, causing Cassian to send a look his way.

“Besides,” Cassian looked over at Rhys, a sly look on his face. “If I really wanted to push their buttons-“

“Cassian.” Feyre snapped, but it was no good.

“-I’d just simply tell them that apparently, wingspan accounts for other parts of the body.”

A collective groan sounded throughout the group. Aelin was about to lounge at Cassian, and Feyre looked like she was going to join her.

“You are a Gods damn-“

Mor was cut off by the sound of wings. Aelin turned just in time to watch as Rowan turned into his hawk form and Rhys started to flex his wings.

Taking a deep breath in through her nose, Aelin turned to Feyre.


Feyre turned to Aelin, meeting her eyes.


“I am smiling at myself today
There’s no wish left in this heart
Or perhaps there is no heart left
Free from all desire
I sit quietly like Earth
My silent cry echoes like thunder
Throughout the universe
I am not worried about it
I know it will be heard by no one
Except me.”   ~ Rumi

I composed a symphony of explanations;
Music notes danced upon apologies,
A whirlwind of ways I could let you go,
Forget you ever existed,
But you tend to linger, don’t you?
Your gangly figure obscured by sturdy oak trees,
Never reaching out, never speaking,
Watching, waiting, aching.
No words,
Only silence.
And if I am being honest, my deafened ears
Would hurt less if this music hadn’t stopped,
If you spoke, screamed,
For I can no longer hear melodies.
You have snapped strings,
And this remaining silence echoes,
It always echoes.
Louder than thunder.
—  poeticallyordinary, deafening silence
Tempête || Foxxay Oneshot

A/N: Hello ! You can read this fic on Ao3 if you prefer. I hope enjoy reading this, I enjoyed writing it.

Summary: Misty gets scared of the thunder, and Cordelia makes a poor decision 


Warnings: None

“Shit Dee” Misty cursed as another wave of thunder boomed and echoed through the house. Misty could have sworn she felt the thunder vibrate through the couch she sat on. 

“What Misty ?” Cordelia said in a sarcastic tone. “I thought a girl who lived in a swamp most of her life would be used to storms.” She sneered.

Cordelia looked up from her book and immediately regretted what she said. Misty’s eyes were glossed over and she could see her face getting redder by the second. 

“Oh, babydoll.” Cordelia mummered in a nurturing voice. She quickly rose from her seat and walked over to the opposite couch where Misty sat, bundled in a mountain of blankets. Cordelia perched herself as close to Misty as she could and wrapped her arms around her. “I’m sorry, I-I just assumed…” She started, squeezing Misty tightly.

“No, it’s alright Delia. It’s a stupid thing ta be scared ‘f anyways.” Misty let out a half hearted laugh that melted into the silence of the room. Cordelia heard a quiet sniffle as Misty started to escape from the mountain of blankets and get up. But as Misty started to rise she felt a gently grip of someone’s hand on her wrist. 

“No, it isn’t.” Misty turned to face Cordelia, caught off guard. “I don’t want you to feel bad for being scared Misty. It’s okay to be afraid. No matter what the fear is, big or small, I’ll always protect you from it. I would never let anything ever hurt you.” Cordelia grabbed Misty’s chin and led her closer to her. She connected their lips into a gentle kiss. Misty’s hand wrapped around Cordelia’s neck and pulled Cordelia’s body closer to her own. Cordelia pulled out of the kiss, “I love you angel.” She beamed. 

Misty’s bottom lips quivered as her eyes started to tear up again. “I love ya so much Delia.” She whispered. Cordelia’s smile grew as she softly wiped the tears from Misty’s cheeks. “So goddamn much.” She panted before tugging Cordelia back into another kiss. 

Most people don’t like rain. They associate it with unpleasant greyness and gloom. But to me there is something about a storm that is entrancing.

From the low rumbles of thunder that echo through my ribcage to the cadence of raindrops splashing against leaves and pavement and dirt to each blinding bolt of lightning that could be the final flash before the end of my days.

It’s all so violent and powerful and breathtaking, yet it brings life. It transforms the world below with its furious song and shapes the earth to be reborn into beauty again.

All this change happens without warning and without mercy, just as it happens in our own lives. And though it is frightening, I cannot help but watch the storm rage on and wonder what my life will look like when the sky settles down again.

—  Z.M.
in which Albus is reckless, Scorpius is hurt and Harry is a bit of a prat,

[scorbus, 852 words]

Albus stormed out of the castle. He had just received another letter from his dad warning him not to go near Scorpius. It had been the third that month. He was beyond annoyed at Harry and in his angered state not fully conscious of his actions. Albus found himself nearing the quidditch field and concluded that going for a fly would cool his nerves most. He cast accio to summon his broom, deciding that safety precautions were unnecessary and his casual weekend attire would suffice.

Once finally in the air he was traveling at an alarming speed, his broom was likely too powerful for him, especially at this age, but of course being the son of ‘the chosen one’ he was expected to excel in every area of the curriculum so his father had bought him the broom at the beginning of the year.

Suddenly a deafening boom echoed in the sky. Thunder. Albus felt rain speeding down. Instantly regretting not bringing any of his usual quidditch gear. He quickly realised he was now to high up to see the ground, a terrifying feat seeing as at a point this high up the lighting was temporarily blinding him with each strike. Albus gripped his broom handle as hard as possible, steering towards the ground. Water-logged hair was caught in his eyes as he descended, not that his sight currently mattered much as he was surrounded by grey clouds and thick fog.

Without warning a sharp gust of wind sent him hurtling off of his broom, plunging back to earth. He became quickly enveloped in darkness and silence.

Albus awoke, he was disorientated, he felt numb and was covered in a cold sweat. An attempt to move confirmed that the crash had been real as he was drowned in white-hot pain.

He dragged his eyes open. His vision was blurred but he quickly regained sight to see a flash of familiar grey eyes before they abruptly disappeared. Scorpius? he felt himself mouthing but no sound emerged, he was sure it had been Scorpius’ eyes. Memories then flooded back. He realised it couldn’t be - Scorpius hated him. Ever since Albus had began to ignore him, of course it had been on is father’s demands however Malfoy had no way of knowing that.

Potter was pulled from his thoughts as he heard Madam Pomfrey stride up to his bed. He realised that he was in the hospital wing at that point. “Albus, that was a nasty fall you had there, lucky there was a student close by, if they hadn’t got you here when they did I’m sure the outcome would have been far worse,” said Pomfrey, apparently feeling greetings were unnecessary. Albus decided to test his voice again,

“Who brought me in Madam?” the voice came out scratchy but it was there this time.

“I’m afraid to tell you that’s confidential Albus, how are you feeling?” asked Pomfrey. Albus muttered an untrue response and listened to the Healer’s rant about him being reckless whilst his mind fluttered back to the familiar grey eyes. Once the older witch had decided on leaving, Albus was now informed of his injuries (consisting mainly of broken bones, which were supposedly not going to be too tough to fix.)

“Scorpius?” he tried again, his voice sounding shaky. A flourish of a cloak sounded next to him and the grey eyes returned.

“I’m sorry Al, I know I shouldn’t be here, I couldn’t bring myself to leave without knowing if you were alright, uhh it… it was me who brought you in,” Scorpius’ voice was almost a whisper. He got up and stepped towards the curtains, surrounding their small private space.

“thank you,” Albus blurted out “please don’t leave, I have to explain to you what’s been happening, I understand if you hate me I just-”

“I don’t,” Scorpius shot back “hate you I mean, I couldn’t. I thought you hated me honestly,” and he stayed, listening.

So Potter explained how his father had warned him to stay away from Scorpius, how he had only obeyed because he knew that Professor McGonagall had the Marauders Map and how  he knew Scorpius would get in trouble which isn’t what he needed especially since the media had finally stopped with the accusations of Malfoys relations to Voldemort. Scorpius told him he didn’t much care that he would get in trouble nor did he care for the medias input and they hugged, things felt normal again. So Scorpius made to leave and it was Albus’ turn to tell his fellow Slytherin how little he cared for Harry’s twisted views and McGonagall’s unlikely use of the map. So Scorpius stayed again, and they hugged again. Ignoring Pomfrey’s call from behind the curtains, informing them that she was calling Albus’ parents who would arrive  by floo any minute.

The two became a tangle of limbs, sleepily catching up on one another’s dull lives in the year they had been apart, things felt better care-free they both concluded.UnFortunately that’s how Harry and Ginny found them and was that a smile on the red-heads face?