what is this solar flare

Six Years and Seven Days

This is pretending that Bellamy could hear Clarke talking all those years, she just can’t hear him responding, and that the ship at the end is them coming back to Earth. 

So…pain. 


Day Three

“Bellamy…are you up there? Are you alive? Is anyone alive?”

Static.

“I only woke up yesterday. At least, I think it was yesterday. I barely made it into the bunker in time, but I made it. And the computer says it’s been three days since the radiation hit, and I was so hungry I thought I might die. Please tell me you didn’t die.”

Silence.

“Bellamy, my mom was right. In a way. My face is disgusting, covered in boils. You’d be laughing at me…probably. Because she was right but so were you. I’m not dead Bellamy. I hope you aren’t either.”

His fingers slammed on the respond button, pushing it down to the point of it feeling like it would crack from the pressure.

“I’m not dead, Clarke. I’m not dead.”

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         When violet eyes get brighter, and heavy wings grow lighter
 I’ll taste the sky and
feel alive again
      And I’ll forget the world that I knew, but
I swear I won’t forget you
   Oh, if my voice could reach back through the past, I’d whisper in your ear:
           “Oh, darling, I wish you were here.”

anonymous asked:

but technically kara would be able to get tattoos nd piercings when she solar flares

Yes this is for sure what she tells Alex to do when she has those moments when she has colds and broken arms and stuff.

“Alex.” *cough cough* “I need you to do something for me.”

“Of course, Kara, anything you need.”

“Will you pierce my ears – ”

“Not this again – ”

“And give me a really cool tattoo?”

anonymous asked:

You know what's better than drunk Kara? Stoned Kara. Next time she solar flares she decides to give it a go because it's not like she'll be affected at any other time. Kara spent the next few hours calling up Lena regularly to ask if pigeons knew they were pigeons, or if the yellow she saw was same as the yellow Lena saw. Then Kara went on a quest to eat from every place that sold potstickers in National City, before curling up to nap on Lena's couch (without letting Lena know she was visiting)

Love it <3

We were Gods - Chapter 3

Lost in the Woods; a song about Artemis

The day she goes mad-
No.
All right.


She remembers she liked to hold Apollo’s hand; little clumsy fingers solid intertwined with her own delicate ones.
People tend to forget that they’re twins, separable only by gender.
She remembers all the times they’ve curled around each other with her head tucked under Apollo’s chin and his hands caressing the soft fabric of her cotton shirt.

“They’re one,“ her mother used to say and “They know each other’s soul.“

Sometimes they communicated in words and gestures only, almost as if they had their own special language.

Apollo said sun and she said moon.
Apollo said Hamlet and she answered why Shakespeare when we can watch a mother tear her son apart every day.
Eventually Apollo said hunt and she said death.

She never answered after that again.

She should have known, that some things were not meant to be.


There’s a fist fight going on at the schoolyard. Artemis knows it, before she sees it. Sometimes she feels as if something pulls her magically, an invisible thread she can’t cut. It’s Apollo, of course.

Asterion pulls her brother off the tangled pile of limbs and hands and fists.
Bruised lips, heaving chest, solar flares in his eyes.

“What the hell is wrong with your brother?”
Someone shouts at her. It’s Hermes.

She turns her head in slow motion, soaks in all the little details around her - worried glances, Medusa’s wild hair, Ariadne’s hand on Asterion’s shoulder - her eyes rest on Apollo’s face.
He’s troubled. Mad. Wild.

She doesn’t know.
She doesn’t know.


Artemis is a wildfire.

She’s a force of nature and she burns and singes and blazes.
There’s gasoline in her veins and smoke in her lungs.
A heart of a flame, ash on her skin, smile sharp and cutting.

Touch her and you’ll burn.

Fire, has always been her element.

After all, in order to rise, a phoenix always has to emerge from its own ashes.


Sometimes she walks through the woods alone to breathe free.

There’s something utterly serene about yellow burned sun rays that try to cast their hazy blurs through the thick canopy of reddish leaves.

Sometimes she screams.

No one stops her after all.


The day she goes mad-
This mission has been complicated.

It should have been a standard kill job, but the target had been slippery and surprisingly well trained.

Artemis sighs.

The mission has been clear: kill.

But Artemis watches the soft dark curls that fall into Callisto’s eyes, how the girl brushes the single strand behind her ear and bites down on the soft pink cushion of her underlip in concentration.

Artemis is poised and, if she wants to, she could take the shot. She has done it before, to other girls, other men in other cities. A bullet in the head, a knife between the ribs and the girl would just be another body in the river, floating out with the tide.

The finger around the trigger twitches - Callisto turns around, chest heaving, eyelashes fluttering shut.

The mission resets abruptly. Objective kill: override. New mission: protect.


“Technically it wasn’t on fire,” Apollo says and pushes the metallic, shiny lighter back into his jeans pocket. Artemis snorts and watches the flames soaring around the building.

She turns around abruptly, tugging a sleek Walther PPK between the rim of her jeans and her back; the metal cools her skin in an instant and she takes a deep breath.

When she turns around, Apollo still looks at her, his smile razor sharp with cutting edges.
Perilous.

“Of course it wasn’t on fire”, she says and opens the door to her car, “You completely blew it up.”

He doesn’t deny it, but takes his place in the passenger seat.


At times it feels as if her head would split in two.
Constantly torn between how people want her to be and trying to figure out who she wants to be.
She wants to kiss boys and make them cry.
She wants to kiss girls and make them love her.
She wants to love brutal and fierce, yet vulnerable and easy.
She wants to climb and hunt and run wild and free and get into fights.

She simply wants.

Sometimes, that’s already too much.


The Day she goes mad -
she can’t pull the trigger.

She wears a black, well-worn leather jacket that makes her shoulder look broader than intended, her hips narrow and slim; the bright, shiny Rouge Allure lipstick from Chanel on her full lips glistens in the sun. She drags a row of perfect white teeth over it but it doesn’t smudge.

Orion leaves the gas station with a packet of Wrigley’s Extra chewing gum and a bottle of coke. His jaws are chewing fast and hard and she observes the way his muscles work, how his throat glistens in the sun from a fine layer of sweat that reflects the bright sunlight.

“Should we let him know we’re on him?” Her brother asks bored from the side, his feet dangling from the hood of her black, shiny Volkswagen GTI. A cigarette dangles between his lips and Artemis observes the way the red glimmer in the ash flashes bright vermillion before it dies back to crimson again. The ash rains down on the sandy road.

“Now”, she finally breathes and turns around, the weapon steady between her delicate fingers, “Where’s the fun in that?”

anonymous asked:

Three word prompt: My life line

#300

—–

It’s not that either one of them really want to watch a movie, they’re barely paying attention to the screen. It’s just that neither of them want to go out.

It’s too new. It’s too raw with them still. Every time he looks at her, it feels like her chest is collapsing and her heart throbbing to escape. He touches the back of her hand, or he brushes the hair off her neck and she tastes him on her tongue like a sense memory.

It’s erotic, but it’s also not fit for public consumption.

So they watch a superhero movie he picked out - or already had queued - and while it plays on his laptop, they sit side by side on the couch and pretend they aren’t wrapped around each other.

She isn’t practically in his lap. His arm isn’t pressed between her thighs and his hand not somehow wrapped around her ankle. She isn’t closing her eyes to inhale the scent of his skin at his nape. He won’t, from time to time, lay his cheek to the top of her head.

Oh, whatever. She is. He is. They’re doing this.

God. She doesn’t want to ruin it. Please, let her not ruin this.

He angles the laptop a little more on the arm of the couch and his hand comes back to hers in his lap. He threads their fingers together, undoes them, fiddles with her thumb and the webbing, the knuckle.

Playing.

She holds her breath and surreptitiously watches from under her lowered lashes, marveling at how large his hand is, how thick his fingers. Where and how he used them last night, not only to card through her hair and the tangled knots of thunderstorm, but lower, better, more intently. Adeptly. 

He rubs his thumb along her palm, stroking. Reminders. She shivers and turns he face into the back of his shoulder, pressing closer to his ribs. 

She wants his hand on the button of her jeans. She doesn’t want him to stop what he’s doing right now. She wants contradictory things; she wants everything.

He smooths out her palm, his chest rumbles as he tries to speak. It might be for the first time today. She can’t remember their actually having said anything to each other. It’s all been mouths for other uses. Hands, gestures, a jerk of his head, a triumphant laptop raised aloft, awkward looks as they settled in for some kind of normal daily routine.

None of this is normal.

(But she hopes to God it will be.)

He finally finds his voice. “Your heart line is all broken up.” And his thumb follows the track of what must be her heart.

She swallows roughly, sensation arcing in her like solar flares. “But my lifeline… leads straight to you.” She feels stupid, she feels thrillingly empowered with the heady fullness of love. “And isn’t that better? Life together.”

“Always.”

—–

imspectralboiii  asked:

What if every time the Sun sneezes he creates solar flares and northern lights happen? (SPARKLE SNEEZE)

Lol thats really cute! His flares actually happen when hes mad or excited and has to be calmly reminded not to get so worked up otherwise he’ll make airplanes drop out of the sky hahaha

Danger lvl

  • for zombies: Medium (With their agility, fire power and fighting spirit, they do pose a threat. You might not want to fight them alone. However, the extremely high lack of stability makes them very easy to unfuse. Sometimes, you just need to say a sentence)
  • in general: Low (Out of fights, they tend to be friendly and/or quiet, not showing any danger. However, their anger and urge to fight make them not 100% safe)

Stability lvl: Low as heck (Solar Flare and Nightcap are basically opposites, so their very divergent opinions, personalities and tastes make a mess inside the fusion’s head, and they often unfuse because of this contrast)


FINALLY, I DECIDED TO POST SOMETHING ABOUT MY FUSION AU. This was one of the first fusions I designed.

I would like to make a post about the AU now, but it’s 06:25 and I should really go to sleep… Even tho I don’t want to >-<

Anyways, what do you think?

Human-angelic inner war

Firstly, if you are on a verge of breaking up with the true twin, hold on. There’s a strong solar wind operating on Earth now but we felt it earlier and it was very disturbing for senses and mentality during the last 3 days. Our light bodies are lhuge and are anchored in us but spread into the atmosphere and above so we feel everything what’s going on there - solar flares, winds, near-Earth asteroids passing and anything affecting the electro-magnetic field.

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anonymous asked:

I already have this HC that Sola keeps her hair tied up because it has a tendency to float around her and move like solar flares. Can't wait to see what you have planned!!

Ohohohohohh , That’s a VERY nice idea ya got there! I looooooooove it! 


: D Thank you! 

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The Solar Flare Lounge - 7:54 P.M.

Well, we’re here, and Eliza’s the only one in the bunch who’s single!”

“Okay, okay, Ms. Pizzazz, what guy do you see that you like for me? It doesn’t matter; I’ll miserably fail at talking to him anyways. Jes, you look like you have your eyes on someone.”

“Yes, look at the guy on the very right corner of the bar!”

“Ooh, I think we found Eliza’s perfect match!”

Eliza

If you’re a bit confused on what’s happening here, don’t worry because I was too, but I’ll give you what I know so far: I’m at the Solar Flare Lounge with Joselyn (of course), Penny Pizzazz, and Jesminder Bheeda. We’ve known these two since we moved to San Myshuno, and we’d become pretty good friends over those past several months. In my opinion, they’re my only real friends here in the city, the rest are just strangers that I have yet to meet…

- ̗̀ ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜs / ɴᴇxᴛ / ʙᴇɢɪɴɴɪɴɢ ̖́- 

The Best Kind of Bad

A continuation of BATAROU IN SPACE. No, but seriously, I blame this ask over here for this. Is good. I loves it.

Eclipse AU credit goes to @cinensis and @stickydoona.

Originally posted by jtotheizzoe

“Bro, you’ve got it bad.”

That’s what Badd said to Genos when he came to visit. They had been wandering the surface of Mars and had stopped to watch a passing dust storm in the distance. “Pretty cool, huh?” Badd observed.

“Yes. I wish Saitama could see it.”

“Huh? Moony?” Badd hopped on a rock, legs spread and knocking the red surface with his bat. “Why? Ya like him or somethin’?” When Genos didn’t answer, he looked over and saw the glassy expression on the sun god’s face, those dark eyes heavy-lidded and soft, one golden hand hiding a smile. Yup. Poor guy was smitten.

“Bro,” he said, sighing and giving the other entity a little shove with the handle of his weapon. His inability to respect the hierarchy of the universe was why Genos came to visit him so much (or that was Badd’s thought, anyway, given how much he tolerated the way he interacted with him). “You’ve got it bad.”

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