#freys asks

[freyjaiam]

Baby Yoda is everything right in this world.

i wholeheartedly agree!

[freyjaiam]

Do you still ship Captain Canary?

yeah.

despite actively shipping avalance and other ships with Len and Sara... (they are so easy to ship with others, esp sara imo)

Them together will always be my one and only true OTP in Legends.

[freyjaiam]

Hi! I saw a spuffy fic you wrote once, so I was wondering if you could do another one. Prompt: Buffy gets hurt during a hunt, and Spike takes care of her. Thanks!

note: sorry this is super late. i did just a quick one-shot. hope you like it.setting: S6rated: PG

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He smelled her long before she knocked on his crypt door. The scent of her blood strong and compelling. Not just because she was the Slayer. But because she was Buffy. Despite wanting to run out the door toward her, he’d waited. If some big nasty had come around he’d of intervened but now he had the upper hand in this little game they continued to play with each other since she’d come back from the dead and fucked him in that abandoned house. 

“Slayer,” he said, taking her in while bracing against the open door. “Run into some trouble?”

“You could say that,” she said, holding her arm. He frowned as she swayed slightly.

“Well come in before I have unwanted guests at my door.”

He stepped aside and she entered the dark crypt. He did a quick scan of her. She had a blackening eye which would probably be fully healed in a couple days, a cut above said black eye, and another cut on the arm she was cradling. She walked with a limp and he saw some dirt on her right knee along with some blood seeping through the jean material. 

“Come on, Luv, lets get you cleaned up.”

Buffy didn’t argue. Which let Spike know she was pretty hurt. He went down into the lower level of his crypt and he followed. She sat at the end of his bed, slowly lowering onto it as he rummaged for the First Aid kit. One he’d procured when he’d taken up hunting with her friends after she’d died the second time. It’d been used before, mostly on Xander, the nitwit always getting himself into a bind.

“All right, Slayer, Dr. Spike to your rescue.” She scoffed at that and his scarred eyebrow rose. “What?”

“Dr. Spike?”

“Would you prefer Nurse Spike? I could work with that, too,” he said, tongue pressing against his teeth as he took in her disheveled look. She again scoffed and rolled her eyes. 

“Maybe this was a mistake,” she said, ready to stand again. 

“Oh, what? You gunna go back out there now in the middle of the night with all the nasties out there looking to find themselves a tasty midnight snack?” 

“Better than being here.”

“Oi. I didn’t ask you to come here,” he said, tossing the medical kit onto the bed. “I was perfectly fine watching the telly the rest of the night.”

“Let me guess. Passions?”

“Perhaps!”

Buffy stood and went to the ladder. He watched her struggle before slowly going up a rung at a time. When her ankle was level with his eyes he grabbed it and halted her movements. 

“Slayer, Buffy, just... Please come down. Let me look you over.”

He was worried about her. He cared too bloody much. If she’d have said no he’d have followed her home and risked the sun to make sure she stayed safe. Instead she slowly came back down. Which let him know it was bad. He guided her to the bed and they said nothing as he started cleaning her up. First her face, ridding it of the blood and dirt. He bandaged the cut then went to the fridge where he kept his beer and blood cold. He handed her a cold can and instructed her to press it against her eye. Her shirt was in the way so he ripped it off her. She protested, loudly, but he ignored it. 

“Spike! What the hell?!”

“I need to see your whole arm.”

“Then ask me to take the shirt off, don’t just rip it!”

“I have a shirt for you to wear.”

“That isn’t the point.”

“Fine. Next time I’ll ask. Now hold still.”

She hissed in a breath as he moved her arm at the elbow. He used her torn shirt to make a sling for her. Best he could really do. And boy did she look a sight, one arm in a sling with the other holding a can to her face. 

“What happened here?” he asked, hands cradling her knee, making her hiss in a breath. 

“Group of vamps caught me off guard. I dusted three of them, one tackled me and my knee slammed into a gravestone. As I finished the last of them two demons came out. They’d been waiting. My black eye is from a wheelbarrow they threw at me.”

“The mighty Slayer, taken down by a gardening tool,” he said with a smirk. 

“Hey!” She pouted. “It was a big wheelbarrow.”

“I bet it was. Poor kitten.”

“And my knee really hurts.”

“Let us have a look, shall we?”

“Don’t rip off my pants, I need to wear them home.”

Carefully, Spike got her pants unbuttoned. He pulled them and her boots off, making her shiver each time his cooler hands touched her heated skin. The knee was purple all around the knee but nothing felt broken. 

“Sprained it good, Luv, it needs ice. Sadly I have none.” He straightened up, grabbing his duster off the back of the chair. “I’ll be back.”

“Where are you...”

“Gunna get you some ice.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

He shrugged a shoulder. “Need some smokes anyway.” He nodded toward the bed. “Relax till I get back.”

He climbed up the ladder, leaving her alone. She didn’t want to lay around in just her bra and panties so she dug around and found a black shirt that didn’t smell like smoke. She just managed to get the sling back on the right way when he came back with a bag of ice. He pulled out a couple plastic bags from his pocket and filled them both with ice. He motioned for her to lay on the bed and she did. He placed one bag on her knee and handed her the other for her face. 

“Ohhhh cold,” she complained, but it felt so good. 

“Don’t be a baby,” he said, tossing the leftover ice in the fridge. It would melt eventually, but he wanted to try and keep it as solid as possible if she needed more. He reached for a bottle of whiskey and took a long drink before offering it to her. She took it, drank about two shots worth, and made a face before handing it back. 

“Sun will be up in a couple hours. Rest until then.”

“Spike?” Buffy paused before continuing. “Thanks.”

“Anything for you,” he said before going up the ladder. Leaving her alone. She almost, almost called out for him to stay. Instead, she lay back on the sheets, pulled the blanket over herself, and let herself sleep.

END

[freyjaiam]

K1C (Canaryfire) :) or literally anything Canaryfire!

Canaryfire—Canon-Verse—”I need your help.”

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If Rip were still alive he’d be shittin’ bricks over what he was about to do. But Mick was desperate. Everyone was willing to count the Boss out. Even her new girlfriend. Mick didn’t believe for a second that his Captain was dead. Sara Lance was one tough bitch. No way in hell she’d let some time chump take her out. He’d tried telling the team that she was still out there. But the dipshits wouldn’t listen. As if they’d forgotten he’d been around this stuff a hell of a lot longer than they have thanks to Chronos. Haircut tried to say his hope was some psychological crap. That losing Leonard years ago and now Sara was making him all muddled in the head. But he wasn’t crazy. He had his head on straight. Hell, he’s only had one beer today. While everyone had seen Sara fall, Mick had looked a second longer than they had. They thought she’d fallen into a volcano. Mick had seen a blue light and had seen her vanish before hitting the lava. As if a window of some sort opened up. 

And no one fucking believed him.

Well, he was about to go find someone who would. 

Because he couldn’t do this alone.

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“I need your help.”

Laurel looked over at her visitor. She’d just been stabbed by Damien Darhk. She felt awful. Standing above her bed was someone she didn’t know, but she felt like she’d seen his face before. A slight wave of panic hit her. Was he here to finish the job Darhk started?

“W-Who are you?”

“Name’s Mick. I’m a friend of Sara’s. And I need you to come help me find her.”

“Find her?” Laurel sat up in her hospital bed, wincing at the feel of her stitches pulling. She was so weak, that just this movement had a sheen of sweat forming on her brow. “What do you mean?”

“I ain’t got long. The window is small. Let me spell it out for you. You’re supposed to die today. I’m changing that so that you can help me save Sara.”

Laurel was confused. But she remembered everything Sara told her. So all Laurel could do was nod. Mick looked relieved, as if he’d been expecting her to fight him. But this was Sara. She needed to help him. It wasn’t until he had her loaded in a wheelchair that she noticed a body laying on the floor. And when she saw her face staring back at her she fought the urge to pass out.

“Put this on,” he said, handing her a wig with red hair. “I gotta sneak you out.”

“Who… Who is that?” asked Laurel.

“Not you. Not no one. A clone. A dead clone. Something I borrowed and modified from Toronto.”

“I… Toronto?”

“Just put on the wig and I’ll tell you everything once we get the hell outta here.”

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“So where to we start?” asked Laurel. They were on a ship that he said used to be his a long time ago. It was all so foreign to her. He brought her up to date on everything. He left nothing out. Was quite blunt, actually. She was supposed to be dead. Now, she was a ghost. A ghost who needed to go find her sister.

“Mount Vesuvius, 70 A.D.”

“Pompeii?” asked Laurel.

“It’s where I last saw your sister alive. Time is already fragile there. One bad mistake and we’re fucked.”

“Got it,” said Laurel, crossing her arms over her chest. She had on a suit, similar to her Black Canary one but slightly different. More cloth and less leather. She had to admit she could move around in it a lot better. Mick had told her there was still light armor plating in it, to protect her if she were to get injured. That thought had her hand going back to her still tender stomach despite the healing of the ship’s A.I.

“Strap in,” ordered Mick and Laurel followed his orders. She’d put two and two together on who he was. He admitted to her that things happened where he wasn’t the same person. Things that still haunted him. Things he didn’t want to talk about. But he knew his stuff here. So she took her seat, strapped in, and within seconds they were gone.

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“They’re coming for me… For us. I feel it.” 

“I feel it, too, Assassin.” 

send me a prompt

[freyjaiam]

Lauriver for NoTP

my NOTP too | I don’t ship it | it’s okay | I ship it hard | OTP

[freyjaiam]

Any ship + greetings from the future

Iris West is in for the shock of her life when she gets a message. A message from the future. A message... From herself. She is tempted, oh so tempted, to open that message and hear what she has to say. But how many times has she heard it from Barry, from Team Flash, and even Team Legends...

Don’t mess with the timeline, because if you do, the end result could be disastrous... 

But, but... The message is from her. It has to be urgent, right? What if someone she loved was in danger? Her dad... Wally... Barry? She knows she shouldn’t open it. She knows that reading that message could make whatever she is trying to warn herself about even worse...

And yet... Perhaps that was a risk she was willing to take...

[freyjaiam]

do u view ava as a lesbian though?

i do actually.

at first I’d considered her ace.

but this last episode? I’d headcanon her as a lesbian. Because of what she said about not wanting men.

But that is just my headcanon. Others are, obviously, open to their own interpretations.

[freyjaiam]

Captain Canary #24? <3

Who whispers inappropriate things in the other’s ear during inappropriate times?

They both do. See, it’s a game. A game to see who will break first. Who will crack? Who will let their mask slip? Who will fumble during a job? Once, Sara was hanging off the ledge of a building when Leonard started whispering in her earpiece what he wanted to do to her while she stared death in the face (for the upteenth time). She got her revenge though, when he needed to focus to disarm a high-tech alarm from the future---needless to say, neither of them have broke yet... but sara was close that one time he’d said yes when she asked him to dance, in Ireland during 1954, and he put his lips up to her ear to whisper he loved her...

almost.

Send Me a Ship and #