#no mice were harmed in the writing of this fic

[curator-on-ao3]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Trek: Strange New Worlds (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Number One | Una Chin-Riley/Christopher Pike Characters: Christopher Pike, Number One | Una Chin-Riley (Star Trek) Additional Tags: Prompt Fic, Caught in the Rain, canon-consistent as of the end of season one, Starfleet Academy, the Antares, and a leap into an as-of-this-writing season two future Summary: Prompt from dailyau on Tumblr: “I got caught in the rain without an umbrella and an attractive stranger is sharing theirs with me AU.”

Note: Thank you, @dailyau​ for a great prompt! 

[neverchecking]

i really like your writing!! omg!! may i please request some nsfw with soft yandere four?? preferably like an unexpected sexual advance from reader and four is just kinda like "omg .... my goddess... touching me... what is happening" like brain mush sorta like the hyrule fic lol

take your time and drink lots of water!

You absolutely can! So, Four is one of the Links that I'm not too too confident writing about, but I can't get better if I don't do it!

Sidebar; Yall went feral over that Hyrule fic and I just adore it.

Drink all your water too, Darling!

(If you saw something earlier, no you didn't.)

Smut, so 18+ MDNI!

Smut CW: AFAB! Reader, Mutual Masturbation, Hand jobs, fingering, gentle praise, soft sleepy sex.

Handling the Heat

He did not have the Triforce of Courage.

He never wielded the Master Sword.

But he did have something the others did not. Something that made him eternally grateful

The Minish were dastardly little devils under the guise of angelic little mice, scampering and hiding away from plain sight. They were fast little things, keen and deceptively deceiving, never truly giving themselves away unless they absolutely wanted to.

But they knew Four relied on them never showing themselves to you, unless he was there. They were his eyes when he could not be there. They saw things. They heard things. They knew about every little secret you tried shoving away. And then they told him. Because he was the only one with more than a single braincell in this goddess forsaken group. The only one who could be tasked with your care.

You had a way of making the smattering of voices and emotions in his head settle. Like an eye in a storm that howled like no other. Like a settle in an earth quake where the tectonic plates just want to crash against each other. Like a soothing balm on a burn that he had long since allowed to fester with an angry sizzle.

And he just could not let you go. He couldn't! So, he may have included the help of the Minish. That's not illegal. You don't even know about it! So what harm is it really?

He didn't see any harm in it! It kept you safe and his nerves at ease. The colors all agreed it was for the best, and at that point it was majority rules.

Who was he to disagree?

No one, that's who.

Closing the door to the inn room, he let a small smile creep onto his features. They had a protocol for Inns, since there was ten of them and there was very rarely ever an inn that had ten individual rooms, where they all paired up (Sometimes even split into threes or fours) and took a bed/room/whatever was available. Four ensured that he was the only one you trusted enough to share with. It got him close to you and forged such a strong bond between you two that it made his heart positively flutter. The feeling of your skin, warm to the touch, against his; the comforting rhythm of your breathing, steady and consistent, just the way he liked it; your weight ever grounding as you slept soundly and peacefully on his chest. All of it just drove him positively crazy. In the best way, of course.

You were laying in bed, blanket pulled to your chin with your hair splayed behind you like a halo. He had stayed up with Wars, Time and Twilight doing some strategy run throughs and he had sent you to bed a while ago. He was glad to see you so relaxed. You didn't deserve the stress this life brought. You deserved so much better. So much more than what that disgrace of a stand-in gave you in your life.

The though of Hylia and the hand she dealt you made him snarl to himself before it was falling into a soft, serene smile at a small sound you made. He stripped out of his outer tunic and armor, into his undershirt and a soft pair of shorts before climbing in next to you. You perfect features scrunched gently at the intrusion of the cold air when he opened your nest of blankets, which he quickly soothed with a gently brush along your cheek. He settled right beside you, only for his breath to catch in his throat at the sight of your dazzling eyes peeking open and staring at him.

He swallowed at the sight of your precious bedhead and positively adorable, sleepy, little pout. "Did I wake you?"

You gently shook your head, moving to burrow into his chest. Your hands grasped at his tunic as you took a dep inhale before relaxing against him. "No."

Thank the golden three.

"Why are you awake, my jewel?" He gently asked, brushing through your hair. You moved a bit before sitting up just enough to stare down at him, brushing his bangs (Which now hung freely without his hair band holding them back) behind his ears. Your touch was every bit electrifying as it was soothing.

"Couldn't sleep." You couldn't sleep? Now that just wouldn't do. What did he need to do to sooth your aches? Your fears and your anxieties? Anything, you just need to tell him.

"Something keeping you up?"

You moved again. Only this time, you gently moved one of your lean legs over his hips, settling it on the other side of his hips as you straddled him. Your hands laid on his chest, fingers splayed across his pecs as one of the straps of the tank top you wore to bed slid down your shoulder.

He swallowed harshly, face lighting up in a pure crimson. Not that you could see in the limited light. He could see you though. Nothing but drowsy lust and fatigued seduction as the moonlight highlighted your very being.

He almost feared he was dreaming again.

He didn't even know what to do with his hands at this point, holding them uselessly just over your thighs.

Then you nodded, one hand moving to the hem of your shirt, disappearing under the fabric that hid your core from him. He sucked in a harsh breath when your forearm caught the fabric, raising it with your movements as your fingers gently flossed between your labia lips. You weren't wearing any bottoms, at all, and your fingers shined in the limited light.

He swallowed again, aching to replace your fingers with his own, hell even with his face, but his brain had short circuited. Fried. Crashed. Those braincells just flew straight out the window as he practically drooled at the image over top of him. His hips bucked minutely before he righted himself.

"You could say that." You hummed, head rolling back as your fingers moved to circle your clit before pulling away as your shirt fell back. The hand that remained on his chest moved to settle right beside his head, handling your weight as you gently pulled the band of his pants down just enough for his cock to bounce out. It dripped onto his stomach, eagerly awaiting attention as his breath caught.

You licked your lips, settling back onto his thighs as your deft fingers wrapped around him. He hissed at the sensation, bucking into your palm. You lips upturned into a devious smirk, gently tightening your grip before you began to pick up a steady rhythm. He groaned, ears pinning to his head as every nerve jolted in excitement.

The adrenaline seemed to kickstart his brain again as one of his hands landed on one of your thighs, the other creeping up to your naval. Your movements halted for a fraction of a second. He took the initiative, fingers copying your earlier movements.

Your entire body shivered above him, but you continued your pace, dragging up and down deliciously. Even as his thumb padded in a steady circle around your clit, you remained so. Until he angled his hand to prod his middle finger against your opening. You shuddered once more, only this time you let out a harmonious whine, back arching into him. "Goddess, Four-" You gently gasped, speed picking up. Your thumb gently circled the head of his cock before swiping over the top of it, smoothing pre-cum up and down his shaft to ease the motions. He whined and withered underneath of you, easing a second finger into your cunt. Your own slick dripped down his fingers and onto his palms as your own noises echoed out, ringing in his ears like a symphony.

At some point your eyes had closed, but when he looked up, they were open and looking right at him as you slowly moved to lean on his chest. His fingers never stopped, matching your own bobbing hand. "You are so gorgeous, Link."

He keened, something high and pretty, as pure euphoria ran through his veins in a hot flash. It was too quick and too unpredictable for him to mitigate, a moan leaving his lips as hot white streaks painted both his torso and your own. His fingers never stopped though and it seemed his own wonton noises sent you over as you shook and twitched above him. Your breaths came in hot pants against his cheeks as he felt like his entire soul just ascended. The only reminder that this was real and that just happened being the mixed fluids cooling on his chest.

Maybe this was why you didn't mind sharing a room with him.

[rosethreeart]

Lions, Mice, and Apples

Summery: She would not let fear get the best of her. She had a green-eyed little apple to protect and love. She would not let her fears or new and old wounds get the best of her.

Word Count: 1061

Statetalia fic about Abigail dealing with being a mom for the very first time and the fears and insecurities that came with it :)

Abigail didn’t know what to do. She was all alone, with no one left for her to turn to. Her bosses feared for her and her safety ( or was it the shame they feared?), making her swear not to speak a word of it to anyone, especially other nations. Not that she could entirely blame them. She had just gained independence, and whilst various nations were eager to show their support for her, they were still, well, nations. Eager and power hungry beings who have a tendency to follow orders without hesitancy or care for the damages they may cause. Always looking for a one up in the world or a way to play a sneaky little trick to gain an upper hand. 

Her father always seemed like a precautionary man, but thinking about it now, might have just been a tad possessive. Teaching her to fear and not to trust others, humans especially. Dangerous creatures they are, more so than the wolves that stalk the forests. 

Her father would always say:  If you have to choose between fleeing into a forest or cowering in a village, choose the forest.

 So that’s what she did…

…Metaphorically of course. She was all but too terrified to leave the safety and comfort of the one thing she ever truly knew: her home.

Her home that she loved so dearly. The one where her father would sing her old lullabies and mutter comforting words to her in the night when she was scared or sickly. The one where she spent hours playing carefree in the yard, her father joining her or watching from the porch. The one where she learned to read and write and grow. The one where she all too soon had to learn to raise herself. The one she had to flee for a few years out of fear of her father’s rage from the actions of his people, who longed to be her people. 

Her father, who turned from this kind caring man, to one of anger and hate. Whose eyes turned from a gentle, glistening green, to cold, venomous and calculating. The man who no longer wished to welcome her with open arms but instead a musket with an intent to kill. The one who went from no harm shall ever come to you as long as I’m here to the one actively hunting her down.

 Her father always told her not to be a meek little mouse but a lion. She never really understood what he meant until she had her own game of cat and mouse with him. 

Yet even still, after all of that she could never bring herself to hate him. Even a year after the signing of The Treaty of Paris in 1793, she still revered him and craved his approval and attention. She still loved him dearly, although many others couldn't understand why. A part of her doesn’t understand why either, but another part refuses to question it. Yet even still she couldn’t bring herself to tell her father of this new...predicament that she has found herself in. Whether or not it was the actions and still healing wounds from the war, or the knowing disapproval, or the fear that he might try to control her again that made her hesitate, she didn’t know. Nor did she care. All she knew was that he was not to be trusted, her daughterly affections be damned. 

Who else did she have left? 

Certainly not her loyalist brother. She loves him dearly but is aware that telling him would be all too much of a risk. Potentially she could tell France or Prussia, they did help her after all. However, she knew that they only really helped her out of spite for her father. She had grown rather close to the Prussian, who seemed to act more like a fatherly/brotherly figure to her. That seed of fear her father had planted in her consciousness many many moons ago was still there, always in the back of her mind, now stronger than ever, preventing her from doing so it seems. 

You can’t trust other nations, not even your father now.

She wanted to cry. She was terrified and alone.

Well…not really alone.

She had no clue how it happened.

 She just knew that it did. 

Her congressmen joked and hailed her as the new Virgin Mother Mary. She laughed along with them at the time, but that didn’t stop the anxiety from crawling up her throat (or was that morning sickness?) and fear of the implication that this may not be the last time this occurs. She handled it as well as any fairly young woman with nobody but herself to lean on could. She held her chin up high and braved through the months; just as her father always taught her to do when she was scared. . 

She herself never truly had a chance to be much of a child, especially by nation standards. How was she to raise one? Would she do a good job? Would it be human? Would it die like one?  Would she grow to resent her child like how her father resented her? She could not say, nor could she (or wanted to) speculate. 

But now as wailing subsided and grumpy little eyes opened, she couldn’t help but feel all those insecurities and doubts and fears flood back into her. 

Bright green eyes met teary blues. 

Oh, he looked so much like his grandfather…

A light dusting of straw blond hair on his head. A stern, yet somehow also joyous expression seemed to be his default. Much like the one her father has.

As close as apples may be to trees, she knew right then and there something would be different. She knew that she had no fear when it came to turning into her father. Unlike him she would never stop loving this little one currently resting in her arms. 

She would make sure of it. 

However apples still tend to fall close. 

The proof was right in front of her. 

And so she decided to give him a name. One, to her, that would mean bravery, kindness, and an unwavering refusal to back down. One that reminded her of affection and wanderlust and hope. One that she knew she would always revere. 

She would name him Arthur. 

[rizlowwritessortof]

Riz’s Master List

Just updated my master list (finally) - haven’t added anything new for a few months, unfortunately, but I’m working on it! Links below the cut. HUGE THANKS to @firefly-graphics for the dividers, you are a GIFT, my friend! 

Never Look Back

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 21 chapters

Bethany Rae Cooper didn’t realize when she met the Winchesters in her family’s bar and grill that her life would never be the same. But she’s always believed that everything happens for a reason, even if it’s not exactly what you were expecting…

The Shadow’s Edge

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 17 chapters

Sequel to Never Look Back. When the demon Dameon was killed, Dean and Beth thought their son was safe from the prophecy. But when Cas brings them news of the new battle for Hell, they realize that their war has just begun.

The Fine Line

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 34 chapters

An unexpected tragedy sends Devon down the dark path of hate and vengeance, but she will learn that things are not always what they seem…

Scars

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 10 chapters

Sequel to The Fine Line. Dean and Devon’s relationship has always been stormy - but can they work through the scars of their past to find each other again?

Stars In the Darkness

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 8 chapters

A crushing loss brings Dean and Sam to Sioux Falls, and ghosts from the past and present bring them across the path of Tiara, a girl they haven’t seen since childhood.

Dreaming

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 5 chapters

Dean Winchester has always been a bit of a thorn in Kelsey’s side - a very attractive thorn, but still… A visit at her uncle Bobby’s reunites her with the boys, and she begins having vivid dreams - about Dean. Is it just her subconscious trying to tell her something? Or is there more to it than that?

My Unimportant Little Life

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 11 chapters

Season 5 timeline. Dean gets yanked from 2009 to 2014, so he can see the ‘consequences’ of saying no to Michael. At Camp Chitaqua he meets Reggie, and is surprised to find that she comes from 2009 as well…

Back In the Saddle

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 10 chapters

Dean and Sam are back in the old west again - in answer to a cry for help from Samuel Colt. And if Dean just happens to get tangled up with the spirited redhead that owns the saloon… what’s the harm, right?

Sweet Escape

Dean/Female Reader, 2 parts

What happens when a friend jokingly does a spell at your birthday party to bring your cardboard standup of Dean Winchester to life? This one’s dedicated to my friend, Liz, who gave me the idea. If only…

Sweet Escape Part 1

Sweet Escape Part 2

Shut Up and Drive

Dean/Female Reader, 2 parts

Reader teases Dean while he’s driving, so - he gets even

Part 1 - Keep Your Eyes on the Road

Part 2 - Or We Could Park - Parking Is Good Too

Take the Long Way Home

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 8 chapters

A look at Dean and Rusty’s relationship, in the present and through their memories. Flashbacks/memories are in italics.

Black Velvet

Demon!Dean/Female Reader, Dean/Female Reader, 9 chapters

You and Sam are broken after Dean’s death. Nobody expected him to come back with black eyes…

Fade to Black

Dean/Female Reader, 11 chapters

Sequel to Black Velvet. Dean is no longer a demon, but he’s still cursed with the Mark of Cain, and the lure of that darkness grows stronger as time goes on.

Dean and Toby Series

Part 1 - The Meet-Cute (Actually Rescue but Whatever)

Part 2 - The Emergency Bed-Share/Move In With Us Combo

Part 3 - The Hit and Then Run Like Your Ass Is On Fire

Part 4 - The FINALLY Admit Your True Feelings and Get Busy

GENERIC

I’m Good

This is the story that was published in the Seasons - Supernatural Short Story Anthology in 2017. Bobby sharing some memories.

Combo Shot

Dean/Female Reader

June 2015 GIEPP (Girl In Every Port Project) entry. Prompt: Pool/Poker hustler competitive chick. Pretty much pure smut.

A Hunter Walks Into a Bar

Dean/Female OC

Prowling hunter, sassy bartender

Shelter

Dean/Female Reader

Dean providing comfort

That’s How It Should Be

Sheriff!Dean/Female Reader

They have to make a fast escape, but Dean won’t let being on horseback stand in the way of showing a lady a good time

The Storm

Dean/Female Reader

You’re terrified of storms, and Dean is concerned, feelings get shared

Pest Control

Dean/Female Reader

You think you’ve got mice. The exterminator that shows up is Dean Winchester. He’ll just let you believe that, and take care of the problem. And you.

Happy Birthday, Baby

Dean/Female OC (KK)

Fluffy, smutty birthday fic written for a friend

Gunpowder and Dean

Dean/Female Reader

You’re pissed off at Dean, taking it out on the firing range, but he just won’t leave you alone…

Juicy and Delicious

Dean/Female Reader

My entry for Dean’s Flavor of the Month fic challenge - Peach Pie. You bake some peach pies for Dean, and he’s very grateful…

Lost In You

Dean/Female Reader

A casual flirtation leads to a violent encounter, and Dean’s reaction is a little more than you expected. Warning for brief description of attempted (unsuccessful) assault. Protective Dean.

What You Need

Dean/Female Reader

You’re watching as Sam and Dean prepare to interrogate a demon. Dean knows you’re watching him, and he knows exactly the kind of effect it’s having on you…

Santa Claus Is Coming Tonight

Dean/Female Reader

Dean’s really getting into the Christmas spirit…

I Need You

Dean/Female Reader

You screwed up, Sam got hurt, Dean’s pissed and you aren’t handling it very well.

Snow Day

Dean/Female Reader

You and Dean, stuck in a motel room in a blizzard

Frisk Me

Dean/Female Cop Reader

You’re a cop, in hot pursuit of a murderer, and guess who crosses your path?

Comfort

Dean/Female Reader

Dean had a rough hunt, and he’s beating himself up as usual. You take his mind off things for a little while…

When I Think About You

Dean/Female Reader

It was a wild hunt, and you’re both a little high-strung. Surely there’s some way to blow off some steam…

One Finger

Dean/Female Reader

Dean Winchester has never been one to back down from a challenge

What Makes You Feel Alive

Endverse!Dean/Female Reader

The world is bleak, the struggle endless after Croatoan. You and Dean do what you have to do to keep going.

Sweet Misery

Dean/Unnamed Female OC

My entry for Bev’s Song Challenge - song prompt was Cryin’ by Aerosmith, lyrics at the beginning

Winchesters Don’t Giggle

Dean/Female Reader

A friend and I were having this discussion about giving Dean a back rub, and whether he might be ticklish…

Confession

Dean (Priest!Dean)/Female Reader

When Dean returns from some undercover work, you discover a fantasy you never realized you had

The Bait

Dean/Female Reader

This was written for @jessica-bones-winchester’s (now on her 100th url as @cavillanche - Love you, Jess!) Dating Dean Writing Challenge. The prompt was ‘dressing up as an anime character for his birthday.’ And I have to admit, I really enjoyed this one… Reader dresses as Sailor Mars (from Sailor Moon) for Dean’s birthday.

Hey, Man - Nice Shot

Dean/Female Reader

This is for @jessica-bones-winchester’s ( @cavillanche ) Dating Dean Writing Challenge. The prompt was ‘competitiveness in the shooting range (loser cleans the kitchen for a week) No smut.

Take the Pain Away

Dean/Female Reader

This was written for @jessica-bones-winchester’s ( @cavillanche ) Dating Dean Writing Challenge. Prompt was ‘him taking care of you when you’re sick.’ Reader falls victim to a migraine, and Dean helps her through it. No smut.

Lose Yourself

Dean/Female Reader

Smut, pure and simple… Just imagine having Dean tied up, at your mercy while you worship those perky nipples…

The Contest

Dean/Female Reader

Dean loves to give you a hard time, and one night he pushes things a little too far… Flashback in italics. All’s well that ends well.

Slow Ride

Dean (Bullriding!Dean) /Reader

Yeah, after 12x11, y'all should have known this was coming - they don’t call me Cowgirl for nothing… Written (coincidentally - timing is everything!) for the Smut Apocalypse (Smut Appreciation Day) on Tumblr.

The Photo Booth

Dean/Unnamed Female OC - Dean’s POV

This was written for @winchestersandwordprocessors SPN Valentine’s Fic Challenge. Prompt was Semi-public/Risk of getting caught.

Make You Mine

Dean/Female Reader

Dean’s jealousy gets the best of him, which is not a bad thing…

Take a Chance

Dean/Unnamed Female OC - Dean’s POV

In 7x04, Dean gives himself a little pep talk before his planned hook-up with the bartender. That scene is what inspired me. This one is more important than the usual one-nighters, and it’s making him a little nervous…

If We Don’t Make It

Dean/Female OC

This fic was written for @whispersandwhiskerburn Angel’s 2K Follower Celebration. My song prompt was “Broken” by Lifehouse, and the dialogue prompt was “If we don’t make it out of this, I need you to know…” No smut.

My Deliverer

Dean/Female Spirit - Her POV

Dean is hunting a vengeful spirit. But another spirit is in this place, and she is drawn to him…

Friendly Advice

Dean/Female Reader - Dean POV, Reader POV

This was written for @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog Mimi’s RomCom Fluff Challenge. The fluff got a little smudged into smutty fun… oops! Two POV’s, Dean’s thoughts are in italics and Reader’s are in regular font.

Old Times

Dean/Female OC

Sequel a few years down the road from A Hunter Walks Into a Bar. Tiara goes back to the bar for a visit, and who should show up the next night but Dean Winchester… Flashback in italics.

You Can Leave Your Hat On

Dean/Female Reader (nicknamed Taz)

Inspired by the sexy AF Cowboy!Dean we were treated to in 13x06 Tombstone. Helped along by Joe Cocker’s rendition of “You Can Leave Your Hat On.“

Wish Her the Best

Dean/Female OC - Dean’s POV

This is an angsty li'l fic inspired by Thomas Rhett’s ‘Marry Me,’ tore at my heart until I finally wrote it. No smut.

A Matter of… Time?

Dean/Female Reader

This is the crackiest piece of work I’ve ever written - for @percywinchester27 Ana’s PJO Quotes Challenge. Prompt was “Don’t you ever feel that way? Like you could do a better job if you ran the world?” - “Umm - no. Me running the world would be kind of a nightmare.”

Demon Seed

Demon!Dean/Female Reader

Demon!Dean stops in for a drink and decides he wants you. He’s very persuasive. Written for @evansrogerskitten’s Hottest Dean Challenge.

Not Wasted Now

Dean/Female Reader

When you all decide to get drunk in the aftermath of a bad hunt, lines get a little blurred. Or crossed. Or fucking erased. Fluffy, smutty, comforting, sweet and sexy Dean.

Bad Guy

Demon!Dean/Female Reader

This was written for @eyes-of-a-disney-princess Rapunzel’s Tangled Up With Supernatural Challenge. My Tangled quote was “You want me to be the bad guy? Fine, now I’m the bad guy.”

Shiny

Trucker!Dean/Female OC

Trucker!Dean AU. Breaker, breaker, got your ears on? 67 Midnight Rider, put that hammer down…

Some Kind of Hero

Dean/Female OC

Written for Tiff’s WTF Challenge. Dean’s just filling up Baby, minding his own business, when he hears an argument and gets involved. Protective Dean, no smut, left that to your imagination.

Crave

Dean/Female Reader

So, have some ‘Riz is craving some sexy Dean action with a big ol’ side of schmoopy fluff’ stuff. Because I was, and I’m sharing with you - the smut and all the sickenly sweet cuddly that I just need sometimes. If y'all are in the mood for that kind of thing.

Perchance to Dream

Dean/Female OC

Using African dream root on a case leads to an awkward situation, and Karlie can’t handle the tension between her and Dean any longer

Ruined

Dean/Female Reader

Dean comes home from a hunt, and he’s had something on his mind…

Going Home

Dean/Female Reader

Written for @crispychrissy’s Gif It To Me Challenge. Overhearing only part of a conversation sends her running, but jumping to conclusions without the whole story isn’t the best decision. No smut.

Not the Smartest Thing

Dean/Female Reader - Reader POV

Only Dean Fucking Winchester could turn taking a swig of beer into pornography. Cocky bastard. But two can play at that game.

Suzy Q

Dean/Female OC - OC POV

Written for @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan’s Multi-fandom Follower Celebration Challenge. Prompt - “I think I’m having a feeling. How do I make it stop?”

Invisible Touch

Dean/Unnamed Female OC

Rowena teaches Dean something new, and he gets inspired. I have no idea where this came from, but here it is…

Maybe I’m Amazed

Dean/Unnamed Female OC

An accident leaves her unconscious and fighting for her life in the hospital, drifting in and out of awareness and memories as Dean refuses to leave her side. Written for @rockhoochie’s 1K Love Supernatural Style Writing Challenge.

Reunion

Dean/Female OC

Passing through town, Dean runs into an old high school classmate. Fluffy and smutty, no angst here!

Playing With Fire

MOC!Dean/Unnamed Female OC

Late Season 10 MOC!Dean smut fic that just wouldn’t leave me alone…

Uninvited

Michael!Dean/Dean/Unnamed Female OC

Michael gives Dean a choice, because sometimes Michael likes to watch…This one is darker than my normal, PLEASE heed the warnings.

What Happens At the Roadhouse…

Early-Season Dean/Female OC

Bailey’s just looking for a couple days post-hunt R&R at Harvelle’s - and then he shows up. Cocky bastard.

Unleashed

Post-Purgatory Dean/Female OC

She’s still struggling to cope a year after Dean disappeared in the explosion that killed Dick Roman.

The Pool House

Dean/Unnamed female OC

Inspired by a dream - one I will never forget!

The Break-In

Dean/Tara (female OC)

One night I started thinking about what it would be like using mics and earbuds and having Dean’s voice RIGHT IN YOUR EAR. And then this fic happened. Hope you enjoy!

Tired of Missing You

Dean/Journey (female OC)

This is one of those times when my story yanked the wheel out of my hands and I just went along for the ride. So if you’re in the mood for a fluffy, angsty cookie with a smutty, creamy middle - here ya go!

Compelled

Dean/Brandi (female OC)

Have you ever had a really bad day at work? I’ve never had a day quite as bad as Brandi’s - but damn, I’d love to use this method to relieve the stress…

The Devil Made Me Do It

Demon!Dean/Shea (Female OC)

Shea is in a reckless mood. Demon!Dean is happy to help her indulge that mood.

Driving Miss Baby

Dean/Reader

Dean decides you need a driving lesson in Baby.

Just a Little Story About Lou and Sam

Sam/Female OC

Lou and Sam walk into a bar… written for a friend who’s a Sammy girl

Doctor-Patient Relations

Sam/Female OC

One-shot inspired by The Born-Again Identity - sick Sammy and Dr. Nicole. Written for another Sammy-girl friend

Head vs. Heart

No title

Fourth of July

Working Saturday Isn’t So Bad

11x17 Drabble

Some Nights He Dreams

Most of the Time

The Name Game

God Bless America

Stress Relief

Dean Hurt/Comfort Drabble

@mrs-squirrel-chester ‘s Album Fanfic Writing Challenge Drabbles

    Dangerous

    For My Brother

    In Chains

    Kiss and Tell

    The End of Me

    Choices

    Hero

    Pure

    In the End

[infinityactual]

deleted the last reblog bc it.....why are people like this. If putting the names of ur fave into To kill a Mockingbird makes it easier to engage in? like wtf there is literally nothing wrong with that.

And people who insist that fandom is dumber and stupider than it was "when they were younger" and how nobody engages in analysis and critical thinking anymore sound like older folks who just haven't kept up with the times for one, and also well YEAH FUCKING DUH. We in general are being bombarded with so much more bullshit than when I was a teen, and while that's partly due to the internet making this info readily available, it still means that kids in their teens and twenties are quickly (or already have) become anxiety and guilt-ridden to hell. They NEED a way to turn off their brains here and there and make the world feel a little easier to handle, a little less bad.

Apparently I need a cut bc this became long and rambly.

My ONLY beef with fandom and people in general has always been the proclivity for people and groups to be jerks for no reason at all. This is fiction we're talking about. Not history. You are being a snob over things that don't exist, congratulations you're completely irrelevant. With the exceptions of bigotry, racism and the other Big Obvious (for most) Societal No's, there is literally no reason to get your panties in a bunch over someone not sharing the same headcanons you do. FUCK I can think of at least four moots who have headcanons for Lasky that I dislike INTENSELY, but you know fucking what? I simply do not engage with that facet of their content if it bothers me badly enough. The most you will ever hear me say about like...someone saying Lasky drinks whiskey is 'Eh, I personally can't get behind that idea, but you can go ham with it.'

Aside from that like. Do what you fucking want. Write the raunchiest kinkiest fanfic you can. Turn Of Mice And Men into a goddamn She-Ra fanfic if it makes it easier for you to read. Changing the names of the characters doesn't change the actual narrative.

The whole chrome 'plug your faves names into someone else's fic' add on could be an issue for some fanfic authors, but I doubt it would be a unanimously disliked thing and it certainly doesn't indicate any moral failing or intellectual deficit of anyone who uses it...this falls in my 'check with the fanfic author as a courtesy first and respect their wishes' category. fyi if you do/want to use that for my fic? Go for it.

People need a fucking break from the trash fire that is reality. What the fuck don't some people get about this. Your entire waking existence doesn't have to revolve around critical thinking or constant improvement or analyzing every stupid little thing about something.

Now is critical thinking something people should try to cultivate? yes. It's a very good skill that can save you a lot of time and energy, and I highly recommend that everyone develop critical thinking skills. But I also think people should cultivate patience, understanding, empathy and the ability to pick their battles. I also think that people deserve spaces where they can turn all that off and go no thoughts head empty while they read some bullshit fic and try to forget that the world is quite literally burning down around them for a few hours. It isnt always solely a matter of knowing HOW to think critically, but also knowing WHEN its needed and when to just let your brain be lazy. If you focus on critical thinking and analyzing media and games n shit it can become a problem in its own right. People will start reading the stupidest shit into the most mundane of things and lose the ability to actually disengage their damn braincells and just enjoy shit.

God I could rant for ten more years about this...

tl;dr constantly analyzing all media you consume can in fact be a bad thing and everyone deserves to turn off their brain sometimes as long as they aren't actively causing harm to a person or group or perpetuating harmful ideas.

[dragonswithjetpacks]

I did it! I started a fic on Ao3 to put everything together. You’ll probably see my Ao3 clear up a bit in Ferelith’s series. I’ll probably just keep everything up here on Tumblr because I’m lazy. Master list will be updated accordingly. Which means when I feel like it.

Theurgist

Chapter One: A Crone Warns of Darkness

-dragonswithjetpacks

Notes: A rework of my previous Astarion x Ferelith works turned into a full fledged fic. I basically did it. Started the fic. You’ll probably be seeing me update it as I go along.

Read here on Ao3.

The cool breeze brought from the afternoon shift in the clouds rustled the papers like frantic fingers in the loft of the library. There was the sudden sound of wood scraping against wood as the assistant pushed the ladder against the far the wall, rushing up it to close the the open window. It fluttered just out of her grasp, but with reflexes as quick as hers, there was little that escaped. She clutched the brass handle on the inside of the pane and pulled it against the sill tightly.

"Alright," she said quietly to herself. "There will be none of that today."

With a satisfied grin, she descended the steps, brushing off the front of her apron with it's many pockets. Noticing the disarray on the table, she turned to assess the damage. The notes were shifted a bit, but no harm was done to the original organization of the writings. As she picked them up, stacking them on top of each other with out of order pages between fingers, she took a quick glimpse at the writings. There were glyphs, many of which she knew, with incantations and rituals written in the margins. To the sides were components, mostly those of a a higher value, and the effects of the time of day the ritual would be cast. Her pale yellow eyes scanned over them quickly, but her research was cut short by the tapping of a loud cane up the wooden staircase.

"Ferelith! Ferelith, what have I told you about closing the window!"

For years Ferelith had studied the fey and their affect on the wild. The combinations of natural phenomenon and magical abilities were her specialty. Down to the very point her soul had fused with the fey itself. And yet, here she was... looking after an old bookshop replicating old tomes for a daft, blind, and nearly deaf old woman. The thoughts always lingered how she came to be in Baldur's Gate, why she had been there for so long. And it always brought her back to her simple path. The path of knowledge. One that rested in a single tome that she kept in her breast pocket at all times. A small tome with words that were unfamiliar to her.

"Get up there and open that window! I can't stand this stuffy place."

"Let me gather the papers, first, please," she bustled even quicker around the table.

"Don't leave such a mess and you wouldn't have to worry about!"

The old crone remained vigilant in the doorway. Her eyes could not see the study in where Ferelith worked, but she knew the shop as if it were part of her very flesh. And she required an open window for ventilation. This bothered the warlock she had employed, of course. As Ferelith was very adamant about closing all windows and doors to protect the books inside from ware. The old woman, though, she knew better. And she grinned knowingly as she could hear her assistant scrambling about the room.

"Oh how I long for your death," she grumbled quietly between gritted teeth.

"What was that?"

"How long until we receive winter's breath?" she perked her head up with a charming smile.

"How am I supposed to know that? Check the ledger."

"Right of course," she smiled just as the woman ducked down the hall out of sight. "Of course I'll check the ledger... the ledger I write in every day... that I memorize... you crazed old bat."

The woman was a terror to her stress, but she was beyond capable of producing ancient spells. No one believed this, of course. Which is why she ran a bookshop on a corner of the most run down part of Baldur's Gate. And it's why she sold makeshift herbs and potions on the side. And also why she agreed to hire Ferelith to begin with. It was low income, but she had endless access the tomes as well as a cot to sleep within the loft. The dust did her no good, but she had become quite friendly with the spiders and mice.

More importantly, she was left to study to her heart’s content once her work was finished. Being a transcribe would have been a difficult task for most. But Ferelith was different. With being a warlock and holding a close connection to her patron, she was able to read any language placed in front of her. This was something she used to make coin often during her early years of adventure and excitement. Though now, this was her career. A path she had chosen to stay comfortable as she pursued other and more important goals. For the past ten years, all Ferelith had known was the feeling of a quill at her fingertips, the beautiful art of calligraphy, and the constant image of words floating through her vision.

This kept her patron content. For the majority of the time. There were days it longed for the forest. And in those days, she would travel to gardens. Or to the edge of Neverwinter. But for the most part, he was happy to lose himself in a book just as she was. He was eager to learn. And she was happy to oblige. The more they learned together, the more they could use against the spell against them. She patted the book in her breast pocket lovingly with a sigh. The true meaning of a blessing... and a curse. It was best not to dwell on nostalgia, though, and she picked up a broom to head downstairs to close the shop for the night. There was a project that awaited her finishing touches. And she never left a book waiting.

Scratches of quill on paper filled the dusty loft among shelves of mahogany. A window open in the upper part of the high ceiling welcome a gentle breeze. Her papers shifted atop her writing desk causing her hands to leap out in haste to catch them. The damned window. Just a few more sentences and she was almost done. One hand resumed it’s stance, spread over the tome and holding it open so she could read the dwarvish inside. The other was equipped with her pen waving and twirling around giant pages, filling them with the common tongue others could understand. With a heavy sigh, she made her final dot.

"There," she said, sitting up and stretching her back that had been slumped over for several hours.

Sliding from the the chair, she grabbed her cloak that was draped over the back. She wrapped it around her, ignoring the scarf as the night seemed quite lovely outside despite the breeze. She climbed up the latter, shutting the window, and climbed back down, dusting her hands onto her apron once more. Carefully, she began to wrap the book she was reading into a burlap cloth. She placed it into an over shoulder bag on a coat rack nearby. And she repeated the process with three other books that rested nearby. Once the ink had dried on the book she had written in, she flipped through it one last time. A month's work finally finished. She shut the book, admiring it's deep blue cover and golden embroidery. It was too large to place into the bag.

"You're going out?" a throaty voice said from the doorway, disturbing her admiration for her own creation.

The disheveled old woman stood the doorway watching Ferelith run her hand across the book. She shifted onto her cane, her feet already bothering her from standing too long.

"The Thornbeards are eager customers," Ferelith slung the strap over her head. "They'll be grateful for the late delivery so long they don't have to wait until morning."

"Fair enough," the woman nodded. "Be careful tonight, Ferelith... It's dark out."

The cryptic bat was warning her, but she took most of her notions of danger with a grain of salt. The woman had barely left the comfort of her shop since Ferelith had started living there. She had done the shopping, the organizing, the promoting of their business, the deliveries. In truth, it had appeared the book shop was Ferelith's. Time would only tell if she would inherit it. Or it would get swallowed up with the rest of the run down buildings in a pile of dust when the woman passed.

"Don't worry," Ferelith grinned. "If I don't came back, that will give you the excuse you need to hire a much younger and handsome hand."

"Bah," the woman waved her hands. "Jokes all the time. Jokes from you. See if I care."

Ferelith touched her shoulder gently as she passed by with a sarcastic smile. Her feet were quick down the steps as she was determined to end the night. The taps of a cane echoed through the shop, even down to the lower floor where Ferelith searched her pockets for her keys. It was the last thing she heard as she left, turning to shut the door behind her and locking it with her silver keys. She took a look up at the old building, her home. For now. Just above, she could see the moon blanketed heavily by clouds. There would be no stars to light her way that night. The old crone was right... the night was dark indeed.

It was a long walk into the upper part of town. The district Ferelith resided in was known to be a rather unwealthy and large area commonly known as Heapside. While not entirely littered with crime, it still had it's fair share of homeless and pickpockets. Most of the buildings on the street she lived on were abandoned. And the shops that did exist were on their last leg. It was a mystery how the old woman had managed to have such a prosperous collection and business. Then again, Ferelith had raised it's reputation tenfold since her arrival. The beautiful elf with dark hair and a cold voice with an ethereal demeanor that could transcribe nearly anything was highly sought after. Yes... she was well known. Even to the extent of the some of the higher districts. Which was precisely where she was headed.

The wind began to pick up and it felt much colder than before. Ferelith looked up to the moon now completely covered in the sky. She had not sensed rain nor smelled it. Perhaps the old woman was right. There was an eeriness to the air. Picking up her pace, she began to trot down the street. She twisted and turned, careful which alleyways she ducked into. Until finally she had reached the black iron fence of the Thornbeards. It was a grand estate with two wondrous statues of goats at the door. Ferelith marched up the carved stone stairs and took the the door handle into her hand. She knocked loudly three times. And waited. The door opened, a good sized with dwarf with dark hair pulled back into a braid appearing to answer with alert eyes.

"Lady Moonshade?" he said, bringing his candle closer to her face. "My lady, it's terrible late."

"I'm sorry to trouble you, Brunan," she took the pack from off her shoulder still clutching the book in her hand. "But I've come to return Lord Thornbeard's collection."

"You're not bothering me at all!" he happily took the bag from her. "I'm just afraid for your safety, my dear!"

"No need to fret," she held her work proudly in both hands. "This is well worth it. The final piece."

She held it out, the gold shimmering in the candle light. Brunan's eyes widened at the sight of it. He sat the candle down at the edge of the stone railing and took the book into his own hands. Opening it carefully, he cherished the sound of the spine cracking. The old groundskeeper smiled, looking down at the first page, and seeing the tree drawn onto it.

"I didn't know you were an artist," he said.

"I'm most certainly not," she grinned. "It's a copy. From one of the originals."

"The family will be quite pleased with this. I'm sure," he nodded slowly. "You're done us a great services, Ferelith."

"That means more than you," she crossed her hands in front of her. "I can expect payment on the morning?"

"Always the greedy one, aren't we?" he chuckled. "Of course. But I do have something for you."

"Oh?" he ears perked.

Brunan leaned inside, setting the book down onto a corner table. He opened a drawer, pulling out a small wooden box. It was stained and smelled of sweet cherry wood. When Ferelith took it, she felt the smooth surface beneath her hand. It was fine craftsmanship. She lifted the lead seeing a red velvet cloth inside. And beneath that, a red leather bound book. The pages were crisp and white. And sewn into the cover was a red velvet bookmark.

"Lord Thornbeard wanted to thank you personally. But you know words aren't his forte."

"No," Ferelith smiled. "This is perfect. Thank you."

"I believe we are thankful to you. The family history will reside on Thornbeard shelves for generations."

"If there's anything else you need, Brunan, do not hesitate to visit us."

"In the meantime, Lady Moonshade, you take care."

"Until then," she gave a slight bow.

Brunan nodded back, shutting the door and disappearing inside. Ferelith took a step down, still staring at the door and listening. There was a slight shout from a distant room and she knew the lord of the house had his commission bestowed onto him. Finally pleased with herself, she took her leave, pulling her cloak tightly around her. It had somehow gotten colder. That didn't seem to affect the night life of the upper district, though. The tavern nearby was bustling and she could hear the music playing loudly from an open window. She paused for a moment, peering inside from her place on the cobblestone road. There were finely carved wooden chairs, polished tables, fancy lit scones, and beautiful tapestries. The nobles dancing inside were all dressed in fine silks and embroidered robes. Ferelith looked down, looking at her old tattered tunic. It had been nearly a century since she had last worn a dress.

Just as her mind began to wander back to her previous lives, a loud bang echoed through the streets. Pouring out of the now wide open door came two gentlemen, one with his arm wrapped around the other. They were smiling, smitten with one another. She lowered her hands, scanning over them. Clearly, they were drunk. For a moment, she thought they would not notice her. But one did. He looked up, his eyes shooting a warning glare. Ferelith did not get the best look at the man. But she noted his eyes and could only describe them with a single word of hunger. They stared at one another until he disappeared into the alley nearby. It wasn't the effort to follow and she began to head back down the road to her little and safe bookshop.

Until she heard a scream. Ferelith turned toward the alleyway, hearing the piercing cry of a man. She ran, feeling the books in her apron slapping against her thighs. She had forgotten to remove it. But it did not matter. She rounded the corner and followed the sounds. A scream had been silenced. And then more shouting ensued. The horrors of what she found left her speechless as she skidded to a halt in front of a pool of blood. A man lay face down, a hole bore into the top of his skull. Ferelith looked up, a tall tentacled monster holding another man by the neck.

"Do something!" he shouted before it tightened it’s grip

"What is this?" she faltered, her eyes widening.

Her presence alarmed the humanoid creature, drawing its small yellow eyes to her attention. She stammered back, her feet ready to run. But she held fast.

It's no use.

The voice in the back of her head was right. It usually was. She looked to the man, helpless and squirming against the wall. This was not her fight. And she was certain it was one not worth winning.

"Don't you dare leave me," the man gurgled, the hand wrapped around his neck tightening.

The creature reached out and Ferelith felt a tug at her head. The voice inside her thoughts cried out in pain, but Ferelith herself resisted. Red streaks of lightening flew across her fingertips as an anger trigger within. She began to run toward the monster, casting forth a blast of energy. The thing dodged, dropping the man to his knees and allowing him to gasp for air. Ferelith had no weapons, only her wits. If she could stall for just a bit longer, perhaps he could help. But as he looked up, she saw he would be of no use. Ferelith turned back to the humanoid, realizing how grave her mistake was. His hand reached out again. And Ferelith felt a cold grasp reach into her mind. Her feet lifted from the ground. It felt as if the air itself was suffocating her. The monster looked down to white haired man, striking him across the face with its other hand and causing him to fall unconscious. She began to gasp desperately. Everything turned black. And she never felt her body hit the ground.

[narniagiftexchange]

                                              exceptions.

                              THE AUTUMN NARNIAN GIFT EXCHANGE.

(G-rated, no NSFW, K-language, one-shot, contains Reepicheep, Prince Caspian, and the Pevensies, and is in Reepicheep’s POV)

                         for   @luxaofhesperides from  @noctusfury.

Note to Recipient: I have to admit that this was a little challenging for me, in a good way. I had never written anything with Reepicheep or wrote it in his POV, so I had to do some homework and learn to write in his voice. I also struggled with what exactly I wanted to go with this fanfic, not knowing what theme or scene or film that I wanted to do this in. However, I managed to find it in this fic and I hope I did Reepicheep justice. Thank you in advance for your gift, and I hope that my own gift for you will give you as much joy and pleasure as yours did me. May you be in the Great Lion’s Paws.

As a young mouseling, Reepicheep had many expectations. He expected to be warm; expected to be safe; expected to be fed; expected to get a pleasant night’s rest; expected his brothers and sisters to quit shoving him; expected to grow up big and strong like his parents yesterday; expected his parents to come at his beck and call.

But the greatest of all his expectations was this: Reepicheep, more than anything else, expected to be told the legends of the Four Kings and Queens of Narnia. Every night, without fail; he couldn’t sleep unless his parents or his nanny told him one of the Narnian legends from their past.

Such were his expectations.

And told them, they did, for this scion that would be the future leader of their Clan of Mice, for nothing was withheld from him (indeed, this vice would end up coming back to bite him when he was older). And Reepicheep was fortunate in having parents every bit as valiant and bold as he was, and also had a deep devotion and love for Narnia and its history. And so, they never tired of telling the tales of yore again and again… and again, and again, and again.

Such were his expectations.

Reepicheep loved hearing the legends concerning the Golden Age, when Aslan defeated the White Witch, their enemies were routed, and the Four Monarchs of Narnia, known as the Pevensies, were crowned and ruled Narnia for a long time.

He heard the tales of Queen Susan the Gentle, of the beauty and grace that flowed from her like a gown (according to legend, she was said to have been the reincarnation of Swanwhite, one of the Ancient Queens of Narnia, before the White Witch took over), and such was her influence that quarrelling tongues and fists of dissention were stilled and silent before her majesty. And such was her beauty, that kings and princes, lords and dukes fought wars (and even instigated some) in order to claim her as a bride — the most infamous of which was Prince Rabadash the Ridiculous of the Calormen Empire. She was also renowned for the balls that she put together in bygone days.

Foremost of the Tales were of her and the Queen Lucy’s involvement concerning Aslan: witnessing His Death and Resurrection, of their accompanying the Great Lion on His back — the greatest of honors, Reepicheep thought — to the then-abandoned Witch’s Castle and freed all Narnians that had been turned to stone and, led by Aslan, raced to Beruna and overturned the tides of war, snatching victory from the jaws of defeat. There were other stories concerning the Queen Susan, but they were of such content that was of no interest to Reepicheep (and try as one might, there weren’t many stories concerning the Queen Susan to begin with, due to her remaining in Cair Paravel for most of their reign save for the occasional trip to Anvard in Archenland to meet the Royal Family there).

He heard the tales of Queen Lucy the Valiant, of how she was the first Human and the First of the Monarchs to enter Narnia since the Elder Days, and how she met Mr. Tumnus and later the Beavers. The stories also told of the unique relationship she had with the Great Lion of Narnia, the High King of all High Kings — Aslan — and of how, of all her siblings, was given the name “Lioness”.

He heard the tales of her skills as a healer, with her cordial of the rare Fire Flower, from which one drop was send to cure all ills and injuries — even bring them back from the brink of death (proven in King Edmund’s case), and of her valiance in many a battle as she led the archers, and, yes, even in the thick of the fighting; and of how despite the High King’s misgivings, she was eventually allowed to join her brothers in the hells of war.

But the stories concerning the Queen Lucy that most tugged at Reepicheep’s spirit was of her adventures and journeys traveling the great Eastern Sea, of which was her domain. The song that his Dryad nanny sang to him, pertaining to him, wooed him ever more into these particular tales, and it gave him a deep and insatiable longing to sail to the East, to the end of the known world — to Aslan’s Country. (However, as he grew older, Reepicheep would learn that such dreams would have to wait until a Son of Adam comes to rule Narnia once more and bring her back to its former glory.)

He heard the tales of King Edmund the Just, who had betrayed his siblings to the White Witch, but later repented of his crimes and was pardoned by the Great Lion, later proving himself in the Battle of Beruna; valiant were the tales that detailed the Just King’s achievements, of how he had fought with a lion’s ferocity in the desperate fight at the Rocks of Beruna in the battle, of how he slew three Ogres much bigger than him as he ran to intercept the White Witch and save his brother’s life, of how he destroyed Jadis’s wand with his sword and nearly gave his life to not only rescue his brother and atone for his wrongs, but to also help give his people some sort of advantage.

And let us not forget the stories afterward, of his wisdom and sense of justice that was renowned in all corners of the world; of his power and skill as a diplomat, having a tongue of silver that calmed even the most temperamental politician or ruler and helped wrangle peace or trade with many nations for the benefit of Narnia — a tool that could turn into cold, biting steel to intimidate potential or current enemies; and of the tales of his battles, alone or with his Royal Brother the High King, and of his tactical cunning and ferocity in battle. One of the highlights of his career as a warrior was in the Battle of Anvard against the Calormene forces led by Rabadash, and defeating him in single combat in a quite effortless manner (or so Reepicheep thought). Some of his most favorite stories of King Edmund was, predictably, those of the tournaments and contests of arms that the Kings had participated throughout their reigns.

The stories also spoke of the everlasting love and loyalty between the two brothers. So strong was their bond that they were said to almost be the same person, as one being. Rare was the occasion that one Brother was separate from the other, and the Just King was the High King’s shadow wherever he went. Their bond of kinship was such that the young and irrepressible Reepicheep made the solemn resolve to have such kinship with his own siblings (and I’m afraid he was rather overzealous in that endeavor).

But the Tales of Yore that Reepicheep had great expectations to be told before bedtime were concerning only one Pevensie: High King Peter the Magnificent. It was these tales above all else that most fascinated Reepicheep, had him sit, enthralled, with wide eyes full of awe and admiration, as his parents and even his nanny told him story after story of the High King of Narnia — the first and only High King, save for Aslan Himself.

Many a tale was said of the brilliant radiance shining forth from him, as if the Sun had come from the heavens down to Earth, instilling awe and respect among his subjects and allies, and fear and hatred from his enemies; of how his mere presence would silence every tongue and deed in any room with a confident and commanding aura; and of the many deeds in his reign in building roads, schools, homes, entire towns, and even harbors with fleets of ships.

There were tales, too, of his fell temper — of how quick he was to anger should anyone threaten or bring harm to his Royal Siblings or to his people, and often had to take his younger brother to calm him down to reason. (I’m afraid that this was one of the vices that Reepicheep would inherit from his idol and King, and would eventually have to learn to temper it in later years.)

However, the tales that Reepicheep was most eager to hear — and the stories which would seal his destiny for eternity — were those of his feats in battle and deeds of renown: the famous Battle of Beruna, of his duel with Maugrim and later the White Witch, of the many skirmishes against the Fell-Beasts ever after, of his wars against the Giants of Ettinsmoor and Harfang, and against the menacing Calormen Empire — and let us not forget of the High King’s numerous contests and tournaments with other knights and rulers of valor and chivalry!

Yes, it was these tales that would mold Reepicheep into a valiant Knight of Narnia. While the Kings and Queens that were his inspiration were long gone in the immortal sands of time, Narnia was still here — different, yes, but here all the same. The creatures, too, were still here — in hiding, but alive, and planning their one last gamble to reclaim Narnia for their own. Narnia was in need of saving. Narnia was in need of a Hero — a valiant Knight capable of great and mighty needs, and perform many an act of mercy, honor, and kindness. A Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion — like the High King Peter!

This was his expectation, to be like the great High King, his hero and mentor, and fight to free Narnia as in the days of the Winter Revolution. To fight as if he was one of the Knights of the Most Noble Order of the Lion, knighted personally by the High King himself! Who knows? Mayhap what was could come again, and the Kings and Queens of Narnia would return through the cries of Queen Susan’s Horn, as the legends have said.

Reepicheep had many expectations, but even that would be expecting too much of the universe! Wouldn’t it?

But despite this, Reepicheep believed, and hoped, and persevered, as all optimists do, and have done, in every age through time eternal.

This was to be expected.

<><><><><><><>

This wasn’t what he expected — not in a thousand years!

Reepicheep wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he ran to defend Prince Caspian from some unknown assailant (aside from it being Telmarines, for who else would be attacking Narnians in an underhanded, cowardly ambush?), but never in his wildest dreams did he expect to be standing in the presence of High King Peter the Magnificent and his Royal Siblings!

The young Mouse — now a full-fledged Knight of Narnia like his father, and his father’s father, and his father before him, and so forth — just stood there in awe, sword drawn, mouth agape (he was fortunate that none of his comrades noticed his discourteous demeanor in favor of focusing on the Monarchs; completely unbecoming of a Knight!) as his dark eyes drank in the beautiful sight of the Pevensies in all their glory.

Prince Caspian’s comment broke him from his shameful behavior (only to be scandalized by it a moment later): “…I’d thought you’d be older.”

Reepicheep gaped at Prince Caspian, completely flabbergasted. This was not what he had expected from the young King-to-Be. That’s not the sort of thing one says to Royalty. So what if the Kings and Queens of Narnia are a bit on the young side? Prince Caspian was one to talk, not yet eight-and-ten himself!

“If you’d like, we could leave and come back in a few years…” Now, he’s done it! Only five minutes in, and His Royal Highness has insulted the High King of Narnia!

“No-No! It-It’s not that,” Prince Caspian assured him hurriedly. “You’re all just… not what I had expected.” He’s done it again! Has His Highness never learned court etiquette, or did they just neglect to teach him the finer things?

Reepicheep briefly heard the younger, dark-haired King — King Edmund — direct a similar comment towards one of the Minotaurs (which was completely understandable, in Reepicheep’s mind, as he didn’t fully trust the creatures himself), before hurrying off to rescue Prince Caspian from further shaming himself with his deplorable decorum.

“We have anxiously awaited your return, My Liege,” And it was true, they did. And according to knightly behavior and code of conduct, he gracefully bowed from the waist with a paw to his heart as he said, “Our hearts and swords are at your service.”

However, any further conversation was halted when his sensitive ears picked up someone using the Forbidden Word: “…He is so cute.”

Immediately, he brandished his sword and interrogated all and sundry with the point of his blade. “Who said that!?” he demanded.

“Oh… Sorry.” Reepicheep turned to see that it was the youngest Monarch, the Queen Lucy, who had spoken the words with an apologetic (and slightly amused) smile gracing her features as she clasped her hands together on her gown.

Realizing that he had made an outburst and drew his sword in front of the Queens, and wanting to make it clear that he meant no offense towards the Valiant Queen, he said: “Your Majesty, with the greatest respect,” he even made a gallant, courteous bow towards his Queen to show that he, did, in fact, have the greatest respect towards her, “I do believe ‘courageous,’ 'courteous,’ or-or 'chivalrous,’ might more befit a Knight of Narnia.” And with a twirl of the blade, he sheathed it back into its scabbard.

“Well, at least we know some of you can handle a blade.” the High King remarked. His expression was pleased and looked impressed by his skill.

Reepicheep beamed. “Yes, indeed,” was the casual reply, wholly pleased with himself. And wanting to put himself even more in his hero’s favor, Reepicheep continued: “And I have recently put it into good use, securing weapons for your army, Sire.” There! That is how one spoke to Royalty — particularly those who’d disappeared for a thousand years. I hope you’re taking notes, Your Highness.

“Good. Because we’re going to need every sword we can get.”

As the High King then turned to speak to Prince Caspian, Reepicheep took that as his cue to step back into the background and hoped that the young prince at least learned from his mistakes and didn’t insult the High King further than he obviously already had.

Granted, Their Majesties weren’t what he expected — and he certainly didn’t expect to meet them along the way back to Aslan’s Howe. Reepicheep himself didn’t understand why the Pevensies returned to Narnia back to their child selves when they had first been coronated. It seemed rather counterintuitive and also puts Their Royal Majesties in a serious disadvantage. But he assumed that Aslan must have a really good reason, and, naturally, one doesn’t question the goings on instigated by the Great Lion. If He wanted the Four Monarchs of Narnia to return as their old child selves, who was Reepicheep to protest against it? Perhaps it was Aslan’s way of making sure that the Narnians recognized them? It was cyclical, he was sure. He remembered the Old Stories told to him by his parents, and his nurse, and compared the two: the Pevensies came to Narnia to start a Revolution, dethrone a tyrant, free Narnia, and rule as her Kings and Queens; and they returned to Narnia during yet another Revolution to dethrone a tyrant, free Narnia, and instill the Prince Caspian as the new King of Narnia (though Reepicheep hoped that Their Majesties would stay afterwards) — history repeats itself in more ways than we think.

As Reepicheep soaked in the radiant presence of Their Majesties, the High Kings and High Queens of Narnia, he realized that they had superseded his expectations. None of them were what he had expected — they were greater than he could have ever hoped or dreamed. The Monarchs of Old Narnia that were in the Legends irrevocably paled in comparison to their real-life transcendent splendor and majesty! And a bold hope grew in the Mouse Chieftain, then — a hope that Aslan has heard their prayers and answered them by sending them the Saviors of a previous Age, and the Knight of Narnia knew beyond a shadow of a whisker’s doubt that with them on their side, chances of victory had gotten much more favorable.

Yes, they had exceeded his expectations. In every respect.

But that, of course, was to be expected.

[wangxiangiftexchange]

Winter Solstice Gift for journalsofagoddess

Happy Winter Solstice @journalsofagoddess!! <3 I hope you like your gift!! this was so much fun to write! I tried to fit as many of the original prompts/"likes" in as possible, so in here you'll find elements of fluff, h/c, horror, humour, modern au, a sprinkling of family!wangxian...

Title is from a fantastic song by No Resolve that is very wangxian, even if it has nothing at all to do with this fic! concept inspired loosely by fleurmatisse's spooky possession fic, minus some of the spookiness? :D

Warnings: light horror, mentions of injuries.

Read on AO3

*****

dancing with your ghost

The snow is just starting to stick to the pavement by the time Wei Ying makes it home.

The sky outside has been heavy and dark with clouds since the morning, but had only broken open as he left the client’s house. He closes the door on their suddenly white-coated and wet front stoop and takes a minute to shake the melted snow out of his hair.

“Hey,” he calls into the empty hall as he scrapes his boots on the mat, “I’m back!”

He bends down to untie his laces and his wrist gives a sharp twinge. In all of the excitement of the afternoon and the unexpected snowfall, he had almost forgotten that he had crushed it beneath him when he fell. He resigns himself to undoing his boots one-handed to not agitate it any further—it’s probably nothing serious, but between regular injuries and the growing threat of carpal tunnel that comes with age, Wei Ying isn’t sure he needs to take the risk.

Ghosts are always bad, as winter sinks into the city. The short days and cold nights make up the perfect breeding grounds for things that lurk in shadows and feed on melancholy.

Wei Ying doesn’t mind the ghosts, of course: as a self-certified freelance ghost hunter extraordinaire, he has been getting more than enough calls to keep busy. His days are longer, brining him home well after dark, but only ever sweetens the coming home. Lan Zhan disagrees, of course—he would rather Wei Ying be home more often, and not take on so much, but as long as they are still splitting bills half and half, this is the best solution.

The thought of his husband is clearly enough to summon him: Lan Zhan appears at the end of the hall. He’s dressed for a comfortable evening at home. Wei Ying waves, and doesn’t quite manage to hide the wince when his wrist stings again. The small smile that had started to grow at the edges of Lan Zhan’s mouth vanishes beneath a larger frown. His gaze is unerringly focused on Wei Ying’s wrist. Wei Ying doesn’t sigh out loud—he’s fine, really, and it was a stupid injury anyway. Nothing to be fussed over.

Lan Zhan does not get his psychic messaging.

“Wei Ying,” he says. Wei Ying kicks off his boots, giving up on the laces entirely. “You’re hurt.” It’s a question, even if it doesn’t sound like one.

“Messy job,” Wei Ying tells him with a bright grin. “You wouldn’t believe the stuff these people were just letting lie around in their attic.” It hadn’t been the worst job he’s ever done—surprisingly few dead mice, and no asbestos--but also not exactly what had been described in the email. Part of the reason Wei Ying is back so late tonight were the—“piles and piles of masks, Lan Zhan,” he complains, unwinding his scarf one-handedly, “and not the nice kind. They all had bleeding eyes or human teeth.”

The actual email had just described an old costume collection and some thumps in the night. They hadn’t been wrong, exactly, but Wei Ying spent an hour clearing all of the clothing debris to the edges of the room before he could actually get a sense for the space. It had been a waste of time, and with the woman and her son standing there and watching him without lifting a finger, it had taken much longer than necessary. “It wasn’t even the masks that were haunted,” he complains. “They were just freaky and maybe a little bit cursed.”

He looks up just in time to recognize the beginnings of actual worry in Lan Zhan’s expression. It’s the face he makes when he wants to volunteer to come with Wei Ying on ghost hunts, despite his students, or ask him never to put himself in harm’s way again. Wei Ying is sure he’d prefer that he were in any other line of work than freelance exorcism, when it so often involves Wei Ying jumping in, at least a little underprepared, and dealing with everything from bathtub water ghouls to cat fierce corpses.

So, Wei Ying shuts himself up, pressing a quick kiss to Lan Zhan’s cheek. “Nothing dangerous,” he promises his husband. “I just tripped, I’m not hurt-hurt.”

“Your wrist,” Lan Zhan says, still frowning, the faintest crease marring his forehead.

Wei Ying pats his husband’s chest with the hand that doesn’t hurt, and tells him, “I’ll let you put ice on it, if it’ll make you feel better.”

Lan Zhan looks at him with an expression that says clearly that it should also make Wei Ying feel better, but he ignores it. Today’s job hadn’t even been awful—just weird, and unsuccessful for the most part. He’ll have to go back another day, at least. Just another paycheck.

“You look cold,” Lan Zhan adds as they move to the living room. He offers Wei Ying a hoodie from his collection—not that Lan Zhan wears hoodies, but he owns enough alumnus merch that Wei Ying coopts them for nefarious husband purposes such as lounging around on their couch. Between that and the fact that Lan Zhan has always had a possessive streak that liked seeing Wei Ying in his clothes… well, there’s certainly no reason not to pull it on.

“Nah,” he says, “it started snowing on my way home, though. We might have to shovel tomorrow.”

“Mm,” Lan Zhan hums, “our shovels are in the shed.”

Wei Ying still feels icky with the cloying resentful energy that had swamped the attic. It happens often when the ghosts are particularly resentful: the energy soaks deeper into him—partly his own fault, since he essentially makes himself a conduit, but hardly a pleasant sensation. On his walk home, he usually spends time cleansing himself of the dredges as much as he can, but then it had started to snow…

Lan Zhan presses a quick kiss to his nose, there and gone again. “Come warm up,” he says. “There is dinner, if you are hungry.”

Wei Ying takes stock—he’d had a hot dog from the place around the corner of his make-shift office at lunch, plus a couple of stale cookies the owners of the house had offered him before he started work. They were awful, of course, but you never deal with any hauntings on an empty stomach—that’s just asking to be possessed. His stomach is still turning, though. Probably just resentful residue, but he’s not going to chance it turning into nausea.

“Maybe later,” he says. “I’m going to shower. Choose something for us to watch?”

Lan Zhan smiles—just barely, but it’s definitely there—and Wei Ying leans up to kiss him, barely more than press of his lips against his husbands’. He’s so warm, a furnace, and Wei Ying wants to wrap himself in him and never let go. The resentment soaking him doesn’t like that thought at all-- he can feel it like something oily against his skin, slithering down his spine in distaste or maybe anger. Wei Ying isn’t about to find out, though, so instead, he smiles into the kiss so Lan Zhan can feel it, and pulls away.

Lan Zhan keeps holding his hand, their fingers intertwined. “Not too long,” he says.

“I would never,” Wei Ying jokes, and kisses him again. It’s always a little intoxicating, being in Lan Zhan’s presence, and his love of long showers won’t keep him away.

The resentment starts to slide off in the shower, pretending it was never there. The hot water pounds down on Wei Ying’s skin turning it rosy and wiping away the last bits of lingering fear and anger along with the last of the chill. He can feel his frozen toes again, wiggles them against the porcelain and watches them turn pink. He should probably buy winter boots, he thinks, if his steel-toed ones aren’t going to be warm enough to last through the rest of the winter hunts.

The last of the energy, the cloying bit that hooked its greedy fingers under his skin, swirls away down the drain. It’s invisible to the naked eye at such low concentrations, but Wei Ying can sense it. He can feel the gluiness of these residues, non-Newtonian and sticky, in ways that even most cultivators couldn’t pick out. He’s spent years, after all, figuring out how to manipulate resentful energy as best he can to help other people, and he’s good at what he does, takes pride in it. He knows Lan Zhan is proud of him, too, no matter how worried he gets.

There is a moment after he has toweled off, when he’s pulling on clean boxers and Lan Zhan’s hoodie that he thinks he sees someone in the mirror. It’s the same feeling as when the lights are turned on in a previously dark room, the moment before all the shadows are banished, when eyes can be tricked into believing that there is someone, a figure, standing there and watching you from the corner—

Wei Ying stares at himself carefully, but it doesn’t happen again. His day has been stressful and longer than it should have been-- all that staring into all of those eyeless masks--he’s probably just haunted by the contorted porcelain faces. Besides getting home late, that’s the only other problem that working in the ghost industry brings: a teensy bit of justified paranoia. He towels off his hair and leaves the towel behind.

Lan Zhan is already sitting on the couch, curled comfortably in his corner, though his eyes find Wei Ying as soon has he enters the room. On the TV, the screen is paused on the opening credits of a C-drama that neither of them watch for the plot but is perfect for the kind of night Wei Ying needs. There’s an open box of crackers and some hummus on the table; their massive first aid kit in Lan Zhan’s lap.

Wei Ying isn’t sure he’ll ever stop being struck by just how well Lan Zhan knows him. His husband, his zhiji, has proven time and time again to be the very best thing that has ever happened to Wei Ying, and he will spend the rest of his life thanking him for it. He slides onto the couch next to Lan Zhan, curling into his side, and rests head on Lan Zhan’s shoulder.

Lan Zhan turns the TV on, volume down low, and the opening theme begins to play. Wei Ying lets himself relax.

“Let me wrap your wrist,” Lan Zhan says quietly, pulling a tensor bandage out of the kit.

“Lan Zhan, it’s really not necessary—” Wei Ying starts, even as Lan Zhan lifts his hand onto his lap. He quells his token protests at the look on Lan Zhan’s face. He still looks worried and tense. Wei Ying wonders if they’ll have to talk about it after all. Lan Zhan begins wrapping his wrist.

“You should be more careful,” his husband says.

Wei Ying could protest, as he has many times, that he’s exactly as careful as he can afford to be—that sometimes, sure, he puts his safety to the side, but it’s always for a good reason. They’ve had the argument before, though, and it’s not—they don’t need to have it again, not tonight. Lan Zhan is efficient, wrapping his wrist firmly but not too tightly. He presses a kiss to the bandage afterwards, his eyes warm. Wei Ying can feel his cheeks heat.

“I feel better already,” he says, mostly joking, and gets a kiss to the lips as reward.

Like this, and in many other ways, they fit perfectly together. Lan Zhan’s hand falls on his thigh, a wide swath of warmth against Wei Ying’s bare skin. He pushes up into the kiss, not urgent, just chasing closeness. He laces their fingers together, pulls back momentarily and Lan Zhan sways toward him. In the low light, Lan Zhan’s eyes are almost golden. Wei Ying traces his features with his eyes, and kisses him again.

“Ah, Lan Zhan,” he breathes, moments later. Lan Zhan has dared to bite his lip, albeit gently. “Don’t tease me now. Your husband is too tired.”

Lan Zhan looks skeptical but hums an agreement all the same, pressing one last kiss to his pouting mouth before settling back into the couch. It’s nearing late—Lan Zhan has gotten more flexible, with his sleep schedule, since they got together and since he left his old home behind, but he still starts flagging much earlier in the evening than Wei Ying does. He will probably be asleep by the time two episodes are over. Keeping that in mind, Wei Ying settles more firmly into Lan Zhan’s side, relishing the warmth.

He doesn’t focus on the screen, not really—instead, he spends his time mapping out the well-known lines of Lan Zhan’s palm with his fingertip. Lan Zhan bears this, as he always does, with patience. There is no small amount of fondness in his gaze when Wei Ying looks up at him. There don’t need to be words between them, right now, but Wei Ying asks anyway, “how was your day?”

Lan Zhan hums, glances down at their intertwined fingers, their matching rings. There is a fond look on his face.

“Good,” he answers after a minute. The love theme of the show is playing on screen, but Wei Ying doesn’t look away from Lan Zhan’s face. “Productive.”

“Good,” Wei Ying repeats. It’s been years since they worked together as cultivators—somewhere along the line, maybe when Lan Zhan discovered a passion for teaching only rivalled by his passion for music, or when Wei Ying’s business finally took off, the places where their work lives intersected disappeared. It’s been a long time since work and obligation were the only things they lived for. That’s why he doesn’t press, now, lets the comfort of the end of day settle between them. He presses a quick kiss to Lan Zhan’s cheek, and then his lips, lingering and sweet. Lan Zhan is warm, so warm.

Wei Ying eats a couple of crackers. The characters on the screen reunite, long lingering gazes exchanged as the orchestral version of the love theme soars. Lan Zhan slumps a little against his shoulder, breaths evening out into the first stages of sleep. Outside, snow is still falling. Wei Ying gets distracted from whatever dramatic goings-on happen next—a sibling reunion, maybe? A lost identity, being rediscovered?--watching the flakes fall in the light of the streetlamp out their window. It looks like it’s gearing up to be a proper snowstorm. He might have to postpone his appointments, tomorrow, if it keeps up.

Lan Zhan’s breath puffs out against his shoulder. Wei Ying can see their reflection in the glass: Lan Zhan’s relaxed figure, his own, curling into him. Like this, no time has passed at all—Lan Zhan in sleep is timeless, the two of them could still be undergrads. He spends time tracing the sleep softened lines of Lan Zhan’s face, which is why it takes him a minute to realize that something is wrong with the picture. It’s only when he finally looks at himself that he realizes—

While he is looking at his own reflection, it is still staring down at Lan Zhan.

Wei Ying stills his thumb where it was rubbing gentle circles into Lan Zhan’s arm. In the reflection on the glass, his hand keeps moving, gently swiping across his husband’s bicep. His reflection—though there’s something wrong with it, now, something distorted, something in the eyes that is looking less and less like himself—cocks its head slightly and looks back at him. There is a smile, though not one that Wei Ying has ever worn, on its face.

Masks, Wei Ying thinks. False faces. The mirror in the bathroom earlier, the sense that had dogged him all the way home of being watched, the oily slick resentment that he brought home with him--

Wei Ying’s work bag is across the room. He doesn’t dare take his eyes off of the reflection to go get it. There is adrenaline, sudden and shocking, spurring itself through his veins.

When all else fails, get it talking.

“Good to finally meet you,” he tells it. He can’t be sure it’s actually in his reflection at all—it could be anywhere in the room, choosing only to manifest like this strange echo.

The person in the reflection smiles, but it doesn’t reach their eyes. They’re as hollow as the masks now, just empty void—completely black, not even the snowstorm outside visible behind them. The face is no longer Wei Ying’s at all, rounder and paler with soulless eyes and a bleeding mouth. In the reflection, the blood drips Lan Zhan’s forehead, marring lines on his smooth skin. Wei Ying doesn’t dare look down to check.

The voice is more like a rasp than anything, like the sound of a body being dragged on a hardwood floor. “Give it back,” it says. “It’s not yours.”

Wei Ying casts his memory back desperately. Had he taken anything from the house? Had he left anything behind? He knows better than to do that, he thinks.

“I really don’t think so,” he says, fighting down a sudden eerie chill as the room’s temperature drops, “sorry.”

The shadows in the room are growing, spilling out from everywhere the ceiling light in the hall can’t reach, playing like smoke across the ground. On the screen, in his peripheral vision, the figures are frozen in a loop, jerking like marionettes pulled back and forth. The figure hisses. Wei Ying’s eyes are burning trying to focus—he blinks, and his reflection is his own again. The dread doesn’t leave and none of the shadows recede. They grow darker.

He shakes Lan Zhan awake, gently.

“Sweetheart,” he says, trying not to let his panic run his words together, “we have a—situation.”

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan says, a little bit sleep dulled. He blinks his eyes open, slowly focusing. Wei Ying only has a second’s warning when Lan Zhan’s eyes go wide at something behind him before Lan Zhan is pushing him off the couch and onto the floor. “Wei Ying!”

“Sorry!” Wei Ying yelps, scrambling to his feet, “looks like work came home with me!”

There’s no time for regrets, now. He’s not sure what Lan Zhan saw behind him, but he can see and feel the way the shadows in the room are coalescing, turning into something solid, building itself from the ground up. Wei Ying pushes the coffee table away—the crackers go tumbling, but that’s a problem for later, because the two of them need to be standing somewhere without shadows. Whatever this thing is, it’s powerful enough to manifest inside their wards. He thinks bitterly of the lies the woman and her son had told in the emails, how much they minimized the issue, and can only reassure himself that he can charge appropriately. This is more, much more than the measly sounds in the night he went to deal with, and it is growing.

Lan Zhan clearly has the same thought. He is no longer half-asleep, his face stony and serious in a way that makes Wei Ying shiver. He and Wei Ying stand, back to back, in the now clear floor of the living room. Only the hall light and the ghostly jitters of the TV illuminate their positions.

“Give it back,” the faceless shadows hiss. “It’s not yours!”

Wei Ying sees it out of the corner of his eye—a movement on the screen. He drops to the floor just in time for the coalesced fog of dense, dark mist to sweep over him. Its edges are too sharp to truly be vapour, its weight in the air too solid. It disperses like gas, though, sinks back into the shadows around them.

Between one second and the next, the hallway light flickers and turns off with a quiet pop, leaving them with only the flickers from the television. Lan Zhan summons his spiritual guqin—not the one he uses for teaching traditional music, but the one he uses when he night hunts. The chord he strums echoes in the small space and splinters another burst of the coalesced shade before it can attack. Whatever it is building, the shape looks more human now, albeit longer, and still faceless. Probably once an adult male, if Wei Ying had to guess, purely based on the size of all the costumes he had to move out of its room.

Whatever it is—he’s looking forward to the research, once they survive this—its hands are wicked sharp and it has too many elbows. It swipes at them, and it comes from the wrong direction, so Lan Zhan’s next chord goes wide. Wei Ying almost manages to dodge. The sleeve of the sweater is shredded.

Lan Zhan looks grim. He plays a succession of three quick chords which are quickly overtaken as the noise, just a murmur until now, grows into a roar of sound. It sounds like a thousand whispers all layered on top of each other, and it takes Wei Ying a second to figure out what, exactly, it is saying—

“Give it back,” it groans, “give it back, give it back, give it back.”

Wei Ying knows he didn’t take anything from the creepy attic, much less the house. There was nothing there to take, for one—stale cookies and awful tea, moth-eaten robes and rancid makeup, a hundred masks without eyes--but that’s not what this ghost is after. Wei Ying’s heart is pounding. He needs his exorcism stuff—at the very least his flute, or some chalk for an array.

First, liberate, second, suppress, third, eliminate, he thinks and almost wants to laugh. Too late for liberation, since it’s clearly already as free as can be-- he’d make the joke if the situation weren’t so dire. Ideally, this would be the time to offer it what it wants, but since he has no clue, suppression is the best option. He doesn’t even have talisman paper on him, since he’s still wearing Lan Zhan’s sweater.

He’s wearing Lan Zhan’s sweater.

Costumes. All of the masks. Faces beneath faces, bodies under clothes, the makeup chest and the mirrors.

Wei Ying wonders how he didn’t see it before. He should have burned all of his clothes the minute he stepped in the door because if he brought this with him, wearing him like a second skin—

He rips off the sweater, ignoring how it catches on his earring sending it tumbling to the floor—he throws it at the memory of the person, now just a mass of resentment and terror—and the sweater bursts into flames.

It’s a brief fire, but enough to light every corner of the room. As one, the shadows disperse, melting away and sinking into the floor, flying out the window. The figure, at the centre of the bright light, vanishes completely, leaving only an afterimage on Wei Ying’s eyelids. The smoke alarm wails.

Wei Ying’s heart is still beating too fast in his chest, adrenaline still racing through his veins. There is a burn mark on the carpet, to the left of the couch, a large black charred piece, that smells vaguely of burnt plastic. It’s the only sign, besides the burnt-out hall light, that anything strange happened at all. Even the reflections in the windows are normal again.

Wei Ying jumps when the C-drama starts playing behind him.

Lan Zhan doesn’t. He banishes his spiritual weapon with a wave of his hand and moves to the kitchen where he disables the alarm. The apartment is silent, and still.

“What the fuck,” Wei Ying manages. He drags his hands over his face, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. He’s standing in the middle of their living room, wearing only boxers, because the ghost that followed him home didn’t, what, like him dressing in someone else’s clothes? This has to make top twenty, no, top ten weirdest ghost revenge plots he has ever had to deal with. He looks at Lan Zhan, who is staring back at him across the small expanse of their living-slash-dining room, face blank. “I’m so sorry,” he tells Lan Zhan, “I can’t believe—it followed me home—I should have known—”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan interrupts. Wei Ying stops talking immediately, looks up at his husband. “There is no need for sorry, between us.”

“I mean,” Wei Ying says, staring at the mark in the rug, “usually I’d agree, but I think this kind of warrants an apology.” He digs at the mark with his toe. It’s not even warm anymore, just charred. “I destroyed the rug, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan shakes his head and flips on the electric kettle. “I disagree,” he says calmly, as though Wei Ying hadn’t just accidentally invited in a clothing-obsessed ghost and also destroyed one of Lan Zhan’s hoodies. Sure, he has never worn them, but the point stands.

He gapes at his husband. “You were worried, before,” he blusters, “Why-- how aren’t you more freaked out about the ghost in our house?”

Lan Zhan takes two mugs out of the cupboard, and the marshmallows-in hot chocolate tin, too. There is the edge of a smile playing on his lips when he looks at Wei Ying again, made soft under the light.

He says, “this is an opportune time to rearrange the living room.”

Wei Ying laughs. It’s the last of the adrenaline—he’ll be crashing quickly after this—but suddenly it’s hysterical. He laughs until he can’t breathe, and keeps laughing.

“Lan Zhan,” he manages, still laughing, and stumbles into his husband’s waiting arms. They will definitely be having a conversation about the wards on their house, and possibly about Wei Ying’s safety—but that can happen tomorrow. Wei Ying muffles his giggles in Lan Zhan’s shoulder, waits until they subside. He looks up at his husband, keeping his arms hooked loosely around the back of his neck. Lan Zhan’s warm hands are on his waist.

“I love you so much,” Wei Ying admits.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan hums, “and I, you.”

[kisshuggay]

But Now...

Finally posting this. It was requested by lovely @ladystrangeandunusual who asked me to write a reunion fic. It took me quite a bit longer than I wanted it to get to a point I was happy with because I’ve been in a very bad state of mind. She probably thinks I wasn’t going to write this and I apologize. There might be a part 2 of this later but I’m not sure yet. I desperately wanted to make this kind of smut-y but I kept hitting writer’s block so it’s just kind of lemon zest. God, I feel old using that term. Anyway please enjoy this potential one-shot that might turn into something more  10 years to the moment Sarah wished Toby away Jareth comes back into her life to claim what is his.** **

“Thanks for letting me stay late Ian, I just hit my stride and I want to finish.”

“Hey, no problem Sarah, just lock up when you’re done.” the manager of the theater that Sarah was the head costume designer for, said as he slowly started taking a few steps to the door. When he reached it he paused and turned to the woman one more time. 

“Oh, and be careful a few stagehands have said that they heard something in the prop loft. It could be mice. Or maybe birds.  I’ve got exterminators coming in on Monday.”

“Thank you,” Sarah said distracted already as she started pinning the dress she was sewing. She hardly noticed Ian shake his head and leave. Too consumed with the dress in front of her. It was for the theatre’s production of Riptide, a play about lovers reunited in an unexpected way 10 years after they parted.

Despite the play being full of cliches, Sarah felt the need to give her all as she always did. When she was finished pinning the dress it looked stunning. Sarah found a strong connection to the dress starting from the first moment of sketching the first draft of the design. The dress felt familiar somehow. Perhaps it’s a dress she fantasized about a lot when she was younger during the dramatic recreations of her favorite books as a child. She is unsure because her memories have become blurred by time. The dress was far more elegant than anything she could have ever made in her teen years, or even into young adulthood.

  The dress was a beautiful cream almost white. It had complex beading details on the bodice, the sleeves were puffy to the elbow and then cinched tight to finish. When it was completed it would look like a fairytale-like it was “ Fit for a queen"  said a voice. Sarah was sure it was not her own inside her mind. The voice was familiar and filled her mind completely with shock and confusion. The shock of it made Sarah prick her finger. 

"Ouch!” she exclaimed the pain made her involuntarily jerk back, and at that moment something caught Sarah’s eye out the window she saw a large white owl. The creature was enormously huge for an owl and was very close to the window. It had an intense amount of intelligence in its eyes, and for a moment it was as if the bird was watching her. 

]“Get it together, Sarah” she muttered to herself as she got up to tend to her finger. As she moved across the room the owls’ predatory eyes were trained on her. Flutters of long-repressed memories threatened to breach the surface of her mind. Something was keeping them at bay and although Sarah was not aware of what it was she was grateful. 

“As my queen, no harm would come to you, unless I wish it,” The strange yet pleasing voice said in Sarah’s mind. It startled Sarah because for years she had heard and seen things others have not. She’d seen countless therapists and all said that she was fine, or wanted to work on other things, not the strange things she had seen and experienced. One had been slightly more helpful in saying that she probably had a repressed memory, but no effort to recover it had worked. Looking back out the window the owl had left and Sarah felt silly once again. She went back to her work and tried to fully immerse herself. Several hours have passed with her hearing a few more things in her mind, she ignored them, in fact, she began to make significant progress on the dress. 

“ You can’t ignore me much longer Sarah, the time is almost upon us,” the voice of smooth velvety tone seemed to echo off the walls of Sarah’s mind and replace all of her thoughts.

“It’s been 10 years my dear,” The voice continued this was the longest uninterrupted it had ever been in her mind. Sarah fought to gain control over her thoughts. The voice was persistent and there was a dark command to it. 

“What are you? Who are you?” Sarah asked aloud. 

"You cannot have forgotten after your so-called triumph over me did you, Sarah? I thought you were stronger than that.” The voice condescended. His voice was no longer inside her mind but echoing the room she was in. A silhouette of a man that should have looked odd and unnatural appeared in the doorway, but for some reason, the man seemed familiar. Sarah couldn’t quite place him but she couldn’t help but think that she knew something. 

Gasping as a sharp pain of several memories filled her mind, everything flooded back to her. She said the one thing that she remembered the most strongly in the moment aloud without even knowing she’d said it: "Fear me. Love me. Do as I say, and I shall be your slave” Sarah said followed by the man’s name “Jareth.” she confirmed as the Goblin King himself manifested in front of her.

 "Hello Sarah, the Goblin King appeared not to have changed still dressed and dark leather all high-collared and wild hair. The effect he had on her was amplified from the first time that she had met when she’d been a teen. At that time she had been unable to process his appearance and how it made her feel she only thought it apprehension and not attraction. But now…

He strode to her. Not taking his dark eyes off her body. He circled here almost like a predator. All of his movements were deliberate and cat-like. She was frozen to the spot shocked at the idea that she was a grown woman and yet still so afraid. 

“My my my, Sarah, just look at you.” He began as he towered over her when he got back to her front. 

“Y- you have no power over me,” she said trying to ignore her pounding heart. The words felt pitiful and rang untrue to her ears as soon as she said them. Even the first time she said them she didn’t completely believe them.

“If you believe that Sarah I wouldn’t be here. Would I?” Jareth leered at her.  Sarah raised her chin in defiance. She did not like how she wanted to agree readily to his words. She wanted to fight how his very presence in front of her made her feel.

 “I couldn’t possibly know what you mean,” she forced out trying to sound even half as confident as he did. The smirk that followed on his lips was reminiscent of a cat that cornered the mouse. 

“Indeed.” was all he said. He took a short half-step and then he was in her personal space. He smelled so inhuman and yet so enticing. Sweet, and entirely male.“ You haven’t forgotten about me, have you, my dear?”

“ You mean how you stole my little brother and then I beat your silly labyrinth?” 

Jareth moved in a cat-like quickness although he had already cornered Sarah. Now his hand had moved to her upper shoulder forcing her against the wall completely. Sarah’s mouth opens involuntarily as the air was forced from her body, with the shock of the move.

 “I only ever did what I was asked of me. You wanted me to take your brother,” he leaned into her personal space with every word. His voice was quiet but it held power. “You wanted to run the labyrinth, you were rather selfish You made several demands of me, I only did as you asked.” By the time he finished, they were all but touching. Jareth made a point to not touch her, his body ghosting over hers. He wanted to prove to her how needed she was. Sarah stared up at him her eyes defiant she was not going to cower to him, nor was she going to show him how his close proximity was affecting her.

“ You were cruel. Needlessly so,” she said, surprised how her voice matched his quiet power.

“Not cruel Sarah, I can be if you lead me to it. I have where you are concerned had great self-control. When you left I realized that by your human lifespan you were not prepared to join with me completely, but now…” he trailed off deliberately he let his hand rest more firmly on her body. He slowly traced it along from her shoulder to her neck. He laid it to rest on her clavicle, he hummed and appreciated the lovely flush that her cheeks turned to, be it from anger or arousal it mattered not. 

“Why are you here? I haven’t wished…? I never spoke the words.” Sarah said, trying to make her face blank. 

“It was 10 years exactly Sarah, the spell that was cast over you was to be released 10 years from when you spoke the words. I was going to be here to claim what is rightfully mine.” 

“What’s rightfully yours?” Sarah couldn’t help but ask. 

“You Sarah you are mine.” He murmured his breath tickling her face and making her shiver. There was no denying how she felt at this moment. He leaned in and before Sarah could protest their mouths were together Jareth’s mouth tastes of honey and metallic something that is distinctly not human. Before it can be processed by Sarah he pulls away. He’s back to cornering her but not touching her.

“How dare you,” Sarah practically spits her wits coming back to her as she raises her arms to try and shove him away, or at least get some distance so she can assess herself. Chuckling to himself as if he finds her cute at the moment, he captures her arms in one of his hands lifting them above her head.

“Sarah, don’t you understand? I’m not hurting you.” He purrs in her ear. Keeping the same distance with his body, but his mouth is still dangerously close to hers. His eyes roam over her face truly taking in everything about her, there was a wave of emotions over her lovely face there was confusion, want determination, maybe hate definitely lust.  He could work with that.

“Even now Sarah, I am only doing what you want of me.” She only blinked back at him. To prove his point he takes his hand that is pinning her arms to the wall and moves it to her face. It’s subtle at first, her eyes start to close and she leans into his hand.her breathing is shallow. 

“See my Sarah, you want all I can give you. Don’t fight me.”He softly commands as he claims her mouth again. This time he wants it lasts long enough for Sarah to respond. Soon she kisses him back she moans into his mouth. It actually feels so good to finally kiss him, now that she remembers everything. It all makes sense, she has always been in love with him after all no one could ever compare. When the kiss breaks she’s breathing heavy and her logic has returned to her but this time she has all the facts. Her heart is still beating just for him.

 She whispers “Why me?” the Goblin King gins with a genuine smile “The ocean does not speak of love to the moon, and yet it’s every action shows its devotion to the moon’s rule over it.”

 “Oh,”  Sarah says plainly at first and then a second time with more understanding. This man before her once had something similar to her. He was at least implying that he loved her in some way. Devotion was a lot, she could work with that.

[thestarwrites]

City of God pt III (Finan x OC)

Fic Summary: Finan the Agile meets a Celt-Saxon woman, and for once he can’t think of anything else. What do you mean they won’t see each other for years? The continuing story of the love between Celts.

Part Three

Rating: PG-13

Please don’t plagiarize!

Tag list; (please DM me if you’d like to be added!)

@nxrdist @joyofbebbanburg @medievalfangirl @bookworm925 @buckysskye @jcalpha1@sprinkles617 

word count: 2,774

Once back inside Uhtred’s city dwelling, his cheeks were red and his face was a wide grin, that is until Sihtric and Clapa slipped inside after him with grins. “Look at that Sihtric, a lovesick Irishman.”

The shorter man smirked, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so smitten, and blushing too! Like a virgin.”

“Oi. Shut up.”

The men chuckled before Uhtred’s voice cleared from the front of the room, “Off to bed with you trouble makers.”

“Yes, Lord.” Both men said quickly before scurrying off like mice.

Letting out a breath Finan nodded, “Thanks for tha, Lord.”

Nodding, Uhtred smiled, “How did it go? Get a kiss, my friend?”

“Tha I did. Several in fact.” He quipped cheerfully.

Uhtred clapped his friend on the back and laughed softly, “I told you that you had nothing to worry about, she is as taken with you as you are with her.”

Finan shrugged, “There’s somethin’ about her, Uhtred. Somethin I can’t quite explain. Somethin’ I daren’t tell anyone but you. When I look at her, I feel…”

“Home?” Uhtred said softly. Finan looked up and could only nod, “That’s how it was with Gisela. The first time I saw her. It was as if I was struck by Thor in that instant, and I knew that if I didn’t have her in my future, I didn’t want to live. It was my visions of Gisela that kept me through the rowing.”

Finan took a deep breath, “I need ‘er.”

Uhtred put his hand on his friend’s shoulder, “And I regret to inform you, you will not see her for a while. There are many enemies which Alfred needs ridding, And I am bound now that Kjartan is dead to serve him. We are to march onto Coccham and then to the ships.”

Swallowing, Finan nodded, “And I am bound to you. My duty before my heart, Lord.” “You will see her again.” The Irishman nodded, feeling doubtful, “I think… I should write ta her.” “Good idea, my friend. I’ve often been told girls love sweet words.” He chuckled. And with that, Finan walked to compose the first love letter he had written in over five years.

When Hild had come to tell her the news that Uhtred and all of his household had left to Coocham on business- Kelly was devastated, “I do not know how long he will be away, it may be only a few days?” She said hopefully, though she knew how many enemies haunted the waterways. She looked down and then took a deep breath, resolving that if he was gone, then he was gone, a tear rolled down her cheek, “He told me he would call on me today.” Maybe now that he’d gotten his kisses, he was finished with her. Hild nodded and frowned, “That is why he wished me to give you the letter. Did something happen between you two?” She flushed, “We kissed.” The Abbess smiled warmly, “I am happy for you. Read the letter, I pray you find comfort in it. I must go on to Coccham.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hild gave her Finan’s letter, but she could not bring herself to read it for months. Thyra did her best to reassure her friend that Finan would come back for her. That he was head over heels for her and he was sure to return. But that night beside the fire, the stolen kisses behind her home, haunted her. “It has been nearly a year, Thyra…” She cried, “He’s never coming back, and if he ever does…” She whimpered. It was almost her twenty-first birthday. “Read the letter, my dearest,” Thyra urged, “Tonight, alone in your room. See what thoughts your Irishman wishes you to know. Imagine him speaking them to you in confidence. Imagine him coming home to you and only you.”

Angel, I have been told I am to away to for an indefinite period, but my duty is to Uhtred and to the King. My heart shatters knowing I must be away from you, after we’ve only just begun to truly see one another. I do not know how long, I do not know what fate awaits me, but I do know that in making Wessex safe, I make it safe for you.  I wanted you to have in writing that I belong to you. And that I will replay your silver laugh over and over in my mind until I pray God allows me to hear it once more, and the vision of your beauty will be my guiding light in the days and possible weeks to come. Not a moment will go by that I do not think of you. The ghost of your lips on mine will be my only comfort here on this journey. My body may be on the water and on the battlefield, but my heart remains in Wintecester, with you. I hope to be back soon, and I hope you aren’t on another man’s arm when I return. Until we meet again my beautiful girl, Your Irishman, Finan “Oh Finan.” She sighed dreamily, tears rolling down her cheeks. That night, she lay down to sleep, clasping her hands in prayer, “Heavenly Father, please protect Finan. Keep him safe from harm and deliver him home to me. Please guide his steps and keep him on your righteous path. Help me to be good and do what’s right. Amen.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two Years Later… It was early summer when a knock came on the door of Urlworth’s home. The woman who answered the door was Kelly’s mother Brienne. They looked alike, except Kelly had more of a Saxon build to her, “Finan! How wonderful it is to see you back safe and sound with us.” Her own Irish accent was thick as he remembered, “Are you finally here for good?”

Clearing his throat, Finan stood straight, and tried to stop his hands shaking, “Good afternoon, Ma’am. Ah, back at last for long enough that I can finally come to call after so long… Is the Lady Kelly at home?” “Oh- no, Finan, she is not, I believe she is out in the western fields picking flowers, shall I leave a message?” The woman gave him a gentle, yet sly, smile. She knew how her daughter loved this man, and how she’d missed him. “Uh- no need, Lady, thank you.” He bowed low and moved to get back on his horse, riding west of the walls of Urban Wintecester— he saw her. Close by the gates, in case. She was just as beautiful as she ever was. Picking flowers, as close to a faery as Finan ever imagined he would see. She was full of Old Magick, that he knew for sure. And he knew he was head over heels for her, for he dreamt of nothing else while away. Oh he had gotten his fair share of ribbing from the men. Fearsome Finan the Agile bowled over by a maiden. But he didn’t care. It had been three years since he lay eyes on her, and he hoped to never leave her behind again.

Kelly smelled a wild rose, sitting to pull out the well-worn piece of parchment written in Finan’s own hand. She had kept tabs on the events of the day, heard from the King and priests that Uhtred and his men lived, but they were endlessly fighting the Danes and the Northmen. Even if Finan never returned to her, she was proud to know a man who was so brave and so loyal. Finan watched her as she folded the parchment and kissed it gingerly before tucking it in her pocket once more. His smile was lopsided as he sighed, jumping down off his horse. When she heard rustling and the breathing of a horse, and the brush of footsteps in the grass, she jumped up. Spinning, holding out her dagger, she squinted up into the sun, confused as to the tall bearded man before her — and then gasped, “Finan!” “Honestly, woman, are ye gonna point a weapon at me whenever we meet?” Putting down her flowers and the dagger she set off at a run. Finan laughed and opened his arms, ready to embrace her. Running into his arms he picked her off the ground to spin her around, and she laughed in delight, “Oh Finan! You’re alright! You’re here! Its really you!” His response was only laughter. They did not speak for a long while. He just held her in the warm sun, “Miss me?” He purred in her ear. “Not really.” She answered and looked up at him. Finan grinned, “Ye know, one a’ these days, girl, yer gonna get a beatin’.” “Don’t promise me a good time.” Leaning down, Finan pressed his lips to hers. Their first kiss in years. They were sealed together by fate, the two of them. And fate is inexorable. Pulling back he looked down into her eyes and he smiled, “There is no greater felicity than this,” He cupped her chin and chuckled, staring into her eyes. Those beautiful blue orbs. After a few moments he kissed her again, and she responded, her lips playing right along with his. His kisses became hungrier, and then after a moment he pulled apart from her, looking down at her with shaking breath, “I’m sorry lass.” Kelly took a deep shaky breath herself, “Don’t you dare apologize. I’ve dreamt of nothing else but your lips on mine.” She admitted softly. “After all this time?” He smiled. The Twenty-three year old grinned up at him, “You said you were mine— but I didn’t get to tell you… I am yours. I kept abreast of your travels as much I could in town… I heard Sihtric is married- that Uhtred has two little ones…” “And what of me?” He smirked, “What did you hear of me?” “Your fighting prowess.” She sighed and ran her hand over his face, “Look at this beard.” “Don’ like it?” He frowned. “No I love it… your hair’s all evened out… your scars are faded…” She smoothed her hands over his face, “Yet you are the handsome man I met… the man I longed for.” “Ye’re still an angel,” He sighed dreamily. After a few minutes of silence, swallowing he grinned, “Come ta Coccham wit’ me. Say ye’ve been invited to stay with Abbess Hild in her new Abbey in Coocham. I can’t be apart from ye any longer. That’s why I’ve come, lass, I need you with me, so in between going out you will be at home with us- with me. Uhtred doesn’t much want to come into the city anymore... t’at’s why I haven’t had a moment ya sneak off and find ye. But I can’t spend another moment without ye.” She looked at him with a sly smile, “You intend to ruin me for another man, hm?” “I wouldn’t t’ink of it.” He said sincerely, “You will be stayin’ in a spare room. I just want ta spend time wit’ ye. Talk an’ do the thin’s I dreamed of whilst I was fightin’ these last years.” Kelly stroked his beard gently, “You must tell me of your journeys.” “I’ll tell ye all about it, and I have gifts to give you.” “Gifts!” Kelly gasped. He laughed softly, “Of course! Now— come lets get ye home, and pack for a stay with us.” He winked. “Yes, Lord.” She purred. He chuckled low in his throat, “Ooh, Lord, I could git used ta tha’, my girl.” He was silent for a moment as they walked toward his horse, and he cleared his throat, “Would ye… want another man?” He called back to her earlier comment. “What?” “Ye said… do I intend ta ruin ye for another man?” She huffed and hugged his arm, “Oh Finan! I was just teasing. You’re the only annoying Irishman for me, three years loyalty should prove that.” He smirked and nodded, “Come on.” He held out his hand for her, “Ye can ride on my horse wit’ me.” Her cheeks flushed as she was helped up onto the stallion, before Finan got up behind her. “If my father catches me on this horse with you…” “He’ll probably t’ank me fer takin’ his old girl off his hands, what are ye now, forty?” He smirked. Kelly gasped and looked behind her, “Finan!” The man leaned forward and kissed her again, “I love t’at fire in yer eyes. Never stop lookin’ at me like t’at.” “I never will if you keep being a pig, and besides! You’re the old man, what are you now seventy?” She smirked and kissed him again, lovingly. Pulling back he wrapped his arms around her and spurred the horse on. Kelly laughed and put her arms out with a shout of bliss. Finan grinned at the woman before him, joining her with his own shout of freedom- Hild and Thyra were right, as always, she was a wild thing.

After a good long ride through the countryside, Finan made it into town and stopped his horse a few blocks from her home, getting off the Stallion, and helping her down. Holding out his arm he smiled, “Yer escort, my lady.” She chuckled and took his arm, “Thank you, my Lord.” He growled softly, licking his lip, “I can’t wait to be alone wit ye… jus’ you an me… I want ta sit out wit ye under tha stars, and bathe you in moonlight, with kisses,” he whispered. It took everything in her not to swoon there in the middle of the palace courtyard. “Ah, Finan, you have returned to Wintecester at last—  and I see you are with Miss Kelly.” The cool voice of their King behind them, sounded surprised. Kelly spun around and bowed her head, cheeks red, “Lord King,” Finan repeated the action of bowing his head and he put a hand over his heart, “I hope you are well today, Lord?” She asked.           “Quite well today, praise God.” He smiled. He liked Kelly, she was smart and full of the good light of Christ, “You two seem to be getting along well. I’m a little surprised to see you two strolling arm in arm, I did not know you were acquainted, I haven’t seen you in the city for years, Finan.”           “Uh- Lady Kelly was invited to stay at Coccham, Lord— By Hild! I’ve been- been sent ta fetch her.” Finan managed. Kelly smiled bashfully, “Finan and I are indeed friends, Lord King, from years back.”           “Friends, I see.” A long look at the girls bashful face and Finan’s guilty eyes told him what he needed to know about the young people before him. He gave a smile. Finan was a great warrior and a Christian to boot. He was pleased. This would make a good union, “Well, then, enjoy your stay in Coccham, young lady, I’m sure you will find an excellent traveling companion in Finan.” “Thank you, Lord, I believe I will.” Kelly smiled and bowed her head. “I shall be sure to recommend Finan as a person of great esteem to your father.” Kelly’s eyes widened as the King bid them farewell and moved into the palace. Looking up to her Irishman, she noted he looked panicked, “What’s wrong?” “I—“ He stuttered, “I’ve never been recommended ta a lass’ father by a King.” “You have promised me nothing, I know.” She said gently, touching his hand. Finan sighed and kissed her hand, “It’s not tha. Tha’s no what I meant at all.” “Then what?” He took a deep breath, “Listen my girl, I’m not… good. I’m a devil on tha battlefield, an’ I’ve been a lecherous pig an’ a lover a’ whores. I’ve been a slayer a’ men and, God help me, lass, I’m a sinner.” She took his hands in both of hers, “As am I, Finan. We are not perfect. If God had made us perfect, we wouldn’t need him and his salvation and love.” Finan looked at her and smiled a little, “Aye girl… you’re right. Yer so right.” He leaned down and kissed her head, “Remind me ta always come to ye when I need ta be set straight.” Nodding she squeezed his hand, “I will, always.” He nodded in return, knowing he wanted to be entwined with her always, never letting go, “Ye’ll come wit me on our next journey? If its no’ too dangerous?” “If it is appropriate, lord.” She chuckled. “Good. Cause I never want ta be away from ye tha’ long ever again.” Kelly smiled warmly, shifting to hold his hand, “Nor I.”

[artificialqueens]

bloody love (shinkx) - lem0n_b0y

an- hey kids, it’s me, ya boy. guess who’s writing a full length fic? this guy! i hope you guys like shinkx and the super natural ;)

Summary- After a young news reporter is abruptedly turned into a vampire, she kind of goes nuts and has no clue how to control herself. Come to find out that a witch could really help her out.

“-A body of an unidentified adolescent male was found in North park just moments ago. Witness reports say that it seemingly just appeared, as it wasn’t found til 4 hours after the opening of the park. The park is closed off for investigation. As for the neighboring school, it is undecided whether or not they will be for an early release.” The reporter holds her microphone in her hands, her fingers tap at the handle in nervousness. Her other hand fiddling with the cord that feeds out from the mic. She was weary. Unsettled. The glaze over her eyes showed how much emotion she was holding back. But that’s all Jinkx could feel for.

Jinkx sighs and leans her head back onto a couch cushion as she turns the TV off. Morning news was never this nerve-racking. The missing persons cases had start rising as spring break begun. Jinkx had questioned why, maybe it was some predator waiting for incoming college kids to flood the town she thought. Maybe it was an out of towner fulfilling their desires to kill. Whether it was a local or not, Jinkx didn’t enjoy all the recent press.

Within the past week, two bodies have been found. Both had been identified as a highschool students. Both of the boys were football players from what the articles said. Not to mention the we’re good students. They had gone missing from a party and found in the woods behind the school, drained of most of their blood. The only harm on either of them was a gash on the arm, not big enough for them to bleed out. The recent case from just that day was similar. Drained of blood, gash in the arm, a highschool student. It was crazy to think that the coastal town would all of a sudden be brought to an almost panic like state. Children came to class less and less do to their parents worry, highschools were protected with twice as many cops, and the college instated a curfew.

Jinkx was in no worry for herself, personally. As soon as the first murder was confirmed, she had taken it upon herself to cast a spell of protection. She knew that you could never be too safe. Her worry is towards the town, all the people inhabit it. They’re like lost field mice after the crop dies in the winter. They had protection, so they thought. With that protection clearly not being strong enough to prevent deaths of the innocent. The town was scared.

Running a hand through her amber curls, Jinkx leans up from her couch to take a deep breath. Her temples just pound at the thought of the whole towns slow demise. That’s the last thing she wanted from this. She takes a stand, stretching out her body like a cat. Popping her neck with a quick swirl of the head, she exhales slowly. Her body is reluctant to wake it’s self up for the day at the office.

She wasn’t ready for all of the parent complaints today. Jinkx already knew that the phones would be ringing off the hook with parents asking what they should do to protect their children during the rain of recent killings. It was nothing they had dealt with before. They’ve had kids in the highschool system pass, and that was handled with an assembly. As for two kids getting drained of blood and left in broad daylight? Unheard of. A plan of emergency was never needed for an scenario like this.

Alas, Jinkx shook the accumulating pile of worries from her head. The foggy headspace wasn’t about to ruin her day. Today was going to good! The sun was shining through the blinds, the autumn air was kicking into full gear and the trees that sat outside Jinkxs porch step were turning as orange as her hair. Today was predicted to be good.

Stumbling out of the house, she carefully steps down the stairs of her porch in her black heels. The freshly dead leaves crunch beneath her. She went through her day plan in her head; coffee, meeting, parent meetings, interviews with the news, and sorting paperwork. Same old same old. The only thing stumping her was what to tell the news. She was only in charge of dealing with the interview since her boss lady would is out of town for an meeting involving the possible instating of a new state wide food standard. Roxxxy had always been very adamant about the health and well-being of students in the school district.

Jinkx had always admired Roxxxys work ethics. She could be irrational at times, lashing out Jinkx for the littlest mistakes but nonetheless, she was a good boss. She had some faith in Jinkx to ace the interview, but it was clear when she walked into the workplace that the faith was a measly grain of salt.

Sat on her desk was a note. It was handwritten by the Ms. Andrews herself.

“Good morning Ms. Monsoon! If you didn’t already know or had forgotten, you have a very important interview today regarding the recent deaths. To take some weight off your shoulders, smaller interviews will be held with some others in the office. To get your head straight, ask around and see what they will say to insure our story is all the same. Will be back by Wednesday, and if anymore kids are killed, handle it calmly.”

At the end of the page was one of her famous stamps, in beautiful cursive letters it wrote ‘Roxxxy Andrews’. Jinkx takes a seat in her office chair and rest her head back with stress running through her veins. It made a part of her sad knowing that she can’t be fully trusted with the interview, resulting in half the office to also speak on the matter. It was as if she had been defeated somehow. Lifting her head back up to see her desk, a coffee had appeared.

It was a classic Starbucks cup with her name written on it with a heart. Taking it into her hands and looking closer at the cup, her eyes dart around. In the desk about a hundred feet from hers was Alaskas. Jinkx simply put the pieces together when she sees her favorite blonde smile wider than normal at her.

Alaska had always been one of Roxxxys favorites. They had gone to college together and even begun to accelerated together. Alaska had wanted to be a teacher but after dealing with the weight of being a teacher for a measly three years, she knew that it probably wasn’t her true calling. With Roxxxy being the last superintendents assistant, it was when she ran for the position that Alaska knew she wanted to work closer to her. Their friendship was childish at times, cracking jokes and letting there goofy friendship peak through at work but once again, Roxxxy knew how to take care of business.

Jinkx sips her coffee slowly, turning to her computer. The warm buzz of the coffee coating her throat, Jinkx smiles. Maybe her hopes of having a good day will actually come true.

[dracosollicitus]

sequels and follow-ups

Hey friends! Now that Damerey December is over, I’d like to see if anyone wanted a follow-up or a sequel (or even a check-in, headcanon ramble) for any of the 23 fics.

I’ll list them below (most will be under a read more), and go ahead and let me know which you’d be most interested in seeing more of/which were your favorites.

(Note: The ones I already have plans for a sequel for will have *** next to them)

There’ll Be Parties for Hosting Rated G

After a disastrous year of working together, Poe Dameron and Rey Smith are sworn enemies; when their boss, Leia Organa, requests that they co-plan the office Christmas party, they try to put their differences aside to make the holidays bright for everyone else.

Hearts Will Be Glowing Rated G

Finn Storm waits until the day of their Christmas party to let Poe Dameron know that he purposefully rigged the Secret Santa Exchange this year so that Poe would get Rey Kenobi.

(And maybe that's because Finn's a little tired of his best friend pining after his other best friend, and wants to speed things up a little)

You Spin Me Right Round Rated G

Poe Dameron does not have high expectations when his friend drags him to the JCC for a dreidel competition - but, as luck would have it, he sits down next to the prettiest girl he's ever seen. Maybe Singles Night isn't the worst thing ever.

Rey Kenobi and the Happy Christmas Rated T ***

Six months after she graduates from Hogwarts, Rey Kenobi celebrates the holidays with Obi-Wan and Kes Dameron. While she's unsure if her boyfriend will be able to make the festivities, she finds herself surrounded by love on Christmas Eve.

You’re the Gift (That’s Made All of My Dreams Come True) Rated G

Poe Dameron volunteers to keep watch over Central Command while the rest of the Resistance celebrates Life Day.

His boring night becomes a bit more interesting when the resident Jedi decides to hang out with him.

But If You Really Hold Me Tight (All The Way Home I’ll Be Warm) Rated T ***

Rey Smith, a well-trained nurse, does not need any nonsense in her ER on Christmas Eve. Especially if said nonsense arrives in the form of a very handsome, wounded firefighter fresh from saving multiple lives.

The Twelve (Bad Dates) of Christmas Rated M

Regrettably, Rey Kenobi lost a bet to her friend, Jessika.

Now, she has to suffer through twelve terrible dates, right before Christmas. It wouldn't be so bad, if Rey didn't have to come home to her perfect, funny, gorgeous, kind roommate at the end of every failed, disastrous date. This wouldn't be so awful, if she didn't have such a crush on Poe Dameron, who's woefully out of her league, and is there to comfort her and cheer her up when yet another Tinder-bro sticks her with the check after talking about his gains all evening.

There's no way this is going to end well.

One Christmas Party a Year is Enough  Rated G

Rey Kenobi has to attend her friend Kaydel's Christmas Party because not to attend would be to admit defeat.

With her awful ex-boyfriend in attendance, Rey doesn't want to face the holiday get-together alone; and, she's out of options for fake romantic interest, as her only male friend, Finn, is well-known by her other circle of friends, as is his girlfriend, Rose.

Luckily, a friendly stranger overhears her plight and offers his services as a fake boyfriend - scratch that. Fake fiancee.

Baby It’s Cold Outside Rated T

While the Resistance is stationed on Hoth, Poe and Rey have a Life Day holoreel marathon in Poe's room when Rose and Finn occupy Rey's bunk.

They get through a few holos; but when the power goes out, and the heat goes down, Rey and Poe might have to get a little ... closer than anticipated.

Couldn’t Help But Notice Rated G

When Poe looks out his window on a snowy afternoon, he's surprised to see a girl outside, trying to make a snowman.

And that wouldn't be that surprising, except she's wearing a t shirt. And leggings. In the snow.

He's out the door before his dad can ask him what he's doing. (High School AU)

Dear Stranger Rated G

Poe and Rey sign up for a postcard exchange around the holidays; they never could have imagined that an actual friendship (and maybe something more) would have come from it.

But as Long as You Love Me So Rated G

After a break up that came seemingly out of the blue, Poe Dameron agrees to attend Christmas Eve dinner with his ex-girlfriend, so Rey doesn't have to explain to her parents that they're no longer a couple.

What could go wrong?

You Will Get a Sentimental Feeling When You Hear Rated T ***

Finally free of her abusive ex-manager, pop star Rey Niima is starting a new stage of her career by launching a national tour during the holiday season. While loneliness and isolation have been her constant companions since being thrust in the spotlight at a young age, she encounters a small child in Chicago who just might change her fate.

Sugar Plum Rated E

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring - Except for Poe Dameron, who was both infuriating and amusing his long-suffering wife.

(A little snapshot of post-Sugar Sugar married life)

The Sunshine of My Life Rated G

With Poe home at last, Rey witnesses a special moment between father and daughter.

Oh, Darling (It’s You I’m Without)

Rey Skywalker has been writing the same lyrics, over and over again, since she turned 18. Whenever there is a pen in her hand, the words sprawl out onto paper -

Heroes and thieves at my door/I can't seem to tell them apart anymore/And just when I've figured it out/Oh, darling it's you I'm without.

Soulmates are growing more and more uncommon - however, all the soulmate stories she's heard involve each person knowing one half of their shared song. You find your soulmate when you find the person whose half matches yours.

But, Rey can't seem to find the tune to match her words. Clearly something is wrong with her.

Rumor Has It Rated G

On a normal day in December, something causes quite a stir at Alderaan Enterprises -

Assistant Manager Poe Dameron, notorious bachelor, is spotted flirting with a pretty, young accountant named Rey...who happens to wear a wedding ring.

The Nutcracker Pilot Rated G (Still need to finish!)

England, 1917:

Rey Solo celebrates Christmas Eve with her family at Alderaan Abbey, just outside of London. When her beloved godfather and uncle comes to visit, he brings her a peculiar nutcracker, dressed as a pilot.

After her brother harms the nutcracker in a fit of cruelty, Rey fixes the toy as well she can; but, at the stroke of midnight, the Supreme Leader of the wicked Order of Mice attacks, and the truth of her nutcracker pilot is revealed.

A Most Festive Yuletide Rated T

Several months into their arranged marriage, Captain Poe Dameron and his wife celebrate their first Christmas together.

A Dameron on Hoth Rated T

3 ABY and 35 ABY

The Dameron men spend time on Hoth, thirty two years apart.

Hit the Slopes Rated G

After her co-worker abandons her in a time of need, Rey Kenobi finds herself stranded without a clue at the top of Mount Crait - she has half a mind to take off her skis and clobber Ben Solo over the head with them when she gets to the bottom of this stupid mountain.

Luckily, she gets some advice from a handsome stranger.

Maybe skiing isn't the worst thing after all.

A Wish for Poe Dameron Rated G

Poe and Rey talk about wishes and fears on the eve of their final battle with the First Order.

The Greatest Gift Rated G

Rey's best friend is in desperate need of a kidney, and the perfect donor shows up - and then turns out to be perfect in all respects.

[tea-and-procrastination]

Made up fic title: Outrageous fortune

Serena McKinnie doesn’t believe in magic or divination. Shedoes, however, believe in a good night out, so it doesn’t take much persuasionfrom Sian to get her to agree to visit the circus that has sprung up overnighton the outskirts of the city. Together they wander between and around and intothe black and white striped tents, watch the contortionist and the acrobats,the origami animals and the sword eaters, sipping steaming mulled cider andeating fluffy caramel popcorn.

And then they find themselves outside a small tent whose signreads ‘Fortune-Teller’. Sian has pulled Serena inside before she can protest,into an old fashioned parlour with a chandelier and chairs upholstered in blackand white velvet.

‘Come in, please,’ comes a soft voice from behind an almostsheer curtain embroidered with the same design as the chairs.

Now they’re here Sian’s courage seems to have deserted her.So with a sigh Serena walks towards the rippling fabric. It’s just a trick, she reminds herself before she steps through. No such thing as prophecy, just a convincingstory.

*

Serena visits every time the circus comes even remotely close,both in England and when she’s at Harvard. She isn’t a rêveur, doesn’t wear a red scarf and chasethe circus across countries and continents, but something about it captures herand draws her back time after time. And somehow she doesn’t find herselfcompelled to explain away its wonders with science, just accepts it and allowsherself to be awed.

She visits different tents each time, wonders if she’ll eversee them all or if the circus is constantly expanding just like the universe, butwithout meaning to she always ends up in front of the fortune-teller. The firsttime she finds herself there again she turns to leave – there are plenty ofunvisited tents left for her to see and she’s already had her fortune told, sowhy bother for a second time? But the same soft voice tells her to stay, tocome in and sit down, so she does.

It isn’t quite exactly the same as on her first visit, isnever quite exactly the same. A ripple effect, the woman explains, eachdecision Serena makes impacting her future.

There is one constant every time, though: a twining of greathardship and great love, and in the midst of it all a woman who, with eachvisit, becomes of ever-greater significance to her future self.

***

The first time Bernie visits the circus it is with hercousin. Skeptics both, they share theories on how the extraordinary feats ineach monochrome tent are accomplished in between sips of cocoa and chocolatemice with almond ears and liquorice tails.

‘Maybe you should ask the fortune-teller about Marcus,’ Katesuggests drily when they pass the small tent. ‘Future Bernie could help PresentBernie make a decision.’

Bernie laughs – but then slips inside. She doesn’t believe inprophecy but perhaps it will offer another perspective. And besides, what harmcould it do?

She never tells Kate what the soft voiced fortune-teller saidto her. Never tells anyone, locks it away in her heart and tries her best toforget about it: about the two dark haired women who will bring great passionand all the running she will do, because she recognises too much of herself inthat and she doesn’t want any of it to be true.

*

The next time Bernie visits it is years later and she is in aforeign country; she’s homesick, and the black and white striped tents remindher of England and her cousin and before.She stands in front of the bonfire with a hot cocoa and a bag of chocolatemice, closes her eyes to savour both and feels surprised when she opens themand Kate isn’t standing beside her. This time she wanders alone, wonders whatKate would have to say about each of the new tents she discovers.

She doesn’t visit the fortune-teller. Just passing the tentand reading the sign is enough to bring back the words, as clear as the night theywere spoken despite her best efforts to forget them. That night she dreams ofdark hair and curves, curses herself for having returned to the circus anddredged it all up again.

***

‘She’s close, I think,’ the fortune-teller tells Serena. Shedoes not need to specify who. ‘Time can be difficult to read, I’m afraid, butshe appears to be bound up in your immediate future now. It will be a time ofdeep emotion – both good and bad. New people will enter your life, and otherswill leave. And you have a journey ahead of you with many forks in the road.’

‘A lot of decisions, then,’ Serena murmurs. ‘When aren’tthere?’

The fortune-teller smiles a small smile and inclines herhead.

‘But I’ll meet her at last, this woman you keep going onabout?’ Serena asks. She’s starting to wonder if there isn’t something in thisfortune telling lark after all; over the years the woman has predicted many ofthe major events in her life – a higher proportion than chance, Serena thinks.She finds herself hoping this will come true as well, is almost desperate tomeet her tall, beautiful stranger after so long.

‘Yes, I’m certain of it. There are few things I’ve ever seenso clearly.’

*

Bernie’s avoidance of the circus comes to an end whenCharlotte mentions an interest in visiting. It’s a bit of a journey so theymake a weekend of it, the last quality time they’ll have alone together beforeBernie is deployed again. She tries not to think about how her fortune has beencoming true: about how she ran from her problems to the Army, about thedark-haired woman who kissed her in the middle of a desert.

The small tent appears in front of them as if Bernie’sthoughts have conjured it. Charlotte drags her inside eagerly and Bernie isreluctant to spoil their night by refusing, sits in one of the black and whitechairs while her daughter passes behind the curtain and leaps up as soon as shecomes back out. But she’s not quick enough, and the soft voice she can’t helpremembering calls her in.

‘Oh,’ the woman says, not quite managing to disguise the fallof her face and the concern in her voice.

‘Promising start,’ Bernie says sarcastically, sitting back inher chair and folding her arms.

‘Your future is very unclear. Lives will hang in the balance– yours, and those of people you do not yet know but who will become dear toyou. Revelations. Running – away from, yes, but also towards.’

‘Towards what?’ Bernie can’t help asking, despite herself.

‘Not what,’ the fortune-teller smiles, ‘but who.’

***

‘You didn’t tell me I was going to fall in love with her,’Serena says almost accusingly some years later.

The fortune-teller looks up at the interruption, then looksthrough the sheer curtain and sees a tall, slender figure with messy hair. Thecircus is just outside Sorrento, has been there almost a fortnight, and shewonders what these two women are doing here.

‘Come in,’ she calls, smiling.

Bernie steps through the curtain reluctantly, takes the handSerena holds out and lets herself be pulled further inside. The fortune-teller seesmatching gold bands glinting on their fingers, sees how fresh and polished themetal is and how their eyes sparkle too, how their bodies arc closer and theylook both exhausted and exhilarated.

‘Do you wish to know your fortune?’ she asks, deciding towaive her fee as a wedding gift. She’s been following their relationship foryears, after all, since before it was anything other than one possibility amongmany.

‘No, thank you,’ Bernie replies firmly. ‘I know what myfuture holds,’ she adds, smiling as she gazes at Serena.

When they’ve gone, hands still firmly clasped, thefortune-teller reads for them anyway, and smiles to herself at what she sees.

[send me a made-up fic title and i’ll tell you what i would write to go with it]

[rizlowwritessortof]

Riz’s Master List

Master List under the cut, updated 3/14/2020 - in case y’all are bored or anything... :)

CHAPTER FICS

Never Look Back

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 21 chapters

Bethany Rae Cooper didn’t realize when she met the Winchesters in her family’s bar and grill that her life would never be the same. But she’s always believed that everything happens for a reason, even if it’s not exactly what you were expecting…

The Shadow’s Edge

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 17 chapters

Sequel to Never Look Back. When the demon Dameon was killed, Dean and Beth thought their son was safe from the prophecy. But when Cas brings them news of the new battle for Hell, they realize that their war has just begun.

The Fine Line

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 34 chapters

An unexpected tragedy sends Devon down the dark path of hate and vengeance, but she will learn that things are not always what they seem…

Scars

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 10 chapters

Sequel to The Fine Line. Dean and Devon’s relationship has always been stormy - but can they work through the scars of their past to find each other again?

Stars In the Darkness

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 8 chapters

A crushing loss brings Dean and Sam to Sioux Falls, and ghosts from the past and present bring them across the path of Tiara, a girl they haven’t seen since childhood.

Dreaming

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 5 chapters

Dean Winchester has always been a bit of a thorn in Kelsey’s side - a very attractive thorn, but still… A visit at her uncle Bobby’s reunites her with the boys, and she begins having vivid dreams - about Dean. Is it just her subconscious trying to tell her something? Or is there more to it than that?

My Unimportant Little Life

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 11 chapters

Season 5 timeline. Dean gets yanked from 2009 to 2014, so he can see the ‘consequences’ of saying no to Michael. At Camp Chitaqua he meets Reggie, and is surprised to find that she comes from 2009 as well…

Back In the Saddle

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 10 chapters

Dean and Sam are back in the old west again - in answer to a cry for help from Samuel Colt. And if Dean just happens to get tangled up with the spirited redhead that owns the saloon… what’s the harm, right?

Sweet Escape

Dean/Female Reader, 2 parts

What happens when a friend jokingly does a spell at your birthday party to bring your cardboard standup of Dean Winchester to life? This one’s dedicated to my friend, Liz, who gave me the idea. If only…

Sweet Escape Part 1

Sweet Escape Part 2

Shut Up and Drive

Dean/Female Reader, 2 parts

Reader teases Dean while he’s driving, so - he gets even

Part 1 - Keep Your Eyes on the Road

Part 2 - Or We Could Park - Parking Is Good Too

Take the Long Way Home

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 8 chapters

A look at Dean and Rusty’s relationship, in the present and through their memories. Flashbacks/memories are in italics.

Black Velvet

Demon!Dean/Female Reader, Dean/Female Reader, 9 chapters

You and Sam are broken after Dean’s death. Nobody expected him to come back with black eyes…

Fade to Black

Dean/Female Reader, 11 chapters

Sequel to Black Velvet. Dean is no longer a demon, but he’s still cursed with the Mark of Cain, and the lure of that darkness grows stronger as time goes on.

Dean and Toby Series

Part 1 - The Meet-Cute (Actually Rescue but Whatever)

Part 2 - The Emergency Bed-Share/Move In With Us Combo

Part 3 - The Hit and Then Run Like Your Ass Is On Fire

Part 4 - The FINALLY Admit Your True Feelings and Get Busy

GENERIC FICS

I’m Good

This is the story that was published in the Seasons - Supernatural Short Story Anthology in 2017. Bobby sharing some memories.

ONE-SHOTS - DEAN

Combo Shot

Dean/Female Reader

June 2015 GIEPP (Girl In Every Port Project) entry. Prompt: Pool/Poker hustler competitive chick. Pretty much pure smut.

A Hunter Walks Into a Bar

Dean/Female OC

Prowling hunter, sassy bartender

Shelter

Dean/Female Reader

Dean providing comfort

That’s How It Should Be

Sheriff!Dean/Female Reader

They have to make a fast escape, but Dean won’t let being on horseback stand in the way of showing a lady a good time

The Storm

Dean/Female Reader

You’re terrified of storms, and Dean is concerned, feelings get shared

Pest Control

Dean/Female Reader

You think you’ve got mice. The exterminator that shows up is Dean Winchester. He’ll just let you believe that, and take care of the problem. And you.

Happy Birthday, Baby

Dean/Female OC (KK)

Fluffy, smutty birthday fic written for a friend

Gunpowder and Dean

Dean/Female Reader

You’re pissed off at Dean, taking it out on the firing range, but he just won’t leave you alone…

Juicy and Delicious

Dean/Female Reader

My entry for Dean’s Flavor of the Month fic challenge - Peach Pie. You bake some peach pies for Dean, and he’s very grateful…

Lost In You

Dean/Female Reader

A casual flirtation leads to a violent encounter, and Dean’s reaction is a little more than you expected. Warning for brief description of attempted (unsuccessful) assault. Protective Dean.

What You Need

Dean/Female Reader

You’re watching as Sam and Dean prepare to interrogate a demon. Dean knows you’re watching him, and he knows exactly the kind of effect it’s having on you…

Santa Claus Is Coming Tonight

Dean/Female Reader

Dean’s really getting into the Christmas spirit…

I Need You

Dean/Female Reader

You screwed up, Sam got hurt, Dean’s pissed and you aren’t handling it very well.

Snow Day

Dean/Female Reader

You and Dean, stuck in a motel room in a blizzard

Frisk Me

Dean/Female Cop Reader

You’re a cop, in hot pursuit of a murderer, and guess who crosses your path?

Comfort

Dean/Female Reader

Dean had a rough hunt, and he’s beating himself up as usual. You take his mind off things for a little while…

When I Think About You

Dean/Female Reader

It was a wild hunt, and you’re both a little high-strung. Surely there’s some way to blow off some steam…

One Finger

Dean/Female Reader

Dean Winchester has never been one to back down from a challenge

What Makes You Feel Alive

Endverse!Dean/Female Reader

The world is bleak, the struggle endless after Croatoan. You and Dean do what you have to do to keep going.

Sweet Misery

Dean/Unnamed Female OC

My entry for Bev’s Song Challenge - song prompt was Cryin’ by Aerosmith, lyrics at the beginning

Winchesters Don’t Giggle

Dean/Female Reader

A friend and I were having this discussion about giving Dean a back rub, and whether he might be ticklish…

Confession

Dean (Priest!Dean)/Female Reader

When Dean returns from some undercover work, you discover a fantasy you never realized you had

The Bait

Dean/Female Reader

This was written for @jessica-bones-winchester’s (now on her 100th url as @cavillanche - Love you, Jess!) Dating Dean Writing Challenge. The prompt was ‘dressing up as an anime character for his birthday.’ And I have to admit, I really enjoyed this one… Reader dresses as Sailor Mars (from Sailor Moon) for Dean’s birthday.

Hey, Man - Nice Shot

Dean/Female Reader

This is for @jessica-bones-winchester’s ( @cavillanche ) Dating Dean Writing Challenge. The prompt was ‘competitiveness in the shooting range (loser cleans the kitchen for a week) No smut.

Take the Pain Away

Dean/Female Reader

This was written for @jessica-bones-winchester’s ( @cavillanche ) Dating Dean Writing Challenge. Prompt was ‘him taking care of you when you’re sick.’ Reader falls victim to a migraine, and Dean helps her through it. No smut.

Lose Yourself

Dean/Female Reader

Smut, pure and simple… Just imagine having Dean tied up, at your mercy while you worship those perky nipples…

The Contest

Dean/Female Reader

Dean loves to give you a hard time, and one night he pushes things a little too far… Flashback in italics. All’s well that ends well.

Slow Ride

Dean (Bullriding!Dean) /Reader

Yeah, after 12x11, y'all should have known this was coming - they don’t call me Cowgirl for nothing… Written (coincidentally - timing is everything!) for the Smut Apocalypse (Smut Appreciation Day) on Tumblr.

The Photo Booth

Dean/Unnamed Female OC - Dean’s POV

This was written for @winchestersandwordprocessors SPN Valentine’s Fic Challenge. Prompt was Semi-public/Risk of getting caught.

Make You Mine

Dean/Female Reader

Dean’s jealousy gets the best of him, which is not a bad thing…

Take a Chance

Dean/Unnamed Female OC - Dean’s POV

In 7x04, Dean gives himself a little pep talk before his planned hook-up with the bartender. That scene is what inspired me. This one is more important than the usual one-nighters, and it’s making him a little nervous…

If We Don’t Make It

Dean/Female OC

This fic was written for @whispersandwhiskerburn Angel’s 2K Follower Celebration. My song prompt was “Broken” by Lifehouse, and the dialogue prompt was “If we don’t make it out of this, I need you to know…” No smut.

My Deliverer

Dean/Female Spirit - Her POV

Dean is hunting a vengeful spirit. But another spirit is in this place, and she is drawn to him…

Friendly Advice

Dean/Female Reader - Dean POV, Reader POV

This was written for @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog Mimi’s RomCom Fluff Challenge. The fluff got a little smudged into smutty fun… oops! Two POV’s, Dean’s thoughts are in italics and Reader’s are in regular font.

Old Times

Dean/Female OC

Sequel a few years down the road from A Hunter Walks Into a Bar. Tiara goes back to the bar for a visit, and who should show up the next night but Dean Winchester… Flashback in italics.

You Can Leave Your Hat On

Dean/Female Reader (nicknamed Taz)

Inspired by the sexy AF Cowboy!Dean we were treated to in 13x06 Tombstone. Helped along by Joe Cocker’s rendition of “You Can Leave Your Hat On.“

Wish Her the Best

Dean/Female OC - Dean’s POV

This is an angsty li'l fic inspired by Thomas Rhett’s ‘Marry Me,’ tore at my heart until I finally wrote it. No smut.

A Matter of… Time?

Dean/Female Reader

This is the crackiest piece of work I’ve ever written - for @percywinchester27 Ana’s PJO Quotes Challenge. Prompt was “Don’t you ever feel that way? Like you could do a better job if you ran the world?” - “Umm - no. Me running the world would be kind of a nightmare.”

Demon Seed

Demon!Dean/Female Reader

Demon!Dean stops in for a drink and decides he wants you. He’s very persuasive. Written for @evansrogerskitten’s Hottest Dean Challenge.

Not Wasted Now

Dean/Female Reader

When you all decide to get drunk in the aftermath of a bad hunt, lines get a little blurred. Or crossed. Or fucking erased. Fluffy, smutty, comforting, sweet and sexy Dean.

Bad Guy

Demon!Dean/Female Reader

This was written for @eyes-of-a-disney-princess Rapunzel’s Tangled Up With Supernatural Challenge. My Tangled quote was “You want me to be the bad guy? Fine, now I’m the bad guy.”

Shiny

Trucker!Dean/Female OC

Trucker!Dean AU. Breaker, breaker, got your ears on? 67 Midnight Rider, put that hammer down…

Some Kind of Hero

Dean/Female OC

Written for Tiff’s WTF Challenge. Dean’s just filling up Baby, minding his own business, when he hears an argument and gets involved. Protective Dean, no smut, left that to your imagination.

Crave

Dean/Female Reader

So, have some ‘Riz is craving some sexy Dean action with a big ol’ side of schmoopy fluff’ stuff. Because I was, and I’m sharing with you - the smut and all the sickenly sweet cuddly that I just need sometimes. If y'all are in the mood for that kind of thing.

Perchance to Dream

Dean/Female OC

Using African dream root on a case leads to an awkward situation, and Karlie can’t handle the tension between her and Dean any longer

Ruined

Dean/Female Reader

Dean comes home from a hunt, and he’s had something on his mind…

Going Home

Dean/Female Reader

Written for @crispychrissy’s Gif It To Me Challenge. Overhearing only part of a conversation sends her running, but jumping to conclusions without the whole story isn’t the best decision. No smut.

Not the Smartest Thing

Dean/Female Reader - Reader POV

Only Dean Fucking Winchester could turn taking a swig of beer into pornography. Cocky bastard. But two can play at that game.

Suzy Q

Dean/Female OC - OC POV

Written for @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan’s Multi-fandom Follower Celebration Challenge. Prompt - “I think I’m having a feeling. How do I make it stop?”

Invisible Touch

Dean/Unnamed Female OC

Rowena teaches Dean something new, and he gets inspired. I have no idea where this came from, but here it is…

Maybe I’m Amazed

Dean/Unnamed Female OC

An accident leaves her unconscious and fighting for her life in the hospital, drifting in and out of awareness and memories as Dean refuses to leave her side. Written for @rockhoochie’s 1K Love Supernatural Style Writing Challenge.

Reunion

Dean/Female OC

Passing through town, Dean runs into an old high school classmate. Fluffy and smutty, no angst here!

Playing With Fire

MOC!Dean/Unnamed Female OC

Late Season 10 MOC!Dean smut fic that just wouldn’t leave me alone…

Uninvited

Michael!Dean/Dean/Unnamed Female OC

Michael gives Dean a choice, because sometimes Michael likes to watch…This one is darker than my normal, PLEASE heed the warnings.

What Happens At the Roadhouse…

Early-Season Dean/Female OC

Bailey’s just looking for a couple days post-hunt R&R at Harvelle’s - and then he shows up. Cocky bastard.

ONE-SHOTS - SAM

Just a Little Story About Lou and Sam

Sam/Female OC

Lou and Sam walk into a bar… written for a friend who’s a Sammy girl

Doctor-Patient Relations

Sam/Female OC

One-shot inspired by The Born-Again Identity - sick Sammy and Dr. Nicole. Written for another Sammy-girl friend

DRABBLES

Head vs. Heart

No title

Fourth of July

Working Saturday Isn’t So Bad

11x17 Drabble

Some Nights He Dreams

Most of the Time

The Name Game

God Bless America

Stress Relief

@mrs-squirrel-chester ‘s Album Fanfic Writing Challenge Drabbles

    Dangerous

    For My Brother

    In Chains

    Kiss and Tell

    The End of Me

    Choices

    Hero

    Pure

    In the End

[maychorian]

Sewing Patches ch.9 from: ["I know this may be asking too much..." Slowly, Coran reached into his back pocket. He pulled out the last items he had gathered before coming to Blue's hangar. He held them out for Lance to see. A packet of black thread and several small, shiny sewing needles.] to ["Yes."]

Gosh, I am so proud of that scene. You ever make something that actually gives YOU goosebumps? It was just a perfect confluence of things that came together in a way that felt so perfect and right and fulfilling. @ardett had written in the flashbacks about Zarkon poking a hole in the Shiro plushy with his claw, and in @cosumosu’s art (which the entire series is based on) Lance was sewing the same plushy, while in his pajamas surrrounded by the rest of the plushies and a couple of the mice. That whole chapter as I wrote it was all about Coran actively seeking ways to help Lance heal (and Allura, secondarily), and that man is SMART. He had the idea of gathering the lion plushies and bringing them to Lance, to meet him on his level and do some play therapy, and at the last second, he had the inspiration to also bring that needle and thread.

“I know this may be asking too much…” Slowly, Coran reached into his back pocket. He pulled out the last items he had gathered before coming to Blue’s hangar. He held them out for Lance to see. A packet of black thread and several small, shiny sewing needles.

“You don’t have to if you’re not ready. If you prefer to leave that hole as it is, that’s up to you. But I thought… That is, I hoped…” Coran closed his eyes for a moment, then met Lance’s eyes. “If you want to,” he said gently, “I thought it might be time to mend this wound.”

He set the thread and needle on top of the black lion, then held the lion out, flat in his hands. He held it midway between he and Lance, offering but not demanding. Lance stared at it for a long moment, then looked up into Coran’s face, then back again. His expression was open and longing. Though he said nothing, Coran understood everything he meant.

Finally, Lance reached out. His hands were trembling, but he moved with purpose. He took the black plush lion and the sewing materials from Coran’s hands with the delicacy of a bird, then brought them back and perched them in his lap. He stared at the black lion for a long moment. As Coran had done, he trailed his fingers over the soft face, the textured fabric, and then over the hole with its little overflow of stuffing. He smiled down at the lion, soft and sweet, then looked up at Coran and nodded.

“Yes.”

And mind you, I came up with the title “Sewing Patches” LOOONG before I wrote that scene. I like the symbolism of the Voltron team patching Lance into their lives, following along the theme ardett had set with her title, “Dream, Seam.” But here, in this scene, it took on a whole new meaning for me. The team wasn’t just sewing patches with Lance, HE was sewing patches, too. Slowly learning, bit by bit and piece by piece, discovering new parts of himself that had been buried under the trauma and the abuse and reintegrating them back to himself. Enjoying food with Hunk and movies with Pidge and training with Shiro and talking with Keith… He was learning so, so much, and it was such hard work, every step of the way, but he was determined to keep trying.

And here, finally, at last, with Coran’s help and support and nudging, he is able to find the courage to actively seek healing for the harm Zarkon had done to him, personally, and to his ability to connect to the rest of the team. He CHOOSES to sew that hole, knowing full well that he could refuse. But he wants to do it. He wants to heal, and Coran’s assistance was necessary, but Lance did that on his own. He took the needle and thread and he patched that hole, and it made him happy and comfortable. He felt safe and loved, and he asked Coran for a hug afterward, and he knew he would get it.

Of course in the last two chapters ardett messed that up, lol, but I knew that was going to happen since she wrote the ending before I finished Chapter 9. I kind of purposefully set you readers up for a fall, sorry. But that does not negate Lance’s growth and healing here, the strength of his choice and the courage of his soul.

Writing this scene felt so, so good.

(I’m doing DVD commentaries for fic passages.)

[littlespoonevan]

Hello! This has nothing to do with skam but I'm really pissed of and I told almost everyone about it but that's not enough and now I'm telling you too. So I have this paperwork at school,I can choose the subject (that's the only good part),but we're not allowed to mention depression,suicide,rape, sensuality,nothing like that. I mean,yes,some to these are sensitive subjects,but it exist,it's real,some of these things created that person's life -1

For example I want to write about “to kill a mockingbird” but I can’t do that because it deals with rape and that’s something I’m not allowed to mention so I have to change my subject. I can’t say that I like something bc it represents sensuality, God forbidden to say something like that. They want us to express ourselves and give our opinions but when we do they say “no,don’t say stuff like that” like they’re bad and sad things,don’t mention them bc if you don’t they’ll obviously disappear -2

And all I want to do is yell at them and tell them that these things are real,they exist and the fact that you refuse to talk about them won’t change anything,fucking accept that the world is not perfect and let us express ourselves,let us tell our opinion on this subject. It’s life so deal with it. Anyway,I’m sorry I’m bombarding your inbox. I hope you have a great day also I loved your bathtub fic,both parts 💕 🛀 -3

OMG I’m sorry I just realized that you’re studying to become a teacher and I came to you to complain about my teacher which is probably not the nicest thing someone could do it. I’m so,so sorry 😩🙎 -4

omg anon, you’re fine don’t worry!!!! the only reason i didn’t reply last night is because I was already gone out when i got your messages

you are well within your rights to complain bc honestly what your teacher’s doing goes against everything I believe as a teacher?????? Like, i’ll be honest there are times when i have to censor my students but it’s because they’re still very young (my youngest group are 12/13) and they don’t understand why the things they’re saying are harmful and trying to broach that conversation unplanned is a recipe for disaster. (for example they were writing a short story on the theme of war and i had to warn them they couldn’t talk about terrorism/extremist groups because a few of them were continually trying to make jokes or inappropriate comments about it which is made worse by the fact i have a religiously and ethnically diverse classgroup) 

but in general when it comes to sensitive topics that arise in the texts we’re studying - like you mentioned to kill a mockingbird which is one of the novels they study in second year along with of mice and men and both of these deal with the topic of racism, for example - what you should do as a teacher is teach your students to be respectful and then hold open conversations about these issues.

it’s not always possible to have these conversations in class due to time constraints etc. but it’s not okay to completely shy away from them either. people will never learn and stigmas will never be erased unless you give teenagers and young people the opportunity to discuss things they are unsure of and figure out their opinions in a safe environment. 

i’m sorry about your report and i hope you can figure out a new idea soon! let me know if i can help