#destiel flash fiction

[jazzy-mass]

He never really knows what to do with quiet.

No that’s not quite right. Quiet can be a regular experience in his line of work. Quiet means stealth and quiet means the middle of the night with his brother in the passenger seat sleeping the last few hours off before the next hunt.

Quiet is death - and Dean is no stranger to it.

So it’s not the quiet that’s making his skin crawl; honestly it’s not all that quiet anyway with the insects chirping as a constant white noise. Occasionally he’ll even hear a croak from some old toad rip through the muggy air.

He closes his eyes as he leans back on his hands, inhaling for a moment before letting the breath out in a huff.

It doesn’t help. He still feels like there’s electricity running through his veins, pushing for action, for literally anything beyond staring at stars and thinking. He’s been doing too much of that lately anyway, what with monsters deciding to take several steps back into the shadows. He should be happy about that - and he is, really - but he hasn’t heard from Garth or anyone else about a hunt in a month.

He’s practically climbing the walls and if it weren’t for Sam’s insistence that they actually slow down and enjoy the peace he’d be out looking for a hunt instead of just. Fucking. Waiting here.

Oh. Peace. That’s what it is. They’re supposedly finding peace; a long overdue break from all the bullshit Chuck put them through. Again, he should be happy about it. Peace was never even a possibility growing up and over the years those few moments of yearning for some apple pie life got tossed into the wood shredder and made into compost.

Besides. Not exactly any room for peace, love, and happiness here. Not for Dean.

Not when closing his eyes means seeing black ink pooling into the dungeon and a watery smile-

No. Peace isn’t gonna fucking happen, not when he’s missing so many in his family. He’s lost so much and he’ll be damned again if he just leaves it at that. He’s got a plan cooking, that’s why he’s out here while Sam’s in bed sleeping his rapunzel haired head away. He’s almost figured it out, just has a few more steps and pieces to go.

Peace makes his skin crawl right now because it isn’t really peace yet.

But it will be.

[foolondahill17]

Fool’s Top 10 2024 Fanfics

My favorite stories written in 2024. If you don’t see your 2024 favorite, please add in a tag or reblog!

it dawns darling on the daffodil pastures by fleeceframe (@tasteslikevelvet)

Rated E, Destiel, porn with feelings, 20,669 words

Premise: Dean and Cas have some truly spectacular and emotional grace/soul sex.

Favorite part: At his sides, Dean’s hands shake. “You can kiss me. But just- just a little one, okay? I like it when…”

“You like it when what?”

“When you make me feel- When you treat me like I’m real fragile.” Dean tenses as soon as the words leave his mouth.

But Cas replies, “Things that are fragile are usually precious.”

Clutch, Bite by kalliel (@kalliel)

Rated T, gen, missing scene, 1,926 words

Premise: Dean tries not to kill himself after Sam’s death at the end of Swan Song.

Favorite part: It is the possibility of death that pulls him back to the truck, and maybe the whisper, Winter is ending. If he slips off the road without black ice in the picture, Sam will think it wasn't a mistake.

Thoughts: the return of my absolute favorite fic author. If I had the time to rec every single one of their works, I would.

sweet syncopation by enochianprayer (@chapeldean)

Rated M, Destiel, mid-season 15 one-shot, 12,252 words

Premise: Dean and Cas have a very messed up will-they-won’t-they situationship while Cas tries to stay within the bonds of his Empty deal.

Favorite part: “You know I can’t taste what you taste, Dean,” Castiel says softly. “I’m sorry.”

Dean rolls his eyes, licking the same wooden spoon he fed Castiel with before chucking it in the sink.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. But the molecules? They’re groovin’?” 

Flash of the Needle; Dark of the Dream by kayliemalinza (@kayliemalinza)

Rated T, Destiel, mid-season 9 one-shot, 4,514 words

Premise: Dean and Cas take shelter in a cabin as a snowstorm comes in. Dean cuts his hand on a broken window and needs stitches; Cas has trouble falling asleep.

Favorite part: I could tell him sometimes friends have sex in cabins, Dean thinks. He'd believe me. He doesn't know any better.

Paging Doctor Novak by Salamitsunami1 (@salamitsunami1)

Rate E, Destiel, Doctor Sexy/Grey’s Anatomy AU, 51,314 words

Premise: Dean Winchester is a nurse, Cas is a surgical intern. Rivals to friends to lovers.

Thoughts: a fun, hospital AU romp. I will warn for asshole!Gordon, however, for those who like to avoid that characterization.

Ten Minutes From Home: Lebanon Coda by disabled_dean (@disabled-dean)

Rated E, Destiel, canon-adjacent AU, WIP 65,828 but the posting schedule promises an end by December 31

Premise: In season 14, John Winchester comes back and knocks Dean’s world off its axis.

Favorite part: Mary says, “Breakfast.”

“What?”

“I'll make breakfast.” She stands from the table.

Dean follows her with his eyes, “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Mary opens the fridge, digging through the shelves, pulling out tupperware. She spreads it out across the table, and then doubles back for plates. Silverware.

“This is just breakfast from yesterday,” Dean points out, “I made this.” He gestures at the food, and then winces.

“I made you.” Mary tells him, but he can see the tension in her eyes. “Eat.”

Physical Graffiti by entropic_saudade (@entropic-saudade)

Rated E, Destiel, Sharp Objects-AU, 62,894 words

Premise: Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn but make it Supernatural

Thoughts: “The purest form of family remains underground.” In turns eerie and painful but always captivating. Devoured this in one day, and it left me yearning for more.

Ninety One Whiskey Snippets by komodobits (@cuddlebabies)

Rated E, Destiel, World War II AU, 50,093 words

Premise: 17 delicious morsels from Komodobits’ excellent Ninety One Whiskey universe

Thoughts: not a single one didn’t make me cry. Ninety One Whiskey continues it’s well-deserved legacy as one of the best works of fiction I’ve ever read.

Perhaps the World Ends Here by Randomfandomwoman

Rated T, gen (implied Destiel), Supernatural/Criminal Minds AU. 26,919 words

Premise: JJ is rescued from a serial killer by another serial killer, Dean Winchester, and kidnapped for 24-hours in his underground headquarters for a cult that exceeds JJ’s wildest imaginations.

Thoughts: I’ve never seen a singular episode of Criminal Minds, but I’m somehow obsessed with reading crossovers. This story scratches my outsiders-POV itch like no other.

Riptide by luulapants (@luulapants)

Rated E, Dean/others, alternate season 2, WIP 23,214 words

Premise: the sequel to my favorite fic last year A Cliff That Knew Too Many Tides follows the events of the second season with a painfully closeted and traumatized Dean at the helm.

Favorite part:

Footsteps drew closer. Stopped. Dad asked, “Can I sit down?” Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw him gesture toward the edge of the bed.

He knew why he had to ask now. He wouldn’t have asked before. And Dean knew, he knew…

A soft choking sound escaped his throat. Dean covered his eyes. He nodded. Dad would always have to ask now. Maybe sometimes he wouldn’t even ask, would just keep his distance. He’d thought, back when the shifter thing happened, that he and Dad would never be okay again, but they had been – just a different kind of okay. Now even that was gone.

[episodeoftv]

Round 2 of 8, Group 3 of 4

propaganda and summaries are under the cut (May include spoilers)

Kamen Rider Blade: 1.01 The Indigo Warrior

cw: death, stalking, mental breakdown, flashing lights: Most of BOARD dies (not Ms. Hirose, she survives the entire show), Shirai Kotaro has researched extensively on Kenzaki Kazuma before actually meeting him in person, Hajime's mental breakdown over the words Kamen Rider, plus the usual flashing lights and quick cuts of Kamen Rider Blade

Whilst investigating the urban legends of the Undead, Kotaro Shirai stumbles upon the two Kamen Riders of BOARD.

The memeability of it all. Kenzaki (protagonist) getting kicked out from his apartment and having to move in with a milk-obsessed journalist who just inherited a run-down farmhouse from his dead uncle. The random english words in the opening music video. Ms. Hirose telling Kenzaki where the Undead are. I forgot Hajime appeared this early on but there's no way I'd mistake his trench coat and motorcycle helmet. Certified milk-drinker Shirai Kotaro getting roasted by his widowed older sister and niece. The fact that B.O.A.R.D. couldn't even survive a single episode. The stupid sirens in the background of the destroyed B.O.A.R.D. Hirose jumping to conclusions based on what she saw earlier that day. "Tachibana, why are you watching? Are you *really* a traitor?" The way Tachibana just stares at Kenzaki, half peeking out from behind that wall.

Supernatural: 15.18 Despair

With the plan in full motion, Sam, Dean, Castiel and Jack fight for the good of the common goal.

Destiel confession shook the site as we know it, genuinely think any other episode winning would be an injustice

I stopped watching this show during season 11 when I developed taste but this is the Destiel Confession Episode™️. Supernatural may not be a “good” show but fiction’s job is to make us feel things and this episode made me feel a brand new emotion that I doubt I’ll ever experience again, and that’s without even watching it.

[hells-plaid-angel]

In theory, if Cas ever did realise he was in love with Dean pre-deal with The Empty and actually decided to shoot his shot, I’d imagine a string of hilarity and miscommunication would ensue. There’s no way Cas would try to flirt with Dean if he thought it’d be received badly, but every now and again, Dean gives him just enough hope he thinks maybe it’s possible Dean likes him back. 

Say Cas shows up unexpectedly and Dean’s doing their movie night alone since Cas was away,  on some plot-relevant side quest. Cas arrives back unannounced because it’s movie night and what he’s doing can wait a day. Dean’s too thick to realise Cas has come back for him, and royally puts his foot in his mouth by asking why Cas is there, making the angel feel like he shouldn’t be because the course of true love never did run smoothly and when given the opportunity Dean will screw himself over when it comes to affection. 

Cas isn’t sure where they stand and wonders if he should stay and watch the film or leave. After awkwardly standing beside Dean’s armchair, watching the screen for longer than what would be deemed socially acceptable, Dean lets out a huff and says, ‘Just sit down,’ meaning, of course, for Cas to sit beside him in what Dean’s deemed ‘Cas armchair’. Cas takes Dean’s words literally and plonks down on the arm of Dean’s chair, smacking their shoulders together and settling in. 

The thing is, Dean lets him. He might grumble, but he doesn’t get Cas to move. He’s had a long night, having also returned from a hunt hours before and he’s beat. Before Cas knows it, Dean’s face is smooshed up against his shoulder and he’s open-mouthed snoring. Cas still thinks he’s the most beautiful human he’s ever seen and is in awe because Dean’s being vulnerable with him. He knows the man has trouble sleeping, plagued by dreams of Hell and hunts. Cas knows Dean doesn’t sleep with just anyone, even when he has casual sex, he rarely stays long after the act, so Cas looks down at the sleeping man and for the first time he thinks, ‘maybe’. Maybe Dean likes him back. He has no idea what to do with that possibility. He sits there quietly for the rest of the night because Dean’s an angry sleeper (like a bear) and Cas isn’t going to wake him up. 

He decides to tread lightly and toy with the idea of trying to flirt with Dean, without overtly flirting with Dean. He has no idea how to do this. After all his years on earth, there are still a lot of things that confuse him. While he and Dean are on a hunt sometime later, they pull over to a gas station. When Dean’s paying Cas mindlessly flips through the magazine stumbling on some shitty Cosmopolitan article about romance and flirting. They mention one way to show you are interested in someone is by showing curiosity in their likes and dislikes. 

So for the rest of the journey, Cas becomes almost insufferable with questions. He knows Dean’s top 13 favourite Led Zeppelin songs, but is Led Zeppelin Dean’s favourite band? What are Dean’s top 13 favourite bands? What is Dean’s favourite number? Does he have a favourite colour? Why is that his favourite colour? He rattles off questions for the entirety of their 14-hour trip cross country and Dean is confused as hell but decides to humour Cas because he does love talking about bands and movies, plus it’s not like anyone’s ever taken so much of an interest in him. 

Sometime towards the end of the trip, Dean realises he has no clue what Cas’ favourite anything is- do angels even have favourites? Wasn’t that meant to be the whole thing  about angels? All men are created equal and all that. Still, Dean asks. For the most part, Cas doesn’t have answers. He’s not sure who his favourite band is, though he can hesitantly say a few songs he likes better than others. It’s like they discover his favourite things together, unearthing them. Cas says with conviction his favourite colour is green and when Dean asks why he simply says, ‘Because it reminds me of you,’ and moves on. Dean goes silent for a long time after that but Cas is still left thinking that maybe Dean could love him. After all, he showed interest in Cas’ likes and dislikes as the magazine suggested. 

Something Cas learned from Dean’s movies was that humans showed affection through nicknames, strange terms of endearment that reminded them of sugary foods or woodland animals. Dean reminded Cas of neither, so he was unsure what kind of word to use to show his affection. Dean shortened his name. Perhaps this was his way of using a term of endearment, maybe Cas had missed some sign and should have given Dean a nickname of his own.  In the end, he settles for something in his mother tongue, because he’s better at expressing himself in Enochian. 

He uses a word for Dean which is both very intense and oddly specific, something that translates roughly to ‘Evergreen lover, formed of star ash’. Like a golden retriever, after having the stilted cacophony of consonants and vowels thrown in his direction for long enough Dean simply shrugs his shoulders and answers to the name. I’m talking a name that trembles like a sub-bass and causes stray dogs to howl and Dean just looks up of a morning from his bowl of Fruit Loops and goes, ‘oh yeah that’s me. Mornin’ Sunshine’. Bonus points if others around him know exactly what the name means, other angels, demons, maybe even Sam when he gets curious and looks through the bunker’s archives for an Enochian Dictionary. 

After all this, Cas is no closer to working out if Dean harbours affection towards him or not. So after some exasperated brainstorming, Cas decides to meet Dean where he’s at and attempts to express affection the way he knows Dean does. He cooks Dean’s breakfast and makes his coffee every morning because Dean expresses his love through security, caring for others and he especially loves food. It should be noted the bacon is burnt, the egg is raw and the coffee tastes like dishwater, but each morning Dean gives Cas a goofy, lopsided grin and thanks him. He’s grateful, Cas realises but he still has no idea if Dean’s in love with him. 

With his one last-ditch effort, Cas decides to try physical touch. Dean’s a tactile creature. He loves touch. So Cas tries to give it to him. He rests his hand on his shoulder or his side as he walks past Dean. If they are parting ways Cas pulls Dean into a hug. He’s stunned at first, but he lets it happen and even gets used to it after a while, so Cas gets more brazen. He wraps his foot around Dean’s ankle when they sit together at the map table. He pushes his palm into Dean’s when they’re sitting alone in their armchairs for movie night and that’s what finally pushes Dean over the edge. 

“Look man, I know you’re not human and you don’t get how stuff works but you can’t do junk like that. It’ll give people the wrong idea,” Dean would warn because his self-loathing, self-deprecating, still very closeted self would never in a million years dare to let himself think Cas knows what he’s doing.

“And what is the wrong idea?” Cas would ask. 

“You know, dude. That you like me. More than a friend like me,” Dean would explain and Cas would give him the most world-wearied, withering look and  sigh, “That is very much the idea I’ve been trying to get across,” He’d explain. 

And Dean would need about an hour for his brain to stop short-circuiting, long enough for him to reply, 

“Oh.” 

[lyconite]

When is a Feather Not a Feather?

The original prompt inspiration. Format is like this because this was originally a series of tweets.

Dean’s brow knitted as he stared at his empty palm, ‘Cas, what am I holding?’ There was an invisible weight resting gently in his left hand, soft and subtle between his fingers as he tried to grasp it with his right. Whatever it was, it both did and did not exist.

Castiel tilted his head as he looked at him, confusion clear on his face, ‘one of my feathers’ his brow furrowed, ‘but you shouldn’t be able to see or feel it.’ Dean felt his eyebrows climb, ‘An angel feather? I didn’t even know you had real feathers; we’ve never seen them.’

Castiel frowned, ‘I don’t; it’s not a feather.’ Dean sighed with barely-concealed exasperation, ‘Cas, you literally just said it was a feather.’ The angel took a step forward and reached out as if to take it, but Dean pulled his hand away, ‘if it’s not a feather, what is it?’

A slight frown curved Castiel’s lips in frustrated, ‘It’s a piece of my true form.’ ‘A piece shaped like a feather?’ Dean clarified. ‘Yes.’ ‘A piece that 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘴 like a feather?’ he asked, a light, playful curl to his voice. ‘Yes’, Castiel replied curtly, already annoyed.

Fighting to keep the slight quirk from showing on his lips Dean pressed further, ‘A piece of your true form that acts 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘭�� 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳?’ Castiel’s stony silence was deafening, and Dean basked in it with barely concealed enjoyment. ‘So, a feather then?’

Castiel huffed lightly, putting his hand out, ‘Just give it back Dean.’ ‘Why can I feel it?’ Dean didn’t realise the curiosity had been eating at him until the question had slithered its way out of his mouth unbidden. When the angel didn’t respond he prompted him again, ‘Cas?’

The smaller man threw his hands up in defeat, ‘Just keep it then Dean, do what you want.’ The hunter looked down at his hand, only to stare transfixed at the pale ghost of a downy shape that now lay shimmering in his palm, soft and iridescent. ‘Cas, why can I see it?'

When his question was met with more silence Dean looked up, surprised to see a shocked look on the angel’s face. ‘Cas?’ Castiel rubbed his eyes wearily, quiet for a long moment before he spoke, ‘It means our bond has grown more profound. It means that I…trust you intimately.’

Dean quirked an eyebrow slightly at the choice of words, but he still didn’t follow, ‘Why would that have changed in the last two minutes?’ Castiel sighed tiredly, ‘Because you’re an idiot...’ ...𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶. Click here to read more from the collection📚

[mangoofthesea]

Me: I'm taking a break from reading fic for a while just cos like...I have actual things I need to do. And you know it's nice to take a break and read some books and do those hobbies I've been neglecting for fun instead. I was just getting myself stressed with the amount of time i was spending reading y'know?

Also me: *marks 700 million fics for when I go back to ao3 so that I have ✨options✨*

[you-cant-spell-subtext-without]

sharing my Cas prompt fic for @gish​ #item36 here for y’all. prompt was to write a flash fic of Cas’ first day in heaven when he’s handed a mop and told to clean up his mess in 2 paragraphs or less (and also in Enochian). Look at what your little Ms. Verbose managed to accomplish.

[castiel-left-his-mark-on-me]

Below is the list of Destiel / Cockles fics submitted for each “Flash Flood of Fiction”– a part of my “Notable Quotables” project, where people submit their favorite fan fiction quotes.

* Want to participate in the next Flash Flood of Fiction? Click here to find out how! *

[Each title will link back to the original submission]

“Cinderwings” by @bendingsignpost

“Psalms for Sleeping Angels” by SC_ript

“Christmas in July” by @followyourenergy​

“May the Stars Retain Their Lustre” by @potterswinchesters​

“Ascend” by @wanderingcas​

“Jersey Boys” by @casbandicoot​

“Death Rattles” by emmbrancsxx0

“The Pull of Us” by @shelikestv​

“Not Fade Away” by @whelvenwings​

“The Breath of All Things” by kismetjeska

“Ninety-One Whiskey” by komodobits

“Blues Run the Game” by @awed-frog​

“So It Goes” by @raiseyourpinky​

“Note to Self: Cas Loves You” by @almaasi​

“Up to Date?” by @whelvenwings​

“My Sanctuary” by @theselfhatingangelofthursday​

“Runes and Perfumed Wrists” by @lilac-void​

“The Burden of Belonging” by newtondale

“This is How it Really Ends” by @ozonecologne​

“So Much Tangled Thread” by @imogenbynight​

“The Last Guys on the Bench” by @petramacneary​

“Stand By Me” by @whelvenwings​

“And This, Your Living Kiss” by opal_bullets

“3:10 to Purgatory” by spnredemption

“The Least Bad Option” by @thestoryinsideme​

“Pies and Prejudice” by @linoresearch​

“So Says the Sword” by komodobits

“Castle on a Cloud” by @whelvenwings​

“Like Moses and Batman and James Dean” by @saltyfeathers​

“The Long, Dark Night of the Soul” by @tiptoe39​

“Homeward Rolling Soldier” by spnredemption

“For Lack of a Better Word” by pantheon_of_discord

“Qualia” by @imogenbynight​

“Sioux Falls” by spnredemption

“Ghosts” by spnredemption

“Autrement, Danger - or, The Account of an Exceedingly Long Day” by @awed-frog​

“Dean (and Cas’s) Top 13 Zepp Traxx” by pantheon_of_discord

“The Calm Before the Storm” by spnredemption

“Beneath the Stars” by @trenchcoatimpala​

“In the Shadows of Vesuvius” by grimmlin

“What Desperation Accomplishes” by @samwellwinchesterthebrave​

“The Rough“ by @anactoria​

“Twenty Miles Out” by @castiel-left-his-mark-on-me​

“Sweetly Bound” by @samwellwinchesterthebrave​

“Edge of Night“ by sinelaborenihil

“Etched” by @castiel-left-his-mark-on-me​

“Rutnam Shore” by @deancasheadcanons​

“Feast of the Assumptions” by amazonia_8

“The Plot” by @castiel-left-his-mark-on-me​

“Ad Astra - latin ; “to the stars”” by nhixxie

[You can also find this list on my blog]

[xviruserrorx]

Title: "Sea may Rise, Sky May Fall"

For @flashfictionfridayofficial! This fic can be read as a stand alone or I can be read with the sequel to it to make a small little continuation of the story! Enjoy!!

Flash Fiction Friday - Tumblr | Ao3 - [Prev <- • -> Next]

Fandom: BBC Merlin

Prompt(s): "Rise and Fall"

Relationship(s): Mordred & Merlin

Character(s): Merlin, Mordred, background cameo characters

Important Tags: Protective Merlin, Parental Merlin, Fluff and Angst, emotional Hurt/Comfort

Rating: Gen

Warning(s): No Archive Warnings Apply, Mention of Human Trafficking (nothing different than what's in Canon)

Word Count: 1,217

"I just want things to go back to how they were. Things were okay for once—more than okay. Everyone was happy, we could be free. You all took us in, cared for us, treated us like family."

"And that hasn't changed, Mordred. We still love and care for all of you." Something short of pain was in his voice at Mordred's reveal. "That will never change."

"It can, I would know."

->Next: "Maybe We Live, Or I Die For You In Secret" - Tumblr | Ao3

Continue reading below or over on Ao3

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"There you go," Merlin smoothed the bandage down into place, "all better."

The young girl, no older than twelve, gave him a weary look from where she stood. Hair and clothes in a frenzy and fear close by from her recent capture and rescue. She eyed him, looking towards Mordred who held her trust of shared similarities.

Mordred gave her a reassuring smile before taking a knee to her height. "Here," he slid her amulet back over her neck. The strap fixed from where it had ripped and fallen.

Clothed in robes and the hanging amulet he's seen Mordred dressed in once and never again. He knew all the druids had such things of where they were from, the ones he knew though, all long forgotten. Despite the changes, all four druids remained cautious to show their marks, wear their indicating amulets, or even consider wearing the traditional robes.

Something about the situation made everything worse, as though two of his memories were tangled together to create a worse outcome. The memory of Mordred many years before and equally, of Freya too. He swallowed as he corked vials back up again and cleaned up his mess. The blood, though a small amount, upon the cloth he used to clean her hand made him sick with thought of what people would and could still do to children.

He forced a gentle smile on his face towards her before he made his way back to where Morgana and Arthur stood.

"She's so young," he whispered.

"Did she say anything to you?" Arthur asked.

He shook his head. "She's speaking in their tongue, nothing I can understand."

They all looked back over as Mordred continued talking to her. Words, for once unfamiliar to them all except those who shared the tongue and mark upon their bodies. Waiting, soon enough, Mordred got up as Freya entered the room. Trust won over enough from the elder as well that the small girl allowed her hand to be grabbed while Freya slowly exited the room.

"Well?" Arthur minorly pressed as Mordred walked over.

"She and her parents had just left Camelot when they were attacked," He explained. "They separated them from her and that was the last thing she knew of them." He looked back as the door shut completely behind the girl and Freya. "Freya's trying to see if there's anything else that could be important. We don't know what camp she lived in so Kara and Sefa are already getting ready to go find Iseldir."

"Have someone go with them," Merlin urged, "none of you should be alone outside Camelot with this happening."

"They were going to sell her, weren't they?" Mordred's questioning eyes flickered between all of them for an answer, one that none of them wanted to supply.

Arthur slowly nodded, "to the highest bidder. My father used to indulge in such things, who and whatever any bounty hunter found knew he would almost always give the highest reward."

Merlin's hands tightened into a fist at his sides, "I thought you made it all illegal now?"

"I did, but like before, people still find their ways to escape the law."

Mordred grimaced, "we need to find her parents."

"And we will, Mordred."

"I'll talk to my sister and the others," Morgana chimed in, "see what they know about this."

Arthur nodded in agreement, "I'm placing more patrols. We'll catch everyone who's doing this."

Both siblings departed from the room with their words, leaving Mordred and Merlin standing in the silent aftermath. Merlin let himself sigh and released a breath he didn't realize he was holding, all while Mordred walked aimlessly a couple of paces around the physician's chambers.

"I thought things were getting better…"

He looked over at him, "they are, Mordred."

"Then why are people of the old religion still scared for their lives?"

"We're making progress little by little, we can't do everything in one jump."

"So then we just wait for everything to go back to how it was before." Mordred turned and looked at him while Merlin slightly closed the distance between them.

"What do you mean?"

"When running and hiding are the only things you know."

"Nothing will be like before, ever again. I promise."

He scoffed, "and yet day by day more and more of us are being killed, captured amongst other things. Why?"

"Some people are still stuck in their old ways, they think we're wrong and bad."

"They only began to think that because of…" he sentence broke off, as his words faded in the air. Fists clenched in hidden anger as he tried to fiddle with his hands, removing his gloves and throwing them on the nearby table.

Merlin nodded, "I know…"

There was a watery suppressed chuckle. "I just want things to go back to how they were." He took a set on the bench behind him. "Things were okay for once—more than okay. Everyone was happy, we could be free. You all took us in, cared for us, treated us like family."

"And that hasn't changed, Mordred." He bent down to his height and placed his hands on his shoulders, "We still love and care for all of you." Something short of pain was in his voice at Mordred's reveal. "That will never change."

"It can, I would know." He raised his arm, gently shrugging Merlin's hands off of him.

Merlin brought his hands back to himself, knowing the action was a result of still open wounds that he knew would never heal, only festering and causing unnecessary but needed pain

"People can choose to not love and care for someone."

"That's not true," Merlin argued, "it's a lot harder than you think."

Mordred sniffed, "you act as though I don't know what it is to forget the love of someone because the memory is too painful."

He placed his hand gently on Mordred's knee. "You don't have to play that role anymore. You belong here, we all belong here, together."

He shook his head in response, "there will never be any happy ending to all of this."

"We both know sometimes things get worse before they can get better."

"Every king and queen rise to their thrones only to fall," he mumbled, "Why do all this just to fall in the end?"

"We're doing this to change things for the better."

Mordred dropped his head, another sorrowful chuckle escaping as his shoulders began to shake after a moment.

"Mordred…"

"I'm scared," his voice broke off, shattering and leaving Merlin fumbling as he pulled him to his chest. Actions of before already forgotten as arms wrapped around his torso and a hand cupped the back of Mordred's head.

"Everything's alright," he tried to soothe but felt the rustle of Mordred shaking his head.

"But it isn't…"

"I won't allow anything to happen to anyone."

He got no answer.

"Hey," he pulled back slightly and cupped his face, "we'll always be here." Looking into tears ridden eyes, he did everything he could not to crush him in a hug and never let the boy go. "Alright?"

Mordred sniffled before he nodded. "Alright," he repeated.

Merlin smiled at him, letting him lay his head back upon his shoulder in his embrace for as long as needed.

[estrel]

.

[hartlessfiction]

Title: Thunder in The Library Fandom: Supernatural Paring: Destiel Rating: Teen and up Tags: Magical Castiel, Magical Dean, Magic is known, Curses, Cursed Dean Winchester, Magical Library, Fluff, tooth rotting fluff. Summary: Castiel’s work as the Head Librarian of The Grand Library of Magic and Lost Artifacts has him away on a last minute trip for far longer than he anticipated. By the time he returns, there’s a certain book who’s less than pleased with his inability to keep his word. Read on A03

No, no, no,” Cas mumbles, frustration settling like a lead weight in his stomach. All around him the Great Library sits quiet and still. Dust floats like slowly drifting snowflakes through the warmly slanted afternoon sunbeams, the calm drifts disturbed into swirling vortexes by his hurried shuffle across the polished marble.

The comfortable stillness is broken again by the low rumble of distant thunder. Cas puts on a burst of speed. It’s not dignified to run through the Great Library, it’s not dignified for the Librarian to run through the library, never mind anybody else.

But here he is, trotting with long strides down past Cirien Croin, Your Sea Serpent and You, Copper Cauldron Care, and Corporeal Dissonance Disorder: The Complete Guide to Finding Yourself after Astral-projection. Counting shelves, Cas curses the sweat trickling down his back, the pressure in the air growing thicker the closer he gets to his destination. His shirt clings uncomfortably to his skin.

“Clouds, clouds, clouds,” Cas mumbles to himself pulling on the bottom of his waist coat. Finding the correct shelf he rolls his shoulders back, runs his fingers through his hair a few times, and clears his throat.

“Dean,” Cas rumbles, displeasure clear in his tone. Two of the books shift along the shelf, trembling and jumping slightly. Cas’ frown depends. “Dean!” Cas snaps, and thunder rumbles around him.

“This is…” Cas huffs a breath, licking his lips and shifting angrily from one foot to the other. “Dean, come out. Now, please.”

Keep reading on A03

[belindarimbi13]

What I do in my idle days.

Find me on twitter.

[hells-plaid-angel]

He’s listening to a classic rock radio station and trying not to fall apart because that’s what Dean Winchester does. 

The world is about to collapse. It’s done it before and it’ll do it again. Dean knows this, but this time it’s different, or this time it’s not so different, which makes it all the more pathetic. Cas is dead. 

At the end of Dean’s world, Cas is always dead. Everything after that is just dying in slow motion. The slow seeping of life from the body.  The final little light show before his brain goes dark and his muscle fibres learn how to stop twitching. 

Cas died and Dean can’t bring himself to get over it, so he’s doing what he knows how to do. He’s driving. He’s hunting. He’s just far enough away from any town that Zeppelin is fading into static, white noise and haze. 

Cas is dead. The backseat of the Impala is empty. The world is empty. All that’s left of Cas is his absence and Dean can feel it everywhere. The radio is speaking in static, which reminds him of the first time he met Cas. How he’d tried to use his true voice and almost deafened him. Now the static was comfortable. There was a gravel and grit to it, just like there was to Cas’ voice. It becomes a habit. 

When Cas’ absence gets too large for him to take, Dean would get in the Impala and drive. He’d find a station playing nothing but static and pretend it was Cas talking. He’d try to imagine what Cas would say, but their conversations went in circles, the Cas in his head was saying things the real Cas never would. Dean would try and ground his stream of consciousness. He’d imagine Cas saying his name because that’s all he seemed to do while he was living. He tried to recall all the different intonations, trying to pick them up in the static. 

The noise was Cas’ ghost, trailing after him, showing up when Dean least expected it, but after a while listening to it in the Impala wasn’t enough. Cas’ absence was everywhere, not just in the backseat leather and highway lines.

Dean found an old ham radio in the bunker and set it up in his room. In an underground bunker it’s no surprise all the thing can pick up is static, but Dean likes to see it as a sign. It’s like Cas is always there, except he wasn’t. Dean couldn’t make it feel real. He couldn’t  fool himself completely. If he thought Cas was really talking to him, that Cas could really hear him, there’re be no way Dean would say what he said next. He knew he’d never be able to say it out loud to the real Cas, but absence made him bolder. 

In the quiet space when the static began to lull, Dean whispered to the bunker walls and shuttering radio, 

“I love you too, Cas, you know that right?” 

The radio gave its static answer, in a language Dean didn’t speak and he thought it was fitting. If he was honest with himself, he couldn’t imagine how Cas would reply. 

[lyconite]

Just Speak

The original prompt inspiration. Format is like this because this was originally a series of tweets.

Dean sighed, unable to sleep despite the length of their day. The pale moonlight filtering in through the windows of the impala painted him in stark highlights and deep shadows where he lay, stretched out across the front seat. 'What is it Dean?'

Sam’s voice from the back was tired, but soft. It had been a long time since they’d spoken to each other about anything personal, but Dean was always more likely to open up in the early hours of the morning, when their eyes didn’t have to meet and he could talk to the shadows.

Dean didn’t answer, his eyes closed against the light and the world as he willed sleep to take him. He didn’t have to speak; Sam would be fine without an answer. He always was.

But when sleep wouldn’t come Dean sighed again, finally letting his lips and tongue put shape to the thing that had been scratching at the back of his brain for weeks. ‘It’s gone.’ He knew it wasn’t an answer, but sometimes words were hard; he needed Sam to drag them out of him.

‘What’s gone?’ Dean didn’t want to say it; he knew as soon as the words slipped out of his mouth he would feel weaker for having made them real. But he said it anyway, because Sam’s quiet, gentle question deserved an answer. ‘Cas’ handprint, it’s gone.’

There it was; the uncomfortable vulnerability, the awkward silence. Dean hated it, almost as much as he hated the bare patch of skin on his shoulder that shone in the silver moonlight, smooth and unmarked. Unnatural.

Sam’s clothes rustled as he shifted, and the sound of his soft reply filtered quietly over the seat back, alighting on Dean’s ears with enough of his brother’s usual sickening compassion to make his skin crawl. ‘Why does that bother you?’

This was why Dean didn’t like talking; Sam was entirely too good at asking all the right questions. ‘I don’t know.’ It was the question that had been plaguing him, keeping him up at night. He truly didn’t know. There were too many answers. Too few.

‘You must have some idea?’ ‘I don’t know Sam…’ Dean sighed tiredly, ‘it was a reminder of Hell, of how I got there. Of being given a second chance. Of someone believing in me, even if it was for the wrong reasons…’

‘Being a demon healed me; it made me whole again. No scars, no marks. No memories. It feels…wrong.’ The silence stretched long between them, before Dean added quietly, ‘The outside doesn’t match the inside anymore.’

Sam was silent, clearly not knowing how best to respond to the quiet confession, and all of the pain it dredged up for both of them. At last he settled on ‘You know Cas still believes in you, with or without the scar; that hasn’t changed.’ Dean snorted quietly, ‘He shouldn’t.’

‘Have you talked to him?’ Dean frowned, ‘And said what Sam? ‘Hey, I miss the awful scar you left on me, care to burn a new one into my skin?’ No thanks.’ Sam’s voice was thick with fatigue as he responded, ‘If it means that much to you, why not?’

Dean heard Sam shift again, and suddenly his brother was sitting up, his long arms crossing the seat back as he leant over it, blinking blearily through his messy hair as he tried to see him in the dim light, ‘You could pray to him? He always answers you, you know he’ll come.’

‘Sure Sammy’, Dean rolled over, turning his back to his brother so that he didn’t have to meet his eyes as he closed his own for sleep, ‘maybe tomorrow.’ But Sam could speak Dean well enough to know that ‘maybe tomorrow’ meant ‘never’. It always did with Dean.

[jollytornado20-blog]

Flash FanFiction

“Thinking back on it, I’m not really sure what attracted me to Dean in the first place. I had entered high school with my intent set on infiltrating the “popular” kids in hope that I would be able to find acceptance for who I was. Not just as a fag, but for me, Cas, with his quiet demeanor and overall, lukewarm personality.”

Castiel sighed deeply and leaned in closer to the screen, as if blinding himself on the whiteness of the computer screen would somehow make it easier to express, in words, everything that was on his mind.

Just keep writing. Just keep writing. Focus. This will help you.

It was a romantic notion he had fooled himself into believing that if he wrote about Dean, and could somehow make it into a story, it would be like it happened to somebody else.

And it’ll be easier to accept that he’s not mine anymore.

“I had, of course, noticed Dean long before I actually made any attempt to approach him. I saw him in passing, smoking in an alley with his friends, walking up from the back of the room, past me, to turn in his work. I always sat in the front, and made every effort to not turn around in my seat. It would be obvious to everyone else that I fancied him if I stared. I don’t think he ever noticed me looking at him though. Really, he behaved as if he were oblivious to everyone and everything. He sat, leaned back in his chair with his hands in his pockets, staring out of the window and ignoring the obnoxious students around him. Sometimes he would sleep, and I often passed him in the hall with his eyes tired, and I knew he had fallen asleep in some class or another.”

This is all bullshit.

“Once I talked to him though, it was all history. He was rugged and dangerous, I was quiet and afraid, but for some reason we clicked.”

Cas stopped typing as he felt his muscles tense up, and a pit in his stomach seemed to devour any will to continue writing, or do anything except stare at the computer. His knuckles turned white as he clenched his fists. The words were there, imbedded in his memories of the two of them together. He knew what to say, because the details of the two of them together played like a movie across his mind throughout most days. But of course, there was no way to express the way he felt when he saw Dean smile, or the way it destroyed him when they hit the ground.

I don’t want to remember.

[once-delight]

I am here for ancient beings who speak multiple languages getting a phone and only ever texting incoherent strings of emojis to their exasperated human partners. 🦒🪵🪄🦀👋👀💨🦷👅

I am here for ancient beings having to convey some piece of information that can only be done through a sketch (the design of a cursed amulet, the appearance of a monster), drawing with great concentration and their human partner waiting in anticipation, only for them to present an absolutely amateurish drawing that looks as if it was done by a kindergartener, because hey, they never said they could draw /well/. Draughtmanship takes time and dedication to learn, and they've been busy fighting monsters.

But also they don't think it's THAT terrible of a drawing and a secretly a bit hurt by their partners incredilous reaction. (It is that terrible, and their hurt is not well hidden).

After they dispel the curse or slay the monster, the partner surprise them with an invitation to a paint-and-sip evening. They both get delightfully tipsy and make absolutely garishly terrible paintings.

The human are fully aware of how ugly theirs is, but the ancient being is unreasonably proud of how their own turned out. (Which is no surprise really, after all they've studied with one of the ancient masters. Okay, maybe not /studied/, per se, it's more like they saw Michaelangelo paint /once/ during a mission in the Vatican. Okay, maybe they didn't see him directly, but they saw the /paints/ and half-finished underpainting in the Sistine Chapel. Michealangelo himself wasn't there, but really they learned so much of the process from that, he might as well have been. It's plain to see from how well their own painting turned out!)

The ancient being is so proud that the human does not dare to kill their vibe. Also because the ancient being has immense powers and they prefer their head to stay firmly attached to their spine.

(Yes, the ancient being is technically aligned on the side of light, but live long enough and anyone's morals start to tarnish a bit. Also, the human was on Deviantart as a tween in the early aughts and know no fury runs deeper than that of an artist who recieve unsolicited concrit).

But then the ancient being insist that they display the paintings prominently in their main base of operation, which is otherwise decorated with precious tomes, magical artefacts and exquisite furniture that the ancient being have collected over lifetimes.

Their human partner starts to regret the otherwise fun paint-and-sip evening, not only because the paintings are painfully ugly and clash with the interior decor, but also because every time they have a visitor to the sanctum, they have to quickly convey through desperate pantomime that they must not comment anything remotely negative about the art.

Most visitors catch their drift, and given that most are also in dire straits and soliciting help for supernatural problems, instead effuse praise upon the ancient being's artwork.

This backfires for the human partner. The ancient being starts to believe their own self-told lies as an untrained talent, and like all beings, ancient and otherwise, enjoy having their ego fed.

Paint-and-sip now becomes routine after every mission, and while the human enjoy spending time with their partner, they are becoming worse at making up diffuse praise for the paintings which stay terrible, and are now filling up their workspace, which beforehand were so atmospheric and peaceful, but now exudes the chaotic vibes of the fridge door of a parent to a manic 6-year old.

Why did they ever request that sketch?!