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Author has written 12 stories for Harry Potter, Artemis Fowl, Eyeshield 21, Sonny with a Chance, Kingdom Hearts, Katekyo Hitman Reborn!, X-overs, Avatar: Last Airbender, H.I.V.E., Naruto, Skip Beat!, and D.Gray-Man.
Things You Should Know:
I like slash so fuck off, yeah? I can also stand to read really engaging, well-written het that is not the main focus of the story. Also, some graphic stuff down there in the favorite quotes, so be careful.
I've noticed lately that a lot of my stories are very similar. As in, stoic main lead, crossovers, not a lot of detail, mostly humor, few character appearances, horrible at romance, etc. This is depressing. And why I refrain from posting other HP crossovers. SO MANY, guh.
Naruto, Avatar the Last Airbender (if you're in this fandom, you MUST read "Embers" by Vathara) Harry Potter (read lightning on the wave's epic story), The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya, Artemis Fowl, H.I.V.E, Prince of Tennis, Fullmetal Alchemist (crazyed!verse ftw), Chronicles of Narnia, Percy Jackson and the Olympians, 07 Ghost, Godchild, Twilight, Reborn!(try windshear's 8018), Ouran Host Club, Junjou Romantica, xxxholic, Yu-Gi-Oh, Eyeshield 21, Detective Conan, D.Grayman, Alex Rider, Black Cat (no good fanfiction for this fandom, unfortunately), Teen Titans, Kingdom Hearts, Final Fantasy VII, Bleach, Inuyasha (P O I S O N), D N Angel, Danny Phantom, Gintama, Gravitation, Hetalia, Rurouni Kenshin, Saiyuki, Tsubasa Chronicle, Big Windup!, Skip Beat, I'll, One Piece, Supernatural, Disney, Merlin (astolatastolatastolat! also, paperclipbitch)
Done with her breakfast, and in spite of (or perhaps because of) the suddenly melancholy atmosphere in the room, Hedwig chose that moment to collect a sheet of loose-leaf paper from the kitchen table and carry it back over, setting it quite blatantly in front of Harry and hooting in a way that sounded strangely directive.
“Oh bloody- for the love of Circe, Hedwig, no.”
“What does she want?” Edward asked, confused by the exchange that had just taken place.
He managed to hold his tongue this time and was surprised when after a moments pause, Harry continued without any prompting from Edward. “She wants me to send a letter. She thinks she’s not being used to her full potential- gets after me every now and then to send her out with something.”
“So why don’t you just mail something?”
Harry’s voice was more detached than he’d ever heard it when he answered. “She doesn’t understand. There’s no one to send anything to.”
He felt as if he’d taken a punch to the gut. No one to send anything to. He knew from Carlisle that Harry claimed not to have anyone to take care of him, but what did that mean exactly? Possibly his family was all dead from this battle (war?) he’d fought, but there must be someone- some friend, some person to have raised him. He just couldn’t believe that this captivating boy was entirely alone in the world. Even Edward who was something of a self-described loner had his family, and beyond that a few friends and acquaintances. He didn’t know what to say. There was nothing to say. He cleaned up the bacon scraps.
"Signs of Waking" by hangedfire
The trio was discussing the Prophet, and Chris was reading when Tonks appeared next to Harry.
“Wotcher, Harry,” she said, announcing her presence quietly. Her hair was dull, and she was wearing Hogwarts robes, probably undercover. She looked over to Chris before they could ask what she was doing and asked, “You would be Chris Halliwell?”
“I would be,” he replied, picking up his coffee and marking his page.
“You’re from America,” she commented, vaguely surprised.
Chris, however, spewed his coffee right back out and stared at her in utter astonishment. He choked, “No shit, is that what that huge land mass is called?”
"Fishing off the Roof" by Warriora
"So…that was a nice two-run homerun in the bottom of the fourth."
America blushed as he exchanged a quick look with a flustered England, Canada blinked in confusion before realization dawned on his face.
"Oh no- I meant- the game, the baseball game! Your hit then. The end of the 4th. Not anything to do with you, England. Not that...that you did anything. Or anyone. Or America did. Aside from battling and hitting a homerun. I'm sorry, I didn't know you two had…during the game."
The three fell into an awkward silence and Canada felt pretty bad. He didn't mean to upset them, but now that he thought about it…
"…It does explain your comeback in the bottom of the 4th though," he mumbled.
"Canada!" America shouted.
England was mortified, stepping up beside America as he yelled, "Damnit Canada, stop talking about our sex life!"
The players, and even some of the stadium, seemed to fall silent at the booming voice.
"Not that we have a sex life!" England added. The silence continued and he blanched, burying his face into America's arm.
Canada gave the pair of them a weak smile and rubbed the back of his head nervously. "So, I'll let you guys go, eh? You probably want to go celebrate or something."
America put an arm around England, who was either shaking in suppressed rage or just plain embarrassment, and gave Canada a sheepish smile. "Yeah. We're going to go celebrate." A beat. "Winning the baseball game."
"Let's just go," England interjected. Canada suppressed a wider smile, now noticing that England's oversized shirt was probably on loan from America.
As the two walked away, Canada called out after them. "Have a great night you two!" They both came to an abrupt stop and Canada amended it. "Celebrating the baseball game, that is!"
And as they left the stadium, America remarked to England that perhaps he should have lost the game so Canada would have other things to talk about.
"Batting for the Other Team" by Abarero.
Are you by yourself?” Yamamoto scratched his neck. “I thought we weren’t supposed to be.”
Struck by a sudden, impossible thought he squinted after Mukuro’s retreating figure. And then he heard the faint, shrill twittering of a small bird, sounding slightly muffled. It came from Mukuro’s jacket. Yamamoto’s eyebrows floated up. He had heard it, too. “Isn’t that…?”
If he hadn’t been so strung out on Chinese-produced absinthe, stuff that he now realized might turn out to be poisonous, and half-starved to death, he might have showed more of a reaction. But, as it were, the only vague thought that floated to the surface of Gokudera’s mind was sweet! I hope they kill each other!
"Forget it Jake" by Sjokolade.
The door opened. He shuddered when he recognized Harry Two moving into the room.
Harry Two froze, staring at the green-robed figure standing in the middle of the room. "Malfoy?" he said in confusion. He obviously hadn't expected to see him here. "What are you--"
Harry stepped forward and swung the tray with every bit of strength at his disposal. It hit Harry Two in the back of the head with a resounding clang, vibrating painfully in his hands. Harry Two fell like a dropped stone, crumpling bonelessly to the floor.
"Oh, my God," Draco said, sounding faint.
Harry was already on his knees, the tray forgotten. Harry Two, he saw, had his wand drawn, likely in anticipation of an attack by Harry. Feeling a stab of vindictive satisfaction, Harry took it from him.
"Oh, my God," Draco said again.
Ignoring him, Harry proceeded to search the pockets of Harry Two's robe, looking for the medallion. With increasing despair, he realized it wasn't there.
Swearing, he grabbed one of Harry Two's arms and grunted as he tried to drag him out of the open doorway. "Draco, help me."
"Oh, my God."
"Draco, for the love of--"
"You just hit the Dark Lord with a fucking serving tray!"
"Yes, and I'm going to hit you with one, too, if you don't shut up."
"Pendulum of Choice" by Rushlight.
Harry shook his arm free and watched as Luna drew a clacking necklace from the pocket of her robe. It had small silver charms on it, including a horse and a bird that Harry thought was a swan, but also many more ordinary objects—more bottle caps, sweet wrappers, pierced playing cards. Luna held it out to him, and nodded solemnly as Harry accepted it.
"That will protect you from Wrackspurts," she said. "I offered some to the people who bound me to the wall, but they didn't want one. I don't know why," she added. "I think the Wrackspurts were confusing them further."
"Thank you, Luna," said Harry. He put the necklace around his neck. Draco spluttered, but didn't actually manage to say anything, which was most gratifying. Harry nodded to Luna. "I think I can feel the Wrackspurt fading away already."
"No, that's your stupidity coming back," said Sylarana.
"No Mouth But Some Serpent's" by Lightning on the Wave
And whether I’m right or not, it’s an order.”
They stopped staring and turned back to their work, but the tension in the room held.
“Goodbye, sir,” Hawkeye said as he reached the door. She had the gift of an expressive voice, did Hawkeye. Not everyone could have said nothing but goodbye and so strongly implied if you get killed it will be entirely your own fault, you will have let all of us down, and I will spit on your grave.
This was a family restaurant, and the rest of the family was hovering—not intrusively, but hovering. In case Ed looked like he might, possibly, want something, Maes imagined.
Maes was having lunch with a celebrity serial killer. How special.
“Things have been shockingly smooth since…shortly after I came back from East. Research, research, research. I’ve been carefully not introducing him to Major Armstrong.”
“You don’t think the Major would approve?”
“I think the Major might try to hug Ed, and then everyone would die. However, he does say he needs another alchemist around to bounce ideas off of.”
“As long as you explain to the Major that Elric was beaten as a child and is afraid to be touched, I think he should be able to keep himself under control.”
“…I don’t believe you just said that.”
“Maes. It will work.”
“You’re not even a general yet, and already you’ve got a diseased mind.”
his was not the most encouraging comment Maes had ever heard. He was trying to think of likely ways to request elaboration when he heard her say, somewhat muffled, “Some idiot called Maes Hughes. You know him?”
And then a very familiar voice in the background. “What!?”
Thunk, clack, the phone changed hands. This was so exciting. “How the fuck did you get this number? How the fuck did you even know where I was, you freaky crazy stalker? Holy shit.”
“Hi, Ed!” Maes said happily. “I miss you!”
“Oh. My God.”
“You never call, you never write!” This was way more fun when you weren’t staring into his homicidal little face. “I thought you were dead! You could at least have sent me a bloodstained telegram!”
If Maes believed for a second that Roy had actually foreseen how useful Ed would prove, he’d have been even more proud. As it was, he was proud of Roy’s bullshitting abilities, for they were truly epic.
“A lady would never go looking for a murderer,” Ed told her.
“A princess would do anything for her people!”
“Holy shit, did you just say princess? You look Xingian. Hang on, are you a fucking princess of Xing? Why the hell did all you people feel the need to crawl across the desert this month, and why the hell did you all end up at my feet? Huh? Are you gonna steal my food now, is that how this is gonna go? Fuck off!”
Edward Elric: soul of diplomacy.
"In Defiance of Reason" by Metisket
“This isn’t a race, Yamamoto-kun,” his physical therapist says, pencil tapping unhappily against his chart. “If you don’t cut back on all this extra training you’re obviously doing, you could seriously hurt yourself.” Tap tap. “Again.”
“Haha.” Takeshi scratches the back of his neck and tries for a winning smile. “Wouldn’t want that.”
She narrows her eyes at him suspiciously. The pencil taps harder. Rageful pencil tapping. It sort of cheers Takeshi up. He’d thought Gokudera was the only one who did things like that.
"purpose" by metisket.
"Fletch!" Mrs. Redmond says. "You made it! Your father and I were beginning to—" His mother stops, her mouth dropping open. "Who is this?"
Fletcher suppresses a groan at the gleam in his mother's eyes. "Mom, this is—"
"Caleb Freeman," Caleb interjects smoothly, stepping forward to take Mrs. Redmond's hand and, unbelievably, pressing a kiss to the top.
Mrs. Redmond titters. "I don't believe we've seen you around here before."
Oh no, Fletcher thinks. The titter. His mother only uses it in what she considers the direst situations. She has assessed Caleb as a threat. Now she's going to spend the whole night pretending to be dotty old Mumsy, airheaded and silly but still charming, when in reality she'll be prying every bit of information out of Caleb that she can.
Caleb looks over his shoulder at Fletcher, giving him a smug look as if to say, "See? Your mother loves me."
You sad, doomed fool, Fletcher wants to tell him.
"Hard Sell" by Aggy Bird
"I need help," Rudy says.
"Yes," Jack replies, "Yes, you do. I have the number of a very respected psychologist in Anchorage – "
"Shut up, jerk," Rudy says, punching Jack lightly in the arm.
Jack chuckles, and bumps his shoulder against Rudy's. "Yes?"
"The elves are having a Christmas party this weekend. I need a date. Someone responsible and, y'know, old. To get me home safely."
Jack rolls his eyes. "How do you know I'm not a party animal?"
"Puh-lease," Rudy says. "I've seen your apartment. You have a sock drawer."
"Pretty damning evidence," Jack says, trying to smother a smile.
"Make the Yuletide Gay" by Aggy Bird
“It’s not a place for children,” Paul muttered.
“I am not a child,” exclaimed a very annoyed voice from the hallway.
A young girl stood in the living room doorway, her hands braced saucily on her hips. Her hair was cut in a shoulder length bob, and it was an unfortunate shade of vibrant red. She was definitely the type of girl people would describe as spunky.
This probably meant she was doomed to be the sassy heroine of some future story, and for that she had Greg’s pity.
"Greg the Vampire" by Aggy Bird
There was no warrant out for Malfoy as there was for Dolohov. At best, what the Ministry had for Draco was a thin file that might as well have been labelled "Suspected of being a Death Eater and a huge git, though no one really knows, except about the git thing and there we're pretty sure."
"Negotiations And" by Mirabella
"But I don't want my full Veela powers. I like the powers I have!"
"Yes, you do want them," Narcissa told him. "Besides, if you don't take a mate you'll die."
Draco weighed death against having to go through life with a name like Draconinus Aloysius Cicero Saturninus Apollyon Alexandrin Marco St.John Xander Cyprian Gaudiosus Tarcisius Telemachus Leobard Agrecius Malfoy. "I don't want too many flowers at my funeral. And don't let Great-Aunt Mildred in wearing that revolting hat with the stuffed birds."
"Draco," Narcissa said between her teeth. "You will take a mate. You will do this because it will make Mummy happy, and when Mummy is happy, her little dragon does not have to worry about exquisitely adorning an early grave."
"But Mum –"
"Draconinus Aloysius Cic-"
"All right, all right, just stop with the names!" Draco exploded. "Fine, I'll take a mate. It's to be Pansy Parkinson, I suppose? Well, all right, she looks like a pug but I suppose she's not too intolerable when she forgets to be coy –"
Narcissa sighed. "No, darling, it's not as easy as an arranged marriage. You'll know your mate when you see her, now that you've come of age. The two of you will instantly form a mystical soul bond that only death can sunder, walking hand in hand through eternity in the blissful ecstasy that comes simply from looking into each others' eyes –"
"Is Dad still sleeping in the South Wing from when he got you a toaster for your birthday?" Draco asked pointedly.
"Yes, and he's going to continue sleeping there until he breaks down and buys me diamonds. That’s not the point, darling. The point is that your one true love, your mate forever, the other half of your soul, will be revealed to you at some point during the coming year, probably fairly soon."
"But what if she doesn't go to Hogwarts?" Draco pointed out. "What if she goes to Durmstrang or Beauxbatons or some uncivilized hut of a school in darkest America?"
Narcissa shuddered. "Don't even joke about America, precious. Let's just keep our fingers crossed that your mate will be a Slytherin of good family."
"With my luck it'll be bloody Granger," Draco grumbled.
Narcissa paled. "Granger? That pet mudblood of Potter's?"
Draco grunted an affirmative. "Or worse, the Weasleyette."
"Well, darling," Narcissa sighed, "if that's the case, I promise you that I won't let Great-Aunt Mildred's hat near your memorial service."
Draco's mum really did love him, he reflected, mollified. She just had a very strange way of showing it.
The Sorting feast was a nightmare.
Potter and his friends had come in just as Draco was preparing to take a seat; their eyes had locked, and the bloody bastard had stopped, raking his eyes down to settle on the erection that had made itself rather urgently known the minute Draco set eyes on the stupid Gryffindor sot. As if that weren't bad enough, the idiot had actually opened that gorgeous mouth of his and run the tip of his tongue over his lower lip, looking as if he had no idea he was doing it. The next thing Draco knew he'd been on top of Harry on the Hufflepuff table, of all undignified things, each of them doing his best to lick the other's tonsils, and the tearful recriminations of the Weasleyette and the scandalized shrieks of a table full of Hufflepuffs had barely registered past that exquisite grinding rhythm their hips had fallen into – and suddenly Draco had been manhandled back to the Slytherin table by Crabbe and Goyle, cursing every step of the way, while a scourge of Gryffindors had dragged a similarly protesting Harry back to his own.
Bloody Potter, I'll get him for this, Draco thought sullenly. It would have to be him, wouldn't it? It couldn't be that Fleur wench, no, it had to be the Boy Whose Arse Is Apparently Like Veela Catnip. He poked savagely at his mashed potatoes and glared over at the Gryffindor table, what he could see of it between the massed bulk of Goyle and Crabbe.
"A Consummation Devoutly to be Wished" by Mirabella.
"Did you behave yourself in my absence?"
Rin's eyes sparkled. Oh crap, Inuyasha thought, alarmed. He could tell where this was going.
"Yes! I took very good care of Inuyasha, too, like Tsukiko-sama asked me to. He kept falling over a lot and he went very pale so I made him eat lots and made sure he didn't hit his head on rocks or anything when he—"
"Rin, damn it," Inuyasha groaned, refusing to glance at Sesshoumaru. "What'd I tell you about making me look bad?"
"You said I shouldn't embarrass you because boys don't like girls who make them feel bad about themselves, and if I want to get married one day I should shut my word hole and make some food," Rin parroted back dutifully, tucking her hands behind her back with a smile.
Inuyasha nodded approvingly. "Right on, sister."
Rin just looked at him. Across the fire, Sesshoumaru was watching them. Inuyasha darted him a quick look, then frowned at the little girl.
"What? I'm not kissing you goodnight kid, no matter what you say."
"Not that!" Rin protested, her nose scrunching up. "I would like your haori!"
Inuyasha's eyebrows shot up. Okay, this was getting weird. He knew kids sometimes got attached to random objects, but what the fuck was he going to do in winter when she kept stealing his clothes?
It occurred to him that it didn't matter; after dawn came, he wasn't going to be around for her to steal his haori.
"You want the clothes off my back? What happened to looking after your sickly, blood-deprived charge? Some goddamn nurse you turned out to be," he grumbled, but he was already shrugging out of it, the fire-rat fur appearing even more crimson in the firelight. He handed it to her with a disgruntled huff. "Don't complain to me if it stinks like sweat."
Rin beamed at him, clutching the haori to her chest. "I like the way it smells!"
Inuyasha stared at her. "Get outta here, you little pervert. Don't dream about me, or I'll know."
"Okay!" With that, she scampered off to the dragon's side, where it was resting on the far edge of the clearing. Why she favoured that thing over the campfire he had no idea. That said, it wasn't exactly cold, even if he was feeling a little chillier than usual. Once his body managed to replenish the blood he'd lost he'd go back to normal. At least he wasn't passing out in the bushes anymore, he thought cheerfully. That had just been embarrassing.
"She will pine for you when you're gone, no doubt," Sesshoumaru commented after a moment, his voice low. "Be sure to say a proper goodbye."
"I totally kissed you just then," he whispered in stark disbelief. He could taste Sesshoumaru on his lips.
"And you—you didn't push me away."
"No. I did not." As clipped and cool as the words themselves were, Inuyasha could hear the frantic beat of the youkai lord's heart. It made him feel a little better.
"We're so fucking weird," he breathed. Sesshoumaru huffed a small breath.
"Don't lump me in with your lot. I was minding my own business when you thrust yourself upon me."
"Bullshit! You were playing with my hair like a girl, for one thing," Inuyasha protested, pulling himself back to glare at his brother. "And—and don't say thrust. There was no thrusting of any kind."
The hanyou heard a soft snort at that, and for a moment he was amazed by how normal everything was. Inuyasha had just kissed Sesshoumaruand they hadn't killed each other, cried like little girls or tucked tail and ran in the opposite direction. If he took an honest look at himself, there was quiet surprise that he hadn't done all three. His life was weird, but this was a previously undiscovered level of Batshit Crazy.
"POISON" by Hella.
"Good." He opened the case and held it out to Harry. "They're pretty much all the same in how much they'll restrict, so choose eight stickers and we'll see how that works."
Harry took the case eagerly and wasted no time in spreading them out on the coffee table to study. There were stickers of all kinds: cars, cats, birds, fish, trees, flowers, unicorns, clouds, rainbows, frogs, dinosaurs, robots, potion bottles, wands, cauldrons, stars…!
"Quite a lot, isn't there?"
"Take your time."
John chuckled and sat back. Harry very carefully sorted through all the stickers and took the time to arrange them in similar groups. Some of them he put right back in the case with barely a second glance, others he set aside and studied hard with great seriousness.
"If only the leaders of the world put this much thought into the decisions they made," Suntree remarked as he sat down on the couch beside Harry. Harry glanced over and stuck out his tongue. "Oh no, not the tongue. I have been wounded. I am destroyed. The power of the tongue, it has defeated me."
"So casually dismissed, my woe has been. The same, never shall I be."
Harry poked Suntree's leg. "Stop being weird."
"Fine one to talk there, little one."
"I'll sneeze on you."
"I bet you would."
"Shh. Stop distracting me. Honestly."
Laney rolled her eyes, putting down the last book she was holding and picking up the wooden spoon. "Anyway, I was thinking-"
"Better watch out for that," Suntree interrupted as he came into the room, one hand in his pocket and the other holding something. "That new fangled thinking stuff. Won't catch me doing it. Incidentally, I found that shoe you were looking for the other day. It was in Jamie's dresser." He held out a black high heel shoe, the very tip of the heel held between two fingers.
Laney snagged it and rolled her eyes. "Honestly. It's not as if you're going to start wearing make up and checking out guys because you handle a high heeled shoe."
"Ah well," Suntree remarked mildly. "I had hoped to explain away my sudden fascination with Terry's ass, but it's not to be."
There was a thud from the dining room and a handful of moments later Terry looked into the room with wide eyes. "What the hell?"
"Just checking out your ass, Terry," Suntree said absently as he studied one of the books in the box. "Nothing to be concerned about."
Terry stared at him. "The hell?"
"The next person who says a naughty word will get smacked with this spoon," Laney threatened, holding the spoon up in warning.
"A naughty word," Suntree said innocently.
Laney smacked him on the arm with it. "No one likes a smart aleck."
"Hey, that kind of hurt."
"Good. Remember that. The next person to step out of line will see the back of this spoon."
"Right." John eyed the spoon with amusement and looked at Suntree.
"I stopped climbing trees when I was about fourteen and fell out of one and broke my arm in two places trying to impress a girl. She wasn't very impressed."
"Why'd you go and do that?"
"I'm going to blame the haze that was teenage hormones coupled with her great big… personality."
"Yeah, right, her personality. Not."
"And she had nice eyes."
"…That's enough out of you."
"So, this is what you call teaching the kid magic?"
Harry glanced up at Tony and then back to Cam's nails. Cam grinned. "He's learning magic."
"He's learning how to paint your fingernails."
"He's learning how to paint designs on fingernails," Cam corrected, leaning in to study the swirls and starbursts Harry was carefully applying with little brush dabs and murmured words. The little drops of paint spread themselves out, twisting and turning into shape.
"I don't see the difference." Tony came over to look at her nails.
"Designs take very fine control to do, especially wandless. The vehicle may be nail painting, but the lesson is in fine control, precise wording and attention to detail."
Tony slid his hands into his pockets while he thought about that. "So in other words… you get to pretend you're teaching him while he paints your nails."
"I think 'pretend' is a bit of a strong word. If you don't think he's learning something, why don't you go ahead and give it a try?"
"I won't be tricked into painting your nails."
"A Different Start: American Harry Prequel" by Darkestar
The illuminated words "The Vault" next to the steps looked intriguing, so he sidled up to one of the Hard Rock employees and enquired as to what was in this "Vault".
"That's where we keep the extra special memorabilia, sir."
"Ah, I see." Nicholas glanced around the room, checking for Lex (luckily he had his head deep in the brochure he had whacked his companion with), then continued: "Would I be able to arrange a trip down there? My friend, the one over there," He took great pride in pointing him out, "he's never been to a Hard Rock Café before – neither have I, actually – and he's a huge fan of this band… I don't know them personally but I think they're called The Beatles?"
The tattooed employee grinned in recognition, "I'm familiar with them."
"Oh you too? I was worried they were a bit of a niche thing."
"No sir, they're really famous around these parts. Around the world, actually. I'd love to help you and your friend, but I'm afraid we can't just let you down there. Special occasions only, you see."
"Oh." Nicholas' face fell as he watched Lex rifle through the pages. "Well thank you anyway. You have a lovely café. Goodbye."
Maybe it was the way he said it, or something, but Nicholas' parting shot managed to do something to the man's conscience. It also could have been the way Lex was staring at his Hard Rock Café teddy bear like it was the reincarnation of Christ that did it.
Nicholas stopped even though he had no idea what an Etonian was, or even if he was the one the man was addressing.
"I guess I could make an exception. Call your mate over, and try not to make a scene about it. There's some stuff down there I think he might like."
Clara then laughed, her smile changing from a mischievous one to a genuine beam. Things were all going so well, Nicholas could hardly believe his luck.
"So can I get you a drink at all?"
He'd definitely spoken too soon.
"Er, actually…" She grimaced, "Not meaning to jump the gun here a bit but if you're trying to hit on me, sorry, I'm not really interested."
His face must have formed something quite grotesque as she reached forward to put a hand on his shoulder, a mixture of concern and guilt flashing on her features.
"It's not you, honestly. It's just… I prefer women, that's all."
It was at this moment that Lex returned with their two drinks, an eyebrow raised at Nicholas' company, but also the ecstatic expression that had suddenly appeared on the Austen boy's face.
"Er, hello?" Lex enquired, unsure whether he should leave the pair two it or not. Judging by Nicholas' appearance things were going pretty smoothly. He was slightly apprehensive about the bemused look the blonde was giving his companion, but then again, what did he know? It'd been a long time since he'd had to woo a lady; he just wasn't going to tell Nicholas that.
If Nicholas' face could light up even more, it did. "Lex! This is Clara! And guess what?"
Lex took the pause as an opportunity to put his tray of drinks down on their table, as his fingers were starting to tremble from the weight.
"She likes women!"
Clara immediately flinched, taken aback by Nicholas' bluntness. Lex tried to shoot her a reassuring look, one that said "it's okay, he's always like this!"
But Nicholas wasn't done just yet.
"You like men, don't you Lex?"
The two blondes' eyes met, and if the whole situation hadn't been so inconceivably cringetastic, the look on Clara's face would have sent Lex into hysterics. Nicholas, bless him, had no idea just how awkward and random he was being. And both the recipients of his rambling were really, really intrigued to know where this was going.
"This is… remarkable! Two of you in the same room, together! Wow, this is just smashing!" Nicholas exclaimed, and the penny finally dropped with an almighty 'clunk' in Lex's head. Swiftly batting Nicholas aside, he stepped in to alleviate Clara of the brain-bending situation.
"Nicholas… he's not really familiar with gay people. He finds them somehow scintillating, don't ask me why. But he was the same with me when I first told him, so… yeah." He quickly clarified, and the bewildered expression on the blonde's face slowly began to fade.
"Fallacy" by dltoro.
"Right. OK. Why aren't you trying to kill me?"
"We've been through this. I need you."
Well, yes. However, it seemed to me that he didn't need an assistant and general dogsbody so much as a surrogate mother and psychiatric nurse. "Listen: I know this sounds like a stupid question, but why are you so scared?"
He glared at me. "It's not a stupid question," he said, and carried his empty bowl over to the pot sink. Placing it on the draining board, he drew himself up to his full height, head nearly scraping the oak beams, and announced, "I have radiophobia."
I waited for some kind of mental activity to initiate, but none did. I could only think how odd it was that Voldemort was afraid of radios.
"A phobia of radiation, boy! Of ballistic missiles and uranium and basically anything in any way connected with nuclear fission. So go on. Laugh at me."
He curled up in a ball on the floor and glared at me over his shoulder. "Well? Aren't you laughing?"
"Yeah, cos I find it really funny when the bloke who killed my parents has hysterics while we're getting bombed," I said, bemused.
The golden gates were huge, ornate and flanked by silver elephants. Voldemort walked through them into a long, dark marble hallway, then stood still and waited. I stood next to him in puzzlement for several seconds, and was just opening my mouth to ask what was happening when an enormous flying eyeball popped up in front of my face.
"Aaagh!" I yelped out of reflex, jerking away from the horrible thing. It followed me, staring into my eyes; it made a few tweeting noises to itself and waved its tentacles. To my right I could hear Voldemort sniggering.
"Oh yes, this is so funny," I snarled. "Ugh! What is it?"
"I told you this place had a guard," he said mildly. "I don't think it'll be very pleased when it sees me, though."
"Some guard," I muttered as it floated serenely up to Voldemort, peered into his eyes and suddenly stopped dead in mid-air. It tweeted again in quiet perturbation, peered some more and sailed off down the hall, tentacles bobbing.
"Right, come on," Voldemort said briskly. "We'll follow it to whoever's in charge," and he took off yet again at 90mph. I wished he hadn't got such long legs.
"What if it just leads us into a trap?" I grumbled. "You should probably AK it now."
"What?" he said, shocked. "But it's so cute!"
Voldemort: kills babies, likes flying tentacular eyeballs. I followed the pretty pair, muttering to myself.
Then – there is no really way to put this – I was confronted by a horribly ugly grey machine rearing its sinister head out of the water. If asked previously, I would have said I had no particular preconceptions about submarines; upon actually seeing one I discovered a reservoir of deep antipathy towards what was essentially a machine for killing people. Films about World War II scrolled through my head. Über Periskop; Ünter Periskop. I no longer considered Faslane quite nice as nuclear bases go. I waited for Voldie to collapse in a heap, but he just walked straight on past; and we went past the little (little!) grey Dutch subs and all the way to the black creature hanging from the cranes, dead, like a corpse in a gibbet.
"Heo," Albert said when he saw which way we were heading. "So they've got it eout of the drink? Well. Doesn't make a great deal of difference."
"No, it doesn't," Voldemort said with ominous calm, nestling into his scarf. "Because I am not going inside it, no matter what."
"What?" demanded Voldie.
"Well, if yeu won't go inside it, then yeu can't – !"
Voldie ignored him completely, raised his wand and drew the complex neon lights that rendered the side of the sub transparent. Albert wisely shut up during this sequence to avoid causing some kind of horrible invisibility-related accident, but as soon as the procedure was complete he burst out, "YEU'RE SEU BLOODY NEUROTIC. YEU'D WALK FAIV MAILS TO AVOID GEUING UNDER A LEDDER. AND WHEN ALL THIS IS AT STAKE. YEU'RE QUAITE INSANE."
Voldemort shouted a lot of things back at him (e.g. "YOU'RE SUCH A BITCH. YOU KNOW I'VE GOT CLAUSTROPHOBIA"), but he didn't Crucio him or anything, so I just studied the inside of the sub. This was frankly dismaying: there were a million little offices inside, all of which looked like the inside of a waste paper basket. I hoped it was just the Ploughshare sortie that had caused this effect, but suspected the condition was permanent; God only knew what state the bombs were in. I wondered if we would all die. The graffiti this time said RECYCLE TRIDENT!
"...and I don't care," Voldemort shouted. "I don't fucking care about you. I'm running this bloody show. Did you cast a stasis spell? Did you? Well, shut up then. If I say we're not going in, we're not going in."
"I caun't cast a stasis spell, as you kneuw perfectly well. Yeu might be a genius, but you've got bugger all common sense."
True. I wondered if I should back Albert up, but decided to stay out of it. Voldemort relieved his feelings by yelling, "Twat!"
John sat down, subdued, and I sat and guarded him. His waistcoat really was rather awful; it was purple paisley.
After fidgeting next to me and sweating nervously for a while, he decided to make small talk. "How did you meet this Voldemort guy anyways?" he asked genially.
"He murdered my parents."
That spoilt the conversation a bit. We carried on waiting until Vol got back.
"How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Love Lord V" by cheryl bites.
"Only a true prince can wake him up," Grumpydera eagerly said, while the others behind him nodded..
So when Dino arrived to the Vongola's place, he found Snow-bari outside, surrounded by bunnies and squirrels, a tiny yellow bird perched on his shoe.
The moment he had fought against Snow-bari, prince Dino knew he had fallen in love with him, so since he had disappeared from the the castle of Namimoriland, prince Dino had roamed the land to search for him. When he tripped knelt by Snow-bari's side, intending to kiss him and see if his kiss could wake him up, however, Snow-bari pressed the metal of his tonfa against prince Dino's windpipe.
"You woke me up," Snow-bari said with a smile that, somehow, showed fangs. "I'm going to bite you to death."
And they lived(?) happily(?) ever after.
"Hey, Snow-bari, that's my horse, you can't just take it- SNOW-BARI! HEY! WAIT!"
"Snow-bari and the Seven Minions of Namimori-land" by Kali Cephirot.
“Firebending doesn’t work too well when the bender is aroused.”
. . . um?
Sokka blinks, slowly, and cocks his head to one side and thinks for a moment past the sound of Jet choking that actually that’s a relief, because it means he’s not the deviant who was imagining that a firebender was hard, the firebender’s the deviant who was . . . watching . . . him . . . take his clothes off. Crap.
“Argh,” Sokka sort of says, sort of shrieks, and he’s never gotten his shirt back on so fast in his life. “I--you--wh--you stay the hell over on that side, dammit! There is now a line in the box and there will be no crossing of the line, you got that, jerkbender?!”
“As if it’s because of you, peasant. You think I put off this much heat all the time? They drugged me. I’m trying to burn it out,” Zuko retorts with a snarling, humorless smile, tipping his neck to bare the wound of a thick needle mark that Sokka hadn’t noticed before amidst all the bruises. He seriously, seriously has to wonder what kind of questioning technique they--“Apparently their idiot medic is new; he was supposed to mix up a truth serum.”
Yeah. Okay. Well, that’s a little less horrifying, at least.
No, actually, still horrifying. Oh spirits, he’s trapped in a box with a crazy terrorist and a horny firebender. A horny firebender who is currently their only hope and can’t firebend. Can’t firebend because he’s too horny.
Someday, Sokka wants an answer on why the universe hates him so much.
-oh SPIRITS if anything’s EVER been hotter than that--and the way he moans when it works is going to be really, really hard to forget the next time they fight. As in impossible. As in oh fuck, Sokka’s going to have to learn how to fight with a raging hard-on or the world is doomed.
"Okay, We're in Trouble" by white_knuckle.
“Welcome to the gang, Zuko!” Aang said cheerfully.
“What?” Zuko tried to sit up and glare but was gently held down by Katara. “Fuck, no. I’m not part of your gang! Uncle, help me!”
“Hush, Prince Zuko,” Iroh instructed calmly. He turned to Aang. “Mind if I brew some tea?”
"Can We Keep Him?" by the_twit.
“Gotcha,” Sokka grunts, and now they’re both on ground level, where things degenerate into a street brawl, rough and claustrophobic and completely lacking in dignity. Zuko has more finesse, more skill at fighting, but Sokka’s smarter and faster and manages to get on top, where he uses the weight of Zuko’s armour against him. If they weren’t in such an enclosed space, Sokka knows he’d be pinned in no time—privately, he pats himself on the back for helping blow up Zuko’s previous warship and getting him to move into a smaller one. Long-term thinking. Good stuff, Water Tribe.
"the one where the fire nation clearly loses" by miarr.
"I'm getting better already, aren't I?" Sasuke chirped enthusiastically, and because Shisui didn't have the heart to inform him otherwise, he murmured noncommittally, and went back to studying the cumulus formations hanging right over his head. Heh. Poofy.
"It's probably a good sign that you can keep your head out of the water now," he said, striving for positive reinforcement. "For the most part, anyway." They'd been focusing on the breaststroke, which Shisui had previously considered impossible to fuck up, but children were such joyful bundles of surprise.
Sasuke beamed. It was a shame he had such a rotten personality, Shisui reflected, because the kid could be pretty cute, in a poster-child-for-cancer-research kind of way.
"Now if you just spent more time—" he began, but was cut off by Sasuke's excited cry: "Nii-san!"
He leaped up and sped up the slope of the bank like a chased gazelle. Shisui craned his neck around just in time to see Sasuke fling himself into his brother's arms in a reunion scene suspiciously reminiscent of sappy endings in certain low-quality theatrical productions of which Shisui absolutely had no knowledge.
The toothbrush fell out of his mouth.
Itachi was sitting up on his futon, and was in the process of pulling on the pajama top Shisui had dug out for him. He paused to give Shisui a questioning look, leaving the shirt unbuttoned, which afforded Shisui with a clear view of the sight that had shocked him to begin with.
The front of his friend's torso was a map of bruises.
Black and blue and blunt purple, angry red and faded yellow, like perverse flowers growing violently out of the pale skin. A cluster of them ringed around Itachi's throat just below his Adam's apple like a lopsided choker, which Shisui realized would have been visible if not for the turtleneck of the ANBU uniform and the high collar of the trademark Uchiha shirt. But there they were now, a mess of broken capillaries and blood-clotted contusions, and he couldn't tear his eyes away.
Shisui's first instinct was to blurt out, "Is your father beating you?" though it took him all of five seconds to realize how stupid that sounded, and to remember that he and Itachi were real people living in the real world and not, say, two characters out of the trashy novels the Hokage was occasionally found reading.
He dropped to the floor next to Itachi, and asked in a tight voice, "How'd you get those?"
"Carelessness," answered Itachi, which sounded about as credible as if he'd said, "Breakdancing."
It turned out that Naruto, despite all his chutzpa, could only swim in a kind of clumsy dog paddle, which, pitched against Sasuke's drowning-cat breaststroke, made for the saddest swimming meet this side of the Fire Nation. From his vantage point, stilted on the surface of the lake, Shisui watched with escalating despair as the two of them floundered and flopped their way across the water, ignoring most of his instructions in favor of looking like complete idiots.
Shisui could have lived his entire life without enjoying the benefits of this charming adventure in childcare. He would have been happy, too. He was going to kill Itachi dead for inflicting this upon him. Any moment now, the sheer amount of second-hand embarrassment he was experiencing would prove fatal—and as if being total failures wasn't enough, the little asswipes couldn't seem to stop trying to sabotage each other. Each cunning attempt at jostling, elbowing, dunking et al only resulted in one or both of them taking in a mouthful of water and having to be hauled disgracefully back to land.
"You two are special snowflakes, alright," Shisui said hopelessly. "Stay in the shallows," he added as a warning, and began walking back toward shore, where he could see Sakura perched on top of a large rock sticking halfway out into the water, legs hugged close to her chest.
"The Colder Water" by Quillslinger.
"Hey, Kakashi, I was wondering something," Obito said slowly.
"What's that?" Kakashi replied.
"You know how Genin teams have to complete a minimum of eight missions in order to be eligible for the Chuunin Exams?" Obito began.
Kakashi nodded. "You wouldn't think just going shopping or babysitting a few times would qualify you, but then again I suppose that's why this is the first time in five years rookies are entering…"
"Your team took quite a few missions, I'll admit," Obito continued. "But they only ended up passing the Wave escort mission. Even if that was technically an A-rank mission, it still only counts as one. How in the world are they allowed to compete?"
Kakashi froze. "That's a damn good question. I suppose my team did find all the lost pets they were supposed to, even if Sasuke did end up traumatizing them, and since they didn't lose, maim, or kill the children they were watching those would count, even if they aren't allowed within ten feet of those missions anymore."
"Or it could just be blatant favoritism given that Naruto is Minato-Sensei's son, you are his student, and Sasuke is my cousin," Obito teased.
"We're going with the first one," Kakashi said firmly.
"Hey, Sakura?" Naruto said as Sakura made a move to head down to the arena. "You know you're one of my best friends, right?"
"Right…" Sakura said, not sure where this was going.
"Well Hinata's very important to me as well. I know that you're probably going to beat her, but if you make it anywhere near as humiliating as Neji did, I will not forgive you," Naruto said sternly.
"I won't," Sakura promised. "I like Hinata."
"Good," Naruto smiled. "And for the record, I'm rooting for Hinata."
"What? How come?" Sakura demanded.
"Because she could use the confidence boost," Naruto replied easily. "Besides, Sasuke can root for you."
They both turned to look at Sasuke who returned their stares impassively.
"He'll be rooting on the inside," Naruto claimed.
Sakura just sighed and went down for her match.
"It's For a Good Cause, I Swear!" by Sarah1281.
"I think Remus and Bill would make a lovely couple, don't you?"
"No, I do not," he growls. I am not being fanciful when I say that. He literally growls. I think being a dog for so long has had an adverse impact on his behavior. Not as much as the dementors had, of course, but almost.
"For shame, Sirius. I didn't think you were a bigot," I say.
"A bigot?" He looks startled for a moment, then comprehension dawns. "Molly, I'm the one who's living in sin with a gay werewolf! I am not a bigot. I just want you to stop arranging Remus's love life."
"Mother Knows Best" by musesfool.
“Good God, Alex. How tall are you?” she asks. He shrugs.
“About six two?” he says. She seizes his shoulder and shoves him towards the front of the car.
“There’s no way you’ll fit in the back, so you can sit up front. Travis, you go with him, you’re too tall to fit in the back, too,” she says. I blink at her.
“Mom, there’s only one seat up front,” I say as I get in the car.
“So sit on his lap, for Christ’s sake, Travis!” Mom shouts, and a few passing freshmen hurry away, looking alarmed. “You’re always telling me how gay you are, how much you like men, how you are just this special rainbow of homosexual impulses, and if that’s true, then you will get in that car and get on top of your friend!”
"Chemistry" by myheartisinohio.
“You will notice that Evelyn is a bit… over protective of her son,” Dad continues. I snort.
“Well I do so love a momma’s boy,” I say.
“It isn’t like that, Garen. A year ago, Travis had an accident.”
I look up at that. “What kind of accident?”
“He overdosed on sleeping pills in a suicide attempt,” Dad says. I stare at him.
“Yeah, Dad, that’s definitely what an accident is,” I say.
"Listen Closely" by myheartisinohio.
Back inside the office, Leon was thinking about committing suicide, but couldn't move to get his box-cutters from the drawer because of the blinding pain pulsating behind his eyes.
God, he hated Cloud.
God knew this fact, because the statement was repeated at least seven times a day, and the almighty deity often chose to watch over the two doctor's daily shenanigans purely just to see just how wrong the idea of creating life was.
Sighing and slipping his phone back into his pocket, Cloud shifted his head slightly on Leon's shoulder, making his spikes insistently irritate at the brunette's skin. He felt kind of tired. Time to go back home, maybe.
"What?" asked the diagnostician at the ticking feeling against his ear. High score! Oh, fuck yes!
Cloud turned around and slung an arm around the brunette's neck. "Either you take me home or to a strip-bar in the next fifteen minutes, or I'll suddenly have the undeniable notion you have some unresolved feelings for me."
They were in the diagnostician's car in less than four minutes, and Cloud was stumbling into his apartment-complex less than six minutes after that.
"I feel cold and unwanted!" Cloud yelled at the parking lot.
A roar of an engine is all he really got in reply, and the blonde vaguely felt that, translated, it would've meant some really foul words that had something to do with the family dog and his mother.
Blood was smeared on his fingertips, and more of the precious liquid dribbled down the side of his face.
Leon swore, jumping off the bed to the blonde's side, grabbing hold of the short blonde hairs at the base of his skull, blood continuing to stream out of the oncologist's ear and down his neck.
"Calling a nurse right about now would be nice," Cloud whispered in a faint voice, eyes dragging closed before snapping open again.
"Oh, I don't know," murmured Leon, jabbing the 'nurse' button by the bed a few times. "I think I'll just let you bleed." he said sweetly.
"I can barely hear you," said the oncologist simply.
"An ear canal full of blood will do that."
"I SAID YOUR MOTHER WAS GOOD IN BED."
"Really? Good on her. Pity she's dead."
"Nurse, Nurse" by YonderB.
"Boys, boys! This one wasn't mine! You'll need to take this up with Zachariah. That is assuming you figure out how to get yourselves back to the Apocalypse. So tell me, what would you like to happen?"
"I'd like to win," Sam says instantly.
Dean's back to standing beside his brother. Gabriel is looking directly at him. Why is it so important that Dean reply to this? He senses his life depends on this answer and suddenly the future matters more than it has in a long time.
"I can see why my brother chose you. That's the answer he'd give." Gabriel is nodding in satisfaction.
"Sam has nothing in common with Lucifer," But a tiny part of Dean can't help but agree that the Devil would give the same answer.
But what was wrong with winning? Should they want the world to freaking end? Winning. What did that even mean? Dean looks once again at the shrouded bodies on the floor. Together … and dead. No future in Hell, no demon blood, no Michael suit, no Lucifer.
Technically, they had won.
"The plan was wrong," Dean says. "It's not about winning."
Gabriel is staring at him intently now. Green eyes burning into his own.
He turns to look briefly at his brother standing beside him, before locking eyes with Gabriel.
"I would like," he tells Gabriel plainly. "Not to lose."
A small grin crosses the angel's face.
"The Road to Detroit is Paved With Hell" by sandymg.
It was perhaps the only time America had ever known true fear.
Romano leaned his head entirely out the window to shout at the passing car, “Vaffanculo!”
“Get back in the car!” America – well, he would never admit to shrieking, but that’s exactly what he did as he grabbed Romano’s sleeve and yanked him back inside. The car swerved up onto the curb as Romano flopped back down in front of the wheel.
“Figlio di puttana!” he spat, making a gesture at the air.
America clutched his head, staring wide-eyed at the gauntlet of cars they still had to pass through on the busy New York City street. “Oh god,” he muttered, “why would you do that. What if a cop pulls you over?
“Then he will see I have an American friend,” Romano explained as he jerked the car around a slow-moving truck. “And he’ll see it’s okay.”
“Cyclist, cyclist!” America yelled and pointed.
Romano swung the car around the bicycle, bringing them close enough to see the whites of the rider’s panicked eyes. “Get offa the road, stupido!”
“That was a crosswalk!”
“He knows the risks!”
"alfred and lovino's excellent adventure" by rumbling_rose.
The owl pecked at his front jeans pocket—"Holy fucking Christ get it off me!" Dean yelped while Sam just stood there laughing—and yanked out his money clip. It shook it furiously, scattering twenties and hundreds everywhere, until finally it had just one twenty left clutched in its beak, and then it took right off back out the window, flipping its tail feathers at them as it swooped up and away.
"Great," Dean said. "I've been mugged by an owl. Shut up, bitch, it's not funny."
"Er, if I might trouble you just a moment, my Lord," Bigglespoth said, uncomfortably. Dean sighed. "There is just one small matter—I am afraid we have been having a minor difficulty with the American authorities."
Dean went still. "Yeah?" he said, ready to grab Sam and haul ass out of there. He took a quick look at the windows: they were open; a minute across the lawn would get them to the car—where the hell they were going to go in England, Dean had no clue, but—
"Yes, the American Wizarding Council apologizes extremely," Bigglespoth said, "but I am afraid they do not have your files in order. They have only been able to find your mother's registration, nothing for either of you, no WAT or WRE scores. We did take the liberty," he added, hastily, "of contacting The Franklin School, and The Salem Institute, but they have no records of your attendance either—as there are so many smaller institutions, and since the present unsettled circumstances we are sadly shorthanded—if you would be so kind as to let us have your wizardry certifications, or even simply let us know which school of wizardry you attended, we can continue to expedite the process of trans-atlantic reciprocal certification—" He trailed off, looking at their faces. Then he said, in a faintly horrified voice, "You—you are certified wizards?"
"Uh, " Dean said.
"And I suppose you've salted and burned a great many mortal remains," Sir Nicholas said.
"A few hundred, probably," Dean said. "Between us and our dad."
"Oh, splendid," Sir Nicholas said. "Next I suppose you'll be asking Frances Gribley, or the Winchester brothers," he added to McGonagall.
"Dude, we are the Winchester brothers," Dean said. "Hey, wait, you've heard of us?"
Sir Nicholas's head whipped around so fast it tipped and fell sideways off his neck, dangling.
"Man, that is not natural," Dean said, staring, and Sir Nicholas made a faint gargling noise—translucent red bubbles popped at the top of his throat—and fled through the wall, without even putting his head back on.
The ghosts staged a protest, picketing outside the chapel with signs saying "The Dead Have Rights Too" and "Respect The Unliving," and noisy chanting that drifted in through the windows at every meal—what do we want undeath how long do we want it forever.
That night, Sam got Dean to climb out the window and lie under the stars with him in the cool dew-wet grass, curling around Dean, happy and hungry, touching him all over. Dean didn't dream a thing and woke up alone at dawn with the unicorn nuzzling him.
"Man, you guys do not deserve your rep," Dean said, rubbing his sex-sticky hands off against the wet grass. The unicorn whickered at him. Dean hauled himself up by its mane, and it walked to the stables alongside him, nosing at him comfortingly, a warm bright presence. "Yeah, whatever," Dean muttered, looked around to make sure nobody was watching, and gave the unicorn a pat. It snorted and reared showily before taking off across the grounds. Dean watched it running away until it disappeared into the woods.
"Old Country" by astolat.
“God,” Sam said, “why the hell are you doing this to me? Why did you have to come here?” He stepped up again, and actually took a swing this time, which would have been laughable if there had been anything humorous about the situation at freakin all. As it was, Dean didn’t even bother to dodge, and the blow sailed past his left ear and he barely caught Sam as he fell. Six foot four of heavy brother was not exactly a walk in the park, though, and Dean kind of did a slow-motion slip to the ground thing that would have maybe looked cool if he hadn’t been being dragged down by an overgrown emo kid.
“OK,” said Sam. “Now do your freaky thing and get back to your Sam.”
“You’re my Sam,” Dean said, and when Sam frowned, he added, “I just got two of you little geeks now, is all.”
Sam started grinning again. “That’s beautiful. I think I’m gonna cry.”
“Bitch,” said Dean.
“Jerk,” replied Sam, and Dean thought his face might break from how wide he smiled.
"But for the Graced" by kroki_refur.
"Look, anyway," Merlin said, trotting to catch up, "it's not like I can start throwing fireballs or whatever in the Great Hall. What if this sorcerer—the king's sorcerer—" he added, pointedly, "—knows some really impressive spell or something?"
"I've got faith in you," Arthur said, clapping him on the shoulder.
That was the sort of thing Uther had always said to Arthur, before tourneys. Merlin was fairly sure that the translation into ordinary human speech was, come back with your shield or on it.
"I hate you," Merlin said, deeply and sincerely.
"An Exile in Albion" by astolat
The bed squeaked as Arthur got out, then there was a loud, heavy thump, and half the bedclothes dragged out from under him. Merlin pulled his head out from under the blanket. Arthur was collapsed on the rug next to the bed, clutching a fistful of sheets. "I can't stand," Arthur said, in betrayed tones.
"Come back to bed," Merlin pleaded.
"I have to—be there," Arthur said, and dragged himself up the bed post. He clung to it wavering for a bit longer, and then in a heroic staggering rush made it seven steps over to the chair with most of his clothes on it.
"Despoiled" by astolat
"Wait to go, Harry," Oliver Wood congratulated as he help secure their brooms in their special cupboards. "Too bad about all those detentions though. The substitute Seeker just isn't up to par when we face the Slytherins."
"Thanks, Captain," Harry said. "Next year, I'm following the straight and narrow. No more detentions for me. We'll win the Cup again for sure."
"No! Say it isn't so!" Fred cried, rushing from his shower with only a towel on, still covered in suds. "Our Lord of Chaos can't retire!"
"What's going on, Fred?" George asked, wandering over damp and still shirtless from his shower.
"It's awful! He's retiring!"
"Guys, calm down," Harry begged.
"Chaos will survive with out me."
"George, will you...?"
"ALRIGHT, I'LL BLOW SOMETHING UP NEXT YEAR!"
Fred turned to his twin. "You're a genius."
George nodded, and grinned smugly as he went to finish dressing, leaving Harry and Oliver to stare after him, dumbfounded.
Impending doom or not, some things never changed.
"Your son's a cheeky lad. Half a sickle for a dozen, just because I admire his spunk."
This clearly wasn't the right thing to say for Snape's expression turned from suspicious to down right livid.
"This," he hissed, pointing to Harry as if he were a malfunctioning house elf, " is not my son."
She looked flustered and a bit confused. After her absurd suggestion that he was related to Snape, Harry didn't feel the least bit sympathetic.
"I'm his father," Harry said, "Potion's accident, you know. I blame his mother for buying him the potion's set as a child."
"Potter, shut up!"
"Don't talk like that to me, young man!"
Snape slapped upside the head.
"... Professor Vesper Larousse-"
And there was a round of very enthusiastic clapping, as the woman stood and smiled at them.
"- will be teaching Dark Arts and Defense this year. She has a very extensive resume, but as this is her first year of teaching I expect everyone to demonstrate why Hogwarts students are renown as the elite of the wizarding world."
Lestrange gave a brief, but very pointed look in Harry's direction. The Gryffindor fought the urge to shove his finger up his nose and drool into his dinner, but just barely managed to contain himself.
"Prince of the Dark Kingdom" by Mizuni-sama.
Many said death brought warm lights and soft voices, singing and enticing you to the final clearing at the end of the path.
They were wrong.
"You idiot, start breathing right now or I will kill you."
"Er," said Merlin.
"Don't—" Arthur winced as Merlin carefully tried to extricate himself. "Go slowly, damn it, or I'll put you in the stocks for a week."
Merlin did as asked, but Arthur still grimaced, fingernails digging into Merlin's forearms for a brief second as Merlin pulled out. They separated like parted waters, backing away and standing.
It was not-quite-morning, and Merlin was painfully aware of the cold and their mutual nakedness. Merlin's skin was damp with the sweat of a broken fever, chilling against the morning air, and whathad happened to them? Something about that nymph, Merlin was sure of it, but what had she been singing? He couldn't quite remem—
A tunic slapped Merlin in the face and tumbled to the ground at his feet.
"Stop gaping like a fish and get dressed." Arthur sent Merlin's shift flying in the same direction as his tunic.
Merlin tugged up his trousers and put on his shirts, and stared as Arthur struggled into his own clothes and armour stiffly. His gait was a little different as he went to retrieve his cloak from the ground, and Merlin realised Arthur was sore, and if a strip of fire licked down Merlin's spine at the thought, Merlin wilfully ignored it.
Arthur jabbed a finger in Merlin's general direction, as if he could read the thought. "Not a word."
"I wasn't…" Merlin croaked, and was unable to say anything more.
"How Many Miles to Babylon" by Lyra_Wing
"Executioner, proceed," Uther said. "Knights, if the prince interferes, you will stop him. Come away, Arthur. You have no choice."
Arthur said, "There's always a choice." He thrust one of his swords into the ground, then turned and scrambled up the bonfire, stumbling over the uneven and shifting pile of wood until he got up to the stake.
"Arthur, no," Merlin said, looking at him with those ridiculously blue eyes.
"I'm not talking to you," Arthur said, and put his arms around him. He looked up at Uther. "If you want to burn him, you'll have to burn both of us."
The executioner was right at the edge of the bonfire with the torch, inches from putting it to the wood. The hooded man hesitated, looking up at Uther—and Uther said nothing, too busy glaring at Arthur, his face mottled with anger. Arthur eyed the hovering torch a little anxiously—he was fairly sure his father wasn't going to burn him alive, but the thing was just a bit close for comfort. The wood underfoot was crackling-dry and full of straw and tinder, ready to go up in a flash. But he couldn't exactly say so, how about calling off that executioner now—
Morgana was whispering to Uther urgently, but he kept not saying anything, and then the executioner apparently decided he was meant to follow the last order and started lowering the torch. "Arthur, get out of here," Merlin hissed. "The only point of this was to save you!"
"Then the only point is for me to be worth saving," Arthur said, and tried hard not to think about what it was going to feel like to be burned alive in full armor.
And then Sir Dinadan stepped in front of the executioner, and barred the way with his sword.
"That Shall Achieve the Sword" by astolat.
Naruto leaned heavily on Gaara, bleeding from new cracks with every move he made, and took a few steps toward his team. Only they weren't his team anymore, they were nothing now but his enemy, obstacles on his quest to protect them and Konoha. He fell to his knees before them, stared into Sasuke's black eyes, rimmed with tears.
And that was the worst.
"I'm sorry." A pathetic apology, one that couldn't make up for a fraction of what he had done, and they both knew it. "I'm so sorry." He took a hitching breath, eyes burning with tears.
"It- it has to be this way."
"Why?" Sakura's voice, anguished and breaking, full of pain and sorrow. "Why can't you come back? We- we love you!" Naruto looked down.
"I know. I know you do."
"I'm going to kill you one day," Sasuke gritted out. "I'm going to hunt you down and I'm going to kill you, but before you die- before you die, you fucking liar- you're going to tell me why you left us."
The 'left me' remained unspoken. Naruto raised his head, tried to smile. "Promise, bastard?"
"Yeah." Sasuke's eyes were fierce with truth, "Yeah, I promise."
"You still have your hitai-ate," Sakura said in a small voice, "and as long as you have that, you're still part of Konoha." Naruto blinked.
Then he reached up, untied it, ignoring Sakura's soft moans of 'No, no, no, no,' and Sasuke's frantic 'stop it, stop what you're doing,' and placed it on the ground before them.
"There." His voice cracked with unshed tears. "There. You won't have to hunt me anymore." His hands curled into fists. "You- you won't have to love me anymore." And he stood, turned, and walked away.
Their cries faded into the distance as Gaara helped him to ascend the mountain with halting steps.
That night, he sat next to Gaara, his companion now, and felt Kyuubi's inexorable presence, which he had known all his life and always would in his future, and he finally cried for everything he had lost, losing himself in the sensation of being infinitely alone.
"The Nine Broken Mirrors" by Ayien
"I don't care if people like me."
"That is an uncommon attitude." He sounds curious. "So far I have encountered a total of two people who admit to liking you. This doesn't concern you at all?"
Sasuke wishes that he wasn't a teenage boy, because something in him stands up and makes frantic grasping who who whomotions when it hears statements like that. He ignores it. "No."
"Hmm. I can't tell if you're lying." Sai changes to a coloured pencil; his smile never flickers. "Naruto likes you. And Sakura likes you, but she thinks that you're not good enough for Naruto."
"I'm sure she does." Sasuke snorts. "What do youthink?"
"At the moment I think you might be amazingly homosexual," Sai says, his tone still impeccably polite. "Though I'm not very good at guessing these things yet, so please feel free to correct me."
Sasuke doesn't correct him, largely because it's taking every ounce of self-control he possesses not to choke on his own tongue. When he can speak properly he contents himself with: "I can't believe they picked youas my replacement."
"Sakura says that Team Kakashi is required to have at least one black-haired social retard to balance out the fact that Naruto is both blindingly blond and disgustingly charismatic. But I'm not supposed to tell him that."
"the listening sky" by mercurial_wit
"My name is Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and you are?"
Naruto looked up into the man's weathered old face in some form of shock, but he managed to pull himself together enough to remember that there had been a question directed at him at the end of the man's introduction.
"uh…er…" Naruto fumbled over his reply, already feeling really weird that his thoughts were still a mix of his native Japanese and this new language that was now trying, with some difficulty, to overtake his stubborn, native tongue and push it out into oblivion. "My name is…"
The old man – Dumbledore, did he say his name was? – was now watching him intently and yet patiently, with an odd smile tugging at the sides of his mouth.
Naruto rubbed his temples, much like Shikamaru would do after only five minutes into a mission. What was his name? He searched his mind for clues, but for some unfathomable reason, he kept on encountering the image of those fish cakes that usually sat on the top of ramen noodles. With growing frustration at coming up completely blank on the information he just knew he used to know, Naruto did what he usually did in a tight spot. He became incredibly loud.
"MY NAME IS…" Naruto stepped up and gesticulated wildly, much like he used to do when he was declaring himself the next Hokage to people who wouldn't listen or didn't care. He stuck his index finger up into the air, importantly. "SWIRLY FISHCAKE SPIRAL!"
Naruto dropped the hand he had used to point, so emphatically, up toward the ceiling – knowing that there was something really, almost criminally wrong with his answer. He tried to ignore the muttered, moron, he could hear emanating from the Sasuke's position to his right – by laughing stupidly and rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment. Yet soon, that was completely unnecessary as the entire room burst into a din of raucous laughter.
"Sinking into Sweet Uncertainty" by phoenixdown7
"So the myth is true," Sam says, sounding like a giddy kid at Christmas. "Fairies were angels once."
The Queen winces. "We dislike that word. We were once the Host. Now no more."
"Demoted from harp players to mischief makers and wee folk, huh?" Dean crosses his arms over his chest. "That's gotta suck."
The Queen's eyes narrow in fury and Dean watches in fascination as the color drains from the walls like liquid, sliding across the floor and pooling in a writhing puddle at the Queen's feet like a tiny sea of iridescent water.
"Uh, Dean—" Sam says urgently.
"Right, right," Dean says, edging closer to Sam. "What I mean is, that's terrible. I can't even imagine the shock. Totally devastating. I applaud your, uh, inner strength at surviving such a blow."
Abruptly, the Queen laughs again. This time it doesn't just feel like the hairs on the back of his neck stand up—it feels like they pack their bags and tear off for parts unknown. His skin itches like its covered in fiberglass, like he'll never be able to scratch enough.
"We can see your charm, now," the Queen says, tilting her head and examining Dean with far too much attention. "You would make a good addition to the court. We have need of a Jester."
"Really?" Sams says, perfectly straight-faced. "You think Dean would make a good fairy?"
"I will kill you in your sleep," Dean says.
Sam plucks it from the air and Dean leans over to examine it, watching as delicate ink lines unfold and curl across the page. It's a map of America. At first, the states' shapes look somehow wrong, until Dean realizes that there aren't enough of them; there are only thirteen.
"You have got to be kidding me. This is a map of the frigging Colonies."
The Queen appears honestly puzzled. "The location of the Winter Court has not changed."
Sam's expression is somewhere between pained and amused. "Right," he says. He stares at the map, and Dean can just imagine his freakish brain making the calculations as he stares at the deep, electric blue spot glowing in the middle that marks the Winter Court. "So... then the Winter Court is in the... Appalachian Mountains?" He puts his finger to the map. "This is where Kentucky is today."
"Great," Dean says. "Kentucky."
The Queen coughs delicately, and the tall, thin version of her hovering in the background covers her mouth to hide laughter again. "We find it is... easy to glamour the mortals in that area. Keep the map safe. It will guide you," she says. On the last word, another point of light flares on the map: it's an eye - searing pink.
"You are the pink light. Follow it to the fairies," the Queen explains.
"Awesome," says Dean. "Like unicorn hunting couldn't get gayer."
"Sam and Dean Winchester: Unicorn Hunters" by aggybird
They switch positions a handful times, they smile at each other, giant pupils of lust and not a single thing making them believe the affection is lost. Nothing is to be rushed, since they know by heart the time Sally’s shift ends.
Then, in this special moment in which Percy is sitting in Luke’s lap, legs wrapped around his waist and Luke’s legs spread to give Percy space, and they are kissing with a certain amount of passion, the door is opened and they hear a: “You won’t believ—”
They stop abruptly, backing away from each other and looking at the door.
Luke’s first thought is: at least we’re still wearing underwear.
Both of them try to cover themselves with the sheets, which ends up making them close anyway.
Sally stands there, still holding the handle, eyes wide open and shock all over her face. She opens her mouth twice, but no sound comes.
“Mom…!” Percy tries, even though he’s not sure if it sounds more like a cry or a scolding. ”You could try knocking.”
"Old Fashioned Family Dinner" by padasomething