#but i really - while this is more gabriel/grace - wanted to honor all of his LI

[grace-nakimura]

title: time won't fly, it's like I'm paralyzed by it rating: pg-13 for mentions of sexual situations and some light disturbing imagery. pairing: grace nakimura/gabirel knight. also brief mentions of malia gedde/gabriel knight and fredrich von glower/gabriel knight. trigger warning: pregnancy mention. slight sexual situations. disturbing imagery. threat of harm to a child (but thwarted). mental health issues. not beta'd bc it's against my gremlin religion, but can you guess how tswift inspired this? bc she totally did. summary: gabriel's point of view from whoops, in which he buries ghosts, admits that he does have feelings (just no brain cells!), and somehow doesn't run from fatherhood kicking and screaming. (jane jensen i am looking at you GIVE US A BONE TELL ACTIVISION TO GIVE US SOMETHING!)

Time moved slowly. Not for anyone else, but for him it did.  

Seasons came and went, but there he stood, the last Schattenjager, holding down Schloss Ritter like a soldier overrun in battle who didn’t know how to surrender.  

It seemed everyone had a life. They were all making moves, growing, and changing while he still felt stagnant.  

Gerde had gotten married. He didn’t attend the service, didn’t think he could stomach it, but he sent the bride and groom a generous gift of money and beer. Seeing as how Gerde, like most German’s, didn’t trust Gabriel, an American, when it came to beer, she sent it back with a thank you note.  

Mosely was even seeing someone—he didn’t know if he should tell them a good job or that poor woman, so he decided on both when he got the news, only to be hung up on—too. A widower with two sons for the past five months or so. “Still too early to be thinkin’ ‘bout this an’ all, but” Moseley had said over the phone, relaxing at the station in New Orleans while Gabriel nursed his Tennessee Whiskey near his typewriter. “Hell, Knight. Can you imagine me being a dad? Hell, I’m hardly a good enough uncle to my sister’s kids.” 

He could, actually; one of those picket fence type of fathers who wore a fanny-pack with snacks, always complaining about the thermostat, and grilled burgers and hot dogs on Sunday evenings. The sort that Gabriel used to dream about when he was a kid. Like hell he’d ever admit it, though, so instead he went with, “at least they won’t get your looks.”  

“Ass.” 

“Still got a better one than you, Mostly.” 

And he stayed still, all alone in Schloss Ritter, surrounded by mountains and trees, more of a ghost most days than a person. 

Gran was another one he worried about. Her mind was sharper than a whip, but her body began to fall behind, little by little. Pretty soon she wouldn’t be able to live by herself, something she took so much pride in, and when he had to tell her that the hitch in her breath broke his heart. 

“We all grow old sometime, Gabriel,” she had told him over the phone, keeping good cheer and forcing a smile that never met her eyes. He knew that smile. That was his girl. His world. He hated ever being the reason for her to have that look.  

“You ain’t ever getting' old, Gran,” he said, in an attempt of levity. “Besides, ain’t for a while, yet. It’s just something we gotta look after. I’ll be by to visit you soon. Got so many stories to tell you about Granddaddy’s family.”  

He also missed her more than anything.  

She had laughed and if he could imagine it, he would be able to see how her eyes would roll heavenward good-naturedly, but at least her eyes were smiling along with her mouth this time. “I’ll hold you to that, sweetheart.” And then, as always, “I love you, dear. Take care.” 

When he wasn’t being a Schattenjager, or a writer with the largest bout of writer’s block known to man, he would lay on his back spread eagle and stare at the ceiling in his study. Sometimes he would think of Grace. 

Depending on how sober he was, or how lonely, he mostly just thought of the things he wanted to tell her. Whenever he had a new idea for a book, or a breakthrough on a case, or just a thought in general, his first instinct always was, I’ve gotta tell Gracie. Only to remember, oh, she was on another continent. Unreachable. Gone. 

When he was really, really drunk, he would think of that night. If it was only once, they would both brush it off as adrenaline, but they slept with each other more than once. No matter what he’d tell anyone in the light of day, once wasn’t enough that night, and considering his back was covered with the markings of her nails the next morning, it was the same for her. 

 Three whole times that night.  

He was thirty-five. While there wasn’t much thinking involved, he had to admit that he was damn impressed with his stamina. Mostly with Grace, who was every bit of the firecracker he had imagined. She was all fire and consumed every inch of him that, if he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought he was being possessed. 

Morning had come, as it always would, and everything changed. 

Now she was miles away with only a note. He didn’t remember what it said, didn’t bother keeping it when he crumbled it up, but he got the jest: she outgrew him, she needed more, and wished him the best.  

He could focus on how angry, how hurt, he had been, but what really haunted him was how hurt she looked that morning. 

“Ass,” he said to the ether, lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. 

“You do have a good one,” a silky voice spoke. When he turned around, Malia sat—or an apparition, or just his mind playing tricks on him, or both—on the sofa in his study, legs crossed, looking every bit the same she did when he first saw her. Ebony curls framed her face, and those deep brown that held flecks of gold made her eyes almost seem ethereal. “That was my first thought when I saw you with the Detective—damn, that man has a nice ass.”  

A chuckle bubbled from Gabriel, his eyes growing misty, even if he didn’t want them to. Didn’t deserve to cry over her. He sat up but remained where he was. He didn’t dare stand. He also didn’t dare to walk over to her. He wanted to keep Malia Gedde, forever thirty-something, forever lovely, in his mind as she was.  

“I wish I could’ve saved you,” he hated to make that bright smile falter, but he needed her to know that. She was the first woman he’d ever could imagine a future with. They had known each other for a handful of days, sure, but his parents were a whirlwind romance, too. That future went to ash just when she did. “I always save you when I dream.”  

It was her who moved off the sofa, who sat by him, this phantom of Malia Gedde, the first woman he ever loved, and cupped his face with both of her hands so he could look at her. “You did, Gabriel,” a ghost of a kiss was pressed on his lips, “I didn’t have much of a life before you; I was Lazarus, and you gave me life. Now let me return the favor.” She rubbed her nose against his, and his eyes fell shut as did hers, willing time to continue to slow for this moment. “Live.” 

“Ain’t that what I’m doin’?” He sounded petulant, which made her huff out a laugh, but he kept on. “Might have a great ass, but not exactly a great person to be around.” 

She pressed her lips against his forehead, almost an atonement, almost a benediction. “Fight a little while longer, Mr. Knight,” her lips moved against his forehead, and he was brought back to the few nights in his room at the bookshop, entwined together as his hands roamed up and down her dark skin, entwining in those ebony curls of hers as she straddled his lap at a furious pace.  

After, she always placed a kiss on his forehead, once the two came down from their heights and settled back on earth.  

“I’ll always be with you, my love.” 

He woke up, back acting up something awful for sleeping on the floor, still feeling the lips against his forehead.  

*** 

Gran fell in her kitchen one Saturday afternoon. It took him no time at all to book the quickest flight to New Orleans, and within the handful of hours from Munich to the states, he onboarded the plane from Louis Armstrong International and took the first Taxi he saw to the hospital.  

“It was just a little fall,” Gran had soothed him as he sat by her bed, holding her smaller, wrinkled hand in his. “Got a few bruises, is all. I’m fine.”  

For all the times she’d narrow her eyes to his bold-faced lies, he returned the favor, placing a kiss on that hand of hers reverently. “This time it’s a few bruises, Gran. What about the next?”  

His life was already full of shadows. The day Rebecca Knight would go gently into that good night, and he knew she would, all that was warm and bright would go with her. She had raised him. Loved him. Accepted him with open arms. He knew she had reservations on how he lived his life, mostly out of coming from a different time when most men his age were married, settled, with scours of little ones, but she never made a fuss. She always listened to him and encouraged him to follow his heart.  

“We’ll pick out someone to come and see you regularly,” Gabriel began before she could say anything else, “someone that you like. Don’t worry ‘bout the cost; nothin’ but the best for my girl.”  

She snorted, shaking her head as she lay on the hospital bed, smiling up at him as if he were nine and told her of his day, mostly about making mischief with Mosely. He had always left out the things that would get him in big trouble, though, but he figured she knew of them all the same. “And what about you, dear?” 

“What about me?” 

That smile turned sad, and the hand he had been holding snuck out of his grasp to run his hands through his unruly strawberry-blond hair. The red came from his mama, just like his eyes; the rest came from his daddy. Gran always said that his daddy lived on in his smile. “I know you’re a grown man, but sometimes I look at you, and I still see that little boy.” Gran looked wistful. “You’re lonely, aren’t you?” 

He made a face, but she ignored him. She knew his tells more than anyone else. “It’s your life, you know, I just... I just know how long life can be, if you’re lucky, but also how lonely it could be with no one, if you’re unlucky.” 

A thought came to him, “were you lonely, Gran?”  

She shook her head, swallowing hard, “never, not when I had you, even miles away from you—not lonely. Never lonely. I only want you to feel like that someday. Whole.” 

***  

He stayed for a week, or maybe edging on for a week and a half, meeting client after client. She eventually decided on a redhead who was studying for her Nursing degree at Tulane. The girl looked younger than she probably was, proudly showing her engagement ring to Gran who cooed and tittered, and that was that. Her name was Rose. Cute kid, bit of an old soul, and out of the fifty candidates she was the only one to make his Gran laugh so hard her whole-body shook.  

“Call me when you can, dear,” she had told him and given him one of those bone crushing hugs that he’d missed more than he’d like to admit. He even returned it, causing her to chuckle. “Also, tell that Grace to call, too. I’ve missed her stories.” 

If she noticed how his body went frigid at the mention of Grace, she said nothing, but with leaving a kiss on her rouge covered cheek he got his things and left. Not after telling her, he loved her, and that he would call as soon as he could.  

He even met with Mosely. Met his girlfriend, Daniella, and immediately gave her condolences. Her boys were with her late husband’s parents for the weekend, but he promised to return soon to meet them, too.  

Her oldest, Antonio, was a fan of his books, even though he was only fourteen years old. Hadn’t he read Dracula at eleven? He couldn’t judge.  

He left New Orleans feeling a little lighter, anyway.  

It just made returning to Rittersberg bearable, knowing he did right by at least one person in his life.  

Imagine his surprise when he saw Gerde’s car where it usually was. Imagine his surprise when he went into the ancestral castle to hear two voices, female, whispering over a roaring fire.  

The blonde with the curls was Gerde. Bright eyed and happier than she had been in some time, making peace with his Uncle Wolfgang’s death, while moving on with her life with the sort of uncanny humility and grace many of those who had plenty of years on her would never be able to do. The sort of resilience many never write stories about, or wax poetic about, or even consider to be a strength, when it was the utmost example of true strength that a human being could possess.  

“— if I were you, I would focus on telling Gabriel—,” 

That caught his attention, and suddenly he made his presence known, “Tellin’ me what?” 

It was then he noticed the woman Gerde was speaking to. Almost hard to, since it’s been months since he had seen her. Every time he thought about her, he thought of that face she made when he dismissed her, how it was the first time he ever made her face crumble like a house of cards that he knew of, and it was a lance to his heart every time he imagined it. She began to cough, Gerde patting her back encouragingly, and once she waved the blonde woman off Gabriel noticed how quickly she scurried out of the room, leaving a cup of cocoa behind.  

“Grace?” This wasn’t an apparition, right? Gerde was talking to her, who wasn’t in his mind since she had bumped into me in her attempt to leave—quickly—and even avoiding eye contact while doing so. She stood up slowly, pushing herself as if she were a guilty child, being prepared for the scolding of a lifetime, and slowly turned around. 

Her hair had gotten longer. He liked it. It fell in a loose brain that she wore on the side, her dark bangs wispy, always said she liked them because it covered her large forehead. She looked fuller, skin aglow from the firelight, and the first thought was, hell, why did I never notice how beautiful she was? Oh, she was attractive, but beautiful?  

It almost took his breath away.  

When he noticed how she absent-mindedly rubbed her stomach—her rather round stomach, and not a product of eating well but something else—his breath did leave him.  

“Hi, Gabe.” 

She sounded younger. Five years his junior, sure, but now she just sounded so...small. She, who always seemed like a giant by way of her personality, suddenly didn’t seem so big anymore.  

It killed him. 

He made his way in front of her and there they stood, illuminated by the flames in the fireplace, no more than five feet apart and looked everywhere but each other.  

It sounded like the worst thing to ever ask, and he knew he had no right to ask, “is it mine?” It didn’t matter the answer. He’d offer her all he could no matter what. She nodded, and he felt his stomach drop. Shit. “Right. Well, damn, Gracie. You keepin’ it?”  

Not his business. Right, but the question slipped out none the less.  

“Her,” and despite himself, his breath catches. Her. A girl. A little girl that, if Grace never made her way back to Rittersberg, he’d never know about. “I wanted to tell you in person. I, um, I don’t want anything, or I don’t want to make you do anything...” 

He nodded. He kept nodding with every word she said like an idiot. “No, no, I get it,” but there she was giving him that look, “I do.” And then, because this was so much—he's going to be a daddy to a little girl that has been living for, what, six months, without his knowledge. He and Grace had made a little girl that night. He, a fatherless child, was going to be a father! —he blurted out, “well, um, your room is still yours. Nice to see you, Grace.”  

He stumbled as he ran up the winding stairs, doing his best to ignore the sound of Grace’s sobbing.  

*** 

“If you had chosen me,” a heavily accented voice told him in his ear, a firm hand placed on his shoulder almost gently, “you would’ve never been in this predicament.”  

“And more lives lost than saved,” he told the phantom, shrugging off Fredrich’s hand as if it burnt him. More ghosts in the night, always hovering near him, and his bare feet made their way toward his window. A full moon. Sometimes if he imagined it hard enough, he would hear wolves howling.  

He never missed how his heart clenched at the memory.  

“Do you hate me that much, Gabriel, that you can’t even look at me?” 

It’s because I don’t hate you that I can’t, he thought with a grimace, swallowing. “I told you to go before.” He hated how his voice broke.  

Ever so dominant, full of confidence that Gabriel only played pretend at, he moved to where Gabriel had to face him anyway. He looked just like he did on the night he spent at his estate, sitting across from him, drinking and laughing together, being pulled in with those rich brown eyes. Christ. He had a type. “We would have made such beautiful memories, my friend,” his thumb traced Gabriel’s bottom lip, causing the man to open his mouth without thinking.  

He never thought about men before. After, he only ever thought of one. Then Fredrich spoke, and the spell ended. “I only wished that you chose me.” 

And since this had to be all in his head, he had a chance to be honest, “if only you wanted me as I was,” Gabriel replied. “I wanted you as you were.”  

Or, well, maybe somewhat honest. Did he want him as he really was, or who he was presented as?  

All Gabriel knew was that he wanted him. All he knew was that much like Malia, if things had been different, there could’ve been a future.  

The smile the baron made was rueful, catching the uncertainty of his last statement, but instead of when he haunted him before his brown eyes weren’t so hard. “Sad, isn’t it? You kill me so you can live,” Gabriel’s heart clenched painfully, “but you are hardly living. Not even for your little one, growing in the belly of your assistant in a room not too far from you—do you hear how she cries, Gabriel? How scared she is while you hide in your room?” 

He said nothing.  

Still, the man went on, “do you know how lucky you are to be given such a gift? If I had a chance to experience a family, a family of my own choosing without being chained to what is considered traditional, I would’ve taken it without thought.” Regardless of his words earlier, Gabriel heard nothing but raw honesty. “Fought and killed for it with all my power.” 

“Kill me or kiss me,” because he was at the end of his rope. Fredrich von Glower was dead and gone and he didn’t need to think of some fantasy where he and Grace and the black fucking wolf played house. It hurt enough to have him here when it wasn’t really him. “Just shut the hell up.” 

Funny how the first kiss, their first kiss, would be in his head. All teeth and aggression, mixed with a pining he had never known. Fredrich von Glower had seduced him, who usually was the one who seduced, flawlessly, and even in death he had him in his web. Never slept with the man, but God, if he were alive, if he were here right now— 

Air. There was nothing but air when he came too, leaning against the cold window of his room, breathing harshly.  

*** 

Talking with Grace was...something. He couldn’t avoid it, push it under the rug, because the evidence of what they both did grew and grew little by little. She waddled about, rubbing her lower back herself, sporting mostly maternity overalls over a sweater because, even if she was raised in New York, New Orleans spoiled me with its heat. It’s too damn cold here, Knight. He’d almost grown fond of hearing the shuffling of her house shoes because, well, only white people walk around in a home with their shoes on, ass.  

“That baby in there is half-white, you know,” the cheek came so easy, like coming home in some ways.  

Grace gave as good as she got, “oh, I know. It’s why the only spices I’ve been able to handle are salt and pepper.” 

He laughed. Oh, how he laughed, and oh how he missed her. The best thing about it? She laughed, too, and he missed that even more.  

She wasn’t a ghost. She was there, in front of him, her eyes darker than Fredrich’s and Malia’s combined, but they twinkled like tiny diamonds whenever she laughed. No glasses, still, only contacts. Too much maintenance, she had told him when he had asked about the change.  

He went with her to Munich to on check-ups, peering at a blurry, black and white blob on the screen as the baby’s heartbeat filled the room; couldn’t really tell that there was a baby, besides the heartbeat and Grace’s expanded stomach, but something made his heart skip, nonetheless. “You guys sure it’s gonna be a girl?” Hell, its technology, after all. It wasn’t perfect.  

“Ja, Herr Knight,” the assistant replied with a laugh, “see here?” She pointed with the hand that wasn’t controlling the wand on Grace’s stomach and he leaned over to take a closer look, “that is just an arm, and there is a leg, and—oh, it looks like she’s tired of us looking! She’s turning around.” 

“I don’t blame her,” Grace said, and Gabriel didn’t miss the note of fondness in her voice.  

Blood work was fine. The scans were fine. Everything was fine, but something began to claw at him like an itch he couldn’t scratch.  

After the appointment—to which she needed to pee as soon as she was dressed—they ate at McDonalds. It was cheap, near the clinic, and it had a restroom.  

It seemed most of what Grace did was pee.  

They ordered an extra pair of fries to go on the way back to Schloss Ritter, and when she wasn’t stuffing her face with fries—he was able to steal a few with only a glare that had no heat to it when caught—they made small talk. Safe topics. “I need to ask you something. Don’t be mad, okay?” 

Well, mostly safe topics.  

“Shoot,” he turned right, keeping his eyes on the road. He missed his bike, drove better on it, but when he suggested he could install a little seat beside him as he drove since she couldn’t exactly straddle a bike anymore, the groan she made sounded like she was being tortured.  

“Are we having a Whoops, or just a black-and-white blob?” 

He barked out a laugh. She laughed, too, and suddenly they both physically could not stop laughing. “I thought it was only me!” She shook her head and when she snorted, she quickly covered her mouth. “Maybe that can be another name for her? Gabrielle Whoops Heartburn Blob. Nobles always have more than one name.” 

Settling just a bit, she shook her head, before suddenly her face fell. “I have to pee again.”  

Of course. 

Like always, as soon as they entered the castle, he went up to his study to check his messages while he heard Grace flush the toilet in the distance.  

That itch came back tenfold when Scotland Yard contacted him.  

*** 

It hit too fucking close to home.  

A little girl had been kidnapped. Some occult group not unlike the old lady he met months ago, were said to have been kidnapping people in the Highlands for years. Scotland Yard was called when the child taken was the only daughter of Prime Minister hopeful.  

The mother was beside herself, of course. Face gaunt with circles under her eyes. Devastated.  

The father? The father appeared disinterested. Put out. As if this was all a waste of time. He was normally shit at reading people, but after all he’d been through, and maybe it was just paranoia, something at the back of his head sent out a warning. Could be something, could be nothing; he could be involved, or he could be a righteous prick that didn’t deserve to be a father, less a politician. 

And you deserve to be one? a voice asked.  

No, he said, but that doesn’t stop me from being one in a few months.  

The mother, Wendy, was a frail thing, only a little older than he was, and said they had two older boys. James, Rory, and their little girl, Abigail. If things were different, he’d save the name as a possibility for Grace. He’d always liked that name, come to think about it. His first-grade teacher’s name was Abigial Lewis and she had great, big— 

Maybe not Abigail, then.  

He brought along a laptop. A compromise so when Grace was back in Germany, safe in Schloss Ritter with Gerde, he would contact her through SIDNEY, and she him.  

That first time was quiet. He didn’t dawdle to get a feel of the scene like he usually did. Not even when Prince James’ son was missing did he ever feel this much anxiety. A little girl, only four, her survival depended all on him.  

That could be my little girl, was what kept him going.  

That night he was in a Cathedral. Everyone was dressed in black. His parents were there, just as he remembered them, staring ahead. Gran and Grandaddy were there, too, and so was Wolfgang beside them. In front of him at the end of the aisle was a closed casket. 

Go, someone urged him, and he listened.  

His boots were the only thing he would be able to hear as he made his way toward the closed casket. Something told him to open it. Something urged him to, so he listened, but instead of a corpse that rested inside the coffin was a very much alive, with bright eyes and a gummy grin, infant looking up at him. 

He knew who she was. 

A shy grin broke out on his face, and he stared, just stared at her, flailing her fists and making sounds just because she could. She wore a white dress, the sort people dressed their babies for baptisms, that bunched up when those tiny hands of hers fisted the fabric. “What’cha’ doin’ there, sweetheart?” 

He bent down to pick her up, holding her where her chubby cheek was near his stubbled one, swaying from side to side. In this serenity, this sense of peace he hadn’t felt in so long, he had almost forgotten that he shouldn’t be so at ease holding a baby since he hadn’t held many. And yet, it didn’t matter; her tiny hands on his face, those eyes of hers staring at him like he’s the real wonder and not her, or that dimpled, gummy grin that made his heart flutter in his chest were the only thing in the universe he cared about.  

“Hey,” he whispered, bouncing her like he had seen Mosely bounce his nieces when they were babies.  

If something was too good to be true, it usually was.  

The scene shifted. Instead of his arms, the infant lay on her back on slab, and a man in a dark rob was behind her, holding a knife in the air dramatically.  

“Don’t you fucking—” 

He lowered the knife and Gabriel plunged at the figure, only for Gabriel to jolt himself awake, drenched in sweat.  

It was late, he knew that, but he had to know—had to! Grace picked up, voice hoarse with disuse, “this is Grace.” 

“Hey, Gracie.” 

“Gabe?” Her voice more alert, and by the rustling in the background he could imagine her sitting up in bed, “Are you alright?” 

He said nothing. He was still trembling. She gave him a moment, only a moment, before, “What’s wrong?” 

“Is Whoops okay?”  

They really needed to call her something other than Whoops.  

A soft exhale, before, “yes, she’s fine. My ribs and bladder aren’t, though.” 

That made him laugh. It was weak, but still a laugh. “Good.” And then, “Are you?” 

“Besides my bladder and ribs? I’m fine.” There was a pause, a comfortable pause of two people enjoying each other’s company, even if they were miles away. “Go to bed. You need your rest.” 

He didn’t. Couldn’t.  

No jokes were had, no flirtations, but an earnest need to find out what was happening. Besides Wendy’s kindness, the emails and calls he received from Grace either about the case or Whoops, he’d discovered allies in the very beings he was sent to investigate. White Witches, at that.  

“Not every being you hunt deserves to be hunted, shadow hunter,” one had told him, not unkindly. “Men are different, so are we.” 

And humans are usually the worst kinds of monsters alive, Grace had told him once.  

Four days of nightmares. Four days of playing cat-and-mouse, toying with his psyche about his looming fatherhood as if it knew, whatever it was, only to find out the Witch they were looking for all along had been the girl’s father. Just like his dream, only besides his own little girl, the brown haired and blue eyed four-year-old lay bound on the stone alter, while her father, clad in a black coat, spoke an incantation—a summoning spell—but before he raised the blade to complete it, Gabriel had knocked him out cold.  

He thought turning into a werewolf brought out his aggression; this was much worse. All he had seen was red.  

He would’ve killed that man. That portly man who spent the four days on his black cell, checking his pager boredly, and looking down his nose at him whenever he tried to pick his brain in an effort to help. Hell, he’d even broach the comment about being a father himself, even if his own daughter wasn’t yet born, and all he got was a look of boredom.  

Sobbing broke him from his trance.  

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he did his best to soothe the little girl, who still wore her clothes form when she was abducted, and untied her to draw her in his arms. She stank. Her clothes were soiled, too, but he didn’t mind. He picked up the small girl in his arms and began to leave the ruined and abandoned home. “You’re gonna be just fine, alright? Just close your eyes and hang on real tight.” 

Wendy, who had been nothing but lovely and helpful, was found dead with her throat slit in her hotel room. Scotland Yard was called, arrests were made, and that little girl who clung to him so tightly when the ambulance rolled up was sent to her grandparents, along with her two older brothers. Nice kids. A hefty age gape since the eldest, James, looked to be around sixteen, while Rory couldn’t have been no more than twelve. After he spoke to Grace on the phone about what happened, all of it, he spent the rest of the time with little Abby.  

If he didn’t already have one on the way, well, he would’ve entertained the brief thought of being a father. Regardless of the horrors she saw, she smiled, told jokes, and spoke to him about all the stuffed animals she had at home. In turn, he’d tell her about his bike, his Gran, and the doofus of a friend he had named Mosely. Apparently making fun of his lack of hair was a winner, because it sent her to a giggle frenzy.  

“Is mummy alright, Misser Knight?”  

He just smiled and said nothing, opting to turn her attention back to her stuffed animals. Not his place to tell her, anyway.  

Turned out, little Abby was what the prick needed to ensure he’d become England’s next Prime Minister. A deal with a demon years ago; his firstborn daughter for all the power he could wield.  

He should’ve killed him.  

He didn’t.  

He didn’t leave Abby or her brothers until she was discharged from the hospital. Her grandparents, Wendy’s parents, were just as lovely as their daughter had been. The English were said to be stand-off-ish with affection, but all he received were hugs of gratitude and pats on the back.  

“We’ll never be able to repay you,” the grandfather, Phillip, which made his heart skip a beat, told him in earnest.  

“Just make sure those kids are fine, and we’ll be square,” he had answered. 

When he got back to the hotel, all the bravery he had vanished.  

*** 

Schloss Ritter was subdued. He didn’t really eat, only when his stomach began to churn and ache and his blood sugar would drop low, and he certainly didn’t shower. When he slept, he would dream of nothing but gore.  

He saved little Abby.  

He didn’t save her mother. 

Just like he didn’t save Fredrich, or Malia, or Wolfgang.  

“My death isn’t your fault, Gabriel.”  

In the corner of his eye, as he sat in the corner with his knees to his chest, he saw the kind face of his great-uncle. The same long, dark overcoat with his hair in a low ponytail. 

“I lost a son,” he admitted, walking toward him languidly, before dropping to his knees. Considering it was his head and nothing more, he didn’t wince as he bent down. “A parent should never have to bury their child.” 

Why are you telling me this?  

He knew why, though.  

He lost his parents when he was young. Left a hole in his heart so big that he tried to fill it with faceless conquests. There wasn’t a guarantee that he’d live long enough to see Whoops reach ten, or twenty, or thirty. There wasn’t even a guarantee that Grace wouldn’t come to her senses and leave him as soon as the baby was born, and he’d never get a chance to see if he would. He wouldn’t blame her. His life wasn’t exactly safe. Hell, even before, his life wasn’t exactly ideal, because he wasn’t exactly ideal.  

The fear that gripped him, though, that made him crawl to the furthest corner of his study, was the possibility of having to outlive his child. 

That...that made it hard to breathe. Hard to think. He thought the prospect of losing his Gran was terrifying, but Whoops? Unthinkable.  

“You love her, don’t you?” Wolfgang asked. 

“She ain’t even here and it hurts,” he responded. 

“You love her mother, too, yes?”  

He hitched a breath, his heart stammering, but it was with perfect clarity he answered, “yes.”  

Grace wasn’t his first love. Grace wasn’t the love that awoke something inside him that he never knew existed. Grace was the sort of love that one might overlook, mostly because they weren’t ready to see it for what it really was, and for the few that would double back to take a closer look at what they missed, they would find something no words could name. The sort of love that pulled the rug from under you and screamed, got ya! For all the flirting, all the banter, all the tension he never expected Grace. Never expected the conservatively dressed college student who was overqualified for the position that waltzed into St. George’s to apply for a job to be the mother of his child. 

And he didn’t love her because of Whoops, either; resting his head against the cool stone of the castle, he thought back—really thought back—to the small moments. It was after Fredrich and Malia, of course, the two living together at Schloss Ritter and going through the motions. How he would always want to talk to her about the first ridiculous thought he had, and this time out of genuine want and not a need to pester her, to just hear her opinions on anything and everything. 

It crept up on him and, when it finally clicked that he might feel something, she left.  

“She returned,” Wolfgang reminded him, as if he could read his thoughts.  

“’Cause I knocked her up,” Gabriel groused petulantly. “Not for me.”  

He made a tsking noise, shaking his head disapprovingly, “my boy, for one so smart, you see so little.” 

*** 

It turned out he’d been blind for a bit. He normally hated to be wrong, because he did like to think he had some smarts under his belt, but this time? This time it was fine. More than fine. This time when Grace was in his bed, not a stitch on her body or his, he knew there would be no awkward deflections in the morning.  

She loved him.  

Not just because of the baby, but because of him.  

And he had yet to tell her how he felt. Words were caught in his throat whenever he attempted, so he did his best to show her. Oh, there was still the cheeky banter; sarcasm was his first language and Grace wouldn’t be Grace without her sassing him to kingdom come. And so, with the cheek came back rubs, foot rubs, full body rubs that often led to something else. Oh, he received just as he gave; little conservative Grace may have appeared to be a librarian outside the bedroom, but inside? Well, his memories of that night were a pale imitation, because damn.  

Mostly, it was good—damn good—because he loved her, too. Just like it was good with Malia because he loved her.  

And if he had a chance with Fredrich? It would’ve been good, too.  

He loved them, but they were gone. Grace was beside him, spent, her chest—which, not to be a total neanderthal, but damn did he appreciate what pregnancy did for her chest—heaving up and down just as his was. Both were worn out. Sex this late in pregnancy was tricky, but Grace was a diligent researcher, after all. Sometimes, like tonight, it ended with the two in euphoria and covered with sweat; sometimes it ended in a blunder, but laughter, nonetheless.  

“Should take you out on a date,” he murmured, rolling on his side when he finally caught his breath to look at her. She was blissed out, dazed, with a small smile on her face. “Come to think ‘bout it, we never went on a date.” 

She snorted, but he went on. “How ‘bout it, Gracie? Once that baby pops out,” she made a face at his choice of words, but he ignored it. “You and me, just the two of us, somewhere real fancy, too.” 

“Let me guess, Burger King?”  

“Stuff it, Grace.” 

“You already did,” Grace parried slyly, turning her head over to face him with a smug grin, parroting what he had said earlier word-for-word. “Unless you’d like to try again? After all, you’re all—what? Thirty-six? You might need more rest for round three.” 

Yes, the sass did not die out, but fondness only grew with every retort she’d make.  

The night after, when he finally told her of how he felt, and then suggested a proper name for Whoops, their daughter decided to make her way into the world.  

*** 

Rebecca Chiyo Knight. He thought they’d give her Grace’s last name, but she insisted. At first, she thought Rebecca—Bex, which was a lot better than Whoops—would be a Ritter. “I might have Ritter blood,” Gabriel had told her, “But I’m a Knight. If she’s gonna have my name, I want her to be a Knight, not a Ritter.”   

He thought he knew love. He thought he had loved Bex when she was still growing in Grace’s stomach. He was dead wrong. Again, this was a time when he wasn’t so put out on being wrong. He only wished his Gran, Grace’s parents, or even Mosely could be there to see the first few days of Bex’s life.  

They probably would’ve been there to begin with, if they, both Grace and Gabriel, hadn’t waited so long to tell them. Oh, when they did tell them, weeks before the birth, they both got an earful.  

“My dad is going to want to know your intentions with me,” Grace had told him, looking pained. “If he pressures you into popping the question, just pretend all you can hear is white noise. It’s what I do.”  

If it were possible, he’d fallen in love with her all over again.  

When he had told Mosely he had laughed so hard, so damn hard, before going, “Wait, really? You’re shitting me, Knight. You? A daddy?”  

But the love he felt for Bex? Still undefinable. Without limits. Oh, the fear was there; the sort of fear that gripped him by the neck and made it hard to breathe. The worry about his family being doomed to raise orphans after orphans, or even worse, outliving the little girl that seemed to illuminate his shadows with the brightest of lights. To even think of having that light snuffed out was unimaginable. 

He wouldn’t be able to go on. How Wolfgang did it, he’d never know, and he hoped to God he’d never find out.  

He wasn’t comfortable holding her as he walked up and down Schloss Ritter when Grace needed her rest. She squirmed and he would do his best to keep calm, tell himself he wouldn’t drop her, and did his best to soothe her. He learned earlier he shouldn’t sing if he wanted to keep her calm; that made her cry louder. After a month, though, he somewhat got the hand of it. Late night feedings came in shifts, but he grew to enjoy the times when it was his turn, because it was just him and Bex. 

The nursery was finished, but she was too small to go into the crib, so the small cradle at the side of the bed in Grace’s room was where she slept. Not that she approved of sleeping there. She enjoyed it best sleeping on someone’s chest, her head tucked under the chin, drooling as she snored softly.  

In the morning they would make their way to New Orleans to visit Gran. Grace’s parents would be there, too, which had Grace’s nerves shot. She needed the rest after wearing a hole in the ground going repeatedly on what not to say to her parents, how to greet them, and please, for the love of God, do not mention that she was Fuji in his story.  

Apparently, her mom was a fan of his books.  

He’ll never let Grace live that down, much to her annoyance. 

And it was that night, where Bex was tucked under his chin, laying on his chest, as he rested on the couch in front of a dying fire in the lounge area, where, for once, no ghosts came to guilt him or give him benediction. The night was quiet, save the soft snores of his daughter, and when the sun rose, illuminating the world with light, he noticed his daughter’s gaze, and how if he squinted, he’d probably see galaxies dancing in those eyes of hers. All babies' eyes were pale at birth, but hers remained, if not slowly changing to another vibrant hue. “She’s gonna have your eyes,” Grace had promised on the drive home from the hospital.  

He was going to have the time of his life fighting dragons alongside her. “I think you’re gonna be the best adventure I’ll ever get to have, kiddo,” and Bex smiled up at him, even if it was probably gas, he’d still swear up and down that it was a smile. “What about it? Ready to raise hell?”  

As if considering his request, even if it was unlikely because she didn’t even know her own name just yet, she stared at him with those discerning eyes. Maybe his color of eyes, or will be, but her mother’s all the same. When she made her decision, whatever it was, she gave a loud yawn and closed her eyes, a thumb going back in her mouth to soothe into another long rest.  

And the world still turned. 

#myfic #gk #otp: if i loved you less; i might be able to talk about it more #otp: you said i killed you (haunt me then) #need an otp tag for malia/gabriel #but i really - while this is more gabriel/grace - wanted to honor all of his LI #especially malia #gabriel knight series #the gabriel knight series #gabriel knight #grace nakimura #malia gedde #rebecca knight #mosely #lmao #i stayedd up all night bc hyperfixation Be Like That

[jemariel]

Baby’s First Fic Rec List

Well Hello There! Somehow I made it to 366 followers!! I intended to do this celebration for 350 but, y’know, life, holidays.... So here it is now!

I haven’t been around this fandom very long, but I have never felt so at home and welcomed by a fandom. I’ve also spent the last year or so reading Destiel fic like it was my calling, my passion, my civic duty. Fun fact: when you dive into a fandom with 12 years of accumulated fanfic, there’s a deep deep well to draw from.....

And so, in honor of 350(ish) followers and my first year(ish) with this fandom, I present to you this list of recommendations! Just some faves and things I enjoyed reading . All are Destiel. Most are smutty. Mix of canonverse and AU, fluff and grit, plot and silliness. Some preference given to fics with fewer hits/kudos/comments than I think they deserve.

Happy reading!

....The Non-Smut....

mistletoe & peppermint cocoa by navylights Rated T 5.5k Summary: Cas and Dean are on a mission: to pick up the perfect Christmas tree for their first Christmas with everyone alive and well.And while Cas and Dean are out shopping, and buying cocoa on a snowy afternoon, a certain meddling younger brother is putting up mistletoe in the bunker.(Or, the absurdly fluffy Christmas carols/cocoa/mistletoe/tree decorating/Christmas lights fic of your dreams)

Dean Winchester’s Secret (Angel) Boyfriend by reluctantabandon, Winter_of_our_Discontent Rated T 11.2k Summary: Dean Winchester isn't exactly a team player. So when he starts mentioning a new Hunting partner, Ellen and Jo Harvelle aren't sure whether they should be worried or relieved.But they're starting to get the feeling there's something important Dean's not telling them about Cas... (Reccer’s note: It’s kind of rare to see really excellent extended-cast ensemble work in fanfic. But this? This is that.)

Raisin D’etre by starsinursa Rated G 1.1k Summary:  Apparently, Castiel hates raisins. (Reccer’s note: THIS IS THE CUTEST THING ON TWO LEGS.)

....Absolute Faves.....

Our Bodies, Possessed By Light by obstinatrix Rated E 40k Summary: Purged of all his souls, Castiel is a changed being, stronger than an angel and too powerful for Jimmy's body to contain. Happily, there's an archangel's vessel on hand, and he could use fixing, too. Dean isn't too happy about the idea of his brother acting as a vessel for Castiel, and Sam can guess why, but it isn't until Castiel gets inside his head and they learn to share the vessel -- and their thoughts -- that Sam realises Cas is as in love with Dean as Dean is with him. It's unfortunate that there's nothing much to be done about it now, but Castiel will get another vessel soon. The Winchesters will make damn sure of that. In the meantime, it's up to the three of them to establish their own strange accord, and Dean realises more fully than ever that it's Castiel, and not his vessel, that he loves. (Reccer’s note: Don’t let the premise squick you. This is very CLEARLY a Destiel story, in spite of Sam’s front row seat. I love all the relationships in this fic, Sam and Dean’s brotherly antagonizing/affection, Sam and Cas’s growing friendship, Cas and Dean’s straining, passionate adoration. All three of them are superbly written, but Cas especially. This also has some of the most scorchingly hot not-quite-sex ever written. Seriously. How can something be so fucking hot when everyone’s wearing two layers of clothing? Beats me.)

Rock ‘n’ Roll Queer Bar (series) by ChasingRabbits Rated E 126.7k Summary: Ellen and Jo Harvelle run Harvelle's Roadhouse, a bar that unintentionally becomes a beacon for wayward queer souls. Her employees: Dean, the smartass runaway with a big heart and bigger mouth; Castiel, the college drop-out turned hippie; his (surprisingly heterosexual) trouble-making brother Gabriel; and Charlie, who has been told several times that the back room is not to be used for after-hours Dungeons & Dragons games. But there's a lot of love in this place, and a new family for anyone who may otherwise be without. (Reccer’s note: The description doesn’t really do this series justice. This is the most realistic and beautifully and believably written long-term relationship I have ever read. They go through so much together, and they do it all TOGETHER. It’s beautiful. I devoured this in a day and a half, then went right back to the beginning and read it all over again. It’s Just. That. Good.)

Lots more under the cut!

....Shorts....

Angel-Mine by reluctant Rated E 4.3k Summary: Cas exhaled. "When an angel's wings are injured," he said to his feet, "the healing process can be augmented by… grooming, I suppose, would be the most accurate word. Removal of the maimed feathers to allow growth of healthy ones. Otherwise, they're left to fall out alone." He tilted his head towards the nightstand. "As you see." Dean stared at him. "So… that's why I can't help?" he said slowly. "'Cause I can't, y'know… see 'em? Or touch 'em?" "Yes," Cas said, slightly too quickly, and Dean snorted. "You're still a shitty liar, Cas," he informed him. "What ain't you tellin' me?"

Casturbatus Interruptus by smallhorizons Rated E 6.1k Summary: post-9.01, in a slight AU wherein Cas comes to live with the Winchesters at the Bunker. Written before 9.03. Crossposting from Tumblr. Written for a prompt from hightopsandsharpies: "Okay, so Cas is a virgin, and has no idea what pleasure is and Dean decides to show him and Cas gets all cuddly and needy afterwards." Dean walks in on Cas masturbating. He’s doing it all wrong, but when you’re a bazillion-year-old virgin, that’s to be expected. Dean decides to lend him a hand in a totally platonic, non-romantic way. Things get a little out of control. 

Angelus Domini by xylodemon Rated E 3.2k Summary:  "You're a fucking dick," Dean says, right to God's face. (Reccer’s note: In which Dean and Sam gain some heavenly grace and Dean and Cas don’t waste any time at all.)

we can watch the white doves go by xylodemon Rated E 2.7k Summary: "Wait," Dean says, just as the door snicks closed. It comes out as barely whisper; he clears his throat and tries again, a little louder this time. "Cas, I -- wait."

Oh! Darling! by castielsdemons Rated M 6.6k Summary:  Now that Castiel has fallen, Dean wants to let him know how much he cares about him. And if it takes two or three (or eight) tries to get it right, then so be it. Or, the seven times Dean tried to tell Cas he loves him and the one time he actually got it right. 

....Mid-length....

The Curious Case of Dean’s Missing Libido by thejabberwock Rated E 7k Summary: It’s been weeks since Castiel told Dean he loves him. Weeks since Dean answered him with a kiss. It’s been weeks, and they haven’t had sex.

Pronoun yourself out of this one, Dean by zation Rated E 11k Summary: When Dean gets hit by a gender-swapping witch spell it not so fun for anyone, until it’s kinda fun. Or, The one where Dean gets to discover a whole lot of new things. Like what nice hands Cas has, for instance.

Freckles by 2spooky4u Rated E 7k Summary: "I had to draw all them perfectly," Cas insists, and Dean suddenly can't get rid of the image of Cas, clutching on to a Crayola washable marker, jamming it into his skin forcefully like a little kid mashes his markers on the paper in a vehement attempt to make the color deeper. "And now you're insulted 'cause I don't appreciate 'em?" Dean asks, bewildered. "No," Cas lies petulantly. "Huh." The stubborn child version of Cas Dean has painted in his mind is now clutching his paper possessively, shielding it from scrutiny.They drive in silence for a while. "Thank you for making my freckles," Dean grouses finally, knowing that it's the only way Cas will forgive him. ((((OR, IN WHICH CAS LIKES DEAN AND HIS FRECKLES, AND DEAN IS STUBBORNLY HETEROSEXUAL))))

Sam Accidentally Sees the Whole Picture by almaasi Rated E 10.4k Summary: Sam's been through a lot lately, what with tonight's hunt rendering his skin an aching shade of purple and all. He can deal with Dean being overly concerned about Cas' broken finger, and - God help him - he puts up with the sound of their preposterously soppy love confessions and first kisses on the adjacent bed. But he cannot be expected to remain silent and feign sleep throughout the entire duration of their first-ever lovemaking session. He just can't. Especially not, because it seems apparent that Cas is more intent on deflowering himself than letting Dean do it.

The Things We Did (But Never Spoke Of) (series) by BadassCompany Rated E 17.9k Summary:  Now and then, when there is quiet from the bloodshed and chaos of the world, I think of Dean Winchester. About the things we did; beautiful, glorious, rough skin and wet lips; but never spoke of. He didn't want to talk, only to feel, and I didn't know what to say. ~A partially complete series of canon compliant smutty oneshots.~

worthy by jad Rated E 14.8k Summary: "... you wanna what, now?" Dean asks, because he definitely didn't hear that right.Castiel tilts his head, a leftover tick from his angel days that Dean would be lying if he claimed to find anything but idiotically endearing. He knows this is his own fault, owing to that rather memorable moment a week ago when Cas wandered into this very same kitchen with a (fairly) legitimate question and Dean just didn't know when to shut up.

The Adventures of Real Anal Sex (Starring Dean and Castiel) by tiptoe39 Rated E 9.7k Summary: This is how it really happened. Because this is how it really happens. Thanks for the tweet, Astroglide -- product placement is now yours! (Reccer’s note: Adding some of the relevant tags: Awkward Sexual Situations, yes people go to the bathroom in this fic. Butt stuff ain’t always Harlequin Romance perfect, but honestly? It’s better that way.)

Go with the Flow by starsinursa Rated E 7.6k Summary: The smug bastard obviously think he’s won this argument, because there’s no way Dean is following him into a yoga class. The day Dean starts saluting the sun and humming ‘om’ under his breath like he’s part of some creepy hive mind like the Borg Collective, well, he might as well just start making his own potpourri and frequenting vegan bakeries, too. Not gonna happen.So yeah, Cas is right, damn him. There’s no way in hell Dean is following him into a yoga class. There’s no way. There’s no way –- ahhh, fuck. Fuck it all.

....Novellas/Novels....

Oxymora by thejabberwock Rated E 27.6k Summary: Good things don’t happen to Dean, so he’s not even surprised when Cas tells him he misunderstood the I love you. (Reccer’s note: This hurts so good. The payoff is worth the pain. Warning for Dean/others.)

riptides by sharkfish (waitforspring) Rated E 39.9k, WIP Summary: “I’m going to kiss you now.” Cas pauses, giving Dean a chance to back out, but Dean just licks his lips and waits. Cas’s mouth is up against Dean’s for a couple seconds before Dean responds, and then it’s Cas that’s being kissed senseless, because kissing is definitely not something Dean does tentatively. Dean reaches up to cup Cas’s jaw in his hand, tilting his head for a better angle, mouth plush, tasting like whiskey. Cas tries to remember what it was like the first time he kissed a man. All-encompassing, the world jerking off its axis, the feel of stubble under his fingers intense in a way it never really is with women, as much as he loves them.

Cabin Fever by Dangerousnotbroken Rated E 35k Summary: Due to a romantic-comedy level booking blunder, grumpy stress-case Dean and reclusive writer Castiel end up shuttled off to the same remote cabin for two weeks, and nobody seems to care that neither of them wants to be there. But since they’re stuck in the same cabin for the duration of their vacation, they might as well play nice and make the best of it right? Wrong. Dean’s so stressed out he can’t sit still, Cas can’t boil water without setting the place on fire, and they’re so on each other’s nerves it’ll be a miracle if either of them survives until their rides home arrive. At least the tension is just social, and not sexual, right? Right?

traveling light by sharkfish (waitforspring) Rated E 42.8k Summary: Cas is, impossibly, far more gorgeous in person, and he’s taller than Dean expected, and he moves with this casual grace that makes Dean’s brain short circuit.So Dean thinks he probably looks a little like a deer in the headlights when Cas catches his eyes from the door of the restaurant. He breaks out into a smile, the full, wide one that never came out in his pictures, and Dean actually goes weak in the knees. “Cas,” Dean says.“Hello, Dean,” Cas says. (Reccer’s note: Cas is FtM trans in this story and it gives me... so many feels.)

What Once Was Sacred by saltandbyrne Rated E 55.8k Summary: Los Angeles detective Dean Winchester works tirelessly to atone for the sins of his father one case at a time. When his best friend Charlie drags him to visit Sam at his new job, Dean stumbles onto a bizarre string of deaths that brings him uncomfortably close to his past.Dean can't stop thinking about Castiel, an enigmatic DJ who plays the sexiest music Dean's ever heard. A chance encounter at Castiel's house reveals that Castiel is an incubus, and Dean must face the lies and the reality of his childhood as a hunter. Dean comes to see that he and Castiel have more in common than he thought, and that guilt can be the hardest thing to cast aside.

the taste of gravel in the mouth by beenghosting Rated E 22.4k Summary: This is what Cas gave up Heaven for: greasy diner food, shitty motel rooms with even shittier cable, long car rides spent in complete silence except for the same six tapes playing over and over again, and a burnt-out husk of a man who can barely hold a conversation anymore. (Reccer’s note: Warning for angst.)

PWP: Pie Without Plot by MajorEnglishEsquire, orange_crushed Rated M 82.5k Summary: he is in the kitchen with flour on his hands and an apron and there is flour on his forehead and cas leans across the counter and wipes it off with his thumb and dean says "thank you" and cas says "you’re welcome" very seriously and later dean makes apple turnovers and he only ruins them a little and sam realizes it’s not a real hunt like four days into it and he lets dean stay undercover for like a week and a half or longer maybe way longer because he is such a good everything (Reccer’s note: Warning for fluff.)

Strangers on a Bus by Terene Rated E 59.7k Summary: Castiel is flummoxed. This is a social situation he is not equipped to handle. What is the protocol when the stranger sitting next to you on a bus, whom you incidentally find very attractive, falls asleep with his head on your shoulder?

And now, a Shameless Self Endorsement.  Hope you stop by. ^__^

I’ve tagged a few authors here whose tumblrs I’m familiar with so @starsinursa @thejabberwock @xylodemon​ @reallyelegantsharkfish​ you’re in there! Many hearts to you, thanks for sharing your talents.

Others who might appreciate: @magnificent-winged-beast @daughter-of-the-rain-and-snow @saawek @sactownbrowns3 @rosemoonweaver @woahthisguy @suckerfordeansfreckles @rosemoonweaver @cas-essence @yourspecialeyes @yeneffersalamander @naruhearts @bae-in-a-trenchcoat @bend-me-shape-me @babyinthetrench @gneisscastiel @deaneatscake @silvie111 @jhoomwrites @tankewinchester @paperwhitenarcissus @thedogsled @helianthus21 @weathergirl83​ @ltleflrt​ 

#fic recs #destiel fanfic #fanfiction #destiel fic rec #other people's fanfiction #to read #want to read #follower celebration #fanfic rec list #destiel fanfiction #destiel fic

[thewhiterabbit42]

100 (+100) Follower Celebration

It’s official! I have crossed the 200 mark and while I know there are people out there with thousands of followers, I never expected people to take much interest in my writing or my love of Dick so I’m blown away that another 100 of you have shown up in just the last few weeks.  

As I mentioned, I’d like to do something for all of you.  It’s your likes, comments, reblogs, and interactions that make being here enjoyable and that encourage me to keep writing.  

Below is a list of characters I will write, 50 quote prompts and 50 kink prompts.  

Please send me an ask with a character, a quote, and/or a kink.   

You may make more than one request.  However, to give others a chance to make theirs, I will only be accepting the first one you submit.  All subsequent ones will be held until the end of the request period and accepted if I have not hit my limit.  

I debated whether or not to include any actors and decided at this time, I’m just not comfortable writing about real people.  I may make a side blog down the road, but for now, this one is staying RPF free.  

GUIDELINES

You do not need to be following me to make a request, but followers’ will be accepted first.  

All stories are reader inserts and are female by default.  If you would like gender neutral or male, let me know.

Can’t choose between two characters? Why not both! (Threesomes will be accepted and are encouraged!)

The kink list is optional.  Similarly, you can also just request a kink with a character.

More than one request can be made for the same kink / quote but if I get multiples I may start crossing them off the list.  

Fics are at the mercy of my muse.  Angst, fluff, crack, smut, it’s whatever she’s feeling.  If you would prefer not to have any smut, please let me know.

Requests will be open for one week starting today (May 5) and closing May 13 at 7am (EST).  If I get a larger response than anticipated, I may need to close it sooner.  

Fics / drabbles will be posted after requests are closed.  

Please be patient.  I have only one fic commitment in addition to this challenge this month but several real life ones that can be unpredictable.  All requests will be fulfilled and I will get them out as quickly as possible.

CHARACTERS

Gabriel Balthazar Benny Chuck Crowley Cain Sam John Winchester Arthur Ketch Mick Davies

QUOTES

“Come over here and make me.”

“Have you lost your damn mind!?”

“Wait a minute.  Are you jealous?”

“Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”

“I almost lost you.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Don’t you ever do that again!”

“It could be worse.”

“I think we need to talk.”

“We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you want to stop and feel the rain?”

“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”

“Just once.”

“You’re the only one I trust to do this.”

“The paint’s supposed to go where?”

“I can’t believe you talked me into this.”

“I thought you were dead.”

“It’s not what it looks like…”

“You lied to me.”

“I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”

“If you keep looking at me like that we won’t make it to a bed.”

“You heard me.  Take.  It.  Off.”

“I wish I could hate you.”

“I swear it was an accident.”

“YOU DID WHAT?!”

“If you die, I’m going to kill you.”

“Tell me a secret.”

“No one needs to know.”

“Well, this is awkward…”

“I suppose you heard most of that?”

“You know it’s not wise sneaking up on a man when he’s handling his weapon.”

“Please, nobody died last time.”

“Is there any way I’m going to get out of this with honor and dignity?”

“Sorry.  Didn’t mean to enjoy the moment.”

“Could you not do that while we’re… ever?”

“Everybody dies alone.”

“This must be what going mad feels like.”

“Stop running that pretty mouth at me.”

“Just once, I’d like things to go according to plan.”

“Everybody plays each other.  That’s all anybody ever does.”

“Oh, I’m going to the special hell.”

“Well my days of not taking you seriously are coming to a middle.”

“Well, you were right about this being a bad idea.”

“I believe the exact phrase I used was ‘don’t’.”

“Are you always this sentimental?”

“It’s just a bad day.”

“Remember that sex we were planning to have, ever again?”

“I think we’re being followed.”

“You are very much lacking in imagination.”

“Right.  Because teenage pranks are fun when you’re about to die.”

“This might come as a shock, but I’m actually not very good at talking to girls.”

*Completely made up and in no way relevant bonus points for anyone that recognizes where 30-50 are from. 

KINKS

Against the wall

Blindfolds

Break up/make up sex

By the fire

Calming the others anger (with sex)

Casual sex

Chair sex

Comfort sex

Desperate sex

Dom/Sub

Double penetration

Fight sex/Grudge fucking

Food play

Fully clothed

Gags

Getting caught (masturbating)

Getting caught (sex)

Grace!kink

Hair pulling

I love you

In the bath/shower

Loud sex/knowing someone can hear

Middle of the night sex

Mirror

Morning sex

No foreplay

No speaking

Oral sex

Outdoors

Pushing boundaries

Discovering boundaries

Quickies

Really rough sex (feral/primal)

Restrained sex

Road head

Skinny dipping

Spanking

Spontaneous sex

Surprise sex

Tattoos

Teasing

Trying something new

While one of them is on the phone

Wing!Kink

Creative punishments

Inappropriate location

Praise!kink

Almost getting caught

Flirting

In/by a swimming pool

Tagging people potentially interested:  @girl-next-door-writes @sumara62 @fand0maniac @feelmyroarrrr @omgreganlove @jannalionheart @baritonechick  @theblackenedsky @bloodstained-porcelain-doll, @pepperwoodatnight @lacqueluster @samikitten

#Rabbit celebrates 100/200

[puckish-saint]

can i have a s/o begin silly with Zenyatta, reaper, mcree using their catchphrase something like: zenyatta is kinda sad and s/o say "come here and Experience Tranquility" with open arms, the reaper s/o trying to sneak up on reaper(failing miserably) and saying "death comes" in most sweet tone, and mcree... i have no idea :D maybe the s/o answering the time saying "its high noon"?

Zenyatta

It's not often that Zenyatta admits tobeing sad. Every negative emotion is carefully weighed and judged byits usefulness. Grieving for Mondatta is deemed worthy of beingexpressed, both to validate others’ feelings and to show respect tohis old friend.

But there is no sense in being a burdento his loved ones for something as inconsequential as a moodswing,and so he pretends that nothing is amiss when he greets you and yourcurrent hosts, an omnic couple who are honored by having Zenyattastay with them, that morning over breakfast only you are actuallyeating.

“These are the best pancakes I everhad.” you claim. They're really not but your hosts have been soself conscious over their cooking you have to reassure them somehow.And really, considering they don't need nutrients themselves they'venot being doing that bad a job.

“We can bring the leftovers for youto ‘snack on’ later.” Zenyatta says and it's as endearing asever to hear him use terminology that is exclusively human. Omnicsdon't snack, but he adores the concept of humans eating just forpleasure as much as you adore him sometimes losing control of hislimbs when he devotes too much of his mind to his philosophising andforgets he has a physical body to maintain.

Shortly after breakfast you set outtowards the local community center, to help out with whatever needsdoing and forming new connections while you're at it. Working withpeople is such an integral part of Zenyatta's life you couldn't getaround it if you wanted. He talks to humans and omnics and makes nodifferences between the two and knows their needs like he knows hisown. Better than his own even.

“Something's wrong, isn't it?” yousay over mid-morning pancakes, between helping a young single motherwith her newborn and school children with their homework, somethingthey'll often not have at home.

“All is well.” he says and that'swhen you know he's upset. Usually he wouldn't have missed the chanceto make a quip about the world in general having something wrong withit.

“Spit it out.”

His shoulders sag and he gives up thepretense of happiness.

“I suffered a bad dream last night,nothing more. I do not wish to wallow in it. Or talk about it.” headds when you open your mouth to ask about the contents of his dream.

“Fair enough.” you say, pulling outa pen from your bag and writing on the back of your hand, withoutletting him see.

“I guess sometimes you really justhave to move on and … “ you pause for effect long enough until heknows you’re going to make a bad joke of the kind he’ll never getenough of. “... embrace tranquility.”

You show your hand, tranquilitywritten on it, and Zenyatta laughs so hard his voicebox glitches. Hehugs you, hiccuping through his giggles, bad mood all but forgotten.

Reaper

His mask lies unsupervised on thebedside table and the temptation is too great to resist. He’s closeby, planning the next mission with Sombra, the only other person nextto you whom he allows to see his face. She knows anyway, he’s saidthe one time you brought it up, it’s not like he can hide hisidentity from her. But it’s more than that and everyone knows it,and everyone knows to leave it unspoken.

You grab the mask and, after somethought, the black bedspread as well, throwing it around yourshoulders like a cape. This will either get you laughed at or punchedbut you’re willing to take that risk, as you head out, fightingwith the fastenings until the mask sits securely on your face. Youhave to resist the urge to hum the Imperial March heading down thehallway.

Two mooks Talon sent with you for thisop stop and stare when you pass them, muffled snickering followingyou all the way to the kitchen, the biggest room in this safehouseand thus the center of operations.

Gabriel hears you come in but doesn’tlook up from the map, on which he moves holographic figures likechess figures. Sombra does and covers her mouth, unable to keep fromsnorting. By some miracle Gabriel either doesn’t notice or doesn’tcare. He snaps his fingers in front of her eyes to direct herattention back to the job at hand.

“I need you to take security out hereat checkpoint A, then B.” he says, oblivious to you mimicking hissharp gestures behind his back. Sombra nearly goes cross-eyed in hereffort to remain serious. While he lays out the plan, you stalk upand down the room behind him, threatening imaginary enemies andshooting pretend shotguns.

“Take control of security betweencheckpoints C and D but let something through. Nothing that givesaway our presence, but make them investigate. We need theadministrator distracted for our final push- are you listening?”

Sombra is not. She’s wheezing, oneperformance away from slapping her knees and that’s when Gabrielturns around.

He glares.

You glare back, suddenly aware of themany benefits of wearing a mask. He can’t see the grin trying tosplit your face.

All that can be heard for several longseconds is Sombra’s desperate attempts to get enough air into herlungs between giggle fits.

“Do the thing!” she manages, wavingto elaborate her request. “Do the thing. Gabe’s thing.”

You know exactly what she means anddon’t know if that should worry you. Gabriel looks ready to kick,bite or punch you and only hasn’t because he can’t decide onwhich, but you’ve come this far.

“Death walks among you.” yousay in the most gravelly voice you can manage, pretending to dissolveinto smoke by flapping your blanket-cape. Sombra has to sit down,crying tears of joy.

And then, just when you resign yourselfto sleeping on the couch tonight, a tiny smile breaks throughGabriel’s stoic facade.

You’ve seen it, he knows you’veseen it and now there’s no way back. Not for lack of trying. Hecovers the smile with a scowl, turns around.

“We’ve got work to do.” he says,pointing at the map.

But he doesn’t object when you keepthe mask on.

McCree

It’s that late at night when it’salmost morning. Sensible people sleep the sleep of the just, but youand Fareeha drew the short straw and have been condemned to nightshift after almost two days without sleep, watching thirteen hoursworth of security footage stolen from Talon’s mainframe. So farit’s worth a hell lot of nothing.

“Betcha ... “ Fareeha says,gesticulating vaguely. “Betcha something, that man there’s gonnatrip over the cables.”

“You’re on.”

The man in question doesn’t trip andit’s not the first disappointment of that night.

“Aww.” you both say and search forsomething else to bet on.

“Betcha … nothing will happen.”you say and for some reason, likely because it’s almost four am,that throws Fareeha into a giggle fit. She leans against yourshoulder, shuddering with laughter. Her teeth are chattering, fromsleep-deprivation induced cold, and you’re not that much betteroff. Sooner rather than later you lie in each other’s arms,laughing at nothing in particular, unable to stop.

That’s when Jesse walks in, carryingthree cups of tea and a bewildered expression.

“You alright there?” he asks andthat only makes you laugh more. Fareeha tries and fails to verballyconfirm you’re fine, your goals are more realistic and restrictedto waving and nodding. It must be a sight to see, two ofOverwatch’s top agents brought low by the dangerous effects of latenight work.

“Jack asked me to relieve you.” hesays as he sits down by your side. “Looks like I didn’t come amoment too soon.”

“For a change!”

Fareeha punches your shoulder, halfscandalised, half cackling at Jesse, who doesn’t even have thegrace to blush. He knows what four am can do to a person.

“Hey … hey, Jesse.” She pokes hisarm. “Guess it’s true you’re a quick draw.”

She falls off her chair and almostdrags you with her, if it hadn’t been for Jesse pulling you both toyour feet.

“Alright, time for bed. Come on, offyou go.”

He pauses the video feed with one hand,while using the other to hold you up. It’s a mystery for the ageshow he manages to get you both to your respective quarters withoutserious injury, and an even greater one how he keeps his patience.

“If I didn’t know any better I’dswear you’re high.” he says, shaking his head as you sink into abed that has seen far too little use the past few days.

“Nah. That’s only for when it’s …high noon.”

“Jesus ... “ he says and shakes hishead while you nudge him in a “get it?” kind of way.

Come morning, proper morning precededby at least six hours of sleep, Jesse will mercilessly tease you overthis. Right now, though, you’re so busy trying to think of anotherpun you don’t even notice when he leaves.“High noon …” hemumbles to himself on his way back to work. He chuckles. “Gottaremember that one.”

#overwatch imagines #mccree #reaper #zenyatta #reader insert #not completely happy with these but ive been sitting on this for days so #here you go #Anonymous

[imagine-that-darlin]

Uprising For The Throne (notes at the end)

     The throne glimmered beautifully as Ana stared in amusement. This throne-- the iron throne, would soon belong to her, and hers alone. Not that she’d always longed for the throne. In fact, she’d never really wanted it in the first place. What she’d wanted was power, the power to effect change at the highest level of all- Queen. But she’d had that for years now, and she could still feel the sting of realization. She had no power. All of the power lied in the hands of her husband, King Torbjorn.

     She shuddered at the thought of that. Not that he’d always been bad, she’d remembered. He used to be kind. Ana figured that eventually his anger took over. She was not the woman he loved, and had always loved. Though he’d never admit it, Ana knew she would never compare. She knew it from the very first night she’d been with him, when he called out another woman’s name. Her train of thought was interrupted by heavy footsteps approaching her. Ana knew without looking that it was her daughter, Fareeha. No matter how many times Ana scolded her, the girl tromped around and stomped her feet like a bull.

     “Mother,” Ana turned to meet her daughters stare. She didn’t answer verbally, just raised an eyebrow in question. Fareeha let her hands fall from behind her back, relaxing slightly. “Father just told me that I am to be wed. To a Stark boy. Actually, he announced it in front of the whole council.” Ana felt a twinge of irritation- why was she not at this council meeting?

     “So you will be wed, as he said. We’ve already begun designing your gown-- don’t worry dear, I’ve got the best seamstresses in the seven kingdoms working on it. You will undoubtedly look beautiful.”

     Fareeha scoffed, then ground her teeth. “I would like to have been the one to announce my marriage. Not have it announced to me. I get no say in this? What if I do not like this boy?”

     Ana grinned, having forgotten how naive her daughter was sometimes. She wasn’t the least bit worried, because if this boy was bad to her daughter, well, he would disappear. “Oh, Fareeha, you are just like me-- well, when I was younger.” She walked over to her daughter and cupped her face with both hands, lovingly lifting her head slightly. “I have done everything in my power to find you a suitable match, but this is the best I can do. This is how things are, my angel. I did not ask to marry your father, and I, too, protested. It does no good. If the king wants something, he shall get it, and you’re now nearing eighteen. Most princesses are married sooner, much sooner, but I’ve managed to hold the wedding off to find the right husband. I cannot guarantee you will like him, but he is from a good family.”

     “The Starks. Northerners. I’ve never been north… but father is from there, right?” Ana jerked a nod in response. She had been north many times in her youth, as her family was noble and her parents wanted to wed her to the best house possible. They’d thought they’d done well.

     “But how do you know he will be good?” Fareeha asked.

     Ana’s hands fell from her face, resting on her shoulders. “The Starks’ are good people. They have honor, pride, and they raise their children to have the same. He will be decent, at least. And if he is not,” Ana smirked, “well, I will make him decent. Nobody hurts my baby.”

     “I’m not a baby. Soon, I am to be a wife.”

     “Of course,” Ana replied. “Soon you are to be queen.”

     Loud- that was all Jesse could think. The horses galloping was all he could register, and it was loud.

     They’d been traveling for about a week now, and everyone was tired. Jesse loved horses, but after this long, he’d be tired of anything. He’d started out this trip a jumbled mess- nervous, excited, terrified, ecstatic… and now he was just tired.

     But soon, all that tiredness would be worth it. At least, that was what Jesse’s father, Gabriel Stark, had been telling him. While he was still nervous every now and then, Jesse ultimately trusted in his father. Not that his father had actually had anything much to do with this arrangement, besides knowing the king and queen. A lot of people knew the king and queen.

     Once again, Jesse’s mind wandered to his bride-to-be. Although he’d never met the princess Fareeha, he, like most in the kingdom, had heard tales about her beauty. Jesse didn’t want to admit, however, that he didn’t care much about her beauty, like everyone else. What he was worried about was her personality-- would she be kind? Would she be the loving wife that every man wanted? Or would she be a spoiled, obnoxious brat? Jesse wanted to have hope, but he knew that royalty could warp people. Take the mad king, for instance.

     Jesse prayed to the Gods’ that that wouldn’t happen to him.

     After hours and hours of riding, they finally approached King’s Landing. Jesse stared in awe at the massive city before him.

     “Amazing, isn’t it?” A gruff voice drew his attention, and Jesse turned towards his father. “I remember my first time coming to King’s Landing. I was awestruck.”

     Clenching his reins tightly, Jesse nodded. “I can see why. It’s nothing like home. Winterfell is so much more…”

     “Cold?” Gabriel asked, grinning crookedly.

     His son returned the grin, albeit a much smaller one. “Yes, cold.”

     For the first time in his life, Jesse was hot. Winter wasn’t here yet, but it always snowed in Winterfell. On the rare occasion that it wasn’t snowing, it was frozen over. Jesse certainly never complained, he was a pretty hairy man, so he always felt comfortable in the snow. This, though… well, it was strange, to say the least.

     Beads of sweat dripped off of his nose and he gripped his reins tighter, knuckles turning white from clutching so hard.

     “They’re waiting for us in there,” Gabriel hinted.

     Jesse gulped, then kicked his horse slightly, ordering her to begin walking. Gabriel did the same. They trotted through the city until they reached the castle steps.

     Awaiting their arrival was the king himself, surrounded by his men. The queen stood on his right side, and the princess on his left. When Jesse saw them, he had to hold his breathe.

     The princess was just as beautiful as he’d been told-- she stood tall and proud, shrouded in a beautiful blue and gold dress. The designs were so intricate, golden flowers gently etched into the material. They were not too subtle, but just enough so that the gold complimented the royal blue of the dress. Her dark, long locks of hair were put up a way Jesse had never seen done before. Her hair was braided and high and tight, and he wasn’t really sure how to describe it, except that he thought it looked uncomfortable.

     And beautiful.

     So why wasn’t his heart fluttering? Why didn’t he feel amazed, excited, or even a twinge of attraction? All he could feel was fear, and he realized that was because his eyes had wandered past the king and over to the queen, who was shooting him a terrifyingly cold glare. Jesse felt the hairs on his arms stand in fear, and Gabriel began to chuckle. Gabriel dismounted his horse and Jesse soon followed. The two of them bowed to the king, although Jesse was a bit clumsy, stumbling before lowering his knee. He didn’t dare lift his head up to meet the king's’ eyes-- or at least, he tried to convince himself that it was the king he was scared of. So when a loud, hearty laugh bellowed throughout what Jesse thought may be the whole kingdom, he couldn’t help but jump a bit.

     “Gabriel Stark, yer lookin’ mighty rough these days! Since when’d’ya start gettin’ grey hair? Don’t tell me it’s because of yer son here, I’d be highly disappointed if I married my little girl off to a trouble maker. Wouldn’t surprise me if he were just like you in yer youth, but I’ve hoped not!” Jesse snapped his head up, face flushing ever-so-slightly. He was being addressed by the king himself-- well, not directly, but he’d mentioned him, and that was a first for Jesse.

     Gabriel grinned up at his king. “I sure lucked out… with this one, that is, but I did consider offering up one of my more… well, let’s say mischievous sons. But I wouldn’t want to do that to your lovely daughter,” he smiled at Fareeha, who only glowered in response. “Ah, just like her mother. And just as beautiful.”

     Fareeha was now obviously taken aback, and so was Jesse. He imagined she was just as shocked as he was. How could his father talk to them so… informally?

     “Back off, Gabriel,” the queen warned, “you’re not the one she’s betrothed to.”

     “A shame,” Gabriel joked.

     The king coughed a loud ‘Ahem’, drawing everyone’s attention once more. “The two of you,” Jesse gulped again, now being addressed directly. Well, sort of. “Rise.” They immediately obeyed their king’s command, Jesse shaking slightly.

     “Jesse Stark,” the king’s loud voice seemed to demand attention.

     “Your grace,” Jesse answered.

     The king took a few steps forward, until he was right in front of Jesse, who had to look down at the short man. Although Jesse was over a foot taller, he was still intimidated, but that was mostly due to all of the men ready to draw their swords to protect their king. So when the king lifted a hand and roughly grabbed Jesse’s arm, Jesse almost squeaked.

     “Soon, you’ll be part of the family,” the king said warmly. “I’m sure it’ll take ya’ some time to adjust-- King’s Landing is world’s away from Winterfell, it seems, but we’ll do all that we can to make sure you feel at home.”

     Jesse was a little shocked, surprised by how kind the king was to him. “Thank you, your grace,” he bowed his head slightly.

     “Fareeha,” Torbjorn released Jesse’s arm and turned towards his daughter, “greet your fiancee.”

     Fareeha began walking forward, down the steps, and was followed by a guard. Ana scoffed, pushing the guard out of the way to take her daughter’s side. Jesse could barely see the annoyance on the king’s face, although he wasn’t sure why. He thought it was sweet that her mother wanted to be by her side. He also thought that she was far more intimidating than any of the guards that were there. When the princess reached her father, she stopped behind him, leaving about three feet between her and her future husband.

     “My lady,” Jesse bowed his head once more, politely addressing his fiance. Ana gave Fareeha a stern look which Jesse wasn’t sure was a good or bad sign. Fareeha sighed softly and held out her hand for Jesse to take. He delicately grasped her hand with his right hand and planted a small peck to the top of it.

     Torbjorn let out another cough. “That’s enough, you two. Yer not married yet, don’t be so eager,” he grinned.

     Jesse blushed lightly and released her hand. Fareeha only rolled her eyes, causing Ana to smirk. “Well, what’s say we take this reunion inside, hm?” Torbjorn grinned at Gabriel who nodded in response.

     There were many houses in the seven kingdoms, but upon one of the greatest was the Shimada house. They were more like a clan than a family. The house, lead by Lord Shimada, was one of the strongest, due to their tightknit personality. Lord Shimada and his wife had two sons, the eldest being Hanzo and the youngest Genji.

     The two young men may have been siblings, but they were as different as they could be. The only trait they shared was their name. Hanzo, the more serious, reserved brother, often chastised his younger sibling for being too rambunctious and, well… flirtatious. In fact, that was what he was on his way to do right this moment.

     Hanzo stepped inside of a brothel, scowling irritatingly. He scanned the loud room before settling on his brother, who was holding a red-headed woman in his lap. Hanzo scowled even harder when he saw that Genji also had his arm around a man next to him. Why, Hanzo wondered, did Genji have to disgrace his family in so many ways? Was courting whores not enough? Hanzo stomped over to his brother, a growl building up inside of him.

     Genji noticed Hanzo right before he approached. “Ah, hello, brother! Here for a drink?” He grinned, and the woman sitting on him turned and smiled up at Hanzo. Hanzo blushed in return, wishing the woman had been wearing a top. Disgraceful, he thought. While she was beautiful, with delicate features and piercing blue eyes, Hanzo had never found whores to be… suitable mates. He ignored her and looked to his brother.

     “I would not drink here. I would like to have thought you would not drink here, either, but I knew this is where you would be. Have you no respect for your reputation?” Hanzo folded his arms to his chest.

     Chuckling, Genji grabbed the woman by her hips and sat her on the side not occupied by the man, who was starting to look uncomfortable with Hanzo. Genji reached into his pocket and handed the man and woman both some coins, and they eagerly took them. He motioned for them to leave then grabbed his drink once they did. “Hanzo, I’m here because I respect my reputation,” Genji told him, grinning as he winked at another prostitute. Hanzo didn’t even turn to look at the prostitute, he was too busy glaring his brother down. “Maybe you should unwind, brother. Have a little fun. It’d do you some good.”

     “Good?” Hanzo’s voice was higher now, almost to the point of a yell. People were beginning to stare at them. “Disgracing your family is good? Disappointing our parents- good? You make a mockery of us, Genji! For showing no willpower, no restraint, that does our image good?”

     Hanzo leaned down and roughly grabbed his brother by the shirt, pulling him up to stand and meet his glare. “You are no good, Genji. You are nothing to this family. All you do is waste our coin on booze and whores!” He was still clutching his brother’s shirt, so he yanked and threw Genji down.

     Genji hit the floor harshly, and people around gasped. Hanzo glared at his brother for a few more moments before turning and retreating.

     Far off, across narrow sea, there was a young girl, only sixteen. She lived with her older brother, Viserys. She had dark brown hair and smooth, caramel brown eyes. Her name was Hana, and she was the true princess of Westeros. But she had been exiled, along with her brother, after Torbjorn overthrew their father… the mad king.

     “Hana, get into your dress. Your husband will be here soon,” Viserys didn’t even look up at his sister. He was too busy drawing up plans.

     “I’m not married yet,” Hana snapped. “I don’t want to be married at all.”

     Viserys scowled, turning his attention from his work to his sister. “Stop being a brat. Do you want to stay here forever? You will marry the Khal and he will give me the army I need to take back Westeros. If you’d rather, I could knock you out and when you wake up you’ll be there, with your new husband, and you’ll have no say as to what happens between now and then.”

     Hana flinched at the thought of that. She knew that she had to do this, she had to get an army for her brother. If the Khal would give her one, that is. That was the only way they could take back their home.

     Her brother sighed. “Look, Hana, after we get to Westeros, I’ll have every last Dothraki soldier killed when I reclaim the army of King’s Landing. That includes the Khal. But for now, you will marry him, you will make him happy, and you will get my army. And I… I will take back what is rightfully mine.” Hana nodded sadly.

     His throne, she reminded herself, it’s his, and I’m just his puppet.

     “FIRE IN THE HOLE!” A loud, excited scream escaped the Khal as he threw a glass filled with some unknown mixture into a small fire, causing it to explode and spread even further. His bodyguard, Mako, known by most as ‘Roadhog’, stood beside him and watched the flames. Jamison, the Khal, laughed erratically. He was very pleased with his destruction-- he and his people had always been destructive, but he’d never lost the pleasure it brought. Burning down villages, savaging, killing… all of those excited the Khal, but fire was what set him off the most.

     He felt a large, heavy hand clamp down on his shoulder. “It’s time to go, Jamison. Your future wife is awaiting your arrival.”

     The Khal twitched his eyebrows in annoyance. He didn’t want to get married, but he knew that marrying this girl, whatever her name was --yes, he’d forgotten--, would be better than marrying one of his Dothraki women. Jamison wanted someone who didn’t know their rules. Someone who wasn’t just like everyone else. Someone… fiery. Someone exciting. He wanted someone he wasn’t supposed to be with. He wanted danger.

     He was gonna get it.

So, hey, I’ve never written an overwatch fanfic before. I’ve also never written a game of thrones one I think, but I decided to cross over my two favorite things. It’s not gonna go just like game of thrones because that would be boring. I don’t know for sure if I’ll even finish this but it’s fun to write :)  If anyone actually finds this and is weirded out by the plot or by ships, don’t worry, as game of thrones leads you to realize,,, nothing is as it seems

#game of thrones #overwatch #au #crossover #got #ow #fanfiction #overwatch fic #overwatch fanfic #game of thrones fic #got fic #ow fic #pharah #fareeha #ana amari #torbjorn #jesse meccree #hanzo shimada #genji shimada #hana song #d.va #d.va overwatch #gabriel reyes #reaper #junkrat #roadhog #also viserys #because hes terrible but i need him for the plot #sorry