demma writes fanfic

Flying Lesson: A Short Angel-Family SPN Fic

Castiel hiccupped a tiny sob, obviously trying his best not to make the fact that he was crying known to his four older brothers. Of course, that was a lot easier said than done, when it came to being the youngest.

            Michael was frozen, staring at Gabriel with a look of horror that was almost comical. It made Balthazar snicker.

            “Gabriel,” he choked, giving his younger sibling an appalled look, “Why, in the name of our Father, did you think that was a good idea?”

            Gabriel shot the weepy-eyed Castiel a glance that said, “don’t worry, kiddo. I’ll get you sorted in a minute. Just let Big Bro deal with mean ol’ Mike, yeah?”

            He frowned at the senior angel. “Lighten up, Mikey. Cas is fine. It’s just a scuff. Plus,” he shot both Michael and Lucifer, who was lounging in a conveniently placed chair, reading, a look, “that’s how the two of you taught me. Monkey see, monkey do.”

            “He’s got you there,” Balthazar piped up between fits of giggling. “I’ll back Gabe up on that.”

            “We did not hurl you into the air, telling you to ‘fly’! And DON’T call me Mikey! It’s Michael!”

            “Actually,” Lucifer closed his book, setting it aside, “we did teach him like that. And Balthazar.” He rolled his head back, yawning with barely concealed boredom. “Only we threw Gabe off the edge of a cloud, remember?”

            Michael’s cheeks heated as he looked away in shame. As the oldest, he felt that now it was his God-given duty—and he meant that quite literally—to lord over his four younger brothers. “Father said that we were to make sure Castel stayed out of harm.”

            “I wouldn’t call scraping a knee ‘harm’,” Gabriel retorted coolly. He strode over to the sniffling Castiel, whose black, duckling-down wings fluttered slightly before seeming to fold away in fear. He swung his little brother up into his arms, bouncing him lightly. Settling him onto one arm, Gabriel inspected Castiel’s knee. “See?” he asked, tapping the bruised skin with a forefinger, making the mark vanish. “All better.”

            Castiel rubbed the back of his tiny hand over his eyes, still sniffling, but managing to smile at his brother. “Uh-huh,” he nodded, looking down at his knee.

            Gabriel turned to Michael. “He’s fine. Are y’gonna run and tell Dad, or not?”

            Michael glared in reply, which only made Balthazar laugh harder.

            “Here ya go.” Gabriel snapped his fingers, using one of his magic tricks to make a lollipop the size of Castiel’s head appear from the folds of his tunic (Lucifer grinned to himself. His brother was a fast learner). “Sorry, kiddo,” he said, handing it to the baby angel.

            Castiel’s tears had completely dried at this point, and he gave Gabriel a big smile. “Than’ku Gab’il,” he said, his words still those of a toddler’s.

            Gabriel grinned back. “I’m always gonna be here to pick you up, okay Cas?”

            Cas nodded slowly, comprehending the idea of always. “Okay. Promise?”


Inspired by:      

We Will Always Be Family:: An "I'm really upset about Merlin" Fanfiction

The Fandoms had gathered. One of them was ending. They would still be there, true, but it would be an existence without.

Sherlock, Doctor Who, and Supernatural gathered around Merlin. The young, five-season-old Fandom shivered, eyes wide and scared.

“I’m frightened. I don’t want to end. I want to stay with you,” Merlin pleaded, eyes falling on each of the other Fandoms.

The others looked at each other sadly. Doctor Who put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder, trying to be as comforting as was possible.

“Don’t worry, we’ll stay right here.”

Merlin swallowed hard and nodded. “Until the end. P-please stay.”

“Of course,” said Sherlock.

Supernatural nodded in agreement. “We stick by family.”

Merlin’s eyes darted around, trying to find something, anything, that might help. The Fandom’s gaze fell on two new figures watching on, their expressions sad, but smiles on their lips.


"We’re the Fandoms whose shows and books ended. I’m Firefly and this is Harry Potter. You’ll be with us soon. Don’t worry, you’ll be okay.” The words of the one called Firefly nearly brought fresh tears to Merlin’s eyes.

“Will it hurt? Will it hurt when it… when I…” voice shaking, Merlin’s bleary gaze dropped.

“No, it’s easy. Peaceful in a way. No more plot developments, no more character deaths. After your last episode, it will be easy. Just like falling asleep.” It was Harry Potter that spoke. 

Both of the new Fandom’s stepped towards the frightened Merlin.

“I can see them. The ones that have gone before,” Merlin whispered, giving Supernatural a panicked look. “I can see them.”

“That’s good. Listen to them, let them guide you through this.” Sherlock turned slightly, watching Firefly and Harry Potter. “Help Merlin,” the Fandom nodded.

“We will,” the two chorused.

“Don’t leave me alone,” Merlin said again, feeling panicky, but also tired. “Don’t leave me.”

“We’re all here for you. Forever.”

Oh god. I’ve made myself cry. Okay, so this was inspired by this post. I am so sorry. I just have a lot of emotions.

[What the fuck. I have not fucking clue what to call this. IT'S A DESTIEL PROPOSAL OKAY. A PROPOSAL.]

Castiel had never looked so tired.

It had been months since they’d started officially living together (that mostly meant that they got a motel room separate from Sam), and even long since Castiel had official been booted out of heavy by the almighty.

He appeared to Dean to be constantly worried. About what, the other man could only guess. Though, it didn’t really take a lot of effort to come up with some convincing scenarios.

There had to be a way… Some way of getting his mind away from whatever was troubling it. 

So Dean lounged there on the bed, arms casually wrapped around his fallen angel, frowning down at him.

As always, it took Castiel quite a while to realize that something was off. When he finally did notice Dean’s eyes trained on him, he dropped his head back.

“What is it, Dean?” he asked in his typical deeper-than-you’d expect voice.

He had some atrocious bags under his eyes,–had it really been so long and Dean hadn’t noticed him not sleeping?–his hair was messier than normal, and there was a slackness in his face that was worrying.

Dean had been planning something like this for a while, but now seemed like a good time as any. Especially with his angel looking so worn and beaten. 

“Nothing. Just thinking.”

Castiel paused, his brow furrowing. “Thinking?”

“Yeah, believe it of not, Sam isn’t always the brains of the operation,” Dean replied, a hand sliding through his hair.

Castiel made a ‘pffft’ noise, rolling his eyes, an action he wouldn’t have thought him capable of a year previously. Maybe even less. No, definitely less.

“What are you thinking about?”



“No, the other little, winged man laying across my stomach.” It was Dean’s turn to roll his eyes. 

They sat in silence for a long moment.

He did it quick. No elaborate words or anything.

“Cas, marry me.”

“Uh, what?” Castiel sat up, an elbow digging into Dean’s ribs.

“Ow– you heard me. Marry me. If you want. But I mean, I’d marry me–Hey!” Castiel dug his elbow hard and on purpose into his ribs again. Dean half laughed, half groaned in pain. “So? Will you?”

Castiel was silent, looking down on the hunter. He leaned forward quickly, contact his lips to Dean’s. He held them there, extending the kiss. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against Dean’s.

For the first time in several weeks, Castiel gave him a genuine smile. 

“Yes. I’ll marry you.”


This is for Riley. Do you realize that over half of everything I write is for your prompts? ily

Baby, It's Cold Outside :: A Destiel Christmas Fic

It was cold. Bitingly so.

Dean was cursing himself for ever deciding that a cabin miles from nowhere, in the middle of December, was a good idea. It had, he decided, been mostly Castiel’s pleading for somewhere other than a motel that had made him rent this place. 

He pulled his coat closer to him, flipping up the collar of his coat as he did so. Snow had started to fall harder now, practically obscuring the cabin from view as he trudged towards it. 

As he neared the low, wooden structure, the door opened. Castiel was standing in the doorway, arms folded against the chill breeze. 

My guiding light, Dean thought with a hint of a smile.

He reached the door, shivering and damp. Castiel helped him brush the snow off his shoulders.

“You didn’t have to go out in the storm,” he chided lightly. 

The room was warm, a fire burning merrily in the hearth. Dean kicked off his wet boots, and pulled off his coat. With a quick movement that he knew Castiel would miss, he slipped a small package from the coat’s pocket, hiding it in the pocket of his jeans. Turning, he gave the angel a smile.

“Yeah, I did." 

"It’s Christmas Eve, Dean. You should stay inside. Demons get riled on Christian holidays, you know that." 

"What’s life without a little risk?” Dean threw himself onto the sofa with a heavy sigh. He’d never been one to celebrate Christmas, never having anyone to really celebrate it with. But this year was going to be different.

Castiel moved to lean on the back of the sofa, looking down at Dean, whose head was thrown back on the cushions. “You confuse me,” he said simply.

Dean grinned up at him before flipping himself over so that his stomach was pressed against the back of the couch, and now the only thing separating him from the other man.

“I try,” he replied before he leaned forward and kissed Castiel’s cheek. He sat back, laughing as a blush spread across the angel’s face as he tensed and pulled away. “Come'ere.”

Dean tugged on Castiel’s arm, pulling him to the front of the sofa and down, so that he could wrap his arms around him. Castiel remained tense, but only for a second, then he relaxed, curling in to Dean.

Compared to Castiel, Dean was very cold. His eyelashes were still laced with snow, and his hair was damp. Even his breath was cold against Castiel’s skin, as they curled together in silence. 

Dean shifted, and, for a moment, Castiel worried that he’d done something wrong. But all he did was pull a small box, wrapped in blue paper from his pocket, then he settled Castiel against him once more.

Dean was quiet for another moment before handing the box to Castiel.

“Merry Christmas, Cas.”

Answer to Riley’s prompt!

Sorry it’s really short and not very good….

queerideations  asked:

Momor. University AU



Sebastian had never been inclined educationally until he’d met Jim. That wasn’t to say he wasn’t smart, just that he had problems with structured learning. Jim had changed that the first time he’d aimed a slap across his jaw for mouthing off about a quiz answer; suddenly Sebastian found leaning very interesting indeed.



anonymous asked:

God I love your writing it is so amazing. Can I have johnlock? I know it isn't your thing, but I want to see your perspective of their relationship.

   John could no longer be surprised by what he found in the fridge. Or the microwave for that matter. And lately, he had found himself in a constant state of unsurprised exasperation. He could have sworn that the amount of odd bits of human he was finding around the flat had steadily increased over the past fortnight. But the fingers in the tea cups was the last straw. There were just some places that fingers didn’t belong, and his drink-ware was one of them. 
   It was early, far too early for this. John slammed into the living area in what Mrs. Hudson might call “a tizzy”, but as a medical man, he was fairly sure “rage” was a better term. 
   ”My cup. MY CUP.” John massaged his forehead, not looking at his flatmate, who was laying on the sofa, fingers steepled, staring at the ceiling.
    “What of it.” Sherlock’s tone was flat, bored.
   ”There. Are. Fingers. In. My. Cup,” John replied, putting heavy emphasis on “fingers”.
   Sherlock sat up abruptly, turing to John with sudden, immense interest. “Ah! Two weeks. Longer than expected.” He was eyeing John, making mental notes.
   ”An experiment—I should have known. Christ, Sherlock—” John’s voice was heavy, and suddenly he felt very tired. He dropped down into the armchair, the heels of his hands pressed to his eyes. “Boundaries. We’ve talked about this.”
   Sherlock was in front of him in a flash, hand on his jaw, raising his face, eyes narrowed in observation. “You’re angry.”
   ”Bloody brilliant, you are.” John wrested his face from his grip. Sherlock was standing in front of him, watching carefully. There was a long pause where both men looked at one another.
   ”I’m sorry.”
    John looked up. If that wasn’t enough to surprise him, nothing was. Sherlock Holmes wasn’t one to apologize. 


I tried.