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alleiradayne · 1 year

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In Baldur’s Gate, Dragons Dungeon You! | Art Master Post

An SPN/D&D mashup that can be read on its own or part of the greater series The Way Things Ought to Be.

On a quiet afternoon a week shy of Christmas, Dean is interrupted while poking through the news for a case. Someone is pounding on the Bunker door. After a brief huddle with Sam and Castiel, they investigate to find Charlie on the other side, a box of books at her feet. She needs to use their archive for research and a place to stay while she does it. Of course, she's always welcome at the Bunker. And when Dean discovers her trove of Dungeons & Dragons books, she offers to run a quick campaign.

But the mysteries aren’t just in Candleekeep. Charlie seems to have one of her own. Except no one can put their finger on it. The campaign unravels--along with Charlie’s secrets--as she tells the story of The Scrivener’s Tale.

Chapter 10 - Hollywood Nights

Summary: And then they ate waffles. Sort of. Warnings/Tags: The ending, climax, a little bit o’ violence Characters/Pairings: Castiel, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Eileen Leahy, Jack Kline, Charlie Bradbury, Rowena, Gabriel (mentioned), original character Pop Culture Reference Count: 8 Word Count: 3847 Song: Hollywood Nights - Bob Seger

Sam rolled out of bed, careful not to disturb Eileen. She snored hard into her pillow, soundly asleep for once. Good. He rushed into his running gear and slipped from the room, hoping she got the peace, the restorative sleep she so desperately needed.

Quiet. He found comfort in the eerie emptiness of the Bunker so early in the morning. There was a solitude in its deep, vital hum, its still air. Maybe it was all the potential, teaming with possibilities. Order from chaos and all that. Another source of inspiration. Again, not that he lacked any.

He slipped through the Bunker’s door, venturing into the predawn light. Crisp winter air filled his lungs, his breath deep and wide. Then the run, that ritualistic chase after the high, began.

An hour later he returned, showered, and crept back into bed as Eileen awoke. She had indeed found a modicum of rest, enough that they spent another hour together before crawling out from beneath the sheets. Eileen led him to the showers, where he gladly joined her despite having just taken one. And when her stomach rumbled on the way to the kitchen half an hour later, she proclaimed, “I’m making waffles.”

He laughed with her knowing giggle and said, “I guess I can tolerate some refined carbs for breakfast.”

Once in the kitchen, Eileen started gathering utensils and bowls on the counter. Sam pulled ingredients from the pantry, and before the griddle was even hot, Jack wandered in.

“Waffles?”

Sam nodded as he pointed to the coffee pot. “Can you get the first round started?”

“Sure.” He strode to the pot, grabbed it, then headed to the sink.

Castiel arrived not a moment later, surprisingly alert. His humanity had finally settled in, it seemed. Or Castiel had grown accustomed to its limitations. Either way, he greeted them all, then helped Jack set the table.

Half an hour, eight waffles, and a stack of bacon later, Dean shambled into the kitchen, one shuffling step after the other.

“Morning, sunshine.”

Sam’s greeting was met with Dean’s usual grunt. “Bacon?”

Castiel pulled a fresh plate of bacon out of the oven. “Kept it warm for you.”

Dean grazed his forehead with a quick kiss as he accepted the plate and continued his shuffling towards the coffee. He gave Jack a clap on the shoulder as he passed and said, “Mornin’,” then reached for the pot. “Anything on the docket today?”

“I was thinking of heading into town,” Castiel said. “We’re running low on a few hunting supplies.”

Dean beamed his infectious smile. “I’m proud of you, Cas. Taking initiative. That’s the makings of a proper hunter.”

Eileen whisked a fresh plate of waffles from the counter and set it on the table beside Jack. “We’re planning a quick vacation. Over the weekend, I think.”

“Might head out to Boston or something,” Sam added. “Or Chicago. Not sure yet.”

That seemed to appease him. Dean nodded along as he sipped from his coffee, but said nothing. Another swig. Sam watched, careful not to stare. But he’d had enough of people acting out of the ordinary lately. And Dean’s unsettling quiet—sip—crawled between his shoulders.

“Where’s Charlie?”

Sam froze, as did the others, staring at one another. Charlie. Like everything else that week, he’d forgotten. Forgotten her fingerless gloves and tall turtleneck shirt, her long sleeves at which she had tugged constantly, and her wandering back into the Bunker just after dawn each morning.

As their stares connected, Dean’s eyes widened, ever so slowly and with such palpable clarity, Sam knew he remembered, too. All of it. In that stunning realization, Dean nearly dropped his favorite mug. Then he slammed it on the counter and rushed from the kitchen through the side door, gray robe billowing out behind him in his wake. Sam darted after him with Eileen, Castiel, and Jack in tow.

In the hallway, he spotted Dean rounding for the dorms. His slippered feet skidded to a halt in front of Room 15, the door ajar and a sliver of light beaming through. Sam slowed with the others as they caught up, and Dean motioned to the door.

“Should we…” His fists tightened, then released. “We can’t just barge in there.”

Sam shuffled closer. “Charlie?” Two knuckles rapped against the heavy wood. “You in there?”

Seconds of silence ticked by, and Dean shook his head. “I’m opening the door unless anyone has any objections.” When Sam and the others mumbled their agreement, Dean grasped the handle and pushed the door aside. “Charlie? We’re coming in… I hope you’re—”

Charlie hovered over the edge of her bed, poised to lunge. Both arms stretched ahead of her, reaching, and a twisted panic had contorted her face. She remained there despite the intruders, frozen as though made of ice.

No. Obsidian. A thin layer of dark, translucent glass covered her from the top of her head to her bare toes.

“Decent.” Dean finished.

Castiel shuffled nearer to Charlie and squinted. “Here,” he said as he pointed at her bare arm. “There’s some script imprinted on her skin. I can see it through the glass…”

“You’ve gotta be fucking joking,” Dean growled. He weaved through the group to stand beside Castiel. “How? How did we let this happen? We all knew something was up, but we didn’t stop it.”

The same questions plagued Sam, berating himself internally, and he imagined the others thought the same of themselves. Then a drawer rasped open behind them and he turned to find Eileen rummaging through Charlie’s desk. “The book has to be here. And we know how to summon Nintra… found it!”

She brandished a thin book, long and rectangular and bound in worn leather. A collective hiss ran through the group as they backed away, and Eileen dropped the book on the desk. “I’m not opening it, calm down…”

“We need a place to summon Nintra then,” Jack said. “Would the archives work?”

Dean sprang into motion then. “Sam, get her feet.”

“What?” Sam shuffled towards Charlie’s frozen form. “Where are we going?”

“The devil trap,” Dean said as he tipped Charlie forward. “She’s an archfey, right? We’ll summon her, spill some sugar, knock her out, and…”

“Candles,” Castiel said. “Black with blue flames.”

“You got any of those on hand, Witcher?” Dean directed at Sam as he grasped Charlie under her arms.

Sam hefted her by the feet and together they shuffled through the door. “No, but I know someone who does.”

“Great,” Dean grumbled. “Cas, grab the book. I want to be one hundred percent sure we toast this witch.”

Dean and Sam lead the way as they lugged Charlie’s awkward frame through the hallways. Behind Sam, Jack followed with Castiel and Eileen on his heels. “Do we have any ink with silver and gold? And a red quill?” Eileen asked.

“Does it need to be that specific?” Dean grunted as he pushed through the door to the archives. “The Haven isn’t even a real place—wait, is it? Please tell me it isn’t.”

One by one they filtered into the nearest room and headed for the devil trap. Sam set Charlie’s feet down and Dean leaned her upright. “It better not be,” Sam started. “Otherwise, we’re in deep shit. At the very least, Rowena will have—”

A whip crack split the air, and the predictable crimson mist that followed coalesced to reveal Rowena. “Hello, boys.” She handed a bag to Sam and, when she spotted Charlie, frowned. “Fey troubles?”

“Really?” Dean spat. “That’s all you have to say about the situation? Charlie is dying—”

“She’s not dying. Don’t get your undies in a bunch,” Rowena interjected as she approached Charlie. With a wave of her hand and a one-word incantation, she freed Charlie of her prison. “There. Right as rain.”

Charlie shook out her arms and legs as Sam handed her a blanket retrieved from a box. “No, I’m fine, really—”

“Fine?” Dean demanded. “This is the opposite of fine! She is not right as rain. What happened, Charlie?!”

Charlie sheepishly scanned the room and spotted the book in Castiel’s hand. “Remember that friend I mentioned? The one that thought she was cursed?”

“Yeah, Nina—” Dean began, but his thought clipped short. He looked at the book Castiel still held, then considered Charlie once more. “Nintra?”

“Most likely,” she agreed. “She gave me that book with the other D&D stuff she had.” She sighed then, shaking her head. “She definitely did not tell me it was cursed and her archfey powers were locked away in it. Can’t believe I got suckered by a pretty face…”

Great. Sam backhanded Dean and, when Dean glared at him, he motioned back to Charlie. “C’mon man, don’t give her a hard time.”

Dean groaned, then crossed the room to embrace Charlie. “Hey, I’m not blaming you. None of us are. It’s not your fault. We’ll summon this fairie bitch and light her up.”

“Thanks,” Charlie mumbled. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Sam set the bag on the floor just outside the devil trap and began emptying it. He extracted six black candles, a bottle of ink, a red quill, some old parchment paper, several silver stakes, a carton of cream—still cold—and a jar of sugar. As he situated the candles, he glanced at Rowena and asked, “How did you know we needed all this stuff?”

“This isn’t the first time Nintra has shaken Oberon’s shackles,” Rowena stated. “But that’s a story for another day, should you live to see it.” She snapped her fingers and the blue flames sparked to life. “I would like to watch, if you don’t mind.”

“You could help,” Dean grumbled.

She pointed at the bag. “I have. Beyond that, I’d be interfering,” she quipped with a wink at Jack, who nodded in agreement.

Sam handed Charlie the red quill, the ink bottle, and the parchment. “You know what to do?”

Without a word, she set the ritual items on the table and began. The quill scratched across the parchment as she wrote, her hand surprisingly steady. When she finished, she gathered the book, the quill, the ink, and the parchment and set them all but for her written intention on the floor behind the candles.

Then she turned back to Sam and held her writing out to him. He stepped back and pointed at the candles. “You have to do it,” he started. “Or at least, that’s what I think you should do. Since that’s how the campaign worked…”

“Great,” Charlie sighed, her chin dropping to her chest. But she did as Sam suggested, returning to the candles and set the parchment atop the book. “Welp. Here goes nothing… Nintra Siotta. Princess of the Shadow Glass, Lady of Dread Omens, Seeker of the Three Crowns. I release you.”

Wind whipped through the archives, scattering loose papers on the research tables left uncatalogued. Sam grasped the silver stakes, spurred into motion by the suddenly very real risk they faced. He handed one to Eileen, then Castiel and Dean. Jack refused, hands held up. Right. No interfering.

He rushed back to Rowena and shoved a silver stake into her hand. “Don’t argue with me.”

“I never do,” she retorted, but she remained where she stood, lazily leaning back against a set of shelves. “Not anymore.”

Charlie had backed up from the candles, hands raised to shield herself from the wind. Sam flanked her with Dean, and Castiel right behind them. He handed her a stake, and she took it in her right hand, reversed and poised to strike.

Then the wind stopped abruptly, papers and dust drifting to the floor mid-flight. Sam stood ready, every muscle taut and eyes scanning the devil’s trap. But nothing happened, and the silent seconds stretched endlessly, until a flicker of green lightning, ever so faint, arced across the trap.

“You all saw that right?” Charlie whispered.

“Yeah,” Dean replied. “Why are we whispering?”

Another flash of wicked green lightning darted from the ceiling to the floor in the center of the trap, throwing up a plume of deep gray smoke. The roiling pillar churned, folding in on itself until it took the shape of a small woman. Her features sharpened, emerging from the smoke as though chiseled from stone, and the wind whisked away the lingering gray as it died.

Shoulder-length hair dark as night framed her plain, pale face, and she stood half a head shorter than Charlie. Unremarkable human clothing. Unassuming. An excellent disguise, meant to disarm, deflect. Great spellwork was at play, he knew. He felt his eyes slipping from her, his memory immediately foggy and unable to recall much, if anything, about her.

But Charlie stared Nintra down, unimpeded by the archfey’s magic. So Sam redoubled his efforts, railing against the illusion, and he truly saw her then. Obsidian skin, green-flame eyes, and lavish purple robes embroidered with acid-green runes, just like The Scrivener’s Tale. As she drifted to the edge of the trap, the blue-flame candles danced just out of her reach. She towered over Charlie, over himself, but the trap held firm. She smiled a loving smile as she reached for Charlie’s face, but reared back from the trap’s warding.

“Charlie, what’s going on? Why am I…” she began. Then she noticed the others, stopping at Sam. “Ah, I should have guessed. How’s it goin’, Beelzebub?”

He sneered and said, “Another day in paradise.”

Nintra’s sardonic smile faded at that, unimpressed. “We should go, Charlie. Oberon won’t know what hit him if we act now.”

Charlie crossed the threshold, reaching her empty hand out for Nintra’s. Sam nearly leaped out of his skin, but Eileen grabbed his wrist before he moved an inch. He turned over his shoulder and she signed so fast, he struggled to keep up.

Let her handle it.

She’s gonna get herself killed.

Trust her. Look.

Sam spun back around and spotted what Eileen had seen. Charlie had concealed the length of her silver stake along her forearm and behind her back.

“Care to explain, my dear?” Nintra said as she took Charlie’s hand. “I would like to be rid of these shackles and you’ve done marvelously.”

“I’m so sorry, Nina,” Charlie began. “I never meant for this to happen.”

“Oh, sweet Charlie, I know,” Nintra soothed. “I’m sorry it had to be this way.”

“Me, too.”

Quick as lightning, silver flashed, the overhead lamp glinting off of Charlie’s silver stake. She twisted into Nintra, pulling her wrist as she thrust between her ribs. A silent scream dropped Nintra’s jaw, and her eyes popped. When Charlie parted from her, the Princess of the Shadow Glass dropped to her knees, clutching the silver stake, then collapsed to the floor, motionless.

“Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal.”

Sam turned back and glared at Castiel. He was about to chastise him for his poorly timed joke, but when he opened his mouth, Charlie interrupted him.

“And a Happy New Year,” she growled, ripping the silver stake out of Nintra’s lifeless body. Then she rounded on the candles, knelt, and blew them out one by one.

After what felt like an eternity, the archfey’s body began to crumble. Indolent flakes of ash drifted away to nothing, lingering as long as possible, loitering. Then the book burst into flames beneath the parchment, consuming it, the quill, and the inkwell.

Most importantly, though, was Charlie. The curse’s text flashed blindingly bright, illuminating like the sun, then vanished without a trace.

“Well, that’s no fun,” Rowena pouted. “We didn’t even get to use the sugar. I was looking forward to waterboarding an ancient evil fairy with cream.”

Sam snatched the silver stake from Rowena’s hand. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Love you too, dearie,” she sang, then turned to Eileen with whom she traded a hug and a kiss. “Are you two free tomorrow night? Gabriel sent word—”

“We’re free,” Eileen insisted.

“Good,” Rowena hummed. “Eight o’clock, your time.” And with her usual cracking whip, she vanished.

Silence permeated the archive then, a heavy awkward thing that, while familiar, Sam had always hated. But then Charlie heaved a sigh.

“Finally,” she breathed. It was as if ten years had sloughed from her shoulders, shrugged off like an old, worn out coat. “Can’t believe it’s actually over.”

“You sure?” Dean asked.

Charlie handed her silver stake—oddly free of any blood—to Sam and he took it. “Yeah, I’m sure,” she said. “But I think I’m gonna go pass out on that memory foam mattress for a week.”

“Hold up,” Dean interrupted before she could take another step. “Who was reversing the curse every morning?”

She shrank an inch, head dipping between her shoulders, and her face contorted into a disgusted snarl. “Sergei,” she hissed. “But I was paying him straight cash every day. No provisos, no quid pro quos.”

When Dean looked at him, Sam shrugged. And Castiel had nothing to add when Dean shot him a glare, too. So he returned to Charlie and said, “If he ever bothers you about it, and I mean ever, you call me, okay?”

Charlie nodded, words overpowered by a wide yawn. Dean took the opportunity to pull her into a tight hug, and she returned it twofold. “One more question,” he said as he held her out at arm’s length. “Why didn’t you just tell us an evil fairy cursed you? We could have done this ritual the second you got here.”

“Because, I tried,” she started as she slipped from his arms and headed for the door. “I tried to tell a few people, local hunters. None of them remembered. Within seconds, everything I’d said about Nina and the ritual were just… poof. Gone. The conversation would start over. So I gave up and came here.”

He followed her into the hallway, as did the others, and Sam brought up the rear. “So what was your plan? Convince us somehow?” Dean persisted.

“No,” she declared as she pushed through the dormitory door. “You wouldn’t remember. And I couldn’t risk any of you reading the tale and ending up cursed, too. It had to be this way. It had to be me. Someone else might have gotten it wrong.”

In the library, Charlie turned to face them. “Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t know what else to do. At least it worked out.”

Dean didn’t like any of it. His pursed lips and furrowed brow left little to the imagination. Not to mention that Sam didn’t like it much either, although he understood it. Understood the desire to protect those around you at any cost. The Winchester Way.

“Next time, skip the D&D campaign,” Dean chided.

“Yeah, yeah,” Charlie said, waving him off as she sidestepped him towards the door. “You gotta admit it was fun.”

“What?” Dean asked. “Being cursed by a fairy is what you consider fun?

Sam had wondered much the same, and he regarded the others with a similarly arched brow.

“No, the campaign. Unless you think… never mind, I don’t want to know the answer.” She paused for a breath. “You know, I could stick around through the holidays. We could run The Book of Inner Alchemy story.”

The purest excitement brightening her face masked any exhaustion Charlie had previously expressed. Sam couldn’t fathom denying her the happiness.

“One condition,” Dean began.

Her scrutinizing glare narrowed on him. “Fine,” she drawled.

“I’m the Dungeon Master.”

Charlie only just managed to hide her unbridled glee behind a poor attempt at a casual smile.

“Okay, Eddie.”

This series is complete! Reblogs are loved and feedback is welcome!

#spn-mediabigbang #spn media big bang #spn-mediabigbang2023 #spn-mbb #spn-mediabb2023 #spnfanfic #spnfanfiction #spn fanfic #spn fanfiction #dnd #dnd campaign #the scrivener's tale

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xfancyfranart · 1 year

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Hi! :) I’m beyond excited to finally share my art for California Vampire Summer with you, which is @friendofcarlotta ‘s and my @spn-mediabigbang collab. This banner / movie poster is probably the most ambitious thing I’ve ever tried to draw, but I’m so proud and happy with how it turned out. Thank you for the challenge, @spn-mediabigbang, I’ve had a blast! <3

Now for the most important part: Tina, I've had so much fun getting to know you and your incredible writing skills, and I’m SO grateful that this collab introduced us to each other. Working with you is an incredibly rewarding experience - and having you as a fandom bestie is just as much! I can’t wait to continue working, laughing, rewatching SPN, sharing bi-Dean moments with you, and using each other as a diary :D ALSO, I can’t wait to meet you later this year! Love you <3

Everyone go read “CVS” now, you won’t regret it :D And keep an eye out for additional art, I’m not done with this yet ;)

#destiel #destiel fic #destiel fanfic #destiel fanart #spn media big bang 2022 #spn mbb #spnmbb 2023 #The Lost Boys AU #deancas #deancas fanart #deancas fic #destiel kiss #deancas kiss #destiel art #deancas art #friendofcarlotta #xfancyfranart

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littlethingwithfeathers · 27 days

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How to Use A03 if you're used to Algorithm Fed Content: A kind primer.

There's a post making the rounds where someone, I'm going to assume earnestly, asks the question, "How do people figure out what's good to read on AO3?" And predictably, while there have been some people trying to answer that question assuming that it's being asked in good faith, there have been some people ridiculing this person. Basically, spewing out the fandom equivalent of "git gud noob." Like I said... I'm assuming this person was asking out of actual ignorance and curiosity, mostly because I see a lot of people also lamenting the fact that algorithm-fed apps and fandom spaces are creating a generation of fans who don't know how to actively search for and curate the content they consume. So when they get on a place like AO3 or even Tumblr to an extent, they don't know how to find the things they want and how to curate their experience. And so I guess that's why I pulled up short when this person's question has been getting so much snark. Here's a teachable moment. Even if they are being a troll in this case (which I doubt) here's the chance to give the facts on how AO3 works so they can use this amazing archive themselves. And not just them but anyone who happens upon the post. So... I'm not an AO3 whiz by any means. I don't spend a lot of time digging around in the tags and tools and bells and whistles of the search engine. If someone else wants to reblog with some tips there, go for it. It's the best thing about AO3 in my opinion... other than the lack of censorship. But here's my tips on how to find something you'll like. This is pretty much what I do.

-Go to your fandom of choice's tag. Filter for the rating you want (Teen, Explicit, etc), and then just start scrolling. Take a peek at things that sound interesting from the tags or summaries. You might have to scroll for a bit, and you might hit some stuff that's not for you, but you'll find something eventually. Especially if it's a bigger fandom like SPN, MCU, Hannibal, or Critical Role. -If you discover/know that there's something that bothers you (unfinished work, ABO dynamics, whatever) you can filter for those tags! This is how you curate your experience. It's an active process and there are no shadow-bans or anything in place to keep sensitive content corralled into a certain area. There's a rating system, and there's tags, but nothing to actually make those mean anything unless the user blocks them. While it takes more thought than mindless scrolling, you get to play a role in actively searching out new things for yourself that an algorithm might gloss over. -Likewise, if there's something you really like or are in the mood for, search for that tag in particular. Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Coffee Shop AU... whatever your jam is. -Be careful using metrics like views, comments, and kudos as benchmarks. They fluctuate wildly by pairing, and from fandom to fandom, and are heavily influenced by date of publishing. And just because the majority of people like something, doesn't mean it's for you. If something sounds interesting... read a few paragraphs and see what's up! -Check out the Collections page under the "Browse" tabs. Often these are curated lists either from individual fans or from fanfic writing events like Big Bangs, Zines, and gift exchanges. Fanfic events like these often attract pretty experienced writers so not only is the quality likely to be very good, it's also likely to have some pretty prolific authors -When you find an author you like, and have read your fill of their offerings, see what they have bookmarked or what collections their works are in. You might find some similarly interesting stuff. It's also worth seeing if they have a blog or other social media listed on their about page. They might post some links there or be part of communities elsewhere on the internet that can open up new search avenues for you. -Don't be afraid to read old stuff. Fandoms change and evolve. There's a golden age of MCU fanfic in the 2010s that's just unlike anything else. And the Hannibal fandom has been and always will be a trip, but man it's been a wild ride through some interesting places and obsessions. -And lastly... for the love of god, comment on old stuff. It's not creepy or weird. In fact, if you like someone's writing who hasn't written in a bit, leave them a nice comment. There's this magical thing that happens when you do. Sometimes... THEY START WRITING AGAIN! (saying this from experience here.) Remember... the A in AO3 stands for Archive. It's not a social media platform. It's a library. There is -supposed- to be old stuff there. And you are absolutely allowed to read it and enjoy it and tell the author that. In fact... please do. As I said, feel free to add on if you want to give tips of your own. But be kind. I see a lot of talk about how algorithms are changing the face of fandom and how people interact with fan made content. Let's reach out and educate instead of ridicule.

#fanfiction #fanfic #archive of our own #a03

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thenookienostradamus · 22 days

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20 questions for fic writers

Okay so this one looks insanely fun; I couldn't not hop on board. Tagged by the fantastic @nocompromise-noregrets. These are some juicy questions!

1. How many works do you have on Ao3? 45. Oh shit I just realized I have one fic for each year of my life.

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count? 957,606

3. What fandoms do you write for? Many of the ones I have written for I don't anymore, but I've written for some enormous fandoms like Hannibal, Tolkien/Silmarillion, Star Wars, Sherlock, and SPN, a couple biggish ones (Detroit: Become Human , Midnight Mass, and Foundation -TV), and a shitload of tiny fandoms including The Alienist (TV), The Following, True Detective, The Exorcist (TV), and Preacher (TV).

4. What are your top five fics by kudos? Cernunnos (Hannibal) - 1,189; Misericorde (Hannibal) - 727; Exit Music (D:BH) - 716; The Detective Doth Protest Too Much (D:BH) - 638; The Stolen Prey (Hannibal) - 579.

5. Do you respond to comments? Yes! It's super important to me to take time and thank people who have commented. Also I'm not super crazy popular so I don't get a shit-ton of comments anyway. They're all gems!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Hm. Most likely Nightmare Angel, my lone Supernatural fic which nobody reads because I kill Dean and send Sam on an automobile-assisted vengeance quest. Listen, it's a book-based AU and the book isn't exactly the happiest.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Probably This Night at the Edge of the World, which is a surprisingly poignant modern AU take on a Star Wars crack ship. Matt the fucking Radar Technician. Who knew?

8. Do you get hate on fics? Rarely. I've gotten a couple of comments along the lines of "Why didn't you do x?" or "If this was my fic I would have..." and I've found that a lot of those come from people who are well intentioned but possibly neurodivergent, so I try to be kind.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Yep. All but 8 of my fics are Explicit-rated. Not sure what is meant by "what kind" - but like...hopefully the sexy kind? This is a reflection of the reason why I read fanfic. If I want character development, an engrossing story, an ingenious plot, whatever, I read original fiction. If I want to read about make-believe people banging, I read fic. I don't like longfic or romance or slow burn or whatever. Reading fic, for me, is purely for horndog reasons.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? I guess the closest I've come to that is the Techienician ship, AKA Matt the Radar Technician (Adam Driver's undercover Star Wars character from a Saturday Night Live sketch) x Techie from Dredd (2012) as played by Domhnall Gleeson.

11. (there doesn't seem to be a question 11) Free space! I am loving the recent proliferation of interesting, complicated female characters in media!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Uh. I think so? Not sure if it was on AO3, though.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Tons of them, actually. Which is weird because I typically like to write alone. But I've had some amazing collabs. I cowrote one of my Following fics with a friend (we've since lost touch). I wrote a crackfic called It's Hard Out There for a Balrog for a reverse bang, collaborating with @melkors-big-tits and his ridiculously amazing art and awesome ideas. My fave collab, of course, was the extraordinarily cracky Kylux holiday fic, Merry Huxmas, which I co-wrote with my sister, @gefionne.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? Uh...I don't really have an all-time favorite. Just whatever is occupying my mind at the time.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? I'm not entirely sure I'll ever finish The Unresisting Heart, which is a Maglor/Sauron fic. It was an experiment in style and I enjoyed it, but I'm not sure I'm in the frame of mind to finish. I keep telling myself I'll finish In Eorum Nominibus, my Midnight Mass Riley/Father Paul fic. But again...not sure.

16. What are your writing strengths? Characterization, probably. I'm pretty decent at putting together a plot with a lot of moving pieces. Dialogue. Also making things not read like fanfic.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? I sometimes miss opportunities for character interiority, especially with a fast-moving plot. I try not to, but my writing is vague sometimes. I don't particularly think it's a weakness, but fic readers love flowery, pretty language and I refuse to write that way.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? Largely unnecessary. If you do, translate. But throwing words from another language in makes you sound like a non-native speaker trying to appear cool. If you're fluent in another language, why not just write in that language, too?

19. First fandom you wrote for? Well, if you don't count Mary Sue stories written in a spiral notebook before the computer era, probably The Matrix. Revolutions, specifically. It's not posted. It will never be posted.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written? Exit Music. Because its totally invented AU plot went on to inspire an original novel that may or may not be published before I die. People really do not want to read "unlikeable female characters." Sigh.

Tagging some new friends, including @mycapeisplaid and @madsmilfelsen, plus some beloved old friends: @thefangirlibrarian, @niennawept, @ruiniel, @i-did-not-mean-to, @cilil, and the obligatory @gefionne because she has the same parents as I do and also because she's awesome.

#fic #writing #tag game #fanfiction #fic asks

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sissyray84 · 1 year

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turn on. Tune in. Sell out-wake up!

Excerpt Time for a distraction?

Castiel forces himself to smile, muttering to himself anything bit a rictus grin—just anything, okay?

The mantra must have some effect because when he tugs Dean forward by his hand, Dean’s lips curl up in a matching expression, his nose crinkling adorably and the koala at the corners of those gold speckled greens koala.

Dean comes to a stop in what would be the V of Castiel’s legs. He leans over, hands bracketing Castiel’s hips and upper body so tantalizingly close that Castiel wonders if Dean’s done a switch and bait on him. Who is supposed to be seducing who?

Dean is now so close that Castiel can arch up to capture his lips. Castiel curls his palm around Dean’s chin.

Dean lets out a quiet koala of against Castiel’s lips where they meet his.

Castiel keeps it soft and chaste. Almost a peck. He draws back and attempts to wink at Dean. Making those sorts of faces isn’t Castiel’s strong suit but he still manages to elicit a pout from Dean and a swift glance over his shoulder towards the open door.

When Dean whips his head back around, he has a smirk plastered across his face. He leans in to kiss Castiel again. Dean nips at his bottom lip, then soothes it with a swipe of his tongue. Dean presses his body as close as he can from this awkward angle, lips breaking contact so Dean can turn to koala them against the shell of Castiel’s ear instead.

The puff of hot breath tickles.

“Two can play at that game, Sweetheart. Lucky for you, I’m all in.”

Dean grips the front of Castiel’s shirt, licking into his mouth and beginning to take him apart with one gentle flick of his tongue after another.

“Dean, door,” Castiel says, in two ragged breaths as he drags himself away from the kiss.

Dean huffs, hands reaching out after Castiel as he hurries to shut and lock the office door.

“Now, where were we?”

Dean loops his hands around Castiel’s waist.

“You know what? Waste of good liquor aside, you might have had a point in that whole desk clearing business.”

#spnThe most ungainly and unsexy shuffling gets the two of them around the other side of the desk, with Dean’s arms still around Castiel.

“Nuh-huh,” Dean says when Castiel turns to sit back in his chair. “That’s never gonna take the weight.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “Let go of me and I’ll make some more space on the desk. It’s a talent of mine.”

Dean lets out a small laugh as he drops his grip on Castiel.

Green eyes never leave Castiel’s back as he puts the monitor and remaining few items in the back corner.

When Castiel returns to the desk, Dean is sitting on it, legs open wide and gesturing for Castiel to come stand between them. He does.

Dean slide a hand up Castiel’s chest, then loops that arm around his neck and melts into him, letting Castiel’s strong body take most his weight.

Castiel’s stomach swoops when Dean’s other hand grips the fabric of his faded Missile Kid T-shirt that miraculously not only had Bobby kept, but still fitted—with a little more strain on the fabric.

Dean pulls at the shirt, untucking it from Castiel’s form-fitting jeans.

Castiel koala as calloused fingertips slip underneath and stroke the soft skin above his waistband.

He holds him up like he weighs almost nothing, and he has visions of jumping into his arms and wrapping his legs around his waist while Cas carries him to his bedroom.

Castiel whimpers as Dean’s tongue slips out of his mouth.

Dean stares at him, like he’s memorizing every contour and line on Castiel’s face.

Castiel half-heartedly reaches for Dean, a pout on his face.

It earns him one more, almost brutally hard press of their lips before Dean drops his hold and shuffles further back on to the desk.

“Got anything interesting stashed away in those drawers,” Dean says bending backwards with one elbow on the desk, the other reach over the edge.

Hi... are you wanting more? Then please stay tuned to the SPN Media Big Bang Tumblr @spn-mediabigbang to see more art plus Full fic posting in DEC 2022 by author @GhoulsnHalos and artist sissyray84 it is a romantic drama action packed futuristic thriller based on The fabulous killjoys franchise coming soon!

#spn media big bang #ghoulsnhalos #sissyray84newart2022 #destielnewart2022 #spnmediabang

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deancodedcastielenby · 2 years

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“One Night At Freddy’s”

An SPNMediaBigBang Production

Coming in December!

Inspired by Five Nights At Freddy’s

Author: @geeksheek89 || Artist: @deancodedcastielenby

Excerpt:

*****************************************************************

Without warning a loud bell rang out through the venue, accompanied by the scream of joy from the children on the climbing frame. The apparatus emptied in an instant, kids seemingly popping out of any entrance/ exit they could find, all running towards the stage. The curtains pulled apart to revile three animatronic animals. To the right of the stage, the blue rabbit holding a red guitar. To the left, the yellow Chicken holding what appeared to be a bucked tooth cupcake. And front and centre, Mr Freddy FazBear himself, microphone in hand as he serenaded his young audience.

The animatronics seemed to be fixed to the stage, each joint looking like they were posable, yet none of them was really moving. Only their mouths mime along to the song, eyes blinking occasionally and the rabbit's hand simulated a strumming motion like it was playing the guitar, it was the platform they stood on that did all the work. Rotating each figure in time with the cheesy melody, while stage lights overhead flashed different colours. The song was over as quickly as it started, the animatronics stilling, cold eyes staring blankly over the audience as the children clapped and cried out for more.

They had visited haunted hotels, abandoned warehouses and graveyards by the plenty. Seen the depths of hell and enough gruesome deaths to send any sane person to the nuthouse. But looking into those cold stoic plastic eyes of those animatronic gave Dean the creeps. He was almost certain they were watching his every move, like one of those paintings that gave the optical illusion that the eyes were following you around the room.

“I take back everything I ever said about you and clowns,” Dean mumbled quietly to his brother as he watched the purple curtains close, thankfully hiding the creepy robots on display.

#spn media big bang #fnaf inspired #Spn Fanworks #Coming soon

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eisforeidolon · 1 year

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SPN, for good or bad, never really changed what it was. It had this oddly large female & LGBTQ following, and segments of those people that because they were a vocal part of the fandom that the show should change to appeal more to them (bi Dean/Destiel, more woman, etc…) but the irony was that SPN as it is/was is what drew most of those people to the show (the others clearly duped by Tumblrnatural). So it’s kinda funny, “this show sucked me in w/the characters and stories. Now change it!”

Right?

Current fandom has some very weird issues in regards to wanting canons to prioritize representation over literally everything else. Like, it's not enough for you to just like a story, there has to be some kind of ~*cause*~ you're supporting by caring about it. Which is absurd, because fandom isn't activism.

Representation is important, but it is not the end-all be-all in determining whether a particular piece of media is worthwhile. SPN actually did better than some people are willing to give it credit for, especially in the latter seasons. There were both prominent and incidental background characters adding diversity where no one in universe made a big deal about it. Sure, there were some unfortunate choices and room for improvement, but efforts were made. Except because the show only made those efforts in regards to the world in general, instead of fundamentally changing the main characters and the overarching story? Not good enough! Because you can't use it as a club to bang over other people's heads to prove you're sufficiently ~*progressive*~ in your media choices. It's very silly, even before you get into the part where it would only count as good enough for most if it changed to hook up the two specific individual characters that they ship.

#askboxery #anonymous #faux social justice

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dotthings · 2 years

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Currently witnessing it as the CW base on stan twitter reveals how mixed up they really are because while it's the shows people really care about, at some point fans kinda lost sight of that and believe a corporate network platform is their friend. I'm speaking as someone who was a fan of the whole Arrowverse for years and gave up. Or ask me sometime how I went over the moon supporting The 100 and then quit because of how that started downspiraling.

And am currently loving the new wave of CW series I decided to give targeted support to. I think there is noticeable improvement. And a notably lack of tire fires. I get it, when a platform gives you many shows you like, you tend to admire the platform, and that's ok. But when it hits the point of evangelizing the platform and making that their fandom identity to the the point where they lose sight of the fact that it's the shows. It's about the shows. The characters, the stories, the creatives, the crew, the actors who make the stories.

Yes sometimes creatives screw up too, but as someone who's been watching the slowmo trainwreck of an implosion of CW over many years, as a fan of shows on that platform, when there's that many problems, all at the same problem, that is systemic.

A network's just a delivery system.

Mark Pedowitz is not your friend. And now, he's out too, as I kinda thought might happen given all the other changes.

A reminder about Mr. Pedowitz, while he is being lionized in media posts, and the brosonlies of spn standom stick him on a pedestal, and confused CW stans seem to think he's a hero: On his watch, at first CW rose. Then it started to crumble. On his watch, the big money netflix deal fell apart. To be fair, that was due to the CBS half of CW that had to have its tanking shows renewed no matter what and that rolled to netflix along with everything else and didn't do well and netflix got tired of that. But Pedowitz getting that netflix deal into place does not counter the downsides. On his watch, ratings starting tanking downward, and while some of that was overall tv industry, ratings scale altering drastically, on the big broadcast networks too. But CW ratings were noticeably circling the drain, across shows. On Pedowitz's watch, multiple massive tire fires harming multiple series across multiple IP's. Multiple large fanbases hurt. Some real attempts at increased diversity undermined by harm. By tokenism, by lack of intersectionality, by mentalities that said here you have this character and that character, that's enough, by mismanagement. It was like nobody in the highest positions of power actually cared.

People keep throwing around CW's diversity stats like that somehow undoes the trash fire harms. Hey you can count, good for you. Did you actually sit down and think about the bad messaging across multiple series? The sidelining? The way some shows were treated? The CW mess, which had bothered me for a long time, finally got so bad I snapped and participated in a boycott for a whole year, as an objection to the systemic mess and the harm it was doing. I stuck with it. Unlike some people who keep banging hate pots and pans and grudgewanking, I'm not a fake woke performative mess. The reason I ended boycott was announcement of the CW sale and I was noticing some changes in content that appealed to me. I chose a few shows to give targeted support towards. No it wasn't about my ship. No it wasn't about my favorite actors.

As for the spn base, a reminder why brosonlies evangelize Pedowitz: "the franchise is only j2," "there's no characters worth developing for a spinoff," "spn will continue so long as Jared and Jensen are willing" as his sole and only comment on the whole thing. Pedowitz's public persona helped propped up and empower the anti-diversity stans of spn standom for years. And J2 were just money signs. It's his job as CEO to see the money signs, what I object to is acting like he's such a good fan of the show and loves it so much when he displayed no appreciation for it overall, showed no signs he cared about that world or characters outside of two brothers in an Impala. I resented how he didn't appear to actually care about the show overall. And the CW's biggest longest flagship series was choked and throttled from being allowed to become more inclusive. Which is on more than one company and higher up but stop acting like Pedowitz wasn't helping to choke it. Jensen and CMP have already pulled the SPN universe beyond the limits placed on it previously. We are entering a broader, more inclusive, new era of SPN

There's also other industry changes happening that undoes some of the damage done back at the original point of the WB-UPN merger when a lot of black targeted programming got tossed aside. You can read @ghost-of-bobby if you're curious about a more informed view of what's up with Atlanta and how that will cause some needed change. Or look up what's going on with Assembly Atlanta, a new $140 million dollar studio complex owned by Gray Television, which is bigger than Nexstar, and heavily serves the south. And CW is going to change. It's not going to be like it was, in 2012, or 2014, or 2018. That doesn't mean all the shows you love currently are vanishing or they won't make new shows. They've already bought a couple of promising sounding series to develop, designed to be diverse.

Change can be good, change can be bad, but things are adding up in a way that points towards some much needed shaking up, more than towards anything bad. Unless of course, you're anti-diversity and want everything to pretend it's still the year 2007. Then it's bad news.

#CW network

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alleiradayne · 1 year

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In Baldur’s Gate, Dragons Dungeon You! | Art Master Post

An SPN/D&D mashup that can be read on its own or part of the greater series The Way Things Ought to Be.

Chapter 9 - Turn Up The Radio

Summary: If there's a lock, then there must be a key - the party returns to the warded door with all three rune keys. And everyone's still entirely miffed by whatever Charlie keeps doing that they can't recall. Warnings/Tags: D&D Characters/Pairings: Castiel playing Castiel, Dean Winchester playing Rawridan, Sam Winchester playing Mephisto, Eileen Leahy playing Fechin, Jack Kline playing Comet Shadowpool, Charlie Bradbury Pop Culture Reference Count: 9 Word Count: 3847 Song: Turn Up The Radio - Autograph

With dinner ready, Charlie insisted on eating while they completed the final showdown.

“We could wrap tomorrow, Charlie,” Sam suggested. “No reason to push yourself. You look like you could use some sleep.”

Charlie shook her head vigorously as she swallowed a swig of Mountain Dew. “I’m fine,” she said as she grabbed a handful of Cheetos and dropped them on the plate beside her hot beef sandwich—a recipe Dean had touted as the best hot beef he’d ever had. Eileen suspected that was because Castiel had made it.

“Alright, I won’t push,” Sam said and that was the end of that.

Charlie stood at the head of the table and began to recite.

“You’ve returned to the warded door, and Ramilir senses the rune keys buzzing in his belt pouch…”

Fechin readied her stilettos as Ramilir withdrew the rune keys from his pouch. One discreet glance at Mephisto found a confident nod and a wink, as if everything was fine. As if they weren’t about to summon the most powerful archfey this side of the Gloaming Court in a millennium.

And yet, she agreed. She trusted him, as well as the others. In all her years adventuring, that was a first.

Shimmering violet light emanated from the runes as Ramilir placed each in its respectful slot. As the third stone rasped into the stone, the Haven of the Red Quill shuddered beneath her feet and dark waves of midnight mist emanated from the threshold, dancing along the floor. Then the fog thinned as the stone quieted, and the door lurched into motion, receding into the floor.

Sunlight streamed over the top of the door, and Fechin threw a hand up to shield her eyes. With each foot revealed, the light balanced, and Rawridan took the first step over the threshold. Castiel followed, and Comet leaped into line.

Mephisto gestured her ahead when Fechin turned to him. I’ll bring up the rear, he signed.

Sounds like an excuse to look at mine.

Correct.

At least he was honest.

The room beyond stole her attention as she entered and her jaw dropped. A large, circular chamber, heavy with the scents of dust and stale air, sprawled beneath a fifty-foot-high dome of crystal panels. Six towering bookshelves lined the opposite wall, perpendicular to the stone curve. The space between each pair of shelves was set with a table, a scribe’s desk, and several chairs. And six enormous panes of smoky gray glass hung on the walls, one in each compartment.

Most importantly, however, was the ritual circle etched into the stone in the center of the room.

Pristine. For over nine hundred years, not a single living soul had set foot inside that chamber. No decay, no rot marred the wood, the books. But early dawn sunlight streamed through the crystal panels in the ceiling, mirroring the morning sky.

“That… is a lot of magic,” Fechin muttered.

“Correct, again,” Mephisto quipped, but any further witty remarks died in his throat. Ramilir had wandered into the center of the ritual circle and stood before a short pedestal. And then he spotted six obsidian candle stubs arched before it on the floor.

“To ignite six flames,” Ramilir began. “And speak her name with titles three.” He hefted the crimson quill sitting in a petite inkwell on the pedestal. “To bear the quill once more and transcribe the final intention.” With his left hand, he snapped his fingers, igniting six blue flames without a word.

“Master Ramilir, a moment?” Castiel pleaded. “I am not sure that we are ready—”

“Oh, but I am, Master Paladin,” he sighed as he retrieved The Scrivener’s Tale from his bag. “I am so very ready to be rid of this wretched curse, and this guest in my head.” He dipped the quill in the inkwell again, and midnight pitch flecked with silver and gold dripped from the nib. “Steel your nerves. Guard your thoughts. Know your heart.” He set the quill to the parchment, then paused as he glared from beneath his brow at each of them.

“Because you’re gonna see some serious shit.”

An unbidden shiver chilled Comet to the bone. But he readied his rapier and gripped it in both hands.

The crimson quill scratched across the paper, and Ramilir spoke. “Nintra Siotta. Princess of the Shadow Glass, Lady of Dread Omens, Seeker of the Three Crowns. I release you.”

At first, Fechin thought the ritual had failed. Bereft of any sonance glow, she knew silence filled the cavern. Each of them had frozen on their toes, waiting, ready. Then a glimmer of sonance sparked overhead, growing brighter and brighter as it descended until she felt the disembodied howling reverberating through her chest.

The book burst into green flames on the pedestal, and Fechin’s sonance glow coalesced into a gray mist at the center of the ritual circle right before Ramilir. The acolyte backpedaled, flailing wildly for Rawridan as he dislodged himself and cowered behind the party. Roiling end over end, the mist spread and solidified into the body of an eight-foot tall archfey. One foot emerged from the cloud, then the other, revealing Nintra Siotta, the Princess of the Shadow Glass, clad in lavish purple robes with acidic green embroidery. Wicked eyes of green flame flickered as she regarded them one at a time.

“You,” she said as she pointed a long, clawed finger at them. “Are you gods to have released me?”

Fechin considered Rawridan on her right, then the others on her left. Then together, they all turned to Ramilir. When he realized their focus had settled on him, he flinched, then stepped one cautious step forward and warily stuttered, “N-No.”

Nintra grinned a wicked grin. “Then die.”

Blinding green lightning shot from her outstretched finger. The party scattered, leaping into action as Nintra’s strike shattered the stone where they had stood and left behind a small crater. Then she raised her both hands high overhead and Fechin watched as the sonance glow plumed from the archfey’s gaping mouth.

Six elves emerged from the gray panes of glass between the bookshelves, their ashen skin smoky as the glass from which they had come. Rawridan shouted orders, commanding the battlefield as he did so well, and Fechin leaped through the shadows. From the darkness she appeared behind one elf, ethereal daggers cutting him down to nothing.

In mere seconds, the elf shattered, glass shrapnel tearing through Fechin’s tunic. She howled through the pain, pushing onward to help Comet as he struggled against another obsidian elf. With her help, they made quick work of the nightstone fiend, and it too shattered with a final slash from Comet’s rapier. Together they turned back to the princess just as she descended upon Ramilir, abandoned at the pedestal.

Smoke enveloped Fechin, whisking her across the space to appear behind Nintra. From ten feet above, she leaped onto the archfey’s back and buried her draggers between her shoulders. And then the world exploded, a violent flash of blinding light searing her eyes as Nintra screamed. The end had come, finally. Fechin knew, had known for weeks since she had arrived at Candlekeep, her days were numbered. So when her sonance glow narrowed to naught but a pinprick, she surrendered. Ramilir would live, as would the others. A small sacrifice, all things considered.

Shadows danced across the dying embers, flickering and fading. But then it brightened for a beat, and a cold rush washed over her. The glow beat again, brighter still, and the endless dark receded. Castiel’s face hovered over hers, and beyond the battle waged on.

“You imbeciles!” Nintra screeched. “I can save you! I can save you all!”

Piles of nightglass scattered in the confusing aftershocks of Nintra’s attacks, pushing Rawridan back. Comet flanked her, stabbing and slashing and singing his way through the pitched fight. And Mephisto ended the last shadow elf, his ethereal shield deflecting the shrapnel. Each volley, each strike, Nintra returned twofold, sending the three combatants reeling.

She had to help them, had to get in there and finish the job. Fechin scrambled to her feet, ignoring Castiel’s questions and his demand to remain still. Faster, she demanded, willing her body onward. Faster, she urged, readying her daggers. Faster, she commanded, faster, she begged, faster, faster, faster!

Time worked against her, slowing, dragging her down like an anchor. Nintra wheeled about, her wicked green lightning arcing from her outstretched fingers to wrap its tendrils around Comet’s rapier. Fechin flung a dagger, the steel flipping end over end to intercept the strike. But she had been too slow. The flash connected with Comet’s weapon, seizing him in place, and then he collapsed. Nintra ripped her magic from him, throwing it high overhead as she spun back to the others and bore down on Ramilir again.

Green and gold collided as Castiel stepped between them, his shield absorbing the shock of her attack. Fechin took the opportunity to reach Comet and steadfastly worked to revive him. As she scrambled for components, she checked over her shoulder and watched in horror as Castiel collapsed to one knee beneath the unbearable power of Nintra’s lightning. Rawridan bellowed in response as he charged in to defend his partner, but Nintra swatted him aside as though he were a flea, and he collided with a nearby bookcase. Mephisto attempted to sneak in a barrage of shadowy bolts but Nintra redirected them with ease, sending them right back at him. The tiefling hollowed as his own magic struck him down to his knees, writhing in pain.

Fechin turned back to Comet, focusing acutely on bringing him back to their realm. With her salt and smoke, she chanted, but the fey remained still as stone. She turned over her shoulder again, muttering furiously as she surveyed the field of battle. Rawridan had yet to rise, struggling to regain his feet. And Nintra still held Castiel in her lightning grip, pouring all of her power into him as she shrieked. He would collapse soon, she knew. Blood ran in tiny rivulets down his face from a gash in his forehead, and his weapon arm hung limp at his side, pike lying feet away on the stone.

“How much health do you have left, Dean?” Sam asked.

Dean flipped his sheet back over and said, “I have twenty points left, and one potion.”

Sam turned to Castiel. “What about you?”

“Less,” Castiel grimaced. “I do have one spell slot left for cure wounds. But it would only be a level three spell, which might not save us all.”

Disheartened, Sam slouched in his seat. Eileen considered her own health, well below half, and she possessed only the one ritual that she had decided to use to resuscitate Jack’s character.

“I have one level seven slot left,” Jack added. “I could use mass cure wounds.”

That reinvigorated Sam, and he grabbed a nearby book to flip through it, searching. When he appeared to find what he was looking for, he sat up straighter. “Alright, buckle up. This… might go horribly wrong.”

“Oh, are you really doing what I think you’re doing?”

Sam nodded at Charlie. “This is what I like to call ‘stupid with two o’s’.”

“Winchester Stupid,” she laughed. “I’m ready to see it.”

“What are you doing?” Eileen insisted.

Sam turned to her and said, “Focus on Comet. We’re gonna need that mass cure wounds because this is really going to hurt.”

Fechin scanned the room from the bookcases to the once-warded door, searching for their last companion. But Mephisto was nowhere to be seen. So she redoubled her focus on Comet, shoveling every temporal ounce of shadow she had into the ritual, and at last, he startled to consciousness. He bolted upright, gasping as he clutched his chest.

“Now, Comet!”

High overhead Mephisto hovered, arms raised in benediction and clutching a massive ruby in one hand as he began to chant. The crystalline sunlight dimmed, fading with each verse. And the rancid stench of sulfur filled the room.

That distracted Nintra long enough for Castiel to break from her grasp. He bolted for Ramilir, grabbing him up and tearing him from the ritual stand. “Do it, Comet! Now!” Castiel shouted as he shuffled to Rawridan. “Cast it!”

Comet clutched his lute’s headstock and incanted. The first gust of wind danced along the flagstone in a rush, reinvigorating them. The second flashed brighter as the impending darkness of Mephisto’s chanting blotted out the sun, and Rawridan regained his feet. And the third wave blossomed the brightest, tearing a rend in Mephisto’s midnight cloud, and Castiel retrieved his pike. When the spell finished, Fechin helped Comet to his feet, and together they joined Castiel and Rawridan, encircling Ramilir as Nintra raised her hands for him again.

High overhead, Mephisto’s voice boomed, and they all watched. Smoke black as pitch had nearly enveloped him. But then he clenched his fist, crushing the ruby he held, and molten chains manifested from the roiling void. They wrapped around his outstretched arms, and he grasped them, then pulled with all his might.

Nintra looked up at the last second as hellfire and brimstone rained down with crimson lightning from the thunderhead, and a gargantuan devil clawed through the darkness, pulled by Mephisto’s chains. With a final statement, he pointed at Nintra, and the infernal beast hurtled to the ground like a meteor from space.

Fechin and Comet reacted, grasping one another and shielding themselves with nothing but their arms. Nintra screamed, but her cry paled in comparison to the blinding bright asteroid as it crashed into her. Upon impact, a concussive wave knocked Fechin and Comet from their feet, sending them flying across the room and into the far wall. Like a candle snuffed, she blacked out on impact once more.

But then light, faint at first, like a distant star, flickered. It called to her, pleading. Brighter and brighter, the starlight bloomed, flaring in waves like an echo. And then she blinked her eyes open to find Mephisto hovering over her. “There you are.”

For a singular moment, she lingered there, blissfully unaware. But then the aches and pains of battle reminded her, sharp and unforgiving, and she lurched upright. And yet, nothing threatened them. Mephisto helped her to her feet, gingerly and unhurried, then led her to the others at the center of the ritual circle.

“How are they still lit?” Rawridan asked as they approached. “You dropped a literal devil-star on them.”

Fechin spotted the six ritual candles, their blue flames dancing merrily.

“Magic,” Mephisto teased, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Rawridan rolled his eyes but before he could retort, Castiel spoke. “What about her?” He pointed to Nintra’s body, and though she lay motionless beside the candles, green lightning still crackled about her clawed fingers.

Ramilir shuffled forward, hands still covered in the curse’s text. “I believe there is one more step to the ritual,” he stated as he knelt. “To extinguish the light and leave ash in its wake.” He waved his hand and, in one fell swoop, the candles winked out.

At first, nothing happened. Fechin’s stomach churned as her wide eyes scanned the room, watching, waiting. She spotted the book as the green flames faded, unscathed on the pedestal. And then she found Nintra’s body lying perfectly pristine on the floor at the pedestal’s base.

Delicate debris floated across her face, and she waved at it with a flick of her wrist. More appeared, drifting lazily through the still air, and she fanned at it with a huff. Gray smeared across her linen sleeve as she attempted to brush off more debris—ash?—as it gathered. And then she understood. The trail led back to and floated up, not from the floor, but from Nintra’s body. The warmth of life had faded from her obsidian skin, dull and pale. Tiny fissures fractaled her flesh, and it flaked, floating away. Slowly, she crumbled from head to toe until there was nothing left, as though she had never been.

On the ritual pedestal, the book burst into flames again so suddenly, they all screamed. Comet kicked the stand over instinctively, but no crash ever flared her sonance glow. The pedestal, the book, the ink, and the paper vaporized upon impact, vanishing.

Then Ramilir gasped so loudly, they all jumped once more, and Rawridan shouted as he spun about. But Ramilir appeared fine. Once Rawridan confirmed this, he grabbed the acolyte by the collar and gave him a rough shake. “What’s wrong with you?!”

Ramilir flailed for his sleeves and rolled them to his elbows. The text on his skin flared, glowing brighter with each beat of Fechin’s racing heart. It grew so bright she shielded her eyes and then in the next moment, it vanished without a trace. Ramilir stilled, frozen in place as his jaw fell slack and he stared at his pale arms. And then the tears fell as he collapsed to his knees, unable to contain himself.

“It is over.”

Fechin wheeled about, a dagger poised to throw until she spotted Zyrian’s ghost. “Are you sure?”

His visage wavered as he nodded. Wisps of his spirit drifted from him, reaching towards the crystalline ceiling. “Thank you,” he whispered, and the last of his essence thinned to nothing, leaving them alone once more.

“You know,” Rawridan began, and Fechin turned back to face him as did the others. He gazed longingly at the structure overhead, then turned to Castiel. “We could live here.”

Castiel grimaced. “In a bunker?”

Rawridan mirrored Castiel’s contorted frown, then nodded. “Good point.”

Ramilir opened a portal near the warded door. “I suggest we leave while we can. I will establish a crew to recover these texts and you will all be compensated handsomely. Coin, land, favors—”

Mephisto raised his hand. “I want the ship.”

“You cannot have the—”

Mephisto withdrew another ruby from his belt pouch and arched an intimidating brow.

Ramilir’s lips pressed to a thin line. “Fine. Speak of it to no one. I must inform Master Ahvoste of the…” He waved his hand aimlessly at the entire room. “Of everything. Come. Let’s be on our way.”

One by one, they filtered through his portal, arriving in Candlekeep’s grand library. There, Ramilir raced to a bookcase filled with scrolls and retrieved a handful. “Here,” he said as he handed each of them a small scroll. “Present this at your inn of choice in town. They will honor the library’s housing agreement and you will have lodging for a week.” He rushed through the door on the opposite side of the room, only to lean back over the threshold to add, “Don’t leave the city. Once Master Teles and I have arranged your rewards, I will send summons to each of you.”

And with that, they were alone. Finally.

Fechin turned to Mephisto and then they considered the others. Rawridan and Castiel slumped against one another—mostly Rawridan holding Castiel up—and Comet appeared near to passing out where he stood.

“Now what?” Mephisto asked.

Rawridan shook his head and blinked several times. Then he scanned the massive library as though he’d find the answer somewhere on the shelves.

“How about a round of pints at The Restricted Section?”

A drink. There was no denying she could use one. Or five. Mephisto nodded approvingly with his sturgeon’s frown, and so, Rawridan led the way, Castiel shuffling alongside him. Comet stumbled after them, appearing half in the bag as it were. And when Fechin started out, Mephisto fell in step beside her.

Their hands found one another, much like Rawridan’s and Castiel’s. As they ventured out of the library and into Candlekeep’s city, Fechin imagined the grand epic Comet would soon write.

Charlie lowered her screen and closed the campaign book, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Ramilir reaches out to you a few days later. An Ioun stone was recovered from the shards of shadow glass. And there were about ten thousand volumes in the Haven’s library, covering arcana, history, and nature. You are each paid ten thousand gold by the library for the books. The ship has been extracted from the cave and sent to Waterdeep for Mephisto to do with what he will.” She stood then and placed a small crystalline emblem in the center of the table. “You each receive this token, a symbol from the Gloaming Court, and a message: ‘Call upon the House of Air and Darkness whenever you have need.’”

Dean glanced at the symbol, then turned back to Charlie. “So that’s it, huh? What does that make us?”

“Big damn heroes, sir,” Charlie chimed with a wink.

Dean’s lips thinned as he thought, and then his shoulders shook as he smiled. “Alright, what happens next?”

“You just killed the most powerful archfey in the Forgotten Realms short of the Queen of the Gloaming Court, who is now your ally,” Charlie said. “Take a break.”

A break. Eileen considered Sam’s small smile as he squeezed her thigh, then wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Dean and Castiel gathered their things and headed down the stairs to the war room, undoubtedly heading to the kitchen for a midnight snack. Jack traipsed through the library door for the dorms, leaving them with Charlie. She had slumped back into her chair, staring into the middle distance, unseeing.

An opportunity. Maybe. Can’t let the thought take hold, though. So Eileen flicked her fingers, the tiniest movement, and her stare connected with Sam’s. Perfect. She nodded towards Charlie ever so slightly, and he followed.

“You alright, Charlie?”

As if he’d sprouted a second head, Charlie’s wide stare lifted to his. Then she blinked, finally, and rubbed at her eyes with one gloved hand.

“Yeah,” she groaned. “Just tired. I’m gonna—”

“Are you sure there’s nothing going on? You’ve been…”

Once again, her stare widened. “I’ve been… what?”

“I’m… I hope you get some rest,” Sam finished.

Crestfallen, her shoulders collapsed and her chin dropped to her chest. “Alright,” she muttered, then gathered her things from the table. “See you tomorrow.”

Once she was down the stairs and through the war room, Eileen elbowed Sam in the ribs.

“Hey, I tried!”

Eileen signed furiously. “You didn’t even ask her anything!”

“I. Tried,” he insisted. “But every time I thought of something to ask, the words just… vanished. I feel like I’m going crazy, like I’m even forgetting how to speak.” He fell quiet then, sheepishly curled into himself. “I had to stop.”

She reached out for his hands and grasped, pulling them into her lap. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to blame you. But I want to figure out what’s going on. I’m worried about her.”

Sam sighed a long, rattling breath heaving his shoulders. “Me, too, E. Me, too.”

He almost looked as exhausted as Charlie. Best to leave it be for the night. Eileen stood, tugging at his hands and coaxing him along with her. They’d get some rest and, in the morning, she’d make waffles.

If she remembered.

This series is complete! Reblogs are loved and feedback is welcome!

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