fanofiction

And it's not like Merlin doesn't have better things to do. There are always evil plots afoot, scheming to be done, enemies to be vanquished. He's got a busy schedule. 

“Set the needle on its path...” by chaletian.

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Read it here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/609222

It hurts.

You want to toss it behind you, forget it like yesterday’s news, like yesterday’s fucking trash, but all you can think of as you touch him is the weakening beat of his heart- one sixteenth one eighth one fourth slower slower slower- the wash of his blood over your hands as you pressed them to his chest, and the cold steel against your fingers as you tried to keep him alive. It had been pointless then, and it’s pointless now, though for different reasons. Now, he’s alive, uninjured, and here, and before, he’d already been gone by the time your knees had hit the pavement; his blood had stained your pants, your skin, your memory, and even the steady tick of time hadn’t been enough to wash any of it away.

Fanfic Rec: “I Don't Give A Damn About My Reputation- I'm Gonna Cry All Night Anyways,” by Newtavore.

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Read it here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3240497

Green was for Loki. Green was for everything he represented, everything he had done. True it was the blue spear whose power had ripped through him, but it was Loki who had done it to him, Loki whose voice still whispered in what was either his nightmares or his sweetest dreams. He had lost the ability to tell a while ago. Clint stared hard at that green light and when it turned red, when it tried to tell him he could go no further, could only go the way of the green, Clint grinned and ran the red light.

He zoomed down the road, pressing the accelerator to the floor and half closed his eyes enjoying the wind in his face, its harsh wake up call. Clint saw the next set of lights up ahead, glowing green. Clint slowed.

 You have heart.

‘Damn right’ Clint thought. The light changed and Clint floored the pedal and ran the red light.

‘And it ain’t yours.’

Fanfic Rec: “Run Them Red Lights.” by Thousandsmiles.

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Read it here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/6862264

At that moment a server came and England took the wine glass with fervor, knocking back the contents in a single, fell go before handing the glass back and giving the man a short, "Another please." The server looked baffled but set down America's glass and dashed off to do as he was told. America was staring at him as though he had three heads. "What?" England said, perhaps just a touch too defensively. "You have a problem, Arthur..." America said, but it wasn't a jab. It was as though the other nation were admitting it aloud as his own personal confession. "I'm an old man..." He said dryly. "Can I not drink?" America just shook his head and took his own glass in hand, sipping the contents for a moment before putting the glass down. There was a dull, dark look in those eyes and they reminded him slightly of less peaceful times. "You're going to get drunk tonight, aren't you?" America said slowly, looking up at him. "Why?" England retorted. "Do you intend to stop me?" "No..." America shook his head, a sad smile tugging at his lips. "Let me drink with you."

Fanfic Rec: “The Silken Rose,” by snowyfoxpaws.

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Read it here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1559756

What he had, once had, with Thrall was different. Vol'jin honestly didn't consider himself capable of romantic love, not the kind that all of the songs spoke of. What he shared with Thrall was brotherhood and companionship, was long years and long nights and the laughing pleasure after a victory well earned and the grasping comfort after a loss. It was sex and battle plans and herbed pipes and the drowsy comfort of a friendship quite unlike anything else he'd experienced and he didn't want to give that up, didn't want to lose the one steady source of affection in his life.

But Thrall had Aggra. And orc women didn't share.

Fanfic Rec: “Share and Share Alike,” by Saesama.

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Read it here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/2857553

They had been walking for at least an hour, and Napoleon's eyes had still not adjusted to the oppressive blackness of his surroundings. He trailed one hand along the wall, simultaneously searching for doors and keeping himself going in a straight line. The texture under his fingertips had changed from the tacky feel of old paint to the irregular roughness of unhewn stone. At one point, their footsteps had been so quiet that he had reached out to touch Illya's shoulder, fearing irrationally that his partner had disappeared in the gloom. His fingers had barely grazed what felt like soft hair before grasping at air, and he'd given up.

"I don't understand it." Illya's voice seemed very loud in the darkness, echoing off the walls. "Why build a room in a cave? Why go to all the trouble of dumping us in it?"

"Why not?" Napoleon's voice came back to him sounding hollow and stretched. He winced, and tried whispering. "I think Sosostris wasn't telling us everything--" But the whispers seemed to multiply, filling his ears with a dull roar that grew louder as he spoke.

Fanfic Rec: “The Pomegranate Affair,” by Kleenexwoman.

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Read it here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/304604

It’s here, you get the feeling that you aren’t alone. You get chills running up and down your spine and a sense that something is wrong, that you need to run, hide, get away, but your feet are rooted to the floor and you can’t seem to move. You’re frozen in place by fear, and your heart’s beating so hard in your chest you think you can hear it thumping in the silence of the room.

“…Eridan?” you whisper, and force yourself to turn around.

Of course, of course, he’s behind you, rising from the smooth surface of the floor like a nightmare given shape, form bleeding together from shadow, and his very appearance makes you tremble. He’s black as pitch and pale as the sun, not a trace of color on him except the pale lavender where his irises should be, hardly standing out in the sea of white.

Emerging from his back and splattered with violet are two heavy, broad wings, the exact size and shape of the angels’.

“What have you done?”

Fanfic Rec: “The Power the Dark Lord Knows Not,” by Newtavore.

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Read it here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/2399816

But the truth of the matter is Steve spent most of it awake.

He could remember the crash, the plane hitting the snow and ice hard enough to knock him out of the pilot's seat. He remembered hitting his head and blacking out for what could have been a second or a minute or longer, and when he shook himself back to awareness the world around him was white.

Fanfic rec: “Snowfall,” by Katsuko.

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Read it here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/451459

"Mrs. Hudson?"

"At home."

"Lestrade?"

"Also at home - suspended on full pay."  As Sherlock's mouth twisted in annoyance, Mycroft forestalled the forthcoming criticism.  "An investigation is inevitable, Sherlock.  However, my people are in control of it; Lestrade and the other officers you worked with will be cleared of any wrong doing, and Chief Superintendent Stanton will look more of a fool than ever.  After all, he was well aware of that press conference at which the great Sherlock Holmes was publically thanked by the Yard.  Joining in the witch hunt and cries of fraud was hardly a clever move."  Mycroft smirked.  "His superiors are quite annoyed with him."

Fanfic rec: “Unravelling,” by Arnie.

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Read it here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/324008

He didn’t notice Eleven until he tapped his shoulder, and then the younger-faced Time Lord was right beside him. Grinning, of course. Only, instead of the usual tweed affair, Ten noticed, Eleven was donning a far more appropriate outfit: a white tie suit, complete with a silk scarf and of course, a white bowtie. And a top hat, of all things! Ten suddenly felt rather underdressed in his standard black-bowtie-and-converse ensemble.

“Doctor,” he greeted, partly to cover up his embarrassment. “Did we really decide to crash the same party twice in one night?”

“You may have crashed it, but I am here by invitation,” retorted Eleven, bumping shoulders with his past incarnation. “From the princess herself.”

“Really?” Ten tilted his head. “What for?”

“Spoilers,” laughed Eleven. “Anyway, she never finds out that I’ve already gone to the party. But, the more of me, the merrier, right?” Eleven glanced down at Ten’s apparel and nodded approvingly. “Love the bowtie, by the way.”

Ten rolled his eyes. “Oh, you would. I look like a waiter.”

“5 times Eleven Kissed Ten,” by persephoneggsy.

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“You can’t tell me you’re surprised.  I mean, the siren was a guy for you.  Why wouldn’t your car be a guy?”

“Shut up, Sam.”

“I’m not judging.  I’m just saying.”

Dean glances over at the table, where the guy — the guy who’s his car — is leaning back in his chair, feet propped up on the table surface, toying with a seam in his leather pants.  His shirt is thin and tight enough to show off what Dean’s brain has already unhelpfully begun thinking of as hot Detroit muscle.  His jewelry — a couple of rings, a bracelet, some piercings in his ears — shine like chrome.

The Impala notices Dean’s attention immediately and winks at him.   Dean swallows and shoves his hands further into his pockets in an effort to conceal what is definitely the weirdest hard-on he’s had since middle school.  

Fanfic rec: “Auto-eroticism Does Not Mean Having Sex With Your Car,” by dorkilysoulless.

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Read it here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1989693

“I don’t blame you for not trusting me,” he says once, self-deprecatingly. “I wouldn’t trust me either.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” she says, and it’s not what she means to say. She always says exactly what she means to say; it’s part of who she is. Nothing is unplanned. This is what he does to her.

“That’s not really true, is it?” says Banner. “It’s OK. I’ll pretend if you will.” He looks – sad – and Natasha’s read his file from before, and she wishes this had never had to happen to him. The sentimentality of this thought annoys her.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she says again, more assured this time, and he nods and turns away, and they both pretend that it’s true.

Fanfic rec: “the space between Natasha and Bruce is a neutral zone armed with mistrust and cynicism,” by chaletian. The developing relationship between Agent Romanov and Dr. Banner.

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Read it here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/18743

"You're sure there's no trick to these?" asked John, twisting his wrist and making the handcuff chain clink against the metal floor.

"No, there's no 'trick' to escaping from standard-issue police handcuffs," Lestrade said. "Nor the yards of gaffer tape. Nor the empty disused walk-in freezer somewhere in a twenty minute radius of Piccadilly Circus."

"East," John said.

"What?"

"We're East of Piccadilly."

"Are you Sherlock now? How d'you know that?"

John shrugged. "You were out cold but I was conscious for most of the trip. They didn't say anything, but the van went east, or north-east, I'm fairly certain. Angle of the light from the windscreen."

"Fantastic," Lestrade said wryly. "I'll just hop on my mobile and shout up the Yard, tell them we're somewhere between Shacklewell and Stepney then. Oh, wait..."

"No need to be sarcastic," John muttered.

"Sarcasm's about all I have. Certainly the sharpest thing I have at the moment." Lestrade wriggled. "I can't believe we're trussed up with gaffer tape in a bloody walk-in freezer somewhere outside of Islington!"

Fanfic Rec: “Unexpected Thaw,” by CaffieneKitty.

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Read it here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1014975

An hour later, there’s no sign of anything that’ll get them any closer to Pierce, or figuring out what happened to him.  

“Well, what’s our next step?”  Dean pokes at Pierce’s leather coat.   It’s one of the few things that’s still in its right place, hanging from the coat tree.  

“No idea.  Maybe call Cas?  See whether he’s found anything out?”

Dean rifles the pockets more out of curiosity than anything else.  A minute later he’s up half a roll of Lifesavers, five bucks, and…oh hell yes.

He holds Pierce’s Texas Ranger badge up where Sam can see.  “Hey, check it out.  I’m Chuck Norris!”  

Sam shakes his head.  “Come on.  Let’s get out of here.”

Dean shoves the badge in his pocket.

Fanfic Rec: “For Purposes Of Deception,” by dorkilysoulless (custodian).

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Read it here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/2176041

"What do you mean, she's sick?" the Queen heard the telltale yelling of her island nation through the chamber doors, "She can't be sick! She's the bloody queen!"

"Mister Kirkland-" one of the ladies tried to soothe him, herding him away from the door.

"Don't Mister Kirkland me Miss! I'm damn well near a few centuries older than you I will not hear it!" he shouted, scaring the poor servant girl, "We don't live in the primitive time of the past and I expect you to come up with a cure!"

Fanfic Rec: “An Honourable Passtime,” by Thecattygrl.

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Read it here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1329313

“Am I right in thinking I’m addressing the Signless, also known, however problematically, as the Sufferer?”

His expression gets even harder to read. “So they tell me.”

“Excellent,” you say, because it is excellent that you have this opportunity, and it would be a failure of you as a leader and as an activist to let it slip away. “I’m delighted for this opportunity to engage in dialogue with you. As you may know, you have become a figure of reverence for many people, both in your iteration of the revised universe as well as those of my cohort in the pre-Scratch one. As such, I feel that you have a responsibility to your ‘followers,’ if you will, to examine your methodology in greater depth, with an eye towards the, well, I don't like to use the term ‘problematic’ lightly, and while I quite respect and even agree with your goals of peace, equality, and a truly spectrablind society, it seems to me that you might wish to consider whether the effects of some of your tactics not only reinforced the, ah, very power structure that you, at least on the face of it, were attempting to subvert, but also, perhaps contradictorily, and I by no means mean to imply that this was your intention, by your very, ah, so-called ‘Last Sermon,’ may have actually reinforced the very violence, both, ah, verbal as well of course as the unfortunate physical, tactics which are so often used to reinforce privilege in both of our universes.”

He stares at you for a long moment, and you would take advantage of this listening pause to continue your lecture, but you find yourself unaccountably lost for words, unable to remember clearly the narrative arc of the argument, despite all your past brainstorming on the topic. “Kid,” he says, finally, “who the fuck are you talking to?”

Fanfic Rec: “Pr96lematics,” by gaudior.

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Read it here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1106525