a lion still has claws

whut….I…. this is probably one of the most interesting things I’ve done. 

Cersei’s eyes can’t contain the wonder that she is seeing, the runes of a dead language she spent her years studying, sapphire and onyx sparkling together, caged by waterfalls and rock and then there is this girl, with snow white hair and beautiful amethyst eyes, her native tongue rolling and pouring from her mouth like honey. 

She calls herself Daenerys, Cersei mentally shortens it to Dany for easier memory and clasps Cersei’s hands in her own pulling her along thin stone bridges and through tapestries covered towers, a cold fog dancing around their feet - eager to show her the wonder that is her subterranean and oceanic home. 

Cersei’s blonde braid flops against her back as they come to a quick stop, her feet soaking wet, as Dany shows her the rest of the city and she can’t think of ever wanting to go back to the surface and leaving this wonder, this beautiful girl who looks at her so eagerly, and this Atlantis. 

I really want to actually write this AU now… dear god…

“I can’t believe you talked me into raiding a Batarian bunker!” Shepard slides down next her partner, easing her sore and bruised body in the cockpit trying not to break out into hysterical fits for the sake of her cracked ribs - needless to say their last raid hadn’t gone according to Miranda’s plans. 

Miranda drawls her fingers over a purpling mark on Shepard’s shoulder, a small smile crawling across her face as she leans to press her lips against the bruise, “You were great, only a few cracked ribs this time and I did tell you watch for that Heavy,” she mutters as her fingers trail down the blonde’s sides, pressing against the swelling in her rib cage. 

“I’m just complaining, a few cracked ribs is nothing compared to what you’ve done to me,” Shepard chuckles, giving Miranda a peck on her thick head of hair before catching the hand now adventuring on her thighs in her own and murmuring in to her lover’s hair about living like beautiful pirate queens. 

:O Sherlock prompt!? First for me. 

She always orders the same drink, on every Wednesday morning, and he’s always the one to make it while she sits in the corner of the shop, just typing away on her computer and a bit removed from the world that she never even notices that he brings her drink to her each and every time even after her name, Molly, has been called through the entire. 

Just as always, he places it down, cracking his jaw just so and waiting for a minor acknowledgement that he knows won’t ever come and yet Lestrade finds himself attempting to make conversation, “Lots of business, eh? Or are you a writer?” She looks up at him with big beautiful eyes, a shy smile, and a faint blush on her cheeks at being startled out of her own world. 

“Uh, a writer… Not really good though,” she admits, her fingers thumbing around on her coffee instead of her keyboard before she gapes up at him, “I forgot to pay you for the coffee!” and he does everything in his power not to laugh at the adorableness off it all and announcing to assuage her fears,

“Don’t worry about it…. It’s on the house, Molly.” 

They are laying in bed, well, the man Dean picked up in the bar in laying bed and Dean is currently trying to find his ever elusive socks while the no-name hottie sparks up conversation about the most random of things, from cheap alien movies, porno, different ways to bake pie, and the wayward son complex that he pegged on Dean the moment he downed his first shot of whiskey. 

“Yeah, I have family issues,” Dean snorts, wincing slightly as he pulls his jeans over his hips, a painful yet pleasant reminder of the previous hours actives reel in his mind, along with filing in it the ‘things not to tell dad’ section of his brain - he mumbles out, “mainly father and brother issues. You have ‘em?”

“Don’t we all, Deano.” The man on the bed winks at him just so, a hand carding through maple locks before arching off the bed to find his own thrown about clothes and they dress in silence, but a thought lingers on his brain and Dean could swear that he never told the amber eyed man his name. 

I have never done Wincestiel in my entire life… be prepared for fluff and the uncomfortable first time that you are putting me through. 

Wings are comfy, Dean decides, while they may not be his own but their jet black feathers cradle him just so while Sam dozes on his lap and the hunter basks in the small settling feeling of relief that washes over him. 

He looks over to Castiel, who is running a cautious hand through Sam’s longer locks, mimicking a similar motion that he’s seen Dean do in the past, while they were still alive that is and after the question had been raised as to why him and Sammy were always together in death, because Dean could never imagine a Heaven without Sam in it. 

Castiel just answers him the same every time, a small squeeze to his hand and if he’s lucky a quick peck on the cheek, the words follow a resounding, “Soulmates.” 

“Well,” Gabriel huffs the ball of brown fur into his arms, watching the big nervous black eyes flick around. “If I had known that this would have occurred, Dean… I would have scared you earlier, apparently your life is a japanese anime! Now I have to get you a cage, I can’t let you run around free,” Gabriel bops the bunny on the nose, wondering exactly what Bunny!Dean would be cursing about - either being furry, being picked up, or just generally being patronized. 

He idly scratches behind one of the rabbit’s ears, eyes catching a spare glance at the discarded pile of clothes that Dean was wearing, an evil smirk crossing his face before holding Dean up to his face, noting that the hunter would change back to human soon and naked was included in that package. 

…. T_T

I’m going to fill this two ways… Non-AU and AU… cause… yeah

NON-AU

He thinks about putting out his cigar in the Turian’s eye, but that would just make Shepard angry, and Shepard reminds him of a daughter, the daughter he would never admit to having nor want to raise himself but a daughter nevertheless. 

So when he hears about the whole romance bullshit, Zaeed can’t help but swallow the lump in his throat and recognize that Shepard is in fact female, and also does have a thing for tall, dark, and plated which sets his paternal instincts off like nobody’s fucking business. 

He corners the Garrus on one of their missions, outside of Shepards hearing range, cursing,”You do anything to her, Garrus, and I swear, I’ll blow the other side of your bloody ugly face off, ya hear?” He watches the mandibles flare, a curt nod following to acknowledge his point and he wants to say a whole bunch more, but it isn’t prom night and his protection over the daft bitch is starting to worry him a bit. 

AU

The nervous clicking on talons across the room is sending spirals of minuet anger through Zaeed, eyes gluing to the young turian called Garrus sitting in his living room  while both of them wait for his daughter to finish changing. 

“A turian…,” He watches the boy look up as if he’s about to defend himself but he cuts him off, murmuring, “never thought I’d see the day when my girl would go on a date with a bloody turian. Well, anyone for that matter, not that I got a damn issue with your people or anything. Just,” he cracks his knuckles and leans forward in his seat, “You know that little girl up there? She’s my life, I love her dearly…So when you are thinking about kissin her, touching her, or hurtin her, well, you need to bloody understand something now,”

The turian looks, his mouth closing and opening every so often, like he’s choking on his own words, waiting for the final closure that Zaeed has no issue bringing,  

“I don’t mind going back to prison.” 

“This is the worst idea ever, Gabe,” Dean growls, trying to stretch his legs out into the tub while the angel behind him just chuckles, leaving small wet kisses on his neck and shoulder, while running a cloth over his body. 

The soft wash cloth strokes down his arm in a placating manner, drizzling soapy water over his chest before moving across his ribs and down further south, pulling Dean from his angry rant-to-be about how it was stupid to have two grown men in a tub together, one who didn’t even need to bathe, cuddling, attempting to wash each other and on top of that it, it was rather frustrating to the hunter with Gabriel pressing against his back in a manner that was only familiar in the bedroom. 

“Would it be better if I got you a rubber ducky?” Gabriel laughs, scooping up water and dumping it over Dean’s hair, clearly intent on making bathtime a memorable experience

It’s cold in the room, hell, it’s freezing by Dean’s standards and this Gabriel guy, how apt, is just smirking trying to align his body in the position that he so chooses and the only thing that’s warm about the situation is the painter’s hands and Dean is clearly not trying to think about that. 

“With all this man-handling, I feel like I should ask you to dinner,” Gabriel hums, taking a step back and sitting on his high stool, moving his easel off to the side so he can still reference Dean. “So how about it big boy, wanna go grab something after you’re done playing statue?”

“You ask all your nude models this?” He chides, trying to ignore the burn of honey color eyes roaming over his body with more than artist intent and he can’t lie, he is enjoying the attention all the while thinking of paint covered hands roaming his body, how that smug man would look just as naked, and just general inappropriate thoughts before the sharp throb of reality makes notice in his groin and Gabriel laughs across the room remarking with, “Only the cute ones, Deano.” 

Gabriel chokes out a gasp as the scantily clad man before him slides into his lap, hazel eyes locking on to his with pure intent on either getting paid or getting laid but none of that matter to him right, just the taut feel of tan and corded thigh muscles under his hands. 

He hadn’t been serious with Michael about needing a lap dance after work, but his brother was known to take things literally, dragging him to a strip club and leaving him there; yet at this current moment, with the feel of strong hips undulating and gyrating against his, Gabriel can’t blame him for trying. 

He wants to ask the stripper his name, to ask him if those freckles just dapple his nose or if they pattern elsewhere, to ask him how he ended up in this job but the brush of their groins together and soft lips on the shell of his ear snaps him out of reverie, those sinfully plump lips whispering, “Name’s Dean, case you were wonderin’.  You wanna get out of here?” And does he ever. 

Watching Garrus attempting to cook amino-friendly food had to be on her top list of funniest things she had ever seen in both of her lives, but then again, there were only a few to begin with and a cursing turian over a pan is definitely one of them. 

She watches him fumble with a plate and pan, trying to scoop his “breakfast in bed” experiment onto said plate, mandibles flaring as the messy noise of an egg breaking upon contact - it was a sight, a grown military-raised and elite sniper getting frustrated over the simplest of foods. 

Begrudgingly, she could tell, and with a sigh of defeat, Garrus sets the plate in front of her, his talons clicking nervous together like a human would drum their fingers, waiting her approval or lack thereof; and she stifles a laugh at the sight of mushy yellow that may be eggs, burnt toast, and something that could be considered bacon, she wasn’t sure but all she knew as she picks of her fork is that it’s the thought that counts… No matter how sick it may get her. 

“You need to stay still, Mr Massani,” she pricks him with a needle again, drawing blood for what seems from his mind’s eye the eighteenth blasted time, who gave this woman a doctor’s practicing license anyway and where was Shepard and why did she had such piss poor choices in medical staff.

So what if they went off borders in a completely uninhabited jungle place crawling with disgusting varren and bugs the size of transport vehicles because that didn’t really matter - not these stupid vaccinations or the fact that he may or may not have attempt to storm an eclipse red sand facility all by himself. 

“If you stop grousing, I may be inclined to share my stock of serrice ice brandy with you, Mr. Massani,” the mercenary could hear her hum just under breath, now thinking he might just be okay with this daft bitch after all.

There! Ah, that was harder than I thought… I was like: scenario? what scenario….

“I swear, you and that visor Garrus…” Shepard huffs, trying to ignore the turian sniper at his failing attempts to situate the visor back over his face after their “activities”, but Shepard couldn’t fault herself - that thing would ruin a perfectly intimate moment despite Garrus’s protests and something involving calibrations. 

It always involved calibrations. 

She can’t take it anymore; leaning over, she places her small hands on either side of his face, muttering, “Here, it’s crooked, let me fix it,” and leaves a small chaste kiss on the side of his scarred face, smiling at the slight flutter of his mandibles and the cool luminescent glow of that ever irritating visor. 

Oh so bad, either way… yay, starting back on the 3sentence prompt stuff

((thanks bb, i’m so stupid, I hope you like it hahah)

“Shepard, do you mind coming to see me in my office?” Before the buzzer can sound again, the woman in question walks in, confident blue eyes bore right into Miranda’s own as she notes the new skirt suit and pulled back blonde hair that her co-worker dones, a small smile of satisfaction creeps over her face despite the pair being on equal footing in the company together - one might even go so far as to say that Shepard was higher than Miranda in rank, but in pay was unlikely. 

Shepard cocks her hip to the side, not waiting for the other woman to speak, “You need something Miranda? I gotta send those faxes over to Jacob before he gets all fidgety on me again.”

She just merely grins, catching her own blue eyes with Shepard’s before adding, “Ah yes, Jacob. Well, Shepard, I was wondering,” the raven haired woman pauses, standing up from behind her desk and straightening her skirt, “If you would be interested in having coffee with me some time later after work, maybe a few drinks. No need for an answer, actually, I’ll see you at 8.” She never needs to wait for an answer from her, she knows that Shepard will be waiting outside of work when she finishes up, they’ll go out and end the night with things they would never discuss inside of the building but it keeps the relationship thrilling. 

Non-smut or romantic, just banter. 

“So you’re the one that’s got our little Cassy all a tizzy, is it now? A demon, how… unprofessional of him.” Balthazar can’t help but look the smaller man up and down, it’s such a clash of interest between the pair but he knows that they are both more alike than they would care to admit and while Balthazar had the charming good looks of any suave angel, this demon named Crowley had looks that matched his intent, short, sweet, and to the point. 

“Oh, I don’t know about that. It seems all the little birdies want to fly away from the nest, you angels aren’t so different from humans after all you know,” the angel watches as the demon pours a separate glass of fine brandy, “all lust for power, whimsical rebelling against the parents. Are angels in a constant state of teenage puberty or is it just me?” Crowley grins into his glass, looking over at the angel between sips in a manner that almost makes Bal’s skin crawl but he’s dealt with worse before, well, he’s dealt with himself. 

“I’ll raise you and say that if we angels are just like humans, and demons spawn from humans, doesn’t that make us similar?” He notes with a satisfied smirk at the demon’s sneer, being compared to a demon was no small reach for him but for a demon to likened to an angel, well that has to hurt and Balthazar has no problem dishing out what needs to be said if he can have that demon squirming in his sights - he just hopes Crowley functions well under pressure.