Creative Writing Exercises
More stuff for my class!
Title: To Be Chosen
Author: ryouseiteki
Rating: PG-13
Word count: Approx 430
Characters/Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Summary/Prompt: Three random words, write for 15 minutes: Snow, Tithe, Gathered
Dean stayed towards the back of the procession, glowering at nothing and letting Paula choose the safest path to follow the other horses. He really hated Beltane. The village farmers and hunters had gathered all that they could since the last solstice, instead of building their stores back up after the coming of spring, in order to pay tithe to the spirits to keep them safe through mild seasons. There was little snow and decent temperature all through the winter, and everyone wanted to pay thanks for it.
He scoffed. As if; the spirits actually looking after them? Please. They were all dicks, if you ask him.
The brush cleared abruptly into a clearing. Their village had been making bi-yearly pilgrimages here since ancient times. As one of the best hunters, taking after his father, he was obligated to come; especially as he had just come to age at the end of last winter.
If what everyone said was to be believed, he’d be chosen by a spirit and jump the fire with them. Then he would join with it, and ensure that his bloodline would continue to receive protection. But he didn’t really believe in all that hoo-hah. Bandits killed his mother when he was young, and his father had almost gone insane with bloodthirst in his grief. Where was their guardian then?
Hours later, Dean sat scowling at the bonfire as people laughed and danced around him, couples jumping through the fire before making their way into the woods. He might not have believed a spirit would come for him, but would it hurt to have a village lass ask him for a dance? It was his year of manhood, and he wasn’t allowed to take initiative until he had proven his worth in the festivities.
Suddenly, a hand gripped his shoulder tightly. There was a burning sensation and he gasped, turning to see a young man around his age with dark hair, scruff, and blue blue eyes. He stared unblinkingly at Dean, and Dean found he couldn’t break the gaze.
Then, the corners of his mouth twitched upwards and he let go of Dean’s shoulder. Dean took a breath and blinked rapidly, as if coming out of a dream.
The man moved around in front of Dean, putting himself in front of the fire. Shadows wavered behind him like massive wings.
He held out a hand, head tilted.
Dean smiled so hard his face hurt, reached out, and placed his hand in the one held out, just for him.
He was happy to have been wrong.
Title: Thrice Called
Author: ryouseiteki
Rating: R
Word count: Approx 950
Characters/Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Summary/Prompt: Write for half an hour starting with: He knew he would never...
He knew he would never see the spirit again, after tonight, but Dean found that he couldn’t help but fall a little in love with the man. He hadn’t expected a spirit to come for him at all, much less a male one, but he had been chosen.
He’d never been chosen before; not for himself.
The villagers looked to him when they needed something - a hand with the firewood, help in the fields, a second for their duel or their hunt. Heck, he’d even helped with some of the more womanly and childish chores when they needed him - sewing, and feeding the chickens, and looking after the children.
Don’t get him wrong, Dean loved being helpful. He’d practically raised his little brother when his father ran off into the wild in one of his rages to bleed whatever beasts he could find. He was used to it.
Still.
The spirit had looked deep inside of him, to the very marrow of who Dean was, and saw something within him worth wanting. No matter that he sometimes had sick and twisted desires, echoing his father’s madness, or bitter hatred towards things that were beyond his control. The spirit saw it all, and did not turn away.
On the contrary, he took Dean’s virginity, and gladly, while murmuring endearments into his back; calling him a Righteous Man and other such nonsense that nonetheless had Dean’s chest swelling with warmth.
During their coupling, the spirit had occasionally lapsed into a language that Dean hadn’t heard before. It was beautifully lyrical, even though there were random breaks for gasps, groans, and pants. His voice was a deep, rough timbre; if Dean hadn’t seen him, he’d expect him to look much older than he did. Perhaps it was the spirit’s actual age shining through.
The thought made Dean slightly uncomfortable.
“Dean?” the spirit asked in concern, nuzzling the back of Dean’s neck with his nose, his breath tickling the short hairs there and causing them to stand. Dean shuddered pleasantly and pressed back into the cradle of the other man’s body. “Nothing,” he mumbled, wondering if the spirit could read his mind and hoping his wanderings didn’t cause offense.
“You cannot hurt me Dean,” the spirit insisted softly, nudging Dean with gentle prods until he rolled onto his stomach so that the man could lay completely atop him - though he didn’t weigh much, there was a comforting solidness to the spirit’s body that had Dean relaxing into the forest floor, feeling surprisingly safe.
“Hurt you? Why do you say that?” Dean huffed into the skin of his elbow, faux irritably.
The spirit hummed, leaning his face down into the crux of Dean’s shoulder to nip playfully at the corner of his jaw. Dean moaned.
“With your,” he paused, searching for the words, “say? Words.” Dean felt suddenly cold, there was his answer.
The spirit growled, shifting to bite harshly at the back of Dean’s neck. Dean whimpered. The man let go and spoke, voice rough, “Stop that. Your soul is too bright for such darkness; I do not like it there. No worrying.”
Dean swallowed, throat tight with sudden sorrow. “Doesn’t matter,” he whispered to himself, “you’ll be gone by morning.”
He was suddenly flipped onto his back, and Dean yelped at the manhandling. The spirit had him straddled, and Dean’s mind boggled at the logistics of such a maneuver. The man’s face was stormy, and a strange inner light flashed from his pupils. He leaned down so that they were almost nose to nose. Dean held his breath.
“You are mine. Dean Winchester. I have claimed you this night. Do not insult my duties , or my desired charge,” he growled, an undertone to the words like rumbling thunder.
Dean’s lungs ached.
Blue eyes narrowed. “Breathe, Dean.”
Dean’s lungs expanded without his consent.
“My name is Castiel,” the spirit continued, “speak it!” lightning flashed nearby, though there were no clouds, briefly exposing the shadows sprouting from the man’s shoulders into glorious arches of feathered wings.
“Castiel,” Dean croaked, terrified, yet slightly aroused by the display.
“Again,” Castiel barked, tilting his hips back as if fully aware of the effect he was having on the hunter below him.
Dean choked on his own saliva, back arching, body seeking more contact. “Castiel…” he gasped, hands grabbing desperately for the spirit’s hips.
Castiel reached down and slotted his hand over Dean’s shoulder; the same shoulder he had grasped to gain the hunter’s attention earlier that night. He leaned down, lapping at Dean’s lips but not claiming them in a proper kiss.
“Once more,” he whispered, hips grinding down in rough, circular motions that made Dean shut his eyes with a groan.
“C-“ he stuttered, “Cas!” he cried out as the spirit twisted his hips in a way that had Dean just brushing his opening, “Castiel!”
Castiel sat upright, head thrown back in an elegant arch, and screeched, painfully high pitched, at the sky. Lightning flashed again, once more showing the spread of the spirit’s wings.
“Thrice thee has named me!” he crowed, “thrice I am bound!” Castiel looked down, breathing hard, exultant. “Thee are mine, Dean Winchester, but by thee’s call I am thine!”
Using the hand still on his shoulder, Castiel somehow levered Dean into a sitting position, the spirit sliding down to settle more firmly in his lap. Dean bit his lip at the friction.
Castiel sprawled his legs around Dean’s waist, a glint in his eye as his ankles crossed against the small of the hunter’s back.
“Claim me Dean, as I have claimed you.”
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Title: To Be Chosen
Author: ryouseiteki
Rating: PG-13
Word count: Approx 430
Characters/Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Summary/Prompt: Three random words, write for 15 minutes: Snow, Tithe, Gathered
Dean stayed towards the back of the procession, glowering at nothing and letting Paula choose the safest path to follow the other horses. He really hated Beltane. The village farmers and hunters had gathered all that they could since the last solstice, instead of building their stores back up after the coming of spring, in order to pay tithe to the spirits to keep them safe through mild seasons. There was little snow and decent temperature all through the winter, and everyone wanted to pay thanks for it.
He scoffed. As if; the spirits actually looking after them? Please. They were all dicks, if you ask him.
The brush cleared abruptly into a clearing. Their village had been making bi-yearly pilgrimages here since ancient times. As one of the best hunters, taking after his father, he was obligated to come; especially as he had just come to age at the end of last winter.
If what everyone said was to be believed, he’d be chosen by a spirit and jump the fire with them. Then he would join with it, and ensure that his bloodline would continue to receive protection. But he didn’t really believe in all that hoo-hah. Bandits killed his mother when he was young, and his father had almost gone insane with bloodthirst in his grief. Where was their guardian then?
Hours later, Dean sat scowling at the bonfire as people laughed and danced around him, couples jumping through the fire before making their way into the woods. He might not have believed a spirit would come for him, but would it hurt to have a village lass ask him for a dance? It was his year of manhood, and he wasn’t allowed to take initiative until he had proven his worth in the festivities.
Suddenly, a hand gripped his shoulder tightly. There was a burning sensation and he gasped, turning to see a young man around his age with dark hair, scruff, and blue blue eyes. He stared unblinkingly at Dean, and Dean found he couldn’t break the gaze.
Then, the corners of his mouth twitched upwards and he let go of Dean’s shoulder. Dean took a breath and blinked rapidly, as if coming out of a dream.
The man moved around in front of Dean, putting himself in front of the fire. Shadows wavered behind him like massive wings.
He held out a hand, head tilted.
Dean smiled so hard his face hurt, reached out, and placed his hand in the one held out, just for him.
He was happy to have been wrong.
Title: Thrice Called
Author: ryouseiteki
Rating: R
Word count: Approx 950
Characters/Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Summary/Prompt: Write for half an hour starting with: He knew he would never...
He knew he would never see the spirit again, after tonight, but Dean found that he couldn’t help but fall a little in love with the man. He hadn’t expected a spirit to come for him at all, much less a male one, but he had been chosen.
He’d never been chosen before; not for himself.
The villagers looked to him when they needed something - a hand with the firewood, help in the fields, a second for their duel or their hunt. Heck, he’d even helped with some of the more womanly and childish chores when they needed him - sewing, and feeding the chickens, and looking after the children.
Don’t get him wrong, Dean loved being helpful. He’d practically raised his little brother when his father ran off into the wild in one of his rages to bleed whatever beasts he could find. He was used to it.
Still.
The spirit had looked deep inside of him, to the very marrow of who Dean was, and saw something within him worth wanting. No matter that he sometimes had sick and twisted desires, echoing his father’s madness, or bitter hatred towards things that were beyond his control. The spirit saw it all, and did not turn away.
On the contrary, he took Dean’s virginity, and gladly, while murmuring endearments into his back; calling him a Righteous Man and other such nonsense that nonetheless had Dean’s chest swelling with warmth.
During their coupling, the spirit had occasionally lapsed into a language that Dean hadn’t heard before. It was beautifully lyrical, even though there were random breaks for gasps, groans, and pants. His voice was a deep, rough timbre; if Dean hadn’t seen him, he’d expect him to look much older than he did. Perhaps it was the spirit’s actual age shining through.
The thought made Dean slightly uncomfortable.
“Dean?” the spirit asked in concern, nuzzling the back of Dean’s neck with his nose, his breath tickling the short hairs there and causing them to stand. Dean shuddered pleasantly and pressed back into the cradle of the other man’s body. “Nothing,” he mumbled, wondering if the spirit could read his mind and hoping his wanderings didn’t cause offense.
“You cannot hurt me Dean,” the spirit insisted softly, nudging Dean with gentle prods until he rolled onto his stomach so that the man could lay completely atop him - though he didn’t weigh much, there was a comforting solidness to the spirit’s body that had Dean relaxing into the forest floor, feeling surprisingly safe.
“Hurt you? Why do you say that?” Dean huffed into the skin of his elbow, faux irritably.
The spirit hummed, leaning his face down into the crux of Dean’s shoulder to nip playfully at the corner of his jaw. Dean moaned.
“With your,” he paused, searching for the words, “say? Words.” Dean felt suddenly cold, there was his answer.
The spirit growled, shifting to bite harshly at the back of Dean’s neck. Dean whimpered. The man let go and spoke, voice rough, “Stop that. Your soul is too bright for such darkness; I do not like it there. No worrying.”
Dean swallowed, throat tight with sudden sorrow. “Doesn’t matter,” he whispered to himself, “you’ll be gone by morning.”
He was suddenly flipped onto his back, and Dean yelped at the manhandling. The spirit had him straddled, and Dean’s mind boggled at the logistics of such a maneuver. The man’s face was stormy, and a strange inner light flashed from his pupils. He leaned down so that they were almost nose to nose. Dean held his breath.
“You are mine. Dean Winchester. I have claimed you this night. Do not insult my duties , or my desired charge,” he growled, an undertone to the words like rumbling thunder.
Dean’s lungs ached.
Blue eyes narrowed. “Breathe, Dean.”
Dean’s lungs expanded without his consent.
“My name is Castiel,” the spirit continued, “speak it!” lightning flashed nearby, though there were no clouds, briefly exposing the shadows sprouting from the man’s shoulders into glorious arches of feathered wings.
“Castiel,” Dean croaked, terrified, yet slightly aroused by the display.
“Again,” Castiel barked, tilting his hips back as if fully aware of the effect he was having on the hunter below him.
Dean choked on his own saliva, back arching, body seeking more contact. “Castiel…” he gasped, hands grabbing desperately for the spirit’s hips.
Castiel reached down and slotted his hand over Dean’s shoulder; the same shoulder he had grasped to gain the hunter’s attention earlier that night. He leaned down, lapping at Dean’s lips but not claiming them in a proper kiss.
“Once more,” he whispered, hips grinding down in rough, circular motions that made Dean shut his eyes with a groan.
“C-“ he stuttered, “Cas!” he cried out as the spirit twisted his hips in a way that had Dean just brushing his opening, “Castiel!”
Castiel sat upright, head thrown back in an elegant arch, and screeched, painfully high pitched, at the sky. Lightning flashed again, once more showing the spread of the spirit’s wings.
“Thrice thee has named me!” he crowed, “thrice I am bound!” Castiel looked down, breathing hard, exultant. “Thee are mine, Dean Winchester, but by thee’s call I am thine!”
Using the hand still on his shoulder, Castiel somehow levered Dean into a sitting position, the spirit sliding down to settle more firmly in his lap. Dean bit his lip at the friction.
Castiel sprawled his legs around Dean’s waist, a glint in his eye as his ankles crossed against the small of the hunter’s back.
“Claim me Dean, as I have claimed you.”
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