Hello, all. I'm MisplacedLonelyHeartsAd on AO3, and AMisplacedLonelyHeartsAd on tumblr.

My AO3 fics:

Sherlock (BBC)

Gen (Mycroft Holmes & Sherlock Holmes):


Gen (Sam & Dean, other):
Wincest (Sam/Dean):

  • Lies (short angsty coda to "Girls, Girls, Girls")

  • Crusts (coda to "The Executioner's Song")

  • Hark (dark creepy coda to "The Executioner's Song")


  • Crusts (coda to "The Executioner's Song")

I sometimes post my own art on tumblr. Here's one:

SPN Heatwave 2016: "The More Things Change"

Drawn for spn_heatwave 2016! Here's Sam and Dean with their ice cream cone disasters. Brothers will always save the day. I wanted to try something cute and cartoony. These were drawn and colored in PhotoshopCC. (2 images)

Thank you to quickreaver for organizing this event. <3 Have a lovely summer, everyone!



Proserpine: demon!Dean in the underworld

Everyone else is drawing lovely pictures with hot cocoa and warm sweaters and mistletoe, and I drew this:

"Afar from mine own self I seem, and wing
Strange ways in thought, and listen for a sign"

This rendition of demon!Dean is for frozen_delight, and is inspired by her story "Pomegranate" and Rossetti's "Proserpine." Though it looks more like a cheesy romance novel cover than a Rossetti. I painted it in PhotoshopCC with a Cintiq 13HD tablet.

Merry Christmas to those of you celebrating, and warm wishes to everyone.

Supernatural fic: What She Said (coda/missing scene for "Baby")

Title: What She Said
Rating: Teen/PG-13
Word count: about 3300
Summary: Episode coda and missing scene for s11e04: Baby. A demon gets a close encounter with Sam through the unfortunate Piper.

This is the first time I've written any original characters. My apologies for putting a damper on the cheerful part of this episode.

(also posted on AO3)

What She Said

--“I tried to give her my number. You know what she said?”

“I’d congratulate you,” said Edwin, “but you already look like the proverbial cat who ate the canary, so I’ll refrain.” He picked up his swan-shaped napkin and yanked it flat with more vigor than necessary, then narrowed his eyes at his water glass as though inspecting it for the slightest excuse to harangue the waitstaff.

If you’re going to be a demon, he’d always maintained, you might as well live it up to fullest. Mildred agreed, but she’d never taken much pleasure in treading upon the already trod-upon. Where was the fun in that? She made CEOs cry on a regular basis; she could afford to be affable to the little people.

Mildred smiled demurely. “Now, now,” she said breezily. “Green is not a good color for you.”

“Pfft. You were just lucky. Right place at the right time.” Edwin scowled after a passing woman whose handbag (Prada, two seasons old) had brushed his shoulder.

“That’s true, absolutely true. Of course you have to know what to make of these opportunities.” Mildred smiled opulently at their waitress, who made a beeline for their table and took their orders with alacrity, despite Edwin’s badgering her about every ingredient on the menu.

“This place has degenerated terribly. It’s staffed by morons now,” Edwin sniffed.

“Come now, Edwin, you’re just in a terrible mood. I’m going to leave her an excellent tip, because you’re atrocious.” Mildred daintily straightened the silverware in front of her and pushed the small but gorgeous floral centerpiece a half-inch to the left. “I have quite a bit of empathy for her—”

Edwin snorted. “Shut up, Edwin,” she said. “Quite a bit of empathy for her, now that I know what it’s like to be a servant.”

“A server, not a servant, you ancient monstrosity,” corrected Edwin. “It’s not the nineteenth century anymore.”

Mildred’s nostrils flared briefly. “I never lived in the nineteenth century,” she said severely. “I was born in 1901. And when I say servant, I mean servant.”

The waitress appeared with their bottle of wine, and while Edwin was occupied with fretting over it, Mildred studied herself in one of the large gilt-framed mirrors that lined the restaurant walls. Her short bobbed hair gleamed silver in a way that reminded her of the old-fashioned Christmas-tree baubles of her youth—her human youth, of course, before she’d sold her soul. She tilted her head slightly to admire her still-lovely neck, its elegance enhanced by the hard glitter of her oversized ruby choker.

She touched the largest gem, centered in the hollow of her throat, and smiled softly. The necklace would not have looked out of place above the fashionable velvet and silk ensembles of her teenage years.

This was her third long-term receptacle, as she preferred to called it (whoever popularized the shudder-inducing "meatsuit," she often thought, should be eaten by their own hellhounds), and her favorite. Let other, lesser demons blow through their youthful, frenetic bodies by the dozen—they were fools. She knew the value of presence, of stateliness.

She tasted the wine and nodded her approval with the gracious smile that had first attracted her to this body. Queenly, she had thought, and not merely in appearance. The woman had been a successful and powerful advertising executive, and that was what Mildred had been in life, for ten glorious years after The Deal, and in that era, she’d sorely needed that deal.

She’d chosen wisely, and it showed now. In the tall mirrors, she saw the reflection of a prosperous self-made woman, enjoying a well-earned meal at a Michelin-starred establishment. Edwin, seated across from her, looked like her spoiled ne’er-do-well son who was headed for an early midlife crisis. She didn’t understand how he’d lasted so long under Crowley’s rule—but he could be counted on for amusing gossip.

“How did you do it?” he asked. “I had all the best informants, and even so, when I got to that godforsaken place every eligible female meatsuit—all of them were occupied.”

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Supernatural fic: Truant (part 1)

Title: Truant
Rating: Teen/PG-13 for language
Word count: about 12,000
Summary: An episode coda for s10e22 “The Prisoner,” with some vague post-s10 speculation (no s11 spoilers). Cyrus Styne haunts the bunker. He’s a lousy poltergeist. The boys haven’t got a clue.

This was written to fill my own prompt in the S10 Commentfic Meme at spn-bunker: “Cy Styne haunting the bunker.”

Many thanks to my lovely, awesome, and patient beta reader, frozen_delight, whose input always improves my writing immensely. Couldn’t do it without you!

[Also posted on AO3.]


A truant finds home
and a wish to hold on
But there’s a trapdoor in the sun

—Pearl Jam, “Immortality”

Cyrus Styne, like many people who died suddenly, refused to believe that he was dead. Why should he? He had good reasons to think he was still alive.
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Supernatural fic: Now Say Hello (part 1)

Title: Now Say Hello
Rating: Teen/PG-13 for language
Word count: about 9400
Warnings: angst, disregard of canon in 2x20 What Is and What Should Never Be
Summary: Stanford-era Dean goes on a near-disastrous djinn hunt, then makes an unexpected visit to Sam. Special appearance by young Rudy. Written for the Summergen 2015 fic exchange.

Many thanks to my wonderful beta frozen_delight for her fantastic insight, extensive knowledge of canon, and great eye for detail. You’re the best!

This is a Stanford-era fic set in late September, 2003 (in the timeline where Sam leaves for Stanford in 2002). Sam’s been gone for a little over a year, John is distracted by his recent discovery of his secret third son, and Dean’s feeling lost and distant. I took inspiration from these two prompts: “Dean on a solo hunt while Sam is at Stanford, missing his brother, taking silly risks and running into trouble that he barely gets out of” and “Djinn-verse (WIAWSNB). Dean finds his way to hunting and to a better relationship with his brother.”

[Also posted on AO3]

Part 1:
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