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The auction will close soon, and there is still time to offer your fanwork or to bid!
I wanted to do this one, but I don't feel I can cope with participating right now - but you totally should!
Some great writers, and some interested bidders!
And it's for [livejournal.com profile] nyxocity, who's written such awesome stuff and deserves help, too!

fanworksauction.livejournal.com/2354.html
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Text: What if, rather than interpreting literature that was written long ago against some imagined concept of what life was like back then, it were possible to
feed a book a drop of blood, and for a moment, the book will be refleshed and speak on its own terms?
Me: Cool! Creepy, but cool!
Text: The only true way to do that is Marxism


~

Text: I know what you're thinking!
Me: Is it that my tongue hurts from when I bit it?
Text: You think I suggest this method as merely supplementary rather than the absolute horizon of all readings and all interpretations!
Text: RAWR!


~

Text: You know, like Tiresias!
Me: Who? Am I supposed to know this person?
Text: Tiresias! With the blood drinking !
Me:
Wiki: Tiresias was a prophet of Apollo in Thebes, famous for clairvoyance and for being transformed into a woman for seven years
Me: Like Dean

~
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Come on, join! I need people to prompt me for, like, John/Dean bondage bonding or like PolyFamily's adventures hunting wendigo

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Just these two - Winchsters, and J2:

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Rating: soft R
Pairing(s): Sam/Lucifer, Sam/Dean
Spoilers: up to and including 11x14
Warnings: ptsd, past rape, not exactly comfort in your h/c, self loathing, shamealso - this can be read as very anti Dean. I don't exactly men it that way, it's a story of a moment, not the whole picture. But if that bothers you - be warned.
Summary: At least Lucifer was never the only monster living in Sam's head.

That night, alone, Sam dared to look, to touch the thought -

Had Dean not been in trouble that moment, 'gotta save Dean', to carry him through that moment....

Lucifer.

There.

In Sam again. Touching him, making him scream.

Felt like the end of everything. No point fighting anymore, never was.

Distraction from the stark dread and hopelessness, had him reaching into his pants.

Coming is better than that. Self loathing means there is at least someone there. Anything is better. Disgust. It should be disgust. Shame. Being like this - being turned on by this, he'd mostly forgiven himself that. Been turned on by worse.

But he deserved no forgiveness for being Lucifer's bitch.

Ten seconds around him topside and Lucifer in him again.

It wasn't even compulsion - he might recognize compulsion, might be able to work with it.
This was not even that.


A moment around him and Sam was offering his soul to him, take it, take it, please.

It was like Stanford, like Sam could fight it. It wasn't even compulsion. The world would rearrange itself to make things right. Nothing about Sam mattered but who he was made for.

Self loathing added an edge, sticky on his hand.

What if Dean called through Sam's door, came in. What if Dean held Sam’s face, held Sam through it. What if Dean kissed Sam and told him he was worth living. Was Dean’s. Again, like he once used to ....

Sam curled around the thought, around his bunched up blanket.

He had always, every moment of his life, been a bit more Dean's.


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Did Sam really just say "Do you want to talk about it?" to Dean friggin Winchester?
Is Sam the new vessel?
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Title: Beautiful on the Inside
Pairing: Anna/Ruby
Rating: R
Words: about 1000
Warnings: Vessel sex, true form sex, unnegotiated kink, mild: blood play, unsafe kink, verbal humiliation, self harm, drug use, careless mention of past breach of body autonomy.... weird things.... Unbetaed

Note: This is for the beloved and wonderful [livejournal.com profile] balder12 - hope you like it, BB!

Summary : Ruby isn't naked, like Anna. She's wearing her meatsuit, the way Anna likes




Anna is milk and honey, plains and horizon. Ruby floats in her, hair silking, slipping, slithering around her, caressing her shoulders.
Ruby isn't naked, like Anna. She's wearing her meatsuit, the way Anna likes. It makes her feel gorgeous and and naughty dressing up for Anna, knowing how much Anna wants it. Angels and their fetishes, she knows. But Anna's so pure, it makes kinks interesting again.

Ruby walks around the rim of Anna, ground meeting to support the arch of her foot, hold the curve of her toe. Ruby picks up speed, and her steps echo in the land, or maybe the sounds are Anna's delight. The banks are pooling liquid, Ruby's prints filling, softening, and Ruby stumbles through it, Anna pleasantly slippery between her toes. She makes a quick sprint, smiling, and jumps, crash-slides across it, picking up speed, laughs slick and sweet and filthy. Lands on Anna's bank, covered in Anna, hair sticking to her grin, feet dipping in the lake.

"I'm just gonna lie here and make my fragile human form quiver" she informs. American English, authentic, almost the real deal. It makes Anna squirm. Ruby knows Anna is listening, but can't reply, if she doesn't want to break Ruby's vessel. Just has to stay quiet and gentle under Ruby. It makes Ruby squirm. Anna would stay quiet even if she didn't worry about the meatsuit's well being, would never want to break this. You need to be pretty dedicated to your kink for fetish tourism, and Anna's remade her life around it, just to live among humans.

"You can't get this body off, Anna" Ruby says. Sweet heavenly colonialist. Ruby likes this body for being soft, comfortable and hers alone, after hell. It is extremely useful, too.
Anna likes this body for being exotic.
"You're too foreign, you're not human, can't even communicate".

Ruby dips her arm up to the elbow in Anna. Non just Anna's juices, but Anna herself, sentient, as Ruby uses her to slick herself.


"You Can't get this body off" Ruby repeats, ignoring the way this body swells and thumps around her fingers. "But you could get me off". Anna must notice it as well, curved around every dip of her . They are fucking this vessel together, inside and out.

"You're so angelic, Anna. So you know what I've been doing - you know what I like. Everybody in heaven does". Ruby feels around for Anna's blade. No angel would be without one in these days of unrest, regardless of form. It meets her hand. "Did you ever watch me? Ever want to be back down on earth, to taste for yourself?" It's awkward to use a blade this long,but Ruby can deal with weapons. She uses Anna's blade to make a long, shallow cut across her arm. "Did you wonder how angels react to demon blood? What it could do for you?"

The ground quivers, pulls away, sways, Ruby cradled, cupped, held, but her arm untouched.

"Did you stay there alone, wondering whether it could dim th e glare of your grace a bit, the grace they shoved into you? Make you feel more yourself again?" Cuts another thin line, across the curve and dip of her belly. Presses her lips, open mouthed, to her arm, making a show of taking it in, soft, tasting it. She likes the flavor of her blood in this vessel. Adds, offhand - "Or maybe it'll just get you high". she smiles, but it doesn't come out the practiced seductive smile, just the shy dark one that always met her in the mirror unbidden, always too much her own .


She could just turn around and dip her arm into the lake, simple, have her way, done. Instead she slashes a long cut across her chest, slow, slow and deliberate. The world feels like it is leaning in to watch, mesmerized, motionless. The ground istelf holding its breath. Ruby reaches her nipple, blood gems rising on her skin, transparent.




A pause, then the world tilts, Ruby slides into the folds of Anna, blade safely removed, blood smearing, licked off in tingling burns, grace-cold, wild grin against Anna's curves sticking to her smile, warm, her entire world.... Anna's pool is blush, now, Ruby can't say whether it's her own blood mingling with the essence of Anna, or Anna's reaction to it. The water is building a rhythm to it, fast. Ruby's blood flow brings heartbeats.


The whole lake thumps around her. Her breasts shine in the pearly red, slippery, sensual, comical. Ruby experiments, moves an arm through the liquid, fragrant and weirdly heavy, and Anna ripples around her, shivering small waves in the rhythm. She wriggles, splashes and kicks. The lake gasps in surprise, maybe pleasure or pain. Ruby wants Anna to tear this disguise off her already .

Anna tosses her gently out to the water's surface, slick like before, and Ruby slides across it, wind in her face, drying her hair. Tries to imagine the multiple awarenesses of droplets flying, surrounded in crisp air, lake rippling hard, the feeling of Roby's blood seeping in, Anna soaking, covering and beating with Ruby's body, this vessel that Anna loves, what it must be like to sync heartbeats when neither of them really uses blood - not in that way .


Ruby breathes in wonder. Within the heartbeat, red darkening into it's depths, inviting, pumping, swirls a huge whirlpool. Ruby's mouth goes dry at its magnitude, the power running through it . She circles its rim with her momentum, not pulled it. Puts her fingers in the flow. It sucks her fingers with force, and she smiles, breathless. Likes the way people get, on her blood. "Yes" she says, for whatever angelic requirements she doesn't want to have to deal with. The speed of her glide increases, then she is in free air - over the middle of Anna.


She smiles, and dives.
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The Karin's POV - life of enslavement, being forced to kill and kill, and no hunters are gonna save hir. Only those idiots addressing hir by the name of hir species, reciting accusations based on three
minutes with Wiki like they can actually understand

~

Kinda want Mellssa to find Becky and start a coven or a Bachelor viewing group or just - you know, something involving happies and ice cream and support!
It's a little bit weird for me that they did pretty similar things (though hers was maybe more understandable ) , and the show treated them so so very differently....


~


IDK, I liked Gladys. I don't know why she was there at all, plot-wise. Maybe she has her own reasons. Maybe not. I'd like to know.

~

You know I want Wincest - kissing, important talk - there raw material there for some good fics!
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(criticism in the first paragraph, but bottom line I loved)


Hey, I actually kinda loved the ep!
I mean, I recognized the writers pretty much for sure by the name and the teaser, so my expectations were very low (and they didn't disappoint, with the delightful women killing, totally cool to be schtuping your let's assume of age employee who totally wanted it and apparently had no connections but you , dude berating a woman for not being enough of a feminist)

-

BUT! I lover the rock-paper-scissors, and Jensen did a very good job on that with the twirl and the curtain thing YAY :DD
AND
the conversation in the end YES YES the honesty and compassion and
- like early seasons they are on the same side and care about each other even if they are moved by uncontrollable forces both epic and emotional.... YESS

and them talking - sort of - about experiences of basically rape they both had yes yes yes yes - this is groundbreaking, this is SPN, and Winchesters! - This is what I keep pining for !!!!1111 yass1


ETA: Also, and this is really a credit for season 11, I want Cas back, where is Cas, stop not letting us know about Cass!

ETA :D
Seriously, has Dean/Jensen been that vulnerable since Carver even became show runner?
And to SAM??
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I just realized something!

I was watching Jane the Virgin - there was a bit of character trivia added a few eps ago a character's alarm clock ) - and I kept telling myself - no way, can't be sure it was only introduced then - could be from way way back! And I kept telling myself - how way back, this is a newish show! But then I kept feeling that I couldn't know no way no way etc - and sure could be wrong - bt this is probably because


I'm a frigging SPN fun
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(all the people I have not replied to - sorry! These have not been the easies few days....)


I didn't particularly like Eileen - I didn't dislike her, and the actress seems cool - but beyond what the actress brought to the role, mostly all we got was "she's so badass".... I find that so - just - I would have appreciated more. The representation seems to have been good/appreciated, so yay on that, but come on, please, you're Robbie fuckin Thompson, please put more into this ep's characters....??

Mildred made me super uncomfortable - had there not been the thing abou Dean yes being interested, it would have read like nothing more than "old people are gross".... and even that was shaky, fetishized, and I felt was - like the people making this were not exactly sure whether it was a joke or for real ? I'm *sure* she was written to say the opposite, but for me it did not read that way .... and again, badass = very boring characterization, problematic to connect with etc.....

I never connected with Alex, I only connected with Clair on her first ep (mostly), nd I kinda try to like Jody, it's not that I dislike her, but again, I like the actress, could do with more characterization....

After the new ep is definitely would not want the Wayward Daughters theoretical spinoff....
I've watched the new ep a second time instead of sleeping to make sure - I didn't miss some awesome goodness, but it is just so badly written and just .... no....

Am I really the only person who feels this way?
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Title: Two days from then, around, 07:30
Rating: gen
Character(s): Amelia
Words: ~700
Warnings: slurs, fantasy fire/violence, military canon badness, unbeta'ed
Notes: this is for [livejournal.com profile] kalliel - this is not the I was supposed to write, I hope it's still a bit enjoyable (though it's ok to say if not!).
This is very rough but I'll probably leave it like that - I like it enough to post
though it's ok if i am the only one.... Also - I feel like I might have stolen one of the lines here, if you recognize it, please let me know so I can return it home.



Summary: Why Amelia left for Texas

She'd planned it for a long while. Not the sort of planning that's about tickets and movers and dates, the sort of planning where you fantasize for four months about setting fire to your house, and the neighbor's, and running and running forever, and four months in you realize you're ready to go, all you need is your car keys and you run.

It was the pity she couldn't stand- that was true - but that was only part of it. It was the constant reminder. She'd lost him. He'd left her- just up and left her, no warning. That is- that's a lie- there were a thousand little warnings. In the slant to his tone, in the way his palm felt on her belly. In telling her- I'm unhappy, Amelia, I hate it here.

Everybody was unhappy.

No one left, really left.

Enlisted, like olden days, like she was the woodsmith's daughter and he needed out of an arranged marriage. She'd loved him so simply, before. Can't believe she'd even done something so wholeheartedly. Tried since to talk herself out of naivety, gotta stop, like everybody does . He's not coming back to you, don't let yourself hope for it. Be smart, Amelia, don't be an idiot, please, she begs herself. Still.

She didn't even have time for shock when he left, was still standing there hands wet clutching her dish towel for weeks. Don was off, kisses and hugs and a duffle, because there are not enough roads in the desert and trolleys get trapped in the sands - not even a letter yet and her mind filled with images of that trolley wheel sand-logged, hands still holding her dishtowel and she was coming back home with her paper bag, didn't know how to buy groceries for one, seemed pointless to cook for no one - not even a letter yet and he has no internet still - or he'd have texted her he would have texted her.

Mrs Snyder said hi, rummaging in her mommy bag - Amelia expected words about trash day or porch lights, about painting the front of their house pastel to match the neighborhood plan, and she'd be making those decisions on her own now. Mrs Snyder asked instead about Don, already went over that, didn't want to do it out again. Looks like she might make it a coffee invitation, they'd never gotten along, come have dinner with me and the kids some night, a neighborly patriotic thing that no one would need to follow up on - instead she pulled out a copy of Trauma and Recovery. Squeeze Amelia's arm sympathetically and Amelia's throat clenched with bile. The end of their life. "How bad do you think Don's flight was?" she deadpanned - but Mrs Snyder had left, family matters, offspring making his proud way to the middle of the road, only a moment unsupervised.

Don was missing, and she hated him for putting this unchangeable thing in her life, always, always going to be there, wanted to kick herself in the kneecaps for not knowing, not running on time, for never being this American wife right. The officer at her door barely legal to drink and she wanted to slap him hard and ask whether he was good to his girlfriend, slap him and tell him and America hands off my man you homewrecking slut.


She'd wanted to go to Texas for so long, fantasized about big people and big hearts, all of those families, surely she could find her own. Big dogs jumping of the back of a truck, jumping into the kid's pool like on all those YouTube videos, and she'd finally know the difference between normal BBQ and the real sort she'd never tried.

Once she was there, she was unable to say why she'd found her way to this big empty desert, to this town named after a Muppet.


Then a haunted eyed man hit a dog and messed with her AC, and she wore his shirt, and she needed that book again, and she knew better than hoping, in retrospect.
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[mentions of sexuality, asexuality, sex repulsion, assault, abuse, and, well, navel gazing, but that's nothing new here....]


So I'm in this online group of people whose research has anything to do with gender studies.

And this woman comes in - she is writing a seminary paper about women's sexual liberation and is asking for recommendations for resources about how women can free themselves from the bonds of oppression and be sexually free.

And everyone's - um.... - because it's - so many assumptions, disturbing disturbing assumptions, and it's this polite group where everyone pretends to be polite and no one says "omg, you have at least forty years of feminism to go before we can even communicate!"....

So people offered her some things - a paper about rape culture that she claimed to have found and read in 12 minutes, a paper about the nature of consent, and a paper about sex not being all that horrible despite what feminists say.... which she ruled out too....

Then a few hours later, nighttime and people talk differently at night. Someone else came in, and asked whether there are, in fact, and known sex positive feminists who are straight. On the assumption that men are the worst to have sex with. So we're joking about that and kinda googling and trying to come up with people (found at least one, btw), and saying that since you can be straight and sex repulsed, you can be straight and sex positive and never have sex in actuality, just support sex.

And someone grumbles that she's not straight but she still sleeps with guys, etc etc - and the original posted pops in and says - yes - I'm sex repulsed, that is why I am writing this paper, to try and fix it....

Which is so completely different from the "why are you being mean towards men" that I'd braced myself for....



I told her that - it might be completely irrelevant for her, but thatit took me ages to find anyone like me, so just in case - that I was so relieved and happy to discover that I was allowed to just - not want sex, if I didn't want to! That it was ok to just stay that way and that I never, ever, had to do it again if I didn't want i! And that if I felt like trying - that was cool! And if I liked just tiny thing and not the rest - cool! An that wanting to change it is totally fine too, but that it really is not a must! ~jazz hands~



I was expecting her to be proper and say thanks, no - but she said - something wistful about courage - said that she just had to - first of all - want sex, find a way to get over the influences of sexual oppression like she should have already done, that only once she's sexual she'll be able to know whether she want is really, that was why she was writing this paper, because she had to want sex, for her boyfriend.... that she didn't want to be asexual, for him....

it was friggin heartbreaking!
Bubblewrap and cocoa and a bi "No!" sign in case she needs it, you know....

So we're having this conversation, she writes a question/comment and deletes it, I reply and delete it, so she knows no one is going to find out about her.... late night conversations, you know....

I'm giving her the shpeel - you don't have to be asexual to not want to have sex, influences of oppression are not our fault and we don't deserve to both suffer from it and be blamed for suffering, it's ok to want to change, no one deserve to have sex they don't want, ....

and she friggin comes out to me as ace.


So the opposite of the person I assumed was writing all of this earlier....
I tried to be reassuring and encouraging, you know....
and it was such a throwback to always always being THAT PERSON, or everyone gay, bi, then trans or non-binary (and poly, queer, family, questioning ffs) - I forgot how good it felt to be able to help someone like that.... I forgot how draining it is, too....but I forgot how comforting it is to be able to really make a difference for somebody.... to have a way to help, to feel for them and actually be able to do something good - without it causing complete destruction for me....

I am ambivalent about taking that role - it was part of my abuse back when, not to mention - things like - one of the guys who assaulted me first used me for this, things like that - and being that person was NOT always consensual....

but
it felt real nice to be able to help, made me feel worthwhile, confident, capable, and just - happy for her, comforted because she seemed to feel better, maybe....
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Cas, imagine you walk into the Bunker’s kitchen, and there are Dean and Sam kissing like there's nothing else in the world! And they look up at you and kinda smile, Dean does that eyebrow thing and Sam looks both vulnerable and ravenous, and they say - get in here, Cas, we’ll show you a sandwich you can still enjoy - in that situation, what are you doing?

what what )
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Title: Longer than the Road
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13?
Words: ~900
Warnings: drinking, passing mention of hentai, very much unbeta'ed
Notes: For [personal profile] kalliel, who wanted Winshesters and wind slice of life

Summary: It's been some time since Sam came drinking with Dean

Sam walks next to Dean, jacket and mouth and eyes tight in the wind, rigid and withheld, only his hair raging unleashed. It makes Dean's stomach drop - or it would be funny. Sam isn't angry anymore, hasn't been in ages.

It's one of the good nights . Sam comes with him to the bar. Drinks with Dean, more than a beer or three, and Dean is pretty sure it isn't even to push down something, not more than usual. Dean buys him hunter drinks - Silver Bullet, Rusty Nail, and doesn't tell Sam their names. Sam sticks to his tequila, but he drinks with Dean, and they talk. Sam 's forgetting about his research for longer and longer breaks, Dean's eye absentmindedly following the Windows logo across the screen, calculating pool angles. Dean is not sure what they talk about what anymore, probably some horrible mush he'd rather not remember, but Sam's eyes go softer and Dean's limbs go warm and happy with scotch and company. Sam's cheeks redden, like earlier in the wind, and his eyes go starry like a girl about to enjoy some artistic triple tentacle penetration.

Dean orders sandwiches for tomorrow morning, they'll be soggy but food. Jalepinio guacamole makes a good breakfast. The waitress hands Sam the bill and Dean grabs it, ruffled. He leaves her a good tip, though, it's a slow night.

They walk out again, Dean has to put some weight against the door to get it to open, to step out. "Com'on, Sammy" Dean challenges with a smirk. Smething soft that meant to be a smirk.

The street is black gray and Dean loses their napkins in a fluttery flurry. They crash land into a black puddle, and for a moment Sam looks like he'll try to get them out. He lets them go.

Breathing makes the back of Dean's throat itch with dry particles, like the time with Rhonda - sex on the beach should only ever be a drink, sand in bad places, Sammy. But this air is frozen, thunderstorm on the way. The sort of cold that comes with bat outta hell motorbikes an' electric guitar lightning .

Dean feels like he could be lifted by the wind, is tempted to jump, just a little bit, just to find out. his muscles and weapons and heavy jacket, floating, complete with beer and tacos warming his belly. His insides thrill to it, small pulsing excitement like magic, like he hasn't been picked up or tossed around by demons, angels, forces unknown

For a moment it's so cold Dean has trouble breathing, but that doesn't make sense. A torn windsock man vindictive, store signs bangoverhead, and Dean wants to pull Sam to him, under the wing of his jacket, suddenly wary of flapping electricity lines, windborne debris .


Sam's hair is in his eyes again, but they are still shining under there, as he hurries past Dean, wind catching in the open arms of his jacket. Sam's smiling silly and wide, old enough to be boyish like once. Smiling at Dean - shy, but not backing off. Sam doesn't back off from a challenge.


And in a moment Dean runs after him, half lifted by the wind, almost laughing. It's ok, they're just a little drunk. Sam was always faster than him, but they are banging together, Sam's hair lashing, how is Sam always so warm. Sam's belly is soft despite his training, under Dean's frozen hand, and Sam's yelp is almost as pleasant as the sensation of Sam.

Baby's solid and chilly even through Dean's jacket, through the gap under Dean's shirts. Sam's leaning against him long limbed, looking up at Dean - bending to open the door. Sam's eyes reflect the lines of light reflecting off her, even through the layer of dust, through everything . Sam's hair gets in Dean's mouth, and Sam straightens, warmth undulating, belt to collarbone, and Dean's thoughts scatter, flutter, why are they always the idiots with their overshirts open in the storm. Dean wants to close their shirts, close their shirts together, to share heat, buttons and holes and mouths -

They're finally inside, The windshield is covered with dust, leaves caught in the wipers and flapping around outside, looks as if it is so noisy outside. A few sharp raindrops, thin and brilliant across the filthy glass, a mistake to try and clean the windows now anyway, it'd just make a mess and clog his Baby's washer spray jet.

Street lights are hazy in the muddy air, traffic lights brilliant out of focus like fair candy, sweet and bright, strawberry, orange, lime. Sam's breath warms Dean's cheek, like blowing on Sam's fingers long ago, through gloves, without gloves.


He puts the guacamole in the back seat. Digs in the glove compartment for Metallica, something soft to put Sam to sleep. The rain waited for them to be in, bangs on the roof rhythmically, wave after wave with the wind, and Baby's almost shaking too, or maybe dancing .


Dean has the urge to stick his head out in the rain, his naked torso out, to run outside and yell, and maybe howl, like a werewolf or a frat boy douchebag, to crash into streetwater and have Sam collect him.

Doesn't know whether he's brave, scared, or just so tired.


And he's kissing Sam long and sweet, heart pounding up to his throat, as if they've never done it before, as if they've never stopped doing it.

Also posted on http://citrusjava.dreamwidth.org
citrus_java: (Default)
Title: Longer than the Road
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13?
Warnings: drinking, very much unbeta'ed
Notes: For Kalliel, who wanted Winshesters and wind slice of life

Summary: It's been some time since Sam came drinking with Dean

Sam walks next to Dean, jacket and mouth and eyes tight in the wind, rigid and withheld, only his hair raging unleashed. It makes Dean's stomach drop - or it would be funny. Sam isn't angry anymore, hasn't been in ages.

It's one of the good nights . Sam comes with him to the bar. Drinks with Dean, more than a beer or three, and Dean is pretty sure it isn't even to push down something, not more than usual. Dean buys him hunter drinks - Silver Bullet, Rusty Nail, and doesn't tell Sam their names. Sam sticks to his tequila, but he drinks with Dean, and they talk. Sam 's forgetting about his research for longer and longer breaks, Dean's eye absentmindedly following the Windows logo across the screen, calculating pool angles. Dean is not sure what they talk about what anymore, probably some horrible mush he'd rather not remember, but Sam's eyes go softer and Dean's limbs go warm and happy with scotch and company. Sam's cheeks redden, like earlier in the wind, and his eyes go starry like a girl about to enjoy some artistic triple tentacle penetration.

Dean orders sandwiches for tomorrow morning, they'll be soggy but food. Jalepinio guacamole makes a good breakfast. The waitress hands Sam the bill and Dean grabs it, ruffled. He leaves her a good tip, though, it's a slow night.

They walk out again, Dean has to put some weight against the door to get it to open, to step out. "Com'on, Sammy" Dean challenges with a smirk. Smething soft that meant to be a smirk.

The street is black gray and Dean loses their napkins in a fluttery flurry. They crash land into a black puddle, and for a moment Sam looks like he'll try to get them out. He lets them go.

Breathing makes the back of Dean's throat itch with dry particles, like the time with Rhonda - sex on the beach should only ever be a drink, sand in bad places, Sammy. But this air is frozen, thunderstorm on the way. The sort of cold that comes with bat outta hell motorbikes an' electric guitar lightning .

Dean feels like he could be lifted by the wind, is tempted to jump, just a little bit, just to find out. his muscles and weapons and heavy jacket, floating, complete with beer and tacos warming his belly. His insides thrill to it, small pulsing excitement like magic, like he hasn't been picked up or tossed around by demons, angels, forces unknown

For a moment it's so cold Dean has trouble breathing, but that doesn't make sense. A torn windsock man vindictive, store signs bangoverhead, and Dean wants to pull Sam to him, under the wing of his jacket, suddenly wary of flapping electricity lines, windborne debris .


Sam's hair is in his eyes again, but they are still shining under there, as he hurries past Dean, wind catching in the open arms of his jacket. Sam's smiling silly and wide, old enough to be boyish like once. Smiling at Dean - shy, but not backing off. Sam doesn't back off from a challenge.


And in a moment Dean runs after him, half lifted by the wind, almost laughing. It's ok, they're just a little drunk. Sam was always faster than him, but they are banging together, Sam's hair lashing, how is Sam always so warm. Sam's belly is soft despite his training, under Dean's frozen hand, and Sam's yelp is almost as pleasant as the sensation of Sam.

Baby's solid and chilly even through Dean's jacket, through the gap under Dean's shirts. Sam's leaning against him long limbed, looking up at Dean - bending to open the door. Sam's eyes reflect the lines of light reflecting off her, even through the layer of dust, through everything . Sam's hair gets in Dean's mouth, and Sam straightens, warmth undulating, belt to collarbone, and Dean's thoughts scatter, flutter, why are they always the idiots with their overshirts open in the storm. Dean wants to close their shirts, close their shirts together, to share heat, buttons and holes and mouths -

They're finally inside, The windshield is covered with dust, leaves caught in the wipers and flapping around outside, looks as if it is so noisy outside. A few sharp raindrops, thin and brilliant across the filthy glass, a mistake to try and clean the windows now anyway, it'd just make a mess and clog his Baby's washer spray jet.

Street lights are hazy in the muddy air, traffic lights brilliant out of focus like fair candy, sweet and bright, strawberry, orange, lime. Sam's breath warms Dean's cheek, like blowing on Sam's fingers long ago, through gloves, without gloves.


He puts the guacamole in the back seat. Digs in the glove compartment for Metallica, something soft to put Sam to sleep. The rain waited for them to be in, bangs on the roof rhythmically, wave after wave with the wind, and Baby's almost shaking too, or maybe dancing .


Dean has the urge to stick his head out in the rain, his naked torso out, to run outside and yell, and maybe howl, like a werewolf or a fratboy douchbag, to crash into streetwater and have Sam collect him.

Doesn't know whether he's brave, scared, or just so tired.


And he's kissing Sam long and sweet, heart pounding up to his throat, as if they've never done it before, as if they've never stopped doing it.

Day 15

Jan. 15th, 2016 10:47 am
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[sorry, again, people whom I owe replies - it\s really sucky of me - I AM sorry.... it just requires emotional capacity I just don't reahave right now....I treasure your comments and posts, but I am sorry I can't always reply ....really ]

Fandom Snowflake Challenge banner

This was wonderful and unexpectedly amazing.

I've enjoyed it a lot! Very much.....
Got to meet some new people, which is just so wonderful, for me! New friends (and old friends) - you seem so lovely, I really hope to get to know you better and get closer, you awesome beings~

On that note - if you've been reading and want to say hi, please do!

I started using DreamWidth for real (or, at least, it feels real, IDK how it's going to go - do things get really quiet again when there is not a challenge going on?)

I got some amazing gifts, which I did NOT expect!!!!
[personal profile] delacourtings made this friggin gorgeous banner for a group podfic I'd participated in, that I just - THANK YOU!!!!
http://i.imgur.com/dJCQE6O.png

And the frigging lovely [personal profile] kate, whom I've ha the true pleasure of getting to know better since, wrote me this glorious Winchester fic, just for the specific trope I crave - because she is just awesome!
http://archiveofourown.org/works/5614660

Mods - I just adore being modded by you! The thoughtful things like pointing out it's ok not to post, or "if you're comfortable doing that", and the effort you make in commenting on every post, makes such a difference! Your encouragement and acceptance really made me feel so much safer and more joyous - THANK YOU SO SO MUCH FOR THIS CHALLENGE!

~

For me, it's been a very rugh week, and while this is not an unusual thing for me - unfortunately - they definitely stay rough....
this helped a lot, even if I didn't/couldn't always comment or post - it helped a lot-thank you all!

Also posted on http://citrusjava.dreamwidth.org
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Fell asleep last night cuddling my tissues toilet roll for comfort

Also posted on http://citrusjava.dreamwidth.org
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Fandom Snowflake Challenge banner



What makes you fannish? And by that we mean, what is it about a tv show/movie/book/band/podcast/etc that takes you from, "Yeah, I like that," to "I need MOAR!!!" Is it a character? A plotline? The pretty? Subtext that’s just screaming to be acknowledged?







Let me count (some of) the ways!

~ an important one is that this is a sort of relationship that I want:
with fandom, a fandom, a show, a ship, character, other fans, writers, podficcers and so forth - these are relationships I need and want in my life - the same way some people want a little sister or to get married.

~ Second, is loving and connecting with these specific characters, people, and relationships.... I have way too much in common with both Dean and Sam.... and then places we are different, or they are different from anyone I know, leave me room for imagination....
I didn't mean to ship them when I started watching the show, and didn't mean to fall in ove with them - but I very much did

~ Part of my drive to write is the subtext screaming to be addressed, part of it is wanting to celebrate things I love or enjoy about the show , sometimes I need to read fic to fix / resolve things or address things that canon forgot or tried to erase,
and simply wanting to spend more time with the characters/vibe of the show/etc

For instance - I am very late for the Big Brother bandwagon, but I watched and very much enjoyed the last two seasons, and I LOVED Vanessa! Felt like we got to experience different and interesting aspects of her, or of her persona or not - and would want to celebrate her in fannish fandom style! a pansexual poker player DJ who's a brilliant strategist and can convince people who hate her of almost anything, protective and all about the woman she loves, does this bravado thing she seems to believe sometimes, and she *is* cool but she is also insecure and sweetly awkward, so dependent on the woman she loves, loyal and insecure and smitten after years together....


~Some fandoms, I am tempted into with representation (please give me, please, more characters who are actually anything like anybody I care about in my life? Please???) and I can be tempted in by interesting, intricate characters- or sometimes by getting a very nice sandbox with so many possibilities and unexplored plots and stories.


~Or - I often am tempted to write a story by something it bugs me that canon overlooked.
A LOT of my SPN fic is because something about an episode bugged me nd was not explained, so I made up a thing to make a point....

Or - I didn't actually write this and it was Kripkied, but in My Little Pony the opening sogn tells a story of someone who literally never had any friends, didn't know how to do friendship, and then all of a sudden found herself with five close friends.
This is an interesting story. How did it never happen for years? How does she adjust ? etc


~And then there is fandom ~ people!
Having people to share it with.... people who see the subtext and you are not the only one! People who see different subtext but are also supportive of yours, and it can be so interesting! (or, devastating and horrible - you know!) People who make art or jokes or just are there, excited with you - that means SO MUCH!....


So many fandoms I got into without even knowing the canon, I still don't know the canon for some - I just listened to this fantastic podfic or an author I likedwrote fic for it, or a good friend fell in love with it and pulled me into it too.... talk about fan labor, btw....


OH! This is more of a dealbreaker - or an almost deal breaker - the creators have to be appreciative and respectful of fandom. I've left fandoms over creators being nasty - I don't want to spend my time with them anymore.... this is not to say you have to leave, all faves are problematic and it is about us not them - just that for me this is a very significant factor

Also posted on http://citrusjava.dreamwidth.org
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sprinkle me and yell Diagon Alley, I have so much flu....

Also posted on http://citrusjava.dreamwidth.org

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