Rating: PG (wtf?)
Warnings: None, but you probably should have watched 5.17 before reading. Also, this is SPECULATION—I don’t do spoilers.
AN: I don’t even know. This is not what I set out to do. But apparently my brain wants to ignore some things regarding SHOW and this is what it spit out to make up for that.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything. Kripke does. Clearly if I owned them, I’d be making them do different things.
( None of them expected it. They'd prepared for every eventuality... )
itsabigrock asked for:
( Lindsey heading back to LA )
gblvr asked for: Jared/Jensen, first kiss
( Jared/Jensen, first kiss )
luvxander asked for: Sam and Xander, having a discussion about the various monsters they fight and who has the better hero, Xander with Buffy or Sam with Dean
( This is not that drabble... )
The Light of Munin (Masterpost)
Title: The Light of Munin
Rating: NC-17 (language, torture, sexual situations, angst up the wazoo)
Characters: Sam, Dean, Castiel
Pairing: Sam/Dean, Castiel/Dean (unrequited)
Spoilers: general through the end of S4, with some minor mythology discrepancies because I started writing this long before the finale
Genre: horror, apocafic
Warning: ANGST, intense, disturbing sexual situations (dub con at best, personally I'd put it closer to the non con end of the spectrum), graphic scenes of torture, secondary character death
Word Count: 69,467
Summary: Beyond the Apocalypse, beyond the Rapture, beyond the reach of memory ... How long can even the strongest love survive?
I don't even have the language for how much this fic is affecting me right now. Seriously. *flails*
Extra warning: Do not read unless you have a good chunk of time (more than an hour) to spend uninterrupted. Also, be very very very conscious of the warnings, because OMG...(but worth it, oh so very worth it)
Some things I have done to disgrace my family name
( by Sam Winchester )
Assorted chances, good and bad
( by Bobby Singer )
Actual bullet points from a handout for a philosophy class on consciousness
( by Dean Winchester )
Less popular boardgames
( by Ruby )
All the porn is written for my Big Bang. And there's a lot. A LOT. And yet? I want to write some dirrrrrty Sam/Dean. But what I should be writing is the battle scene. Jeezus with the issues.
I miss you dancetomato!
For cherrymmm, because she knows how to hit me where it hurts
Title: Game in a Bottle
Summary: Based off recent con shenanigans. The green-eyed monster gets a hold of Jensen and he decides he’s had enough.
Author’s Note: not beta’d beyond spell/grammar check; please forgive me
Disclaimer: This is all a damned dirty lie. More’s the pity.
Rubbing a hand down the length of his face Jensen focuses on his reflection in the mirror. He has no clue how he got here. To this place where he's living this double-triple-secret life. Every nerve in his body is taught and quivering, strained to breaking. He hates these conventions. He's just not this guy. He's not the guy who can let seemingly innocuous comments about his "true" feelings for Jared run off his back like water. He's not the calm and patient man who smiles tolerantly when yet another "fan" brings up the topic of "slash" and how does he feel about the brothers being written that way? Most of all, he's not the buddy who can sit idly by and let his best friend romp and tease and have a bromance with another actor without being bothered by it.
( Read more... )
Dean shifted only slightly on the bed, nothing overtly indicating that he'd heard the slow ease of the window as it quietly shuddered up from the sill. His hand gripped the knife handle tightly even as he feigned sleep, not wanting to give any advantage to the intruder or to waken Sammy who was sleeping soundly on the other side of the bed. Dean turned his body as naturally as he could manage, in imitation of a restless sleeper, eyes half-lidded until he could see the willowy form sliding through the night air and into the room. His fingers relaxed as his body instinctively recognized Cindy's curves, hormones taking over almost instantly from the previous thrum of adrenaline in his veins. He let her think he was still slumbering as he watched her drift silently across the room, bare feet not making a sound even on the ancient warped floorboards of the shoebox the Winchesters were currently calling "home."
( Read more... )
aside: this is my 6th (yes, s.i.x.t.h.) attempt at posting this (and everything showing up right), so if it doesn't work, I give up.
A while back, I did a drabble request and responded fairly quickly to three of them. The last one sorta stumped me. But I have written it at last! And it has turned out to be more of a ficlet than a drabble (I'm sure you don't mind llaras, do you?)
llaras requested: J2 - italian food
( click to read )
wesleysgirl requested: J2, one of them feeding the other something with his fingers.
( click to read )
sockkpuppett requested: Sam meets Castiel. Sees true face. Hears true voice. Dean's there. Freaks out?
( click to read )
luvxander requested: Dean/Sam, funny colored condoms
( click to read )
Thanks to dancetomato for being the smart one in our relationship and suggesting that I use Semagic to post rather than attempting to depend on the LJ update panel to work the way it should.
It's dancetomato's nephew's birthday on Sat. (really yesterday, but we're celebrating Sat.) and we got him fingerpuppets. Now, said nephew is an interesting child. Loves musicals, loves acting and singing and can basically memorize any song's lyrics upon hearing it once or twice. He has a fingerpuppet theater and it came with several puppets and the story "Puss in Boots." The only thing he will act out with the puppets is "Puss in Boots" because he's very...determined about acting out ONLY the stories that go with the theater. So I wrote a story/play to go with the puppets (a unicorn, a fairy, a dragon and a wizard).
I'm going to share because it's the only thing I've written in months.
This is that story/play. Please remember I wrote this for a SIX year old.
( The Unicorn )
So here you go:
Setting: Post-Not Fade Away
Rating: R to NC-17, depending upon your sensibilities
Author notes: Unbeta’d, except by the grammar and spell check--I apologize in advance for all the fragments, but that’s just how this one seemed to work its way out.
He sniffs and feels his nose cringe at the assault. A dank, musty, oniony odor. That's when he knows he's alive. He couldn't possibly be this offended by his body odor if he were dead, right?
" 'bout time."
That voice. Sounds familiar. Too familiar. Oh god. Please lord, do not let him have lived through this only to have to deal with...
"Gonna open your eyes anytime soon Harris?"
It had taken him the better part of three days to wrap his brain around it. Everyone gone. Everywhere gone. All gone. Gone. Such a profound meaning carried in such a small word.
There was nothing left of California. There was nothing left of most of the western portion of America. Adolescent memories involving palm trees, blue skies, and the sandy Pacific coast, even the oppressive LA smog, would now forever be just that--memories. Entirely unrelivable, completely denied to any future generations.
he was still here.
Xander looked at him. Hair glinting in the firelight, a small heat from embers they'd dared stoke inside the cave, sipping on his dented metal flask. And that was another thing, where'd he get the liquor? It was like the fishes and the loaves, only in alcoholic form. Just plain weird.
There were a lot of things Xander didn't understand these days, but Spike was the most problematic.( Continue reading )
Here's where it starts:
Wanna be like you
Andrew’s whole body tensed as Spike hissed in his ear, “Following me?”
Andrew had been following Spike—just trying to understand some of the mystique behind the whole tortured, souled vampire thing. Plus, he was trying to get his swagger down.
“No! Of course not! I was just…just…” Andrew’s body began to bail on him, arms wildly gesticulating, head turning from side to side in panic, “…just doing research.”
Through slitted eyes Spike asked, “Since when did they let you out of the house?”
“Wellll…they don’t actually know I’m gone. Did a little mojo-jojo and,” here he made a persona change complete with dramatic hand emphasis, “ poof, I was ignore-boy, just like the cloak of invisibility.”
“What?” Spike spoke with something between derision and disbelief.
“You know, Harry gets the cloak from his uncle and it was his dad’s and he can wear it and no one knows he’s there?. People see me, but don’t pay any attention to me. I blend in, become part of the scenery, below notice,” and to himself, “think I over-used it in high school though.”
“You must have done your spell all arseways, as I see you standing here well enough. Kind of hard to ignore the nervous sweat oozing from your pores, you dosser.” Spike looked him up and down in a way that made Andrew’s stomach knot.
Cocking his head in real curiosity, Andrew said, “What’s a dosser?”
"An insult you git. A stupid, useless little man.” Spike gave him a final look and turned on his heel to walk away.
“You’re just so cool.”
Spike stopped. Turned slowly. “Excuse me?”
“I…I…you….you’re just so cool.” Andrew said the words with more force and emphasis this time.
Raising his brows, Spike queried, “What precisely, do you mean?”
Andrew spoke in a rush, words tumbling out of his mouth, “You have this whole aura about you, even if you weren’t a vampire with the whole eternal aura, you walk and talk and even stand like you own the world. And the women? They drool the second you walk in the room. To be even just a little bit like you, I mean, I even bought the coat and tried the all black fashion statement, Jonathan said it just made me look washed out...”
Spike cut him off, “You want to be like me?” He sounded incredulous.
“Oh, god if only! To be angsty and torn and so obviously in love, but totally noble and still retain just a hint of Clark Kent on red kryptonite,” in a final burst of adulation, “To have a vampire such as you? Anne Rice only wishes!” Andrew’s face had picked up an excited flush and his nervousness had been rubbed out by his obvious exuberance.
Abruptly, Andrew found his back pressed painfully to the tree behind him, his neck clenched between strong, sure fingers, “You think that pain is cool? That unrequited love is cool? That overwhelming guilt is cool? That not being alive is cool?” Spike sneered as his whole body tensed in anger.
Andrew couldn’t believe he was this close to Spike. Even in his dreams there was a distance between them that seemed insurmountable. Unable to control himself, he closed his eyes and brushed a kiss over the angry mouth that was so close to his. He’d thought about what the vampire’s skin might feel like, how he would smell—up close and personal. Somehow, it was different and so much better. Not as cold as he had thought, and a musky, smoky scent...
Spike’s hand dropped from Andrew’s neck as if on fire, and he took a giant step backward, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth as he moved, fixing Andrew with an intense, disapproving look.
“Don’t play with things you don’t understand boy.” Spike spat on the grass, pulled out a cigarette and lit it.
The hurt surprised him. Like a kicked puppy, Andrew cowered against the tree. He hadn’t expected any return on his tentative kiss, but to be looked at like he was dirt, no worse than dirt; worms in dirt; no, microbes on the worms in dirt; no, protons that were part of the cellular structure of the microbes on the...
“You can’t stoke a fire that’s turned to ash.” The melancholy tone in Spike’s voice puzzled Andrew and he raised his head out of his self-recrimination.
Instead of a pissed-off-ready-to-battle-and-kick-his-
“I’m sorry. I just...you...I don’t know, “ he was cut off again
“Shut your cakehole. You knew exactly what you were doing.” Andrew watched the smoke spiral around the platinum hair as the vampire talked, “You hoped I would take you and pound you into the ground,” Spike looked at him with knowing eyes through the haze, “one way or another.”
Andrew swallowed heavily as he felt his testicles loosen from the tight, anticipatory bunch they had been in, and felt them coil again as he heard Spike’s words, “So which way do you want it boy?”
“What?” Andrew’s mouth had gone dry and jello had apparently taken the place of his bones.
“Do you want me to beat you up or beat you off?” Spike flicked the butt of his cigarette away and stood with his arms crossed, waiting for an answer.
( And here's the rest: )
Over. It's over. Cha-cha-cha. I can't even begin to adequately express my glee.
So, I stopped by the liquor store and got the fixings for Midori's--am on my 2nd super size one--and then got dinner at Jack-in-the-Crack (what do they put in those Ultimate Cheeseburgers? Yum). May get high later. Depends on what time mom goes to bed.
Mom got me roses,and chocolate. Love her.
Smoked the last cig in my pack on the way home. Will try valiantly not to purchase more. Very, very, very bad for me. in more ways than usual.
Also? When trying to find a dress for graduation, I unhappily discovered that NONE of them fit. NONE. Do you know how seriously depressing that is? Must eat better. Must exercise. Must drink water vs. mainlining diet coke all day. Ugh.
Nekkid men tomorrow. Ah the joy.
Oh yah, my post-chosen story ( continued )
I am a writing machine!
“No, I haven’t seen or heard from her since...the day before yesterday.” Xander peered into his cup to see if there was even a drop of yummy caffinated stuff, something he could catch on his tongue to slake his craving. Damn. Nothing. He set it on his desk and refocused on the conversation. Dawn sounded really worried. Worried like he hadn’t heard her in, well at least since they’d settled down here in..
“What?” Xander was jolted back again when Dawn mentioned something about Buffy’s bag.
“Her bag is here. With all her stuff in it. She didn’t take anything.” Panic was beginning to tinge the young woman’s voice.
Xander hadn’t seen Buffy without that bag in…well at least 3 years, ever since…
“And there’s no note, nothing on the machine, I’ve already called Willow and Giles and they don’t know anything either.”
“So I’m your last hope, huh?”
“Are you even listening to me Xander?” Dawn’s voice took on a hard edge, very reminiscent of her older sister.
“Okay. Okay. Yes. I get you. No Buffy. Just bag. I’m sorry.” Xander wiped his hand across his forehead and became duly sheepish. “No, Dawnie. I haven’t seen her. I haven’t heard from her. I’ll be right there.”
( Read more... )
“No.” Louder, more insistent.
“NO!” An intense scream.
Buffy awoke, ramrod straight and wide eyed. She brought the heel of her palms to her eyes and vigorously rubbed away the tears that were building there. Throwing off the thin blanket, Buffy searched the studio, hoping that Dawn had already left for class. There was no sign of her in the tiny apartment and Buffy felt her shoulders loosen and her stomach unclench.
Wiping the steam from the medicine cabinet, Buffy searched her face for….a sign. A sign that she was really okay. That it was over. That she was done. There was nothing written there in the smooth curve of her cheek or the quick jump of her nose. The bend of her eyebrow told her nothing about what she was or what was to come, or…anything. Sighing, she lotioned up and closing her eyes began to comb her hair.
When she next opened her eyes she was fully clothed, lying on something hard that was spreading a chill throughout her body. She tried to sit up, found her head doing something spinny, and immediately lay back down. ( Read more... )