citrusjava

Fic or podfic for donation to Palestinian families

citrusjava — Sun, 19 May 2024 18:27:36 GMT

I really want to donate money to Palestinian families to make their way safely out of Gaza, get medical treatment and the like.

I would love to write you fic or record podfic for donations.

If you're interested let's talk details in DMs or here.

Thank you!!

citrusjava — Tue, 09 Jun 2020 20:53:12 GMT

Surely someone out there wants to donate to the Black Lives Matter movement in exchange for a story from me? SPN, Good Omens maybe, She-Ra ,My little Pony, Marvel movies or comics?
Where should I be posting this?
Also, hi
it's hard for me to be here rn , so not planning on updating - not rn

Updates and fanworks [FIc] [Podfic]

citrusjava — Tue, 23 Oct 2018 12:03:20 GMT

I got a TA job! It is very tiny, at lease pay-wise (I get just over $1 per 4 tests graded, loll), but it might help get more work/into a better PHD program. Also - it is good to get to maybe give a lesson or three, to have students , and to get to implement some knowledge.... The person I'm planned to TA for seems kind and friendly, and like a feminist, I'm hopeful about that . In my area (geography and study), it is literally almost impossible to get jobs like this, so it meant beating a whole lot of people to it, so that's kinda flattering.

I haven't updated - I finally, finally, turned in my thesis!!!!!
And I'm fairly pleased with it.
And it seems like the person I was hoping would be an examiner is going to be that - no one said anything, it's something I'll find out only after it's graded, but I am hopeful this does go my way .

Lastly, my SummerGen story! And also an MP3 of it someone made <3
It's about the things Sam went through after season 7 - Dean was stone number 1
- https://archiveofourown.org/works/16276535

Monsters, morality and begging (Tiny spoiler for SPN 1402)

citrusjava — Fri, 19 Oct 2018 16:27:47 GMT

It keeps surprising me when monsters tell hunters 'I've done nothing wrong', like, they truly seem to have hope this would help. That they have the knowledge to guess what hunter would find moral - or that their morality would mesh with the hunters'.... "I never killed humans so you shouldn't kill me" wouldn't fly with a lot of hunters. It often surprises me when monsters are naive enough, hopeful enough, idk, green enough to think to say it, to think hunters would stop for something like that..... I don't think a lot of people being assaulted or hurt would think to say that, for example to soldiers .

Message from a Long-Lost Friend

citrusjava — Fri, 07 Sep 2018 16:06:23 GMT

A person from my past PMed me to explain something they did, long ago.

We'd been pretty good friends for some time, then one day totally out of the blue, for me, they broke off our friendship. It was just days after they'd (also out of the blue) told me they loved me, how meaningful our friendship was - then that. And not only this, they then asked me to fight for our friendship, and that they wanted that. When I asked questions, they didn't really reply. I was so worried for them. They wanted to spend time together, so I tried to do that, to just be with them and live with them not talking. That type of thing might be trauma .... Other times I tried to ask questions - and overall I just got hostility - till I ended up saying - give me some hint of what's going on, some sign, and got nothing, so - I'd had enough and stopped trying.

So now, not long ago they wrote me. That they were sorry. Explained there was some issue with their GF, but beyond that - they'd lied to get some stuff from me, relationship-wise. Wrote they'd lied to themselves and me for a long while when we were friends. That they had trouble acknowledging that and handling it, so then instead they took it out on me. That it truly had nothing to do with me, and that I was so baffled as a result of them lying, that it wasn't something possible to understand .

I'm not sure what to make of it, but I am glad to finally know what (probably) happened, to get some closure instead of keep wondering, I needed that still. I am glad they acknowledged that they did was cruel, some validation.... Maybe now when I see their name on FB - it seems like it would not feel bitter or sad, but more. Closed.

They asked for permission to sometimes 'like' my posts, and I agreed to maybe try it.... What does one say to a request like that ....

ETA: this is not the person from a few months ago .

citrusjava — Tue, 04 Sep 2018 22:05:17 GMT

You guys, I just got my spn_summergen and you should read it !
It's this early season horror MoW story, and it's just so Kripke, the original parts are just bang on.

https://spn-summergen.livejournal.com/304927.html?view=6450975#t6450975

citrusjava — Tue, 17 Jul 2018 11:42:18 GMT

The person that makes Steven Universe is non-binary!
And she says Pearl, Garnet and Amathyst are also!!!!!

citrusjava — Mon, 18 Jun 2018 01:51:07 GMT

I am sharing my bed. With. Fire. Ants.

citrusjava — Thu, 24 May 2018 20:49:11 GMT

I both love and hate that there are already season 14 spoilers. I guess I love it the same way I love high heels and penises - kinda glad they exist, keep them away from me.

citrusjava — Mon, 21 May 2018 21:49:03 GMT

I have some cold zero coke that I managed to get JUST before I'd have had to wait for the next day - I am disproportionately happy about that!

Just a small thing re 13x23

citrusjava — Sun, 20 May 2018 13:57:01 GMT

Three seasons now ended on Dean's eye/s.
Also, they had a different olor every time . . .

citrusjava — Fri, 11 May 2018 15:51:16 GMT

Are there still any active rec groups on lj? For SPN? Or Dean/Sam?

citrusjava — Fri, 11 May 2018 10:53:14 GMT

First presentation of the month was yesterday -

people were really into it! Like, grabbing me to hug and talk at me as I stood there delighted and somewhat paniking - and two of them were saying that my paper has a lot to offer in this field or that fiend and got into an argument what field would have even more uses for it.

This doesn't translate into anything like money or opportunities - but it sure was a good!

Want a story from me?

citrusjava — Wed, 18 Apr 2018 14:56:44 GMT

No promises, but

I might be up to writing something in the next hourss - does anyone want something for them? Tell me your deep happy desires and I might write it :)

citrusjava — Mon, 16 Apr 2018 20:24:59 GMT

Aww, I just found out that Stephanie Beatriz, Rosa from B99, identifies as queer <3 <3

(very) personal

citrusjava — Fri, 13 Apr 2018 07:06:44 GMT

So,my best friend and I stopped talking/being friends a week ago.
And I've been a mess.

I haven't been able to even open my thesis work, and the deadline is weeks away - days if I want beta....
I've had trouble sleeping and so forth, have had a stress headahe for days now. And that is NOTHING on how I feel emotionally. Every day I wake up and have to remember again how horrible the day is going to be, and it's horrible again .....

When we ended things, I kept telling myself - that is it, we will never talk again. And it was horrible, but at least it was stable, there was some relief and quiet about it. then a few days ago she 'liked' a post of mine on Tumble (about this), and that opened the option, and made it even more unknown and unstable.... she doesn't even follow me there, she would have had to go through so many posts about, idk, pretty dresses and J2, to even find that....

There's been this talk going about Dean, that the reason Sam sent him to Lisa at the end of season 5 is that Dean needs someone to love and care for or life seems without purpose. If I needed confirmation about how similar early season Dean and I are....

One of the main reasons we did this is - well. For months now she's been zigzaging about the depth of the relationship she wanted with me, at times saying some truly horrible things. She said this was some emotional thing that she needed to work through and the horrible things were not true, started therapy, then stopped talking with me entirely, returned again, stopped again.... it's been devastating, and it's also been a truly bad timing, the very important days before my thesis deadline....

And having these two narratives, I have the bad things from both. If it was about her fear of intimacy, as she said time and again - it's impossible for me to truly let this go. And it hurts way more, not entirely done, not entirely behind me. I know I should let it go on my end - I'm the one who ended it.... but that is about all I am able to let right now....

And then is the other narrative, where I wanted to be super-close (not)heterosexual life mates, because I'm a weirdo who wants friends that are more than blood family.... and that is not friendship but something different - and no one else wants that....
and if that is true then seriously, what is even the point....

:(:(((

ETA it helped a bit to write this, though

citrusjava — Tue, 10 Apr 2018 13:04:45 GMT

I always seem to tell you about sad or hard things - and those exist also - but today I went for a walk with a friend and her newborn baby. She got super intense about identifying one of the flowers we found. We sat in hammocks in the park. She drank from some flowers, I swung so hard I fell into the mud - it was pretty fun :)

FIC: So, Get This! (Dean/Sam, PG-13, 3500, tropes)

citrusjava — Tue, 26 Dec 2017 03:23:34 GMT

Title: So, Get This (AO3)
Gifter: citrusjava
Pairing/Characters: Dean/Sam
Word count/Medium: 3500ish
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Drinking, Canon-Typical Violence, (Brief) Child Abuse

Summary: Sam never considered telling Dean. There wasn’t coming back from something like that, he knew.

Notes: This is a gift for Pathossam. I hope your winter is happy, and I hope you enjoy this trope-saturated, old-time-y story!
Thank you, KnottedString, for being willing to help with this, and for being so awesome kind and lovely, and a good friend! Also I am interested in ur kitty.

Sam fell in love with Dean, probably a few months into searching for Dad. They’d been getting closer again, like before, Dean in the bed near the door, or picking the bacon off Sam’s plate. Sam adding extra tape to the end of Dean’s cassettes - Jefferson Airplane’s Today, Trixter’s Give it To Me Good– the most offensively hair rock Sam was able to find on tape.

It was full of joy, rediscovering Dean this way. But for all the pranks and jokes- this time it was as adults. Dean was sleeping as Sam drove, now. Was telling Sam the truth again. At least about most of the stuff. Sam liked the way Dean looked at him, looked at him and really knew him. Sam had missed that bitterly, all those years trying to be normal. Liked flashing a smile at Dean as they drove and seeing Dean light up. No one had ever been as happy to have Sam there. It felt like relief, like home, after years of thinking he’d never have home again.

At first Sam just figured that their relationship was improving.

And it was.

But it also wasn’t long before Sam was feeling things he wasn’t able to account for. waiting up when Dean went off with a bartender, an old flame, a hunter, to make sure Dean wasn’t eaten alive dick first, he kept feeling sad, and wasn’t sure why.

Dean flirted with a witness, and Sam felt it like physical pain. What if he lost Dean again. He knew it was ridiculous. Told himself it was ridiculous to feel jealous, because Dean flirted with the whole entire world. Sam was his brother. Even if Dean had a million one night stands, Sam would always be Dean’s brother.

But Dean never flirted with him.

Or. Dean Made fun of Sam for brushing his “pretty silken locks”.

Dean would hand Sam his coffee, “there you go, princes”.

And Sam’s heart would jump, because Dean said it with so much fondness that is barely felt like a joke at all.

“Hold me, Sam, that is beautiful”.

Dean would look Sam in the eyes, raise an eyebrow. “Love it when you get forceful with me, tiger”.
And Sam’s overly hopeful heart, and his overly hopeful dick, would believe him.

_

Sam never considered telling Dean. There wasn’t coming back from something like that, he knew. At first he didn’t even understand how he felt. Then he was sure it would stop. Return to stability, return to Stanford, and his crush would smooth out. They’d be normal again. . And not having told Dean, he would still have his brother.

Every time Sam mentioned leaving, Dean closed up, hurt and rejected.

Dean would just have to deal with that misinterpretation, Sam figured. It was what was best for them.

_

When Sam found out about slash, he was disgusted. Shocked, mesmerized, but revolted. In nearly every story, Sam told dean how he felt. Who would ever do something like that? Who would – be this – and tell anyone, about it? Ever? This was not the sort of thing you returned form.

Story after story, confessions. Two years he was with Jess, not a word about the supernatural.
But they all believed he couldn’t keep his thoughts to himself.

_

Sam reads up about it, between werewolf lore and local histories. Why is he like this? How to make it go away? A lot of papers are all about rape. One paper uses ‘consensual sibling incest’ as an example for something that would make people throw up. An actual paper about involuntary gagging. This example appears in paper after paper, apparently the idea of people like Sam made it onto some test. Things that are revolting.

Perhaps the most horrifying paper says that how Sam is, is natural and OK. It says it is all OK. Homosexuality is OK. Incest is OK. Sexual harassment is OK. Sexual assault is OK.

For a while, it’s the only one Sam is able to find that says that it might be OK.

That is a clearer messages than all the ones that said it was unforgivable.

One paper, the last one he reads, mentions him. Sam Winchester, of the Supernatural novels. He closes it quickly, without, unsteady. Stops researching.

_

One time, Sam tries talking with a therapist. She’s a social worker, and they are staying at the same town for a few weeks, waiting for the next full moon.

It’s the first time he ever says those words out loud. “I’ve been feeling some - - - feelings for my brother”. Most people never say those words out loud, most people never one time say those words, let alone to another person, voice low and earnest.

She asks what sorts of feelings, and he feels his mouth turn into a line.

He tells her.

They talk about his relationship with Dad. Was Dad abusive. Sam knows he was, but maybe not like that.

He lets Dean believe Sam and her are having sex. Twice a week prescheduled sex. One time Dean corners her at the local bar and jokes about Sam’s dick. She doesn’t blow his cover, doesn’t say a lot.

She asks him how long Dean and him were apart. Sam thinks she might not really know a lot about - this – perhaps sibling incest was not high on the list of things social workers learned. Sam suspects she might have read up about it. That paper about siblings who were apart from a long while finding one another attractive.

They weren’t apart nearly long enough for that sort of redemption.

The full moon arrives, and she tries to eat Sam’s heart.

_

The thing is, it’s hard to read a thousand stories and still find them strange. Over time, Sam forgets the rising panic, that it is preposterous to tell. No one would ever. In stories he always tells Dean. In stories they have sex. In stories there is always some indication that heshould tell Dean, or some supernatural hand nudging him towards telling Dean. Stories are not real life. It’s just hard to read this many without getting used to it.

_

The motel only has one bed, and sure, its’s not a problem, Sam says it’s into a problem.

He hesitates before climbing in, and Dean groans at him gorgeous in him messy hair. “Get some shut eye, princes. There’s no peas under the mattress”.

So Sam gets in bed and shuts him mouth.

He lies in bed and worried about popping a boner, until Dean’s steady breathing lulls him too sleep.

He wakes up before dean, well rested like he hasn’t been since the bunker, perhaps since before dad -

And dean is the one sporting wood.

Sam tenses, looks away immediately.

It’s right there.

Sam lies back down and looks at the ceiling. There are stains there like when Sam was a kid, and they’d made up stories about the different shapes – they were constellations, treasure maps, battle strategy plans….

Dean moves in his sleep, and Sam stiffens. Maybe he should go get some breakfast, bring Dean back a doughnut, something outside of this room. It is never a good idea to stay in a room with your brother’s boner.

But Dean has this habit, had for years - he takes the bed closer to the door. It’s his way of protecting, remnants of Dad’s training.

In a single bed shared with Sam, this means Sam is pressed against the wall.

Dean’s hard on is between Sam and the door.

Sam purses his lips. He is not going to climb Dean. He has read how that goes, he is not.

When Dean finally wakes up, he goes straight to the bathroom, sock trailing behind him, dragging on the worn wall to wall. He passes a bleary hand through his hair.

Sam hears him in the bathroom, moving things around.
Getting himself off.

Sam hopes Dean doesn’t hear Sam’s groan over the sound of his shower.

_

They sleep in the car together, and Dean hands Sam a cold beer, fingers warm brushing against Sam’s.

_

Mia runs the single diner at a ghoul-infested Saint Donatus, Iowa. Dean orders ‘glazed donatus’ and she smiles with the patience of a person who heard the joke all her life. The donuts are pretty good. at the bar one night, she beats Dean at pool, que sharp against her round arms, and her smirk matches Dean’s. Hours later Dean stumbles back to their room disheveled and blissed out, lips bitten pink.

The next day at breakfast, she gives Dean some extra bacon, and Sam, the most lascivious wink he’d ever gotten. “Tonight you can come too”.

And she doesn’t mean ‘to the bar’.

He can feel himself flush, sputtering.

His mind registers Dean’s hilarious incredulity

The Then Dean grins at her, shared delight at getting Sam flustered.

When she leave, Dean’s smile softens, and he hedges – “you like her?”

Sam can’t, shakes his head no.

When Pamela said this, she was blind within minutes.

_

On the other side of the door there is complete silence, worse the than shrieks and thuds of the moment before. Sam drops the lock--pick for a heavy iron pipe, abandoned by the destruction crew. Finally, the door begins to give. The forces around it shift, and Sam is sucked in hard, thrown against the wall, and again, and again, blood smearing on filthy white, forced against the ceiling. The girls are trapped in their beds, the older sister looking right up at Sam, long wounds opening down her arms. A flash, shift in vision. The ghost of the girls’ mother carving long, lazy lines down her arm. Shit, shit. It wasn’t the abusive father, it was the mother all along. Dean’s burning the wrong bones.

The girl is still calling to her younger sister - “Don’t look, Tamara! It’s gonna be ok!” but her eyes are already beginning to glaze over. Sam struggles, shit, shit. Fucking older siblings and their self-sacrificing tendencies. The ghost slashes a long line down Sam’s arm, smooth right through Sam’s jacket and shirts, pain singeing down to the root of Sam’s palm. A bead of Sam’s blood dripped to the girl’s forehead, and she tries to suppress a gasp. “It’s gonna be OK, Tamara”. Her voice is strained with pain. Her own wounds are deepening, pulled open by an invisible hand. She isn’t going to last long. That girl. Another second or two, she isn’t going to make it. Sam’s skin is straining with his efforts to get free, almost tearing, but nothing.

Sam looks at the sisters, lost for words, or just lost. They’d died this way a million times, Dean and him, it never did any good to fight it. Dean always died, always died again. Just kept getting worse. But Tamara is struggling against the pressure holding her down with everything she ha, shrieking her sister’s name, tears trailing down her face and into the musty mattress, not slowing her down a bit. Face filthy with dirt and tears but not hesitating a bit.

It snaps Sam back, and he dimly realizes he’s been struggling this whole time, perhaps just on muscle memory. But he has been struggling with no results. Blood s everywhere, his and the kid’s.

Then the door bursts open again.

_

There are ambulances and squad cars, neighbors and family. Dean hasn’t insisted Sam go to the hospital, but he gives Sam the good painkillers, and a row of perfect stitches. Sam is a bit drowsy, soft under Dean’s hands.

Later, He only remembers flashes. Dean’s fingers warm on Sam’s face. Slightly rough and always large, holding his cheek. He wants them all over, to curl into them and - stay. He turned his face into Dean’s palm, hiding, and breathing in Dean, rough skin close against Sam’s lips. Dean moved his hand, and Sam saw him, like years before, pale and round eyed before it all went behind Dean’s smile. “C’mon champ. Bedtime”.

Sam remembers Dean’s palm pressing against Sam’s chest, holding him down to this bed, to this world. Hands moving around, arranging blankets.

For a moment, Dean’s hand in Sam’s hair, Dean’s lips maybe hovering above, touching Sam’s forehead. “Goodnight, Sammy”.

The next day, Dean is skittish, closing the bathroom door as he brushes his teeth. Going out for breakfast but having his on his own bed. Always the one next to the door.

Sam sits up, in pain but all there now. Has his Egg McMuffin and coffee. Has he said anything yesterday? Did anything happen?

He remembers a moment - Dean sitting by Sam’s bed, biting his lip, rubbing his hand over his face like Dad used to.

The girls are going to be OK, Dean is saying. Safe with their aunts from Boston, and still together.

Bed by the door, fastest way out.

That night at the bar, Sam wears his shredded jacket, hasn’t brought another on this hunt, and anyway, he needs a loose arm till he heals.

Dean laughs and tells the bartended Sam had a very large cat.

They drive to Huston.

_

They get tangled in a bush of actual arousal inducing vegetation. Dean is stoked even as he whines about his dick, eyes glittering as he goes on about old sci-fi movies Sam doesn’t remember.

They take a few steps away from one another and jerk off. A lot.

That night Dean buys him a drink, “this’ll grow hair on your chest”. Pats Sam’s shoulder. “It’ll go with the hair on your palm”.

_

Sam used to read a lot of fic, before going to hell. After. After Amelia. Sometimes it was fun. Giving Sam perspective – or at least – a different perspective

Nights when Sam was too messed up to read, to sleep, to talk, to go to a bar. Listening to Dean go through nightmares in Dean’s private room at the Bunker, Sam telling himself – no. he doesn’t want you there. That is good, it’s is healthy. You stay put.

They used to write hopeful stories about them, sometimes even happy ones.

Long ago.

So many stories saying that everything - their whole torturous existence - would lead to happiness, somehow.

Sometimes Sam knows those are lies. Sometimes he hopes. Sometimes it is comfort.

_

A group of schoolgirls has produced a play about their lives. Dean is kissing Castiel behind the scenes as Sam chases down Gabriel to beg that Gabe make it Wednesday. They almost topple down the painted podium. Sam doesn’t know how to feel about that.

Sam loves theater, loves fan fiction. Loves Dean, in the best and the worst ways.

Dean takes back the amulet, and they drive off, home, that is when. That’s when Dean should just say.

“We really did stand pretty close in that play! Messed up shit, right?”

And Sam would say - “yeah. Messed up”.

But he’d be looking at Dean for a sign, and he would find it. He would find it this time.

But Dean only plays some Cherry Bomb and smiles, small and unsure, as Sam’s eyes go from the amulet to his.

_

Sam killed seven zombies more than Dean, though Dean insists that he’s killed at least ten more, with his cleverly buried actual graveyard bomb.

“We said ‘shoot’, Dean!” Sam is arguing, mostly to get Dean riled up. Dean’s six-year-old delight at detonating the bomb was addictive.

Dean argues that the bomb was filled with bullets - “zombie killing bullets, Sammy”.

Sam had pulled a zombie off Dean this day, possible future deafening in his ears, Dean being turned, being killed, walking the Earth again, not really Dean. “Sammy. You’re just making it worse for yourself”. A world without Dean. He‘d knifed the zombie viciously before shooting it. He was shaking as he shot the rest.

Dean was ordering. Two whiskeys, a beer, and an Adios Motherfucker. “Always wanted to try one of those, and since Sammy here is paying…. “

“Cheat” Sam protests, smiling. Dean’s there, alive and warn and real. That is good enough for Sam most days.

Dean’s in his happy place, pink and warm, ordering another whiskey on Sam. Fake credit card, shared money – but the point is that this is on Sam. Sam grins.

They are both happily drunk by the time the bar closes, wobbling towards Dean’s car. Sam isn’t sure which one of them is holding the other up, it ‘’s probably mostly the Impala really. Dean’s grin is as wide as ever, lights swimming in his eyes, and had it been a story, they would have kissed right now. They would have kissed and blamed it later on the drinks, would have kissed and finally been home.

Dean has the serious expression of the utterly plastered, opening Sam’s door and arranging Sam’s limbs in Sam’s seat. Sam cards his fingers through the folds of Dean’s shirt, this would be the moment, and he would pull Dean in. Dean would know. Sam isn’t going to. But his heart clenches, breath hitching. He could just.

_

Everywhere in town, people had been losing their filters entirety. Declarations of love, quitting their jobs, one conversation actually turns into an old fashioned duel, though it turns out no one involved really know how to use a gun, so No new ghosts there.

Sam spends the day and a half of that hunt so alert, half hard, on the verge of panic, on the verge of giddiness.

This is when it is going to happen. He is going to be unable to stop. It will all end now, this is how, and this is where. This is the end of his secret.

The spell sinks into Sam’s skin warm, like sunbathing on soft grass, a bitter-tart undertone and Sam wants it, wants it, melts to it as if it were his first case, or his last and he was just too tired.

Dean bursts in moments later, guns blazing, and Sam laughs, dopy and happy, as Dean gets him out of there. Puts Sam in his bed in their motel room, and Sam rubs his cheek against the pillow, wriggles his toes into the blanket. Feels good.

Sam is vaguely aware of Dean above him, the bed next to Sam dipping.

Dean hesitates, hovers.

Sam wants it done, wants it out. Ask me why I never went back to Amelia. Ask why I had sex with Piper in your car, Dean, surrounded by the feel and the smell of you. Make me say it.

“Ask me” Sam tells Dean. “Ask me and I will tell you”.

Dean rubs a hand over his face, struggling.

He turns away, walks away. Stands by the motel’s sink. Looks away.

Then he walks back to Sam, quick. Expression hurt, vicious.

“Did you really not want me to fucking save your life that first time?”

“Yeah, you should have left me dead”.

“Some brother I would have been”. Dean’s mouth is a sour line.

“Were you really gonna stop hunting?”

“Wanted to”.

Dean looks tired. Bitter, but also – sad, and sorta removed.

“Are you sorry you went with me? Didn’t stay at Stanford with your girlfriend?”

Sam stares at him, incredulous. “This is what you are asking me”.

Dean stares back, cold. “Aren’t you supposed to just unfiltered out?”

Sam looks at him.

“Yes”.

_

Later Sam tries to explain. Had he stayed, Jess might not have died. Dean might not have. This whole mess, hell, purgatory, having Mom and losing her again. “I don’t hate this life anymore, Dean”. Not any more that you do. “Not sorry for what we do”.

Dean’s expression hasn’t shifted much since Sam said it. Like he had been frozen in time mid-shatter.

“How can you expect me to just be OK with- with you going to hell for me, Dean?”

“Gonna have ziti find a better excuse than this, Sam”. Dean kicks at the bar, boot bouncing off. Not looking at Sam. “You don’t want this life with me, fine. But quit talking about hell. I went to hell. I came back. You’re alive. All in all worth it.
They grimace at one another as they finish the case. But one thing lingers.

_

“You came back from hell”, Sam say.

Dean gives him a weird look. “Thanks for the reminder”.

Dean did. Dean came back from hell. From Purgatory. Had died and returned, and returned, and returned.

Sam had been to the cage, been to heaven, hell, been most everywhere, and returned.

Things you don’t come back from - they did.

Sam grabs a beer, and one for Dean, sits next to him on the couch.

“Dean, listen. There is something I want you to know”.

Beta for a 2800w trope-y Dean/Sam?

citrusjava — Thu, 21 Dec 2017 13:40:43 GMT

Hey, anyone willing to do a fast beta for me? It's Dean/Sam, about 2800 words (still editing, but more or less), PG-13, with some pining and light sprinkles of hurt/omfort, bed sharing, fandom finding, truth serum....ing?

Fandom aution for Puerto Rico - about 500 offers, as low as $1

citrusjava — Wed, 18 Oct 2017 01:30:34 GMT

You should totally give it a look!
https://fandomlovespuertorico.dreamwidth.org/1698.html

I'm in there if you're interested, but honestly, there is an amazing variety!

13x01 (only how I felt about it)

citrusjava — Fri, 13 Oct 2017 02:16:05 GMT

That was a satisfying lil ep, I am pleased and look forward for more!

FIC: There are Ghosts in the Boxes (Dean&Sam gen, so spoilers)

citrusjava — Thu, 12 Oct 2017 21:20:15 GMT

Title: There are Ghosts in the Boxes
Rating: Gen, Dean+Sam
Warnings: vague mentions of past abuse, eating disorders and hurricanes
Summary: A hurricane was as good a reason as any to have Dad's stuff shipped from the Tampa storage unit.
Note: wanted to write you something for the new season. No spoilers, though (and please don't spoil me).

Also: I might keep writing up to the episode today, if you have prompts you feel like getting fast unbetaed ficlets from me for, send then over and maybe I will write them.

On the way back from Houston, they stopped at a Gas 'n' Sip. Sam wanted to change out of his still-damp jeans, Dean wanted a BBQ Payday. Both needed coffee, just black, just to get home. Dean had gone back into a flooded house that morning to try and salvage a woman's photo albums. The bridge of Dean's nose was sunburned, vivid against the Key Lime Pie Twizzler he held between his lips, Toothpick Charlie like. Back in the driver's seat, Dean was swirling his coffee around in its paper cup, trying to get the sugar to melt without going all the way back in for a disposable coffee stirrer. "Gotta get Dad's stuff outta Tampa ".

Sam didn't have a lot of things like that, didn't want his past up on his walls to remember. Had his drawer. Had kept the amulet, of course he did. Come on, of course he did. But that was about it.

It was still in Sam's pocket most of the time now, really. Dean hadn't worn it again, and that was a new pain and an old, comfortable one. Still wanted to have it on him. Still a comfort to carry their connection, and a burden.

A hurricane was as good a reason as any to have Dad's stuff from the Tampa storage unit shipped over. Been putting it off for years. Sam wasn't gonna go get it. But it shouldn't be floating around in a flood, o one needed another inadvertent apocalypse. They'd keep it safe, they had the space for it now. Not like the FBI was still on their asses. It's been years. Last time they visited Jody, she gave him a long look and said that wasn't going to happen.

There probably wasn't anything in that unit Sam wanted around. Most of Dad's treasures were weapons that weren't as good as what they had now, with the bunker's stashes and their friends in all sort of places. The few personal treasures weren't anything Sam wanted around. The doting father who kept Sam's soccer trophy but not Sam himself. Successes but his son. It was an uncomfortable, sort of misplaced love Sam didn't know what to do with. Would have wanted to give away, to give to Dean. Every time Dad had done something like that - Dean seemed hollow for a moment, skin transparent like he hadn't eaten in days. Then Dean would punch Sam's shoulder and call Sam a geek, and the world started up again. Dean always wanted to give Sam the better things in their life. Sam should have this, in Dean's mind, because Dean wanted it so badly.

Sam didn't want it. Didn't want the way it made Dean look, didn't want the way it made Sam feel. Didn't want this fake validation, warm around his guts like unwanted hands. Hated having not being able to protest, to Dad, to Dean - because officially, none of it happened. Didn't want that role. Didn't want Dad taking one of Sam's happy memories as his own. Being part of a team, this once not being the new boy - was twisted into a memory of helpless rage, every time Sam saw that trophy. Didn't want it in his house, didn't want any of Dad's memories there. But if they didn't keep them, who would?

Dean left Sam to go through the boxes without Dean, and Sam let him. Wasn't sure what memories they would bring up in Dean, or what flashback. Sam preferred to just do it himself, he'd be fine.

Dean was making burgers - both intended to say thank you, and sorry, and to enable Dean to hide out in the kitchen till Sam was done.

Sam went through boxes gray with dust, sticky-damp, like the hands 10 year old. Artifacts, this to contain, things to read up on. Notes for tens of unsolved cases, wait for an apparition on the Christmas of 2010, open a book to this pages in the 2017 eclipse. Sam pursed his lips. Old books, those could go in the library, Sam refused to be squeamish.

Dean seemed glad Sam had kept it. Sam sort of understood Dean not wanting to be that old person he was. If that was why. Always a fluttering unsecured to his assertion. If that was w hy.

Silver Bullets. First aid supplies. Spare ammo. Some knives. Tear gas grenades. Would have just dumped it all at Goodwill - let someone else sort through it.

Sam was opening another box, when Dean started calling for him to go eat.

This cardboard wasn't falling apart like Dean's tape box. The masking tape dusty, but not transparent strips of it rustling off the boxes, leaving behind lines of brown dried glue. Cheetos logo, not Crispy Critters and Smurfees. There were old newspapers in there, at first he though they were used as packing material, then he assumed they were for an old case. A pile of beer cans - no, a line of - a wreath of - Dad kept... OK. Some air fresheners. A gas station bag. It was something at the edge of obvious, something he should know. Something he told himself to forget, not to forget. The papers were from 1991, the funny papers. Dean was at the door, talking about fries, and buns, and would Sammy get his pretty buns over already cause Dean was hungry. A mostly empty bottle or Castillo. Busty Asian Beauties. Christmas wrapping paper. A Sapphire Barbie.

Sam looked up Dean's face, years of feeding peeled off, eyes wide skittering across the boxes. Sam wanted to say - "he was an abusive fuck, we both know it". Or "he was always closer with you, trusted you like you were a part of him. Only reason he could love me was he saw me as a different person". Or even "me, I love you, isn't that enough? Why won't you love me back?".

But Dean's eyes were already on the doll in Sam's arms, horrified but soft. "Aww, Sammy and his Barbie! Don't you let that unrealistic figure mess you up, Sammy - you are pretty just the way you are".

And they were wrestling in the wrapping paper and the room was theirs again.

citrusjava — Wed, 04 Oct 2017 20:23:20 GMT

ETA: It turns out there IS a fan aution! For some reason LJ won't let me open the omments, by the link is there!

This is kind of a vague -
I'm not sure what to do, but maybe someone does, and we'll be able to figure it out?

So, I'm really worried about what's happening after Maria, and even more, after Trump's disgusting words.
I want to do something. I'm not sure what. I've already given some, but that is really not a lot. I would want to join a fandom auction, but there isn't one (and I'm not sure anyone wants - or should want - to buy my fic!). I could start one myself, but lbr, I have about zero fandom influence, I truly don't believe it would matter a lot if I did it.... Does anybody want to do something like that together? Or have a better direction to take?

ETA: Or what if we did this the other way around? Smaller sums, lower quality expected, quicker turnaround? People posting, like "I'd give a dollar for every 100 words describing Dean's dick" - and then different people may respond, and it's fun and silly?

Update of sorts

citrusjava — Thu, 28 Sep 2017 21:18:54 GMT

Friends, I feel like every time, almost, that I post here, it's about guilt and sadness - I miss you a lot, but I have been a bad friend, haven't been replying, haven't been writing, reading your posts and so forth, and that it's -

probably no one needs that.

For some reason, doing those things often takes a whole whole whole lot out of me - and i both miss and dread doing that.... it's hard to find among the posts, that one that are personal and meaningful, and often I'm just lost in a sea of list-posts not intended for me.... and then there are often things that trigger me, and one thing like that messes me up and ends that LJ visit and often more than that....

I want to stop feeling badly about it - and also i want this to be more fair towards you, ok ?

I will probably not be doing a lot of that - reading my friendslist (though if you want me to read somthing, let me know, ok? If you want me to read it it's probably about something important or something we share, or your wonderful art!) - might not reply to comments.... if one person writes one comment that triggers me, or even something triggering happens during my replying maybe? I just - am done, done replying done a lot of things - and then often i dread returning to LJ for months and then I don't want to and feel guilty....

tl;dr
1) I won't be reading my friends feed a lot (if you post something you want to share with ME, tell me?)
2) I sometimes won't reply when people PM me or reply to my posts
also
3) I write with typos, it's an anxiety thing

4) If this rubs your needs the wrong way and you's rather unfriend me - please do it now

Not in a bad way - just want to stop worrying and feeling badly about it, want you to be informed about
what you deal with -
wanna just -settle down

citrusjava — Sat, 09 Sep 2017 19:44:59 GMT

Just wanted to say - I'm not sure where everyone here is from, I really hope you are all well and safe!

Been worrying - like most everyone, I suppose....
If anyone knows about a fan auction or something like that, please tell me....

Be well, lovelies....