a heart the size of arizona

general - hopeless love - i know, i know, i know.

feathertofly — Mon, 18 Feb 2013 23:09:17 GMT

Medium: real life

Fandom: relationships
Subject: hopeless love
Title: i know, i know, i know
Warnings: adult themes, language, angst.
Summary: for my sweet angel babe familiardevil who asked for a mix about hopeless love. love when you know you should move on, but just aren't quite there yet.

zip zip zip

about today, the national. today you were far away and i didn't ask you why. what could i say?
lies, marina & the diamonds. i don't wanna admit that we're not gonna fit. i'm not the type that you like; can't we just pretend?
bad religion, frank ocean. this unrequited love, to me it's nothing but a one-man cult. cyanide in my styrofoam cup.
i can't make you love me/nick of time, bon iver. i can't make you love me if you don't. i can't make your heart feel something it won't.
over my head, the fray. and suddenly i become part of your past. i'm becoming the part that don't last. i'm losing you and it's effortless.
gardenia, mandy moore. i hear my own voice, sounds so silly. keep on telling my story all around. everything i lost seems so different. well, this is how everybody gets found.
once when i was little, james morrison. so here comes the next one, next in line. stay young as you can, for the longest time, because those days flew by like a breeze just passing through.
keep breathing, ingrid michaelson. i want to change the world; instead i sleep. i want to believe in more than you and me.
jesus christ, brand new. jesus christ, that's a pretty face. the kind you'd find on someone that could save.
radiant, everything everything. and you can make a difference so easy, you can make a difference but you don't.
i know i know i know, tegan & sara. stick your hands inside my pockets while i'm still here. tell them this love hasn't changed me, hasn't changed me at all.
bruises, chairlift. i tried to do handstands for you, i tried to do headstands for you. every time i fell, every time i fell for you.
i wish i was a girl, the vaccines. you seductive mystery, you're a revelation to me. life is easy when you're easy on the eyes.
before it started, tyrone wells. i know you never meant to hurt me. you don't even know you broke my heart.
for you in confidence, chris rubeo. you were to me, the only thing, the fullest chord, the softest string.
catalyst, anna nalick. when you say love is a simple chemical reaction, can't say i agree. cause my chemicals left me a beautiful disaster, still love is all i see.

fic: one direction - harry/louis - it gives a lovely light

feathertofly — Wed, 09 Jan 2013 15:37:52 GMT

title: it gives a lovely light
pairing: harry styles/louis tomlinson
word count: 5k
disclaimer: i own neither les miserables nor any of the people mentioned. i wish. title from a few figs from thistles by edna st. vincent millay.
summary: as it had been since they were children, harry stands with his feet solidly planted between louis and the smart choice, the wise choice. wise has never been my style, louis thinks.
notes: one minute my dash was giving me happy harry/louis photosets and the next it gave me 'do you hear the people sing?' and then this happened. it's inspired by the enjolras/grantaire storyline, but i really just took everything that made me cry in the movie and then added some of my own backstory and threw in one direction because of course i did. warnings for major character death, spoilers for les miserables (movie and musical and book), slightly graphic violence and sexual content.

harry has a lot of feelings.

this is nothing new, louis has learned to deal with it. he takes to causes as a duck to water, can’t wait to dive into a new one. from the time they were schoolboys and louis wanted nothing more than to sit by the wall and sketch out the flowers, harry kept his eyes constantly scanning the yard. the minute he’s spot a smaller child in distress or being harassed, he’d jump to his feet in the middle of louis’ sentence, eyes blazing, and stalk across the field. it didn’t matter how much taller or wider the other boys were, there had never been a time when they didn’t back down at the fire in harry’s face, the taut lines of his shoulders. no one dared swing a punch either, aware that any scratch or bruise would be worn like a battle wound and therefore completely useless to embarrass him. he’d walk back to louis with his head held high, sure that he’d singlehandedly saved someone, done something.

and louis will always be there, sitting, waiting for his hero to come back to him. it’s a rhythm as old as they are.

****

louis isn’t sure what he expects when they enter the university. he finds himself buried to the neck in papers and lectures and women, and it takes longer than it should to notice that harry has stopped coming to the winehouses with him, stumbles into bed far too late and far too sober.

“come on, cherie, tell me where you’ve been sneaking off to. what’s her name, then?”

harry rolls his eyes, but then sets them on louis in a way that makes his skin tingle. it’s a familiar look, but it’s never been sent in his direction. he drops his eyes, unable to keep contact.

“louis,” harry says carefully, “don’t you ever feel… guilty?”

for so many things, louis thinks. “never,” he says, as much to see the way he knows harry’s jaw will twitch and the slightest blush will rise on his cheeks.

“louis,” harry chides, and louis can tell he’s only seconds away from stomping his foot. “be serious. haven’t you ever felt guilty about how literally everything has always been, and will always be, handed to you on a silver platter?”

so it’s that kind of night. louis is far too sober for this conversation, and starts rummaging under his bed for the flask he’s hoping will help rectify that particular situation. when he comes back up empty handed harry’s still standing with his arms crossed and waiting for louis to respond.

“no, hazza, I don’t,” he sighs over his shoulder as he makes his way to the closet. he knows that flask is here somewhere…

“well maybe you should.” the last word is punctuated by harry grabbing louis’ shoulder and spinning him round and against the wall. and, oh. because harry’s hands are gripping him tight, his forehead inches away, his lips… and louis cannot follow that train of thought. he goes back to the eyes, but instantly regrets it. they’re clear, the green endless and sharp. his lashes brush against his cheekbones when he blinks, quick like he doesn’t want to miss a heartbeat of looking at louis. it’s a little like being drunk, the way harry’s eyes run over his face, and he can feel his own skin flush under the weight of his gaze.

louis only has a split second to think, but refuses to take even that because if he uses any more brain power than it’s going to require to tilt his head and lean forward just that fraction of an inch, he’s going to lose his nerve. harry’s eyes widen just the tiniest bit, and his lips part to take in a breath. it feels like he takes the air straight from louis’ lungs, and this is it, this is –

“harry, where are you, the meeting started – oh.”

harry pulls away in an instant, turning to face zayn. louis buries his face in his hands, knows that everything he’s feeling is playing across it and that he has no way to stop it. he takes a shaky breath, trying to compose himself as harry crosses the room to talk with zayn. he hears harry say something to zayn, and zayn reply, so some form of conversation must go on, but he can’t hear a thing over the roaring of the blood in his ears. he processes the heavy thunk of the door shutting, the light sound of zayn’s footsteps growing fainter, and only then does he feel that his breath is even enough to take his hands away and open his eyes. harry’s moved across the room, sagging against his bed like he’s exhausted. and he is, now that louis is looking closely. his eyes are heavy and his shoulders hunched like they’re carrying the weight of the world, the shoulders of someone so much older than just eighteen. for a second louis wonders if harry notices the same things about him, the way his eyes are always red and his fingers perpetually black with ink stains. how his lips are always red and chapped from the cold wind.

they stand that way for minutes, or hours, or centuries, but finally harry’s voice breaks the silence.

“i… the meeting. they’ll be expecting me.”

it’s quiet, tentative, like he knows he’s taking the easy way out. louis can feel his heart break just then, that harry wants to take the easy way out. that there’s anything more important to him than the seconds leading up to zayn barging through the door. he wants to scream, to cry, for one mad instant he wants nothing more than to slap harry across the face.

instead he swallows around the lump in his throat and grins brilliantly at harry. it feels not quite right on his face, like he might have the angles off, but if harry notices… well. harry doesn’t notice.

“off we go then, to save the world I suppose?” he busies himself with the forgotten task of finding the flask, stashed in the sole of a boot, just as he’d supposed.

“just france.”

harry’s voice breaks just a little bit there at the end and louis closes his eyes against it, against all the things he could read into that one little sound if he let himself. he’s not going to be that person. he’s not going to sit here and pine over the boy who’s standing there on the other side of the room, asking him to put aside his feelings for the betterment of france. louis is not that selfish, contrary to popular opinion. he won’t cry or pout, won’t wish that harry could give him more than what he’s offering. he still gets more of harry than anyone else, and that has to be enough for now.

he moves toward the door, stopping only when he realizes harry isn’t right behind him. when he looks over, harry’s still on the bed, gripping the edges so tight his knuckles are white. he’s shaking slightly, eyes hard on the ground and teeth clenched like he’s angry with himself.

if louis were kinder, he’d go to the meeting and make excuses for harry. he could very easily be ill, no one would be the wiser. or if he were any wiser, he’d kick harry out to his precious meetings for his precious cause and take a few hours to lick his own wounds before going out and getting properly drunk and lose himself in some pretty young thing with full breasts and an empty head.

but louis is neither kind nor wise, and has never professed to be either. and they both have their roles to play. maybe later, under the cover of darkness and with enough wine pumping through his veins he’ll allow himself to feel the ache pounding at the door of his heart, but right now there’s an entire country that feels as if it’s been pushed the the ground, and it needs the kind of saving that only harry can provide. louis can do that, can give up his hero for a few days. harry will go off and save the day, and then come back to him, like he always has. like he always will.

****

this meeting is no different from any of the dozens that louis has dragged himself to, but “hope springs eternal,” he’s said to harry earlier that night, so he’s here just the same. there’s a mug full of wine before him and it’s almost late enough in the night that the roaring of the blood in his ears can drown out the ridiculous bickering filling the café.

harry is in rare form tonight, on his feet already and gesturing wildly with his hands. louis idly feels bad for whatever poor sop decided to bare his idiot neck for harry to chew on. he scoffs quietly and goes to take another sip, but – oh. so not so full of wine. with a sigh louis hauls himself to his feet and saunters over to the bar, winking cheekily at the barmaid who rolls her eyes fondly. she slaps his cheek and informs him that he’s close to being cut off if he can’t get his pup under control – “I don’t think it’s actually possible to get harry to heel, but I’ll give it a try for you, darling.” “well if anyone could do it, it’d be you, louis.” – and then decides that if he can’t get harry to calm down and argue like a rational person, he may as way fan the flames.

“… of course it’s oppression, you idiot, it’s slavery as well as any being practiced in india, but instead of being forthright with chains and whips, the bureaucrats are oppressing our people with crusts of bread and threadbare blankets!”

“that may be, but they don’t see it like that, harry. we’re no longer entrenched under a monarchy, that’s good enough. they’ve gotten exactly what they asked for, why should you put your neck on the line just to-”

“because,” louis drawls in, and everyone turns to stare. he doesn’t contribute often, but the regulars have begun to smirk because louis cutting in can only mean one thing – pure entertainment. “when you deny the people the basic right of even understanding that they’re being oppressed, there are too many levels of wrongdoing to even attempt to address. it’s like a house of cards, you can hardly push one around without affecting others.”

harry grins smugly at his competition, and maybe other nights louis would leave it at that, but not tonight. tonight harry’s eyes are far too grin, his cheeks just the tiniest bit flushed from the cold, and his shirt unbuttoned just enough that louis isn’t willing to give him an inch.

“however,” and it’s almost worth it for the way harry’s face goes from gloating to suspicious in an instant, “we’re hardly the ones to roll in on our chariots and play savior.”

it’s the perfect match to light. harry’s riled back up in an instant, hackles raised and eyes expressing nothing but the purest of betrayals. good, louis thinks. a victorious harry in the café translates to a soft and tender harry back in their dormitory, a harry that whispers things louis wishes he didn’t have to hear. but a harry light with self righteous fire, that’s a harry that louis can bear.

“those who have the ability to make a change have the responsibility to, not that you’d understand that. I understand ethics hasn’t always been your area of expertise, louis, nor has the desire to help those less fortunate than you.”

harry spits the words at him like daggers, but louis dodges them easily.

“hazza, darling, when have you ever known me to be anything but the epitome of generosity?”

he flashes a dazzling smile and wink at a passing waitress, pulling her from her course to refill someone or another’s glass and seating her firmly on his lap. she let’s out a giggle and a weak squirm, but louis holds her tight and presses a kiss to the side of her neck before pushing her off with a slap to the bum. she’s return the favor at some point in the night, and it’s just enough to take the heat away from the previous argument.

for most of the lads, anyway, but harry looks fit to be tied. louis is ready for the tirade that’s coming, though, it’s the same song and dance they’ve been doing for years.

“you’ve never cared about anyone but yourself, lou, why don’t you go back to your wine and leave the debates to people who have more than a passing interest in the way they turn out?”

louis loves harry like this, when he knows he’s stepping into a trap he won’t be able to charm his way out of but refuses to back down anyway. he turns into a proper petulant child, eyes flashing and words tripping out just the slightest bit slurred, like he’s trying to speak more quickly but his tongue won’t let him. harry would paint himself into a corner with his arguments every time, but most people back down before he gets to that last desperate second.

louis isn’t most people.

“you won’t admit it but you’re everything they hate. if things had turned out differently you’d be the one sitting in those fine carriages, hazza, the ones they spit upon. if you had just let nature take it’s course you’d be the very type of person you are standing here denouncing. or has the cheap wine and the beauty of the barmaids distracted you enough that you’ve forgotten?”

they’re backed into a corner now, the rest of their group of idealistic students and drunken old men having moved on from fine art of arguing politics to the finer art of finding a pretty enough young thing to warm their bed for the night. it’s just as well; as much as louis relishes the idea of someone finally beating harry at his own game – especially if that someone is louis himself – he knows his place within the group. part of harry’s appeal is that he’s undefeated in debates, it would be hard to rally around a leader who’d been bested at nothing more than talking.

“why do you even bother coming to these meetings then, louis? if the idea of reaching out and helping people lift themselves up is so abhorrent to you, why don’t you return to the land of our fathers, filled with the sparkling chandeliers and girls you have to woo before you bed? you don’t belong here.”

a thousand retorts sit on the edge of louis’ tongue, ready to lash out. every single one of them true, and not one of them he’s brave enough to admit out loud. he finally settles on leaning in close, lips brushing against harry’s ear. the shiver that he feels run through harry’s body is reward enough for him tonight. “I think,” he whispers, “we both know the answer to that.”

****

louis has heard harry’s speech a hundred times. harry was writing it while he was shaving one morning, hadn’t finished it until that night as louis was banging into the room blindingly drunk after a night out with niall. he’d whined like the petulant child he is when louis had blown out the candle and tucked him into bed, and neither of them had slept that night as harry chanted the words under his breath, over and over until louis knew it nearly as well as he did. by the morning of the rally, louis had dryly commented that he was fairly sure that he could jump up and recite it word for word if harry did pass away in a dead faint from the top of the funeral march.

none of that had done any good to prepare him for this moment, though. the minute harry falls out of the ranks and the first few words pour out of his mouth, the hesitancy that louis has been witnessing for weeks melts away. the person standing before him now hardly seems real, more like he’s carved from marble set ablaze. every curl blows in the wind poetically, every sweep of his arm makes him look like the hero from every storybook louis read as a child. the words all sounded as fresh as if this was the first time, the call to arms rolling off harry’s tongue as if he was made for this. he probably was, louis thinks.

he doesn’t miss his cue, falls in line along with the others and takes up the banner, adds his voice to the throng, but he can’t tear his eyes away from harry. he rides along the road on top of the cart, eyes full of that familiar fire. he never spares a glance towards louis, but louis doesn’t need it. he’s already enchanted. instead harry makes eye contact with the hundreds of people lined along the streets, probably every single one. louis’ chest swells with pride at the sight, his best friend setting a blaze that lights the hearts of a country on fire. the gauntlet has been thrown, the call made. when they turn the corner and see the army waiting, louis can’t be bothered to be afraid. they knew this was coming; harry one step ahead as always. louis lets out a sharp whistle, the signal for the rest of their band of brothers to retreat back to the wineshop behind the barricades. everyone turns and runs, urging the crowds to follow them. many do, but louis keeps his eyes trained on harry. he still hasn’t abandoned his spot on top of the horse cart, and louis lets him stay for a minute longer just to memorize the image.

the sun is beginning to set before him, and harry has his arms stretched out like he’s pulling it down single handedly. his voice continues to ring out across the square, long after the others have abandoned him. even from the distance louis can see that his eyes have fallen shut, head thrown back in a look of pure contentment. this is when louis loves harry second best, probably. he’s doing what he was born to do, opening the eyes of the people. for a split second, louis believes. he believes the words ringing out from harry’s red mouth, believes in the people, that any of this will make a difference. he allows himself to be caught up in the wave of pride along with everyone else, before coming back to his senses and climbing just high enough on the funeral cart to tug on harry’s trousers.

“come on then, hero, if you want to live to see another day we’ve got to get out of here before those bayonets arrive!”

harry climbs down reluctantly after shouting out one more “viva la france!” and then he clutches tight to louis’ shirt as they run down the narrow alleyways towards the barricades.

“did you see them, louis?” harry is talking faster than louis has ever heard, excitement fueling his speech. he’s come down from his pedestal and louis can see him clearly now, the same tremble in his fingers and wide set of his eyes that he’d had when they were eleven and had stolen some chocolates from harry’s mother. louis feels it too, that thrill of doing something naughty that they can’t quite believe they’d gotten away with.

as they duck behind the pile of cabinets and chairs, kindle and even one piano, louis can’t help but wonder how anyone can believe they actually did.

****

“they’ll come.”

“I know.”

“louis, stop that. I said they’re going to come. they were so moved today. the fire’s been set, they’ll be here.”

“yes, hazza, I know, and I agreed with you.”

louis watches harry pace back and forth across the tiny room in the back of the café. he’s sprawled across the bed, but he couldn’t sleep if he’d wanted to. he knows harry would rather be out there on watch, waiting for the citizens of paris to swoop in at what is feeling frighteningly close to their eleventh hour. but they’d done their watch until midnight and now there was nothing to be done but wait. the traitor had been dealt with, the boys knew the plan. louis tries to pull up some feeling of fear or anxiety, thinks of the battle that’s sure to come with the morning’s light, but there’s nothing there.

“you know,” he doesn’t look at harry, eyes trained carefully at a slight crack in the ceiling, but they’re the only two in the room, and the way harry’s step slows louis knows he’s listening, “you’re right. you’ve always been right. about me, I mean.” he can nearly hear the quirk of harry’s eyebrow, and takes his slight hmmm as permission to continue. louis takes a deep breath, feeling the chilly air seeping in from the shutters fill his lungs. “I’ve never cared about this, any of it. not this world, or the one we’re still running from.”

harry sits heavily at the edge of the bed at that, and it’s a breath too close. louis won’t be able to say what he needs to say if harry turns those wicked green eyes at him, and he needs to say it in case – well, just in case.

“causes and politics and dinner parties, none of that fit me all that well. or maybe I didn’t fit in them. none of it really… well, you know. I just never had a place.”

“do you think you have a place, then?”

he’s very close now, louis can feel harry’s breath on his neck. he thinks of the old maps his father used to keep in their library. the whole world right there on one piece of paper, the blots of blue bigger than louis’ own hands and the oceans they represented. the beaches and mountains and plains he’d never seen. he thought of harry on those beaches, his skin warm and golden from the sun, a lazy grin like louis has never seen. he can’t envision any of those places without putting harry solidly at his side.

“no, probably not. I suppose it’s just as well I leave this rotten world now, there’s never really been a place for me in it.”

he’s not angling for pity or closeness, but the way harry seizes up at his words isn’t unpleasant. his fingertips claw at louis, probably drawing blood in an effort to pull him so much closer. this isn’t a rhythm they’ve established, so at first louis hasn’t a clue how to respond, but hearing the little broken sobs from harry’s throat seem to ignite something in him and he’s grabbing and pulling just as desperately. if harry is giving him this, the permission to touch and caress and hold, he’s going to take it for whatever time they have left. he buries his face in the crook of harry’s neck, trying to commit the smell, the sounds, the feel, it all to memory. harry is just as eager, hands yanking up louis’ shirt to feel the skin of his back and drag his nails down the warm flesh there. louis likes that, the idea that when they find his body tomorrow it will be covered in the marks that harry gave him, and sets to doing the same on harry, biting sharply into his neck and then soothing over the skin with his tongue.

he’s halfway to a second mark behind harry’s ear, high and hidden above his curls, when harry grabs him by the back of the neck and looks into his eyes. they’re far too serious, louis wants nothing more than to kiss the furrow between his eyebrows like he’s been dreaming about for years, but he holds back and let’s harry speak his mind.

“I’ve never felt like my life was my own,” harry says. it’s too loud to be a whisper, but too hoarse to be anything else. “but if I had, if I did, I would’ve… it would’ve been with you. I would’ve wanted it all with you, louis.”

louis hates him in that moment. it’s a bit of a relief, to finally feel something buzzing through his veins that isn’t pure, blind adoration. the adoration hasn’t disappeared, certainly, but for a moment it’s drowned out by pure rage. it’s nothing he hadn’t expected, but hearing harry say the words. to say to him that he loved him, but not enough. that he was good and right and it would’ve been true, but nothing louis could’ve offered would’ve ever been enough to keep them from where they are now, this suicide mission. that no matter how important louis may have ever been, it would never be important enough.

but louis isn’t built for rage or grudges. he is built for walking out, and for a minute he considers it. imagines getting to his feet and walking down the stairs, slipping out the window while the others sleep. no one would blame him, fewer still would be surprised. they’d all known from the beginning that louis wasn’t interested in change, in the revolution.

but to get to the stairs, he’d have to climb over harry. as it had been since they were children, harry stands with his feet solidly planted between louis and the smart choice, the wise choice.

wise has never been my style, louis thinks, and swings his leg over harry’s to straddle his lap. he bends in half to grab at harry’s curls and pull him up for a bruising kiss. harry responds immediately, hands finding their place at louis’ waist and holding him tightly.

it’s far too little, and it’s certainly too late, but it’s what they have. louis wants to drag it out, to make it last, but harry takes even that from him, pulling his orgasm from him within minutes. harry pants louis’s name into his mouth moments later and tenses, limbs locked around louis. it’s only as he’s coming down that he begins to sob, great heaving things ripped from his chest. it’s good, louis thinks. good that harry sees what he’s doing. what he’s sentencing himself to.

it could be minutes or hours - louis can’t be bothered with time anymore – before harry’s cries subside.

“we could go, you know.”

harry’s voice is wrecked, and louis can’t even take pride in thinking that he did that to him. he made harry sound like that. it’s all hollow now.

“no, cherie, we couldn’t.”

he pushes up on one elbow and leans over to brush his fingertips over the planes of harry’s face and just look. he hasn’t let himself look like this for so long, he can’t imagine he’ll be faulted for indulging just for tonight.

“I’d do it for you, I would. we could sneak away now while no one would see. we could go to england, or even america, australia…”

his voice is fading off now. louis wants to keep him awake, demand that harry look back at him. he deserves that much, doesn’t he?

“no, hazza. we have a date with the barricades when the sun comes up.”

harry’s drifted off by now, but his hand is still fisted tightly in louis’ shirt, pulling him closer even in sleep. louis rearranges them so he’s facing the window, then tugs harry up to rest on his chest.

“besides,” he says under his breath, “the people will come.”

****

the morning comes, exactly as louis knew it would.

considering it’s his last few hours, he wishes they’d have the courtesy to slow down a little. instead everything happens in flashes.

harry’s face when he wakes up to the rays of lights streaming in through the shutters and runs to the window. louis watches as that tiny bit of hope is dashed when he sees no one but their own few band of brothers.

the sound from that first cannon. he remembers cannons from when he was younger and his father would take him to parades. they hadn’t been nearly this loud back then, he’s sure.

that first scream as the first boy fell. louis isn’t even sure who it is, but it’s followed by a dozen more, so it hardly matters who went first. he supposes they can bicker over it once they all arrive in hell.

the smell. it’s overwhelming. had he known that blood has a smell? thinking back on it, probably not. but it’s here now in droves, like copper and death and decay.

there’s one moment he remembers clearly, though. he’s nursing a bullet wound to his shoulder when he sees the red flag waving out the second story window of the café, knows there’s only one person who would dare. every instinct in his body is screaming at him to ignore it, that he has a chance of surviving this if he turns and runs now. someone should survive this, he thinks, someone to carry on the cause.

but it’s never been about the cause. not for one second. all it’s been about is the boy he can see through the shards of shattered glass in the window, frantically waving and shouting but holding his ground. he can see the light flashing off their bayonets now as well.

louis climbs to his feet, pressing one hand hard against his injured shoulder. he staggers through the door and up the stairwell, yelling for the soldiers to wait, please, everyone in the room turns to look at him, and harry’s eyes widen almost comically.

“nonononono, louis, no, go now! go, don’t be stupid!”

but louis just pushes his way through the men – pardon, monsieur – and move to stand beside harry. harry’s eyes are dry, but just barely. that furrow has appeared again between his eyebrows.

never did get a chance to kiss it away, is the last thing louis thinks before the flash of the gunpowder.

louis goes first, the bullets landing neatly in his temple and chest before he even gets a chance to feel the pain. his body crumples to the floor instantly.

for the first time, it’s harry who follows.

they're life ruiners; they ruin lives.

feathertofly — Wed, 02 Jan 2013 06:44:16 GMT

so, a friend of a friend doesn't think any of the boys from one direction are attractive. i stand here before you today to say, fuck that noise. because let's be honest -

this is niall horan.

he is, arguably, the least attractive member of one direction. and he's still fit as hell. he's scrappy and blonde and generally doesn't give a fuck about anything. no, seriously. there's an entire blog dedicated to it.

he's one direction's drunk little frat boy and it's my favorite thing. he thinks he's american and IT'S ADORABLE, OKAY?

but more than that, he is legitimately adorable. someone once told him he was beautiful and HE MADE THIS FACE

and like whatever homeboy can move his hips like this, i ain't gonna complain.

i think i like him least because louis throws massive amounts of shade at him, and as louis goes so goes my nation. but more about that later. there is one time when i love niall more than anyone else, and that's when i'm at textsfrom1d. niall is hands down the best on there, gives us things like this jewel right here:

next we have liam payne.

liam is hard to be attracted to. not because he's not attractive, but because he changes his hair as often as i do, so as soon as you start doodling his face on your notebook he changes it. we start with fetus!liam who was rocking the bieber swoop

the he embraced his curls and it was the best thing ever

then came waiter liam, and THAT was the best thing ever...

but then he embraced his britney phase. he broke up with his longtime girlfriend danielle

and shaved his head and started getting tattoos and generally being sex on fire 100% of the time

so now he's a perfect balance of sexy and, well.

ZAYN. his eyes literally shine and sparkle and how do you breathing

i read once that zayn's super power is that even people that aren't into 1d are attracted to him. AND IT'S TRUE.

my favorite thing about zayn is everything, but also that he's secretly a massive dork.

he sleeps a lot and has a general disdain for life that i usually find off putting but on him it's so pretty i can't even stand it.

but like is he a british popstar or an italian model? the world may never know.

idk i just want to jump him like all the time. but mostly i want to sit with him on a couch in boxers watching cartoons and eating cereal out of mixing bowls.

now comes this little angel of satan

i'm always torn between wanting to make him biscuits and tea and wanting to have him shove me up against a wall

both maybe?

s i g h like the amounts of money/homework assignments/sexual favors i'd pay to have him look at me like this you have no idea

and can you just imagine sitting on the bed reading and all of the sudden harry comes in and looks at you like this and you just know what's about to come, YOU KNOW IT'S COMING AND IT'S GONNA BE GOOD and you're probably going to have noise complaints from the neighbors but it doesn't even matter, harry will bake them cookies after he's done fucking the living daylights out of you

i should also mention that he's my fashion inspiration in a way that should probably be embarrassing but look at all the fucks i give

that's none, just fyi

which leads us to this guy

light of my life, fire of my loins, etc. louis tomlinson is everything good and right and true in this world.

i may or may not have gone out and bought this shirt 10 minutes after i saw this picture.

ANGEL BABE

also i love him because he is kind of me

i could go on about fashion choices

ur shade gives me life

best smile in the universe

fantastic taste in girls

and, finally, BUM.

basically i love everything about lewis and i want to date him and be his forever and make him tea and sing this song with him in the shower.

so, that's it. i've got nothing more. if you still don't want the d, then it's possible that you really, really, REALLY don't want the d. but this was fun!

A Song of Ice & Fire - Robb Stark/Jeyne Westerling - It's Just Dreams We're Stealing

feathertofly — Thu, 01 Mar 2012 06:52:49 GMT

Yep. I'm in the US for like 2 more days and this is what I choose to do with my time. (Also, this means my laptop has been fixed! SHE'S BACK IN THE WORLD OF THE LIVING. *__*

Medium: Books/Television
Fandom: A Song of Ice & Fire/Game of Thrones
Subject: Jeyne Westerling/Robb Stark (modern AU)
Title: It's Just Dreams We're Stealing
Warnings: AU, spoilers for A Song of Ice and Fire in general, a weird obsession with finding happy songs for a Stark child (which should be impossible imo)
Summary: Um, I love I have a LOT of headcanon for this. It's a modern day AU, wherein Robb Stark is the son of the late senator Ned Stark and is all set to follow in his father's footsteps. He went to Yale, he loves his country, etc etc. He's even engaged to the daughter of something Frey, who has a ridiculous amount of money. He's in position to start campaigning against the rich and powerful and kind of crazy Cersei Lannister (because in my head canon she wears a dress AND the armor *_* ) except then he meets Jeyne Westerling, a young political activist who is adorable and quirky and has a really good heart. He falls for her and wants to marry her even if it means putting his entire future in danger. You can kind of see how the music follows the story; in the beginning they're struggling to fill the role they've been assigned, and then they meet and things fall into place. Then Robb starts feeling the pressure to be who he's expected to be, but in the end all is as it should be.

I LOVE Richard Madden & I'm pretty sure that Oona Chaplin is going to be perfect as Jeyne, but I changed the casting around a bit for my own purposes. Here we have Hugh Dancy as Robb and Nina Dobrev as Jeyne.

zip zip zip

Be Somebody, Kings of Leon. Now is your time and you know where you stand, with a gun in your hand. Now I'm no longer an ordinary man. Was this your big plan? Your gun in your hand? And I say you can't get enough.
Save Me, The Pierces. Cause there's a lot you don't know, but you say you won't go and I'd like to believe you, but I know there's no one left to save me.
To The Beat Of Our Noisy Hearts, Matt Nathanson. She don't lie in bed at night, staring at the ceiling. She don't wait to begin. She bets on long shots, she wants what they've got. She skates where the ice thins.
A Better Son/Daughter, Rilo Kiley. Your ship may be coming in, you're weak but not giving in. And you'll fight it, you'll go out fighting all of them.
Walk This Town, The Scene Aesthetic. you've got a big, big heart and you share it with the world but they don't share with you. you start crying now, cause you can't understand why anyone could be so cruel. But soon they'll start to get it. And we will walk this town, our fears that everyone will come knocking down our dreams. But we won't let them, we'll sing oh oh no.
Nicest Thing, Kate Nash. I wish that without me your heart would break, I wish that without me you'd be spending the rest of your nights awake. I wish that without me you couldn't eat, I wish I was the last thing on your mind before you went to sleep. Look, all I know is that you're the nicest thing I've ever seen.
40 Dogs (Like Romeo & Juliet), Bob Schneider. Well you're the color of a burning book, you're the color of a sideways look from an undercover cop in a comic book; you're the color of a storm in June. You're the color of the moon. You're the color of the night that's right. The color of a fight you move me. You're the color of the colored part of the Wizard of Oz movie.
Farewell Transmission, Songs:Ohia. I can feel his ghost breathing down my back. I will try and know whatever I try, I will be gone but not forever. The real truth about it is no one gets it right. The real truth about it is we're all supposed to try.
In Front of The World, Stephen Kellogg & the Sixers. Well, if you’re scared to live in front of the world, I’ve got news for you, you should be then. When your confidence gets low and you’ve got nowhere to go, just remember how you felt about me and our friends. And we’ll learn, learn, learn, we’ll wait out turn, turn, turn.
A King and a Queen, Okkervil River. If you want to see and be seen, then be seen. Your dress is dark red and your opening eyes are bright green, make a scene, but don’t lie on the bed, laid out like you’re dead, because honey, you’re murdering me..
The Book of Love, The Magnetic Fields. The book of love is long and boring,
And written very long ago. It's full of flowers and heart-shaped boxes, and things we're all too young to know.
Signal Fire, Snow Patrol. All I wanted just sped right past me, while I was rooted fast to the earth. I could be stuck here for a thousand years, without your arms to drag me out.
Here At The Right Time, Josh Ritter. Tell me I got here at the right time. If I did it's probably the first time. No second guesses or secret signs, tell me I got here at the right time.
God Willing & the Creek Don't Rise, Ray LaMontagne. I close my eyes and I can see you... I close my eyes and I can feel you here. God willin' an the creek don't rise, I'll be home again before this time next year.
Fake Empire, The National. Turn the light out say goodnight, no thinking for a little while. Let's not try to figure out everything at once. It's hard to keep track of you falling through the sky, we're half awake in a fake empire.

Writer's Block: Welcome back, old friends

feathertofly — Sun, 09 Jan 2011 08:52:06 GMT

Truth? I'm loving Community. It's original, it's HILARIOUS without being super inappropriate, I can relate to all the characters, it's quotable as fuck... I'm going with Community. SPN, you are my forever girl, but I've gotta be honest here. This show is knocking my socks off.

friends cut

feathertofly — Sun, 05 Dec 2010 18:21:58 GMT

Hey, did a small friends cut. On that note, if you feel like defriending, now's the time, no hard feelings. Sometimes people grow apart, get different interests, and no hard feelings in the least if you don't feel like listening to me ramble about those crazy brothers and my ridiculous life anymore. :)

EEEK, HELP

feathertofly — Tue, 23 Nov 2010 08:53:43 GMT

Does anybody, anybody, ANYBODY have any good pictures from Julie McNiven at Asylum 5? She was with Jake Abel. I am going to get my hair cut tomorrow, AND IT IS RELEVANT TO MY INTERESTS.

ALSO.

Someone who is really good at making icons should make me an icon of this picture. Because I need it in my life more than I need breathing (or sleep, apparently):

One Tree Hill, Brooke/Rachel - Someday We'll Know

feathertofly — Sun, 31 Oct 2010 08:59:10 GMT

Medium: Television
Fandom: One Tree Hill
Subject: Brooke Davis/Rachel Gatina
Title: Someday We'll Know
Warnings: Femmeslash
Notes: For my girl lavendergaia, who needs a little OTP in her life. ♥ Brooke/Rachel in high school and the years that follow. They're in love, and for some reason, life comes between them. They seperate knowing that someday, somehow, they will end up together again.

Mix can be found here at my community taintedworks

erotically codependent soulmate antiquers.

feathertofly — Mon, 18 Oct 2010 12:40:34 GMT

Overheard at Wincon (actually, most of these are not original thoughts. They're paraphrased from what people smarter and more clever than me said) (but not Shakespeare. I'm more clever than him, and that guy knows what's up.):

When someone threatens Sam, Dean is like, "Oh, no, I'll do anything, don't hurt him!" And when someone threatens Dean, Sam just goes "I will fuck your shit up."

Because Sam is just as desperately, psychotically codependent for Dean as Dean is for Sam. In different ways, definitely, but it is there. There seems to be this idea that because Dean is desperate and needy that he is the one who is 'more committed in the relationship'. But, no. Sam doesn't get needy, he doesn't beg. He just goes apeshit. You can argue that Sam left for Stanford, that he goes to California in Scarecrow, but honestly, does he ever really mean it? Standford happened in direct defiance of John (Which, in my personal canon, happened because of the way John treated Dean. When you look at most of the fights John and Sam had, it was because John was being a douche nozzle to Dean.) as opposed to Sam leaving Dean. And the minute Dean called, Sam came running. Sam is proud as fuck, but as soon as it's acceptable for him to come back, he does, no question. When Dean dies, and goes to hell, Sam starts drinking demon blood, he uses evil yellow eyes power, all to get revenge for what happened to Dean. In the end, it's Dean's love (I'm here, Sammy, I'm not gonna leave you...) that gives Sam the strength to defeat the devil and save the motherfucking WORLD. It is the one thing that Sam knows, that he can count on in this world, is that Dean is 100% always there for him. He's said, more than once, "Don't you say that to me, not you." He can take almost anything from anyone else, but the one thing that always breaks him is Dean being gone, or Dean turning his back on him. When he was detoxing from demon blood, the one thing that killed him was thinking that Dean didn't care. These boys are it for each other, that's all there is to say about it. It's not Dean having nothing but Sam, and Sam living a life. Remember Mystery Spot? Sam becomes a motherfucking ROBOT, completely represses everything, can't even function without Dean.
In the latest episode, Dean said it all:
"What's more important than Sam?"
And if gives the chance, Sam would say the exact same thing.

This show, our show, Supernatural, is built on a bond between these two brothers. I, obvs, believe in Wincest, for reasons that I could spend HOURS talking about. Instead I am going to do everyone a solid, and picspam their epic love.

Sam: Dude. Drop the attitude, Dean. And quit turning everything into a punchline. And you know something else? Stop tryin' to act like you're not afraid.
Dean: I'm not.
Sam: You're lying. And you may as well drop it, 'cause I can see right through you.
Dean: You got no idea what you're talkin' about.
Sam: Yeah, I do. You're scared, Dean. You're scared because your year's runnin' out and you're still goin' to hell, and you're freaked.
Dean: And how do you know that?
Sam: Because I know you!
Dean: Really?
Sam: Yeah, because I've been following you around my entire life! I mean, I've been lookin' up to you since I was four, Dean. Studying you, tryin' to be just like my big brother. So yeah, I know you. Better than anyone else in the entire world. And this... is exactly how you act when you're terrified. I mean, I can't blame you... it's just...
Dean: What?
Sam: It's just, I wish you would drop the show and be my brother again. Cause... just cause.

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feathertofly — Fri, 24 Sep 2010 22:11:29 GMT

My stupid internet is down. Grouch. But happy happy birthday to some of my favorite people in existence: familiardevil, build_the_moon, raeschae and cherie_morte!

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feathertofly — Wed, 15 Sep 2010 04:41:32 GMT

I am at a Jobros and demi concert rn. I'm on the lawn & i just want to scream I'LL FOLLOW YOU UNTIL YOU LOVE ME! DEMI DEMI! Demi+Cass=love forever. Just sayin.

friends cut

feathertofly — Thu, 02 Sep 2010 21:20:05 GMT

In light of the reposting/crossposting shit, blah blah blah, I'm doing a friends cut. But a lot of you that I love have changed your names and/or I suck at remembering LJ names, so if I delete you and you want to stay, let me know. Those of you that I remove, it's seriously nothing personal. I love you all, I just want to make my flist more personal, just people I actually talk with.

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feathertofly — Thu, 26 Aug 2010 04:05:57 GMT

Ugh. I am miserable, and computerless. Still! work was terrible today, i almost got bit by a scorpion. TRAUMA. Miss you guys. Just thinking about you. ♥

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feathertofly — Mon, 23 Aug 2010 02:29:22 GMT

Hey everybody! fyi, i'm on an unexpected hiatus. My laptop crashed. Glen can fix it, but until he does, I'll be gone. Hope all is well! Email/text me! Xoxo

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feathertofly — Thu, 19 Aug 2010 02:08:50 GMT

So i'm at the john mayer/owl city concert. For someone who's not that into him, i'm freaking the hell out. YAY BOYS WHO PLAY GUITAR AND RING PRETTY SONGS. <3

My Girl - A Hilarie Burton and Sophia Bush fanmix

feathertofly — Mon, 12 Apr 2010 00:51:15 GMT

This is for my girl build_the_moon , who is the Hilarie Burton to my Sophia Bush. Our epic BFFship has inspired awesome fic from her, and now a kickass soundtrack from me.

Hope you like it, babes!

ZIP ZIP ZIP

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun, Russian Red
Some boys want to take a beautiful girl and hide her away from the rest of the world
Not me, I want to be the one to walk in the sun, oh girls just want to have fun.
Somebody Loved, The Weepies
Stars turning high up above, you turn me into somebody loved.
Umbrella, Vanilla Sky
In the sunshine we'll shine together, told you I'll be here forever
What I Like About You, The Romantics
What I like about you, you really know how to dance
When you go up, down, jump around, think about true romance, yeah
We Didn't Do It, Tegan and Sara
We didn't do it for the money, for the last time
You Got Me, Tristan Prettyman
Just so you know, you got me, Nothing in the whole wide world could ever stop me
Natural Anthem, Postal Service
I'll write you a song and it won't be hard to sing, It will be a natural anthem, familiar it will seem
21 Young, Stephen Ashbrook
Straight from the front door, down to the dance floor, like all eyes are on you.
My Girl, The Temptations
i've sunshine on a rainy day! When it's cold outside I've got the month of may!
500 Miles, The Proclaimers
I would walk 500 miles, and I would walk 500 more just to be the (wo?)man who walked a thousand miles to fall down at your door.
Revolution, The Veronicas
Close your eyes, I am, I'm a revolution. Hold on tight, I am, I'm a revolution.
Don't You Forget About Me, Simple Minds
HEY HEY HEY HEY!
You and Me, Plain White Ts
You and me, we like the same kind of music. That's the key, baby, don't you agree?
My Best Friend, Weezer
You're my best friend, and I love you. I love you, yes I do.

Femslash, Part Two. My Favorite Book

feathertofly — Sun, 14 Mar 2010 20:09:21 GMT

Title: My Favorite Book
Author/Artist: feathertofly
Recipient: bekkis
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Femslash, light bondage
Word Count: 2,100ish
Pairing: Adrianne Palicki/Danneel Harris
Summary: Sleepy sunday morning
Notes: written for the spn_fs_exchange. It is SO LATE, and I am so sorry, but here it is! A billion kisses to my fantastic betas and BFFs, kathickers and build_the_moon. Also to my entire flist for being awesome cheerleaders and trying to keep my on track. :p
Also I made a companion soundtrack, that can be found here. Hope you enjoy, feedback is love!!

The tangle of arms and legs around Adrianne made her smile. The first rays of sunlight began to stream through the open window, angling to hit the bed just right. She had stayed in a hotel once that was positioned so the bed was in the way of the window, and when the sun came up it would land right on her face, and had wanted to wake up like that ever since. Sure, sometimes it meant waking up a little earlier than she wanted, but it would always be infinitely better than being dragged from sleep by the squawk of an alarm clock.

The warm body beside her stirred, just a little bit. While Adrianne was a sun worshipper, tanned and warm, Danneel hated it. She hated that she didn’t really tan, just broke out in freckles too tiny to see, unless you were as up close as Adrianne was right now. A careless arm was thrown around her, fingers intertwined with hers. She had never quite understood how Danneel got to be the big spoon; Adrianne had a good four inches on her. But something about allowing someone else to protect her had always been appealing. Most people looked at her and saw an Amazon, with legs that went on for miles, and perfect hair, and straight white teeth. It wasn’t bragging; in this business you have to be aware of how you look, what your body is doing, constantly. Don’t strike a pose that won’t make you look thinner, don’t drink a soda that will put on an extra pound. Don’t get a tattoo that can’t be covered up. There are rules, etiquette for how to behave. Never trip, never falter, never leave the house without make up done to perfection and steps that are sure.

And then there was Danneel. Danneel who drank like a boy and loved to sing but wouldn’t let anyone hear her, and who calls her Annie and tells her she’s beautiful without wanting anything in return. Adrianne never realized how jaded she had become. With most of the men she knew, it was trade. A compliment for a sexual favor. When they say you’re pretty, it’s just to get in your pants. That’s what she’d heard since childhood, right? Boys are only after one thing. You’ve got to keep your legs crossed, wait until the right one comes around. Mama, she’d think. That’s no way to get ahead in life. She’d never done the things she knew other girls did, bending over for a part, sucking up and sucking dick. She’d just come to accept that life just goes that way. Until Danneel.

The first time they had done this, it was a Saturday night in Vancouver. Danneel was visiting Jensen, Adrianne was back as Jess. She and Jared had always gotten along so well, and when the three of them had invited her out to dinner she hadn’t thought twice about it. The four of them had grooved so well, and she honestly wasn’t a bit surprised when, at the end of the night, Jensen and Jared had left to their house and the girls had stayed out, walking the streets until early in the morning, talking about this or that. It had been cold, but Danneel held her hand she didn’t feel it at all. It should’ve been cliché, standing on a bridge and watching the sun rise, but when Danneel had reached over to kiss her, it hadn’t felt anything other than perfect.

“You’re thinking too loud, Tex,” Danneel murmured. Fingertips that had been still began tracing circles and shapes all over Adrianne’s stomach, light enough to tickle. They traveled over her body, following the dips and curves, Adrianne let her eyes droop, relishing in the feeling of Danneel around her and the sun caressing them both. They both wriggled around a bit, trying to find the most comfortable position.

It had taken them weeks to figure out how to sleep in the same bed. They’d fall asleep in each others arms, happy peaceful, and every morning, Danneel would be sprawled across two thirds of the bed, leaving Adrianne in danger of falling off the edge. It wouldn’t last long, though. Danneel would see it and bring her back, pulling her back to where it was safe and warm, never let her hang for too long.

She didn’t often say it, but that’s what Adrianne loved the most about Danneel. Of course she loved that she was so beautiful, and she loved her intelligence, she loved her talent. But above all, Danneel’s strength was what set her apart. She knew what was needed and she did it. Like right now.

Danneel’s fingers kept trailing along her body, stroking, skimming, like she was memorizing everything. Nothing forgotten, nothing left out. Adrianne didn’t let out a purr, but it was close. She arched into the touch, allowing herself to enjoy it. They didn’t have moments like this often, when they could just take their time becoming reacquainted with each other’s bodies. The weeks were so busy, filming, being on separate sides of the country… Danneel loved Carolina, it made her feel close to her roots, and Adrianne sometimes forgot that she wasn’t really from Texas at all, but this one bedroom apartment they kept, half an hour away from the smog and prying eyes of Los Angeles, this was where they were at home. This was safe, here they could be whoever they wanted to be. Could do whatever they wanted, could feel anything they needed to.
Danneel’s hands continued their journey, traveling up Adrianne’s arms, pulling them over her head and reaching for the scarf they kept wound around one of the posts of the bed.

“I’ve got you, Annie,” Danneel’s voice is sleep raspy, tying a light knot around Adrianne’s wrists. She relaxed, trusting Danneel to get her where she wanted to be. They didn’t need words, not really. The alarm on their stereo went off, and soft classical music began playing over the speakers, almost drown out by the sound of light breathing. Danneel bent back down, running her fingers along Adrianne’s neck and along her collarbone. She felt herself let out a small sigh when her girlfriend’s fingers were replaced by her mouth, still light. Their eyes stayed locked as Danneel traced the lace pattern of her bra, mouthing at the warm, luscious breasts beneath it. Danneel stayed there, pinching and licking at Adrianne’s nipples just long enough to draw out a slow, deep moan of pleasure before she continued downwards, letting her tongue drag across the muscles of her stomach, and down towards her hipbones. Adrianne tried to arch, wriggle around enough to get Danneel’s mouth where she wanted it, but between the silk scarf binding her and the heavy hand Danneel placed on her stomach to keep her still, she couldn’t move at all.

She could ask for it, she knew she could. All it would take was one word and Danneel would be pumping fingers in her, getting her off hard and fast. But she didn’t ask, she wouldn’t. She let herself trust that Danneel knew what she needed, maybe even more than Adrianne herself. And she got a sort of thrill out of the wait, the anticipation. The pressure was already beginning to build, and she could feel herself getting wet. There were some lazy mornings when Danneel would spend hours doing just this, licking and teasing every inch of her body until Adrianne’s nerves were a live wire and it just took one touch of her finger to send her over the edge.

Adrianne was almost afraid that’s what Danneel has on the agenda for the day when she completely passed Adrianne’s panties run to her tongue along the lines of her hipbones. And while spending hours in bed sounded like heaven, it had been a week since they were together and lucid enough to do anything more than exchange a few kisses. Adrianne had never thought she’d be up for a long distance relationship, had thought she’d ever meet anyone who would be worth not being with every day.

But then there was Danneel.

Danneel who was looking up at her with heavy lidded eyes, hair tousled to all hell, not a stitch of make up, and who still looking like a goddess. Danneel who seemed to have all the effortless confidence in the world, could have any man or woman she wanted, but still looked at Adrianne as if she was the most beautiful and precious thing in her world. Adrianne still didn’t always believe it was real.

“All you have to do is ask, Annie. I want you to tell me what you want.” Adrianne swallowed. This was the hardest part, so of course it would be what Danneel asked. Everything her girlfriend did was to help her, to draw her out of the shell that she had spent so long building up. She tugged at the scarf, trying to use her hands and body to tell what she wanted, but Danneel wasn’t having any of it. When Adrianne tried to buck up, Danneel sat back on her heels, withdrawing any contact at all. Adrianne moaned, feeling the phantom touch on her stomach, where Danneel’s hand had held her down, and on her leg, where Danneel’s hair had brushed as she licked along her thighs.

“You bitch,” Adrianne muttered, and Danneel just grinned lazily. “Touch me, lick me, eat me out. Anything, just… You, your hands, on me now.”
She didn’t have to be told twice. In a split second Danneel was on her belly and mouthing at Adrianne through her lace panties. She had soaked all the way through them, and Danneel moaned at the taste, lapping at it like candy. Adrianne had never met anyone in her life that loved eating girls out as much as Danneel. She loved everything about it, the taste, the feel, the sounds that it drew out, and she loved narrating, telling Adrianne how good she tasted, and show warm she was, how beautiful she was. Sometimes it seemed like she was just trying to see how long it would take for Adrianne to be completely flushed. Adrianne wanted to grab Danneel’s hair, to pull her closer, anything to get more friction than she was getting now, but the scarf holding her hands over her head held tight, so she could only writhe and twist, trying to get the angles she wanted. In one swift motion Danneel yanked her underwear off, and drove her tongue straight into Adrianne, no warning, and immediately started twisting and curving enthusiastically around inside her. Adrianne didn’t have enough time to register the shock, couldn’t do anything more than let out a full body shudder at the sudden onslaught of sensations ripping through her.

When her lover meant business, she sure as hell meant business. It took less than a minute for her to have Adrianne moaning and gasping beneath her, with her mouth vacuumed tight around her clit and two fingers pumping in and out of her, twisting and curving, not letting up for anything. It was an embarrassingly short amount of time before Adrianne was coming, gushing into Danneel’s mouth and down her thighs. A hoarse scream tore from her lips, like she couldn’t hold it back even if she wanted to. Danneel wrapped one arm around her waist, as if anchoring her down through the aftershocks, whispering words into her skin that Adrianne couldn’t hear over the sound of her own heart beating. When her breathing finally calmed, Danneel reached up and loosened the scarf, freeing Adrianne’s hands and placing a kiss on each of her wrists, then lowering herself to straddle her waist and leaned down to lazily make out with her. Adrianne reached up and started cupping and stroking Danneel’s breasts, lightly at first, building pressure until Danneel was grinding against Adrianne’s leg, pushing and writhing, and finally reached her release, shuddering and moaning and collapsing against Adrianne, sweaty and breathless.

Later they would wrap up in their sheets and pad out to the kitchen, make some coffee, and curl up in front of the tv. Or they would just stay in bed for hours. It didn’t really matter. It was a Sunday, an anything goes day.

And there wasn’t a person in the world that Adrianne would rather share it with.

Femslash, Part One.

feathertofly — Sun, 14 Mar 2010 06:21:01 GMT

Author/Artist: feathertofly
Recipient: bekkis
Rating: Soundtrack is PG, fic is NC-17
Warnings:
Pairing: Adrianne/Danneel
Summary: Soundtrack to the fic 'My Favorite Book'.
Notes: So, I am SO SO SO sorry that it's so late, I've had computer and rl problems coming out the wazzoo. But I LOVED this prompt, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. :)

1. My Favorite Book, Stars
How I know your face, all the ways you move, you come in, I can read you, you're my favourite book>

2. Raphsody on a Theme by Paganini, Scott Hastings
Instrumental

3. I Fought The Battle of Trinidad and Traebago, Lonely, Dear
I've been dreaming of you from the other side, I know you so well
I've been wanting you so from the other side, I know you so well

4. The Book of Love, Peter Gabriel
I love it when you sing to me, and you, you can sing me anything

5. Passenger Seat, Death Cab for Cutie
When you feel embarrassed then i'll be your pride When you need directions then i'll be the guide

6. Sleeping In, The Postal Service
Last week i had the strangest dream where everything was exactly how it seemed

Zip zip zip

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feathertofly — Thu, 21 Jan 2010 02:32:23 GMT

Dear destiny. Please hook me up with a copy of Chelsea handler's autobiography. On account of she is my hero and i love her more than puppies. Love, cass.

I Loved You First

feathertofly — Sat, 28 Nov 2009 02:41:50 GMT

Title: I Loved You First
Author: taintedlove
Pairing: Sam/Dean, Sam/Jess
Rating: PG-13, probably.
Warning: HET! Also, angst. Like, I cried writing it. For what it’s worth.
Summary:
A/N: For [Bad username: dramaqueen469] kiwiana , who wanted Stanford era break up fic. Hope you like it, doll. <3 Unbeta'd, be nice.
Not mine, obvs. Title and cut from ‘Samson’ by Regina Spektor.

Dean let out a steady stream of curse words as he poured the vodka over the slice in his arm. Damn spirit had nicked him before he could waste it. The cut wasn't deep, but it was long and would definitely leave a scar. Sometimes he really hated this job. Not enough to ever try anything else, but something about stitching up his own skin just bugged him. This is what he needed-
He sighed deeply and polished off the rest of the drink that wasn't sterelizing his wound. It didn't matter. Only a couple more days and he would casually make his way over to California. It had been a month since he had seen Sam last, surely his brother felt the pull as tightly as Dean did. They didn't call, didn't write. Dean visited whenever the need to see Sam, to feel Sam under his fingertips, became too strong to resist.
Three days, tops.

***

College had always confused Dean. Sammy was already so smart, already good at so many things, why did he need a degree to validate himself? But it didn't matter, his brother seemed happy at Stanford, for however long that would last. Sam had gone through a soccer phase, too. It wouldn't be too much more time before Sam got bored and called Dean to pick him up. The Impala made quick work of the miles between Nowhere, Colorado and Palo Alto, California, as if he could sense Dean’s urgency. Sure, there were lots of busty, beautiful barflies willing to give themselves to Dean, even a few men who had tried to explain what a waste it would be to not put those cock sucking lips to use, but Dean didn’t really care. Didn’t notice. They were a fine distraction, when he wanted to be distracted, but for now his mind was full of Sam. Sam, long and lean beneath him, Sam’s dimples fully showing when he heard Dean’s moans of pleasure, Sam’s hazel skin stretching for miles and miles above him, around him, inside him…
Dean jolted himself out of his thoughts as he passed the California state line. Wouldn’t do to go getting himself worked up just yet, he wanted to save it. It crossed his mind momentarily to call, just to be sure Sam was home, but he shook it off. Sam would make time for Dean. Always did.

***

Sam’s door was locked and the lights were out. He must be out with friends, Dean decided. Not a big deal, responsible Sammy never stayed out too late. Dean let himself in with the key Sam had given him, and wondered around the apartment, running his fingers over things. He’s in Sam’s bedroom when he hears he door slam. He started walking down the hall towards the door, unable to keep the grin off his face, when he freezes. Sam’s not alone. Two sets of footsteps, one heavy and obviously Sam’s, the other light and unfamiliar. Dean grabbed the first door he could, and stepped into the closet as fast as he could, leaving it only cracked open, but enough for a direct look into the kitchen.

His brother was tall, even taller than Dean remembered. He was bent over someone, kissing someone. Dean could make out slender arms wrapped around Sam’s neck, and a mass of blonde hair, but that was it. He could only watch silently as Sam picked the girl up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist… Around Sam’s waist… As she stripped him of his jacket and overshirt, and Sam slipped the sundress over her head and dropped it to the floor. Dean couldn’t see her face.

Dean Winchester wasn’t a girl. He wasn’t a pussy, he didn’t get attached. With as fucked up of a life as he lead, there was no room for emotions. Nothing in his world had enough power over him to hurt him, or bring him down. Nothing except Sam.

“Sam, Sam, Sam…” The blonde head was moaning as Sam sat her down on the kitchen counter and started doing things Dean couldn’t make out. Dean looked away, trying to block out the images and sounds that were bombarding his senses. He wanted to jump out of the closet, to run for the car and drive as fast as he could, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t get away. The moment Sam knew he was here, everything would be ruined. Besides, a small voice in Dean’s head sneered, it’s about time Sam had a semi-healthy relationship. Who the fuck are you to take away normalcy from him? It’s all he ever wanted, and a jealous boyfriend for a brother is the farthest thing from normal. So Dean stayed still. Stayed crouched down and watched as Sam and this faceless blonde began moving together in earnest, their moans getting louder and finally Sam’s back tensed and the girl shouted his name in unison and it was finally over. They picked up their clothes and the girl giggled and made some comment about a public sex kink. Sam kissed her and slapped her ass, saying he’d be back to the bedroom in a minute. Dean tensed, could Sam have known he was there? He held his breath, as Sam’s eyes roamed around the room, and rested momentarily on the closet door, then he shrugged and moved down the hall, calling to the girl. Dean put his hands over his ears, determined to not hear whatever followed. Knowing her name was too much as it is. Their voices tangled in the air for a while longer, laughing and talking and joking. Finally, finally, the lights went out.

After ten more torturous minutes, Dean straightened and silently opened the door, and crept towards the exit. Sam and (he couldn’t even bring himself to think her name) must’ve been asleep. Dean opened the door to Sam’s apartment, and slowly, quietly, walked away from his little brother’s life.

***

"Dean, this is my girlfriend, Jessica. Anything you can say to me you can say in front of her."

As if he would forget. He flirted casually with her, emotionally distanced enough now to see that his little brother had good taste. Jessica was a beautiful girl. Dean would probably have liked her if he hadn't spent two years hating her for existing. He hadn't returned see Sam since that last time, had sworn he would never ask his brother for another thing. It hadn't worked that way, with Dad missing Dean had no choice.

Two days, Sammy, he thought. Two days and you can return to your perfect girl and your perfect life, and I'll be gone again. Because, honestly? If I never see that mass of blonde again I'll be happy.

Welcome To My Secret Lair On Skullcrusher Mountain

feathertofly — Sat, 21 Nov 2009 06:13:40 GMT

HEY HEY HEY to all my new friends from the Hellatus meme! And every other meme! Welcome to my lj, I guess? It has come to my attention that I really haven't done a 'getting to know you' post in... Well, ever, so here's a little bit about me! (obvs, this is my favorite topic.)

My name is Cassidi, or just Cass for short. I'm 18, and I'm going to school at MCC in Chandler/Phoenix, AZ. I'm kinda a big deal. I want to be a makeup artist when I grow up. Or an actress. Or a teacher. Or a PR rep. Or a writer. (AKA, I have no idea.)

Shows: Supernatural, Glee, One Tree Hill, Leverage, Melrose Place, Big Bang Theory, Firefly, Arrested Development,

Movies: Spaceballs, Gone With The Wind, Ten Inch Hero, Mr. Magorium's Wonder Eumporium, Malibu's Most Wanted, anything with Audrey Hepburn or Doris Day,

Music: Guh I love everything! Some favorites are Death Cab for Cutie, John Denver, Aerosmith, Billy Joel, Katy Perry, Bad Company, Stephen Ashbrook, Dashboard Confessional, A Fine Frenzy, The Fray, Shakira, Blue Oyster Cult, the Glee cast,

Celebs: Danneel Harris, Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki, Sandy McCoy, Sophia Bush, "The Chad" Michael Murray, Joy Galeotti, Christian Kane, Aldis Hodge, Natalie Portman, Liv Tyler,

Books: The Book Thief, The Gone With The Wind series, Lamb,

Contact (feel free to add me on anything!)
Tumblr: www.someonessweetheart.tumblr.com/
Twitter: www.twitter.com/withoutaspark
Myspace: www.myspace.com/_meimei_
MSN messenger: happy.emo.girl@hotmail.com
Email: fiddledeedee@ymail.com

In this journal you will find: fandom, fic, picspam, RL rambling, memes, femslash, RPS, m/m slash, angst, sunshine happiness, complaining, pretty much anything that comes into my head will be on this screen. Oh also also, I do this thing on Fridays called 'Good News Moment'. Basically it's a chance for you to tell me how awesome your life is, and I will fawn over you. :D

Warnings: I LOVE DANNEEL HARRIS. I do not allow bashing. Some content would be considered adult, but I try to keep it behind a cut. That goes for spoilers as well, but I am a total spoiler whore, so if I miss something, please don't behead me.

I want to hear all about you guys now, too! Tell me what I should know about you, friends old and new. :D

Daring to Tell

feathertofly — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 23:16:36 GMT

Title: Daring To Tell
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R? I guess?
Warnings: Wincest, "It makes me get all tingly when you get controlling like that, Sam", completely unrealistic amounts of drinking.
Word Count: ~1800
Summary: Dean Winchester was drunk. There was no other explanation for him sitting between his brother and friend and speaking these five words: “Okay, Ash, truth or dare?”

Author’s Notes: This was written for spnfreak15at the Supernatural Fic Exchange. Hope you like it, sweetie!
Also, a billion cookies and eternal love to scintilla10 for whipping this thing into shape! Thank you, darlin!

Dean Winchester was drunk.

There was no other explanation for him sitting between his brother and friend and speaking these five words:

“Okay, Ash, truth or dare?”

Ash grinned gleefully. “Dare, man, all the way!” Dean rolled his eyes. In the three hours they’d
been playing, Ash had yet to say truth.

Half a bottle of tequila ago, the idea of playing truth or dare would’ve earned Ash a laugh in the face. But between the alcohol and Sam’s damn puppy dog eyes, Dean couldn’t say no. He at least had enough of his wits about him to be grateful that they’d moved the game from the main bar of Harvelle’s to a dark corner in the back. He had enough blackmail on Sam to keep his little brother’s mouth shut, and hopefully Ash was in enough of a drunken stupor that it wouldn’t take much convincing to make him believe that this entire game was all in his head. Aside from a few neglected pouts from Jo, who’d been hitting on him relentlessly since he walked through the door, the rest of the hunters had left them alone.

“Alright, what’s…” Dean looked to his brother for help, but Sam just grinned at him cockily; his smile made it obvious that he wasn’t getting his brother out of this one. “What’s pi to the twelfth decimal?”

Ash laughed. “Oh please, give me a hard one next time! That would be approximately 3.141592653589879.”

Both boys looked at him slack-jawed.

“Ash, I was at Stanford for three years, and I honestly can’t say I remember much past 3.1415 ... And that was like two years ago. How on earth?” Ash wiggled his fingers and giggled. (Giggled? Dean definitely had too much booze in his system.)

“A magician never tells his secrets. Sam! Truth or dare.”

“Truth,” Sam said without skipping a beat.

“C’mon, man, you haven’t said dare a single time! An’ we’ve been playing three hours!”

Dean threw back his head and laughed, while Sam just turned bright red.

“When we were kids, Sammy couldn’t have been more than ten, we got bored one night and decided to play truth or dare. Sammy picked dare, because he’s retarded.” Sam buried his head in his hands, pretending to pout, but his shoulders were shaking with silent laughter. “So I decided to make things interesting.”

“What’d you do?” Ash asked, completely enthralled.

“Ten-year-old Sammy had to stand on the balcony of our hotel room and sing ‘Thriller’ at the top of his lungs … In nothing but his tightie whities.”

Ash burst out laughing. “Seriously? That’s… Damn, Dean, you’re a nasty little thing.” Dean grinned at him smugly while Sam threw back another shot. This was going to be a long night.

***

The crack of the slap reverberated throughout the whole bar. Sam and Dean threw their heads back in laughter as Jo shrieked at Ash’s retreating back. He rubbed the back of his mullet as he mumbled something about her hitting like a boy when she was pissed. “Alright, Dean, your turn. Truth or dare.”

Dean shot a glance at his brother then rolled his eyes.

“Dare, lay it on me.”

The bump on his head was apparently immediately forgotten as Ash’s eyes lit up with mischief.

“No backing out of this one, boy … Let’s see how drunk you really are.”

Dean eyed him cautiously. “Ash…”

“You … Kiss. Sam.” The grin on Ash’s face said that he was sure he had finally found it, the dare to break his friend. Dean’s guard instantly evaporated. He stood up and sauntered over to Sam’s chair. Ash’s eyes widened; he obviously hadn’t in a million years thought Dean would take it. Sam grinned cheekily up at his brother as Dean threw his leg over and straddled Sam’s lap.

Another half a bottle of tequila ago, it would’ve been a quick peck on the cheek just to shock Ash into silence. Now, however, as Dean ran his hands under Sam’s shirt to feel his chiseled chest, he knew there was no way either one of them would be satisfied with the bare minimum. He lightly, teasingly, pressed his lips to his brother’s, and grinned into the kiss as Sam growled and grabbed the back of his head, pulling him closer. Dean was content to let his brother’s tongue force its way into his mouth, nipping at his full bottom lip and running along his teeth. Their hands wandered along each other’s bodies, feeling over familiar ridges and planes. Dean was fumbling with the buttons on Sam’s shirt when the sound of a plate shattering on the floor startled them apart.

“Holy shit,” Jo breathed. The boys looked around to see that all the eyes in the bar were glued on them. Luckily it had mostly cleared out; only Ash, Jo, and a man that Dean could only describe as tall, dark and handsome remained.

“Uh, heh. Okay, Sam, truth or dare.” Dean’s cheeks were blazing red. He was pretty sure that hadn’t looked like an awkward, fumbling first kiss. It shouldn’t be; this was just the first one in public. It was the unspoken rule; Dad had never known, no one had ever known; and a bottle of tequila and two purple nurples ago, Dean would’ve sworn that no one in this bar would find out either.

“Dudes, if you wanted to play Seven Minutes in Heaven, all you had to do was ask,” Ash drawled as he took another swig of his Cocksucking Cowboy. Jo dropped another plate and mumbled something about stocking up on salt as she headed out the door as fast as her legs would carry her. Dean rolled himself off Sam’s lap, with a final quick slap on the thigh.

“Sorry about blowing our cover, Sammy,” Dean whispered. Sam just leaned over with a smile on his face and planted another kiss on Dean’s lips, more gentle this time.

“Don’t worry about it, Dean. They would’ve found out sooner or later. Hell, Ash is so drunk we can probably convince him he made it all up.”

“May I sit with you?”

Dean’s head jerked up at the sound of the new voice. Tall, dark and handsome was standing in front of him, blue eyes never wavering from his own. Sam eyed him suspiciously, but Ash just slid a beer towards him.

“Uh, sure, make yourself comfortable.” Dean kicked his feet off the chair next to him. The man lowered himself stiffly, as if he hadn’t moved in a very long time.

“Please, continue the game. I would like to be included, as long as I do not have to partake of the fermented barley.”

***

Sam rolled his eyes. The hotshot newcomer had obviously taken a shine to Dean, and Sam was not amused by it. If he had known slipping his brother the tongue in the middle of the Roadhouse would lead to randoms thinking they could hit on Dean anytime they pleased, he might’ve thought a little longer about it. Ash had passed out a couple of fruity drinks ago and for the last forty-five minutes, the man hadn’t taken his obnoxious blue eyes off Dean.

“Uh, truth, I guess.” Dean seemed just as uncomfortable as Sam was. The stranger still hadn’t told them his name, where he was from, or why he was so obsessed with Dean.

“What is the most excruciating pain you have ever endured, Dean?”

Sam nearly moaned. Could this game get any lamer? It had seemed like a fun idea back before Mr. Creepy had shown up. He was so caught up in his own melodrama that he nearly missed Dean’s reply.

“A werewolf broke my femur once,” he said quietly. “That sucked. Dad was at Bobby’s, so I had to drive myself to the emergency room, then was holed up for two weeks.”

Sam was startled. “What? When was this? Why wasn’t I there?”

Dean chuckled. “You were at Stanford, Sam. Trust me, driving myself halfway across the country would have been a lot more inconvenient than sitting in a hotel room and watching pay-per-view. Besides, I was so hopped up on Vicodin I wouldn’t have noticed you around anyway.”

“Besides,” the stranger said. “You remembered what your mother said. About the angels, watching over you.” That had been Dean’s earliest memory, three rounds ago. Something sharp waved over Dean’s face, and he excused himself to grab another drink.

Sam had had enough. “Look, mister,” he snarled, “I don’t know what you think you’re doing here, but-”

“Your brother, Sam, is an … interesting specimen.” The man’s eyes roamed over Dean’s slouched figure at the bar. His head tilted around Sam’s broad chest. “I wish to examine him further.”

“He’s not a specimen, you son of a bitch, and he’s definitely not available for you to study.” Sam grabbed the lapels of the man’s coat and pulled him in, nose to nose. His ey eyes widened. “No one touches my brother. And you will never know him, never understand him. Don’t. Even. Try.” He released the man and spun on his heel. “We’re out, have a nice life.”

Sam grabbed Dean’s shirt from behind and yanked him out the front door. The bar was empty except for Mr. Creepy and Jo, who had just barely returned to her bartending post, red-faced and avoiding the gazes of the brothers as Sam dragged Dean out.

***
“What are you--” Sam’s lips crushed the rest of the question from Dean’s mouth. Dean responded immediately, grabbing the back of Sam’s head and pulling him closer. Sam forced himself into Dean’s mouth, licking and biting and letting out little noises that went straight to Dean’s cock. Sam pulled back and moved his way down Dean’s neck, mouthing along his jaw. Sam nearly chuckled as Dean sat back and just let Sam have his way; They both knew there was no reasoning with him once Sam got like this.
“In the car, now,” Sam ordered. “We are going back to the hotel room right now. You will throw me up against the wall, and you will get on your knees and wrap those fucking gorgeous lips around my dick. I’m gonna get so close, but I won’t come in your mouth. Because I’m gonna pull you up and throw you on the bed, big brother, and I am going to fuck you senseless. I’ll make you come so hard you won’t be able to walk for a week. You know why, Dean? Because I can. And nobody else.”

Dean‘s eyes widened. He hadn’t realized how much the creepy stalker guy had gotten to Sam, but if this was the reaction, he should flirt with strangers more often. He pulled Sam in for one last deep kiss before opening the door and speeding out of the parking lot as fast as the Impala would take him.

Neither one of them looked back to see the man in the trench coat watching them tear away.

Remind Me How You Laid Us Down

feathertofly — Sun, 18 Oct 2009 06:40:25 GMT

Title: Remind Me How You Laid Us Down
Author feathertofly
Rating: PG
Pairings: Sam/OFC, Sam/Jess
Warnings: Character Death, Angst seeping out the sides. Oh, and het. If that can be considered a warning?
A/N: Sam's not mine, Jess isn't mine, Dean is only mine in my dreams. Kaella is, though, and I will play with her as much as I want. *evil laugh* Also, cut and title from Saliva's Rest In Pieces.
Summary: Jessica is gone. And it's not like Sam's not trying. Takes place early/mid season one.

Sam eyed the girl as she slid next to him.

"Name's Kaella. I'm a Virgo, so I need to know right up front if you're a Leo... No offense, but Leos are kinda dicks."

Sam laughed. "I'm actually not sure. May fourth, what can you tell me about myself?" Kaella's face broke into a smile, delighted he was playing along with her. He wasn't quite sure why he was playing along, aside from this girl was gorgeous... And just his 'type', as Dean would say it. Pretty, brunette, and fairly intelligent so far... Aside from the whole astrology thing. But there was a sparkle in her eyes that that made him wonder what she was really playing at.

"Oh, good. You're reliable, sometimes stubborn, or if it's a good day, persistent." That brought a smile to Sam's face. He knew some people who would definitely agree with the evaluation, least of all his family. "Of course, you're also pretty jealous, and you don't let things go. But it's your lucky day, mister..." Kaella leaned forward. "My horoscope said that Taurus was my best match today."

Sam burst into laughter. "That pick up line work often?"

"I'll let you know when I get a response." She really did have a great smile. Sam stuck out his hand.

"I'm Sam. Winchester." Kaella's eyes grew wide, and she staggered back a step.

"Oh no... You're not Dean Winchester's brother, are you?" Figures. Dean had probaby screwed the hell out of her last time through town... lucky bastard.

Kaella must've read his mind, because she quickly put a hand on his arm. "It's just that... Well, let's just say we had a run in a few minutes ago. He assured me he could show me the time of my life, but I declined." That sure brought a smile to Sam's face. Not often a girl would turn down his brother. Even rarer that they would follow it up with coming over to him. This made him give her a closer look. Any girl with enough will power to turn down Dean must be worth it.

She was shorter- but to Ginormatron, as Dean called him, everyone was short- with brunette hair and a warm smile, all perfect teeth and lips that were just begging to be bitten. Nice style, conservative without screaming prude. Everything about her attracted him, from the quick wit to the ass that somebody up there must've spent a little extra time perfecting. There's no reason that he shouldn't go for it, have a little fun. It'd sure be nice to rub it in Dean's face that there was someone on the planet that preferred him.

One sentence, that's all it would take. It was clear in Kaella's face, all she needed was that and she'd be his for the night at the very least. Though, in his experience, girls like would only get better as time went on. Hell, from what he had seen, he could very easily fall in love with her.

"Sam? Anybody in there?" Kaella was waiting for a response to something she had said. He hadn't meant to be such a space cadet, much more of his charming tactics would probably get her running back to Dean. But sometimes his mind ran away from him...

"Sorry, what?"

She laughed it off. "Well, out loud I was asking if you wanted to buy me a drink," she slid a bit closer to Sam, close enough that he could breathe in the hint of jasmine. "But I was telepathically telling you that, honestly, I'd probably take you home stone cold sober."

C'on, Sam... Make your move. Over Kaella's shoulder he could see Dean, watching him, hoping that finally his brother would get some nookie and loosen up.

Sam focused his attention on the girl in front of him. She was obviously waiting for an answer, something to tell her that she hadn't misread him. And she hadn't, really... All it would take would be for him to move a fraction of an inch closer, to kiss her.

"I would really, really like that." Sam said. Kaella exhaled, and flashed him a smile flooded with relief and excitement. She reached over to get her bag, but Sam grabbed her wrist. "But I can't. Believe me when I say, I really wish that I could. But there's... Someone." He braced himself for a slap, a disgusted glance, anything. Instead she just tilted her head and looked at him strangely.

"Someone else." Sam nodded. "Someone that you haven't let go of, even she's not here? She hasn't been for a while?" Sam drew in his chin. How could she... "I've been there." She clarified. "Done the whole, pretending to move on thing, when in reality... Well, you never really recover from something like that, do you? The memories never leave. You see them everywhere, still make plans. Hell, sometimes you call their phone number, before you forget that they won't pick up. She's holding you back, as surely as if she was physically here."

He hadn't expected her to be so observant. And because of that, Sam had no way to steel himself for what would happen. The pain completely blinded him, for a good thirty seconds. All he could see was Jess. Her long blonde hair, sprawling across her pillow. Her infectious laugh, that he could never stay mad at for long. The smell of her, warm vanilla even when she hadn't put on perfume. Everything hit him like an anvil. Six months, and it still slapped him in the face.

When he came to, Kaella's face showed a shadow of what he had just felt. "What was her name?" She asked softly.

"Jessica." He couldn't bring himself to say anything more, all he knew was that he had to get out of that bar right that minute. Dean could find his own way home.

But Kaella didn't let go of him just yet. She placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, and whispered in his ear, "She must've been a hell of a woman to do that to someone like you, Sam Winchester."

***

When Sam got back to the hotel, he crashed on the bed. He couldn't believe what just happened. Six months, you'd think it was enough time to not break down like a baby whenever he thought of Jess. But he saw her everywhere. Every girl who walked by with long, blonde curly hair. Every time he heard someone say her name [and do you have any idea how many Jessicas there are in the country? ALOT.] And the dreams... The dreams were the worst. He dreamed about her.

The good dreams were the worst. Dreaming about her smiling, her laughter, visiting her at the coffee shop. Holding her close as she slept, the way she held him when he'd wake up, sweating and terrified from a nightmare. She didn't pry, never asked why Sam was so afraid of his past catching up with him. Just let him feel things out, knowing that he would tell her when he was ready.

He was ready now.

The bad dreams were the worst. Dreaming about the last time he had seen her, hanging from the ceiling. Trying to scream, but not even being able to make a sound. Her white nightgown slashed, blood seeping from her beautiful tan body. There was no way to escape the look on her face. It didn't condemn, that would be too easy. It wasn't even pure terror, that would be too understandable. It was fear, pain, and love. Something in her face that she was trying to convey without being able to get the sound out. He knew Jess died knowing he loved her, but what else was in that look?

A scene that he relived every night. He had for days before it happened, and it would haunt him for years to come.

**

The next morning couldn't come fast enough. Somehow Dean had found his way home, and when he saw Sam's face, he knew better than to ask questions. But as they were packing up the room, before Dean checked them out, he put a hand on Sam's shoulder.

"It'll pass, Sammy. Just give it time."

A Sound Reverberated

feathertofly — Sun, 30 Aug 2009 17:34:29 GMT

Title: A Sound Reverberated
Author:miss_meimei
Rating: PG
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Warnings: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Boy!kissing
Summary: Takes place during and after 'What Is And What Never Should Be", in season two. They boys have to deal with Dean's near death experience.
A/N: Written for my beffie,kathickers whom I love more than life it's self. This is my first non RPF, and comments are appreciated and gushed over. :D

Dean looked at the circle of people around him. Carmen. This beautiful girl who wanted to start a family with him. Jess. The love of his Sam's life, alive, and wanting to make all his dreams come true. His mother. Dean felt a lump in his throat. His mother, who had been cheated out of the chance to see her boys grow. His eyes finally rested on Sam. Was it so bad to want to stay here? Why couldn't he see Sam live the life he was supposed to, happy and successful, with a family? Why couldn't everyone get what they wanted, what they deserved? Then he thought of dinner that night. Sam hated him, didn't want him to be a part of his life. A world where Sam didn't belong to hi, didn't care, wasn't a world Dean could bear to be a part of. With one last look at his mother- he would miss her most of all. Dean plunged the silver knife deep into his own stomach.

***

It was natural for Sam to be worried. His brother had nearly died, had almost had the life blood sucked out of him. He still cringed when he thought of Dean tied up, unconscious, with those awful needles at all his major arteries. He was his brother. There was no one else he cared about more. Yeah, let's go with that. And the clenching in h is stomach when Dean talked about that girl, Carmen. What did he have to be jealous about? Hadn't Jess been alive in the dream? He would've been happy there. Still, staying at Stanford? A world without Dean?

"I don't understand. I thought it was supposed to be this perfect dream world."

"It wasn't," Dean snapped. "Just a wish."

***

Sam knew better than to expect Dean to sleep well that night. His brother was curled up in the fetal position, making tiny noises whenever he touched somewhere the needles had been. Finally Sam stood up out of bed and walked over and sat down by Dean's side.

"Hey," he whispered. "You okay?" When Dean didn't respond, Sam tentatively put a hand on Dean's shoulder. Dean's own hand reached up to lace his fingers between Sam's. His breath caught. The invitation was clear. He laid down next to Dean, curling around him. Protecting him, just like his brother had done for him so many times.

"You hated me," Dean whispered. "You didn't even want to be around me. You had Jess, and I had a girl, and everything should've been perfect, but... I couldn't stay in a place where you just didn't even care." It broke Sam's heart to hear that. He rolled Dean over on his side so they were facing. He was surprised to see tears running down his strong big brother's face, but he didn't show it.

"Dean. You know that's just silly. You're my brother, I could never hate-"

"Oh really, Sam? Then why did you leave? When you left for college, you never even thought- I mean, what was I supposed to think?" The tears were streaming freely now. Every single one stabbed Sam's heart. Dean was right. He had left him.

"It's not what you think, Dean. I couldn't stay. And dad was only part of the problem. Dean, I... I had to get away from you." His brother flinched and turned away, as if this hurt him more than anything Sam could've said. No going back now, he thought.

" I kept feeling these things, things I thought i shouldn't. Things I thought I could never tell you about. I thought if I did, that you'd hate me. I hoped if I got away from you that the feelings would go away, but... Anyway. It doesn't matter." Not exactly the way I had planned on telling my brother that I'm in love with him. Actually, I wasn't planning on telling him at all. Dean had stayed very still through Sam's confession. His back was turned so Sam had no idea how he was processing it... Rejection from Dean was something Sam didn't think he could handle. And to throw this at Dean when he was already hurting...

"But it's no big deal, Dean. I mean, things aren't going to change now. Nothing's going to change. Just because you're the most important thing in my life, because I love you-" Great. There it goes, tumbling out for the world to hear. Sam somehow, through the panic of his thoughts, remembered that any noise you made was a sound wave that reverberated through space forever. Well, it definitely was taking up all the space around the brothers. The words hung thickly in the room all around them. Then, the incredible happened. Instead of recoiling, Dean rolled over and carefully placed a hand on Sam's face, as if afraid moving too fast would spook him and everything would be lost. Just as carefully, he gently pulled Sam's face toward his own, and their lips met in a kiss.

The world didn't shatter. Stars didn't move. There wasn't even an earthquake. For Dean, he had never kissed someone like that before, like they were pouring their souls into each other through their lips. For Sam, it was coming home. It felt right, like there wasn't any part of him that belonged anywhere else. For both boys, it was a telling of a secret so deeply buried inside them, they thought it would never see the light of day.

***

There was no sex. There would be plenty of time for that later. Dean was still weak from blood loss. They just fell asleep like that, Sam curled around Dean, protecting him from the demons around him and inside his head.

***

Dean woke up without opening his eyes. His mind reeled as he remembered what had happened the night before. Could it possibly have been real? Then he felt Sammy move beside him. A grin spread across his face. It was true, the words, the touches, the kisses. He could still feel Sam on his skin. And with the djinn gone, they could put this town behind them and hit the road again. Something big was coming, he could feel it. He was ready to greet whatever hell threw his way; His brother was by his side. With that thought lingering in his mind, he pushed Sam out of the bed and onto the floor.

"Time to go, Sammy. Let's get." Sam tumbled out of bed with the sheets tangled around his legs and a pillow instinctively grabbed to cover his head.

"Jerk," he mumbled into the pillow. Dean leaned down and pressed his lips to Sam's exposed neck.

"Bitch."

Listen To The Words That You Say, [J2 Fic]

feathertofly — Thu, 11 Jun 2009 05:51:11 GMT

Title: Listen To The Words That You Say

Author: miss_meimei

Pairing: Jared/Jensen

Rating: PG

A/N: Sequel to my fic I Think I'll Wait Another Year. A trillion year's worth of kisses to my beta and bestest friend in the entire universe, kathickers. She, no lie, sat by me and held my hand while posting my first fic, and then came up with the idea for the second. And if that wasn't enough, she sat through my constant ramblings about computer crashes, and writers block, and talking about how cool Pokerface is. *twirls, hugs, kisses* [[Title and cut from Only You,by Joshua Radin.]]

It had been three weeks since Jensen first snuck into Jared's room, and he hadn't missed a night since. He knew if someone had been doing this to him, he would've been royally pissed, and not a little creeped out. But he couldn't help it... Something about seeing Jared lying there, imagining what he was dreaming... It had to be good dreams, sometimes a tiny smile would steal across his face, and Jensen would forget to breathe for a few seconds. Luckily, his best friend hadn't woken up once. every once in a while, Jensen would forget to whisper and Jared would stir, but for the most part, he felt fairly safe as long as he was gone long before Jared's alarm went off.

"... And another thing, that interviewer. Who did he think he was, getting all nosy and in your face. You handled it so much better than I would've, man. You're brave, braver than I would be. Sometimes I think you're even braver than Dean. You'd laugh at me if you knew this, but I think I rely on you just as much as Dean does Sam. I forget that he's supposed to be looking after his little brother, that he's afraid something will happen to him, and I'm just worried something's gonna happen to you. I'm almost worried that the demons are gonna get you, or the angels, or whatever. It's true, ya know. I was thinking about that scene, where Zachariah puts Dean in his heaven, and Dean's not happy because he can't be with Sam... I feel the same way about you." Jensen checked his watch; Five minutes. He didn't know how he was going to actually start filming getting no sleep, but maybe he would be able to get all of this out of his system by then. He smiled grimly at the thought; as if he could get Jared out of his system. A quick kiss on the top of Jared's head, and Jensen slipped out of the room.

***

It was the last day before they started filming season five, and both men were tense as as hell.

"Hey, I'm gonna turn in early," Jared said, as he stretched and yawned.

Jensen stood too, and pulled his best friend into a quick hug.

"Yeah, you'd better get your beauty sleep, princess. Make-up can only do so much, you've got to give them something nice to start with."

"You keep laughing, old man... It's my fresh faced beauty that keeps this show going!" Jared yelled over his shoulder as he bounded up the stairs.

Jensen took one last swig of his soda, wishing it was something a little stronger, something to take his mind off the fact that it might be his last night to talk to Jared, really talk to Jared, in a long time. If season five was anything like season four, there was no way he could go every night without sleep. They might not even be getting home until three AM, not leaving much time for soul bearings to a half dead costar.
After a few minutes he pulled himself up, brought the dogs inside, and turned the lights off.

***

Jensen glanced at his alarm clock. 2:45. Go time. He threw off his covers, and climbed up the stairs. Over the last few weeks, he has perfected this routine, knowing exactly where the creaky boards and steps were, and artfully avoided them. He paused for a second, listening at Jared's door. The lights were off, and Jensen didn't think twice about slowly turning the knob.

He froze. Jared was sitting up on his bed, a smile as big and soft as sunlight on his face.

"Took you long enough, Jen."

"Oh, I uh... I was just wondering if you, um, had... Script! My script. I was wondering if... Sadie..." Jared obviously wasn't buying it.

"Sit down." Jared patted the bed next to him, and Jensen cautiously sat.

And when Jared said "My turn," Jensen knew he would melt into the floor and die of embarassment. Was there actually a chance that Jared had heard EVERYTHING? But his humiliation started to subside when Jared started to speak.

"It took me approximately thirty seconds to realize that you were going to be my best friend. By the time we were done filming the pilot, I had completely forgotten that we didn't grow up together. That's what you do to me, man. You make everything feel like home, even this crazy cold, busy, stressful life here in Vancouver. Nowhere is ever going to feel as right for me, not even Texas... Not anywhere where you aren't.

"It took Chad saying once that we sounded like an old married couple before I realized that's what I want to be, Jen... I want to look back on my life from the minute this show started, and see you in it. And even if this is the end of this gig, I don't ever want there to be an end to..." He took Jensen's hand, and wove their fingers together, "this gig."

Jensen searched Jared's face. If there was any chance that this was a joke, that Jared had heard him and somehow mocking him, Jensen would break his arm. But somehow, some way, it was Jared, and there was nothing in his face but plain, unabashed, open... Love. It's like the words coming out of his mouth were wrapping around Jensen's head, making everything seem light, out of focus... There's no way it could be real.
"Jen?" Jared asked cautiously. "Are you... I mean, have you heard anything I'm saying? I'm telling you I'm in love with you, Jen."

That did it. It took Jensen the space of two heartbeats to throw his arms around Jared's neck and hold him as tight as he could. Jared hugged him back with all his might, which, for Jared, was a massive amount. Then Jared grabbed Jensen's face and pulled it back, and promptly kissed Jensen until he couldn't kiss anymore.

**
"So you heard all of it?"

"Well, the first night I thought I was dreaming, I thought no way could it be real... But it was. Every night since then."

Jensen wasn't entirely sure how it happened, but somehow Jared's bed was big enough to fit not only both men, but still had room to spare. He'd always given Jared crap for the huge thing, but now had decided that it was just the right size.

"Wait a minute, it took CHAD saying something for you to realize you were in love with me? Do I even have to start on how many levels of twisted that--"

Jared chose that moment to make sure Jensen's mouth was occupied, and couldn't start on all the levels of twisted that was.</div>