Second star on the right

Joy! And also ficklets!

laurificus — Thu, 09 Jan 2014 22:55:37 GMT

Still don't know how many people are still reading on LJ/DW, but since it is More Joy Day, if you would like a ficlet, drop me a comment with a prompt and a pairing/character, and I'll write something. Probably won't be today, but it will happen!

Things I could write (off the top of my head so I might be missing some obvious ones) are Supernatural, HP, Firefly, O11, Sports Night, The West wing, Friday Night Lights, Sherlock, Avengers, and that Thor/Loki thing I seem to have taken a liking to. If there's something else you want to ask for, feel free. I'll let you know if I can't do it!

Fic - Benevolent - Loki/Thor

laurificus — Fri, 03 Jan 2014 17:44:02 GMT

I did a thing. mollyamory is entirely responsible. Also, I appear to be writing a series. She's responsible for that, too. Also also, she has spent the last hour tormenting me and would like you to know that I have a tumblr, where I am also laurificus. But it scares me!

Anyway...

Benevolent (940 words) by laurificus
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Thor (Movies)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Author Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Loki/Thor
Characters: Thor (Marvel), Loki (Marvel)
Series: Part 1 of Rehabilitation
Summary:

Thor returns to Asgard to put an end to Loki’s rule. But Loki’s rule is not quite what Thor expected.

laurificus — Tue, 24 Dec 2013 20:44:09 GMT

I don't post here often enough these days, but happy holidays to all those who celebrate. And to all those who don't -- may your day be full of joy (and potentially wine) no matter what you do.

This is still my fannish home, and you guys are still the best, even if I'm a terrible posting failure. ♥ ♥ ♥

Dear Yuletide Writer

laurificus — Mon, 14 Oct 2013 19:54:01 GMT

Hi, fabulous person!

Let's do the important stuff right away.

First, thank you so much for writing me a story! I am already thrilled you're doing it, and I'm excited to read whatever you come up with. Don't feel like you have to follow the prompts I gave -- I want you to have fun writing it. And the same goes for this letter. this is your story, so write it how you want. With the possible exception of the next most important thing.

Which is that no matter which fandom you choose, I love banter, and hopeful endings, and pining, and reunions. If you write me any of those things, I will be yours forever.

And although my choices have potential to be romantic relationships, I am not really a fan of extreme sappiness. I mean, I am entirely onboard with world-ending love, but I just like it to be revealed through things like insulting each other, or doing stupid and dangerous things to save each other. And not unrelatedly, if there is sex (which there totally does not have to be!), I kinda like it when it's something they have fun with. And probably, given the characters I've chosen, something that they talk and tease each other for at least some of it. I'm not into anything hugely kinky, but up against a wall is always a win.

Ocean's 11

I love stories that explore how Danny and Rusty met. In my head, they grew up together, and have always been an essential part of each other's lives. A story about that would make me happy, but I'm completely open to a different interpretation, too.

Stories where they finally accept that they're probably not going to retire, or settle down happily to married life are also my favourite, as are stories where one of them has to get the other out of trouble (and then mocks them relentlessly), or where other people underestimate them and their combined awesome. If you are fantastic enough to be able to write complicated plot-type things, that would be great, but I'd be just as happy with something low-key, and either way, I'd like their relationship to be at the centre of it.

The Newsroom

As the prompt says, anything with Will and Mac. Except the wedding, which, honestly, I find to be the least interesting thing about their future. I love stories about how much Will loves mac, so something from his perspective would be fabulous (though obviously not necessary!). And like I said in my prompt, some recognition that everything between them won't just be fixed over night. But mostly, I love their relationship for the way they banter and argue, and how Mac is the one person who routinely calls Will on his bullshit. Getting that dynamic is really all I want. And maybe to see Will actually be happy! This might be my one exception to the sap rule, because we've heard so much about what a good boyfriend Will is. But even there, I'd like them to stay Will and Mac. Just with maybe more presents and making out. :D

I also love Don and Sloan and Charlie and Leona, so if you enjoy writing them, I'd be really happy if they showed up.

Farseer Trilogy

I honestly don't have anything else to say than what was in the optional details! Sorry! I would just like them to be together! I will be full of joy, if that's something you can make happen.

New Girl

And this, seriously, you can pretty much do anything you want with. I love every single one of the main characters, so if you write any of them, you cannot fail to delight me! I love CeCe and Schmidt, and CeCe and Jess, and Nick and Schmidt (the last two in non-romantic ways), so if you prefer to focus on a specific relationship, those three would be great. I also adore Winston, and I would love to see his relationships with the other characters explored a bit more, since it's often the thing the show does least. And while I said I liked simple plots, I really am totally cool with something whacky and crazy. If Jess tries to put on a nativity play in which they all must star, for example, I would love you.

That is all! Really, mostly I just want you to have a good time writing it.

Fic: One Complication Less (Sam/Dean, Adult)

laurificus — Tue, 01 Oct 2013 21:43:48 GMT

Oh, final five minutes of season 8. How you are the gift that keeps on giving to me. Written for salt_burn_porn, in response to cherie_morte's prompt, "But this has to be the last time."

One Complication Less (2156 words) by Laura
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester
Summary:

"And in the third place, we're going to have sex."

You can also read it It takes four weeks, an ungodly amount of bed rest, and an unholy alliance with Crowley, but at the end of it, Sam's fine. Thinner than he should be, and a bit vampiric from all the time spent in an underground bunker, but there's no coughing up blood, no doubling over in pain, no more than usual likelihood that he'll drop dead within the week. Dean is, all things considered, pretty goddamn satisfied, especially when Sam wakes up and doesn't immediately start asking awkward questions. Dean's not stupid enough to think that'll last — he has, after all, met Sam before — but so long as Sam's around to be annoying and unreasonable, Dean doesn't mind.

That lasts at least a couple of days. Then he makes the mistake of leaving Sam in the bunker by himself. He walks back into the library three hours later and is met by Sam's death glare. Given the strength of it, Dean suspects he's pretty lucky not to be met by Sam's fist.

"Do you remember that time I nearly killed myself to be purified?" sam asks, spreading his hands out on the table, as if he hasn't ruled out punching either. "Got all the demon blood out of me? It wasn't that long ago, so you probably do remember." It's impressive, how he manages to combine menacing and conversational so effortlessly. Dean sure as hell never taught him that.

Dean goes for placating, because since the church and Sam's motherfucking weird confession, he's been working on yelling less. "Okay, look," he says, holding his own hands up. "I know what you're going to say. I shouldn't have made that sort of decision for you, blah blah not a kid, etcetera and so on. But as a counter, let me say. I don't fucking care. You were dying. Again. Getting the demon blood back into you was my last shot, and I took it."

Sam looks at him, steady and unreadable. "I was gonna say, I was clean, and now I'm — whatever the fuck it is I am." For a second, his shoulders slump, and he looks nothing but defeated. Then he pulls himself together, and goddamn him if he ever talks about Dean's game face again. "Guess at least if I bring on another apocalypse, you can't say you weren't warned."

He leaves without another word, and Dean knows it must be bad when he doesn't stop to right the pile of books he topples over on his way out the door. Dean scatters them far and wide, in a moment of petty, satisfying retribution. It makes him feel better for about three minutes, and then he's moving, too, storming through the bunker and barrelling into Sam's room without knocking.

"I'm done with this," he tells Sam's back, and he's never meant anything more in his life.

Before, when Sam was sick and not even conscious, and before Dean had the ingenious demon blood idea, he thought up really elaborate speeches. Lots of I statements; lots of heartfelt sentiments he wouldn't have told with a gun to his head but that he swore he would give up all the fucking time if Sam just stayed around to hear him. Now, he can't really remember what any of them were — at least, not the words. But the truth of them has always been perfectly clear.

"Fucking turn around," and Dean's voice must be serious enough, because Sam, for once, doesn't argue just for the sake of it. "You were dying, you moron. A dead you is the only you I don't want." He pauses, thinks. "Okay, there are a few other versions. Soulless you wasn't great, and high on demon blood you had a couple notable character flaws. But—dead you is the only thing I can't deal with."

Sam just shakes his head, as if there's anything in what Dean just said that he didn't mean. "I can't always be your problem to fix," he says. His hair is in his eyes, but Dean doesn't need to see to know the expression in them. The one from the church, and the one when he learned what he'd done without a soul. The one Dean's seen too many times, and doesn't want to see again.

"In the first place, you're not, and if you were, I wouldn't care. In the second, you're pretty much the only reason I haven't just given up about a hundred times, so you work out who's doing more fixing than who around here. And in the third place." He pauses, but not for long. He's thought about this, too, and he's sure he's right. "In the third place, we're going to have sex."

Sam gapes at him, his mouth just hanging open, which is a thing Dean's never seen anyone in real life actually do before. Dean doesn't laugh, but it's close, and only avoided because he's pulled the pin on this one huge thing between them, and that's probably going to have consequences.

"What?" Sam says, stepping away from Dean, at least until he realises he's moving towards the bed, at which point he starts to panic. "What—Dean?"

"You heard me." Dean moves towards Sam again, confident now that he's put it out there. And now that he has put it out there, he doesn't have to pretend, doesn't have to back off when he wants to get close. "About the only thing we do more than find new and stupid ways to die for each other is find new and stupid ways to fuck each other up. I'm saying, let's stop doing that."

"By suggesting we have sex?" Sam looks shocked; Dean will give him that. Eyebrows bravely crawling into his stupid hair, and eyes gone wide. Thing is, Dean knows him, and he might look shocked, but he doesn't look surprised. "You think having sex will make things less complicated between us?"

"I do. I've seen you looking at me, and I know you've seen me looking at you." Sam blushes, and there's no way he can deny it. "We've pretended there's nothing going on, and so far, we've nearly ended the world, both gone to Hell, and died — I honestly don't know how many times, but that's pretty revealing, right? I've sold my soul for you, and you've just finished nearly killing yourself so I could have some bullshit happy ending I'd never want without you."

"It's hard to see why some people think we're crazy," Sam says, like the smart-mouthed little fucker he is, even while Dean's having a moment.

Dean ignores him, because he's spent his life learning not to be sidetracked by him. "I don't see how sex can make things any worse. And if it does, at least we'll be getting sex out of it." He's reached Sam, now, close enough that he can grab on. "So do you want me to fuck you, or do you want to fuck me?"

"Wow," Sam says. "You're foreplay is seriously terrible." But he's biting his lip, and he's breathing too fast, and Dean's spent a decade and then some learning when Sam's turned on, lying awake and pretending not to be so he can hear Sam come in the same room.

"You're wrong," Dean says. He slides his hand from Sam's shoulder, traces a line over his chest, keeps moving down until he reaches the waistband of his jeans. "Don't have to try to make this hot, Sammy."

"Dean—" Sam says, hoarse and ragged; the sound of it sends a jolt right to Dean's dick. His fingers aren't as steady as they were as they unfasten Sam's jeans, slip inside. He rests his hand on Sam's hip, the warmth of Sam's skin bleeding through his boxers. And just that is horrifying, how much it turns Dean on.

"You can tell me no," he says. "You always can. But you think a little demon blood changes anything between us? You think I don't trust you? You think there's anyone more important than you? I've seen the size of your dick, and I still want it in me. I want to fuck you until you can't see or walk or think straight. Spread out and all mine, that's what I—"

Sam's mouth shuts him up — Sam's hot, clever, perfect mouth. His teeth catch on Dean's lower lip, and his hands curl around Dean's shoulder, and his whole body pushes into Dean's space, like an invitation Dean's been waiting years for.

"What do you—?"

"Whatever you want," Sam says, fierce against his mouth. "Holy fuck, anything."

Dean wants everything, so that's a stupid question, right there. But Sam's tugging him to the bed, pulling Dean on top of him, and Sam under him, already bucking up against him with these needy sounds Dean's been trying not to think about for so long, is answer enough.

"Wanna fuck you this time," Dean says, and Sam bites down on his neck, and Dean gets harder just thinking about the bruise that's gonna leave.

"There's stuff," Sam says. "In the drawer," and that's hot and weird and something to ask about later. Not now, though. Now, Dean grabs the lube from the drawer, bangs his head on the wall and hardly feels it, caught up in the better thought that's just come to him.

"Turn over," he says, and if he'd known Sam could ever be this compliant, he'd have tried this years ago. He strokes a hand down Sam's back, an expanse of smooth skin and a network of scars he knows by sight, but that's not enough anymore. He follows with his tongue, a slow slide all along Sam's spine that has Sam shivering beneath him, has Sam saying Dean's name again in that broken way Dean never wants to stop hearing from him.

"Gonna open you up, Sammy," he says. "Gonna make this good for you."

Then he shuts up for a while, goes to work on Sam, for real. Just because he's never done this specific thing with Sam, that doesn't mean he doesn't know how to take Sam apart. Starting out slow — careful, deliberate swipes of his tongue, just enough pressure for Sam to feel it, always a promise that there's more he could be having. Longer and harder with each stroke, until by the time Dean's satisfied, Sam's already shaking and desperate beneath him. And that makes Dean so hard it hurts, the kind of hard where he feels like he might come if Sam just looked at him. Or when he remembers that he's Sam Winchester, and a demanding bastard, and says, "I'm going to kill you with my bare hands if you don't put your dick in me in the next thirty seconds."

Dean holds his breath, attempts to run through an exorcism in reverse in his head, and when he's sure he's got control again, tugs on Sam until Sam's on his back, cock hard and leaking when Dean puts his thumb to it. "So easy," Dean says, only he misses his mark, and instead of teasing, it comes out soft, wondering.

Sam skims his hands over Dean's shoulders, pulls him down for another kiss. "You gonna do this, or what?" he asks, and Dean's definitely in favour of doing it.

It's easy. Far easier than it should be: Sam's legs hooked over Dean's shoulders; Sam hot and tight around Dean; Sam's cock hot and heavy in Dean's hand while they move, hard and fast and always together. And Sam's body is open for Dean, bringing him in, like Sam knows how to give all of himself up to Dean. Like Sam wants to. When he comes, it's like Dean's never seen him before, never known him with all his defences gone, and everything he wants written so plainly on his face. Dean loses himself in it, a wild and dangerous joy that corkscrews through him, leaves him gasping and unravelled after.

Sam curls his hand around the back of Dean's neck, and it's possible he's running his fingers through Dean's hair, but Dean's lost all his higher brain function, and no one can expect him to defend himself right now.

"I'm still pretty upset about the demon blood," Sam says, and Dean says, "Yeah?"

"Yeah. All sorts of issues."

And the thing is, Sam's joking now, but he's not wrong, either. Dean knows that — Sam's been carrying around what he said in that church for years; since Lilith and maybe even before. What they just did was good, obviously, but not that good. But it's new; an honest thing between them. Maybe even a hopeful thing. Dean's won battles from shakier ground.

"I'll see what I can do about that," he says, and Sam smiles, reaches for Dean's cock, wraps his fingers around it and squeezes.

"Not for a while, you won't," he says, so Dean kisses him, just to shut him the fuck up.

laurificus — Sun, 29 Sep 2013 17:34:30 GMT

Over here, musesfool is asking what may be the most important question of all time. You should go vote. If I can find it in my heart to overlook that she has no soul and doesn't think Into the Mystic is the best Van Morrison song, you can too. (I am enclined to agree with her on Thunder Road, but that just makes her Van Morrison betrayal all the worse.)

Ficlet - Saying Something Stupid (Supernatural, Sam/Dean)

laurificus — Mon, 16 Sep 2013 19:31:12 GMT

This story was nearly called Near Death Experiences and Incest. Not coincidentally, that could also be the show title.

Saying Something Stupid
Sam/Dean, 666 words

"You're really fucking tall," Dean says. From the tone of his voice, it might be the first time he's ever noticed, but it's certainly not the first time he's told Sam about it tonight. "If you had any decency, you wouldn't be." He frowns, and then apparently remembers that it hurts when he moves any muscle in his face. Not that it shuts him up.

"Got only myself to blame," he says, and this mournful turn is new. "Should have kept more of the Lucky Charms for myself."

"Lucky Charms aren't nearly as nutritious as you think they are, Dean." Sam digs in the bucket for more ice, wraps it in another towel and places the whole thing back on Dean's head. Dean winces more extravagantly than he did when the ghost nearly scalped him.

"Tall and mean," he says. "That fucking hurts."

Sam doesn't take his hands away. Christ knows when he last passed up a chance to keep them on Dean, but this time, Dean's got a concussion — the kind bad enough to make him open and vulnerable, and just a little bit ridiculous. Sam's justified in staying close, holding the ice in place because Dean won't. "Excuse me for making sure you don't die from your massive head wound."

"Lot of effort to go to," Dean says. "Considering."

Sam would really have preferred the antique clock to the head. "That's just —" He stops, rendered mute again. Dean does this. Hits Sam with the idea of him being gone like it's okay. Dad would have appreciated it, he thinks, Dean finally not giving Sam a chance by telegraphing his moves.

"It's not," he says, horrified by the catch in his throat. "It's not okay."

Dean's movements are sloppy and sluggish, his fingers fumbling at Sam's sleeve before they fasten around his wrist. "It will be," he says. "I trust you. But this time — before, with the, you know." He lifts his free hand, waves it back and forth between them.

Sam knows; of course he does. Near death experiences and incest aren't as weird to them as they should be, and Sam's never regretted half of that as much as he should have.

"The part where you pinned me against the car and I got you off," Sam says, defiant now. "That what you're talking about, Dean?"

"Not this time." Dean's fingers press harder, and only Sam's hand on his head keeps Dean lying still. "Won't be fair on you this time. Clean break, okay?"

The towel deadens the sound as the ice hits the wall, and Sam's across the room, back against the door and breathing hard without knowing how. "You've got no right to say that to me," he says, when he can speak. "You've got no idea—you don't—" And Dean doesn't, that's the thing. This is what's stolen Sam's words all year, the betrayal that's forced him to helpless silence. Dean not wanting to live in a world without him: Sam might not like it, but he can forgive. Dean taking it for granted that Sam can, that Sam will — "You don't know," he says, and that's still all he's got.

"Sammy. Don't." Dean's on his feet, unsteady and weaving, and fixed inexorably on Sam. Sam isn't sure he can do much better, but he actually doesn't want Dean to die of his massive head wound, so he pushes off the door, and they stumble into each other, clutching and frantic.

"You're so fucking tall," Dean says, when Sam tries to burrow into him. He tucks Sam's face against his neck, brushes his lips against the side of Sam's head. "I still don't regret the Lucky Charms," he says — softly, as if that might be a secret.

Sam laughs, kind of messy and watery. "You don't know," he says again. And maybe Dean doesn't, but his fingers stroke through Sam's hair, and his arm settles warm around Sam's shoulders, and he holds Sam up, like he always does.

Ficlet - Already Taken (Supernatural, Sam/Dean)

laurificus — Sun, 15 Sep 2013 17:42:23 GMT

It's day 3, and I'm only on season 2. Is anyone surprised by this? Regardless, here is today's ficlet, set after All Hell Breaks Loose Part 2. (The ep that still wins for my favourite Sam speech ever. Probably.)

Already Taken
Sam/Dean, 469 words

Dean keeps them driving, right into the new day. Sam sleeps through the sunrise, which is just fine with him — he's not much in the mood for even symbolic hope just now. He didn't think he was much in the mood for sleeping, either, but he supposes being dead and then alive again probably takes it out of a guy.

He wakes when the car finally stops, to deserted road, only wild grass on either side. Dean's hand is on his shoulder, warm and staying too long.

"Where are we?" Sam asks, but Dean doesn't answer.

"Come on," he says, and gets out. Sam follows, leans against the car and waits. The world's full of stillness and gathering light; a day that could turn into anything, and Dean's only got 364 moments like this left. Sam wants to yell at him, but there aren't words for what Dean's done.

"What are we doing here?" he asks, instead, and Dean says, "It's my turn now," like he sold his ability to answer direct questions along with his soul.

"You had yours," he says, when Sam just raises his eyebrows. "After the rawhead."

They've never talked about it, never repeated that fumbling night in the dark, either. Sam sucks in a breath, and Dean says, "You were dead," like he might say they're out of gas, or they're running low on cash. Then he pushes into Sam's space, as if they're gearing up for a fight, and he says, "Sammy," more scared and lost than he's ever sounded.

Before Sam can react, Dean's shoving him back against the car. His hold is hard enough that it'll bruise later, and he kisses him even harder. Sam's got no issue with that; if Dean's desperate, Sam is, too. Dean's always been his, this constant sure thing Sam's carried with him all his life. So certain he never needed to be possessive about it, got to be stupid and selfish and careless of it. Not anymore. He bites down, drawing blood and not caring. He leaves bruises of his own on Dean's body, any place he can reach, and when he gets his hand into Dean's jeans, his strokes are vicious, relentless, right until Dean comes, folds into Sam so Sam can wrap around him. And that's what Sam wants, a victory he'll take as proof of what Dean should always have known.

"They can't have you," he says, mouth against Dean's neck. "I won't let them."

Dean huffs out a breath. "Not sure you'll have much say in it, Sam."

That's so stupid it doesn't need a response, but Sam digs his fingers harder into Dean's shoulder. And for luck, like he did all those months ago when Dean first thought Sam would just give up and let him go, he says, "Watch me."

Ficlet - Keepsake (Supernatural, Sam/Dean)

laurificus — Sat, 14 Sep 2013 15:21:49 GMT

Generally, I don't really enjoy writing for past seasons, but I love seeing so many other people write a story for each season, so here goes. Set during Faith.

Keepsake
Sam/Dean, 380 words

"Listen," Dean says. In the dark, his voice is a surprise, though Sam spotted the second, hours ago, when he tipped from asleep to awake. "After, go back to school, okay?"

"Shut the fuck up." Sam means it to be every bit as harsh as it comes out; probably meant for a little more, actually. "I'll kill you myself if you keep this up."

"Sammy, come on." Dean is gentle where Sam can't be, and that's almost worse than anything. Sam listens to him rustle around, and when he looks over, Dean's sitting up. Sam thinks he's shivering, though it's not cold. "You can be better than what we gave you. Just — don't be like Dad, Sammy. Please."

All the times Sam's wanted Dean to say something half as critical of their father, and now he offers it, right when it's the last thing Sam can stand to hear. Typical fucking Dean. Typical fucking Dean, and Sam can't lose him. Sam won't lose him.

"You never listen," Sam says, and he goes to him, sinks down on the bed beside him, hands already reaching out.

"You can't kill me," Dean says, trying for and actually finding a smile. "Even like this I could take you."

"You struggle on your best day," Sam says. To his surprise, he's smiling, too, and he cups a hand around Dean's head, tugs him down. It's easy like this, here in the dark. Dean's hair is soft beneath Sam's hand; his lips are cracked and dry against his mouth. Dean's hands come up between them, pressing against his chest. Not pushing away, Sam thinks, never that.

"It's okay," Sam says. Because it is. He'll find something to make Dean better, and they'll put this away again, back where they've buried it all these years. But just in case, Sam's got to have this last thing — the only thing — Dean's never been willing to give him. Dean can't be gone with parts of him Sam never knew.

The thought leaves him shaking, but Dean's here, warm and breathing beneath his fingers, and he steadies Sam like he always does. "It's okay," Sam says again, and he feels Dean give in, even before he opens his mouth, sucks greedily on Sam's tongue, before his hands curl in Sam's shirt, and he's tugging him in and in and in.

8 days of wincest: day 1

laurificus — Fri, 13 Sep 2013 21:05:55 GMT

I am too tired/lazy for anything meaningful, but it seems only fair that day 1 for me should highlight the thing that sucked me back in.

There is nothing -- past or present -- that I would put in front of you.

Sums them up pretty well, no?

What is all this fannishness!

laurificus — Mon, 29 Jul 2013 18:12:35 GMT

So, 18 years after everyone else, I have joined twitter. I am laurificus. Who should I be following! What are your usernames! So far I am only following Jeff Daniels, and that can't continue. I want all the fannish talk ever!

...the lack of frightening SSDC spoilers has nothing to do with anything.

Is the apocalypse back on?

laurificus — Sat, 20 Jul 2013 14:12:15 GMT

Guys, something strange and frightening is occurring. It has been nice here for days. Not just not raining, but sunny and incredibly warm. I have an actual tan! There are lunches outside and barbecues, and yesterday I worked from home and sat outside all day. I don't know where I am or what's happening!

Clearly, I should do some writing, because that always seems like a good idea in the sun. I have a few hours before the next prosecco adventure!

I hope you're all having a good Saturday, whatever you're doing. ♥

laurificus — Mon, 15 Jul 2013 22:53:29 GMT

Here are some terrible things.

First, I am watching the second half of season 8 of SPN (naturally missing out much of the first half). Not only am I watching, but I am...actively enjoying it. They have a home! And they still hunt! And Dean is no longer drunken despairing Dean! He is recognisably the Dean of the earlier seasons to me. And! I am pretty sure he has lost the Batman voice, which, praise Jesus, is long overdue.

I like the Men of Letters stuff, which was a totally surprising new direction but still feels like it belongs in the SPN universe, and the plot this season is much more tied to Sam and Dean than the leviathans ever were. More to the point, Dean walks around telling his grandfather how Sam is the only family he has left and he will sacrifice anything (grandfather included) to save him. He does this apparently with no irony. Also, Sam getting a happy ending is Dean's happy ending. And Sam says utterly insane things like, "I'm sorry you can't see the light at the end of this. But if you come with me, I can take you to it." I did not believe this was a real thing. I accused mollyamory of having a psychotic break when she told me about it, but no. It seems it is an actual thing that actually happened.

Also, even Sam not looking I am kind of over. From the earlier eps I have seen, and the things I've read on LJ, and what I know of the end of the season, I think he was just legit crazy, and couldn't fight anymore. Over the course of the series, Sam has a habit of just becoming someone new. He goes off to Stanford and builds a life where hunting never, ever comes up. He loses Dean to Hell, and turns himself into a weapon. Even after the apocalypse, and after the wall comes down, he's all about rebuilding himself, but much of that rebuilding is based on -- not pretence, exactly, but shutting out a lot of his actual feelings, or the stuff he can't deal with. He shut out Lucifer for months, until Dean was in danger. He's never opened up about how Dean not trusting him hurts. Amelia and a life of no hunting is just another extension of that, to me.

For me, the point now isn't whether Dean could've been brought back. The point is that Sam believe he couldn't. As far as Sam was concerned, it was hopeless. It's not even like he hasn't exhibited this behaviour before--as I remember it, he tried to make a deal as soon as Dean went to Hell, but when that didn't work, he just set about getting revenge. Sam will go crazy to save Dean as long as Dean's around to be saved, but once Dean's gone, it seems to me that Sam sets about trying to live in that reality. I suspect that tendency is even more pronounced, given the issues he's had with understanding what's real and what's not in the past.

Even if he'd thought there was a way, he knows that Dean selling his soul started the whole thing off in the first place. He knows that last time he tried to get vengeance for what happened to Dean, he nearly ended the world, and came just as close to destroying his relationship with Dean (from what he said at the end of Sacrifice, he doesn't even think that relationship is all the way fixed yet).

I'd add to that that he knows how Dean feels about being brought back from any situation where he should've been dead. He's never, ever responded to it well. Dean wasn't exactly a picture of mental health before he disappeared, and, again, given what he says in Sacrifice about Dean replacing him, I wouldn't be surprised if a part of him, even unconsciously, believed that he wouldn't be enough for Dean to come back to. To be honest, shutting down and running away from it all might not be what the crazy OTP shipper in me wanted, but it's probably a reasonable thing to have done, and it's not about how much he loves or needs Dean at all. It's about Sam having PTSD and probably depression and not seeing any other way to go on, and looking back on all the times he's failed and seeing it as proof that he'll just fail again.

What I'm saying is, I have taken Sam off notice. It's hard not to when he's promising Dean to take him to the light and begging him to believe in him. Or when, you know, he's willing to die, not so much to save the world, but so that he won't have to be around if Dean chooses someone else over him again.

Of course, this means Dean has to step up and stop saying ridiculous things to him, but I really don't think Dean saw Sam's revelation in Sacrifice coming, so I'm hopeful he will get better at saying nice things to Sam, rather than praising him to everyone who isn't Sam.

Aside from all that, I love the fact that earlier seasons are referenced so much. I haven't seen past 814, so I know there are some issues with continuity, but, in general, I feel this season has done a much better job of recognising the first 5 seasons of the series than seasons 6 or 7 did. To be honest, against all expectations, I am finding season 8 to be much more enjoyable than most of season 7, which had some excellent individual episodes, but overall did not hang together well, imo.

Jeremy Fucking Carver. I knew I should have trusted him. (I will not be saying this next week, when the spoilers come out. But let me have this time of happiness!)

Secondly, the first ep of season 2 of the Newsroom was actually good. I mean, I think. My expectations for that were pretty low, too, but many of the reviews seem to back me up. Not Sports Night or West Wing good, obviously. But a show I could watch because it's mostly enjoyable, rather than watching it because there are flashes of what Sorkin's capable of, and I keep hoping they'll turn into more than flashes. I dunno. But the women were far more competent, and a lot of the smugness was gone, and there appeared to be an actual overarching story. Who knows! It's Sorkin, so it could revert to horrendous by next week, but I am kind of hopeful.

Thirdly, I have to go back to work tomorrow after nearly 2 weeks (and a Barcelona trip) off. The part where you have to go back to work nearly makes the time off not worth it. Ugh.

And here is a potentially good thing. Maybe? LJ is pretty quiet, so I'm not sure how much interest there would be, but a round of Silverbullets schmoopiness seems in order. I will put out feelers soon, and if there is interest, it shall happen! Maybe just a lightning round, so it's quick and pressure free.

There's a first time for everything

laurificus — Mon, 24 Jun 2013 19:14:32 GMT

Look, a hurt/comfort bingo card for me! 3 guesses whether I will tend more towards hurt or comfort? Also, it is like a month until Comic-Con. What are the chances there aren't spoilers of doom and I end up writing H/C about, I dunno, Nadal/Federer?

skeletons in the closet	isolation	major illness	invisibility	interrogation
forced to rely on enemy / rival	group support	undeserved reputation	restrained	insomnia
attacked by a creature	trapped between realities	WILD CARD	fire	explosion
body image issues	hazing	hiding an injury / illness	surprise sexswap	arena
septicemia / infected wounds	disappearing	burns	therapy	moving

Actual skeletons in the closet of the Batcave, anyone?

This Monday has turned quite unexpectedly into a Tuesday

laurificus — Mon, 24 Jun 2013 17:43:35 GMT

So...that'll be my interest in Wimbledon largely done for the year, especially while Serena is being such a tool. jesus Christ, look at my unhappy face.

The E Street Band - they might fuck up once. They might even fuck up twice

laurificus — Tue, 18 Jun 2013 23:15:56 GMT

I really have to go to bed, on account of the ungodly hour I must get up at in the morning, but OMG, OMG, BRUCE! I think that might have been the most amazing thing I have ever seen. He played for 3 and a half hours! The band are still a really incredible group of musicians, and he still knows how to entertain a crowd. (There was a point, actually, where I thought the atmosphere was a bit subdued, but he fixed that. As he does.)

There were many, many awesome things, but My City of Ruins was particularly good--in part because I just love how he performs it live, and in part because it was really explicitly about Clarence. <3 And Dancing in the Dark, because--obviously. And singing Tougher than the Rest with a sign from a member of the crowd in remembrance of his father in front of his mic. Getting a little kid on stage! Twist and Shout! Really, pretty much every song I love.

There was also some really cool thing with trumpets I didn't even recognise but will google tomorrow. And! And! An acoustic version of Thunder Road, right at the end. Have I said Amazing yet? Totally was. He was so good, the entire place went silent, and people who tried to break it were shushed.

Also, dude, the first song the crowd really got into was I'm on Fire. Apparently, nobody else cares that it's incredibly creepy. Or maybe that was the draw, I dunno. My point is. AMAZING! All of it! Even the creepy song!

laurificus — Fri, 14 Jun 2013 09:46:26 GMT

You know what's better than a Friday and its promise of possibly an early finish and two long lies thereafter? A Friday where you unexpected do not have to go into work because of major power failure in the building. Long weekend for the win! Now to decide what to do with this surprising bonus...

laurificus — Thu, 13 Jun 2013 21:07:20 GMT

Dan Harmon coming back to Community has made me so very, very happy. musesfool did briefly scare me with tales of his awfulness, but dickishness and self-loathing are a small price to pay if it means getting Abed back. And even if this final season never reaches the awesome heights of seasons 1 and 2, it's Harmon's show, in a way that The West Wing was Sorkin's, and I'm glad he's going to get to finish it off. No outrageously out of character security leaks this time!

I forget what the other thing I was going to say was, but it was obviously extremely important. Josh Ritter tickets will soon be mine! That could have been it, but I don't think it was.

I am extremely tired, which I suppose is what comes of getting up at 6 and going to bed after midnight all week. Possibly, I will read some and aim for sleeping at a more reasonable hour. Sleep is probably the most important thing to talk about, so let's assume that was actually the other thing.

Fic - The Direct Approach (Supernatural, Sam/Dean, PG)

laurificus — Sun, 09 Jun 2013 19:13:47 GMT

Good Lord, I have such fic posting angst. How is it done these days! Does anyone still read on LJ? Is crossposting still a thing? Where does AO3 fit in? I have been pondering these things for days. So fuck it. Here is a fic. I have written it precisely 70 or 80 times before, but who cares. This is not the day where I am over all the speech-making and declaring of 8x23.

***

Title: The Direct Approach
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG
Word count: 1,840
Summary: All the things Sam's done, and this, right here, might be the scariest.

Notes: For mollyamory, who is always wrong about everything. Hopefully, this will be some small consolation.

The Direct Approach

The first time Dean kisses Sam, he’s just set his hair on fire.

It happens like this. There’s a ghost-an honest-to-god vengeful spirit, thank fucking Christ and all previously holy angels--camped out in an old factory just north of New Port. Nobody’s died yet, but there’s a couple of guys who aren’t going to be counting past nine on their fingers anymore, at least one who won’t be doing any counting at all on more than one hand.

“You wanna check it out?” Dean asks. Breakfast time in the Batcave, obituaries and weather patterns on the table next to the coffee cups and the plates of pancakes. Dean keeps hidden behind his mug; just in case his face is going behind his back and revealing anything stupid.

“Sure,” Sam says, no hesitation, and Dean’s whole body relaxes in relief. Two weeks Sam’s been back on his feet. They’ve ganked a hellhound, taken down one righteously pissed-off angel and had their asses handed to them by another, and apparently set up some sort of self-help group for Crowley and Cas. Restful isn’t how Dean would describe it. Exhausting. Dangerous. Those are descriptors he can get behind.

To cover his smile, he makes a show of taking the dishes to the sink. “I’ll pack the car. You crimp your hair or whatever the fuck.”

Sam flips him off as he stands. “I want sandwiches,” he says. “To eat on the road. You should make that happen.”

“Your campaign against potentially deadly roadside diner food is so unreasonable,” Dean tells his back, but there’s chicken and bacon and cheese in the fridge, mustard and onion and pickles to go along with it. And maybe a new fancy coolbag he bought the other day. Dean loads it into the car after their duffels and the weapons bag, but he’s not conceding anything.

“Can I drive?” Sam asks, once Dean’s done all the hard work.

“Are you getting sick again??” Dean’s been trying to be nice; really he has. The last thing he wants is Sam getting emo and running off to try to save the world again. But really. There’s nice and then there’s expecting miracles.

“If I were, would you let me drive?”

“Do I let you drive when you’re at your best?” Sam grins and shakes his head, and Dean claps him on the shoulder. He doesn’t take his hand away as quickly as he should, but neither of them mentions it, so it’s totally like it isn’t happening. “I’ll let you fill her up later, maybe.”

“Living the dream,” Sam says. “This is totally why I didn’t get myself purified.”

He gets in the car after that, and his arm stretched out along the seat, fingers curled around Dean’s neck, is another thing they don’t talk about. They don’t talk about Kevin, either, or Cas, or the host of fallen angels very possibly hatching plots of hitherto unreached levels of dickishness. There’s nothing they can do about any of it right now, and this is better, anyway. Sam announcing he’s going to buy a smoothie maker for the kitchen, which is way less cool than their plans to buy a pooltable (for practice,” Sam says, “For the greater good,” adds Dean), or to build another colt.

“I think we know how. Not just a colt, but, like--”

Dean’s already nodding, though Sam’s probably about to suggest something boring. “A supernatural douche destroying samurai sword. I’d look awesome with one of those.”

“And so inconspicuous,” Sam says. “You’re relationship with practicality needs work, Dean.”.

“Like you’re in any position to talk, with that hair.”

It’s reflex, a remark tossed out while he’s passing the soccer mom obeying the speed limits. Three hours later, he is totally vindicated. And no way is it his fault. The bones have been unearthed, lighter fluid and matches have been produced. It is a smooth, professional operation, like something they’d show in hunter school. Apparently their ghost doesn’t want them to be hunter school celebrities, though, because without warning he’s there, dragging Sam down, and pinning him to the ground beside the bones. Creepy ghost fingers curl around his neck, and Sam’s breath goes shallow and stuttery.

“The more things change,” Dean says, and he’s not panicking, just because Sam’s down. That would be stupid, and Dean is way better than that. He’s awesome, is what he is, and he gets a shot off almost at the same time as he throws the match. The ghost shrieks, and disappears, and reappears, and then fades completely. It’s all over in seconds, no time at all for Dean to notice that Sam’s hairs in mortal peril.

“Sam,” he says, once he has. He keeps his voice steady, soothing. “Your hair is--”

“Dude, am I on fire?” Sam makes the ghostly shrieking earlier sound well put together and contemplative. “Did you set me on fire?”

He flails around a bit, like someone with no training for dangerous situations whatsoever. “Settle the fuck down,” Dean says and beats the flames out with a bit of holy water, his jacket, and his general day-saving prowess. There’s an acrid burning smell when he’s finished, but Dean chooses to believe that’s the bones.

Sam doesn’t seem to care for the distinction. He rises to his feet, bruises round his neck and one side of his head a hilarious mess of singed fuzz. Dean still takes a step back, hands held up in futile supplication.

“In the first place,” he says, “I just saved you from being strangled to death. In the second, I just saved you from being burnt to death. Be nice, dude. And if you can’t be nice, be reasonable.”

“You,” Sam says. Reasonable and nice look like they’re a long way off. “You set my hair on fire.”

“To save you, Sammy.” To his horror, Dean can feel himself starting to smile. “You know, sometimes sacrifices have to be made. Before, the gates of hell. Now your hair. You can’t hold onto these things. Accept and move on, that’s the key. And--maybe wear a hat for a while.”

Sam has been advancing on him, murder in his eyes, but he pulls up short. For a second, his face goes totally blank, like maybe his hair has been the thing powering him all along. Then it shifts. His eyes go wide, and his mouth goes slack. It’s not a good look for him, and that’s saying something at the moment.

“Are you having a stroke?” Dean asks. “Did you survive 180 years of Hell but losing your hair is going to destroy you?”

If he can get Sam to laugh, everything will be fine. This is pretty much Dean’s life principle. And Sam does laugh, even if he tries to pretend it’s a cough. Dean saw his eyes, though; he knows.

“Whatever else I’ve done,” Sam says, moving again, right into Dean’s path, “I haven’t ever set you on fire. I want that written down somewhere.”

And he probably does, the freak. Wants it in Dad's journal and in the new one they've started, expects it engraved on holy tablets somewhere, preserved for all eternity. Dean plans to say that out loud, but he never gets there, emphatically sidetracked as he is. Because Sam's still coming at him, is still here to be unappreciative and unreasonable and a general pain in Dean's ass. And looking at him, Dean has a moment of conviction, of something that is almost certainly hope.

Maybe it’s because his hair has finally reached a zenith of ridiculous, or maybe it’s because Dean’s been telling him for years it would get him killed and finally, finally he’s been proved right, or maybe it’s just that Sam’s been making fun of him all day, like he’s really sure of Dean. Really sure of them. Dean doesn’t know. But for the first time, he feels like all Sammy’s talk of light and getting to it might actually mean something.

All the things Sam’s done, and this, right here, might be the scariest. Which would be just like him, too, staging stealth attacks without even meaning to. Dean smiles at him, his heart tripping over itself in his chest. “You have never done that, no. Do you think we could call it even?”

It wasn’t meant to come out like that. Obviously. Dean’s not Sam; he doesn’t need to ruin perfectly good moments with talking and feelings every chance he gets. But it comes out serious without his permission, and he looks back at Sam, doesn’t bother to hide the hope he thinks might show on his face now.

Sam looks at him, really looks at him, cautious in a way Dean doesn't want to see. Then he nods. “I think we could do that,” he says, and Dean didn’t need to hide anything, because Sam’s so open, happiness and affection and disbelief all trying to decide which won of them his face should settle on.

“Cool,” Dean says. Sam rolls his eyes, like he was expecting a speech

That’s Sam’s department. Dean prefers the direct approach. He'd been planning to reinstate the serious hugging rules, relaxed temporarily on account of Sam coughing up blood and terrifying Dean on a regular basis. But he’s trying to be nice. It’s an ongoing project. And besides, he wants Sam, desperately and fiercely, in a way he hasn’t let himself since purgatory, or maybe before. So he steps forward, closes whatever space still lay between them. Sam comes to him like he’s been waiting years for it, wraps his arms around Dean’s shoulders and clings. Dean’s got no room for mockery, though; Sam might have bruises where Dean’s hands are pressing him, keeping him close.

“New rules,” he says into Sam’s hair -- the untouched side--breathing him in while a lunatic certainty keeps growing that everything he wants is his to have. But it's still Sam; Sam, who’s always got to push farthest; it's him who tilts his head down and kisses him. Exactly like Dean would have expected him to kiss, if he’d ever thought about it, which, yeah, maybe he had. Exactly like and not at all. Tongue and teeth and grabby hands, tugging on Dean’s hair, demanding and insistent. All that he would have expected, on account of having met Sam before. But the way his fingers stroke over Dean's neck, the way it’s not just hot but sweet, those things Dean had never planned on. Like Dean is a promise he’s planning to keep. Dean is scared shitless by it, lit up and undone, and all he can do is kiss him back, ask for things he’s never had any right to.

“New rules,” Sam says, when talking is an option again, only it’s a question, doubt sneaking in around its edges. Dean kisses it out of him,. Because he can do that now. Same answer it’s always been; different delivery method, that’s all.

***

laurificus — Sat, 08 Jun 2013 11:34:15 GMT

It has happened at last! The annual day of summer has arrived. Possibly scurvy will be kept away for another year.

I have writing to do, and now there is sun to do it in. There is talk later of an afternoon wine gathering. It's like living somewhere not terrible!

Earlier today, there was going to be a post about Hannibal

laurificus — Sun, 26 May 2013 22:12:11 GMT

Ahem. But that will be later. For I have seen the last scene of 8x23. mollyamory tried very hard. She did. But...she could not convey to me its full glory and wonder.

OMG, I can't believe that scene exists in the world. JEREMY FUCKING CARVER!

Sam, for the record, does not care all that much about saving millions of people so long as Dean loves him best. Dean does not care all that much about saving millions of people, so long as Sam lives. I understand this is terrible. But dear God, may it ever be so.

Also, let it be noted, that 1,574 words of fic have been committed in honour, though I have no hope of replicating the magic. WTF?

Some stuff. Also, god help us all.

laurificus — Sun, 19 May 2013 15:33:19 GMT

So some stuff I meant to say the other day.

1. I spent a weekend in Barcelona. This is noteable for the fact that I actually got to see some sunshine (and drink some sparkling wine while sitting in it, obviously), but most importantly, I got to see my Barcelona boyfriends play! Sadly, they did not win the league then, but they were awesome, and Messi played. It was all very cool.

2. I haven't seen any Dr Who since Christmas. Mostly this is because I do not like the new companion woman all that much. It started out as the perfectly reasonable view that she was not Amy, and therefore terrible. Then it turned out I found her unspeakably smug. Online reviews do not suggest I am particularly wrong about this assessment, but you guys are almost certainly smarter than actual critics. Is it worth catching up with? My RL friends seem pretty mixed about it.

3. I am going skydiving! Have I mentioned this before? If I haven't, that was very stupid of me, because I am hugely excited. Not only will there be jumping out of planes, but I have also been promised a motorbike ride to get there. My mother is...less than thrilled by these developments. If anything terrible happens, I would like fandom to mourn me for at least a week. Someone make sure to organise that, please.

4. It seems to me that whether you enjoyed the S8 SPN finale depends very much on whether you want Sam and Dean to grow and be less codependent and crazy, or whether unhealthy craziness from them is all you want in life.

As I told mollyamory yesterday, I have begun daily conversations with her for the past 7 years by saying things like, "Do you think they're getting too healthy? I totally think they might be getting too healthy!" It is therefore perhaps not unsurprising that the finale has caused joy for me the like of which mere words cannot explain.

Suffice to say that I've stopped saying Jeremy fucking Carver in tones of disgust and outrage, and now say it in tones of awe and wonder. I expect this will last until the first ep of S9, but whatever. For the moment, I am so unexpectedly pleased.

And now I must go and socialise with family members. Always the people. Ruining things.

For the record

laurificus — Mon, 13 May 2013 20:42:36 GMT

I fully accept that Alex Ferguson's retirement was inevitable at some point. But I want it officially noted that I am not happy that that point is now.

There's still one game of the season left. I'm confident he can still change his mind!

I have heard rumours...

laurificus — Tue, 30 Apr 2013 17:48:56 GMT

Of this thing, where you post, and sometimes people read it, and sometimes conversation ensues. It seems unlikely, but people assure me it's true.

So work is crazy and weird and full of stuff I don't know how to do, and sometimes pretty exciting, and then OMG terrifying. And there seems to be a troubling amount of social activity going on in my life. You know how it makes me crazy when there is too much people time!

But all that is incidental. Because I am mostly posting to talk of this strange fannish urge I am having. Because I read The Farseer Trilogy, and dear God, dear God in heaven, why is there not Fitz/Fool fic everywhere? I mean, yes, Robin Hobb hates fan fic, blah blah blah. But I have read these books, people, and as I have told mollyamory, if she didn't want fic, she shouldn't have written such ridiculously shippy books. Because they are. Ridiculously shippy. I do not think I entirely believe how ridiculous they are. There's declaring and dying for one another, and actual pining and reunionating, and also world-building and good writing. It is a thing of wonder.

Also a thing of wonder is that the third Gentleman Bastard book might actually be released before I die, and that makes me want to reread the first 2, and wallow in all the awesome Locke/Jean goodness. And I also still want to write Newsroom fic, because apparently the fact that it is a terrible show isn't enough to stand in the way of my desire to ship people who argue all the time. And I am catching up on Person of Interest, and Reese is still winning me over with his violently psychopathic yet sweet ways.

And I find myself with urges to watch that other show I used to like so I can see all the hugging. And them having a home base and...hugging. It's terrible! I was out, and I am being pulled back in! By hugging. There is fic, yes? Of them living together in their home and doing domestic things and then going out to shoot stuff?

Mostly, I am saying. What is this fannish business? Can I give up my job for it? Because it seems like it might be pretty time consuming.

Signed, Sealed, Delivered

laurificus — Wed, 07 Nov 2012 06:38:21 GMT

That is all. I call this a good day.