the shorter story

Fri, 20 Oct 2006 21:46:41 GMT

source: tvguide - kripke answers questions

Question: Why on earth is Dean lying to Sam about John's final words? — Jonisa
Kripke: John made Dean promise not to tell Sam. Once you hear what the final words are, you'll understand. And yes, you will hear what they are. We reveal the secret mid-season. Dean can't handle the burden any longer, and tells Sam the truth.

OMG YES. I love all of his answers and am fully expecting an emotional rollercoaster for the rest of this season. I don't think the coaster was put into any real emotion until last night's episode. Right at the goddamned end with Dean finally breaking the teensiest bit.

Damn, but I love this show. And the boys. And Dean in particular.

Supernatural, "The Good Son" - Dean

Tue, 17 Oct 2006 21:02:05 GMT

Title: The Good Son
Word Count: 839
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Dean
Pairing: None (Gen)
Genre: Brooding/Angst
Rating: PG-13 for the liberal use of "fuck." Past dialogue reference(s) up to, and including, 2x01.
Summary: Dean sits in a bar, broods, and thinks. We all know it happens.

The Good Son

“Did Dad say anything to you?”

Dean sat at a corner table in a small bar outside of Phoenix. Shades of Gray, the sign read, and Dean nearly laughed at the coincidence before walking in and straight to the furthest corner.

He left Sam at the hotel, content with the knowledge that if anything went wrong his kid brother could take care of himself. Providing any unforeseen problem, Dean always had the sensors that would alert him. After those vampires grabbed Sammy, Dean wasn’t taking too much for granted. It called for him to be on, all of the time, never letting his guard down.

Fucking vampires. Fucking witches and demons. Fucking Sammy. In the end it all comes back to him. His father knew it and now Dean knows too. What he wouldn’t give not to.

Game face, right?

Keep it on, protect Sammy. That was the job, the real job. Hunting evil, well…that was the job too, but second to Sammy.

Dean traced the bottom of his bottle across the ring it left on the table. Where he slid the amber glass, stubby fat streaks of condensation and dirt followed.

Sam’s voice whispered in the back of Dean’s mind again, repeating the same question it asked morning, noon and night.

“Did Dad say anything to you?”

No, Dad didn’t say any thing to him. Dad had said it—the reason, the real reason, the Demon killed their mother. The reason why Jess was dead, why their father was now dead…

Why they still had to fear what was coming next.

Dean lifted the bottle to his lips, hesitated when he thought of his father’s words.

God dammit. As hard as he slammed the bottle onto the tabletop, the sound didn’t travel much further than the middle of the room. Too many people, too much noise, and no one heard a damned thing.

He caught the eye of the bartender in the mirrors that leaned at every ceiling point. They contact held just long enough for Dean to lift his beer and signal for another.

When the bartender grabbed a bottle from beneath the counter and tapped the top off before handing it off to a waitress, Dean looked down at his hands—at where he rolled the now empty bottle between his palms before sliding it aside.

He no more than nodded to the waitress in thanks. Had this been any other night, he may have winked and crooked a smile at her, saluting her with a tilt of his newly deposited beer. But tonight was not that kind of night, and Dean fought the desire to squeeze this bottle with his fingers until it broke, just as he fought it the first four bottles.

Pain in new shapes was still pain, but each attempt and success at finding an outlet should have felt different. They shouldn’t have all been shaped like his father. They shouldn’t have all felt as though he was being handed something he couldn’t handle.

So, yeah, Dad had said something. He said too much for Dean’s liking, and none of it to Sam. Hell, Sammy didn’t know anything and Dean knew enough to hope the beer in his hand, followed by six or seven more, would help him forget it all.

Dad said that Sammy wasn’t to know. So the knowledge was for Dean to know and for Dean to hold. He was the Hunter—a hunter of hunters—while Sam, unknowingly, was the Hunted. And no one would get to his little brother. No one, and definitely not a filthy fucking demon, would touch his brother without going through Dean. He promised.

He made that promise each night his father left them to track, to hunt, and to kill. And Dean made that promise again as his father stood over him at the hospital, hovering at his ear, telling him—telling him what Sammy really was, what the Demon really wanted.

His fingers gripped the bottle too tightly. Dean knew the glass had given way but felt nothing; nothing new.Nothing that wasn’t already familiar. He swung his arm across the table as he stood, hitting and scattering his discarded empties that sat on the table. And when they hit the wall next to him, he didn’t bother to brush away what glass flew and cut his cheek.

He stepped away from the table and hunched into his jacket before walking out of the bar.

Sammy needed him. Not right this moment, but for always.

So, Dean would do this right. He’d get to their shared room, wash the blood and glass from his hands and maybe shower some of the beer away. The ache would just have to stay. It would keep him awake, keep him sharp.

Keep him ready to protect.

He was the good son. The one who always followed orders, always listened. There was never any reason to question--never would be.

Not when it meant he could lose Sammy too.

Tue, 17 Oct 2006 08:35:36 GMT

This is the part where I say I wish I could have gone to WinchesterCon '06. I've been sucked into everyone's posts, though I search out ones with photos and names so I can put names to faces.

Because I felt bad for myself, I made the "I'M IN UR CAR / STEALIN' UR METALLICA" icon with Jensen. I'm pretending he's Dean because I think Dean is hotter behind the wheel. And, umm, only Dean would steal another person's Metallica.

I guess this is all just my saying: next year, man.

Tue, 26 Sep 2006 21:36:53 GMT

I noticed on the RSS feed for my local library's new book section, that they just shelved an Amber Benson book. When looking for what these books were about, I stumbled across the fact that Amber will be on Supernatural in an episode called "Blood Lust" (s2ep3).

So far season 2's, episodes 1-8 have been posted on epguides.com:

2- 1      28 Sep 06    In My Time of Dying
2- 2      5 Oct 06      Everybody Loves A Clown
2- 3      12 Oct 06     Bloodlust
2- 4      19 Oct 06     Afterlife
2- 5      26 Oct 06     Simon Said
2- 6      2 Nov 06      No Exit
2- 7      9 Nov 07      The Usual Suspects
2- 8      16 Nov 06     Crossroad Blues

Sun, 17 Sep 2006 01:57:02 GMT

For those haven't seen me post these in my other journal, I give you some seriously funny shit featuring:

Don't Feel Like Dancin' : Angel & Spike from Buffy.

Don't Feel Like Dancin' : Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles of Supernatural.

I couldn't stop making the damned things, but these are fan-related so have fun.

Vampire High

Fri, 08 Sep 2006 05:15:30 GMT

I'm in a sharing mood, so I present to you something both tacky AND amusing (and something I totally enjoy):

Vampire High - 1x01 - Rules are Rules

Huge ass crazy icon post for ETHROSDEMON

Fri, 01 Sep 2006 05:32:20 GMT

K and J wanted some icons. I wanted to procrastinate.

Preview:

Country and Cowboys

Preview:

Stargate Atlantis
(I may have thought Ronon was more interesting looking and, thus, made more icons, but whatever. I don't even watch the damned thing. Okay, there may be quite a bit of that one guy--umm, a lieutenant or something? The one who makes strange faces. He seems crazycakes via ep-stills but he's nice to look at.)

Preview:

Flowers and Water and Pretty Things

Thu, 31 Aug 2006 01:35:55 GMT

I think what makes me miss SPN the most is that I've been watching Dark Angel lately. Jensen is ALL OVER THAT SHOW and he was smirking then long before Supernatural. In fact, in his character Alec there is so much Dean it makes me ache. There are obvious differences, but they're a lot alike. I think Alec and Dean should meet. I'm not doing it, though. Still, the yum in that is exciting.

Wed, 30 Aug 2006 19:02:05 GMT

Of course I come back, see that there's been a MONSTER-MEGA-HORZ post over at spn_gleeweek for friending and I've pretty much missed most of it. I may pop over there later and see who I can scoop up. But, um, 3600 comments? If we go on the assumption that each first comment has at LEAST 20 comments, that's 180 people. I'm sure there's actually more than that, but still... that's a freakin' lot of people. *LOVES*

I didn't plan on keeping this journal open for this long, but what the hell. I miss the boys.

What Jared and Jensen Were Doing to Make them Twenty Minutes Late

Wed, 30 Aug 2006 05:41:45 GMT

So, yes, I'm back. A bit.

For those who don't know, Thursday is Nan's (estrella30) birthday. As she rocks a whole lot (and I say that without knowing her as well as a lot of others do), I decided to write her this Jared/Jensen, to be posted in the community made especially for her.

Title: What Jared and Jensen Were Doing to Make them Twenty Minutes Late
Fandom: RPS
Who: Jared P. and Jensen A.
FOR Who: estrella30, because she's pretty and doesn't know coding! And also because it's her birthday soon.
Words: Around 650.
Rating: Oh, you know, the kind where words like "cock," and situations that include blow jobs, are allowed. NWS, fo'sho'

What Jared and Jensen Were Doing to Make them Twenty Minutes Late*

No matter how hard he tries Jensen can't wash the marker off; it remains bold and black against the dusky-pink hue of his cock.

There’s a kind of face in Jared’s heavy line-work. The drawing has short marker-ed hair and a shadow of stubble that runs around, and underneath, the smooth head. Jared made sure to let Jensen know that he drew it facing away from Jensen so that he could smile at it right before rolling his tongue under its would-be chin.

During his shower before the interview, Jensen closes his eyes when he remembers how the face disappeared in and out of Jared’s mouth.

The vigorous rubbing of the washcloth against his aching cock slips him into a mental battle over which he wants more: the mixture of pleasure and pain as he fists himself beneath the hot water, or the anticipation in the minutes it would take to find Jared's room down the hall of the hotel.

He can't wait for those minutes. He can't wait when all it takes is a second to remember what Jared can do with that wide mouth, a second to think on how Jared's drawl is always thickest with him, when Jared is pressed against him. There's no decision to make, no having to wait for it; there's a tightening inside his hand, low inside his stomach, and Jensen leans his forehead against the shower-wall tile.

Water pulses against his back as he comes.

***

Jensen plays it off as if he had nothing to do with Jared OR the party the previous night. But Jensen also pretends to not be a big cock sucker, so Jared doesn't bother with minding.

Jared has a simple face drawn on his cock, farther back from the head, with a curious-looking set of what he thinks are hands. They nearly wrap their thin fingers around him completely and though they look nothing like Jensen's fingers, Jared knows their his.

The hands hold an as-detailed-as-it-could-possibly-be sketch of a PSP. One fat, black line twists it’s way toward the head of Jared’s cock. Jared knows it’s supposed to resemble the cable they connect between them when they bend over small screens and play against one another. The would-be cable meets at the tip of his head, the very place that Jensen always slips his tongue into when he teases Jared before sucking him deep. The moment before Jared fists Jensen's hair in his wide hands, drawls out how great his mouth is. Moments, earlier still, before Jensen stops just long enough, looking heavenward up into the bangs and lashes that are leaning over him, and tells Jared how he tastes of Texas and feels like home.

Jared thought it was funny last night when Jensen told him he was really drawing himself. It’s supposed to be me, you see; a kind of joke about how I control you. Jared knew he slurred something about how Jensen was the Master of his Cock, then laughed at how ludicrous it sounded. He remembered more the look on Jensen’s face, and how serious he became soon after.

Now that Jared’s sober he still thinks it’s pretty funny. Jensen, the Master of his Cock. But when Jared crouches to step into the hotel shower, taking care to not hit his head on anything, a knock on the hotel room door sounds out. He moves to the bathroom door as Jensen’s voice calls to him through wood, tells him that their car is ready and waiting. And then Jared hears Jensen’s voice inside his room from the night before. He can feel Jensen’s fingers pulling long over the spindle-fingers he drew on Jared. He can see Jensen looking up at him, telling him he felt like home. And Jared leans out of the bathroom doorway and shouts that he needs a few more minutes to get ready.

* refers to the Oct. issue of SFX.

Here, have some "the boys are back in town," why dont'cha.

Tue, 02 May 2006 10:56:34 GMT

The drink will flow and blood will spill
And if the boys want to fight, you'd better let them

Mon, 24 Apr 2006 23:19:49 GMT

Finals. No writing for a while. *sigh*

Fri, 21 Apr 2006 00:24:38 GMT

Supernatural tonight! In just over a half-hour! Why isn't my wireless internet working?????

[ETA "location" is a rehab facility?]

Fri, 14 Apr 2006 20:16:12 GMT

Work let us off early on account of the weekend being what it is and all. Whatever.

Hope everyone got their votes in over at the Choose Your Own Adventure, Supernatural part 3 poll. Poll officially closes tonight! Pimp around, vote, et cetera, if you want to see anything other than Dean walking in on Sam jacking off in a convenience store bathroom stall! Just warning you.

Fri, 07 Apr 2006 10:58:58 GMT

DANIEL KNAUF, creator of Carnivale, wrote last night's Supernatural episode. No wonder it fucking rocked like a rocking thing! I LOVE ME SOME DANIEL KNAUF. *cough* Time to get ready for work!

Fri, 07 Apr 2006 03:36:46 GMT

You wish you were Nan! Supernatural comment porn (make way for wincest). A girl's gotta help another girl out in the way of ovaries bursting.

Fri, 07 Apr 2006 02:06:02 GMT

SPN share time! My only thought after the whole episode? Dean lives on the surface but he's really very deep!

The girlfriend mocked.

Choose Your Own Adventure: Supernatural, Part II

Thu, 06 Apr 2006 22:58:30 GMT

Title: The one in which Sam realizes he has a kink for stubble.
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam/Dean
Rating: R/NC-17
Words: 1,756
Summary: Sam and Dean are driving. Sam has a lot of
perverted thoughts and, uhh, finds a new kink! Vampire
talk begins.
Notes: Part 1. Thanks to shealynn88 and sailorhathor for the beta work. I'll stop tallying poll results for the next CYOA segment next Thursday, the 13TH, at 11:59pm. This should be plenty of time for all visitors to think over their decisions and vote. Pimp this to your friends!

When Sam collapsed into the passenger side of the Impala he threw the bag of Twizzlers at Dean's head.

"Owww—damn, Sammy. What the hell?" Dean rubbed vigorously at the side of his head where his beloved red snacks had hit him. He shot a sideways glance at his brother and caught Sam grinning. The smug bastard had thoroughly enjoyed what could have scarred his rugged complexion.

Injuries and scars from waging battles with the supernaturally crazy were one thing. Injuries given to him from sharp slips of plastic, often received because of his less-handsome brother's jealousy and sure aim, were another. Twizzler scars were not heroic.

Dean smirked as his thoughts slid back to his brother. Sam may have inherited some decent looks and a few inches of height, but Dean knew he was better looking and, well, there were inches elsewhere that… ha! He was kidding—really; it’s not like he ever… not that he had ever. Well.

He placed the plastic edge of the Twizzlers package in his mouth and bit. With one fierce tug, his jaw locked and his teeth tore through. The heady smell of sugar and an undercurrent of spice cut through the air.

#

In the passenger seat Sam rolled his eyes. A deep inhale—customary and always a bit dangerous—came from Dean as he breathed in over the bag; his eyes shut and the Impala swerved. Sam found himself half annoyed, half charmed, a semi-perpetual state which Sam considered his own corner of Hell. A corner reserved for men who fantasized about their brothers jerking off in the shower, rolling a wet hand over a glistening cock. Sam could no longer count the times—he would get lost in the one, two, ten… fifteen hundred—he heard his brother scrape a no-name colored shower curtain, in a no-name kind of motel, back in order to step in. And Sam could no longer count the times he slipped into the shower after Dean had stepped out, only to stand in the still-wet tub, imagining the what-if of sliding into the shower while Dean was still in it—Dean still naked and wet.

Sam always found himself in that place: the same place, in dozens of different towns and shit-hole motels. The only thing between him and the desire to slide against his brother was the worry he’d be rebuked. But desire won smaller battles and Sam would find himself pressing a wide-spanned hand against cheap tile as he took his cock in his hand. With urgency he would lean against the wall, shocked by the cool touch as though he hadn’t done this in every room they shared since he—years, okay? He’d been doing it for years.

Dean. Sam always saw the back of his brother’s head in the moisture droplets that clung to the turquoise and pink tile. He imagined pressing Dean against the shower wall, imagined Dean pushing back against his hips, Dean’s ass eager for Sam. And Sam stroked himself, letting the head of his cock scrape over grout lines in the wall, picturing himself pushing into Dean, his brother bending slightly to allow Sam to go deeper, reach farther.

Sam heard the sounds of pleasure he’d expected.

When he heard Dean exhale long and slow, searing memories caused a ripple of heat to crest in hot waves that championed up his back. His skin broke out in peaked goosebumps and he clamped a hand on the door's handle.

He could do it.

If it didn't get cooler in this car—if Dean didn't stop radiating electric heat with just a glance—Sam would simply open the door and hurl his self out onto gravel.

Sam stole a sideways glance at his brother under the guise of shielding the sun from his eyes. What he saw was Dean sliding the Twizzler between his lips, sucking on it slightly as he pulled it from his mouth.

How much longer would he be able to hold off moving across the seat and pushing against his brother?

The Twizzler glistened in the sunlight and Sam grabbed the map from the two feet of leather he so very much wanted to slide across.

#

Dean looked over at Sam in time to watch his brother roll his head toward the window. He tongued the Twizzler to the side of his mouth. It made him think of straw between his teeth, of overalls and dopey hats, and a dream he had of Sam and a tussle they had on a camping trip. Dean risked a quick look at Sam’s profile before turning eyes back on the road ahead. Well, camping trip—Dean thought of air quotes and grinned around the Twizzler at how clever he was—was what he told Sam, but it was something more along the lines of Dean just wanting to see Sam in flannel with a gun strapped to his back.

Dean cleared his throat and pulled the Twizzler from his lips. “Where we going, Sammy?”

“Hell,” Sam said on a sigh. His breath fogged the window.

“What’s that?” Dean asked.

“Nothing,” Sam replied. And when Dean began to crumple the Twizzler bag one-handed, Sam picked up the convenience store bag from the floor. Dean heard him start to say, “Don’t throw that in the bac—” before the muted sound of plastic hitting leather followed his words.

Dean shrugged it off before leaning forward to slip AC/DC into the tape deck.

Only the first few chords of “For Those About to Rock” pumped out before Sam leaned forward and popped the tape out. Sam turned I-am-so-annoyed-right-now eyes on Dean and turned the radio off with a resounding click. Dean only thought about how long his brother’s lashes were and how Sammy used to skim them down his… he coughed.

Sam leaned over the back of their seat and grabbed the Twizzlers plastic wrapper.

#

“My car, Sammy. House rules: driver—“

“Yes, I know. ‘Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole.’ How many times do I need to tell you how ridiculous that makes you sound?”

Neither brother moved toward the tape that hung out of the radio’s mouth. It hung there for a mile, and Sam was mesmerized by how it rocked up and down when the Impala hit pits and potholes in the road. It hung there and Sam thought if he stared at it much longer he would start to imagine his cock in Dean’s mouth, moving hard inside that small warmth, fisting his brother’s hair and jerking agains—

“Sammy? Sam?” Dean’s voice jerked Sam from his fantasy. No, he distracted him; no jerking involved.

“Yeah, yeah… I’m all right.” He looked back at the tape. It still hung there, rigid, in the small mouth of the cassette player, exactly like a cock waiting to explode. Great.

“That head thing again,” Dean said, nodding like a man who knew everything.

Sam turned in his seat toward the passenger door so his growing erection was hidden by the angle of his hip and thigh.

“Yeah,” he mumbled into his fist. He coughed, but the cough became a choke when Dean clapped a too-warm hand on his shoulder. He had to bite down on a knuckle to keep himself from leaning into the warmth, to keep from moving either his hand, or his brother’s, down his chest, down his stomach, to press against the tight span of jeans where his cock thumped and jerked at each pat of Dean’s hand.

Sam shifted again. “Yeah,” and he looked down at the teeth indentations on his finger, “it’s a head thing.”

“So,” Sam said, coughing once more to emphasize how so not… affected he was by his fantas—by his… being sleep deprived? Oh, Hell: his I’m-totally-burning-in-a-special-Hell-here hallucinations.

“Possible vampirism. Orlando.”

“Orlando,” Dean asked. And the way he said Orlando?—as though someone had just laid a Four of a Kind down on his Full House—“Four Queen’s?”—had Sam smiling again.

Back to normal; Sam could do normal. “I know,” he said. “The sun,” and he folded the map over the Georgia, Alabama, Florida border. “But I think it’s an attraction to the people rather than the Disney adventure.”

“Chicks, yeah; I can see how Vamps would be attracted to the bikinis and smell of heated suntan oil. Sammy, you ever notice how a girl’s skin will smell like coconuts and vanilla for day—“

Not chicks, Dean. Focus. Sam tried to look stern at his brother but goddamn nearly moaned.

There was stubble on Dean's jaw line. Why the hell would he notice that? And what was so goddamned hot about stubble? It only looked like it would scratch; like it would rub places raw; like it would burn and make him feel Dean on his inner thighs for days after, and oh, shit.

He sighed. This was going to require another stop somewhere with an attached bathroom.

“Well, just because you can’t get laid…” Dean whistled his last words into a wobbly rendition of “Sad but True.”

Sam clamped his lips shut and wrinkled the map for effect. “Stop at the next station. I’ve, um, gotta take a leak.”

#

Dean slapped a palm against the steering wheel. “I’ve got it,” he said as Sam folded himself back into the car.

“I’m thinking vampire.” Dean stretched out behind the wheel and threw an arm over the back of the seat. He spared a glance at the road before pulling out of the gas station. He looked over at his brother. “Hot!”

Sam looked uncomfortable.

Dean continued, “A Buffy, but with fangs.”

“Your obsession with blondes is revolting, Dean.”

“And yours isn’t?” Dean snorted. “What about Miss Freaky Hag-Face who was all set to jump on your ‘downtown’ before killing you and me and Dad?”

“’Downtown,’ Dean? Really?” Sam laughed, shaking his head. He pushed his bangs back off his face.

“And me,” Dean emphasized again, focusing once more on what was important. “I’ve got too many bars left to visit, too many women left who need a visit… too many pool games to play.”

“You really keep them in order, don’t you? A real master of priorities.” Sam tapped the map with a forefinger. “Can we get back to it?”

“I thought I was,” he said and turned a wounded look on Sam. “Buffy,” and Dean took his hands off the wheel to mime fanged teeth, his fingers crooked at the corners of his mouth. “I could do something with that.”

View Poll: Choose Your Own Adventure: Supernatural, part 3

Tue, 04 Apr 2006 02:16:42 GMT

Choose Your Own Adventure: Supernatural, partdeux, is still out with beta's. I choose to take this as a sign that we're all just, perhaps, a bit busy; not that it sucks.

Today I started a new job. I gave notice to my previous one on Friday. Typically it's the nice thing to do, giving people two weeks notice, but with temp agencies, there is no need. My supervisor from my assignment (of over a year) was sad to hear I was leaving but, ultimately, I'm happy with the decision to leave. It may have entirely been based on money, but I also know that the work itself won't make me want to pack a revolver. Just sayin'.

Hopefully we'll get some CYOA soon. It'll probably be a while before I get to part three with the full-time work, full-time school, hour commute, and so on, but we'll see. Maybe I'll spend my 1/2 hour lunches writing notes for fic.

Sat, 01 Apr 2006 06:14:47 GMT

Anyone up for playing beta on the 2nd part of CYOA? It's 1,655 words, so not much. Let me know here with your e-mail if you're interested or e-mail me at checkerboardsky @ gmail . com

I don't want to believe it.

Fri, 31 Mar 2006 15:30:11 GMT

The girl and I are only 1 disc away from watching the end of Season 2 of Arrested Development. But she read it, told me, and I... well, I'm dumbfounded.

From my other journal:

Arrested Development Fans: Showtime offered, AD Creator turned him down; says he's done with the show.

KANE; music download

Mon, 27 Mar 2006 15:41:42 GMT

I was poking around the KANE music website, happened upon the "Audio/Video" portion and saw something I was interested in. I thought other KANE music enthusiasts might enjoy it a bit, so I converted the video to audio only.

KANE - "Never Take the Place of Your Man" (Prince Cover, full intro and song) (sendspace, mp3)

and for those who don't want to listen to Chris jabber on and sound gorgeous:

KANE - "Never Take the Place of Your Man" (Prince Cover, minus intro) (sendspace, mp3)

CYOA talk and a SPN REC

Thu, 23 Mar 2006 14:35:51 GMT

I'm somewhere around 600 words for the CYOA-Supernatural, part 2. It's taking me longer than I thought because the boys just want to check each other out, not get catty with each other. *sigh* Oh, boys.

I'll write some more this evening as work looks down on the reading/writing/thinkingof porn while in the office. Stupid work.

The girlfriend, if she were awake, would say something like, "aren't you running late to work?" To which I'd have to answer in the positive. BUT I have a rec for my flist:

FIC REC
Author: apocalypsos
Title: This Life'll Be the Death of Me
Fandom: Supernatural; Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Dean's best work is done with his hands.

Supernatural Ficathon, courtesy of estrella30!

Mon, 20 Mar 2006 16:11:11 GMT

A Supernatural Ficathon. estrella30 wants your vote on whether you'd be interested in a SPN ficathon, the TYPE of ficathon you'd prefer, et cetera. Go, fill it out! Pimp in your journal, communities, and to your neighbors. Maybe not your neighbors.

Choose Your Own Adventure: Supernatural; voting closed for round 1

Mon, 20 Mar 2006 13:55:48 GMT

The Choose Your Own Adventure, voting round one, closed last night. I'll begin writing what the majority chose and reveal it around Wednesday or Thursday for the next round of voting.

Thanks everyone!