swan_bite: Anna eating some cotton candy and looking smug about it (sam & dean looking at stars)
the family business
“I don’t want to pay you for sex,” she said, in a tone of voice that implied that Dean was clearly the dumbest kid in the class. “I don’t want a one-night stand,” she told him condescendingly, “I want a sperm donor. Moron.”
sam/dean (supernatural)
15,000 words

"Sleep Well America" by Petite Madame

* omg, when i thought about reading this fic again i didn't remember HOW FUCKING FUNNY THIS FIC WAS!
“I’ll give you five hundred bucks.”

The parking lot was absolutely silent. Finally, two sounds interrupted the quiet – Dean shouting, “Lady, are you crazy?!” and Sam cracking up with huge guffaws.

Dean was completely shocked and appalled – at least partly because he’d actually considered it for a minute. Hey, the girl was hot, and he probably would have done her anyway. But then again, she might be evil, and also, hello, not a whore.

“Hello, not a whore,” he told the crazy lady.

She rolled her eyes again. “I don’t want to pay you for sex,” she said, in a tone of voice that implied that Dean was clearly the dumbest kid in the class. “I don’t want a one-night stand,” she told him condescendingly, “I want a sperm donor. Moron.”

Sam cracked up again while Dean just stood there and tried to process.

Not-Desdemona watched him try to cope.

“Well,” she said at last, “Thank God I’m not depending on your genes for the brains, that’s all I’ll say.”

Read more... )

The Enterprise's first mission under the (official) captaincy of James T. Kirk.

"Vulcan Massages" by Glockart

* This fanart actually crackily encompasses what this fic is all about. Pining!Kirk and the evolution of his relationship with Spock, shaped by the residue left by that infamous mind-meld.
* I've never watched TOS so I don't know if it's true, but I read a few comments and apparently the author rewrote TOS episodes with the Reboot cast. If that's a draw for anyone then, cool.
* This was Gen Slash, meaning that the plot was as important as the "porn." Which, yeah, I totally enjoyed.
* The prose wasn't remarkably beautiful, but I liked it. It flowed, didn't feel clunky or like it got in the way of the story and the characterizations were IC and well-rounded.
* I loved how the author began a fic where Spock and Kirk were not even friends and then successfully showed the slow and convincing progress of their passionate relationship, all the while making them go in fun but increasingly dangerous adventures.
* Pon Farr, bitches, Pon Farr.

Rating: >:-I >:-I >:-I >:-I ha!
swan_bite: Anna eating some cotton candy and looking smug about it (Default)
* so apparently when i say "i'm gonna do the blogowrimo" i mean i will watch "Arrested Development: and "Parks and Recreation" ignore the hell out of LJ, read books, and lurk like a hor on tumblr.

* i've been using a DW to private post my favorite fics because SPN has made me afraid as fuck of losing all the fics i hold close to my heart because some brilliantly talented author no longer feels any joy in this fandom and doesn't want (totally justifiable, because it's every author's right) to post their fics online. what do you guys do to save your favorite fics?

*pls to not be talking to me about the latest episode, because i haven't watched it-- I'm scared to. I feel so hopeless ever since Castiel went the way of Virginia Wolf and I haven't been able to feel the same joy and excitement I used to feel when I watched the show, and I'm just really apprehensive. though I'm actually kind of weird since sometimes tragedy makes me go in the other direction-- like "Glory" with Den Washington: that kind of tragedy lifts me up into the stratosphere. I'm not sure though, that SPN can deliver that amount of beautiful catharsis.

* want a card or a card and a book? made by little old me? go here! xP some awesomesauce bitches have already signed up. don't miss out on my cracktastic fanart cards and flawless taste in gay books! ;DDDDD

FanReading List for the Holidays.
i encourage y'all to do this, create your own reading lists of fics and comment, because comments are ♥ and authors everyone can use a little ♥ during the Holidays.
Read more... )
swan_bite: Anna eating some cotton candy and looking smug about it (katie that sexay biatch)

Dean got a look in his eye like a deer stuck in the Impala's headlights, like Sam had seen that one time when they were driving down some back road late at night and a doe and her fawn had crossed the road in front of them. Sam never forgot how they stood frozen in place, and he'd never forgiven his father for hitting the fawn, although logically he knew it wasn't John's fault.

The little body had gone flying through the air and the doe had skittered off into the woods while her baby thumped onto the shoulder of the road and lay still and broken, its eyes blank in the moonlight.

The whole gruesome tableau had stayed with Sam for years, stuck in his memories, showing up in his nightmares whenever he was particularly angry at his father.

And that expression of frozen terror was what he saw on his brother's face whenever Sam got too close. Sam started deliberately brushing his arm across Dean's when he reached past him for the ketchup while they ate, or bumping his shoulder into Dean's when they tramped side by side through the woods, following along behind their father while he taught them the art of tracking..

Blues in the bod by extemporally

"How are the exchange students this term?" Andrew asked. He'd really wanted to go to the dinner they'd held to welcome the students from Columbia, except he'd bought tickets for the screening of The Man Who Fell To Earth at Modern Art Oxford and it'd so happened that the dinner and the film had been on the same day.

Ellen shrugged. Ellen was Canadian, but she wasn't an exchange student. She was an international student who decided she'd rather spend four years focusing on what she really loved (Biology; she wanted to live in an ecological commune someday) than "flailing around at a liberal arts school", and now she was in the third year of her degree. Last year she had been the college's LGBTQ representative and this year she was returning to the committee as the international students' rep. Andrew loved her. "Not bad," she said. "I sat next to this guy with dark curly hair who wouldn't say much. He had the bluest eyes, though."

"Sounds exactly like my type," Andrew told her, pretending to swoon. "Did you get a name?"

"I did, actually," Ellen said. "Jesse Eisenberg."

“Deception, deceit. The Shining One is a predator. Save the little ones: they have not yet had the chance to grow. Save the little ones.”

I frown. “We need to find this so-called Shining One.”

Spock nods and whispers against the bark, asking directions. I watch his lips and feel a familiar flip of yearning low in my stomach. I don't need this crap. It's probably just too much fresh air. I approach the tree myself and trace my hand over its gnarled flesh. “We've already beamed back some seedlings and we'll try to take as many as we can. Your children will not be lost.”

Spock's face seems slightly less serious, which means I've managed to shock the hell out of him. “It has understood you.”

I smile softly, patting the trunk. “I like this tree.”

Something terrifying flashes in Spock's eyes for a millisecond and I let my hand fall back down to my side. I couldn't have seen that. Jealousy? Over a tree?

“The Shining One is located three kilometers north in a large valley,” Spock says, his voice as cold as ever.

I must be going crazy.

Brendon still hadn’t gotten used to how quiet it was as an only child, even though he probably made enough noise to compensate for at least one or two siblings. He hummed obnoxiously as he headed for the kitchen without changing out of pajamas, figuring that if he managed to spill anything on himself, at least he wouldn’t be in his church clothes yet.

It was when he passed the window at the landing of the stairs that he realized something was off.

The sun was way too high for it to still be morning, which meant they should have been at church hours before. Brendon’s family never missed church. Tentatively, he called, “Mom? Dad?” as he jogged the rest of the way down the stairs.

There was no reply, and when Brendon got into the kitchen, it was empty.

“Huh,” he said, leaning against the doorframe to take stock of the situation. For a wild moment he wondered if they’d actually left without him—if the conversation from the previous night had actually stuck with them. It seemed unlikely, considering that his father had been pretty adamant when telling Brendon that it was church, or hell. Brendon was still proud that he’d refrained from answering that.

A hand catches Dean as he steps away, wraps all the way around his wrist, makes him look small, which Dean fucking well is not. "Dean. Thank you."


The hunter makes that almost-smile of his, like he's forgotten how to do it and he's just imitating everyone else. "Call me Sam, okay?"

"Yeah," Dean says, clutching the med kit tightly. "Okay. Uh, Sam."

"G'night, Dean." And then and then oh God, the almost-smile is more smile-like, and there are white teeth and oh shit dimples.

And then Dean's shutting the door behind him and he's got a hard-on for the eighth time today and he's sharing a shitty motel room with his dad and his twelve-year-old little brother, and he heads for the shower so he can jerk off over a really hot, definitely alcoholic, probably crazy and borderline suicidal hunter.

And this is why Sam Moore is ruining Dean Winchester's life.


P r o f i l e R e c s

swan_bite: Anna eating some cotton candy and looking smug about it (the great g)
I kiss you because... by glassyskies

There are so many minutes but this is the one. (They’re all the one lately.) Jensen leans forward and breathes in and out carefully. The ice is everywhere. Blackly dangerous.

This is the exact minute I decided I’m in love with you. I’ll never love anybody else but you.

Jensen checks his wrists for a watch, but there isn’t one, not one that works. Only the accessories he needs to make him show up as believable onscreen.

He has been a dozen, more, other people without ever having been himself except now, this minute, this exact freezing day.

And he thinks, I’m useful, if you keep me. I fix your socks and find your left shoe when you lose it. Kissing you is never exactly perfect, which is why I love you the most.

trust graded on a curve by blackeyedgirl

Harvey had missed the beginning, the first time he heard this. This time, Mike says, “And I told you that I work with Harvey. And he didn’t… you’re not going to find anything. Even if you do convince Jessica to fire me. You won’t get anything on him.” He still looks scared but he holds his ground on this. Like here, finally, is where he’s taking a stand. On whether or not Louis can get Harvey fired.

On the plus point, Harvey now knows who he needs to kill. Clarity of purpose is important. He makes his entrance. “Louis. I believe we’ve spoken about this before.” He puts his arm around Mike’s shoulders, wondering at the sudden shiver.

Eventually, the meditation will not be enough. Going in and coming out is getting harder by the second, and the practice has long since ceased to be soothing or restful. His quarters are hot, heavy with incense smoke, but he shivers anyway, his body mocking him. Strength, discipline, his very being, all betrayed by the roiling burn building in the base of his spine, the pit of his belly. His mind is stretching, reaching out for a mind that isn't there, destroyed along with so many others.

He will lie here, barely breathing, as the blood fever soaks into his brain, robbing him of what little control he has left. He will cease to see, cease to understand, and will crave flesh...to tear, to possess, to claim. As every cell of his body screams at him, his mind will stretch until it snaps, seeking safe harbor in a bond that will never come.

“You can’t stop me,” Erik tells him. His lips tasted like the sunset his face was bathed in, his hands were cold. Another hour in another ugly hotel room, and no one talks about the fact home is a state of mind neither of them ever achieved.

“I can’t let you win, either,” Charles responds. The sheets are worn, his head is a pounding mess. There’s a neon light opposite making a handful of lying promises, a letter fizzing and sputtering.

Erik’s lips twitch. It’s not a smile but it feels like a crack in armour, a bead of light. He’s a lot more than he can ever let himself be, an eternal argument and perhaps it’s for the best.

“We’re at an impasse, then,” he says. He sounds almost relieved.

Nyota looks up from her datapad with a frown; two chairs to her left, Dr. McCoy straightens with an alarmed look that Spock interprets as belated dread. Setting down the requisition logs, Spock folds his hands and waits for the Captain to continue; there is nothing, he thinks, illogical about curiosity in how Captain Kirk will approach the problem Spock had recognized within two weeks of their departure from Earth.

"Captain?" Lieutenant Sulu says warily.

"Just--" Captain Kirk puts his datapad down and stands up. "I'm going back to bed. If the Romulans attack, call me to kill them. You know, when there's something to do."


*updated profile recs with spn, social network rps, strek, and bandom.
swan_bite: Anna eating some cotton candy and looking smug about it (Default)
i am desperately seeking susan looking for an artist to draw my summer header. and summer? it's almost over. okay, i'm exaggerating but not by much. what do I want?

Sin (from the very enjoyable Demon's Surrender) Baby Doll, Castiel, Erik, Harry Potter & Spock chillin' at the beach, like it's a Corona commercial, with said coronas and margaritas and whatever else being drank while tanning. is that really too much to ask? come on, you know you want to see Castiel and Spock building a sandcastle while Harry warns Erik on the dangers of becoming the Next Dark Lord while Erik flirts with him (having that thing for earnest, self-righteous boys that he does) and Sin and Baby Doll share a huge beach-towel and Sin rubs a LOT of sunscreeen on Baby's delicate skin because it could burn to a crisp and...er...my screen is getting foggy and i've lost my train of thought. what was i talking about again?

right. i need to find me an artist. =/ you know any? help me out. pls?
swan_bite: Anna eating some cotton candy and looking smug about it (like a dungeon dragon)
* my favorite show this summer. dear lawd, i'm already trolling for fanfic, and bitches? there is fanfic already. looky here AO3 rocks my socks:


* i've changed my profile recs, just in case anybody's looking for some suits, x-men, spn, or newtrek fics.

* what am i doing right now? Coffee Prince by way of [livejournal.com profile] thefourthvine i love how she manages to find "push the gender envelope" shows in K-Dramaland. o.O bizarre & awesome.
swan_bite: Anna eating some cotton candy and looking smug about it (type it)
changing these profile recs, so here they are saved for posterity.

Noir by Whereupon

It occurs to him then that the rustling isn't just coming from beneath his feet, but from somewhere to the side, as though something is following him, hidden by the tassels and stalks and leaves, and he knows, with a flash of dread insight, that he is not armed. He looks ahead; Dean is no longer visible, and he does not dare look behind him, nor to either side, in case he might glimpse whatever's after him. He smells smoke and realizes suddenly that the field is burning, someone has set it alight, and then without warning he's not dreaming anymore, he's awakened by Dean's hand on his chest, his name in Dean's voice, the way he used to be, all through those weeks after the fire.

That little voice in the back of your mind telling you to go right instead of left – that's your guardian. Your guardian is the one who suggests that maybe you don't want to go home with that guy, or that you shouldn't take the shortcut today. Your guardian hints that perhaps you should go home a little early or that maybe the next flight is a better one. What humans think of as gut instinct actually is a voice belonging to someone – something -- else.

24 x 22 cm by Leupagus




Wayfinding by Rageprufrock

Sam is a giant and a genius. He takes a fuckton of women's study courses, and every year, he goes to Take Back the Night and stands out like a massive, awkward beanstalk in an ocean of girls with Buddy Holly glasses. He vets all her boyfriends. He sort of telekinetic and scared of it, but he fights it, it works it, he tries to control it. He always wants to listen, to know how you feel about something. He always wants to help. He fights with Dad because he thinks Deanna deserves better, that he deserves better. He wants, and he wants to give, he wants to help. He makes her laugh.

To Fuck and Fight by Likecharity

He fucks everything up, because that's all he knows. He scares the shit out of all of them, partly for revenge and partly for pure amusement. And Freddie goes mental, fingers tight at the collar of Cook's shirt, face so close Cook can feel the cold sweat of his nose against his own. Yet still, he doesn't hit him, doesn't headbutt him, doesn't kick him in the balls—nothing. And Cook feels himself longing for it, aching for it, for something. Something's swelling in his gut, anticipation tying his stomach into angry, impatient knots.



swan_bite: Anna eating some cotton candy and looking smug about it (Default)

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