Writing From the Inside

Last Outpost of All That Is by eight_horizon.

Slash.

This is the comment I made to the author, straight up:

I don’t like end of the world fic either because it makes me sad too. Amalthia, though, I trust her like crazy, and she assured me that this was fantastic. And it was, so very very much so. I read the whole dang thing in one sitting, because it was that good. Amalthia had warned me so I was ready. As I ever could be, considering.

First, your writing is so good, you capture the characters, Sam is Sam and Dean is Dean. Which, sometimes is much harder than it might at first seem.

Second, they don’t rush into sex. Sex becomes a part of who they are together, but it’s not the only thing that defines them, and you do that beautifully here.

Third, I think you got it right. I could tell you’d thought it through, and didn’t rush through thinking about gas stations and frozen pork chops and running water. Even though it boggles my mind to read about, you did a fantastic job, I believed it ALL. You never rushed any of it, it felt careful and real and honest.

And lastly, I was very brave. I read the whole thing and jumped at shadows when the boys jumped, and was glad when they pulled out their guns, or shouted to each other. I about died when Sam fell off the roof. And then I got to this part:

“Sam took up drawing. He’d sketched throughout his life for fun, but with more time dedicated to it, he turned out to be pretty good. The landscape around the house, the beaches of the reservoir, the way the light hit the stairs from the front windows; he captured them easily. Dean thought it was cool until he woke in time one morning to catch Sam sketching him.”

and

“Dean started writing his own music on the guitar. Sam knew it right away, and not only because he didn’t recognize the songs. He felt them in his bones as if he was listening to Dean’s voice murmur in the dark about things he’d usually never dare say.”

It was at this point that I bawled my eyes out, no longer brave. No longer to say, yeah, sure, apocalypitic fic, everything’s okay. Because Christ on a crutch, you….you, hell, I can’t even explain it. I can’t take stuff like this, just can’t. Thank GOD the story was over mostly at that point (except it wasn’t, because thank goodness you didn’t kill them off, they’ll outlive us all, and that’s something good, right?) because my insides felt like they’d been twisted around peices of metal and then that metal got twisted around something else, and just. Just.

You slay me. I don’t think I will EVER and I mean ever read apocalyptic fic again, not even if Amalthia rec’s it to me. Okay, maybe if it’s got Evil!Sam or something, then it’s just a fantasy, cause Sam would never really turn evil and hurt his beloved Dean.

Right? RIGHT?

Hell, I don’t know what to belive anymore. This story was SO good, my head is spinning. Are we done now? Can I crawl into bed and pull the covers up way high and try to think about pink ponies and fat sassy kittens and…something easy. Life Lite. Anything! (Yeah. Job well done. You got to me.)

Make the Yueltide Gay by nomelon

Slash.

If anything is enough to turn me off a story, the title to this one is. Yeah, gay has been taken over as to mean something entirely different from when it was used as a lyric in a song. But, since this story was rec’d to me by a writer I respect (plutogirl10), I’m game. So I read it. Fell in love. You will too.  

An excerpt:

He looks Sam right in the eye as he makes the first swipe. Sam knows that look. It’s the one from when Dean’s playing pool and has given up any pretence of not being a total shark. It’s that moment where he lines up a shot then doesn’t even look when he takes it, preferring to look his opponent in the eyes and give him both barrels of the patented Dean Winchester cocky bastard grin of doom. Sam knows that Dean stole the move from watching Tom Cruise in The Color of Money, although wild horses couldn’t drag that admission out of Dean. He also knows how good Dean is at pool. That every shot he takes, he knows exactly where the balls are going to end up, that his showboating comes from endless misspent summer days during their formative years, and that Dean never, ever misses. So he just sits still and trusts his brother not to make him look like a lopsided idiot. Dean’s grin softens, and when he does the other side, he pays a little more attention.

Lament of Lost Souls by plutogirl10.

Slash (Sequel to Hunger of Old Mouths)

I loved Hunger of Old Mouths and I love this story too. It’s a big long fic, with plenty of development and sex that has purpose. Or at least sexual intent that has purpose. But it’s never dry or safe or easy. Where the sex pays the price and comes at a price and the connection between the two boys is more solid than before.

My favorite part is Dean holding Sam’s head under the water. Not that I liked him doing that but oh the TRUST there. And the sheer guts to DO it. On both their parts. And the fact that after, they come back together, just as they are (tough, not overly emotional), but changed.

I love this line:

“Anything you want or need, you should have,” Sam whispers carefully, mouth pressed to Dean’s temple and feeling the tension radiating off him in waves. “It goes both ways, Dean — I’m just as tangled up in you. You’re all I’ve ever known and taking that away won’t do anything but ruin me. It’s the only thing that could.”He tightens his fingers against Dean’s skull, gives him a rough kind of shake, then stands up and leaves the room before Dean has enough time to gather himself and kick his ass.

(Because…because…it’s about TIME someone should give their all for Dean, when he’s done it so many times…..and that whole giving thing. That’s love, Sam style.)

And this:

Dean has spent his entire life sweeping Sam aside, keeping him behind. One step further from even the vaguest of threats, and one step further also from Dean. Dean had stood guard, but had done it looking out at the world. He’d faced the darkness, and turned his back on the one thing that was his to nurture.Maybe not so different from their father after all, then.

(Which, is so true, it’s almost painful. It says a lot about John and his way of protecting. and now Dean finds himself doing the SAME thing.)

And THIS, which is perhaps the most profound and loving thing one person can say to another:

“I can see you,” Sam murmurs against his mouth, still trembling slightly. Dean doesn’t need to see Sam’s eyes to know what he means. He knows it has nothing to do with visiblity of flesh.“I know,” Dean says, without fear.
 

Galatea’s Becoming by Gradiva.

Slash.

The boys encounter a modern day Pygmalion, where a statue brought to life for revenge keeps on killing those who fall in love with her. That’s the plot. What’s more fun is watching the boys fall in love with her, and jealousy ensues, and Sam, in particular, realizes that he needs to tie Dean to him in the very most fundamental way, so that when Dean is in hell, Sam will be able to find him.

Lovely story, low key, terrific analysis of Sam. Some great lines:

“hen he takes the keys from Dean, who is waiting impatiently outside the inn, and gets into the car, Sam clenches his hands around the steering wheel, breathing steadily. He needs to find a way to make sure Dean will remember Sam, will remember himself, until Sam can get to him.”

and

“Dean stares up at him, almost paralyzed at the revelation. Sam shakes his head, closes his eyes for a second in disbelief. After all this time, it’s still a contest between them, who loves more than the other, and Sam’s not allowed to win. In Dean’s head, Sam can never love Dean more than Dean loves Sam… it’s the axiom upon which hang the tatters of Dean’s soul.”

Fanfiction by Big Pink.

Gen.

I’ve read Read, Dazzleland, and Fire in the Hole, and found myself being AMAZED at the quality and craft of this writer’s fanfiction. Everything she does elevates what she does into the stratosphere, and if that sounds like an exaggeration, it is not. I’ve been reading fanfiction for a while now, and there’s lots and lots of good writers and fabbo fic, but Big Pink’s stuff, man. It had me stomping around the house for three days, mad as hell, because it was all so good and there was no way, NO way I could ever be that good.

So I have to content myself with telling everyone else how good she is, how clever and clear and intelligent and just plain on the money. The way she writes John fits more closely with my own idea of who John is than just  about any other writer out there. Like for example, don’t know which story it is in, but the boys and The Dad go to a diner and John grabs the menu and, I’m paraphrasing here, cause I don’t know the exact qutoe, and it reads, “He read the menu like he was examining the enemy’s battle plans.” Which just got to be because for John, everything is a battle, even breakfast.

I could quote her stuff, but then I’d be here all night. So just go read everything she’s got. She’s got a suggestion of the order in which you should read, but if you started with Red, you’d be okay. And impressed. And want to read everything else she’s got. Which she has in these nice little pdfs. The page loads a bit clunky, but that’s the internet for you. The more interesting it is, the slower it loads.

And the Highway Lines Pass By by philalethia

Slash.

31,000 words of pure slashy goodness, with a plot and everything. I think this is one of the stories I was looking for, with the whole eyelashes against the neck thing, but I read it so fast the second time, enjoying it so much, I really couldn’t find that bit. But I liked it anyway. It tells the story of two brothers, how they are different, how they are alike, and the writer, you can tell, has got a grip on what makes these characters tick. Unfortunately, this is also a “last year” story but ups the angst by miles and miles.  

 Some good lines:

“It was kind of hard to miss, honestly. Growing up and passing through small town after small town to and from hunts, and Sam always said things like, “It must be nice to live here,” in a tone like Dean used to say things like, “Look at the ass on that waitress.” It was never any secret that Sam jerked off fantasizing about walking down the block to the grocery store for milk and being greeted by name—his real one—and invited to bake sales and shit.”

and

“Dean’s seen so much of Sam and no one else lately he’s starting to get a little delirious over it. Sam split his knuckles on the Satanist kid’s nose and dripped blood on Dean’s jeans, which Dean picks at when Sam’s not looking just to watch the flakes get lodged under his nails, and Sam hasn’t showered for two days and the smell makes Dean dizzy and half-hard.

Yeah, Dean thinks, way too much Sam.”

and, I love this reference to “Heart.”

“If he tells Sam, Sam’ll insist that they hightail it to Chicago, and he’ll spend the whole drive on the phone with every person whose number is in his address book and who might know how to cure lycanthropy. He’ll tell himself and Dean that this time will be different, this time they’ll save the poor fucker who’s eating people every full moon. Sam’ll meet the werewolf, see a little bit of Madison in them, fall a little bit in love again with or without the fucking, and Dean will have to wipe the splatters of blood and tears off Sam’s face when he has to admit for the second time that you can’t save a werewolf.

Dean clears the internet history and closes out of the browser window. He’s breaking a rule, one of the biggest rules there is, one Dad taught them and made them swear they’d always follow: you don’t turn your back on a hunt, and sure as hell not for personal reasons. But this, this is different. You can turn your back if you know for certain you can’t handle it, if you’re damn sure it’ll take more than you’ve got.”

Now that, my friends, is love.

Unspoken by raina-at.

Slash.

Fun story. Sam and Dean are investigating a werewolf in the woods, but at night they are at each other, having sex,  and then sleeping really well afterwards. Sam wants to talk about it, Dean refuses to do so. What was really good was the sex in the silence, sex that isn’t romantic or even fun. It feels desperate and dark and edgy, which, given the taboos this particular act is crossing, seems perfectly right.

A good mix of angst and boys and skin and working a job. And some wonderful tension added when one night the lights go on and the boys have to confront what they are doing. Being Winchesters, of course, the confrontation involves running off into the night, arguments that have no solutions, and all the while this job has got to be worked.

“Releasing Dean’s arms, he spits into his hand and wraps it around Dean’s cock, strokes it quickly, roughly, lubricating it with saliva and the precome leaking from the tip. Slowly, holding on to whatever part of Dean he can get his hands on, he lowers himself on Dean’s cock, shuddering as mingled pleasure and pain split through his body, making him instantly aware of just what he’s doing, and in the next instant forcing everything out of his awareness that isn’t Dean’s hands on him, Dean’s cock inside of him, Dean’s panting breath under him. He’s tempted to turn on the light and see Dean’s face, see him stripped of all defences, willingly in Sam’s hands, at Sam’s pleasure and the source of it. Only he doesn’t, because he’s afraid to see what he always sees, the smooth mask in place, and he’s afraid of what Dean might see, Sam broken open to take out whatever he wants.”

Keep Going and The Truth About Lies by dodger_winslow.

Gen.

Dodger_winslow and I do not agree. I’ve never talked with her about it, I’m sure she doesn’t even know I exist. She wrote Keep Going shortly after A Very Supernatural Christmas aired, and wouldn’t you know it, she thinks that John was robbed because fans thought that he didn’t come home because he was too busy hunting or that he forgot or some other unfatherly thing. I agree with them and not with her. It’s the way John comes across, and you know Dean, in that ep, he’s not very surprised that The Dad is not there and neither is Sammy. But Dodger, she disagrees.

She wrote Keep Going to describe the scenario where The Dad gets into a car accident and can’t make it home because he simply can’t. Dodger wrote it to refute all those John haters, which, based on my review and my own privately held convictions, put me in that camp. Hate John? ME? Perish the thought. I adore him. He’s a great character. He is bursting with testosterone, and is boys adore him too. Sure, he’s not a great father, but I never gave much thought beyond looking at that MOUTH of his and imagining things that I probably shouldn’t.

Enter Dodger Winslow and her high-flying theories about fatherhood and brothers and…stuff. With these two stories, she hits the nail on the head that is uncomfortable for me. John is making bad decisions, for sure, but Dodger manages to find the justification behind them that makes sense to me. It makes me mad what the hell he’s up to, but in his mind, he loves his boys and is doing his best, he really is. He doesn’t understand Sammy at ALL, and understands Dean like the back of his hand and can you imagine how hard that must be not to love one son more than the other.

Dodger can just STOP with the Christmas stories aleady because I hate Christmas and bawled my eyes out reading this one.

We Are All Meant For Chains by flipmontgirl

Slash.

This is the story of Dean and Sam coming together and then going apart and them coming together again. It’s an odd story in that it seems to be told in snapshots of images, things Sam remembers, things he’d rather forget. Arguments he and Dean had, memories they shared. Along the way (Sam’s running from Dean) Sam picks up a young 16-year old pregnant girl. Sam never could resist a little damp street urchin, but it gets more interesting and sophisticated than you’d normally get from a fluffy bunny-sounding setup like that.

Nothing fluffy or bunny-ish about this story. Sam and Dean do get together in the end, of course, otherwise, why bother? I think the pregnant girl gets dropped off someplace safe, that’s the idea I got. But along the way? Well, I couldn’t stop thinking about this one. Be ready for edgy, be ready for graphic, but in a good way. Not gratuitious.

Once, when I went into rent Monster’s Ball with the intent of watching what everyone was talking about. Halle Berry’s performance had created buzz, so off to the local video rental I went. (Maybe it was DVD by that time, I don’t know.) The young man who checked out this rental was, oh, say 22. Let’s just say. I asked him if he’d seen it. He said, “Yes,” with some disgust, and I asked him if there was something wrong. He said, “There’s sex in this movie.” I looked at him as they say, askance, because, you know, to a 22-year old MALE that would be a good thing. I wondered what I was getting into if he was disgusted by this movie. Well, if you’ve seen the movie, there’s sex, yes, and not the nice kind. Not anything kinky, ye ken, but the sex is so realistic, it’s not like watching porn at all. It’s not pretty to the watcher, however much the participants are enjoying it. Maybe he objected sex being done for money, I don’t know. I’ve puzzled about that young man from that day to this, and I can only surmise that he was put off by the realism. Monster’s Ball was riviting, and I’ve got its images still in my brain.

So. Reading this story is rather like watching Monster’s Ball. Realism, tricky lighting, and the sex is not pretty. But man. The camera work….I’ve got one quote but don’t read it if you don’t want the effect spoiled.

Here:

“It was no trouble, asking, when he knew the answer, when he felt it: sticky warm under his hands, spit-wet under his mouth, thundering just under the skin, ferocious heartbeat against his own, hot and hard against his stomach. The answer was yes.

Hands fumbling at Dean’s belt, the buttons of his jeans. Unknown territory and the best-known all in one.

“Sammy stop. Please. We gotta stop.” The request was half-hearted at best.

No match for the smell, musk-rich, a hint of piss, dirty with a couple of days spent in the same briefs. No match for the taste, sharp, stinging, a thousand pinpricks on his tongue. No match for the way Dean sounded: rattlesnake and sizzle, dangerous and desperate with this thing they were becoming.

He was the one who prayed this time, foolishly determined. He prayed, “Say yes. If you can’t say no, at least say yes.” He knew it and yet he had to hear it.

“Yeah.” Dean arched, curving impossibly off the bed, curving with lust and guilt. Beautiful demise. “Fuck. Fuck, yeah.”

It was so easy in the end.

Destroying them.”

The part that got to me, really got to me was the realism of the underwear. I mean…gross, right? But you ever wanted someone so bad, you didn’t care? I have. Man, this girl has it.
 

Everything Changes, Everything Stays the Same by walkawayslowly

Slash.

This is a post-Dean’s-Deal story, where you don’t know how they got Dean out of the Deal, you just know they did. Besides, the aftermath is the fun part. Read this story slowly, because you won’t get a first chance to read something so sweet and honest.

Everyone drives away from the place where the deal was broken, but Sam and Dean take a little time to their own, and have a quick shimmy shimmy in the Impala. Which is as it should be. Then, the shimmy shimmy happens whenever there’s a tight spot they get each other out of or out of danger…and then the shimmy happens when it wants to. From Sam’s POV, the freakout is consistent and fun, but he can’t take his mind off Dean, and it’s no wonder. The slash is hot without being porny, and I had a few good GUH moments to boot, which is hard to do, when you’ve read as many of these as I have. Remember, go slowly.

Some good quotes:

“He doesn’t notice they’re slowing down at first, not till Jo’s truck gets swallowed by a cloud of dust, fading off into the distance and then they’re not moving at all. Dean shifts into park with his left hand and drops his head to the wheel, harsh breath like it’s all just catching up to him now and he pulls their hands towards him, up to his chest.”

“It doesn’t take long, poltergeists are (mostly) old hat and this one has nothing on the malevolent force of the one in Lawrence. Still, it manages to get something, Sam can’t feel what, wrapped around his neck before the end and he’s wondering why every supernatural thing out there is obsessed with choking him, vision getting black around the edges and then it’s all gone. Poltergeist handled, apparently, the last little bag shoved into the hole Dean knocked into the wall, and Dean’s unraveling whatever the hell it is then he’s moving down Sam’s chest, fingers scrabbling at his belt and his pants and Dean swallows him down and Sam arches up into it, into Dean, little whimpers escaping among the coughs as he tries to catch his breath again. He doesn’t know, God he doesn’t know what this is about, what it means, but it doesn’t matter, he doesn’t care.” (GUH, right?)

“Only now, now that Sam knows the feel of Dean’s mouth on his, the harsh rasp of his cheek scraping down Sam’s neck, now he wants to touch Dean, his arm, the small of his back, to throw Dean down on the table and blow him right there, anything to stake a claim, to plant a flag on Dean’s ass that says “mine” in huge, sparkly letters. He wants it so badly he curls his hands into fists, stuffs them under his thighs.”

“Typical night, Sam thinks, typical hook up and as much as he wants to protest it won’t make any difference. They’re close enough he can walk back to the motel and he shoves the lap top back in his bag, squares up at the bar and heads for the door. He’s only just left the dim circle of light underneath the one lamp post outside when Dean catches up with him, hooks his arm around Sam’s neck. “Haven’t you learned anything?” Dean says, pulling Sam towards the Impala. “Be afraid of the dark, Sammy, don’t go wandering around by yourself in it.”” (I loved this last line. It would look good on a tshirt.)