#withthedemonblood

[schmerzerling]

three grubs and a baby

[bigdickwizard]

yer an idiot, hammy

[caranfindel]

Summergen Recs

Summer is the best time of year for those of us who love gen fic, thanks to Summergen. All of fic this year was a good read (and God, I'm not even talking about the art yet!). But here's a list of some that really grabbed me, either because they push my own personal buttons or because I love that writer's style or because they're just objectively good

Brontide by brightly-lit - Subtle and beautifully creepy. Brightly is like, one of the nicest people in the fandom, and doesn’t really participate on LJ now, so it was such a thrill to see this was her work.

Signs of Life by @wetsammywinchester - Does the impossible by making “Red Meat” even better.

Abide by @withthedemonblood - I cannot describe my feelings about this fic without spoiling the fic, so I’ll just strongly suggest that you read it.

2081 and Higher by kalliel - One of my favorite writers ever and now she’s an artist and I’m consumed with jealousy and I want to hate her but she makes it impossible, so I’ll just have to be obsessed with her instead. So should you.

As Other Birds by crowroad3 - I knew this had to be Crowroad’s work as soon as I read it, thanks to her gorgeous, inimitable style. Poetry and Winchesters and witches and magic… bliss!

Rae’s Diner by marietwist- Art and fic and daaaaaammmmmnnn.

What Lies Beneath by madebyme_x - Another beautiful fic that hits me right in the heart and why do the people I love keep hurting me so???

Coffeehouse ft.. Alternate Universe by indiachick - Any combination of indiachick’s and themegalosaurus’s brains has to be amazing, and this is.

Long Before We Fall by finchandsparrow - Someone new to LJ who I’m now stalking because I hope we get more like this!

A Hiatus by @themegalosaurus - A lovely curtain fic that needs to have a new chapter every week, because I don’t ever want it to stop.

And finally, Message in a Bottle by tifaching - Okay, I’ve already recced this once, but I had to add it to this list because I love it, and not just because it was written for me. ;-)

Thanks again to the mods for organizing this challenge!

.

[zmediaoutlet]

indolence

(read on AO3)

Sam gets up and takes a piss around four in the morning, a slow stumble in the dark, not opening his eyes. He gulps cool water from the sink to ease his dry mouth, hands cupped below the faucet’s stream, and then goes right back to bed, slipping under the blankets and rolling back up close to Dean’s warmth. It’s silent, and most of the lights in the bunker are off because they didn’t throw the main switches when they got back, a few hours ago, and so it’s easy to bury his nose in the soft-sweet smell of Dean’s hair, and to let all his muscles go slack into the stupid memory foam mattress, and to completely ignore the world for a few more hours.

When he wakes up again, it’s more slowly. He’s a little overwarm—when isn’t he, really, but Dean likes sleeping in his room more often than not. Sam endures the heat-sink of the memory foam to get the other benefits of sharing Dean’s bed. Dean’s still in the same position, tipped forward onto his side, hugging a pillow and dead to the world. Sam pushes his half of the blankets down a little and stares at the pale span of Dean’s back, letting his brain come online slow. It’s dim, but the constant half-light from the hallway filters in through the grate above the door. Enough to see by, once he’s used to it. He reaches out and traces the big curved bruise where Dean got tossed into the fence post with a single, light finger. Dean doesn’t even flinch. It was a long hunt—most of a week, sleeping light and moving fast, taking out the whole pack of adlets, and then the drive home, all the way back from the northernmost corner of Vermont. Just awake enough when they got back to the bunker to shower, get the blood off, and then tumble directly into bed.

Sam turns onto his back and stretches, as much as he can with the footboard in the way, and then settles back down into the mattress, feeling himself out. A little achy, from the running and the fight, and he’s tired but not unbearably so. The clock on the bedside table says it’s just a few minutes until six, and he could maybe sleep more. He scratches his chest. Lets his hand drift down a little further and scratches at his balls, and then cups the weight of them, lets his fingers curl up over the mostly-soft shape of his dick. Mm. He pulls one knee up, a little, makes some room while he idly rubs himself, lazy. Feels good, and he’s not exactly drowsy but he doesn’t feel like getting up, either. Just wants to stay here, in bed, comfortable, where it smells like them. He wraps his fingers all the way around himself, tugs gently at the swelling weight, and—okay, yeah. He glances over at the solidly asleep shape of his brother, drags a thumb up the sensitive underside of his shaft. He could just get himself off, right here, but.

He rolls onto his side, settles a hand on Dean’s hip. God, Dean’s warm when he sleeps. He presses an inquisitive kiss to the hollow of his skull, nose brushing through the soft buzz of hair, lets his mouth drag down to the side of his neck. He tucks his fingers under the stretched-out waistband of Dean’s old boxer-briefs, grazes soft giving skin. “Hey,” he says, quiet, “you up?”

He gets a grunt, for that, low-down-deep and barely audible. Dean shifts, tilts forward more and rubs his face into the pillow he’s strangling. Sam smiles, mouth tucked against the curve where Dean’s shoulder meets his neck. Yeah, Dean’s not a morning person. He rolls closer, kissing along the line of his shoulder where it’s too dim to see the freckles, rubbing a slow firm circle into the curve of his hip, and Dean mumbles some nonsense into the pillow, doesn’t budge.

Sam didn’t bother with boxers when they went to bed and the lube’s at easy access in the bedside table. He peels the blankets down, careful, so Dean’s almost-bare to the cool air, and it’s a bit of a challenge to get the boxer-briefs down but he’s slow enough about it that Dean doesn’t seem to wake up much—lets Sam turn him more onto his belly, dragging the fabric slowly down the thick muscle of his thighs and out from under the weight of his body, until they’re off and Sam can see all of him, pale and solid and pretty in the barely-there light. His hair’s a soft muss, his ass plush when Sam palms at the high curve of it, tracing down the sweet slope to his back. Dean sighs when Sam pushes his right leg up higher, but he just—allows it, smacks his lips and sinks down into the bed, lets Sam do what he wants. So lax, and easy. Sam loves this.

Dean doesn’t stir much at one finger, though he makes a soft little hmm into the pillow at two. That’s usually enough, when he’s awake. Sam props his head on his hand, watching the side of Dean’s face, and slips his fingers out, smears lube around the slick hot space. He’s hard all the way, now, nudging up against the back of Dean’s thigh, but—this is good, too. He slots his thumb inside, easy where it’s soft and open, and pulls, stretching, just feeling the heat and give of it. Dean’s eyes open, just a little, at that, and Sam pulls out his thumb and pushes in three fingers instead, a lube-slippery bundle, breaking through the muscle slow and steady, and Dean’s lips part. Sam leans down and kisses his temple, his hair swinging out from behind his ear, and Dean tilts his face into it but his eyes close again, obviously trying to stay asleep, and Sam thinks, okay, his stomach glowing hot. Okay.

He gets another grunt when he pushes in, scooped up behind Dean’s body, holding him close and warm. He slips his lube-sticky hand over Dean’s belly, shushes quietly against the back of Dean’s ear, but he spent so long prepping Dean that it can’t be painful—Dean’s used to it, for one, no matter how big he complains Sam is. Dean shifts his hips, though, with a sigh, and Sam pauses, just a few inches in. “Too much?” he says, keeping himself quiet. There’s a little pause, Dean shakes his head, once, still mostly-burrowed into his pillow, and so Sam rests his forehead against Dean’s hair, closes his eyes, rocks his hips slow and easy. Dean’s slippery and so-hot inside, familiar, and when he’s sleepy like this he breaks open even easier, muscle relaxing around Sam, letting him in deep. He doesn’t have much leverage in this position, and sex on Dean’s bed is always harder because of the memory foam, but right now that doesn’t matter. He spreads his hand out wide over Dean’s stomach, nudges deep and just rests there, for a long minute, pulsing his hips just enough that he can feel Dean, tight warmth all around him. God, it feels good.

Dean’s breathing slow and Sam matches it, stroking his thumb idly over the gentle curve of Dean’s stomach. He could fall asleep like this, all wrapped up, together. They’ve only done that a few times and they woke up separated, of course, but it’s something fun to imagine—coming out of sleep already inside, Dean wet and open and ready, so all Sam would have to do is fuck forward and then—mm. Sam rocks his hips, just thinking of it, and okay, no. He doesn’t want to fall asleep, not at all. He keeps rocking, easy rhythm like waves coming in to shore, and he slides his hand down Dean’s belly to where the soft short hair starts, reaches and finds Dean practically soft, his dick small and warm in Sam’s hand. God—Sam shivers, shoulders to hips, and gathers up all that vulnerability in his palm, propping himself up on one elbow again to get a better angle. Dean frowns a little, squirms his ass back into Sam’s hips, and oh, yeah. That. Sam rolls his balls, careful, and Dean sighs, edge of a groan to it. “S’my,” he mumbles, sounding almost like a complaint, and—and fuck, okay, Sam can’t take the gentle pace anymore.

Dean blinks when Sam pulls out, and Sam shushes him again, kisses a little sloppy at his temple, at his cheek. He sits up and shoves his pillow in closer, rolls Dean back onto it so that he’s cushioned, and Dean lets him, of course he does. Sam feels way too hot, now, his face so warm he knows he’s flushed all over, but Dean just lolling onto his back for him is—fuck, it’s so gorgeous. He kneels up, weight sinking oddly into the stupid bed, but he pulls Dean’s legs open anyway, knees up between them and lifts Dean’s hips with one hand, tugging the pillow out of Dean’s hands and pushing it under the small of his back with the other, so that once he’s ready Dean’s hips are tugged up into his lap, his thighs sprawled out wide and loose over Sam’s where he’s knelt in close, and that means Dean’s cozy and comfortable and still circling around the edge of sleep, and that means that when Sam cups his hips in both hands and tugs him forward, slots in easy where Dean’s broken-open, Dean only groans out another soft little noise, his head tipped back and his mouth barely parted, eyes closed, one hand curled up on his chest and the other loose on the bed. Sam lets his own head tip back on his shoulders, fucking forward leisurely. It’s quiet, beyond his own breath, with Dean mostly-silent and the giving mattress unable to creak, and so all that’s left to focus on is the feel of it—the perfect glide in and out, finally able to get really deep so that he’s pressed all the way up into Dean’s spread soft ass, the heat of him intense.

They’ve fucked like this before, of course, though Dean’s usually more awake—and, when he checks, Dean’s not asleep, of course not, but he’s also not really with Sam, despite the flush rising up in his cheeks. Sam can feel himself dragging along, inside, the angle perfect to hit Dean’s hot spot, and yeah, Dean’s eyelids flutter, his chest rising in a deeper breath sometimes when Sam pushes in, but he’s still trying to keep his eyes closed. “Lazy,” Sam says, quiet. Dean does slant him a sleepy-eyed look, at that, and Sam laughs, soft, and gathers up Dean’s dick again, maybe half-hard now, plump but not straining, not even close. He drags his thumb back and forth over the base, the skin delightfully giving, and Dean squirms, full-body, plush ass lifting up for a moment into Sam’s thrust in, and—oh, more. “Do that again,” Sam says, on half a breath, fingers cupped loose around Dean’s softness.

“You do it,” Dean says, mumbly, and squirms again, stretching his arms up above his head, pure laziness. Sam wants—for a second, everything, wants to turn Dean onto his belly and nail him into the mattress, wants to pull out and eat Dean out until he’s moaning and crazy, wants to suck his dick and make Dean suck his and also wants to kiss him, soft, until both their lips are sore and bruised—and, well, that he can do, without moving too much, and so he says, “Fine,” and curls forward, crushes himself up deep into Dean and brings his hips along, too, and Dean groans but then Sam’s on his mouth, licking in where he’s sour, plush lips and his tongue lazily slipping against Sam’s, his jaw relaxed, and god, Sam grinds forward, reaching down blind and catching one of Dean’s thighs, pinning it up against his waist so he won’t slip out—and then he snaps his hips, once, sharp, and then again, and Dean groans into his mouth, flinching.

“Awake now?” Sam says, mumbling against his lips, and Dean makes a little nuh-uh, the stubborn shit, but his thighs clutch up around Sam’s hips anyway, and then Sam’s free to fuck forward into him, braced on his elbows, curled forward and close and tight together, Dean’s dick slipping against his belly, still not-quite hard, and Dean—he doesn’t care, he just sighs and lifts up into what Sam’s doing, takes what Sam’s giving him. Fuck, he’s not even touching Sam, his arms still just carelessly tossed up above his head, knuckles grazing the headboard, and the mattress isn’t giving any bounce-back and so Sam has to nail him with all his own strength, pulling out just an inch or two before shoving in again and again, buried up close in the clutch of Dean’s body, sweat growing between them, and he puts his mouth just under Dean’s ear and goes as fast as he wants, as hard as he wants, kissing randomly at the soft freckled skin, and it’s almost a surprise when Sam comes, his balls giving it up all at once, clutching up tight and unloading. Oh, god. Yeah. He keeps moving, hips working through it and burying it deep in Dean, only stilling when his hips spasm, held up tight and close into the vague heat. He hums, brushing his lips over Dean’s throat, and gets a grumbly groan back. So good. When he sits up his back pops vaguely, cool air whooshing between them. He slides his hands up along Dean’s thighs to keep them in place, close against his sides.

Dean blinks at him, licks his lips. Sam’s balls pulse, a little, and he rocks forward again just to make Dean’s eyelids flicker. “Feel good?” he says, smiling.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Don’t be cocky,” he says, but it’s still rough, still sleepy somehow underneath, and Sam pulls out, finally—cold air, ugh, but it’s worth it to fill Dean up immediately with three fingers, slot them in where he’s sloppy and see the shock widen his eyes. “Oh, okay,” he says, breathy, closing his eyes again, and Sam eases out from underneath him, knees cracking and his thighs sore, but that’s easy to ignore in favor of shoving in deep, scrubbing up hard against the slickness of his insides, slipping in on lube and his own mess. He leans in and sucks a kiss to the base of Dean’s dick where it’s finally, finally hard all the way, wraps his other arm around his hips, shoved between him and the pillow, and works him slow, hard, dragging his fingers over and over that spot, making his dick jerk under Sam’s tongue. He groans, long and low, and Sam kisses the base again, pulls back and looks along the line of his body where he’s pink and flushed, his teeth digging into his lip, eyes squeezed closed.

“More?” Sam says, and watches Dean nod, and watches still when he tucks his pinky in, stretches Dean out wide and slow and unstoppable, his thumb dragging up the lube-slick tight skin, and Dean’s thighs quiver hard around him, the muscle jumping and Dean’s hips flinching away, but Sam flutters his fingers and sucks careful at one of Dean’s balls and it only takes a few deep, careful thrusts, knuckles tucked up close against the rim, before Dean gulps air and cringes his hips up and comes with a drawn-out groan, just like Sam wanted him to. Sam keeps his fingers where they are, pressed up hard, watches Dean’s dick jerk with it as he unloads onto his own belly, until finally Dean’s gasping and he fumbles clumsily down to Sam’s shoulder, clasping, saying, “Okay, okay.” Sam lets his fingers slip out, gleaming wet, and when Dean’s hand tucks into his hair and tugs he follows it, crawling up awkward over Dean’s boneless sprawled-out body and finding his mouth and kissing him, slow, sloppy, tired all over again. Their bellies smear together and he can’t quite stop petting Dean’s trembling thigh, but Dean’s hands are twined up in his hair, pulling a little as Sam licks into him, biting soft at the plush curve of his lower lip, and so, maybe they’re even.

After a while Dean sighs, into his mouth, and tugs sharply enough at his hair that he pulls back a few inches, leans up on his elbow. Dean licks his lips (reddened, and wet, and Sam feels a tug low in his belly, even now) and tips his head back against the bed, stretching out beneath Sam’s weight. They look at each other for a few seconds.

“You owe me a cup of coffee,” Dean says, finally.

Sam snorts, and tips a little to the side so he isn’t crushing Dean so much. He keeps a thigh tucked over Dean’s, though. “I’ll make some,” he says.

Dean groans. “This is the problem,” he says, and continues when Sam raises his eyebrows: “Doesn’t really feel like a repayment when you make your weak-ass coffee.”

Sam raises up higher on his elbow. “Oh, sorry, I guess it doesn’t really count unless your spoon can stand straight up in it,” he says, dry.

Dean nods. “Dark as a black steer’s tuchus on a moonless prairie night,” he says, but he closes his eyes again and covers Sam’s hand where it hasn’t left his side.

It’s too warm, but the bed really is comfortable, and Sam curls down again, rests his head against his bicep and watches Dean’s still profile in the dim light. It’s almost eight and normally he’d have taken a run by now, would be working on one of his projects—scanning possession files, maybe, or working on the Elamite translations—but, well. They did a lot of running over the last week, and the possession files aren’t going anywhere. He draws a circle on the side of Dean’s belly and watches the corner of Dean’s mouth curl up, then closes his eyes. Another quick nap can’t hurt anything. Dean sighs, and turns in against Sam’s chest, their legs tangling together. Sam slings his arm over Dean’s waist and settles in, Dean’s breath coming warm and slow against his chest. Maybe he’ll let Dean make the coffee, when they wake up. He doesn’t mind the black-tar kind, so much.

[winchestersinthedrift]

Hi! For the prompts: how about Wincest and stargazing? Can be NSFW, can be SFW, do what you think fits best ;) Hope that's what you meant!

Dean pulls over with an hour left to go, cause along with the grey hair he’s got a bladder less forgiving of cross country roadtrips than it used to be. Sam gets out too, leans against the car and works his bad ankle a little while Dean unbuttons and takes a leak in the long grass a few steps away. It’s a gravel road, twenty miles yet to the interstate, and the only signs of life are the dim lights of a town just at the horizon, bright pricks in the dark. Otherwise there’s just the swish of cornfields rustling in the night wind and the sweep of stars in the dome of the sky. When he turns around, zipping up, Sam’s got his head tipped back, craning up at the stars - Cassiopeia, the Seven Sisters, the bright belt of Orion. 

‘Humanity bewails you after the imperishable stars have carried you away’, he says, without looking down. Dean watches his profile, the way the headlights flood golden over the veiny backs of his hands. ‘I read that last week. The Pyramid Texts. Old Kingdom.’ He looks sideways, then, level glance. ‘It’s nice, it’s a nice - as euphemisms go.’

Dean steps up and stands by the wheel, cranes his neck, pivots a little on one heel. Gravel crunches soft under his shoe, grinds down closer a little to dust. Not much behind them anymore, beneath, to awe him - but the stars, themselves, those hang still constant in the drift.

'Imperishable, hey,’ he says, and Sam says 'well they weren’t - I mean, Einstein was a little ways off,’ and for a minute they stand there, scarred storm-battered flotsam under the sky, and then they get back in the car and drive away.

[wetsammywinchester]

fan the moonbeams

This bit of voluble fluff was written for @ladysimoriah at spnspringfling whose lovely prompt was A Midsummer’s Night Dream and pairing was Banechester (Sam/Dean/Max/Alicia). Rating: R. Wordcount: 1,831. Warnings: Gratuitous butchery of some Shakespeare quotes. AO3.

Are you sure that we are awake?  It seems to me that yet we sleep, we dream

“Dude, are you wearing a flower crown?” Sam touched the small blooms, white hawthorn and yellow oxlips, that circled his head, flowerheads peeking out shyly from beneath waves of curling brown, and his eyes went wide, confused for a moment at the feel of the petals. “You don’t like it?” He started to disentangle the flowers, but Dean stopped his hand. Sam’s life had been made of moments strung together harsh and unforgiving so Dean could stand for something so small and harmless that might bring laughter and light to his brother’s face. “No, it’s fine - it’s weird - but it...it looks good on you.” Sam’s nose wrinkled in displeasure at the roundabout compliment as if pondering the truth of his brother’s statement, and then looked pointedly at Dean's outfit. “Weird does not begin to cover this day.” 

Dean glanced down at his own wardrobe - a linen tunic wrapped tight with a stiff leather belt over crimson wool hose - before running his eyes up and down the length of Sam’s attire. He didn’t know which of them was more strangely dressed for this walk through the woods, like Tuscan nobles or English knights, but Sam seemed to be seeking reassurance, those orbs of wanton green asking questions unspoken. Dean gave a shake of his head, akin to the shaggy ponies of the north highlands, hoping to clear the thoughts of pristine petals and eyes as changeable as the seas, but it was in vain. Sam shrugged and the small motion brought a peek of his collarbone under the blue tunic, and the sight of that skin, small as it was but damp and golden, didn't help Dean’s clarity of purpose. “Let’s keep moving and find our way out of these woods.” He pushed ahead through the surrounding ferns with unwarranted force and they emerged into a glade. Beams of light drifted through the tree branches, landing on the patches of soft grass and moss below with an ethereal glow. Honeysuckle filled the air with a sweetness that drew the hummingbirds as they darted to and fro, while dragonflies floated through the air above, catching dust motes on their iridescent wings as they glided in and out of the shadows. Sam’s dimpled smile as he watched their slow and lazy movement was the only thing that Dean needed to fill his world. That, and how round and firm Sam’s ass looked in those green tights under his tunic. Dean could survive for days on the sustenance that fine view provided him. “Finally, you’re here! Come join us.” Alicia Bane waved them over to where she and her brother Max sat, inexplicably reclining on a blanket spread across the grass with a sumptuous spread of food and wine laid out before them. Dean’s eyes lit up at the sight of the mutton and potatoes and wine, while Sam’s eyes soaked in the sight of the Bane twins. Alicia and Max were dressed in the finest garments—silks the color of autumn leaves with gold edging—which set off their beautiful skin and the grassy green of Max’s eyes. Sam was drawn to the far side of the blanket to sit next to Max, stretching his long legs while he plucked a stem of purple grapes out of a bowl and popped one into his mouth. Max shifted away from his sister, his own lips curled up with a cat’s satisfaction. “You must be tired from your long trip, Sam. Perhaps you’d like to rest your head?” Max placed a pillow on his lap and Sam laid down as he was told, hair spreading out like a dark halo around his head. Sam pulled another grape off the stem and pushed it into Max’s mouth. The fruit burst with sweet ripeness, the juice covering his fingers, and Max obligingly sucked them clean. Dean was still standing, looking at the scene before him with a furrowed brow and a jealous temper. “Why don’t you join me here, Dean?” Alicia patted the ground next to her. “Your frowns would teach my smiles such skills. But hold, there is something I wish to speak to you of.” The curve of her lips may have turned his head, but it was the calm command of her voice that drew Dean down to her side. As he sat, Alicia leaned in as if they were two lovers about to exchange whispered intimacies. “You feel it, too, don’t you? The strangeness of this place? The four of us together here feels like a dream.” Dean turned towards her, his purpose and anger momentarily stopped by the liquid brown understanding in her eyes. “This isn’t real.” She tilted her head in consideration as she reached for the wine glasses, handing one to Dean. “Perhaps not - but I know one thing for sure. My brother does nothing but talk of your brother and his fine bearing, and I must say that I agree.” They both looked over as Max stroked Sam’s hair away from his face and the two men laughed over some shared joke. “Cur,” Dean growled and started to rise as if to part them, but Alicia held him in place, her small hand strong on his arm. Dean sat back down and sipped the wine from his glass in distraction. The drink filled his nose with scents of cherries and oak, and while Dean didn't know wine, he knew it was a good vintage, nonetheless. “Max means no harm,” Alicia piped up, as she set her goblet back down. “He would only ask that Sam be part of his life. He would ask that you be family.” Across the way, Max’s finger began to trace along the bow of Sam’s upper lip, whispering something low and bringing their mouths within a hand span of each other. Sam arched into the touch, but then noticed Dean’s attention on them. He blushed at being caught, and his tongue darted out unbidden, soft and pink, to wet his lips with guilt and desire. Dean looked away from the sight, unwilling to show the stabbing pain in his heart at the thought of Sam parted from him, happy in another’s arms. Whatever brought Sam happiness, Dean would give it to him a thousand fold. Alicia nudged Dean under the chin, long fingers bringing his gaze back to her face which was filled with warmth and generosity. “I think you misunderstand me and my brother. It’s not just Sam. We want you both as part of our family.” Her fine silk dress rustled as she pushed forward to capture his lips, her hand stroking his thigh as she straddled his lap. “I could in no way be parted from my brother, just as you could not be parted from Sam.” Dean hesitated for a moment as Alicia’s meaning sunk in and her gentle lips touched his, a kiss so different from Sam’s and yet still full of allure. He fell into it, his hand capturing the back of Alicia’s head and fingers slipping under her tresses. Their tongues touched and the feeling was unexpected, as if coming home. Someone cleared their throat and Dean pulled away Sam had not seen him kiss another in years, since they were younger and foolishly avoiding feelings that had remained hidden for so long. He expected to see a mirror of the same recrimination on his brother's face that had crossed his earlier, but instead, Sam’s eyes were crinkled in happiness, his fingers still tangled with Max’s over his shoulder. “How is this happening?” Dean asked as a gold and silver butterfly fluttered down to land on his hand, its wings opening and closing in time with Dean’s confused breaths. The beauty of the nodding violets and the sweet musk-rose surrounding them paled in comparison to the three people seated with him and it was almost too much for Dean to bear, certainly more than he felt he deserved in his short violent life. “Someone is messing with us. I’m seeing things that can’t possibly be real.” Sam leaned across the blanket. “If you’re seeing them, then I am too, brother. But is it so bad?” He swept his arm around the surrounding forest and meadow, before bringing his hand to rest on Dean's ankle, exposed between hose and boot, and caressing the soft skin with his thumb. “There is no need to hunt, no monsters to find, no people to save. Just us and some small glimpse of happiness. Let us stay and enjoy our time.” Dean shifted to reach him, slipping Alicia off his lap and tucking her into the crook of his arm. With his other hand, he trailed fingertips along Sam’s jaw line before stretching that last distance to brush their lips together. A happy little moan worked its way out of the back of Sam's throat and burrowed itself deep into Dean's heart. He glanced over Sam's shoulder to see the other Bane twin leaning back on his elbows, a dreamy smile on his face. Dean quirked an eyebrow at Max, thinking of his earlier ardor and intent, as Sam nuzzled into Dean's neck, tickling the sensitive skin underneath his ear. His unspoken question was met by Max's nonchalant shrug, offset by the dark intensity of his gaze. “I like to watch. This is a feast for the eyes.” Dean chuckled at their shared appreciation, and all the jealousy and anger he had from before ran from his body like snowmelt down a mountain. He closed his eyes and relaxed into the two lovers pressed against his sides. Whatever this dream world was, he was prepared to fight it, to chop and hack his way to freedom, but the hazy glow and the sweet smells had him sleepily entranced, and his mind came back to one thought again and again - maybe they could be a family. A family where he and Sam could be with each other, no guilt and no hiding, with people that knew them and trusted them, people who understood the hunting life, the pain and sacrifice, but here in this world, the four of them could wrap themselves tightly in a cocoon of thoughts and dreams and sighs. If this was a dream, Dean would gladly spend a hundred years suspended here before fighting his way back to the real world. Reality was vastly overrated. *** Behind the twisted trunk of an ancient cypress tree, the fairy queen touched her companion’s arm as they spied on the four lovers in the glade. “See, I told you. They are perfect together.” Her wings fluttered in appreciation, glittery in the impending twilight. Oberon smiled and nodded at the happy tangle of limbs in front of them. “You are right, my queen. A love such as theirs should not be hidden amidst the dirty creatures and vile monsters of that other realm. They belong here amongst the stars.”

[themegalosaurus]

Anybody who has ever seen images of drunk Jensen could have made this deduction (a case in point), though this set is for @withthedemonblood who will be pleased to have a headcanon confirmed (Honcon 2017 gold)

[themegalosaurus]

errrrrrrrr Gen just posted this on her Instagram stories

whaT KIND Of reSeARCH?!?!?!?!?! GENEVIEVE?

(Gen’s next blog post: tasteful photos of her and Jared copulating / thoughtful reflections on married love / sponsored by luxury sex-toy manufacturer)