Citizenship & Raspberry Jam

gblvr asked for Dean/Cas, unclean

Dean tips his head back and takes several swallows from the heavy glass bottle in his hand. Castiel watches his throat work to send the distillation into his belly where his body will absorb it and mix it with his blood in a desperate attempt to distribute its properties to Dean’s benefit.

Castiel has yet to see anything beneficial to Dean’s nightly ritual of drinking himself into a stupor. Shifting uncomfortably on the edge of the bed in the grungy motel room, Castiel tries to make sense of Dean’s actions again.

“Why is it that you drink alcohol every night?” His voice sounds gravelly and rough; speaking in this way with these body parts is something that he still finds cumbersome and ugly. Nothing like speaking with the voice God gave him.

Castiel watches Dean closely, intently, searching for any movement or expression that will help him to understand this human that he chose over the heavenly host.

Dean snorts, a short angry sound, “I drink, Castiel,” Dean emphasizes his name in a way that almost feels like a physical blow, “because it seems to be the only thing that erases for just one second,” Dean unsteadily raises one finger before continuing, “the fact that I’m the one who started all this shit.”

Castiel continues to watch as Dean lifts the bottle to his mouth again and draws long gulps from its neck before lowering it to its resting place between his legs and exhaling heavily.

“It was your destiny, Dean. Nothing you could have done differently would have changed that. Defiling your body in this way won’t change things.” This human caused him such consternation and made him feel unsure of his own duty, but he did know that one small truth, and he hoped Dean would hear him and believe it.

Dean’s shoulders begin to shake slowly and erratically and he doesn’t raise his head from its lowered position. Dean’s voice comes from the shadow of his chest harsh and broken, “Fuck you, Cas. I’m so unclean, that adding a bit of booze to the mix isn’t gonna make a bit of fucking difference.”

Something inside Castiel breaks free, tumbling crazily into his center sending him off-kilter. Without thinking, he reaches out to the man opposite him and lays a hand on a canted knee, relishing the warmth seeping through Dean’s clothing. Dean looks up at him, eyelashes wet and gathered framing pained green eyes. Castiel searches for words and only finds action, lifting his hand from Dean’s knee to wipe the moisture slowly trickling along the curve of jaw. The speed with which Dean grips his wrist is only slightly startling, even more so is the gentle kiss that Dean presses into that wrist.



turnonmyheels asked for:  Sons of Anarchy - Gemma and the ATF Lady having a little one-on-one

in my defense, I wrote this BEFORE I saw the supermarket confrontation episode

The insistent rapping on the door brings Gemma out of the meditation of her grandson’s face. She moves fluidly from rocker to front door without waking Abel and opens it. A skinny strawberry blonde flashes a badge in her face and drawls, “Agent Stahl, ATF. May I come in?” before capping it off with a saccharine smile.

Gemma’s got this woman down in the 3 heartbeats it takes to tell her, “No, Agent Stahl. I don’t think you can.”

Stahl is what Gemma would have been if not for the club. Cold, calculating, manipulative. Granted, Gemma didn’t begrudge her, she knew all too well about being a woman in a man’s world; if anything, it made her more dangerous than any of the men who’d ever come sniffing ‘round the family and the club.

Stahl raises her perfectly groomed brows in momentary surprise before saying, “I’d heard that you had a way about you. Guess they weren’t wrong.”

“They rarely are. Now if you’ll excuse me,” Gemma inclined her head at Abel’s still sleeping form in her arms.

Gemma had already moved back from the door and was in the process of closing it when Stahl’s slim fingered hand stopped it, “Mrs. Morrow, I was hoping that we could discuss things woman-to-woman. Talk this situation out.”

Meeting Stahl’s icy blue eyes, Gemma said, “Well, when you stop pretending that you’ve got a sack instead of a cunt down there, you let me know.”

After she shut and bolted the door, Gemma was still smiling at the blank shock on Agent Stahl’s face as she settled back into the rocking chair.




tabaqui asked for: Turning the Metallicar into a holy, sacred object so the boys have protection in the coming war. Sam/Dean or Sam,Dean

They’d asked Bobby about a lot of crazy shit over the years, but it’s clear to Sam that this time, they’ve outdone themselves.

“You want to what?” Bobby took off his hat and rubbed his hand over his balding pate several times in confusion.

Dean huffed at him, “Take the Impala and make her demon-proof. Make her a traveling panic room. Come on, Bobby, just let us in on some of the stuff you used down in the cellar.”

Sitting down hard on the couch, Bobby looked back and forth from one to the other, “Dean, have you completely forgotten what happened down there?”

Sam looked over at his brother, who looked back at him. “We’ve talked about it, Bobby.” Sam’s voice was calm, neutral.

“And so when you start hallucinating and clawing at yourself and talking to things that aren’t there, Knucklehead’s,” Bobby tipped his head at Dean, “just gonna keep on driving?” Incredulity and sarcasm—Bobby’s own special mix.

“No. I’m gonna detox here first. The whole way. Finish what should have been done.” Sam tries to keep the plea and the fear from his voice.

Dean picks up, “Figured that we could trick-out the Impala while Sammy went through the DT’s good and proper this time.”

Bobby rubs a hand down the planes of his craggy face before heavily sighing, “Fucking Winchesters.”

Moments later he was standing and replacing his cap into its standard position. “Well, let’s get a move-on. The end of the world ain’t gonna wait forever.”

Sam grinned at Dean as his brother grinned back and they followed Bobby downstairs.




ewlyn asked for: Milkshake <- be creative [filled drabble is Sam & Dean]

"This is worse than hell." Dean's head fell on to his arms in defeat.

Sam was grinning from ear to ear as he sat back in the chair and reveled in the obvious pain his brother was suffering, as well as enjoying--in a completely objective and appreciative audience member kind of way--the spectacle before them.

It had been Dean's idea. Undercover was always Dean's idea. Sam suspected that it satisfied some leftover remnant of his childhood desire to play dress-up. But this one, this one Dean definitely hadn't thought it all the way through. But Sam had. And he knew what the repercussions were. Which is why he was filled with such glee at the moment.

My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard,
And they're like
It's better than yours,
Damn right it's better than yours,
I can teach you,
But I have to charge

Blared from the speakers as the sleek, glittered and glistening young man danced and undulated and stretched through the last chorus. Sam clapped enthusiastically, mouth still grinning when "Paulie" sat down at the edge of the stage between them, legs dangling.

"So that's my act. I'm going to be out from Friday of this week until Saturday next, which one of you studs is going to learn it?"

Dean's head popped up, but Sam was quicker and jerked a thumb at him and said, "Deano here is going to be your fill-in, Paulie."

Clapping an agast Dean on the back, Sam's face threatened to split with vicious joy as he said, "Go on there Deano. Go shake what our Mama gave ya."

Oh yeah. This was going to be so much fun.



and dancetomato asked for a push for her J2 in space. I won't put it here, as you wouldn't get it without reading all her drabbles here:  Jared/Jensen IN SPACE!!!  *echos*  You can read my drabble there.