I didn't know how angry I apparently still am about last year's DCBB until I realised how annoyed I am about every single post I see being excited about this year's. I thought I was over that.

I wonder if I could just, you know, sign up for it next year and re-submit last year's fic and whether they would <i>ever actually bother noticing</i>. I might even get some art for it. :P

... or rather, natural history.

You know, I love the internet + the increasing archival trend to scan in old volumes + having a university library access to all these resources. On a whim, for research for this other fic that I am totally not writing (SHUT UP), I just downloaded a bunch of late-eighteenth-century books to get a feel for the spirit of scientific/zoological inquiry of the period.

I feel the titles - verbose as they all are in that period - are almost sufficiently illustrative by themselves of the zeitgeist of scientific discovery. Also advertising.

---

The Naturalist’s, and Traveller’s Companion, Containing Instructions for collecting & Preserving Objects of Natural History and for promoting enquiries after Human Knowledge in General. (1774)

Synopsis of the Natural History of Great Britain and Ireland. Containing a systematic arrangement and concise description of all the Animals, Vegetables, and Fossils which have hitherto been discovered in these kingdoms. (1789)

Scientific and Descriptive CATALOGUE of PEALE’S MUSEUM (1796)

Outlines of a Philosophy of the History of Man. Translated from the German. (1800)

New Travels into the Interior Parts of Africa, by the way of The Cape of Good Hope, in the years 1783, 84, and 85. Translated from the French of Le Vaillant. Illustrated with a Map. (1796)

Harmonia Ruralis; or An Essay towards A Natural History of British Song Birds, Illustrated with Figures the Size of Life of the Birds, Male and Female, in their most natural Attitudes; their Nests and Eggs; Food, Favourite Places, &c, &c. (1796)

Natural History of Birds, Fish, Insects, and Reptiles, Embellished with UPWARDS OF TWO HUNDRED ENGRAVINGS. (1798)

Instructions for Collecting and Preserving Various Subjects of Natural History as Animals, Birds, Reptiles, Shells, Corals, Plats, &c, together with a Treatise on the Management of Insects in their several States. (1794)

An Epitome of the Natural History of the Insects of China: Comprising Figures and Descriptions upwards of one hundred new, singular, and beautiful species, together with some that are of importance in medicine, domestic economy, &c. (1798)

A General History of Quadrupeds: The Figures Engraved on Wood by T. Bewick. (1790)

Genera of Birds. (1781)

A Description of some curious and uncommon CREATURES, Omitted in the Description of Three Hundred ANIMALS, and likewise in the supplement to that Book; designed as an Addition of those two Treatises, for the Entertainment of young People. Compiled by the same Hand. In which is Included, The Natural HISTORY of those great Curiosities, the CHIMPANZEE, Male and Female, brought from Angola, on the Coast of Guinea, and lately publickly shown in London. (1789)

Buffon’s Natural History. Containing a Theory of the Earth, a General History of Man, of the Brute Creation, and of Vegetables, Minerals, &c. From the French. (1792)

A Memoir concerning the Fascinating Faculty which has been ascribed to THE RATTLE-SNAKE and other AMERICAN SERPENTS. (1796)

A New Dictionary of Natural History; or, Compleat Universal Display of ANIMATED NATURE, with ACCURATE REPRESENTATIONS of the Most Curious and Beautiful Animals, Elegantly Coloured. (1785)

A Natural History of Birds. Most of which have not been figur’d or describ’d, and others very little known from obscure or too brief Descriptions without Figures, or from Figures veyrill design’d. (1743)

A Natural History of Beasts, compiled from the best authorities, and illustrated by a great variety of Copper Plates, comprising near ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY FIGURES, Accurately drawn from Nature, and beautifully engraved. (1798)

Okay, so: that final ‘okay’? Okay, sure, Sam won’t pursue the whole ‘Cage’ route. Okay. Dean knows it’s insincere as soon as it’s spoken. The director assumes the audience will need a little longer to absorb that obvious fact, hence necessary Soulful Stare Past Camera from Sam as the closing shot.

Now, proceeding from that to consider the rest of the episode: we have a similarly heavy-handed ‘THIS IS THE BIT THAT APPLIES TO THE BROTHERS OKAY’ moment when the sister of deceased (I don’t remember names because I don’t remember names) inserted a whole “fear paralyses us, it makes us not do things we should do or do bad things” moment into The Great Reveal Speech. Plus “I spent my whole life sticking up for my brother WHAT IF I WAS WRONG”. In case we missed the fact that the sudden change in narrative tone meant that this applied to our main characters, we also zoomed in on both Sam and Dean to see their reactions.

In Sam’s case? Easy and clear. Sam has been fearing pursuing the ‘Cage’ route - part of which is telling Dean about it, which he resolved to do and did by the end of the episode. We are left with the heavy implication that he will go further with it. (Hello, Lucifer!) He has, moreover, affirmed this personally within the episode by facing down the clown - which would have been a cute callback if it hadn’t felt shoe-horned in just to make that point, sigh. I love Sam’s clown fear precisely because it is irrational and so very human; that is, belonging to an entirely different category in his head to the epic/heroic/‘real-world’ sort of fears that he has to face on an everyday basis. Lucifer and the cage should belong in this category: as something he has faced, and something that has traumatised him, but which he can compartmentalise and (to a certain extent) control.

If I were to don my fanfic hat for a moment, I’d say - “ah yes, but what if some version of Lucifer has entered the irrational terror part of Sam’s brain, the same as that occupied by clowns?” I would say “aha, that would be Hallucifer, who was obviously not actual Lucifer but Sam dealing with the idea of Lucifer and of a lack of control of his own psyche, since he behaved so very differently to that dignified, distant, driven archangel that we saw in season 5, and if this is the case then we could have this resolved by having real Lucifer return as a comprehensible and realistically motivated adversary”. Sadly, my fanfic brain tends to outstrip actual canon writing, so I doubt this will happen. Meh.

But that’s just Sam. We panned to Dean as well, when talking about fear. I assume the fears we’re meant to associate with Dean at this point involve the Mark and a loss of control (and, therefore, hurting Castiel - interestingly, demon!Deanm’s attempt to kill Sam doesn’t seem to haunt him? at least it hasn’t been referred back to by the narrative). But I see less of that - and this whole episode was generally Sam-focussed, so I think it remains open how we’re meant to read Dean’s fears right now.

All of that said. I can’t help but feel there’s something more going on with dead-guy himself. Allegations of paedophilia, wrongful accusations, accidental murder? That’s some rather heavy stuff, and I’m surprised we didn’t pick up on that in more depth in the episode. Feels like a dropped thread - or one that might possibly be picked up later?

Plus masks and puppets, but that felt both too heavy-handed and also not particularly relevant to what’s going on now. More… you know… season 5. When there was a possiblity of them being meatsuits. To archangels. Ahem.

And am I the only one who got the impression that the MOW was protecting women? And since it wasn't, why did it suddenly kick into action against Doug and Donna? Doug wasn't in on it, was he? It was just the two guys, whom the ghost got - so why didn't he stop after that?

Incidentally, that one manuscript we focussed on when Sam was grumbling about how none of the ‘pre-Biblical’ texts Castiel had brought back were useful, as they were all in Aramaic or had nothing to do with the Darkness?

Definitely neither Aramaic nor pre-Biblical - couldn’t see close enough to read any of it but judging by the general aspect of the page and the shape of the words, it’s definitely medieval Latin, probably 13-14C book hand. Although, to be generous to them, one could say it was a later copy of an earlier text; if only medieval Latin translations had not been at all influenced by, you know, the medieval church. If it’s worth translating it’s worth translating properly - ie, finding the ‘truth’ in it, which probably means a very loose translation heavily influenced by western patristic tradition. And therefore any ‘darkness’ it references will have been filtered through many layers of whatever every copyist for at least thirteen centuries has considered to be ‘darkness’, in whatever language and cultural context. No wonder it’s no good. Sam, honey, you really need to learn to study cultural, semantic, and linguistic context for every text you consult, not to mention, you know, the months or years of work that any manuscript / early-text scholar will put into constructing a provenance for every manuscript and a tree for every text suggesting its dissemination and influence and so on.

Good responses I’ve seen to this episode: (will be updated as I see more, and feel free to add links in the comments)

Meta -
this one little snippet from goodquestionharlie;
a fairly sound general review from thedailyfandom;
almaasi’s reaction post;
reflections on God and Amara from this and the previous episode, by postmodernmulticolouredcloak;
masks and burning things frmo dustydreamsanddirtyscars;
and, obviously most important of all, an ongoing BUT CAN CAS FLY THEN debate.

Fic/art -
non-explicit wincest drabble frmo kansaskissedlips - “I’m cold”. Poor Sammy!
destiel drabble "How was Gaza?" from ozonecologne

So this would be the opening letter of the epistolary GBB that I am not writing. Pity I'm not, because it would be a lot of fun.
... there may or may not already be a second letter.
(The third would be not a letter but a journal entry for which I would have to research late-18C zoology and natural history, which obviously I am not going to do.)

---

August 27. Charlotte Bradbury to the Comtesse von Baum.

You must forgive me, my dearest Dorothy, for taking so long to reply to your last; and I know you shall, for I am altogether too charming and delightful for you to remain cross with me two hours together! Besides, if you only knew what a time I have had of it out here—I truly believe that I shall never learn to be a gracious and unruffled hostess, no matter how my friends school me. But you see, I have forgotten the rules of composition already, and begin my story at the end.

To leap back to the middle, then.—You know how I like to use the back stairs and hidden passages whenever there is nobody but the servants to see. I have been doing so well, remembering to behave like a real lady instead of a savage; but yesterday evening, after almost everybody had retired, it occurred to me that I must talk to my cook about Mrs. Sanditon’s constitution—as of course I ought to have done before they arrived last week, and had I done so we might perhaps have avoided her bilious attack yesterday forenoon, when—there, you see? This is why I am always obliged to write two or three drafts of a letter before I send it, to anybody but you, for I simply cannot cure myself of the habit of writing down my thoughts just as they arrive in my head.

I came down by a set of little stairs which lets out by a hidden door in the western sitting room—only I forgot that I had given permission for the gentlemen to use it as a smoking room! And of course there were Colonel Sandition, M. Walker, and young Mr. Stark sitting around talking about whatever it is that gentlemen say on these occasions, faced all of a sudden with their hostess—with her hair down and her powdering gown over her déshabillé! Of course, they were all perfect gentlemen: the dear old Colonel was indeed quite anxious to be sure that there was nothing the matter, and so I blurted out the first thing that came into my head, which was that I was looking to see that the passage had no infestation of ants. Ants, my dear Dorothy! I felt in that moment that I should never be able to look one of them in the face again.

( Read more... )

argh brain stop spawning fics

I am not going to participate in the GBB. Modding it is enough - too much, actually, since I”m in the last few months of writing my dissertation. Fic-writing brain and academia brain are incompatible because they both occupy exactly the same space and require the same level of single-minded obsession. So I am not writing any more longfic until I at least have a solid, complete draft.

This is why finishing This widespread realm (and thus the whole of the MSM verse) is on hold. This is why I am deliberately not planning a destiel companion piece to the Northanger Abbey AU (no, I’m not, and if world-building thoughts occur to me I write them down and store them away and set them aside).

I do not need ideas for a sequel to Nature and Kynde, set in the human world of that verse, which is approximately equivalent to late-18C Europe, told in epistolary form through letters and journal entries between Charlie, Dorothy, Gilda, and Gwen.

(… it would be Gabriel-focussed, though.)

(… DAMMIT brain.)

note to self: self, stop injuring self while cooking.
though that IS an impressive burn welt on your palm.

Let's see if I remember how it works. Also, I deleted the master fic list post that I used to have, since it was way out of date and my user page on AO3 does that better anyway.

I will still be active on tumblr, though I'll try to reduce by degrees the time I actually spend on there. This means that, while I'll still post a link to my fics there (and here), there'll be fewer reblogs and so on, and less time spent on my dash. I'll still see if I'm tagged in posts or if you send me a message/ask, but I probably won't see your content unless you're posting it here.

That said - if you follow me or I follow you on tumblr, and you're moving here (or are already here), please tell me! Yes, I want to follow you!

I was going to make a tumblr post that could become a list of people’s tumblr urls vs their preferred platform that they’re evacuating to, so that their friends could find them. But then I realised tumblr format would be crap for that, and it would be a nightmare for people to refer back to and actually see everybody on it. So guess what - I’m making that post on here instead!

If you’re considering leaving tumblr or reducing your hours on it in favour of another platform - or if you’re already active on another platform anyway - or if you've already left! then this post is for you.

Please leave a comment with a) your tumblr url and b) your other name and platform(s); and anything else you want to add, eg, ‘I’ll still crosspost my art/fic on tumblr, but I’ll be mostly on [whatever] for social purposes’.

Anon comments are fine if you don’t have/want a dreamwidth account.

This goes for everybody, not just people who follow me or whom I follow! Use this post however you like - bookmark it, check for any of your friends if they seem to have gone missing, encourage them to add their name here if they're about to - and, if you feel like it, reblog the tumblr post to let your followers know!

( You're about to view content that the journal owner has marked as possibly inappropriate for anyone under the age of 18. )

To draw a map of a child’s mind.

Doctors sometimes draw maps of other parts of you, and your own map can become intensely interesting, but catch them trying to draw a map of a child’s mind, which is not only confused, but keeps going round all the time. There are zigzag lines on it, just like your temperature on a card, and these are probably roads in the island - for the Neverland is always more or less an island.
Peter Pan and Wendy, J. M. Barrie (Chapter 1).

Written: 7-9 June 2013, for princess aleera's birthday.

Pairings: None (except Dean/Castiel/Sam friendship)

Rating: M, for a little gore at the start

Genre and tropes: Baby fic, bunker fic, fallen Castiel, human Castiel, domestic fluff, post season 8

Word count: 6k.

Spoilers: Assume knowledge through to the end of season 8.

Summary: They come across an abandoned newborn, on a case. Sam assumes Dean will put her up for adoption. Any minute now... right? (Also known as, I can’t help it, I have father!Dean feels this week.)

Warnings: Gore (canon-level violence) resulting in an orphan.

AO3 link.

“I thought their eyes couldn’t focus so young.”
Dean’s finger reached out, traced across the baby’s cheek, earned a small noise.
“Guess nobody told her that. Wants to get you all figured out - don’t you, darlin’?”
There was a lazy ease to Dean’s voice when he spoke to her that brought out the drawl, the one he usually kept hidden under the sharpness of the job, of being the tough guy with the world on his shoulders. It did strange, uneasy things to Sam’s gut - some not-quite-right feeling that he couldn’t place.

( Read more... )

Audio file download

Given how stern AHBL is about video recording, I decided that it would be less stressful and provide more continuity to make an audio recording instead - ie, just leave my phone sitting quietly and innocently beside me absorbing everything that went on. This little series is my audio files and the transcripts from the All Hell Breaks Loose convention at Melbourne, Victoria, Australia, on Sunday June 2 2013. Guests were Misha, Richard, Sebastian, Mark Sheppard, Rob Benedict (who was also MCing), Matt Cohen.
Please don't ask me for videos, because I have none! Where I know of videos for the panel made by others, I'll link to them. If anyone else knows of them, please link them in the comments and I'll add them. Thanks! :)

Note: Between the high energy levels of this section, the fact that there are six of them onstage (well, five mostly, because Mark decided to sit down about two minutes in), two of the microphones had a high level of distortion, and the audience is very noisy, a lot of this was very hard to transcribe. Some sections are drowned out, and some places I’ve had to guess who’s speaking. Feel free to correct me in comments if you remember it differently!

The venue is a large lecture theatre, with sloped seating, two large overhead screens at the front, and a big podium + desk front and centre. Hence the references throughout the day, from several of the guys, to feeling like they’re back in class, jokes about transparencies and teacher/student roleplay etc. There are two aisles leading up from the front, dividing the audience into three sections: a broad section up the middle, and two narrower ones up either wall.

The guys enter from the doors at the base of the theatre, so they walk right onto the stage. Sebastian is in front.

Sebastian: Today’s class... today’s class is about ... Supernatural.

Matt (as if conducting a class, gesturing to the screens): Can we get that transparency up here that we were talking about?

(Video for the next minute)

Misha: Uhm, what’s funny about what happened just now is that we were walking - they were taking us somewhere - and we walked into the room, not knowing that this was where we were going... (mimes walking along casually, suddenly seeing a room full of audience) WHOA!

Sebastian: This is nice!

Misha (eyeing off the enormous desk): What’s great is this is also exactly where you wanna stand. Right here.

Sebastian: Exactly, yes.

( Read more... )

- Sebastian is ridiculous - but actually sweeter and less intimidating than I'd expected to find him.

- Mark is caustic, but says interesting thoughtful things and has persuaded me to watch BSG.

- Matt and Richard's panel turned into a group thing - they persuaded Rob (who was MCing) to stay (and all three acted out the Saga of Last Night's Plane Trip in graphic detail), then Sebastian wandered in and sat up the back doing occasional heckling, and Misha dropped by at one point to call them all liars.

- Rob is adorable.

- Somehow Misha got me reciting Middle English poetry in his panel when I was trying to ask whether Castiel had any trust issues.

- The con staff should know better by now than to try to organise the ordering of questions in a panel: it was a bit of a saga all day, them trying to catch the guys' attention to whichever person they'd decided was next (and handed the microphone to) while Sebastian and Mark wandered around picking their own people and occasionally paying attention to whomever the staff had picked, and Matt and Richard took over completely and roamed the audience handing out their own microphones in turn, and Misha just stayed up the front and pointed at hands and said YOU.

- Mark is the sensible adult who goes home at a reasonable hour and doesn't turn up to karaoke - nobody was surprised.

And, most importantly - video recording wasn't allowed, and was stamped down on pretty hard, which I knew from last year, so I made complete audio recordings of the panels (with the exception of about five minutes at the start of Mark's, because a girl's got to bolt down her lunch sometime). Once I've edited the files they'll be up here, and I will transcribe them as well, with explanatory notes like [Sebastian gestures at his crotch] and [Matt mimes an aeroplane diving sideways] sometime before the end of the week.

O, brave new world!

an epilogue to season 8

Alonso: Arise, and say how thou camest here.
Miranda: O, wonder!
How many goodly creatures are there here!
How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world,
That has such people in’t!
Prospero: ‘Tis new to thee.
The Tempest, William Shakespeare (Act V, Scene 1).

Written: 18-22 May 2013.

Pairings: Dean/Sam, Castiel/Dean, Castiel/Dean/Sam.

Rating: Explicit.

Genre and tropes: Wincestiel, episode coda, fallen angels, human Castiel, hurt/comfort.

Word count: 9500.

Spoilers: Through to (and especially for) the finale of season 8.

Summary: “Are you okay?” Sam put in, and Dean was fiercely stupidly grateful because he couldn’t ask it himself.
“I,” Castiel said, and he sounded so fucking lost. “Metatron was lying.”
“Oh, y’think?” Dean snapped out, and snatched the phone from Sam. “Where are you?”
“I’m not,” Castiel said, and, “I don’t know. Dean, everything is written in Italian, and I should be able to read it but I can’t remember most of the words and I can’t feel the Earth’s magnetic field or where the equator is or this vessel’s negotiations with gravity, Dean, I don’t know where I am.”

Warnings: None.

AO3 link.

Say how thou camest here.

Everything was very clear suddenly, as Dean hustled Sam outside, crouched with him in the lee of the Impala: clear in a way that Dean had almost forgotten. Sam was his, fierce as iron: the clutch of his hands in Dean’s jacket, the shake in his voice when he said Dean’s name like it was the only word he knew, the warm solid weight of him against Dean’s side. What was that they said - if you love somebody set them free, and they might even come back? Sam was sagging against him, coughing and groaning, but he was leaning on Dean and happy to do it, for as long as he needed it. For the first time in - hell, years - there was no crap between them, none of the push-pull and how-could-you and anger. Brothers again, and that was more important than anything. And they were going to be okay.

Then Heaven began to fall.

Dean couldn’t leave either of his men alone for five freaking minutes.

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Previous chapter.

Week 6.

11 kalends Octobris (September 21).

Note: Okay, so I give up on PWP. Warnings for this chapter of fantasy violence - of the monster-fight type, not domestic abuse or anything.

It had started out innocently enough. A quarrel in the morning, over nothing much - only Dean’s boundless and rather crude enthusiasm for chatter before breakfast, and Castiel’s lack of the same. Nothing terribly serious, logic would dictate; but Castiel wasn’t accustomed to arguing with Dean, even over small matters, and he found himself sulkier and more shaken than he’d expected.

They were out on patrol all day, the two of them - only a patrol, to keep the maps properly marked, nothing like a hunt. Castiel was soaring in slow zig-zags, scouting for signs of anything dangerous, Dean below on his horse with his favourite dog and a larger greyish one ranging out around him, shaggy and bloodthirsty. And maybe Castiel was a little further away than he would otherwise have been, maybe Dean was a little quieter. Maybe Castiel was a little distracted, tracing the complex little electric flickers of redcaps and gnomes and other more mundane life in the forest below. And his eyes were useless through the thick green thatch of the pine forest, of course, and he had no reason to be looking for something so large: the muted, roiling glow was nothing like the vibrant flare of werewolf, or wodewose, or any of those other creatures with a taste for flesh.

But excuses were for children, and those innocent of consequences.

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Mole End

Written: Friday 9 May 2013.

Pairings: None, although there’re several could-be-preslashes lurking about.

Rating: G

Genre and tropes: Angstfluff. Shh. It’s a genre. Also, bunkerfic, reading to sick people, hurt/comfort, and the idea of home.

Word count: 2200.

Spoilers: Episode coda to 8x21.

Summary: The bunker doesn’t really feel like home right now. Dean is restless, Sam’s a mess, and Castiel just won’t heal. Until one day, for no obvious reason, he begins to get better.

Warnings: None.

Notes: Just in case anybody doesn’t recognise it, the book in question is The Wind In The Willows.

AO3 link.

In her last text, Charlie asked how things were going back here at the hobbit hole. Coming from her, that’s... well, sweet, because Dean knows what she means by it, only just now Dean isn’t entirely sure it won’t be a grave instead.

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Angel: So that's everything, huh? No weapons, no friends, no hope. Take all that away, and what's left?
Buffy: Me.
Buffy, S02E22.

Written: Thursday 2 May - within an hour of watching the episode!

Pairings: Castiel/Dean preslash.

Other characters: Slight sightings of Charlie and Sam.

Rating: Teen.

Genre and tropes: Hurt/comfort, preslash, a little fluff, bunkerfic, Castiel being grouchy.

Word count: 2k.

Spoilers: Assumes knowledge of 8x21 ("The Great Escapist").

Summary: Let's just say it picks up directly from the end of the final scene, Dean makes more stew, and there is some discussion of the nature of angels.

Warnings: None.

AO3 link.

( Read more... )

Previous chapter.

Week 5.

Pridie ides Septembris (September 12).

Note: So, this chapter completely fails at PWP. It’s 13k long, and only about 5k of that is actually in the bedroom. Most of it is rambling family conversation around the table. I blame Charlie, Gabriel, and Family Themes. And also the fact that everybody’s learning to relax now. If you haven’t read the main fic, most of the group conversations before and after the actual sex scene will make no sense; but it might help to know that, while Castiel is living with Sam and Dean, Anna and Gabriel are staying with Charlie for now; that Anna and Charlie have A Thing; and that Gabriel has PTSD which means touching him is generally not a good idea.

---

“Fuck a goose,” Gabriel exclaimed politely, as he dropped onto the vacant bench opposite Dean in his nice quiet corner of the Roadhouse.

“‘Fuck a duck’ sounds better,” Dean pointed out absently, trying to get this weird plait-knot thing to lie flat. “If you’re into, you know, fowl play.”

Gabriel snorted and kicked his feet up onto the table, at right angles to Dean’s. Ellen wasn’t around, so boots on tables were fair game, so long as you wiped the tabletop down before she noticed. “What poor textile are you butchering today, Winchester?”

Dean flipped him off, unravelled the last few rows (they’d been all lumpy anyway), and handed it over. He’d got the techniques from Missouri, so it was in theory a human design. Gabriel, though, had taken it upon himself to work out how those techniques, intended for large-scale fabrics, could be adapted for something the size and durability of an angel wedding bracelet. He’d supplied the threads, too, because apparently getting the right colours was important and there weren’t that many options in the local dyes.

Apparently Dean was already paying him back by working on removing the stick from Castiel’s ass. Dean wasn’t quite sure he approved of anyone but himself speculating about Castiel’s ass.

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Previous chapter.

Week 4.

Nones Septembris (September 5).

One day after the final scene of Bright as a Gorgon’s Eyes.

Strong, slippery hands kneaded their way up the back of Castiel’s bare thigh. Again.

They slid up over the sensitive crease between thigh and buttock, pressed deep tempting furrows into the aching muscle there, rubbed the tingle of the liniment firmly all over and set shivers that had nothing to do with any liniment chasing each other up and down his body until the skin itself was yearning for those fingers to slip just a little sideways, just a little farther in, right to the most delicate spaces in the very centre of -

Then they moved away. Castiel’s slicked-up buttocks were left to the lazy lick of the summer sun, and the hands returned to the back of his lower thighs, just above his knee.

Again.

Castiel was beginning to suspect that he had betrothed himself to a very cruel man.

( Read more... )

Next chapter.

Frate, non far: ché tu se’ ombra, e ombra vedi.

Brother, do not so: for you are a shadow, and a shadow am I.

frate non far cherishedsaulie cover

Già s’inchinava ad abbracciar li piedi
al mio dottor; ma el li disse: “Frate,
non far, ché tu se’ ombra e ombra vedi”.
Ed ei surgendo: “Or puoi la quantitate
comprender de l’amor ch’a te mi scalda,
quand’io dismento nostra vanitate,
trattando l’ombre come cosa salda”.

Already stooping to my lord [Virgil], he made to kiss his feet;
but my lord said to him, “Brother, do not so: for shade thou art, and look’st upon a shade.”
And the other man, rising:
“Now thou wilt understand how hot is my love for you, as I forget our nothingness,
treating these shadows as material things.”

Dante Alighieri, Purgatorio xxi ll. 130-136. Dante and Virgil encounter an old friend of Virgil’s in Purgatory.
Translation adapted from that of Dorothy L. Sayers.

Written for the Gabriel Big Bang 2013.
Art by the amazing cherishedsaulie.
Betaed by Ealasaid; and special thanks to princess_aleera for letting me bounce ideas off her about Castiel and Gabriel’s dynamics.

Summary: A Purgatory fairy tale. Finding Gabriel in Purgatory is only the start. Steeped in Purgatory’s Lethe effect, Gabriel has forgotten everything about himself and the world - or has he? Dean is determined that he’s getting all of them out Dick-land and back into the real world, but when one angel doesn’t believe he deserves to get out and the other one doesn’t know what out is, that’s easier said than done.

Characters and Pairings: Emotionally, Castiel/Dean/Gabriel. Although the only actual sex is Dean/Gabriel, all the relationships draw on elements of romance and the erotic in places.

Rating: Explicit.

Word count: 41k.

Genre and tropes: Purgatory!fic; threesome; amnesia; incorporeal!Gabriel (temporary).

Warnings: Various forms of PTSD, as we’d expect of Dean and Castiel following the end of season 7. Moderate angelcest. Slightly sexual dom/sub elements (used to a specific therapeutic end rather than as a regular dynamic in the relationship), including edgeplay and not-exactly-mindsex. Moderate-level sexual situation initiated by a character who isn’t capable of fully conscious consent. Amnesia. Strange narrative voice, as the P. O. V. character begins the story semi-formless in mind and body, and the narrative style gets clearer as he relearns himself and the world around him. Swearing, in Dean and Gabriel’s dialogue and (increasingly as the story progresses) in the narrative voice.

Spoilers: Through to the finale of season 7. This verse was begun before season 8 aired, so is not influenced by the show’s depiction of Purgatory. You may catch me playing with character ideas that have arisen over the course of the season, but these shouldn’t be recognisable as such unless you’ve watched the season (and therefore not spoilery).

Notes: Conceptually inspired by the eerily beautiful tumblr, wanderingthroughpurgatory. Second in the A rimirar le stelle series, and therefore sequel to La diritta via era smarrita. It isn’t essential to read that first, but it’s only 3500 words long and the dynamic between Dean and Castiel in the earlier parts of this fic will make more sense with that in mind. Besides, it has pretty, eerie Purgatory images in it; and, being mostly from Dean’s perspective, describes the visuals of Gabriel’s incorporeal and semi-corporeal forms better than incorporeal Gabriel ever bothers to do.

--- Links ---

La diritta via era smarrita

Art masterpost

wanderingthroughpurgatory

On AO3

“You wanna know how long it’s been since I was only an angel, kid? Hell of a lot longer than since those vamps were only human. Empires have risen and nose-dived, and so have gods. There’s nothing pure about me.”

Previous chapter.

Week 3.

6 kalends Septembris (August 27).

Six days after the events of An Acorn Button. This one accidentally got a bit plotty. For those who haven’t read the main story: Castiel’s parents died during the angelic civil war, and his oldest brother (Gabriel) staged his own death, fled, posed as human and set himself up as an itinerant pedlar. Their other brother, Balthazar, was killed far more recently in the fighting between humans and angels, and it was Dean who dealt the death blow. They’ve resolved all that now (insofar as you can resolve that), and Gabriel is preparing to leave with his eager new apprentice, Sam. Who might just be infatuated with him. Dean found out that little fact six days ago, and it’s forced him to actually confront the fact that he's about to lose his little brother.

“... Shit.”

Dean’s stride broke and faltered, the last harsh thud of his boot jarring and skidding on the grass. It left a black scar in the earth.

Castiel looked up, his face caught between bemusement and welcome and his long clever fingers tangled in a mesh of coloured threads, and that was all Dean saw before the dark cloud in his head was whispering no, no, don’t let him see, don’t touch him and dragging Dean back and away.

He fled like a fucking coward.

Or he tried to. But he hadn’t got three steps before Castiel said his name, rusty and puzzled and quiet, and apparently even when Dean was in this mood Castiel could just reach into his gut and twist.

Dean’s feet stopped moving. His shoulders felt tight as rock under Castiel’s gaze.

“Don’t,” he snapped out, and his voice was this foreign jagged thing that should never be turned on his angel. “I can’t, Cas, okay? Not right now.”

( Read more... )

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