the paradigmatic cure fic - Logan sends Alec on a mission to retrieve the cure. The mission goes sideways, Alec is hurt, and Max realizes she's had a change of heart. Toes the line of Logan-bashing (crosses over it a bit, tbh), but I enjoy it enough to reread it fairly often, despite its flaws (which also include some POV slippage and some epithets).
Sequel to "Fire Took My Baby Away." Girl!Sam and Dean investigate a mysterious death, and Dean learns a little more about the girl he picked up, as she deals with Jess's death. Lovely.
Dean wakes up in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve and has a couple of visitors. Over and over again. Heartbreaking and funny and really well done.
But he couldn't risk letting his guard down, not in the middle of a hunt, not without someone to watch his back. / The TV murmured on, the low drone of speech, the occasional clink as a chef stirred or scraped a bowl. A sliver of light filtered in from the parking lot. He stared up at a water stain on the ceiling. Kicked at the scratchy blankets, punched the flat pillow into shape. Reached for his phone, flipped it open, checking the display. / Plenty of battery. Plenty of bars. Not that that made any goddamn difference. He'd learned the hard way after Sam left: it was never a problem with the phone. John sends Dean off on a hunt, and Dean doesn't have the best time on his own. Well done, intriguing casefile that really gets at Dean's loneliness and bewilderment during the Stanford years.
Sam had always had trouble distinguishing between positive attention and negative when it was coming from Dean. He had trouble caring, as long as Dean was looking at him, as long as Sam had him in thrall. Sam didn't like being emotionally twelve years old around his brother, but what could he do. Lovely. (wincest)
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In October of 1995, Dean walked out of an apartment building in Tampa with the clothes on his back and a semi-automatic. Then he walked off the reservation. Dean, sixteen, on his own. *sniffle*
He’s her first everything, really. Kiss. Grope. Fuck. She’s probably none of his firsts, but that’s okay. She doesn’t mind being somewhere in the undefined middle. / That first kiss is messy; all tongues and no finesse, stringy spit and clanking teeth. It tastes like orange pop and Doritos. / When they fuck, it’s a little better. Hurts a lot more, but she’s used to pain. Gorgeous look at a Dean through the eyes of a girl he meets when they're fifteen.
Because Dean had a knife, they scratched their names everywhere, into trees and onto gas-station bathroom walls and rest-stop picnic tables across all 50 states. Wherever they could find a blank space, so that it all belonged to them, like the backroads belonged to them, all those hidden places nobody else had ever been to, and like they belonged to each other. They made it so that each new town belonged to them. Brilliant young Sam POV, full of the magic and cruelty of childhood.
And it comes to Dean suddenly, light going on, that he doesn't know where he's sending them, but the chance is too great that that they'll end up down there and his hand goes slack around his shotgun. Beautifully heartbreaking - sharp look at Dean's jagged edges post 4.10, perfectly evocative of what he must be feeling, with a small bright ray of hope at the end.
Death to film critics! Hail to the CelebCult! - Roger Ebert's Journal
The celebrity culture is infantilizing us. We are being trained not to think. It is not about the disappearance of film critics. We are the canaries. It is about the death of an intelligent and curious, readership, interested in significant things and able to think critically. It is about the failure of our educational system. It is not about dumbing-down. It is about snuffing out. The news is still big. It's the newspapers that got small.
“Got a thing for blondes,” he says, biting into his burger, chewing loudly and openly. “Natural dirty blondes.” / Her face is frozen a moment too long like at first she’s so fucking pissed she doesn’t know whether to chuck her drink at him or throw a punch but when the moment passes, she breaks out in honest (and loud laughter), clutching her side. “Oh my God, you are that guy. Sleazy James Dean, that’s what people call you, you know.” Sweet, wistful, hot story of 17yo Dean and the swimmer he becomes friends with. Beth is a wonderful OC - vivid and likable, and Dean's unexpected connection with her is lovely.
Lovely story in which Dean gets stuck having to refurbish the house they're staying in. Dean's quiet competence and satisfaction in a job well done are palpable, as well as his unspoken wish for a little permanence in his own life.
Dean marks every place they stay. A series of poignant and haunting ficlets that feel really true to Dean, and the need to make his mark, secret but visible if you know where to look.
"I mean, honestly, how many times did your boss try to get himself killed?" A resounding silence followed, and Pepper winced. "I meant on purpose. As opposed to random racists shooting him more as a function of bad aim than out of intent. Which was completely horrible, but definitely not his fault." / "...Only the once, if we count the aforementioned random horror. And I think the explosion in Gaza made us even. Also, we agreed not to do that anymore." / "Exactly, because that's what normal people do. This... this is not normal!" Donna commiserates with Pepper after Tony's announcement. Perfect crossover.
Lucy looks at her brother, really looks, and what she sees worries her. If only they were in Narnia, then she'd be able to ask the trees or the rivers or even Aslan about what Peter and Susan were talking about. If they were in Narnia, she thinks, then Edmund wouldn't have that bruised look in his eyes. Sharp look at Lucy and Edmund between Prince Caspian and Voyage of the Dawn Treader.
"I know I'm small," she grumbles, "but you don't have to be so gentle with me." // "I know," Edmund replies. A smile plays on the corners of his lips. "You always say that, too." Lovely series of moments between Lucy and Edmund, set in and around Prince Caspian.