I have a new journal at laissier

So, I haven’t been around. I’m sorry! I’m a terrible person.
Mostly I have been keeping up to date with everyone’s posts, but I haven’t had a whole lot of time to comment, so forgive me if I haven’t said much lately.

I sprained my wrist pretty badly while being too cocky an ice-skater. Like seriously badly, as in my entire hand - from the second knuckle in all my fingers to past my wrist - was black and blue and swollen to twice its size. Ugh, it looked so horrible, for so long. But that’s pretty much all I’ve done for the last month - as well as becoming too obsessed with tennis in general and rewatching all seven seasons of Buffy.

Anywho, I have un-betaed supernatural fic. They’re not that long (like 1k each) so I’m just going to post them as they are. If you happen to find any mistakes - which is in all honesty, fairly likely - please tell me. I’m not going to cross-post them or anything, but I’d still like them to be mostly free of any glaring errors. *cringe

One is like an AU of the entire series based around the prologue of a book, and the other is an AU of the pilot wherein Sam dreams. HEH. Why do my summaries always sound so laaame.
Below is the linkage so as not to spam everyone with like three posts in ten minutes. (The links are the titles in case the orange is misleading)


Put Out the Fire On Us || gen ||

Supernatural. PG-13.
Dean, Mary, et al. Implied John/Mary. 1010.
AU. What if the supernatural didn’t exist, and Sam was taken at aged three instead. What their lives could have been like, ala The Deep End of the Ocean. For anyone who hasn’t read TDEofO, it’s insanely subjective, which is why the novel is narrated by two different characters depending on the situation.
CLEARLY NOT MINE.

&

Take My Love and Bury It (in a hole six feet deep) || implied slash ||

Supernatural. PG-13.
Sam, Dean, Jess, et al. Implied Dean/Sam. 935.
AU. What if Dean hadn’t come and gotten Sam before heading to Jericho.
Warnings: Dark themes? Most of the spoken dialogue is modified from the pilot script, and one line is a lyric. *cough. Silverchair. (You know Sam totally listened to them). *cough.
CLEARLY NOT MINE.

So I haven't been around much lately. I'M SORRY GUYS. But seeing as how things are settling down at school, it shouldn't be a problem for much longer.

My classes have been sorted, and now I'm taking; Biology, Chemistry, Physics and Professional English for Medical Scientists. Both Chem and Physics have a small Maths component, but it's only one extra class a week, so I'm okay with it.

I have a lot of unfinished fic. A LOT. I'll try REALLY hard to get some finished soon. I'm just feeling a general malaise towards LIFE at this point. UGH.

p.s. Jan, there's a Edward/James snippet just for you. Lol. It's kind of OOC and ROUGH. *hides* IT'S THE VAMPIRE WAY, PEOPLE. *cough*

Also: Dead Like Me is awesome, why did I ever forget that?

So, I’m finally finished with the whole HIATUS shebang. Thank GOD.

I have so much shit to tell you guys. And post. I have lots of shiny photographs of things such as; the beach near my house, my holiday snaps, my TRUCKER!cap and my Almond Tour of Renmark, SA.

Fun. IDK. ANND there is fic too. But it’s all like semi-finished, eh I’m easily distracted. You guys know this. It’s a mixed bag of Gossip Girl/Supernatural/Firefly/Gilmore Girls/Veronica Mars and WTF other shows I happened to watch anytime these holidays.

Dear F’list,

So, I’ve been watching a lot of Gilmore Girls lately. It makes me study because I feel so guilty about stupid Rory Gilmore and her stupid perfect 4.0 GPA and 1500 pSAT’s score and A’s in physics that I just HAVE to study or DIE of GUILT OR GUILT RELATED INJURIES. So, yes, I understand that she is a fictional character, but nothing makes me feel guiltier than watching the show and not studying.

Anyway, as much as envy Rory Gilmore, I also kind of hate her. Because of the way she acts, and how everyone still thinks she’s perfect. It’s weird and slightly petty I know, but it makes me feel better. Paris definitely deserves better scores than Rory because Paris actually LIVES for good scores, and yeah, Dean may be a little JEALOUS- but hey, Rory gives him a very big TRISTAN AND JESS shaped reasons to wig out. But everyone still thinks she’s so GOD-DAMNED PERFECT and can do NO WRONG. Eh. I like Lorelai heaps more.

Anyway, I want someone to write me a story where Dean (Jared Padelecki’s character) is actually Sam Winchester who left ‘home’ when he was 17 and went and lived in Stars Hollow for a year before he went to Stanford. Like, he got accepted early and Dean found the letter and the fight was earlier than cannon states it was. And he goes for Rory ‘cause she totally gives off ‘nice, normal, small time gal’ vibes and SAM CRAVES NORMALITY and he calls himself Dean, BECAUSE HE CAN’T NOT and then he acts like a normal guy in front of Rory until her Grandpa gets into that fight with him (circa season one) and then Dean/SAM brings out his freaky-smart utterly GEEKY side and Rory’s all, WTF!? And then her and Dean/SAM fight and Rory’s all, Ha! Look at me flirting with Jess, and then this mysterious stranger *cough DEAN WINCHESTER *cough ends up in town and Dean/SAM gets all twitchy and Rory’s like, OH NO, DEAN, I LOOOVE YOU. And Dean/SAM is all ‘sure, honey’ BUT THEN RORY CATCHES HIM MAKING OUT WITH THE GUY AGAINST A SHINY BLACK CAR AND BEING ALL POSSIVE AND HOT AND BITEY. And then he and the HOT GUY (aka. DEAN WINCHERSTER *cough) spend all their time together and laugh, and Dean/SAM is all open and fun and NOT POSSESIVE around RORY (but maybe he is around MYSTERIOUS HOT GUY) and MYSTERIOUS HOT GUY is totally all about Dean/SAM and doesn’t want a bar of Rory and they have lots of INSIDE JOKES and MYSTERIOUS STRANGER is all MOONEY EYED and IN LOOVE and Dean/SAM is all SMILEY and TOUCHEY and AT TOTAL EASE. And then Rory and Dean/SAM break-up, and Dean/SAM leaves with the MYSTERIOUS STRANGER to go to Stanford. AND THAT IS TOTALLY WHAT RORY DESERVES BECAUSE SHE NEVER APPRECIATED DEAN/SAM IN THE FIRST PLACE.

PLEASE, MAKE THIS HAPPEN. KTHNXBYE. (And bonus points if Rory goes to some inter-school thing and see’s SAM and Jessica making out. And Dean/SAM is all oh Rory, I’M HEADED FOR LAW SCHOOL AND I HAVE A SCARY GOOD GPA AND I NEVER DROPPED OUT, HOW ARE YOU? )
KTHNXBYE.


I have to go back on hiatus for a while, like another TWO WEEKS, but I really want this written, yeah? I LOVE YOU GUYS, ANND I MISS YOU ALL LIKE CRAZY.


- Leesh x

Here is some Hamish and Andy goodness, so you can all experience why an icon is so DESPERATELY needed.

( Wherein Hamish and Andy discuss VERY IMPORTANT issues. *cough. )

They also have awesome segments like,

'Thing's that make you go GRR'- which is where H&A pay people $1000 to do something REALLY annoying, like listen to the song #I wish I was a punk rocker# for two straight hours.

'Tell them they're dreaming'- One of the boys picks an items from the classifieds and the other has to ring the seller and try to guess what it is in 5 questions or less. The sellers don't know it's a game.

'Blast from the past'- One boy rings a random number, and tries to convince whoever answers that they have a past together, using a fake name and asking a random favour (like incubating crocodile eggs) or apologizing for something they did in the past (like cheating in a high school test).

How can you not love them? Look a their beautiful faces.






Finally,

Boys are getting their vaccinations for an over-seas trip

Nurse: "Since you last came in any new allergies, illnesses, blood transfusions- didn't fall pregnant?"

A: "I haven't. We-"

H: "No. There was a scare but..."

*both laugh*

Nurse: "Yeah?" *laughs* "But, I didn't eventuate? Oh that's good."

A: "No it was a false..."

H: "Just a little bloated."

*both laugh harder*

I’m going home today! So FREAKEN’ excited.

Also: Porn? I SUCK HARD.

Oh, what a tangled web we weave
[Jared/Jensen NC-17]
[Warnings: Um, angst? Sorry]
( [~1500]  )

I haven’t made a post in a really, really long time.Yes.

I guess it’s a weird personality thing; I just have to work on things a lot before I’m ready to put them out there. It sounds good in theory, but then I just distracted and never finish them anyway. Which is why I totally blanked on the assignment time and therefore handed mine in late.
ME? EPIC LOSE.

ALSO: ADELAIDE’S PUBLIC TRANSPORT SYSTEM BLOWS HARD.

Anywho, I also wrote some fic yesterday for rose_janice- wow this is really becoming a trend, huh? You probably shouldn’t encourage my STALKING tendencies anymore. Yis.

It isn’t beta’d or anything- And Jess, honey, I don’t know if I want you to read it because it is maybe, possibly, Wincest and I’d like you to keep an untarnished image of me in your head, but it’s okay if you do.

Title: And never comes, but shakes the boards and rattles all the doors.
Author: Aleesha
Character / Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC 17
Word Count: ~1800
Spoilers: '3x04- I think! Lol.'
Summary: Pretty much just angsting over Dean's deal
Warnings: Uh, major and minor character death.

I’m not really sure if like it, ‘cause it took me like an hour to write, and some parts I got bored with. It’s also horribly schmoopy in a desperate, death-fic’y kind of way.

Hmm.

The idea for this was basically stolen from some meme that was circulating a while ago, one where you put your Itunes on shuffle and write the first line of the first ten songs.

I cheated a little, and just picked a line from anywhere inside the songs instead.

Oh, how they have fallen.

Just read it before I put you completely off. Lol.

The lyrics are the lines throughout the story that are italicized.


PEE ESS- I pretty much ignored most of the story lines and arcs from season three. Ruby and Bela ARE still included. This makes people HAPPY n/n?

People like it when the boys just jump each other without any witty and well thought out dialogue, yes? On second thoughts, that should probably serve as a warning.

( And never comes,but shakes the boards and rattles all the doors  )

Title: Paint the silence black.
Author: Aleesha
Character / Pairing: Ryan
Rating: M (Ryan likes the 'F' word)
Chapter: 1/1
Word Count: 1299
Disclaimer: I don't own the O.C.
Spoilers: '3.25 The Graduates'
Summary: Ryan's thoughts after Marissa's death.
Author's Notes: This was written for a friend of mine, Jess, who is an avid O.C. fan. But me? Not so much.
Jess was complaining to me about not seeing enough reaction to the news of Marissa's death, because of the 6 month time-gap between seasons, and so I wrote her this. 
It was supposed to be a fic about the funeral, but it got warped into a fic about colours and their significance to Ryan's post-Marissa life.
The title is taken from the "South" song, "Paint the silence" which was featured on the show twice, and is an amazing song.
Beta credits:
tilly_rose_star  , because as we know, Me and proper grammer? don't mix.
All mistakes, however, are mine. 
 

Title: To Be Broken
Author: Aleesha
Character / Pairing: Lilly, Duncan, Veronica, Logan
Rating: PG-13
Chapter: 1/1
Word Count: 6150
Disclaimer: I do not own Veronica Mars. Veronica Mars owns me.
Spoilers: ‘1.06 Return of the Kane’
Summary: Duncan, Veronica, and Logan ruminate on Lilly's death.
Author's Notes: This is a song fic, the song is “Adelaide” by “Old 97’s” and no, I don’t own it either.
I highly recommend listening to it whilst reading this fic, for those of you that recognize the song it was played during the second season, in ‘2x11 Donut run.’
This is my first Veronica Mars fic, and the first fic I ever wrote, so Feedback is love.
Beta credits: My amazing, beta Jess, starxd_sparrow  , for her awesome job with this fic.
All mistakes, however, are mine

Put Out the Fire On Us || gen ||

Supernatural. PG.
Dean, Mary, et al. Implied John/Mary. 1010.
AU. What if the supernatural didn’t exist, and Sam was taken at aged three instead? What their lives could have been like, ala The Deep End of the Ocean. For anyone who hasn’t read TDEofO, it’s insanely subjective, which is why the novel is narrated by two different characters depending on the situation.
CLEARLY NOT MINE.


Later, when Dean tried to recall the memories surrounding that fateful afternoon, what he remembered most were the rushed hours that had preceded it.


It was ten years, easily ten years, from the day it happened to the day Dean finally looked at the photographs his mother had taken that morning - although God only knew why she had given them to him. He found the envelope tucked inside his college luggage, laid flat upon his pressed shirts, a splash of yellow against the dark stacks Dean himself had ironed.

Mary had never been one for housework, even before Sam’s disappearance, and she’d been practically catatonic for the better part of the decade that followed. When Dean was young his dad used to operate the washing machine and man the iron, and Mary would hang and collect the garments from the wire clothesline in their shady backyard. Sometimes - when Sam was otherwise occupied, and the baby was asleep - Mary would perch Dean on her hip and they would take the washing off together, spinning in concentric spirals until the dizziness became too much to handle standing up.

Mary would sprawl them out on the grass, her hair long and yellow, curling underneath Dean’s hands. “Don’t tell Dad,” she’d say, laughing, smearing sticky red kisses over his face. “Don’t tell Daddy we messed up perfectly good clothes by rolling around in the dirt.”


The photos themselves weren’t anything special, nothing like the monochromatic prints for which his mother had been famous. Mary had intended only to finish off the roll, the first few capturing the last moments of an unknown couple’s wedding, the rest just random shots of their house in Lawrence. There were eighteen photographs in all, and Dean laid them facedown on the bed, picking and turning them over as if he was playing a game of memory with his own fragmented past.


He traced clumsy fingers over an image of their old kitchen, light and airy, bathed in the soft golden gleam of dusk. A younger version of Dean sat with his knees tucked under his chin, feet bare on the marble countertop, fingers spread and covered in crumbs. He looked happy, a feat which had later escaped Dean for most of his teenaged life.

Back when his mother could actually function as a human being, Mary had baked sporadically. Mostly, she had baked banana bread; the sickly sweet scent of the overripe fruit was still enough, even a full decade later, to have Dean gagging on old memories whenever he happened upon it.

Once in a chemistry class he’d had as a sophomore, Dean had actually passed out from just the smell. They had been synthesising esters and his reaction of an alcohol and acetic acid had produced a compound with the distinctive odour of banana. His chest had gotten impossibly tight, not enough air inhaled despite his deep breaths.

When he’d come to, slumped against his bench, the nurse had already been notified, and that was it: mandatory counselling sessions for the freak that had random science-induced panic attacks.


The last picture from the roll was of their family, seemingly taken via the self-timer on Mary’s camera. His dad sat on the hood of the Impala, the baby tucked against his chest, one of her small hands caught in the chequered fabric of John’s shirt. Ruby’s other hand was reaching out for Mary, who had her own fingers outstretched, clutching at nothing more substantial than air. Mary was wearing a floating blue sundress, hair messily pulled into a knot at the base of her neck, looking harried and overheated in the mild August sun. Sam’s small body was in motion, evidently having successfully evaded capture by his mother. His chubby three year-old legs were moving him towards the rear of the car, towards Dean, sullen and pouting, hands crossed melodramatically over his faded batman t-shirt.

Dean hadn’t wanted to go to Wichita, had definitely not wanted to spend the five hour road trip with a crying baby or with an inquisitive Sam (who asked no less than five hundred questions every day). Dean hadn’t wanted to spend the entire trip baby-sitting his stupid siblings whilst his mother drank red wine, and just generally acted like a burgeoning alcoholic, at her tenth college reunion.

He had wanted to stay with his dad, wanted to spend the weekend at the auto-shop instead. He wanted to maybe help his dad rebuild an old car, or stay over at his Pappy’s, making the most of the limited time left he had to lie curled up on his grandfathers chest. He had told his mother so, that very morning, but it had been dismissed, airily forgotten with a flick of a careless hand. That was quintessential Mary behaviour; his demands lost in favour of rechecking their luggage, or cleaning up after Ruby, or finding Sammy’s favourite toy. Mary didn’t love Dean, at least not in the way she did John, and Sam, and baby Ruby.


Instead Dean sulked, hip pressed against the side of the boot, body turned towards Sam’s because even if he was frustrated with his brother, fed-up with the all the whining, he still adored him. It showed on his face, in his exasperated smile, eyes downcast and crinkled slightly at the corners.

Sammy’s face was blurred in the image, though his red t-shirt and bright blue shorts were as clear as anything else depicted in the tableau. Dean sat on his twin bed, alone in his dorm room, with fingers twisted into familiar worn sheets and stared at the photo.

He wondered if, all those many years ago, Sam’s eyes had already been filled with recrimination as he gazed towards Dean. He wondered if even then, before it had all gone down, Sam had already blamed Dean for getting him lost.


Dean would never really know, any hope of that had been taken alongside his brother: snatched away in a crowded room - a sea of people - whilst Dean drowned quietly in an ocean of guilt.

Take My Love and Bury It (in a hole six feet deep) || implied slash ||
Supernatural. PG-13.
Sam, Dean, Jess, et al. Implied Dean/Sam. 935.
AU. What if Dean hadn’t come and gotten Sam before heading to Jericho.
Warnings: Dark themes? Most of the spoken dialogue is modified from the pilot script, and one line is a lyric. *cough. Silverchair. (You know Sam totally listened to them). *cough.
CLEARLY NOT MINE.

Sam dreams.

Most of it is intelligible, like strange men with square slices of processed-yellow cheese, but some of it scares him. Sometimes, Sam dreams of his mother, blonde and beautiful, who smells of smoke and leaves traces of ashy marks across his skin.

“Sam,” she whispers, kissing his face - always Sam, never Sammy - “Sam, my darling.”

He sits on a marble countertop, kicking his legs slowly, as if they are submerged in molasses and not simply surrounded by air. He is maybe six, seven at the most.

She pulls out a tray of completely burnt cookies from the oven. “Oh they’re perfect,” she enthuses, lifting one to her pale red lips. “Sam, look, aren’t they just perfect? Extra chewy just the way we like them.”

Sam nods, thoughtfully, and his mother smiles back with teeth flecked black.

“Crash and burn, Sam,” she says, laughing. She twirls around on the tiles in bare feet, brightly coloured dress swirling like a cloud of yellow around her knees. “Without me you’ll all crash and burn.” Her arms are outstretched and open as she spins faster and faster.

The smell of smoke is thick and cloying, and he coughs, chest heaving, as each breath burns.

She turns quicker still, hair splaying out like a halo. “As fast as you can, Sam, now!”

His mother stops suddenly, fixing him with a serious look. “You’re going to knock them dead. I know it.”

Her laugh tinkles like breaking glass.


Sam wakes up gasping, always gasping, finger shaped marks in a ring around his neck.


In late August - while Sam studies, and fills in applications, and worries about proposing - the dreams change.


He dreams of his mother burning on the ceiling, dreams of blood falling like rain as he lies helplessly pressed against the bed. The thing is though, he doesn’t dream of its occurrence in his nursery, not of his old house in Lawrence - instead he dreams it takes place in the bedroom of the apartment he shares with Jess.

The room smells of chocolate chip cookies. Waning light filters in through darkened windows and slides underneath the partially opened bathroom door.

“Sam,” his mother urges, voice calm but eyes panicked. “Get a move on, would you?” She sounds more frustrated than anxious. “Sam, you coming or not?”

Her lips are blood red, parting softly as she screams.


And then, it isn’t his mother pinned to the ceiling. It’s Jess.


She’s wearing some slinky slip; bone coloured except for the crimson stain spreading from her stomach. Her leg is bent at a weird angle. She looks uncomfortable, Sam thinks, which is a weird thought to be having considering he’s about to watch her die.

The flames appear like a ring, licking over her prone body.

“Something’s not right.” Jess cries, terrified. “Do I know the truth about you, Sammy? Do I know the things you’ve done?”

Jess has never called him ‘Sammy’ before, and the words sound oddly strange from her lips. Sam shakes his head, dismissive. “It doesn’t matter.”

“You can pretend all you want, Sammy. But sooner or later, you’re gonna have to face up to what you are.”

What is that, Sam thinks, what am I? “I love you,” he pleads.

“Take me home.” Jess says. “I’m so cold,” she confesses, like a secret, as the flames engulf her.


On the day before like, only the most important interview of Sam’s life, the dream changes again.


Instead of watching Jess be completely consumed by the fire, something pulls Sam from the room, slams him up against the banister in the hallway.

No, Sam thinks. “No, Jessica, please,” he screams.

Steam leaks under the door, swirls thickly around his ankles. The rug beneath him is wet, squishing uncomfortably under his toes. Something moves downstairs, falls heavily against a hollow surface.

Everything is so dark, so empty and black. Dean is standing at the foot of the stairs.

His face is tilted up to where Sam is standing motionless. He appears to be shouting, but everything is bathed in silence - the complete absence of any noise whatsoever. His mouth is gaping, water spilling over his lips as he speaks incomprehensively.

Sam leaps over the side of the banister, grabbing Dean tightly by the shoulders after he lands. His brother puts up a slight struggle before pulling Sam down with him as he sinks to the floor.

Clutching at Sam’s face, he starts coughing up murky water, says, ‘I knew you’d save me.’ He’s freezing underneath Sam’s fingers, an unhealthy bluish tinge across his cheeks, lips a deep shade of purple. Sam cups his face, fingers clenching involuntarily as Dean leans slightly into the touch.

He remains kneeling quietly for a minute, head bowed, before struggling to stand up. “We’ve got work to do,” he mutters strangely, voice low. Sam keeps him down with the barest of pressures against his arm.

“Lie with me for awhile?” Sam asks.

“And lie amongst my lies, like a tuna in the brine.” Dean answers, laughing softly. He goes down willing though, wraps his smaller body around Sam’s larger frame.

Dean curls a hand under Sam’s arm, and places his palm down over Sam’s heart. He leans his head in the hollow between Sam’s drawn shoulders, rests his forehead and the cold seeps - quickly, quietly - through the thin fabric.

“Sammy,” Dean asks, voice small. “Can I keep you?”

Sure, thinks Sam, recalling the quote from Casper. But I’m not a ghost.

Dean’s hand flickers like a flame against Sam’s skin. I’m not a ghost, Sam thinks.