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while waiting for the new ep to download, i bring you this.
First of all, sign-ups for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
deancas_xmas ends in about a week so get to it! Second of all, I have recs!
The Dangers of Going Native by 22to22 & deancasarelove
Supernatural | Jimmy, Leviathan, Claire, Amelia | Mature | 5904 words | warning: gore, body horror, self-harm
He’s still Jimmy Novak who has never had anything bad happen to him.
Many fics deal with the trauma of angelic possession but this is the first one I've read about the trauma of leviathan possession. I have missed fic like this, man. The writing is halfway between gorgeous and creepy. I cannot recommend this enough.
Nothing else to say by ineptshieldmaid
Inception | Robert/Saito | Mature | 807 words
The year is 2003, and Robert Fischer doesn’t recognise Tadashi Saito when he sees him.
Saito fic is so rare, which is unfortunate because he's the character I'm most interested in reading fic for, and Robert/Saito is my favorite pairing based on some elaborate post-movie headcanon I have about one or both of them descending into post-inception neurosis. So this fic was really nice to find.
Third of all, for![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
switchbladesis's birthday, I wrote her fic about Ben Edlund being a muppet, because he is. I'm reposting that here.
A Very Muppet Metamorphosis
with apologies to Franz Kafka. ~900 words of gen.
One morning, as Ben Edlund was waking up from anxious dreams, he discovered that during his mid-morning office nap he had been changed into a muppet. He sat on his swivel chair and saw, as he lifted his head up a little, his blue felt abdomen covered in fuzz. From where he sat, the computer keyboard seemed far away and quite large. His noodley arms, pitifully thin in comparison to his bulbous head, flailed helplessly before his eyes.
“What’s happened to me,” he thought. It was no dream. His office, a proper room for a man of his status - which is to say, liberally covered in posters of space cowboys and cartoon superheroes named after bugs - lay quietly between the four well-known walls. Ben’s glance then turned to the window. The dreary weather—the rain drops were falling audibly down on the window ledge—made him quite melancholy. “Why don’t I troll the internet for a while longer and forget all this foolishness,” he thought, in the manner of all chronic procrastinators. But this was entirely impractical, for to do that he would need fingers, but in his present state he only had textiles. No matter how hard he banged the keyboard, the most he could manage was ‘adslkj’. He must have tried it a hundred times, putting all his energy into it and moving with his entire body, and gave up only when he began to shed blue fuzz all over the keys.
He felt a slight itching on the top of his abdomen. He flopped back in his seat so that he could look down at the source of the irritation, which was a seam coming undone and his stuffing beginning to fall out—he did not know what to make of that and wanted to feel the place with his hand, but he retracted it immediately, for the contact felt like the cold blast of mortality, and also it looked gross.
He checked his phone on the desk. “Good God!” he thought. It was half past eleven, even past the half hour, already nearly quarter to. Could the alarm have failed to ring? One saw that it was properly set for ten o’clock. The script was due this afternoon, an amended deadline, and it was far from polished. (DEAN: “That’s not the point, Cas!” CASTIEL: something cryptic, blah blah feelings) And even if he turned the episode in, there was no avoiding a blow-up with Jeremy. The guy had been kind enough to already tolerate one late script from Ben. It would be suspicious and embarrassing, especially since he had enthusiastically emailed Jeremy just last night, promising action, comedy, and an emotional conclusion to the vampire pirates subplot that will have half the fandom posting gushing approval and the other half sending hatemail.
Ben sighed. He just wanted to somehow make it home, have that leftover calzone in his fridge, and only then consider further action regarding his current situation, for—he noticed this clearly—keysmashing at the internet would not help him reach a reasonable conclusion.
It was very easy to get off the chair. He needed only to push himself up a little, and he fell by himself. But to continue was difficult, particularly because he was so unusually floppy. He needed proper arms and hands to push himself upright. Instead of these, however, he had only these fuzzy things akin to tentacles, which were incessantly flailing with very different motions and which, in addition, he was unable to control. “But I must not stay in my office uselessly,” said Ben to himself.
The attempt went quite slowly. When, having become almost frantic, he finally hurled himself forward with all his force and without thinking, he chose his direction incorrectly, and he hit his desk hard, then his cellphone fell on him. The violent pain he felt made him wonder if perhaps, as a muppet, this would be easier if someone’s hand was up his ass. He wondered, if it came to that, whose hand it would be.
Probably Misha’s.
With a Grover-like hrrrmmm, Ben stared at his phone contemplatively, then began thwacking the keypad until, by some miracle, it called the one in his phonebook listen as - for reasons we neither have the time nor low taste to explain - The Late Great Funktronica.
“Aha, perfect,” Misha greeted him, after the second ring. “Listen, Jared is being wrong about something and maybe you can weigh in on this life-or-death matter: Luke Skywalker or Han Solo?”
“Leia Organa,” Ben scoffed. “Misha, I need your help.”
“What’s wrong with your voice?”
“You’ll see when you get here.”
“What? Where?”
“My office!”
“Who is that?” he heard Jared ask in the background. “Is that Jensen? His opinions don’t count, he liked the Phantom Menace.”
“Hurry, Misha!” Ben pleaded. “You’re my only hope.”
Misha made an approving sound. “When you play the Leia cards, you play them right.”
“Misha.”
“Fine. I’ll be there soon.”
Misha hung up, and Ben flopped over backwards, wondering how of all the people in all the world, it was he who became a muppet. Or were there others like him, who woke up muppet? Was it a punishment? Or was there just something innately muppetish in this man Ben Edlund, just now coming to the fore?
“Bork, bork, bork,” Ben murmured sadly, and waited for Misha to arrive.
deancas_xmas ends in about a week so get to it! Second of all, I have recs!The Dangers of Going Native by 22to22 & deancasarelove
Supernatural | Jimmy, Leviathan, Claire, Amelia | Mature | 5904 words | warning: gore, body horror, self-harm
He’s still Jimmy Novak who has never had anything bad happen to him.
Many fics deal with the trauma of angelic possession but this is the first one I've read about the trauma of leviathan possession. I have missed fic like this, man. The writing is halfway between gorgeous and creepy. I cannot recommend this enough.
Nothing else to say by ineptshieldmaid
Inception | Robert/Saito | Mature | 807 words
The year is 2003, and Robert Fischer doesn’t recognise Tadashi Saito when he sees him.
Saito fic is so rare, which is unfortunate because he's the character I'm most interested in reading fic for, and Robert/Saito is my favorite pairing based on some elaborate post-movie headcanon I have about one or both of them descending into post-inception neurosis. So this fic was really nice to find.
Third of all, for
switchbladesis's birthday, I wrote her fic about Ben Edlund being a muppet, because he is. I'm reposting that here.A Very Muppet Metamorphosis
with apologies to Franz Kafka. ~900 words of gen.
One morning, as Ben Edlund was waking up from anxious dreams, he discovered that during his mid-morning office nap he had been changed into a muppet. He sat on his swivel chair and saw, as he lifted his head up a little, his blue felt abdomen covered in fuzz. From where he sat, the computer keyboard seemed far away and quite large. His noodley arms, pitifully thin in comparison to his bulbous head, flailed helplessly before his eyes.
“What’s happened to me,” he thought. It was no dream. His office, a proper room for a man of his status - which is to say, liberally covered in posters of space cowboys and cartoon superheroes named after bugs - lay quietly between the four well-known walls. Ben’s glance then turned to the window. The dreary weather—the rain drops were falling audibly down on the window ledge—made him quite melancholy. “Why don’t I troll the internet for a while longer and forget all this foolishness,” he thought, in the manner of all chronic procrastinators. But this was entirely impractical, for to do that he would need fingers, but in his present state he only had textiles. No matter how hard he banged the keyboard, the most he could manage was ‘adslkj’. He must have tried it a hundred times, putting all his energy into it and moving with his entire body, and gave up only when he began to shed blue fuzz all over the keys.
He felt a slight itching on the top of his abdomen. He flopped back in his seat so that he could look down at the source of the irritation, which was a seam coming undone and his stuffing beginning to fall out—he did not know what to make of that and wanted to feel the place with his hand, but he retracted it immediately, for the contact felt like the cold blast of mortality, and also it looked gross.
He checked his phone on the desk. “Good God!” he thought. It was half past eleven, even past the half hour, already nearly quarter to. Could the alarm have failed to ring? One saw that it was properly set for ten o’clock. The script was due this afternoon, an amended deadline, and it was far from polished. (DEAN: “That’s not the point, Cas!” CASTIEL: something cryptic, blah blah feelings) And even if he turned the episode in, there was no avoiding a blow-up with Jeremy. The guy had been kind enough to already tolerate one late script from Ben. It would be suspicious and embarrassing, especially since he had enthusiastically emailed Jeremy just last night, promising action, comedy, and an emotional conclusion to the vampire pirates subplot that will have half the fandom posting gushing approval and the other half sending hatemail.
Ben sighed. He just wanted to somehow make it home, have that leftover calzone in his fridge, and only then consider further action regarding his current situation, for—he noticed this clearly—keysmashing at the internet would not help him reach a reasonable conclusion.
It was very easy to get off the chair. He needed only to push himself up a little, and he fell by himself. But to continue was difficult, particularly because he was so unusually floppy. He needed proper arms and hands to push himself upright. Instead of these, however, he had only these fuzzy things akin to tentacles, which were incessantly flailing with very different motions and which, in addition, he was unable to control. “But I must not stay in my office uselessly,” said Ben to himself.
The attempt went quite slowly. When, having become almost frantic, he finally hurled himself forward with all his force and without thinking, he chose his direction incorrectly, and he hit his desk hard, then his cellphone fell on him. The violent pain he felt made him wonder if perhaps, as a muppet, this would be easier if someone’s hand was up his ass. He wondered, if it came to that, whose hand it would be.
Probably Misha’s.
With a Grover-like hrrrmmm, Ben stared at his phone contemplatively, then began thwacking the keypad until, by some miracle, it called the one in his phonebook listen as - for reasons we neither have the time nor low taste to explain - The Late Great Funktronica.
“Aha, perfect,” Misha greeted him, after the second ring. “Listen, Jared is being wrong about something and maybe you can weigh in on this life-or-death matter: Luke Skywalker or Han Solo?”
“Leia Organa,” Ben scoffed. “Misha, I need your help.”
“What’s wrong with your voice?”
“You’ll see when you get here.”
“What? Where?”
“My office!”
“Who is that?” he heard Jared ask in the background. “Is that Jensen? His opinions don’t count, he liked the Phantom Menace.”
“Hurry, Misha!” Ben pleaded. “You’re my only hope.”
Misha made an approving sound. “When you play the Leia cards, you play them right.”
“Misha.”
“Fine. I’ll be there soon.”
Misha hung up, and Ben flopped over backwards, wondering how of all the people in all the world, it was he who became a muppet. Or were there others like him, who woke up muppet? Was it a punishment? Or was there just something innately muppetish in this man Ben Edlund, just now coming to the fore?
“Bork, bork, bork,” Ben murmured sadly, and waited for Misha to arrive.