citrusjava: (Default)
Title: Two days from then, around, 07:30
Rating: gen
Character(s): Amelia
Words: ~700
Warnings: Read more... )
Notes: this is for [personal profile] kalliel - this is not the I was supposed to write, I hope it's still a bit enjoyable (though it's ok if not!).
This is very rough but I'll probably leave it like that - I like it enough to post
though it's ok if i am the only one.... Also - I feel like I might have stolen one of the lines here, if you recognize it, please let me know so I can return it home.



Summary: Why Amelia left for Texas

She'd planned it for a long while. Not the sort of planning that's about tickets and movers and dates, the sort of planning where you fantasize for four months about setting fire to your house, and the neighbor's, and running and running forever, and four months in you realize you're ready to go, all you need is your car keys and you run.

It was the pity she couldn't stand- that was true - but that was only part of it. It was the constant reminder. She'd lost him. He'd left her- just up and left her, no warning. That is- that's a lie- there were a thousand little warnings. In the slant to his tone, in the way his palm felt on her belly. In telling her- I'm unhappy, Amelia, I hate it here.

Everybody was unhappy.

No one left, really left.

Enlisted, like olden days, like she was the woodsmith's daughter and he needed out of an arranged marriage. She'd loved him so simply, before. Can't believe she'd even done something so wholeheartedly. Tried since to talk herself out of naivety, gotta stop, like everybody does . He's not coming back to you, don't let yourself hope for it. Be smart, Amelia, don't be an idiot, please, she begs herself. Still.

She didn't even have time for shock when he left, was still standing there hands wet clutching her dish towel for weeks. Don was off, kisses and hugs and a duffle, because there are not enough roads in the desert and trolleys get trapped in the sands - not even a letter yet and her mind filled with images of that trolley wheel sand-logged, hands still holding her dishtowel and she was coming back home with her paper bag, didn't know how to buy groceries for one, seemed pointless to cook for no one - not even a letter yet and he has no internet still - or he'd have texted her he would have texted her.

Mrs Snyder said hi, rummaging in her mommy bag - Amelia expected words about trash day or porch lights, about painting the front of their house pastel to match the neighborhood plan, and she'd be making those decisions on her own now. Mrs Snyder asked instead about Don, already went over that, didn't want to do it out again. Looks like she might make it a coffee invitation, they'd never gotten along, come have dinner with me and the kids some night, a neighborly patriotic thing that no one would need to follow up on - instead she pulled out a copy of Trauma and Recovery. Squeeze Amelia's arm sympathetically and Amelia's throat clenched with bile. The end of their life. "How bad do you think Don's flight was?" she deadpanned - but Mrs Snyder had left, family matters, offspring making his proud way to the middle of the road, only a moment unsupervised.

Don was missing, and she hated him for putting this unchangeable thing in her life, always, always going to be there, wanted to kick herself in the kneecaps for not knowing, not running on time, for never being this American wife right. The officer at her door barely legal to drink and she wanted to slap him hard and ask whether he was good to his girlfriend, slap him and tell him and America hands off my man you homewrecking slut.


She'd wanted to go to Texas for so long, fantasized about big people and big hearts, all of those families, surely she could find her own. Big dogs jumping of the back of a truck, jumping into the kid's pool like on all those YouTube videos, and she'd finally know the difference between normal BBQ and the real sort she'd never tried.

Once she was there, she was unable to say why she'd found her way to this big empty desert, to this town named after a Muppet.


Then a haunted eyed man hit a dog and messed with her AC, and she wore his shirt, and she needed that book again, and she knew better than hoping, in retrospect.
citrusjava: (Default)
Title: Two days from then, around, 07:30
Rating: gen
Character(s): Amelia
Words: ~700
Warnings: slurs, fantasy fire/violence, military canon badness, unbeta'ed
Notes: this is for [livejournal.com profile] kalliel - this is not the I was supposed to write, I hope it's still a bit enjoyable (though it's ok to say if not!).
This is very rough but I'll probably leave it like that - I like it enough to post
though it's ok if i am the only one.... Also - I feel like I might have stolen one of the lines here, if you recognize it, please let me know so I can return it home.



Summary: Why Amelia left for Texas

She'd planned it for a long while. Not the sort of planning that's about tickets and movers and dates, the sort of planning where you fantasize for four months about setting fire to your house, and the neighbor's, and running and running forever, and four months in you realize you're ready to go, all you need is your car keys and you run.

It was the pity she couldn't stand- that was true - but that was only part of it. It was the constant reminder. She'd lost him. He'd left her- just up and left her, no warning. That is- that's a lie- there were a thousand little warnings. In the slant to his tone, in the way his palm felt on her belly. In telling her- I'm unhappy, Amelia, I hate it here.

Everybody was unhappy.

No one left, really left.

Enlisted, like olden days, like she was the woodsmith's daughter and he needed out of an arranged marriage. She'd loved him so simply, before. Can't believe she'd even done something so wholeheartedly. Tried since to talk herself out of naivety, gotta stop, like everybody does . He's not coming back to you, don't let yourself hope for it. Be smart, Amelia, don't be an idiot, please, she begs herself. Still.

She didn't even have time for shock when he left, was still standing there hands wet clutching her dish towel for weeks. Don was off, kisses and hugs and a duffle, because there are not enough roads in the desert and trolleys get trapped in the sands - not even a letter yet and her mind filled with images of that trolley wheel sand-logged, hands still holding her dishtowel and she was coming back home with her paper bag, didn't know how to buy groceries for one, seemed pointless to cook for no one - not even a letter yet and he has no internet still - or he'd have texted her he would have texted her.

Mrs Snyder said hi, rummaging in her mommy bag - Amelia expected words about trash day or porch lights, about painting the front of their house pastel to match the neighborhood plan, and she'd be making those decisions on her own now. Mrs Snyder asked instead about Don, already went over that, didn't want to do it out again. Looks like she might make it a coffee invitation, they'd never gotten along, come have dinner with me and the kids some night, a neighborly patriotic thing that no one would need to follow up on - instead she pulled out a copy of Trauma and Recovery. Squeeze Amelia's arm sympathetically and Amelia's throat clenched with bile. The end of their life. "How bad do you think Don's flight was?" she deadpanned - but Mrs Snyder had left, family matters, offspring making his proud way to the middle of the road, only a moment unsupervised.

Don was missing, and she hated him for putting this unchangeable thing in her life, always, always going to be there, wanted to kick herself in the kneecaps for not knowing, not running on time, for never being this American wife right. The officer at her door barely legal to drink and she wanted to slap him hard and ask whether he was good to his girlfriend, slap him and tell him and America hands off my man you homewrecking slut.


She'd wanted to go to Texas for so long, fantasized about big people and big hearts, all of those families, surely she could find her own. Big dogs jumping of the back of a truck, jumping into the kid's pool like on all those YouTube videos, and she'd finally know the difference between normal BBQ and the real sort she'd never tried.

Once she was there, she was unable to say why she'd found her way to this big empty desert, to this town named after a Muppet.


Then a haunted eyed man hit a dog and messed with her AC, and she wore his shirt, and she needed that book again, and she knew better than hoping, in retrospect.
citrusjava: (Default)
Wait, is there, like, a separate spoiler for s8 )
citrusjava: (Default)
What if Dean's not telling Sam (he perhaps could have convinced him to do things Dean's way, he often does, like in Sacrifice), and not telling Cas, even, even though Cas was likely to be understanding - what if it's partially because Dean doesn't feel he deserves to have a happy ending?

I've been uncomfortable about about how the Batcave was too much to give the boys and still expect the series premise to remain stable and the boys to remain stable. Perhaps, being given something that big, the same way Sam retreated into himself and didn't quite take it (room etc), perhaps Dean needed it to be less good in order to be able to - IDK, exist in it?

He always said he wasn't gonna ever get an ending like that - gonna die young and that. And then he accepted it really well, enjoying it all - perhaps that was only while he didn't expect it to last? And as soon as he realized they did live there, and he had Sam, and they had a way in which Sam could perhaps enjoy the life while also not giving up his scholarly tendencies, and Cas was around, and even Kevin and Charlie were there a bit - family(ish) - perhaps that was simply too much - too foreign? And trouble, and having to worry about Sam and the supernatural, and even being horrible guilty - were at least something he knew how to deal with?

Probably, had he lost Sam, it would have been a whole lot like being with Lisa - and he couldn't go through that again... but still, he could have made it less of a problem, I believe.

And an unrelated Wincesty quote from 910 )
citrusjava: (Default)
Purity is discussed in this season by both Dean and Sam.

Sam talks about his deep need to become pure of his imperfections. The most important part of that is, perhaps, to be good enough to be approved of and seen as a person by Dean. Loved for his own self, rather than as someone to take care of. Seems that Sam believes Dean doesn't love him in that way, because Sam doesn't deserve it. As [livejournal.com profile] de_nugis pointed out too, Dean doesn't give Sam a reason to think otherwise. Sam first confesses this at the church, to whatever deity. Later he confesses the same to Dean - who, for all he refused to a tool of heaven, sure developed clear moral ideas and expectations of Sam. And to Sam, growing up with this glowing, strong, self assured, beloved big brother, for all he doesn't know it - Dean is perhaps as close to a deity as he gets.

Dean talked about purity as well, mostly in the beginning of the season. To Dean, purgatory was pure. This can be read as merely an expression of things being black and white there, easy, with no moral dilemmas . If so, it should be asked how come, in this blessedly black and white setting, Dean decided to cross the line and become close to a vampire. Perhaps it somehow allowed it? Regardless, there's maybe another way of seeing this purity.

Purgatory is built almost exactly in accordance with glorified reports of WWII as a purely masculine space, in which men can closely bond in a way unmarred by sex and not disturbed by women*. In which men can revert to their true masculine form, discover what they're really made of, and kill plenty of monsters.

Perhaps to Dean, like Sam, purity is being worthy of love, to him by John? Perhaps being a soldier, like John was, killing monsters daily and without qualms, like perhaps John seemed to demnad, was a way of finally being what Dean imagines John wanted?

For all Dean is a baddass, he is not traditionally masculine in every way. He is vulnerable, at times soft. He is pretty. He is loving, sensitive, and often wears his heart on his sleeve. Even the way he allows himself to express delight is not manly. He takes care of people - which may have been appreciated by John when directed at Sam and himself, but perhaps less as a simple characteristic. At least, in the way Dean imagines what John would appreciate. In many ways, Dean is not a good example of traditional masculinity. He must know this. It's probably the reason for a lot of his overcompensation.

It makes sense that Dean makes such an effort to be "a real man", cause that's what he believes John wanted of him. What is was, perhaps, supposed to grow into by then, but hasn't because of some inner flaw . What he's supposed to be, to be worthy of being a person. Just like Sam towards Dean. Perhaps to Dean, becoming pure and worthy means scrubbing off the places in which he is not masculine enough.

___________
*By the way, this resonates in a lot of SPN. For example - the tropes of women connected with this? The pure, incorporeal concept, often of a caretaker (like Mary, early Anna), the evil bitch (crossroads demon, Lilith and many others), the sweetheart at home who gets close to no characteristics and is not part of anyone's life (Lisa, perhaps Jess), and random one-night stands.
citrusjava: (Default)
It probably says a lot about season 8, or just about the way I perceive fandom these days, that when I read a mention, in an older fic, of Dean wanting twins, my first thought was "Och, another fic about Dean wanting to be a dad".

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