Uuuhshiny

KATYA, 32. My blog is a mess.

Все люди как люди, а я - Королевна!

  1/3  
— Why I like … Martin Freeman —

Yes really WHY??? He is not a type most people (women) will consider handsome. Let’s face it… he is not… BUT there is something in him. Oh I do not know! You just can’t help but want to submerge with him into the cosy old sofa, with glass of wine or beer, to watch something old and funny and stupid, to laugh at his jokes and comments, to fall in sleep feeling absolutely at home… you know as if there is no other place you’d rather be. For me he just radiates this irrational feeling of cosines, warmth and all silly fluffy stuff… I should shut up now…

From the small moments like this you can clearly see that Dean had no mother and ever-absent father from very young age. So basically no parenting at all. 
Because what do you do when you see strange substance with strong smell and unknown ingredients? You TASTE IT of course!!!
Oh, yeah, and the eyelash shadows!

From the small moments like this you can clearly see that Dean had no mother and ever-absent father from very young age. So basically no parenting at all.

Because what do you do when you see strange substance with strong smell and unknown ingredients? You TASTE IT of course!!!

Oh, yeah, and the eyelash shadows!

All from Blakravell

That look at his face…

It actually scares me a lot this season. He seems to be on the point of breaking down completely and irreversibly. Till the point of “Hey Sammy let’s go on a little ride from the cliff”…

He reminds me of Buffy Season 7, the same emptiness. Nothing there… As if there is no hope anymore, as if they are already dead inside…

I do not want that for him!!!

I do not ask a lot, I know that there can not be “happily ever after” for the boys. But just one more tiny bit of hope, one little smile.

Like this one:


Can you imagine:

"You’re resting on the porch of your summer cottage, enjoying solitude far away from any civilization on this hot day. Suddenly you notice a man walking down the road toward you. He seems lost, and hot, and been walking for a long time… He asks if he can use your phone, his car has been broken several miles from here. After the call he says that the AAA will be here first thing in the morning and if he could stay here for a night…”

"In my imagination it is a young Dean, he is being bailed out from jail by his father. 

He could not be more than 17-18 but he is already a real hunter: tough and confident bordering on cocky. He can fight, bare-handed or not, he can definitely defend himself and he will never ever give up…

So it was probably not a good idea for those three drunks (ten stitches, two knocked out teeth and one broken nose in total) to corner him behind the bar to get even for his luck at the pool table…  That night Lady Luck had been on his side. Well … at least he thought so, until he heard the sirens and was arrested on assault charges.

Such a small offence wouldn’t be a big problem for a regular guy. The whole point of youth is being stupid, doing things you regret afterwards. But Dean isn’t some regular guy, he is a Hunter. For him it means extra attention from the police in the future; something he can’t afford. Dean knows that…

Another thing he knows for sure is that his father will be pissed. He knows too, that the second they are alone, he will hear all about this…”

He sits in the bar, downing shot after shot, thinking (well… trying not to) about what’s happened for the last several years, all this crap with leviathans and Cas, and Bobby (oh, he’s definitely NOT gonna go there).
All things considered, it is actually nice to go out like this, he hasn’t done it in a long time, just sitting and feeling how alcohol slowly takes control over the body. He used to love this sensation of whiskey burning down his throat and heating his entire body from the inside, until the tickling in the fingers and toes, until the feeling of complete freedom, as if all the possibilities were open and every dream was within arm’s reach.
And the women were always there… frisky, picky, arrogant, desperate. Every kind. After a few shot he was able to talk into almost anyone. Used to…before.
Now he sits there trying to remember how it used to be, but failing. The memories are blurred, partial, almost unreal, as if they happened not to him, not in his lifetime. Well that’s the phrase —  “not in this lifetime”.
Now it’s just drinking till passing out, till forgetting who he is, what he’s done, who he used to be…
He feels expired, like food past its due to date, like spoiled milk, good for nothing, spent…
Now if he wanted to choose one phrase to describe himself, it would be “used to … before”.

He sits in the bar, downing shot after shot, thinking (well… trying not to) about what’s happened for the last several years, all this crap with leviathans and Cas, and Bobby (oh, he’s definitely NOT gonna go there).

All things considered, it is actually nice to go out like this, he hasn’t done it in a long time, just sitting and feeling how alcohol slowly takes control over the body. He used to love this sensation of whiskey burning down his throat and heating his entire body from the inside, until the tickling in the fingers and toes, until the feeling of complete freedom, as if all the possibilities were open and every dream was within arm’s reach.

And the women were always there… frisky, picky, arrogant, desperate. Every kind. After a few shot he was able to talk into almost anyone. Used to…before.

Now he sits there trying to remember how it used to be, but failing. The memories are blurred, partial, almost unreal, as if they happened not to him, not in his lifetime. Well that’s the phrase —  “not in this lifetime”.

Now it’s just drinking till passing out, till forgetting who he is, what he’s done, who he used to be…

He feels expired, like food past its due to date, like spoiled milk, good for nothing, spent…

Now if he wanted to choose one phrase to describe himself, it would be “used to … before”.

SPN_SH_Loss by mad-samurai
Not alone…
by uuuhshiny
Thanks to cakeisnotpie for being my lovely BETA!!! She is Amazing!
Raiting: PG
Crossover: Sherlock BBC/Supernatural
Pairing: No pairing
Characters: John Watson and Dean Winchester
Word count: 880 (drabble)
Complete: Yes
 
Cemeteries are strange places. Points of crossing over… Places where the walls between realities are thinner, almost transparent, to have a quick look, a tiny glance to the other side, to what could have been or what will never be… 
Two men came to cemeteries (two different ones in time and in place), men with their own worlds behind them, men that could not possibly meet anywhere else. Except for this very moment when God, Powers That Be, Fate or call it that ever you want opened the small door between their worlds for a purpose yet unknown…
***
At first John pays no attention to this young man standing not far away. Just another man with his loss and grief. God knows, John has it all enough for himself. But this tall man is just standing there, not near any grave and with firm determination all around him, so rare in grief, to make John take another look. 
The stranger is wearing a shabby looking leather jacket, which has seen better days, well… in eighties at best. The man is young except for his eyes. John knows how it is… He sees a warrior, a soldier (it takes one to see one). He feels they have that in common: battles to fight, people to save, friends to lose. Friends like Sh… No, no, no, he still believes, wishes, hopes that his “colleague”, his brilliant, extraordinary, amazing friend will find the way NOT.TO BE.DEAD. Somehow, against all odds… 
He needs to believe, otherwise it’s just him… again, and he’s afraid that may be this time he won’t be able to cope. So he looks at the stranger, desperately needing this man’s resolve and strength to carry on. Their eyes meet, green to blue, young to ripe, death in both… 
And he sees it, sheer determination enough for both of them, he absorbs it, feeling this man’s strength. He sees that they are the same, they fought, they lost, they grieve… Seconds pass, John straightens, salutes the stranger, thanking him, and walks away to another day, another battle…
***
Dean visits this place once in a while, when the job is near, and time is right. He tells himself, he is doing it to make sure the Gate is still closed and the railway Pentagram is intact… But really he knows why. Why he searches for jobs nearby, why he makes a detour every time he is around Wyoming, why he lies to Sammy about being with some random girl… But no more excuses, today he knows exactly why he is here, at this cemetery. The place where he saw his father for the last time.  
His father, who has no grave, not here, not anywhere. Dean thinks that maybe Sam was right about their mother’s empty grave, as a place to come to talk, to remember, to grieve. Perhaps he should do the same to his father later, at this God forsaken cemetery in the middle of nowhere. Because strangely here he feels closer to his father than anywhere else. But then he remembers that there is no “later”. Not for him anyway, not after Detroit, not after Sammy saying Yes… 
He knows that this is his last time here and the main reason for the hell of a detour from Detroit to Lawrence is to say good bye to his father. 
He never believed in words so he just stands there in the cold wind, remembering his father, thanking him for making him what he is now, giving him enough resolve to make a decision he has to and to bear what will come…
It is almost time to go when Dean notices a strange man, standing near a grave. The vision is a bit blurry and too bright for the cloudy evening in Wyoming so his senses begin to tingle a little. A ghost? Dean decides to take another look. 
Well, the man in his mid-forties is military, that’s for sure. The way he stands, the way he looks. He also has this sense of reality, like grounded, down to earth feel all around him. Not a ghost then… Their eyes meet, Dean sees grief, plea, pain, loss, loneliness – feelings that seem so very natural at the cemeteries, he’s seen them a lot to recognize. But there is also something else, like … hope? Grave yards are very strange place for hope… But then again, he thinks, you seem to find it in odd places when you need it. And God knows, he needs it now. And if this man, standing on the grave of someone he clearly loves, has it than may be, just may be against all these incredible, unbelievable odds he still can have it too, a tiny bit of hope… 
The man straightens, salutes as if thanking (thanking him?) and walks away. The vision blurs more and disappears… Dean stands a little while longer, making sure that everything is back to normal, and starts to the Impala. After all he has very important meeting in Lawrence to attend to…

SPN_SH_Loss by mad-samurai

Not alone…

by uuuhshiny

Thanks to cakeisnotpie for being my lovely BETA!!! She is Amazing!

Raiting: PG

Crossover: Sherlock BBC/Supernatural

Pairing: No pairing

Characters: John Watson and Dean Winchester

Word count: 880 (drabble)

Complete: Yes

 

Cemeteries are strange places. Points of crossing over… Places where the walls between realities are thinner, almost transparent, to have a quick look, a tiny glance to the other side, to what could have been or what will never be…

Two men came to cemeteries (two different ones in time and in place), men with their own worlds behind them, men that could not possibly meet anywhere else. Except for this very moment when God, Powers That Be, Fate or call it that ever you want opened the small door between their worlds for a purpose yet unknown…

***

At first John pays no attention to this young man standing not far away. Just another man with his loss and grief. God knows, John has it all enough for himself. But this tall man is just standing there, not near any grave and with firm determination all around him, so rare in grief, to make John take another look.

The stranger is wearing a shabby looking leather jacket, which has seen better days, well… in eighties at best. The man is young except for his eyes. John knows how it is… He sees a warrior, a soldier (it takes one to see one). He feels they have that in common: battles to fight, people to save, friends to lose. Friends like Sh… No, no, no, he still believes, wishes, hopes that his “colleague”, his brilliant, extraordinary, amazing friend will find the way NOT.TO BE.DEAD. Somehow, against all odds…

He needs to believe, otherwise it’s just him… again, and he’s afraid that may be this time he won’t be able to cope. So he looks at the stranger, desperately needing this man’s resolve and strength to carry on. Their eyes meet, green to blue, young to ripe, death in both…

And he sees it, sheer determination enough for both of them, he absorbs it, feeling this man’s strength. He sees that they are the same, they fought, they lost, they grieve… Seconds pass, John straightens, salutes the stranger, thanking him, and walks away to another day, another battle…

***

Dean visits this place once in a while, when the job is near, and time is right. He tells himself, he is doing it to make sure the Gate is still closed and the railway Pentagram is intact… But really he knows why. Why he searches for jobs nearby, why he makes a detour every time he is around Wyoming, why he lies to Sammy about being with some random girl… But no more excuses, today he knows exactly why he is here, at this cemetery. The place where he saw his father for the last time. 

His father, who has no grave, not here, not anywhere. Dean thinks that maybe Sam was right about their mother’s empty grave, as a place to come to talk, to remember, to grieve. Perhaps he should do the same to his father later, at this God forsaken cemetery in the middle of nowhere. Because strangely here he feels closer to his father than anywhere else. But then he remembers that there is no “later”. Not for him anyway, not after Detroit, not after Sammy saying Yes…

He knows that this is his last time here and the main reason for the hell of a detour from Detroit to Lawrence is to say good bye to his father.

He never believed in words so he just stands there in the cold wind, remembering his father, thanking him for making him what he is now, giving him enough resolve to make a decision he has to and to bear what will come…

It is almost time to go when Dean notices a strange man, standing near a grave. The vision is a bit blurry and too bright for the cloudy evening in Wyoming so his senses begin to tingle a little. A ghost? Dean decides to take another look.

Well, the man in his mid-forties is military, that’s for sure. The way he stands, the way he looks. He also has this sense of reality, like grounded, down to earth feel all around him. Not a ghost then… Their eyes meet, Dean sees grief, plea, pain, loss, loneliness – feelings that seem so very natural at the cemeteries, he’s seen them a lot to recognize. But there is also something else, like … hope? Grave yards are very strange place for hope… But then again, he thinks, you seem to find it in odd places when you need it. And God knows, he needs it now. And if this man, standing on the grave of someone he clearly loves, has it than may be, just may be against all these incredible, unbelievable odds he still can have it too, a tiny bit of hope…

The man straightens, salutes as if thanking (thanking him?) and walks away. The vision blurs more and disappears… Dean stands a little while longer, making sure that everything is back to normal, and starts to the Impala. After all he has very important meeting in Lawrence to attend to…

(S02E20 - What Is and What Should Never Be)

He looks so vulnerable, so insecure, so out of place in what supposed to be his dream world, he breaks my heart in every scene.

When he is desperately clinging to his mother’s touch… when he is trying to work it out/fix it’ with Sammy… when his “girlfriend” says “I have low standards” and HE FUCKING AGREES WITH HER!!!  

And this jeans-shirt (or something) with a tie!!! So NOT HIM! Impala truck full of trash… And Sam’s “we have nothing it common”…

I think right there he already knows that he does not belong here, even before he found out about all this people they haven’t saved…

And desperately clinking to the fantasy, he says “I can fix thing with Sammy”, kissing her, knowing already that nothing can be fixed.

He is already searching for the excuse, finding it, he’s almost relieved…

This is when Dean finally feels… home.

In Hell Alastair played all kind of mind games with him along with torture. So Dean keeps expecting demon to appear any second and drag him down again.

But here… The only thing Dean really knows in his life is Sam. And he feels real, true… So for the first time after crawling out of his grave, Dean actually believes he is out…

(S04E01 Lazarus Rising)

He didn’t flinch, didn’t walk away, didn’t push her. Because he was TAUGHT not to, because she had her WAY with him in Hell, because he KNOWS how useless to resist…

One can only endure… resuming his place, on the knees in front of her…

(S04E06 Yellow Fever)

uuuh-shiny:

What’s left of him by *JoWinchester401
“everything Dean”

Sam buried Dean only in clothes…
It took him the whole day just to change his dead brother into a new one. The body was so shattered, so drained in blood and barely were holding together. Gently he removed everything from it. The torn clothes, the bracelets, the samulet, the ring… Everything so Dean.
He couldn’t cry anymore, eyes dry, empty, like he felt inside. He cleaned everything as he could, put some new clothes on Dean covering the wounds, making it look like everything was OK, like his brother wasn’t torn to pieces because of him, like he still could fix it… 
The grave was ready, deep and hollow, like an open mouth waiting to swallow up everything, his hopes, his dreams, his family… 
It was time. Sam took the samulet. Suddenly the thought fired through the fog his mind was in. These were the only things left of Dean. He had nothing else… And he couldn’t, he just couldn’t part with them. 
So Sam buried Dean only in clothes, keeping the link between them unbroken through the phone (full of Dean’s voice), the ring (shining on his finger), the samulet (heavy against his chest), the leather jacket (still smelled like Dean) and Impala (waiting outside).

uuuh-shiny:

What’s left of him by *JoWinchester401

“everything Dean”

Sam buried Dean only in clothes…

It took him the whole day just to change his dead brother into a new one. The body was so shattered, so drained in blood and barely were holding together. Gently he removed everything from it. The torn clothes, the bracelets, the samulet, the ring… Everything so Dean.

He couldn’t cry anymore, eyes dry, empty, like he felt inside. He cleaned everything as he could, put some new clothes on Dean covering the wounds, making it look like everything was OK, like his brother wasn’t torn to pieces because of him, like he still could fix it…

The grave was ready, deep and hollow, like an open mouth waiting to swallow up everything, his hopes, his dreams, his family…

It was time. Sam took the samulet. Suddenly the thought fired through the fog his mind was in. These were the only things left of Dean. He had nothing else… And he couldn’t, he just couldn’t part with them.

So Sam buried Dean only in clothes, keeping the link between them unbroken through the phone (full of Dean’s voice), the ring (shining on his finger), the samulet (heavy against his chest), the leather jacket (still smelled like Dean) and Impala (waiting outside).

When I wake up tomorrow I hope there is a post about the dream you had about my drabble :-) IN FACT I DEMAND IT ;-) *huggles!!!*

I’ve never written smut before, so it’s gonna be sketchy…

It’s kinda continuation of your story or something… It’s a dream so I’M NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR IT!!! It was not me in it but “her” but you know … me… Oh, well…

 

Bar fight, not very serious but Jensen still throws several punches “defending my honor”…

We retreat through the kitchen, to the back door, into the small quiet dark alley, behind the bar…

He turns me around asking, “Are you OK?” Hand on my hair, devils still in the eyes, adrenalin running through our veins…

I hold him by his nape and kiss him hard, my whole body pushed into his…

He holds me tight, one hand on my low back, pressing, needing…

He is already hard… I can feel it, I can sense it…

His other hand is on my chest, squeezing, gripping hard, it almost hurt…

He pushes me back into the wall, never breaking the kiss…

His hands are under my dress, pulling my panties down…

I let him, working on his jeans…

He lifts me up, drawing the kiss lower on my neck, behind the ear, I tremble…

I part my legs, putting them all around him, holding him tight as if nothing else matters…

He pusher into me with one thrust, gasping of the sensation, gives me time…

I do not need a fucking time! So I ride him hard… All his length into me…

Oh, the sounds he makes…

I could almost come from that alone…

The pleasure is building inside, I can feel it…

I find his mouth with my own and bite his lower lip as my body shudders with orgasm…

This few erratic thrusts he comes too. Moaning low into my chest…

His legs buckle unable to hold us both anymore, so we glide along the wall down…

We sit like this, he’s on his knees, I’m on his laps, him still deep inside me…

His head is heavy on my shoulder. Both gasping for the air…

“Someone is coming” I say in a few minutes…

We stand up and run away, laughing…

Leaving my panties behind…

We won’t need them…

Where we’re going…

 

Well something like that…

— UUUH-SHINY, HUNTERSHELPER25 AND CRACKSMYSHITUP JOINT EFFORT IN WRITING SMUT —

What were you saying before? (smut, 1.300 words)

First he starts slow… A touch here… a soft kiss there… His hands (strong masculine) on me, leading up from my wrists to the shoulders…

He touches my chin and tilts my face up to meet his… lightly brushing my lips with his…..

I run my hands up under his shirt and explore his soft, subtle, muscular build….

Read More

— Uuuh-shiny sent you a fanfic you asked for: It’s a cold night; you watch a star falling… “I wish…” you say smiling to yourself… Wind blows, you shiver and hurry up inside. A glass of wine, a favorite episode and off to bed. Night full of half-images, half-feelings, half-shadows and half-light… You wake up to the warmth and light and kiss. “Hello, sleepy head” he says, kissing your nose. “Breakfast, or…” He is here… —

ackleyte:

Asdfghjklkjhgsa!!! **thank you, shiny!** :-) (no reaction gifs on my phone)

Edit: And I’ll take the “or”…

I knew you would ;)))