...Dean could at least act like that matters, like Sam matters, like the fact that Sam's pissed at him but still cares enough to make sure he doesn't die a horrible viperine death is significant or is at least worth more than a cursory glance.
I love his totally idiotic rage, here. I love 'luciferous' and 'lucifugous', i love this: For a moment, Dean's trapped between Sam and the opened car door, and Sam seizes the opportunity, stretches an arm out, fingers brushing the metal of the doorframe, temporarily confining Dean to a triangle of desert road, bound by the Impala and Sam. Which in some ways, Sam thinks, is only a literal manifestation of the concepts that bind Dean's life and in doing so, define him, but it's far too hot for metaphor and psychoanalysis.
Just so much fucking win in this whole fic. Gorgeous, perfect, and exact.
this fic is brought to you by the word "lucifugous"aubade_saudadeMay 27 2010, 01:30:46 UTC
i think this is the first time i've read a fic where Dean is the one who instigates. \o/
so many beautiful passages here. loved it.
a few because i don't want to quote everything:
The sun's just as high as it was when he closed his eyes an hour ago; it cuts sharply through the windshield, singes across the dash. The rest of the world hasn't changed, either; it's still that dusty road, that scrubbed brown wasteland, small resilient trees clawing across the flat burnt cut of land, and the angle of the sun tinging blood orange the mountains at horizonfall. It's either hell or Arizona, Sam decides, and it's probably Arizona
( ... )
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I love his totally idiotic rage, here. I love 'luciferous' and 'lucifugous', i love this:
For a moment, Dean's trapped between Sam and the opened car door, and Sam seizes the opportunity, stretches an arm out, fingers brushing the metal of the doorframe, temporarily confining Dean to a triangle of desert road, bound by the Impala and Sam. Which in some ways, Sam thinks, is only a literal manifestation of the concepts that bind Dean's life and in doing so, define him, but it's far too hot for metaphor and psychoanalysis.
Just so much fucking win in this whole fic. Gorgeous, perfect, and exact.
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...Dean wouldn't die in the shotgun seat beneath that unbearable sky with venom twisted 'round his heart.
...thumbs hitched in his belt loops and his gaze directed at the horizon like he's looking for smoke or the glint of enemy artillery...
And that was brilliant.
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Eh, often HTML coding seems something akin to an art; there're guidelines but the rest is luck and possibly Gnosticism.
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so many beautiful passages here. loved it.
a few because i don't want to quote everything:
The sun's just as high as it was when he closed his eyes an hour ago; it cuts sharply through the windshield, singes across the dash. The rest of the world hasn't changed, either; it's still that dusty road, that scrubbed brown wasteland, small resilient trees clawing across the flat burnt cut of land, and the angle of the sun tinging blood orange the mountains at horizonfall. It's either hell or Arizona, Sam decides, and it's probably Arizona ( ... )
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there's a certain quality to your fics. they're very quiet and passionate at the same time.
What a beautiful idea -- thank you so much for this, and for all of your other kind words. I'm so glad that you enjoyed this one!
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