#monthly prompt

[setavvo]

For the “All About Kotallo” theme at the Kotaloy Elysium server @kotaloyelysiumevents!

[galacii-gallery]

Shattered September / A September prompt challenge!

This promptly challenge was inspired by Comyets Inktobertale! go check out their monthly prompt when it comes around the month after this one ^^!

Challenge starts on 9/01/2023! also known as September to most.

I wanted to join in on the monthly prompt fun and finally decided to make a 'Shattered September' monthly prompt challenge! This challenge mainly surrounds Shattered and his Nightmare, however you may draw anyone else using these prompts with Shattered or the Nightmare ^^! As for mediums? anything :D be it Art or Writing, the sky's the limit! Digital or in real life pieces anything can be shared.

Feel free to Skip and swap the challenges as you please, also there is no need to force yourself through the entire challenge. again this monthly prompt is for everyone's enjoyment.

The tags for this monthly prompt will be '#ShatteredSeptember2023'

I hope you all have fun with this monthly prompt- I will try to join but no promises because I may or may not be busy ^^.

I'm posting this earlier then expected to give people time to muster up the energy and plan ( I would've posted this days ago but I was busy gurreg ) feel free to send any questions relating to this as well and I'll try to answer as soon as I can OwO

[spnfanficpond]

Monthly Prompt

It's November!!!!!

Your prompt this month is PIE!

Wether your character is baking or eating a pie (among other things)! Wether they're celebrating Thanksgiving with a pumpkin pie! We want to know what you can do with it!!! It goes for both Sweet AND Savory pies!!!

As always feel free to tag us in your story! We'll be more than happy to reblog it

[fanficocean]

Monthly Prompt

It's November!!!!!

Your prompt this month is PIE!

Wether your character is baking or eating a pie (among other things)! Wether they're celebrating Thanksgiving with a pumpkin pie! We want to know what you can do with it!!! It goes for both Sweet AND Savory pies!!!

As always feel free to tag us in your story! We'll be more than happy to reblog it

[sc-intothedarknightofthesoul]

The Spirit of the Sword

<- With retro effects ~ Without retro effects ->

My power got knocked out twice while working on this (first was my breaker during the heatwave, then a storm came in and knocked out my power completely which luckily lasted a few minutes, but was super annoying that they set me back a bit).

But never mind that, here's my prompt entry from the Soul Calibur group, in which case asked to feature either Elysium or Inferno manipulating their hosts via illusions of their loved ones.

Since I was working with her already for another drawing I'm working on, I thought I do one with Xianghua, one of the canonical wielders of Soul Calibur alongside Siegfried and Patroklos.

Of course, we don't actually see her get possessed or get manipulated by Elysium, the obvious being that Soul Calibur was hiding out as Krita-Yuga, but also probably because she fought Nightmare and Inferno alongside Kilik who held the Dvapara-Yuga with him, and Elysium started playing a more active role in Soul Calibur 4 and 5.

But what if Xianghua did?

I figured the loved one Elysium would take the form of would be Xiangfei, Xianghua's mother, drawn as the ethereal crystal lady floating behind her as a stylistic choice.

Other than the power outages, I had a lot of fun drawing this.

[ani-coolgirl]

Red Delicious

Red Delicious

Pairing: Wincest

Prompt: For SPN FanFic Pond's September 2023 prompt: apple picking. Read here on AO3.

Word Count: 2,113

Warnings: incest

There’s a dream Dean has and it goes like this:

The car’s parked under a tree and a checkered picnic blanket, complete with blanket and beer, is spread on the grass beside her. It’s like those dreams he used to have about Lisa, back when he still remembered what a home smelled like and it hadn’t been scrubbed away by Hell and time and reality; except it’s not Lisa there, it’s Sam, and he’s got apple pie.

“Hey,” Sam says. He’s leaning against the car, boots and flannel and all. He stoops to take a plate and cutlery out of the picnic basket to carve out a piece. He licks the knife when he’s done cutting and offers the pie to Dean. “It’s pretty good.”

In the dream, Dean knows the pie’s just not good, it’s excellent. The best pie that’s ever been made. Flaky crust, sweet filling, still warm. The works. The idea of even smelling it makes him nauseous.

“Nah,” Dean says. He’s frozen in place, wanting to go to Sam and knowing he shouldn’t, but unable to take even a single step away. “I’m good.”

Sam frowns. “You sure? It’s from that place over by the orch—”

“I’m sure,” Dean interrupts, and his palms are sweating. “I’m... yeah. It’s fine.”

His brother shrugs. “If you’re sure.” And then Sam starts eating the pie himself with gusto even though in real life his opinions on the dessert are middling at best. Dean watches Sam’s throat bob with each swallow and his lips purse as he sucks on the fork between bites and agonizes. He wants some goddamn pie. Wants it so goddamn bad. But he can’t move.

Sam finishes off his piece with a sigh. He drags his finger around the plate to gather up the escaped filling and sticks it in his mouth. “There’s plenty left,” he advises, tipping the pie tin in Dean’s direction. True to his word, Sam had only cut a modest slice. He’s barely made a dent. “You sure?”

Dean wordlessly shakes his head. Sam sighs as if disappointed then takes the fork to the remaining pie, not bothering with knife or plate. He starts to eat and Dean reaches out—

And that’s when he wakes up. Usually.

*~*

But sometimes it’s like:

The car’s missing, which doesn’t alarm him as much as it should. Sam’s sitting on the picnic blanket, but there’s no basket this time—just the pie and a case of beer. It’s a warm day, so no overshirt, or shoes. Sam’s already eating.

“Want some?” he asks. His fork goes directly into the pie tin without worry. And why should he worry? They’re brothers. They share the same genes, the same germs. They’ve shared off plates before. It’s not forbidden. “It’s pretty good.”

Dean starts to sweat.

“Nah. I’m...” He swallows, watching the tip of Sam’s tongue flick around the tines. “I’m good.”

“You sure?” Sam tilts the pie tin. No clean cuts this time, just a jagged hole where Sam’s been eating his fill.

“I’m good,” Dean repeats firmly and Sam resumes eating. Slowly. Savoring. “But, uh...”

“Yeah?” Sam asks. His mouth shines with spit and apple filling and Dean can’t stop staring.

“Save me some?” Dean requests hesitantly.

“Don’t I always?” his brother replies solemnly. He gathers more pasty on his fork. “You know I don’t like eating alone.”

That’s not true. Sam doesn’t particularly care either way, Dean’s pretty sure. They usually eat together, for expediency’s sake, but it’s not a hard fast rule or anything. It’s not like Dean watches.

“Yeah,” Dean acknowledges vaguely. He can’t move. He should, but he’s not sure which direction. He’s stuck. “Sam—”

He’s met with a blinding smile. Sam doesn’t smile enough these days. “It really is good,” he says with a teasing lit at the end. “Why don’t you have some?”

So Dean reaches out—

And he wakes up. And Sam’s in the other bed snoring away, and there are takeout containers on the motel desk, and the lingering scent of Chinese food; Dean silently vows to stop at the next Mom-and-Pop diner they see and order every pie off the menu because this is getting ridiculous. It’s not like there’s a pie shortage. There’s not reason to be dreaming about it.

That’s what he usually ends up telling himself anyway.

*~*

Occasionally though, it starts like this:

No picnic blanket this time, just grass under a tree, Sam down to his shorts and an undershirt. Dean’s not sure either of them even owns shorts, at least not since they were little. Maybe they’re swim trunks? It’s impossible to tell. He’d have to get closer to look. Dean doesn’t move.

“Hey,” Sam says. There’s no blanket or beer but there is a basket, full of red apples like something out of a fairy tale. Sam’s already taken a bite out of one, cutting a slice off with a knife. Not a kitchen knife; one of their Bowie knives. Juice drips off the tip. “Want one? They’re pretty good.”

Sam takes another slice, sliding off the edge of the shining blade into his mouth. Dean watches, hypnotized. It takes a long time for an answer to come to him. “I don’t eat fruit,” he says with as much incredulity as he can muster. He doesn’t. He would never.

His brother laughs at him. “Now, that’s not true,” Sam says, half-teasing, half-scolding. “You did once.”

Dean sweats. It’s a nice day but he’s scorching, the sun too bright and accusing. “I haven’t.”

“Sure you did. I was sixteen, remember?”

Dean doesn’t remember. Won’t remember. Can’t remember, because there’s nothing to remember. Sam’s crazy. It didn’t go down like that. “No.”

His brother shrugs as if disappointed and devours another slice, slow. Savoring. Dean can’t move a muscle. “You sure? They’re from—”

“I said no!” Dean barks. His mouth snaps shut, shocked by his own vehemence but Sam’s unperturbed.

“Dean,” Sam says patiently. He’s almost down to the core but not finished yet. “Come eat with me.”

Dean shakes his head. He won’t. He wants to, wants to so bad, wants the pierce the shining skin with his teeth, let the juice spill over his tongue and down his throat, gnaw until there’s nothing but stem and seed, but keep going until he gets the last bit of flesh—

“I can’t finish them by myself, Dean,” Sam points out.

“I’m good,” Dean lies, wiping his hands on his jeans. No, not jeans. Shorts. Has he been in shorts this whole time? “No, I’m good.”

Sam chuckles warmly. “Now we both know that’s not true,” he says. “Are you sure?”

Dean’s not sure. He’s never been more unsure in his life. He can’t help but reach out—

And Sam’s eyes meet his from across the motel room. The clock radio is on the floor, shoved from its resting place. Sam blinks slowly at him but not blearily. He’s been awake for a little while, at least.

“You okay?” Sam whispers as Dean fumbles the clock back onto the nightstand.

“I’m good,” Dean whispers back even though there’s no one to disturb. His palms are sweating. “Go back to sleep.”

“You were making noises,” Sam says and even in the dark his eyes are too intense.

“Do you remember Virginia?” Dean asks the ceiling. He can’t look at Sam or else he might move. He won’t run but he won’t move either. “You were sixteen.”

“No,” Sam answers after a moment of thought.

Dean swallows hard. “There was an orchard there. You went after school every day for three weeks.”

He can hear the frown in Sam’s voice when he replies. “Why do you ask?” Sam presses.

Dean rolls over and doesn’t answer; there’s nothing to say. Eventually, the rustle of sheets from the other side of the room tells him Sam has given up, situating himself under the covers. No one brings it up the next morning. They usually don’t.

*~*

But sometimes—too often, more often than he’ll admit—it goes like this:

No cars, no blankets, no baskets. Just the tree. It’s an apple tree. Dean’s not sure how he missed that.

Sam’s nude and unashamed. Dean knows he is the same and refuses to think about it. It’s a nice day in the garden, so clothes would be superfluous.

His brother reaches up and plucks an apple from the nearest branch. He brings it to his face and inhales deeply. Dean sweats as he watches. “I haven’t had one of these since I was sixteen,” Sam sighs and Dean disputes this but doesn’t deny it. Neither of them really took a bite that time so it doesn’t really count. “You want one? They’re so good.”

Not just good. The best, the goddamn best. So mouth-wateringly delectable that he’s been dreaming about it for over a decade and he didn’t even get a taste.

Dean can’t even open his mouth to lie this time. He’s not good. He just shakes his head.

Sam takes a bite and the crunch-snap of it is like a firecracker in Dean’s ear but the appreciated moan that follows it is a gunshot to the brain. He can’t wipe the sweat from his palms but there’s nothing to wipe on—there’s only skin. Sam is miles and miles of skin. He tears into the red skin of the fruit like a carnivore and juice dribbles down his chin, down miles and miles of skin. Sam swallows and his Adam’s apple bobs from the intrusion. “So good,” Sam repeats with a groan. Dean tries so very hard to be ashamed of his nakedness.

They lock eyes. Sam holds the fruit out as he licks his lips. “I can’t finish this alone, Dean.”

Dean tries to speak but he only croaks. There’s nowhere to run. There’s nowhere to hide. He wants to take a step but he can’t. He shouldn’t. He won’t. Back then at the orchard and now he promised himself he wouldn’t.

Sam’s eyes are dark and sad. “Don’t make me eat this alone,” he whispers.

“I—” Dean tries and falters. I can’t. I won’t. I don’t want any. I’m good, I swear I’m good.

“There are so many and I want them all, Dean,” Sam continues, voice low and desperate. “I want it all, but not without you.” As if to demonstrate, he takes another bite and Dean whimpers as he watches. Squirms in place. Innocent but not guiltless. Sam sucks his fingers clean and they’re barely out of his mouth when he says, “Please?”

And how can a man be expected to say no to that?

So Dean reaches out and does not wake. He takes a step. Two. Then Sam’s got an arm wrapped around his middle, guiding the apple to his lips.

“Just one bite,” he encourages. “Just one, just a taste—”

So Dean bites down and it’s sugar and sun and sin, and Sam urges him along, runs his thumb along the corner of Dean’s mouth as he devours his prize, chasing spilled juice and he pops the digit between his lips when he finds some and sighs; and Dean’s not sweating, he’s scorching, he baking alive, he wants more, he wants every fruit, every tree, he wants to shove every forbidden piece down his throat until he chokes, and as he chews and swallows, Sam trails his fingers over miles and miles of skin, up and down, down, down—

And he wakes. Sam stands over his bed in a t-shirt and boxers, hair mused, and looking darkly thoughtful. “Apple orchard. Virginia,” he says. Dean doesn’t speak which is fine because Sam is not done. “I worked there after school for some spare change. They paid me in produce but I didn’t mind. You didn’t like me going there. You followed me once to tell me off.”

Dean shakes his head. That’s not why he went here. He Sam was finally starting to fill out and hauling around buckets of heavy fruit all day helped gently tease muscles out of lithe limbs and Dean wanted to see him on one of those ladders, straining to reach—

“You pinned me to a tree,” Sam says. “For a long time.”

Too long. Not long enough. Dean’s palms sweat but he’s calm. They’d both been so hard, like he is now. He doesn’t check if Sam is.

“You ran off.”

There’s nowhere to run now. Sam licks his lips nervously and they shine with spit. Dean’s hungry and he knows what lies before him is so goddamn good. So goddamn sweet.

“Not running now,” Dean replies roughly.

Sam stares. He wipes his hands on his boxers. He reaches out—

[bug-memory]

I did a new format for my ko-fi members this month, where I did character sketches based on a prompt. July's prompt was "Beach Episode." Here are the resulting sketches 🏖️

Also, I'm doing a membership drive for the rest of July. Any new member of any tier will get a sketch! You can join here.

[kotaloyelysiumevents]

March '24 Monthly Prompt

🌱New and Old🌳

Fic

📝 Twister (T) by COTAnerd Aloy and Kotallo play Twister

📝 Her Marshal (T) by @TheArtseeWinks Aloy goes to the Grove to speak with Kotallo and hears some words she'd rather not about him. What's a good Commander to do but defend her man?

📝 Pledge Yourself to Me (E) by @mayalli Aloy travels east to see if she can help Gaia expand the range of focus communication, and works with Dekka to figure out how to go about accepting Kotallo’s offer of pledging for when she returns.

📝 The Forest Grows (G) by @fogsblue The life Aloy and Kotallo might build in their Forest

Art

🎨 New and Old by @mancatrex

🎨 Secret Identities by @setavvo

🎨 Cheek Kiss by @beyondbendingsky

GIFs

📹 "Hekarro ordered you to help me." (2) by @charger-lens

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Check out our AO3 collection here and our other events here!

----------------------

If you are interested in joining our little server (18+ only!), please let us know via ask or direct message!

[hp-coffeehouse]

SEPTEMBER 2023 COFFEEHOUSE PROMPT  Welcome to the @hp-coffeehouse monthly prompt post! @hp-coffeehouse on LJ / DW (Post your works on our AO3 COLLECTION) Tag us, and we’ll reblog your work!

PROMPT 76

DESCRIPTION: Top view of white cup of masala chai or coffee with star anise / herbs spices inspired / cinnamon sticks.

Interpret that how you wish for coffee or tea. RULES ON LJ / DW are here.

[stetermonthlyprompts]

February 2023: Beauty and the Beast

[stargatefests]

SGA_Saturday - New Prompt

New prompts (starting March 2, 2024) are "unfinished" and/or "picture".

Any form of Stargate Atlantis, any/no pairing, any interpretation of the words is welcome.

Prompt open until April 6... lots of time to create fic, or art, or whatever your heart desires.

More info here: https://sga-saturday.dreamwidth.org/258190.html

You can post to the Dreamwidth community. If you post to AO3, select the SGA_Saturday collection.

[emotionalwarmth]

Mass Effect Forever monthly prompt was Mercy and I instantly thought of Clone Shep being saved.

[spnfanficpond]

Monthly Prompt: Cat vs Dog

This month for your prompt: What would the boys do with a cat or a dog? And what kind of breed would they own??

[fanficocean]

Monthly Prompt: Sky and Water

Your fic must include both! (Moodboard is not necessary but it can be used as inspiration!)

As always feel free to tag us in your post, we’ll be more than happy to reblog it!!

[daintymayhem]

i really hate this months prompt. outfit swap is fine and cute but the forum game format fucking sucks. if i wanted to play a forum game id go do it on toyhouse

.

[ani-coolgirl]

In White, with a Touch of Red

In White, with a Touch of Red

Pairing: Sam/Jess, pre-Wincest Prompt: For SPN FanFic Pond's October 2023 prompt: Halloween. Read here on AO3. Word Count: 2,583 Warnings: pre-incest, mild feminization

Dean’s seen things, okay? Real shit-your-pants kind of stuff. Actual monsters. Werewolves, ghosts, fuckin’ witches. He’s seen bodies messed up in ways most people can’t even imagine. He knows what fear is, what it tastes like and, more importantly, what causes it.

So he knows what he’s feeling can’t be fear. Just because he’s going on hour two of lurking outside his brother’s apartment doesn’t mean anything. His hands are jittering in his pockets because it’s freezing (never mind that he’s in California and it’s barely dipped below 60). The ball of lead in his stomach is probably from the burritos earlier. And the reason he hasn’t moved is because... because...

He just hasn’t figured out the right approach, is all. Point is, he can go in at any time.

Dean checks his watch. 12:07. Officially Halloween.

“This stupid,” he mutters to himself. “Get move on, Winchester. ‘The hell’s wrong with you?”

Nothing, he decides as his heart double times and drops to his shoes. Absolutely nothing.

He goes with breaking in through the window because the look on Sam’s face will be hilarious (and so Sam can’t close the door on his). He’s not surprised about the lack of security (he can’t imagine students have a budget for that sort of thing) but he is perturbed about the lack of salt. Even starving college kids can afford salt, right? Friggin’ careless.

Dean makes just enough noise to hopefully give enough warning in case Sam hasn’t completely lost his edge and pulls a gun on him. To his delight, his brother actually sort of manages to catch him off guard—but only for a moment. Within moments, he’s got Sam pinned, one hand to his throat and the other to his wrist, and Dean can’t help but flush with glee because it’s like nothing has changed. Sam still fights the same and still feels the same beneath him. He even breathes the same.

“Woah, easy, tiger,” Dean teases.

Sam stills. “Dean?”

Dean laughs and he does his best to keep himself from sounding hysterical because he was not ready for the reality of hearing Sam say his name. Two years. He hadn’t heard Sam’s voice in two years. And now here it is, breathless and a bit confused and so very Sam—

“Get off of me!”

And panicked. And pissed.

Dean’s grin falters. “Hey, maybe if you weren’t so out of practice...”

Sam doesn’t reply. He attacks. Dean’s arm is shoved aside, a heel is jammed viciously into his spine, and suddenly Dean’s on his back, which, oww, actually kind of hurts. “Or not,” Dean gasps. Before he can let out another word, Sam’s shoving him more firmly into the floor (double oww) and scrambling off him. Trying to bolt.

Dean’s veins freeze over. He fucked up. He seriously fucked up. If Sam had told him to piss off, he might have had something to work with; been able to argue with him, knock heads with him, wear him down (or he’d give up, give up immediately and drink until he passed out, but that’s not the point). Instead, his brother’s running like he’s afraid or something and Sam knows better—knows there are things out there worthy of being scared of, and Dean’s not one of them.

Is he?

Dean jumps to his feet and grabs Sam by the arm before he can make it halfway across the room and disappear forever. The fabric of his shirt is strangely slick. “Hey, wait a second—” Sam takes another swing at him which he just barely manages to dodge while keeping a firm grip. “You would calm down? I need to talk to you!”

Sam whips around to look at him, eyes wide and frantic, lips pulled back into a snarl...

And then the lights snap on.

Dean would normally turn to see who the mysterious third party is. Should look, because that’s how they were trained, both of them. You don’t leave a potential threat unchecked. But he doesn’t. Can’t. Because Sam is staring at the floor and Dean is staring at Sam because Sam is...

The outfit is too small for him, obviously. How Sam even got the thing on without ripping it to shreds is a mystery in itself (because it feels like his brother’s grown another foot since Dean saw him last and he doesn’t know how to feel about that). The dress (because it is a dress, Jesus Christ) is bone white, accented with red stitching and bows. The matching red underskirt does nothing to disguise the fact that the whole thing is waaaay too short, showing off scandalous inches of thigh and barely concealing the flash of... oh, God, is that lace? lying just below. The white socks sag just below Sam’s knees, not quite reaching their intended height. In a flash, Dean realizes the getup is supposed to be an old-timey nurse’s uniform, with the only thing missing being the little square hat... which Dean spots on the floor a split second later.

Dean gawks. Sam keeps his eyes on the floor, rapidly turning pink.

“Sam?” a feminine voice demands, and Dean would check her out (is she hot? she sounds hot) but... Sam. Dressed as a nurse. A slutty nurse. He feels like he’s gone insane. “Are you okay?”

“‘M fine, Jess,” Sam mutters to the ground. “This is Dean.”

“Your brother Dean?” she asks and Dean finally looks. Blond, short shorts (almost as short as Sam’s skirt... gah, Sam’s skirt ), and a midriff-exposing Smurfs t-shirt. She is, in fact, hot.

“I love the Smurfs,” Dean blurts and both Sam and Jess look at him incredulously. “Uh, hey. You’re...?”

Jess looks hard at Dean’s hand, still wrapped around Sam’s forearm. Shit, he didn’t even realize. He lets go and sticks the hand out in her direction, which she ignores. “I’m his girlfriend,” she replies icyly. Dean winces and lets his arm drop.

“I’m gonna,” Sam mumbles, nodding in the direction of what Dean assumes is the bedroom.

“You—you don’t have to... It’s fine. I mean,” Dean fumbles. But Sam’s already shuffling away, tugging fruitlessly at the back of the dress to hide the curve of cheek Dean spies as he goes. Dean quickly looks away.

“Me too,” says Jess dismissively, following Sam. Dean doesn’t even bother protesting. The bedroom door shuts with a resounding click and Dean drops into the couch, head in his hands.

“Fuck.”

*~*

Sam drops onto the bed, head in his hands.

“Fuck.”

In an instant, Jess is kneeling by his side, hand on his knee. “Sam, sweetheart, are you okay?”

“Don’t call me that,” Sam snaps. Her touch withdraws and he takes in a shuddering breath. “I’m—I’m sorry. Shit, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Jess assures him, rubbing up and down his leg. “I understand.”

“I fell asleep,” Sam explains shakily. His heart’s going a million miles an hour and his hands are shaking and, worst of all, his eyes are burning. He needs her to understand. “When we were done, I was so tired. I fell asleep and I forgot to take everything off. I screwed up.”

“You didn’t screw up, swee—Sam. You didn’t.” Jess insists, squeezing his calf. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But Dean—”

Dean saw. Dean looked at him and was... shocked. Maybe horrified. Sam had been too horrified himself to make sure. In some pale, half-forgotten daydream from puberty, Dean smiled when he saw him looking sweet and delicate. Dean liked him in white. That image had been violently shattered by reality. This is a nightmare.

“Dean should have knocked,” she interrupts firmly. “Dean should have knocked at the front door like a normal fucking person. You didn’t do anything wrong. Understand?”

Sam nods but it’s stiff and he knows it betrays his disbelief. Jess seems to accept it anyway and wraps him in her arms, hugging him tightly. “You don’t have to go back out there,” she whispers into his hair. “I can make him leave.”

“I haven’t talked to him in two years,” Sam murmurs. “Haven’t seen him in three. Then he just shows up and sees me like...” He shakes his head. “No. He wouldn’t come if it wasn’t important. He won’t just leave.”

“I can make him leave,” Jess repeats. “I’ll kick his ass if I have to.”

Sam snorts. It comes out a bit wet but it’s genuine. “Are you gonna beat up my big brother?”

He feels her smile. “Hell yeah, I’ll beat up your big brother.”

He chuckles. “I’d pay to see that.”

Jess pulls away, smoothing down his hair as she speaks. “Seriously though, Sam. You can stay here and I’ll make him go. Or you can change and go out there and tell him whatever you want. Or nothing at all. It’s none of his business. Whatever you want, I’ll back your play.”

Sam loves Jessica so much. It’s something he thought he knew but is brought into sharp focus in this moment. He never knew how desperately he needed someone to always be in his corner no matter what, accepting every part of himself without question (well, almost—but there are some things Jess, or anyone else for that matter, doesn’t need to know). He picks at the stitching of the costume, hating that this might be ruined for him forever... but also knowing that together they could find away to recover it. Or replace it, or, hell, maybe even improve it. He could do that with Jess.

God, he wants to marry her. He wants to marry her so bad. One their wedding night, they’d both wear white.

“Help me?” he asks, gesturing at the costume—it was a bitch and a half to get on without damaging it in the first place—and Jess doesn’t hesitate. She never does.

*~*

Dean jumps to his feet when they finally come out like a gentleman at dinner waiting to pull out chairs and all three of them cringe. This is going to be harder than he thought.

Sam takes a steadying breath. “What do you want?” he asks point-blank, like a gunshot.

Dean winces. Okay, he might deserve that a little bit. He opens his mouth to reply and for one bewildering second, he doesn’t know what to say. The image of his brother in knee-high socks and a poofy skirt has completely robbed him of any rational thought, despite the jeans and hoodie Sam has on now (total opposite of before; Dean wonders if that’s deliberate). He has no idea why he’s here, except, perhaps, to see Sam in drag. Again, if at all possible.

Dean blinks, trying to gather the scattered threads of his thoughts. “Dad,” he manages.

Sam looks unimpressed. “What about Dad?”

Right. Get ahold of yourself, Winchester. This is important. He uneasily side-eyes Jess, who stares daggers at him from Sam’s side. He hasn’t gotten off to this bad a start with a woman since... ever. And it’s about to get worse. “Maybe I can borrow your boyfriend for a minute...?”

“No,” Sam says firmly, wrapping an arm around Jess’s shoulder. “Whatever you want to say, you can say it in front of her.”

“Um.” Could this go into the crapper any faster? He’s been caught completely flat-footed here and has zero space to recover.

He thinks his brother was wearing panties. Is he still wearing them?

Focus!

“Dad hasn’t been home in a few days,” Dean says, trying to lay it on thick.

Sam doesn’t catch on. “So he’s working overtime on a Miller Time shift,” he replies ruthlessly. “He’ll stumble back in sooner or later.”

Hell. So much for subtlety. “Dad’s on a hunting trip,” he tries again. “And he hasn’t been home in a few days.”

Sam’s expression doesn’t change and Dean’s pretty sure this is it. Sam’s gonna tell him to fuck off and he’s gonna have to crawl away with his tail tucked between his legs because he screwed this up so bad and he’s got nobody to blame but himself. And worst of all, he’ll have that... image stuck in his head for the rest of his (probably very short) life and no idea what to do with it because Sam’s never ever going to speak to him again after this. Dean’s done. This is a nightmare.

“Jess, excuse us. We have to go outside,” Sam says stiffly.

Dean tries not to look too shocked or too eager. Relief swamps him. Thank God. He might have a chance to salvage this mess.

Or screw it up more. Could go either way.

*~*

It starts out awkward but Dean seems determined to talk shop and nothing else so Sam goes along with it. He sure as hell isn’t going to complain that Dean’s not mocking him into next week even though the anxiety lingers like a mote in the corner of his eye. Maybe that’s why he lets Dean talk him into going with him. Sheer, mind-numbing gratitude.

Jess doesn’t get why he’s taking off, of course, and Sam doesn’t blame her. By all rights, she should be pissed. But when he reassures her for the hundredth time that he’ll be back in time for his interview on Monday, she finally lets him go with a kiss.

“See you Monday, sweetheart,” she says and this time he doesn’t correct her, even allowing himself to smile. Maybe it’ll be okay after all.

Even after he and Dean hit the road, Dean doesn’t say a word about the costume. It’s all crotch-rock and zero conversation for a good hour, the apprehension building up inside him like a balloon, threatening to pop. And then it does.

“Halloween,” Sam bursts out suddenly. Dean jolts and blinks at him, perplexed. Sam’s neck gets hot and he rushes to clarify. “The... the costume. It was for Halloween. We were at a Halloween party. I lost a bet.”

The lie burns like acid in his throat. Surely Dean can tell he’s lying. Surely it must show on his face. But his brother nods, turning his attention back to the road, and the tension that Sam hadn’t realized was there around his face relaxes. Now he feels even worse.

“Yeah, sure. Halloween,” Dean agrees lightly. “Some party, I guess. College, right?”

Sam drags his hood over his head and gazes out the window. “Yeah,” he says distantly. “College.” That part is at least partially true. It’s not like he ever actually tried anything until college. Hell, he didn’t even dare think about it until Jess. So yeah, college.

He stubbornly refuses to think about turning fourteen, and all the terrible realizations that came with it. To be honest, the costume is the least of it.

*~*

Halloween comes and goes. They don’t talk about it.

When Dean makes a crack about it being his turn to change after he drags himself out of that muddy river, Sam goes a little pale and Dean starts stuttering and there are no follow-up jokes. They don’t talk about it.

They break the case wide open and Sam’s stupidly, annoyingly kind of happy about it and so is Dean and the possibility is there that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad just to mention it in passing... but then Sam says he has to go back and Dean can’t hide how disappointed he is, and it sours the whole thing. They don’t talk about it.

Jessica dies. They don’t talk about it. And now, they probably never will.