whitereflection: (winchesters oh WTF)
7.2 reaction, no spoilers:
  • AUGH
  • AUGH
  • AUGH
  • AUGH
  • AUGH
  • AUGH
  • AUGH
  • AUGH
  • AUGH
  • AUGH
  • AUGH
  • AUGH
  • AUGH

Anyway. :p (But seriously, s7 is proving to be *stellar*. \o/)

whitereflection: (winchesters wide open skies)

Sunday morning,
just past 6
or 7
road dust on your shoes
creeping up your
pant legs
and you smell
like you've been rolling in a bonfire.
Some days
you think you sweat
charcoal lighter fluid.

(There's always salt on your
Some days
you think when you snap your fingers
you'll spark fire
At least then
you won't have to
carry all that with you anymore.)

Cleaning your tools of the trade
the plowshares
you both beat back into
gravel grinds
beneath your feet
as your stance shifts with the motions
(Your stance was steady
last night--
mountain wide, redwood tall,
you've grown up
solid as you
dreamed you'd be.)

Hum a song
you know he hates.
He whistles while he works
(some ancient tune you can't stand)
rebuilding guns
like Jenga puzzles
(take out the
but they don't fall down)
You're a discordant harmony.

Funny how it sounds
just fine
to you.

The world slams shut
hollow metal whomp
but everything you orbit is still
right here
He stands next to you;  you're taller
but he always plants himself as your
Shoulder pressed to shoulder
hip to hip
There's the bump of knees;
there's the kick of his boot
against yours.
You kick him back.

Sunrise spreads flames
across the sky
like wildfire
It's dawn, and you smell like

Mary, Mary

May. 24th, 2011 02:23 pm
whitereflection: (sam the thinker bw)

Oral Tradition

My mother is a fairy tale
a fable that never happened
She's the story no one will tell me
so I whisper her to myself in the dark
until I fall asleep.

My mother is a folklore of blood and fire
an interdiction teaching me what lurks in my shadows
so I can be a moral lesson to others
when I do wrong.

She is no happy ending
happily never after;
we her sons are brothers, grim.

(dvad 5-24-11)


Apr. 24th, 2011 01:47 am
whitereflection: (sam meditations (panic room))
what I did last summer

I bought the iPod
because no one told me I shouldn't
because no one complained it was a waste of money
because no one said
we don't have the room to carry around stupid shit like that
I bought the adapter
because no one used the cassette player in the car
because no one picked the music but me
because no one warned me
I'd start crying in front of some kid working at a Walmart
who stared at me like I was a freak
because they didn't understand what buying an iPod and a car adapter


Apr. 15th, 2011 12:23 am
whitereflection: (winchesters bobby funeral)


The last time they did a hunt in D.C.,
they visited The Wall
because it was Memorial Day
and they were thinking about their father
though neither of them said so out loud.
They stood in front of the monument,
flat and black and reflecting their faces
as if they were looking into a lake at midnight,
and Sam reached out to brush his fingers
over the cool gabbro stone.
"There's names on mine, too,"
he said. "Everyone's names.
They're all there."
Nearby, a tour group chattered about
mindless things as
Dean reached out and grabbed Sam's wrist.
They stared at each other silently;
Dean didn't say
Don't scratch, Sam
and Sam didn't say
I won't, Dean, I won't
but the words were there anyway.
A few feet away, a middle-aged woman
held a sheet of paper up to the surface of the Wall,
rubbed it with a crayon
until she had a name to carry away with her.
Sam let his hand drop to his side, but
Dean didn't let go of his wrist;
he held on,
held on.
whitereflection: (winchesters exit (from behind))
Car repair is a shifter cable, which luckily can be fixed by today or (most likely) Wednesday. It's "inexpensive", which in transmission speak I guess translates to "you're lucky it's only $500".

Sometimes I make things and they turn out okay.

I like how I started out the month intending to write a poem a day. Ahaha.


weather vanes

sun just warm enough
beer by the side of the road
toast the first clear day

poltergeist rattles
the windows, funnel cloud rends
the roof; nature wins

breath frosts in the air
though bones are smoldering ash
wind smells of burned leaves

wisconsin ice storm
driver and shotgun take turns
scraping the windshield

whitereflection: (winchesters warm blue skies)
Truth in Advertising, Sam/Dean, PG-13, 1700 words
Gorgeous, peaceful, lovely, domestic h/c schmoop. Seriously just quietly beautiful, that just gives me a good feeling about the boys. Bonus--hurt!Sam in it :) (Sorry, you know, my thing. :| )

And have I said yet how freaking SPECTACULACULAR this whole [livejournal.com profile] silverbullets thing is? Best community ever.


Apr. 7th, 2011 03:48 pm
whitereflection: (winchesters my life in your hands)

your hands on my skin:
no bandages or stitches
could heal me so well


Apr. 5th, 2011 02:36 am
whitereflection: (winchesters digging in the dirt)
cemetery, silent.

shovel thunks
dirt thuds
wood cracks like dry bone
wind shrieks
shotgun blasts
salt hisses like sandy rain
match snaps
flame whumps
fire pops like cheap fireworks
voices murmur
footsteps fade
night quiets like they were never there.


Apr. 2nd, 2011 02:25 pm
whitereflection: (winchesters diner)
Title: special of the day
Pairing/Rating: Sam/Dean, PG

special of the day

I did not have the pie
the diner said was eight-time champion,
winningest in Colfax County.
I did not eat the cherries
so perfect tart they made you moan
(just like you do for me),
sauce glistening on your lips,
red as some barfly's lipstick.
I did not crumble the flaking crust with that
lucky fork:
the crumbs of pastry in my mouth
came from your skin.
The taste of summer-ripe, homegrown fruit,
sugar-syrup sweet,
I licked from your tongue
(It's the flavor of your mouth
that's the most delicious.)
The filling that's slick and sticky on my lips
was painted on me by your kiss.
But I did not have the pie.


Apr. 2nd, 2011 02:47 am
whitereflection: (supernatural impala highways)
Title: Go
Characters/Rating: Dean, Sam, G

over interstate stretched gunshot-straight
to the horizon
a flat grey graze wound
through the flesh of some midwestern state
your brother called and said, I'm sorry
I'm sorry
can I come home?
trigger-pull firing you, and you
with a stomach twisted into
cloverleafs and roundabouts
until the road ends at his highway-bend smile
a slow curve into will you forgive me
Engage safety, unload
you drove his home to him
you drove home to him
The guns are locked away and the engines that roared
are cooled and silent
not even pinging
Now, at last, you can

August 2012

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