Fic: Full Frontal
May. 25th, 2019 12:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ellerkayTitle: Full Frontal
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Characters: Chuck, Sam, Dean, Zachariah
Rating: Explicit/NC-17
Word Count: 1,537
Disclaimer: All for fun, none for profit.
Summary: Chucks knows all about the Winchesters. All about them. It makes things very, very awkward when he meets them.
Warnings/tags: Humor, meta jokes, sibling incest, explicit on a technicality (it's mostly humor with purposefully bad porn snippets), first person from Chuck's POV
A/N: Written for the Swan Song Bingo, Chuck Shurley square (season 4). Takes place during "The Monster At The End Of This Book" with some dialogue lifted from the episode. The title is also taken from the episode, when Dean is reading from the Supernatural books: "Everything is in here. I mean everything. From the racist truck to – to me having sex. I'm full-frontal in here, dude."
A/N2: It's not easy to reconcile the Chuck we see in seasons 4/5 with God!Chuck. I did my best to strike a balance here. He's gone "deep method," as Metatron later says he did, and is doing his level best to forget that he's really God, with some, but not perfect, success. (Even more difficult was trying to imitate Chuck's terrible erotica-writing skills. I hope you all enjoy my attempts.)
Read on AO3
***
Listen: writing is hard, okay? Like, maybe not as hard as creating whole worlds out of emptiness, but honestly, not that far off. And novels aren’t like movies or TV, where you can count on images to dump a ton of information and actors to carry the emotion – even do whole monologues with their faces if they’re really good. You have to convey all of that yourself with nothing but words on a page.
The hardest part of creating the Supernatural books isn’t the drama and emotional pain, or the horror and gore. (Heck, all that stuff is actually pretty fun to write.) It’s not even the headaches I get whenever the muse comes a-knocking; the ones that hurt so much they make me wish I was a different person or maybe not even a person at all.
No, the hardest thing about it is the parts that I can’t put in the books, yet for some reason can’t seem to stop writing. The parts where my brain insists on going in a creepy Game of Thrones direction.
Like this:
Dean knew he would wake up drowning in guilt tomorrow, just like every time this happened. But right now, he was too drunk to care. He was terrified of what was happening to Sam; of what could happen to both of them, to the whole world. He needed to know his brother was still here, still his. And, god help him, he wanted Sam. His desire felt like fire in his veins. He grabbed the back of Sam’s neck and his lips landed on Sam’s in a vicious, claiming kiss. Sam moaned, giving in, melting against him.
Yikes. See what I mean?
I shudder, swallow another slug of whiskey, and start crossing out whole paragraphs. Look, it’s just their brotherly bond; that’s all! I guess I must have some weird authorial compulsion to explore that as far as it’ll go, even if it’ll never be printed. Okay, so maybe I shouldn’t have made them quite this close and co-dependent (they’re actually soulmates!! but shhh, I haven’t even told my buddy Phil that yet)…
Ah, well. You can’t always control what characters do. It is what it is: a secret foundation at the heart of the series. No one ever has to know.
Of course, some fans – honestly, a pretty huge percentage of the fans – seem to know anyway. Hey, I keep as much as I can out of the story! No explicit sex, obviously; not even kissing, or descriptions of the fantasies they have about each other sometimes. But the longing gazes and the way they hug has to be in there. What am I supposed to do?! That’s how they look at each other!
This new book is getting pretty weird, though, even beyond the incest factor. Last night I got one of my headaches, went on a bender, and passed out. When I woke up, I knew I was going to be in the story too. Bizarre, but not without literary precedent, and kind of fun. I laugh a little and shake my head as I read over what I’ve written so far. Like I’d even be able to look the Winchesters in the eyes if I met them, knowing what I do about their relationship.
The doorbell rings. I answer it to find two ridiculously tall men in flannel.
At first I’m sure they’re crazed fans, even though I have to admit they look a lot like I’d always imagined Sam and Dean would look. (The cover artist and I had disagreements. I don’t want to get into it.) The trunk full of weapons is pretty terrifying, but in the end I think it must all be a joke. Phil is such a card!
And then, they say their last name.
Oh no.
I flee into the house for another drink, Sam and Dean right on my heels. All I can think about are the pages and pages of erotica on my hard drive. Random lines that I wrote keep popping into my head somehow, even though I avoid re-reading the incest scenes after I’ve gotten them down. Dean laved Sam’s staff of love. I gulp some whiskey. Sam breached Dean’s tight hole. Dean moaned wantonly.
Maybe this isn’t happening at all. Maybe it’s one of my dreams. I turn around to check.
“Oh! Oh, you’re still there.” Sam’s passion crested and he called out his brother’s name in ecstasy…
“Yup,” Dean says. ”Oh, god, Sammy, you feel so fucking good,” Dean moaned helplessly as he plundered Sam’s hot channel.
“You’re not a hallucination,” I say. I’m sort of hoping that if I say it, it’ll turn out they are after all.
“Nope,” Dean says. Dean was begging now, begging for Sam to take him. It was humiliating, but he didn’t care, couldn’t care…
“Well, there's only one explanation. Obviously, I'm a god,” I say gloomily. Something niggling in the back of my head tells me I’m really onto something here.
“You’re not a god,” Sam says. ”Dean, Dean, Dean, I need you so bad…”
“How else do you explain it? I write things and then they come to life. Yeah, no, I'm definitely a god. A cruel, cruel, capricious god.”
I really don’t want to be a god. Who would, right? Too much responsibility. All those people looking to you for answers and to fix their lives…So I focus on that and let the Winchesters convince me, kind of, that I’m probably something else. Although I’m not entirely sure I believe them.
I give them the latest pages (which are blessedly incest-free) to make them go away. They leave, finally, to find a Laundromat. I collapse into an armchair, clutching a bottle. Why did I write myself into the book?! This is incredibly stressful.
***
Later, in the Winchester’s motel room, I think how I probably shouldn’t have come. “Don’t come yet, Dean…” But it was hard to say no. I feel strangely responsible for Sam and Dean. I know them so well, and I really like ‘watching’ their adventures.
“I was just wondering how much you know,” Sam says. Oh, no. No no no no no. “About me.” WHY WHY WHY?!
“What do you mean?” I ask, attempting to sound casual.
“Have you seen visions of me when I’m – ” Balls deep in your brother? “ – not with Dean?”
Not with Dean. Thank…whoever. It takes me a second to realize what Sam was talking about, if not all the repeated brother loving.
“Oh,” I say. “You want to know if I know about the demon blood.”
“You didn’t tell Dean,” Sam says.
“I didn't even write it into the books. I was afraid it would make you look unsympathetic,” I admit. Not as unsympathetic as the other stuff, but…
We keep talking, about the demon blood and the burden Sam is carrying.
“Am I strong enough to stop Lilith tonight?” Sam asks at last.
“I don’t know,” I reply honestly. “I haven't seen that far yet.” See, that’s the thing about writing. Sometimes you don’t know what’ll happen in a story until you get there. Sometimes you have to put it aside for a bit, until inspiration strikes again. Take a hiatus and refresh.
Sam nods sadly and falls silent for a moment. He takes a deep breath. “Is there…anything else you left out of the books?” he asks in a low voice.
My eyes go wide. I can almost feel my blood pressure skyrocketing. “Uh, uh, nope!” I say, cheerfully and way too loudly. “I mean, obviously I don’t put in every time you brush your teeth or something. Gotta edit for flow, you know, and only the necessary information. But, but, that’s it!” I shoot up out of my seat so fast that my chair clatters to the floor behind me. “Okay, well, I should go!”
“Chuck...” Sam calls as I flee the room, but I ignore him. Geez, if I’d known from the beginning that I was going to meet Sam and Dean, I really, really would have tried harder to cut the incest plot.
***
I hadn’t foreseen Dean using me to call up an archangel to protect Sam, which – though terrifying – is also kind of cool, in a way. It’s always a fun surprise when stories go in unexpected directions. I’m relieved not to have to actually see an archangel, though.
Zachariah’s visit is a surprise, too, though maybe it shouldn’t have been. It makes sense that they’d send angels to check in on their prophet. Zachariah is a real dick, and I think vaguely that he’s always been a pompous ass. ‘Always’ being since he showed up in the story, I guess.
I try threatening suicide, because all of a sudden, sitting there looking at Zachariah’s smug face, it occurs to me that it’s maybe not that fun to be Chuck Shurley. Zachariah informs me that they’d just bring me back. He tells me to write.
After he disappears, I pour myself a glass of whiskey and think about it. Finally, I decide he’s right. I should see this through to the end.
I put down the glass, sit in front of the keyboard, and start writing.
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Characters: Chuck, Sam, Dean, Zachariah
Rating: Explicit/NC-17
Word Count: 1,537
Disclaimer: All for fun, none for profit.
Summary: Chucks knows all about the Winchesters. All about them. It makes things very, very awkward when he meets them.
Warnings/tags: Humor, meta jokes, sibling incest, explicit on a technicality (it's mostly humor with purposefully bad porn snippets), first person from Chuck's POV
A/N: Written for the Swan Song Bingo, Chuck Shurley square (season 4). Takes place during "The Monster At The End Of This Book" with some dialogue lifted from the episode. The title is also taken from the episode, when Dean is reading from the Supernatural books: "Everything is in here. I mean everything. From the racist truck to – to me having sex. I'm full-frontal in here, dude."
A/N2: It's not easy to reconcile the Chuck we see in seasons 4/5 with God!Chuck. I did my best to strike a balance here. He's gone "deep method," as Metatron later says he did, and is doing his level best to forget that he's really God, with some, but not perfect, success. (Even more difficult was trying to imitate Chuck's terrible erotica-writing skills. I hope you all enjoy my attempts.)
Read on AO3
***
Listen: writing is hard, okay? Like, maybe not as hard as creating whole worlds out of emptiness, but honestly, not that far off. And novels aren’t like movies or TV, where you can count on images to dump a ton of information and actors to carry the emotion – even do whole monologues with their faces if they’re really good. You have to convey all of that yourself with nothing but words on a page.
The hardest part of creating the Supernatural books isn’t the drama and emotional pain, or the horror and gore. (Heck, all that stuff is actually pretty fun to write.) It’s not even the headaches I get whenever the muse comes a-knocking; the ones that hurt so much they make me wish I was a different person or maybe not even a person at all.
No, the hardest thing about it is the parts that I can’t put in the books, yet for some reason can’t seem to stop writing. The parts where my brain insists on going in a creepy Game of Thrones direction.
Like this:
Dean knew he would wake up drowning in guilt tomorrow, just like every time this happened. But right now, he was too drunk to care. He was terrified of what was happening to Sam; of what could happen to both of them, to the whole world. He needed to know his brother was still here, still his. And, god help him, he wanted Sam. His desire felt like fire in his veins. He grabbed the back of Sam’s neck and his lips landed on Sam’s in a vicious, claiming kiss. Sam moaned, giving in, melting against him.
Yikes. See what I mean?
I shudder, swallow another slug of whiskey, and start crossing out whole paragraphs. Look, it’s just their brotherly bond; that’s all! I guess I must have some weird authorial compulsion to explore that as far as it’ll go, even if it’ll never be printed. Okay, so maybe I shouldn’t have made them quite this close and co-dependent (they’re actually soulmates!! but shhh, I haven’t even told my buddy Phil that yet)…
Ah, well. You can’t always control what characters do. It is what it is: a secret foundation at the heart of the series. No one ever has to know.
Of course, some fans – honestly, a pretty huge percentage of the fans – seem to know anyway. Hey, I keep as much as I can out of the story! No explicit sex, obviously; not even kissing, or descriptions of the fantasies they have about each other sometimes. But the longing gazes and the way they hug has to be in there. What am I supposed to do?! That’s how they look at each other!
This new book is getting pretty weird, though, even beyond the incest factor. Last night I got one of my headaches, went on a bender, and passed out. When I woke up, I knew I was going to be in the story too. Bizarre, but not without literary precedent, and kind of fun. I laugh a little and shake my head as I read over what I’ve written so far. Like I’d even be able to look the Winchesters in the eyes if I met them, knowing what I do about their relationship.
The doorbell rings. I answer it to find two ridiculously tall men in flannel.
At first I’m sure they’re crazed fans, even though I have to admit they look a lot like I’d always imagined Sam and Dean would look. (The cover artist and I had disagreements. I don’t want to get into it.) The trunk full of weapons is pretty terrifying, but in the end I think it must all be a joke. Phil is such a card!
And then, they say their last name.
Oh no.
I flee into the house for another drink, Sam and Dean right on my heels. All I can think about are the pages and pages of erotica on my hard drive. Random lines that I wrote keep popping into my head somehow, even though I avoid re-reading the incest scenes after I’ve gotten them down. Dean laved Sam’s staff of love. I gulp some whiskey. Sam breached Dean’s tight hole. Dean moaned wantonly.
Maybe this isn’t happening at all. Maybe it’s one of my dreams. I turn around to check.
“Oh! Oh, you’re still there.” Sam’s passion crested and he called out his brother’s name in ecstasy…
“Yup,” Dean says. ”Oh, god, Sammy, you feel so fucking good,” Dean moaned helplessly as he plundered Sam’s hot channel.
“You’re not a hallucination,” I say. I’m sort of hoping that if I say it, it’ll turn out they are after all.
“Nope,” Dean says. Dean was begging now, begging for Sam to take him. It was humiliating, but he didn’t care, couldn’t care…
“Well, there's only one explanation. Obviously, I'm a god,” I say gloomily. Something niggling in the back of my head tells me I’m really onto something here.
“You’re not a god,” Sam says. ”Dean, Dean, Dean, I need you so bad…”
“How else do you explain it? I write things and then they come to life. Yeah, no, I'm definitely a god. A cruel, cruel, capricious god.”
I really don’t want to be a god. Who would, right? Too much responsibility. All those people looking to you for answers and to fix their lives…So I focus on that and let the Winchesters convince me, kind of, that I’m probably something else. Although I’m not entirely sure I believe them.
I give them the latest pages (which are blessedly incest-free) to make them go away. They leave, finally, to find a Laundromat. I collapse into an armchair, clutching a bottle. Why did I write myself into the book?! This is incredibly stressful.
***
Later, in the Winchester’s motel room, I think how I probably shouldn’t have come. “Don’t come yet, Dean…” But it was hard to say no. I feel strangely responsible for Sam and Dean. I know them so well, and I really like ‘watching’ their adventures.
“I was just wondering how much you know,” Sam says. Oh, no. No no no no no. “About me.” WHY WHY WHY?!
“What do you mean?” I ask, attempting to sound casual.
“Have you seen visions of me when I’m – ” Balls deep in your brother? “ – not with Dean?”
Not with Dean. Thank…whoever. It takes me a second to realize what Sam was talking about, if not all the repeated brother loving.
“Oh,” I say. “You want to know if I know about the demon blood.”
“You didn’t tell Dean,” Sam says.
“I didn't even write it into the books. I was afraid it would make you look unsympathetic,” I admit. Not as unsympathetic as the other stuff, but…
We keep talking, about the demon blood and the burden Sam is carrying.
“Am I strong enough to stop Lilith tonight?” Sam asks at last.
“I don’t know,” I reply honestly. “I haven't seen that far yet.” See, that’s the thing about writing. Sometimes you don’t know what’ll happen in a story until you get there. Sometimes you have to put it aside for a bit, until inspiration strikes again. Take a hiatus and refresh.
Sam nods sadly and falls silent for a moment. He takes a deep breath. “Is there…anything else you left out of the books?” he asks in a low voice.
My eyes go wide. I can almost feel my blood pressure skyrocketing. “Uh, uh, nope!” I say, cheerfully and way too loudly. “I mean, obviously I don’t put in every time you brush your teeth or something. Gotta edit for flow, you know, and only the necessary information. But, but, that’s it!” I shoot up out of my seat so fast that my chair clatters to the floor behind me. “Okay, well, I should go!”
“Chuck...” Sam calls as I flee the room, but I ignore him. Geez, if I’d known from the beginning that I was going to meet Sam and Dean, I really, really would have tried harder to cut the incest plot.
***
I hadn’t foreseen Dean using me to call up an archangel to protect Sam, which – though terrifying – is also kind of cool, in a way. It’s always a fun surprise when stories go in unexpected directions. I’m relieved not to have to actually see an archangel, though.
Zachariah’s visit is a surprise, too, though maybe it shouldn’t have been. It makes sense that they’d send angels to check in on their prophet. Zachariah is a real dick, and I think vaguely that he’s always been a pompous ass. ‘Always’ being since he showed up in the story, I guess.
I try threatening suicide, because all of a sudden, sitting there looking at Zachariah’s smug face, it occurs to me that it’s maybe not that fun to be Chuck Shurley. Zachariah informs me that they’d just bring me back. He tells me to write.
After he disappears, I pour myself a glass of whiskey and think about it. Finally, I decide he’s right. I should see this through to the end.
I put down the glass, sit in front of the keyboard, and start writing.
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Date: 2019-05-26 10:49 pm (UTC)Love this!❤️
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Date: 2019-05-28 05:53 pm (UTC)