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Turn, Ben/Caleb, pre-slash?

Tap. Tap. Tap. Ben’s foot kept jiggling up and down. It was making him look stupid - like a slightly deranged beagle, Caleb once said -  but he couldn’t stop it. He was feeling too jittery as this was the final day in the course of lifeguarding he took as extra credit and they were supposed to prove they knew how to do a water rescue in order to get their license. He did just fine before, during practice, but his biggest problem was nerves and, this time, it really mattered. If he screwed this up, he wouldn’t get the license or the credit.

Plus, for whatever reason the coach made up this stupid new test thing, where each of them had to guard the pool for half an hour on their own (the people who already passed doubling as assisting guards if the situation called for it) and someone else was assigned to fake a drowning or a potentially dangerous rule breaking and you didn’t know who or when it was going to be, so you had to be extra vigilant. All this was in addition to the regular skill tests. Joy.

Constant vigilance, Ben, said a Caleb-sounding voice in Ben’s mind, and Ben relaxed a bit, smiling unwillingly. Caleb would make so much fun of him, calling him Moody if he heard that.

He was torn out of his musings by a loud splash and he could swear his heart missed a beat. Did he just miss the moment? He frantically scanned the pool, looking for anyone in distress, his thoughts blank with panic, except for a sudden barrage of oh-my-god-please-let-it-be-nothing-I-can‘t-screw-this-up-don’t-panic-Ben-you-can-do-this- in the back of his mind.

There. At the opposite end of the pool, by the jumping board, was a person, flapping their arms uselessly. Probably simulating an injury on impact, Ben’s eyes analyzed the situation, while he was already running to them.

As he got closer, the procedure flashed in his memory. In any falls from height greater than that of a person’s body, head, neck or spinal injury is suspected. In that case, minimalize the movement of those parts. Enter water by slide-in method. If the victim’s facing up, approach from behind their head. Check for consciousness-

It was Caleb.

"Sir, can you hear me?" he shouted over the usual background noise. This line used to be extremely funny at the beginning of their course. They felt like actors on Baywatch or something. Now that each of them practised its use at least a thousand times, it felt like a reflex.

"I wish I didn’t," Caleb said. "My poor ears."

Ben felt the corners of his mouth lift. Damn it, did Caleb have to turn everything into a joke? He couldn’t laugh now, he had to rescue his model swimmer in distress.

"Please stay calm," he continued, putting his arms under his back and holding Caleb’s head up over the surface, while threading water. "Just breathe."

The first part over, Ben dared to glance around to see from which direction his assisting guard would arrive with the backboard. Fortunately, Selah was already almost there. Just a few more seconds and they could continue getting Caleb out of the water. There weren’t many ways to screw this up now; he was going to pass this course.

Then, he made the mistake of looking back down at Caleb, his wet hair plastered on his forehead, the beard looking like a sad drenched puppy, and grinning.

"So, do you come here often?" Caleb quipped, completely deadpan.

Ben lost it.


"I almost dropped you, Caleb; why would you do this to me!" Ben paced up and down in front of his locker furiously while toweling his hair dry.

"Come on, it was funny," insisted Caleb, sitting on the bench and stretching his legs.

"It was a jerk move, you dumbass!"

"But it was a little bit funny, admit it. Hey, you laughed," Caleb pointed a finger at him.

"I could have failed the test!" protested Ben, flinging the towel into his pack.

"But you didn’t, and that’s what matters. Besides," Caleb smirked, "you didn’t answer the question."

"What question?"

Caleb raised one eyebrow. "Do you come here often?"

Ben gaped at him. "You know what? Next time, I’m dunking you under. And making sure you stay there!"


that superturn fic

This starts with Ben on the run from Roger's men. I'm thinking of merging this bit with another fic I have started writing sooner, which was also about Ben on the run from Rogers, minus the hellhounds. It was supposed to be h/c, with playing up the seriousness of Ben's injury and Caleb nursing Ben back to health later in camp complete with chicken soup :D But then I thought I could use that as a starter and keep all the h/c and just add the superturn stuff. So later when I have actually finished writing the bit that is supposed to glue those two pieces of fics together I'll need help in seeing if the styles aren't too different and if it works, generally, but right now I need to work at the fight scene at the end. (don't look at all those / and ? in the text, it just means I'm not sure which word or phrase to use)

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Turn prompt fill

I'll just put the link to the prompt here as well. It's a little something that I wrote when I was feeling inspired and then revised it once and forgot about it. But it wasn't meant to be anything more so I thought I could finish it and post it, at least that way I could tick off one wip. I wanted to keep this one gen, max pre-slash, but I don't know how well I managed this, since it seems that writing anything involving those two makes me lean towards the slashy site of things.
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Takes place shortly after Caleb's uncle is killed, when Ben's dragoons make it back to camp. AU in the sense that here Ben already knows about the supernatural, which in the official timeline doesn't happen until sometime in S2.
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Superturn Masterpost

As some of you already know, some time ago directorlazuli had the perfect idea for a TURN and Supernatural AU. One thing led to another and we decided it needed to be written. This is a masterpost for that universe.

This universe is open to all of you who would like to join and play in it. That way if anyone has any specific situation they'd like to see in a fic, they can write it themselves - or of course ask one of us to write it. The same thing goes for fanart, or RP. In fact, we want to encourage people to join in on the fun.

The first story in the universe is already up on archiveofourown.org /link/ and more will follow in the series. If you want to write/draw something, you can post it an AO3 and tag it "superturn". I will make a collection page so all stories and fanart can be seen in one place.

Rules before playing:
Set character's roles in the Superturn universe:
Hunters: Caleb, Anna, Selah, Abe
Not hunters, but in the know about supernatural: Abigail, Akinbode, Billy Lee, Andre
Member of Men of Letters: Sackett
Completely oblivious to the supernatural: Ben, Washington

Demons: Simcoe, Rogers (crossroads demon with hellhounds)
Angels: Hewlett, Lafayette
Vampire: Townsend

Other characters that are not mentioned are up to you to play with. OCs are allowed. Alternate takes on the official storyline are encouraged. There may be even prompts later. Fanart is always welcome.

If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask me or directorlazuli.

TURN fic - for beta

OK. I wrote it in third person POV but mostly I am not sure if my Akinbode voice is right and if the low number of dialogue works or doesn´t. Any commentary would be welcome though. And please check my grammar, pronunciation and word meaning because I´m not a native English speaker and sometimes I get a word mixed up and never realize it. Hope this makes sense mythology-wise, as in that people can understand where I´m aiming at even when they have no previous knowledge of that mythology.

„I earned my place, just like the rest of ya.“

Fury circulates hot and liquid through Akinbode´s veins, warming his skin, but he doesn´t let it show. He´s been a fool, thinking the men accepted him as one of them, that it didn´t matter none Rogers was gone. That he proved his worth as a fighter, proved his dedication. But white men, it seems, are all the same, and all they see is the surface.

None of them ever look further than skin deep.

The words he had hurled at them still echo in his ears as he prepares to fight. Ignoring the sticks of wood mockingly thrown to his feet, his own fists will have to do against cold steel. White men never follow none of their rules. But this one will regret ever starting a fight with him.

He raises his hands, places them in position and slowly breathes out. Usually he has more time to do this, to make sure he doesn´t make a mistake that could cost him his sanity at best and his life at worst. But sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do; he pushes the words out under his breath with an effort of will. Marinette Bwa Chech, he calls her. Help me win this fight.

The cold sweat that breaks all over him is to be expected. He grits his teeth and resists the urge to shudder. His head feels too large and too small at the same time, like a leather belt pulled to twice its original length and then made to fit into a tight case. But he is still able to think, and that means his call had been answered.

He closes his eyes only for a second, but when he opens them the world is tinted red. Somewhere in the distance an owl screeches, and he almost smiles. Bring it, white boy. Anytime now...

Before either one of them can attack, a figure on a horseback disturbs their circle. Akinbode recognizes Simcoe immediately. The others all turn to the newcomer and miss the fire flaring unnaturally bright, a foolproof sign of a Loa present.

Simcoe reveals he is to be their new commander and immediately a quarrel starts. Akinbode listens, but he is distracted, all too aware of the quiet humming at the back of his thoughts. The red´s trying to wash his focus away and it will succeed if he just lets go for a moment... Akinbode shakes his head and forces himself to breathe through it. One, two, three – hold- one, two, three... the steady rhythm calms him. Whispering thanks and apologies, he holds on to that calm while the red recedes and the humming slowly dwindles to silence. Then he catches the last words of the dispute.

„Let´s line up and fall in.“

Ain´t no way that will end well, Akinbode thinks. Sure enough, the men react predictably: fidgeting and readying their guns. Simcoe is a skilled fighter, but no one can hold his own against twenty something men with guns. Well – no one human.

What´s surprising is Simcoe´s invitation for them to do their best to kill him. Once the words are out of his mouth, Akinbode shuffles back a little. Only two kinds of people invite others to try to kill them when outnumbered: Fools and those who can back their words up. Simcoe is no fool, and he had even offered them a plausible excuse to avoid charges.

Akinbode is proved right the next minute. Simcoe deals with his attacker effortlessly, first blocking his lunge and dislocating his shoulder, then elbowing him hard in the face – twice. He tops it off by plucking the knife from his opponent´s unresisting hand when he collapses to his knees, and cutting off a part of his scalp. Akinbode knew Simcoe had a reputation, but to destroy a man so thoroughly without breaking a sweat is something else entirely, especially considering Akinbode knows the Ranger´s strength personally.

He´s almost tempted to let the man shoot Simcoe, just to see if he bleeds, but his instinct takes over. The „No!“ is ripped from his throat as soon as he sees him reaching for the pistol. Might be even better this way, gratitude of a commander is nothing to scoff at. Simcoe shoots the man without a flinch, and for a moment Akinbode could swear he feels something. An uneasy tingling he usually gets around others who are in the know. He isn´t one to ignore his instincts and wows to keep an eye on their new captain. Many times the true nature of people can only be seen over time.

He doesn´t have to wait that long, in the end. Simcoe orders them again, and as the men drag themselves to stand in two neat lines, Akinbode takes his place on the captain´s right. He sneaks a glance at Simcoe and finally sees it.

Captain Simcoe´s eyes turn black.

...So I´m butchering Haitian mythology a bit in here and tweaking it a lot for the purposes of this story. I hope the Haitians will forgive me. :)

You can leave commentary here, too, it will probably be easier to do than through tumblr´s inbox. Anonymous comments should be enabled, if not message me on tumblr. And thanks a lot for the beta!

I write like
George Orwell

I Write Like. Analyze your writing!

I tried the 'I write like' analyser again, this time with my original work. It's quite a different result than the one from the fanfic, isn't it? Fascinating.

Fic: The Things You Do For Love

Title: The Things You Do For Love
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Gabriel
Genre: domestic fluff
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 807
Summary: Gabriel wanted to have a good time. Sam just wanted to read.

A/N: Again, written first for the Sam/Gabriel fic battle. samgabebattle Since it's been so long, I don't remember if it was beta'ed, but if it was, it was by arialyre.

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Fic: Dogs & Brothers

So, it's been quite a long time since I posted anything. I stopped writing fic, and for some time even stopped watching Supernatural, but now I've caught up with all of season 9 and am excited for season 10. BUT the reason I'm posting fic is simple. I just realized that it had been sitting on my harddrive since 2011, probably. I only posted it as a comment fic but did not give it a name. Or did I? Either way, I don't remember now, so if it turns out I've named it twice, so be it. Worse thing happened. And without further ado... the fic.

Title: Dogs & Brothers
Characters: Sam, Dean, Gabriel, Cas
Genre: gen, fluff
Wordcount: 1006
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Sam was regretting the day he bought Gabriel.

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