jared is a hotass: volume 4, part 87298

Ok, this is just me making a point to TALI WHO DOESN'T LIKE JARED and says he has thin lips. Even though she won't read this, and wouldn't care if she did. Anyway, proof that Jared's mouth is gorgeous:

( RIGHT HERE )

I think I might have just drooled a little on my keyboard. You tell me that isn't a kissable mouth and I will...I don't know what I'll do, but I'll DO SOMETHING all right! Look at the bow of his lower lip, the way it's quirked up at the side like he'll start smirking any second, and they're sort of shiny 'cause he's just licked them, and jfaw408qu2rjafmkl;/jl faowfj94-ei....

brb

fandomyaye!

I have spent the last three hours looking for and then through Rhode Island death records and old newspaper obituaries for my fic. Do I win something? I love writing for this fandom, oh man.

So, in that vein, I have a few things to ask! Does anyone have a clear picture of Sam or Dean's actual handwriting? Also, anyone out there who's an American folklore buff, do you remember anything about the Mercy Brown legend? I have a book that talks about it and I know some myself, but I'm curious if there's more to it. And the Babcock-Smith house! I'm friends with the caretaker of that place, but she mostly thinks the paranormal is rubbish, so she wouldn't talk to me about its history. Do you know if there's any lore about it?

ONE LAST THING, I promise: what are considered to be witches' powers? Clearly there's the stereotypical flying on a broom and brewing newts eyes in a cauldron, but in actuality? I read about something involving sticking a knife in the wall and milking someone else's cow, though, um. Yeah. Cows?

Haaalp, pls. *grabby hands* Oh, and a teaser for your troubles:

“I don’t like this, Sam,” Dean hisses quietly, as soon as they round the corner. “What if she’s the one who sent that note? We shouldn’t be here.”

Sam bumps his shoulder against Dean’s, comfortingly, when they reach the table and sit down. “I don’t like it either, but we have to know what’s going on, right? If she has answers for us, this is important. Plus, you’ve got a gun sticking down the back of your pants.”

“True,” Dean allows. Their legs jostle under the small table for room. “Do you think she – God, you are seriously huge, Samsquatch. Move your freaking feet.”

“Screw you.” Sam tries to curl his legs up under his seat and nearly falls off the chair. Eventually, though, he manages to find a position that doesn’t make him look like a lunatic linebacker.