WIP meme
When you see this, post a little weensy excerpt from as many random works-in-progress as you can find lying around. Who knows? Maybe inspiration will burst forth and do something, um, inspiration-y. gacked from halcyon_shift.
This is wildly self-indulgent because some of these may never get done, but I give in to temptation this far to reward myself for slogging away towards the deadline when really I want to be working on these. :> Also omg, how is it Vividcon in a WEEK.
This is wildly self-indulgent because some of these may never get done, but I give in to temptation this far to reward myself for slogging away towards the deadline when really I want to be working on these. :> Also omg, how is it Vividcon in a WEEK.
- The Sweet Charity story that is stuck in the creeping along one sentence at a time stage.
"I'm not interested in your help," Lex said flatly, but something must have been holding on; something still lingered, a ghost of the love and trust he'd once felt, like an ex-smoker's nicotine craving, because without meaning to, he was going on, saying, "But you can have your truce."
eta: Looking Glass Country, posted 8/21/2007!
- The xover.
"Great," Dean said. "I've been mugged by an owl. Shut up, bitch, it's not funny."
eta: Old Country (SPN/HP), posted 9/13/2007!
- It started when Bobby sent them an email: Got a line on a used V-12, good shape. $30,000 cash. You got a week to get it if you can.
"We're not robbing a bank," Sam said, the second Dean read it over his shoulder.
eta: Vegas (SPN, Sam/Dean, posted 2/1/08)
- ...late that night Dean came sneaking into Sam's room on sock feet, whispering, "Sam," and tugging at the covers Sam had tucked under him, trying to get in. They were both blind drunk; Sam peeled them back and let Dean crawl inside with him, Dean took five minutes just to get Sam's belt buckle open, and then Sam took another five to figure out that Dean was trying to grope him, why Dean was all of a sudden trying to grope him, and to knock him on his ass out of the bed.
eta: Worth The Wait (SPN, Sam/Dean, posted 2/1/08)
- Except Dad swept the room once and turned around and fixed Dean with a narrowing, hard look. Dean swallowed and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, guilt stamped all over his face. "How long has this been going on?" Dad said, low and grim.
- now I suddenly want a story where
dean and sam get hit by a curse
and without realizing they are doing it
they start touching each other all the time
eta: Kings and Queens and Jokers, Too, posted 10/3/2007
- The police had his new client in an interrogation room, handcuffed to a chair. The guy looked up as Sam came in. "Dean Winchester?" Sam said. "I'm Sam Moore. I'm your lawyer."
- The one amireal wanted.
"If you're done with the private conference over there?" The doctor glared at Dean. "Now, I realize you're fighting tooth and nail to stay in the nice comfortable land of denial where it is not a problem that your brother is slowly starving to death, but did it not occur to you at any point in this whole process that maybe it would be a good idea to mention that little Sammy here was adopted?"
eta: Sumer is icumen in, posted 10/7/2007
- "A bunny," Dean said.
"A kitten," Dean said.
"A turtle," Dean said.
"Dean, I don't think you're really working with me on this," Adrienne said, putting down the inkblots.
Dean gave her his biggest, toothiest, fuck-you smile.
- Dean didn't understand why something about the way Dad said quietly, "It's time you had your own bed," made him feel guilty and confused. Like he should have wanted one, and he was weird for not making a fuss. Sammy just stood at the foot of the two narrow beds in his t-shirt and shorts, looking wide-eyed and uncertain.
Dean said, "Yes sir," and added, "Thanks," trying to make up for whatever he'd done wrong, and climbed into the bed closer to the door without being told.
eta: Inseparable (SPN, Sam/Dean, posted 2/1/08)
- The EvilSam ficathon story I did not get finished in time. :p
"No! I hate you!" the sorceror screamed. "I'm gonna -- I'm gonna curse you! I'm gonna curse you -- ! I curse you to -- "
Sam turned right around from the smashed-up bits of the altar and took one step towards him. The sorceror shut up quick. "What was that?" Sam said, dangerously.
"Nothin'," the sorceror mumbled. Calling him a sorceror was maybe exaggerating things a little, he was a sixteen year old kid who'd found a grimoire, now fried along with his plastic wand and his altar and his collector's edition DVDs of the Fellowship of the Ring, which was what he was really upset over: they'd gotten knocked off the shelf in the firefight. Dean was feeling pretty regretful himself.
"That's what I thought," Sam said, coldly, and stalked back up the basement stairs. The sorceror stared down at the slagged altar and said, "The Argonath!" He sounded like he was going to cry. "My mom's gonna kill me," he added miserably.
"Dude, this is what happens when you mess with dark forces," Dean said, but to be fair, the kid hadn't hurt anybody, he'd just rained a few frogs down in his chem class and turned the football team's faces purple for a day, so Dean sighed and peeled a hundred off his hard-earned poker money roll. "Go ahead, get another set on ebay."
"Hey, thanks," the kid said, taking it. "I'm, uh, sorry about all the, whatever. y'know. Your boyfriend's still a jerk though," he added resentfully. "I hope you wake up to how totally evil he is."
"Brother!" Dean squawked.
"Huh?" the kid said.
Dean opened his mouth. The Impala's horn honked faintly, outside. Dean shut it again and sighed. "Nevermind."
- And this is not really a WIP, it is a fragment without a home, very sad.
Dean turned his face aside, gasping, trying to fight it, but Sam was over him like a cloud, and the wings -- they weren't decorative, they were fucking strong, and Sam was using them. He had Dean's wrists pinned down to the sheets and his hips were pressing Dean's legs apart. Dean bucked under him, frantic, except Sam's cock was rubbing against his ass and the wings were folding around them like heavy black velvet drapes. Only cracks of light showed through, like hiding in a closet full of heavy coats, playing hide and seek. Sam was saying, softly, "It's okay, shh, it's okay," in almost a whisper.
"Sam," Dean said, and his voice sounded thick and muffled in the closed space. "Sam."
"Shh," Sam said, feathers stroking Dean's skin. He took his hands away. Dean's arms stayed limply against the bed, half stretched over his head. "Shh," Sam said again.
Dean sucked in a breath, gasping.
"Yeah," Sam said. "Yeah, like that."
"Don't," Dean said, thickly. "Sam, it's not, this isn't," except it was, Sam was, pushing into him, splitting him open, and Sam's eyes were heavy-lidded and gleaming in the dark, and Dean couldn't get his goddamn lungs to fill up.