hmmm
I stalked the BH fandom and picked up some pretty, pretty icons *pets George* YAY! The show is taking over my brain, even though I don't (really) write in it (I feel horrible when I do - because I'm so American that I know I fail horribly at writing a British show :C ). Anywhoo.
I just realized that my angsty, desperate post-Swan Song Sam/Dean fic is actually angsty, desperate post-Swan Song Sam/Dean curtain!fic. AHAHAHAHAHA. Sweet baby jeebus, and I didn't even realize it until tonight.
On the bright side, it's almost double the length (~5k) of my John/Bobby BB (~2-3k) and it's still going. What I might do is see how long it gets (read: needs to be to be coherent) and then hold onto it, in case the John/Bobby fic doesn't work out (I'd still finish it, because I really am enjoying it, but I don't know if it'd be 15k OR if I can actually get it down in the time given, but we'll see).
curtain!fic:
"It's nice out here," Sam says, and Dean steps up beside him, rests one arm and a hip against the wood. Wood chips and splinters are rough stickers against his palm, his fingers, where he pushes down, squeezes tight.
There are ghosts at the back of Dean's throat, clawing and scraping and moaning. He bites his lip, but he can't look anywhere else. He's stuck with the same dim profile that miles and miles in the Impala give him, that turning away give him. It's true night, now, and they only have the kitchen lights on and the faint traces of traffic and building lights in front of them.
It's not enough.
John/Bobby:
"Ha ha, you jackass," Bobby growls. His hand is hard on John's shoulder. Leading him, John thinks. But Bobby seems as clueless as him. Just one of those nights. "You want a beer?"
"Yeah," John says, and leans against the counter as Bobby rummages around in the fridge. There's the familiar trucker's cap and flannel over shirt. The side glimpse of beard and hint of dark eyes.
"What?" Bobby's head's cocked when he pushes the two bottles on the counter, his turn to hunt for the damn opener.
Maybe it's because tonight feels like an end to something. His boys off, Sam for good, maybe, Dean for however long Sam can con him into staying. But he feels pushed out there, off track and lost.
"Nothing," he says and Bobby snorts.
Decisions, decisions.
In other news: watched Leverage, and my summation? Hardison and Elliot are ridiculously hot, GAH. Also, I totally get the OT3 vibe, which is weird because, despite my BH icon indicating the contrary, I usually HATE OT3 or OT-however many fic.
Okay. The end.
I just realized that my angsty, desperate post-Swan Song Sam/Dean fic is actually angsty, desperate post-Swan Song Sam/Dean curtain!fic. AHAHAHAHAHA. Sweet baby jeebus, and I didn't even realize it until tonight.
On the bright side, it's almost double the length (~5k) of my John/Bobby BB (~2-3k) and it's still going. What I might do is see how long it gets (read: needs to be to be coherent) and then hold onto it, in case the John/Bobby fic doesn't work out (I'd still finish it, because I really am enjoying it, but I don't know if it'd be 15k OR if I can actually get it down in the time given, but we'll see).
curtain!fic:
"It's nice out here," Sam says, and Dean steps up beside him, rests one arm and a hip against the wood. Wood chips and splinters are rough stickers against his palm, his fingers, where he pushes down, squeezes tight.
There are ghosts at the back of Dean's throat, clawing and scraping and moaning. He bites his lip, but he can't look anywhere else. He's stuck with the same dim profile that miles and miles in the Impala give him, that turning away give him. It's true night, now, and they only have the kitchen lights on and the faint traces of traffic and building lights in front of them.
It's not enough.
John/Bobby:
"Ha ha, you jackass," Bobby growls. His hand is hard on John's shoulder. Leading him, John thinks. But Bobby seems as clueless as him. Just one of those nights. "You want a beer?"
"Yeah," John says, and leans against the counter as Bobby rummages around in the fridge. There's the familiar trucker's cap and flannel over shirt. The side glimpse of beard and hint of dark eyes.
"What?" Bobby's head's cocked when he pushes the two bottles on the counter, his turn to hunt for the damn opener.
Maybe it's because tonight feels like an end to something. His boys off, Sam for good, maybe, Dean for however long Sam can con him into staying. But he feels pushed out there, off track and lost.
"Nothing," he says and Bobby snorts.
Decisions, decisions.
In other news: watched Leverage, and my summation? Hardison and Elliot are ridiculously hot, GAH. Also, I totally get the OT3 vibe, which is weird because, despite my BH icon indicating the contrary, I usually HATE OT3 or OT-however many fic.
Okay. The end.