So, I have two tests and a paper(that just needs to be proofread), and that's it for school. I have about five stories to type up, and then one to rewrite. I have a job interview tomorrow. I have dozens of ideas that are a couple sentences up to a little over a page.
So, why not give myself something else to be responsible for, yeah?
Anyone who
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I've found that I write more during school than when I'm on vacation. Is that weird?
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Sam glances up from his book--a Nero Wolfe novel, thank you very much, he's so glad to be reading for fun again--and raises an eyebrow. "An awesome stove?" he repeats. "Okay."
"We should totally make supper tonight instead of going out!" Dean says, stepping into the den. "That'd be cool, huh?"
Marking his spot with a finger, Sam meets his brother's eyes. "You wanna cook?" he asks. Far as he knows, Dean hasn't cooked at all since they've been on the road together. Not since they were kids, actually. Since Sam left.
But now they have an actual house, with an actual kitchen. They both have actual jobs that don't require digging up corpses or setting things on fire or fighting against the forces of Hell and Heaven to stop the apocalypse. They have actual groceries in their actual fridge, and if Dean wants to cook supper, then they will cook supper. And Sam will utterly annihilate anything that gets in their way ( ... )
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pretty plz with cherry on top?
those where yours right?
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So, you want like a timestamp or Dean pov or what?
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“Dean!” Castiel calls, hurrying to his side while Ruby does the same for Sam.
Gabriel spreads his soot-stained wings, shielding them from the hordes of Hell, but slowly the army falters. Kneels.
He feels Sammael first, but only because the eldest has been gone the longest. Gabriel lowers his wings and turns.
There they stand, the first and the greatest, Sammael and Michael, side by side. They still wear the human vessels, but no one could mistake them for human now.
“Brothers,” he says. “Welcome back.”
“Creator has much to answer for,” Sammael snarls.
Michael does not disagree.
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"Dean," he called softly. "Dean, we should try to conserve heat."
Dean didn't move. Hadn't made a sound in hours. Not since Sam left him here.
Castiel took a deep breath and counted to three, took another, finally forced himself to his knees. He shuffled his way to Dean, unable to crawl because both his hands were broken. His wings trailed on the dusty floor. He'd been too weak to do anything but wrap them around him in days.
"Dean," he whispered, settling next to his human. "Dean."
Dean still didn't respond, but Castiel pulled him close anyway, wrapping his wings around them both.
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Yes, you have to offer to write something! I'd leave a request.
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So, he was pretty sure the cat wasn't following him.
Until she stepped into his path out of thin air and collapsed at his feet.
He stared at her. She was tiny, black and white, with a petite head and dainty paws. Covered in dust, matted with blood.
She smelled normal. So he knelt and gently scooped her up, supporting her neck and spine. "What's wrong with you, darlin'?" he asked, cradling her close to his chest and focusing his hearing on her breathing. She sounded fine.
I just need to rest, a soft voice whispered ( ... )
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