ratherastory (
ratherastory) wrote2013-07-05 02:06 pm
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Prompt meme!
Shamelessly stolen from
de_nugis.
Tell me about a story I haven't written, and I will give you 1-3 sentences (or more) from or about it.
I haven't been writing much (apart from my summergen, which keeps getting longer on me and is giving me terrible trouble and I am worried my recipient will hate it and oh God... anyway), so this feels like a fun way to get back into the swing of things.
All my fandoms are fair game. That's Supernatural, H50, Leverage, White Collar, Avengers (and all related Marvel movies that I've seen), and if you know I watch a TV show but haven't written anything for it yet and feel like taking a chance, you should go for it. (Ones that spring to mind are Person of Interest and Teen Wolf, among others.)
Tell me about a story I haven't written, and I will give you 1-3 sentences (or more) from or about it.
I haven't been writing much (apart from my summergen, which keeps getting longer on me and is giving me terrible trouble and I am worried my recipient will hate it and oh God... anyway), so this feels like a fun way to get back into the swing of things.
All my fandoms are fair game. That's Supernatural, H50, Leverage, White Collar, Avengers (and all related Marvel movies that I've seen), and if you know I watch a TV show but haven't written anything for it yet and feel like taking a chance, you should go for it. (Ones that spring to mind are Person of Interest and Teen Wolf, among others.)

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It's so nice to see you here, I miss your fic very much--I understand RL, etc.--just wanted you to know you're missed. :-)
I'll try this?
A story you haven't written--something in your Fusion 'verse, which I love so very much.
Something appropriate for our 4th of July. The time Dean and Cas had to help Peri and Sam deal with an overenthusiastic 4th of July celebration of fireworks...
Thank you. If you write for this, I'll just squee myself to death. :-)
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Except that Sam is coping just fine, sitting cross-legged on the floor playing a game of Go Fish! with Cas and laughingly accusing him of cheating while Cas points out that, as there are no actual fish present, the game is something of a misnomer.
Instead, Dean has found himself with an armful of very distraught dog. Perry is whining and wriggling and licking at his face because, as it turns out, no matter how well you train your service dog, it turns out that nothing you do will prepare you for finding out that your dog is terrified of fireworks.
Next year, Dean vows, they'll go on a trip somewhere there aren't any fireworks at all. It'll be better for his nerves.
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+++
Of all the things Dean considered Sam might be hiding from him, this hadn't even made it on the list. Cas is sitting on the first step at the top of the cellar stairs, looking smug, damn him, because of course he was the one to tell Dean that Sam being all shifty wasn't anything to worry about. The thing is, Dean is a worrier, always has been, and he wasn't about to take Cas' word for it that everything was fine, not with Sam acting all cagey and skulking around without telling Dean what he was up to.
Sam is looking at him expectantly now, all big blue eyes and trembly lower lip, clutching the tiny grey bundle to his chest as though Dean might just snatch it away and toss it outside into the nearest snow drift. Because of course Dean is just the sort of guy to go around murdering kittens.
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The guy sneers. "Aw, if it isn't baby brother, coming to the rescue. What are you going to do about it?"
"I don't have to do anything." The guy bigger than Sam, but Sam isn't exactly a shrimp anymore, not since last summer. He smiles, enjoying how it unsettles the other guy. "The fact that your girlfriend picked my brother over you speaks for itself. If I were you, I wouldn't go announcing the fact that you've got a small dick all over school."
There's a burst of laughter from their audience, and when the guy takes a swing at him, Sam is ready and waiting.
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Danny glares up at him from a desk piled high with licorice packets of every colour and every brand he could get his hands on. "Look, just because I can't seem to eat anything else doesn't mean I shouldn't be allowed to have a little variety in my life!"
Steve tilts his head in acquiescence. "Point taken."
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He's beginning to think that Nick knew exactly what he was in for, which is why he sent Phil instead. He tries to count all the Post-It notes and gives up after he hits thirteen.
"I don't have to use my blood to sign any of this, do I? Because that's where I draw the line."
Pepper smiles brightly at him, and he sighs and sets about putting pen to paper.
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The little guy—Detective Williams—reaches up and pokes Sam in the chest with unnecessary vigor. He's probably annoyed that the top of his head barely reaches Sam's pectorals, but that's hardly Sam's fault.
"You two," he says, slowly and deliberately, "are the worst excuses I have ever seen for fake cops. You're just lucky that Steve and Kono appear to have taken a shine to you, so you get one chance—just one, mind you—to come clean with me before I slap a pair of cuffs on you."
It's laughable that this guy, who is definitely at least two feet shorter than Sam, thinks that he's going to take the two of them down. And yet, looking into Danny William's bright blue eyes, Sam suddenly isn't so sure anymore.
"Okay, I can explain..."
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"Laptop."
Dean grits his teeth, because it's nearly eleven o'clock and Sam's off-schedule by at least an hour without showing any signs of coming away from whatever it is he's obsessing over on the internet. He stalks over to the computer table, intent on slamming the laptop shut and throwing it out the nearest window if he has to, and stops short when he sees what's on the screen.
"I thought you worked on your translation stuff in the morning?"
Sam shakes his head. "I took on an extra contract, short deadline."
"Why the hell would you do that?" His brother doesn't look up, fingers flying over the keyboard, shoulders hunched in the way he gets only when he's feeling guilty about something. "Sam."
"We need the money. I heard you tell Cas... I couldn't make it work otherwise, I'm sorry. I tried, but there wasn't any other way." Sam still hasn't looked up, but his hands are shaking.
Dean reaches over and closes the laptop, and Sam lets him, dropping his gaze to his lap. "Okay, enough," he says gently. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to take your meds, and we're going to go to bed. When we've both slept, we're going to have a long talk about money, and why you need to come talk to me before you freak out about conversations you eavesdropped on. Got it?"
"Wasn't eavesdropping," Sam mutters, but he lets Dean lead him away without protest, thank God.
They'll sleep on it, and in the morning it'll all look better.
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"Maybe Dad wouldn't notice if we drilled air holes in the bottom of the trunk..."
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:)
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It's a beautiful day, and nothing can spoil it. Not even when Sam, never able to hold his liquor as well as his much cooler older brother, loses his footing and slips into the water with a splash (and, okay, maybe Dean pushed him, but only a little). Not even when, laughing, eyes sparkling, Sam reaches up with a long arm and hauls Dean right into the water alongside him and forcefully ducks his head beneath the surface.
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OKAY!
Tell me about the time Sheriff Stilinski first saw a werewolf. :D
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***
What he's seeing is impossible. That's what reason and logic are telling the Sheriff as he stands, weapon trained on the two animals (people?) before him. They're ignoring him, standing far too close to each other, teeth bared, fur bristling, eyes glowing unnaturally in the gloom of the night. The taller one—is that really Derek Hale—roars, or maybe it's a snarl, he's not sure, but the smaller one doesn't back down.
Time for something a little more drastic. He draws his spare piece out his ankle holster—no way he's using his official handgun for this, the paperwork alone would be a nightmare—and fires a warning shot into the ground.
"Scott McCall!" he barks, when both werewolves have flinched from the noise and turned fiery-bright eyes on him. "It's a school night. Just what in the heck do you think you're doing?"
The smaller werewolf hunches over, head drooping, and really, he's still the overeager teenager the Sheriff has always known. "Sorry, Mr. Stilinski. Please don't tell my Mom?"
He sighs and holsters his weapon. Some things, he supposes, will never change.
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He produces the bottle of Klonopin he took from the medicine cabinet after he'd rescued the rest of Sam's Seroquel from the toilet bowl, shakes out two tiny pills into Sam's oversized palm and hands him a glass of water.
"Bottom's up, Sammy. It's fine, okay? The pills are a little soggy, but we'll let 'em dry out, they should be fine. C'mon, breathe for me. In and out, through your nose."
He has to help hold the glass steady, because this apparently was the last straw on a very bad day, and Sam has all but shut down, eyes closed against whatever it is he's seeing. It was obviously an accident—it wouldn't even occur to Sam to flush his meds, not when they cost so much money and let him cope with the sheer scope of existing topside these days—but he was so upset Dean was sure he'd end up hurting himself.
"Better now?" he asks, once the water's gone, and Sam nods automatically. It might be a lie, but at least Sam's trying. He squeezes Sam's shoulder with one hand, gives a thumb's-up to Perry, not that she knows what that means, but she gets upset when Sam's upset, so he does what he can. "So," he says finally. "How about I bake cookies? Think that'd improve your day?"
Sam's sudden, small smile is the only answer he needs.
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:)
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