fannishliss (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fannishliss) wrote2011-05-24 04:26 pm
fannishliss) wrote2011-05-24 04:26 pm
Entry tags:
The Get to Know Your Flist drabble meme
I swiped a meme:
The FIRST FIVE PEOPLE who comment on this post will receive their very own personalized Supernatural drabble that somehow incorporates one or more of your listed "interests" from your profile page. I'll try my best to do more than the first five, but I definitely guarantee those drabbles. You may also suggest one or two specific characters if you like!
Gimme a week, and you'll get your very own 100 words in your hot little hands!
There's a catch, though ... I'm asking that you write one back for me. Come on, 100 words ... that's nothing.
The FIRST FIVE PEOPLE who comment on this post will receive their very own personalized Supernatural drabble that somehow incorporates one or more of your listed "interests" from your profile page. I'll try my best to do more than the first five, but I definitely guarantee those drabbles. You may also suggest one or two specific characters if you like!
Gimme a week, and you'll get your very own 100 words in your hot little hands!
There's a catch, though ... I'm asking that you write one back for me. Come on, 100 words ... that's nothing.
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I thought of you so hard with the finale. I only have watched the first hour.
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***
In his mind spins a revel, a circus:
circling automata with wings like swans,
characters eloquent in sign, bones all aligned,
clacking as they move, joints like castanets,
elves, satyrs, demons, clowns, dancing alchemy
out of their masks, heavy, strong, graceful as mules.
His thoughts are creeping shadows that eat him alive,
blinding daggers of light that shred him into shards.
His life has been a garden sparkling in dew,
a grand piano played by hollow men, pirates, vikings,
the fairytale knitting all the characters in the world,
only one love, all loves, circling, the grand design, chaos,
shrieking, laughter.
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------------------
She woke weeping. Again. And turned her head to look across the bed towards the open window; to the new morning breaking. She brushed away the tears, brought her hand up to her face, fingertips against her lips. The dream was just on the edges of what she could remember and she let her eyes close, filtering the new daylight through her wet lashes. She wished she could fall backwards into sleep, into the dream, into the memory that would not be remembered. It was something she had forgotten, haunting her like a ghost every morning since the car accident.
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this is a very fun meme. I'm glad you liked my mashup of your interests!
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***
Slipping with a muted roar through shadowed countryside, Dean flies from a fresh batch of crimes that no longer bear thinking about. Against the window, Sam slumbers, damaged, suffering, miraculous: sane by force of will despite hell, his soulless atrocities, and an old friend calling himself their Lord.
Dean lets it all slide. Sam’s safe, the Impala’s restored, trunk full of weapons, perfect song on the radio.
“Time keeps on slipping,” Dean whispers, lets himself forget, echoing tick tock tick, he’ll help the children and the people on the street, an eagle flying through midnight, on into the revolution.
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Here are my thoughts:
Even though shit may go down, even though the whole world may burn, there is a certain steadiness in being able to fall back on a song that you grew up with, riding in the same car with at least 2/3 of your childhood family. The sense that there are things that can and will never change, no matter what they go through. In this case, I think the choice of music more than any string of words could convey that.
Little other things added to it to add to a kind of routine checklist existence. Sam's safe: check. Impala's stocked: checked. (Rockin' music: optional, but still awesome.)
As a side note, this song plays constantly when I'm at home working in the barn on the local stations. I'll hear it a few times within the course of an hour.
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The song has kind of a mashup of existentialism and mission that I think would comfort Dean. Like, it may all be futile, but there's still a difference he can make in the world. :)
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Yours will be coming as soon as I finish my last S6 reviews; good thing it's a holiday weekend!
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***
“God damn that’s a creepy painting,” Dean muttered over his venti black, but his eyes sparkled, alive with the Hunt.
Five golden-feathered owls peered down, their gaze unblinking, absinthe green.
Dean snapped his fingers at Sam. He blinked. “Psychic vampires working a seaside resort, using paintings to drain tourists.”
“Don’t you just itch to salt and burn that sucker?”
“Gotta I.D. the vampire first.”
A girl in a green fairy t-shirt called Sam’s frappuccino. Death pale, eyes absinthe green.
“Crap,” Dean said, sparkle gone. It sucked when monsters were teenagers, so sweet and young.
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fetishesinterests and turn them into something undiscovered. Thanks muchly!I think you'll get your drabble this weekend; got a tender little 'flavor' scene wedged in the fissures of my brain, after reading your own LJ interests. Awesome flist meme, for realz.
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I can almost SEE that painting!! I've loved the creepiness of owls since being a devotee of Twin Peaks. These owls, of course, are Not What They Seem. :)
I do think this is a really fun meme. Glad you enjoyed!!
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***
They sat on the hood of the Impala. Dean, back against the windshield, head tilted to a moonlit Montana sky and Sam, lying flat, hair fanned out, ridiculously long legs dangling over the grill. Since the Wall’s razing, Sam hadn’t cut his hair. Too many sudden, psychotic moments to risk scissors.
Kashmir wailed from the tape deck. Dean took a swallow of liquid sleep…whiskey…and glanced at Sam. Was this peace? Schizophrenia?
“How we doin’, Sammy?”
A distant dog howled.
“Sammy? We good?”
Eyes closed, Sam’s hand rested across his belly, fingers drumming in time.
“We’re good, Dean.” And Sammy smiled.
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In the meantime, I want to play heeeeereeee! :D
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alan moore
reading
herbs (kind of)
caffeine (kind of)
people hunting things (always!)
thrifting
a death in new york:
"Good pick, Sam," Dean coughs, trades Sam the shirt for his joe. "You and your paisley."
"What, you've stopped worshipping the grocery tabloids? Paisley is in. It's the summer of love."
"Yeah, smells like it." Dean tries to blink redness out of his watering eyes and starts flipping haphazardly through the dime-store paperbacks to their left. "What's Bobby got us looking for?"
"Nothing you're gonna find there... He wanted-- Dude, are you allergic to weed?"
"Hey, this could work." Some kind of comic book. "Help us deal with Doctor Cas-hattan, whaddaya think?"
"You are, aren't you."
"Shut up."
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I'll get to your drabble sometime soon! (within the week as the meme says) :)
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of your Interests I chose: the present tense, this american life, americana, nonlinear narratives, roadtripping, anthropomorphizing architecture, [bill nye:the] science guy
***
One thing Dinosaurlands have in common, from Utah to Texas, is giant fiberglass critters named Rex. The Dinosaurland in Virginia is their favorite, so near the town Dean says is named after them. Sam insists it’s named after an English Cathedral. Which has a Dean, big brother always interjects. QED.
Castiel says Florida’s Dinosaurland is an affront to Him as the LORD. It sucked even before the IRS shut it down, Rex or no. Dean’s most massive conflagration ever is the least they can do for an old friend turned almighty despot. Besides. The world is better off without it.
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I have this vision of a gigantic Dinosaur in any case, sitting way out in the middle of Nevada. I'm not sure if it was a part of something, but I think when you have a dinosaur in the middle of Nevada it's a part of something whether the official paperwork says so or not. XD
Thank you for this~!
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http://www.colbertnation.com/the-colbert-report-videos/240802/august-06-2009/yahweh-or-no-way---dinosaur-adventure-land---black-market-kidneys
Castiel will simply not tolerate that kind of thing. Besides, Castiel actually witnessed the little critters crawling up out of the muck, so he's not going to let his name be thrown about by Young Earthers. :P
The one near Winchester is very kitschy and fun.
I'm glad you enjoyed. I tried to read it to myself in Ira Glass voice.... sooooo.... that was my process. :D
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And man, Ira Glass's voice makes everything better (Not that this drabble needs any enhancers!) <3!!
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***
Dean knew the clenched jaw, the weary eyes. Sam had come near some old Stanford friend.
Sam haunted his friends’ Facebooks: astronomers; theologians; philosophers. They’d never learn about Sam’s atheism, lost and found; how mythology meant life and death to him. Dean knew Sam didn’t know how Dean mourned Sam’s lost life: the causes he’d given up, his sacrificed right to be pro-love, pro-creativity.
Dean saw himself as pro-human-rights, but he could never be anti-war.
Dean needed Sam more than any cause, and together, they saved the world. It was all Dean had to offer. It had to be enough.
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Your drabbles can be pretty terrifying. I'm glad you wanted to play!
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***
A Hunter’s life had certain perqs: travel, hiking, being out in nature; sometimes, it didn’t suck, those rare times when nothing was trying to kill you.
Birdwatching? With a Hunter’s senses, Dean Winchester would have been a first-class birder, but he didn’t have the luxury.
The closest he’d come was seeing a broken-hearted Phoenix try to revenge the rape and murder of its mate.
And he’d shot it down in the street.
Sometimes he saw it rise up, perfect feathers of flame, soaring-- but then he’d awaken, face wet, his momentary gratitude fading, that one perfect thing no longer unburned.
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Thank you so much! The Phoenix...looking for justice for its murdered wife. Dean could identify, I'm sure, after all he spent twenty two years following his father's quest for the exact same thing.
Beautifully done, I really love it!
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as soon as I saw Birdwatching in your interests -- the Phoenix popped into my head. :P
I'm really glad the drabble worked for you!
What would they have done if they'd need unicorn horn? :(
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It’s not something you ever think about until it jumps front and center, demanding your attention. Like when you get taken down during training and your back hits the ground so hard you think you’ll never inhale again. Or during a salt and burn as the smoke surrounds you, chokes you, fills you with darkness. From birth to death, you just do it.
Everyone stops eventually, you’ve known that since forever, but it shouldn’t be him. It’s too soon to be him. You hold your brother, hands soaked in his blood and wait for a breath that will never come.
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Sad and relentless. :)
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So glad you liked!
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And in return, I will totally write you something. It's been a while since I broke out my creative side. It's all been analytical and stuff.
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****
A Hunter survived things that would kill a normal person like a bullet to the head.
Sam took that bullet three times. He remembered taking down monsters, a wanted criminal living a hustler’s life. He remembered using a pretty girl for a human shield, laughing about his cleverness as she bled out.
When he met the part of himself that had been through hell, he knifed it in the gut. He’d learned, that long year.
He pieced himself back together, pulling the black thread taut, biting it off. The pain didn’t matter, couldn’t. Not when he had work to do.