Interest Drabbles!
Here are 7 drabbles for my friends catered to their interests. If you like, you can still join the Interest Drabble "Get to Know your Flist meme." (some of these kind friends have already posted their drabbles back to me as well :D )
Including: a poem about Sam's madness in Hell for Zagzagael; a drabble on Fly like an Eagle for Bardicvoice; a casefic about non-sparkly vampires for Quickreaver; SPN meets This American Life for Kalliel; an angsty bromance for mercuryblue144; a Phoenix drabble for Tifaching; and a season finale!sam drabble on the Law of Inverse Value for Laespada.
For zagzagael : a drabble about Sam::
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.
###
for bardicvoice , Dean was listening to Fly like an Eagle by Steve Miller Band::
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.
###
for quickreaver , a casefic in a drabble, non-sparkly vampires::
“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.
###
for kalliel , spn meets this american life::
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.
###
for mercuryblue144 , an angsty bromance::
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.
###
for tifaching , a Phoenix drabble::
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.
###
For laespada , the Law of Inverse Value, post 6.22 Sammy::
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.
Including: a poem about Sam's madness in Hell for Zagzagael; a drabble on Fly like an Eagle for Bardicvoice; a casefic about non-sparkly vampires for Quickreaver; SPN meets This American Life for Kalliel; an angsty bromance for mercuryblue144; a Phoenix drabble for Tifaching; and a season finale!sam drabble on the Law of Inverse Value for Laespada.
For zagzagael : a drabble about Sam::
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.
###
for bardicvoice , Dean was listening to Fly like an Eagle by Steve Miller Band::
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.
###
for quickreaver , a casefic in a drabble, non-sparkly vampires::
“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.
###
for kalliel , spn meets this american life::
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.
###
for mercuryblue144 , an angsty bromance::
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.
###
for tifaching , a Phoenix drabble::
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.
###
For laespada , the Law of Inverse Value, post 6.22 Sammy::
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.