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Help me crack the ol' writing knuckles, get the motor running again. I've got a bunch of stories started, most actually *due* for something or someone and I'm just having trouble getting... started again.
Based on a writing exercise we used to get at high school - throw one beginning sentence at me, and I'll write you a paragraph continuing it.
Anything I usually write. Y'all should be mostly familiar by now... :D
Based on a writing exercise we used to get at high school - throw one beginning sentence at me, and I'll write you a paragraph continuing it.
Anything I usually write. Y'all should be mostly familiar by now... :D
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It's like an itch beneath Dean's skin, all morning, that feeling that something isn't right. He's staring, he knows it, being weird, but he can't stop. Sam raises an eyebrow at him over his menu,(he's getting the waffles, Dean knows it and Sam knows it), and the expression just makes everything worse, or clearer. "Dude, did you slip out last night for a face lift?"
Sam's mouth twists into a frown, even worse, then, and he leans across the table to slap a broad palm against Dean's forehead. "What?" Dean says, hunching back against the booth. "Just checking for a fever, you've been acting like a weirdo all morning."
It's no big deal, nothing obvious, but Dean knows Sam, he spends half his days looking at that face, watching the slope of those shoulders and this person, undeniably Sam, is not the brother who collapsed under the sheets last night.
"Seriously, are you getting younger?"
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We will write this fic... oh yes, we will *write* this fic... :D I think it's a stellar idea that Sam is getting physically younger but he has no idea... maybe slowly starts losing his adultness only as time goes on...
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