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- Under 100 word request ficlets. Give me a fandom (that I write), a character or pairing (that I write) and a descriptive word or an ordinary domestic task.
- I know there are a lot of people anticipating and invested in the robot!Dean story that I am working on and I'm tempted to open it up since it's technically a request fic since so many of you asked for a followup so nicely. Keep in mind that this is a story from Dean's POV and a quest for the elusive Supernatural brand of blue fairy but I'm also doing some flashbacks etc. What would you like to see in the story? (Please remember my brain is a strange place and![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
deirdre_c's story that thing that's golden eventuated from her asking for the boys doing something domestic like vacuuming so you never know what you're going to get).
- I haven't seen my![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
spn_summergen request yet. My first story has been posted but my pitch-hit hasn't as yet. Just watching the community. If anyone *has* seen my request come up and I missed it like a dufuss please let me know.
- Now purely for fun - have a teeny tiny Doll!Castiel fic.
___
"Dude, that’s not even funny. Where the hell did you get that thing anyway?” Dean asked on a Tuesday morning when he woke up to a very realistic-looking Castiel doll sitting on the bedside table, propped up against a lamp.
“What thing?” the doll asked and Dean fell out of bed.
^o^
"I don't see why you find this amusing," Castiel grouches, pacing the small round table next to the kitchenette. His tiny trenchcoat swishes with his movement and Dean could swear his unruly yarn hair is blowing in an invisible breeze.
"Believe me, I'm just glad it's not me this time," Dean says, trying to get his chuckling under control.
Right at that moment, Sam bursts into the room. He sees Dean, sees the doll version of Castiel and lets out a relieved-sounding breath. "Thank christ, she was blaming me for this," Sam says, indicating his breast pocket. Dean hadn't noticed when Sam first entered that there's something tucked into the pocket like a handkerchief.
It looks a lot like a small female doll with long black yarn hair and a really pissed-off expression.
- I know there are a lot of people anticipating and invested in the robot!Dean story that I am working on and I'm tempted to open it up since it's technically a request fic since so many of you asked for a followup so nicely. Keep in mind that this is a story from Dean's POV and a quest for the elusive Supernatural brand of blue fairy but I'm also doing some flashbacks etc. What would you like to see in the story? (Please remember my brain is a strange place and
deirdre_c's story that thing that's golden eventuated from her asking for the boys doing something domestic like vacuuming so you never know what you're going to get). - I haven't seen my
spn_summergen request yet. My first story has been posted but my pitch-hit hasn't as yet. Just watching the community. If anyone *has* seen my request come up and I missed it like a dufuss please let me know.- Now purely for fun - have a teeny tiny Doll!Castiel fic.
"Dude, that’s not even funny. Where the hell did you get that thing anyway?” Dean asked on a Tuesday morning when he woke up to a very realistic-looking Castiel doll sitting on the bedside table, propped up against a lamp.
“What thing?” the doll asked and Dean fell out of bed.
"I don't see why you find this amusing," Castiel grouches, pacing the small round table next to the kitchenette. His tiny trenchcoat swishes with his movement and Dean could swear his unruly yarn hair is blowing in an invisible breeze.
"Believe me, I'm just glad it's not me this time," Dean says, trying to get his chuckling under control.
Right at that moment, Sam bursts into the room. He sees Dean, sees the doll version of Castiel and lets out a relieved-sounding breath. "Thank christ, she was blaming me for this," Sam says, indicating his breast pocket. Dean hadn't noticed when Sam first entered that there's something tucked into the pocket like a handkerchief.
It looks a lot like a small female doll with long black yarn hair and a really pissed-off expression.
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Doll!Ruby is so much better! I'd totally stick needles in her ^__~
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Also, for this I'm gonna go with the same pairing I asked for last time you did drabble requests and ask for - Sam Winchester/Matt Farrel, cooking a meal. <3
(ps...I used to be
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My preference would be Jensen/Sam. And...hmm...maybe making breakfast.
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SGA/SG1. Lorne/Novak. Changing sheets/making the bed
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Oh, and SGA, Lorne/Novak, cleaning teeth.
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--
Matt has bony elbows.
Sam learns this when they wash dishes, or at least he washes and Matt pretends to dry which means he holds one plate with his dishrag for the entire fifteen minutes it takes Sam to wash and then leaves the rest to drain.
He learns it when they both accidentally try to go through a doorway at the same time.
He learns it when Matt flails around in his sleep, always a mover, never really at peace because his manic-ness translates to his body when he's unconscious and can't talk it out of him.
He doesn't really mind. It's just Matt, as much a thing to like as his over-generous mouth and quick wit. At least, that's what Sam tells himself when he gets one of those pointy little suckers to his ribs for the third time in as many minutes as they chop vegetables side by side.
"How about I finish this and you go set the table?" Sam suggests and then grins when Matt disappears in a flash, having been very vocal about his loathing of chopping vegetables of any kind and how it's ludicrous that they just don't come that way from the supermarket, pre-peeled and pre-diced.
Sam smiles to himself because that is very Matt too.
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"What?"
"You just spit in front of me."
"I didn't just spit in front of you," Lindsay protests.
"You did, just then, in the sink."
"That's... that isn't spitting."
"What would you call it then."
"Evacuating mouthwash," Lindsay replies promptly.
"That... doesn't actually sound any better than spitting," Lorne points out and Lindsay grimaces. "If it makes you feel any better, it was a very dainty spit."
"Is it too late to break up with you?" Lindsay grumbles but then barks out a laugh when Lorne catches her by the waist and swipes left-over toothpaste from her lip with his thumb.
"Much, much too late," he says.
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Dean spins and is just in time to catch his little brother mid-dive, trajectory estimated at exactly the middle-point of the not-so-stable pile that would have sent leaves scattering every which way, probably to their original positions at all points of the lawn.
Sammy's feet drum the air and he lets out an oof when his flight is arrested. Dean promptly drops Sammy on his butt and Sammy lets out an impressive wail.
"That just took me hours and you were going to mess it up," Dean scolds as Sammy looks up at him with big, tearful eyes. His dad had been clear, all the leaves raked by the time he got home. They were currently living in a squat, eight apartment building and the Super had knocked a few bucks off the rent if the Winchesters were willing to tend to the unclaimed piece of lawn that served as a communal backyard for the place.
Sammy got to his feet slowly, still looking tragic and now rubbing at his butt for good measure. Dean rolled his eyes and sighed. "Fine," he grumbled and took hold of Sammy's hand that wasn't currently communing with his rear end, turning them to face the pile. "On three, okay?"
Sammy amazingly forgot all about being upset and treated Dean to a sunny grin.
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"Did what?" Lorne asks, looking up from his sprawl on her half-made bed. The fitted sheet was on and Lindsay had been busily tucking the edges of the topsheet into the corners when Lorne had launched himself from the doorway.
"Help," Lindsay snorts, making quotes with her fingers when she says it.
"Why bother?" Lorne asks, rolling over and taking the top sheet with him so the two corners Lindsay had managed to complete untuck and he's rolled himself in it like a burrito. "It's just going to get messed up again."
"Have you got your boots on?" Lindsay suddenly almost-screeches and Lorne winces, yanking the sheet over his head.
He'd forgotten about that.
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