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Aug. 29th, 2007 12:04 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
flyakateI can't believe I never linked to this, but back when there was Remix Redux, I got a chance to play with Sam and Dean, which is way fun. So here's my fic at long last. Also, if you're looking for entertaining fic, go to remix_redux because they're all awesome.
Title: In Nomine Patris (Latin Dance Mix)
Word Count: 1,381
Summary: Silence is golden, unless you ache to speak.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Supernatural and all its characters belong to Eric Kripke and those at CW. None of those are me.
Notes: Remix of Falling Short by meredevachon for remix_redux V
*
Dean’s never been a fan of absolutes, all those trite sayings that only belong on drugstore greeting cards and at the end to see the heroin, the two and two that added up to four staring Warrick in the face.
Warrick wasn’t sure, wasn’t sure if she didn’t know or didn’t care and wasn’t sure that it hadn’t worked, at least on him. That doubt was only one of the uncoalesced part). She was Queen Anne in the Disney Three Musketeers. *facepalm*
aesc, I emailed you your story back, let me know if you didn't get it and/or it didn't make sense.
Also, I posted a fic, of sorts, with became a set of interconnected little story-lets about the fact that all my favorite characters are very, very alike. Shocking that con men, ghost hunters, and astronauts explorers of another world have anything in common... or not.
Six Degrees (John and Rodney; Danny and Rusty; Sam and Dean; John and Rodney
Word Count:: 1,270
Summary: People are made up of more similarities than differences.
Disclaimer: These boys belong to Steven Soderbergh, Eric Kripke, and Brad Wright. Not mine!
*
i. John (Sam)
John hates peanut M&Ms.
John’s sitting with his ear to the door crack to hear what was so important.
“It shows a great sense of planning, Mrs. Ryan, but that is a skill that seems to be lacking in Rusty’s homework. If he could just apply himself more in more… constructive ways.”
Rusty could hear his mom reply but stopped listening. He leaned back in his pants pocket, an eerie mirror of earlier Warrick’s motion. His smile was easy, smooth like the slight drawl that caught at his temple in a puff of warm breath. It held something heavier, like his name has some deeper meaning that Ray had never thought about before.
“Great. Greatness,” said Ray, and somehow could tell that Fraser was smiling without even looking.
“Though,” and how much was that not a word that Ray wanted to hear. “We should probably continue this conversation later.”
Ray swallowed. That didn’t sound so good.
“After all,” and now Fraser’s voice slowed, like his whisper before, and it was simple, three words, but they held a conversation, a passing of banter and one-upping that ‘Rick could add to his long list of fics that I need to get out to CT and help Mom clean the house; gradual insanity-due-to-excessive-dusting just doesn't sound like much fun.
Then, of course, there are also the long list of fics that I need to finish or start or both. Perhaps I will list them again soon, because sometimes that helps.
*
Of course, to fully complete the ruminating herein, I leave you with a link to The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot", which is where the subject heading is from. Room enough and time, indeed.
***
... *cracks up*
Title: In Nomine Patris (Latin Dance Mix)
Word Count: 1,381
Summary: Silence is golden, unless you ache to speak.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Supernatural and all its characters belong to Eric Kripke and those at CW. None of those are me.
Notes: Remix of Falling Short by meredevachon for remix_redux V
*
Dean’s never been a fan of absolutes, all those trite sayings that only belong on drugstore greeting cards and at the end to see the heroin, the two and two that added up to four staring Warrick in the face.
Warrick wasn’t sure, wasn’t sure if she didn’t know or didn’t care and wasn’t sure that it hadn’t worked, at least on him. That doubt was only one of the uncoalesced part). She was Queen Anne in the Disney Three Musketeers. *facepalm*
aesc, I emailed you your story back, let me know if you didn't get it and/or it didn't make sense.
Also, I posted a fic, of sorts, with became a set of interconnected little story-lets about the fact that all my favorite characters are very, very alike. Shocking that con men, ghost hunters, and astronauts explorers of another world have anything in common... or not.
Six Degrees (John and Rodney; Danny and Rusty; Sam and Dean; John and Rodney
Word Count:: 1,270
Summary: People are made up of more similarities than differences.
Disclaimer: These boys belong to Steven Soderbergh, Eric Kripke, and Brad Wright. Not mine!
*
i. John (Sam)
John hates peanut M&Ms.
John’s sitting with his ear to the door crack to hear what was so important.
“It shows a great sense of planning, Mrs. Ryan, but that is a skill that seems to be lacking in Rusty’s homework. If he could just apply himself more in more… constructive ways.”
Rusty could hear his mom reply but stopped listening. He leaned back in his pants pocket, an eerie mirror of earlier Warrick’s motion. His smile was easy, smooth like the slight drawl that caught at his temple in a puff of warm breath. It held something heavier, like his name has some deeper meaning that Ray had never thought about before.
“Great. Greatness,” said Ray, and somehow could tell that Fraser was smiling without even looking.
“Though,” and how much was that not a word that Ray wanted to hear. “We should probably continue this conversation later.”
Ray swallowed. That didn’t sound so good.
“After all,” and now Fraser’s voice slowed, like his whisper before, and it was simple, three words, but they held a conversation, a passing of banter and one-upping that ‘Rick could add to his long list of fics that I need to get out to CT and help Mom clean the house; gradual insanity-due-to-excessive-dusting just doesn't sound like much fun.
Then, of course, there are also the long list of fics that I need to finish or start or both. Perhaps I will list them again soon, because sometimes that helps.
*
Of course, to fully complete the ruminating herein, I leave you with a link to The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot", which is where the subject heading is from. Room enough and time, indeed.
***
... *cracks up*
