comment fic meme
May. 2nd, 2010 08:41 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
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THE RULES
→ Leave a comment here with your prompt. Because it's Sam's birthday, I'm going to say that any Sam-centric prompts are okay, even if there's not much hurt/comfort in them.
→ In your prompt, please state your desired characters or pairings. All genres/pairings welcome, but no real-person prompts.
→ Prompts can be as short or detailed as you like. Remember though - more detail means less wriggle room for the writer, which might lower the chances of someone picking up your prompt.
→ Go through the prompts! If you find one you like, write a fic for it. There's no limit to how many users can reply to a prompt, or how many prompts someone can write for.
→ When replying to a prompt with your comment-fic, put ‘filled’ in your subject line and then anything else you want, like a title if you have one/part numbers. It’s not a big deal if you forget this step, but it will make it easier for people to find your fic.
→ Anon posting enabled.
→ NO SPOILERS FOR UNAIRED EPISODES.
→ Play nice - no flaming and no character bashing, period. Any comments that break this rule will be deleted without warning.
→ Feedback is catnip for writers. Leave some author-love!
→ No spam comments.
→ Contact one of the mods if you have a question.
→ Spread the Sam love - pimp this meme! Just copy and paste the code below:
→ Have fun!
→ In your prompt, please state your desired characters or pairings. All genres/pairings welcome, but no real-person prompts.
Example A: “Sam, Dean, gen, set in season 2. Sam has a vision and passes out. Cue caring!Dean and limp!Sam.”→ Post as many prompts as you like - but one prompt per comment. If you've got a couple, comment with each separately.
Example B: “Sam/Dean, trauma. Sam is injured on a hunt, Dean freaks out when he thinks Sam might be dead.”
→ Prompts can be as short or detailed as you like. Remember though - more detail means less wriggle room for the writer, which might lower the chances of someone picking up your prompt.
→ Go through the prompts! If you find one you like, write a fic for it. There's no limit to how many users can reply to a prompt, or how many prompts someone can write for.
→ When replying to a prompt with your comment-fic, put ‘filled’ in your subject line and then anything else you want, like a title if you have one/part numbers. It’s not a big deal if you forget this step, but it will make it easier for people to find your fic.
→ Anon posting enabled.
→ NO SPOILERS FOR UNAIRED EPISODES.
→ Play nice - no flaming and no character bashing, period. Any comments that break this rule will be deleted without warning.
→ Feedback is catnip for writers. Leave some author-love!
→ No spam comments.
→ Contact one of the mods if you have a question.
→ Spread the Sam love - pimp this meme! Just copy and paste the code below:
→ Have fun!
THE MASTER LIST
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anonymous wrote After a Narrowly-Averted-Apocalypse, an old friend from Stanford runs into Sam Winchester at a gas station. He's surprised/disturbed by what he sees.
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anonymous wrote A witch the boys meet on a case decides to cast a spell on Sam as a gift for his birthday (she notices the guys have some communication hang ups)--he will not be able to inhibit what he says for a full day. Basically everything he thinks and feels comes spewing out of his mouth without his control. Including many thoughts of self-loathing and doubting Dean could ever love him the same after all that's happened, any other things you want, etc. Sam is mortified and feels exposed and stupid.
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no subject
Date: 2010-05-02 05:46 pm (UTC)Dean takes care of him.
FILLED: Wrecked
Date: 2010-05-05 09:27 pm (UTC)***
“Where are you going?” It comes out a little harsher than Dean intends, and Sam’s shoulders tense as he fingers the doorknob, keys in hand.
“I’m going out to get food,” Sam replies shortly. Without waiting for Dean to respond, he leaves. Dean cringes as the door slams.
Sam walks briskly out to the Impala, his breath visible in the cool evening air. The windshield in the Impala is frosted over, and he has to wait a few minutes for the defroster to kick in before he can pull out of the parking lot.
There aren’t many cars on the road, and Sam picks up the speed a little, dark shadows of trees flying past outside. Slowly, his right foot presses down, and he gains speed. He peers ahead, seeing the headlights of an oncoming car in the distance, and lets up a little. As the other car approaches, Sam has an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach. Before he has time to dwell on it, headlights are swerving, tires squealing, and he’s jolted against the steering wheel as the Impala spins out of control.
***
It’s funny how they say that before you die your life flashes before your eyes. Because Sam feels like he’s dying-and he knows the feeling-but all he sees is a blur of light and mostly dark, and all he can think is, Shit, Dean is gonna be pissed, as the Impala collides with a tree.
***
Sam awakens, feels something cold on his harm, and tries to jerk away, but something’s restricting him. In fact, something is restraining his whole body, and he can’t move a single muscle. He tries to open his eyes, but his eyelids won’t cooperate.
“Sam?” The voice is distant, familiar. “Sam?”
“De…where...can’t move…”
“It’s okay Sam, you’re alright. Oh, thank god you’re awake.” The cold object moves up and down his arm, and once again Sam tries to pull away.
“Dean?” it sounds like Dean, and if anyone can tell him why he can’t move, it would be Dean.
“Sam, yeah, it’s me. You’re alright, just lie there. You’re okay.” Sam finally manages to get his eyes open. He takes in the leather jacket, the green eyes, confirms that it’s Dean.
“Where?”
“You’re in the hospital. Do you remember what happened?” And suddenly Sam does.
“I’m so sorry, Dean. Sorry. Sorry…sorry…”
“Hey, hey, Sam! Why are you sorry? It’s okay, it wasn’t your fault. The other driver-”
“I didn’t mean to, Dean. I’m sorry.”
“What are you talking about, Sam?”
“The Impala…” Dean makes an exasperated noise, clutches with his cold hand at Sam’s arm again.
“The car? You think I’m mad about the car? Sam, I’m just glad you’re alive. For a second, I thought…” There’s a long silence.
“I’m sorry, Dean.”
“Yeah, I know. But it’s okay. I’m gonna take care of you.”
Sam closes his eyes and rests.
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Date: 2010-05-02 05:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-02 09:56 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:Filled: Sam's a cuddly drunk (hope you like)
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From:no subject
Date: 2010-05-02 05:54 pm (UTC)Sam finally has a breakdown over the events of everything that's happened the past few years. Dean and Cas calm him down.
no subject
Date: 2010-05-02 05:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-02 06:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-02 06:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-02 07:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-02 08:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-02 07:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-02 07:06 pm (UTC)The boys are in a better place emotionally. Dean thinks past his hurt at what he saw in Sam's heaven, and gets Sam a golden retriever puppy for his birthday. Schmoop ensues.
1/2
Date: 2010-05-02 10:14 pm (UTC)Most days he can shrug off the shadows, toss the rod another time and leave it all behind while the river - just made of water, blood is a thing of the past - laps gently at the dock.
Most days, but not today.
Today is the one day a year when Sam goes quiet. He hides behind a book or the wheel of his second-hand pansy-ass hybrid car, and Dean can see the memories in his eyes.
Sam never celebrates, but that's not so new. Sam's birthday has always been on the Winchester calendar of Days That Suck. Hell, Dean thinks,they could celebrate both of their births and deaths today if they really wanted to.
As if the both of them sharing a death date isn't enough bad memories to last any one person a lifetime, Sam had to go and make it worse. Dean remembers trying to talk him out of it, telling him to wait just one more hour - it seems stupid now but at the time it felt important, even if Dean couldn't say why - but Sam wouldn't listen.
Five years since his brother let the Devil in, and the whole world has already forgotten about it, or explained it away. But not Dean.
The small blond mass of fur in Dean's lap wriggles impatiently, and when Dean picks her up to eye level, she responds to his silent query with a bored yawn.
"I know, and I'm sorry, I am. But you can't go out there. I want you to look clean when Sam gets here, you got that?" Dean wrinkles his nose at the large brown eyes, gazing at him inscrutably. "What?"
She whines a little, blowing a puff of puppy breath right into Dean's face. He's about to tell her that puppy breath isn't all that it's cracked up to be when he hears the whine of the hybrid in the driveway.
"Showtime," He tells her, ruffling her fur. He sets her down strategically in the hall. Sam will have to pass her to make his customary don't-talk-to-me dash up the stairs. Dean's betting he won't get too far. Not this year. "Look cute," he adds, "'cause you ain't sleepin' in my room."
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Date: 2010-05-02 07:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-02 09:29 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2010-05-02 07:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-02 09:14 pm (UTC)FILLED; burn; gen, h/c (lots and lots of hurt)
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From:no subject
Date: 2010-05-02 07:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-02 10:41 pm (UTC)*loves you anyway*
~Nebula
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From:Not Leaving You, 1/4
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From:no subject
Date: 2010-05-02 07:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-04 05:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-02 08:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-04 06:20 pm (UTC)not exactly filled: Deep Breath Before the Plunge
From:no subject
Date: 2010-05-02 08:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-02 08:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-02 08:09 pm (UTC)Stanford era--Sam is sick during his birthday (could be the first one at Stanford or not) but a birthday present arrives that cheers him up
no subject
Date: 2010-05-03 12:43 am (UTC)(no subject)
From:FILLED
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Date: 2010-05-02 08:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-02 08:22 pm (UTC)FILLED; give it up (but don't ask why); Samifer/Dean; 1/2 (?)
Date: 2010-05-03 03:05 am (UTC)_______
He tastes blood, now. It's a constant trickle down his throat, thick and metallic. It's what he smells, too, until it's inescapable, almost all he can remember.
"Sam."
For a moment the word doesn't register. It sounds blunted, distorted, drawn out. Sam stares at the shape of his brother's mouth, pink lips, white teeth, glimpse of red flesh. It's weird, some cartoon noise, and only when he thinks about screaming it, hoarse and shattering, thinks about fear and the blood he can't get away from, only then does it make sense. Brings him back to the Impala and the quiet, dry air of another Indiana motel. When Dean finally catches Sam's attention, he huffs, eyes flickering to the side. "Christ, Sam. Finally join the living?" There's a wince there. Some minute flinch that Sam can't read, can only twist his lips at.
Smile, he thinks, and feels his teeth sink into the chapped skin of his bottom lip. It's a white-sharp pain, a second of resistance, and he jumps. "What?"
"Nothin, man. Just - I'm gonna get a room. Sit tight." And Dean's up and Dean's out, bow-legged walk up the dusty parking lot, shoulders so straight Sam could break himself against them and Dean would never know, never feel Sam shatter against his own brand of righteousness. Idly, Sam wonders if his brother still prays. Locks himself in dirty bathrooms and spills all his sins out into the air.
Nobody's listening, he thinks, and then he says it. "Nobody's listening, Dean-o." The movement jars his split lip. He feels liquid seep down, any moisture wicked away, leaving it dry and congealed when he runs a finger along his mouth. Nothing comes off but rusty thin flakes. He rubs his finger tips together, grinds the blood into powder.
Ashes to ashes. "Dearly beloved," he says when Dean's shoving open the motel office's door, making his way back to the Impala. There's a key dangling from his left hand, keyring hooked over his middle finger. The sky is gray behind him, a dead, cloudless color. It fades the leather of Dean's jacket, hides the bruises and the hopelessness, although Sam can still see that last one riding his brother, etching into his face, curling his hands into weak, useless claws.
Try winning anything now, he thinks and smiles. Dean throws the key at Sam, then brings the car around to the row of identical rooms. 3 is scrawled out on the cheap, worn plastic in Sam's lap, and he says, "good. You can get some sleep."
"And you can shower."
Sam cocks his head, stretching his arm out slowly until he reaches the handle. He leaves it there for a minute, arm dipped at the elbow and he can feel the rush of energy through his muscles, along his nerves. "Why?"
Dean scoffs, shaking his head. "Fuckin look at you."
Sam does, and that's when he notices the way his clothes stick to him, the spread of his jacket under his back and ass. Streaks of blood run down his sides, mat his hair to his arm until it's pulling uncomfortably. His jeans are long since dried with it. Even, and he almost laughs with it, giddy and happy, his shoelaces are stuck tight to his shoes, and he'll have to cut the damn things to ever get them off his feet.
"Huh," he says, and the grin he tosses out is for Dean, but his brother's face is oddly uneasy. "Well, would you look at that."
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From:no subject
Date: 2010-05-02 08:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-02 09:12 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:filled. Part 1 of ? (others go ahead too, I'm not very good at this)
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From:no subject
Date: 2010-05-02 08:31 pm (UTC)Sam watching out for John and Dean
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From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2010-05-04 05:47 pm (UTC) - Expand5x20-inspired Stanford fic
Date: 2010-05-02 08:55 pm (UTC)Re: 5x20-inspired Stanford fic
Date: 2010-05-03 01:47 am (UTC)Re: 5x20-inspired Stanford fic
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From:5x20-inspired prompt
Date: 2010-05-02 09:00 pm (UTC)Sam discovers an intricate symbol that will allow him to wrench back control from Lucifer. Now he just needs someone to carve it into his back.
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Date: 2010-05-02 09:02 pm (UTC)Re: 5x20-inspired prompt
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From:Cut With Our Own Dust
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From:post-apocalypse
Date: 2010-05-02 09:05 pm (UTC)Then, one night Sam has a dream filled with death, despair, and demons. Is it a vision or just a PTSD symptom? Is Sam willing to take the chance?
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Date: 2010-05-03 05:07 am (UTC)Re: post-apocalypse
From:Partially Filled - Campion WIP
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