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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Filled: Useless Degrees
Date: 2010-05-05 01:40 am (UTC)Sam squints at him from his remaining eye. "Uh, we saved the world, dude. Not seeing the suckage so much."
"Dude, you lost an eye and a hand. Seriously, that sucks."
"There is still beer and I can still drink it. Still counting it as a win."
Chuck concedes the point with a half salute of his glass before taking another swallow.
"Okay, yeah, beer is good. And I'm pretty happy about not being reduced to toilet paper hoarding dude in a world over run with crazy killers." And wasn't that book a bitch to write, with the two Deans and the white loafers of cheesiness, Christ. "It's just, what the fuck do I do now?"
"Whaddya mean?"
"Well, I mean you read the books, right? I'm a shit writer, dude. It was the story that sold and it wasn't even mine, ya know? I'm a bad writer with no story and a fucking degree in Art History. What the fuck do I do with that?"
Sam gives a single-eyed, incredulous stare. It's kinda creepy actually. "Wait, you got a degree in what?"
Chuck can feel his face heat up and takes another drink. Shit, he must be drunker than he thought. "Art History."
"Why the fuck would you even do that? Wait, you did it to meet girls, didn't you? Fuck man, that's just sad. I mean, yeah I took one art history class as a freshman, but a whole fucking degree?"
"I liked the statues," Chuck admits. "But like you're one to talk, Mr. Pre-Law. That's like a degree that can't even stand by itself, like preschool without kindergarten or something. At least mine is, ya know, useless on its own."
"Oh, fuck you. Pre-Law is way better than Art History. There's like ethics and philosophy and…well, shit."
Chuck raises his mug in triumph, point made, and finishes off his beer. Sam puts his own beer down to grab the pitcher, pours Chuck another one and top off his own. His aim is a little off, but Chuck doesn't say anything cause, well, it's not Sam's fault he doesn't have any depth perception any more. He can totally be gracious in victory.
They drink in silence for a few minutes, pondering the bleakness of their futures in a non-post-apocalyptic world.
"Think you'll ever go back? Get a real degree?" Chuck asks after a while.
Sam's eye looks sideways to where is Dean is chatting up the bartender. "Nah, I think I'm good. You?"
Chuck tries to imagine sitting in a lecture hall with people half his age listening to some pompous asshole drone on about management or economics or some useful boring shit like that and shudders.
"Nah, I think I'm good, too. Writer's block can't last forever, right?"
"Right," Sam agrees firmly. He raises his glass, "To useless degrees."
"To useless degrees," Chuck echoes and the dull clink of the mugs meeting is oddly satisfying. The beer is also really good, cold and with a bitter bite. He chugs half his glass cause it's not like he has anywhere to be tomorrow being self–employed and all, and then asks, "So, Mr. Freshman Art History class, Grant Wood or Grandma Moses?"
*end*
Re: Filled: Useless Degrees
Date: 2010-05-06 02:45 pm (UTC)Re: Filled: Useless Degrees
Date: 2010-05-06 03:15 pm (UTC)Re: Filled: Useless Degrees
Date: 2010-05-08 03:41 am (UTC)Man after my own heart!!!!!!
Loved this, thank you!
Re: Filled: Useless Degrees
Date: 2010-05-08 03:52 am (UTC)