7 days of self promo - day 5
Jun. 18th, 2014 11:28 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kassidy62I have been into some weird little shows, many rather obscure. SPN might be the only truly large fandom I've participated in - a different experience altogether, and with so many talented writers at first I found it intimidating to post stories. Pretty much from the start, I've seen Sam and Dean as my OTP.
Something for a large fandom/pairing/character, then, is this SPN story, Sam/Dean:
Diamond Dogs is a short, kind of stylized piece, hopefully with some strongly evoked visuals. Prompt was "werewolfism - one turns and takes the other down."
The moon hangs overhead, old and ghostly white, and the stars shine bright, pinholes punched through the fabric of black sky. The woods are a dark silhouette of twisted trees. On the forest floor around him, frost sparkles like diamonds, dripping over leaf and grass and dirt.
He’s so tired. His side hurts. He’s not alone, though. He feels the heat of a body beside him. He rolls, frozen leaves crunching beneath him, turning to see—
He wakes up.
“Sam?” The voice is gruff. Dean’s face is sleepy-swollen, eyes blinking down at him, hand curled warm and wide over his shoulder.
Sam’s lips feel numb. He stares through Dean. “It’s cold there.”
Dean yawns, rubs his eyes. He takes a closer look at Sam’s face. “Cold where?” He shakes Sam’s shoulder. “Hey, wake up. It’s a dream.”
“The woods,” Sam says at last, eyes settling on Dean’s face, so familiar—full lips, the tips of his hair glowing, touched by the wide moon. Green eyes like crystals, clear and deep.
Sam knows this: in his dreams, the woods mean death.
Something for a large fandom/pairing/character, then, is this SPN story, Sam/Dean:
Diamond Dogs is a short, kind of stylized piece, hopefully with some strongly evoked visuals. Prompt was "werewolfism - one turns and takes the other down."
The moon hangs overhead, old and ghostly white, and the stars shine bright, pinholes punched through the fabric of black sky. The woods are a dark silhouette of twisted trees. On the forest floor around him, frost sparkles like diamonds, dripping over leaf and grass and dirt.
He’s so tired. His side hurts. He’s not alone, though. He feels the heat of a body beside him. He rolls, frozen leaves crunching beneath him, turning to see—
He wakes up.
“Sam?” The voice is gruff. Dean’s face is sleepy-swollen, eyes blinking down at him, hand curled warm and wide over his shoulder.
Sam’s lips feel numb. He stares through Dean. “It’s cold there.”
Dean yawns, rubs his eyes. He takes a closer look at Sam’s face. “Cold where?” He shakes Sam’s shoulder. “Hey, wake up. It’s a dream.”
“The woods,” Sam says at last, eyes settling on Dean’s face, so familiar—full lips, the tips of his hair glowing, touched by the wide moon. Green eyes like crystals, clear and deep.
Sam knows this: in his dreams, the woods mean death.