DEW: A little bit bunny

Jul. 23rd, 2017 06:56 pm
fanspired: (Default)
[personal profile] fanspired posting in [community profile] spn_bigpretzel
Genre: General
Rating: G
Characters: Dean, Sam
Spoilers/Warning: None
Word Count: 116
Disclaimer: I write for love only. Characters belong to Kripke/CW
A/N: written for the DEW challenge, Sam + news/newsflash/news reader, and the SPN100 prompt, cross.



“. . . third bizarre death at Hefner’s Playboy Mansion . . .”

Sam paused his research to absorb the latest details from CNN.

“Anything?” Dean asked.

“Yes, the victims all connect to a model who died in the seventies. Could be a spirit. But how would we get in there?”

“You could pass as a model.”

Sam sighed, mildly aggravated, but Dean needed to work harder.

“You’d look real sexy in a bikini.”

Dean.”

“With floppy ears, and the tail, you’d be smokin’!”

Sam’s annoyance mounted, seeing where this was going. “Don’t!” he warned.

“Then you’d be – ”

“Don’t say it.”

“You know you want me to.”

No!”

Dean grinned triumphantly. “A hot, cross bunny!”


.

DEW: Reverie

Jul. 17th, 2017 09:47 pm
fanspired: (Happy Sam & Dean)
[personal profile] fanspired posting in [community profile] spn_bigpretzel
Genre: General
Rating: G
Characters: Impala
Spoilers/Warning: None
Word Count: 138
Disclaimer: I write for love only. Characters belong to Kripke/CW
A/N: written for the DEW challenge, Impala + dreams, and the SPN100 prompt, marble.




I get bored in the bunker. Though I’m safe here from theft and rust, I was happier when I was free to feel wind and rain, see life around me, always changing. Here nothing changes; nothing new to see. I dream of the highway, traveling the country again.

Sometimes I dream of other countries. Dean hates to fly and he’d never trust me to a storage hold, but how good it would be to drive the unfettered German autobahn, or the spaghetti asphalt of the Italian Alps. They call it the old world. They say Europe has churches a thousand years old. How strange! They talk of great art, and sculpted statues so fine they seem alive.

Still, statues are only hard, cold marble. I have my boys – here they come – walking, breathing art in warm, living flesh.

.

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