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crack_van2009-09-11 08:38 am
laceymcbain.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2009-09-11 08:38 am
Entry tags:
Apocrypha by trinityofone (R)
Fandom: SUPERNATURAL
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Length: ~ 7600
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
trinityofone
Author Website: tales of an unreal city
Why this must be read: Chuck Shirley, Prophet of the Lord, tasked/cursed with writing the Winchester gospels. Well, it's not all fun and games, you know! Sometimes he sees stuff he really doesn't want to see. Sometimes he writes countless inane conversations that seem to have no bearing on the story, and then he's got to figure out what's important. Writing is HARD!
This story is from Chuck's POV, but it's really about Dean and Castiel coming together (pun possibly intended) for the first time. It's from the in-between time of S4 and S5 (which started last night, and I haven't seen it yet!) Trin's Chuck voice is spot-on. The fic's got all the whacky family dynamics of people cooped up together in a house and waiting for something to happen. And when one of those people is a prophet with a parakeet named Bill and a bit of an angel fetish of his own, you know you're in for a treat. Read, laugh, feed the author.
“I’m busy!” Chuck stood up so fast he almost knocked over his chair. “I’m working!” He stabbed his finger toward his scramble of marked-up pages. “Writing is hard,” he reiterated for what felt like the thousandth time.
“Uh-huh.” Bobby looked…as usual, Chuck couldn’t find the right word, but it went beyond ‘skeptical.’ “Well, how ’bout I give it a shot, and you can finish re-warding the house, then fix that leaky faucet upstairs that one of you idjits managed to bust up?”
Oh, right—because any asshole could write, but it took a real man to be able fix faucets and perform powerful magics. Chuck just managed to bite back a foolish and spiteful, “Fine!” Instead he went with a whiny, “I’ve done the dishes like five times in a row!” which was just…yeah. Not a line that was going anywhere near paper.
“Cas hasn’t done them even once,” he continued, since there really wasn’t much lower he could sink. He inclined his head toward the couch, where the angel was reclining, an airport paperback of The Da Vinci Code held open by broad fingers.
“Are you seriously trying to pawn your dish duty off on an angel?” Dean demanded, having apparently come inside when he heard the shouting(/whining).
“I don’t mind, Dean,” Castiel said, swinging his feet around to the floor. “I have been…idle.”
“You’re allowed to take a break and read a shitty book once in a while. Although…” Dean got a closer look at the cover. “Bobby, why do you even have that?”
“Would someone just do the damn dishes?” Chuck had seen Bobby look calmer when he was about to waste something nasty.
“I said I would do them,” Castiel replied, stepping forward.
“Cas—”
“It’s fine, Dean.”
They exchanged one of those long, intense looks that Chuck couldn’t really make sense of and so kept making it to the page as, Dean stared at Castiel intensely or Castiel regarded Dean with intensity or Both of their expressions intense, Dean and Castiel stared at each other. Chuck wondered if maybe Bobby had a thesaurus.
“I’ll wash and you dry, all right?” Dean said finally, stepping around Castiel. There was something about his mouth that made him look anxious, wary—like he couldn’t stand the thought of Castiel getting his hands wet, let alone dirty. Chuck filed that away, in case he ever needed more details to reinforce his “Dean is kind of fucked up” characterization. Which he didn’t.
Read the story and feedback the author: Apocrypha, or: How Chuck Learned to Stop Worrying and Love His Red Pen
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Length: ~ 7600
Author on LJ:
trinityofoneAuthor Website: tales of an unreal city
Why this must be read: Chuck Shirley, Prophet of the Lord, tasked/cursed with writing the Winchester gospels. Well, it's not all fun and games, you know! Sometimes he sees stuff he really doesn't want to see. Sometimes he writes countless inane conversations that seem to have no bearing on the story, and then he's got to figure out what's important. Writing is HARD!
This story is from Chuck's POV, but it's really about Dean and Castiel coming together (pun possibly intended) for the first time. It's from the in-between time of S4 and S5 (which started last night, and I haven't seen it yet!) Trin's Chuck voice is spot-on. The fic's got all the whacky family dynamics of people cooped up together in a house and waiting for something to happen. And when one of those people is a prophet with a parakeet named Bill and a bit of an angel fetish of his own, you know you're in for a treat. Read, laugh, feed the author.
“I’m busy!” Chuck stood up so fast he almost knocked over his chair. “I’m working!” He stabbed his finger toward his scramble of marked-up pages. “Writing is hard,” he reiterated for what felt like the thousandth time.
“Uh-huh.” Bobby looked…as usual, Chuck couldn’t find the right word, but it went beyond ‘skeptical.’ “Well, how ’bout I give it a shot, and you can finish re-warding the house, then fix that leaky faucet upstairs that one of you idjits managed to bust up?”
Oh, right—because any asshole could write, but it took a real man to be able fix faucets and perform powerful magics. Chuck just managed to bite back a foolish and spiteful, “Fine!” Instead he went with a whiny, “I’ve done the dishes like five times in a row!” which was just…yeah. Not a line that was going anywhere near paper.
“Cas hasn’t done them even once,” he continued, since there really wasn’t much lower he could sink. He inclined his head toward the couch, where the angel was reclining, an airport paperback of The Da Vinci Code held open by broad fingers.
“Are you seriously trying to pawn your dish duty off on an angel?” Dean demanded, having apparently come inside when he heard the shouting(/whining).
“I don’t mind, Dean,” Castiel said, swinging his feet around to the floor. “I have been…idle.”
“You’re allowed to take a break and read a shitty book once in a while. Although…” Dean got a closer look at the cover. “Bobby, why do you even have that?”
“Would someone just do the damn dishes?” Chuck had seen Bobby look calmer when he was about to waste something nasty.
“I said I would do them,” Castiel replied, stepping forward.
“Cas—”
“It’s fine, Dean.”
They exchanged one of those long, intense looks that Chuck couldn’t really make sense of and so kept making it to the page as, Dean stared at Castiel intensely or Castiel regarded Dean with intensity or Both of their expressions intense, Dean and Castiel stared at each other. Chuck wondered if maybe Bobby had a thesaurus.
“I’ll wash and you dry, all right?” Dean said finally, stepping around Castiel. There was something about his mouth that made him look anxious, wary—like he couldn’t stand the thought of Castiel getting his hands wet, let alone dirty. Chuck filed that away, in case he ever needed more details to reinforce his “Dean is kind of fucked up” characterization. Which he didn’t.
Read the story and feedback the author: Apocrypha, or: How Chuck Learned to Stop Worrying and Love His Red Pen