(no subject)

It's been ages since I posted an actual story. And I'm not sure if this counts as such, but. It's a collection of words, anyway, and they're fiction-based, and they kind of came out of nowhere. And it turns out I miss writing, and would like to do it again soon.

Phosphor
by whereupon
Supernatural: preseries, gen, Sam&Dean, R, 5,900 words. It's not the landing that kills, it's the fall.

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(no subject)

Surface
by whereupon
Supernatural: Dean/ofc, preseries, R, 3,940 words.
In truth, it was pretty clear how the whole thing was going to end when he walked ragged and rainsoaked into her bar and asked for a whiskey, double, thanks babe, with a smile that turned into slightly murderous when somebody shoved a quarter into the jukebox and overrode Johnny Thunders with something twenty years and a Clapton's worth of guitar genius away from being classic.

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