justforspite: (Jenny Happy)

All Chloe-centric and all fun!

Most of my entries are Chlean and one Chlark--

Blind Date

“Cat,” Chloe said, arranging the papers on her desk for the end of the work day. “Dates are a maybe in a blue moon kind of thing and blind dates are just leper colonies, okay?”

Cat Grant, the Daily Planet’s new society columnist, wouldn’t have it. Having taken Chloe under her wing when the young Sullivan had returned to the bullpen, Cat had slowly and surely reintroduced Chloe to life after so much sadness, disappointment and death.

“You’ll like him, he’s a great guy!” Cat protested. Her heavily make-up’d face gave her a look halfway between supermodel and Vegas madame.

Chloe pointed out the obvious, “Really? And with you still searching for Mister Tall Dark and Fabulous, why do I get the great guy cast offs?”

Rolling her eyes, Cat put her arms on Chloe’s shoulders and shook her a little, “This is not a proposal, it’s drinks with the option of dinner and the slight hope of getting laid. This is all the world can offer in such uncertain times,” she beamed.

With a sigh Chloe slumped and said, “Fine, fine, whatever.”

Clapping excitedly, Cat scribbled off his phone number and handed it to her young friend. “He’s in town for work, like I said, so you don’t have a lot of time. Call him!”

Chloe snatched the paper and with a grumpy and cross look on her face, glanced down to the paper. “Winchester? Cat, come on! I don’t do preppy yuppie assholes!”

“He’s not, I swear!”

Dean Winchester? God,” she said, grabbing her handbag and tossing it over her shoulder, digging out her phone. With a grumble she said, “This has light beer written all over it.”

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justforspite: (Jenny B&W)

Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

Chapter Three
Cry ‘Havoc’ and Let Slip the Dogs of War

“Sam?” Dean called to his right, glancing away from the almost empty stretch of highway and taking stock of his quiet brother. Sam stared out his window, silently observing the passing of random trees. The hunger and need and pain had dissipated from its initial intensity to a low buzzing under his skin and remained a barring presence in his mind. Whatever the Archangel had done, she’d blocked the worst of it, but it was still there forcing him to curl in on himself in the passenger’s seat of the Impala. Not really hearing Dean, all Sam could see was Ruby’s face and hear her voice over the last year as she lied and betrayed him. She’d lied and Dean was right; he always had been right about her. He knew not to trust her and all Sam did was hand himself over to her. Demons lie. How many times had he been told that? How many times had that been drilled into his mind? How many arguments and fights had he had with Dean because he was defending her?
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justforspite: (Jenny B&W)

This is mostly drag and drop and copy and paste at the beginning but at the end it presents a whole new dynamic and jumping point if I was ever tempted to making this a longer tale. Most of the dialogue comes from the film; no infringement intended. Not so much a crossOVER as a Character A is now Character B transformation. Prompted by [profile] catdancerz

Pointy-Eared Bastard

He stood before the academic counsel of Starfleet Academy. Facing the dean, Admiral Richard Barnett, he remained quiet. Maybe not patiently quiet, but quiet none-the-less.

“Cadet Winchester, evidence has been submitted to this counsel suggesting that you violated the ethical code of conduct pursuant to Regulation 17.43 of the Starfleet code. Is there anything you care to say before we begin, sir?”

“Yes,” Cadet Dean Winchester said, glancing to the Board of Directors. “I believe I have the right to face my accuser directly.”

Admiral Barnett looked towards the assembly behind him and Dean turned only to catch eyes with someone he hadn’t seen in over twelve years. He’d gotten taller. Locking piercing stares, a moment of tension passed between. So, he would really do this?
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justforspite: (Default)


Chapter Two

Sam Winchester opened his eyes to the faint light of the dawn streaming across his face. A little bearded man in square, horn-rimmed glasses was hovering over him. Bolting up, Sam twisted around, reacquainting himself with his surroundings. When had he gotten here? He could barely—

“Yeeeah, you had minor-ish, maybe loosely definable as major meltdown,” Chuck said, his hands in his robe’s pockets. He looked as if he’d been awake a week and was only surviving out of his coffee pot. But he was smiling. Sam had never seen the Prophet so happy and . . . “Calm,” Chuck said in answer to Sam’s unspoken thoughts. His voice and manner seemed to define the word. “Sorry, I squeaked out a couple of pages last night so this is all reruns to me. Wrote all the way up to brunch.”


Chuck pinched his features. “She does brunch. It’s weird. Doesn’t have to eat but she does brunch,” he shrugged.
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justforspite: (Jenny B&W)

“God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe this blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we ourselves not become gods simply to appear worthy of it?”

-- Thus Spoke Zarathustra
Friedrich Nietzsche

Hell Remains

Without getting too heavy on the details, he knew he needed to tell his brother two things before he died. “I love you” was probably obligatory but he figured Sam knew that already, even if it had never really been verbalized. Love wasn’t something in the Winchester vocabulary, just something detailed by actions set out in the Winchester playbook. Probably number two in the playbook if he had to count them out; number one being kick ass at all costs.

The first thing he had to tell him was to keep fighting. Their world was dark and as much as he didn’t want to say it, Dean was sure God had packed up and left Earth ages ago. He was probably hovering over the little baby Jesus that was Luke Skywalker in that galaxy far far away just itching to pen a new gospel. The angels had proven to be less than stellar and if it had to be just them against all the forces of darkness, then it would be. Someone had to do it and if they were now the backwater of the universe and God was playing in a whole new shiny corner of creation, then so be it.
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justforspite: (Jenny B&W)


Chapter One
The White Storm

“He’s coming,” Sam exhaled, barely breathing, fear closing off his body and mind. The end of the world was here and it was all his fault. Dean was right; the voicemail playing over and over in his mind. He was a monster, hoisted up by his own ego and need to prove his tainted soul worthy. “I’m so sorry,” he said, repeating himself in a half-strangled voice. The words just didn’t seem enough.

Gripping the bloodied knife in his hand, Dean couldn’t take a moment to steel his courage. Everything was moving so fast and spinning out of control. This, right here, was Ground Zero for Armageddon and if he’d just been less of a dick and reached out to Sam instead of pushing him away, things could have been different. He’d started this mess and in confronting Sam the way he’d done he’d precipitated it. This was all his fault.

“Sam, get behind me!” He barked, positioning himself before the great and swirling vortex that seemed to get bigger every second. Staring into the brilliant white center of the maelstrom, Dean knew this was it. This was the end.

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justforspite: (Jenny B&W)

Like you didn't know there would be fic here :)

Post Lucifer Rising.
Rated PG13-R for language

The Winter Queen

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justforspite: (Jenny B&W)

AU. Crossover.

Prologue: 1996

My dad’s a badass. No one knows it but me. It’s a secret I’ve kept since I was too little to really understand that I was keeping a secret. He told me not to tell anybody or our family would be in danger. If I didn’t really get anything else he was saying, I got that. He trusted me with our safety and I really got that too.

Dad has a day job that sucks ass and is kinda embarrassing when I tell people what he does but it’s a front. It’s not the truth. It’s a bunch of facts he’s memorized to get by but it’s not what he really does, it only covers up his real job. When he’s supposed to be at work and we’re at school, he’s really tracking down and fighting monsters who used to be people and tracking down people so close to monsters that definitions almost don’t even matter.

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justforspite: (Jenny B&W)
I hope you don’t expect me to become the hero of this story
I’m not the hero type, no matter what you say

I’m not going to pick up the pieces you leave behind
I’m not going to walk the world in your memory

Cause if you fall, I’m going down with you

There’s no arguing that so don’t even try

I won’t stand tall
I won’t visit your grave
I won’t try and heal ‘cause I know it’ll never happen

I’m going with you

So if you give a damn about me,
if you care anything about me at all,
you’re gonna fight this

You’ll fight it and you’ll win

I know you will
I know because you don’t want me to die as much as I want you to live.
justforspite: (Cate- Solitude)
He asks me to dance. He’s not drunk off his ass and he asks me to dance. I guess I’m still in shock when I let him take my hand and palm my hip. We’re the only ones on the floor and the music is too fast for us to move this slow but it’s nice. It’s real nice and I lean into him. My chin touches his shoulder and I feel the cotton of his shirt on my skin. He’s not tense at all and I don’t even care what that means about his ego. He smells nice. Like old fashioned aftershave. Like my dad. He smells like confidence and comfort and he knows how to lead. Most men can’t dance anymore, but he carries me as if my feet were on his toes and he glides me like I was five years old.

The 26 year old divorcee is in for trouble but I take my hat off and put it on him. I don’t care because he’s so much like what a man should be. He doesn’t even know my name but he makes me feel special just by catching my gaze and not looking guilty, or awkward. He never glances down to say hello and I grin. He sees my eyes and knows what they’re there for.

He pays for my drink and never tries to ply more. He knows I’m bringing him home and is sure I won’t change my mind. I take water because I want to remember everything about tonight. I want to memorize him, every small scar, every freckle. I want to keep the memory of him with me into tomorrow night when he’ll be gone and I’ll be back here, alone.

He holds me. Before he even tries to kiss me, he holds me, by the shoulders, studies my face, making memories of his own and I almost want this to mean more but I feel like I don’t even have a right to ask.

There’s too much experience in his hands and instead of being scared I lean into him and teach him a few more things about a woman’s body. He’s not mine to keep and I’ll let him go better than he came to me.

Comes to me.

And in the morning he’s let the sun spill over me and the fresh air cleanse me. His spot is cold but I can still smell him on my sheets.
justforspite: (Jenny Concentration)
For John

He rarely bothers with introspection,
When life gets him down, he gets up,
And I’m inspired by the will of him,
And I’m frightened by the will of him,
My papa’s no rolling stone.. . . )

June 2009

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