So I have 5 fic windows open at the moment and I can't seem to concentrate long enough to get any one of them finished. All I do is maximize the window, read, change three words, sigh, and minimize again.



1. Five Pit-Stops, SPN

A 'five things' fic, but instead of 5 AUs, it's 5 different ways Sam and Dean take a break from all their driving:

If their lives were a TV show, Sam bets that most of their day-to-day life would never appear on-screen. On TV, there’d be plenty of monster fighting, lots of tense brotherly deliberation, and even (for the purposes of exposition) a few scenes of him and Dean sitting in front of their computers trading facts.

But that would be a skewed perspective, really, because most of the time, it’s just the two of them, on the road.

2. Dry Erase Heart, SV

Chloe's POV, and how I *love* Chloe's POV...but I'm just unable to find a direction for the silly girl. It could go a bunch of ways:

Some small mean part of Chloe honestly hoped that if and when Lana and Clark finally got together in the horizontal sense, it would be awkward and disappointing. Lana would prove to be repressed and frigid, or maybe Clark would be like Jimmy Olsen, oddly convinced that the clitoris was inside there somewhere. In Chloe’s mind, Lana and Clark had only been capable of unsatisfactory Ken-Barbie coupling, stiff plastic limbs unable to interlock, molded plastic underwear prohibiting any real contact. Too pristine to be pliant, too good to be messy.

It’s just her luck that she ended up being Lana’s roommate and Clark’s confidant just when Ken unexpectedly shimmied out of his plastic drawers and Barbie miraculously learned how to spread her perfect thighs.

3. Barista!Mike, SV RPS

For black_siren, an AU where MR is a barista and TW is his customer. Lots of dirty wiping of steam wands:

“Your garbage is full.”

Mike looks up over the top of the espresso machine, peeking between the long line of white paper cups to see what obnoxious and horrifying person has come to torment him. There’s a line-up of caffeine-deprived socially-dysfunctional morons that wriggles back and forth around merchandising displays all the way to the door of the store, he and his shift supervisor are the only ones on the floor, and Mike’s making espresso drinks so fast that his shoulder and biceps are starting to ache from pulling the lever on the old bastard of a machine.

A big hand pushes an empty cup (that’s destined to contain a half-caf no-foam extra-hot macchiato) aside and Mike is looking into a pair of inexcusably pretty green eyes. Tom fucking Welling.

“Thanks for letting me know,” Mike says and though his voice is trying for bright and cheerful and “I’m a can-do partner!” it comes out more like irritated and harried and “please fuck off now.”

At least there was a please in there somewhere.

4. Constellation, the next bit, SV

Yeah, I don't even have a little bit of this written to show you. Because I am poo.

5. All American, SV AU

I don't have this written, either, but every time I reread what I have written so far, I have the urge to write something else in the AU -- maybe happy smiley Clex-on-leave-in-London fic. Or possibly post-Into-the-Sun fic. Because *coughs* that wasn't really the end:

He's lost weight. They all have, even here at home -- but it's somehow more surprising to see it in Clark, to see Clark's old bluejeans cinched in tight, see the way they want to settle down onto his slender hips instead of staying at his waist. He's wearing a flannel shirt, ordinary Smallville civilian wear, but it's almost too neatly tucked in. It looks dressier than it has any right to be.

"Hi," he says softly, so softly. Green eyes down towards the counter, he slips onto a stool across from her. "Um. Could I get a cup of coffee, please?"

Lana tries a bright smile, but it's wasted on Clark's averted visage. She pulls out a cup and saucer, cracked but serviceable, like her grin, and pours Clark a cup. It's not the best coffee she's served, but it's miles ahead of the mud she was slinging one year ago. Clark murmurs his thanks and she watches as he adds cream -- real cream -- and sugar.

For all his quietness, Lana sees that he isn't the same shy boy who once watched her from under heavy lashes, downing one milkshake after another. That boy was so uncomfortable with himself, seeming constantly startled by his own proportions, the space he occupied. This man before her is completely at home in his skin, elbows comfortably spread out, broad back open and curved over the coffee cup.

[Poll #659538]