Quite a long post about a whole lot of nothing
1
Where is she going, where has she been?
I fade out in the impatient spaces
between the rushing roughshod masses, footsure, feet
surer than mine.
Voice mumbling, dusky and brittle, to myself, to
others who are maybe listening, the sound
wandering back out of earshot like an overtuned radio.
I fight my feet, or are they fighting me,
the only path they want to follow is my wavering voice, the one
that spills from between my lips into darkness.
They run when my shaky hands sketch
erratic birds in mid-flight, lumpsided and leaden, unworthy,
and I drag when I turn them in any other direction.
The sound of my preoccupation blocks out everything.
2
I bark my knees and hands on the pavement, over
and over again, with no one to help me;
refusing the hands that would catch me.
3
sam
crawl across the sky to bring him back between your teeth
4
pay attention to your classes, dipshit!
5
I think I'm more put out than I thought by not being able to finish big bang on time.
6
(this one time, we met the king of egypt)
Sam makes a face and tugs uncomfortably at the ass of the jeans while Dean turns off the lamp and slings his duffel over his shoulder. The fit is a lot less loose than he's used to. They're snug. Really... kinda… tight. "You got the wrong size, Dean, these jeans are too tight -"
"Motivation to loose some weight, Sammy boy. Too many of those little Japanese snack foods." Dean jabs a finger into the soft flesh of his side, then dodges Sam's retaliating swat to smack him on the ass and wink before he struts out the door. "Saddle up, bro, or I'm leaving you to the cougar at the desk. Her name's Joanna, or so I'm told."
(sulky dragon butt)
Sam rolls over with a giant grumble and Dean kicks him, boot thunking ineffectually off of thick chestnut scales. Sam's tail twitches irritably.
"I felt that, you know."
"Get up!" Dean hisses at him.
"Don't wanna."
(stuff might also be feelings)
Being a Winchester means living out of a bag; you never unpack, because it's just not worth the effort, but over the week or so you stay in a given place your stuff migrates out of the bag and around the room anyway (because it's not worth keeping your shit all packed away, either), and afterwards your life folds back up inside that bag, easy. And you're gone.
(A MOVING STORY (ABOUT TWO OFSATAN'S MOST FAVORITEST PEOPLE))
omg one day dean is idly clicking through the ipod in the impala and mysteriously there is lady gaga on there (and at first he's like CASTIEL!!) and then IT'S SAM'S and dean is like OH JESUS
I'M LEAVING YOU BY THE SIDE OF THE ROAD
YOU ARE DEAD TO ME, YOU HEAR
I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU'D TAINT MY BABY WITH THAT WITCH
and sam's just like, "IT'S SO CATCHY"
I'm jumpy and in need of distraction. Someone come talk to me, please?
ACTUALLY. Ask me for things! Ask me for things and I will try to oblidge in tiny, dribble-drabbles, of story.
ETA SAYS THAT PROMPTS NEED NOT BE SUPERNATURAL-RELATED, that is merely what is foremost in my mind at the moment.