never more appropriate
SO YOU KNOW WHAT. Today I totally rearranged my furniture. And melted my lamp, which was hilarious. And I also finally got around to shifting my Christmas presents upstairs and removing the packaging, which lead me to a shock discovery. The kitten stationary? INCLUDES KITTEN GREETING CARDS.
Which.
I have no idea what to do about. So. WHO WANTS A KITTEN CARD?
If you're lucky, I'll even write in it.
Also, remember that whole 28 flavours of fic-prompts meme thing that did the rounds a while back? Well, you know. I wave my hand vaguely in the general direction of this post. Feel free to, idk, demand I write one, if the urge strikes you...
21. In a tree Winchester(s)
“So now what?” is the first thing Sam says. He’s still catching his breath, ginormous limbs all folded up on themselves in a totally unnatural manner, and his supersize-me toes are dangling over the edge like he’s some giant, bitchy bird.
“You look like a bird,” Dean tells him.
“And whose fault is that, Mr. Breaking-and-entering?” Sam snaps. Ten feet below, the dog pauses in its manic barking just long enough to head-butt the tree again, making the branches shake and rattle. Sam shakes and rattles too, cursing as his grip tightens on his branch; his expression would be one whole lot funnier if Dean wasn’t admiring it from the next branch across.
This is so not his fault.
There’s a fucking tree-snail or something creeping down the trunk, which, gross. It squelches- Dean swears it squelches- as he prises it away from the bark, exclaiming: “Hey, this isn’t my fault! How did I know she was gonna set the dogs on us?”
He takes aim, tosses it, and wipes his fingers liberally on his jeans to the dulcet tones of Sam shrieking “What did you just throw at me? What was that? Oh God, it’s in my hair-”
The dog- it’s gotta be part wendigo or something; nothing domesticated should be this insane- throws itself at their tree again, like a highly localised earthquake.
“Okay, let’s keep calm,” Dean says as Sammy swears up a storm and wraps his arms as far around the trunk as far as they’ll go- which is, let’s face it, pretty damn far. “We’re men, manly men, and we have electricity and cheeseburgers and- opposable thumbs. We can take on a dumb dog.”
“It’s a living thing, Dean, we can’t just shoot it.”
“It wants to eat us!”
“She’ll call the cops!”
“Point,” Dean allows, begrudgingly. He shifts awkwardly on the branch he’s straddling, which does absolutely nothing to ease the bark-in-his-testicles feeling with the added bonus of setting his feet swinging. The dog snaps furiously at his shoelaces, all hot air and frothing mouth. “I could kick it in the face. What did we do last time someone set dogs on us?”
Sam pauses, peeling a chunk of bark away with his fingernails and a frown. “I think you kicked it in the face. “
“Well then.” Dean grins. “Awesome.”
Which.
I have no idea what to do about. So. WHO WANTS A KITTEN CARD?
If you're lucky, I'll even write in it.
Also, remember that whole 28 flavours of fic-prompts meme thing that did the rounds a while back? Well, you know. I wave my hand vaguely in the general direction of this post. Feel free to, idk, demand I write one, if the urge strikes you...
21. In a tree Winchester(s)
“So now what?” is the first thing Sam says. He’s still catching his breath, ginormous limbs all folded up on themselves in a totally unnatural manner, and his supersize-me toes are dangling over the edge like he’s some giant, bitchy bird.
“You look like a bird,” Dean tells him.
“And whose fault is that, Mr. Breaking-and-entering?” Sam snaps. Ten feet below, the dog pauses in its manic barking just long enough to head-butt the tree again, making the branches shake and rattle. Sam shakes and rattles too, cursing as his grip tightens on his branch; his expression would be one whole lot funnier if Dean wasn’t admiring it from the next branch across.
This is so not his fault.
There’s a fucking tree-snail or something creeping down the trunk, which, gross. It squelches- Dean swears it squelches- as he prises it away from the bark, exclaiming: “Hey, this isn’t my fault! How did I know she was gonna set the dogs on us?”
He takes aim, tosses it, and wipes his fingers liberally on his jeans to the dulcet tones of Sam shrieking “What did you just throw at me? What was that? Oh God, it’s in my hair-”
The dog- it’s gotta be part wendigo or something; nothing domesticated should be this insane- throws itself at their tree again, like a highly localised earthquake.
“Okay, let’s keep calm,” Dean says as Sammy swears up a storm and wraps his arms as far around the trunk as far as they’ll go- which is, let’s face it, pretty damn far. “We’re men, manly men, and we have electricity and cheeseburgers and- opposable thumbs. We can take on a dumb dog.”
“It’s a living thing, Dean, we can’t just shoot it.”
“It wants to eat us!”
“She’ll call the cops!”
“Point,” Dean allows, begrudgingly. He shifts awkwardly on the branch he’s straddling, which does absolutely nothing to ease the bark-in-his-testicles feeling with the added bonus of setting his feet swinging. The dog snaps furiously at his shoelaces, all hot air and frothing mouth. “I could kick it in the face. What did we do last time someone set dogs on us?”
Sam pauses, peeling a chunk of bark away with his fingernails and a frown. “I think you kicked it in the face. “
“Well then.” Dean grins. “Awesome.”