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Phlox's Sonnet

Summary: In the end, Mother Earth overtakes all. Media: Far Cry: New Dawn Genre: Poetry Warnings: None Word count: 77 Notes: Spoilers for FC5. Yes, that ending.

Soon after the bombs dropped and denizens of the darling Hope County turned to ash and bone, nature took His place. Grass like piercing blades ran through the concrete of the roads, sheets of moss grew on the rotting wood of the old churches. Seventeen cycles of days had made the land new again--not restored, but reformed.

The Father was strong. But She, with her whistling winds and pink petals like drops of blood, was stronger.

#far cry #far cry 5 #poetry #fanfic #far cry new dawn #joseph seed #the father

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The Gingerbread Man (Brooklyn Nine-Nine)

Summary: "Christmas, like everything else in Florida, was going to suck..." Jake is stuck in Coral Palms for Christmas, and he wants nothing more than to buy a one-way to ticket to New York and spend it with Amy. But he's a good police officer and an even better boyfriend, so he will have to make do with a gift. Media: Brooklyn Nine Nine Genre: Angst, little bit of fluff Warnings: Mentions of Figgis and accompanying canon-typical violence Word count: 1055 Notes: So in 405 "Halloween IV" when Amy is showing Rosa her virtual binder, I thought I noticed a little plush gingerbread man on her keychain. I couldn't help but wonder how it got there...

Christmas, like everything else in Florida, was going to suck.

Jake didn’t know what he expected--that all the trailer homes would magically transform into cute little brownstones and people would suddenly decide to trade their cargo shirts and muscle tops for tailored suits and tartan dresses? But there were only gaudy lights, plastic flamingos adorned with reindeer antlers, and a cardboard cutout of Santa-on-an-ATV that Todd had put in the shop window.

He missed all the stupid hokey tourist things in New York that he hated and Amy loved: carriage rides through Central Park, FAO Schwarz, the Rockefeller tree, and most of all the snow. Jake felt like a little kid for saying that, and most of the time the Brooklyn snow was more like slush. He complained about it every year, but now there was nothing more that he wanted than to cuddle up with Amy and watch the snow fall.

Instead, Jake spent Christmas Eve driving aimlessly through Coral Palms. After hours of gas stations and trailer parks, he found himself at Fort Lauderdale Hollywood, physically itching to leave. FLL was perhaps the happiest place in Florida, not because it was a nice place--there were rats in customs and gators in the toilets, presumably--but because everyone there knew how close they were to leaving Florida. One ticket, Jake thought. One ticket and I'd be out of here. His feet carried him into Terminal 2 - Domestic Flights. He walked to the counter like he was having an out-of-body experience and nothing was on his control, because nothing was. A 12:50 a.m. to LaGuardia, and he could hold Amy in his arms and tell her everything was going to be okay. “I love you, Ames. To hell with Figgis. To hell with the NYPD. I need to be with you. Not through letters, not over the phone, not in a few years. Now.” And she’d break down sobbing, and she could barely get out a word, and he'd say “Also, Florida is a hell-hole where even the Twinkies are swamp-flavoured, and a man can’t live with humid Twinkies.” Oh God, and now she’s laugh-crying, and she’s happy and smiling and in some ways it's even worse because he knows how likely it is that Figgis could kick down the door any minute and shoot her in the head.

“Sir? Are you alright? Do you want some help? Sir?” He was standing in front of the heavily-lipsticked ticket lady, comatose, unlistening, tears rolling down his cheeks.

“I'm sorry, what? No, I...”

“Do you still want the ticket? One economy ticket to LaGuardia?”

“No, sorry...I...sorry, I have to go. Sorry.”

On his brisk walk from the counter to the sliding doors--this was torture being here, being so close--Jake stopped at the dimly-lit gift shop. Head pillow, corn nuts, earbuds. Jake picked up a pack of Twinkies and a bottle of blue--he was in Florida now (and likely forever), so he might as well lean into it.

“Just these, please.”

On the counter was a faded Christmas display filled with sad little plushie keychains. Anywhere else, they would’ve been cute. But these little guys had been in this godforsaken airport for too long. Every day they watched people come and go--but mostly go--while they were condemned to this sad little shelf on the sad little counter of a sad little gift shop in the saddest place on earth.

“Actually, I’ll take this as well.”

“Good morning, Sarge.”

“Morning, Amy. Hey, were you expecting a package today?”

“No, why?”

“This was addressed to you,” Sarge said, handing Amy a tiny cardboard box. “No return address, no mailing address. Just showed up on the doorstep this morning. I was almost about to put the precinct in lockdown, but look at this.” On the bottom corner of the package, so small she could barely see it, was a symbol drawn in black Sharpie.

“Nakatomi Plaza,” she said. “It’s Jake.”

Amy grabbed the package out of Sarge’s hands and brought it over to her desk. Slicing the tape with her letter opener, she found a note carefully placed on top:

Dear Ames - I love you and I miss you. I miss New York and I miss Christmas. I miss us buying a tree and decorating the house. I miss baking gingerbread cookies and eating them while insisting Die Hard is the best Christmas movie ever made. This is a pretty small post-it note, so I don’t have much room left, but I just needed you to know.

I love you and I miss you.

-- JP

Underneath, wrapped in tissue paper, was a plush keychain, a little gingerbread man.

“I love you and I miss you.”

A year before.

“Jake, how much cookie dough did you eat? This is only our fifth batch and we’re running out. Five batches, triple yield, six cookies per person, plus extra for Captain Holt...we’re 36 cookies below schedule, Jake. 36 cookies!”

“Oh, no, what? This is a disaster!”

“Thank you! This is a disaster!”

“You just got betrayed, son!”

Amy glanced at the phone in his hand.

“Lemme guess, Die Hard? Again? Stupid of me to think you were actually listening.” Overwhelmed, Amy crumpled to the kitchen floor.

“Whoah, Ames,” Jake said. He sat down beside her and tucked his phone back in his pocket. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know how upset you were.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Amy said, wiping tears from her face. “It’s just some stupid cookies. I overreacted. You can go back to watching your movie now.”

“No way, babe. I’m staying here with you.”

“Thanks. It’s not just cookies, you know. It’s just--with the hostage situation and everything, I was really worried about you. I thought you were dead. I just wanted one perfect, normal Christmas. Tree, lights, gingerbread men...”

“Hey, come here.” Jake pulled Amy into his arms. “It’s okay. Being a cop, dating a cop. We know it’d be stressful from the beginning. And yeah, sometimes I hate it. But you know what? I love you. And we’re gonna get through everything, good and bad, yeah?”

“Yeah. I love you.”

“I love you too. And hey,” Jake said, reaching up onto the counter and handing her a cookie. “No matter what happens, we still have gingerbread, right?”

#jake peralta x amy santiago #brooklyn nine nine #brooklyn nine nine fic #fanfic #jake x amy #christmas

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It's the Damn Tryptophan (Supernatural)

Summary: Fluffy holiday Destiel I wrote half-asleep during a turkey coma. Happy holidays! Media: Supernatural Genre: Fluff Warnings: none Word count: 269

"Oh my, Dean," Cas said. "You really can't keep your eyes open any longer."

"It's the tryptophan," Sam replied as he strolled in. "A enzyme in the turkey that causes humans to fall asleep." Sam stared at Cas, who was sitting up straight, wide awake. "I guess it doesn't have an affect on angels."

"Ugh. It's really hitting me hard. I don't know if I can wait for Santa." Dean added, trying and failing to sit up. "I mean, you guys can. I'm gonna head off to bed."

Cas grabbed him and pushed him back down onto the couch. "No! You said this was a Winchester tradition, and we're going to carry it on and have fun, even if you're half-asleep while we do it!"

"Fine. Sheesh. If I'm going to stay up until midnight, I'm gonna need booze. He filled a mug from the carton of store-bought eggnog and added a heavy dose of whiskey. "Come on, Santa. Hurry the hell up." Dean said under his breath.

"It's only eleven-thirty?! Cas, I don't know if..." Dean turned toward Cas only to find him completely passed out, his head on Dean's shoulder. Across the room, Sam was out like a light. Dean finished his eggnog and checked the time again. Midnight. He shook Cas awake. "Merry Christmas. You missed Santa. Sorry he didn't bring anything."

Cas smiled that puppy dog smile of his. "Merry Christmas, Dean. And I didn't miss him. He brought me the thing I wished for, the thing I've been wishing for all year." He leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on Dean's lips. "You."

#destiel #supernatural #dean winchester #castiel #supernatural fic #christmas #holiday

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MBTED #7

Eleanor takes extra samples at Costco “for her kids”.

#the good place #eleanor shellstrop #more bad things eleanor did

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MBTED #6

Eleanor invented the Premiere feature on YouTube.

#the good place #eleanor shellstrop #more bad things eleanor did

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MBTED #5

Eleanor says “LOL” in a face-to-face conversation.

#the good place #eleanor shellstrop #more bad things eleanor did

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MBTED #4

Eleanor films everything in portrait.

#the good place #eleanor shellstrop #more bad things eleanor did

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MBTED #3

Eleanor posts with a very long, rambly posts about her personal life without a read-more cut.

#the good place #eleanor shellstrop #more bad things eleanor did

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MBTED #2

Eleanor leaves one square of toilet paper left on the roll. If she didn’t finish it, it’s not her job to replace it.

#the good place #eleanor shellstrop #more bad things eleanor did

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More bad things Eleanor did #1

Eleanor worked as a Spotify ad-writer.

#eleanor shellstrop #the good place #more bad things eleanor did

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Okay but imagine self-care Venom

Eddie going to a bar to drink away his troubles and trying to ride his motorcycle home but Venom knows he's too intoxicated so he calls an Uber

Venom making sure Eddie is eating fruits and vegetables, drinking enough water, exercising, etc.

Venom reminding Eddie to take a break when Eddie's overworking himself on a big assignment

Eddie feeling depressed and Venom motivating him and helping him get the treatment he needs

Venom says he only does it because it's his body too but Venom genuinely cares about Eddie's happiness and wellbeing (and Eddie knows it)

#venom #eddie brock #marvel #self care #marvel imagine

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Requests are open!

Please send me stuff, I want to get back into fanfic writing!

#requests are open #fanfiction #fanfic #imagine #x reader #housekeeping

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Starkholm Syndrome (GoT/ASoIaF)

Summary: (Despite the punny name, this is pure angst) In which Brienne tries to rescue Sansa after the Purple Wedding, but Lady Stark is too well-trained to accept an invitation to go home. Media: Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire Genre: Angst Word count: 663 Warning: Brief mention of Joffrey’s abuse of Sansa, brief mention of rape Notes: I wrote this using a aSoIaF fic generator I came up with: character + character + random words. Sansa + Brienne + (night/persist/nonsense)

“My lady.” Her voice was wavering, quaky with fear, anxiety, and the feeling of having something right within your grasp after chasing it for so long. Nonsense, Brienne told herself. She is here now. I have nothing to fret about. “I am here to take you home.”

Lady Stark described her daughter having rich auburn hair, but Sansa’s locks had faded to a dull russet, almost as dark as her crushed soul. Purple Wedding, purple brocade dress, purple bruises, but still she wore a broken smile. “I am home, my lady. King’s Landing is my home.”

“Beg pardon, Lady Stark, but you are wrong in that. You belong at Winterfell, my lady. Winterfell is your home. And with your half-brother illegitimate and four of your siblings gone or killed—you have my prayers and my commiserations—you are the rightful heir of Winterfell. I was sent by Lady Stark to bring you home. I will keep my oath to her, despite her being … despite the events at the Red Wedding.”

A flicker of something indescribable flashed across Sansa’s face—hope, shame, then perhaps skepticism. But it was promptly replaced with that icy, distant, obedient half-smile. “I … the King did his duty at the Twins. My mother… I mean, Lady Stark and her… son, they were traitors. The King did what needed to be done.”

Brienne wanted to slap her. Not for pain, like the King would, but for Sansa’s stupidity. Sansa was not being foolish, though. She was. Brienne had had a small taste of King’s Landing, and from what she could deduct, it was a place more dangerous than a battlefield and more deadly than a wedding. Although Lady Stark had told her it was Arya, the little girl-warrior, who would be stubborn, Sansa was the real fighter. She had grown up in the clutches of the Lannisters, and she knew how to hold her tongue. But she did not strike her. Instead the Lady of Tarth broke down in tears and persisted in her spiel.

“My Lady. I do not know how I can convince you to come with me. You have nothing and no one left, except perhaps your half-brother and your home. Your real home. If you come with me, I cannot promise safety. I cannot promise security. You might get hurt, raped, or killed. But what I can promise is I will do anything, even die, if it will assure your getting home.” Brienne lay down her sword at Sansa’s feet and kneeled. “Say the words, Lady Stark. Say the words and I will swear fealty to you, as I did with your mother. Please. Just say the words.”

The lack of protest made Brienne raise her head. Lady Sansa, the last Stark, the Lannister bride, the battered girl with the bruised, now dark-as-night heart, was crying. Not wracking sobs, but a single silent tear. Somehow it tore through Brienne’s soul even more.

“Go.” Sansa whispered. It was the worst thing she could’ve said. Brienne would’ve rather taken “Yes, I’ll come,” or “Leave me alone,”. She would rather be called out as a traitor by Lady Stark in front of the whole court, her head over a chopping block. Anything but this. “Go” was something the Stark girl didn’t believe in, but she was too tired to act like she did.

Wordlessly, Brienne the Beauty picked up her sword and stood up, looking Sansa in her eyes, blue to blue. There were a million reasons to go, but none of them would convince the girl. She was built on reason now—not the logic of the North, or Dorne, or any other damn place than here—but the twisted, backwards logic of King’s Landing, where a direwolf was now a lion and go would mean stay. Here, Brienne the Bold was Brienne the Meek. Here she couldn’t convince a frightened little girl to come home. If she couldn’t do that, she couldn’t do anything.

#game of thrones #brienne of tarth #Sansa Stark #game of thrones fanfiction

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The Angel and The Hunter (Supernatural)

Summary: Angsty(ish) Destiel fanmix poem. Media: Supernatural Genre: Fanmix/poem Warnings: none Word count: 337 Notes: Rearranged song lyrics, I own nothing except the structure. Listen here.

I got a fast car I remember when we were driving Speeding so fast I thought I was drunk

I remember you Driving to my house In the middle of the night

When all the wrong impressions are said and heard How come I can never get the right words I need to convey Wish I could explain The things that I have to work out

Angel won't you call me? Could I be the only? Though I am a lost cause

Just like them old stars I see that you've come so far To be right where you are How old is your soul?

But Should I give up? Or should I just keep chasing pavements?

Why can't you see? You belong with me

In another life I would be your girl We'd keep all our promises Be us against the world

You went out every night And baby that's alright I told you that no matter what I'd be right here by Your side

Take me away to the dark side I wanna be your left-hand man I love you When you're singing that song

Well I won't give up On us Even if the skies get rough I'm giving you all my love

I'll carry The weight I'll do anything for you My bones May break But I'll never be untrue

Falling from cloud nine Crashing from the sky I'm letting go tonight

I'll tell you my sins And you can sharpen your knife Offer me that Deathless death Good God Let me give you my life

Say something I'm giving up on you I'll be the one if you Want me to

When you walked out the door A piece of me died

Thunder rumbling Castles crumbling I am trying to hold on God knows that I tried Seeing the bright side But I'm not blind anymore

Just wanted it like before We were dancing all night When they took you away Stole you out of my life

You just need to remember.

#fanmix #destiel #supernatural #dean winchester #castiel

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Strange, how you can live your dreams and your nightmares at the same time. (BBC Sherlock)

Summary: Which is the true nightmare, the horrific dream that you have in your sleep or the dissatisfied reality that awaits you when you awake? Media: Sherlock Genre: Angst Warnings: Possible trigger for death/loss (in a nightmare sequence, don't worry) Word count: 684 Notes: Thank you to Silm Fan for writing John's part. Reach her here.

John stood, once again, amidst the sounds of war and bloodshed. He tasted kicked-up dirt in his mouth and saw bodies being dragged in straight from the field. He cluthched his first aid kit and closed his eyes, willing the nightmare to end. The sun shone on his eyelids as a warm kiss pressed itself on his forehead. Suddenly he was somewhere totally different; his shared flat, resting on the couch with Sherlock. That was impossible, of course. He must still be dreaming, and was simply thankful for the sudden change. He savored the moment, and memory of the battlefield soon drifted away. He let a soft sigh escape his mouth, hoping it wouldn't wake the (presumed) dream Sherlock. A shame John didn't realize he was indeed awake, and that Sherlock was as well.

Meanwhile, Sherlock was having a nightmare of his own. Though much more fantastical, to him they were as real as the air he breathed. Unbeknownst to John, he was still using drugs—in fact, more than ever. Nights were spent either up and worrying about Moriarty or asleep and filled with drug-induced nightmares. He didn’t have a preference as to which he hated most. Moriarty: The one man who got through to him, who hit his pressure point long before Magnusson did. Or the hallucinations—graphic images of the ones he loved most getting tortured and killed. God, that wasn’t a lot, considering he loved few. But every morning, John was there to comfort him. A hug, a word of advice, soothing, yes, but Sherlock wished it could be something more. He wished John would be someone more.

John shifted his face so he could see Sherlock’s, and instantly regretted it. He had seen few emotions on that face, but none as pure as the one he saw now: fear. It was...strange. John had finally come to the conclusion that he was not dreaming; no. Everything was too real, and there's no way he would dream up something like this. John lifted a hand, slowly, and pushed a couple of curls out of his partner’s eyes. "Sherlock." He whispered, hoping to wake him peacefully. Though he didn’t want this to end, he couldn't let these obviously tormenting dreams continue. His right hand continued to play with Sherlock’s hair while his left was still. All hints of a tremor gone. As his heart rate picked up, he knew he should stop. Stop being so close, just stop everything. There was no way Sherlock would appreciate this, right? But he couldn't stop, because Sherlock wouldn't. Sherlock would never stop having those perfect cheekbones, or that one, true smile he saved for John, nor any of his genius.

So John could not stop being hopelessly in love with this man, he could not stop any of it. He was still confused as to how they got in this situation, had they fell asleep on the couch, and Mrs. Hudson moved them together? That seemed like something she would do. John’s hand fell towards Sherlock’s cheek, where he tapped softly. "Sherlock. Sherlock, come on. Wake up."

Sherlock tossed and turned, graphic images of John being beaten. He sank to his knees, tied up and helpless, as he watched John. As he fell face down, John’s frantic kicking and screaming ceased, his body at rest. A pool of blood trickled over the pavement and coated Sherlock’s lips. “John, please no…please.” He pleaded, although there was nothing to debate. John was dead and that was that.

He was jerked awake by frenzied shaking, the taste of blood still in his mouth. “Sherlock! Sherlock! Please! Wake up!” His sea-green eyes opened to meet a pair of baby blue ones. John. He sat up and hugged John, pulling him closed to his body. Sherlock was scared that if he let go, John would slip away. He would never let go. He could never let go. John was his John, and even death couldn’t change that.

#johnlock #sherlock x john #sherlock holmes #john watson #johnlock angst

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You Had Me at Hello part 3 (Supernatural)

Summary: Castiel Novak: wannabe filmmaker with hipster glasses working full-time at the indie coffee shop to pay the rent. Dean Winchester: orphaned mechanic living paycheque-to-paycheque with no dreams and a little brother at Stanford. The two polar opposites are just trying to survive in downtown Portland, Oregon. But fate has its twisted path, and nothing will stop them from getting their happy ever after–even if they don’t know it yet. Media: Supernatural Genre: fluff Word count: 607 Warning: none Notes: Written for the Wattpad Fanfic Friday Coffee Shop AU challenge. Written with https://www.pinterest.com/sophiaseifried/.

Cas paced the floor of his tiny apartment. He was nervous. Really nervous. Why was he nervous? He'd been waiting years for this opportunity. Three years, five months, and 22 days, in fact. So why was he so darn nervous?

Dean sat down on the futon in his bachelor pad. He was nervous. Really nervous. Why was he so nervous? Yeah, he lied to Cas once about Jo being his girlfriend. But it was one time! Dammit, Sammy. You had to go and tell. Why was he so darn nervous?

Dean pulled up in the Impala, hands shaking on the steering wheel. Cas lived right above the Fallen Angel Café and Bar, so it was easy to find. He looked up from his snow-white knuckles just in time to see Cas standing awkwardly in the doorframe.

"Come on in!" Dean yelled.

Cas ran to the car and hopped in. A disgusted look crossed the barista's face, but he quickly brushed it off.

"You look nice," Dean said, his eyes fixed on the steering wheel.

"Thanks, so do...you...." Cas stared at Dean. They were almost wearing the exact same outfit. Dean had on a red and blue plaid shirt, jeans, lace-up boots, and a Metallica tee. Cas was wearing a green and blue flannel, jeans (his were black and skinny-fit), Oxfords, and an Of Monsters and Men t-shirt.

"Twinsies." Cas called, crossing his fingers.

Dean chuckled that incredible warm laugh of his. "Yeah. Wanna grab a bite? I know a place."

"Table for two? Right this way, please." The waitress led them to a cozy table next to the window and set out menus.

"Do you know what you want? Or do you need a minute?" Dean asked Cas.

"No, I'm ready." Cas waved the waitress over.

"I'll have the double bacon cheeseburger with fries. Two cans of Pabst. Cas?"

"The kale and quinoa burger with goat cheese."

As soon as the waitress left, Dean gave Cas a look.

"Leafy greens? You're almost as bad as my brother!"

"It's the only vegetarian thing on the menu."

"You're vegetarian?!"

"Yes. And I'm open about it, unlike you being bisexual."

"How do you live without meat? Meat is life!"

"Excuse me? Meat is the death of animals!"

"We gotta farm! It keeps the environment stable!"

Cas threw up his hands. "You want to talk about the environment? I'll go first. You need to get rid of that." Cas pointed out the window to the Impala.

"Baby? I couldn't. There no way I'd ever. How dare you accuse me?"

Cas turned ruby red, but managed to say nothing for almost a solid minute. "We can't fight on our first date."

The waitress arrived soon after with their burgers, which they ate in relative good spirits, chatting good-naturedly about music and film.

After dinner, they returned to the café for coffee and a slice of leftover pie.

"Dean," Cas wondered, "Why did you never tell me? I lived my life believing I never had a chance."

"I was scared, Cas. It seems silly now, but I was afraid. Of what people would say."

Cas sidled closer to Dean and sipped his coffee. "No, it's not silly. I understand. I felt the same way."

Dean stared at the floor. "You know, this is my first date with a guy."

"Mine too. I had crushes on a lot of guys, but I never liked them the way I loved you. I love you, Dean."

"I love you too, Cas."

They sat in silence, Cas' head on Dean's shoulder, and under his breath he muttered:

"Thank you, Sammy."

And they sat. And they loved.

#supernatural imagine #destiel #dean winchester #castiel #supernatural

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You Had Me at Hello part 2 (Supernatural)

Summary: Castiel Novak: wannabe filmmaker with hipster glasses working full-time at the indie coffee shop to pay the rent. Dean Winchester: orphaned mechanic living paycheque-to-paycheque with no dreams and a little brother at Stanford. The two polar opposites are just trying to survive in downtown Portland, Oregon. But fate has its twisted path, and nothing will stop them from getting their happy ever after–even if they don’t know it yet. Media: Supernatural Genre: fluff Word count: 287 Warning: none Notes: Written for the Wattpad Fanfic Friday Coffee Shop AU challenge. Written with https://www.pinterest.com/sophiaseifried/. 

Almost the exact same routine was repeated the next day, except Uriel was back on duty and Tuesday's pie was cherry. However, this time Cas left his usual shy, anxious, nerdy self behind in the dust.

"Hi Dean."

"Hey Cas. What's up? I still don't know how to fix that darn radio, it's driving me--" Dean barged on, not waiting for Cas' reply. This time, though, he got one.

"I'm fine, thanks. In fact, more than fine. I learned something yesterday that I think will have a huge impact on my life. A good impact."

"Whoa, there. What kind of an impact?"

"Oh, nothing really. I'm sure you'll hear about it at some point."

"Okay then. Bye, Cas." He picked up his cup of coffee and napkin and headed towards the door.

"Bye. Oh, and Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"For the radio, try replacing the fuse box."

That's odd. Cas seemed a little more assertive today. I've never seen him actually say something without being questioned.

"Hey Jo!" Dean waved to Jo Harvelle, his best friend and co-mechanic.

"Hi. Everything alright? You look like something's bothering you." She replied.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just...Cas seemed bolder today. He actually said how he was doing without bouncing the question back to me."

"Huh," Jo pondered. "I wonder why. Anyway, there's a new car for you. The Mustang's all done. It was the fuse box."

"Fuse box, huh? Thanks. I'll get to it." Dean walked over to the garbage can and chucked in his coffee cup. He was almost about to throw away the napkin when he noticed a grease-smeared hand written message on it. In blue pen ink, it read:

503-2758-4070 Tonight at my place, 7 p.m. XOXO, Cas

#destiel #hipster au #dean winchester #castiel #supernatural