23/100 days of productivity | almost caved today and bought pilot juice pens, because of the colors!!! and 0.5mm pens are my favorite a;sdkfja;woiefj but I reminded myself that I am not allowed to buy more pens unless I finish/use up all my old ones!!! also, v random side note: minty gum is getting through my apes studying today ೕ(•̀ㅂ•́ )

This Heart of Mine

Written for the prompt: Dean and Cas are both about to die so one makes a deathbed love confession. When they miraculously survive things are awkward between the two of them, the confessor not thinking the other feels the same way; angst with a happy ending. 

Zombie apocalypse. That’s actually how Dean’s going down. A fucking zombie apocalypse. 

The thing that pisses him off is: zombies are easy. Bullet to the brain and they’re down for the count. Again. But yet, here he is, trapped in a damn storage closet with a graceless Castiel at his side, and one bullet sitting in the magazine of his glock. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“How the hell did we get here?” Dean mutters mostly to himself. He lets his head fall back against the hard cement wall behind him and tries to block out the sounds of the incessantly moaning dead just outside the door.

“Through the mess hall,” Castiel states gravely. 

Dean heaves a sigh. “Rhetorical question, Cas.” He glances around the empty storage closet, rubbing at his eyes and trying to force himself to think. He doesn’t get into jams like this. He just doesn’t.

Yet here he is.

As they sit, waiting for their inevitable death - what else can they do, really - part of Dean hopes the zombies will get tired of waiting for them, wander off to harvest somebody else’s brain. And it sounds wild, but hope’s all he’s got left at this point; that’s how fucking bleak the situation is.

When the door handle starts to wiggle, moans seeping beneath the door and creeping into the storage room, Dean comes to the conclusion hope is for suckers.

The wiggling becomes more incessant and is quickly accompanied by heavy fists pounding on the door, and Dean and Castiel are on their feet, breathing shallow and shoulders taut. 

“They’re not strong enough to break in, right?” Dean asks and despite already knowing the answer he needs Castiel to say no. 

“Yes, with enough force they could break the lock.”

“Fuck.” Dean mutters. He looks at his gun again, that one bullet not even enough to buy them some extra time, and then at Cas who’s watching him with calculated eyes. 

“We can’t hold them off for long.” Castiel says.

Dean snickers, shakes his head. “Fuck, Cas, aren’t you quite the optimist.” 

The door clangs loudly and Dean’s head snaps up and towards the sound. The grotesque faces of the dead are peering through the small window on the door, their jaws working jerkily as they groan.

They’ve double, tripled almost, in numbers, and they’re crowding around the door, pounding decaying flesh covered hands against the metal. 

This is it. Last episode, folks, no To Be Continued.

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21/100 days of productivity | quite honestly, i was incredibly stressed yesterday night because of all the things i had to do. or, rather, by the thought of what i had to do. because i was really busy yesterday night, and therefore couldn’t get some of my tasks done as i had planned, i started panicking and thought that by falling behind my schedule i had therefore created 2x the amount of work for myself this upcoming weekend. everything was jumbled up in my mind, and i wasn’t even sure what i needed to complete, except that it seemed like A Lot. 

but then, right before i went to bed, i decided to just dump everything i had to do out onto my bullet journal—no structure, and no logic or coherence to the order that i chose to write down all my tasks. i just wrote down everything and anything that came to my mind that i knew i had to complete this weekend. after i finished doing that, and looked over my list, i realized that although i did have quite a few tasks that i was supposed to do, it wasn’t as bad as i had built it up in my head to be!! it was still manageable, as long as i planned out my time wisely. also, the fact that i had built in buffer time into my pre-planned timeline/schedule (bless my past self……) helped as well hehe

my advice to everyone if you too are feeling overwhelmed with the amount of work you have to complete is to just write everything out, split it up into smaller tasks, and just work steadily (even if you have to do it slowly) at it. it’s a lot less stressful once i saw what i needed to do written out and not as a jumbled mess in my mind ^-^


first week of february | via bullet journal 

trying out a couple of new layouts this week, though i’m not sure how i feel about some of them yet /shrugs also, i thought it was pretty interesting how the date for the first week of feb corresponded with the days of the week! o u o monday was the first, and today (Sunday) is the seventh~ it helped make remembering the date somewhat easier haha

Too Adorable To Resist

Based off of this post. For Coffee. – 1.6k AU. 

“Hey, Novak?” Chief Henrickson raps his knuckles on the door frame of Castiel'soffice and leans his weight against the open door.

Castiellooks up at him, eyes bleary. It’s just nearing 3am and he’s had nothing butpaperwork to do for the last several hours. It’s been a long, tedious night. “Hmmmm.”

“Just got a call. Apartment building on 9th and West had the fire alarm pulled. Isn’t that your place?”

Castiel frowns. “Yes.”

“It’s probably just some stoned asshat thinking they’re funny, but we gotta send someone. You wanna check it out?”

Castiel stands, his muscles sore from being in the same position too long, and rolls his shoulders and neck. “Yes,” he says, “I’ll go.”  

Victor nods. Castiel gathers his coat and keys, and heads for his squad car.

The fire department is already on the premises when Castiel arrives. When he doesn’t see any smoke or visible flames, he relaxes in his seat and pulls into the nearest parking spot.

The first person to meet him on the scene is Benny, one of the firefighters at the neighboring station. His mouth is pulled into a grim line, and he shakes his head when Castiel asks for details.

“False alarm, it looks like,” Benny explains. “Some punk playing truth or dare. Mills got here just before you did, she’s giving him a warning now.”

Castiel nods, grateful it’s not something more. “What can I do?” He asks, because he drove out here, he might as well help.

“Keep an eye on the tenants, will ya? A bunch of ‘em are still spooked.”

Castiel scowls at Benny’s knowing smile. Of all the jobs he’d be more than happy to do, 'keeping an eye on the tenants’ isn’t one of them. They’re going to be looking for comfort, and Castiel has never been very good at that sort of thing. He’s better suited for writing speeding tickets and attending to noise violations.  

“Don’t look at me like that, Novak. You asked, now be gone with you, brother.”

Castiel sighs and heads off in the direction Benny shoves him.

The group of tenants is small, and only a handful of them are worried. The rest are frowning and yawning, shuffling on their feet, and grumbling about the cold. Castiel assures them they’ll be allowed back inside soon as he makes his way through the crowd.

When his eyes land on the naked back of a man in nothing but a pair of navy blue boxer briefs, Castiel frowns. He reaches out a hand and lets it rest gently on the man’s shoulder, “Sir.”

As the man turns around, Castiel finds himself blinking at his green-eyed, freckle faced next door neighbor, the one he’s harbored a small crush on since the man moved in six weeks ago. They’ve never actually spoken to one another, but they’ve passed in the hall a few times, and he’s always been met with a wide smile and a wink that makes it difficult for Castiel to breathe.

Castiel’s stomach twists itself into a squirming, messy knot.

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