Title: Unexpected

Pairing: Destiel

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: 3,199

Notes: inspired by a lovely piece (here) ((nsfw)) by the amazing @thefriendlypigeon, it’s not quite what they drew, but close, warnings for non-con if you’re being strict, dub-con if you squint, au where Dean is still a hunter and Cas is a human cop, witches and a fuck-or-die curse happen


The winding road folded like a ribbon as it curved and twisted it’s way down the steep mountainside, treacherous in the dark. Taking it slow, high beams illuminating the sides of the road, Castiel went easy on the turns. His radio was silent. For a sleepy town in the dead of the night, having even one call was exciting. Turns out, the domestic violence call a concerned neighbor put in was only some very loud, enthusiastic, perhaps a bit brutal but entirely consensual sex.

Castiel didn’t expect anything more interesting. He was fully prepared to put on another pot of coffee when he got back to the station and play Mahjong on his computer until Donna relieved him on the morning shift.

He hoped she brought lemon custard donuts when she came in.

Black skid marks on the asphalt veered to the side of the road and Castiel slowed down, scanning the roadside in case of an accident. A behemoth of a car, an older model, black, was parked haphazardly at an angle, nose digging into low brush, driver’s door thrown open and the trunk popped.


Castiel pulled over and put his patrol car in park. He closed the car door after himself, concerned but not in so much of a hurry as whoever had left their car here. Pulling a heavy flashlight out of his utility belt, he circled around the car. There was scant natural light from the half full moon, but patchy cloud cover made it come and go. Without street lights, he couldn’t see much outside the beam of his flashlight.

There was no broken glass, no flat tires, no apparent damage to the car. It was unclear why it had been left here. Castiel didn’t remember seeing it on his way up the mountain, but if he hadn’t caught the skid marks from the other direction, it was entirely possible he had missed it.


Keep reading

The old grey donkey, Eeyore, stood by himself in a thistly corner of the forest, his front feet well apart, his head on one side, and thought about things. Sometimes he thought sadly to himself, “Why?” and sometimes he thought, “Wherefore?” and sometimes he thought, “Inasmuch as which?”—and sometimes he didn’t quite know what he was thinking about. So when Winnie-the-Pooh came thumping along, Eeyore was very glad to be able to stop thinking for a little, in order to say “How do you do?” in a gloomy manner to him.
“And how are you?” said Winnie-the-Pooh.
Eeyore shook his head from side to side.
“Not very how,” he said. “I don’t seem to have felt at all how for a long time.
—  “In Which Eeyore Loses a Tail, and Pooh Finds One”, Winnie-the-Pooh, A.A. Milne

bass-borot  asked:

Will you send me some Irn Bru for free? Also, does Scotland have any good cider?

That’s given me an idea for a Patreon perk in the future. If I can get custom AYERN BRU bottles, that would be awesome.

Scotland has a fantastic cider called Thistly Cross. The label has a saltire and a thistle on it. The bottle cap is a saltire and the cider itself is amazing.

They blend the cider with different stuff. You can get ginger cider, strawberry cider, original apple and then my personal favourite, whisky cask. That’s right, they’ve blended cider and whisky for a cider with an alcohol content of 7.9%.

Fucking beautiful.

Did any bird come flying After Adam and Eve,
When the door was shut against them
And they sat down to grieve?
I think not Eve’s peacock Splendid to see,
And I think not Adam’s eagle;
But a dove may be.

Did any beast come pushing
Through the thorny hedge
Into the thorny, thistly world
Out from Eden’s edge?

I think not a lion,
Though his strength is such;
But an innocent loving lamb
May have done as much.

If the dove preached from her bough
And the lamb from his sod,
The lamb and the dove
Were preachers sent from God.
- Bird or Beast? by Christina Rossetti

The Messager of Peace, Louis B Davis