#kind of inspired by that one time he followed a trail of golden carrots without question

[hermitagereheadcanons]

Bdubs is very easily motivated by food. All it takes to get him to put away his toys or take a bath is a promise of a snack for when he's done.

[honey-bri-books]

Angel of Thursday: CasSamDean

Sam, Dean and Castiel created by Eric Kripke, from television series Supernatural. Random SPN fan fic.

***

Dean yawned as he made his way to the kitchen. Coffee. Need...Coffee... It was only 9pm or so, but Dean was determined to watch every ‘All Saints Day’ film, in order and in one sitting. Tonight was the night he wouldn’t fall asleep. While it always happened that there would be a dry spell with cases, or word received that other hunters were already on the job and in control of the strange and unusual, the Winchesters never truly had a set block of time to themselves for extracurriculars. When they were able to catch a break, Sam preferring reading, research or exercise, while Dean preferred watching movies or television or por..(um, never mind).

As for Cas, Dean was never really sure what he did to relax (if he ever gave himself permission to relax). Sam had told Dean that he and Cas would sometimes read together in the library or in his room. Also, that they had tried binge-watching shows together. That almost became a pastime, until Castiel started to critique anything supernatural, sci-fi or religious. While Sam and Dean had been hunters pretty much their whole lives and knew more than most others about the true horrors that existed in the world, it was still sometimes difficult to realize how much science-fiction either happened to be accurately represented on television or even worse than they thought, according to Castiel.

Dean opens up the fridge, remembering seeing Cas last entering the bunker loaded with groceries. It had taken Castiel multiple trips to the kitchen to unload it all from the car.

DEAN: Hey! What gives?! The fridge is only a quarter full, if even by that much. All that Dean can find is a six pack of beer, a half empty package of bologna, four eggs, carrots, and two apples. He glances over at the pantry and sees half of the cereal boxes that were there that morning have disappeared. The freezer holds a half bag of golden crinkle fries, a full bag of sweet potato fries (Sam’s. Blech!), and a half bag of chicken nuggets. 

Dean knew he saw Cas with at least six bags of groceries, only that morning. He goes to Castiel’s room and bangs on the door. 

DEAN: Cas!! Yo, open up! [Bang, bang, bang] Sam looks out from his room with a book in his hand. 

SAM: Dean? What’s wrong? He steps out into the hallway. Like Dean, he had planned on settling in for the night and was wearing his pajamas. He walks over to Dean, looking down at his copy of The Goldfinch and double-checking to make sure he’s holding his finger over the last line he was reading. Looking back at Dean, Everything okay? Did you hear about a case?..[Bang, bang, bang].

DEAN: Cas! C’mon, man. I know you’re in there. Open up. Dean raises his hand once more and is about to knock again when the door opens. Castiel furrows his brows at Dean, looking concerned. 

CASTIEL: Dean. What’s wrong? Did you discover a new case that needs attention? Dean is about to respond when he notices something different about Castiel’s room. While usually bare except for a few essentials, Castiel’s room now held about forty grocery bags, on his bed, on the floor and on the dresser and desk. 

DEAN: Hey. What’s all this? Without waiting for an answer, Dean walks past Castiel into his bedroom. He notices that half of the bags are full and others waiting to be filled. There are groceries laid out in a pile on the foot of Castiel’s bed. He turns to look at Castiel. Sam has walked up to the doorway and is looking over Castiel’s shoulder, confused like his brother. You wanna explain all of this to me? Sam raises an eyebrow at Cas.

CASTIEL: I was about to make my rounds. ………  ………  ……… Dean and Sam look at each other. Dean shrugs his shoulders.

SAM: Uh, what do you mean? What rounds, Cas?

CASTIEL: It’s Thursday...…….  ……….  ………  Dean puts his hands over his eyes and starts to rub them. Sam clears his throat and tries again.

SAM: Well, yeah. We know Cas. What rounds? What is all of this food for? Dean hopes the answer is “For the kitchen”. He notices a bag of pork rinds sticking out of the grocery bag nearest him. Castiel moves to the pile of food and starts to fill the bags that are empty. Wait, is he taking it all back!? C’mon!

CASTIEL: It’s for all of the locals who are forced to live outdoors, mainly under bridges. Some have found sanctuary in several locations, because they keep having to move around, with the police trailing them. Phillip’s back pack was stolen from him yesterday, when he took a nap in the library. It had his blankets in it. But also the money he had saved for his meals this week. I wanted to visit his grounds, first. Sam and Dean looked touched. Castiel was talking about the homeless community in the area. Sam loses interest in his book and loses his place to set it down. He goes over to where Castiel is dividing up his groceries.

SAM: Do you want help?

*****

An hour later, both the truck and the impala are full of the grocery bags. Both Dean and Sam had helped Cas to fill the rest and bring them up to both cars. Sam had also remembered the closet full of spare robes, shirts and blankets and grabbed as many as he could fit in with the food. Even after raiding their stores, there were plenty of supplies left if an army were to seek sanctuary at the bunker.

They drive to a nearby bridge, Castiel wanting to visit Phillip’s location, first. Castiel had marked many ‘X’s on a local map, for all of the locations he hoped to visit before dawn. His original plan was to be done before either Sam or Dean would be awake. 

Underneath the bridge are several lit trash cans with some of the homeless hovered around them, trying to stay warm. There are a few tents and many old sleeping bags strewn around. One man in a tattered coat and a scarf wrapped around his head stands up from the lawn chair he’d been sitting on, when Castiel approaches with Sam and Dean, who each carry a bag and an armful of blankets. Other members of the community look over at them curiously, the brothers being unfamiliar to them. 

PHILLIP: Castiel! You never fail to deliver, man! He turns back towards the rest of the people to wave them over. When the bags are transferred into their hands, they give many thanks to Team Free Will and sprint back to their families and friends, to immediately divvy up the goods. Phillip lingers behind, taking Castiel’s hands in his. You’re a good man. But....Well, we’ve all been talking and...you shouldn’t have to keep at this, you know? We understand. You’ve been better to us than anyone else, but...fuck, you can’t afford this, can you? We just don’t want you to get in trouble, and we.. Castiel stops Phillip by giving him a hug. 

CASTIEL: There’s one more thing. Castiel reaches into a smaller bag he’s carrying and pulls out a few notebooks and a package of ball point pens. You have a brilliant mind, Phillip. The local paper has been including a section for short stories in their most recent issues. I hear they offer a small stipend. I really believe it could turn into something more. You should try and sell one of the stories you’ve been so kind to share with me, lately. 

Phillip doesn’t know what to say. He always helped to distract his friends from their gross state by making up stories. During the day, he’d take shelter in libraries, and read to his heart’s content, before closing hours. Inspired by other authors, he took their stories and would embellish off of them for his friends, making the homeless community smile, and forget their hunger and their pain. 

Recently, he’d been sharing stories with the kind businessman, Castiel, who would occasionally deliver food to their bridge. But he never thought he’d be given the luxury of actually recording his material. To be given the opportunity to share it with the larger community. He’s still standing there, dumbstruck with the pens and notebooks in his hands, when the impala and the truck pull away.

*****

CASTIEL: Next on the map is the south bridge. It’s not far from here. Castiel rides shotgun next to Dean, while Sam follows behind them in the truck. Dean doesn’t respond, so Cas looks over at him. He’s smiling, his eyes are shining. Cas raises his eyebrows. What is it? Dean lets out a light laugh, shaking his head.

DEAN: Cas, how long have you been doing this? Castiel shrugs.

CASTIEL: For over several years, when you and Sam are asleep or out on a case. Every Thursday, I play pool or poker and use my winnings to buy food from local markets. Sometimes clothing, but food comes first, not to mention clean drinking water.

DEAN: When did you become such a pro at poker and pool? 

CASTIEL: I’ve watched you, when it comes to pool. I’m not quite as skilled as you are, so most of the money I make is from poker. Though, it’s not exactly earned. I cheat, of course. As weak as I am nowadays, I can still read minds. 

DEAN: Every Thursday, huh? I never really gave that whole ‘Angel of Thursday’ any real merit. So, you’re thing is to make sure everyone eats, but on Thursday only? Why not every night? Castiel looks guilty. He turns to look out the window.

CASTIEL: I’m not sure, exactly. Whenever Thursday is upon us I feel as if there’s a part of me that’s empty, and wanting to be filled. There’s a hum all around me. I’m also more susceptible to pick up the prayers of those whose needs are most urgent. While those things are relevant almost every day, the pull is strongest on Thursdays. It’s like an alarm that will stay on unless a good deed has been performed, and I answer as many prayers as I can. Today, the most common prayer was due to hunger. I wish I could give more. Dean reaches over and places a hand on Castiel’s. Cas turns to look at Dean. 

DEAN: You’re a better man than most, Cas. If it weren’t for the panic it would cause, you know I’d offer Phillip and anyone else who needed it a room at the bunker. They’d all have to learn about monsters and ghosts almost making their lives worse, if we took them in. But even if we weren’t under attack once a month by the creeps that go bump in the night or we weren’t constantly under threat, it would be a matter of minutes before we had to turn people away for lack of space. That’s gonna be on me and not you, okay? It’s my decision, not yours. You aren’t going to help everyone you can, because I’m a selfish son-of-a-bitch and I won’t let you. He squeezes Castiel’s hand and Castiel squeezes back. 

CASTIEL: If we could make things easier for those who deserve even the most basic comforts...

DEAN: Stop. Alright? I really hope you mean Thursday and Thursday only, because every other night of the week, you’re gonna be reading or writing or listening to music or watching tv, or trolling Sam’s facebook or whatever you want. You can’t help others if you don’t do good by yourself, every once in a while. You deserve it, after what you did for Phillip back there. Promise me, Cas. R&R. We talked about this. I know you don’t sleep, but if both Sam and I are asleep it means you’re off the clock, too. Do you promise? You’re the Angel of Thursday, and it’s gonna stay that way. Promise.

CASTIEL: [Smiling] Promise... [Then after a moment] Thank you, Dean.

-The End

*Started to write this on Thursday, but spilled into Friday. Oops! Still, thanks for taking the time to read through to the end!!!!

[castiel-left-his-mark-on-me]

In item #181 of GISHWHES, we were asked to give advice on how to become pregnant for a tenth time. We did so by writing a 2000 word essay and then tweeting it (piece by piece) for the world to see. Below, you can find all my wise words and helpful tips, just in case you ever find yourself wanting that blessed, tenth child.

People rarely ask me for tips on child rearing, nor do they ask me on what to expect during the long three trimesters of pregnancy, and that is because I have no children of my own. So naturally, I consider myself an expert on reproduction and the delicate biological intricacies that accompany human fertilization and gestation.

Now, when it comes to getting pregnant, there are three main things you need to remember: chocolate is tasty, you’ll likely crave it

prior

to conception, and third and most importantly—inform your significant other (or whomever is assisting you in the creation of your progeny) that you must have chocolate 24/7. And I realize, this may not be news to some—in fact, many of you reading this have probably had multiple children already because,

duh

—

Hershey’s

, and you have also lived strictly by those delicious, chocolatey, unbreakable rules for years. So if that is the case, then you’ve come seeking my advice on the next logical step in parenthood—

the tenfold

. When it comes to the decagonal birth, the most common concern I hear is: “What do I do when chocolate isn’t enough? How do I get to having that ultimate tenth baby, growing inside my belly baby house?” Well, first of all—your

belly baby house

is called a “womb” … you should know that by now; and secondly, you’ve come to the right place, because as a mother of 0—obviously I am only missing the number 1, so I am pretty close to this whole “10” issue, spatially. Therefore, pay close attention to the following biological, genetic as well as completely holistic methods of reaching the pinnacle that is:

the decimvir rug-rat.

The first option is: you need to become a rabbit. It’s rather simple, so don’t think the fact that you were born a human and always have been a human, and have only ever given birth to human children is an issue—it isn’t. Do you like carrots? Yes? Good. No? Well, just imagine the following does not resemble a carrot and you’ll muscle through. Now, you’re halfway there; so, following those previously mentioned three, golden, chocolate rules—wait until the timing is just right, aka, Easter, and when that moveable feast makes its way onto your calendar, that is when you need to make the trek to any Americanized grocery store and fill up your cart with as many carrot-shaped chocolate treats as you can find. Then, you must go to your backyard, or a neighbor’s backyard, or the a-typical grandparents’ backyard and hide yourself amongst the reams of tall grass. Consume the chocolate carrots while your existing nine children all pelt you with egg-shaped plastic containers, because this will not only promote fertility, but it will also act as an offering to Henose, the chicken goddess, who will slowly, but surely begin morphing you into an Easter Rabbit. The only caveat to this is that your tenth child must also become an “Easter Rabbit” when they mature; but I hear it has a great benefits package, so they will probably be better off than they would be in any human-form of employment, so really—it’s a win/win.

For some however, I understand if becoming a different species might not seem ideal. Parent-Teacher conferences for one, might be difficult—considering your last nine children are all human, and you’ll be left pooping pellets on the teacher’s desk. Your kids will find it hilarious, but the teacher might not be as amused, and it may negatively affect your human children’s coming grades. So, if you are determined to stay human yourself, then your next reasonable option for succeeding in welcoming to the world, that denarius little genetic copy of yourself—is to go into a place of religion. I don’t believe it matters which religion, because they all appear to have the same effect—people go in, and the next thing you know, they come out with a gaggle of kids trailing in their wake. There’s something about “God’s House” that promotes hyperactive fertility. Perhaps it’s the refracted light coming in through those stained glass windows—it somehow stimulates the human ovaries into producing an excess of eggs. Or maybe all the religious effigies of powerful males inspire a man’s sperm to be more devout in their work. Or, maybe it’s that all religion is secretly chocolate-based, and the baptisms involve being dunked like a Reeses peanut butter cup into a troth of delectable, satiny-brown, liquid-heaven. Honestly, I cannot be certain, because as I am sure you deduced by my having no children, I have not personally set foot into one of these religious establishments; but I am betting, if you’re human and you happen upon a house of God (or Allah, or Vishnu, or what have you), you’ll find yourself bearing that decemvirate tiny terror in no time.

Now, if that previous option didn’t appeal to you—perhaps refracted light makes you break out in hives, or seeing wooden pews lined up but slightly offset from one another, makes you uncontrollably dizzy like it does me, then you could turn your hopes downward. Go for the anti-religion. With this option, you must be careful however, because you’ll likely be dealing with demons—and you could end up giving birth to a baby goat or the Roman numeral: X.; so please, read the fine print carefully and exercise any satanic-dealings with the utmost caution. That being said though—another, valid option for impregnating yourself with that last, crowning child, is exchanging your soul for it. The powers that be in Hell usually fancy a good, ripe soul as often as they can, which gives you the upper hand (given that you have not used this method previously to obtain a lifetime of wealth or to have the chance to sleep with your high school crush … they were dreamy though, weren’t they?) You only got one soul to give, so make sure it counts. There is a very specific process to soul-selling however, so do not make the usual mistake and go sacrificing chickens in Lucifer’s name. He doesn’t care about chickens, and this will also upset Henose greatly; and then you and your children and your children’s children will all suffer a lifetime of runny eggs as a consequence.

In order to properly bargain your soul, you must find your nearest crossroads—but do make sure the roads are made of dirt, because you’ll need to be burying something at the very center point of the intersection. Attempting to bury something within a city’s crossroads will require a jackhammer and various zoning permits (the fines for illegal digging are astronomical). So, once you find a dirt crossroads, you will need to bury a tin box filled with graveyard soil, a photograph of yourself, a bone from a black cat, and finally—a yarrow. “What’s a yarrow?” you ask … I don’t know. I think he’s a Greek composer. Anyhow, once you bury the box, your demon will appear. Tell them that you want to become pregnant with a tenth child, and they will then imprint the contract invisibly onto your skin. Once imprinted, you’ll need to seal the deal with a kiss (so if your demon is hot—well then, your deal just got sweeter. If not … just pretend they’re that high school crush of yours); but a plain kiss will not do, you must first apply chocolate-flavored Lip Smackers (the kind that comes on a lanyard), or else your baby will actually end up in the demon. Then you’ll have to get into a custody battle for the child, which is never good. If you think custody courts on Earth are bad—you should see the ones in Hell. It’s just lawyers.

As with any agreement though, there will be stipulations to a demon deal—so once you have your baby, you’ll actually only get to raise them for the first decade of their life, because after that, Hell Hounds will find you and eat your face. So, in general, if you decide to make a demon deal, also make sure your eldest offspring is willing to take over the child rearing because you will not be around long enough to do it yourself … but hey, at least you got to ten!

And finally, if none of the aforementioned options appeal to you, then I have one, final suggestion—which may work if you are willing to forgo the whole “pregnancy” aspect of things. Have you ever heard of Solomon? No? Well, he was a great guy—a real thinker, solved a lot of problems for a lot of people. He lived over three thousand years ago, before the fruits of the cocoa tree were discovered and processed to become the baby-making, chocolaty delight that we insist upon today; so, you can imagine how difficult conception could be without that all important aid. Women not only had fewer babies, but some might not be able to have any at all, so they would resort to stealing the babies of others. Infant theft, or Baby-Burgle, as it was sometimes called, was such a common occurrence in Solomon’s time, that he set to the task of finding the ideal solution—and that, he did. Just chop the babies in half! This is a quick and efficient way to get two babies for the price of one. So, my advice to you is—find your most problematic child and just splice him or her in two (preferably with a laser—it’ll cauterize the skin instantly, sealing up both the old child and the new) and then, not only will he/she become another bouncing, bundle of your DNA, they’ll also only be half the problem that they previously were. This is also a great option for those of you who are only halfway to that grand “tenth child” mark. Just birth five kids, split them all down the middle and, vuala! You got ten children--- just like that! A disclaimer with this option however: invest in prosthetics.

In conclusion, any choice is bound to be fruitful if executed carefully. Don’t rely on any of those “wannabe” solutions, like storks. As we all know, the average human baby weighs much more now than they did back in the forties, so a stork’s neck is just no longer capable of carrying that kind of load; and if it tries, your little one may end up in the Atlantic, or Henose forbid—in the arms of a family who already has ten children and will just keep yours out of greed. Don’t trust storks, nor black-market fertility statues. Basically, anything with a beak … except for Henose, of course. Also, some may try to tell you that my previously detailed paths to decagonal-bliss are just as untrustworthy, and that there are actually easier ways to achieve a family of ten children. Ways like adoption, surrogacy, in vitro fertilization, and so on and so forth; but are any of those really as interesting? No. They are all fine ways, and I encourage you to seek out as many routes as possible in order to conceive; but please, also keep in mind the story that you wish to tell. Honestly, would you rather say: “I adopted my tenth child” or “I sold my soul to a demon and made an offering to the chicken god, Henose in order to have my tenth child”? One is obviously far more entertaining than the other.

Overall, any option you choose to bring a tenth life into this world will carry a lot of joy, but also a lot of responsibility. So please, just make sure that you are making the right choice for you, your family, and the overall world population; because really, there’s already a lot of us here. In addition: remember the chocolate. It makes your belly happy, and you know how the old saying goes: “A happy belly makes a happy belly baby house.”