#pitcher!cas

[imnotleavinherewithoutyou]

of course i'm writing this instead of like, the stuff i'm supposed to be writing??

ahem.

——

Dean is throwing a bullpen session when the news breaks that Castiel Novak has signed with the Dodgers. He wouldn't have heard about it, except that Garth trotted into the room bubbling with enthusiasm.

"I didn't realize you were such a big fan of him," Dean says when Garth pauses for breath.

"His numbers speak for themselves," Garth says.

Dean settles back in, winds up, and spins a curveball in there for a strike. He flashes a satisfied grin at Garth before saying, "I don't spend much time looking at the numbers."

"Two MVPs," Garth counters.

"Yeah, that's impressive," Dean allows.

"D'you think it'd be too weird if I asked for an autograph when he gets here?" Garth asks.

Dean shrugs. "He's probably used to it."

From what he's heard, Castiel isn't exactly a Chatty Cathy, though that could be because he doesn't speak English. He's always got an interpreter on hand, despite having been in the States six years already. You'd think the guy would've picked up some English by now.

Probably a cold fish.

Meanwhile, Garth says, "Yeah, you're right."

"If you're embarrassed, you could always say it's for a nephew or something," Dean suggests.

"Nah, I couldn't lie to him," Garth says, scandalized.

Dean huffs a laugh at that. "All right, do what you want. Now skedaddle and quit distracting me."

"Yeah, okay. Catch you later, alligator!"

——

The thing is, not many players catch Dean's eye anymore.

He's been in the league for a decade and a half, and he's seen everything. Strange-ass batting stances that somehow still work. A switch pitcher. A sidewinder who dipped so far down on his delivery that his knuckles nearly scraped the fucking mound.

But he's never seen a two-way player like Castiel Novak.

Granted, teams haven't ever really let pitchers hit every day. Hell, it wasn't even possible in the NL until they changed the rules and adopted the DH.

That's why the Dodgers never had a chance at signing Castiel when he was first coming over to the States.

Not that Dean had been paying any attention at the time. He'd been skeptical like most other players, a little curious to see whether this experiment would work out.

But then Castiel had seemed pretty average in his first season—a pretty good batter but an average-ass pitcher—and then he'd gotten sidelined from pitching by an injury, and Dean had put the fabled two-way-player out of mind.

In the last three years, though, Castiel has forced his way to the top of the conversation in baseball, everyone talking about what a unicorn he is for being able to pitch and hit at elite levels, and that amount of praise, of overexposure, has always rubbed Dean the wrong way. Sure, Castiel won MVP two of the three years—and came in second the year he didn't win it—but still. It's a lot of talk, and Dean hasn't really even watched him play.

Mostly, he's just been catching the occasional dumb New Balance commercials, which—he can't really judge, he's done some dumb ads himself because the money was stupid good, but hey, he's never claimed he wasn't hypocritical.

When Castiel first enters the locker room for spring training, everyone's already there. Such a diva move, arriving fashionably late. All eyes turn his way, and he surveys the room, looking almost bored.

"Hello," the man at his elbow says, half a step behind him. Needlessly, he adds, "This is Castiel. Nice to meet you all."

The accent throws Dean off for a second, because he's never heard someone from Enoch speak with a British accent.

Castiel starts moving toward a locker in the corner of the room that has been set aside for him, his new jersey hanging up in front of it, and his interpreter follows him, nodding at the team members that they pass.

Dean's well across the room from Castiel's locker, so he's free to catch Benny's eye after they've passed him by and raise his eyebrows. Benny only grins, tilting his head toward the exit.

Dean finishes doing up his cleats and jogs off toward the tunnel, meeting Benny there.

As they head toward the dugout, Dean says, "Taller than I'd imagined," and Benny chuckles.

——

Castiel is pretty.

Dean hadn't really absorbed that from the TV ads or game footage, more concerned with his windup or his batting stance than his face. And that first glimpse of him had been from across the locker room, so it's not like Dean could've seen how fucking blue his eyes are. Or how his jaw looks so sharp you could cut yourself on it.

It's fucking distracting is what it is, so Dean keeps his distance. He's getting older now, needs to stay sharp and focused to avoid all the fucking speculation about how he might be washed up.

Every mph he loses on his fastball feels like another nail in his coffin, and he really cannot afford distractions.

But whenever Castiel passes through his line of sight, he can't resist the temptation to look, to keep looking. Castiel never looks back—at least, Dean's never caught his eye.

The only time it seems Castiel looks at Dean is when Dean is on the mound. Castiel leans on the fence in the dugout, and even though Dean can't see the blue of his eyes from this far out, he's sure that Castiel's eyes are on him.

Dean's first five outings are good. He gets four wins, one no-decision, doesn't give up more than two earned runs each outing. His strikeout numbers are a little low to start the year, but he's pretty sure he can get them back up to normal by the All Star break.

But his sixth start is an absolute dud. The opposing team is seeing his fastball too well, and for whatever reason, he can't get his curveball in there for a strike.

Bobby pulls him after one out in the fifth, having given up five runs, four earned. Garth enters the game with the bases loaded and manages to strike out the next two batters, and when he comes into the dugout, Dean claps him on the back in thanks.

Dean is filled with dread as he sits down for the postgame press conference, where reporters are gonna ask him stupid-ass roundabout questions that don't outright say he should retire but obviously imply he's past his prime.

"So, what happened out there?" a man from the LA Times asks.

Dean shrugs, tries his best not to sound defensive when he says, "Sometimes you just don't have your stuff."

"What wasn't working today?" LA Times persists.

"Weren't you watching the game?"

The deep voice coming from Dean's left startles him, but there are audible gasps from the gaggle of reporters, and Dean turns, sees Castiel approaching.

Castiel takes the vacant seat at Dean's left and leans over, bending the mic toward him. "You should know he didn't have his curveball today, or is it not your occupation to know the game of baseball?" he continues, eyes blazing.

So he speaks English after all.

Dean stares, because he can’t not. Because this is the closest he’s ever been to Castiel Novak, and his clenched jaw looks even sharper in profile, his nose proud, the corner of his mouth that Dean can see curved down in an expectant frown.

LA Times flounders, says, "Well, I was leading up to—I wanted to know if he's worried at all. See, if his best pitch isn't landing—“

"So much doubt," Castiel interrupts. "Where were all these concerns when I gave up four runs to the A's two days ago?"

Then Castiel's interpreter—Balthazar—is there, grabbing Castiel by the elbow, hissing something inaudible in his ear.

Castiel rolls his eyes, clears his throat, grabs the mic again. "My apologies."

Balthazar leans in, says, “No further questions,” and straightens.

Castiel gets to his feet and looks at Dean, and his cerulean eyes are surprisingly warm. He seems startled to find Dean looking back, and his gaze darts away quickly.

Then they’re out of the room, and a different reporter, this one from the Athletic, pipes up, “So uh, did you know Castiel could speak English?”

“Think Balthazar just put the kibosh on any questions about Castiel,” Dean says.

The Athletic looks disappointed but says, “It’s clear you struggled in the first, but you really settled in for the next three innings. What helped you regain focus?”

The rest of the ordeal goes smoother, everyone on their best behavior after Castiel’s interruption, and Dean has just gotten home when his phone rings.

“Dude. Dude! How could you not tell me that Castiel is your friend? No, how could you not say that he can speak English?”

“We’re not friends, Garth.”

“Bullshit,” Garth says immediately. “He was totally out there to protect you. He never does press if he doesn’t have to. And I think he just outed that he speaks English to do it.”

It’s hard to deny those points, but they aren’t friends.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Dean says. “We’ve never spoken. I’ve only said hi to him, and it was through Balthazar, as usual.”

Garth harrumphs. “I don’t believe you.”

Before Dean can protest, Garth hangs up.

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose, annoyed, before heading to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of whiskey.

He probably should talk to Castiel tomorrow, express some gratitude for his intervention. Dean’s a big boy and can handle himself, but it was unexpectedly nice to have someone stick up for him like that.

——

The next day, Dean waits until the game is about to start before entering the locker room. Predictably, Castiel is one of the few remaining players—he usually cuts it pretty close, has been almost late to several games already.

For once, Balthazar isn’t hovering over Castiel, and Dean heads straight for him, in no mood to beat around the bush.

“Got an off day tomorrow,” Dean says to the back of Castiel’s head.

It takes a moment for Castiel to turn around, face neutral. “Yes,” he says evenly.

“Got any plans?”

“No,” Castiel says.

Dean nods. “Then you’re free to grab a coffee with me?”

“Yes,” Castiel accepts immediately.

“Damn it, Castiel,” says Balthazar from behind Dean, and Castiel’s eye roll is even better when Dean can see it straight-on rather than in profile. “You’re going to put me out of a job.”

Castiel responds in Enochian, and Balthazar barks out a short word that by tone Dean figures is a curse word.

“Give me your phone,” Castiel says to Dean, hand held out, and Dean tugs it out of his pocket, hands it over.

Balthazar lets out an irritated huff and hovers impatiently while Castiel types his number into Dean’s phone.

Dean accepts his phone back, doing his best to ignore the tingle he gets when their fingers brush on the handover, and says, “I’ll text you.”

With a wry twist to his lips, Castiel says, “That’s the idea.”

Then he heads for the dugout, Balthazar trailing behind him, complaining in Enochian.

Dean looks down at his phone and snorts when he sees that Castiel has entered “Unicorn” for his name.

And Dean had thought he didn’t have a sense of humor.

[clairity-org]

William-Adolphe Bouguereau, The Broken Pitcher, 1891, Oil on canvas, 11/23/22 #legionofhonor #artmuseum by Sharon Mollerus

[greenllamas]

The Sangria Collection (7 items) | greenllamas

The Sangria Collection consists of 7 new items to dress your sims up in for a perfect dinner at dusk, ready to enjoy the last of the summer with a pitcher of red sangria nectar.

This collection includes:

2 Hairs

2 Tops

2 Bottoms

1 Fullbody

Shoes featured are by @sentate. The boots are from the downtown collection.

notes:

All items have LODs, shadows, spec, and bumps + custom thumbnails so you should be able to find everything in the same place as the rest of my stuff in CAS.

All items are tagged as feminine

For more details on how many swatches each item has + the names visit the item index linked below.

If there are any issues with the items PLEASE let me know and I will try to get them fixed asap!

🔗DOWNLOAD (free)  | Item Index | instagram

[destieliscanon5nov]

Deancas baseball au unfolding at full speed in front of my eyes

[snailspng]

Random PNGs, part 194.

(1. Wedgwood majolica nautilus shell pitcher (c. 1870), 2. Octagon book with case (?), 3. Italian dish from ca. 1520, 4. Narcisse costume design by Léon Bakst (1911), 5. “Crown of Thorns” hand-blown glass by Michael Hussar, 6. Early 1900s French theatre or opera costume tunic, 7. Rainbow Laguna Agate, 8. (?), 9. Victorian enamel snake pendant.)

[lionofchaeronea]

A New Pitcher Plant from the Limestone Mountains of Sarawak, Borneo (Nepenthes northiana), Marianne North, ca. 1876

[dontlikeconflict]

Short idea for a Demon Dean oneshot that I'll never finish, from when Demon Dean is tied up at the bunker waiting for Sam and Cas to cure him

"c'mon Cas.... what? you dont like me like this?" Dean taunts, bound to the chair as Cas stands before him, knowing he shouldn't have come down here, but not being able to help himself

Cas' silence is taken by Dean as sign to continue "I'm willing you know, already all tied up in a pretty package" he flexes his hands, making the rope pull at his skin as he smirks up at Cas with an expression that Dean never used before he became like this "we both know you want too... I've always noticed how you look at me, how you follow me" he lets his tongue dart across his bottom lip and Cas cant help the way his eyes fall to the motion "go on Angel, you can do whatever you want to me, if you and Sammy are so dead set on curing me then this could be your only chance"

The words rang true in Castiel's mind. He tried to keep a blank expression, but this was still Dean. He couldn't stop from showing his desire, his longing, and the dreadful way it mixed with the horror he felt at the distortion of Dean Winchesters soul. He finally spoke up, needing to refute what he was saying, to deny it all, like a Winchester would. "Dean, you're my friend, I consider you family but right now you are not yourself"

the words are said with truth and conviction but are still met with a harsh laugh "Friends don't act this way Cas, friends dont wait until they think their friend is asleep so they can sneak into the bathroom and touch themselves thinking about said friend"

Cas flushed, he couldn't deny it had happened a few times. The closer acquainted with humanity Cas became, the more various human acts began to interest him. He didn't masturbate frequently, but when he did it was always to lingering thoughts of Dean, ones that he couldn't get out of his head without doing something about it.

This version of Dean laughed before making his voice deeper, but also making it come out in a soft and breathy tone "Oh Dean, oh wow" he mocked, desperately wanting a reaction out of the angel. He didn't get one, so he changed his tactics, allowing his voice to take on a perfectly casual tone as he asked "so in these fantasies, are you the pitcher or the catcher? because let me tell you, I've thought of it both ways but mostly I think I like the idea of you bending me over and having your angelic way with me, huh Cas? What do you think"

"I think that this isn't you, Dean." he couldn't keep the strain from his voice

"oh Cas, I'm different but this is all me. All American, apple pie eating, Dean Winchester" The grin on his face turned to a smaller smirk "You know I thought about all this stuff before I went all...." he allowed his eyes to flash pure black, knowing how it would unnerve Castiel "you could say I had a few of my own sneaky trips to the bathroom, the only difference is that before I was too chicken shit to say anything about it. To do anything about it" as he spoke those last words he allowed his eyes to slowly scan over Cas' body "but now, well, I think seeing an angel beg for me would make me feel great"

[deancas-stabfest]

STABFEST 3: RETURN OF THE STAB

Hello lovely stabbers!

September 1st is upon us again, and with it comes A NEW ROUND OF STABFEST.

Some things are the same as previous years:

Each work must contain a STAB between either Dean and Cas (a la Lazarus Rising) or between two or more female SPN characters.

There will be a claims process to match up pitchers and catchers--but we're not limited to fic first like a regular bang or art first like a reverse bang. You can do either, or both!

Some things are different:

We're no longer limited to just fic or art! You can create any kind of fanwork your heart desires--as long as it can be displayed online. (Apologies to the perfume hobbyists. You are valid <3)

Fanworks which consist of multiple chapters or sections are now permitted to spread out posting! The posting period is still just 7 days long, so you can't keep the audience on tenterhooks forever, but it does give you some breathing room.

There is a NEW STICKER: Om Nom Nom! You get this sticker if your fanwork includes BITING. (The biting doesn't count as a stab. We just like it.) There may be a second sticker making its debut... but that depends on who loses the battle of wills between the mods.

We hope we get plenty of returning stabbers, and we're also happy to welcome any FRESH MEAT new people! Whether you're new to the fandom, new to the concept of bangs, or a crusty old veteran who just didn't have time for us before--come on in, and spread the word!

SIGN UP HERE

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[friendswithclay]

“Pitcher decorated with ibexes”

Iran

ca. 800–600 BCE

[metmuseum]

Cream Pitcher. ca. 1795. Credit line: Gift of Elizabeth Hazard and Marion H. McVitty, in memory of their mother, Mrs. Lauriston H. Hazard, 1960 https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/2712

[random-brushstrokes]

Julien Binford - The White Pitcher (ca. 1940)

[golby-moon]

not exactly someone who listens to a lot of music but I entered the @destielbeatlesminibang anyway and oh no this was created based off the song "Anna (Go to Him)". and yeah idk why I did these weird outlines instead of my usual thick black ones either

okay so a major theme in this fic is a card game called Munchkin which I've never heard of before this fic. I've been told it's unpopular and it's funny that Dean and Cas are so serious about it because it's such a dumb game and what better to reflect that than a banner featuring a game night for messy teenagers? admittedly I may have gone overboard on the pizza grease and may or may not have forgotten to put more places for names and credits uh

fun fact but the cards are all actual Munchkin cards that I found pictures of online. some of the cards like the Friendship Potion one are symbolic for the fic, some reflect the show itself (Pitcher of Cheap Beer because Winchesters, Duck Holiday because it reminded me of destiel cowboys in that one episode and also because Dean definitely has that card pack), and others are just there because they're silly (like the Horse Radish). also fun fact but the box the title is on is a card holder box thing I saw on Google, not just some random box yay

I don't think I've ever drawn people dancing before (pretty sure I would've remembered suffering through drawing those hands ghfjfjfjfu) but I just had to give it a try for this one, featuring Dean and Cas being all awkward but loving to reflect their new relationship and also Charlie and Anna hanging out in the background there. also rest assured Cas' tie is indeed backwards, it's just a little hard to see here

I have Charlie with shorter hair to distinguish her from Anna and I learned over the course of this bang that people don't wear socks with high heels usually?? I thought it'd be like extra padding because those look painful???? anyway Charlie doesn't care about normal though so she's wearing Harry Potter flavored socks and Anna's in more traditional uh nylons I think they're called which meant I had to draw bare feet but I think it came out okay at least. also fun to push myself to draw new things for bangs which is kinda why I started doing them in the first place so yeah. anyway

the fic this is made for is called "Anna, Go to Him" by @butterflyslinky for the destiel beatles minibang

(06/27/24)

[stusbunker]

Spotless: Eco

Chapter Eleven

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean/Bela

Other characters: Bobby, Bela, Dick Roman and Kobe Bryant mentioned (look, he wasn't supposed to be here but I did my research and well, he had to be), Anael, faceless paps

Word Count: 1683 with pictures

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, tour planning, brunch and shopping with Bela, unbeta'd

Series Masterlist

“Okay, well the official schedule from the touring company arrived, so I have maybe a week to set up the promo interviews before they announce it publicly,” you said over the phone.

“Yeah, with Crowley it’s probably gonna be sooner. Annie’s gotta find someone to step in for the whole year with this so she’s already interviewing. Let me know if you need anything, because I’m just sitting on my hands until we’re actually rolling out,” Bobby replied solemnly.

The give me something to do, please, was implied.

“Check with Benny and his boys, I know the label is supplying some guys too, but I trust you to secure the crew and security schedules,” you said as you made another note on your ever increasing list of to do’s.

Two months may have seemed like a long time, but it was the shortest turn around you’d had for a tour since taking over as publicist for Phantom Traveler and you’d be damned if you fucked it up.

“With the holidays coming up, we’ll be in a pinch to get everything nailed down. But all the commotion with Bela and everything, people will be chomping at the bit to get actual news,” you added, staring unfocused at your computer monitor.

“And he’s got that interview coming up you said, just Dean for that one?” Bobby asked.

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I really hope Meg doesn’t eat him alive. But it’s his chance to give his side of things and for people to see where his head is at now.”

“The sassy little brunette, right?”

“The very one.”

“Is it going to be a tit-for-tat thing? Is Cas gonna be next for a tell-all?”

“Bobby, I don’t think Cas would do an interview and talk bad about Dean even if they paid him. He’s moved on.”

“If you say so, Dean didn’t exactly play nice.”

“He must have had hundreds of offers for the dirt since leaving the band. And everything I hear about him now is just about the kid he’s working with and how they’re creating something unique.”

“I just know how that reporter liked him— the last time.”

“I’m sure she’s going in with the bias against Dean here. Time will tell if she can be swayed,” you admitted. “Plus, Dean won't be alone. We made sure there'll be a few of us there to make it easier.”

“To keep him from making a damned fool of himself you mean.”

“Basically.”

Bobby sat on the other end of the line with his gruff silence before continuing, “you going home for Christmas?”

“Yeah, got the usual stuff with my folks for Christmas Eve then I’m helping Ellen on Christmas day. I’m flying so I won’t be gone more than a few days. Probably end up spending half of it at airports with my luck.”

“Okay, just checkin’.”

“You guys have any plans?”

“Just service on the night before and maybe something with Annie’s cousins. Might just be a train of open houses.”

“Wow, I’m impressed.”

“Hey, I didn’t say I’d enjoy myself.”

You laughed and wrapped it up with a promise to touch base before you left town. The next two days were a whirlwind of emails and phone calls. You put off confirming brunch with Bela for Sunday, but relented from guilt, as she now had regular visits from paparazzi outside her townhouse due to her and Dean’s night club-hopping. You finished up your Saturday errands and plopped yourself onto your stationary bike in a last ditch effort to fend off your restlessness until it was a reasonable enough time to crash.

God, your life was so exciting.

Bela poured you another glass from the endless pitcher of mimosas. “Anyway, I guess Dean got us tickets to the Lakers’ game tomorrow night, like I actually care about baseball.”

“Basketball,” you corrected, taking a sip.

“Exactly,” Bela smirked.

“How good are the tickets? He doesn’t really follow it either,” you continued, worried they’d be in an embarrassing section.

“I think he said something about getting the label’s box for the game?” She tried to play innocent.

You almost spit out your drink. “The entire box?”

“It’s not floor seats’ exposure, but it will be worth it at least. I think he said he called in a favor with Dick?”

“Dick Roman is giving Dean access to his exclusive luxury box at the Staples Center?” You were floored, you opened your phone and googled who they were playing. “Holy fuck, they’re retiring Kobe’s number tomorrow. It’s going to be insane. There’s no way that box isn’t gonna be packed, but at least you can bump elbows with the uppity ups.”

“Kobe Bryant, yeah? He was quite prolific,” Bela seemed pleased. 

“Uh, yeah, played his whole career here,” you added, but put your phone away. Unwilling to text Dean a ‘wtf’ text while you still had another hour of drinks and foodstuffs to get through. “What are you going to wear?”

Bela slid her most compelling face on. “I was hoping we could find something together. It’s been ages since we drunk shopped. Plus, it’s the holidays so I will need to be a bit tipsy if I want to deal with the crowds.”

You had literally nothing left to buy for Christmas, but drunk shopping was a time-honored tradition between the two of you. Plus, it was fun watching Bela work her magic and pull a stunning outfit together out of seemingly discordant pieces.

“Three stores and I’m getting my own ride home, missy,” you warned with a firm pointer finger.

“Of course!” Bela chuckled and tucked into her eggs, eyes flitting back to you with conspiratorial delight.

You finished off your mimosa and finally saw to your french toast.

Bela’s driver took you to all of her favorite haunts and naturally she weaseled her way in to see the best stylists, at least those who were actually on hand on the Sunday afternoon before Christmas. At Sister Jo’s boutique, the owner herself greeted Bela with a double cheek kiss and hug. 

“What are you doing here? Wait, don’t tell me, you need an outfit asap because your little rocker boy toy needs arm candy,” the woman, who was actually named Anael, teased.

“You know me too well,” Bela replied. “This is my dear friend, Y/N, and we’re a bit on the tilt from brunch, but I simply had to come see you. I need something casual and sexy. It’s for a basketball game.”

You waved as she nodded in your direction, not wanting to break the momentum.

Anael frowned and looked Bela over, with much consideration. Then she hummed before asking, “how do you feel about hats?”

Nearly two hours and a top off on champagne later (to keep your buzzes going), you and Bela walked out of the shop with a bag each and a receipt ensuring Bela would be back in the morning for the alterations on the remaining garments.  

“Well, I’d say that was a successful outing,” Bela said with pride, the pink in her cheeks the only hint of her lingering inebriation.

“I’d say,” you agreed, opening the back door of her pre-ordered ride. “I still can’t believe they had something that would work for me for New Year’s.”

Bela waited on the curb until she could slide in the other side, but continued your trail of thought. “Anael is good people, if she likes something, she carries it. Doesn’t matter the size or price, she is all about how an outfit makes you feel,” Bela explained.

“Well, it worked, because I just spent more on myself than I have the entire year because of how good it felt on, so I get it,” you said, patting the bag at your feet.

Bela confirmed your address with the driver and then hers, thanking them for going out of their way in a way that she wasn’t actually apologizing for being a burden.

“You got eyes on you lady,” the driver warned, pointing towards the corner where a camera lens was trained on the car.

“Ignore them, they’ll find someone else before they follow us very far,” Bela promised and you could see her almost glaring at the rearview mirror for the driver to get the lead out.

You sat on the couch in your robe and sleep pants, hair still wet and wrapped on top of your head. You had crashed for a late afternoon nap after shopping and had rebounded with a blissfully long shower and skincare treatment. Now you watched mind numbing television and plotted out your schedule for the coming week. Even though it was cut short with holiday travels, it was full-to-bursting with things to get done.

You sighed and dragged out your suitcase from under your bed, dropped it on the couch and unzipped it to start packing. At least you could watch something while you organized. 

Just after ten your phone buzzed with a text message. You ignored it for a minute until you could find the remote beneath your pile of socks and paused your Lord of the Rings rewatch.

You stared at the conversation with the movie still paused, dumbfounded. One, that Dean sent you a goodnight text of all things and secondly that he was going to willingly give Bela his phone to post on social media about them. Because it’s not official until they’re both posting each other, or so they say. This was going to be big for the fan girls. You already knew Becky would be emailing you the second she saw it. But as far as fanclub presidents went, she wasn’t the worst. Then again, she would be more than a little bitter if Sam and Madison were the ones flaunting their relationship.

You put a reminder in your calendar to cover an extra sweep of SM while you were waiting out Dean’s interview Tuesday morning and then you tossed your phone back amongst your clothes. You were done for the night and so you shoved your half-packed suitcase on the floor and restarted the movie.

Tagging:

@deans-spinster-witch

@mrswhozeewhatsis

@cosicas-cuquis

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

@suckitands33

@ladysparkles78

@deans-baby-momma

@stoneyggirl2

@sassy-pelican

@leigh70

@globetrotter28

@winharry

@lastactiontricia

@rockhoochie

Chapter Twelve: Hook

[naked-covered-in-bees]

Sweet Things

They’re in a diner outside Des Moines and Dean is feeling good, still high on morning sex and an easy job putting ghosts to rests with no fatalities or injuries and the diner coffee is good and across the table Cas is pouring enough pancake syrup over his French toast to put the place out of business.

Dean laughs, husky and easy. It’s a new laugh he’s discovered since Cas came back from the Empty somewhere between human and angel.

“Easy,” Dean rasps, nudging Cas’s ankle under the table.

“I like sweet things,” Cas says and in the early morning light his cerulean eyes glimmer. Angelic. “I suppose I have to learn a little more self-control.” He pats his chest under which Dean knows there is a bit of softness there that wasn’t around before. But he likes that. 

Love handles. He likes sinking his fingers into Cas’s hips when he pushes him against a motel wall.

“Must be why you like me so much.” Dean winks at him, smiling as he chews and swallows his bacon.

Cas regards him with a wry expression and doesn’t say a word as Sam returns to the bathroom and slides in next to him. 

Sam grabs for the pitcher of syrup and frowns when nothing comes out over his pancakes and sausage. 

He frowns at Cas.

“Seriously dude?”

“Cas has a sweet tooth,” Dean says knowingly.

“Oh, does he?” Sam gestures at the server behind the counter with the empty syrup pitcher. The server nods. “I couldn’t tell. He just has candy stashed all over the bunker and he puts like three spoonfuls of sugar on his cereal and he put chocolate syrup on his apple pie. His pie, Dean. That didn’t bother you?”

“It was a disgusting blasphemy,” Dean says. He leans on his hand and under the table the toe of his boot journeys up Cas’s leg. “But it was kind of cute.”

“I miss when you guys were miserable and pining.”

“I have been limiting myself,” Cas points out. “I am aware of the harm a large amount of sugar can do. I will not be putting chocolate syrup on my pie again. Although, it was an interesting experiment. I will, however, continue my romantic relationship with Dean.”

Cas looks at Sam and Dean, grinning, chuckling to himself as if he’s said something infinitely witty.

Dean covers his mouth, amused and enamored.

“Because…” Cas gestures at Dean with a forkful of French toast, blinking in the face of Sam’s confusion. “Because Dean is sweet.”

He says this just as the server appears with a fresh pitcher of pancake syrup.

That’s all it takes. Dean turns crimson, covering his face with his palm.

Cas shoves French toast in his mouth, hardly chewing before swallowing. “Sometimes he calls me sugar lips or sweet cheeks, but I believe those endearments are truer to him than myself.”

“Cas, man…” Dean murmurs. He can’t even decide if he’s pleased or mortified. But he’s definitely stupid in love. “You gotta stop.”

“Yes, please,” Sam muttered.

“But now,” Cas says smugly to Dean, “you’re blushing. Noticeably. And it’s very attractive.”

Dean can’t help it. The smile on his face busts out from the fingers he clamps over his mouth as he makes eyes at Cas.

“Most people wouldn’t call me sweet,” he mumbles.

“Really?” Cas raises a wary brow. “I think you’re adorable.”

“Okay, well I have been saying that for years.” He grabs the full syrup pitcher from the long suffering Sam. “Have some more syrup, Cas honey.”

“This is why we all have to retire,” Sam says under his breath.

[necile]

OCs as Obscure Associations

Y'all know I have to do this for Precious Ghuu. It's the law. Under a cut, because there's a looot of text. I was tagged by the lovely @faeriefrolic. Thank you!

ANIMAL: Fruit bats, or the golden lion tamarin

COLORS: Lime green, navy, lavender

MONTH: September

SONGS: March of the Martians (not just because she's an alien. The whole vibe of the song is very whimsical and goofy)

NUMBER: 7

PLANTS: Pitcher plants, venus flytraps, lilies

SMELLS: Bubblegum, vanilla, banana

GEMSTONE: Watermelon tourmaline

TIME OF DAY: Evening

SEASON: Spring, Autumn

PLACES: Space (duh), parks, gardens, the fish section at pet stores

FOOD: French toast, candy, popsicles

DRINKS: Lemonade, carbonated drinks

ELEMENT: Air

ASTROLOGICAL SIGNS: Libra

SEASONINGS: Cinnamon sugar, red pepper flakes

SKY: Blue, or slightly overcast

WEATHER: Bright and sunny

MAGICAL POWER: Not being attracted to anyone except married folks😑

WEAPONS: None.

SOCIAL MEDIA: Tumblr or Twitter

MAKEUP PRODUCT: Purply-blue blush and lipstick to match, but very subtle

CANDY: Gumballs

METHOD OF LONG DISTANCE TRAVEL: Flying saucer

ART STYLE: Surrealism

FEAR: People, not being near her plants

MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE: Nagas

PIECE OF STATIONARY: Fountain pen

THREE EMOJIS: 🛸🌱🌼

CELESTIAL BODY: Saturn

I tag: @lillygrovesims, @blackbriarsraven, @nikatyler, @keoni-chan, @strange-sim, @cas-sims, and whoever else would like to participate!

[jadeseadragon]

Allie Alvis @book_historia

Handpainted pattern book for ceramic plates and pitchers from Thomas Dimmock and Son, ca. 1857.