Posts tagged castiel.
queen-of-france asked: Ahahaha ALL OF THE SHIPS. York/Carolina (in light of more recent episodes)? Wyoming/Tex? Sarge/Tex? Kara/Batgirl? Harley/Ivy? Cas/Dean?
ALL OF THE SHIPS. ALL OF THE AWESOME SHIPS.
- Rate it on a scale of 1 to 10: 10! They were my first real not-canon-approved ship in RvB. They’ll always have a very very special place in my heart because of that.
- Tell what I like/don’t like about it: I love how their personalities interact and fit together, how they can find strength in each other, and I hate/love how tragically they end.
- Write a small fic: York was kind of curious why, exactly, the twins had asked to watch him and Carolina during sparring practice. He got his answer when, after they were done and he was walking past South, she grinned and said, “so is the sex just as good, or…” North smacked his sister in the arm, which didn’t seem to faze her, and York turned around with a grin and answered, “better.” North’s cheeks got a little more color and South just grinned in triumph at her brother’s flushed face.
- Rate it on a scale of 1 to 10: Would have been a 3 before this week’s episode and the mustache. Now it’s a 2. I can see it, but I can’t see her tolerating that caterpillar. Or Wyoming himself for very long.
- Tell what I like/don’t like about it: What I like is the potential for hilarity. Especially now with the mustache. What I don’t like is, I guess, is the dynamic of them. I just have a hard time seeing them as anything but a complete crack ship.
- Write a small fic: “Remember how we met, Wyoming?” Tex would ask smugly. He’d frown under that mess of facial hair and murmur something like “yes, I tried to kill you,” and she’d respond with “‘tried’ being the operative word,” and they’d go back and forth with the snark that came so easily to her, and so often easily to him, until she sometimes called him Church. He’d let it go, but for the rest of their conversations his voice would droop a bit lower, his smile a bit forced, his speech a bit more British, futile efforts to distinguish himself from a memory.
- Rate it on a scale of 1 to 10: 4, and it’s all because of Nem. Before her fanfics and ideas, the thought of Sarge and romance was kind of…not an option. XD
- Tell what I like/don’t like about it: What I like is Sarge and robots. What I don’t like is the idea of Sarge and
anyone other than his shotgunwomen.
- Write a small fic: Sarge couldn’t deny the absolute efficiency of Carolina, but there was something off about the new freelancer. Perhaps it was all the ways she was so very similar to the old one, and the one flesh and blood and human way she was so very different, but efficient or blue or freelancer or not, Sarge had a small space in his heart that resented the newcomer, even if he could never really figure out why.
Kara/Batgirl (I’m going to write in Steph Brown Batgirl here)
- Rate it on a scale of 1 to 10: 10 as friends (loooove them!) and probably a 6 as romantic anything because Steph has got her eyes on other people. And Kara might too?
- Tell what I like/don’t like about it: THERE IS NO BAD. THEY ARE PERFECT TOGETHER AND BESTEST OF FRIENDS AND BFF (which is already plural).
- Write a small fic: “It’s weird,” Steph said, frowning. “It’s not weird, it’s…super.” Kara’s text insisted. “I don’t see why we can’t just use phones,” Steph pressed on. She was talking to herself out of her window while Kara was…somewhere. Across town, maybe? Somewhere within range of super hearing, anyway. “Or at least let me text you back rather than just talking to myself-” “This is better, it’s like high tech soup cans with the wires…isn’t that what Earth children do to communicate?” Steph rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Kara, just let me actually call you. Please? You’re trying to recreate a Calvin and Hobbes cartoon.” “A what? I’m not sure how to use this thing. It does voice?” Kara’s text read, and Steph finally sighed in defeat. “Nevermind. But you’ll have to explain to my mom why I’m sitting in my room talking to myself with the window open.” “Like that’s unusual for you. ;)”
- Rate it on a scale of 1 to 10: 10. 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10!
- Tell what I like/don’t like about it: The only way to make these two more crazy is to put them together. Of course I love this pairing. :D
- Write a small fic: “I can play doctor,” Harley said firmly. “I got one of them degrees hangin’ on my wall next to the toy gun and the acid-spitting flower!” Ivy looked at her friend with a sigh and said, calmly, “any degree hung up next to a deadly clown prop is invalid.” Harley crossed her arms and sat down on the couch with a huff, until Ivy rolled her eyes and handed the girl back the stethoscope.
- Rate it on a scale of 1 to 10: 10. We all know it’s there, even if some of us (including me) are still clinging to denial.
- Tell what I like/don’t like about it: I love all of the undertones of them and being together, romantically or not, all their interactions and every heartwrenching easy-to-read-into-glance. I hate that it’s not, technically, canon.
- Write a small fic: When Dean handed him the trenchcoat - full of symbolism and hope and more than a twinge of desperation - the first thing Cas noticed was the smell. It didn’t smell like him anymore, or the swamp he lost it in, or the trunk of the car it had supposedly been sitting in for the longest time - it smelled like Dean.
SPN: Nightingale in Stockholm
When it comes down to it, Daphne was just afraid he’d leave.
It wasn’t that she was desperate. She’d had plenty of suitors and offers before this. And when this strange man who remembered nothing of his life ran into her, naked and lost, she thought it her duty as a good person to help him find his way.
She took him in and purchased clothes, telling her friends at church about him for the added security this offered. She did, after all, have a complete stranger in her house.
He did not seem to know or care what name he would prefer, but after a few days she found it would help her to give him one. He seemed apathetic to the idea so she feigned excitement and encouragement where he lacked it.
“How about Emanuel?” She offered the name quietly, her hand holding her bible, the same book she had been scouring every night for some form of guidance.
“What?” the man said, studying her with that intense child’s gaze he constantly had.
“Emanuel? For your name? It means ‘God is with us’.”
“God?” the man repeated.
“He led you to me, so I thought…it seemed fitting.”
The man sat in his chair, contemplating this suggestion, before finally looking up at her with a definitive ”I like it.”
That was the first moment he seemed…he seemed like a normal human being. It was as if the name unlocked something in him and slowly brought out a man, a man who smiles and jokes, talks and laughs and forms connections with other people.
basiacat asked: Prompt! :D "And in the burst of light that blinded every angel/as if the sky had blown the heavens into stars/you felt the gravity of temper grace falling into empty space/no one there to catch you in their arms."
In the months that Castiel defied heaven and everything he lived for in the name of two stubborn human boys, he often thought of Anna; at first as some kind of a role model, and then with the tiny seeds of jealousy that felt so unfamiliar in his mind. She fell to Earth, defied and escaped and lived, she fell and she was separated from herself, from her grace, and she seemed happy, in a way. Castiel thought of her and envied that it was ripped out all at once, that it wasn’t a part of her any more, because he imagined, he could only imagine, that having it pulled out of you was better than feeling your grace deteriorate and fade away, bit by bit.
SPN Drabble: We’ve Got a Thing
“He can’t see you,” Cas said carefully. The woman shrugged.
“Yeah. Well. It’s a slow day,” Tessa replied, watching as Dean sat on the hood of that stupid car he always drives around. Beers clinking with Sam. The odd parking lot overlooking a mountain’s stream. “He can’t see you either.”
“Slow day,” the angel repeated with a barely-there smile. Cas continued to stare at her. “But why are you here? You’re a reaper.”
“And you’re an angel.”
“Barely,” Cas whispered under his breath. “Are they going to die?”
She looked at Dean before she responded. Looked at him smile as Sam was correcting his story from their childhood, interjecting “I wasn’t scared” and “that’s not what happened” and the occasional smack away of a barely-offending pointing finger. She looked at him and glanced at her invisible companion. “Not today.” She shrugged her way back to the two brothers. “Not that death means anything to them anymore. You angels just pop them right back, two good-as-new vessels.”
“So you’re here to lecture me,” Cas said with a certain resignation that showed he was almost asking for it.
“No. I’m here because…because we’ve got a thing.” She nodded to Dean, on his beloved Impala. Cas followed her stare.
“I don’t understand,” he confessed after a moment.
“I’m his reaper.”
“I didn’t think humans get personal reapers,” the angel said, as unassumingly as he could.
“Humans aren’t usually repeat customers.” She crossed her arms and turned her face and body towards Cas with a sigh. “Every time he dies, Castiel, I guide his soul to move on, and he goes to heaven, and you guys send him right back.”
Cas managed to make a show of looking guilty, even though he was far removed from heaven at this point. His faith had found a new focus now. “He doesn’t remember,” Cas realized.
“He shouldn’t remember,” she clarified. “So sometimes I stop by. To see what he does with the days he’s alive.”
“But you don’t show yourself.”
She smiled. “Like I said. We’ve got a thing.”
SPN Drabble: Lost in Translation
Sometimes Castiel thought that the Enochian-to-English dictionary had really - what was the phrase Dean used? - dropped the ball.
“Faith” was an interesting word because in English it was belief and a choice. In Enochian, it was a given mandate. It was belief in something real, something that doesn’t need faith because you can take it as fact. The English word for faith carried more meaning, just like life carries more meaning, because it can stop existing. For whatever reason the individual human desires, they can cast away their faith yet still live as a good person. Angels can cast away their faith, Castiel supposed, but they can’t expect to live afterwards.
In English, “devotion” was commitment. It was sticking with someone even when you thought they were wrong because they would stick by you. Or because they wouldn’t. Humans form a strong attachment to people, places, things. They become devoted to whatever they think they can’t live their lives without, and they’re with it for as long as they possibly can be. Dean was devoted to his car. Completely committed. With the Impala to the very end. In Enochian, “devotion” meant “obedience”. There was no poetry behind it, or room for attempts to challenge it. There was just that, just devotion, and no alternative. Not for angels.
In Enochian, the dictionary defined “love” as dedication, devotion, loyalty, trust. You felt love towards God, your father. Towards you fellow brothers and sisters. In English, as far as he could tell, they had added one other characteristic. A need. In English, in human, love is a need you can’t shake. It’s why Castiel watches these two brothers die to save the other, knowing that neither can live by himself, yet doing it anyway.
Just a few words, out of many, yet they seem to Castiel to be the most important in the entire book. He finds it funny now when Zachariah throws around these words, easily, foolishly, assuming they mean the same thing in both languages. Assuming he knows what he’s saying. Assuming he can predict what the brothers would do, because they’re motivated by the angels’ ideas of faith, devotion, love.
Castiel often suspected that the language barrier was the reason Sam and Dean managed to scrape by and get away so often, so easily, from right under their noses.
SPN Self Prompt: There Are No Angels Here
“I don’t know, man,” Dean said, frowning. He didn’t think it was a difficult question, in theory, but Castiel’s earnest way of asking it had made him doubt his sarcastic, smartass reply. “Sammy’s the one who prays, he knows more about this stuff.”
Castiel seemed to shake his head at this. “I think you’re the more appropriate choice to answer this question.”
“I didn’t even believe in angels, Cas, why would I be the better one to ask? Who the fuck cares how humanity views them?”
“Yet you went to bed every night as a child certain that angels were real.” Castiel paused as Dean’s expression changed. “I seem to have upset you.”
“Don’t talk about that.”
“But it is directly related to the point I’m trying to-“
“Don’t, ok? Just don’t.”
Castiel stopped talking, staring at the floor and patiently waiting out a turn for the worse in Dean’s mood that he’s not sure how he set off just yet. “I’m only trying to understand,” the angel eventually said.
“Understand what?” Dean replied with the same tone of cautious uneasiness he carried in the beginning of the conversation, before his childhood was ever brought up.
“Your disappointment.” Castiel noticed the look of confusion on Dean’s face and mirrored it, for lack of understanding what caused it. He was still new to this world, to this meat suit (they called them vessels, but in the end it was still just a prison he has to willingly trap himself in just to interact with the human world), he didn’t understand how or why people did things and he still thought that if he could mimic them, then that’d provide a clue.
“My disappointment?” Dean echoed back and the angel stared at him harshly, as if enough eye contact would make it all suddenly clear.
“Yes. You are disappointed with us. Disappointment comes from failed expectations. What did you expect, that we failed?”
Dean leaned back in his chair as the pieces started to fall into place. “Angels, well. Well, they wear white. They-they play harps and sit on clouds and look down and help good people when they need it most.” The next few words were said with a dry throat and a harsh tongue. “People, well, they believe they’re watching over us.”
“And our presence, it disappoints this?” Castiel gave this some further thought. “We manifest as extremely bright white lights,” he offers slowly.
“Yeah, but,” Dean sighed and made some kind of vague hand gesture that only seemed to confuse the angel even more. “You’re not righteous, Cas.” Castiel seemed to tighten his jaw in offense to this and Dean quickly added, “well, you are, you’re very righteous, but you’re not really right.” This didn’t seem to make the situation any better.
“I know I don’t play a stringed musical instrument but such conclusions seem…arbitrary.”
“You don’t have people’s best interests at heart. You don’t - you don’t look out for them. Not really. Not individually. You’re not - you’re not angels.” As soon as the last sentence stumbled out of his mouth, Dean sensed his mistake.
The man in the trenchcoat rose from the chair and suddenly “nerd angel” was the farthest thing from Dean’s mind. “We’re not your angels, you mean.”
“Yeah, I guess,” the man said hurriedly, in hushed tones, and the celestial creature next to him seemed prime to strike.
“Perhaps you should consider that you do not know what angels truly are. Perhaps you would find your disappointment is misplaced.”
“I told you, Cas, I’m not a believer, it’s not like I think about-“
Castiel talked over him with such finality that it killed the sentence, the words dying in his throat. “Perhaps you forget that the angels who walk the Earth are bound by a human body in the human world and under human rules because our father wishes it so. Because otherwise our attempts at communication cause humans immense pain.” His face focused on Dean’s and the overwhelming feeling of causing offense to this wall of heavenly obedience finally settled in the man’s gut. “Perhaps you do not value our devotion because you can turn a blind eye to faith, whereas all we are given is obedience. We cannot waver in faith. We cannot babysit every human. You place no value in our way of life because you think we have a choice, and you pass judgement on our affairs because we don’t live up to your standards. Or maybe you place no value in our existence because you know we don’t have a choice at all.”
“Cas, I didn’t mean-“
“Maybe it’s humanity that is failing. Maybe it is you who have stopped living up to our expectations. Maybe we have to remind you what angels truly are because you’ve hidden us and underestimated us, dressing us in pristine white and giving us useless musical instruments.”
“Cas,” Dean says carefully and the storm seems to pass, Castiel’s face once again settling into a neutral curiosity.
“Man has always been so proud. And for so long, we have tried to be so humble in contrast.”
“I thought you guys would care more. You know. About innocent lives. About people dying.”
“We concern ourselves with the fate of the world, not the fate of every single person in it,” came the simple, monotone, slightly rehearsed reply.
“Which is righteous,” Dean repeated stubbornly, “but not always right.”
Castiel sat back down, face impassive, deep in thought. “You say that is how the world sees us.”
“So if the world actually met us, then they would also find cause to be disappointed?”
They sat in silence for a few minutes. “You were right,” Castiel finally said, breaking the quiet. “I should ask Sam about this.”
“He’s not going to tell you any different.” Dean leaned forward. “Why does it bother you?”
“Why should I care that you expected me to be someone different, and are saddened that I am not?”
“Yeah. Who cares? We’re here to prevent the apocalypse, not start a book club and be best friends for life.”
“Because I never expect you to be anyone but yourself. Because who you are is why raising you from hell was deemed necessary. Because I am not disappointed when you fail.”
“You’re not? Really?” This was said with a half hearted smile an a small chuckle, both seeming forced.
“I expect you to do what you would do. I expect that of all humans.” Castiel stood, obviously leaving in that blink-and-he’s-gone angel way of his. “It is odd that I am not offered the same courtesy.”
“It’s… angels are supposed to be comforting.”
Castiel stared down. “You find comfort in the warriors of God?”
“We find comfort in not thinking of them like that. In glossing over everything they do for the greater good and thinking of them as something watching over us for our individual…good.”
“Then you are right.”
“About what?” Dean said apprehensively, unconsciously leaning back from the intense stare.
“Your “angels” don’t exist.”
Dean sat back in stunned silence as a small, inexplicable wind carrying the faintest of sounds of wings flapping swept the room and Castiel vanished.
SPN Drabble: Angels are not Castiel
Angels are not born with mercy.
Otherwise, how could we watch as two boys grow up, again and again, knowing they live only as shadow puppets of the original brothers, and are doomed to their fate as well.
Angels are not taught morals.
Otherwise, how can we groom a man, watching as he nearly kills himself, over and over, to save the one we know he’s destined to kill. He dies and we bring him back. He goes to hell, and we bring him back. To save his brother, until his own hands are the ones who kill him.
Angels are not raised with love.
Otherwise they would understand how these two boys put each other’s welfare above everything, above saving others, above the greater good, above the apocalypse, above man, demon, angel and god.
What angels understand is devotion.
What angels don’t understand, not really, is family.
When they look at the two boys, angels see devotion and loyalty. Angels see strength of character. Angels see two brothers, two vessels, two perfectly poised pieces in the grand scheme of things. They don’t understand love, morals, mercy. They understand following orders. They see the two brothers and they see Cain and Abel, they see servants of the divine plan, they see destiny.
When I look at the two boys, I see family.
SPN Drabble: Best Laid Plans
So I don’t actually ship Destiel
But if I did..
and if I had just watched Free To Be You and Me…
and if I had a bit of time on my hands and an urge to write Cas…
basiacat asked: Cas and "Love is not a victory march/It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah."
Love and loyalty and devotion and trust, they were all concepts he associated with one thing, with one being, until humans took him in; they showed him how they loved with free will and stupidity and suspicion, but it was still love, still so pure, still so raw that at times he feared it eclipsed all those feelings he clung to towards his own father, all those sentiments he had for his angelic brothers and sisters, all of them redefined by this new, foreign feeling that carried an unnerving twinge of doubt and defiance.