#Cas is a streamer for some reason | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ironkissedmage · 3 years

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Sub Count

Whoops I had a small idea and once again it got a little out of hand. I tend to write more than I think I will so here’s a little treat I guess! Not sure if it’s long enough to put on ao3, so I’ll let you guys have it first.

Word Count: 2,279

Title: Sub Count

Premise: Dean and Cas have a little bit of a different life after beating Chuck. Cas has started a surprising new job and today he needs Dean’s help.

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“Dean, can you help me set something up?”

Dean looked up from where he was seated at the kitchen table, a half-empty beer slowly warming in his hands. Castiel was standing in the doorway in one of Dean’s old shirts. They really needed to go shopping for him now that he was human again, but Dean was more than a little happy seeing him in his clothes, so that could wait. Since rescuing Cas from the Empty, he has had to readjust to a life where he needs things. Dean makes sure he eats and doesn’t spend all day in bed. (That one could be a struggle sometimes; he has never seen anyone more reluctant to get out of bed than a newly human Cas.)

They have all had things to adjust to though. Sam was now the head honcho that all the other hunters called upon for help. He organized hunts and kept the bunker stocked up with rooms ready to go. To say Dean was proud would be an understatement.

Even Dean had done some adjusting after they beat Chuck and got Cas back. He helped Sam out with a few more hunts, killing the occasional vamp or stopping a witch here or there. But by now, Dean realized that he was just plain tired of hunting. He had given so much of himself and his life to it, that what he really longed for was a normal, everyday kind of job.

So that’s how they ended up here. Sam was always busy, either at the other end of the bunker or out teaming up with others to help out. Dean spent most days at his new job in the nearest town, fixing up cars. And Cas… well Cas found a new job of his own.

“I need to fix the lighting, Dean. It isn’t right for what I have planned.” Castiel deadpanned, not-so-patiently waiting for Dean to get up from his seat.

Dean released an amused sigh and pulled himself up out of his chair and followed Cas towards his room. They walked together, Cas being unusually silent.

“So, uh, what is it you’ve got planned that you need me to change the lighting for, Cas?” Dean scratched at the back of his head and turned his eyes away from his best friend. He was reminded of the confession Cas made to him not that long ago. The one Dean never officially responded to. His throat ran dry at the thought and he tried to push it back to the safe little spot it was usually stored away in his mind. He knew how he felt about that and he was sure Cas knew too. He didn’t have to say it. Not yet. Not really.

Instead of answering, Cas just swung his door open to reveal his current setup. Dean had been able to find him an old office chair by the side of the road one day at the start of Cas’s new hobby. Sam had gifted him one of his old laptops then as well. Since then, Cas has managed to upgrade a few things and obtain a decent microphone and camera. Dean never would have pegged Cas as a streamer, but apparently some people liked watching a man with rusty social skills play silly farm games. Dean thought it was endearing.

What he wasn’t sure was so endearing was the piece of clothing laid on on Cas’s bed.

“Uh, Cas, what’s that?” Dean asked hesitantly. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to know.

“It’s why you’re helping me. I reached 500 subs and this is what the people wanted Dean.”

“They wanted you to put on a maid costume?” The words came out harsher than intended, but come on, Cas.

“Yes.”

Dean blinked. “And you’re going to do that?”

“Yes. Dean, I don’t understand what is so confusing about this. Do you want to help with the lighting or not?”

Dean hesitated, but ultimately agreed. He had already said yes; it would just be rude to leave him to do it himself now. So, Dean stowed his crap and moved around the lighting fixtures. Cas had said before that he wanted something called a ring light, and Dean was beginning to understand why. The lighting setup in this place was crap. It’s not like Dean has ever had to worry about that before, but it certainly posed an issue now.

“You know, Dean,” Cas spoke up as they finally agreed on the outcome of the lighting situation, “They have also expressed interest in having you here with me. You are welcome to stay for the stream.”

Dean thought he was going to choke.

“Wh-what? Cas, how do they even know about me?” He wouldn’t admit it, but he would be nervous enough in front of a camera, but next to Cas as he was in that, Dean wasn’t sure he would survive.

“I talk about you a lot. You are my best friend, Dean.”

And there it was. The proverbial knife in his chest again. Best Friend. It’s not like it wasn’t a title he had forced on them, even after Cas’s confession. Still, it hurt when Cas talked about them like that.

“Well, fine then. I guess, uh, call me back in when you’re… ready.” Dean scratched at the back of his neck while he spoke, eyes averted from Cas’s gaze.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, Dean. It was only an offer.” Cas clarified as he pulled off his trenchcoat. Dean’s breath got caught in his throat.

“No!” He coughed, cleared his throat, and tried again. “No, uh, I’ll do it. I’ll just… give you a minute.” Dean rushed out the rest of his words and swiftly removed himself from Cas’s room, shutting the door behind him. He had to compose himself before seeing Cas in that thing.

Leaning against the door, Dean forced himself to think about what he wanted. He had gotten out of the life for the most part. He had an ex-angel living a few rooms away from him who was in love with him and who he loved back but hadn’t had the guts to say it. What the Hell was he so afraid of? Losing him? Of course that had always been part of it, but now? They beat the biggest bad you could think of and their days of running headlong into danger were over. His other obstacle was thinking Cas couldn’t love him the way Dean loved Cas. But that too had been proven not to be the case. So what the Hell was he still pussy-footing around like this for?

The door swung open from behind him and he stumbled back into the room, his back hitting square against Cas’s chest. They both tumbled to the floor, a flailing heap of limbs grasping at each other for purchase. They landed hard and Dean’s weight firmly pushed Cas into the firm ground.

“Shit.” Dean hissed, quickly rolling off of Cas and kneeling beside him to be sure he didn’t break anything. “You okay?”

Cas groaned. “Yes, I’m fine.” It sounded strange and he sat up, rubbing at his elbow. That’s when Dean’s brain caught up with his eyes. Cas was crumbled on the floor -checking himself for bumps and bruises- in the maid dress. It frilled above his knees, enticingly short. The small apron on the front wrinkled over his lap from the fall and Dean could just picture how short the dress would be if he stood up. The sleeves were poofed, a thin line of lace running around the edges to keep it tight on his arms. Dean could never have imagined Cas looking this good in something like this. It should look silly, but Dean was entirely sure he was liking it.

“Cas-” His words broke off as they fled his mouth. Cas looked up from his personal assessment to rake his eyes over Dean.

“Yes, Dean?” Cas’s eyes were stormy and Dean couldn’t read them. Instead, he inched a little closer. He wanted to say it. He needed to say it back. He had meant to do it when he first saw Cas but it never felt right. Sitting on the floor while the person of interest was dressed up in a maid costume was doubtfully the right time, but he had waited far too long already. He was done waiting.

“Cas.” He started again, more sure of himself. “I gotta say something.” Cas stiffened then and straightened himself up onto his knees, giving Dean his full attention.

“Dean, you don’t have to say anything. You know how I feel. I am happy with being your friend. I-”

“Damn it, Cas, just give me a second!” And Cas stopped. His shoulders slouched some and it hurt Dean deep in his chest to think Cas could ever think he didn’t feel the same. “Cas,” he started for the third time, “I don’t know why I didn’t say it back. I couldn’t. I don’t know. But… but I do. Cas, you gotta know I do too.”

“Dean…” It sounded like a warning. Like Cas was telling him he didn’t have to risk changing things if he didn’t want this. But Cas was as much an idiot as Dean if he didn’t know Dean wanted this.

“I love you.” He said it fast, pushing the words past his lips before his brain could think too hard about it and mess it up. When his mind caught up, he released a hasty breath and his lips involuntarily ticked up at one end. “I love you.” He said it again. And then a third and fourth ime. The more he voiced it the more it tasted like candy on his tongue. When he met Cas’s eyes, they were shiny, dewey pools gathering at the corners, threatening to overflow and spill down his cheeks.

Dean’s hands moved on their own. He came up and gathered Cas’s face in them, pulling his lips to his own and not caring how hard they crashed together. The heat of the moment was intoxicating, stealing every breath Dean could hope to take right out of his lungs. Cas was everything. He was human now and he felt like it. He tasted like it, he sounded like it. Divinity reduced into the palm of his hands.

When they broke apart, desperate for air, Dean could feel the tears sliding down his fingers.

“Dean-” Cas broke, his voice rasped and low, impossibly hungry.

“I’m sorry it took me so long, Cas. I’m sorry it took me ‘til now to say it. But, I love you. If you… if you still want this, I swear you can have it-you can have me, Cas. I’m so sorry.”

Cas let out a broken sob, lips curling up into a smile in spite of it. “Yes, Dean. Of course I still want this. God, I could never want anything but this; but you.” His laugh was chopped, but it made Dean smile nevertheless.

“Good… Good.”

And Dean kissed him again. He was greedy for it, starving for his touch. He had let himself want for far too long and now that his self-imposed obstacles had been drawn and quartered, he was going to take everything Cas would give him.

When Cas pulled away, it was with a laugh- a real laugh, low and hearty and no longer tainted by tears.

“Dean, I… I still have to do the stream.”

Dean blinked. The what?

“Hm?” He placed a small kiss at the corner of Cas’s mouth where it was upturned.

“The stream, Dean. I didn’t get in this silly thing for nothing, you know.”

Dean leaned back and surveyed Cas’s attire again. Fuck, it looked good on him. Way better than it should.

“Would you still like to join me?” The grin held mischief behind it and Dean felt his interest in his pants.

“I uh… Cas, I don’t think that’s such a good idea anymore.” He gulped. Cas just squinted his eyes in that totally-shouldn’t-be-attractive way and tilted his head with it. Dean stuttered on. “I’m not sure I can uh… behave on a livestream if you’re going to be in this thing.” Dean averted his gaze from the smirk he knew would be resting on Cas’s stupid perfect lips.

“I see…” Cas trailed off, forcing Dean to look back in curiosity. He really shouldn’t have done that. “Then you’ll just have to come back when I’m done, hm? It was very difficult to put on. Perhaps you can help me out of it?”

Dean’s jaw dropped. What was he getting himself into? He ended up nodding, far too enthusiastically, in response. That garnered another toothy grin as Cas stood up. Still kneeled on the floor, Dean could practically see all the way up the dress and he averted his gaze once more as his cheeks flared red, taking Cas’s offered hands for help up. Cas walked him backwards to the door and out into the hall.

“Good things come to those who wait, Dean. So be a good boy and wait for me, okay?”

Every tiny bit of composure Dean had hoped to hold onto flew out the window and was replaced by a frantic, bussing warmth that spread through his chest like wildfire. Holy Hell, why was that hot? Dean strangled himself for a breath, to just swallow the lump in his throat and look back up at Cas. When he did, Cas just raised a brow and shut the door.

Fuck, Cas was going to be the death of him. But you know what? What a way to go.

#lmao this was so fun to write #I might even continue it with the smut portion later on #you know #for funsies #Hailey writes #destiel #deancas #fanfic #fanfiction #ficlet #please like this silly little fic #come on #do it for me #Dean confesses #Cas is a streamer for some reason #but he's still such an old man and he plays farm games but people love him #i love him too #maid costume #cas in a lil maid dress is too powerful someone stop him

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marbleheavy · 2 years

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Marble's Official 2021 Fic Recommendations

I know that I just posted a bunch of fic rec lists but here is the for realsies one! There will probably be some crossover but I want to make sure these fics get the praise they deserve because goddamn, I read some great fics this year. in an attempt to not make this the longest list in the world, these are all fics that either were published/finished in 2021 OR I read them for the very first time in 2021!

all because you kissed me goodnight by @buoyantsaturn

(6/6) 73,861 words

"I was just waiting for everybody to settle in so I could let you all know that there’s only gonna be one rule this year, and it’s that there’s no straights allowed.” Nico heard a few laughs from the other counselors, and cracked a smile. “That’s not even my rule! That came straight from Chiron. So, sorry, looks like Annabeth and Percy are gonna have to break up. However, I am a merciful ruler, so I will allow you both to stay here to work for the summer, as long as you promise to act as gay as possible.”

And then also Ceejay’s entire Camp Counselor AU

Notable Tags: Trans Will Solace, Alternate Universe—Summer Camp

all’s well that ends well to end up with you by NikkiRA

(1/1) 4,493 words

As he is looking out across the hall in a panic, he locks eyes with Percy, who mouths move! at him. He thinks about every single person he’s ever known all shoved together in a room where he will be the center of attention for the entire day. He thinks about every eye on him. He thinks about Will’s sunny relatives judging him. He thinks, for some reason, about the green hat Bianca always used to wear.

He thinks about Will, waiting at the end of the tacky red carpet.

He moves his feet.

Notable Tags: Wedding Fluff (sobs uncontrollably)

The Ballad of Ladon Creek by @gatesofember

(31/31) 73,910 words

Doctor Will Solace had lived in the secluded Oregon town of Ladon Creek for a year when a mysterious stranger arrived and turned his world upside down.

Notable Tags: Alternate Universe—Western, Trans Will Solace

beyond all ideas of right and wrong by @xoames

(4/4) 18,819 words

THE HALFBLOODS: THE RISE, DECLINE, AND REBIRTH OF THE EARLY 2000’S BIGGEST ROCK BAND

“Well, I’m not going to point fingers,” says ex-manager Annabeth Jackson (née Chase), who worked with the band from 2000 to 2015. “There were a lot of factors… fame got to some people, others got riled up over creative enterprise, and their constant being together probably didn’t help. Not to mention the drugs, the drinking, the drama— they were thrust into the spotlight before they were ready to actually want it."

Or: one week with Rolling Stone, thirty years with the same band, one long-term relationship, a major book deal, and far, far too much press bullshit for frontman Nico di Angelo to deal with.

Notable Tags: Alternate Universe—Rock Band, Addiction, Homophobia

do you need a little space to breathe? by @buoyantsaturn

(2/2) 14,235 words

Will is a YouTuber. Nico is a Twitch streamer. mom said its MY turn to write this au.

Notable Tags: Flirting (screams and cries and throws up)

And the companion fic can’t make this wrong when I see your face by @yrbeecharmer is part of the same AU and it is exceptional!

(1/1) 12,950 words

The whole situation was throwing Nico off. He was already in love with Will, so of course he wanted to look good, to be cool, to impress him. But Will was already in love with him, so was there anything Nico could wear or say or do that wouldn’t? What if there was? What if they got there and realized whatever this was… didn’t work in person? That, face-to-face, the spark wasn’t actually there?

The Most Beautiful Sound I’ve Ever Heard by @ewtp

(2/2) 20,289 words

Nico di Angelo- the bravest person Will's ever known- was falling apart.

Notable Tags: Angst, PTSD, Eating Disorders

In which will solace’s gentle hands pay off by @pinkerpick

(1/1) 1,025 words

“Would it be okay,” Nico asks, just barely audible over the explosions on the laptop screen, “if I sat in your lap?”

will is trusted to carry nico’s weight, physical and otherwise, and for that he thanks the gods.

Notable Tags: Touch-Starved (screams and cries and throws up)

lich by @pinkerpick

(1/1) 2,609 words

He’d stand slowly, shake off whatever dust or dirt he could and he’d trudge on. There were no scars—only the phantom of pain, and the leftover blood between his teeth.

Notable Tags: he died but he got better lol

Lo-Fi Heartbeats by paint_splatt and alchemical_acrobat

(1/1) 13,285 words

Nico is an up-and-coming Twitch streamer. Will is a popular YouTuber. Shenanigans ensue.

Notable Tags: YouTube AU

magic lantern to somebody whose body casts no light by orphan_account (posting bangers 24/7)

(1/1) 5,642 words

it’s been two hundred and forty-one days, and the first human will sets eyes on looks like death in an oversized hawaiian shirt.

Notable tags: Zombie Apocalypse AU

When The Day Bleeds by Sniperks

(2/2) 24,184 words

In a world where Nico has nothing to lose, he meets a boy who shows him that there is everything to gain.

Notable Tags: Character Death, Zombie Apocalypse AU

you and i were (fireworks) by @americanbeautiies

(10/10) 33,434 words

After a few rough months and very nearly hitting rock bottom, Nico di Angelo ends up back in town. It's simple: he'll live with his sister, help her run the family flower shop, and will definitely NOT stay longer than he has to. A few months, tops, and he means it this time.

Will the too friendly tattoo artist living next door end up changing that, though?

Notable Tags: Alternate Universe—Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Slow Burn

That is all for fics, folks! I read a million amazing fics this year and I honestly could have made this list miles long so I'm gonna add some extra authors I would highly recommend!

@venusthemirror

@rainnows

@ethannku

@rosyredlipstick

#solangelo #marble fic recs #2021 fic recs #solangelo fic rec #solangelo fanfiction #will solace #nico di angelo

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goldenraeofsun · 4 years

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in my defense, I have none

A redo of the first installment of this verse!

Castiel scrawls his name on a nametag and offers Becky at the makeshift welcome desk a hesitant smile.

She beams back. “Hope you enjoy the reunion!”

Castiel strides down the familiar halls of Edlund High School and does his best not to regress to his teenage self, dodging glances and hunching his shoulders to make himself smaller. It’s been ten goddamn years; he has changed.

He passes a couple of his old classmates - he doesn’t recognize them - pointing at a poster with old pictures, excitedly naming names.

“Look at Dean Winchester, oh my god, I haven’t thought about him in years! I had the worst crush on him, you know?”

Her companion snorts. “You and everyone else.”

Castiel snorts. Everyone else, indeed.

He walks deliberately on, following the music to the gym. The bass thumps in a vaguely-familiar rhythm, but Castiel can't name the song or singer for the life of him. In high school, he didn’t listen to much contemporary music. His mother preferred the classical stations at home, and Dean, of course, only played his version of the classics in his car.

“Music stopped being good after the mid-80s,” Dean said as they drove down the dark highway, no headlights, only them. “Don’t let anyone ever tell you any different.”

Castiel doesn’t remember what he said in return, but he remembers the way Dean laughed, how his eyes crinkled, how he tapped his fingers along the steering wheel, how he looked, looking back at Cas.

Castiel steps into the reunion. The gym has been festooned with what looks like old prom decorations. Streamers hang off the walls in Edlund’s school colors, and bunches of mostly-inflated balloons are taped along the collapsed bleachers spelling out their graduating year. A slideshow of old yearbook photos flashes against the far wall of the gym.

Castiel stares out at a room full of strangers.

Inwardly, he sighs. He was hardly a social butterfly in high school. The exact opposite, actually. He can’t name a single person - except one - that would be able to put a name to his face.

“Clarence!”

Make that two.

Castiel spins around at the familiar voice. “Meg?”

He should have known. But if Castiel has learned anything over the past few years, it’s Meg Masters defies all expectations. He’d been surprised enough when she marched right up to him at his old school - Morning Star Academy - and asked him out to lunch.

After listening to him awkwardly explain that he was gay, Meg rolled her eyes and told him she just wanted to catch up. They had gone to the same high school, she said.

She didn’t seem very bothered when he said he didn’t remember her. All she did was make him pay for that first lunch, and that was the extent of his punishment for forgetting.

When Castiel took his current job at Carver Preparatory in their hometown school district, they started meeting up for drinks instead of lunch.

Meg smirks. “I didn’t think you were going to this little shindig.”

“It didn’t come up,” Castiel says distractedly as he scans the gym.

“Yet here you are, skulking the old hallways.”

“I didn’t skulk.” Castiel turns to her, offended.

“Unlike some people, my memory of high school is impeccable,” Meg says loftily, “You skulked in that coat with all those books in front of your face. I was always surprised you didn’t mow down more unsuspecting freshmen.”

“I -” Castiel breaks off, unable to deny any of her accusations. It’s true he wore his old trenchcoat nearly every day (in his more poetic moments, he saw it as a foil to Dean’s everpresent leather jacket) and he tried to shut everyone out by reading while walking from class to class.

“Don’t worry about it,” Meg says with an easy pat to his shoulder. “Teenagers are the worst. I thought I was so cool back then, with the boots and the bleached hair.” She shudders at the memory.

“I’m sure you were very cool,” Castiel says diplomatically.

Meg snorts. “You bet your ass I was not cool.” She tips her head over to where a group of well-dressed alums stand below the basketball hoops. “They were cool. And now look at them.” She sighs. “I would still set their extensions on fire if I could. Oh well, some things never change. Look at Victor. Talk about aging like fine wine.”

Castiel vaguely recognizes some of them from the poster outside the gym. But for the life of him, he can’t identify which one is Victor.

Meg smiles at his clueless expression. “You seriously didn’t pay attention to anything but your books?”

“I - ” Castiel breaks off, the faintest twinges of embarrassment curling in his gut. He paid attention to exactly one thing outside of his studies in high school.

Meg eyes him critically. “You’re usually chattier than this. I think you need a drink.” She steers him towards the makeshift bar on a folding table.

With newly acquired drinks, they retreat to the far end of the gym. Meg makes a game out of forcing Cas to try to name people from their class.

“I want to say, Jeremy?” Castiel guesses as Meg not-so-subtly points out a man at the end of the drinks line.

“Close,” Meg says with a smirk. “That’s Gordon Walker. He was captain of the football team.” She subtly points to a very pretty woman scrolling through her phone near Gordon.

“She looks like a Mina to me,” Castiel says critically.

Meg throws him an incredulous look. “How did nobody know you were gay in high school?”

“I’m guessing her name isn’t Mina.”

“Bela Talbot,” Meg corrects. “You don’t remember her English accent? Pretentious as fuck. Just like Principal Crowley - not that you have to deal with him any more, since you’re over at Carver, you lucky bastard.”

Crowley was one of the main reasons Castiel left Morning Star. In tightening the budget, he cracked down on students’ late lunch bills among other unacceptable measures. Crowley was not pleased when he found out Castiel regularly squirrelled away peanut butter and a loaf of bread in his desk for emergencies.

Castiel tried to explain it was for his lunch emergencies, but Crowley wasn’t hearing any of it. Castiel was fired, and, after a harrowing year of substitute teaching, he used his family connection to get his current job at Carver Preparatory.

“Eliot,” Castiel tries next.

“There isn’t a single Eliot in our class,” Meg says, laughing. “How can you not remember Lee Webb? He wore that stupid cowboy hat all sophomore year.”

It continues. The only person Castiel gets right is Tessa, and that’s because they had gone to the same church.

“You have to remember him,” Meg says as waves over a newcomer entering the gym.

Castiel’s mouth goes dry. Yes, he does recognize Dean Winchester. How could he forget?

Castiel might have been a friendless loner in high school with only his books for company, but he wasn’t dead. He knew who Dean Winchester was, with his leather jacket, muscle car, and stunning green eyes that would make a romantic portrait artist weep.

Castiel can recall with perfect clarity the moment he found out he’d been assigned to tutor Dean in Latin in the beginning of their senior year. A mixture of elation and dread filled his stomach before Ms. Siege had even finished speaking. He’d get to see Dean. He’d have to spend time, probably alone, with Dean Winchester. And, most terrifyingly, he’d have to open his mouth and actually say words in front of him.

When Castiel looks at Dean for the first time in ten years, he doesn’t think about when Dean would do his damndest to distract Castiel from tutoring and tease him to lighten up. Instead, Castiel remembers Dean’s flushed cheeks and grasping fingers the first time Cas made him come, and the way the Impala’s windows had fogged up, just like in the movies.

* * *

Castiel can tell the exact moment Dean spots him because he nearly trips over his feet.

“I - I need to go,” Castiel says to Meg, sheer panic flooding his veins.

“What?” she asks. “Already?”

“Bathroom,” Castiel blurts before he can think of a better excuse.

“That time of the month?” Meg asks with a faux-sympathetic frown.

Castiel doesn’t bother dignifying her question with an answer. Instead, he spins on his heel and makes for the second gym exit, the one that leads to the locker rooms instead of the rest of the school.

He breathes deep as the door closes behind him. Shivering from nerves with the close call, he takes a moment to get his bearings. Are his legs shaking?

At one of the sinks in the boy’s bathroom, he turns on the tap and pats his heated face down with a damp paper towel.

He’s such a mess, and he hasn’t even spoken to Dean yet.

What a goddamn joke. He hasn’t changed in a decade. Still running away from Dean like a coward.

Castiel has been - well, he wouldn’t say looking forward to this reunion - but he’s been mentally gearing himself up for it. Castiel promised himself, ever since he heard Dean took a teaching position at their old high school, to go to their next reunion and formally apologize.

He splashes more water on his face, grimacing as dark spots dot his tie. Somehow it’s already gotten turned around. Castiel halfheartedly fiddles with it, trying to get it to lie straight.

The door opens behind him. Castiel freezes, but it’s not Dean.

The stranger shoots him a weird look before slipping into one of the stalls.

The man’s belt unbuckles, and Castiel inwardly sighs. He can’t hide in here forever. He leaves just as the sounds of a clearly painful bowel movement start up behind him.

Right outside the gym, he steels himself. He owes this to Dean; the worst Dean can do is make a scene, and it’s not like Castiel has any plans to ever set foot in Edlund High again, anyway. He teaches at their rival school, after all.

He’s here for Dean. He can do this and go home.

Back inside, he spots Meg without difficulty. She’s alone and tapping away on her phone.

Castiel approaches her, already bracing for a wave of uncomfortable questions. “Hello, Meg.”

“Hey,” Meg says distractedly. She squints up at him. “What was with the Houdini act?”

Castiel shifts his weight to the other foot. “Where did Dean go?”

Meg jerks her head to where their ‘popular’ classmates congregate, now with one added Dean Winchester. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t.”

Meg places both hands on her hips. “I think you forget that as a fellow educator, I have a stellar bullshit radar.”

“It’s personal.”

“Come on, Clarence,” Meg says, the faintest note of pleading in her voice, “This reunion is boring as hell. Nobody’s gone into porn or killed anyone since we graduated. I’ve been robbed. You have to tell me, what did Dean Winchester do to you way back when?” Her eyebrows raise as she takes in his conflicted expression. “Or should I say, what did you do to him?”

Castiel sighs. He frowns at the floor. “In senior year we were… involved.”

“Involved how?” Meg asks, her eyes gleaming. “Don’t tell me he broke your heart.”

Castiel slowly shakes his head. “The other way around.”

“Holy shit,” Meg breathes, her eyes as round as the balloons festooning the walls. She sneaks a peek over at Dean, still standing with his group of old school friends. “You’re serious.”

“I never pegged you as a gossip, Meg,” Castiel says dispassionately.

“Call me desperate,” Meg says, waving his criticism away with an idle hand. “It’s either ten-year-old gossip or watch that fucking slideshow for the fifth time in a row. If you have anything else you’d rather talk about, I’m all ears.”

Castiel jumps at the opening. “I have been wondering,” he starts, “how other schools have been integrating the state board’s recommen-”

Meg interrupts him loudly, “Anything except work.”

Castiel snaps his mouth shut with a glare.

“Come on,” Meg wheedles, “You got the class loner act locked down, but it’s not like I particularly want to see any of these people ever again.” She gestures around the gym.

“Then why come at all?” Castiel asks, honestly baffled.

Meg smirks. “Did you not hear my comment about the porn and murder?”

“If anyone did, I hardly think they’d advertise it at their class reunion.”

“Can’t blame a girl for trying.” She shoots him a pointed look. “But we’re getting off topic. You and Dean Winchester. Spill, Novak.”

Castiel sighs. “I was assigned to tutor him in Latin at the beginning of senior year.”

“Ohh,” Meg croons, “Somebody got hot for teacher?”

Castiel grimaces at the crude reduction of Dean’s feelings. “You could say that,” he says cagily.

Meg turns to look out across the gym, her dark eyes zeroing in on Dean. “I imagine your little heart wasn’t made of stone either.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

Meg claps her hands delightedly. “What happened?”

“I ended things,” Castiel says hollowly. “We were about to graduate, and I had plans to go to college.”

“And he did not,” Meg surmises.

Castiel shakes his head. “He was considering community college.”

To set a good example for Sam, Dean had said. He didn’t particularly care for higher education one way or another, not like Castiel, who saw college as his one way out of their hometown, out of his family, out of everything he hated about his first 18 years of life.

But somehow Dean wound up getting his degree anyway - he must have, or he wouldn’t be teaching English at their old high school.

Castiel has so many questions, but the likelihood of getting answers from Dean dwindles smaller and smaller the longer he puts off doing the very thing he came here to do.

When Dean breaks off from the group to grab another drink, Castiel seizes his chance.

Meg lets him go with a half-mocking, half-supportive, “Go get ‘im, champ!”

Castiel flips up his middle finger over his shoulder as he takes off after Dean.

He shoves his tingling hands in his pockets, finds walking with his hands in his pockets awkward and removes them, and somehow doesn't bolt in the opposite direction. By the time he catches up to Dean, it’s hard to think through his cloud of anxiety.

He just needs to tell Dean he is sorry; Dean was right; Castiel should never have ended things between them like he did.

Dean always did like being right - that can’t have changed much over the past ten years.

Castiel waits for Dean to see him, staring hard at the side of Dean’s head until he’s noticed.

Dean’s eyes go round, and he almost drops his cup of beer. “Christ,” he says, staggering off to the side of the bar table. “Someone should put a bell on you.”

“My apologies,” Castiel says gruffly.

This is not how he would have liked to start his first conversation with Dean Winchester in ten years. Not that Castiel had expected much better - if he learned anything from their tutoring sessions and later hookups, Dean always had at least one surprise up his sleeve.

Dean inhales a deep breath. “Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.”

* * *

Castiel swallows nervously. All that preparation at home and in the bathroom, and not a single word comes to mind.

“How, uh, how’ve you been?” Dean asks first. He takes a quick sip of his beer.

“I’ve been well,” Castiel says stiffly. “And you?”

“Can’t complain.”

The conversation is almost unbearably awkward, even for him. How in the world did Castiel get stuck making smalltalk with Dean Winchester? So much for best laid plans.

“I heard you teach here now,” Castiel says.

“I do,” Dean says, his eyes wandering around the gym. “English. Started this year. You?”

“Latin and French at Carver Preparatory.”

Dean’s eyebrows rise. “No shit,” he says, a bitter note to his voice. “You’re teaching those elitist assholes?”

Castiel blinks. True, he didn’t expect Dean to exactly welcome him after everything, but the deliberate antagonism is a surprise. “I wouldn’t - they’re not all assholes,” he stutters. He can’t bring himself to deny the elitism. He’s loyal, not blind.

“Hm,” Dean grunts, not giving an inch. “I hope you’re not here to sabotage anything.”

“Between Carver and Edlund?” Cas asks, baffled. “This is high school, not Soviet Russia.”

Dean tips back his beer and takes a large gulp. “Tell that to the seniors who got sued over a prank.”

“They stole five hundred dollars’ worth of Carver uniforms,” Castiel says incredulously, “for an internet fad.”

Dean’s mouth twitches. “I think you mean a meme. And it was hilarious.”

“A what?”

Dean snorts. “Never mind.” His expression closes off again. “And the seniors only borrowed them. All the uniforms were returned - no harm, no foul.”

Castiel has to put a sincere effort into not letting his disgust show on his face. The whole fiasco did not endear Castiel to anyone at Carver who called for the legal case. Even if they did not make up the majority of the faculty or parents, they had the numbers (and the money) to push it farther than it should have gone.

“The parents who paid for those uniforms definitely didn’t see it that way,” Castiel says to Dean.

“Sucks to be them,” Dean smirks, “If their biggest worry is leftover sweat from an Edlunder, better not tell them how bowling shoes or vintage clothing works.”

From Castiel’s parent-teacher conferences, he’d be surprised if any Carver parent had ever stepped foot in a bowling alley. He’s positive the Naomis and Bartholomews that make up the PTA would sooner give up their second homes than voluntarily wear a pair of bowling shoes.

Dean tosses back his drink. “Anyway, it’s not like they can’t afford to get the douchey uniforms dry cleaned.”

“I didn’t say they were right,” Castiel says carefully, “In fact, I think Carver’s reaction was completely overblown, but you probably don’t want to hear about our administration politics behind the decision.”

“Nope,” Dean says, lips popping.

After a beat, Castiel asks, “How do you like teaching here?”

“Can’t complain,” Dean says as he eyes the dregs of his beer. “Bobby - Principal Singer - retired last year, but he put in a good word for me with Principal Mills.”

“I’ve heard good things about her ideas for Edlund.”

“She’s all about finally bringing us into the digital age. She’s been talking with Charlie - do you remember her?” Dean explains, “She was in our history class junior and senior year.”

The name rings no bells for Castiel. He shakes his head.

“Really?” Dean pauses. “Red hair? Queen of the Nerds?”

Castiel gives another headshake, eyes narrowing.

Dean tries again, “You gotta remember her novelty tee shirts.”

Castiel says dryly, “I think you’re vastly overestimating how much attention I paid to our classmates.”

“But-”

“Dean,” Castiel says impatiently, “You are the only person I remember from high school.”

Dean balks for a moment, his cheeks flushing. “No way,” he says flatly. “You can’t seriously - I saw you talking to Meg Masters a while ago.”

Castiel eyes the mostly-depleted drink in Dean’s hands enviously. He doesn’t have enough alcohol to discuss his social deficiencies as an adult - or as a teenager. “We worked together briefly,” he admits, “at Morning Star.”

Dean whistles. “Well, I guess Carver is a step up from that.”

“Indeed,” Castiel agrees wryly. “I was only there a year. The administration at Carver is a nightmare, but at least they’re not sadists.”

“I haven’t heard great stuff about Morning Star,” Dean admits.

“There isn’t much good that goes on in that school,” Castiel says wearily. “Principal Crowley - well, the less said about him the better. Meg hates him. The students, though,” he swallows, “they deserve better.”

Dean’s expression hardens. “They always do.”

“Anyway,” Castiel says quickly because going down that road always makes him want to smite something - preferably Crowley’s smirking face, “I didn’t remember Meg either until she told me we went to school together.”

Dean lets out a surprised laugh. “I guess you always did have your nose in a book.” He makes a face and gestures around the gym. “Then why come to this snoozefest? The whole point is to catch up with old friends.”

“According to Meg, the point is to discover who went into pornography or to prison over the past ten years.”

Dean chuckles. “You can mark me down for ‘no’ on both counts.”

“I - I had thought so,” Castiel says awkwardly.

“Oh, so…” Dean drifts off, for once at a loss for words.

As the silence ticks on, Castiel’s reason for coming to the reunion crowds at the tip of his tongue. But he can’t make the words come out.

Dean drains his beer. He lets his gaze drift away from Castiel, lingering on someone or something over Castiel’s left shoulder. “Well, it was nice seeing you, Cas, I’ll see you ar-”

“I came here to apologize to you,” Castiel blurts.

Dean’s eyes snap to Castiel’s face. “What?”

Castiel swallows nervously. “For high school.”

“Okay,” Dean crosses his arms across his chest. “A lot of things happened in high school. Specifics would help.”

Castiel inhales a deep breath. “I’m sorry for how I handled our… relationship.”

Dean’s mouth twists, his expression darkening. “I wouldn’t call what we did a relationship.”

“Right,” Castiel says, biting his lip. “Our arrangement, then. What I did - what I did to you - it’s one of the biggest regrets of my life.”

Dean purses his lips. “What would’ve you done differently?”

“Excuse me?”

“Humor me,” Dean asks, and it doesn't sound like a suggestion. “If you could go back. Get a do-over. What would you do?” His eyes narrow. “Would you have come out? Or maybe stopped me before we got down and dirty in the Impala in the first place? ‘Cause I’ve played this game a few times, and I know which one I would’ve gone for.”

Castiel thinks it over. “Rationally,” he says,slowly, sounding the word out as he tries to put the rest of his thoughts into words, “I should have kept our interactions to our tutoring sessions.”

Dean’s jaw clenches. He nods.

Castiel can’t tell if his explanation is hurting Dean further. He feels like he’s been dumped out at sea while only knowing how to doggy paddle. Mouth dry, he barrels on, “But realistically, there’s no way that could have happened, so I probably should have asked you to wait for me.”

Dean blinks in surprise, his hardened exterior cracking the tiniest fraction. “Wait?” he echoes faintly.

“I couldn’t come out in high school,” Castiel says dully. What he wouldn’t give for another drink. “If my mother got wind of my sexuality, she would have put conditions on my college tuition without another thought, or forced me to take a gap year to do churchwork or something equally horrendous.”

Dean’s tense shoulders sag. “I didn’t know that.”

“I was ashamed,” Castiel drops his gaze to the floor, “You clearly loved your family, and your father… well, even with his flaws, he seemed to accept you. My situation was nothing like that.”

“Dad didn’t know about me either,” Dean mutters.

“Sorry?” Castiel asks, raising his head.

“Dad didn’t know I went for dudes and chicks,” Dean explains. “But he was hardly around, so if I didn’t tell him and Sammy didn’t tell him, odds were he’d never find out.” He bites his lip as he meets Castiel’s stare head-on. “How long?”

“How long?” Castiel repeats, confused.

“How long would you have asked me to wait?” Dean asks, a hard edge to his words.

Castiel hesitates, wrong-footed at their backtracking conversation. “Until I had started my first semester at college.”

Dean’s mouth falls open. “What?”

Castiel frowns. “I had no plans to be in the closet after I moved away. My mother has too many connections here, with the junior league, the civics board, HOA, and who knows what else. But in my college town, she knew no one. I could finally be myself.”

Dean splutters nonsensically before he says, “You didn’t think to ask me to wait one measly summer for you to get your head out of your ass?”

“But I wasn’t just asking for ‘one summer’,” Castiel protests.

Dean’s outrage falters at Castiel’s air quotes.

“It would have been one summer and four years of long distance. I knew you had… feelings,” Castiel doesn’t pause at Dean’s wince at the word, “for me, but I had already taken so much from you. Are you saying you would have waited?”

“I don’t know!” Dean says, sounding slightly manic. He runs a hand through his hair distractedly, muttering to himself under his breath.

Castiel inhales a deep breath to calm himself down. He forces himself to look Dean straight in the eye. “A part of me was looking forward to a completely fresh start, too. But, of course, I was the same as ever,” Castiel chuckles without a trace of humor, “friendless, caught up in the details, narrow-minded. It didn’t take long to realize I was only ever a different person when I was with you.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dean says, staring right back, “I had no idea.”

Castiel shrugs. “I never told you.”

“You should’ve,” Dean says shortly.

“I should have,” Castiel agrees.

Dean bites his lip, looking conflicted. His gaze flits around the gym, behind Castiel, where undoubtedly more of their classmates vie for his attention. And, that’s good, because Castiel finally said his piece. He can go home, and never think about Edlund High School or Dean Winchester again.

(Because that worked so well when he left Dean the first time.)

Castiel takes a step backwards. Personal space, he remembers. Stiffly, Castiel says, “Anyway, that’s why I came to the reunion. To see you. To tell you that. I shouldn’t keep you any long-”

“Are you single?” Dean interrupts.

Castiel’s brain takes an embarrassingly long moment to understand the question. “Yes?”

“Do you want to get out of here?” Dean asks, a strange glint in his eye.

“I do,” Castiel says truthfully. “I don’t like social engagements.”

“Some things never change,” Dean says with a small grin. He gestures to the door. “What do you say to a drive?”

Castiel blinks.

“For old time’s sake,” Dean says, with a fucking wink.

Castiel’s mouth falls open. “I - is this a joke?” His brow furrows. “Retribution for refusing to see you outside of our… trysts?”

Dean’s face goes through a multitude of expressions Castiel can barely hope to read - shock, guilt, perhaps cautious optimism? “God no,” Dean says quickly. He coughs and shifts his weight to his other foot. “Shit, I was trying to make a joke. Sorry. Not there yet.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Look,” Dean starts, “since we’re apparently crap at asking for what we want - we’re both single,” Castiel’s eyebrows rise because this is news to him, “and this reunion is boring as hell, so I’m asking if you want to do something else instead.”

“With you?” Castiel asks because it sounds implied to him, but he can never be too sure when it comes to Dean Winchester.

Dean glares. “Yes, with me, Cas.”

Castiel chews on his lip as he tries to figure out why Dean would initiate an activity with him, apart from the obvious. As Castiel fails to come up with any sensible reason, and Dean’s foot tapping becomes audible in its intensity and speed, Castiel has to ask, “Are you asking me on a date?”

Dean throws both hands in the air. “I swear, you’re being dense on purpose. Since you need everything spelled out for you: will you go out with me, Castiel Novak?” Without waiting for an answer, Dean tacks on, “Jesus Christ, high school really never does end.”

But he doesn’t really seem all that mad. So Castiel tells him, “Yes, I’d like to go on a date with you.”

Dean grins. He jerks his head towards the door. “Wanna go?”

“But,” Castiel waves one hand in the direction of the multitude of people behind them, “aren’t there people you’d rather talk to first?”

Dean shakes his head. “Not right now, no.”

* * *

Dean takes the steps down to the parking lot at a bit of a jog. He makes a beeline to the very familiar hulking beast, parked at least three spaces away from any other car.

A frisson of anticipation thrums up Castiel’s spine at the sight, a dormant instinct he’d thought ten years dead. Castiel pauses outside the passenger side of the Impala and tries not to fidget as he waits for Dean to notice him.

“Everything okay?” Dean asks as he yanks open the car door.

Castiel asks bluntly, “Does this mean you forgive me?”

Dean braces both elbows on the Impala’s roof, his face serious. “You were seventeen.”

That’s not an agreement. It’s an excuse.

“I was old enough to know what I was doing to you was wrong,” Castiel counters.

“Come on,” Dean rolls his eyes. “If there’s anything I learned from teaching, it’s that teenagers are morons. Uncle Sam allows them to go to war and vote, but I sure as shit don’t. Kids are idiots.” His mouth lifts into a tentative smile. “Even the ones with a 4.0 GPA and perfect attendance.”

Dean taps his fingers on Impala’s roof, but he doesn’t seem impatient, more pensive. It’s a look Castiel never saw on teenage Dean. “I’m sure you were doing the best you could’ve under the circumstances. I might not have got it then, but I get it now.”

“It wasn’t perfect,” Castiel mutters as he gets in the Impala.

“Sure it wasn’t,” Dean says sardonically as he slams the door behind him and starts the engine. “It’s not like I can’t hack the old attendance records and see for myself.”

“That seems like a lot of work to make a point.”

“If you think I wouldn’t do it, you don’t know me at all,” Dean says gravely, eyes twinkling.

“Oh, I don’t doubt you’d do it,” Castiel says, “You broke into Principal Singer’s office to steal back the switchblade that you brought to school for some unfathomable reason.”

“You remember that?” Dean asks, surprised.

“Your detention derailed an entire week’s worth of tutoring,” Castiel says dryly. “We couldn’t finish Cicero in time for your exam.”

Dean chuckles. “Figures you remember that part.”

“I had also recently fingered you for the first time,” Castiel reminds him, “I was very put out about waiting a whole week to do it again.”

Dean chokes on air as they come to an abrupt stop at a red light.

“I forget very little when it comes to you,” Castiel finishes placidly.

Dean shakes his head as the light turns green. “Christ,” he says, his eyes flitting briefly to Castiel’s face before settling back on the road. “You can’t just say things like that.”

“Why not?” Castiel asks. It seems they got into this whole mess precisely because Castiel refused to say exactly what he thought about Dean Winchester.

Dean opens his mouth, but no words come out. A ruddy flush crawls up his neck and face, just visible in the darkened car interior.

Castiel runs a disbelieving hand over the dash, reading the minute grooves and divots like he’s rediscovering his favorite book. “I never thought I’d be in the Impala again.”

“You were the one who wanted to wait,” Dean rolls his eyes, “I think ten goddamn years is long enough.”

#destiel fanfic #fanfic #destiel #profoundnet #teacher castiel #teacher dean #high school reunion #human au #the story of us verse #can i joss my own fic #if so thats whats happened to the first version of this #rae writes fic

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braverbeat · 4 years

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Hi there! I came across your tumblr, and I saw that many anons were worried about how people feel about Tifa and CloTi in the Remake. I really don't know where you found the streamers complaining about Tifa's character, but they were most likely some bitter CA shippers/ Tifa antis. Tifa is as fabulous as ever , Britt Baron nailed her, and there are SO MANY new CloTi scenes, I promise you, honestly even as a CloTi shipper myself, I didn't expect that much!! 0.o Be ready to be fed !! :D ;)

Of course, people are totally allowed to have their own opinions about whichever characters they do or don’t like for whichever reasons, but this message can speak for itself. And judging how Cloud and Tifa have as of now already been praised for the romance of their relationship by name in a few reviews, the same can be said for the game ! Almost there, guys !

#answered #cloud strife #tifa lockhart #cloti #Anonymous

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jaybody · 4 years

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Are Netflix Films ‘Real’ Cinema?

Over the course of the past Decade, slowly but surely a silent war has been brewing. One between those seeking to preserve past traditions of the entertainment industry, and those who seek to distribute content on new and more easily accessible platforms. This war that I am alluding to; is between the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences, and the growing market of streaming services, such as Netflix and Hulu, among many others. The main point of contention being the debate of whether or not films created by these services, are worthy of awards recognition. This debate ties into two other factors, one being whether or not online streaming services can truly replicate the movie going experience. Yet also, with movie theater branches closing down, and more major studios developing streaming platforms of their own; is the line between television and film being erased?

The first sign of friction between the two camps occured back in 2017, when the Netflix film Okja (2017), debuted at the Cannes film festival. The film was directed by future Academy Award winner, Bong Joon Ho; who was at attendance of the festival to promote his new film, only to be met with a chorus of ‘boos’ by the audience. The negative eruption from some of those in attendance was the result of Netflix's controversial decision to release the film to french audiences, on its streaming service; at the same time as everywhere else. In her article “Netflix vs. Cannes: why they’re fighting, what it means for cinema, and who really loses”; Vox writer Alissa Wilkinson notes that this move angered the union of french theater owners, as french law dictates a thirty-six month waiting period between theatrical and streaming releases. Due to this law, Netflix instead decided to forgo the film’s theatrical release all together; taking away the union members' option to showcase the blockbuster.

In response to Netflix’s announcement to release Okja, only on their streaming service; that year’s Cannes jury president Pedro Almodovar offered his opinion on the matter. As noted in his article “Cannes: Netflix's 'Okja' Premiere Gets Four-Minute Standing Ovation After Press Screening Snafu”; Chris Gardner of The Hollywood Reporter, cited Almodovar’s claims that any film not shown in theaters was not worthy of receiving an award. Furthermore, the Spanish director’s remarks echo the same concerns of many other members of the film industry; specifically that streaming services can not replicate the experience of viewing a film on the big screen. Many members of the industry and average lovers of cinema in general, feel that movie going is at its best when it’s a shared communal experience. In other words, film’s are best seen when viewed with an audience; who can all share a first time viewing experience.

Ultimately, this all came down to Cannes festival director Thierry Frémaux declaring that if any distributor refused to release their film in french theaters, said films would be barred from entering the festival’s main competition in future years. The following year, Frémaux restated this promise, siding with theater owners; as Cannes is protective of the theaters union and the movie going experience. The director explained that as they are thinking in the best interest of Cinema culture, and on behalf of all cinema lovers, that it is in the festivals best interest to only accept film’s that have been released in movie theaters. However, as cited by Wilkinson; the director stated that Netflix would still be welcome to play their films in other non-competitive sections of the festival. In response to this offer, Netflix announced they would be pulling out of the festival entirely. Despite the streaming giant’s decision to cow-tow to Cannes; Netflix was far from having given up in their pursuit for awards recognition.

Starting in the spring of 2018, there began buzz over the prospect of a Netflix film possibly being nominated by the Academy Awards. This in turn, only fueled the debate started at Cannes even further. In his article “Film Critics Debate if Netflix Originals Should Be Considered as Real Movies — IndieWire Critics Survey”; David Ehrlich of Indiewire shared the views of many respected film critics, each offering their thoughts on the matter. One of the many cited by Ehrlich, was critic Matt Zoller Seitz; who feels that the prospect of a Netflix film being considered as an Academy Awards contender, only further blurs the line between television and film. Furthermore, In his article “Why Are Academy Voters So Pissed Off About Netflix’s Oscars Prospects?” Vulture's Chris Lee cites Academy member Peter Bart; who went so far as to say he would openly vote against any film that Netflix tried to campaign. Lee also cited Bart, as explaining that he feels Netflix has used its financial prowess to step into any domain that it pleases; adding that he doesn't want to see the company do the same to the Oscars.

However, despite the efforts of Mr. Bart, as well as I assume many others; their attempts to shut-out Netflix would ultimately fail. At the 2019 Academy Awards, the Alfoso Curan film Roma (2018), would receive a total of ten nominations; including one in the ‘Best Picture’ category. Becoming the first feature film to be distributed by an online streaming service, to receive this nomination, was already an impressive feat. However the film would still go on to win in three categories, one of them being the ‘Academy Award for Best Foreign Film’. It would seem to the outside observer, that old-school Hollywood had let go of their previous hang-ups on Streaming films. However the reality of the matter was not exactly so; as many would learn in the coming weeks. Soon after the 2019 Oscars, filmmaker Steven Spielberg, an Academy member himself; made headlines when he disavowed the prospect of another streaming film being nominated.

As reported by Anne Tompson of Indiewire, in her article “The Spielberg vs. Netflix Battle Could Mean Collateral Damage for Indies at the Oscars”; the author cites a spokesperson for Amblin entertainment. As cited, this spokesperson explains that it is Spielberg’s position that any streaming film looking for awards recognition should compete at the Emmys. In other words, the director feels that if Netflix films aren't playing in theaters, and are instead being viewed by people in their homes; that they should be considered as television movies. That same week, as reported by Variety’s Mark Malkin in his article “Steven Spielberg Takes Veiled Shot at Streamers, Urges Filmmakers to Make Movies for Theaters”; the writer cites some not so subtle remarks, made by the director himself. As cited by Malkin, adding fuel to the fire while at the Cinema Audio Society’ ‘CAS’ awards; Spielberg spoke to the crowd of filmmakers in attendance, pleading to continue to believe that the greatest contribution that they as filmmakers can give to audiences is the motion picture theatrical experience.

Soon afterward, the Academy re-convened, as it does every year; to discuss possible rule changes. It was during this period, when director Speilberg presented his campaign to other members of the Academy, in hopes they would join his cause. As Variety’s Brent Lang reported in his article “Steven Spielberg vs. Netflix: How Oscars Voters Are Reacting”; the response from other Academy members was mixed to say the least. In his article, Lang cites Academy member Stu Zakim, who claims that as much as he respects Mr Spielberg as the artist he is; he feels that ship has sailed. In other words, Zakim as well as many others feel that it’s too late to bar netflix from the Oscars, as they have taken such a large role in the industry.

With traditional Hollywood studios primarily looking to finance blockbuster and world event films; Netflix has stepped in with open arms, looking to finance smaller Indie films and dramas that traditionally are seen as being ‘Oscar bait’. In Lang’s article, he cites an anonymous Academy member, who defends Netflix as allowing filmmakers to share their films with the rest of the world. Interestingly enough, this same Academy member who wished to remain anonymous for obvious reasons; had some harsh yet potentially accurate thoughts on why Speilberg has come to his stance on the matter. As Lang cites, the Academy member suggests that as hard as it is for young filmmakers to find financiers to back Indie films these days; he doubts that a man in his position is aware of this, or is even capable of understanding how privileged he is in receiving backing for any project.

Steven Speilberg came up during the 1970’s, a period in which the entertainment industry was in transition. With the studio system finally over, Hollywood was presented with a shake-up, during this period. By the 1960s, movie theater attendance continued to drop; causing studios to release fewer films. Even still, the bulk of films being released were independent productions being co-financed by major studios. This caused Hollywood to shift content towards the emerging youth crowd, who now predominantly made up movie going audiences. As many of the college-aged movie goers were more willing to see more riske content; they tended to flock towards Art-house theaters that showed independent and forign films. With this in mind, and the Production code now no longer in use; Hollywood slowly but surely allowed filmmakers more creative control. This in turn eventually led to the late 1960s and 70s, when a new generation of filmmakers came into the fold; themselves being a part of what would be called the ‘New Hollywood’ era. Some conventions of the time were art films relying on mood, characterization, and psychological ambiguity. Many of the New Hollywood directors self-consciously returned to the traditions of classical studio genres; but were given the opportunity to create something like European Art cinema.

A young Steven Spielberg himself being a part of this new generation of directors; having come up in a time when the major Hollywood studios were willing to take risks. In today’s blockbuster driven Hollywood, that is not the case; as even genre films are practically barred from trying to be anything deep or dare I say edgey. Today’s generation of fresh-faced filmmakers are living in Walt Disney’s Hollywood; and to many it seems that Netflix is a safe haven, that allows them to make whatever kind of film that they please. In echoing these thoughts, Lang cites another Academy member; filmmaker and documentarian Joe Berlinger. In Lang’s article, the director states that he feels that Netflix gives these kinds of more ‘cinematic’ films a new lease on life. Adding that and as a filmmaker and an Academy member, he wants to give these films an opportunity to survive the test of time; stating so, regardless of how many traditional movie theaters that they are screened in.

A week after Mr. Spielberg announced his campaign to bar Netflix from future awards, the streaming service responded to the director’s remarks. In her article “Steven Spielberg is trying to change the rules so Netflix can’t win an Oscar”, Chole Taylor of CNBC; cites a statement released by the company claiming that they love cinema and only wish to help filmmakers share their art. Furthermore, the streaming giant went on to point out to their critics, that they provide entertainment access to people who simply cannot afford to go to the theater every week; and to people who live in small towns that don’t even have movie theaters. Just as it seems the two camps were about to but heads, a shocking twist would instead come about. The following month, word came down that if the Academy tried to bar Netflix from entering any films for consideration; they might be met with legal action. In his article “Justice Department Warns Academy Over Potential Oscar Rule Changes Threatening Netflix”, Variety’s Ted Johnson reports that the Justice Department had sent a letter to the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences.

As Johnson reports, the letter of warning states that any potential rule changes that limit the eligibility of Netflix to compete in the Oscars; could raise antitrust concerns and violate competition law. Furthermore, Johnson cites the chief of the DOJ’s Antitrust Division, Makan Delrahim, who claims that such rule changes could violate Section 1 of the Sherman Act, which prohibits anti competitive agreements among competitors. In response to this seeming threat of legal retaliation, any potential rule changes in regards to distribution, seemed to immediately be taken off the table. Furthermore, in his article “The Oscars Won’t Take Any Action on Netflix—For Now”; The Atlantic’s David Sims cites a response to the DOJ letter, from Academy President John Bailey. In Sims’ article, The AMPAS President is cited as saying that the Academy continues to stress the importance of the theatrical experience; explaining that the Academy’s rules will still require theatrical exhibition.

However, Bailey was quick to add that the Academy would allow for a broad selection of films to be submitted as award contenders. As it currently stands, the Academy requires at least a one-week theatrical run in a commercial Los Angeles theater, while offering no less than three screenings a day; in order for a film to qualify for awards. Netflix has been able to get around this rule, by simply renting rooms at comercial theaters; paying up front for the theater to exhibit whichever film they think will stand the best chance at impressing Academy voters. All these developments come leading towards the 2020 Academy Awards, an event which saw three Netflix films receive nominations. Each of these nominations counted amongst the three Netflix films selected include but are not limited to Marriage Story (2019), and The Two Popes (2019); the former ranking in six nominations, while the later received only three. Lastly, Netflix brought out their big guns with The Irishman (2019); a three hour gangster film directed by none other that Mr. Martin Scorcese.

With the two previously mentioned films being up for recognition, Scorcese himself being a favorite amongst Academy voters, and The Irishman receiving a total of ten nominations; it would seem as if Netflix had bought themselves the Academy Award. In their article “Netflix Spent Big on Oscar-Worthy Films. That May Not Be Enough.” by Brooks Barnes and Nichole Sperling of the NewYork Times; the two discuss at great lengths, the costs of which the streaming giant spent on their Oscar campaign. While the writers speculate that it was Netflix’s willingness to spend freely on Oscar campaigns, that perhaps led them to attracting Scorsese in the first place; they also mentioned the growing speculation of many in the industry that The Irishman might go home without any awards at all. Speculating that perhaps the Academy might still favor one of the other ‘Oscar bait’ films, one that was distributed by a traditional Hollywood studio; as a means of retributional favoritism towards old Hollywood, who have been affected by Netflix’ business model.

Surprisingly enough, Netflix Chief Content Officer Ted Sarandos, is cited in the article as feeling no resentment towards the Academy. Fresh off the exuberant glow of their many nominations, Sarandos is cited as having said that Netflix’s films have been honored across the board; regardless of any potential loss. Flashing forward to just a few weeks later, one can’t help but wonder if Sarandos regrets his choice of words. Despite Netflix’s high hopes, on the night of the 2020 Oscars, the streaming service was declared the biggest loser of them all; as The Irishman went home empty handed. As reported by Vox’s article “6 winners and 5 losers from the 2020 Oscars”, Netflix spent well over $100 million on it’s 2020 Oscars campaign, betting heavily on their odds of winning best picture. Netflix did receive two Oscar wins; one a Best Supporting Actress award for Marriage Story, and the other being Best Documentary, for their film American Factory (2019). The bitter-sweet taste of irony here being that the recipient of the cerimony’s most coveted awards; Best Picture and Best Director, went to none other than Netflix’s original awards bait contender Bong Joon Ho, and his film Parasite (2019).

Now there are several reasons why these events unfolded the way they did. Firstly, because for the first time in a long while, not only were all the nominees exceptionally good this year; but also every true cinephile would agree that Parasite did deserve to win. It just never occured to anyone that the Academy would actually give the award to a forign film, especially one that had just nabbed the award in that respective category. On the other hand, might I point out that Roma was also nominated in both categories, and certainly did not take home both awards. So as it stands the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences have not given up their grudge towards Netflix; nor is there a guarantee that they will anytime soon. Truthfully, that is an unfortunate thing, as I do believe that these films are real cinema and should be treated as such.

In conclusion, the matter of whether or not streaming films can be considered real cinema; in an era of blockbuster driven Hollywood, the issue is ever evolving. Many members of the industry and average lovers of cinema in general, feel that movie going is at its best when it’s a shared communal experience. In other words, film’s are best seen when viewed with an audience; who can all share a first time viewing experience. Within the previous generation of filmmakers, there tends to be a desire to protect the former ways of viewership. On the other hand, with traditional Hollywood studios primarily looking to finance blockbuster and world event films; Netflix has stepped in with open arms, looking to finance smaller Indie films and dramas that traditionally are seen as being ‘Oscar bait’. Netflix has shown that they are willing to take more risks than the studios, and has provided a space for young filmmakers to make whatever kinds of films that they please. Therefore in this type of environment, it’s inconceivable that they would not be considered real films.

#oscars #netflix #steven spielberg #alfonso cuarón #bong joon ho #cannes

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rhythm-catsandwine · 5 years

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Spntober 16 wild

@spntober

There was glitter, streamers, confetti, food, and many other things were scattered all over the room. They had defeated Chuck and Amara. Jack was the new ‘God’ and Cas his second-hand angel. Several hunters, friends, and family were back thanks to Jack. Some decided to stay in heaven, and some came back.

This was a reason to celebrate!

Everyone had come together to host a party in honor of the Winchesters and those who helped them.

Dean groaned and sat upon the table he apparently fell asleep on last night. His entire body ached , he had a bad hangover.

“Sam?”

Dean began searching for his brother making sure he was okay. Others were passed out in strange palaces. Some would be waking up soon. He found him on the floor in the corner. He wanted so badly to lay down in a soft bed with Sam and sleep the consequences of a wild night away. The floor would have to suffice for now. Dean hesitated but laid next to Sam who instinctively clings to him. Dean suddenly didn’t care if people found out about their relationship. They had won. They were free.

Dean heard a few people moving around behind him as he fell back asleep.

Hours later they were gently shaken awake by Jody. “The bar opens in a couple of hours and we need to be out of here so the owners can clean up.”

They both reluctantly got up and quietly made their way to the door. They leaned into each other the entire way. People whispered and gave them strange looks. Sam glanced up in a mirror and saw their embrace screamed ‘romantic couple’, but he didn’t care.

The sun was too bright as they clumsily made their way to Baby. They drove off towards the bunker.

“Uhhh, Dean I think people saw us- uhhh. They may ask questions or figure out-our umm …about ’us’.”

“I don’t fucking care. If they don’t like it they can piss off. We won Sam. You were right and we are free. we should be FREEE. The judgemental ass holes can suck it! I’m tired of sneaking around everyone. You are too.”

#wild #wincest #wincest shippers #the wincest loving part of me #spntober #netaelex32

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shirtlesssammy · 5 years

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9x22: Stairway to Heaven

Then:

Metatron!!!!

Now:

Dixon, MIssouri

A very particular mom orders ice cream for herself and then asks her son what he would like. He points to a girl eating a Ziggy Piggy all alone and wants that! She goes over to the girl to berate her not for eating something with a symbol of racism as decoration but for eating diabetes in a bowl. The girl says she’s an angel though and can do as she pleases. A man walks into the store--and pulls out an angel blade. The girl tells the woman to run as her eyes flash blue. Too late, the place disintegrates in a flash of white.

Sam WInchester sleeps with his gun under his pillow in his own room. That breaks me a little. Dean, the Mark of Cain in full jerk mode, wakes him and even though they’ve only slept for two hours, wants to get going.

Sam joins Dean in the library and Dean tells him that he talked to Cas and there’s something happening in Missouri. He couldn’t give details over the phone because (And mind you, Dean says this while looking wistfully upwards) “He’s a weird, dorky little guy.” smh.

Dean grabs the First Blade and Sam questions whether it’s necessary. Dean insists they need it with them all the time if they’re going to take down Metatron. Sam thinks he should leave it in the bunker for this trip. Dean agrees.

Once at the ice cream shop, the brothers learn their FBI covers are Agents Spears and Agulera. #BlessAndrewDabb. (Sidenote: I just LOVE Dean’s little plaid tie.) Cas is already inside. They meet up and Cas shows them a victim, eyes burned out. He doesn’t know what happened but six people died and one angel. Whatever Metatron is doing is abhorrent.

Cut to Metatron trying on a trench coat in his headquarters. Someone knocks at the door and he quickly scrambles to take the coat off.

Gadreel walks in. He wants to talk about their plans. Cas’s side of the war is winning. Metatron doesn’t understand why angels are choosing Cas over him when he can get them home. The Metatron admits THE TRUTH: He’s cute and he’s got charm. He counters that he --Metatron-- is lovable and funny, which gets an eyebrow lift from Gadreel. Oh Metatron, you’re the worst. Gadreel tells Metatron that they’re meeting with the last large faction of angels left. Metatron isn’t stressed, he has a plan! (It’s not the trench coat, no, nope)

At Trench Coat Headquarters, Cas introduces Dean and Sam to Hannah. There’s some light ‘he likes me better’ banter between Dean and Hannah.

Hannah tells Cas an angel is missing. Josiah was a mole and now he’s gone. Dean and Sam set to tracking him. (Hannah’s little unimpressed attitude towards Dean is entertaining.) Two seconds later, Sam finds that his credit card was used at a Gas ‘n Sip in Colorado. Dean turns to Hannah and gets his ruler out to measure.

Another angel has video of the ice cream shop attack. Just before the megasmiting, the angel, Orin, announced, “I do this for Castiel!” and stabs himself in the chest. Dean wants answers but Cas has no clue what that was. “I’m going to be sick.” Oh, bby. (Also, how is this not a reaction gif for fandom wank all the time?) In any event, Dean doesn’t seem to want to believe Cas, accusing him of running a cult and dredging up his little attempt at playing God back in the day.

For I know Dean is Mad but This Sure Makes a Pretty Shot Science:

Interrupting Moose uses his powers for good and drags them into a private room to continue the conversation.

Cas explains the Enochian sigil on the angel’s torso was something to draw energy and the stabbing unleashed that energy, atomizing the other angel. Dean tells Cas that he needs to stay back while the brothers investigate. Cas responds with a flat, defiant “No.” And let us never forget this dorky little guy is a BAMF. That prompts the plan of Cas and Sam heading to Colorado to find Josiah.

On the road, Sam fills Cas in on what’s really been happening this season because Dean and Cas apparently only whisper sweet nothings and giggle on the phone.

Sam and Cas talk about how the Mark is changing Dean. Cas’s admission that Dean is “always a little angry” breaks me a little.

Metatron is busy wooing angels at a bowling alley. They don’t want to go back to heaven. Life’s too good on earth. The smell of the bowling alley is enough to keep them here. (OMG and LOL)

Metatron pulls out his blade. The angel laughs and tells him that if he dies, all his angels will side with Castiel. He’ll talk if Metatron out bowls him though.

On the road, Sam and Cas have a lead on Josiah.

Dean interviews other angels that knew Orin. One decides to poke the bear a bit, telling Dean that he doesn’t save lives. He forces her at the end of an angel blade to name names. One of them is Tessa. Yep, the reaper Tessa.

Cas and Sam track Josiah’s car to a place that Cas can sense is radiating power. They try entering a door to a warehouse but Sam’s lock picking skills fail. Cas, ancient angel of infinite strength informs Sam that he’s “got this.” He slams the door a couple of times and tries the door, to no avail. “I don’t got this.” <Insert jensen with camera you’re doing amazing pic>

Dean tracks down Tessa. And we learn that Dean Winchester likes Fiddler on the Roof. But really he’s wants to know what she thinks she’s doing. She tries walking away from him when he grabs her and sees something carved on her chest. He handcuffs her and demands she tell him where the other rogue angel, Constantine, is.

Cut to the bowling alley, as Metatron huffs away from losing his game of bowling, an angel calls his name. It’s Constantine. “I do this for Castiel,” he announces and stabs himself. The world goes white.

It’s now night and Sam and Cas are still trying to get into the warehouse. Cas reveals there’s a riddle in Enochian warding the place.

“Why is 6 afraid of 7? I assume because 7 is a prime number and prime numbers can be intimidating.” “It’s because 7 ate (8) 9,” Sam corrects, and the door opens. GOLD. Even more GOLD: Cas references Lord of the Rings. Yeah, Cas knows a thing about things now.

Cas and Sam finally enter the building, walking through a shadowy concrete tunnel. Sam happens upon a message inscribed on the wall: “Only the penitent man shall pass.” Holy Indiana Jones, Batman! He shouts a warning to Cas, but Cas has already crouched below the whirling blades. (Thank god he’s pop culture saavy now. Pop culture saved his life! #Relatable)

Dean interrogates Tessa with Hannah lurking in the background. Tessa is adamant that she turned herself into a suicide bomber for Castiel - he assigned her that task, personally. Hannah is SHOOK.

Hannah wants to fight and Dean shoos her out the door to get her in line. They agree that Tessa believes what she’s saying. Yikes.

In the Raiders of the Lost Heaven, Cas strides towards a lit door at the end of the hallway and something in him seems to lighten and lift as he approaches it. It’s the door to Heaven! It’s calling him in. Cas approaches, ready to seize control of the door to Heaven. He opens the door and--

Soft music and valentine-hued rotating lights play across poor Castiel’s astonished face. The room is a total joke, set up like a party with little paper cupids and angels strung up alongside balloons and gold streamers. Fred Astaire croons “Cheek to Cheek” in the otherwise empty room. Sam finds a card addressed to Cas that reads: "Welcome to your own personal heaven, Castiel. Good luck finding the real one."

They discover a terribly burned body lying on the floor - an angel burned by holy oil. Sam looks up and spots a Home-Alone-style door mounted flame torch. Suddenly the body jumps and grabs Cas. He’s not dead yet! He says that Metatron promised that he could return home. But he’s not going with Cas now. He looks at Cas, and he doesn’t see an angel anymore. (Cas bby!)

Dean heads back in to talk to Tessa. He begs her for a reason for her actions. “I guess I just can’t take the screaming,” she says at last, her voice breaking. There are tons of lost souls wandering the Earth now who can’t get into Heaven since it’s been closed. She hears all of their torment and suffers, to the point where death is preferable. But now that Cas gave her a reason to die…

Dean, bless him (finally!) doesn’t believe her - not fully. It doesn’t sound like the Cas he knows. Tessa counters with the fact that he also didn’t know that Cas leading a super secret army and….fair, I suppose. Dean asks for names and then threatens her, pulling out the first blade. Tessa immediately freaks out over it. “What have you done?” she asks. “What I had to,” he responds. Dean. Bean. She grips him then and pulls herself onto the first blade, dying in his arms.

Dean falls into a kind of lull after the kill, just barely snapping out of it as Hannah and another angel rushes in.

Cut to Dean, handcuffed to a chair and his mouth duct-taped. “He put up a fight,” Hannah says testily as Cas and Sam rush in to him. Sam immediately lays into Dean about bringing the first blade.

Cas interrupts their squabble, only to be interrupted by Hannah. Metatron’s calling…

On screen, Metatron talks about Castiel’s henchman’s attack in the bowling alley. Poor dead Titus’ followers have all joined Metatron’s team in retaliation. Cas protests that he sent nobody to kill Metatron.

Metatron laughs at him, and then delivers his elevator speech. He’s only doing what’s best for the angels.

Metatron delivers his offer: amnesty to any angel crossing to his side. Angels need to follow someone - so they might as well follow him. He tells them that Cas isn’t the bold leader they think. He’s sending angels out to die AND he’s sporting stolen grace that is fading quickly. (Some half truths and a lie!)

Metatron goes a step further: Cas only cares about himself and the Winchesters. Cas tries for some damage control with a pissed off host of angels. He admits to the stolen grace and they assume the worst based on that. Cas’s defense is going...poorly.

Hannah asks for proof. Cas has to punish Dean for killing Tessa. “You gave us order, Castiel, and we gave you our trust. Don't lose it over one man.” She holds up on angel blade while angels hold Dean and Sam fast.

Cas takes the blade, contemplating his choices, his army. He looks at Dean...and then looks down. “No, I can’t,” he says. He lets the blade fall to his side and just like that, his army leaves. Cas, Dean, and Sam watch them file out of the room. (Don’t mind me while I gabble on about all that wasted infrastructure they’re leaving behind.)

In Heaven, Metatron gleefully chats on the phone to the first defector from Castiel’s army before chortling to Gadreel about how his plan is working. Gadreel is pissed, though. The “elite unit” (Tessa, etcetera) he helped recruit for Metatron’s team weren’t supposed to blow themselves up - but Metatron brainwashed them as soon as they came over. Metatron’s dismissive of Gadreel’s ire. “You start by building up a seemingly unbeatable enemy, like the death star, or a rival angel with a bigger army. That way, I look like the underdog. But then, oh, no! The competition gets greedy. He starts pushing things too much. With the help of my combustible double agents. And then, after a rousing speech, his true weakness is revealed. He's in love...with humanity.”

Boris and I are going to take a moment to burn in the fires of that last sentence. We’re FINE.

Gadreel asks after Josiah and Metatron blithely describes him as a loose end, cleaned up by his booby-traps.

Driving back, the Impala is silent. Cas sits in the back seat stoically and HOW symbolic is THAT? When they get back to the bunker, Sam confronts Dean again about the first blade. Dean snaps a little bit and says he’s the only one who can kill Metatron, armed with the blade. He’s in charge now. (UGH I really do dislike Mark of Cain Dean.) Sam heads off in a huff and Dean corners Cas, asking about his grace. Cas tries to deflect but Dean’s done with bullshit. He asks how long Cas has to live. “Long enough to destroy Metatron, I hope.” Cas bby ;_;

Cas asks again if Dean believes he would have ordered those angels to kill themselves. Dean finally, unequivocally says that he believes Cas would never do that - he just gave up his “whole army for one guy,” after all.

Cas wonders if the three of them can prevail. Dean believes in Team Free Will. And then... Gadreel walks in. He tells them that Metatron is a problem and he’s willing to work with them. Gadreel begs for them to give him a chance. For a moment, everybody’s chill and I think...hey they’re gonna sit down, have a nice cup of tea, come up with a civilized battle plan.

Instead, Dean approaches Gadreel slowly. Holds out his hand. And...hauls up the first blade to slice him across the chest. Dean snarls like a raging beast at Gadreel and the episode fades away.

______________________________

In Love with Quote-manity:

“They like to hear me say their names.” “I know a couple women like that.”

Yeah, I heard he had a real explosive personality.

Honey, there ain’t no other men like me.

I’m very pop culture savvy now.

He’s a weird, dorky little guy

I've noticed your aliases are usually the names of popular musicians

You’re such an...angel sometimes

I don’t got this

Why is six afraid of seven?" Now, I assume it's because seven is a prime number, and prime numbers can be intimidating

You’re Mother Theresa with neckbeard!

______________________________

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn recap #spn rewatch #spn 9x22 #stairway to heaven #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #cas #metatron #gadreel #hannah #tessa

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steviemillcr · 4 years

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Hey is that [DIANA SILVERS]? No, that’s just [STEVIE MILLER]. They’re [TWENTY-FOUR], and have spent [ONE YEAR] in Dayton. I hear that they’re kind of [OPEN-MINDED], but also [COMPETITIVE]. Did you hear their vices are [VIDEO GAMES & ECSTASY]? Can’t wait to see [SHE/HER] at the next party!

full name: stevie monroe miller

nickname: mills .

age: twenty-four

date of birth: nov 8th

place of birth: tampa, fl

zodiac: scorpio

gender: cis-female

nationality: american

sexual orientation: pansexual

romantic orientation: homoromantic

relationship status: single

PHYSICAL ATTRIBUTES.

height: 5″7

weight: none of your business

hair color: brunette

eye color: hazel

need glasses/contacts? nope

tattoos/piercings: power button behind her right ear and a triforce on her left ankle. clit piercing

distinguishing marks: freckles.

BACKGROUND INFORMATION.

hometown: tampa, fl

current residence: dayton, ca

past residences: nyc, ny ( college )

living arrangement: apartment

spoken languages: english

financial status: average

education level: college; bachelors of fine arts ( graphic design )

occupation: youtuber / twitch streamer / freelance gd

FAMILIAL INFORMATION.

father: jason miller. 40.

mother: unknown

siblings: none.

children: none.

pets? black cat named felix

other: none.

PERSONALITY.

positive traits: open-minded, creative, honest, intuitive

negative traits: aimless, competitive, insensitive, finicky

likes: reds. oranges. warm colors. chocolate. morning dew. citrus. watercolor paper. flannel. hot chocolate. milk. white russians. legend of zelda. kirby. slasher films. the scream trilogy. serial killer documentaries. sketching. animal crossing. aqua. raves. ecstasy. sex.

dislikes: blatant stupidity. button mashing. most rom coms. shitty headphones. asmr sounds. trolls. bein told what to do. campers. waking up early. high nasally voices. 13 yr old boys who talk shit.

quirks: - coming soon -

stevie is a fairly laid back individual. she grew up with thick skin and a sharp tongue. but underneath it all she’s not so bad. she comes off as closed off and introspective, which for the most part is true. she doesn’t just go up and start a conversation with a stranger unless she has a reason. she will sit and sketch one though.

online, she is much more extroverted. that’s not to say she feels safer there. more like she cares less. on one side, she knows the people she plays with are people-- but the fact she can simply shut off the game when she’s pissed and not have to explain or do shit? it’s much easier. she cares less what people may think of her which, wasn’t much to begin with.

she’s blunt. painfully so. to everyone. friend and stranger alike. though if you are a friend, she’ll find a way to apologize if she came off too harsh. she’s not afraid of being humbled and in fact appreciates it more than having things sugar coated.

She doesn’t go out of her way to be a bitch. sometimes it just happens.

she holds grudges. a. long. fucking. time. she still hasn’t fully forgiven her father/brother/jason for his betrayal even though she knows he was doing what he thought was best.

when she’s on molly, stevie is a very different person. touchy feely lovey dovey. she’s a hot mess and she’s had her fair share of nights that left her in awkward positions.

Stevie isn’t shy about sex. Shell try just about anything once and she’s usually pretty good about keeping her feelings out of the equation.

But hasn’t had a lot of great experiences in the bedroom. She knows it can be fun and it has been a handful of times, but more times than not, it’s just...something to do. That doesn’t mean she goes out and picks up people whenever she gets bored, but when she has an itch, she’ll scratch it and that’s all it usually is. An itch.

THE RUN DOWN.

was raised believing her father is actually her older brother

her grandmother raised her along side her father brother in tampa, florida

the household was a close one and between her ‘mother’ and ‘brother’, she knew she was loved.

she was often the object of teasing in school. she was too odd or too mean. her mother was too spacey and her brother too hot. but she took it in stride, learning to weaponize her words ( and sometimes her fists ) and after a while, learned to ignore it, even when it got out she was pansexual and in love with her best friend

the feelings were unrequited, she made that clear, though her friendship only grew stronger

she went to nyc on scholarship, choosing graphic design as her major specializing in motion graphics

the stress of the work often left her zapped and working in a computer lab all night? not helpful. so when she had the chance to go out and party she would.

her fesitivities mostly consisted of underground / secret raves. the music, colors, and atmosphere did a lot for her. she kept things pretty tame, only drinking and smoking pot occasionally.

but when her mother passed, her world was flipped on its head. as per his mother’s dying wish, her brother came clean. he admitted that he allowed her to believe she was abandoned...unwanted by both parents, because lets face it, there was no way she was biologically her grandmother’s daughter. she spent her whole life believing she was forsaken and it was the one person she loved more than anything that let her

going back to school had been hard. she was angry. so so angry. and sad. her grandmother, the only mother she’d ever known was gone and her brother-- dad? she wasn’t talking to him. so she pushed. she worked harder and she played even harder

she took her first taste of ‘e’ three nights after arriving back in nyc and it was the most elevating thing she ever experienced. nothing in the world felt wrong. everything was amazing. more than that. exhilarating.

it became a regular thing, though she took care. only after her school work was done and her schedule was clear. what was the harm in it if she were careful? what was wrong with wanting to feel good, to erase that crippling anger just for a night?

when she finished school, she moved home. almost. she couldn’t go back to Jason, not even after two years. she loved him, yes. she appreciated his sacrifices, yes. but she couldn’t look at him, let alone forgive him. not yet. so she went to orlando to look for work.

the field was full of competition, which she often enjoyed but somehow she was getting lost in the shuffle. unmotivated. she got a few freelance things, but most of her time she spent online, chatting with friends from college or destroying teenage boys at call of duty.

it got to a point she wasn’t leaving her apartment. she’d order food, do some minimal sketching and just...play.

it was a friend that suggested she make a youtube channel. she played enough and her perspective was nothing if not interesting...so she figured she may as well. youtube gave way to twitch and patreon and before she knew it she was receiving checks for fucking around online. not literally. well maybe once.

about a year ago, she came to dayton for a gaming convention. it was a small thing, targeted at twitch streamers. lots of big names in the game so of course she came. she just...decided not to leave.

she loved the chaos Dayton offered, their parties, and especially their molly. she doesn’t make it a habit but as her life continues to plateau, she keeps a regular stash to make things interesting.

#reallife.intro #::|| bio ||::#::|| headcanon ||::

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xbananaleensyo · 5 years

Text

“I love you” call

Ship: Ohmtoonz

Warnings: mentions of alcohol/drinking

Words: 3,755

Summary: Ohm loved Cartoonz but he doesn’t know. One day, however, Ohm gets drunk and tries to call a certain someone. Aka Ohm is a fluffy, loving drunk and doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.

A/N: Hey guys! This is my first fic I’ve ever made and I’m pretty proud of it : ) So, thank you for reading it and I really appreciate any likes/reblogs/comments! Have a nice day, yo.

Ohm wasn’t much of a drinker. It just wasn’t something he did much. Sure, he had the occasional glass of wine at dinner parties and the mandatory swig of beer during the Super Bowl but that was all for show. He never really indulged too far into it. He felt, at most, slightly warm from the minimal consumption and can’t remember the last time he truly was drunk. But it seemed tonight was different.

Ohm tipped the bartender and sipped at the bottle of beer he just ordered. He scanned the ballroom, spotting the couple of the night instantly. It wasn’t hard to find them, their presence radiated happiness, true love flush on their cheeks and gentle stares. Ohm couldn’t help the throbbing sensation in his chest. It was accompanied by a slow southern drawl and cheeky grin that tended to occupy his mind, especially in moments like these. He looked at the newly-wedded couple and wanted it, wanted what they had so badly instead of this longing ache. Ohm sighed, loosening the tie on his neck, before taking a gulp of his drink and joining his peers in another round of shots.

“Bye! Thank you for bringing me home, dude! I appreciate you and your service.” Ohm yelled back at the uber before shutting the door and walking the steps to his front porch. He searched his pocket for his keys, reminding himself out loud that he needed to give his driver 5 stars and a good review. She was a nice woman, entertaining Ohm’s drunk rambles during the late night drive. He was suddenly glad he decided to carpool to the wedding venue that morning because, based on the slight stumbles up his yard, he can assess that he was in no way, shape, or form able to drive himself home, Heck, he couldn’t even find the right keys to his door.

“There you are!” Ohm cooed, giggling as he slotted in the key to let him in. Right when he walked through the door, he was greeted with excited paws batting at his ankles and welcoming yips. Ohm was beaming at the sight.

“Tiny! You’re such a good boy! I love you so much.” He said while carefully kneeling and cuddling the pup.

“I’m very drunk, Tiny. So we can’t—we can’t play a lot. But just wanted to let you know that I love you and you’re the best.” Ohm sent Tiny back to his doggy bed after one last pat on his back. He decided that it probably wasn’t a good idea to let Tiny sleep in the bed with him tonight. Ohm closed his bedroom door and plopped on his mattress, somehow taking off his shoes and dress pants on the way. He should sleep he thinks but the alcohol was still running hyper in his veins causing him to feel energized and elated and fuzzy. He felt so goddamn warm, honestly. Like he was so happy and wanted to share the happiness with everyone else. And he should. There was so many good people in his life that deserved it and when was the last time he told them how much he loved them? Not enough! He concluded, already taking out his phone out of his vest pocket. He silently thanked technology for having fingerprint recognition.

Ohm went to twitter first, sending out a quick appreciation post to his fans and followers. Then, to his discord, giving out short but meaningful messages to as many streamer and YouTube friends he can think of. Next, it was his contact list on his phone where he kept the closer people in his life. These were the ones he was gonna spoil with love. Ohm sighed with satisfaction when he hit send on Delirious’ text, stacked with paragraphs on how much he helped him over the years. He went back to his list, finally stumbling on the contact that made his heart burst:

Toonzy <3

Ohm’s thumbs froze over the screen, not quite sure how to start the text. There was just so many things he loved about Cartoonz—which ones should he say first? Can written text even convey all the things he wanted to say? Can he even type all the love he had for him? Perhaps, he should call him instead.

“Hi Toonzy!” Ohm greeted excitedly right after the ringer broke. There was silence on the other line though before another voice spoke up.

“Uhh Ohm? This is Delirious?” Ohm mentally slapped himself, wondering how in the world he messed that one up. But looking at the blurry name on his screen, he can confirm he was, in fact, talking to Delirious. Oh well.

“Oh…oh! Delirio~ Sorry, I tried calling Toonzy. I wanted to tell him some things.” Ohm thought for a second. Even if it was an accident, he shouldn’t let this call go to waste, right?

“But-but, wait, don’t hang up yet Delirious! I wanna let you know some nice things too. Because, because lemme tell ya. You, you, are a wonderful man and I’m glad you’re in my life. I love you and…and you deserve all the love!” Ohm heard Delirious’ happy laughter on the other end, pleased that the other enjoyed his declaration.

“Awww, thanks Ohm. I know, I saw the text messages. Love you too man, really, and I appreciate ya but are you uhhh are you drunk?”

“Nooo I’m not drunk. I’m really drunk.” He answered, extending the ‘really’ for extra effect. He laughed at his own joke. “There was a wedding Delirio~ my…my sister’s. And it was beautiful! There was decorations and cake and good food and dancing and an open bar…” Ohm chuckled again, remembering the open bar quite well. An amazing add-on to an already amazing wedding.

“My sister has incredible taste, Del. It, it was nature-themed! There was lots of flowers and leaves. Trees. And…and it made me realize I want a wedding like that…” And at that moment, Ohm made a mistake. He couldn’t stop his rambling, his mouth wanting to say everything on his mind. His feelings were going a completely different direction now and he felt tears starting to collect in his eyes. “But I don’t think I can! I definitely can’t.”

Delirious seemed surprised by the mood change. He scrambled to find his words before speaking. “Ohm ca—calm down! I’m sure, I’m sure you’ll have a beau-ti-ful wedding with nice flowers and gifts and food! Don’t cry please!” Ohm shook his head even though he knew Delirious couldn’t see him.

“Nooo you don’t understand Jon! I’m gay!” Ohm cried out, trying to make a point through his fuzzy mind. But it seemed Delirious wasn’t having it.

“Uhhh Ohm, we know that already? You told us that like…like last year? And we fully support you and that doesn’t fucking mean, at all, that you can’t have a—”

“No, no listen. You don’t understand. Jon, I’m gay gay. Like…like I’m gay for someone. But I don’t think he’s gay gay for me? Delirious, Cartoonz doesn’t feel the same way, huh?” he felt the ache in his heart again, letting a few tears slide down his cheeks.

“Car-cartoonz?” Delirious sputtered. Ohm gave a long sigh.

“Yeah…Toonzy. He’s funny and genuine and attractive and just gets me, ya know? I just wanna kiss him all the time and cuddle him and…and go on dates with him and touch him and fu—”

“Jesus Christ.” Delirious breath. “You can’t just…just…hold on. Can you hold on? Hold on a sec, Ohm.” Then Delirious was gone. There was a lot of shuffling and mumbling in the background that he couldn’t understand. But before he could figure out what was going on, Delirious was back.

“Okay, can you say that again, Ohm?”

“I wanna fuck Cartoonz!” He declared, hearing more shuffling along with a sharp gasp and ‘not like that!’ protests coming from Del. Maybe, that wasn’t the exact phrase he was looking for. “No, no wait…make love with Cartoonz. Yeah, that. I love Luke. But not like…I love you Delirious but I’m uhhh in love with Luke. For a long time now. He’s, he’s amazing~ And I love spending time with him. But he doesn’t love me…why would he love me…? His insecurities were starting to leak out. Because it’s true. Why would Luke ever like him in a way that was more than a friend?

“For fucksakes why…look, Ohm, I have a good feeling that Luke loves you back. You’re a great guy, don’t be so down on yourself. He’ll be lucky to have you.”

Ohm shifted his weight to the side, his voice quieter than before. “How do you know that?”

“I just have a very, very strong feeling.”

“But why would he—”

“Ryan, just please trust me here, okay?” Delirious pleads. He jumps at the sudden name-drop. Jonathon never calls him by his real name. He also never sounded so conclusive before.

“Okay Jon, I’ll try.” He yawns, finally starting to feel the night catch up with him. But he can’t sleep yet.

“You should probably go to sleep, man.”

“But Toonzy…I gotta call…” he yawns again.

“Tomorrow dude. Better if you’re sober and n-not about to pass out.”

“But…Yeah…true…I’m sleepy.” Ryan starts to close his eyes as he says those words. He tries to relax through the spinning in his head. It feels like a whole minute has passed of him breathing into the mic and he assumes Delirious already left the call.

“Good night, Ohm…”

He barely hears the quiet murmur at the end. Ohm’s interest piqued as it sounds kinda off. It was huskier. Deeper. Ohm almost forgot who he was talking to. But it wasn’t enough to break the tiredness that was closing in on him. Ohm’s body starts to slack, he vaguely feels the thump of his phone as it falls on the bed. His thoughts float in his head, drunk, but specifically drunk on Cartoonz. Memories of hefty laughs, long beards, and southern accents filled his mind before finally settling into sleep.

The morning after sucked. Ohm groans, finally remembering this being a big reason why he didn’t drink much. This part is utter crap.

“I hate myself. I fucking hate myself.” Ohm mumbles, covering his arm over his eyes. He forgot to pull his blinds so the sunlight he usually loved to greet was glaring at his mistakes. His head throbbed, noting that he was still in his dress shirt, suit jacket half-on but was pantless somehow. His mouth was dry and tasted like alcohol and regrets. Suddenly, he heard Tiny bark in the livingroom signifying that there was someone in the house. But before Ohm can process if he was getting robbed or not, his gut fails him and he rushes himself to the bathroom.

“Ohm? You okay in there, bud?” Ohm hears through the knocking on his door and his loud heaving sounds. He recognizes the voice to be Cartoonz and is glad that he decided to give him that extra key.

“Yeah, I’m just, shit—” another round rises up his throat. Ohm is gripping the toilet bowl for dear life as whatever contents start spilling through. He doesn’t notice Cartoonz next to him until he feels hands on his shoulder, massaging his back sympathetically.

“Goddamn Ohm, you got absolutely fucked up. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Well, nothing is in me now…” Ohm says weakly. Grabbing a towel to wipe off the excess residue off his mouth. He leans on his bathtub, relieved that he can finally breathe. Cartoonz hands him a water bottle which he gladly used to gargle his mouth with before taking two big gulps.

“So, what brings you here, Toonzy?” Ohm asks. Though he’s not complaining that he did show up, Ohm knows Luke isn’t the type of guy to come in unannounced.

“Jonathon texted me this morning. Said your dumb hungover ass needed some assistance, probably. Just think of me as your Alcohol Poisoning Rescue Squad.” He patted the bag he was carrying to capitalize his status. That was probably how he got the water so fast.

“Now come here, child, and lets get you all cleaned up!” Cartoonz hollered, helping him get up and escorting him to the sink.

Ohm just rolled his eyes. “We’re practically the same age, Cartoonz.” But Cartoonz ignored him, opting to the kitchen to probably make food. Ohm looked at himself in the mirror, hissing at his reflection. He felt like shit and looked like shit. That was great. He got to work, brushing his teeth and taking a quick shower to scrub off the grime of last night. Once he was washed and changed into fresh clothes, he felt a lot better than before.

“Pedialyte?” Ohm questioned as he entered the diningroom to find a plate of scrambled eggs waiting for him as well as some pills, a glass of water, and a bottle of Pedialyte.

“Yeah. Del’s recommendation. I don’t drink much so I can’t say but Del swore by that stuff when he did. Oh, here’s your coffee too, by the way.” Cartoonz places a hot mug beside him, the familiar smell wafting through the air. “Made it how you like it too: disgustingly sweet and undrinkable.” He wrinkles his nose at the thought.

“No, you’re just a barbarian and drink it straight black. What sane person drinks it straight black?” Ohm retorts, blowing at his drink to cool it down. He will fight for his sweet-tasting coffee to the death.

“Agree to disagree.” Cartoonz huffs, settling in the chair next to him with his own plate and cup. They ate their food in comfortable silence. Cartoonz hummed and scrolled through his phone while Ohm picked at his eggs. He tried to recall what he did last night, memories of bouquets and shots filled his mind. Then he got home (somehow) and wobbled to his bed. He texted people, he thinks, and he hopes to god that it was nothing too embarrassing. And then he remembers he was talking to someone…didn’t he call Delirious?

Ohm dropped his fork in realization. He did. He admitted his crush to Delirious. And Delirious sent Cartoonz over here. What in the heck…

“You okay there, Ohm?” Cartoonz asked. Ohm didn’t realize he was staring at him. He picked up his fork and cleared his throat.

“Yeah, I’m fine Toonzy. Just thinking through this headache, no worries.” Despite the reassurance, Cartoonz arches his eyebrow.

“Are you sure…? I mean, there’s just something that’s been bugging me and I really should ask.” Cartoonz sighs, setting his phone down on the table. “Ryan, you don’t usually drink, especially get wasted, is there something wrong? And don’t tell me that ‘it was a wedding’ shit. ‘Cause we’ve been to plenty of parties before and you never had more than a bottle or two. You even told me it just wasn’t your scene. You can tell me if there’s something wrong.”

Ohm couldn’t help his stomach fluttering a bit at Cartoonz’s concern. Any delicate attention Luke gave him made it flutter and this time, despite being hungover, made no difference. Of course, Luke was the one to spot the slight intention of his actions. That his night of binge drinking wasn’t just from the atmosphere of celebration. Luke knew him well, Luke could read him. Another reason why he was so in love with the damn guy.

Ohm groaned, wondering how he was gonna tell the truth but not at the same time. He wasn’t gonna lie but he was also not gonna confess. Sober him was still unsure about Delirious’ observation last night. He wanted to trust him but he needed time to think about it, digest it, and besides, he didn’t feel well enough to try anyways.

“No? Yes? I-I don’t know Cartoonz. I guess, I just got carried away and lost it.” Ohm sighs, pushing his hair back and leaning back on his chair. “The first drink was out of courtesy. The second drink was with peers. The third drink was because of the YouTube algorithm and the rest after that was…” Ohm closed his eyes, thinking about the pain in his chest at the wedding, a pain that was too familiar in his life. “…was my stupidness, honestly. I was being stupid. I love my sister, Toonz, don’t get me wrong. I’m happy for her and her husband. I cried at the ceremony. But…but she’s my younger sister, Toonz. By a good chunk too and, I don’t know. I couldn’t help but feel so jealous and, and lonely and—” wanting you. Ohm shook his head, feeling a wave of nausea when doing so, pushing it down along with his heartbroken feelings. It was hard being so in love when he knew he wasn’t suppose to be. He wanted what his sister had at that moment, to love who his heart desired freely. But he was too much of a coward and so drank way more than he should’ve to forget the fact.

“I have a good feeling that Luke loves you back.” Delirious’ voice echoes in his mind. But that’s impossible.

Suddenly, Ohm’s hands are being grabbed and placed on Luke’s lap. His eyes are sad looking at Ohm’s but they weren’t filled with pity like Ohm expected. They were filled with something soft that he couldn’t pin point.

“I’m so sorry, Ohm. I wish you didn’t feel that way. But I get it. I fucking get that feeling. You have no idea. And it sucks. I even thought I was just going to live with the feeling, get use to it. Just for the sake of it.” Cartoonz’s thumb started rubbing the side of his hand, obviously nervous about the next thing he was about to say. He brought their hands closer so they laid on the base of Cartoonz’s chest. Ohm was a little surprised by the gesture. He could feel the man’s rapid pulse beating under his palms. “But that changed, I think. I hope it changed. I feel like I have a chance now when a little drunk bunny called last night…” Cartoonz smirked at Ohm’s confused look while he ransacked his memories. He didn’t call him and just didn’t remember, did he?

“What do you mean by…”

“…while I was in a certain idiot’s livingroom…”

“No. He didn’t. He—”

“…and was put on speaker phone…”

“I’m gonna fucking kill him.” Ohm proposed, feeling the vibration of Cartoonz’s chuckle. His face was hot from embarrassment and shame. But soon was hot from something else.

“I love you too, Ryan. So fucking much it’s ridiculous. I thought I was saving our friendship by not telling you. I didn’t think we could be more than that and, god, I’m really hoping that what you said last night wasn’t just some drunken dare. Because I don’t think I can handle it if it was just some joke.”

Ohm shakes his head and pulls his hands back along with Luke’s. He presses Luke’s knuckles against his lips, letting it linger before speaking.

“I meant every word of it. There’s no joke. I’ll even say it again sober: I’m in love with you Luke for who knows how long and…I want the chance to show you that.”

Ohm couldn’t believe this was happening. It was surreal how fast it happened, how random it was. He couldn’t breathe but at the same time his lungs never felt so free. He wrapped himself around Luke’s neck, leaning in closer to kiss the lips he’s only dreamt about, but when said man pushes him away with a grin on his face, Ohm couldn’t help but question what was going on.

“Look, Ohm, I love you and all and god do I want you, but I just watched you throw up buckets of puke a second ago. I am NOT kissing you right now.”

“But, but I brushed and rinsed Toonzy! Twice!” Ohm pouted, crossing his arms at the rejection.

“Nope, still disgusting. Not happening.” He patted Ohm’s head.

“That’s rude, Toonzy. That was like the perfect fanfic moment, I’ll have you know.” Cartoonz just shrugged.

“What about take me on a date and then we’ll see about the kissing.”

“Oh. There’ll definitely be kissing.” Ohm said, lowering his voice so it was smooth as velvet. Ohm hummed in success when he caught Cartoonz biting his lip.

“Okay, Ohm, can you stop being a creep and eat your goddamn eggs.” Ohm reached out, however, not wanting the moment to end just yet.

“Wait, what time are you free? To take you out, I mean.”

“Does tomorrow sound fine? I have to do some recording with Del in the morning but I can catch dinner.” Ohm scanned his schedule in his head, happy he was due to record in the afternoon.

“That’s perfect.”

“You’re perfect.” Cartoonz said, giving a quick peck on his forehead. Ohm sighed into the kiss, leaning his head on his shoulder to try to engulf himself in Cartooonz’s embrace. He wanted as much of him as he can get. He needed to catch up somehow.

“You know, I can’t be mad at Delirious if this is the result. I know his intentions were good and he knew we just needed a catalyst but I still want to kinda punch him in the face, ya know? Maybe just the shoulder. But only just a tiny little bit.”

“Oh, I’m way ahead of you. No one breaks your trust on my watch.” Cartoonz takes out his phone to show him a picture of a sleeping Delirious. In it, Delirious seems to be cuddling an owl-shaped Teddy Bear that Ohm recognizes as the birthday gift Vanoss gave to him a couple years back. Ohm notices that the picture was from a message thread between Cartoonz and Vanoss himself with a caption that said: He sleeps like this every night. Take this as you will.

Ohm cracks up, shaking his head in disbelief. “That’s amazing but savage. They’re both going to have a heart attack. You’re unbelievable.”

“But you love me.” Cartoonz says, lacing their fingers together.

“Yes, I do. And you love me?”

“Yes, I absolutely do.”

#banana writes #banana bus squad #ohmtoonz #was not suppose to get this long but i got carried away lol #fun fact: based on my best friend who gets really loving when shes drunk #and then starts calling everyone shes knows #i get drunk love texts from her when im not with her lol #i love you all that read

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viibechck · 4 years

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( elliot fletcher, trans male, he/him, fe3h ) * &. i know it must be scary for you, caspar von bergliez, after surviving the takeover. to turn into someone like casper beckham, a twenty-three year-old waiter at castle town diner & janitor at jungle gym’s, right here in castle town. just remember that you are as ingenuous as you are impulsive, and to be wary, be safe, be true to who you are : neutral through and through. ( hywia )

hewwo,,,, it’s hywia,,,, and due to PERSONAL REASONS i have gone completely off the fucking rails n holy shit i’m so excited bc i KNOW im gonna have so many fun w/ my lil violent ghost gremlin over here. STRAP ON IN bc this boy is a WILD RIDE and i am,,, 90% sure if i say i’m gonna keep this short it’s not gonna be so !! no promises !! / war tw under the cut!

BEFORE THE SNAP. / C A S P A R V O N B E R G L I E Z

So. Caspar. Fun kid.

CASPAR is one of the Black Eagles at Garreg Mach Monastery’s Officers Academy ; he’s the second son of a noble , but unlike the others which were destined to gain inheritance or the like , Caspar . . . wasn’t the firstborn , and he didn’t have a Crest , so he really had nothing going for him in terms of status aside from “hey I’m part of this family.” His father was the Adrestian Empire’s Minister of Military Affairs , and with a war hero father and an older brother with quite the rep , he had a lot to prove himself for.

So !! That’s why he ended up in the Officers Academy to begin with ; he decided that he’d make his own name for himself and prove his own worth , so he’d became a great warrior of his own volition at the academy rather than piggyback off of his noble background.

Character wise ?? He’s a fun one.

Caspar is the EPITOME of ‘chaotic stupid’ but he’s also got a huge heart - he’s very hotheaded , impulsive , and he does a lot of things without thinking. His heart is way bigger than his body , and he actually cares a lot about people and isn’t afraid to show it. His strong sense of justice is always something he prattles on about , AS MUCH AS . . . to often feel guilty about things he really shouldn’t , or aren’t his fault.

But sometimes u gotta point out to him he’s doin’ somethin’ wrong because . . . he’s not gonna know.

He’s very gullible n a lot of things tend to fly over his head and that’s why I kind of use the term ingenuous to describe him - bc he’s very innocent in a naive sense and often doesn’t get a lot of things somebody more streetwise would get. He’s quick to judge but also takes things at face value and can’t really read between the lines that well. BUT you find that’s a huge part of his charm , bc Caspar likes looking for the best in people , but also will beat your ass if immediately he sees you’re up to no good.

And this is why he’s so impulsive again - acts without thinking because he acts a lot on emotion , such as in his support with Byleth when he immediately moves to get some thieves away from hurting a group of kids . . . but years later , those same thieves attack soldiers under his command , and a lot of them don’t make it. He doesn’t really know the possible ramifications of his actions , but that doesn’t mean the outcomes are all bad. But he feels guilty seeing the damage he caused because he KNOWS that isn’t what he wanted.

But he’s an extremely caring & honest person and extremely trustworthy - like Caspar doesn’t know how to stab anyone in the back. He doesn’t know how to lie. He’s a good boy n he does his best and yeah he’s a little thick-headed bt that’s okay !! It’s okay to have a heart bigger than your brain n’ Caspar’s got a LOT of heart to fill the entire army !!

also uh he’s like. rly loud lmao he’s chaotic n loud n we love that for him

AFTER THE SNAP. / C A S P E R B E C K H A M

CASPER BECKHAM .... so. fun,

SO SORTA LIKE PRE-SNAP , he came from a wealthy upbringing but due to be the non-favored child , didn’t get the inheritance aka his dad’s clothing company.

so what does cas do in response ?? WELL , he pretty much has his entire family breathing down his neck to work in the company still as some kind of lower position. but he’s not really content with that and wants to move onto something he made himself.

and what does he do ??

he . . . becomes a streamer ??

his family does NOT approve that he chooses to use internet stardom as his career - but he gets really popular and that’s how he can support himself when they eventually kick him out.

so he gains that internet fame as a popular gaming streamer named “SHORT KING” and he’ll pretty much do... anything on camera he wants or his followers find funny.

and that’s it tbh.

in ct ?? he really is v neutral to the change versus fodlan but he’s also... skeptic to trust things bc the war is still heavy on his mind and he lost a lot of people he knew to it.

he’s kind of acting like everything is fine bt,,, is it really ?? lmao.

BT YEAH THATS IT I,,,, love my kid a lot n im rly excited 2 write him !! im so sorry if this isnt coherent i am having a Time

#castletown.intro #im not gonna #* . abt — ☆ ❛ ɪ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍʏ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ; ʏᴏᴜ·ᴠᴇ ғᴜᴄᴋᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍʏ ʜᴇᴀᴅ ❜#war tw

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vaudelin · 5 years

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The day of Dean’s fortieth birthday, told from Lebanon’s point of view. (6 of 6)

VI. Donnie B., 38 - Donnie’s Bar (2400 wc) [AO3]

Fourteen minutes before opening, Donnie takes an odd phone call from a woman he’s never met.

“Got six pies coming to you by eight tonight,” she tells him, cutting straight to business. “That enough time for you to get the main course in?”

“Uh,” Donnie says, misfiring. Deliveries aren’t scheduled on Thursdays. “Excuse me?”

The woman sighs, impatient. “Are you picking them up, or am I driving?”

“Driving … ?” Donnie guesses, though he’s interrupted by the rapidfire knocking coming from the front entrance. He shuffles in place, torn between the bar and the rattling door, and settles for retreating to the bar for a notepad. “Can I take your number and call you back?”

The woman harrumphs, the entirety of her displeasure buzzing down the line. “Tell them to stop by quarter-to if they want ‘em,” she says, and with it, she hangs up.

Donnie listens dully to the dead dial tone, his hand slowly carrying the receiver to the wall. The pounding comes again at the entrance and he snaps back to it, checking his watch as he walks. With the time in mind, he spares a few moments turning down the chairs he crosses along the way.

As it turns out, the half-a-dozen strangers who’ve come knocking have a huge favor to ask of him, and so with three minutes to spare before opening Donnie finds himself in the midst of planning an impromptu party, the bar closed to the public via a hastily-scribbled sign, made from Sharpie and printer paper, taped to the outside of the door.

Not his finest hour, maybe, but Donnie’s always been good at handling surprises. Birthdays aren’t in his usual business repertoire either, but the bartender life is nothing but unpredictable and Donnie considers himself adaptable. Once he found out who the party was for, well … It would be his pleasure to give Dean’s family a place to celebrate his day.

Familiar names step inside the bar to formally introduce themselves, now that Donnie’s given them the go-ahead. Dean’s brother, Sam, shows up alongside a woman named Jody, the both of them exchanging handshakes with Donnie before hashing out their vision for the evening. Most of what they’re looking for Donnie already has onhand—the burger buns and fixings are a given, and his usual menu fills out the rest of their requests. Then the younger kids come in carrying smoke-tinged streamers to hang around the place, and the chipper woman, Donna, pins the paper outline of some cryptid creature atop the bar’s dartboard. The man named Cas lastly follows, finally putting a face to the name.

By time Donnie’s staff has rolled in, the sound system is belting vintage rock and the room has shaped up into what could almost pass for an off-center, crowdsourced party. The servers on shift give him and Dean’s people odd looks when they grab their aprons and name tags, but for the most part Donnie gets away without any of them prying too deeply into his mindset, keeping silent on the questions that he’d have no chance to reasonably explain.

“So what time’s the birthday boy due?” Donnie asks, slapping a towel onto his shoulder. An hour has passed, and it seems like the rest of Dean’s people have sauntered in, the size of the crowd stabilizing somewhere around a couple dozen. An innocuous enough question, Donnie thought, except that it sets off a round of everyone staring at each other, followed by a furious scramble as they all reach for their phones. A race for an answer, and then the young blonde—Claire—holds her phone above her head and proudly shouts out Alicia’s ETA of an hour, her arm wagging like a victory flag.

Another hour seems like a while to kill without the guest of honor, but with the music playing and the beers flowing, nobody seems to mind. Sam starts a tab and orders a dozen plates of appetizers to tide them all over, and Donnie hangs behind the bar, fielding people as they come up to order drinks.

When trays of beers and nacho platters start making the rounds, the couple from New Mexico call everyone to join in a round-robin pool tournament they’re organizing. Despite their jovial promises to keep it casual, Donnie learns quickly to never bet a dime against any one of them—the entire crowds seems comprised of well-practiced pool sharks, the games playing out with a ruthless efficiency that inevitably favors whoever broke the rack.

By time the hour’s passed, Donnie has all but forgotten the odd phone call he fielded at the start of the evening, at least until a man in a trucker’s cap comes in late with a blonde woman, and the two of them head straight to Donnie to drop off twin stacks of boxed pies. The man extends a hand, calls himself Bobby, while the woman offers up Mary and what Donnie must mishear as Dean and Sam’s mom. They wander off before Donnie has a chance to clarify, Mary finding Sam and offering him hugs and apologies for taking so long on the drive.

Claire and Patience come up to the bar with their own orders, all smiles and bright eyes above their clearly fake IDs. Donnie doesn’t call them on it, even with the sharp eye Jody has honed on them from her and Donna’s table, though he does pass along virgin versions of their orders without batting an eye. During his downtime he watches the drinking game they’ve established with the boy named Jack, and as they lose they start acting as bubbly as their drinks would’ve otherwise made them.

Donnie’s almost been lulled into complacency by time half a dozen phones chime out roughly at the same time. Sam tries to shout something from his table, but when the crowd doesn’t respond, Jody peals out a sharp whistle and calls loudly enough to bring them all to attention, shouting a no-nonsense, T-minus three minutes, guys, they’re coming down the road—

The room succumbs organized chaos as everyone bumps and shuffles into a half-circle around the door, jabbing elbows at each other for not muffling their laughter. Anticipation breathes through them, inhaling so deeply that even Donnie leans forward on the bar, waiting for the door to swing open.

For the briefest moment, Donnie catches a glimpse of Dean before he sees them: Dean’s chin lifted back toward his shoulder, a half-grin offered to the twins, Max and Alicia, behind him. The sharp twist as his focus turns onto the room, shifting, uncomprehending, until Dean catches the familiar faces within. The shock that slackens his jaw, then the surprise as Claire, Alex and Patience set of a round of party poppers at him, and the whole crowd yells Happy Birthday! horrendously out of sync.

Dean stands stock-still in the door frame, slowly processing the sight before him. Alicia and Max grab an arm apiece and drag him forward goodnaturedly, stepping back as people start hugging Dean and shaking his hand. Dean accepts it all with a baffled look on his face, looking like he can’t be certain he deserves any of it. His face lights up as Mary approaches, hugging him, and then Sam comes up, whispering something as he offers a hug of his own him. Dean starts laughing as they pull apart. Jack then follows, going for his hug, which Dean solidifies with a lifting grip and a bearhug twist at the end.

Jody and Alex, Donna and Cesar and Jesse all get in their congratulations, and then there’s a beat where Cas comes up and Dean is staring at him with some unreadable warmth to his face. Though it’s clear to Donnie, even at this distance, that a hug is called for in the moment, Dean just clears his throat and bows his head, glancing around like he’s not sure what to do. Cas has none of it, however, and opts to bully Dean into a firm hug instead, one that Dean rallies against, briefly, before succumbing with a fierce grip.

In a coordinated effort, Patience, Claire and Alex shout loudly that it’s time for presents, and from beneath a table they carry out a plastic bin filled with small gifts wrapped in either newspaper or princess-themed paper, no in-between. Dean gets pushed into a chair, and with a paper crown donned atop his head he’s passed a beer and begins picking his way through the modest pile. Around him, the pool games pick up again.

It’s a good night, so far as Donnie’s seen of nights like this one, but it’s not until he observes Dean hugging Claire in appreciation for her spearheading the evening that Donnie resolves that conclusion into something great. He takes a beat to take it all in, the network of people that Dean has gathered around him, the ragtag collective that calls themselves Dean’s family and friends. So different than the first few years Donnie had found Dean sidled up to his bar, drowning some unnameable misery with a haunted look in his eyes.

Conversation luxuriates around them, swirling through the room. Burgers are ordered by damn near everyone except a skinny guy who brought his own clamshell container, its contents indescribably red, and Donnie’s servers are kept busy busing tables for the next couple hours. Sam comes up to the bar for a pair of drinks and then sidles off to the side with Jody. A redheaded woman Donnie unfortunately recognizes appears for an order of red wine, grinning like a cat while Donnie keeps a cautious distance, his eyes peeled for any possible disruption Rowena might cast his way.

Cas had retreated from the crowd sometime after Claire covered Dean in fresh handfuls of confetti, opting to take perch by Donnie and nurse a single beer for the rest of the evening. Donnie takes the occasional quiet moment to size up the guy, taking the piecemeal history Dean’s given him over the years and putting it into context. Cas, for his part, seems to only have eyes for one part of the crowd, his somber attention softened by the small smile on his face. Donnie follows his gaze and finds Claire, Jack, and Patience roping Dean into their convoluted card game, and Dean taking the opportunity to cover Claire in confetti of his own.

“You’ve known him awhile?” Donnie asks, itching for intel in spite of himself.

Cas’ chin dips, smile bowing back to his drink. “Ten years.” He glances back to Dean, seeming wistful.

The trucker cap guy, Bobby, stands from his and Mary’s table, and begins rapping loudly on his glass, calling the room to attention. The crowd silences in fits and spurts until it’s quiet enough for Jody to speak.

Jody stands up on a side ledge, bringing her a head above everyone. “It’s not often, in this line of work, that you make it more than a decade. And it’s rarer still to be born into it and last more than three.” She raises her beer. “So here’s to you, Dean, for beating the odds and bringing us all together. And for showing us that this job doesn’t have to take your heart—you can keep it open for the strangers that come your way. To Dean!”

The crowd shouts back, To Dean, raising their motley collection of mugs and glasses. Someone yells, To Strangers!, earning a mixed chorus of laughter and boos, their cups coming up for a second round of drinks. Another pair of voices—Claire and Donna, Donnie suspects—starts yelling for a speech, and then Sam and Mary are jostling Dean forward to where Jody had stood, and the crowd gets quiet once again.

Dean’s eyes are bright, shining even when dropped down to the beer in his hand. When he looks up, his expression sobers. He looks uncharacteristically sincere. “Uh. Like Jody said, I wasn’t planning to make it to forty. Better people than me didn’t. So.” He clears his throat. “The odds say that I shouldn’t’ve, not after everything me and Sam have done, but we’re here. So. Thank you. For seeing it through with me. And here’s hoping we’ll all be here to celebrate again next year.”

Dean ends by awkwardly raising his beer, his gaze dropped again as the crowd toasts back. He then heads quickly into the crowd, fielding another hug from Sam that lasts longer than their earlier one. Dean nods once at whatever Sam’s telling him, and then slaps his brother on the shoulder as they pull apart.

Conversations renew and pool games begin anew, and when the twins start an impromptu dance party Donnie turns the sound system up a little higher, drawing in more of a crowd with them. The servers prep fresh pitchers for the thirsty dancers, and with the lull in service, Donnie considers trying to talk again with Cas, but Cas still only has eyes for whatever Dean is doing at the moment, his affection clear across the room. (Dean, as it turns out, is dancing with Donna, the two of them attempting to out-embarrass each other with some spin on a macarena-chickendance.)

Dean eventually comes over sporting a big smile, pieces of confetti still in his hair. He slaps his hands onto the bar, announcing, “More shots!” and when he spies Cas sitting nearby with his empty, Dean cheers toward his presence and adds, elated, “Another beer for him too!”

Donnie passes Cas a fresh Texan Star before prepping Dean’s tequila shots. Cas moves a seat closer to Dean, leaning in to whisper something. Dean nods, grinning, his whole body relaxing with his smile. As Cas retreats from the barstool, he grips Dean’s shoulder, leans in, and presses his mouth against Dean’s temple. Dean bucks up at that and tugs Cas back before he goes, earning a small grin from Cas and a brief peck to the lips that lingers in Dean’s smile.

Cas disappears into the crowd, and Dean is facing back to Donnie, drumming his fingers across the bar. “So. Cas said something about there being pie?”

Donnie slaps his towel down, pouting in mock-affront. “Here I was thinking you’d stick to house specials. You suddenly too old for a nacho platter?”

Dean claps his hands and waves towards himself affably. “Bring ‘em both! I can eat for two.”

Grinning, Donnie leaves him to do just that.

#dean's birthday fic #deancas fic #destiel fic #destielfanficnet #deancas #vaudwrites

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deanlightful · 7 years

Text

the horrors of pre-calc

Dean needs someone to tutor him in pre-calc, bad, but the only person available is Castiel Collins, and Castiel is... intimidating.

Read on AO3

“Fuck fuck fuck! ” Dean crumples his recent pre-calc test in his hand and throws it in the trash.

“That bad?” Charlie wonders, eyeing her own with distaste.

“I fucking failed .” Dean grumbles, trying and failing to keep the emotion out of his voice, “Again.”

“Yeah, I didn’t do too hot either. This class is tanking my GPA.”

“This class is bullshit.”

“I mean, it would help if we didn’t suck at math.”

Dean throws up his hands, “I’m gay, what am I supposed to do?”

“That has literally nothing to do with math.” Charlie snorts.

“Yeah, well, whatever. I’m still mad about it.”

Charlie leans against the row of lockers behind her and eyes him critically. “What you need is a tutor.”

“ You need a tutor!”

“Well, yeah,” She agrees, “That’s why I signed up for tutoring yesterday.”

“What the- without me? ”

“You were in the bathroom.”

“Ugh,” Dean slumps against the locker next to her, and is promptly shooed out of the way by the locker’s owner, “Who’d you get?”

“Jo Harvelle.”

“Is Jo good at math?”

Charlie shrugs, “Good enough to be a tutor, apparently.”

“Fuck me.” Dean sighs.

“No thanks.” Says Charlie.

Dean manages to catch Benny Lafitte at lunch, “Hey, are you still doing math tutoring?”

Benny gives him a slow up and down that makes him shift nervously. “All booked up, unfortunately. But maybe I can squeeze you in, if you… really want it.”

“Hah,” Dean swallows nervously, shoving his hands deep into his pockets, “No, uh, I mean- not that bad.”

Benny shrugs, “That’s cool. I don’t really have the time anyway, honestly. But, um, call me if you ever want to hang out, yeah?”

“Yeah- I um- okay.” Dean stammers, blushing furiously and backing away. It’s probably his own fault that Benny is so forward, after all Dean did give him a handy last year to repay him for help with algebra. But he’s trying not to say thanks with handjobs anymore.

“No way.” Dean protests, after conferring with Jo about his tutoring options, “I can’t.”

“He’s your only option,” Jo tells him, “And he’s good.”

“Then why isn’t he all booked up like everybody else?”

“Um…” Jo purses her lips, “He’s… intimidating.”

“Yeah, I know he’s intimidating, Jo, I’ve seen the guy.”

“But you need help with pre-calc, like, bad .”

“I’m aware!”

“So… get him to tutor you.”

“Um. That would mean talking to him, and that’s just not in my agenda, sorry.”

“Hey, you came to me for help. I’m helping you.”

Dean absolutely does not pout, but leans heavily against the library desk that Jo is parked at. “Can’t you ask him for me?”

“No.”

“But he scares me.”

“How much do you want to pass math?”

“Ugh, I don’t know .”

Jo raises an eyebrow, “So you’re willing to give Benny Lafitte a rub-off, but you can’t even talk to Castiel Collins?”

“Wha- how- how did you know about-”

“It’s not a secret, Dean.”

“ Oh my god.”

“Look, i’m just saying, you obviously wanted to pass math pretty bad last year. Where’s that drive now?”

Dean rubs frustratedly at his eyes, “Collins just makes me really nervous.”

“Yeah, he makes everybody nervous. Maybe you’d be less nervous if you gave him a handy.”

“God, I give one guy a handjob and I never hear the end of it!”

“Hmm, I heard it was more than one guy.”

“Shut up, Jo!” Dean shrieks.

Dean takes a deep breath, and then another. He’s been working up the nerve to talk to Castiel Collins for a week now, and only another, even more dismal test score has pushed him to finally do it. He catches Castiel after school, as the man strides through the parking lot on his long, long legs.

“Hey, Castiel!” He calls out.

Castiel stops and turns in one smooth motion, his tie flapping in the breeze like a streamer. The crisp lines of his button-down and khakis somehow manage to make him look very adult instead of.. lame. He’s wearing sturdy boots, a large black watch, and a disinterested facial expression.

“Yes?”

Dean scrambles to stop before running into Castiel, and only just succeeds.

“Uh, hi.” He struggles to catch his breath, “Um. Yeah. Okay, so. I was- uh, wondering if you could…” He trails off in the face of Castiel’s impassive gaze. His nerves are going wild, heart pounding, he can’t catch his breath.

“Are you… alright?” Castiel asks, head tilted and eyebrows furrowed with concern.

His gaze is clear and piercing.

“Uh…” Says Dean, mortification growing as he feels his hands begin to shake. “I’m sorry. I- don’t know- I don’t what’s wrong.”

“You’re hyperventilating.” Castiel says, his large hands guiding Dean to sit on the hood of a nearby car, “I need you to pace your breathing.”

His hand is on Dean’s chest, long fingers splayed out over Dean’s collarbone. “Breathe in, breathe out. There we go, keep that up. There we go.”

“Thanks.” Dean sighs as his breathing finally returns to normal. He’s humiliated and blushing furiously, but at least he has his breath.

“Are you alright, now?”

“I think so.”

“What did you need to ask me?”

“Oh,” Dean sighs, suddenly exhausted, “I, um. I was going to see if you would tutor me in pre-calc.”

Castiel looks at him seriously for a moment, “What parts are you having trouble with?”

“ All of it.”

“Alright.” Says Castiel, “I’ll tutor you, Dean.”

“You know my name?”

Castiel gives him a look, half amused, half confused, “We have four classes together, Dean.”

“Right. Yeah.”

“When would you like to start?”

“As soon as possible? I, uh, I need a lot of help.”

Dean’s house is quiet. He can hear the whir of the washing machine, the ticking of the clock over the mantel, and his own heartbeat. Castiel is considering the kitchen with the same sort of expression that one might wear when viewing a piece of art. He looks at the wallpaper, at the stove and the pictures on the refrigerator. He nods thoughtfully.

“I like your house.” He says.

Having Castiel in his house is terrifying, to say the least. He’s so put together, so smart, so adult , and here he is standing in Dean’s mediocre kitchen, looking at age-old macaroni art from when Dean was four.

“So,” Dean slumps down at the kitchen table, “Ready to find out how dumb I am?”

After a moment, Castiel sits down beside him, looking serious as always, “People learn differently, Dean, that doesn’t mean you’re stupid.”

“I guess. But i’ve had trouble with math my whole life. This is like, a last ditch effort. I just… want to warn you.”

Castiel just looks at him, which he’s done quite a bit so far. He taps the eraser of his pencil on the table, “So you have one bad subject, and you think that makes you stupid?”

“Look, I’m not really looking for a half-hearted pep talk, okay? I just need enough help to get a passing grade.”

To his great surprise, Castiel reaches out and grasps his wrist. “I’m serious, Dean. You’re not stupid just because you’re not great at every subject. Math isn’t for everyone, and that’s okay.”

“Are you giving up before we’ve even started?”

“What? No, no. I believe you’re completely capable of mastering pre-calculus. I just want you to know that not liking math doesn’t make you stupid.”

Dean says nothing, a little stunned and not sure if he should be embarrassed or not. The following silence is long, and more than a little awkward.

After a while, Castiel clears his throat. “Let's get started.”

Math sucks. It sucks a lot. But having Castiel as a tutor makes it suck a little less.

Yes, Dean is a nervous mess. Yes, Castiel gets to see Dean struggle over math. On the upside though, Castiel smells amazing. His cologne is something like pine and peppermint, and every time Castiel turns to talk to him, Dean gets a whiff of Juicy Fruit gum.

Castiel is by far the most patient tutor Dean has ever had, he makes it easy to say when he doesn’t understand a concept, when he needs further clarification. His voice is gentle, which surprises Dean because he’s always thought of Castiel as such a stern, no-nonsense guy. Turns out, Castiel isn’t really anything like Dean thought he was. He’d had this picture of Castiel in his mind, something like a larger-than-life robot, attractive but cold. Dean has never been more wrong about someone.

“I don’t get it.” Dean sighs, frustrated, “I’m sorry, Cas. I just- I just don’t get it.”

“That’s okay.” Castiel assures him, “Would you like me to go over it again?”

“Can we stop for now? I think my brain is turning to mush.”

Castiel smiles, showing off rows of straight white teeth, dimples in his cheeks. “Sure.”

“I’m starving anyway, you want something to eat?”

“I could eat.” Castiel admits, “You want Pizza Shack?”

“Oh, uh, I don’t have any money. Or a car. I was just gonna… make spaghetti or something.”

“I’ll drive,” Says Castiel, “And I’ll pay.”

“Oh. Um. I mean, I guess.”

Dean has never seen Castiel as relaxed as he is at the Pizza Shack. He’s so… smiley. He’s laughing .

“Hey, um. This is probably going to sound weird, but i’ve never seen you smile before.”

Castiel doesn’t look offended, in fact, he nods. “I tend to be very serious at school. And I… have a hard time talking to people.”

“You seem fine talking to me.” Dean points out.

“You’re easy to talk to.”

“Thanks. So are you. You’re… really different than I thought you were.”

Castiel takes a big bite out of his slice of pizza and shrugs. “I never really feel like I can be myself at school.”

“You always dress like you’re going to a meeting.”

Castiel shrugs again. “Maybe I am.”

Dean snorts, “Yeah, alright.”

“I like to dress nice sometimes. Sometimes I don’t.”

This piques Dean’s interest. “When do you not?”

“When I’m at home. Usually when I go out.”

“What do you like to do when you’re not tutoring dummies?”

“You’ve got to stop calling yourself dumb, Dean.”

Dean ignores him, “When you’re not tutoring.”

Castiel looks at him for a moment, then drops it. “I go to a lot of shows, local bands and stuff, you know?”

For some reason, this revelation surprises Dean more than anything else. “ Really ?”

“Is it really so hard to believe that i’m not serious all the time?” Castiel asks.

“You just keep surprising me.”

“I’m going to a show this weekend. You want to come?”

Dean blinks. “Can I just do that? Don’t I need like, a ticket or something?”

“Ah, no. They’re not really those kinds of shows.”

Dean hesitates. He’s not really the kind of guy who goes to shows. He’s the kind of guy who stays home and has sleepovers with Charlie where they watch old sci-fi movies and drink too much Mountain Dew. God, Castiel is so much cooler than him.

“Okay.” His mouth says, way before his brain has had time to process everything, “Yeah I’ll- I’ll go to a show with you.”

Castiel grins. “Cool.”

When Castiel comes to pick Dean up on Friday night, his mother opens the door.

“Oh, hello dear!” Mary Winchester says gleefully, “You must be Dean’s friend. Come on in! Come on!”

Castiel grins and follows her into the house. Dean is coming down the stairs and almost trips over his own feet when he sees Castiel in casual clothes. He’s never seen the guy in anything besides button-downs and khakis, so seeing him in a band t-shirt and hip-hugging jeans is startling. He looks really really good.

“Hey, Cas! Hi. Uh. You ready?”

“I’m ready.” Castiel says, “It was good meeting you, Mrs. Winchester.”

“Good to meet you too, dear. You boys be safe tonight, okay?”

“Do you want Dean back by a certain time?” Castiel asks, politely.

Mary looks between them fondly. “Just have fun and be safe, okay? And if you come in late, try not to wake your brother.”

“What, really?” Dean asks, flabbergasted. He’s never gone out to something like this before, so he’s never had to ask his mother about curfew, but this is more lenience than he’d expected.

“Yep.” Mary leans forward and kisses him on the cheek, “Now get out of here before I get emotional about you growing up.”

“Let's go!” Says Dean.

The venue is an abandoned warehouse, which makes Dean a little nervous, but Castiel’s hand is on the small of his back. Castiel gets their cover charge and they both gets red stamps on the back of their hands, and the night begins.

The warehouse is crowded, and loud, but everyone is jumping and dancing and the music is good . Dean can’t stop smiling, and Castiel is pressed close to him by the throngs of other people. His hands on Dean’s hips are probably unnecessary, but Dean isn’t complaining. At one point, Castiel wants to get closer to the stage, so he takes Dean by the hand and tugs him along, and then he just doesn’t let go.

By the end of the night, Dean feels… well, it’s hard to tell exactly how he feels. He feels changed, he feels like he might of dreamed the whole thing.

“That was amazing !” Dean gushes on the way back to Castiel’s car, “I can’t believe i’ve never done that before, it was so cool!”

“I’m glad you liked it.” Says Castiel, who has been smiling all night.

“God, you’re so cool!”

Castiel laughs, “So are you, Dean.”

Their hands brush, and Dean, drunk on excitement, grabs Castiel’s without a second thought. Their hands part when they reach the car, but Dean can still feel the ghost of Castiel’s fingers in his. They roll down the windows and Castiel turns up the music, and they sing loudly and badly into the night. The cold wind rolling into the car makes Dean feel wild, like he could do absolutely anything.

There’s a moment, when they reach Dean’s house, right before he gets out of the car, when he’s sure that Castiel is going to kiss him. There’s electricity in the air, Castiel leans forward, but it’s only to thumb an eyelash off of Dean’s cheek, although he does look particularly reverent about it. But no, no kiss comes that night, to Dean’s disappointment. He can’t really be too disappointed though, because the night has been… such an experience.

Going to school on Monday is a little odd, because now he has Castiel’s phone number, and the memory of holding his hand and dancing with him in a crowded warehouse. Now he knows that the button-downs and ties are easily traded for band tees, and he’s not entirely sure what to do with this information.

Their tutoring continues, to Dean’s combined delight and despair. He loves the touch of their knees beneath the table, and the smell of cologne as Castiel leans close to explain a problem, but the math still gives him fits. Nevertheless, the grade on his next test is actually passing.

“I passed!” Dean shouts at Charlie, by her locker, who screams her approval.

“I passed!” He shouts at Kevin, in the library, who looks to be having a heart attack.

“I passed !” He shouts at Castiel, out in the parking lot, who beams and opens his arms to embrace Dean in an unexpected but entirely welcome hug.

“You passed!”

“ I passed !”

“I knew you could.”

“ I didn’t. I thought i’d be stuck in high school forever! Suck it, math!”

“We have to celebrate!” Castiel announces.

“We do?”

“We do!”

“Okay! What do you want to do?”

Castiel laughs, “It’s your celebration.”

“And I want you to do all the work.”

“Right, right. Because teaching you wasn’t enough work. I’m just kidding!” He insists when Dean frowns, “I actually already have something planned.”

“No you do not!” Dean laughs.

“‘Course I do.”

“What is it?”

“A surprise.” Castiel teases, eyes alight with mirth.

“Fuck you.” Says Dean.

“You’ll like it. This weekend, pack a pair of pajamas and a change of clothes. What do you say?” Castiel’s tone is confident, but his hands are in his pockets and his expression is one that almost seems to expect rejection.

Dean gasps, “Are we having a sleepover?”

If Castiel’s grin wasn’t answer enough, his next words are a confession, “It’s not too lame, is it? It’s totally middle school, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s good!” Dean assures him, “I love it! We’ll have a sleepover.”

“Alright, well. It’s gonna be good. So… get ready.”

“Oh, I’m ready.”

Dean is not ready. In no way is he ready to spend the night with his math tutor, who he finds absolutely unbearably attractive, and on whom he has a crush that could easily be described as mammoth . On top of this, he knows nothing about the rest of Castiel’s plans. Will there be other people there? Is it just going to be the two of them? What will they be doing?

These questions plague him through the rest of the week, while he’s packing and telling his mother about his plans. Mary is ecstatic that Dean is going out more and making friends, and lets him go without more than a kiss on the cheek and a promise to behave.

Castiel picks Dean up in the afternoon, and Dean realizes within minutes that they’re not headed toward Castiel’s house.

“Uh…” Says Dean, “Where’s this sleepover?”

“I think maybe you need tutoring in English too,” Castiel says with feigned thoughtfulness, “because you don’t seem to know the meaning of the word ‘surprise’.”

“Shut up.” Dean slaps half-heartedly at Castiel’s leg, “I’m just trying to make sure you’re not taking me into the woods to murder me.”

“You think I’d kill you after all the hard work I put into helping you with pre-calc?”

“You think you’re so funny , don’t you?”

“You think i’m funny.”

Dean glares. “I admit nothing.”

They drive out of the city, and Dean tries again, with no avail, to get Castiel to tell him where they’re going. Finally, after about forty-five minutes of driving through the middle of nowhere, they turn down a road that winds through the woods. Another ten minutes, another turn, and finally they’re pulling into a clearing with a small cabin in the middle of it.

Dean squints suspiciously, “Did you just drive us into a horror movie?”

Castiel laughs and opens the passenger side door, unconcerned. “My older brothers built this. It’s just a getaway spot, anyone in the family can use it. I thought we could watch scary movies, I’ll make a pizza, we can get drunk.”

Dean grins and climbs out of the car, finally convinced, “You got booze?”

“Yep.” Castiel confirms, hauling a crate full of various alcohol out of his trunk, “Courtesy of my brother Gabriel.”

The inside of the cabin in much nicer than Dean thought it would be. He’d been expecting the bare minimum, and is happily surprised. The cabin has power, a big kitchen with new appliances, a flat screen television and an enormous leather couch.

"Alright, lets get started on this pizza."

"Wait." Dean says, "You mean make make pizza?"

“Yeah.”

"Like, from scratch?"

"Totally. With whatever you want on there."

“Alright,” Dean says, falling backward onto the couch, “Lets see it.”

“Do you want to help?” Castiel asks fondly.

“I guess .” Says Dean.

And so, Castiel begins his preparation of a from scratch pizza, and Dean stands nearby being generally unhelpful. It takes less time than Dean thought it would, and soon the pizza is in the oven and Castiel is lugging his crate of booze into the living room.

“That's a lot.” Dean asks, unable to keep the awe out of his voice.

Castiel huffs, the crate thunks down next to the coffee table, “Gabriel is a big advocate of underage drinking.”

Dean leans over to peer into the depths, “So what have we got.”

“Whatever you like. We’ve got beer, wine, whisky, vodka. I, personally, am going to try out this Blue Raspberry vodka.”

“Can I get some of that?”

“Absolutely.”

They’re trashed. Way past tipsy, into spilling all your secrets and trying to make out with a desk lamp territory.

They’re in a heap on the couch, limbs tangled until neither can tell what belongs to whom. The remnants of the greedily devoured pizza lays scattered on the coffee table, along with the now half-empty bottle of Blue Raspberry vodka which was, in Dean’s opinion, a truly magnificent idea. The big flatscreen tv blasts Kurt Russell in all his eighties glory, fighting a shapeshifting alien in antarctica.

“God, I love this movie.” Dean says, head lolling lazily onto Castiel’s lap, “I love Kurt Russell.”

Castiel’s hand is carding gently through Dean’s hair, “Do you? I didn’t know that.”

“I had my first sex dream about him.”

Castiel tips back his head and laughs, a big, happy sound. “Mine was Patrick Dempsey.”

“Dempsey?”

“That hair . God, I thought he was so dreamy.”

Dean turns over so that he can look up at Castiel, who has a sort of dazed look on his face. “Do you like my hair?”

Castiel grins loosely and brushes a bit of hair back from Dean’s forehead, “Yeah, I love your hair.”

“Thanks,” Dean reaches up to run his finger along the bridge of Castiel’s nose.

Castiel is leaning closer now, breath sweet and tangy with fruity alcohol, the promise of a kiss lingering on his lips.

“Hell.” He mutters, and sits back up.

“What?” Dean asks, feeling more than a little put out, “What’s wrong?”

“Sorry, nothing.”

“Cas, come on .”

Castiel leans his head back against the couch and huffs out a breath. He swallows, and again. “I, uh.” He says, “I was… kind of hoping that getting drunk would give me the courage to kiss you. But you’re also drunk, and I realize now that it makes me kind of a jerk.”

“Huh?” Dean frowns. He’d heard the word kiss and lost the train of the conversation.

“Nothing.” Castiel shakes his head, “I’ll fall asleep soon anyway.”

Dean wakes covered in sweat, with cotton mouth and a pounding headache. He rolls his head and meets with cloth and flesh, but his eyes refuse to open.

“Cas?” He croaks.

“Hmm?” Grumbles the cloth under his face.

“Are we dead?”

“Uh... I think so.”

“I have to pee.” The fabric of Castiel’s shirt gets stuck on Dean’s tongue, and he shakes his head to get loose.

“Quit licking me.”

“‘M not licking you.” Says Dean.

Castiel sighs, “If you get off of me, i’ll make you breakfast.”

“But i’m dead.”

“I’ll make you pancakes.”

Dean groans unhappily, but rolls off of Castiel, and the couch. From the floor, he groans again. He hears Castiel get up and walk unsteadily to the kitchen, but, facedown on the floor, he falls quickly back asleep.

“Dean, wake up.” Castiel’s voice comes from above him, “I made pancakes.”

This time, waking up is a little easier, despite the fact that he’s drooled all over the carpet. The sweet smell of breakfast soothes some of the fire in his skull. Dean gets to his feet slowly, through a truly impressive series of contortions and poses, more fit for an acrobat than a teenage boy, and when he’s finally up he views the entire world through a haze of distaste.

“I’m still dead.” He guesses.

“Come on.” Castiel grabs him by the arm and drags him into the kitchen, where pancakes and orange juice wait on the little kitchen table.

Dean falls upon them like he’s starving, which he is.

“Jesus christ,” He says, mouth full, “this is amazing. You’re amazing.”

Castiel sits across from him, eating his own pancakes at much more sedate pace, and watching Dean fondly.

After breakfast, they make their way to the front porch. There’s a swing and a light breeze, and birds singing cheerfully nearby. They sit together on the swing and Castiel leans back and looks at Dean.

“What?” Dean wonders, secretly very pleased to be the object of such single-minded attention.

“Dean, uh.” Castiel wets his lips and looks away, “I, uh, i’ve really liked hanging out with you. And um, getting to know you. And I just- I really like you, you know?”

Dean laughs, “Yeah, I like you too, man.” He says. He has an inkling where this is going, but he tries not to hope prematurely in case he’s wrong. He fails miserably.

“You’ve… kinda become my best friend. And I also, um,” Castiel wets his lips again, “really want to kiss you.” He takes a deep breath and talks very quickly now, “And if that’s a problem I mean whatever I get it, I’ll shut up about it and we’ll never talk about it again I swear to god but I- I just wanted you to know. I guess.”

“Okay.” Says Dean, already leaning forward eagerly.

“Huh?”

“I like you, too. You should, uh, kiss me. If you want.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Castiel smiles, and keeps smiling as he leans forward and meets Dean’s lips with his own. Dean smiles back, and breathes a long sigh of relief.

“This doesn’t mean you can stop teaching me math, though.” He says, pulling back for a moment.

“Obviously.” Castiel agrees.

Dean remembers for a moment his trepidation at first asking Castiel to help him with pre-calc, and wishes he could have known then what was in store. He would have worn a cooler shirt.

#deanlightful #writing #my writing #destiel #deancas #fanfic #destiel fanfic #fluff #deancas fanfic #high school au #destiel high school au #tutor au #tutor castiel #nerd castiel #nerd dean #cool castiel #secretly cool castiel #the horrors of pre-calc #freckles

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