listen he really is so iconic because like. hes a bitch hes a top he wears a robe he stans lizzo he wasted sodom and gomorrah. you literally cannot get this anywhere else. that is not hyperbole.Â
the fact that cas can consent to lucifer. like if HE is a vessel then it really is HIS body. from swan song on heâs just a weird little angel human hybrid freak. completely in his own class of species.
they got so sick of cas being his autistic little self that they were like ok weâre installing a mod that gives you pop culture knowledge and he said thank you i am going to use this information to be so much more autistic now
letâs bring destiel back to some grocky levels of freak shit. letâs have dean saying heâd let cas do open heart surgery on him and cas attentively listening to the sounds deanâs organs make. put cas on the ceiling to watch dean sleep
thereâs just literally 0 reasons for dean to let cas get away with ALLLL OF THAT season after season if heâs not in love with him. like sorry thatâs a plot hole. heâs killed people he cared about for less.
CONTENDER, the Heavyweight Prequel
a deancas boxing au by valleydean (emmbrancsxx0)
read from beginning | playlist | trailer
SUMMARY:Â Brooklyn, 1924. During their rise to fame, two professional boxers at the beginning of their careers meet and begin a turbulent affair. Set to the backdrop of opulent parties, dark-lit speakeasies, and the bright spotlight of the championship ring, Dean and Cas get caught up in boxing's seedy underworld.
CHAPTER PREVIEW:
That night, Dean stood in front of the slotted, gold-plaited mailboxes on the wall in Casâ apartment building. He hovered his finger over the plaques with the handwritten names on them, dragging it across each until he found the one heâd been searching for.
C. Novak, 4a
âYahtzee.â He turned toward the wooden staircase and trudged upward until he got to the second-from-the-top level, then stared down the gold lettering on Casâ door. 4b was the only other apartment on the landing. In between, a thinner door leading to a checkered-tiled bathroom sat between the apartments, uniform with the other floors.
Dean formed a fist but didnât yet raise it to knock. It was still pretty early in the evening. There was a chance that Cas wasnât even home from the gym yet.
Half of Dean was even banking on that fact.
He didnât even know why he was there in the first place. Heâd thought heâd made up his mind to leave Cas in the past. But there he was, standing outside Casâ door, getting ready to ask him to attend a party with him and his friends.
Dean had decided there wasnât any real harm in it. Lisa would be going. Sheâd be hanging off Deanâs arm all night. Heâd barely even notice Cas was there, and there was no chance of anyone sniffing out the fact that they were having sex.
If they were still having sex. Dean wasnât really sure anymore. And so what if they werenât? What did Dean care?
With that thought in mind, he knocked on the doorâand ignored the way his stomach swooped down to his shoes and his breath tightened in his throat. It wasnât long before the sound of footsteps from inside echoed in his ears. Quickly, Dean straightened out the collar of his jacket and pressed down on the sides of his hair to make sure it was still laying flat.
Just as soon as he dropped his hands, the door swung open. Cas stared back at him through squinted eyes, his head tilted. Discoloration sat under his ocular bones and contused his sharp jawline. A nasty red scab cut a line down his left eyebrow. Voice rough and confused to match his face, he asked, âDean?â
It sounded like there was more of a question behind the name. AÂ what are you doing here? And that was a good question. The reason for the visit flew out of Deanâs head for half a second before his brain kicked into gear again like someone had finally oiled his machinery.
âTell me you at least won,â Dean said smartly, nodding toward Casâ bruises.
Casâ expression went pinched. He straightened his posture slightly. He stared Dean down like he was waiting for an answer to his original question that he never actually asked.
Smile fading in the less-than-warm-welcome Dean had been hoping for but didnât actually expect, he pointed past Casâ shoulder and said, âCan I come in? Wanna talk to you about something.â
Cas stepped aside, seeming really annoyed about it. Dean didnât let it deter him. He strode through the door and took in the small apartment.
It was pretty standard as New York City apartments went. A remnant of the last century with some modern amenities shoehorned in. A cramped, square room with a fireplace, sconces on the wall, and a dusty chandelier hanging from a ceiling medallion. There was a secondhand armchair, a coffee table, and a fraying rug over the hardwood. An old chamber stove and drainboard sink were shoved into the back corner among some shelves with barely any dishes racked onto them. The only food Dean saw was canned. There wasnât even a dining table. A single bed was pushed into the corner beneath a window.
All told, the place would have been nice if Cas actually took the time to make it a home.
âYou planning on moving in any time soon?â Dean joked, turning around.
Cas frowned again. Dean deflated his chest in defeat.
âWhat did you want to discuss?â Cas asked, still hovering by the door.
Dean figured it was probably better to just ask him to the party, hear Cas say no, and then leave. Instead, what came out was, âDid you get any of my calls?â
Cas nodded once. âYes.â
âYes?â Dean echoed, popping his brows. He flung his arms out. âSo, what? You were just ignoring me?â
âI was busy.â
âToo busy to have some common decency? I spent two dollars on those calls!â
Cas rolled his eyes like he was the one who was being inconvenienced. âIs this what you wanted to talk about?â
Dean blanched. He didnât even know why he was trying anymore. âWhy, you got somewhere to be?â
âActually, yes,â Cas told him matter-of-factly. For the first time, Dean realized he was fully dressed; shoes on and everything. He was in a suit, to-boot. It was a little wrinkled and faded, but he looked good, like he was trying to make a good impression, even if his hair was still its usual spiky, disheveled heap.
Deanâs stomach soured. âYou got a date?â Catching himself, he plastered on a grin and wiggled his brows. âWhoâs the lucky lady?â
Cas frowned in confusion again. âNo one, IâItâs a job.â
I firmly believe that cas is equally weak to "I like you"-s as he is to "I love you"-s from Dean. Dean repeats both endlessly when he's blissed out from being fucked, and Cas is sooo affected by both.
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