#crazy!castiel

[marunene]

He would count your freckles as a hobby

[iamthejam]

cas as text posts!!

i'm probably gonna be doing alot of these btw.. so get ready tehe

edit: pt 2

[spnsmile]

The monkeys, Dean ✨

[questioncastiel]

I saw this hard little worker outside the bunker yesterday. I named him Bobbee Stinger.

Human Bobby was not appreciative.

[tunesscribbles]

Crazy! Castiel x Reader

AN: set at the end of season 7 | inspired by ‘For Blue Skies’ - Strays Don’t Sleep | gender neutral reader

Blue Skies

The last months have been tough. But then again, that's how it's always been for, how many years now? You stopped counting long ago. How is it even possible for three human beings to have that much bad luck? It seems like everytime you sort one apocalypse out, the next is just around the corner! And now that dick Dick, made a whole bunch of other Dicks! Who in the name of sanity would voluntary choose the name Dick?? You were sitting at the table drinking some water. You would've drank coffee, but the Leviathans probably messed that up too. Damn these Leviathans! One could presumably guess that you weren't exactly in a sunny mood. So you tried your best to zone out the conversations around you. But then Dean had to ask Castiel about the Leviathans and  suddenly things got very ugly. You would have interrupted Dean sooner, but it's hard to speak with water in your mouth. “Nobody cares that you're broken, Cas!“

“Dean!“, you shouted partly shocked, but mostly enraged and put your glass back on the table with more force than necessary. You stood up so fast you knocked your chair over and it fell to the ground with a loud clattering sound. For a second everything was silent. There was like some kind of aura of icy calm rage surrounding you. In the next second you made your way across the room and stood between Dean and the kind of insane angel. “We already got enough Dicks on our agenda! There's no need for you to be another one!“ The older Winchester opened his mouth to reply. “Don't“, you didn't yell this time. You spoke rather calmy in fact. But in a mood like this a calm voice signified far more danger then yelling. “Just..Shut up for a while!“, you added, sounding more tired than angry now. Sam looked like he considered whether or not to say something but seemed to settle on remaining silent. “C'mon, Cas.“, you said as you turned your back on the hunter and headed towards the door. At first you wanted to grab his hand, but eventually you tugged at the sleeve of his trench coat instead. That trench coat brought up some memories of you secretly sneaking out to the car at night, when Dean and Sam were asleep. You'd lean against the car, softly running a hand over the tan clothing and think of the times his owner was still with you. It surprisingly still smelled like him and probably always would. You weren't sure if he followed you but then you felt a presence by your side. Castiel fiddled with his fingers, uncomfortable with the situation, you guessed. “You are upset.“, he mentioned. “Angry.“ You ran a hand through your hair. “Yeah, yeah, I guess I am.“ The angel dropped his gaze and looked at his shoes as if they were the most fascinating thing in all of creation. Knowing his new state of mind, that was a plausible possibility. You finally stopped staring at the leaves on a tree and turned around to look at him. “Dean doesn't mean what he said, not really. You know him, he always says things he doesn't mean when he's angry or frustrated.“ “But what if he does mean it?“, Castiel quietly asked, still avoiding your gaze. “Then that Mister has more trouble on his hands than a bunch of Leviathans and a lot of explaining to do!“, you said defiant and chuckled slightly afterwards. Castiel didn't answer. “I've forgiven you, you know?“, you said, softer this time. For the first time he looked up at you and frowned slightly, reminding you of his old self. “After everything I've done?“, he asked disbelievingly. You nodded. “Hey, I'm not really in a position to judge you. Neither are the moose and the jerk inside. I mean, we pretty much caused one or two apocalypses of our own! Also, I'm sure if we'd been there for you more, things would have turned out differently. So yeah, I forgive you.“ Even though you don't really know when you've forgiven him. Hell, you probably started forgiving him the moment he came back blood stained and asked for help. Sure, there was still some emotional pain left, but you weren't a flipping Disney Princess, you could handle that the Winchester way: Not talking about it, repressing it and acting like everything's just damn fine. Well, doesn't that sound healthy? “But why?“, he insisted and this time it was you who broke the gaze and looked up at the sky instead. Good Question, why? Because he's Cas?                                                          Because he's one of your best friends? Because he's just such an adorable dork?                         Because he's always forgiven you when you did something incredibly dumb? Because he is probably the most loyal person you've ever met?                                   Because when things got rough he had always been by your side? Because he only wanted to do the right thing?                                               Because he fixed Sammy and became insane himself? Because of all the things he sacrificed for the safety of the Winchesters?                                                                Because he is broken and lost? Because you missed him like crazy? Because your in lo- No, wait! Scratch that last bit! In the end you didn't say any of it and shrugged. “I don't know.“ Liar, Liar, World on fire!~ “Let's say, I forgive you for blue skies!“ You said and smiled looking back at him. Castiel nodded like he understood what you meant. “That is very poetic, [Name]. I like it.“, he said and smiled slightly himself. “Yeah, it's poetic, 'cause I stole it from a song!“, you laughed. “Did you know that whales use many of the musical concepts found in human music, including similar rhythms, phrase lengths, and song structure? The marine mammals are actually inveterate composers.“, he looked at you like a child proudly telling his parents what they just learned in school but also frowned a little. “Coming soon: Whalehoven's new symphony!“, you snorted at your own joke, even though it was fairly bad. But Castiel also chuckled, so you could count that as a success. For a moment it seemed like he wanted to reply with something but then a butterfly caught his attention and he followed it. You sighed. So close, but still so far away. Sometimes you could gain his attention but in the end there was always something else or someone else, mostly Dean. Some things will never change. With another weary sigh you sat down on the grass, not caring if your clothes got dirty. What would it matter? There was no one around to look good for! Extended Ending: You lost count on how long you've been sitting there. Minutes, hours probably. At some point you wanted to make a little snail race, but you couldn't find a second snail so you set the one you had free. You named him Gabriel, because he was a sneaky little bastard. May the force be with him! You also lost sight of the crazy angel. Maybe he went back in? Or he found some bees on his journey after the little butterfly and they invited him over for dinner. He was now probably politely explaining to them that he was an angel and therefore didn't eat dinner or breakfast or lunch. You should really find something else to do! That's when you heard a quiet sound, like feathers? You turned around and found the angel you spend so much time thinking about standing barely a foot behind you with a flower crown made of daisies in his hands. “Hey, Cas.“, you simply greeted him. He only smiled almost shyly and placed the flower crown on your head. “Uh, thanks, Cas!“ You were pretty sure, you were blushing at this point. “No, thank you, [Name].“, he replied. Naturally this was the exact moment Sam decided to call for you. Because that was just how your life works. You awkwardly got back to your feet. “I should probably go back in.“, you said and left. Inside the moose seemed to be in the middle of packing some things but then stopped and stared at you. “What?“ “On your- You know what? Nevermind!“ Oh, right, you were still wearing the flower crown. But you didn't feel much like taking it off so you kept it on. Castiel seemed somewhat pleased about that.

[trenchcoatandhoney]

i finally got to wear my SPN cosplay in front of an SPN actor! he thought my bees and bag o’honey were hilarious (there’s another bee out of sight on the lower left side of my coat, and yes, that is literal honey in the bag), and when i went to get my auto he spent a good two minutes making fun of me and ended it with “...never dress like that in front of me again.” IT. WAS. AWESOME. 

ugh, i need to drop some weight and cut my hair. i love my crazy!Cas cosplay, tho!

(and if any of y’all were standing there in line with me and saw him wiggle Dean the Bee on my arm as he passed by, and my subsequent freakout, please make yourselves known! ^_^)

[webcricket]

Recipe for Disaster

Characters: Crazy!CastielXReader ft. Sam and Dean Winchester

Word Count: 1261

A/N: Season 7 Crazy!Castiel adorably spoils dinner. Please accept this attempt at humor as a gesture of solidarity.

The lid on the boiling pot of water clattered noisily against the roiling pressure of steam rising past the rim. The delicious scents of citrus and rosemary wafted from the warmth of the oven, drifting out into the rest of the cabin and overpowering the smell of fresh paint used to mark the walls with various demonic and angelic warding symbols.

You busied yourself setting the rustic table with actual matching dishes and utensils for once instead of the haphazard grab-whatever-is-in-the-drawer-and-convenient-to-shovel-food-into-your-mouth model of food ingestion the boys were accustomed to practicing. You hopefully set out wine glasses, not actually expecting either brother to touch them, but willing to be surprised by the possibility. Arranging the spray of wildflowers Castiel popped off to gather a few moments ago in some faraway verdant meadow after you wished aloud for a spot of bright color to dress the otherwise drab table, you glanced up and smiled at the angel squatting in front of the oven and squinting intently through the tiny window on the front. He’d been through so much recently – death, resurrection, amnesia, and taking on Sam’s burden of torture courtesy of Lucifer – it was no wonder to you that his wits buckled under the pressure. He was still Cas though – adorable and sweet, but with a handful of interesting new hobbies, a curious obsession with insects, and an annoying aversion to conflict making him utterly useless to the Winchesters. The red Kiss the Cook apron donned over his white scrubs and trench coat had been his idea, and you took chaste advantage of the offer several times while instructing him in the preparation of dinner.

Sam and Dean blustered through the cabin door, slamming it shut, frame shaking as they entered.

Cas rose and frowned at the ruckus.

Sam inhaled deeply, eyes closing in sensory ecstasy as he breathed in the warm smell of the roasting chicken. Exhaling, he hummed approval, “Something smells amazing!”

Dean bounded across the cabin in three strides, slipped past Cas, and plucked the cover off the boiling pot to examine the contents much to the angel’s dismay. The elder Winchester snickered at the red apron, spinning and holding the lid above his head as Cas tried repeatedly to grab it. He flashed you a playful grin when you turned to witness the chaos, “What’s cookin’, good lookin’?”

“Spatchcock chicken,” you answered, unamused, rolling your eyes at his antics.

“Say what now?” Dean asked, brow furrowed askance. He relinquished the lid.

“Spatchcock chicken,” Cas repeated, nodding politely in thanks as he accepted the cover and returned it to the pot.

“Yeesh, that sounds painful,” Sam winced and tensed his shoulders.

“I think a wendigo tried to do that to me once,” Dean snatched a raw green bean from the counter, bit it in half, grimaced, and chucked the offending vegetable across the cabin to hit his brother in the chest.

Sam wagged his chin in condemnation of the act.

You put your hands on your hips, inquiring disbelievingly, “A wendigo tried to butterfly, lay you flat, and roast you in an oven?”

“Whatever, Julia Childs,” Dean snorted, redirecting his attention to retrieving a cold beer from the fridge.

Sam stepped nearer, chuckling to himself as he pointed at the angel, “Guess that makes Cas Jacques Pepin, huh?”

Dean cracked the top off the hissing beer. Cas fretted over the boiling pot with a slotted spoon. Both of them turned in unison to ask, “Who?”

Sam raised an eyebrow as if he could not fathom their complete lack of knowledge on the matter, “Her cooking partner-nevermind.” His gaze moved expectantly to you for backup.

“How do you even know who that is, Sam?” you pondered. “I didn’t know you had any culinary interests.”

“He’s into just about anything that involves a lot of sweat,” Dean pointed the bottle of beer in his direction for emphasis before drinking a swig.

Sam shrugged and pressed his lips thin, “PBS. Babysitter to lonely children across the states stuck in motels with no cable whose father and brother left them behind to go on a hunting trip.”

Dean sheepishly shrank from his brother’s accusatory glare and struck Cas lightly on the arm with the back of his hand to redirect attention, “You learning anything useful Cas?”

“Yes, cooking is exceptionally violent,” the angel answered, bending to slide the roasting pan, bare-handed, from the oven. He inclined his countenance at the beautifully browned bird, “This chicken was beheaded, exsanguinated, plucked, brined, flayed, and trussed before being placed into a blazing inferno to burn it for good measure to an internal temperature of...of…”

You approached from behind, a gentle hand touching his shoulder, offering Cas the meat thermometer, “170 degrees Fahrenheit.”

“170?” he asked in confirmation.

You bobbed your head.

“You mean the wooden holster for knives on the counter didn’t tip you off?” Dean smirked.

“It’s called a knife block,” Sam pointed out.

Dean scowled, “I don’t care what you want to call it Rachael Ray, it’s a holster.”

Ignoring the brothers’ bickering, Cas wandered down his own meandering trail of thought, “I understand why some humans choose not to participate in the consumption of meat.”

“Sammy,” Dean coughed into his sleeve.

Sam glowered, “Dean, you’ve seen me eat meat.”

“Yeah, maybe under duress, like, when they’re out of that green junk you always order,” Dean retorted.

“It’s called salad,” Sam scoffed.

Reaching around the blockade of men now occupying the small workspace in front of the stove to turn off the oven, you chided Dean, “Did you just refer to salad as junk food?”

Cas continued to muse, blue gaze glossed philosophically, blissfully uninterrupted by what was going on around him, “The same viciousness applies to the entire food chain really.” He picked up a forsaken green bean from the cutting board, twisting it glumly between his fingertips, “These green beans, for example; the promise of perpetuation of life for the plant contained within these pods were crudely severed by someone’s unsympathetic bare hands. The recipe called for them to be brutally blanched in a pot of boiling water until fork tender, robbing them of their enormous potential for propagation. And what’s worse, now they will be slathered in butter which, contrary to antiquated belief, is not at all an appropriate treatment for burns. It’s really a wonder humanity has survived this long with such a propensity toward violence in every aspect of their existence.”

“Yeah,” Sam met your eyes and parodied the angel’s seriousness, “hunger can drive people to do some pretty horrible things.” He nodded in a mockery of despair at his brother, “Dean in particular. You wouldn’t believe how many pies I’ve seen him carve to pieces.”

Cas visibly trembled.

You bit your lower lip endeavoring not to burst into laughter.

Dean tried and failed to look repentant.

Sam went on, expounding the gruesome details, “This one time he disemboweled an entire strawberry rhubarb single-handedly…”

The angel’s square jaw dropped in horror.

Sam feigned a sniffle at the memory, “…with a spork…in front of a group of school kids. And the stupid grin on his face afterward…I’m sure they still have nightmares.”

Cas carefully considered Sam’s tale, his blue eyes glinting meditatively as he spoke, “I have noticed Dean does seem to relish tormenting those things and people he professes to love most. I had never considered hunger to be a motivating factor.”

“Truer words have never been spoken,” you grinned.

Dean curled his lip, shooting the chicken a suspicious glare, “Uh, anyone else think we should just order pizza?”

[timetoduel05]

I watch the bees.