Why would we expire two toothbrushes when sharing one requires half the counter clutter? Marie Kondo taught me the importance of reducing clutter. Toothbrush clutter does not spark joy, Dean.
Toothpaste kills bacteria. There's no need for further disinfectant.
Okay first of all marie kondon't you dare we are not having this discussion this is like the equivalent of you sticking unwashed morning breath tongue down my throat
I'm literally gagging as we speak
use your own damn toothbrush or I will literally shoot you
That would rupture my joy. I've only just begun on my life-changing journey through tidying. Konmari's guidance is critical. I haven't yet expressed gratitude to the shower curtain.
How sad, to put them in such a small confinement when they're born to swim in an ocean. I'm not sure I can be that cruel for the sake of domestic comforts.
That's what they tell me when they're not telling me I'm illiterate and uninspired
[ At any rate, there he'll be when Cas arrives. Taking up post at the stove with a dish rag thrown over one shoulder and a couple of pans going at once. Bacon, eggs, the whole nine. He's practically a breakfast machine, with Zeppelin playing over the speaker on his phone as he goes. ]
[ Cas mutter as he shows up just behind dean's right shoulder, not because he poofed or anything, just because he's a very quiet shuffler. sup, buddy, how's breakfast? ]
[ claire calls him a dork and cas beams at her, sweet and fond and affectionate. what a wonderful not-daughter he's been blessed with, even if he'll never stop feeling that bone deep guilt for all he took from her, from Jimmy Novak and his wife.
there's nothing he can do to make up for how he'd utterly destroyed their family, but as they settle onto the couch together, claire's shoulder brushed against his and her promise of Princess Peach socks that'll doubtlessly be added to his eternally unchanging wardrobe, the piece of him that touched this girl's soul, felt her desperation, pain, love, and incredible wealth of strength and resilience, he can't help the warm burst of joy with how she's allowed him a place in her life. ]
I'd like that. [ said with a soft chuckle, cas leaning down to tug up the hem of his slacks and examine the plain socks tucked into his worn shoes. ] These're at capacity for mended holes, I think.
[ even if they weren't, he'd be trading them out for anything Claire decided to gift him, quality or practicality be damned. Claire chooses Baby Peach, and a light laugh falls from him, a genuine smile angled down at her. ]
Perhaps with the Princess's combined power, we'll finally topple Yoshi's reigning victory.
[ Yoshi being Dean's primary driver, and record holder for the track cas selects - anything that's not Rainbow Road, basically, because fuck Rainbow Road. ]
Coach, what's the typical attire for this... engagement?
That is up to your discretion.
[ Giving his outfit a disappointed frown in the mirror, Castiel tilts his head from one odd angle to the next, and decides he should change - again. ]
Unhelpful.
[ The electronic disc doesn't offer apology. At least he has another 3 hours before this arranged date begins, the first he's been on, so there's a wealth of time for indecision. He settles on a button up with a cardigan pulled over, and some slacks - standard business slightly-more-than casual, but he'd be set if this were an interview to be head librarian of a research archive.
Cas shows up to the hub 45 minutes early. He arrives in a tan trench coat, and there isn't really a great place to store it, so Cas just... keeps it on. Somehow, it's comforting. After being seated (only 30 minutes early), he fiddles with the silverware, arranging it in perfectly even increments (both sets). He switches seats about 6 times, and drinks about as many glasses of water. Perhaps not the best decision in hindsight, but he's too anxious he might miss his match's arrival if he leaves for a bathroom break.
The seconds tick down at a glacial pace, no matter how hard Cas stares at the digital clock on his Alexa-styled match-maker. Finally, finally, 15 minutes after the designated time, Coach announces Your match has arrived, and a video feed pops up to show:
A man - a tall, green-eyed, ruggedly handsome man in a leather jacket with light scruff dusting his cheeks that looks really satisfying to touch. It appears Castiel is a little gay. In retrospect, that checks out, but that's far from the forefront of his mind as he watches this man through Not-Alexa's display, entranced.
So much so, he's still ogling the screen when the man reaches the table, and Cas picks up the leather jacket in the corner of his vision.
Panic.
He shoots up, hitting his hip on the edge of the table, and half stumbles his way to standing, with a perfect mimickry of deer in the headlights. ]
Oh. Hello, hi. My apologies.
[ Gulp. A beat of awkwardly intense eye contact passes. Cas holds out an open hand in the not too generous space between them. ]
My name is Castiel.
[ who introduces themself like this? Full statement, entire legal given name. A wince and the slightest nose scrunch as Cas mentally kicks himself, but it's done now and his hand is extended for the most professional handshake the blind dating scene has ever witnessed. All we can do is pray there's an ounce of embarrassing charm to it.
( This is not his first match. He joined the system comparatively young, and when he explains why to other people, he makes it seem like it was for all the wrong reasons. It's bullshit, of course, completely and totally. The real reason he joined is the same reason why he's starting to lose faith in this whole thing.
If you believe the hype, there's one true perfect match out there for everybody.
He's been bounced around from person to person so many times now he's starting to lose count. Fun at first, and it made sense — get the flings out of the way, get some miles under his belt, sure. But goddamn, is he already tired of having people and losing them.
This one, he thinks, is gonna be just like the half dozen that came before it. A little jaded of him, probably, and it's why he rolls in fifteen minutes late wearing jeans rather than-
What is that, a cardigan?
This guy? Seriously? Are they even really trying anymore?
That skepticism mingles with amusement and disbelief, it plays gently across his features even as he tries to school his incredulity. No need to be a dick about it, it's not like it's Castiel's fault. He indulges the guy; reaches out to shake his hand because leaving him hanging would just be... sad. )
Okay.
( Wryly, gently. )
Take it easy. This ain't a meet and greet with the president, just breathe. I'm Dean.
( And that handshake sure is still going. He cocks an eyebrow, gives Castiel a pointed look. )
[ and so the handshake wears on, castiel utterly oblivious to the awkwardness it generates. ]
Does the President use Coach?
[ it's an odd picture in his mind, and cas reflexively glances to the side at the various matches at identical tables, like he might spot Mr. Joseph Robinette Biden sampling some crème brûlée with the first lady (or whoever is president in this virtual reality).
Suffice to say, the leader of the free world is not present tonight, and Cas turns to the conversation realizing he's held dean's hand hostage for far too long. ]
Oh. [ his hand jerks back, an overcorrection ] No, of course not. Your appendages are your own.
[ sheepish nod, and he only looks lost for a moment before taking his seat back— or tries to, as a waiter zips in to slide two entrees onto the table. Castiel nearly trips over the speedy server, but manages to stay upright, just delayed in getting back to his place. apparently ordering is a non-issue. ]
A pleasure to meet you, Dean. [ a blink down to the sudden onset dinner plate in front of his date for the night, ] Is that actually what you were hoping to order?
Is he being punk'd? Is this like a candid camera skit, or...?
Everything that's coming out of this dude's mouth is a different shade of wackadoo — admittedly, it might be a tiny little bit endearing. Might be.
The plates arrive. They sit. Dean flickers an assessing gaze over the guy, the guy's plate, then finally glances down at his own. It's a freaking plate full of- what are those, shells? Bluntly, after a long moment, he announces: )
I have literally no idea what I'm looking at.
( It's escargot. He's never seen escargot before right now. )
[ this is what you will be dating for the next however the fuck long the dating alexa decides, enjoy.
leaning over to examine dean's shells, cas frowns, his nose wrinkling a bit, before he settles on an unpleasant answer. ]
Snails, I believe.
[ sorry, friend. either coach has deemed dean's dinner isn't meant to be enjoyed tonight, or thought he needed to try something new. cas doubts those options are appealing to his date, so he glances down at his own entree - a huge steak and a pile of vegetables. ]
Would you like some of mine? I won't finish it all.
[ he's more interested in the veggie side of it, and Cas is already sawing off a majority cut of the steak for him, waving a hand for dean to slide his plate over. ]
1. It appears the kitchen calendar has been vandalized. It now reads "Sextember" and "Cocktober". December remains unscandalized.
2. I woke up this morning spooning a 3 foot statue of Jesus.
3. I found my phone laying in a snow angel outside the bunker this morning.
4. They said "just remember the most important rule of taking psychedelics: monsters can't get through blankets." How do we acquire monster repelling blankets? Are they only sourced from drug dealers?
5. It is time to test the effects of 12 Spicy Ghost Pepper Donuts and overconfidence on the human body.
6. Is "Manwhore Monday" honored as a national holiday?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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and i want you to know
from the bottom of my heart
that if you don't put your god damn tooth brush in the tooth brush cup
so help me god I will throw it in the toilet
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I don't think that's going to flush like you think it will.
But I thought I had been.
The blue cup, right?
[ there has been only one toothbrush in the blue cup the last few weeks. guess which one he been using, pookie. ]
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That one.
[ He hasn't connected the dots yet.
Give him a second...
...now it hits. ]
Castiel
Tell me you haven't been using the red toothbrush
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Blue cup, red toothbrush.
Towel rack on the right.
Green bottle goes on hair, white bottle for skin.
I made notes.
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green toothbrush is your toothbrush
jesus christ, I need to gargle some rubbing alcohol
that is just
that's gross Cas
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Marie Kondo taught me the importance of reducing clutter.
Toothbrush clutter does not spark joy, Dean.
Toothpaste kills bacteria.
There's no need for further disinfectant.
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we are not having this discussion
this is like the equivalent of you sticking unwashed morning breath tongue down my throat
I'm literally gagging as we speak
use your own damn toothbrush or I will literally shoot you
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That was clever.
Many consider you dull-minded and unintellectual, but I find your creative wordplay inspired, Dean.
I don't think you need to worry about that.
I haven't done the measurements, but I'm fairly sure my tongue couldn't reach your esophagus.
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Who do you even talk to besides Sam??
You know what
Nevermind
Nevermind to this whole conversation
I'm buying a new toothbrush and I'm keeping it in my room
Are you happy now?
This is what we've come to
and by the way, I read, okay
they can suck it
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My birthplace and brethren.
Toothbrushes don't go in bedrooms.
Marie Kondo would be disappointed in our organizational skills.
What have we come to, indeed.
Am I still using the red toothbrush in the blue cup?
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that would spark so much joy right now
yes, keep the red toothbrush, it's all yours
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I've only just begun on my life-changing journey through tidying.
Konmari's guidance is critical.
I haven't yet expressed gratitude to the shower curtain.
Thank you, Dean, that's very generous.
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go outside
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I'm sorry about your toothbrush tragedy.
[ he's going, he's going.
give him like five minutes of outside time, and: ]
I want to rake the leaves into categorical piles sorted by color and/or flora of origin.
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come back inside
we're gonna find you some kind of hobby or something
how do you feel about knitting
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Also makes one's hands more prone to arthritis.
Do you need a scarf? Or mittens?
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that's like 3 steps before wearing people's skin as a bathrobe & herding cats
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Second Commandment?
I wouldn't mind cats.
Kittens, especially. We should consider kittens.
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what would the neighbors think?
we're not getting cats.
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Rabbits?
Fish.
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Fish get a pass
You can get the fish
You're cleaning the tank
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I'm not sure I can be that cruel for the sake of domestic comforts.
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I'm going to make some bacon.
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and then: ]
How much bacon?
[ u sharin, fam?? ]
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[ That's right. Let him feed you, Cas. It's okay. There there. ]
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[ and a bathrobe clad cas will come shuffling into the kitchen some five minutes later. hello, hi, he is here for bacon. ]
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when they're not telling me I'm illiterate and uninspired
[ At any rate, there he'll be when Cas arrives. Taking up post at the stove with a dish rag thrown over one shoulder and a couple of pans going at once. Bacon, eggs, the whole nine. He's practically a breakfast machine, with Zeppelin playing over the speaker on his phone as he goes. ]
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[ Cas mutter as he shows up just behind dean's right shoulder, not because he poofed or anything, just because he's a very quiet shuffler. sup, buddy, how's breakfast? ]
Besides me.
mario kartin with the bbygurl
[ claire calls him a dork and cas beams at her, sweet and fond and affectionate. what a wonderful not-daughter he's been blessed with, even if he'll never stop feeling that bone deep guilt for all he took from her, from Jimmy Novak and his wife.
there's nothing he can do to make up for how he'd utterly destroyed their family, but as they settle onto the couch together, claire's shoulder brushed against his and her promise of Princess Peach socks that'll doubtlessly be added to his eternally unchanging wardrobe, the piece of him that touched this girl's soul, felt her desperation, pain, love, and incredible wealth of strength and resilience, he can't help the warm burst of joy with how she's allowed him a place in her life. ]
I'd like that. [ said with a soft chuckle, cas leaning down to tug up the hem of his slacks and examine the plain socks tucked into his worn shoes. ] These're at capacity for mended holes, I think.
[ even if they weren't, he'd be trading them out for anything Claire decided to gift him, quality or practicality be damned. Claire chooses Baby Peach, and a light laugh falls from him, a genuine smile angled down at her. ]
Perhaps with the Princess's combined power, we'll finally topple Yoshi's reigning victory.
[ Yoshi being Dean's primary driver, and record holder for the track cas selects - anything that's not Rainbow Road, basically, because fuck Rainbow Road. ]
hang the dj au;
That is up to your discretion.
[ Giving his outfit a disappointed frown in the mirror, Castiel tilts his head from one odd angle to the next, and decides he should change - again. ]
Unhelpful.
[ The electronic disc doesn't offer apology. At least he has another 3 hours before this arranged date begins, the first he's been on, so there's a wealth of time for indecision. He settles on a button up with a cardigan pulled over, and some slacks - standard business slightly-more-than casual, but he'd be set if this were an interview to be head librarian of a research archive.
Cas shows up to the hub 45 minutes early. He arrives in a tan trench coat, and there isn't really a great place to store it, so Cas just... keeps it on. Somehow, it's comforting. After being seated (only 30 minutes early), he fiddles with the silverware, arranging it in perfectly even increments (both sets). He switches seats about 6 times, and drinks about as many glasses of water. Perhaps not the best decision in hindsight, but he's too anxious he might miss his match's arrival if he leaves for a bathroom break.
The seconds tick down at a glacial pace, no matter how hard Cas stares at the digital clock on his Alexa-styled match-maker. Finally, finally, 15 minutes after the designated time, Coach announces Your match has arrived, and a video feed pops up to show:
A man - a tall, green-eyed, ruggedly handsome man in a leather jacket with light scruff dusting his cheeks that looks really satisfying to touch. It appears Castiel is a little gay. In retrospect, that checks out, but that's far from the forefront of his mind as he watches this man through Not-Alexa's display, entranced.
So much so, he's still ogling the screen when the man reaches the table, and Cas picks up the leather jacket in the corner of his vision.
Panic.
He shoots up, hitting his hip on the edge of the table, and half stumbles his way to standing, with a perfect mimickry of deer in the headlights. ]
Oh. Hello, hi. My apologies.
[ Gulp. A beat of awkwardly intense eye contact passes. Cas holds out an open hand in the not too generous space between them. ]
My name is Castiel.
[ who introduces themself like this? Full statement, entire legal given name. A wince and the slightest nose scrunch as Cas mentally kicks himself, but it's done now and his hand is extended for the most professional handshake the blind dating scene has ever witnessed. All we can do is pray there's an ounce of embarrassing charm to it.
So: going great so far. ]
forgive my unmedicated ass im here
If you believe the hype, there's one true perfect match out there for everybody.
He's been bounced around from person to person so many times now he's starting to lose count. Fun at first, and it made sense — get the flings out of the way, get some miles under his belt, sure. But goddamn, is he already tired of having people and losing them.
This one, he thinks, is gonna be just like the half dozen that came before it. A little jaded of him, probably, and it's why he rolls in fifteen minutes late wearing jeans rather than-
What is that, a cardigan?
This guy? Seriously? Are they even really trying anymore?
That skepticism mingles with amusement and disbelief, it plays gently across his features even as he tries to school his incredulity. No need to be a dick about it, it's not like it's Castiel's fault. He indulges the guy; reaches out to shake his hand because leaving him hanging would just be... sad. )
Okay.
( Wryly, gently. )
Take it easy. This ain't a meet and greet with the president, just breathe. I'm Dean.
( And that handshake sure is still going. He cocks an eyebrow, gives Castiel a pointed look. )
You plan on keeping that, or...?
( He's gonna need it to eat. )
no worries at all my homie, forgive my slowness
Does the President use Coach?
[ it's an odd picture in his mind, and cas reflexively glances to the side at the various matches at identical tables, like he might spot Mr. Joseph Robinette Biden sampling some crème brûlée with the first lady (or whoever is president in this virtual reality).
Suffice to say, the leader of the free world is not present tonight, and Cas turns to the conversation realizing he's held dean's hand hostage for far too long. ]
Oh. [ his hand jerks back, an overcorrection ] No, of course not. Your appendages are your own.
[ sheepish nod, and he only looks lost for a moment before taking his seat back— or tries to, as a waiter zips in to slide two entrees onto the table. Castiel nearly trips over the speedy server, but manages to stay upright, just delayed in getting back to his place. apparently ordering is a non-issue. ]
A pleasure to meet you, Dean. [ a blink down to the sudden onset dinner plate in front of his date for the night, ] Is that actually what you were hoping to order?
we will slowly orbit each other it destiny
whiteguyblinking.gif
Is he being punk'd? Is this like a candid camera skit, or...?
Everything that's coming out of this dude's mouth is a different shade of wackadoo — admittedly, it might be a tiny little bit endearing. Might be.
The plates arrive. They sit. Dean flickers an assessing gaze over the guy, the guy's plate, then finally glances down at his own. It's a freaking plate full of- what are those, shells? Bluntly, after a long moment, he announces: )
I have literally no idea what I'm looking at.
( It's escargot. He's never seen escargot before right now. )
so it is written so it shall be
leaning over to examine dean's shells, cas frowns, his nose wrinkling a bit, before he settles on an unpleasant answer. ]
Snails, I believe.
[ sorry, friend. either coach has deemed dean's dinner isn't meant to be enjoyed tonight, or thought he needed to try something new. cas doubts those options are appealing to his date, so he glances down at his own entree - a huge steak and a pile of vegetables. ]
Would you like some of mine? I won't finish it all.
[ he's more interested in the veggie side of it, and Cas is already sawing off a majority cut of the steak for him, waving a hand for dean to slide his plate over. ]
tflns;
2. I woke up this morning spooning a 3 foot statue of Jesus.
3. I found my phone laying in a snow angel outside the bunker this morning.
4. They said "just remember the most important rule of taking psychedelics: monsters can't get through blankets." How do we acquire monster repelling blankets? Are they only sourced from drug dealers?
5. It is time to test the effects of 12 Spicy Ghost Pepper Donuts and overconfidence on the human body.
6. Is "Manwhore Monday" honored as a national holiday?
1
( He got interrupted before he could finish.
It now reads dickember. )
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Does the theme change with the new year or should I expect the phallic calendar to continue into the month tentatively known as January?
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[ did he do it right ]
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Here, I'll toss you a freebie, gimme your best shot for February.
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[ It was almost "Fornicatuary" so be happy he thought twice about it ]
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