Tʜᴇ ᴊɪɢ ɪs ᴜᴘ, ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇᴡs ɪs ᴏᴜᴛ ( closed )

[righteously]

Who: Dean Winchester & Co.
When: February
Where: Cadens; Horizon; Nocwich
What: Catch-all for Feb
Warnings: mark of cain shenanigans, violence, alcohol, self-loathing

Oʜ ᴍᴀᴍᴀ, I'ᴍ ɪɴ ғᴇᴀʀ ғᴏʀ ᴍʏ ʟɪғᴇ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴀʀᴍ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀᴡ
Lᴀᴡᴍᴀɴ ʜᴀs ᴘᴜᴛ ᴀɴ ᴇɴᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ʀᴜɴɴɪɴ', ᴀɴᴅ I'ᴍ sᴏ ғᴀʀ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴍʏ ʜᴏᴍᴇ

Comments

[righteously]

( He'll be the first one to agree with you there. Hell, he's tried warning you for years, he's a terrible friend. This is not news. He also is not sorry.

Not this time, anyway. )

Nope.

( He declares cheerfully, plucking the bucket up again without glancing down at the contents. )

We all stick out like a fork in a dick factory, who gives a crap about making sure our shoes ma- mother fucker-

( The stupid crab hooks a stupid claw on Dean's stupid thumb and he yeets the bucket on instinct, hurling it vaguely in Castiel's direction as he tries to shake the pinchy crabby claws off. )

[unwings]

[ and so cas stands there, stalwart, as an entire ass bucket of sea water (plus one crab who's just vibing, having a good time, living his best life), splatters across his person. he's silent, eyes closed, lips pressed. said crab slaps him in the forehead, before tumbling back down into the water with it's asshole brethren.

castiel was an angel once. he was a seraph. he had a garrison, soldiers, respect. and now he's here, being crab-slapped by some manchild who thinks dicks come from a factory. ]

All phalluses are custom made for the individual, there's no factory.

[ Cas reaches up, patiently swipes the water and various sea gunk from his eyes. ]

If one were to be mangled by a fork, there'd be no available replacement.

[ to the tune of "i will fork you right in the dick, dean winchester, fuckin try me bitch". ]

[righteously]

( There's a lot going on here. A lot of crabs have been slapped, a lot of sea water has been flung. Dean stands there clutching his pinched hand, massaging it out like a baby, but that's just an afterthought.

The more important part is the conversation, and leveling Cas with a solemn look as he firmly corrects: )

Oh, there's a factory.

( Trust him. He has seen the dick factories.

Or, at least, he's seen what they produce.

A beat, and then faintly more amused: )

Hilariously, they retail on adam and eve dot com, which is funny because... you know...

( You're an angel. )

[unwings]

[ He does know. He wishes he did not know. He refuses to give Dean the satisfaction of knowing. With a judgmental squint, he shakes his head, feigning ignorance. ]

There's no wifi in the Garden of Eden. Or capitalism.

[ pretty sure capitalism makes it the antithesis of paradise. dick factories behind us, Cas is over this bucket detail, tossing his haphazardly into the nearby sand when a shout comes from the others hauling at the beached sea jelly. Time to drag this lazy marine life back from whence it came, all hands on deck. ]

If you're done lecturing on penile mass production, we're needed elsewhere.

[ grouchy and uncomfortably wet, Cas slogs his way out of the surf and past dean with a moody frown, dragging his feet. ]

[righteously]

( No wifi in the Garden of Eden. Or capitalism.

Maybe to Castiel's satisfaction, Dean does look just a hair put out. )

No, because-

( He starts, then stops, then shrugs it off. Whatever, it doesn't matter. Fine, don't appreciate his glorious sense of humor. You're gonna miss it when it's gone, Cas.

He heaves a sigh, then rounds the big jelly boi to grab onto his allotted section of deer skin to tug. )

[unwings]

[ yeah well his forehead (pronounced: pride) still hurts, asshole. a vindicated smirk flashes as he reaches for the deerskin next to dean. (Yes, he will miss the dick factory humor once it’s gone, but now is not yet then.)

Needing to be some level more useful than scooping water and dodging crabs, Cas figures this is the opportunity to do a little more for the jelly boi rescue effort.

And maybe fuck around with Dean a bit. That’s apparently what “assisting the locals” has translated to today.

Castiel’s positioned a few feet down the deer skin from Dean, closer to the shore. When it comes time to pull, while most are bracing their legs and firming up their grip on the tarp, Cas gives his patch an abrupt, angel-powdered jerk, consequently yanking his closest up-shore neighbor off balance to be dragged a couple feet across the sand.

When Dean looks back up to him, the angel’s grinning, goofy and self-satisfied, making no attempt to hide his fuckery but clearly having fun with it. Hello, best friend, how are you feeling about your social choices this day? ]