A/N: I bet you thought I was done with horrible, fluffy, food-based ficlets, but YOU WERE WRONG! SO, SO WRONG!
So this one is inspired by a cracky conversation I had with @sunshine-hunters, in which we decided that Cas is probably a picky eater who does ridiculous things like pick raisins out of his food, and this is now my new favorite headcanon.
Naturally, I had to write it, and then it turned disgustingly fluffy. I’m so sorry.
“Hey, Cas, gimme your opinion on this,” Dean says,
handing him a cookie.
Castiel takes it gently, reverently. It’s still warm from the
oven, the rest of the batch cooling on top of the stove, and the kitchen smells delightful. It’s not often that Dean bakes – he prefers to whip up burgers or
steaks, or the odd hearty stew or casserole – but occasionally Dean will get in a “mood” and
decide to use up some of the flour sitting in the bunker’s pantry, and
then he’ll bake and bake until Sam laughingly tells him they’re all going to get fat. It was fudge brownies last time, and apple pies the time
before that.
This time, apparently, it’s cookies.
“It smells very good, Dean,” Castiel says earnestly, and Dean flashes him a grin before turning back to the oven.
Castiel brings the cookie closer and
inhales again. A discerning sense of smell is just one of his angelic perks, and he enjoys smelling Dean’s
cookies much more than smelling dead bodies. He recognizes just a waft of vanilla, and brown sugar, and a
hint of nutmeg, and –
“Raisins?” he asks, looking up. “There’s raisins in
this?”
Dean glances over. “Uh, yeah, Cas, that’s where they’re
called ‘oatmeal raisin cookies’.”
Castiel squints at the cookie, anticipation ebbing away, and now he feels a little… well, cheated.
Dean watches him for a
moment, then turns to face him and leans back against the
counter.
“What’s wrong with raisins? I mean, they’re no chocolate chips, but they’re all right.”
Castiel grumbles. “I don’t like raisins.”
“Huh. You’ve tried raisins before?”
“…no.”
“What? Then how the hell do you
know you don’t like them?”
“I just do,” Castiel says primly.
Dean makes a face. “That’s not an answer.”
“I can tell. By their smell.”
“Raisins have a smell? That’s…well, kinda gross. But not everything tastes the way it
smells, Cas, some things are misleading and – hey! Stop picking out the
raisins, you fucking heathen!”
Castiel freezes guiltily with a raisin pinched between
his fingers. Dean levels a finger at him and
glares.
“Leave the raisins alone, Cas, they’re in there for a reason. It won’t taste the same without them.”
“Good,” Castiel mutters.
“Cas. Take a bite of the damn cookie.”
Castiel sighs and shoots him a mutinous look, too quickly for Dean to see, but
dutifully raises the cookie to his mouth and takes a slow bite. Dean’s eyes are
fixated on him, scrutinizing, watching him chew with an intensity usually
reserved for working a case or watching one of his soap operas.
“Good, yeah?” Dean finally prompts.
Castiel nods slowly, but he doesn’t open his mouth to respond. His mouth is still full of cookie that he refuses to swallow.
“You still have it in your mouth, don’t
you?”
Castiel hesitates, then nods again.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you big baby,” Dean sighs, but he doesn’t actually sound angry. “Fine, just spit it out then – not on the table! What the fuck is wrong with you, I just wiped that down! I meant in the trashcan! Christ – here –“
He thrusts his open hand in front of Castiel, palm
up. It’s obvious what Dean is indicating – the gesture is unmistakable – so Castiel spits out the bite of cookie into Dean’s
waiting hand.
Dean makes a face, wrinkling his nose in disgust, but stalks over
to the trashcan and throws away the bite of cookie. He immediately goes to the
sink and flips on the faucet, starting to wash his hands.
“You are so lucky I love you, Cas,” he gripes,
scrubbing his hands together vigorously. “Do you know how many people I’ve let
spit food into my hands? Two. Sammy when he was little, and Ben. Two kids, not grown-ass adult angels.” He turns off the faucet and snatches up a paper towel, drying his hands as he turns back around. “I mean, at least it wasn’t fucking gum – there is nothing worse than carrying around chewed gum – but raisins
are a close second – “
Castiel is staring at him. He knows he’s staring, but
he can’t help it. The cookie is still grasped in his hand, forgotten, horrible
raisins and all.
Dean stops, raising an eyebrow. “What?”
“You said you love me.”
Both eyebrows shoot up this time, in a way that looks
distinctly panicked. “What?” Dean repeats. It’s the same word, but an entirely different tone of voice.
“You said -” He raises his empty hand so he can add air-quotes, “- ‘you
are so lucky I love you -‘”
Dean splutters. Throws the paper towel at the trashcan. Misses. “That was – Jesus, Cas, that’s just a turn of phrase, you know I didn’t – you’ve been
around humans long enough to – “
“I love you too.”
Dean sucks in a breath like someone just
punched him in the stomach. “What?” he says, a third time.
Castiel sets down the cookie on the table, brushing
off his fingers on his coat, and stands up. “I love you too.” He moves
around the table towards Dean, who’s standing frozen against the counter looking
remarkably like ‘a deer in the headlights’, as he’s heard people say. “I’ve loved
you for a long time. When I first cupped your soul in my hands and lifted you
out of Hell. When you fought me and raged against me and refused Heaven. When I spent every day in Purgatory trying to stay one step ahead of
you.”
It doesn’t look like Dean is even breathing. Castiel is starting to become a little concerned, but he needs to finish saying these things now that he’s started, or he might never take the chance again.
“I love the way you sing along to the radio, and the way you always make
the hard choices even though you hate them, and the way you say my name. I love how a successful hunt makes you happy, but so does baking. Although,” he adds, because he feels like he needs to be entirely honest here,
even if it hurts Dean’s feelings, “I do not like your oatmeal raisin cookies.”
That does it, finally, and Dean bursts into a startled
laugh, some of the tension ebbing out of his shoulders. He laughs until he snorts, and
then he raises a hand and rubs it across his face. Pinches the bridge of his nose. Covers his eyes. “Jesus, Cas – “
And then Dean kisses him, both hands coming forward to cup Castiel’s
jaw and curl his fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.
It feels like he’s waited millennia for this, and Castiel kisses him
back.
the nicest fuckin straight guy on earth will still treat women that they find undesirable like garbage
and stop thinking that your friends are bitter or jealous because they dislike your boyfriend, consider the possibility that he treats them differently than he treats you
‘All that you need to know about boars can be summed up in the fact that if you wish to hunt them, you must have a specially made boar spear. This spear has a crosspiece on it to prevent the boar from charging the length of the spear, driving it all the way through his own body, to savage the human holding the other end.’
–Boar and Apples, T. Kingfisher
fuck OFF
Note that pigs are also HUGE. So, yes, they ARE slightly larger pigs.
So I grew up in the city and have never seen a pig in real life and I just googled it and WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS
I thought they were like labrador sized, like, fat labradors, not mini-cows.
every time I see this post there are more people discovering how fuck off huge pigs actually are and I love it I thought this was a thing everyone knew but clearly not and I’m laughing
This is me with our Tamworth boar, a heritage breed closer to their wild cousins than the Yorkshire above. I am a fully grown, average sized human. He was a gentle sweetie who, sadly, is no longer with us. His name was Mr. Big.
FUCK OFF
Forever laffin’ at people who don’t understand how enormous, terrifying, and tenacious wild boar are.
They’re like if bears had knives protruding from their closed mouths and Didn’t Know When To Quit. Their survival instincts when they’re wounded aren’t “run away and minimize injury” it’s “take the thing that hurt you down with you” They also make sounds like someone crossed a pig with an alligator.
Their head and neck alone can be like the size of an entire human torso.
Also forever laffin’ at people who think pigs are tiny, ‘cause we designed those things can get in the neighbourhood of a thousand pounds in ideal circumstances.
It’s like when people assume Tuna must be small because they’ve only ever experienced them in hockey puck form.
Like seriously why the fuck y’all think everyone FREAKED THE HELL OUT when Dorothy fell into the pig pen in Wizard of Oz? It’s because pigs are HUGE and weigh a shitton and would crush her in an instant.
also dont they eat like, basically anything?
YUP. Pigs will eat people, if given the chance. They dgaf.
That’s why boar hunters use a team of very tenacious dogs to hold the boar so they can be speared without fucking you up. The dogs wear body armour.
I’ve heard stories of people shooting boars, and if it didn’t kill them, it just pissed them off.
how the hell did we ever domesticate these things?
…“how the hell did we ever domesticate these things?”
Very carefully, I would imagine.
WIld boar babies are rather cute, like living humbugs…
…but the adults and their ferocity have been associated with warriors for thousands of years, from Mycenaean Greece (a helmet made from sections of boar tusk)…
…through Celtic Europe (reconstructed carnyx war-horns and standards)…
…Ancient Rome (the crest of Legion 20 “Valeria Victrix”). A couple more legions also used a boar as their crest – I wonder did they squabble over which was the “right” one the way a couple of Swiss cantons had a little war over whose bear was best…?
…then Anglo-Saxon and pre-Viking helmet crests…
…right up to the late Middle Ages (here the white boar badge of Richard Duke of Gloucester, later Richard III of England)…
…and the blue boar badge of the Earl of Oxford,
more usually represented by the De Vere arms, quarterly gules and or, in
the first a molet argent.
After Richard was defeated at Bosworth in 1485, there was a run on blue
paint as inn-signs were changed to reflect new loyalties since Oxford
was on the winning side…
It gets mentioned in the movie “Snatch”, the book/movie “Hannibal” and the webcomic “Lackadaisy Cats”, among numerous other fictional sources, and IRL it’s suspected to be the reason why numerous missing persons have stayed missing.
More here (another comment to this same OP) and here (slightly different).
Here’s some boar-hunting armour for dogs, ancient…
…and modern…
…and the modern one looks very like a simple style of ancient…
So when Odysseus’s old nurse recognizes him by the scar he got from the boar-tusk slash that almost killed him… now you get the resonance.
This post…it just really went places on me.
I hope you read this entire post, and that it made your entire day so much better, even if just for a few moments, like it did mine.
1.Try to figure out what is making you feel guilty. Targeting the issue is the first step in addressing it. What did you eat that caused you to feel this guilt?
2. One you figured out what food caused you to feel this guilt ask yourself why…was it high in calories? High in sugar? Something that you don’t consider healthy?
3. Look at the long term. What you ate might have been unhealthy or not what you planned, but is it going to affect you in a week? Most of the time the answer is going to be no.
4. Did you genuinely enjoy what you ate? No, I’m not asking about the nutritional value or the macros or the calories, I’m asking if you enjoyed this food. Most of the time the answer is going to be yes.
5. Remember that there is more to life than tracking calories and losing weight or becoming fit. You live one life and in that life there is no shame in enjoying delicious foods. There is nothing wrong in eating something just to enjoy it.
6. Try your best to distance the relationship you have created between food and guilt. While this is a long term goal, it is something you can work on everyday. There are no bad foods, and there are no good foods. Food is simply food and detaching foods from the labels of good and bad is key to reestablishing a healthy relationship with food.
Reblogging again to inform everyone that MARTA made a screenshot of this their profile pic on Facebook
GUYS I HAVE ANOTHER FACEBOOK UPDATE
This is literally the most Atlanta thing to happen ever
Nice people made the best Nazis. My mom grew up next to them. They got along, refused to make waves, looked the other way when things got ugly, and focused on happier things than “politics.” They were lovely people who turned their heads as their neighbors were dragged away.
You know who weren’t nice people?
Resisters.
Naomi Shulman. Now is not the time to be ‘nice’ to white supremacists and neo-Nazis. Now is not the time to politely listen to ‘both sides’ in some misguided notion of ‘tolerance.’ Now is not the time for silence. NOW is the time for good people to resist. Loudly and unambiguously. (via odinsblog)
I am going to print this out and plaster it everywhere I go
my heart just broke
Not gonna lie; I’m on the verge of tears right now. Because this is what I see every night when I come into work. I work at a Jewish-run elder care non-profit. Even in the memory care unit, we’re seeing a rise in the residents’ anxiety levels, to the point where they’ve had to stop turning on the TV news stations (and these residents still love the news). Multiple residents are direct survivors of the Shoah; some barely escaped, and almost all of them lost family members in death camps. One resident was one of the children saved by the Kindertransport. Many other residents tell me stories of when they were kids, how their neighborhoods were destroyed and relocated and of the siblings and parents they no longer have. One newer resident was finally starting to settle in when Charlottesville happened. Even though we immediately changed the channel, she was shaken. She was inconsolable for hours. When I left for the night, she was still crying and refused to leave her room. Even now, weeks after the direct event, she still is wary to come to programs, fearing that if she is away from her room too long that her possessions and place will be stolen from her like they were in 1938. Even with dementia, even with Alzheimers, these residents remember what happened. They cannot forget their lost loved ones. They cannot forget the things stolen from them. They cannot forget, period. Because this fight against Neo-Nazis isn’t just a theoretical thing. These groups know that people are forgetting about Shoah; they take great strength knowing that people from that generation are dying. When they regard WWII as a “dark cloud” hanging over the heads of this generation, it is not with a solemn regard, with they knowledge that we must not forget lest we repeat our mistakes. These White supremacists, these White Neo-Nazis, see Shoah remembrance as something they will gladly eradicate. When people gladly throw out the Nazi salute, chant the 14 words, or march under the banner of “hail victory,” they are two things and two things only – Nazi apologists and Nazi supporters. Shoah survivors are not gone. They are still here. We need to stop ignoring that this normalization of Nazis marching in the street harms real people. It’s not just ideas. It’s not just “free speech”. We cannot forget. We cannot forget. We cannot forget.
the worst memories of being bullied is when ppl would pretend not to be bullying you and ask you questions and u thought they were just asking u stuff but they were actually laughing at you the entire time and u had no idea bcos you were young and you didnt understand why people would be mean to you when you didnt do anything wrong.
I spent a lot of my childhood in a constant state of “this is a trap but I don’t know how”
This stayed with me. Sometimes when people are nice to me, I still think they have bad intentions.
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