Anonymous asked: So, you know how freckles are called angel kisses? Can you do one where Dean suddenly has a lot more freckles and when Sam asks him about it Cas smirks or something funny like that? Super fluffy and cute, idk, I’m weird
Author’s note: Featuring Team Free Will, Shipper!Sam, and fluffy stuff.
This was exactly the way Dean preferred it; the three of them, working on a case together. Knowing for sure that his little brother was safe, while knowing at the same time that his best friend was safe. Although ‘best friend’ was no longer the exact term for Dean to use to refer to Castiel…
More like soul mate. More like person-he-loved-deeply. Since a couple of weeks, Castiel was no longer just a friend, but who cared about the details?
They were currently having a pit stop at a crowded diner, waiting for their order to arrive. Castiel was sitting next to Dean in the fairly cozy booth, and Sam was sitting across the table from them. Angels didn’t need to eat, but Cas did appreciate burgers, and even if he wasn’t going to eat in the end, Dean was grateful that Cas had agreed to come along anyway.
A waitress passed their table, appreciatively ogling the three rather fortunate looking men in fitting FBI suits. For the most part she was out of luck though; Dean was taken, as was the blue eyed beauty sitting beside him.
Dean and Castiel were holding hands, under the table, of course. Castiel’s thumb was gently brushing patterns into Dean’s sensitive palm. And sure, they were planning to tell Sam, but not just yet. For a moment, Dean simply wanted to enjoy this newly found happiness with Cas, without having to worry about what his brother’s opinion on it would be…
Their food arrived, and Dean attacked his fries and burger without another word. Even Castiel seemed enthusiastic when a large burger was placed in front of him. Sam was quietly eating his salad like a more civilized person, but Dean could practically sense that his younger brother was eyeing him curiously while they ate their meals. More accurately; Sam was staring at Dean up until the point where Dean challengingly raised his eyebrows at his brother.
“What?” Dean demanded, putting down his burger to scowl at Sam. “Something wrong? Did I grow a second nose?”
Sam pulled a sour face as he shook his head. “No, Dean… I just… I can’t help but notice your face.”
Dean stopped chewing as he considered what his brother had said. His face? What the hell was wrong with his face?
“What about my face, Sammy?” Dean asked pointedly.
Sam dropped his fork, no longer paying his salad any mind as his eyes surveyed Dean’s features.
“Nothing, Dean… It’s just… I know you’ve always had freckles, but in the past week or so it’s almost as if you’ve gotten twice as many. I’m worried… I read about this creepy skin decease the other day…”
Dean didn’t even get a chance to ponder on that, because Castiel already loudly snorted beside him. It made Dean suspicious, because Cas did not snort, at least not unless there was a very good reason.
Ah, fanart. Also known as the art that girls make.
Sad, immature girls no one takes seriously. Girls who are taught that it’s shameful to be excited or passionate about anything, that it’s pathetic to gush about what attracts them, that it’s wrong to be a geek, that they should feel embarrassed about having a crush, that they’re not allowed to gaze or stare or wish or desire. Girls who need to grow out of it.
That’s the art you mean, right?
Because in my experience, when grown men make it, nobody calls it fanart. They just call it art. And everyone takes it very seriously.
It’s interesting though — the culture of shame surrounding adult women and fandom. Even within fandom it’s heavily internalized: unsurprisingly, mind, given that fandom is largely comprised by young girls and, unfortunately, our culture runs on ensuring young girls internalize *all* messages no matter how toxic. But here’s another way of thinking about it.
Sports is a fandom. It requires zealous attention to “seasons,” knowledge of details considered obscure to those not involved in that fandom, unbelievable amounts of merchandise, and even “fanfic” in the form of fantasy teams. But this is a masculine-coded fandom. And as such, it’s encouraged - built into our economy! Have you *seen* Dish network’s “ultimate fan” advertisements, which literally base selling of a product around the normalization of all consuming (male) obsession? Or the very existence of sports bars, built around the link between fans and community enjoyment and analysis. Sport fandom is so ingrained in our culture that major events are treated like holidays (my gym closes for the Super Bowl) — and can you imagine being laughed at for admitting you didn’t know the difference between Supernatural and The X Files the way you might if you admit you don’t know the rules of football vs baseball, or basketball?
"Fandom" is not childish but we live in a culture that commodified women’s time in such away that their hobbies have to be "frivolous," because "mature" women’s interests are supposed to be caretaking, via marriage, children, and the lives of those within an imagined (generally nuclear) family unit: things that allow others to continue their own special interests, while leaving women without a space of their own.
So think about what you’re actually saying when you call someone “too old” for fandom. Because you’re suggesting they are “too old” for a consuming hobby, and I challenge you to answer — what do you think they should be doing instead?
Beyoncé & Nicki Minaj - ***Flawless
(Source: withfireandblood)Played 403657 times.
dragons by nJoo
With Cas in his bed every night, Dean rarely feels the urge to jerk off anymore. Today; however, is one of those rare days. He’s been stretched out in the middle of the bed since he got out of the shower, teasing himself into a state of trembling anticipation. It’s so good when he finally wraps a loose fist around his leaking cock and starts to stroke, so good his breath comes in ragged gasps and his belly twists with need.
Eyes closed, he strokes slowly up and down his thick shaft, pulling his fist over the head of his cock each time; squeeze, twist, repeat. The first indication he’s no longer alone is a warm hand in the middle of his stomach, fingers splayed. Dean gasps, his face flushing with embarrassment instantly as he guiltily yanks his hands away from his body. He opens his eyes just in time to see Cas sinking to sit beside him.
"No, don’t stop," Castiel says, thick and rough. He scratches lightly across Dean’s belly, then lets his thumb drag down the hollow just inside his hipbone as he adds, "Unless you want to.”
It’s a request Dean is more than happy to fulfill. He grins, his cheeks growing even hotter as the blush spreads to his neck and ears, the warm twist in the pit of his stomach growing warmer as he takes his cock in hand again. Castiel’s palm glides down Dean’s thigh as he slowly starts to jerk himself off again, squeezing at thick muscle and pulling his legs open wider. Dean’s breath quickly returns to gasps of pleasure as he strokes and twists, eyes closed once more, exaggerating each movement for Castiel’s viewing pleasure.
click it for fullsize >:C
remember when Cas was actually reALLY COOL AND A BADASS ANGEL, SMITING A HUNDRED DEMONS WITHOUT EVEN FLINCHING, STARING LUCIFER IN THE FACE? Now he’s a guy that breaks slushie machines. sighs. yeah I miss season 4 Cas a lot
Dean/Cas Urban Magic AU
"So… you’re a Natural?"
Cas nods silently, almost as if in fear that the answer will tear away this small piece of happiness he’s found for himself.
Dean grins. “You know, I might not be a Natural for magic, but I’m a natural for other things.”
The city is divided into two factions - Naturals, those born an innate ability to tap into the magic of the city, and Mundanes, those who aren’t.
Castiel Novak is a Natural from a large family of Naturals. They discourage Castiel to even look in the direction of Mundanes, for he is above their class standing. He grows up feeling isolated - he never fit in with his family, never felt the hatred that they did towards Mundanes, and he was never allowed to try seeing things the other way. He leaves them at twenty-five and starts living as a Mundane, keeping his powers a secret.
Dean Winchester is a Mundane in a family of Naturals. He’s excluded from his family and kicked out at eighteen. Ten years later, he finds a ring that finally gives him the powers he always wished for as a child.
Sparks fly when they meet - literally - at a Mundane club. They’re drawn to each other instantly, and quickly start an electric affair. But they’re both harbouring secrets - Cas’ magic and Dean’s lack of it. Fighting against the power of the city’s magic and the long reach of their families, can they find a way to make it out together?
Jensen rubs his temples, eyeing the clock and sighing as he realises it’s going to be another late one. Very late. He still has papers left to read before he can leave, and it looks as though it’s going to be yet another night where he doesn’t manage to get any writing done himself. As much as he loves teaching, loves having the opportunity to inspire young minds and draw out their creativity, he can’t help wishing it didn’t always seem to end up stifling his own.
A clatter and the sound of muffled cursing drifts through the doorway from the direction of the English & Media Studies Department Common Room and he frowns. There shouldn’t be anyone else here at this time - he’s always the last. He pushes wearily away from his desk and goes to investigate, hoping to God that it isn’t drunk students looking for somewhere to party again.
When he pushes open the door to the Common Room he freezes, his stomach lurching. No. Definitely not drunk students. But this is almost worse because he isn’t prepared, hasn’t thought of something sensible to say. He remains in the doorway, desperately searching for something to say that doesn’t sound completely inane.
“Oh. It’s you” is what he eventually comes up with. Which isn’t as bad as it could have been he supposes, though not exactly sparkling with wit. The dark-haired man spins round, cheeks colouring, as the cloth he has been using to frantically mop up an ever-expanding puddle of coffee drips loudly into the awkward silence stretching between them.
“Uh… I had a little spill” he says, gesturing towards the mess behind him and raising the cloth with a slightly embarrassed shrug.
Jensen attempts not to dwell on how sweet he looks, blushing like that, or how his seeming embarrassment is actually very endearing.
“Let me help, Professor” he says absently, moving forwards to reach for the paper towels on the counter, offering silent thanks that his voice comes out more-or-less normally. And really, it’s incredibly frustrating. How he can be comfortable speaking in front of 200 students, yet Professor Misha Collins still reduces him to a babbling wreck with all the finesse of a gawky teenager? It really isn’t fair.
He glances up to find intense blue eyes regarding him thoughtfully, something like regret hidden in their depths.
“Really? Still with the ‘Professor’ Jensen?” he asks softly. “You’re not a student anymore, and I thought we knew each other well enough for you to call me Misha by now.”
Misha is so beautiful and important and if you disagree then i think it’d be best that you unfollow me right now