TROPES

♪Ed Sheeran's New Album♪
♦Currently obsessed with Sterek♦
Tracking #cannibalswelcome

KEEP

Evan|16|America
†FREQUENTLY NSFW†
♥WRITES FOR SPN, TEEN WOLF♥

THE

-PROMPTS IN PROGRESS-
•DEREK GETS WEREWOLF CATNIP•
•Incubus!Stiles, Sterek•
•Competetive Swimming, Destiel•
•TOO MANY BASICALLY•

FANDOM

♠fic is entrancing tbh♠
♣group tomorrow fuck♣
♠boop♠

ALIVE

you can do the thing
i can do the thing
we can all do the thing

redandgoldensunrise;
Hey, I just wanted to know if your picture of Misha holding Jensen's face and kissing his cheek is a manip or really happened? Because it looks so real. :D

destiel-is-my-canon:

THE KISS IS 100% REAL.

This happened this over the summer at JibCon 2014. Jensen was looking a bit agitated during his panel and one of the convention organizers was wise enough to go get Misha and bring him on stage.

Misha immediately walked over and gently kissed Jensen on the cheek, instantly diffusing the tension.

image

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Jensen spent the rest of the convention looking very happy, energetic, and upbeat. He even tried to kiss Misha back!

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Though Misha played hard to get at first:

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But then gave up and went in for another kiss:

image

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Of course, Jensen has gotten his lips on Misha before:

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So it’s nothing new. ;-)

Anyway, thank you for asking this question.

It gave me a wonderful excuse to think back on Misha/Jensen’s kissing history, which, the fact that they even have a kissing history is awesome. Haha.

Writing sex scenes with asexual characters

anagnori:

Okay, I’ve already discussed what not to do. Now let’s talk about doing it well. (This post is entirely SFW, by the way.)

First and foremost: Make the sex scene easy to skip. Please. It should be possible to ignore that whole section of the story and still follow the plot and characterization. Why? Because many asexual people, like me, are sex-repulsed, and reading that stuff is unpleasant for us. Sometimes I have to put down an otherwise excellent story because the author keeps putting graphic descriptions of sex into it,. No level of writing skill will help when I’m cringing at every other page. You could relegate the sex scene to its own chapter, or put warnings at the start and end of it, or publish a separate version of the story without the sex scene. Just make sure that people can read your stuff without worrying about sudden encounters of the genital kind.

Know the reasons why the asexual character chooses to have sex. Their motivations will have a huge impact on how they feel before, during and after the sex scene. For a character who is not gray-asexual or demisexual, sexual attraction will not be a reason, so you’ll need to decide on something else. Here are a few just off the top of my head:

  1. "I love my partner and enjoy bringing them sexual pleasure."
  2. "I’m curious about what sex feels like."
  3. "I want to have children."
  4. "I get horny/aroused sometimes, and the physical release feels good. I don’t mind having a sexual partner during that."
  5. "I don’t care about sex, but I have a kink that I really enjoy, and I don’t mind if sex is part of the experience."
  6. "Sex is useful for me to get what I want." (May be said by a sex worker, by person who gains benefits from a sexual relationship with someone rich or powerful, or by all sorts of people.)
  7. "I had sex because I thought that I owed it to my partner."
  8. "I had sex because I wanted to fit in / be normal / it’s what I thought people were supposed to do in relationships."
  9. "I thought that if I kept trying I would learn to like it."
  10. "I didn’t choose it, I was sexually assaulted."

(Of course, gray-asexual and demisexual people may also choose to have sex without experiencing sexual attraction, for similar reasons.)

Remember that aesthetic attraction and sensual attraction exist, too. An asexual character may still be “physically attracted” to their partner and love to watch or touch them, even if there’s no lust involved.

If the character is strongly sex-repulsed, or if they don’t know they’re asexual, be extremely careful, because you can step into a pile of consent issues there. It’s probably better not to depict them having sex at all.

If sex without sexual attraction is difficult to write about, consider writing a gray-asexual or demisexual character. Gray-asexual people either feel sexual attraction very rarely, or they may feel sexual attraction but not want sexual relationships, or their feelings of attraction may be ambiguous between sexual and non-sexual. Demisexuals act and feel asexual 99% of the time, but if they’ve formed an emotional bond with someone, then they might later become sexually attracted to that person. Although experiencing sexual attraction doesn’t necessarily imply that these characters will want to have sex, the fact that they can feel sexually attracted to their partners may make it easier to write sex scenes with them. A 100% asexual character could also enjoy having sex without experiencing attraction, but for non-asexual writers that may be harder to relate to and write about.

You could write a great story about a character who identifies as asexual but who actually turns out to be demisexual or gray-asexual instead. Just make sure that you write it in such a way that it doesn’t cast doubt on the identities of people who actually are 100% asexual. It would also be wise to put foreshadowing of the twist in there so that the gray-a/demisexual label doesn’t seem forced or implausibly convenient.

Have the characters talk about boundaries, compromises and consent. Every asexual person has different ideas about what forms of physical intimacy they enjoy, and what makes them uncomfortable. Have your asexual and non-asexual characters talk about what they need to feel satisfaction in the relationship. An asexual character who isn’t willing to do penetrative sex may still be fine with foreplay, heavy petting, kinky stuff, and other X-rated things. Or maybe they aren’t. Honest, open communication is essential for every relationship, but with asexual characters it’s even more vital, because the characters can’t expect that “normal” relationship scripts will apply to them.

Consent can be a tough question. A considerate non-asexual partner should show concern that they are not pressuring their asexual lover into unwanted sex. Asexual people can be very vulnerable to being coerced or manipulated into sex, especially because our culture treats sex as mandatory in healthy romantic relationships. Asexual people who do not realize they are asexual may consent to sex that they otherwise would have rejected, because they believe it is their duty, or they think that withholding sex will make them a bad partner. This can be traumatizing and painful.

If you want to portray a healthy act of sex between an asexual and non-asexual person, then you must make it clear that the asexual character is not being pressured into it - not by their partner, not by society’s expectations, and not even by their own internalized acephobia. They should demonstrate that they are fully capable of rejecting sex and do not feel obligated to do it, but are consenting to it freely and happily.

Don’t use a sex scene as the culmination of a romantic story arc. Why? Because this reinforces the idea that sex is the goal of romantic relationships. That’s hurtful to asexual people. Even for asexuals who enjoy sex, it’s not a central factor for them, and they’re usually A-OK spending their lives without it. Instead, culminate your romantic arc with a non-sexual scene that demonstrates the love, trust and commitment between the characters. This could be a wedding, a daring escape from villains, saving the world together, a reconciliation after a fight, or even just a sweet day of domesticity together. There are thousands of ways you could play this. It could be before or after the sex scene, but make sure that it’s there.

And finally…I’ve said this before, but it bears repeating: Don’t “fix” the asexual character. Don’t cure them of asexuality. Don’t make them change their mind about it after a night of really good sex. Don’t make them decide to “give up” being asexual just because they’ve fallen in love. If you really want an asexual-spectrum character who feels sexual attraction, make them demisexual or gray-asexual instead, and include some foreshadowing of it, too.

Now go forth and write some decent smut, you pervs.

  • *Scrolling through tumblr during the day*
  • Tumblr: Ships, fandoms, cheery things.
  • *Scrolling through tumblr at night*
  • Tumblr: sixpenceee
  • Tumblr: sixpenceee
  • Tumblr: more sixpenceee
sblaufuss:

I nearly choked.

sblaufuss:

I nearly choked.

kikky84:

thepsychicclam:

School has been out for three days the first night Derek shows up. He knocks on the door because Stiles is on the couch, his dad’s shift over in a few hours, and when Stiles sees Derek on the porch, he doesn’t say anything. He just stares. Derek looks different somehow, his beard a little thicker, his eyes a little sadder, his back a little straighter like he’s carrying the weight of the world on it. Or maybe just the weight of Boyd and Erica.

Stiles steps aside and Derek enters his house, looking around like he’s just as confused as Stiles about why he’s there. They stare at each other for a few moments, and then Stiles sighs and offers him some leftovers.

*

The next time is a few weeks later, when Derek slips through his window just after midnight. Stiles squeaks out his surprise when he looks up from his online game, and he’s about to ask what Derek’s doing there when he notices the blood on his shirt.

He doesn’t ask. He just goes over to his drawer and tosses him a clean shirt he’s pretty sure will fit. Stiles doesn’t look when Derek lifts the shirt over his head; he pulls up his Netflix instant queue and chooses a movie.

*

“I’ve lost their scent,” Derek murmurs quietly the third time he visits. It’s well into June, hot and humid, and Derek’s the only person other than his dad he’s seen in two weeks. Stiles is so lonely he doesn’t question why Derek’s showing up anymore, doesn’t want him to leave after the movie neither of them is watching finishes.

“I can call Scott, get him – “

“No. Don’t tell him about this,” Derek says, finally looking at Stiles. His eyes are bright even in the dark room, the changing lights from the laptop screen reflecting off them. His jaw looks more angular, the tilt of his head making it sharp and dangerous. “I shouldn’t have told you about this,” he whispers as his eyes close briefly, like Stiles wasn’t supposed to hear. But he hears, every word Derek says, the lilt in his voice, the rise and fall, like how it’s sometimes deep in his chest and other times almost nasal.

Stiles sometimes hears  the words Derek doesn’t say.

He is about to tell Derek something – he’s not sure what – when Derek abruptly stands up and leaves through the window without a glance back.

Stiles pretends he was going to say something mundane but he knows he would have actually said something like please tell me everything. you can always tell me everything.

*

The fourth time Stiles is on the couch, and Derek just walks in without knocking. Stiles tries to believe the uptick in his heartbeat is from being startled.

Derek sits too close to him on the couch, thigh against thigh, the tight denim hugging Derek’s leg a distraction. Stiles isn’t sure when this became normal, when Derek showing up at his house made him nervous, but not in the way it used to. Maybe it was around the same time his hair started growing out, or when Scott started reading more to distract himself than for school, or when Derek started half-smiling when he talked.

All Stiles knows is that he watched a crime drama marathon with Derek, and the only thing he remembers is the way his leg felt pressed against his, the way his fingers felt when they absently brushed against Stiles’ skin.

*

Stiles finds himself outside Derek’s new loft after two weeks of not seeing him. Stiles tells himself it’s to make sure that Derek is okay, to find out how the search is going, and he tells Derek the same thing when Derek opens the door and looks at him in confusion, but not exactly like he’s not glad to see him. Stiles blames the sudden flush on the July heat and tells Derek he likes the new loft a lot better than the subway station.

Derek offers him a bottle of water, and Stiles looks around at the sparse furniture, probably all purchased from the Good Will or scavenged from the side of the road or dumpsters, and the bed in the corner that’s obviously new. It’s a start, Stiles thinks.

In the harsh overhead light, Derek looks ragged, tired, worn out in a way that Stiles has never seen before. His shoulders are painfully straight, and Stiles can see the tension radiating through the taut lines of muscle, the worry lines in his face almost permanent now.

He only stays for a few minutes, because Derek doesn’t have a TV and doesn’t seem in the mood to talk and Stiles can’t think of another reason to hang around. Before he leaves, he pulls something from his pocket and sets it on the counter. When he walks by Derek, he instinctively reaches out and runs a hand over the ball of Derek’s shoulder, his fingers lingering a little too long, Derek leaning into the touch a little too much.

Stiles doesn’t look at Derek – can’t look at him because he’s not sure he wants to see – and heads for the door.

“What’s this?” Derek asks as Stiles’ fingers wrap around the handle.

Stiles glances over his shoulder, a mistake when he sees Derek’s face. He’s holding the flat case in his hand, a vulnerable look in his eyes Stiles has never seen before. It makes him look younger, makes him look accessible, makes him look human.

“A mix CD,” Stiles answers lightly with a wave of his wrist. “For, you know, when you’re out looking. It’s just some songs I’ve been listening to lately. You’ll probably hate it; you don’t strike me much as the indie rock type.”

“Thank you,” Derek responds, his voice quiet and calm, lower and more gravelly than Stiles wants to acknowledge. He hears what Derek says, but he also hears what he doesn’t.

“Yup. Welcome,” Stiles says awkwardly, hurrying out of the loft and away from that look on Derek’s face.

*

Stiles drops by twice over the next week and Derek’s not there. The third time, Derek answers the door in a grey wife beater and impossibly tight jeans, and Stiles wonders what he’s doing, what they’re doing.

Derek orders pizza and Stiles loads up Netflix on Peter’s laptop, and they have to huddle close to see the screen despite the heat from the late July sun streaming in through the windows.

Stiles notices that Derek looks resolved, determined today, replacing the weary sadness he’d sported the last month. He wonders what’s different, but doesn’t ask. Instead, he tries to scoot closer, pretends Derek needs to be touched in his loneliness as much as Stiles.

Derek’s hand ends up on Stiles’ thigh, and Stiles’ foot draped over Derek’s ankle. When Stiles looks up and finds Derek staring at him, he’s not surprised when Derek leans down and kisses him. His lips are soft and gentle at first, hesitant like he’s still trying to decide, and Stiles lets him because Stiles decided weeks ago, maybe even longer ago than that.

Derek’s mouth grows more confident, more demanding, and Stiles gives Derek everything he wordlessly asks for without a thought. And when he ends up on his back on Derek’s new bed, his and Derek’s shirts discarded somewhere between the couch and here, his shorts unbuttoned as Derek licks one of his nipples, Stiles doesn’t pretend anymore, stops holding back from Derek and himself.

His fingers fumble gracelessly with Derek’s belt, but he doesn’t care, Derek’s breathing heavy as he holds himself on his knees, looking down at Stiles working his jeans and boxers over his growing erection. Derek shucks Stiles’ pants much more quickly, and he feels embarrassed until they’re pressed together, hot skin against hot skin. Between the heat from the setting sun and Derek’s body all over him, Stiles can barely breathe, and he’s staring up at the ceiling, at the exposed beams as he tries to get his bearings.

Derek’s rutting against him desperately, and Stiles matches him thrust for thrust, their bodies sweatslick atop the crumpled black comforter. Derek slides his hand up the long line of Stiles’ arm, threading their fingers together as he bites his neck gently, and Stiles hooks a leg around his waist as he squeezes Derek’s hand and pulls him closer. Derek grasps his hand tightly, holding on to Stiles like he’s afraid he’s going to disappear.

After Derek sucks a bruise into his skin, he lifts his head, looking down at Stiles, eyes bright and lust-filled until he blinks and red eyes pierce into him. Stiles feels stripped, in way he’s never felt before, in a way he decides he only wants Derek to do to him. Derek leans down and kisses him, and it’s all tongueteethlips and touchthrustgasp as they slide against one another, and Stiles knows that Derek is pulling him apart at the seams, that he’ll have to stitch Derek back together afterwards. When Stiles comes, Derek bites a bruise into his shoulder, and Stiles doesn’t have to pretend that Derek breathes his name when he comes a moment later.


They lay in bed afterwards, a mess of tangled limbs and sweat, and Stiles is silent for once, listening to all that Derek’s not saying, hoping Derek is listening to all the words that he doesn’t say.

Amazing ❤I’m crying omg

kikky84:

thepsychicclam:

School has been out for three days the first night Derek shows up. He knocks on the door because Stiles is on the couch, his dad’s shift over in a few hours, and when Stiles sees Derek on the porch, he doesn’t say anything. He just stares. Derek looks different somehow, his beard a little thicker, his eyes a little sadder, his back a little straighter like he’s carrying the weight of the world on it. Or maybe just the weight of Boyd and Erica.

Stiles steps aside and Derek enters his house, looking around like he’s just as confused as Stiles about why he’s there. They stare at each other for a few moments, and then Stiles sighs and offers him some leftovers.

*

The next time is a few weeks later, when Derek slips through his window just after midnight. Stiles squeaks out his surprise when he looks up from his online game, and he’s about to ask what Derek’s doing there when he notices the blood on his shirt.

He doesn’t ask. He just goes over to his drawer and tosses him a clean shirt he’s pretty sure will fit. Stiles doesn’t look when Derek lifts the shirt over his head; he pulls up his Netflix instant queue and chooses a movie.

*

“I’ve lost their scent,” Derek murmurs quietly the third time he visits. It’s well into June, hot and humid, and Derek’s the only person other than his dad he’s seen in two weeks. Stiles is so lonely he doesn’t question why Derek’s showing up anymore, doesn’t want him to leave after the movie neither of them is watching finishes.

“I can call Scott, get him – “

“No. Don’t tell him about this,” Derek says, finally looking at Stiles. His eyes are bright even in the dark room, the changing lights from the laptop screen reflecting off them. His jaw looks more angular, the tilt of his head making it sharp and dangerous. “I shouldn’t have told you about this,” he whispers as his eyes close briefly, like Stiles wasn’t supposed to hear. But he hears, every word Derek says, the lilt in his voice, the rise and fall, like how it’s sometimes deep in his chest and other times almost nasal.

Stiles sometimes hears  the words Derek doesn’t say.

He is about to tell Derek something – he’s not sure what – when Derek abruptly stands up and leaves through the window without a glance back.

Stiles pretends he was going to say something mundane but he knows he would have actually said something like please tell me everything. you can always tell me everything.

*

The fourth time Stiles is on the couch, and Derek just walks in without knocking. Stiles tries to believe the uptick in his heartbeat is from being startled.

Derek sits too close to him on the couch, thigh against thigh, the tight denim hugging Derek’s leg a distraction. Stiles isn’t sure when this became normal, when Derek showing up at his house made him nervous, but not in the way it used to. Maybe it was around the same time his hair started growing out, or when Scott started reading more to distract himself than for school, or when Derek started half-smiling when he talked.

All Stiles knows is that he watched a crime drama marathon with Derek, and the only thing he remembers is the way his leg felt pressed against his, the way his fingers felt when they absently brushed against Stiles’ skin.

*

Stiles finds himself outside Derek’s new loft after two weeks of not seeing him. Stiles tells himself it’s to make sure that Derek is okay, to find out how the search is going, and he tells Derek the same thing when Derek opens the door and looks at him in confusion, but not exactly like he’s not glad to see him. Stiles blames the sudden flush on the July heat and tells Derek he likes the new loft a lot better than the subway station.

Derek offers him a bottle of water, and Stiles looks around at the sparse furniture, probably all purchased from the Good Will or scavenged from the side of the road or dumpsters, and the bed in the corner that’s obviously new. It’s a start, Stiles thinks.

In the harsh overhead light, Derek looks ragged, tired, worn out in a way that Stiles has never seen before. His shoulders are painfully straight, and Stiles can see the tension radiating through the taut lines of muscle, the worry lines in his face almost permanent now.

He only stays for a few minutes, because Derek doesn’t have a TV and doesn’t seem in the mood to talk and Stiles can’t think of another reason to hang around. Before he leaves, he pulls something from his pocket and sets it on the counter. When he walks by Derek, he instinctively reaches out and runs a hand over the ball of Derek’s shoulder, his fingers lingering a little too long, Derek leaning into the touch a little too much.

Stiles doesn’t look at Derek – can’t look at him because he’s not sure he wants to see – and heads for the door.

“What’s this?” Derek asks as Stiles’ fingers wrap around the handle.

Stiles glances over his shoulder, a mistake when he sees Derek’s face. He’s holding the flat case in his hand, a vulnerable look in his eyes Stiles has never seen before. It makes him look younger, makes him look accessible, makes him look human.

“A mix CD,” Stiles answers lightly with a wave of his wrist. “For, you know, when you’re out looking. It’s just some songs I’ve been listening to lately. You’ll probably hate it; you don’t strike me much as the indie rock type.”

“Thank you,” Derek responds, his voice quiet and calm, lower and more gravelly than Stiles wants to acknowledge. He hears what Derek says, but he also hears what he doesn’t.

“Yup. Welcome,” Stiles says awkwardly, hurrying out of the loft and away from that look on Derek’s face.

*

Stiles drops by twice over the next week and Derek’s not there. The third time, Derek answers the door in a grey wife beater and impossibly tight jeans, and Stiles wonders what he’s doing, what they’re doing.

Derek orders pizza and Stiles loads up Netflix on Peter’s laptop, and they have to huddle close to see the screen despite the heat from the late July sun streaming in through the windows.

Stiles notices that Derek looks resolved, determined today, replacing the weary sadness he’d sported the last month. He wonders what’s different, but doesn’t ask. Instead, he tries to scoot closer, pretends Derek needs to be touched in his loneliness as much as Stiles.

Derek’s hand ends up on Stiles’ thigh, and Stiles’ foot draped over Derek’s ankle. When Stiles looks up and finds Derek staring at him, he’s not surprised when Derek leans down and kisses him. His lips are soft and gentle at first, hesitant like he’s still trying to decide, and Stiles lets him because Stiles decided weeks ago, maybe even longer ago than that.

Derek’s mouth grows more confident, more demanding, and Stiles gives Derek everything he wordlessly asks for without a thought. And when he ends up on his back on Derek’s new bed, his and Derek’s shirts discarded somewhere between the couch and here, his shorts unbuttoned as Derek licks one of his nipples, Stiles doesn’t pretend anymore, stops holding back from Derek and himself.

His fingers fumble gracelessly with Derek’s belt, but he doesn’t care, Derek’s breathing heavy as he holds himself on his knees, looking down at Stiles working his jeans and boxers over his growing erection. Derek shucks Stiles’ pants much more quickly, and he feels embarrassed until they’re pressed together, hot skin against hot skin. Between the heat from the setting sun and Derek’s body all over him, Stiles can barely breathe, and he’s staring up at the ceiling, at the exposed beams as he tries to get his bearings.

Derek’s rutting against him desperately, and Stiles matches him thrust for thrust, their bodies sweatslick atop the crumpled black comforter. Derek slides his hand up the long line of Stiles’ arm, threading their fingers together as he bites his neck gently, and Stiles hooks a leg around his waist as he squeezes Derek’s hand and pulls him closer. Derek grasps his hand tightly, holding on to Stiles like he’s afraid he’s going to disappear.

After Derek sucks a bruise into his skin, he lifts his head, looking down at Stiles, eyes bright and lust-filled until he blinks and red eyes pierce into him. Stiles feels stripped, in way he’s never felt before, in a way he decides he only wants Derek to do to him. Derek leans down and kisses him, and it’s all tongueteethlips and touchthrustgasp as they slide against one another, and Stiles knows that Derek is pulling him apart at the seams, that he’ll have to stitch Derek back together afterwards. When Stiles comes, Derek bites a bruise into his shoulder, and Stiles doesn’t have to pretend that Derek breathes his name when he comes a moment later.

They lay in bed afterwards, a mess of tangled limbs and sweat, and Stiles is silent for once, listening to all that Derek’s not saying, hoping Derek is listening to all the words that he doesn’t say.

Amazing ❤I’m crying omg

Dude, I spent three days coming up with this investigation quest, please don’t make me roll bluff checks for all 153 NPCs because you’re just going to yell “j’accuse!” at them.
A mildly frustrated DM to the party Gunslinger.
Anonymous;
I thought the focus on Dean being on the left side of the bed in that episode was foreshadowing Sam placing him on the other side of the bed after he died. Seems like the most logical thing to infer from it.

lurea:

proxy-1:

Yup, that’s certainly one reading for it, and is likely part of it.  But that then ignores the other stuff around it.  They could have had that same shot without rearranging the rest of the room, so it makes sense to look at how they rearranged it, and what it could mean.

The side table was the big thing - Dean’s room had always been set up as a single room, with one bedside table, and other things scattered about.  In that episode, a second one had been moved from the side of the room, to the side of the bed.  It also had a lamp on it, one that was far brighter than the one on Dean’s side, and it was lighting up that empty space, drawing your attention to it even further.  So the room has been rearranged to be a two person room, and the brighter of the two lights is highlighting the empty spot, and it’s doing this even more by flickering quite heavily.  This still may not mean anything, but there are a couple of other things in the room, in the context of the previous episodes, and the fact that Cas was pretty consistently associated with light - mainly the sun, but light in general also.

Up on the shelf above Dean’s bed are two particular things that are interesting, that have been there a long time but have been moved - the bag of salt, and the cross.  In that shot, the bag of salt had been moved from right down at the end of the shelf to above Dean’s head - that’s a huge amount of foreshadowing right there for where he was headed.  The cross, however, was above the the other side of the bed, but more importantly had fallen over.  So there’s a prop, extremely indicative of heaven, that had fallen.  And it’s associated with the brightly lit, yet empty side of the bed.  Incidentally, the blanket on the bed is a very similar colour brown to the plaid blanket that Cas has on his bed in the promo.  Now, the cross could mean a number of things - it could be referring to Cas (because what other element of fallen heaven would Dean have referred to in his room).  It could just be referring to the angel fall in general, or to Gadreel (tenuous, but it is still a valid reading).  If you’re someone who believes that Crowley is a fallen angel himself (and I don’t think it’s an unreasonable conclusion to draw, there are enough hints to that that I think it could well be the case), then it could be a reference to him being the one who put Dean on the right hand side of the bed.  

But the episodes preceeding that all had a very common thread, and that was that Dean is tired of his old life (not so much the hunting, but the womanising).  In 9.08 he talked about how the physical part of the one night stands is great, but then it’s always the adios.  Then in 9.13, the episode directly before, there was the scene with Dean identifying with the way Mala described the dead guy as calling her his Princess Jasmine.  So Dean is over the lifestyle he’s leading, and is wanting more. Someone with whom there isn’t the adios in the morning, someone that he can build an actual relationship with.  

So yeah, the placement of Dean on the bed in that episode was probably two-fold - definitely a certain amount of foreshadowing for him lying dead there by the end of the season.  But when combined with all the other threads that went through it, also shows where Dean was at emotionally and what he wants, and it gives a .  The fact that it is being mirrored in Cas’ placement on his bed is pretty interesting as well, given how heavily Carver is relying on the use of mirrors & parallels to tell the story.  And we know for sure that this was all 100% deliberate - Jerry Wanek directed the episode as well, and was specifically asked about it.  He didn’t respond to that, but he did very soon after tweet this:

"Our set dressing and shot composition is very deliberate, It’s Deans room he can move what he wants when he wants. Thx for noticing" [x]

So yeah.  There are a bunch of reasons that while I think the 9.23 forshadowing may well have been a good part of what that shot was about, I don’t think it was all, or even the main part of it.

One of the things that I noticed when fandom was first discussing this was the time period between those two shots.  There’s at least 2-3 weeks between them, and during that time is when Cas and Sam are staying in the bunker together.  

So, personally, I think Cas totally moved into Dean’s room while Dean was gone and Dean kept it that way when he got back. ;-)

breadmaakesyoufat:

i just heard a bouncing noise and then that was followed by my dad saying

"oh no my potato"

bongosonmycassbutt:

Dean loves a lot of things about Cas. He loves the way he watches TV, with a slight furrow on his forehead as he stares at the screen, completely focused. He loves the way Cas laughs, his blue eyes crinkling up. He loves how Cas kisses his temples, his cheek, his lips.

But when he wakes up one Sunday morning with Cas tucked under his chin, Dean thinks his favourite thing must be how Cas sleeps.

Cas sleeps like a log. Once he’s out, he’s out, and he’s not moving until he wakes up. And right now, wrapped up in Dean’s arms, he’s sleeping soundly.

Still half asleep, Dean lifts one hand and traces a finger down the side of Cas’s face, from his temples to his lips. Cas sleeps with his lips slightly parted, and a tiny frown on his face, as though being asleep is something that requires intense concentration.

Dean moves his hand from Cas’ face to trace down his back, stroking his waist. He runs his fingers in feather light touches along the sleep-warm skin, burying his face in Cas’ hair, so, so desperately in love with the feeling of Cas breathing slowly into his neck, the feel of Cas’ warm body pressing against him.

He traces patterns up Cas’ arm, watching as his eyes flicker behind his eyelids. Its only once Dean laces their fingers together and kisses them that Cas stirs. He blinks, squinting a little, and sees Dean watching him.

"No," he mumbles, shoving his face back into Dean’s neck.

"No what?" Dean asks, closing his eyes when Cas stretches out his legs and tangles them with Dean’s, pushing himself closer.

"Not getting up," comes Cas’ indistinct voice.

"You don’t have to," Dean says gently, stroking Cas’ hair. "Do you want me to make you breakfast?"

Cas shakes his head against the column of Dean’s throat. It tickles, and Dean squirms a little. Cas just holds him tighter.

"No," Cas murmurs, kissing Dean’s neck lightly. "You’re not getting up."

"What if I’m hungry?"

Cas gently nips at his skin instead of replying. He stills again, settling down in Dean’s arms, and within just a few seconds he’s fast asleep again.

Dean presses his face into Cas’ hair and smiles when he hears Cas’ soft snoring. His eyes drift shut, lulled by the warmth of the body wrapped around him and the steady breathing. When they wake up again, Dean will make Cas coffee and kiss the grumpy pout off his face.

Maybe they can have pancakes.

disloyals:

ordering pizza online is the best technological advancement since the internet itself

youdtearthiscanvasskinapart:

I like how there are probably a couple people who reblog this because it’s a cute and vintage-y and then the rest of us just KNOW

youdtearthiscanvasskinapart:

I like how there are probably a couple people who reblog this because it’s a cute and vintage-y and then the rest of us just KNOW

bereweillschmidt:

lavender-ice:

what is this. magical bird.

Quetzal. That bird is a Quetzal and it can be found on Western Mexico.  It’s on a near threatened status.

bereweillschmidt:

lavender-ice:

what is this. magical bird.

Quetzal. That bird is a Quetzal and it can be found on Western Mexico.  It’s on a near threatened status.