1) Have you ever thought that two of your friends should start dating because they get along so well together, but maybe you never tell them this; you just let them work it out for themselves because it’s none of your business?
2) Have you ever been so happy that a friend or family member has found true love that you celebrate their love with other people (like at a wedding)?
3) Have you ever seen two people in a public space with such obvious chemistry that you can’t help but wonder if they were a romantic couple? And if they weren’t then they ought to be?
4) Have you ever seen three or more people get along so well and have so much physical and romantic chemistry that you can’t tell who is in a relationship with who? You couldn’t decide who would be suited best together (no matter their genders)?
If you have done any of these things then congratulations, you ship people in real life.
“but its different if you’re shipping celebrities!” - See example 3
“but they’re married!” - See example 4 (it’s called polyamory)
“but it’s none of our business” - See example 1
“it’s creepy to talk about it online and write fanfics of it” - See example 2
I admit that these examples aren’t perfect and RPS can be problematic, but they can also be really respectful and joyful. It’s just in how you approach it, just like LITERALLY ANYTHING ELSE IN FANDOM.
If you don’t ship Cockles (or any other RPS) that’s okay. If you hate on shippers who are being respectful, then kindly stfu.
wishing a very happy birthday to @winjennster!!! a little college AU fluff for you. <3
If he was honest, Dean had no idea at all how to tell his college roommate that he was in love with him.
In fact, he wasn’t entirely sure that he wanted to - or rather, sure, he wanted to, but there was no way he had the courage to potentially spoil their whole friendship just because he had a major heart-on for the guy. But all that feeling had to go somewhere.
So Dean started writing notes, and leaving them in places he knew Cas would find them. Places anyone could have reached, not just Dean.
Your smile lights up the whole room, in the shared kitchen, under Cas’ fruit bowl. Spending time with you is the best part of any day, in Cas’ bag. Reminds me of you, tucked into the page of Cas’ poetry book that had one which began, shall I compare thee to a summer’s day…
It was horrifically, disgustingly gross, and Dean knew it. But, hey, it was anonymous. Cas need never know the source of all the sappy, feelingsy notes in his life. Dean was safe.
One time, though, Cas almost caught him leaving a note - you make the world a better place, in his laptop case - and so Dean decided to dial it back. He wouldn’t leave any notes for a couple weeks.
It had been ten days when Cas, lying on his bed and reading while Dean typed at his laptop on the other bed, said absently, “Why did you stop leaving those notes?”
Over 400 years old and he still hasn’t learnt to not lie out in the summer sun.
Based on @winjennster‘s comment: “Seriously imagine him showing up all miserable at Cas’s and burned red and whining. Cas knows plants and stuff, right? He could totally make some kind of salve to help his poor miserable God. All while trying not to laugh.”
Dean glances over his clipboard, doing his nightly inventory check. The gas station is strangely quiet save for the hum of the coolers and the whir of the slurpee machine. He scrutinizes the candy rack, silently counting the Snickers bars and making a quick note on the sheet.
When he took the graveyard shift at the Pump and Go station, Dean never expected it to be so boring. As many emails as Sam sent him detailing the dangers, Dean expected to see a little more action. Instead, all he got were random drunks, stoners and antsy teenagers stopping to get late night slurpees as he leafs through tabloid magazines.
Dean smiles as he taps his foot along with the beat of John Bonham’s drums; at least his boss lets him pick the radio station.
“All of My Love” fades away and familiar opening piano chords drift through the speakers. A wicked smile crosses Dean’s face. He sets the clipboard on top of a row of cans, and snags a pair of sunglasses from a nearby rack. He takes a running start and slides across the linoleum, doing his best Tom Cruise impression as he sings along with “Old Time Rock and Roll.” He grabs a People magazine from the rack, rolling it up for a microphone.
Dean swings his head around, getting into the music. Hetakes full advantage of the solitude, moving around and dancing like nobody’s watching.
… Only someone is.
Out of the corner of his eye, Dean notices the silhouette of an employee at the Gas n’ Sip across the street on the opposite side of the road. He’s peering out the large window at the front of the station, face nearly pressed to the glass and looking directly at Dean.
I kind of had an idea already planned for my Castiel op, but I wasn’t completely set on it, so I’m really glad that I invited @winjennster to join me in the op instead. And continue her Twister ops legacy.
When we got to the front of the line, the Creation worker said that he wouldn’t be able to get down on the floor. We said that we’d fake it instead, which I then told Misha. He had us get down on the board first. Then he climbed over me! I was not expecting it and had no idea what he was doing (besides I was distracted having his body draped over me). I’m surprised I was able to find Chris in the madness because I was laughing so hard. After the op, the fans in the line gave us a round of applause and someone told me I was as red as my dress.
I think I’ll have to put this down as one of my best ops ever :)
There is a secluded garden up in heaven, tucked far away from the eyes of prying angels. It is small, filled with an empty plot of dirt and created purely for the purpose of self-destruction.
Eight years ago when his wings were still whole, his grace still intact and his obedience towards God reigned over all else, Castiel formed this garden out of stardust, morphing it with his own hands and shamefully hiding it away from all his brethren.
In the months following Dean’s resurrection, Castiel started up a sort of routine. He flew to Earth, met with Dean, returned and casted a fraction of his grace into the neatly plowed rows, watered the seed with his tears of repentance and returned to Dean and his duties. Castiel was ashamed of his doubt, his feelings, and the slow fire of love burning in his gut that yearned for Dean’s affections in ways that he knew were considered an abomination to the angels and his father.
To engage with humans in their bodily lust is the gravest sin an angel can commit.
Each seed of grace he threw away sprouted a small thorny plant, its leaves bristled and branches thick with pointy thorns. By the time Castiel became God, the garden was littered with these plants, their branches intermingling and twisting around each other until all of the clean, brown dirt was covered with their invasive roots.
Now, the garden long since abandoned after all the angels fell, remains, yet its green vines are no longer empty, but ripe with flourishing red roses, each bud on every branch brandishing a perfectly formed flower.
After all a love so pure could not beget thistles and weeds, only the most beautiful flower in all of creation.
Beestiels has (potentially permanent) tendinitis and overuse syndrome in her drawing hand. Help her afford a Cintiq to make drawing less painful so she can continue working!
How to support (for now): Patreon (monthly donations that charge on the 1st of each month), shop (updates fairly frequently -follow it or check back for updates!), commissions.* I really don’t want to ask for “free” money, sorry. T_T So I’d prefer using those methods.
*If you commission me, please do not give me anything with a deadline, or at least a tight one. With my hand in as much chronic pain as it is, I’m drawing slower and have to be careful.
Hi everyone! I’m Alissa aka beestiels. As most of you know, I am an illustrator for a living. Most of you probably know me for my Supernatural fanart, illustrations and paper dolls, maybe my fanfic, possibly the occasional graphic or contribution to other fandoms. I have an online shop, and do commissions and conventions/events. I am also in the middle of the interview process for a game company.
I draw, like a lot. In addition to writing.
But the past couple weeks, I’ve have chronic pain in my right (drawing) hand, fingers, wrists, knuckles, etc ranging from mild to severe. Today I went to the doctor, and found out I have tendinitis and overuse syndrome. I acquired a wrist brace and pain and anti-inflammatory medication. I’m also going to have to see other doctors and most likely go to physical therapy. It’s not a problem that’s going away like…any time soon. At all.
And it’s making drawing difficult, slow, and incredibly painful. I really don’t think I can stress enough how painful this gets -I mean, it gets to the point where sometimes I have to stop doing literally everything that I could potentially use my right hand for. Even gripping a steering wheel or holding a dinner plate can hurt. So, as you can imagine, sometimes it makes drawing literally impossible. And drawing is not only my career and how I survive in this world, but also my hobby and my passion, my major contribution to this fandom which is a big part of my life, and my major source of happiness and sense of purpose. It also takes away from being able to write my beloved fics.
Anyway, among the many things the doctor said, it was actually suggested I get a Cintiq tablet. The screen being on the tablet combined with the adjustable angle makes it more ergonomic and could therefore alleviate a LOT of my pain when I draw. It’ll help me in the short run and also the long run, because hopefully the pain won’t be this bad for ever. Right now I’m looking at the Cintiq 13 inch HD. It can’t do 3D, but hey, drawing is what I mainly need, and the 13 Inch HD is the cheapest Cintiq. The 22 Inch HD would be nice but the lack of portability could be a problem right now. If I can only get one, I’d rather have one that’s more portable.
I considered setting up a GoFundMe or something but I feel kinda weird about doing that honestly, since I never have. I’m not sure if I’ll be taking just straight-up PayPal donations.
Dean wasn’t sure how to break it to his mother than angels exist. Part of him figured she must know about them since she had been in heaven and heaven should have angels, but it seemed that angels took a hands-off sort of approach to soul-keeping.
But, maybe she didn’t know and Dean couldn’t risk her freaking out just yet. Somehow they were holding all of the hysteria together thus far, and hopefully they’d make it to the bunker before it really began to fall apart.
So, he bought himself some time.
“Uh, Cas? Oh, he’s another hunter. He’s a little weird.” He looked out the front windshield, rolled his eyes, and let a little smile creep onto his face. “A weird, dorky, little hunter.”
Mary bought it.
And yeah, he felt a little bad about lying to her. But was he really lying? Cas had fallen. He had been disowned. He had been on earth for so long (although still a length incomparable to the length he’d spent in heaven). He was a hunter.
Dean thought about Cas in his FBI suit knocking back drinks with him and Sam.
His angel was all grown up, a full grown hunter. Dean smiled to himself before breaking into a real grin and jabbing the button to turn on the radio.
Beyond his happy bubble, Mary watched closely. She knew he hadn’t told her the whole truth, but, if Dean was that happy, the rest of the truth probably wasn’t that bad.
Because I am crazy and I am super inspired for this ‘verse. DeanCas Jurassic Park!AU (the beginning)
“Look at you, all cute and covered in dirt.”
Dr. Castiel Novak reaches for the water bottle in the other man’s hands, blue eyes stark against his dusty, tanned skin. He pulls off his hat to reveal the messy hair underneath; dark, sweat-soaked stuff starting to curl behind his ears. The top of his chest is exposed thanks to unbuttoned part of his blue shirt, exposing a silver band on a chain around his neck. He, unsuccessfully, tries to hide his smile. “You do realize I’m engaged?”
From where he’s seated, looking through his notes, palaeontologist Dean Winchester raises a brow, leaning back on his hands. He smirks, chin tilted up to reveal the column of his neck. He knows he’s freckled beyond belief at this point—his skin a mess of teeny tiny melanin deposits that bother him to no end, but that Cas, for whatever reason, seems to adore. He shows them off, now. “Yeah,” he sighs. “What a shame; that fiancée of yours, he’s a lucky guy.”
Castiel hums, taking a drink in a decidedly unaffected way despite the blush of his cheeks. When he’s finished, the paleobotanist seats himself beside Dean, handing the bottle over with a sigh. They’re in the shade of one of the tents near the trailer—out in the open with regards to the dig site, but everyone has taken a break for lunch and is at the mess tent. Still, Cas is cautious. He scoots in when Dean’s arm drops around his waist, the other’s free hand picking up a random sheet and squinting at it. “So, what are we doin’; we getting lunch?”
“We should,” Castiel sighs. “But I’m honestly not in the mood for chilli again.”
“Right; what’s up with that? We need to have words with Garth.”
“We do.” Leaning over, Cas rests his chin on Dean’s shoulder despite the heat. “What are you working on?”
They munched in silence for a while, Dean staring up at his canvas, and Castiel studying the tattoo on the lower left-hand side of Dean’s chest.
It was beautiful woman, blonde curls surrounding her softly smiling face and green eyes shaped like Dean’s. She had a halo over her head and ethereal white wings spread behind her. Along the bottom hem of her white gown was a banner with the initials MW and the dates 12-5-54 to 11-2-83.
He was staring long enough that he didn’t realize Dean was staring back at him. “That’s my mom,” he said quietly. Cas jumped, unprepared for his voice. “She died when I was little.” He looked down at the tattoo, absently running his hand down it. “She was my first angel,” he said softly. “The first one I painted.”
“She was. She was all warmth and sunshine and cinnamon.” Dean’s eyes lost focus as he gazed out into the engine bay. “I remember her getting up early and making pie and singing and just scooping me up into hugs. She used to tell me angels were watching over me. I guess it stuck and that’s why I paint angels.”