Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s books were so important in my life. I started to read his work when I was 11, when I got tired of read those romance novels my mom left around the house, and i read them all one after the other in the porch of my old house. I was reading ”El amor en los tiempos del cólera” at the park across my house when I recieved my first kiss! so many lovely memories, of his books and my first home and how I was back then. oh man, what a sad notice :’(
Gabriel García Márquez, famous Colombian journalist, novelist, short story writer, screenwriter and journalist has died at the age of 87.
One of the most significant authors of the 20th Century, Marquez was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1982.
DAN, YOU’RE MAKING IT INCREDIBLY HARD FOR ME TO WALK.
WELL, YOU’RE MAKING IT INCREDIBLY HARD FOR ME TO BREATHE, BECAUSE I LOVE YOU SO MUCH.
YES, RIGHT, BUT YOU’RE ALSO HURTING MY EAR.
THE EAR THAT IS INSIDE MY EYE RIGHT NOW, FILLING THAT EYE WITH THE ONLY THING I WANT TO LOOK AT FOREVER, WHICH IS YOU?
YES, MOST LIKELY, AND THAT IS SWEET, BUT WHAT I’M TRYING TO SAY IS-
THAT YOU LOVE ME TOO? FOREVER? BECAUSE WE ARE TOTALLY SOULMATES?
DOES ONE SOULMATE OFTEN PREVENT THE OTHER FROM WALKING IN A STRAIGHT LINE? IS THAT HOW IT WORKS?
SURE. IT’S PROBABLY ALL THE WEAK KNEES AND SWOONING YOU’RE EXPERIENCING FROM BEING IN LOVE WITH ME SO HARD.
DAN, IT’S YOUR HEAD, WHICH IS SMOOSHED DIRECTLY INTO THE SIDE OF MY HEAD, FORCING ME INTO TREES AND BUSHES.
FORCING YOU INTO LOVE, YOU MEAN.
GOD DAMN IT, DAN.
my contribution to this months SPN art challenge, is also my first. The theme was movie poster crossovers, and I picked Legion.
“How right that the body changed over time, becoming a gallery of scars, a canvas of experience, a testament to life and one’s capacity to endure it.”—Janet Fitch
for erica who asked for deanbenny + rimming~
In retrospect, it was probably naive of Dean to think Benny hadn’t been serious when he’d murmured against Dean’s neck could eat you out for hours, lick you open until you were sloppy loose, ready for me. I’d get you off with just my tongue in your hole.
After all, why else would Dean respond with ‘I’d like to see you try’?
Matthew & the Atlas | To The North
I can’t stop thinking of how beautiful dean would look riding cas’ dick.
like, his chest would be so flushed, all his freckles standing out as he clutches cas’ shoulders and circles his hips slowly, getting used to the fullness inside of him.
he’d be so eager to have all of cas inside him, he’d try to sink down too fast and let out this sound that he’ll swear isn’t a whimper.
and cas would just be gazing up at him, open-mouthed with pleasure, because dean is stunning. and he’s so tight around cas’ cock.
they’d both be so enraptured by each other. dean biting his lip as he begins to move, eyes not leaving cas’
but then cas’ cock makes contact with something wonderful inside of him and dean lets out this wounded moan, eyes clenching shut as his head falls back.
and he wouldn’t be able to help himself after that. he would start fucking himself hard, riding cas until stars erupt behind his eyes, bringing his hands up to grasp desperately at his own nipples.
and he’d be so pink. his skin would be glowing while his flushed cock leaks all over their stomachs as it bobs between them.
and cas can barely speak for how hard dean is riding him but he gasps out words like “gorgeous" and "oh fuck, dean… s-so beautiful”
and when they come, they come together; bodies shaking as they cling to each other, kissing each other’s swollen lips until they’re completely spent.
make me choose
↳ anonymous asked: destiel or
Dean’s always hated waking up; the brief state of disorientation as his brain reconciles going from dream to reality, rubbing the crust from his eyes, the taste of his own mouth as he clicks his tongue, swallowing against the dryness of it. He yawns long and deep, exhaling right in Castiel’s face.
"That’s putrid," Castiel mumbles groggily, reaching up to clasp a lazy hand over Dean’s mouth. Dean laughs against Cas’s palm, pulling it away from his face.
"Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you drag me to bed before I brush my teeth. Consequences, Cas," Dean says, leaning forward to kiss him, but once again he’s met with a palm covering his mouth. Dean scoffs, pulling Cas’s other hand down. “Oh, so you’ll suck your own come outta my ass, but you’re not gonna swallow my morning breath?”
Castiel stares at him for a long moment with shrewd, calculating eyes, then eventually removes his hand and replaces it with his lips, dry and pliant and warm against Dean’s own. Dean grins into the kiss, letting go of Cas’s hands so he can cup his face instead, hooking his one leg over both of Castiel’s.
They melt against each other like candle wax and it’s so good, intimate in all the ways Dean craves most. Castiel’s body meets his in exactly the right ways and lying like this, touching for the sake of touching, with no urgency or endgame to it…
Dean could do it for hours.
He loves it more than nearly anything else, and… Okay, so maybe waking up wasn’t Dean’s problem.
What Dean had always hated was waking up alone.
Luckily, that’s not a problem anymore.
Their lips break apart and Castiel whispers admissions of adoration (and less innocent murmurs..) into the crook of Dean’s neck, reminds him of exactly the kinds of things he’s willing to swallow from Dean and yeah, at this rate, they really will be doing this for hours.
Which is entirely fine by Dean.
this is a post about how Bexy is very important to me and that I love her a lot :3
a moving sea. (deancas, season 9 au, souls) (ao3)
Dean finds him standing in front of the bathroom mirror, shirtless and stock-still and staring at his own reflection, a clouded blur where he’s wiped the steam away with his hands. He doesn’t seem to have heard Dean come down the hall. He doesn’t seem to notice Dean now, close behind the open bathroom door, caught by the bare skin of Castiel’s shoulders: suddenly breathing quietly through his nose and trying not to make a sound. And even though it’s maybe weird, it’s maybe rude, to stand there and watch somebody look at themselves in the mirror, even if they are your- whatever they are, Dean does it anyway.
Castiel leans closer and then leans back. He puts his nose almost to the surface of the mirror and then he tugs at his eyes, his cheeks, his mouth, with the tips of his fingers; draws the skin tight and lets it slacken, opens his mouth in what ought to be a smile but isn’t, baring his teeth. He lifts up the fringe plastered down on his forehead, smooths it back against his scalp. Pushes his ears forward and lets them go. He stands there for a long minute and just stares silently, motionless, still. Waiting for something.
Nothing happens, except that Dean catches the edge of his toe on the door frame.