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To all my followers

Someone might already have noticed it…others..lots of others not…

I’ll be on hiatus (or semi-hiatus) for some weeks. I don’t know if i’ll come back. I don’t know what happened…, I think that maybe my “different” opinions on Cockles are not very well accepted from the others… Anyway i’ve been left alone… and I’m not talkin ofc of my followers, wich are fantastic and amzing and always ready to give me love, but I’m talkin of all the ones I used to call “friends”… Apparently as queen I’m like Marie Antoinette and my head is not so important anymore…

So thanks to all my followers, if u want to stay I’m sure I’ll still post something from time to time… if u want to go I’ll understand…

So long to everyone, it’s been one of the most amazing experiences of all my life and I’ll miss it, like all of u, but all the indifference it’s startin to hurt and maybe I’m weak but I’m tired of hurtin…

All my love and wishes of an amazing life to all of you.




Misha tethers Jensen with his eyes the very first time they meet, those faceted blue topaz jewels tipped just so, the light catching the edges like sun kissing clear waters, and the younger man knows, right then, that he is lost, he is ruined, there will never be a moment’s rest until he traps those refracted beams in his own eyes, until he comes to let that inner fire know his own.

Jensen cannot draw in enough air, the first time physical contact is made.

The fingers that touch his shoulder are so warm, so certain, even through all the layers of clothing, exerting a pressure that flips a switch deep inside of him. It’s electric, positive and negative electrodes synapsing in one shuddering spark. He burns for Misha, melts in his presence, tense muscles turning molten, like they had in bed that morning, and last night, Jensen lost in thoughts of the other actor, fantasies that leave him denting and blanching his lips as he rides the hot southern rush of blood, the breathless lift of his hips in search of friction only finding a frustrating void, leaving him spent but still wanting, craving, longing.

A familiar purr by Jensen’s ear on set one afternoon, a deep teasing rumble laden with secrets and filled with dark promises makes his lips part in search of the oxygen his cells starve for, gasping and grasping as he watches the smooth glide of tongue over parched lips, creased pink arches pulled taut, dragged over a fence of white teeth, an even top row juxtaposed with a crooked bottom in a jumbled zig-zag that mirrors a shifting line of stocks. He wonders how that might feel, to press along those uneven edges, to smooth over gums and stroke past cheeks and then emerge slick and free into open air.

A tag sticks up from Misha’s shirt collar, and Jensen swiftly tucks his fingers beneath that confined space, dipping into the heated cache to dust against the fine dark hairs that curl at the nape of his neck. He longs to press his lips there, to bury his face against those silky midnight tresses and just inhale, discovering jasmine and vanilla and a hint of sweetness. He thinks the skin would brush his mouth like a ripe peach, soft over the firmness beneath, the top of his spine a jutting swell before the dip begins, a rushing drop below his shoulder blades that bellows into sweet curves to knead and grasp.

Jensen cannot resist stroking Misha’s cheek, finding the texture slightly rough, like fine gauge sandpaper, the tiny beginnings of stubble just catching on the backs of his fingers. He imagines the feel of that shadowed surface scraping elsewhere, the hollow at the base of his throat or the inside of his wrist before bringing a flush to the pale flesh of his inner thighs, summoning thunder and lightning and a deluge of the rising tides restlessly surging, demanding release.

Now that Jensen’s begun touching the other man, he finds he cannot stop. The excuses to do so come frequently, urgently, propelling them together. His mouth is a well of water, a pool of desire in anticipation of what it would be like to kiss Misha’s mouth, that haunting cavern vibrating with sound, no words but a noise drawn from some aching place in his center, so empty until the pleasure of that inevitable first kiss fills him up, a maddening spill, a dive into open air, crashing down, down, down, but Misha is there to catch him, cradle him with those graceful hands, always so knowing, so skilled, so sure.

Misha’s fingers tap against one thigh, just above the graceful bend of knee, some idle melody alternated between each digit. Perhaps touching his bare skin would be similar, plucking along the slats of ribs or the curve of one hip in search of the harmony that will align them just right, that will make him sing against his skin, against his heart, within his soul.

The forearm shifts to rest along the frame of the open passenger window, angled so Misha can siphon through the summer-warmed rush of air, floating, rolling, caressed by the breeze as the car hums along the interstate. His head lolls back against the headrest, face tipping, eyes dark, so dark, the blue pressed into a thin ring the man driving the car can barely discern.

It’s a bed of crushed heather they now lie in, a carpet of purple and green that’s soft, so soft, the vehicle’s engine playing a gentle melody of metallic chimes as it cools nearby. Misha’s fingers trace the angle of Jensen’s jaw, tuck beneath his chin and tilt his face upward. The man is all shadows above him, dark against the outline of sunlight radiating around his frame. Jensen feels like he is dying, forgetting how to breathe, going numb and cold until Misha’s mouth finds his and everything comes alive, igniting in vibrant washes of colors as the petals beneath him perfume his writhing bare skin.

A drop of moisture strikes Jensen’s lips, the salted measure of exertion sliding into his mouth, striking his tongue. More, he wants more of it, more of everything that is Misha, wants to feel it wrapped around him, colliding outside, meeting inside and then, then, then, that final match within his core struck, just right, just like that, he’s lost, he’s found, the eyes above his own drawing him back, the voice compelling, praying, a pledge of love, all that had come before, that is, that will be brought into this moment, their moment, unified as one.




The thing I love most about this (and the reason I keep reblogging it) is the expression on Jared’s face. There is a split second where he’s about to lose his shit, then pulls himself back together.

You can see it. It flashes there just for a microexpression, not even a full second.

I know this look well because I’m a parent. It’s not easily faked, and I can’t think of why Jared *would* have thought to fake it.

It’s the look of someone who’s had the last straw, who’s sick and tired of the same intolerable thing happening one too many times.

And then it’s quickly followed by the look of someone who realizes going apeshit crazy at your kids is itself intolerable and/or inappropriate, so they reign themselves in and decide to express a different emotion.

I just love this microexpression because it tells me that this has happened before, a lot.


Plus Misha is lookin at Jared to make him mad but Jensen? He is smilin so sweetly and lookin at his Mish ^^

I’ve thought, since no one ever promotes my blog, to make… a SHAMELESS SELF PROMOTION! :D

I’m Emanuela, 35 years old, I live in Ferrara (Italy)
Cockles, Misha and a bit of Jensen. And that’s ALL my blog is about.
FAIR WARNING! Heavily NSFW blog! ^^

My blog contains:

Have u ever wanted a blog only about Cockles? U’ve found it! ^^

(Please reblog this ^^ I promise for the 10k (I’m still very far so don’t get too excited) I’ll do a HUGE DVDs give-away ^^ But expecially I want to reach as much Cockles shippers as possible :D)




30 days of Supernatural → Day 22: Favorite Cast Relationship

↳ Cockles


Imagine Dragons-Love Song


Misha Collins - DCcon 2014 (x)



Doha Rawabi Food Center - Doha, Qatar


another one… I just can’t anymore…..