#you ever download a brush and suddenly you can draw again

[bi-lesbian-leafpool]

i haven’t read warriors in a year

#warrior cats #riverclan #apprentice #frostpaw #you ever download a brush and suddenly you can draw again #medicine cat #design

[lady-divine-writes]

Jealousy

Aziraphale is used to people stopping by his shop to flirt with his (sleeping) husband, so he doesn’t let it bother him. But when the shoe is on the other foot, Crowley doesn’t take it as well. (2213 words)

A peculiar thing happens in Aziraphale's shop on August 13th at precisely two in the afternoon.

A man comes in looking for a book.

That’s not the peculiar part.

People attempt to buy books at Aziraphale’s shop all the time. They’re mostly unsuccessful, but the opportunity is theoretically there.

The peculiar part comes when this man - a statuesque, ruggedly-handsome man in a finely tailored, tan suit, aubergine shirt, and silk tie; a man who looked like he would be equally as comfortable touring the Savannah on holiday as he would be making corporate decisions in a board room – flirts with Aziraphale.

Aziraphale can be oblivious to those things, but the only people who seem to have eyes for him anyway are older women, mainly widows and divorcees, not searching for an exciting good-looker for their next relationship, but a reliable, stable, respectful man that they can talk to about books and music; who will take them to fancy restaurants on Friday nights and play Canasta with them on the weekends. A nice, non-threatening man who likes to garden and do crossword puzzles and cuddle, who won’t make too many demands on them physically. And even then, by the time Aziraphale figures them out, the women in question have already gotten bored and gone, leaving Aziraphale secretly grateful that he didn’t have to part with another one of his precious first editions.

Flirting happens to Crowley all the time. That Aziraphale notices. Women and men alike wander in off the streets to gawk at him. He’s a demon. He appeals to the baser instincts of mortals and that draws them to him. But he also happens to be stunning (in Aziraphale’s opinion, at least).

Aziraphale sees himself as having the appeal of an old couch – quaint and comfortable, familiar, convenient when you need a place to rest your bum but not the sort of thing you’d get excited over if the doorbell rang and you saw it sitting on your front stoop.

But the man who comes in, with his Rolex watch and his hundred dollar haircut, doesn’t so much as even make eye contact with Crowley.

He only has eyes for Aziraphale.

“Hello,” he says in a voice so smooth it slips through his lips and into Aziraphale’s ears without him needing to breathe too hard. “My name’s Ryan. I called earlier about purchasing a first edition of The Velveteen Rabbit? You said you had a copy?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale says with a startled gulp, but he doesn’t know why. He’s not sure why the tone of this man’s voice makes him swallow like that. Or why the way he looks at him makes the apples of his cheeks and the tips of his ears go pink. “Yes. Yes, I do. Excuse me for not fetching it prior to your arrival. I wasn’t sure you were serious about picking it up.”

“Yes, I am. It’s very important to me. I’ve been looking for one everywhere.”

“Then you’re in luck!” Aziraphale rises off his stool with a hop. “Because I do indeed have one.” He strolls through the rows of shelves, hunting down the copy Adam had so conveniently magicked up for him after the Apoca-no-go. He hums while he walks, suddenly in a chipper mood as he scans the spines in the children’s section.

As happens quite a bit when Aziraphale’s in the stacks, he gets the feeling that he’s not alone. And he’s not. There’s a general presence that seems to haunt his shop, one that he hasn’t sorted out yet. And, of course, there’s his husband, napping on a chair off to one corner that gets neither too much shade nor sun. Aziraphale peeks over his shoulder, curious if his husband may have woken up and decided to slither behind him, but it’s not him.

It’s Ryan.

And Aziraphale smiles bashfully to himself.

“You know, many people would simply download a book like this,” Aziraphale says when he finds what he’s searching for. “I’ve heard you can find it online for free.”

“True, but reading a book online doesn’t compare to holding it in your hands. And a first edition has probably been held by many people, read to many children, and just generally loved to pieces. Kind of like the velveteen rabbit. Wouldn’t you agree?”

From behind the stacks, Aziraphale sees Crowley peek out, glaring over the rims of his Valentino shades. The angel’s eyes brighten at the sight of him. He’s about to summon him over, but he blinks, and his husband disappears in the quarter-second it takes for his eyes to open again.

“Yes, I would definitely agree.”

“Of course, it may not necessarily be that way with every book. You have to make a connection with it.” Ryan takes the book from Aziraphale, two of his fingers brushing the back of Aziraphale’s hand when he does. “They’re kind of like people that way. After a while, you develop a relationship with it. It becomes important to you. And you never want to part with it.”

“Oh, that’s … that’s beautiful,” Aziraphale says. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard it described that way before, but it’s true. I feel that way about all my favorite books. I do hope your little one feels the same way about this one.”

“Oh, I’m not married.” Ryan flashes his vacant ring finger along with a brilliant smile. “Don’t have any children. I’m sorry to say that this book is simply a gift from me to my inner child. It’s the key to something I’ve been missing, something that I’m hoping to get back.”

“That’s charming. I hope whatever it is that you’ve lost, you find it again.”

“I do as well.”

They talk as Aziraphale rings him up – about books, about music, about the trinkets Aziraphale keeps around the shop and the history behind each one. They briefly talk about Ryan’s job as CFO of a brand new startup that’s skyrocketed within the past year, but they mostly talk about Aziraphale’s shop and his passion for the written word. No other customers come in, or if they do, Aziraphale doesn’t notice. He pulls Ryan up a chair and offers him a cup of tea, hoping Crowley will eventually join them, but he doesn’t go looking for him. Crowley seems to relish his eight hour naps in Aziraphale’s shop.

Far be it for Aziraphale to interrupt him.

As the day drips on, Aziraphale starts to notice the change in the quality of the light as shadows lengthen across the floor. He glances over at the clock on the wall to see if his suspicions are correct, and he gasps.

“Oh, my dear! It’s five o’clock! I didn’t notice the time! Oh, I do hope you aren’t late for anything!”

“Not at all. It was my day off. And I can’t imagine a lovelier way to have spent it than sitting here, talking to you.”

“That’s very kind of you to say.”

“I’m just curious,” Ryan says, gathering up his book in the brown paper bag Aziraphale supplies him, “what are your hours? I didn’t see them posted on the door. It would be nice to know, just in case my inner child convinces me to buy another book from my past.”

“This store is mainly a pet project of mine, so my hours are a little, shall we say, erratic ...”

“That’s adorable,” Ryan says.

“B-but …” Aziraphale stutters at the interruption “… I should be here tomorrow. Offhand I can’t think of any reason why I won’t be.”

“Excellent!” Ryan smiles, distinctly pleased as he squirrels his purchase behind him. “Then I’ll be back tomorrow. 2:30. Nice snake, by the way,” he says, pointing to a spot behind Aziraphale’s head. “Is it real?”

“Quite.” Aziraphale peeks over his shoulder, relieved to see that Crowley hadn’t slipped out of the bookshop and driven off without his noticing, but worried since he only transforms into a snake when he’s agitated.

And from the way he flicks his tongue, eyes wide, shifting uneasily in place, Aziraphale can tell he’s highly agitated.

That makes him dangerous.

“Constrictor?”

“Uh, no …” Aziraphale walks Ryan to the door, eager to close up shop and get things with his husband ironed out. “Red-bellied black snake.”

The smile on Ryan’s face drops straight to his knees. “Aren’t those venomous?”

“Only if they bite you. Thank you so much for stopping by. See you tomorrow. Mind how you go.” Aziraphale practically tosses the poor man out onto the sidewalk but he has no way of explaining to him that it’s for his own good. Aziraphale barely has the locks thrown when he feels the snake rise up behind him, transforming into the human form of his demon husband.

“Ssso, isss thisss going to be a thing now?”

Aziraphale sighs. He loves his husband. He truly does. But he can be so temperamental sometimes, even for a demon. “Why whatever do you mean?”

“Men dropping by your ssshop and making eyesss at you? Eating up all your time?”

“One man.” Aziraphale chuckles. “And my dear, people stop by every day simply to throw themselves at you. Do I bat an eye?”

“But I don’t care about them. None of them make my voice go all quivery like that man made yours.”

“I do admit that maybe I got a little carried away,” Aziraphale confesses, putting a hand to his flushed cheek. “See, I’m not use to getting that sort of attention. It was nice for the moment, but I don’t think it’s something I could handle every day.”

“Yeah? And why’s that?”

“Because I’m afraid I’m not very good around people. I prefer the company of my books and my music … and my ill-tempered husband.”

“But that’s the kind of bloke you fancy, right?” Crowley presses. “Someone who talks to you about books and music, and dresses in expensive clothes …”

“You dress in the most expensive clothes I’ve ever seen!” Aziraphale points out with an incredulous laugh.

“You know what I mean!” Crowley says, gesturing with a frustrated hand. “His clothes have … ffffwwwpppp … colors in them!”

“I see. Yes, I guess that does make a difference.”

“I knew it.”

“Ugh! Listen to me, you stupid old snake!” Aziraphale loops his arms around Crowley’s neck, forcing his eyes on him. “The bloke I fancy, as you so eloquently put it, is the one who’s known me my entire existence. Who drinks with me and goes out to lunch with me. Who fights beside me and stays with me, even when I call him ridiculous. Who comes back even when he threatens to run away.” Crowley’s eyes drop to his feet, unable to look at his angel while he’s being reminded of his less-than-stellar attempt to persuade Aziraphale to abandon Earth and join him out in the stars … which ended with his saying he’d go off on his own and never think about him again. “I don’t care if we don’t talk about books. It’s enough that you sit beside me while I read and hold my hand. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Why in the world would you think I’d want someone else when I have the best possible person for me already?”

“’dunno.” Crowley shrugs. “All we do is hang out here lately. I think, maybe, I was afraid you might be getting bored with me. That tying yourself down to a domesssticated demon might not be what you signed up for.”

“Bored with you?” Aziraphale snorts. “After 6000 years, you think I’d get bored with you now? You seem to forget that during the decades we weren’t together, my time was spent here. You were the one jet-setting around the world. By rights, I think you should be getting bored with me. With my life.”

“Oh, no,” Crowley says, sliding closer. “You, my darling, could never get boring.”

Aziraphale raises a skeptical brow. “You forget, I’m much better at detecting sarcasm now than I was 6000 years ago.”

“That wasn’t sarcasm.” Crowley snakes his arms around his husband’s waist. “I can’t think of any place I’d rather be than here, wasting my days with you.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that. But maybe it is time we take a vacation.”

“Yesss,” Crowley hisses happily. “Go to all the old haunts, relive the glory days.”

Aziraphale rolls his eyes. “Otherwise known as last month.”

“You pick first. We’ll go anywhere you want to go. We can pack up my Bentley and leave tonight.”

“Well, tomorrow night.”

Crowley grimaces. “Why tomorrow night?”

“Ryan said he’d be back at 2:30 tomorrow and ...”

Crowley grabs Aziraphale’s collar and (carefully) pushes him up against the nearest wall. He presses him there with his body, tries his hardest to be intimidating, but it doesn’t dim Aziraphale’s grin a single degree.

It never does.

“Not … funny … angel.”

“No?” Aziraphale’s gaze drifts to his husband’s lips the way it always seems to when Crowley has him in this position.

“No,” Crowley says, accepting the invitation of those baby blues and kissing his angel softly. “Not one little bit.”

“You can tell me all about it when we hit the road,” Aziraphale says. “And we’d better make it quick. We’re burning daylight.”

 ***Notes: Let me guys know if you want to see a part 2 where Crowley actually meets our dear Mr. Ryan XD

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #frankie writes

[justcallmehitgirl]

Good Woman Part 4 (Peter Parker x Female Reader Smut)

Summary: Peter knows he’s getting in too deep.

Word Count: 4700

Warnings: smut, language, fluff, and some angst.

A/N: Sorry for the delay! I meant to get this chapter out sooner, but I’ve been bar prepping during the day so my writing has been limited to my nights. I’m excited to see where this story goes so I hope you enjoy this chapter. Things are about to get interesting is all I can say for now. As always, thank you for reading! Your support really means a lot to me and inspires me to continue writing. 

(4/21/20): I fixed some typos, grammar mistakes, character inconsistencies, etc. from my original posting. I also made some stylistic changes.

PART ONE / PART TWO / PART THREE // PART FIVE / PART SIX / PART SEVEN / PART EIGHT / PART NINE / STORY PAGE 

“You wanna come over and watch ‘Batman v. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles’ after school? I just downloaded it yesterday!” Ned exclaims, bouncing on his feet excitedly.

Peter glances over, readjusting the strap of his backpack over his shoulder as students hastily brush past them towards the entrance doors, signaling that it’s the end of another day.

He gives Ned a half-smile. “Sorry man, I can’t today. I gotta work on some stuff.”

Ned’s eyes dart around cautiously before leaning in and whispering, “Spider-Man related stuff?” 

Peter shakes his head. “No, just academic decathlon-related stuff.”

Ned knits his brows. “Academic decathlon? But you haven’t been to practice in weeks.”

Peter massages the back of his neck, his forehead creasing. “Yeah about that, I talked to Mr. Harrington and I’m stepping down from the team—”

“Dude, you can’t! You’re the only one who aced Physics, you can’t leave us!”

“Relax Ned, it’s all good cause I’ll be helping out with coaching instead.”

Ned knits his brows. “But Y/N Y/L/N’s in charge of coaching?”

“Yeah, I’m actually meeting up with Y/N after school.”

Ned stops in his tracks, placing a hand on Peter’s arm.

“Wait, I think I hallucinated for a second. What are you doing after school?”

“I’m meeting up with Y/N.”

“Holy shit, you’re seriously going to hang out with Y/N? When did you start talking to Y/N?!” 

“Chill, Ned, it’s not a big deal,” Peter shrugs, continuing to walk forward as Ned follows.

“Not a big deal? She’s one of the prettiest and smartest girls in our school. And you were just saying how hard you’ve been crushing on her for years.”

“Shhh, Ned! Besides, that was like a month ago.”

“So you don’t like her anymore?” Ned asks, raising his brows.

“I never said that.”

“So you’re in love with her?”

“Ned,” Peter groans. “It’s complicated.”

“How? When? I need details, Peter!”

Peter licks his lips, contemplating whether Ned should know the entire story. 

“She just sat next to me in art class the other day and we started talking and then she asked me for help.”

“I can’t believe she asked you for help. You know she doesn’t give any guy at this school the time of day, right?”

“Gee thanks, Ned. And so what? She has a right to spend her time as she wants. She’s a busy person with a lot of responsibilities. She wants to go Ivy League you know.”

Ned just shakes his head. “You got it bad for her, huh?”

Peter rolls his eyes, stopping outside the doors of the library.

“I’m meeting her here.”

“You are one lucky dude.”

If he only knew, Peter thinks.

“Let me come with you,” Ned beams, tugging on Peter’s arm.

“What? No way!”

“C’mon, I need some entertainment this afternoon since you’re bailing on me.”

“Ned. . .”

“Alright, alright, I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone then.”

Peter playfully shoves Ned’s shoulder. “Thanks man, I’ll see you later.”

Peter heads inside, taking a quick look over his shoulder to see Ned still watching him intently. He motions for Ned to leave, who throws his arms up in mock frustration as he walks away.

Peter scans the library, his breath quickening as his eyes land on you. sitting at a table by yourself. You’re sitting alone, your chin resting on the palm of your hand with your eyes cast down at a textbook. Peter’s eyes are wide as he gazes at you for a few moments, admiring your serene expression. He’s become so used to being with you alone in the confines of your cozy bedroom, where it’s just the two of you wrapped up in each other, that it’s a bit jarring seeing you in such a similar state in public.

His hands feel clammy, imagining how to interact with you outside your bubble. He wonders if you’ll figure it out. Peter knows you’re smart—he’s sure you’ll figure it out eventually. But lately he’s been wondering what sort of image you’ve built in your mind as to Spider-Man’s true identity. He wonders if you think he’s some sort of suave Tony Stark-type, or a rugged Steve Rogers. 

But he knows for a fact that you’ve probably never considered it could be him: Peter Parker. Peter Parker from Queens with no parents and no money who lives with his aunt in a cramped two-bedroom apartment. The same Peter Parker who spilled milk all over himself in the third grade, got teased every day in middle school, and was too much of a coward to tell you to your face how much he likes you.

Peter frowns and wonders if he’s actually jealous of his alter ego—his alter ego who got to hold you, kiss you, and touch you all over. He thinks he’s going crazy. But he knows that even though him and Spider-Man are one in the same, one got to call you his while the other would only ever pine for you.

The more he ponders, the more he just wants to turn right back around, walk out of the building, and watch “Batman v. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles” with Ned. He briefly thinks it’ll be easier to just make up some excuse to stay away from you at school. 

But there’s a part of him that simply aches to be around you as himself and give you the things that Spider-Man can’t. His heart pounds, silently hoping that maybe one day he will.  

Peter draws in a deep breath and rakes a hand through his hair before continuing towards you. He grips the strap of his backpack. “Hey.”

You look up and smile, eyes bright. “Hi Peter.”

Peter gulps, tugging on the collar of his shirt as he slips into the seat across from you. “What’re reading?”

“U.S. Government,” you respond, lifting it up to show him the red, white, and blue cover like you’re Vanna White. 

He chuckles lightly and unzips his backpack to take out his laptop. “Who do you have?”

“Mr. Grant. He’s tough, but he really prepares you for his exams. Plus,” you lean in close, voice hushed, “I think he’s secretly a softie, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

“Duly noted.”

“Are you taking U.S. History now with Mrs. Taylor?”

Peter nods, booting up his laptop. 

“Focus on the chapter takeaways at the end of each section. That’s where she usually gets her exam questions from. Oh, and try to volunteer a lot. She usually bumps up your grade if she sees you making an effort.”

“That’s super helpful, thanks,” Peter smiles.

“Of course,” you smile back and close your textbook. You both just smile at each other for a moment before you blink, looking away to start up your laptop. Peter clears his throat, cheeks flushed as he looks back at his computer screen.

“So, I was thinking,” you continue, “that we could go off of Mr. Harrington’s practice questions first. Then we can look online and compile some of our own. I found a bunch of older questions that they’ve asked in the past which we can use as a guide or something. Sound good?”

“Yeah definitely. I mean, I defer to the expert.”

“Great. Oh!” You reach down to dig through your backpack. “I brought index cards. I usually write the questions down on them so it’s easier to go through later.” 

You fish out a few unopened packs before reaching across the table to offer them to Peter. He reaches over to take them, fingers lightly brushing against yours. 

“Sorry,” he blushes, gripping the index cards tightly in his grasp.

“You’re fine,” you wave. “Thanks again for helping me with this. I was thinking about it more, and I realize I may have cornered you into it. I can be a little pushy.”

“Not at all,” Peter blurts quickly. “You didn’t corner me into it and you’re not pushy. I’m happy to help, and I’m pretty glad I can apart of the team in some way so I guess I should be the one thanking you for asking me.”

You smile. “We’ll call it even then. I feel the same too, by the way. I really miss being on the team if I’m being honest.”

“Why did you quit?”

You sigh heavily and shrug. “My course load is more intense this year so I had to make some changes. Plus I tutor after school so that’s absorbed a lot of my time.”

Peter cocks his head. “You tutor?”

“Yup, sixth and seventh grade math at Queens Rock Middle,” you beam.

“That’s really cool. Do you like it?”

“I love it. I feel like I’m really making a difference in their lives, which is pretty rewarding.”

“Yeah, I. . . uh. . . I wish I was helping people like you do,” he says lamely

Well, besides saving New York from impending doom from time to time, of course, he thinks.

“Well not to sign you up for something else, but they could always use more volunteers.”

Peter squints his eyes playfully. “I feel like you have a secret agenda going on here.”

“Of course, I need to groom a protege to take my place. It’s part of my evil master plan.”

“I doubt you have an evil bone in your body.”

You raise your brow. “Wanna bet?” 

You eye him deviously, and Peter gulps—feeling a wave of tension blanket over you both. You suddenly laugh.

“I’m just kidding! Lighten up, Peter,” you tease.

Peter gives you a lopsided grin. He watches as your gaze lowers onto his mouth. Your smile falters. 

He furrows his brows. “What?”

You blink and look away. “Nothing, it’s nothing. I was just thinking we have a lot to get through this afternoon so we should get on it,” you murmur, voice tight.

Peter simply nods in response, mouth settling in a hard line as you turn your attention towards your computer screen.

You sit in silence for the next hour. Peter chews on his bottom lip while occasionally stealing a few glances over at you. You keep your eyes cast downward, attention fixed on scribbling down questions on the index cards laid out in front of you. He watches as a piece of hair falls over your face, and he clenches his fist to stop himself from reaching over to tuck it behind your ear.

“Hey Y/N.” 

You both look up. Peter’s eyes immediately narrows while his jaw tightens.

“Hi Brad,” you greet, voice even and stoic. Brad’s eyes dart between you and Peter before settling on you, ignoring Peter entirely.

“So, are you ready for the Calc test on Monday?”

You give a half-shrug and respond, “I think so, although I’m struggling a bit with derivatives.”

“Same,” Brad breathes, throwing his hands in the air. “I was struggling like crazy when Mrs. Park was first explaining it."

You chuckle, “Agreed.”

“Well, if you’re still struggling with it, w-would you maybe want to study together this weekend? I’m a big fan of study buddies.”

Peter grips his pen tightly, feeling it start to snap in his hand. He wants to shout, Back off, Brad. She’s mine. Peter immediately admonishes himself—recognizing that such an outburst would be entirely weird and inappropriate. He knows you aren’t his, or even Spider-Man’s. You didn’t belong to anybody.

“Oh that’s so nice, I really appreciate the offer, Brad. But I prefer to study by myself. I’m not really great studying with other people, tend to get too distracted and stuff.”

Peter can sense that you notice Brad’s look of defeat so you add politely, “I’ll definitely let you know if I change my mind though.”

“Yeah, of course. It’s no problem, Y/N. I’m free whenever.”

You nod and plaster a smile on your face. Peter’s forehead creases as he watches Brad continue to gawk at you. You blink and smack your lips together.  “So. . . um, me and Peter have to get back to writing up questions for academic decathlon.”

Your voice shakes Brad out of his stupor, face flushing. “Oh yeah sure, I’ll. . . uh. . . see you later.”

He waves awkwardly and hastily scurries away. You shake your head and continue working.

“I think he likes you,” Peter pipes in, eyes cast down as he busily scribbles on an index card.

You glance up, nose crinkling. “Brad? No way.”

“He was practically drooling over you,” Peter remarks.

“You think so?”

Peter purses his lips. “I’m sure of it.”

You smile. “Brad’s not a bad guy.”

“Are you. . . like. . . interested?”

You bit your lip to stifle a laugh. “No, not at all. Brad’s nice, but I wouldn’t want to go out with him.”

“Oh, okay,” Peter mumbles.

“Plus, just between us, I—I’m already seeing someone actually.”

Peter perks up at your response, but he keeps his eyes cast down. “Really? Do I know him?”

“No, he doesn’t go to Midtown.”

“College guy, huh?”

You laugh. “Umm… no. Well, I don’t think so actually.”

“Is it serious?”

You bite your lip. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Well, he sounds like a really lucky guy.”

“No, I'm pretty sure I’m the lucky one,” you beam, a flush creeping on your face as you turn your attention back to your index cards. 

Peter quickly glances at you while the corner of his mouth subtly lifts.

—

Peter does not move at first, body pressed near your window as he observes you.

You’re lying on your bed, a pillow tucked under your chest as your eyes scan your computer screen. He takes in the sight of you, from your oversized sweatshirt to your form-fitting black leggings. You toy with a lock of hair, the light emanating from the computer softly illuminating your face.

Peter finally lifts his hand to lightly knock, watching your head jerk in his direction. You smile brightly, waving your hand to motion for him to enter. He obeys, pushing open the window and slipping inside. You quickly shut your laptop close, moving it aside. You sit up as he approaches you, lifting up his mask to give you a kiss.

“How are you?” you ask against his lips.

“Better now that I’m with you.”

“You’re such a sap,” you tease.

“I can’t help it, I’m with the girl of my dreams.”

You narrow your eyes at him playfully. “Are you just trying to butter me up?”

“Me? Not at all.”

You shake your head and look away bashfully.

“Hey,” he says, lifting your chin up with his finger so you’re looking at him. “I want to show you something.”

You tilt your head, and he grabs your hand. You stand up, and he leads you towards the window, gently tugging you along as he pulls his mask back down. You turn your head, and quickly glance over at your bedroom door. Will your parents notice that you’re gone?, you think. Would they freak out? Call the cops? Should you risk it? 

But those thoughts are quickly squashed by the warm feeling in your chest as you bend down to crawl through the window, his hands lightly grasping your hips in support. As your feet land on the fire escape, your body straightens, your eyes looking up at the night sky.

Peter stands beside you, and you turn, brows quirked. “Where are we going?”

“Do you trust me?”

You nod in response, and he pulls you close to him. He wraps his arms around your waist. “Hold onto me,” he whispers, voice hot and soft against the shell of your ear.

You loop your arms around his neck. “Okay,” you breathe. 

You glance down, body tensing and bottom lip trembling. 

“Are you okay?” He runs his arms over your hips.

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Ready?”

“No,” you chuckle nervously.

Peter peers down at you, his voice soft and soothing to compensate for his covered face. “Hey, I won’t let anything happen to you.” 

You reluctantly nod and Peter exhales deeply. He takes a few steps backward before leaping off the fire escape, your face immediately burying in the crook of his neck as you shut your eyes tightly. Your hair whips in the wind as Peter swings over the bustling city below, your grip tightening around his shoulders as you let out a surprised shriek at he momentum.

“Don’t be afraid!” Peter shouts, glancing down at you.

You breathe in deeply before lifting your head and opening your eyes. You blink as you hesitantly looks down, your eyes roaming over the cars zipping through the streets, the lights shining from street lamps, and the crowds of people drifting down the sidewalks. 

“Everything looks so tiny,” you murmur, awe transforming your face.

“It’s cool, right?”

You look up, your eyes glistening as you nod excitedly. He grins underneath his mask, tightening his hold on you as he continues swinging from building to building. Your wide eyes dart around, mesmerized by the sight as you clutch him close as your heart beats wildly.

Neither of you had been in love before, but the thought crosses both your minds: “Maybe this is love.”

He feels you nuzzle your face against his chest, your body still and relaxed as you continue absorbing the sights and sounds surrounding you.

Peter eventually slows his movements, spotting a good place to stop and rest. 

Once his feet meet the rooftop, you untangle yourself from his arms, jumping up and down exuberantly. 

“Holy shit, that was amazing! I can’t believe you can do that all the time!”

“It’s one of the perks of the job.”

“Does it ever get old?”

Peter shakes his head. “No way, sometimes I’m just jumping out of my skin to get out here. To be above the ground, it makes me feel like a bigger part of the world.”

“Thank you for this.” 

“I know I can’t give you much right now, and I can’t take you out on dates dressed like. . . this, but I wanted to show you a little piece of my world.”

“I really appreciate that.” 

You pause for a moment, your forehead creasing before you continue, “Do you think you’d do this forever? The whole superhero thing I mean?” 

“I honestly I don’t know. I feel like I should though. You see, when you can do the things that I can do and you don’t and then the bad things happen. . . they happen because you didn’t do anything to stop them.”

“That sounds like quite a lot to carry on your shoulders.”

Peter gives you a half-shrug. “You get used to it.”

You nod before looking away, your head tilting as you gaze up at the dark sky. 

Peter watches you, your mouth 

“It’s quite a sight,” you murmur.

His eyes never leave you as he responds, “It is.”

You hug yourself, your body shivering as a cool autumn breeze envelopes you.

“Cold?”

“Just a little.”

He pulls you into his arms, hugging you close as he strokes your back. He feels you relax against him, enjoying the warmth emanating from his suit.   

“My brown-eyed boy,” you hum softly.

You both begin swaying to the tune. Peter’s movements are a little clumsy, but your smiles encourage him to continue, even extending his arm to spin you around, earning him a giggle. 

He slides his hand down your back, his fingers brushing against your bottom. As he starts to move his hand, you look up.

“You don’t have to stop. I like it when you touch me,” you whisper. 

Peter licks his lips, feeling the familiar heat rising in his belly. His eyes dart around the empty rooftop over to the surrounding buildings.

“But. . . “

You take his hand, placing it over your covered center. He tilts his head, pulling his mask above his mouth as his throat bobs.

“Are you sure? What if someone sees?”

“I don’t care. I want you,” you say, your voice husky.

Peter just nods dumbly, gently grabbing the back of your neck to press his lips against yours. The kiss is slow and soft, his hand resting below your ear as your breaths mingle. You press into him, your heart beating rapidly in tandem with his. Your tongues dance for dominance, the intensity building as your hand travels down his spine, his body quivering from your touch.

You pull your mouth away, turning your body in his arms to press your back against his chest. He runs his hands along your body, feeling his way from your waist up to your chest. You turn your head to kiss him again, moaning in his mouth as he massages your breast through your sweatshirt. 

Your lips fall away from his, your mouth gaping as his other hand hovers over the waistband of your leggings.

“Please,” you whine. 

Without missing a beat, he dips his hand beneath the fabric, his teasing fingers making you tremble. You lean your head back to rest on his shoulder as he runs his fingers over lips, parting them slowly. He start to massage your clit, your wetness trickling onto his hand to help his movements. 

The hand massaging your breast snakes underneath your sweatshirt, your nipple hardening instantly under his thumb. You arch your back, pushing your ass against him.

You grip onto his forearms as you rock against his hand, increasing the pressure on your clit. Your eyes flutter open, your eyes fixed on the stars above you.

His fingers briefly leave your clit as he pushes them inside you. Your face flushes as your tight opening clenches around him, his touch drawing even more slickness from your folds.

“Do this feel good?” he asks, his voice strained.

You nod. “You make me feel so good,” you moan. “You make me feel beautiful.” 

“You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met.”

He removes his slick fingers from inside you, and you softly mewl. He continues caressing your clit, finger rubbing in steady circles. You tighten your grip on his arms, body tense. You grind erratically against him, his hard length nestled between your cheeks. 

You start to babble incoherent words, filled with breathy gasps and moans.

“I want you to come for me,” he whispers, quickening his movements on your clit.

He places his lips on the side of your throat, licking and sucking your pulse point. You cry out loudly as you start to shake in his arms as you cum. He slips his fingers back inside of you, and your pussy clenches around him. He rocks against you, increasing the pressure against his crotch.

His lips leave your skin, head falling forward as his orgasm follows. He grunts, thrusting against you in short jerks as he releases.

He holds you firmly against him, cupping your pussy in his hand as his thrusts slow. Your body slumps against him,  He turns you around in his arms to softly kiss you, as you practically melt in his embrace.

“You really know how to show a girl a good time,” you smile dreamily.

He smooths his hand over your hair. “You’d be the first.”

“You’re just being modest. I bet you get all the ladies in real life.”

Peter chuckles. “Maybe in a different life.”

“In a different life, huh? Well maybe in a different life I can say that I met you somewhere? Like when those couples say they didn’t meet on Tinder or something.”

He smiles. “Okay, where did we meet?”

You bite your lip. “Umm, how about on the bus?”

“The bus?”

“Yes, ‘Speed’ was one of my favorite movies growing up so I thought it was kind of romantic that Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock got together at the end.”

He shakes his head and chuckles. He strokes your lower back. “Mental noted. Please continue.”

“Okay, hmm. . . how about I was coming home from school one day. All the seats were taken so I had to stand. . . but then you saw me and you were such a gentleman that you gave me your seat. Then we introduced ourselves, and you complimented my sweatshirt, which happened to be my favorite Mickey Mouse one.”

He hums in approval as you continue, “And then you saw the math book in my hands and—”

“And we talked about your love for math,” he finishes. 

You look up and grin widely. “Yes, exactly. And then I noticed your Star Wars shirt and we talked about how I haven’t seen the new Star Wars movies.”

“Wait, how have you not seen the new Star Wars movies?”

“I’m a sucker for the originals. I still refuse to watch the prequels.”

“Blasphemy I tell you,” he teases. “But please, keep going.”

“But alas, we arrived at my stop so I had to leave, but you followed me even though your stop was blocks away. You walked me to the doorstep of my apartment building and then we exchanged numbers.”

“And we texted all day and night,” Peter murmurs.

“And then I saw you on the bus the next day, and the next day, and the next day. And then you finally asked me out.”

“I like our story.”

“Yeah, me too,” you yawn.

“C’mon, let’s get you home. It’s getting late and I gotta get out of this suit,” he softly laughs, placing a delicate kiss on your temple.

You knit your brows together, opening your mouth but the words fall from your lips as realization dawns on. You glance down at his crotch, your cheeks reddening.

“Are you sure you can take me home in that. . . state?”

“I’m not sure, this has never happened before,” he blushes.

You bite your lip to stop the giggle from escaping your mouth. You place a chaste kiss on his lips as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Ready?”

You nod as he pulls his mask over the rest of his face. You inhale deeply as he leaps from the building your body still buzzing from your orgasm. You close your eyes, resting your head against him as the wind rustles through your hair.

Once Peter lands on your fire escape, he nuzzles his face against your hair before easing you down gently, his arms still wrapped around you. 

“When will I see you again?”

He strokes the side of your face, closing your eyes as you lean into his touch.

“I don’t know. My patrolling schedule is. . . unpredictable.”

“Okay,” you smile weakly, shoulders slumping.

Peter bows his head, wishing he could wipe the disappointed look from your face. “In our story, I take you to my favorite pizza spot.”

"Go on.”

“And then we get ice-cream. . . go to Astoria Park and sit in one of those benches to watch the sunset.”

“Does this date end with a goodnight kiss at my front door?”

“Sure. . . then I can awkwardly explain to your parents why I’m kissing their daughter.”

“My parents would love you.”

“They would?”

“Mhmm, as long as you don’t tell them that we sneak around at night, of course.”

He laughs. “Sounds fair.”

Peter wants that more than anything. He craves normalcy with you wants—he wants to meet your parents, walk you home from school, take you to the movies. He wants you to hang out with him and Ned and show you all the Star Wars prequels. He wants to call you his. 

Peter closes his eyes, hoping this never ends. But soon another thought creeps up in his mind that makes his throat feel tight and chest hurt. He frowns, instinctively clutching you closer in his arms. 

He knows that everything ends eventually.

Tag list: @thatpeterparkerfan / @professionalphangirluniverse / @julimelodi / @sighharrington / @merelymarianne / @soloseb / @superspideyy / @babyjesuscat / @stardust-ghost / @oh-annaa / @iloveyouironman / @nyeddleblog / @bloominess / @itsjust-evalyn / @shawnmendes-thewriter / @cotton-octopus / @ghostofdrfluke / @imofficiallyobsessed / @charismas-world / @f1zzy-izzy / @kissykissykissykissykissy / @thepeterfuckinparker / @ahajalen1 / @vhgirlforever / @sargentjamesbarnes / @icecoldghost / @space-princesssss / @undiadeestos / @teenageeggsneckpasta / @ lindabanri02222 / @franbway / @5sosuperntaural / @spookyanairwin / @spideyluke / @writing-panda-uwu / @yanderepeterparker / @tomshufflepuff / @slutforbuckybarnes / @mindset-jupiter / @mutuallynotmutual / @maybemona

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x oc #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfic #peter parker story #peter parker imagine #peter parker blurb #peter parker angst #peter parker smut #peter parker fluff #tom holland #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fanfic #tom holland story #tom holland blurb #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst #tom holland smut #marvel #spiderman #spiderman fic #spiderman fanfic #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman story #spiderman blurb #spiderman imagine #tom holland imagine

[cmyknoise]

If anyone ever wonders what programs I use to draw: 

-Autodesk Sketchbook, both mobile and desktop version

On my school issued iPad, I fought tooth and nail for us to be able to download it, so any art I’d make at school I could make digital at school. It’s a great tool, tons of brushes, tons of things to use, all free! It used to be a paid program but a year or two ago they decided to make it ALL free to help artists. This program has both a version for phones, tablets, etc, as well as for desktop and PC.

-Firealpaca

I used to use this on my desktop, it is a very good and user friendly program, it has a ton of brushes plus you can download more. I stopped using it because it suddenly was having issues identifying my tablet but I’m not sure if that was the applications fault. 

-Medibang Paint

This is what I currently use! It, once again, has a TON of brushes. If you make an account, you can download up to an additional 175 brushes, and you can customize your own too. It is very very user friendly and I haven’t had any problems with it thus far. It also has programs for phones and tablets but I don’t know how well that works as I’ve never tried it, though it is AMAZING on PC. 

ALL of these programs are free and have NO in app purchases as far as I’m aware

#logan's stuff

[mattzerella-sticks]

Idle Hands Are an Angel’s Plaything by mattzerella_sticks

Three cases - man kills wife. woman steals from where she works. employee kills their boss. They shouldn't have anything in common. Except all three suspects claim they have no memory of committing the crimes they're charged with. Sounds exactly like a case for the Winchesters.

Three days investigating, however, and they're drawing blanks. Nothing adds up in any way that makes these crimes align into a neat box. Dean's ready to call it quits, but humors Sam and Cas by agreeing to interview a few more people. However he soon starts to believe this town has something pertaining to their expertise when he suddenly finds himself its next victim.

Will they manage to defeat the monster without Dean doing something he'll regret? Or will the only way to free himself is to let go of the chains he forced himself into long ago?

For the @supernaturaltropecelebration and their amazing Halloween Challenge!

Kevin grunts in his sleep, trying to wake up from the strangest nightmare. Blinking into consciousness he finds himself in a different position than when he fell asleep. Instead of his eyes adjusting to see his beige ceiling, he stares into the bloodshot stare of his wife Darla. His hands at her throat, grip slack.

“Darla?” he whispers, hands moving to her shoulders. Shaking, he asks again, “Darla?” More panicked, twitching fingers returned to check for his wife’s pulse. A sob crawls from his chest as he realizes nothing beats against his touch.

“No, Darla,” he whispers, rolling off her and collapsing back onto his side of the bed. “How did this happen…”

His hands stay frozen at his sides until he works through his shock and calls the police.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Impala pulls into the diner parking lot, fitting in between a rusted truck and a Prius. Dean sneers at the latter car as he gets out, “Fuckin’ douche mobiles…”

“Dean,” Sam sighs from the other side, “focus.”

“Why? We have jack shit anyway.”

“There’s got to be something tying these crimes together!”

“Yeah, humanity ,” he scoffs, leaning against his Baby’s hood, “Listen, I’m not sure if there's anything happening here that falls under ourjurisdiction, okay?”

Sam rolls his eyes, dialing up the softness in his features. Resembling more labradoodle than man, he asks, “Can we go over it all one last time?”

Dean tries to resist, but he succumbs to his brother’s masterful manipulation. “Fine. But let’s at least grab a booth before it gets too crowded, okay?”

Nodding, Sam moves away from the car and over to the diner. Dean turns to Castiel, the angel perched on the hood as well. A silent observer to their bickering. “You think there’s any foundation under the house Sam’s building?”

Head skewed to the side, Castiel squints at him. “While these events are muddled and pedestrian… you two have had less to go off of.”

“Yeah,” Dean sighs, tapping Baby’s roof twice, “we have.” He pushes himself off, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets. “Come on, otherwise Sam’ll order us all salads.”

“I’d like some fries.”

“Well you can order your damned fries when we get inside.”

They walk together, barely an inch of space between them. Castiel’s arm brushes against his with each step, each time making the blush burning his neck to grow hotter. He could move away, but Dean chooses to stay on his path. Reasoning that Castiel should be the one to do so, finally learn about the personal space bubble he frequently bursts. Eleven years, countless battles, and all of pop culture downloaded into his mind in the span of a second and Dean still has to tell him how if he can feel his breath when he talks Castiel isn’t far enough away.

Sam arches an unimpressed brow when they enter, handing them their menus. “Took you long enough?”

“Bite me, Sammy.”

“I’d rather the food. Less calories.”

Dean exaggerates a frown, Sam copying him. Castiel elbows him in the side, glancing between the two. With a sigh he drops the argument, burying his head into the menu. Keeping silent when his brother and angel carry on the conversation. Only surfacing when the waitress swings by asking for their order.

As expected Sam orders a salad, while Dean opts for a BLT and Castiel asks for his fries. Once the waitress is out of earshot, Sam looks to him. “So,” he starts, “can we go over the case now ?”

Tamping down his comments, Dean nods wordlessly. He fiddles with one of the napkins, bending and crumpling the edges before smoothing them. The urge to tear them up spikes, but Dean ignores it. Not in the mood for one of Sam’s lectures about wasting napkins.

“Now the reason we came here over going home was because of the first incident, where a woman was arrested for murdering her co-worker. Although from how she told it to the press, it wasn’t her.”

“Except,” Dean cuts in, “while Cas and I interviewed her, you checked the footage and didn’t see her eyes flash.” What Sam saw, and related to them, was how Kristie twisted the oxygen valve in the storage shed enough that its contents would hiss open. So when her boss, Mark, went for a quick smoke break, the tossed match would ignite the canister and obliterate the shed, everything and every one in it.

“And from our conversation,” Castiel adds, “she didn’t seem too regretful of her co-worker’s death.”

Kristie confided that bad blood existed between her and Mark. That he offered to help her with her diving suit near constantly, made suggestive comments and harassed her often for a date. “I mean why should I be blamed?” Kristie asked, “He was the idiot who kept smoking near oxygen tanks even when Larry told him again and again to find somewhere else to take his breaks! All I was doing was counting our inventory… sometimes I’m just on autopilot, y’know, it’s so boring… anyone could have made that mistake!”

“But then there were the others,” Sam continues, swiping around on his tablet. He shows the articles he pulled. “Banker who transferred over a hundred thousand into her own account and the man who strangled his wife in their bed.”

“Doesn’t mean there’s a shifter though.”

“Three instances where people claim they have no memory of committing a crime?” Sam scoffs, “Might not be a shifter but it’s something .”

“What else could it be, Sam?” Dean rolls his eyes, “Cursed object? All three of the perps didn’t mention buying or finding anything strange, and I doubt one of those could travel so far in a few days. Especially since none of them travelled in the same circles. Witches? There’s no pattern - usually it’s either murder or theft, they don’t do both!”

“So maybe we need to work harder,” Sam growls, slapping Dean’s hands, “and quit it! I thought I told you how much I hate when you do that.”

Dean frowns, following Sam’s gaze to see the sprinkling of napkin shreds all around him. He drops the rest of it, whipping wide eyes up at his brother. “Sorry,” he says, “must have lost focus or something…”

Sam sucks in a sharp breath, judging him silently through his pointed expression. Feeling guilty, Dean ducks his hands under the table.

“As I was saying,” Sam says, “There’s probably something we’re missing… or we’re not considering. Usually we’ve at least spoken to a witness or a family friend at this point, but with how every day there seems to be a new crime we hadn’t had the chance to.”

Dean snorts, “They should really change their town motto. Most exciting hamlet on the bay…”

“I agree with Sam,” Castiel says, “we’ve learned nothing from simply combing through crime scenes or questioning the suspects.”

“At least we’re all on the same page about that,” Dean hums, eyeing the waitress as she sways closer with their food. “Case talk over with, now’s time to eat!”

The waitress arrives as Sam readies an objection. Unable to raise a protest, Sam swallows back his words to make room for his salad. She hands each boy their order, taking extra care when giving Castiel his. “Now would you like anything else?” she asks them, eyes trained on his angel.

Castiel smiles at her. “No thank you, we’re good.”

“Are you sure?”

A tornado whips up in his stomach, upending the trailers of his emotions settled there. His jaw tenses, fingers flexing as he watches her flick her ponytail to the side. A voice whispers for him to trail fingers through Castiel’s hair and repeat what his angel said, to glare at her until she walks away.

He doesn’t do any of that; instead hissing a breath out his nose and digging into his sandwich.

She leaves soon enough, with a promise to return at a moment’s notice. Dean sulks into his burger, cheeks puffed up as he eats.

The others at the table discuss their plan while they eat, every few beats looking to Dean for his input. With his mouth almost always stuffed Dean didn’t talk. Each time Sam found him with gnashing teeth and crumbled foodstuff his lips curled ever downwards. Castiel seemed confused at Dean’s sudden mood shift, unknowing to what caused him to withdraw.

Unfortunately the sandwich, as large as it was, couldn’t last forever. And his voracious appetite meant he finishes far faster than everyone else. Sam still has half his leaves on his plate, speaking more than he ate, while Castiel picked at his fries.

Now without any sort of shield, his brother expects him to participate. Dean nods and answers when needed, but completely checks out of the conversation.

It’s not like him to do so on a hunt. However it’s their third straight one after a salt n’ burn and a harrowing ghoul hunt. Where Dean was almost intimately familiar with what a spike tasted like, if Castiel hadn’t burst in at the eleventh hour. White shirt sticky with sweat and stained with dirt, hair damp against his forehead. Apparently the ghoul tricked his angel, smothering him under six feet of dirt at a play to take him off the field.

“I dug myself free and came straight here,” Castiel explained as he untied Dean, “I couldn’t waste a second, especially on something as mundane as appearances.”

At least, that’s what Dean thought he said. His mind was too focused on the image of Castiel kneeling in front of him, chest heaving and glistening, fingers dancing around the rope. He only started paying attention when Sam rushed in, gun aimed at thin air.

“Nice of you to show up,” Dean barked, shoving the rope off of him and stepping away from Castiel with a blush, “What were you doing? Thinking about what you could turn my room into when you became an only child?”

Neither Sam nor Castiel laughed. Which made for a very awkward ride back to the motel. The atmosphere so stifling between them Dean escaped to the bathroom. Washing away the ghoul stink and rubbing one to the earlier scene. Imagining if Sam hadn’t burst in.

As good as it felt he regrets it only because it gave the others space to find another hunt and overrule his whining.

“Dean?”

He surfaces from his memories and into the present, blinking at Castiel. “Yeah?”

“Is everything okay?”

Dean studies the furrowed brow on his angel’s face. Mirroring the expression, he asks, “Why shouldn’t it be?”

Castiel’s frown deepens, and his head skews to the side again. “Because your hand has been on my knee for quite some time.”

Blanching, Dean whips his gaze to where Castiel claimed his hand rested. Like he said, it lays on Castiel’s knee in a picture of innocent affection. He flicks his eyes up to Castiel, and then to Sam. His brother watches with amused interest.

“Of course my hand’s there,” Dean says, thinking quick, “I - uh… I’ve been trying to get you to scoot over so I can go to the bathroom.”

Face smoothing immediately, Castiel sighs. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“Because,” he jerks a thumb at Sam, “didn’t want to interrupt this one while he was on a roll.” With Sam’s bitchface in the background Castiel moves so Dean can stand. He winks with fake mirth, “Won’t be long.” Then Dean speeds away to the bathroom, hands buried in his pockets and face stoic.

The diner’s bathrooms are single occupants, and Dean finds both the men’s and gender neutral bathroom locked. Sighing, he sags against a nearby wall and plays with his phone. Trying not to focus on the feel of Castiel’s knee in his hand.

Why it was there Dean couldn’t answer, nor did he need an answer. Otherwise Dean will have to confront a host of problems he isn’t in the mood to face. Not wanting to think about it any longer, he chalks it up to exhaustion. Dean then distracts himself by pulling up a game, hoping with each row of Tetris he clears he can believe his excuse.

While deciding where to shove a T-piece, Dean overhears a nearby conversation.

“Can you believe how sad Tony sounds in this caption?”

“I know, but can you blame him? Broken up like that…”

Dean pauses his game, interest piqued. Shuffling to the side, he spies their waitress conversing with another girl at the last booth. Taking a break from working, she chats with her friend with no fear of being found by her boss.

“Who would’ve guessed Felicia was faking it all this time…” her friend says, taking her phone back. “Like did you hear from Jessica?”

“No, why? What does she know?”

“From what she told me - and this is from what Bea told her - that they were having this sleepover. Bea woke up to Felicia spooning her, and her hands were… y’know .”

“ No! ”

“Which, you’d think Bea would’ve woken up screaming!”

“I know I would’ve,” their waitress says, “y’know Creepy Josh tried something like that with me during a party the other night? Lucky I wasn’t too wasted to stab my key into his hand.”

“So that’s why he wore that bandage throughout the show,” her friend says, “I thought it was a character choice.”

“No, that dildo has no character.”

“Anyway, Bea was super into Felicia’s touch. Has had the hots for her for awhile, apparently. Her own best friend .”

“And Felicia felt the same?”

“Apparently…” her friend glances behind, Dean watching as she extends her neck as far as it can go. Whipping around, she smirks, “Speaking of hands and feeling up … who are those two snacks in your section.”

Dean tracks where she looks, shuddering as logic points to only one table - his . “I know,” their waitress gushes, “you don’t see faces like those in this crummy town.”

Her friend nods. “When I walked in I nearly dropped to the floor at the sight of the guy with the long hair.”

“Sure he’s nice,” their waitress says, “but did you not see the daddy in the trench coat?”

“Really? A trench coat?”

“What! He makes it work,” she defends Castiel’s fashion, “Besides, he has this air about him like… he could take real good care of me…”

Rolling her eyes, her friend grabs for her soda. “I doubt he’s gonna be the sugar daddy of your dreams, Monica.”

Monica sighs. “A girl can dream can’t she…”

Dean glares at her from his hiding spot. A girl cannot dream, he thinks, especially if that’s what her dreams are about. His grip tightens on his phone, the plastic digging into his skin. The bathroom door opens and startles him from his spiraling.

Faced with an empty bathroom, Dean remembers what he came to do. He shakes off the annoyance and hurries into it, going through the motions as he calms his racing heart. Stands in front of the mirror as he repeats to himself, “It’s stupid… don’t let it bother you.”

The voice from earlier returns, whispering again. “It’s not stupid… allow yourself to feel…”

His hands squeeze the porcelain sink as Dean wonders why his inner voice decided to take on a grating southern twang.

“Dean?” Castiel knocks on the door, “Dean? Are you in here?”

Broken from the spell, he turns to the door. He opens it, his angel on the other side. “Yeah?”

“You were gone for a long time,” Castiel says, “Sam’s paying… we’re heading out.” Castiel’s hand twitches at his side, reaching out to him. “Are you okay -?”

“Peachy, Cas,” he says, stepping around the concerned touch, “Police station coffee just hitting s’all… let’s hurry and clear this mess up so we’re not stuck here another night.”

Castiel nods, guiding Dean from the bathrooms and towards the exit where Sam waits. On their way there they pass Monica, cleaning their table. She leers at Castiel, obviously raking her gaze over him.

Impulsively Dean presses his hand against Castiel’s lower back and pushes him forward. “Pick up the pace,” he says loudly, “can’t keep Sam waiting, angel.” Ignoring Castiel’s look of confusion, Dean focuses instead on the bewildered expression Monica creates. Holds his head up a little higher.

“Isn’t that… better…”

“Isn’t what better, Cas?”

“I… I didn’t say anything, Dean,” his mouth thins worryingly, “are you sure you’re okay?”

Unconvincingly Dean mutters, “Like I said, Cas… damned peachy .”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dean loses his footing almost immediately after climbing onto the fishing boat. He stumbles forward, nearly falling on his face. If it weren’t for Castiel’s firm hold on his arm he would have known what poopdeck tastes like.

“Rough waters today,” Jim, the captain, tells them, “if you ain’t got your sea legs than you won’t stand much of a chance, son…”

“I’ll manage…” Dean huffs, flattening his suit jacket with nervous hands. He glances at Castiel, pouting at how unruffled he seems by the waves. “How are you not affected?”

Castiel smirks, “Angel grace is a good substitute for ‘ sea legs ’.”

“Whatever,” he says, “you can let go now.”

The fingers around his bicep tighten, a rush of pleasure shooting up his spine. “I think it would be best if I help steady you.”

Blushing, Dean snaps his mouth shut with a click. He looks to the waiting captain, pinched dimples on full display. “So, about your crew member, Kevin Johannsen?”

“Johannsen was a real good fisherman,” Jim starts, leading them towards a pile of nets. Jim picks one up and begins folding as he talks. “Had this uncanny ability to guess wherever the most fish were in an open sea. One day he pointed to a patch and said ‘cast there’ and we nearly capsized from the amount of fish we hauled in! It’s a real shame to hear what happened…”

“Yes, well, that’s why we’re here,” Dean says, “We just wanted to see if Kevin had been acting strange in the last couple of days.”

“Strange?” Jim asks, “What do you mean strange?”

“Exhibiting unusual behavior,” Castiel clarifies, stepping closer. “Doing or saying anything that might have seemed out of the ordinary… maybe he found something while fishing that he kept for himself?”

“No,” Jim answers, “no, can’t say that he has. Any garbage we dredge up gets tossed back into the sea where we found it… and as for Kevin himself he was as normal as he always was. Cursing out the Patriots, drinking the same amount of beers he always did, telling the same jokes …”

Dean arches a brow, the word like a dangling string he felt drawn to pull. “Jokes? Kevin was a regular comedian?”

“Well, he weren’t a Jerry Seinfeld or a Sam Kinison, but he knew how to make us all chuckle every now and then,” Jim says, turning to his crew, “isn’t that right boys?”

There’s muddled agreement. One man, made burlier by his fleece-lined denim jacket, gives them more information. “Kevin liked repeating what he saw on TV, stole a joke or two from Family Guy. Liked doing that Borat thing…”

“Borat thing?” Castiel asks.

Dean rolls his eyes, “It’s this actor… ‘My wife’?”

“Yeah,” the man says, “he liked that one a lot.”

“Although,” another crewman speaks up, “he sounded more and more like the Honeymooners in the past few months.”

Dean latches onto that, hackles raised. He explores it further, hoping the dark rock sinking in his gut was right. “Kevin having problems at home?”

“Not anymore than the average guy,” Jim shrugs, “Complained about Darla more than ever, though…”

“How so?”

The burly man explains how Kevin found his marriage growing stale, and had taken to flirting with one of the girls who sold their fish. “Kept saying how he wished he didn’t marry Darla right out of high school, had more time to sow his seeds,” he tells them, “That if he could he would get rid of Darla and immediately go after Michelle. Pretended to call up hitmen or asked questions about how fast a person could sink to the bottom of the ocean…”

“And,” Dean rubs at his forehead, pressing against the growing headache, “you were all surprised to hear that this guy murdered his wife?”

Jim scowls. “He wasn’t like any of those disturbed people you see on the news. Kevin was normal, like one of us. It was just jokes between boys.”

“Jokes that led to a woman’s death,” Castiel growls, barely containing the venomous glow dripping from his glare.

“Hey!” Jim objects, “We didn’t tell Kevin to do what he did -”

“No, but you allowed him an open forum to discuss it,” Castiel says, “treated his very obvious threats as silly make believe. In what way could joking about murder be acceptable in any work space? You should have fired him and, at the very least, alerted Darla to what her husband was saying.”

“Why would we have done that?” Jim asks, “We all thought it would blow over. He wasn’t the first man to wish he wasn’t married, we’ve all been in that position once or twice.”

“Yet Kevin was the only one who took extreme measures,” he challenges, “If I were you I would think long and hard about the learned behaviors of how women are treated, especially how easily violence towards them is overlooked.”

Each member of the crew wore a mixture of shame and anger, all directed at Castiel.

Sensing the turn of the interview, Dean lays a hand against Castiel’s chest and pushes him backwards. “I think this is where we’ll take our leave,” he chuckles, “thanks for your time.”

Ignoring his angel’s protests Dean hurries them off the boat, waiting until they’re far enough away on the docks to talk.

“I can’t believe those men,” Castiel huffs, “treating those threats as something harmless like a joke -”

“Hate to break it to you Cas,” Dean says, “but that’s all men.”

“That doesn’t mean we have to accept it. Why did you make us run away like that?”

“Because as much as I hate what they said,” he sighs, “I know when to pick my battles.”

“No you don’t.”

“Fine, I know how to pick your battles.”

“They wouldn’t have been able to hurt me,” Castiel tells him, “But I could have taught them a lesson or two…”

The hand still glued to his arm clenches tighter, Dean wincing in pain. Underneath that, though, a current of heat stings his lower body. His dick stiffens and rises somewhat in his pants, adding to the already intense blush coloring his cheeks.

Noticing Dean’s pained expression Castiel cools his anger and releases him. “Sorry,” he says, “I… I forgot my hand was there.”

“S’okay, Cas,” Dean chuckles, “Next time take your frustrations out by writing your local representative…”

“Do we have one? I thought since we don’t vote…”

“...Never mind, Cas. Let’s just go call Sammy and tell him it was a bust.”

They shuffle over to the Impala, at a distance uncommon to their friendship. Dean wants to reach over and calm his angel, express further how unsettled he was by the others’ callous remarks. Remind Castiel that even in all the whirling madness there are a few voices of sanity trying to help others listen to reason. Only some people prefer having their ears stuffed up, comfortable with the silence. And most don’t want to rock the boat and mess up what already works.

Like Dean. Because as much as he wants to hold his angel all he uses his hand for is to open Baby’s door, start the engine, and call his brother.

He picks up on the third ring. “I was just about to call you.”

“You find anything?”

“No,” Sam sighs, “I think you might be right about this one…”

Dean tempers his grin, only allowing a tiny fraction of it show. “What makes you think that?” he asks.

Sam explains what he managed to uncover while snooping around the bank. How Linda was on the fast track to unemployment, her boss showing him the letter of termination they planned. Her co-worker Sandy told Sam how Linda complained about having issues with money. “Apparently she was buried deep in debt after some serious online gambling,” he says, “So we have a motive.”

He reigns in the ‘I told you so’, instead saying, “Same here. Ol’ Kev talked pretty heavily about not wanting his wife around anymore…”

A surge of warmth rocks over him from the thought of wrapping up the case quickly. While it’s an odd feeling to have when discussing murder, making him sound so flippant, he doesn’t care. Picturing his bed in the Bunker gives him tingles, especially when his imagination adds the perfect cherry by placing Castiel atop of his covers.

In the fantasy Dean drops his bags and glides in, kneeling at his bedside. Gently caresses Castiel’s face, the feel of his stubbles so real under his fingertips. As if the welcome relief of a case closed hit him now, while they tie up their loose ends. His angel would then flutter his lashes and whisper.

“...Dean?”

He bites his lip, “In a second, Cas - I’m on the phone.” Adjusting himself in his seat, Dean focuses on the conversation with his brother. “Sorry, you were saying?”

“That I’ll meet you at the motel and we can hit the road as soon as you want -”

“ Dean !”

“ What ?”

He whips around to face Castiel, a hush heavying his tongue. Instead of firing the command Dean chokes on it while taking in the scene.

Castiel stares with wide eyes, Dean’s hand softly cupping his chin. Thumb brushing the cleft, visible beneath the stubble, and his fingers press against his firm jaw. His angel’s plush lips part slightly, as if too stunned to attempt another sound. Dean mimics him, as he cannot understand how his hand got there nor why he hasn’t pulled away.

Sam’s on the other end, asking for Dean again. Wondering what’s happening. A yell, louder than all the rest, cuts through the static playing in Dean’s mind. He jumps, hand flying from Castiel’s face like it burned.

“Seriously, Dean,” Sam huffs, “what the hell is going on over there?”

He wonders the same thing. Suddenly Dean remembers how his hand found itself onto Castiel’s knee in the diner, and the way he pressed it possessively against Castiel’s back. Then the suspects’ testimonies filter their way in as well, all boiling to the same point.

Dean rubs his hand across his forehead, dimples flashing at him from the rearview mirror. “Looks like the road’s gonna have to wait another day, Sam.”

“Dean? What do you mean?”

“Turns out this case is exactly in our wheelhouse.” He ends the call, promising to explain more when they meet at the motel. Signing off, Dean drops his phone onto his lap and tightens his grip on the wheel. Dean speaks to the windshield, not trusting himself to look at his angel. “You good?”

“I am fine,” Castiel starts, concern bleeding through his gruff voice, “But are you…?”

“I didn’t mean to do that,” Dean rushes out, neck hot.

“Funny. You sound exactly like everyone else we’ve come across.” He doesn’t need to see to know Castiel arches his brow while he talks, the sass translating perfectly.

Dean rolls his eyes. “I’m not lying. I… it was like my hand had a mind of its own.”

“I believe you.”

“Because I wouldn’t do that,” his mouth won’t shut up, “unless you wanted me to, it’s kinda creepy and -”

“Dean,” Castiel cuts him off, hand laid across his thigh, “it’s okay.”

Throat dry, he roughly swallows against the heart that jumped up there. Faced with either addressing the problem or ignoring it, Dean relies on where he has the most experience. He shifts into drive and speeds away from the docks. Silent the entire ride to the motel.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sam shifts his gaze between the two, expression wrinkled with suspicion. He glowers at them, hunched over on the chair. “Explain to me again why you changed your mind on this?”

Dean glances at Castiel briefly, his angel sitting next to him on the bed. “I just,” he starts, wringing his hands, “I think that we might have missed something important.”

“Which is…?”

He huffs, physically withdrawing from the conversation so he can think.

Even with how fast Dean drove, Sam beat them to the motel. Waiting for them with twisted brows. Hoping they could shed some light on the stilted and urgent ending to the earlier conversation. Unfortunately Dean could only give half-formed answers, bathed in vagueness. He relied on trust to get Sam to accept the bull he force-fed him.

Sam knocked away every spoon.

“Dean?”

“Dean seems to be suffering under the effects of possession.”

He glares at his angel, lips trembling. Castiel returns a softer gaze, smiling with his eyes. “All of those arrested admitted to not remembering what they did, yet each had motives for doing what was done,” Castiel says, “Either they were filmed committing these actions or had their fingerprints found at the scene of the crime… we believe it must be a ghost forcing people to act on impulses or desires they usually ignore. And Dean is the ghost’s next victim.”

“Really?” Sam says, turning to Dean, “Is that true?”

Dean’s head bobs side to side before sighing. “Yeah, discussed it in the car,” he lies.

“So you’re possessed?”

“Looks like it.”

“What’d the ghost make you do?”

“What?”

Sam crosses his arms, straightening to a more imposing level. “You’d have to have done something you wouldn’t have done. Acted on an impulse… what was it?”

Once more he skirts the truth with his brother. Grinning wide enough his teeth nearly jump out of his mouth, Dean says, “Saw something really sexy down by the docks and started rubbing my junk like no tomorrow… almost got caught for public indecency.”

It’s a gamble that works in his favor. Sam’s nose scrunches in disgust and he cries, “Gross, Dean. God!”

“Hey you wanted to know!”

“Ugh,” Sam stands, spinning on his heel, “Whatever. Go wash your hands, pervert. Then you’re gonna help me and Cas with research.”

Dean nods, pushing off the bed. He looks to Castiel and mouths a quick thanks. His angel winks in return, sending Dean off to the bathroom to wash his hands and will away the blush staining his cheeks.

When he comes back Sam won’t look him in the eye and Castiel moved further up the bed, scrolling through his phone. Dean digs around for his laptop and sits by his angel’s feet. Close enough to not raise Sam’s suspicions but far from any temptation his hands might succumb to.

A healthy dose of fear bubbles inside at the image of his hand creeping, without his knowledge, over to Castiel to play with his feet. He shudders and shifts so his legs dangle off the side, face turned even further away. It doesn’t stop him from being very aware of his hands. Jumping with each twitch and worrying whether it was him or the ghost that wanted him to click a link or scratch an itch.

He wasn’t much help in terms of research.

In the third hour of Dean staring more at his hands than his laptop, Sam cries from nearby, “I think I got something!”

Dean breathes a sigh of relief. “What is it?”

Sam beckons them closer, “So get this…” He waits until Dean and Castiel are hovering behind before continuing. “Apparently the town was the home base for this motivational speaker in the 80’s. Really weird guy by the name of Benjamin Moreley.”

“A motivational speaker?” Castiel asks, “What’s that?”

“They get paid through the nose to shout a few words and come up with catchphrases,” Dean tells him, “All in an effort to get people to ‘ change ’. It’s a real racket, especially these days.”

“And back then, too,” Sam says, “over the years Moreley’s messages became some kind of movement, real cult-like. Anyway… listen to this clip from one of his speeches and see if it strikes a nerve.”

Sam unmutes the video, starting it from a minute in. He hits play, allowing Moreley to live again. Benjamin walks across a makeshift stage, soaking up the applause. Dean uses those few seconds to scan and judge the conman. Takes in the ruddy face, sweating profusely under the heavy lights. A hankey with a rich, purple color held tight in his fist, matching his shirt. His suit was white and stained in certain areas. The crowd watching him didn’t find Moreley as pathetic as Dean does, fawning over him loudly.

“Because it is when we take hold of what we want,” Moreley says, southern twang grating but unfortunately familiar, “fight against all the brainwashing society has forced upon us, to fit into their perfect little boxes, that we can truly be happy. The Id is our most basic part of ourselves - fundamental to our needs and desires. Why should we ignore it when doing so makes us miserable. We should be waking up every day with a goal of making each day better for yourself than the last. Looking at every opportunity, asking ourselves ‘does this make me happy’? And if it does, great… go for it. If the answer’s ‘no’... then don’t do it! Somebody else will!”

“Wow,” Dean snorts, “guy sounds like a grade-A douche…”

The laptop snaps shut without warning, Dean’s hand flat against it.

“Dean, what the -?” “I didn’t do that,” Dean says, “I didn’t mean to…”

Castiel huffs, “I guess this answers our question.”

Dean draws his hand to his chest, rubbing it. He frowns, “How’d the bastard die?”

“In all his speeches about giving into your impulses,” Sam says, “he forgot to mention the consequences. He was sued by a few followers for the expected - lost jobs and spouses leaving. Moreley’s defense was that they were happy in the moment, and that’s all that mattered. Halfway through the trial, though, his wife burst in with a gun and shot him while he was testifying.”

He whistles, “Damn…”

“Apparently Moreley was giving into his own temptations,” Sam shrugs, “sleeping with a few of his followers. When his wife found out she decided to lean into his teachings. Took her revenge then swiftly shot herself, too. It was all detailed in this comprehensive article they wrote following the case, even had copies of the wife’s suicide note.”

“If Benjamin Moreley’s ghost is haunting people,” Castiel asks, “where is his body buried?”

“Close by.” Sam re-opens his laptop, scrolling towards the end of the article. “In this huge mausoleum at the center of the Joseph M. Whorly Cemetery. It’s an hour outside of town.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Dean asks, “Let’s get a move on!”

“Dean…”

He bites his lip at his brother’s tone, not caring for it one bit. “Sam,” Dean sighs, “come on -”

“You shouldn’t be going,” Sam rushes, “if you’re possessed then you’re a liability.”

“I’m not gonna let a damned ghost stop me from doing my job!”

“We all saw what happened, Dean!” Sam drags a hand across his face, wiping away the aggravation. “Listen, what if it were me who was possessed? Would you want me coming along on this hunt, doing whatever the ghost is doing to you?”

His mind runs away with the prompt, painting a scene that makes Dean’s blood boil. Sam’s hands on Castiel’s knee, caressing Castiel’s face. Fingers that weren’t his carding through his angel’s hair or tiptoeing down his chest. Finally catching up to his thoughts Dean sneaks a peek at his hand to find it drifting towards Castiel.

Dean shoves it into his pocket, face hot with embarrassment. “I’d want you far away,” he mutters, “so, so far away.”

Sam arches a brow, worried by this display. Dean prepares for his brother to ask another question, saved only by Castiel clearing his throat.

“As much as I agree not having Dean on this hunt,” he starts, “what if the ghost hurts Dean in our absence. Who knows how much his power has grown since the first attack, he could seriously hurt himself.”

“Yeah,” Dean nods, “what do we do about that?” Dean isn’t worried the ghost will hurt him, confident in his own control against the wannabe Manson. But he doesn’t want to sit on the bench for the rest of the case.

Sam thinks for a moment, grin unfurling when he finds an idea. Dean’s skin crawls at the gleam lighting up his brother’s eyes.

“I think I have the perfect solution…”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Stupid motivational speaker ghost,” Dean mumbles, knocking his head against the motel divider for the umpteenth time, “why’d you have to latch onto me? Wasn’t there some other unlucky sucker you could’ve found?” His arms sag overhead, wrists pulling against the silver cuffs as far as they can give.

Sam’s solution was simple and made the most sense. Dean still complained the entire time.

“Listen if this all works as planned, we'll be freeing you in no time,” Sam said. After testing the cuffs above Dean’s head, making sure they wouldn’t break the divider, he hid the key. Ignorant to Dean’s protests all the while.

“You better hope so,” Dean huffed, “If this isn’t the right ghost then I think the next impulse I’ll have is shaving your head while you sleep!”

Sam hitched the bag over his shoulder, looking to Castiel. “Ready to go?”

Castiel, who stood at the wayside watching Dean’s imprisonment, finally tore his gaze away from Dean. “Yes.” They left without glancing behind, especially when Dean whined about how his nose itched.

A quarter of an hour later, Dean only had himself for company and his nose continued to irritate him. He shifts, ass numb from the awkward angle he was stuck in. “Couldn’t they have left me with a pillow to sit on or something…?”

Suddenly the sound of the doorknob turning cuts across the room. Dean whirls around to face it, confused as to who it could be. Sam and Castiel should still be driving to the cemetery. If it was housekeeping, which Dean hoped weren’t the case, then Dean better have a good excuse to use.

Luckily Castiel is on the other side of it.

Dean relaxes slightly. “Cas,” he says, “What’re you doing here?”

“Well, Sam and I were a couple of blocks away from the motel when I realized this wouldn’t be the most preventative measure,” Castiel explains, shutting the door behind him, “The ghost could use its strength to break the chain, or worse, your bones in such a way to slip your hands free and hurt you. So I suggested one of us staying here, with you, while the other goes to the cemetery. Since it’s a mausoleum we won’t need to dig… Sam agreed.”

“And he let you take babysitting point?”

Castiel shrugged, smiling. “If the ghost does have abnormal strength, then at least I will be able to match it.” He carries a nearby chair over to face Dean, sitting on it. “As we all know, I’m very powerful in my own right.”

The wink sets off a chain reaction. Reminds Dean of the earlier display on the docks, and the effect it caused within him. His dick stiffens again as he pictures Castiel pinning his wrists in one hand and using the other to squeeze his crotch. Dean’s hands spasm against their chain, twitching for freedom and Castiel.

Things became much more complicated than they were when Dean was alone.

Dean lapses into silence, trying to regain control over his hands. The longer Castiel stares at him, unblinking, the less his hands listen to him. Castiel’s presence produces a hypnotic orbit, where every time Dean thinks he’s free his eyes get sucked in again.

Suddenly Castiel leans forward, elbows perched on his knees. “Y’know, I rather prefer you like this.”

He wets his lips, voice raspy. “Like what?” Dean asks.

“Cuffed,” he says, foot tapping rhythmically, “can’t run away… can’t distract… cannot hide, like you usually do whenever a situation becomes too… intimate .” His hands slowly slide down his thighs and rest on his knees, Dean tracking the movement. “If I wanted to I could ask you a question - any question - and you’d have to answer it, wouldn’t you?”

Dean neither confirms nor denies.

“You are patient, though. Could probably wait out the awkwardness until Sam returns…” Castiel chuckles, “Funny, how of the three of us only youwere possessed. Like the ghost knew you had these... hidden desires. Do you have them, Dean? Would you like to touch me?”

He spasms, weak enough that a groan eaks past his lips.

Castiel grins, gaze darkening. “Your hand on my knee… on my back… my chest… as brief as they were, they all felt rather… nice .”

Startled, Dean’s jaw drops at the admission.

His angel carries on, straightening against the chair. “I could’ve asked you to keep them there, told you it was okay. Except you wouldn’t have responded well at all. You’d panic and then make a joke, act as if your affectionate gestures were anything but - especially in front of Sam. Keep up appearances… you can’t do that now, can you? The ghost has removed all pretense - for your hands at least. Your mouth, however, can still deny. But do you want to? Is it worth denying any longer?”

Dean struggles to laugh away Castiel’s suggestion. Except with the intensity of his angel’s stare and the heavy words he spoke, Dean finds little will to carry on the charade. Unburdening himself from his doubts and fears, he shrugs, “I guess it isn’t. It’s… tiring.”

“Would you like to touch me?”

“... Absolutely .”

He attempts to reach for him, only can’t get far with the cuffs still on. Castiel sighs, clucking his tongue at Dean.

“You can’t do that right now, unfortunately,” he says, stretching his leg until his foot is pressed against Dean’s crotch, “But there are other… pointsof contact .” Castiel steps down on Dean’s crotch, lightning flashing behind his eyes as Dean’s legs spasm. The rattling of the chains against the divider gets drowned out by heavy breathing.

Dean bucks against Castiel’s foot. “More!”

“In due time,” Castiel tells him, dragging his foot away, “We’ve been through so much, though… so many years of pining behind closed doors… why should we blow it all in fifteen minutes?” He drops to the floor on his knees, kicking the chair away. Crawling until barely an inch of space exists between their faces.

Castiel’s breath ghosts against his lips. Dean tips his head to capture them, only for Castiel’s thumb to dig into his chin. “No,” he whispers, “not yet. Only when I say so, understand?” When Dean doesn’t respond Castiel pinches a nipple. “Understand?”

“Yes!” he yelps, blood rushing to his dick.

“Good.”

Pulling away from his face and chest, Castiel rests on his haunches as his hands trace the seams of his jeans. “This must not be comfortable for you, can it?” he asks, smirking, “I can take it off if you desire?”

Dean nods, not trusting his voice. Except Castiel pinches him again, on his thigh. “Please,” he pants, “Please, Cas.”

“It is no problem…” He unties his boots, pulling them off to spend more time removing his socks. Peeling each one off slowly, scraping his blunt nail up the soles of his feet as the black fabric comes off. Once more his legs jump and dance uncontrollably. “Ticklish,” Castiel notes, “I’ll remember that…” Moving on Castiel drifts up to the belt, playing with the buckle. He unbuckles and re-buckles the accessory so many times Dean feels lightheaded from the bloodloss. Satisfied, finally, Castiel whips the belt off and snaps it. “Later,” he promises, setting it off to the side.

His fingers deftly unbutton his jeans, tugging them and his boxers away until Castiel exposes his ass and legs to the motel carpeting. Folding his jeans allows Dean the chance to gasp in as much air as he can before Castiel shoves him under again. He glances at his bare legs and exposed crotch, notices how his heavy dick rests in the middle of his bramble-like pubes. With only his shirt on Dean resembles Winnie the Pooh, and his knees scoot closer as if to shield himself.

Castiel guides them to where they were, frowning. “Why are you trying to hide again, Dean?”

He bites his lip, blushing. “Cause I look -”

“Amazing.”

“What?”

Castiel places his hands on Dean’s thighs and splays his bowlegs while dipping close to Dean’s face again. “You look amazing,” he places a kiss to Dean’s chin, “gorgeous,” another to his cheek, “awe-inspiring, lovely,” two to his eyelids, “miraculous,” pecks his nose, “and sexy .” Finally Castiel embraces Dean’s lips, tongue immediately poking past them for a taste.

Dean’s wrists burn from how the cuffs cut into them, keeping him from tugging Castiel’s hair or squeezing his biceps. His angel enjoys Dean’s struggle, though, breaking the kiss to laugh.

“This isn’t your time to touch,” Castiel says, “When it is, I will let you know. Until then… allow me to explore .”

They must have different understandings of what the word ‘explore’ means. Because to Dean it feels like torture . Unable to participate, passively watch Castiel comb over every piece of his body. Moan while Castiel nibbles his ear and tugs at his hair. Vision dizzying while Castiel twists his nipples and laves at his navel. His cock, stiff like a frozen popsicle, leaks precum without being touched at all. Castiel circles it: scratching his thighs, squeezing his balls, and breathing on its tip. All Dean can do is jerk forward, except he never makes contact. His angel tips backwards every time.

“Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head, “good little hunters are patient .”

“Patient?”

“You can wait a little longer, can’t you?” Castiel asks, brow arched devilishly, “Especially since I’m making this so good for you.”

“Too good,” Dean whines, “Let me… please, let me…”

“Let you what, Dean?” he asks, “Like I said, you cannot touch -”

“N-no,” Dean interrupts, “Let me… let me…”

“I’m waiting.”

“ Come .”

Castiel considers the request, thumbs kneading the skin under his thighs. Hums a maddening melody that sends shivers racing up and down Dean’s spine. “You have had a rough day, haven’t you,” he says, “It's not easy giving up control… I guess you may come. But -” his left hand slips into Dean’s asscrack and presses against his hole, “Allow me to help you along.”

“Of course, Cas,” Dean sighs, fluttering around Castiel’s thumb, “Wouldn’t have it any other way. Please…”

“I didn’t think Dean Winchester would be the one to beg…”

“Only for you, angel,” Dean babbles, “I want to be the only one for you… so bad.”

“How bad?” Castiel asks, right hand squeezing his dick, “How long ?”

“Don’t know,” he answers, “One day I blinked and-and all I wanted to do was have you near me. Have you on me. You told me once that you built me from the ground up? Well I want you to tear me the fuck down - up - whatever . Crash through my walls like a fucking wrecking ball until there’s nothing but debris. And then build me again.”

“Are you always this demanding with your partners?”

Dean chuckles, “Only the ones who’ve kept me dangling at the edge for far too long.”

“Then stop talking,” Castiel commands, “and let me push you over.”

He dies there, bare assed and on the cusp of an orgasm. At least, that’s what it felt like. Because one second he was staring at a glowing Castiel and in a blink Dean floated over his own body. Saw how glazed over his eyes became, barely a ring of green around the overly black pupils, and the specks of drool dripping from the corner of his mouth.

Compared the nakedness of his own body to how clothed Castiel still was. Lost in the immense pleasure, Dean barely noticed how Castiel hadn’t removed his layers. Yet with his entire being one delightful static he could take in the little details. Dean floats on a cloud of pure delight as Castiel pumps his dripping dick with abandon. Giggles while Castiel kisses against his chest, rucking up the sweaty shirt he wears.

Soon the static turns into a lightning storm, the cloud he rests on darkening. Dean is struck by a stray bolt, piercing his spirit and waking him from his spell. His body groans with the need for release. His wrists bleed from how they’ve rubbed the metal cuffs. Huffing, Dean begs his angel, “Can I… Oh please, please, please, Castiel, can I…?”

Castiel nods, “Of course.”

The divider snaps in two, Dean’s hands raking through Castiel’s hair. His fingertips twitch with newfound freedom. Overwhelmed by the different choices, Dean feels drunk. His nails scrape against Castiel’s scalp, down his neck and across his trench coat. He grips the jacket as the giddiness fades into his riptide-like orgasm.

Come shoots from his dick without warning, ripping a roar out from a primal part of Dean’s being.  His legs bounce and his vision dangerously fades for a moment. Dean shuts down, sagging onto Castiel’s shoulder. In the next beat his systems reboot, and he gasps for breath.

“Cas,” he breathes, “ Casssssss … CasCasCasCasCasCasCasCas-”

“I’m right here, Dean,” Castiel whispers, stroking his head, “You were so good… so good.”

Dean chuckles, chains rattling. “Don’t know ‘bout that,” he shrugs, “I touched you…”

“I said it was okay, didn’t I?”

He sighs. “This is all really okay with you?”

Castiel halts, the suddenness scaring Dean. Makes him fear he said something wrong, especially when his angel draws back and cups his hands in his face. “Dean,” Castiel says, “There are no words to describe how okay I am with all of this. I am post-verbal, completely. Nothing in English, Enochian, or any other language can come close to describing the fire that burns inside for you. I only…” He ducks his gaze, sheepish for the first time since he entered, “I only hope that whatever… this was… it wasn’t an ending, or a means to an end. It’s a beginning . Is that… what you want?”

Dean’s face hurts from how wide his grin stretches. “You kidding?” he laughs, “I’m not going anywhere . Chuck himself couldn’t write me out of your life, or vice versa. What we did now, it ain’t no ‘Once Upon a Time’... but I’ll be damned if we don’t get the ‘Happily Ever After’ we deserve.”

Their foreheads knock into each other so Dean can only see Castiel’s face. Studies the gentle blue waves of his eyes, peaceful enough to lull him to sleep. His blinks slow and lengthen, lids heavier each time.

Castiel huffs. “You’re tired.”

“No I’m not,” Dean yawns, straightening against the divider. “I can still go. I have to…” he glances at Castiel’s crotch, “it’d be selfish if you did all that and I konk out like some pillow princess.”

“I won’t mind, Dean,” he tells him, “Don’t feel obligated. Besides… we have the time.”

Dean startles, lips parting. “Yeah… yeah, I guess we do.”

“Lay down, Dean. Relax…” Castiel guides Dean’s head to the side, laying it on the jeans he folded earlier. Then his angel follows, wrapping his arm around Dean. Castiel’s chest blanketed his back, easing Dean into unconsciousness.

Before his eyes closed, Dean wrapped both his hands around Castiel’s, squeezing it. “I’m so happy…”

“As am I. Now rest… I’ll be here when you wake up…”

Dean sleeps the easiest he has in years.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

He wakes with the slam of the front door, a frightful breath rushing into his body. Dean jumps to a sitting position, staring wildly at his brother.

Sam gapes down at him, bag plopping beside him as his grip slackened considerably. Skin pale, his brother’s hazel eyes fade to grey as he processes the sight in front of him. Dean uses the time to take his still shackled hands and pulled his shirt over his junk. “Cas,” he hisses, “Cas, wake up!”

Castiel growls from behind him. “I’m not asleep, Dean.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Angels don’t sleep.”

“Oh, then you chose to let Sam walk in without warning me?”

His angel perks up, squinting an eye open to see the younger Winchester standing in front of the still open door like a zombie. Flying to his feet, Castiel stumbles over to the bed. “Sam?” he gasps, “What are - what are you doing back so soon?”

Watching Castiel panic sets Sam off. Realizing what he walked in on, he claps a hand over his eyes and spins on his heel. “This isn’t what I had in mind when I left you two alone!”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Sorry, Sam, but how else were we supposed to pass the time?”

Sam splutters, shoulders tensing. “I can’t believe you two were here… while I had to salt ‘n’ burn all by myself!”

“I apologize for the deception, Sam,” Castiel blushes, “if you had known exactly what impulses Moreley made Dean act on, then you would have seen how prudent it was that I stayed here.”

Curiosity piqued, Sam cranes his neck to the side and peeks in. He won’t look at Dean, still pantless. Instead he focuses on Castiel. “His impulses?”

Dean sighs. “Cas here was more magnetic than usual… my hands couldn’t stay away?”

Sam’s eyes rolled heavenward, the hand hovering nearby steeples at his temple. “Could you please put on pants if you’re going to be an idiot?”

“It’s kinda hard when you’re handcuffed…” Dean bites his lip, faltering somewhat. “This… you’re not upset, are you?”

“Kinda,” Sam admits, terrifying Dean, “I mean I was worrying the ghost was gonna make you hurt yourself when all it wanted was for you to fool around with your best friend? I could’ve left you two in the car if that were the case… at least I wouldn’t have been alone.”

Dean’s heart calms at the confession. Glancing over at Castiel, however, he sees his angel’s expression dim. Sensing what needs to be done, Dean clears his throat. “Actually,” he says, “we weren’t… fooling around.”

Sam turns to him, shocked. “What?”

“Me and Cas,” Dean continues, smiling, “it was more than that, Sam. Deeper and… shit. Like, you might see me holding his hand without needing some wackadoo ghost prompting me. So I’m asking again… you’re not upset, right?”

“Dean, I…” Sam offers him a smile, “no, I could never… I’m happy for you two.” He looks between them. “Happy, but also traumatized… I didn’t need to see your dick.”

Dean pulls his shirt further over his junk. “There were more important things than getting dressed… at the time.”

“If you give us a few minutes,” Castiel says, “we can have this place as clean as you left it -”

“Nope,” Sam cuts him off, groping around for his duffle, “you could bathe this entire place in a blacklight and there wouldn’t be a bright spot, I still won’t be able to sleep. I’m gonna see if there’s another room or… sleep in the Impala. You two can have this room.”

He almost leaves until Dean calls for him. “Where’d you put the handcuff key?”

“Bedside drawer!” Sam shuts the door behind him, Dean and Castiel alone again.

Dean stands, moving towards the drawer. Finding the key, he makes quick work of unlocking them. He chucks them to the wayside and rubs his ruined wrists.

Castiel glides over, gently bringing Dean’s wrists close. He lightly brushes his lips against the skin there, a rush of electricity crackling against it. The tiny wounds and cuts heal themselves, the red skin fading into its usual color.

“Nice.”

“So?” Castiel says, “How are you feeling? Are your hands your own again?”

Dean shrugs, laying his hands against Castiel’s shoulders. “Kinda hard to tell… I don’t have any other impulses I’m ignoring at the moment?”

Castiel raises a brow. “Really? None?”

“Okay… maybe one.”

“What is it?”

He shoves Castiel against the bed, scrambling on top of him. Legs spread wide to straddle his angel. “Yeah,” he whispers, “I chose to do that.”

Castiel chuckles, “Was that it?”

Dean kisses him, rolling his crotch so it rubbed against his angel’s tenting slacks. “Not even close… I’ve got a lot of pent-up frustration I need to work through.”

“Well we have the time, Dean.”

“We do, don’t we?” Dean sighs, “We finally do.” They kiss again, Dean’s hands sliding away from Castiel’s wrists to cup his jaw. The stubble scrapes delightfully against his palms, reminding Dean that as fantastical the chain of events were, it’s all real. He and Castiel actually came together and the world didn’t end.

Rather, it felt like his world was only beginning.

#Supernatural #Spn #Supernatural fanfiction #Spn fanfic #Supernatural fanfic #Dean Winchester #Castiel #Sam Winchester #Destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #Supernatural Trope Celebration #SPNTC #SPNTC Halloween 2019

[littlemissnellie]

Maude Marsh for Bedelia’s Bachelorette Challenge by @smallcowplant 

thank god my laptop’s back up and working so that I could enter this

Maude didn’t talk a lot after her parents disappeared. All it took was one trip in a rickety propeller plane to Selvadorada to explore a temple thought to be lost to the living world and they were never heard from again. Her grandparents welcomed her into their home with open arms and a wealth of love, but grief left her numb. She buried herself in books: old, leather-bound classics that cluttered every inch of the crumbling cottage or yellowed collections of scrawling sheet music. Her fingers would dance over the keys and thumb the pages and Maude was able to escape the cruel world that took people she loved away from her. 

Soon her grandparents’ time came as well, as she had come to learn that everyone’s did eventually, and all at once she found herself completely alone. She couldn’t bring herself to leave their cottage, still soaking in what little security she still could from the lingering spirit that swathed their belongings. Some scream in terror, but Maude fell silent, too scared to breathe. Overcome by apprehension she drifted through life, if that’s what you could call it, with crippling caution. Until the staircase gave up on her as well. 

Splintering wood. A cloud of dust. A collective gasp from the antiques. And Maude met her quiet demise. No matter how careful she’d been, the underworld had claimed her as its own and her time on earth had been drawn from her trembling hands.

After the disappearance of her parents the thought of an afterlife was somewhat comforting to Maude. But as time pressed on the idea grew as cold and lifeless as she believed them to be. So when her eyes fluttered open and she felt crisp satin beneath her fingers in the darkness that enveloped her, she was paralysed with fear. She held her breath, fearing that what little oxygen she still had left in this box that would allow her to scream for help would be wasted on a gasp. But whilst the air should have been thick and musty, it felt cool and almost refreshing. Was she even underground? Tentative as ever, Maude pushed on the wood above her and felt fresh earth simply slide out of the way. Eventually her fingers broke the surface and clawed at the dirt packed onto her grave. Once her whole body was free she shook the soil from her hair and her hand moved down to brush off her clothes as her eyes adjusted to the moonlight. Blinking life back into her eyes Maude’s breath caught in her throat as she gazed in a terrified stupor at her hand, or at least what had become of it. 

Her skin was grey. She told herself that it must be a trick of the moon. The cold night air, ebony sky and shock of waking up in her own coffin were toying with her mind. But as she looked at her fingers again the horror of her reality dawned on her. Decay crept towards her palms, eating away at the flesh that once danced across ivory keys. She had to be dreaming. This was a sick hallucination. She was laid on a hospital bed with a ‘last-attempt’ dose of medication draining through her body and it was warping her thoughts.

But a breeze rustled the leaves of the trees around her and she felt it tickle her cheek. How could that be if this was a dream? How was dead skin capable of feeling? How could a girl who’d never really lived still stand here long after her life had ended?

Stumbling on stiff legs she didn’t feel she should be using, she made her way through the graveyard where her grandparents rested to the fountain she’d become so familiar with. Moonlight glittered on the water’s surface and as she reached out, the water spilled onto her hand. Recoiling in shock, she looked at her hand again. Still dying before her eyes, but dripping water nonetheless, and she could feel all of it. Her reflection snatched her gaze and all thoughts in her head fell away. It wasn’t just her hands that were beginning to decay, her whole body was bruising and faltering beneath the greying exterior. But her eyes were what rooted her to the spot. Where green beads had once hidden behind wire glasses, ghostly white orbs stared back at her. Any sign or irises or pupils had disappeared all together. There looked to be about as much life in her eyes as the rest of her body. 

Staggering backwards she grabbed at her face, alarmed by what she’d seen. This was no dream. It was a nightmare. It had to be. But as her chest heaved with effort to take in enough air for her to hyperventilate, moonlight broke through the trees and bathed her creaking bones. Her head turned to the sky without conscious effort and suddenly energy like she’d never felt before coursed through her body. Sure her movements were still a little jerky, but she made her way back to the fountain with co-ordination that even surprised herself. Gazing into the rippling water once more she was almost hypnotised by what she saw. Her eyes glowed with what she could only explain to be the energy that had overcome her. In the few years she had spent on earth she had never felt like this. So vibrant, so awake, so…alive. 

Her days had been spent quietly caring for her grandparents, tending to weeds in what should have been neat flower beds and escaping from her dreary reality with literature and music. It had hardly been a life. Her parents had wildly adventurous spirits that drove them to explore every inch of the world, yet she had caged herself away from it, kidding herself that painting pottery and wandering through libraries was enough to fulfil her time. Scared into hiding from anything that strayed from ordinary, Maude now found herself yearning to live. Everything she never experienced had never felt so appealing. There was so much more to life than she ever dared herself to believe but it had been snatched from her grasp before she realised it.

Still, her bones twitched beneath her skin and newfound determination fluttered in her chest where her heart once beat. Bruised lips twisted into a grin as reality dawned on her. This was her chance. She may be dead, but she was finally ready to live her life.

Traits: self-assured, glutton and clumsy

Maude Marsh is a zombie with a twisted sense of adventure. Once scared by the squeaking of a door, she wasted her mortality hiding from the world around her. But with immortality on her side and a desperation to explore the world she left behind, she’s ready to take on everything the afterlife has to offer. Now fascinated by things she would have never given a second thought before, she spends her time scouting out rubbish bins that litter the town to pilfer for trinkets to grow her collection oddities. It’s amazing how much you can find if you rummage hard enough! Her pockets are usually stuffed with rusty badges, paper straws and soda can rings. 

Expressing herself in ways she never would have dared to before, she plays around with outfits she bargains from other corpses, putting on fashion shows for herself and any graveyard attendees that she doesn’t send fleeing in terror. Who’d have thought that greying pigtails could be so scary? The screams quickly became melodious to Maude, drawing smiles that grew bigger and bigger every time someone would recoil in horror. Something about making people feel something after a lifetime of feeling numb was incredible. 

False life buzzes through empty veins as she giggles and rolls through trampled weeds, letting the grass tickle her skin. Sometimes she weaves dandelions and wild flowers into bouquets to leave for the gravedigger in hopes of making a friend, but they hadn’t been successful yet. Companionship was something Maude never allowed herself to experience in her life, too scared to open her cage and allow anyone to step inside. But with her cage long gone she now longs for a connection. She wants to discover everything life (and the afterlife) has to offer: the good, the bad and the straight up twisted. 

Maude sees beauty in everything: sunlight filtering through foliage, old bubble gum stuck to a withering crisp packet or the glint of something wicked in a smile. As she falls in love with the world around her, Maude finds herself wanting nothing more than to find someone to share this adventure with. Can Bedelia get her heart to beat again?

dumpster queen

she/her pronouns

5′ 8′‘ in the cute boots she found in a ditch and re-laced with a lock of her hair

looooooves hugs

still not totally used to moving all her dead weight at once so is a lil’ clumsy most of the time

likes munching on daisies

if the other corpses don’t want to talk to her (which is often) then she’ll just sit and talk to their gravestones instead

loves doing the quizzes in old magazines she digs out of the trash

tried to write a note saying ‘hi I like your shovel’ to the grave digger with a stick

labradoodle puppy trapped in a zombie body

fishes coins out of the fountain to just throw back in

currently looking for more throw pillows for her coffin as well as a cuddle-buddy

sometimes follows people out of the graveyard just because she likes the way that they scream and wants to hear it again

private download if you’re interested!

#maude marsh #bedelia's bc entries #I had so much fun making her #and coming up with her story and everything #I know that I went waaaay overboard but I haven't done much serious writing on this blog recently so I clearly had a build-up of creativity #i'm really happy with how she turned out though #and i'm pretty proud of this post #so all in all this has been great #you really know how to inspire me sam #so thank you internet big sis #you're the best and you bring out the best in me #she’s a zombie btw #I don’t even think I explicitly said that lmao

[7livky]

Dionysus - Park Jimin

CHAPTER 3

Author's POV

The sunny day was now a lukewarm summer evening, the first stars and especially the bright planets Venus and Jupiter were already shining in the evening sky. Small sparkles were visible in Diona's blue eyes as she looked up where you could see the brightest stars like Sirius.

Besides Greek and Roman mythology, she was just as interested in astrology. Every time, she found something that fascinated her all over again. No wonder that in many of the paintings she had drawn so far you could mostly see planets or the universe.

With her arms crossed,   she stood in her little garden when suddenly a cold breeze touched her body. She stroked her forearms a few times before going back into her atelie.

"Pretty cold, huh?"

She looked behind her when her father glanced at her with a huge smile. He put the tray on her  table and took a glass of water to hand it to her. Diona smiled back as she took it, as well as the medicine which he gave next. She took her  medicine, but hated that feeling.

"Dad, I don't want this anymore" ,she said with pinched brows after breaking the tablet in her   mouth and swallowing it. She couldn't take them any other way.

"I  know, my princess, I know." He stroked her head, kissing her forehead after which he pointed to the plate with noodles on the table.

"You're the best, thanks, Dad."

He  tried to wink at her, which just didn't work. They both started laughing when there was silence again after he had left. She hungrily  licked over her lips and immediately grabbed the fork on the table.

"Hmm" ,she nodded and stuffed more of the food into her mouth.

The Gorgone Medusa and Diona stared at each other as she stood in front of the painting with her brush in her hand and examined everything. Never before had her own work scared her as much as this one. She took a few  steps backwards and looked more closely at the canvas so that she could see better whether the proportions were right. She was very picky about her art commissions for the university. Everything had to be perfect, if it wasn't, she started it all over again, which Jongsuk could never understand, because he found it too bad after so much effort.

Beep.

The message made her music quieter for a brief moment. She ran towards the speakers and checked her display.

from kookie-monster95

Diona let out a loud sigh. There was something weird about this customer. She thought she was just getting screwed. That's why she hadn't read the first message completely yet. Unplugging the cable and her phone, she sat down at her desk to eat all the food. As she filled her empty stomach, she tapped on the received mail.

All right, I'll buy it for $2000. But I won't go any higher. Are you okay with that? Otherwise I'm looking for other artists.

The noodles got stuck in her throat, causing her to cough. Trying to breathe again, she immediately grabbed the sprite can and took three sips.

"TWO THOUSAND DOLLARS?!" ,was the first thing that came to her mind at that moment and that was exactly what she wrote back.

from diona7

Two thousand dollars??? This is a joke right?!

Sending it, she pulled down the tab each second to update the page. She noticed that this was the first time she had written so informally with somebody, although he or she only wanted to get a painting, like everyone else before.

But the person had actually replied.

from kookie-monster95

???

I  mean I know how extremely good looking the people are who should be painted and no money in the world can be enough for these beauties

and also that your works are among the best I've ever come across

but..

HOW CAN TWO THOUSAND DOLLARS NOT BE ENOUGH FOR YOU?

She slapped her own forehead.

from diona7

I didn't mean it that way. Isn't it a little too much? I'm not just doing it for money you know..

from kookie-monster95

Ah I see. You haven't read my first message completely or looked at the individual photos, have you?

She scratched the back of her head. What is he talking about? So she clicked on the e-mail from this morning and read it carefully.

It shouldn't be a normal painting, which only has to be copied from a photo. It should be a completely new painting made up from the beginning. Therefore I uploaded seven files. A concept should be invented, in which these seven figures should be. How they stand or sit is up to the artist. They should be drawn one hundred percent true to nature, their appearance just like in reality. No alienation.

The desired measurements and the files of which the person had spoken before had been given down below.

Well, the job sounded pretty heavy to her, according to the person's wishes. But drawing, painting, just art itself, was the one thing she would never fail in. For her, her artistic talent was the only gift that could help her achieve her goals. She knew she was never the best at school and had no self confidence, so she always distracted herself with her hobby.

The hd files were now downloaded and ready to be opened. She tapped on the first one.

Actually, she had thought that they would be female figures, because she still thought that "kookie-monster" was an old rich pedophile who was into hot women in short rabbit costumes.

But seeing that this was not the case, she licked her full lips without noticing as her brows went up. "Wow" ,she spoke in a soft voice and zoomed in more on the strange male face. "If the first person looks that good... what do the rest look like then?"

The boy was standing sideways to the camera, his chest a little visible, wearing a V-shaped top. Diona's eyes wandered along the chain he was wearing and stopped at his jawline. He had a very oval face with a pointy chin, his upper lips heart-shaped. His mouth was slightly open so that she could see his big teeth. Even if he was looking at her with a serious expression, you could still see a hint of a smile on his face. As if he could do that the best. He had a pointy nose, which looked so perfect in her eyes that you might think it was fake. He had a dark eye make-up, wearing dark grey contact lenses. Besides his pretty short eyelashes, he had thick and round eyebrows covered by his black hair, with a shine of purple in them. In conclusion; he looked like a little sunshine.

Impatiently, she opened the next one.

"Whoa."

The first thing that caught her attention was the unusual hair color. She started to smile as she mustered his whole face. The turquoise-blue straight hair of his pony was covering his entire right eye. A small part of his forehead was visible as well with his thin black eyebrows. The boy was a little thinner in the face than the first one, the cheekbones stood out more, this boy had a much more angular face shape. Under the tip of his nose she recognized a birthmark. While he was smiling, you could see his square mouth and small teeth. She found it adorable that he had such big ears and wore Gucci earrings. But the most beautiful thing on his face was his cat-shaped eyes. They reminded Diona of the eyes of a predatory cat. To be more precise, he had the same as from a desert lynx, as he had very dark and dense lower lashes, just like a eyeliner.

Without hesitation, she examined the third boy.

Obviously, she began to compare each of them and realized that he had a much lighter skin. Even if he smiled, it looked like a forced one. His purple colored hair covered his eyebrows, even his very small eyes. He wore an undercut and just looked like a gangster to her. But then, those full cheeks that she really wanted to squeeze them? He definitely was a mixture of sweet and dangerous. A rather big nose, but perfectly fitting to his face, thick lower lips and small teeth that were unbelievably white. All in all, she could tell from this boy's eyes how exhausted and listless he was.

Sliding with her finger to the right, she blinked at the next one.

So far, he was the tallest of them all. With his broad shoulders, he was standing in front of the camera, going through his gray stepped hair. Black eyebrows that were getting thicker outwards. As he smiled wide, his chubby cheeks and corners of his mouth became visible. Diona had to grin to herself while she looked at him. Quite full lips, the upper lip sticking out. In contrast to the previous ones, his big eyes were a little reddened, the drooping eyelids very strong. She didn't know what made her feel that way, but something inside her was saying that this man could wrap any girl in the world around his finger with a little rose between his lips and his flirtatious look.

" Ooh, okay?" ,Diona whispered as soon as she saw the next tall one. His appearance reminded her of that of a president. He had a very proud attitude, was as tall as the person before him. A white-beige jacket with black buttons, underneath a tight white T-shirt.  With his big hand, he ran through his platinum blonde mane. Pair of strands of his gelled hair fell on his forehead, giving him a sex appeal. He had wide nostrils and who would have thought it, pretty full lips too. A very dark eye make-up, his brown eyebrows perfectly plucked. If you took a closer look, you could see his little dimples, which already appeared with such a light smile.

"I've never seen anyone look so good with a side parting before!"

She tried to calm down, her heart couldn't take any more hot men like them, but she was way too curious. She stood up and went outside again. She made herself comfortable on her Hollywood swing by putting a pillow under her head and a blanket over her body. With her left foot, she stepped briefly on the floor to get momentum whereupon she also put her leg on the swing. She immediately unlocked her phone and stared first at two big dark brown button eyes. He was tilting his head to the right, crossing his thumb with his index finger with his right hand. It looked like a heart to Diona, but she wasn't quite sure. Between his thin upper lip and full lower lip, big white teeth that Diona zoomed into. She recognized his front teeth and had to think of those of bunnys.

His delightful smile painted one on her face as well. A giant "Awww", escaped her lips while she still couldn't get over that sweet face. Even less was she able to do it when she took a closer look at his hairstyle, which was called a bowl cut. She grinned wider and wider, zooming in on the black straight hair and his pony, which gave him this appeal of innocence.

"Oh, you little coconut head."

Diona pressed her fingers laterally between her teeth to gradually put an end to the stupid smile. But no chance as long as she watched him. Her gaze landed on the smile lines on his eyes and nose, which were conspicuous and perfectly matched his angular face.

Beep.

Her phone fell out of her hand and crashed to the ground after reading the sender's name. Wobbly, she got up to lift it up and hurriedly clicked on the message.

from kookie-monster95

So..what's the situation? ( ◠‿◠ )

from diona7

I'll do it, but it'll take a little longer for this one..

She played with the ends of her light brown hair as she waited for an answer. A habit of hers that reflected her nervousness. She walked in circles, checking her screen every second. The person usually answered so fast?

She was sure that they would answer her until she had cleaned up the atelier and packed all her stuff. Last but not least, she blew out the candles and was already in the house within a few seconds. Exhausted, she threw herself on her big round bed. She pulled the pillow away from under her belly and threw it to the ground in annoyance. She hoped her parents were already asleep before she reached for something under her bed. She felt the little bottle and grabbed it right in her hand, opening the lid of the champagne. After a few sips, her eyes closed against her will before she was trapped in her dream world.

—

5:55 a.m.

It was about time. Only one more glass was needed,

until his body, his heart, his soul were again possessed by rush, insanity and ecstasy.

The glasses were filled with wine, moving on the glass table with each bass, one of them already vibrating at the edge and about to fall down.

The electric guitars from the song boomed into his ears, followed by the drums, which fit together perfectly.

It wasn't long before the climax of the song arrived, the tension in his body growing every second.

His inner palm was now exactly where he would catch it, when ashort pause set in, the bass line suddenly stopped blasting.

And all of a sudden the music returned in fully - he caught the glass, threwing it against his dark grey wall.

He himself was the only one who could hear his sick laugh as he looked at the shards of glass spread throughout the room. As energetic as never before, he jumped back and forth, shook his head to match the beat as he danced in an incomparably way.

His spatial imagination deteriorated every second, but that was exactly what he loved.

With his burning tongue, he licked over his extremely full and wet lips, in front of his dark eyes stood a few glasses to be finished. Surely, only by him.

He took the deciding sip -

and entering from one moment to the next,

a sensation of hysteria and excitement arose within him, his abnormally fast beating heart becoming the only thing he could hear, not even the music anymore.

His previously raven-black hair.. now a shimmering silver-gray, incredibly shiny. His dark brown eyes.. discoloured to light blue. His beautiful, flawless face sparkled like a diamond.

The black pants and black leather jacket he was wearing had disappeared and been replaced.

In a loose white shirt, covering his naked torso, and fine beige trousers, he walked barefoot towards the round bed in front of him when his white aura illuminated every place he entered.

Apart from his urge for euphoria and agitation, his lust for fertility was now much stronger.

He blinked with his long eyelashes, watching the person lying in front of him. Long golden wavy hair, long thin legs, dainty upper body, the skin as light as his. Very gently, he turned her over so that her hidden face would become visible. When he saw those heavenly lips, you could hear a very loud tremor in the room. Immediately, the woman opened her eyes. The second he saw that turquoise colour, another loud quake followed. This time she cried out and abruptly held him by the collar.

"What's happening here? Where's that sound coming from?" ,she yelled into his face.

Roughly, he grabbed her by the wrist and put her hand on his left bare chest. "Those are my heartbeats."

When she looked away from her hand which touched his heated skin, and their eyes met again, it quaked again into her ears. So indescribably loud and strong, that every time it felt like everything was breaking down.

"Never before have I seen anything as breathtaking as you. Who are you?"

The woman took her hand away again. She had the feeling that if she had touched him a little longer, her skin would go up in flames.

She pointed at the plate next to him and hinted at the grapes in it. Deliberately, she licked her pink lips and waited impatiently.

The other heavenly beauty in front of her took a grape and held it close to her mouth. Before he placed the fruit between her lips and she licked his fingers, she whispered

                       "My name is Diona."

[digitalnoms]

The hunger of Digivalution

Cybersleuth au

Chris didn’t quite know how they ended up in this situation, stuck behind a firewall in an area filled with hackers and a program forcibly downloaded to their device that made them a hacker too, their 4’9 shaking as they freak out, they knew the only way they would get out of Kowloon is if they went forward, going forward risked encountering hostile hackers, but staying where they were also had a chance of encountering said hackers, Maybe they shouldn’t have taken that invitation they were given but they had no choice now, they had to get out of here so they took a deep breath and started following the path.

In another part of Kowloon an Impmon had appeared, he knew how he got here but felt like he was supposed to be bigger than the 3ft he was, he had a purpose for coming here but he just couldn’t seem to remember anything except where he came from and what he is now, for now he decided to sneak around while he tried to gather information on where he was and remember why he came here. Then he smelt something sweet, he became curious to where the scent was coming from and followed it.

The sweet smell had led him to find a nervous human who looked like they were about to jump out of their skin as they wandered about, they hadn’t noticed him yet, so he hit in the shadows and used the opportunity to have some fun by spooking them, he follow them around and would chuck a fireball near them when they would stop to check the area around them making the human jump and yelp making Impmon snicker.

Then another foul-smelling human appeared, when sweet smelling one and started talking about handing over an account and threatening the sweet smelling one Impmon had start to like with the way they reacted to having fireballs tossed at them, so Impmon tossed a fireball at him and set the seat of his pants on fire and snickered as the foul ones started trying to put himself out, the sweet one took the a chance while the foul one was distracted to try and leave, the foul one noticed though had the koromon he had following him go after the human in an attempt to draw his attacker out.

Chris was frightened, before someone kept sending fire balls at them that would startle them and make them shriek, they weren’t actually hurt by that though it just made them jump and as long as whoever was doing that wasn’t actually trying to hit them, Chris really didn’t feel the need to complain, but now there was a hacker threatening them and they had no idea what to do.

Luckily whoever it was startling them before decided this hacker was a better target and set his butt on fire, while he was jumping about trying to smother the flame Chris tried to run, he noticed though and sent that creature that was following him after them and Chris was cornered once again, the hacker told it to attack and as it was about to attack them a purple creature came out of nowhere and kicked it into a wall knocking it unconscious.

The hacker looked very nervous when the purple creature suddenly had a fireball floating over its fingertip and was aiming at him, the hacker grabbed the unconscious creature and dashed away, The purple creature scoffed then yelled after him “Yeah, you better run you wimp!”

Impmon dusted his hand off and smirked, it felt good to win. He was about to leave when he heard something behind him, it was then he remembered the human he had just rescued, “um, I uh, thank you for saving me.” the human said Impmon scoffed and looked to the side “wasn’t that much of a threat.” the human came closer to him “maybe not to you but they really could have hurt me. So, thank you, you were so cool.” Impmon started to feel a bit flustered he might not remember anything, but he feels like no one had ever complemented him before, maybe he could hang around this human for a while, it probably wouldn’t hurt he thought they smell nice too so that would be a bonus. Then he turned to them acting cocky “you obviously can’t handle yourself here so I might as hang around to help you.”

Chris smiled at the creature that saved them, “thank you.”  they honestly meant it they were extremely grateful this creature had come to help, despite the fact Chris was quite sure it had been to one messing with them earlier, “i have some questions though, what are you and what was that creature the hacker tried to attack me with?” The purple creature looked a little stunned for a second but shook it off and replied “Digimon, the one was that was attacking you was a wimpy in-training called koromon, while I,” the purple creature takes a proud stance “am a powerful Rookie called Impmon”  

“it’s nice to meet you Impmon, my name is Chris.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Timeskip~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s been three months since Impmon and Chris had met and he is no longer an Impmon, now as an impressive 12ft tall Skullmeramon he towers over his tamer and most of the other digimon on their team, when they travel together, he lets his tamer perch on his shoulder and his temperament and affinity for fire has caused his tamer to give him the nicknames Sparks but for some reason they had found him unable to Digivolve any further while the other digimon on their team have already devolved to mega he seemed to be stuck as an ultimate.

For the past few days Sparks has felt an intense hunger that never seemed to be satisfied by the increasing amount of food he ate or the amount of battles he fought, his tamer seemed to have noticed and confronted him Chris had asked him in a worried tone if he was doing okay, why he was eating so much now, and he had paused in his feast to answer them

“I don’t know, I just started feeling hungrier and hungrier and it doesn’t seem like it’s going to stop.” Sparks said, Chris crossed their arms and place a hand on their chin in deep thought “maybe you’re getting closer to being able to digivolve to mega, I remember that Striker got extremely hungry before he digivolved from Cyberdramon to Justimon.” Sparks chuckles “he whined about it too and now he runs around and dramatically poses in the wind. You might be onto something there, Chris.”

The Skullmeramon couldn’t help but notice his tamer’s scent and his stomach growled loudly. Chris jumped at the sudden rumble it’s volume as loud as thunder then laughs. “I better let you get back to your meal before your stomach eats itself.” then Chris leaves back to human world, Sparks notices that as their scent disappears his hunger lessens and wonders if eating them would stop the hunger, but he wouldn’t want to hurt them, he knows they put up with his sometimes-sadistic behavior and he feels conflicted about it but Sparks realizes he might not be able to control those predator instincts much longer, all he can really do it try and make sure he doesn’t physically harm Chris when he loses control. Perhaps if he digivolves he might even recall why he came here, he feels as if he can almost remember.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Timeskip~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few days later the Skullmeramon and his tamer are caught up in a battle with a Metalseadramon it’s River of Power attack blasting him backwards, his tamer shouting encouragement, even though he’s worse for wear they still believe he can win, and when his opponent means to take aim at the small human Sparks feels something click “Skullmeramon digivolve to Beelzemon!!”

He nearly doubles in size and at an intimidating 26ft all it takes is a single shot from one of his Berenjena to take the Mega down, Chris steps back in awe of his size and all they can say is “whoa.” which causes the towering digimon to look down at them and Chris doesn’t see any recognition in his eyes, only hunger as the demon lord digimon scoops them up in his hand and they feel the metal tips of his clawed gloves brush the top of their shoulders as his fingers curl forcing them to be seated on the edge of his palm their legs dangling near his wrist and a sense of dread overcomes them.

He and his tamer stare at each other for a second before a sharp wicked grin spreads on his face and Chris asks in a shaky voice “Sparks?” he doen’t respond, instead he raises them a bit higher, opens his mouth wide and he tips his hand slipping their legs into his mouth then swallows dragging them further in as they start to panic feeling their legs gripped tight in his throat.  

He ignores their fright, grips them a bit more firmly before tilting his head back and swallowing again drawing them the rest of the way into his maw and snapping it shut around them, he grins again feeling Chris tries futilely to push themselves back up their alarmed “Nonononono.” does nothing to sway him as their palms are slipping unable to get a grip and with a loud gulp, he sends them downwards as they panic and shout “Please don’t!”

They struggle as they are dragged downward, the muscles squeezing around their form and they let out a whine, hearing a thudding heart beat and powerful lungs as the Beelzemon breathes pass them as they slip deeper down. He licks his lips savoring his tamers movement and flavor as the thought goes through his head that he was right, they do taste as good as they smell.

After what feels like hours of being pulled by hot slick muscles, they finally drop into his stomach, Beelzemon lets out a pleased sigh as they start to beat against his stomach walls, “Sparks!” they shout and this time he responds his voice booming around them, “My name is Beelzemon.” he presses his hand against the bulge that’s the only sign of where the tamer went, squishing them against the flesh walls that surround them “And you’re not going anywhere anytime soon.” He explains that digivolving into mega unlocked his memories.

That he came here to snub the royal knights and their plans but lost his memories and reverted to rookie form in the process, then a little while after he digivolved to Skullmeramon his hunger reawakened and things started to come back little by little, his tamer confused and worried about the situation they are in asks him a single question “but why did you eat me?” Beelzemon bursts out laughing and the tamer is rocked off their feet, their back hitting the stomach floor with a wet splat.

“Why did I eat you? The scent you give off is too hard to resist, it’s what drew me to you in the first place.” his tamer responds their voice breaking “so our bond was nothing then? You were just waiting till you didn’t need me anymore to eat me, right?” Beelzemon’s grin drops from his face realizing what he has said has hurt his tamer “No, I...I grew attached, I like you too much for you to be just another meal for me. Wouldn’t want to hurt you like that.” he feels his tamer shift. “then that means I'm safe?” the ask timidly.

Beelzemon nods before realizing they wouldn't be able to see that and replied “yeah, you’ll be fine. Still not letting you out for a while though.” His tamer relaxes “You’re an asshole sometimes Beelzemon.”  He chuckles “sure am, but you knew that when you met me.”  

Chris still a bit wary asks “what are they royal knights planning anyway?” Beelzemon scoffs “not anything I’d let them do to you.” his tamer jerks “what is that supposed to mean?” He grins as he replies knowing he is succeeding in working his tamer up again “nothing you need to worry about.” they start struggling again yelling at him to stop being vague and tell them what he meant as he sits down leaning against the wall of the area they are in, too deep for anyone to find them and falls asleep with his hand still over his stomach.

#///digimon #soft vore #safe vore #Beelzemon #DigitalNoms

[silenceindetroit]

The Meaning of Silence - Part 4

“Oh, my god. Connor, no.”

“Hank, really, it's fine. I downloaded a template for beginners. You wouldn't have to do anything—”

“We are not adopting a damn cat.”

Hank buried his head in his hands. The beer he had been sipping sat a little too close to the edge of the table, where he'd slammed it down in frustration not ten seconds ago. Connor lifted it and placed it closer to the center. “You didn't even think to tell me, instead I'm finding out from a call from the Detroit animal shelter? And you thought, what, it'd just be fine?”

“I was waiting for an opportune time to tell you.”

“Since when do you wait for opportune times?” Hank groaned and lifted his head. “Did you think of how Sumo might react to having a cat around, huh?”

Connor's mouth fell open. “Oh.” He hadn't.

“I'll take that as a no. This isn't just a little while thing, Connor. A cat's a long-time commitment. And not just a cat, a kitten. You don't know what kind of personality you're getting into with a kitten.” He let out a sigh, running his hand through his beard. “What even possessed you to want one?”

Connor looked away. His hands flexed at his sides. “I don't know. I just felt a connection with her. The way she wouldn't stop looking at me... I felt like she needed me.”

Hank closed his eyes. He knew the kid had to be desperate for something to keep him busy, but another pet was a bit much to ask. What would they even do with one?

Still, Sumo was getting to the ripe old age of retirement. Maybe his own pet would give Connor something to hold on to after the dog eventually made it over the rainbow bridge. It was a sad thought, but it was nature.

“Please, Hank.”

Hank muttered something under his breath and pointed a finger at the android. “We bring her home for a day. If Sumo doesn't approve, we take her back.”

Connor's eyes grew a little brighter as he nodded.

“And she'll be your responsibility. I'm not taking care of a cat.”

“I'll do everything.” He couldn't help the smile that lifted his mouth. “Thank you, Hank.”

“Sure,” Hank muttered, but his voice was already losing its tough edge. “I don't know who's worse when it comes to begging, you or Sumo,” he half-joked as he reached for his beer.

--------

To be fair, the last thing Connor had ever expected to see in his life was Hank's weathered hands soften enough to hold something as fragile as a kitten. But it was quite the sight.

“Alright. I get why you got so attached to her,” Hank admitted as he held Beatrice up in front of his face, examining her while she made it her life's goal to chew off his thumb. “Teeth are sharp as hell. You sure she's not going to be too much of a handful for you?”

“I can do it.”

“You don't want an older one?”

Connor shook his head. “It's statistically proven that young kittens adapt more easily to living with dogs than full-grown cats.”

“Hm.” Hank tried to withdraw his thumb from her teeth. “She's certainly been around the block, hasn't she?” he asked, nodding his nose in the direction of her ear. “You thought of a name yet?”

“Beatrice.”

Hank raised an eyebrow. Before he could respond the shelter volunteer that had been at the front desk came into the room, carrying a clipboard. “Alright, Mr. Anderson, here's the paperwork we need you to sign, and then we'll have you pay the minimal vet fees and you'll be good to go.”

“Here,” Hank told Connor, handing the kitten back to him.

“New family pet?” the volunteer asked, smiling.

“You could say that.”

Connor tried to position her to sit with her front paws against his chest, but Beatrice was already digging her claws into his jacket for leverage, attempting the climb up to his shoulder. He tried to keep still enough that she wouldn't fall. When she reached her destination her nose went to his ear, whiskers brushing against his earlobe as she sniffed. He lifted his hand to rub a finger between her tiny shoulders.

“Alright,” Hank sighed. He turned back to Connor. “You might want a box or something to keep her in until we get home.”

Five minutes later they were walking out the front doors, settling back into the car. “So why Beatrice?” he asked as he put on his seatbelt.

Connor's arms were wrapped protectively around a makeshift cardboard carrier from the shelter. A muffled set of mews could be heard from the holes on the side. “The name was suggested to me,” he said. “And I liked it.”

“Don't forget, Sumo's got the final word,” Hank reminded him. “This isn't a done deal yet.”

Connor looked down at the box. A white-mittened paw was reaching through one of the holes, scratching at the cardboard. He teased his finger along the side of it just out of her reach. The paw scrambled to swipe further out. He smiled when it missed him by less than an inch.

When they reached the house Hank warned him to let to let him get a good hold on Sumo before Connor brought her inside. “Don't want him lunging,” he said. Connor hung back just outside the front door while Hank went in. “Hey bud,” he heard from where he stood on the porch. “We got someone for you to meet... I'm not sure how happy you're gonna be about it... Come on, up... Good boy.” Heavy footsteps made their way from the kitchen into the living room. “Okay, Connor. Bring her in.”

He nudged the front door open with his foot. Hank was on the couch, a leg on either side of Sumo, hands gripped on his collar. “Hey, Sumo,” Connor said. He brought the box over slowly, stopping a few feet away to let the old dog sniff the air. His ears perked as Beatrice let out a squeak.

“Easy, bud,” Hank told him under his breath, rubbing Sumo's neck. “Okay, Connor.”

Connor set the box on the ground and unlatched the carboard flaps at the top. Beatrice was already scrambling against the corner, trying to climb her way out. “It's okay,” he tried to reassure her. He reached inside to wrap his hands around her tiny body.

Sumo strained against Hank's grip when he saw what Connor was holding. He held her back until he had calmed down before kneeling. Beatrice froze in his hands when she noticed the massive beast before her.

“It's like David and Goliath,” Hank commented, still rubbing Sumo's neck.

Sumo thumped his tail against the floor in uncertainty. His nose pushed forward when Connor brought her close enough for him to investigate. The kitten's neck pulled back, eyes wide. The introduction didn't last long before she stood, back arched as high as it would reach, flattening her ear against her head, and gave a hiss several times bigger than she was.

Hank let out a wheeze of laughter as Sumo whined at his feet, backing up against the couch. “Oh my god,” he gasped, then coughed, wiping at the corner of his eye. “That was the fucking funniest thing I've seen in a long time.”

Connor pulled Beatrice away, but the moment was over. Her ear was perked up again, paws scrambling to get down from his hold. He crossed his legs and set her down between them.

“I don't think you're gonna be the alpha around here anymore, Sumo,” Hank apologized. He pat the dog affectionately on the side of his chest.

“She can stay, then?”

“If she doesn't mind Sumo. But I don't think that'll be much of a problem.” He grinned and chuckled to himself. “You certainly know how to pick them, don't you Connor?”

Connor shook his head. “She picked me,” he replied.

-------

If I could breathe I might know what it's like to have it stolen away. When all of your functions forget how to work and they pause without reason or response. Those moments are limbo. I think my eyes are starting to open for the first time

“How's it going?”

Connor glanced up from the page of the notebook he was writing in and paused the music playing in his head. Markus sat on the couch across from him, leaned back and sketching in his own notebook. Or he had been the last time Connor had looked. Now the notebook laid against his thighs, picture down, and Markus' focus was on him.

“I'm starting to get the hang of it slowly,” he said. His eyes flickered down to the sketch book. “When do I get to see it?”

“When it's done.” Markus tilted his head to the side. “Look to your left for me?”

He did as he was told.

“Now look down with your eyes.”

“Like this?”

“Perfect.” Markus lifted the sketch book back into his hands and set his pencil to the thick paper.

Carl and Hank were occupied upstairs today, rather than their usual spot in the studio. Carl hadn't felt well enough to get out of bed. Connor had opted for the living room, and Markus had obliged happily enough.

He hoped his reason—the desire to feel secluded with him—wasn't too obvious.

“What song are you listening to?”

Connor's internal fans sucked in a whoosh of air. “I'll tell you what it is when you let me see what you're drawing,” he replied. His attempt to keep from sounding embarrassed was laughable at best.

The other android rolled his eyes at him, but there was a crooked smile on his face. “I better hurry, then.”

Connor watched him return his focus to his work before adjusting the grip on his own pen. His smile is enough to trigger that limbo, he wrote, heart pumping.

It took him a few minutes to remember to start his music back up.

Put gas into the motor, and boy I'll meet you right there...

“I have something I've been wanting to share with you,” Markus added suddenly.

Connor paused the song again. “What is it?”

“I don't know if... you'd be interested in it.”

He closed the notebook, pen bookmarking the page. “Why's that?”

Markus raised an eyebrow, looking up at the ceiling in thoughtfulness. “No, I'm gonna wait,” he said decidedly.

Connor's brow furrowed. “That's not fair,” he argued. “Now I want to know.”

Markus let out a low chuckle. His eyes fell back to Connor, deep with warmth. “You'll find out eventually,” he promised. “But I think I'm going to save it as a surprise to go along with something else.”

“I won't tell you what song I'm listening to, then.”

Markus sucked his cheek between his teeth. It was such a terribly human look Connor nearly did a double-take. “That's a low blow.”

He raised an eyebrow. “How about I'll play you the song when you tell me what the surprise is.”

Markus grinned. “You've got yourself a deal.” He shut the sketch book and stood. “I finished that painting from the other day. Want to come see?”

“Okay.”

Markus reached across the coffee table to offer Connor a hand up. He couldn't keep the smile from his face when the other android didn't let go, leading him out of the living room towards the staircase. The faint sound of voices could be heard behind Carl's closed door as they passed by, turning down the hallway towards Markus' room.

The canvas stood in the same place it was the last time Connor had been here. But now the two android hands in the painting were filled in, the finished details adding more delicate hints to their interaction. The ways it had been beautiful before had turned into a masterpiece of expression in its completion.

Markus came up behind him as he stared. He placed a hand on the small of Connor's back. “How does it make you feel?” he murmured in his ear, an echo to the question he had asked what seemed now like an eternity ago.

The mechanics in Connor's jaw worked themselves as he felt his system heat up. “It makes me feel... like I want something I'm missing.”

His eyes fluttered shut as Markus' lips brushed the side of his neck, just below his ear. “What's that?”

His mouth fell open. “To be that close to you,” he breathed.

He breathed?

It certainly felt like a breath, the way his fans cycled out air as the words spilled from his mouth.

And then he said something he wouldn't normally have dared to, high off the exhilaration of the thought. “Show me where your inspiration came from.”

Markus was silent for a moment, pondering Connor's request, before he stepped to the side for them to stand face-to-face. He withdrew the synthetic skin from his hand and let his thumb reach up to stroke the side of Connor's jaw. Connor closed his eyes when it brushed his lower lip.

“No.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “What?”

“I want you to show me.” Markus slid his exposed hand over the side of Connor's face. “Show me how it speaks to you, Connor,” he whispered. “I think you already know where my inspiration came from.”

Electricity surged through Connor's circuitry at his words. Hesitation gripped him, uncertainty right on its heels. He wasn't sure if he dared embrace the ways he felt in such an open manner. Let alone with Markus.

Did he?

He met the other android's gaze, taking in the contrast between his eyes, the stubble on his cheeks, the way his brow lifted whenever he regarded something with curiosity, like right now. The shape of his mouth.

He did dare to. Very much so.

Connor took a step towards him, placing a hand flat against Markus' chest and pressing with his palm, gentle but firm. Markus obliged and fell a step back. Then another. Connor guided him to the empty portion of the wall near the window until Markus was pressed up against it, watching him, waiting to see what he would do.

Connor let the skin retract from his own hands now. He reached for Markus' wrists, and with a gentle grip brought them above his head, holding them in place against the wall. He tried to ignore the way his heart hammered in his chest.

The space between them closed as he tilted Markus' chin up with the bridge of his nose, exposing the place his neck met his jaw. The structure of it was so defined.

“I want to learn every inch of you,” Connor murmured against him. “That's how your art speaks to me.” He glanced up through his eyelashes; Markus' eyes were closed. He could tell he was enjoying this.

He placed a gentle kiss and pinned Markus' wrists a bit more firmly against the wall above, just for a second. “I want to learn to capture you in writing the way you capture everyone else.”

His hands softened as he slid them up Markus' wrists, reaching for his palms now, anticipating the moment their fingers would slide together to close the gap. The gentle curve of Markus' hands beneath his own, expectant, waiting.

The interface that opened between them when they met nearly made the mechanics in Connor's knees go weak. Flashes of memories raced through his database; he was studying his progress on the painting of Kara and Alice; standing over Carl's bed, watching him sleep after coming home late one night; studying Connor from across the room when he wasn't looking; making a rough sketch in a notebook, trying to capture the way Connor's jaw clenched when he was thinking; watching the look of surprise on Connor's face when he took his hand and brushed his fingers against his own lips, an impulsive act that he hadn't stopped thinking about since he'd done it. So many lingering, meaningful gazes. The gaze of an artist. Connor had never realized how much Markus noticed him.

Drew him.

He could barely keep track which of his own memories were filtering through in their exchange.

Markus' hands clutched at his harder than before. Without warning he felt his body being turned, guided by Markus', until they were switching places. Now he was the one against the wall. Markus pressed their hands together against it, on either side of Connor's shoulders. Their noses nearly brushed together, they were so close.

He lasted maybe another ten seconds before the interface started to get overwhelming.

Markus, I need a break, Connor told him through the connection. Markus' memories immediately began to withdraw, tapering for a few moments before coming to a full stop as they disconnected. He felt his fingers go slack, eyes still wide from the influx of information. Overwhelmed with Markus' uncensored feelings for him. Gravity pulled him down to the floor as he leaned his weight against the wall. Markus came down after him, sitting on the side of one leg, the other pulled up to let his forearm rest against his knee.

“You never told me how much you draw me,” Connor managed to say.

Markus sucked his cheek between his teeth again. The look on his own face was almost shy. “You never told me how much you've been writing about me,” he countered. A grin pulled at the side of his mouth when Connor covered his face in embarrassment.

“You weren't supposed to see that yet.”

Markus' hand inched forward until his index finger could interlock with Connor's. “It's beautiful,” he said. “What you've been writing.”

Connor looked up enough to observe the interaction before stroking his thumb over the back of Markus' knuckles. “It's unrefined. I don't have a lot of experience yet.”

“It'll come,” Markus told him. “What you're writing is already impressive.”

He glanced over. “You think so?”

The other android nodded. The room grew quiet around them, neither one withdrawing their hands. It was a few minutes before he spoke again. “I saw a memory of yours,” he said quietly. His words were hesitant. “Where you didn't feel like you were in your own body.”

Connor stared down in silence. He hadn't expected Markus to see any of those.

“Connor?”

He closed his eyes at the worry in Markus' voice. “It's nothing. Not really. It started happening after the revolution.”

“Is it often?”

“No. Just sometimes.”

It wasn't a total lie. But it wasn't the full picture, either. It had only happened a few times, mostly during the worst patches of winter, when the blizzards would howl and scream. In four, maybe five instances had his stress levels risen enough to trigger an internal warning. He was fine once he was away from the storm. It wasn't until later in the day that he would begin to feel that he was slipping away from his body.

And like the way he frequently relived his last memory of Amanda, it was something he would never tell anyone. Or had never planned to, if it hadn't slipped through into the interface.

Markus took Connor's hand and placed the base of his palm against his lips. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Connor shook his head. “There's not much to talk about.”

“Okay.” Markus slid back until they were side-by-side against the wall, shoulders brushing together. “If you ever do want to, I'm here to listen.”

Connor nodded and tilted his head back. His energy reserves felt low, but in a good way. His hand searched blindly for Markus' again, their fingers clasping together when he found it. His face softened when he received a squeeze back. He let his head tilt to the side until it rested on Markus' shoulder. This was another good kind of silence. In some ways much like the bus ride home with Michael; in other ways the complete opposite.

“Hey.”

Connor raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“What are you doing Saturday night?”

#sorry about the holdup last night but goddamn that first ending was way too rough #dbh #detroit become human #dbh connor #dbh markus #rk800 #rk200 #rk1000 #rk1k #connor x markus #connor rk800 #markus rk200 #silence in detroit #the meaning of silence

[catarinaoliveirastudio]

What do all of these projects have in common? – A Summer recap

It’s no secret that I use Art Challenges with prompts lists to create new work and content for my portfolio when commissions are slow, they give me ideas for my own briefings and help me keep a daily practice. For me, it’s important to have a goal behind this self-initiated work like to get better at poses, although it could be just for fun, or as a warm-up, in my case, is the way I procrastinate for the most part. But once in a while, there is a list that sparks my creativity, that’s exactly what happened with the drawings I’m sharing in this post.

Here are just some of the places where I find challenges: 

- Instagram and hashtags like “Draw this in your style”.

- Lisa Bardot and her awesome website Making Art Everyday; 

- the Portfolio Club Group (for Instagram) and Illostories Group (operates on Facebook), mostly Kid Lit Art oriented instructions, ideas, and tutorials; 

- They Draw And Cook has different topics for their submissions.

__________

Circus 

July’s theme for Portfolio Club (monthly Instagram challenge) was Circus and I wanted to draw some characters (with no animals) at the time. I started with the Fortune Teller which sounded more of a Carnival Show, so I went with a vintage look and incorporated my characters in a deck of cards. I decided to use limited colors from the beginning, and as usual, that made it so much easier to simplify the composition, but, because the drawings were made spread out over the month, I don’t find them very cohesive, except for the colors of course. In a way, this is very similar to what I am sketching right now (see Animals with jobs).

__________

Food Illustration

I made a lot of watermelon salads this Summer and I even drafted a recipe for TDAC but then I saw that the new TDAC HandPicked Design Challenge was perfect for it, so I finished the watermelon recipe and scribbled a couple more ideas for the topic (Food Geometry). I only managed to submit one more simple illustration but I am happy to report that my Citrus and “naturally spherical fruit” submission will be featured in the Uppercase magazine. 

Naturally, I would love to be commissioned to illustrate food for any type of project.

__________

Tiny Houses coloring pages

2 weeks ago it was Lisa’s week of drawing Objects as houses. I’ve always loved tiny houses and suddenly I couldn’t stop drawing them. I would like to make a coloring book one day, so I took this opportunity to draw in black & white and focus more on the details instead of adding color. These drawings took some time as I can get lost in little tweaks for hours (I love that) so eventually, I missed a couple of the 7 prompts and ended up coloring 2 of my drawings in bed, just for relaxation. It was a good exercise though, to draw more backgrounds and environments.

I plan to release these as PDFs you can download, print and color!

__________

Animals with jobs colored sketches 

And before I even finished my last draft for the teapot Tiny house, I came across with a prompts list for Sketchtember. I was hooked despite being already August 31. My first sketch was very loose and simple but that’s the whole idea of Sketchtember right? (some people use it to do the sketches that they will ink in October for Inktober, so smart).

Anyway, I was in the mood to switch gears again from those detailed drawings, and it is always a good idea to practice poses, besides I love drawing animals.

My goal with these is to push my composition and movement skills and ultimately experiment with colors. Too much pressure? 

I'm writing this as I finish my 5th sketch and honestly, it might be my last, not because of the lack of fun but of time! I am not very fast or good at setting time limits, it’s the perfectionist in me. 

1. Lion, pastry chef. 2. Bear, fitness trainer. 3. Sloth, officer (pilot). 4. Mouse, waitress.

Prompts list created by Mia Gillenkirch.

To wrap up this post I’m sharing a bit of my process and 2 of my top tips when it comes to Children’s Illustration (KidLit or YA) and these quick/simple sketches: 

I draft my idea without any references first (I draw very poorly as you can see in this time-lapse video), and then I look at photos of real animals to draw some realistic features. But things like bikes, yeah I need references. In terms of composition, I start with a very simple straight pose before starting to push it forward by playing with proportions (big/small) like a huge nose or long arms. The other thing I keep in mind is to decontextualize objects to create a more interesting story, like an unexpected color choice, or giving a different context to a situation. It helps to get pose ideas, for example, instead of thinking of a hairdresser you can approach the crocodile (the hairdresser) as an artist looking at his art. I ask questions like, is there an emotion showing or is it dynamic enough? I draw a lot of versions of the same thing until I am okay with it, then I pause it (if I can), come back with fresh eyes and that always helps me noticing improvements I can make. That’s it! A third tip would be Keep it simple! 

Let me know if this was helpful and if you would like more of these posts.

__________

All of these were done with an Ipad Pro & Apple Pencil, in the App Procreate. One brush used, called Dry Ink. 

There are Art Challenges all year round but this is my favorite season, starting with Setchtember, Inktober, anything Halloween, leading all the way to Christmas and its countdown. At the moment I don’t have anything planned but I never know when Procrastination kicks in and says, “You have to do this challenge!” :D And no, I haven’t discovered the magic secret to finishing a drawing challenge, but I tend not to take these things too seriously. Have you ever participated in one?

To see the complete projects and all of my sketches check my Instagram @catarinaoliveirastudio.

[darkfromday]

builder and the brain (21)

Prompt: Day 6 - Wartime

Pairing: Mechanicalshipping (Rin/Akaba Reiji)

We’ve done it. The last of the wartime prompt fills. The last of the times characters get used back-to-back. I’d take a nap, but there’s three more to go.

The closer one got to the makeshift Lancer command center, the louder the sounds of hissing, banging and scanning became. Any noise that indicated hard work was intoxicating to Akaba Reiji’s ears, but in this case it was especially so because of the mind behind all the commotion.

He walked in greeting her warmly: “Ah, Rin. How are your projects coming?”

A leafy-green head popped up from under the engine prototype she was working on, and lifted it up to eye level as she stood. Spots of oil dotted her pink-and-blue sleeves, along with a bit of her bangs--she must have been working with a real machine at some point. But despite the messy appearance, Rin looked as cheerful as he had ever seen her.

“Hey, Reiji. Don’t mind this old thing, it’s just a side project...” She nudged the engine with a mixture of exasperation and affection. “The work you wanted me to do with reverse-engineering those Academia carding machines is going well. I think it might be possible to reverse their effects because I’m starting to get a feel for what’s actually happening with them, how they work.”

How they work? He stepped further in at her invitation, sitting at one of the spotless counters. “Please tell me what you mean by this.”

“Sure.” But she bade him hold on a minute first, while she strode over to the touch screens that were lying dormant opposite the door. That changed once she put in her username and password--then, a schematic of those formidable duel disks came up, glowing red and spinning as she talked.

“This might get a little gross... but it’s definitely worth knowing. So you know about atoms and how they’re our infinitesimal building blocks, yeah? And you and your LDS R&D department definitely know your way around the ins and outs of matter transmission--that’s how you left your home dimension in the first place. Well, with this carding business, Academia just combined the two concepts.”

He frowned, though his mind was already attempting to fit together the pieces she'd laid out. "Elaborate."

"It's based off of what you overheard in the Professor's base," Rin said. As she laid it all out, she unfurled her blueprint of notes, connections and battle strategies. "His ramblings about the new dimension, Arc-V... that's the connecting piece. There's no matter transmitter in existence that can move every living person in every dimension to a new one simultaneously, not without... losing some people in the transfer. And by some I mean several hundred million people.

"You're smarter than your father, Reiji, so with time you might have been able to build a form of transmission that safely merged that many worlds and moved that many people. But Academia's only chance to subdue everyone else indefinitely for the transfer is to make sure everyone is compact enough to transfer. Are you following me yet?"

Her gold eyes pierced him, distracted him even--but Reiji moved past them to solve the mystery that suddenly didn't seem so mysterious. He thought of his lessons about physics, anatomy, and the molecular structure of the human body--and he blanched.

The cards are... no. He wouldn't go that far.

Father... surely you wouldn't.

"The only way to make people compact is to reduce them down to their simplest forms--DNA and atoms. Mostly atoms. That's what is happening--when Academia defeats one of us, or someone of another dimension, they use the tech on their arms to diminish the losers down to their atoms and seal their genetic information into those special cards. Then they hold on to our comrades until they can download 'em into Arc-V."

Reiji turned away, walking to a corner away from the holograms and the engines and his backup mind. The air in the room had grown thicker and warmer; he pinched his nose and closed his eyes, unable to not imagine to looks on the faces of his comrades who had already been carded in the fight. Hokuto, Chojiro, Sawatari, Tsukikage...

All gone. All of them were--were condensed, for reasons I still don't understand.

"...ji? Reiji? Hey, talk to me. I wouldn't have told you my theory if I thought it would upset you--"

"I'm not upset," he managed to say. "I'm... disappointed, disgusted, dispirited..."

"And upset." Rin closed the distance between them; he knew this because he felt her pat his shoulder soothingly. "Which is okay. It was easier to believe that they were trapped in another dimension, yeah? But since Arc-V doesn't exist, I knew there had to be another reason why the Professor is still capturing people, even when they don't duel."

"And I believe that you are correct," Reiji told her, noting how troubled she looked once he'd finally opened his eyes. "Do not fear my doubt, Rin--you have more than earned my trust."

He reached out a finger and gently took her bangs in one hand, using the handkerchief he pulled from his pocket with his other hand to try and wipe away the oil in her hair. He generally did his best not to touch her, even with her consent, since her previous life before her rescue wasn't filled with too much positive physical contact. But her blush this time, and the way her hand trailed down his arm and lingered in return, told him that he might be doing okay this time.

"What other progress have you made?" he asked her to break the moment.

It was like flipping a switch; vitality and cheer came back into Rin's demeanor and she moved back toward her prototype engine--and then passed it by, flopping down on one bike-shaped tarp of many in the far left corner.

"I've finished four of the six rides you'll need to get out of here and head to Fusion. Your D-Wheel still needs a few tweaks, but they're mostly for handling and acceleration."

"Excellent. May I...?"

"Oh, of course." She got back up and pulled off each of the tarps, allowing Reiji to witness her progress since his last visit: four sleek motorcycles, with differing colors and shapes and spoilers.

It was easy for him to pick out his and Reira's D-Wheel--Rin was sitting on it. He nodded approvingly at the silver shades, the lightness, the sidecar equipped with its own dueling equipment in case Reira didn't want to ride alone. The others looked just as painstakingly cared for. Pride for the work she'd put in surged in him, and didn't even diminish when he noticed some new blueprints to improve Yuugo's D-Wheel on the wall, a sight that would have had him burning with envy before.

"Thank you, Rin," he said, as kindly as he ever said anything.

"No problem, president." Her voice was breezy, confident in her own prowess. As she brushed off his praise she found a wrench and worked on tightening one of the screws of a nearby D-Wheel.

Reiji gave the command center's vehicles another look, then lifted one gray eyebrow. Something was missing. Either Rin hadn't gotten around to making it yet or she hadn't even thought of it.

"You mentioned six D-Wheels. Why not seven?"

Rin swung her wrench around, counting with each rotation. "You and your brother, Serena, Shun, Yuuya, and Gongenzaka. I'm not missing anyone."

"You are," Reiji insisted. "Yourself."

"Me?" Rin shook her head, laughing ruefully. "No, nah, not my role. My place is here, making sure all of your tech works right, and seeing what your big brain doesn't."

"Do you perhaps think that technology isn't portable? That you wouldn't be just as valuable to us by being with us, as opposed to behind us?"

"I...."

"Rin." He put both his hands on her shoulders. "You are just as brilliant as I am, and much more necessary to the war. I need your keen eye for detail and your skills in building and dueling. So I'm afraid I must refute you--your place is with the other Lancers, and with me."

She looked between him and the engine prototype rotating in the middle of their command center, the side project that was so clearly meant for her own future D-Wheel. She was not one to sit back and let others do things for her, and she never had been--he knew that even when he barely knew all he wanted to know about her.

Still, it took her such a long time to say anything that at first Reiji thought he would have to start persuading her again--but eventually she reached under the closest desk to slap down a completely different blueprint on the table.

New D-Wheel drawings.

"Well," Rin said with a cocky grin, "if you want me to come along and back you up that badly, who am I to refuse?"

#arc v rare pair week #Arc V #mechanicalshipping #YGO #Darkday writes fanfic #Reiji/Rin #I'm free...... free of the war..... #take my sage veterans advice: don't write characters back-to-back. I've done it four times and it SUCKS

[stopsubstanceabuse1-blog]

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UBS Global Real Estate Bubble Index

TorontoRealtyBlog

A reader challenged me last week, and today, I’m going to answer that challenge.

I received an email that read: “Must be getting hard to keep putting a positive spin on this market huh?  Then again, you’d never post anything negative.”

I didn’t think that was fair, nor do I like when it’s insinuated that I cheerlead the market.

So today, I’m going to post the single most negative thing on the Toronto real estate market that I can possibly find.  Sound fair?

I think there’s a difference between being bullish, and cheerleading.

I’ve seen real estate cheerleaders.  Many of them, in fact.

I see them every single day.

They’re everywhere.

I was in a house on the weekend that was overtop of the subway, and as train rolled by, and the house began to buzz, I turned to my clients and said, “This is an absolute deal-breaker.”

A couple minutes later, another agent walked into the master bedroom with her clients and told them, “It’s probably not as bad as you’d think, and it’s the sort of thing you’d get used to over time.  Are you guys sound-sleepers?”

I started Toronto Realty Blog in 2007 with the idea of being different from the old-guard of real estate.  I wanted to be honest and opinionated, but those two things, when combined, in this industry, equal controversy.

I suddenly had this label of being “controversial.”

Well, I suppose when the average age in the industry is 61-years-old, and everybody loves every house, and never says a bad word about it, then yes – being honest is controversial.

The industry has changed a lot in ten years, and I’ve found a lot of like-minded colleagues, as the old-guard in real estate has begun to break down.

I’ve always sought to provide insight and entertainment on TRB; a very tough combination, as we’re all entertained by different subject matter, and some of us are more or less insightful than others.

“Photos of the Week” is many people’s favourite feature, and others’ most hated.

Blogs that break down statistics bore the hell out of some people, while others get out their abacus and play along at home.

And I’d like to think that, while my outlook on Toronto real estate is bullish, people understand that I try to provide my opinion on the real estate market as I see it, while remaining open to contrarian viewpoints.

So I was a bit perturbed last week when I got that email suggesting that I’m cherry-picking topics, articles, or insight that spin the market in a positive way.  And don’t get me wrong – I’ve developed a very thick skin over ten years of blogging, but I did pause for a moment and ask, “Is this person a troll, or is there some truth to what he’s saying?”

Right or wrong, I figured, what the heck.  I’ll post the most negative story I can possibly find on real estate, and open the topic for discussion.

UBS is a global financial services company, operating out of Switzerland.

They are probably one of the best-known financial services companies in the world, and to many of you, they need no introduction.

Last month, they published a report called “UBS Global Real Estate Bubble Index,” and guess which city was ranked #1 on their list?

Toronto.

Download the entire 24-page report HERE.

I encourage you all to read the report, and draw your own conclusions.

But since many of you are simply scrolling or killing time on the TTC, let me give you the Coles Notes.

First, here is the Editorial that opens the report:

–

Dear reader,

In Munich, Toronto, Amsterdam, Sydney and Hong Kong, prices rose more than 10% in the last year alone. Annual price-increase rates of 10% correspond to a doubling of house prices every seven years, which is not sustainable. Nevertheless, the fear of missing out on further appreciation predominates among home buyers. After all, the price increases appear rational, for three reasons.

First, financing conditions in many cities are now more attractive than ever before.  Second, the global increase in wealthy households seemingly creates constant demand for the most attractive residential areas.  Third, building activity cannot keep pace with this demand.

Expectations tend to be prone to exaggerations in boom phases. The optimistic projections of the trends outlined above create ever-greater price fantasies. However, should sentiment change or interest rates increase, a correction is practically inevitable. In the past, rising interest rates almost always triggered a crash in housing markets. In addition, the dependence of prices on international flows of capital represents an incalculable risk. Plus, once demand fell, even the low growth in supply would no longer provide an anchor.

Vastly overvalued housing markets, as measured by the UBS Global Real Estate Bubble Index, have historically been associated with a significantly heightened probability of correction and greater downside than housing markets whose prices developed more in line with the local economy. This year’s UBS Global Real Estate Bubble Index publication reveals the cities in which caution is required when buying a house and the places in which valuations still seem fair.

In this edition, Los Angeles and Toronto have been added to the selection of financial centers.

We hope you have an engaging read.

–

Fair points, to open up with.

I would agree that to see house prices double every seven years is not sustainable, for the most part.  But can you paint every city in the world with the same brush?  I don’t think so.  There are, and always will be, exceptions to the rule.

In any event, here’s the lead graphic from the report, which shows Toronto at the top:

And frankly, I’m surprised that this is the first time I’m seeing it.

Consider that when the Toronto real estate market is booming, the evening news is chalk full of human interest stories, with reporters attending open houses, trying to get would-be buyers to say something on camera about how they’re scared to be priced out of the market.

So now that the sentiments in the media have turned, I’m shocked that we haven’t heard more about this UBS report.

There’s a lot of fine print at the bottom of the report, which might explain why they chose these cities, and omitted hundreds of others that you might expect to see.

I find it interesting that only one city on the list is “under-valued,” according to the report, which of course leads me to believe that the findings of the report, as is so often the case, are theoretical, and don’t or won’t play out in practice.

Another feature in the report was a look at the number of years a person must work in order to be be able to afford a 650 square foot condo or apartment.

You would think that perhaps there’s a correlation between the “over-valued/bubble” findings and the following.  But note that here, Toronto is 13th out of 20:

I’m not sure we know how to interpret this graph, since, again, it’s theoretical.  It’s merely a snapshot, and doesn’t account for inflation, appreciation/depreciation, changes in the interest rate, etc.  It basically could be called “average price of a 650 sqft condo divided by average salary of average ‘skilled service worker.’”

Another feature of the report was a ratio of price-to-rent, which they call “the number of years a flat of the same size needs to be rented to pay for the flat.”

I’m thinking perhaps “price-to-rent” seems more appropriate?

It almost feels as if they titles were something you’d see in Toronto Life to catch eyes.

Have a look:

Here, Toronto is 14th out of the 20 cities.

Even though Toronto was ranked #1 on the bubble list, the UBS report didn’t spend much time analyzing the city.

London, Hong Kong, Zurich, Singapore, and New York each got their own feature page.

Toronto was included on a page called “select cities.”

So what conclusions did I personally draw from this 24-page report?

I guess the first thing I would ask is: How many cities did they analyze?

Did they choose these 20 cities, then analyze them?

Or did they rank 300 cities, and then choose 20 that had appeal?

Either way, I feel like to only feature 20 cities doesn’t give the findings enough context, especially when only one of the cities is “under-valued.”

The second thing I would ask is simply: what was the criteria for overvaluation/undervaluation?

It doesn’t really specify, although perhaps that’s like giving away the “secret sauce” recipe at Kentucky Fried Chicken…

It seems to me that appreciation is most of, or all of, the evaluation criteria.  And while I understand the “what goes up, must come down” theory, I don’t think it’s any way to draw a conclusion about where a given market is headed, especially Toronto.

My theory about Toronto has always been a very simple one, and it’s something that this UBS report, and every other like it for the last decade, has ignored: Toronto was drastically undervalued for so long, that only after an unparalleled period of appreciation, have current values caught up.

I can’t say it any simpler than that.

Toronto doesn’t have the history of some of these European cities listed in the UBS report.

Toronto, relatively speaking, is the new kid on the block.  In fact, it was only this year that UBS added Toronto to their annual “Bubble Index.”

Call me a homer, or call me biased, but I think Toronto is a different animal.

Toronto isn’t the tulip-bulb version of a city, where a run-up in buying activity – a mania, leads to overvaluation.

There’s no more room to build houses in Toronto, and we’re now starting to run out of room to build condos.  The same can’t be said for most cities that have seen real estate speculation bubbles burst.

What makes real estate unique in terms of the relationship between supply and demand, as with any market of buyers and sellers, is that you can break the supply down even further.  There’s the actual supply, ie. the number of homes available for sale, and then there’s the actual quantity of the product, ie. how many houses and condos are in existence.

On a go-forward basis, the number of housing completions in the central core is likely to diminish as we’ve run out of room to build.

And yet when I read reports as I have for the last decade on the impending market correction in Toronto, all we seem to look at is the past appreciation.

The fact that 19/20 cities in the UBS report had “positive” bubble scores, once again demonstrates that what exists in theory, or on paper, doesn’t always play out in practice.  That’s been the story of the Toronto real estate market as it has continued to defy all the doubters, and I’ll be curious to see where Toronto ranks in the UBS report in 2018, that is, if they choose to include it in their 20 cities…

The post UBS Global Real Estate Bubble Index appeared first on Toronto Real Estate Property Sales & Investments | Toronto Realty Blog by David Fleming.

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[colby-jac-cheese]

beta testers

i have decided to follow my friend advice, and post a single hamilton fanfiction of my own on here. just to see if people would like my writing and stuff. 

two history majors alex and andrew have been chosen through a lottery to beta test the newest prototype for a time machine. all participants get to choose what ever time they with to go too, be it the future or the past. only rule is you can’t bring anyone or anything back from wherever it is you go. so of course our little history majors and hamilton fans decide to go to the american revolution.

“ok now remember girls, these are just prototypes.” we both nodded listening intently to doctor tucker. he handed us a little capsule, holding the condensed machine. “they might have a few bugs, and will most likely overheat so i would change into something to accommodate for that.” alex looked down at her oversized hoodie, before looking over at her fellow classmate and beta tester andrew wearing a fairly puffy jacket. she sighed, peeling off her hoodie, leaving her in only a tank top, and some gym shorts. andrew did the same looking down disgusted at his body. allow me to explain, andrew is transgender. female to male, so he hates the fact that he now had to change into something that wouldn't hide his “figure” as he called it. i pressed the small activation button on the top of the capsule, watching as the machine unfolded in front of us. “just type the date into the dashboard inside and you're off. when you come back, tell us how everything worked and what improvements need to be made.” mr. tucker explained pointing at the small dashboard. andrew and i shared a knowing look, smiling as we raced over to input the year we had agreed on.

september 26, 1781. a few days before the start of the battle of yorktown.

alexander hamilton peered over the map in deep thought. lafayette pointed at a small set of troup figures mumbling about how they would be too exposed there, which in turn had john laurens move them a bit deeper into the surrounding woods. general washington watched intently, adding in when he saw fit. the tense and quiet atmosphere was only shattered by a loud bang, and the sound of two women shouting. “overheats my ass, we almost caught on fire!” “alex calm down.” we heard a loud think on metal, followed by a small hiss and yelp. “that things red hot, and you decided it's a good idea to punch it? come on you're supposed to be smart here.” getting over our shock of the loud sounds, we all grab our guns quickly making out way out incase they where british troops. what they saw instead sent the entire group into a mad blushing frenzy. two tall women stood near a strange metal object that seemed to give off so much heat you could see the steam rising off of it. only problem was the women seemed to be nearly naked. one with long brown hair clutched her hand, and from what alexander could see it was red and getting blisters. that must be the one that had supposedly punched whatever the large metal dome was. the other had hair so short that if not for the rest of her body alex would have mistaken her for a man. though her voice was oddly deep. “shut up you dick.” the men choked at such vulgar language coming from a woman. “hey guilty as charge WOAH ok they have guns.” the taller woman said, finally noticing the group of blushing yet armed men. “well we can put down in out notes that it worked at least.” “and that tucker need to get a cooling system on the same thing before it melts us to death.” “who are you.” laf said aiming his gun with a slightly steadier hand. the girls both rose their hands quickly, the shorter one flinching from the red and irritated skin. “woah woah mon ami we mean no harm!” she stated. “look my name is alex, and this brute over here is andrew. were from the future, and were beta testers from a new time machine.”  she explained quickly. “bull shit.” hurc growled aiming his gun with laf. “no no no, we can prove it!” ‘alexander’ shouted lowering his hands slightly. “look just let me prove it ok?” we all watched as the woman slid her hand into a pocket of her pants. hurc let out a small warning making her freeze the slowly continue to pull out whatever she was getting. alex grinned catching on to what she was doing as soon as she saw the strange little box. “oh yeah, we still have those on us.” she reached down, hissing as she forgot her blistering hand was the one that reached into and brushed against the harsh fabric. lafayette’s eyes flickered for a moment, torn between safety and helping the obviously injured woman. he lowers his gun after a split second when he sees the single tear that makes its way down the girl's face. “ow that hurt.” she moaned cradling her hand. “that's why you don’t punch red hot metal idiot.” we both flinched at the harsh language. reaching with her other hand instead she pulls out a similar box, only this one has a strange covering on it with a picture of a man standing on a star pointing upwards. “ok so what's that supposed to mean?” john mumbled confused. both girls spared him a pitying look, as if they knew something we didn't. “this is a phone. in out time we can look up anything we want to from it, and even talk to people on the other side of the world within seconds. here, i’ll play some music i have downloaded.” alex states eagerly tapping the now illuminated screen. we all jump at the sounds coming from the box. a man can be heard speaking with a sing song voice. “how does a bastard, orphan son of a whore and a scotsman-” andrew reached over turning it off with a slight chuckle. “you have no chill man. playing the musical about them? really?” “what i thought it was a good choice? it was either that or heathers.” “wait back up, a musical? about us?” hercules asked shocked. “well namely about alexander but it overes all of you. t tells all of your story, about the revolution and everything.” alex explained wincing at her hand brushing up on her shirt. “ici, let me help you wrap that wound up.” laf said springing into action. alex smiled grateful at the towering frenchmen. though it was quite funny how tall the two girls were. alex was only a head shorter than him, something that was impressive for a woman. andrew stood at about the same height as he did though, towering over all but washington and lafayette himself. as he wrapped her hand in a bandage wincing as her face shifted to one of pain, andrew showed up a few features of this “phone” just the music and the moving screen had been enough, but it wasn't long before the woman had a devious smirk on her face watching john attempt to beat her score on a game she called “flappy birds.” “all you have to do is tap the screen when you see the bird going down, and maneuver him through the pipes. alex had a feeling she was up to something. and soon john was kneeling and shushing us in an attempt to remain concentrated. “so, may i ask what s the world like where you come from?” “oh it's hell.” alex called. this caused the men to tense up. “oh shut up, the world is fine you just got a bad draw.” “yeah and you still owe me 20 bucks.” andrew snorted rather unlady like, as she rolled her eyes. “you guys end up winning the revolution, and america becomes one of the biggest powerhouses for a while, but things kinda balanced out. you own like half of the continent, but our politic are kinda bad because of who is our president at the moment. i’ll be honest things have had their ups and downs.” “eat dog shit, the country has been a rollercoaster ever since 2016. there's a reason they skipped that year at first.” “the economy is stabilizing now though, don’t just tell them the bad.” “oh yeah england got freedom from the uk that year as well, so that was cool.” “canada was a safe haven, until it was closed off to americans for a while due to some disagreements.” “oh alexander, a zoo named a camel alexander hamilton after you, be proud!” and so the girls went back and forth listing off things that had been happening. all the while we listened in shock. “we had really won.” i mumbled a smile growing on my face.” “oh and john slavery was abolished in 1865.” “though there was still tension. there still is today.” john beamed brightly at that news. again a flash of sadness came over the two, as they looked away. of course. they were from the future so they knew how and when we would die. and by the looks they give him and i can tell it's not pretty. alex stood thanking lafayette, before walking over to john and hugging him. “sorry had to, i was just always so proud of how you stood up for what you knew was right.” it was this that started a round of hugs, giveing vague praises on things they have yet to do. i noticed that alex had suddenly lost her little spark. her smile seemed strained now, and didn't reach her eyes.

i will make a part two if people want it! please leave any response in the comments or feel free to message me!

#hamilton #fanfic #time travel #first time #laffayette #alexander hamilton #george washington #arron burr #john laurens #there will be many mistakes #transgender #shocked smol beans #should i call the founding fathers smol beans? #ima do it #also hercules mulligan

[rebeccahpedersen]

UBS Global Real Estate Bubble Index

TorontoRealtyBlog

A reader challenged me last week, and today, I’m going to answer that challenge.

I received an email that read: “Must be getting hard to keep putting a positive spin on this market huh?  Then again, you’d never post anything negative.”

I didn’t think that was fair, nor do I like when it’s insinuated that I cheerlead the market.

So today, I’m going to post the single most negative thing on the Toronto real estate market that I can possibly find.  Sound fair?

I think there’s a difference between being bullish, and cheerleading.

I’ve seen real estate cheerleaders.  Many of them, in fact.

I see them every single day.

They’re everywhere.

I was in a house on the weekend that was overtop of the subway, and as train rolled by, and the house began to buzz, I turned to my clients and said, “This is an absolute deal-breaker.”

A couple minutes later, another agent walked into the master bedroom with her clients and told them, “It’s probably not as bad as you’d think, and it’s the sort of thing you’d get used to over time.  Are you guys sound-sleepers?”

I started Toronto Realty Blog in 2007 with the idea of being different from the old-guard of real estate.  I wanted to be honest and opinionated, but those two things, when combined, in this industry, equal controversy.

I suddenly had this label of being “controversial.”

Well, I suppose when the average age in the industry is 61-years-old, and everybody loves every house, and never says a bad word about it, then yes – being honest is controversial.

The industry has changed a lot in ten years, and I’ve found a lot of like-minded colleagues, as the old-guard in real estate has begun to break down.

I’ve always sought to provide insight and entertainment on TRB; a very tough combination, as we’re all entertained by different subject matter, and some of us are more or less insightful than others.

“Photos of the Week” is many people’s favourite feature, and others’ most hated.

Blogs that break down statistics bore the hell out of some people, while others get out their abacus and play along at home.

And I’d like to think that, while my outlook on Toronto real estate is bullish, people understand that I try to provide my opinion on the real estate market as I see it, while remaining open to contrarian viewpoints.

So I was a bit perturbed last week when I got that email suggesting that I’m cherry-picking topics, articles, or insight that spin the market in a positive way.  And don’t get me wrong – I’ve developed a very thick skin over ten years of blogging, but I did pause for a moment and ask, “Is this person a troll, or is there some truth to what he’s saying?”

Right or wrong, I figured, what the heck.  I’ll post the most negative story I can possibly find on real estate, and open the topic for discussion.

UBS is a global financial services company, operating out of Switzerland.

They are probably one of the best-known financial services companies in the world, and to many of you, they need no introduction.

Last month, they published a report called “UBS Global Real Estate Bubble Index,” and guess which city was ranked #1 on their list?

Toronto.

Download the entire 24-page report HERE.

I encourage you all to read the report, and draw your own conclusions.

But since many of you are simply scrolling or killing time on the TTC, let me give you the Coles Notes.

First, here is the Editorial that opens the report:

–

Dear reader,

In Munich, Toronto, Amsterdam, Sydney and Hong Kong, prices rose more than 10% in the last year alone. Annual price-increase rates of 10% correspond to a doubling of house prices every seven years, which is not sustainable. Nevertheless, the fear of missing out on further appreciation predominates among home buyers. After all, the price increases appear rational, for three reasons.

First, financing conditions in many cities are now more attractive than ever before.  Second, the global increase in wealthy households seemingly creates constant demand for the most attractive residential areas.  Third, building activity cannot keep pace with this demand.

Expectations tend to be prone to exaggerations in boom phases. The optimistic projections of the trends outlined above create ever-greater price fantasies. However, should sentiment change or interest rates increase, a correction is practically inevitable. In the past, rising interest rates almost always triggered a crash in housing markets. In addition, the dependence of prices on international flows of capital represents an incalculable risk. Plus, once demand fell, even the low growth in supply would no longer provide an anchor.

Vastly overvalued housing markets, as measured by the UBS Global Real Estate Bubble Index, have historically been associated with a significantly heightened probability of correction and greater downside than housing markets whose prices developed more in line with the local economy. This year’s UBS Global Real Estate Bubble Index publication reveals the cities in which caution is required when buying a house and the places in which valuations still seem fair.

In this edition, Los Angeles and Toronto have been added to the selection of financial centers.

We hope you have an engaging read.

–

Fair points, to open up with.

I would agree that to see house prices double every seven years is not sustainable, for the most part.  But can you paint every city in the world with the same brush?  I don’t think so.  There are, and always will be, exceptions to the rule.

In any event, here’s the lead graphic from the report, which shows Toronto at the top:

And frankly, I’m surprised that this is the first time I’m seeing it.

Consider that when the Toronto real estate market is booming, the evening news is chalk full of human interest stories, with reporters attending open houses, trying to get would-be buyers to say something on camera about how they’re scared to be priced out of the market.

So now that the sentiments in the media have turned, I’m shocked that we haven’t heard more about this UBS report.

There’s a lot of fine print at the bottom of the report, which might explain why they chose these cities, and omitted hundreds of others that you might expect to see.

I find it interesting that only one city on the list is “under-valued,” according to the report, which of course leads me to believe that the findings of the report, as is so often the case, are theoretical, and don’t or won’t play out in practice.

Another feature in the report was a look at the number of years a person must work in order to be be able to afford a 650 square foot condo or apartment.

You would think that perhaps there’s a correlation between the “over-valued/bubble” findings and the following.  But note that here, Toronto is 13th out of 20:

I’m not sure we know how to interpret this graph, since, again, it’s theoretical.  It’s merely a snapshot, and doesn’t account for inflation, appreciation/depreciation, changes in the interest rate, etc.  It basically could be called “average price of a 650 sqft condo divided by average salary of average ‘skilled service worker.’”

Another feature of the report was a ratio of price-to-rent, which they call “the number of years a flat of the same size needs to be rented to pay for the flat.”

I’m thinking perhaps “price-to-rent” seems more appropriate?

It almost feels as if they titles were something you’d see in Toronto Life to catch eyes.

Have a look:

Here, Toronto is 14th out of the 20 cities.

Even though Toronto was ranked #1 on the bubble list, the UBS report didn’t spend much time analyzing the city.

London, Hong Kong, Zurich, Singapore, and New York each got their own feature page.

Toronto was included on a page called “select cities.”

So what conclusions did I personally draw from this 24-page report?

I guess the first thing I would ask is: How many cities did they analyze?

Did they choose these 20 cities, then analyze them?

Or did they rank 300 cities, and then choose 20 that had appeal?

Either way, I feel like to only feature 20 cities doesn’t give the findings enough context, especially when only one of the cities is “under-valued.”

The second thing I would ask is simply: what was the criteria for overvaluation/undervaluation?

It doesn’t really specify, although perhaps that’s like giving away the “secret sauce” recipe at Kentucky Fried Chicken…

It seems to me that appreciation is most of, or all of, the evaluation criteria.  And while I understand the “what goes up, must come down” theory, I don’t think it’s any way to draw a conclusion about where a given market is headed, especially Toronto.

My theory about Toronto has always been a very simple one, and it’s something that this UBS report, and every other like it for the last decade, has ignored: Toronto was drastically undervalued for so long, that only after an unparalleled period of appreciation, have current values caught up.

I can’t say it any simpler than that.

Toronto doesn’t have the history of some of these European cities listed in the UBS report.

Toronto, relatively speaking, is the new kid on the block.  In fact, it was only this year that UBS added Toronto to their annual “Bubble Index.”

Call me a homer, or call me biased, but I think Toronto is a different animal.

Toronto isn’t the tulip-bulb version of a city, where a run-up in buying activity – a mania, leads to overvaluation.

There’s no more room to build houses in Toronto, and we’re now starting to run out of room to build condos.  The same can’t be said for most cities that have seen real estate speculation bubbles burst.

What makes real estate unique in terms of the relationship between supply and demand, as with any market of buyers and sellers, is that you can break the supply down even further.  There’s the actual supply, ie. the number of homes available for sale, and then there’s the actual quantity of the product, ie. how many houses and condos are in existence.

On a go-forward basis, the number of housing completions in the central core is likely to diminish as we’ve run out of room to build.

And yet when I read reports as I have for the last decade on the impending market correction in Toronto, all we seem to look at is the past appreciation.

The fact that 19/20 cities in the UBS report had “positive” bubble scores, once again demonstrates that what exists in theory, or on paper, doesn’t always play out in practice.  That’s been the story of the Toronto real estate market as it has continued to defy all the doubters, and I’ll be curious to see where Toronto ranks in the UBS report in 2018, that is, if they choose to include it in their 20 cities…

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