#gilt bar

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Word Alternatives: Colours

BLACK atramentous, charcoal, coal, crow, darksomeness, denigration, duskiness, ebony, funereal, jet, inkiness, melanism, melanotic, midnight, niello, obsidian, pitch, raven, sable, singe, sloe, smirch, smoke, sombrous, soot, swarthiness, swartness, tar

BLUE aquamarine, azure, berylline, cerulean, cerulescent, cyan, cyanosis, cyanotic, electric blue, ice-blue, indigo, lividity, midnight, navy, Oxford blue, pavonian, pavonine, peacock blue, robin's egg blue, royal blue, sapphire, turquoise, ultramarine

BROWN adust, auburn, beige, biscuit, braise, bay, bronze, brune, brunette, buff, burnt umber, burnt sienna, caramel, castaneous, chestnut, chocolate, cinnamon, cocoa, coffee, drab, dun, embrown, fawn, grege, hazel, henna, infuscation, khaki, mushroom, ochre, paper bag, pumpernickel, raw sienna, raw umber, roan, rubiginous, rufous, russet, rust, scorch, seal, sepia, sorrel, suntan, sunburn, tan, taupe, toast, umber, walnut

GRAY ashiness, canescence, cinereous, cineritious, dullness, ecru, fuscous, glaucescence, greige, grisaille, gunmetal, hoar, iron, lead, mousiness, oyster, pewter, slatiness, smokiness, steel, taupe

GREEN aerugo, aestival, avocado, beryl, chartreuse, chloremia, chlorophyll, chlorosis, chlorotic, emerald, foliaged, glaucescence, grass, greensickness, ivy, jade, loden green, holly, olivaceous, olive, patina, patinate, pea-green, smaragdine, springlike, verdancy, verdantness, verdigris, verdure, vernal, virescence, viridescence, viridity

ORANGE apricot, cantaloupe, carotene, carroty, ochreous, ochroid, pumpkin, saffron, tangerine, terracotta, Titian

PINK carnation, coral, coralline, flesh-pink, incarnadine, peach, primrose, roseate, rosy, salmon

PURPLE amethystine, aubergine, bruise, empurple, fuchsia, lavender, lilac, lividity, magenta, mauve, mulberry, orchid, pansy, plum, puce, purpure, purpureous, raisin, violaceous, violet

RED beet, blowzy, cardinal, carmine, carnation, carnelian, cerise, cherry, copper, crimson, damask, encrimson, erubescence, erythema, erythematous, erythrism, erythroderma, ferruginous, fire, floridity, floridness, flushing, gules, hectic, henna, incarnadine, infrared, laky, lateritious, lobster, lurid, magenta, mantling, maroon, miniate, port, puce, raddle, rose, rosiness, rouge, rubefaction, rubicundity, rubor, rubricity, ruby, ruddiness, rufescence, rufosity, russet, rust, sanguine, scarlet, stammel, vermeil, vermilion, vinaceous

YELLOW aureateness, auric, aurify, banana, begild, bilious, biliousness, cadmium, canary, chartreuse, citreous, citrine, citron, engild, fallowness, flavescent, flaxen, fulvous, gildedness, gilt, goldenness, honey, icteric, icterus, jaundice, lemon, lutescent, luteous, luteolous, mustard, ochroid, old gold, primrose yellow, saffron, sallowness, sandy, straw, sulfur, topaz, xanthism, xanthochroism, xanthoderma

WHITE achromatic, alabaster, albescent, albinic, besnow, blanch, bleach, bone, calcimine, chalk, cream, cretaceous, eggshell, etiolate, ghastly, ivory, lactescent, lily, lime, milk, pearl, sheet, swan, sheep, fleece, flour, foam, marmoreal, niveous, paper, pearl, phantom, silver, snow, driven snow, tallow, teeth, wax, wool

VARIEGATION (diversity of colors) spectrum, rainbow, iris, chameleon, leopard, jaguar, cheetah, ocelot, zebra, barber pole, candy cane, Dalmatian, firedog, peacock, butterfly, mother-of-pearl, nacre, tortoise shell, opal, kaleidoscope, stained glass, serpentine, calico cat, marble, mackerel sky, confetti, crazy quilt, patchwork quilt, shot silk, moire, watered silk, marbled paper, Joseph's coat, harlequin, tapestry; bar code, checkerboard

variegation, multicolor; parti-color; medley or mixture of colors, spectrum, rainbow of colors, riot of color; polychrome, polychromatism; dichromatism, trichromatism; dichroism, trichroism

iridescence, iridization, irisation, opalescence, nacreousness, pearliness, chatoyancy, play of colors or light; light show; moire pattern, tabby; burelé or burelage

spottiness, maculation, freckliness, speckliness, mottledness, mottlement, dappleness, dappledness, stippledness, spottedness, dottedness; fleck, speck, speckle; freckle; spot, dot, polka dot, macula, macule, blotch, splotch, patch, splash; mottle, dapple; brindle; stipple, stippling, pointillism, pointillage

check, checker, checks, checking, checkerboard, chessboard; plaid, tartan; checker-work, variegated pattern, harlequin, colors in patches, crazy-work, patchwork; parquet, parquetry, marquetry, mosaic, tesserae, tessellation; crazy-paving; hound's tooth; inlay, damascene

stripe, striping, candy-stripe, pinstripe; barber pole; streak, streaking; striation, striature, stria; striola, striga; crack, craze, crackle, reticulation; bar, band, belt, list

mottled, motley; pied, piebald, skewbald, pinto; dappled, dapple; calico; marbled; clouded; salt-and-pepper

Source: The Concise Roget's International Thesaurus, Revised & Updated (6th Edition) More: Writing Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[brailsthesmolgurl]

"Pretty thing, isn't she?"

Preview: LnDs boys reacting to other guys hitting on you.

SYLUS

You stood in front of the heavy wooden doors covered in gilt, a gateway exuberating luxury and inviting only the top 1% of the N109's population, which of course, includes Sylus. You had yet to be used to attending such fancy events but Sylus had managed to convince you by being apart of such events, you would be able to establish your name within the N109 zone quicker and that people would learn not to mess with you as much anymore. Perhaps you were not having a clear mind during then but here you stood now, in the middle of a huge banquet hall, in a maroon red dress that makes you feel naked due to how cocooned you feel within the fit.

"Breathe, then maybe you may not feel so nervous." Sylus slipped an arm around you and started to lead you into the highly ornated hall. You could tell that nobody here belonged to the 'average' class as their manners, demeanours and even body languages rotated around the word demure. Escorted to a standing bar table, your partner leaned down just enough for his lips to hover over the side of your ear and you could feel his hot breath tickled against your lobes. "Stay here, I will get us some drinks." And off he went, his tall figure blending into the crowds of dancing participants.

Sylus strutted over towards the bar and casually leaned against it. One good thing about events as such is other than the free flow of alcohol, waiters are built to be more attentive and aware of their surroundings as they do hold a split image of the host of the event. "One whiskey and a glass of lemon soda." The waiter nodded and immediately started to get to work. Sylus then turned around, his eyes scanning the crowds of people and landing on you, the lady in red still standing at the table alone, awaiting for him.

"Eyeing the bird I see?" A voice chimed out of the blue, laced with a thick British accent that any lady would have been charmed over. Sylus's crimson eyes glanced over and caught sight of a man in a tailored suit, brunette hair slicked back and eyes the shade of ocean. "I wonder if she would be pleased to have company for the night." The hint of tease in his voice got the lover of yours quirking an eyebrow, expressing amusement at the man's confidence.

"You can give it a shot." He snarked, one side of his lips tilted upwards to form a smirk. "She does not seem to be the type to let in so easily." The clink of glass onto the table top got Sylus to turn over, grabbing his glass smoothly and tasting the whiskey. "How does a bet sound?"

"Whoever gets her by the end of the night shall be crowned winner then?" The young man downed his vodka shot in one go and he stood straight, adjusting his outfit and shooting his head back to Sylus, who is still smirking in his direction. "It's on, then."

Watching the man walking over to you, each step radiating manly confidence nearly got Sylus laughing, if only the man knew how hard it was for Sylus to get you to just stay with him. "She may be pretty, but she ain't stupid that's for sure." Picking up her glass of lemon soda, he too, started walking towards the table. Seeing you talking to the British man, slightly chuckling got Sylus feeling an ick at the back of his throat and it did not taste good. He made his presence known by loudly clinking the glass of lemon soda onto the table.

You gulped when you saw Sylus had returned, and accepted the glass of lemon soda he had gotten for you. You boyfriend turned over to the British lad and smiled a bit too politely for his usual manners before he spoke. "The moment you had picked her to be your target, is the moment I already knew I won the bet." His eyes gleamed murder under the shine of the crystal chandeliers. "If I were you, I would scamper off immediately before I hunt you down."

XAVIER

It has been a while since you had been on a hotpot date with your lover. Ever since Captain Jenna had assigned him on a mission, it has been hard to match up both of your timings to plan for a date. Hence, once you received the text from your boyfriend stating that his mission had finally met the end of it's trail, you could not hide your excitement and went ahead to book for a hotpot store that had recently opened up just a few streets down. Your sole motivation of booking the store was hearing Tara's praises over the services offered there. She claimed that anyone who goes in would surely come out feeling refreshed and that was what got you sold on making a reservation.

Perhaps, just maybe, the way Tara had phrased that got you picturing a whole different scenario; where an otherworldly hotpot experience was what you were anticipating, with fastidious services and amazing food and offers you a new kind of service. Yet, here you sat, in the middle of a table with tons of half naked men walking around you, serving hotpot dishes. So this was Tara's definition of feeling refreshed. Palming yourself on the forehead, you were figuring why did you bother asking for a hotpot recommendation from one of your girl friends who happens to be single.

"May I help you with something?" A young man, wrapped in biker shorts and an apron approached you and you gulped, eyes immediately avoiding whatever skin he has to show. Seeing your reaction, a chuckled rolled out of his lips and he took a seat beside you, unaware that you already have a boyfriend as Xavier would be slightly late due to an unexpected traffic jam. "Would you like me to give you a massage to ease your tension hmm?"

You gave an awkward chuckle, hands waving back and forth while rejecting his oncoming offer. "I have a boyfriend and I am not interested. I would like to get a menu please." Just by talking to the guy, it left a bitter taste in your mouth, it felt like you were cheating on Xavier although you were barely doing anything. The weight on the couch shifted and you heard a soft thud, seeing the shadow beside you disappearing out of the corner of your eye.

The waiter that had initially served you headed back towards the counter, his other colleagues wriggling their eyebrows at him. "How's it going with that chick, Ken? You manage to ask for her wechat yet?" One of the guys asked, his pearly whites flashing. But Ken shrugged and muttered something about her having a boyfriend. "Well adding her on wechat is not exactly a crime. No harm in storing a cute girl's number in your phone anyways."

A figure walked past them, stopped mid way and approached them. This figure was leaner, taller, and looked more elegant than the other men adorning aprons and biker shorts within the restaurant. "Which girl?" His voice chimed in and Ken responded without much thought, thinking it was one of his colleagues asking for the target. He pointed exactly at you and the stranger's cerulean blue orbs caught yours and his lips pulled into a warm smile. Seeing you being so uneasy within a crowd of half-naked men amuses him. "Easy. If I get her number, does this mean I get to keep her?"

Ken then noticed the source of the voice, a man dressed up in a wool hoodie, with sandy blond hair and dreamy blue eyes and an innocent smile. He holds very effiminate features for a man. Given that the store was not opened for that long, Ken thought he may be one of the newcomers coming for an interview. "Sure buddy, if you get it, I guess you can keep it. But she does have a boyfriend, she said it herself." Xavier chuckled and casually shrugged his shoulders and sauntered over to you. The men stood by the counter and watched intently.

Watching Xavier talking to you and getting you to smile got the men to exchange glances at one another. Maybe they are missing something, or maybe it did hurt their small ego a little. But the moment Xavier got you by the hand and started to lead you out of the restaurant, the men were shocked, eyes widened and jaws slacked at how Xavier could easily get you to comply. Walking past Ken, Xavier stopped to say. "Next time, if you want to lay a bet, don't be such an airhead and at least lay it with someone who does not have a boyfriend already."

RAFAYEL

Getting stuck in a foreign city with little to no guidance is not that rare of an occurrence as Rafayel does enjoy being 'lost' with you. "That is how you can truly get to enjoy a city." Is what he would usually use to comfort you. However, that sentence of his may only work if the both of you are not entirely soaked under the heavy rain. Shivering, hungry and worn out. "Shall we head in there for some shelter?" Rafayel suggested, slender index finger pointed towards the building ahead of the both of you.

With a slight nod, he led you towards the building. It turned out to be a bustling bar within the small town. Locals filled to the brim, chattering in their own mothertongue while enjoying each other's company. "Stay here, I will get us some drinks." Rafayel informed you and headed off after pressing a small kiss onto your left cheek. The both of your arrival certainly did alerted a couple of the locals. Seeing a drenched couple within a bar is a good sign for them to know that you guys are far from home.

Perched against a standing bar table, you studied the crowd that were occupying the dance floor. The crowd are drenched in the bask of neon glow emitted by the LED lights that hung high above the ceilings. Some of them had drinks in their hand as they swayed to the beat while some others were clearly in their own world, striking dance moves that are attracting a spectacle. "Hey!" A voice called out to you and you turned your head, landing your sight on a tall male figure, with hair that are akin to the sunset and with milky pale skin. Upon approaching you, you caught sight of his emerald eyes that sparkled like eccentric jewels under the dim lights. "You dropped this?!"

Looking down at his palm, he held out your phone to you. The music is probably too loud for you to even notice that your phone had fell out of your pocket and landed onto the floor with a thud. "Yeah!" You responded with the volume that hopefully reaches his ears. The ginger haired man smiled and stood next to you and he started striking a conversation with you, asking if you were alone and if you happen to be a local as well. "Oh, I am from Linkon City and I am not here alone!" You smiled awkwardly but also responded out of a polite manner.

A hand that landed at your back made you jumped slightly and you retreated from the guy's vicinity when you realised he was trying to get close to you. "What's wrong?" Feigning shock, he only closed in on you, a smirk creeping its way onto his face. He looked nothing different than a wolf that is ready to pounce whenever he finds the chance to. "Whatever happens in here, stays in here." His statement got your voice stuck in your throat, your chest tightening when you realised that you are about to get jumped by a 'kind' stranger.

"You have to try so hard to get her to pay attention to you?" A mocking voice came from behind you and your heart sighed in relief when Rafayel towered behind you, two glasses in hand and a genuine amused smile stamped onto his features. "I didn't even have to try to get her to come on this trip with me." Rafayel casually handed you your drink and he took up the space in front of you, his height on par with the guy whom had tried to hit on you. Rafayel's eyes gleamed a shade of striking electric blue when he leaned in towards the guy, his demeanour taking a turn towards being protective and establishinig dominance.

This side of Rafayel got your heart lurching for a moment. Seeing such a nonchalant and charming individual taking a turn towards being protective over you got the butterflies in your stomach blindly colliding with the walls of your insides. "Touch her one more time, I dare you." Snapping his finger, the flames of his evol came alive and the guy muttered curses, stepping aback. "I might not be able to guarantee you would be able to leave here in one piece."

ZAYNE

The cardiac surgeon's off day is spent on paying you a surprise visit during your demonstration day. This day in specific is held annually at the Linkon City Hall, where the public are informed about the roles of a deepspace hunter and it is also a day for the organisation to recruit potential new hunters for their task forces. He remembered that day as you stood in front of him, with a brochure shoved into his arms before you sprinted off like a whimpering fox. The piece of paper featured your face on it, posing with your guns, with a huge title pasted above your head that is promoting 'Hunter's Showdown Performance'. Zayne could not help his lips from tugging into a small smile as he stared blankly at your wannabe serious face on the piece of paper.

You stood at the back of the stage, isolating yourself from the rest of the crew as you quietly rehearsed your steps. You were only given a month to prepare for this demonstration and knowing that you are not able to strike to wanderer actors makes it all the more tedious for you to rehearse your steps. Every movement, every swing of the guns and every shot has to be precise and realistic, minus the actual damage to be taken by the other actors. Executing a full 360 turn, you came to a halt when your name was hollered out by someone in the background. "Y/n!" You turned your head and your partner came up to you, his smile wide. "Hey, you rehearsing for your part?"

Upon nodding your head, he proceeded to ask if it would be alright for him to rehearse his part with you. On usual notes, hunters are usually dispatched in pairs and since Tara is not around, hence Captain Jenna decided to pair you up with Christopher. The rehearse took around 15 minutes till he paused, patting you on your shoulder encouragingly. "You got anyone coming over to watch you?" You opened your mouth to speak but a voice chimed in before you could even say anything else.

"Yes." Zayne stood behind you, his features darkened at the sight of the hand of a stranger's on your shoulder. Christopher coughed slightly and retreated his touch, feeling guilty instantly. You were of course, shocked, that Zayne had managed to make time to come and see this silly demonstration of yours. When you gave him the brochure, you were certainly not expecting him to appear in person. You figured he might just watch it via the online link from his office if he happened to not any surgeries scheduled for the day. You were totally wronged.

"You...uhm...never told me you had a boyfriend." Christopher chuckled awkwardly, his hand lightly tapping and rubbing the back of his neck to somewhat soothe himself from the tense stare he was getting from a pair of unfamiliar emerald orbs.

Zayne took this chance to stand beside you and he extended a hand towards the guy, expression still indifferent. "I am Zayne, y/n's boyfriend, it is nice to meet you." Christopher did shook his hand out of respect but did not took long to stay, muttering that he has to get his makeup done and off he went. You could somehow feel dark clouds crowding in above your head, a storm lingering in the back of Zayne's gaze. "Was that the guy that you were supposed to perform with?" His voice was gentle, but he awaits for your answer.

"Yeah...Tara could not make it during this event, hence Captain Jenna got him to pair up with me for the demonstration." Your voice was slightly quivering, thinking that Zayne might be upset with you not openly telling your colleagues that you are already in a relationship. But you came from his standpoint, as Zayne is someone who cares about his privacy, you figured he might not appreciate you going on yapping about you being in a relationship and would much rather keep it low-key and only between the two of you. "I'm sorry I never mentioned about you to any of my colleagues as I thought you would like to keep our relationship private and confidential."

Zayne's eyes caught yours and he smiled warmly, his hand coming up to tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear and he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss onto your forehead. You froze, knowing that at this point you would be receiving tons of stares from your surrounding colleagues. "Y/n, as much as I would like to keep our relationship private, I would not like it if someone were to try to take advantage on you just because they think they could." His palm smoothed the baby hairs atop of your head, his smile still evident as he continued speaking softly to you. "If you find it hard to tell your colleagues about us because of me, I will just let my actions show them what we are."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

All In 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: told myself to slow down, didn't.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

It’s your first time wearing that skirt. You’ve had it in your closet for two years. At least. You’re not really a skirt person but it’s cute. The floral on black with the zipper up the front. It drapes nicely enough though you’re not used to wearing anything so short. You have a trusty pair of shorts on just in case. 

You don’t go out either. Definitely not to places like this. You keep an arm across your middle, gripping your other as the hordes of people make you dizzy. The shining gold accoutrement of the decor along with the waft of low music over the noise of tables and voices add to your vertigo. 

The casino is busy and bright and loud. You stay close to your sister as she leads you across the carpet; ivory with golden curliques patterned across them. You’re no gambler either but you’re not there to play cards.  

“I think it’s upstairs,” Roxie says as she looks at the tickets in her hand. “Gala Room B.” 

“Oh, right,” you murmur and smile at her, “what’s the band again?” 

“Don’t worry about it the tickets were free,” she chirps as you look up at her. You feel even more a child beside her; your height often adds to your inferiority complex. Historically, you think, those characteristics have been often intertwined. 

“No, but--” 

“You need to get out of mom’s place more,” she chides, “I could’ve brought Katie instead, but I chose you, sis.” 

“I know, er, thanks,” you run your hand up to your shoulder and rub it nervously. 

“Show doesn’t start for another hour. Let’s get a drink,” she insists and turns, strutting towards the long bar at the other side of the grand space. You trail after her, shrinking down even further. She turns back to you as she leans on a tall stool, “what d’ya want?” 

“I don’t know. I don’t really...” 

“I know, it’s one drink, how about a vodka-cran?” She suggests, “you love cranberry.” 

“Um, sure, if you think that’s good.” 

She sighs and rolls her eyes. She’s the wild one, not you. You know you bore her and since your parents’ divorce, years ago, you haven’t really hung out together. She went with your dad and you with your mom, since then, it’s all been a bit fuzzy. 

She orders as you stand back, not wanting to get in the way of the people all around you. You lean back, rocking nervously as you glance around. You feel underdressed as you see women in cocktail dresses and men in suits. Even your sister is a stark contrast to your overly casual attire; your favourite purple cardigan and the skirt you’ve never worn. 

Your eyes scan the room, admiring the golden sconces of bulbs that resemble candelabras and the gilt trim all along the wall. The more you look around, the less you belong. You don’t even know why you said yes. Well, your mom pushed you into it. Just like your sister, she keeps saying you need to get out more. 

You rub your lips together and feel around your small tassled purse. It’s used, like most of your things. The thrift store is as much as your mom can afford and you still haven’t found a solid job. You worked at the grocery for a summer before they laid off half of you then did a one-day stint at a polling centre for the last municipal election. Even if you wanted to go out, you don’t have the money for it. 

You pull out your chapstick and smear it around your chafed lips as you sway back the other direction. You stop short as you nearly slam into another body and you stumble out of the way of the man in his black-and-white suit. Embarrassment creeps hotly up your cheeks and you cap your lip balm and stand out of his path. 

He’s taller than you. Well, everyone is. But to you, he seems huge. His suit is finely tailored to his figure though his hair seems to clash with the refined style. It’s almost to his collar but neatly parted, a shank falling forward to frame his sharp cheekbone. His square jaw is trimmed thickly with a dark beard, peppered with strands of silver and patch along the dimple of his chin. You’ve never seen anything as blue as his eyes, they are almost inhumanly vivid. 

“Sorry, doll,” he touches your arm as he passes and smirks, swiftly turning his sights ahead of him. 

You gulp as your shoulder hits someone else. You spin to face your sister as she offers you a glass. You take the red concoction with the short black straw sticking out over the ice cubes. You thank her as the chill seeps into your hand. 

“Oof, look at him,” she leans to watch after the man in his dark suit, “damn.” You frown and look in the other direction. She scoffs and nudges you, “come on. That guy is totally stunning. Even you can see that.” 

“I don’t wanna gawk at him,” you mutter, “he’s a stranger.” 

“Oh, whatever, not like he’d notice,” she snips. 

You scrunch up your lip and tuck your chapstick away as you peer toward the man. He goes up to a table, sliding in next to a taller woman with honey-blond hair and a shimmery dress. He rests his hand along her lower back as he chatters to her and the rest of the players around the leather trim. 

“Sheesh, he’s fine,” she puts a twang on the last word, “mmph. If I wasn’t with Tom...” 

“Right,” you look down at the drink and sip from the straw. You make a face and cough. 

“It’s not that strong,” she slaps your back, “don’t be dramatic.” 

“I know,” you clear your throat, “I just wasn’t expecting the taste.” 

“Let’s go upstairs,” she points above. 

“Uh, okay,” you agree to her sudden diversion. You suppose you really are boring. 

You follow her up the curved stairs and along the railing that overlooks the lower casino room. Arched windows let in the night and the glow of the facade. You lean on the polished wood and peer down at the first floor; it looks even more resplendent from there. You sister puts her elbow on the railing as she looks around. 

“We could stick around after, lose some money,” she says. 

“I don’t... mom only gave me a twenty and I owe you for the drink.” 

“Pfft, whatever, I’ll spot ya. Tom gave me some extra with the tickets,” she trills, “it’ll be fun. Play some black jack. It’ll be an experience. You could say you’ve actually done something.” 

You smile, closed-lipped and tight. She isn’t wrong. It’s your first concert, for some cover band, and your first time at a casino. It’s not an exaggeration to say this is the height of your life experience. 

Your eyes wander down and meet another pair. You wince. It’s that same man. He walks towards you, a certain swagger in his stride. As he peers up at you, his cheeks dimple and he winks. You wrinkle your brow and look behind you. When you turn back, he’s gone. Right, you’re imagining things. 

Roxie slurps as her straw turns hollow. She’s already drained her cocktail, meanwhile you’ve barely taken a sip. She stirs the ice and hums. 

“Wait here, I’m gonna get a refill,” she raises her glass. 

“Oh, I can come with you--” 

“Nah, just stand here,” she insists. “You’ll just slow me down.” 

“Sure, uh, okay.” 

You curl your shoulders inward as she walks away. Great. All alone. You avoid looking anywhere but your glass. You face the railing again and balance your drink on it. It’s not bad, tarter than you’re used to and a little burny.  

You play with the black bracelet around your wrist, the band they stuck around it when they scanned your ID at the door. You suppose it’s a good idea but they wouldn’t be letting kids in here, would they? Oh yeah, the hotel is attached. 

As a kid, you never went on vacations like that. No hotels, no casinos, no shows. It seems like Roxie is catching up on all of that and you’re just there. The world is so much scarier when it’s all a mystery to you. 

“Excuse me,” a deep voice startles you. You ignore it, thinking it’s merely a passerby, “miss?” 

There’s a tap on your shoulder and you barely save your cocktail from spilling over the edge. You clutch the glass with both hands and face the stranger. It’s that same man, with the suit and the long hair and the oceanic eyes. Something about him is familiar beyond your few earlier glances. 

“I think you dropped this?” He holds up a chip with a golden 100 on it. You blink and shake your head. 

“No,” you scrape out of your throat, “I don’t-- I didn’t--” 

“I swear I saw it fall out of your bag,” he looks down at your purse. 

“Really, I’m not... I don’t gamble.” 

“Ah, well, if it’s just hanging around, might as well use it, huh?” He keeps his hand out, “maybe it’s your lucky day.” 

“I couldn’t. If someone lost it...” your voice doesn’t want to go and he leans in to hear you, adding to the heat spreading through your chest. Is it the alcohol or him? 

“You’re sweet, keep it,” he shoves the chip toward you. 

“Please, I... I... can’t...” you wipe a hand on your skirt and clutch the fabric. 

“Doll, I can’t hear you,” he says as he grabs your hand and dislodges it from your skirt, “here.” 

He presses the chip into your palm. You stare at his tie then look down at the white chip with gold detailing. His hand brushes yours before he rescinds his touch. 

“Erm...” you murmur dumbly and shake your head. 

“My treat,” he growls. 

“But...” 

“Like the skirt, by the way,” he surprises you as he pinches a fold, “cute on you.” 

Just as quickly as he appeared, he strides away, leaving you blankly staring after him. His broad shoulders move beyond a thick marble pillar as you hold up your drink and the chip. You just look between them. 

“Hey,” Roxie approaches again, “oh, what’s that?” 

“A chip...” you state plainly. 

“Duh, I know. Where’d you get it?” 

You look at the floor. Would she even believe you? “The floor.” 

“Ooo,” she plucks it from your fingers, “awesome, “now we’re definitely having some fun tonight.” 

“Rox,” you swallow and look up at her, “we should hand it in. It’s a lot of money. If someone lost it--” 

“If they lost it, they can afford it,” she bobs her neck as she speaks, “live a little,” she sneers and taps your glass, “and finish your drink. Maybe that’ll loosen you up.” 

You nod and recede into yourself, cradling the glass again with both hands. You put your lips to the straw and drink until you can’t anymore. She gulps straight from the brim of her glass and sighs, wiggling as she peers around. 

“I almost don’t even want to see these old men play music,” she snickers as she takes in the expanse of tables flashing lights. 

“Oh?” 

“Relax, we’re going to see the show. You’re a horrible liar and mom will see right through you,” she sneers, “besides, I told her I wouldn’t get you in too much trouble.” 

[tiarascrowns]

Late Victorian Opal and Diamond Tiara

"A late Victorian opal and diamond tiara/necklace, consisting of seven knife-edge gold bars graduating from the centre, each set with two round cabochon-cut opals and an old-cut diamond in-between, the bars connected with six diamond-set arches each arch with a diamond-trefoil and a round cabochon-cut opal within, terminating on each side with a small diamond and opal trefoil motif, the diamonds estimated to weigh 2.9 carats in total, all mounted in gold and silver, attached to silver-gilt tiara frame and accompanied by gold chain back section to convert to a necklace, circa 1890, measuring 4 x 14.5cm, gross weight 36.4 grams."

- 1st Dibs

[omgthatdress]

Alb

1600s-1700s

The Cleveland Museum of Art

"This beautiful vestment, called an alb, was worn under other liturgical garments by the clergy who served at the altar. Embroidered with gilt-metal thread flora on a linen ground, it is trimmed with a flounce and cuffs of lace, the most fashionable and expensive material at the time. Its purple silk lining indicates that it belonged to an archbishop. The exquisitely worked bobbin lace consists of two large composite floral designs flanked by popular curved forms on an elaborate bar ground that repeats ten times around the flounce."

[kabr0ztrousers]

Can you do a part 2 to "Duke of the Iron Forest” please? The reader has been down in the dungeons for so long that two things happen:

Her body becomes more used to the duke's cock

Her will starts to break down

With that she finally, finally accepts his marriage proposal.

Kabr0z Writes episode 153: Duke of the Iron Forest, part 2

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here! Including part 1

Ao3!

CWs: restraints; noncon; physical pain; tongues; excessive cum; size difference;

A/N: I shouldn't say such things as "normal service resumes" because it always hexes it 🤣

This was meant to be yesterday's. Enjoy!

############################################

Your eyes drifted open. The chains on your wrists held as strong as ever, the sounds of someone screaming drifting down the hall. You're glad you're not him. Your chin rested against your breastbone. Your wrists held in manacles, suspended behind you and twisting your shoulders back. The result was you dangled on an angle, bare breasts thrust out. The familiar bar kept your legs spread, ends shackled to your ankles. You'd stopped bothering to struggle against them ages ago.

Was it years you'd been down here? You weren't sure. You couldn't remember how you got here. Your captor was the Duke of the Iron Forest, so presumably that must be nearby at least, but you don't remember it. All you knew for sure was your daily schedule. The only thing by which you could mark time.

You could feel those familiar wings again. The Duke, coming down the hallway. The shadow loomed before he hoved into view, wings lazily batting at the air, too small and too slow for purpose yet still holding him aloft. Round and ungainly, short limbs hanging from his bulk. The only part of him that seemed suitable for its purpose was his cock, almost the length of his legs swinging low beneath him, an unending trickle of fluid oozing from it, leaving a trail of brassy-golden droplets in his wake.

You lifted your head in wordless greeting to the only method you had of keeping time.

He grinned that familiar, toothy grin, thousands of gilt blades flashing in the flickering light of the dungeon “How are you today? Ready to reconsider?”

You allowed your head to droop again, wordless. Every day was the same routine, he’d ask you to marry him, you’d refuse, he’d take what he wanted and you’d be left alone for another day.

“Why do you bother?”

Jewelry jangled as his bellowing laughter filled the room. He paused,

“Because I want to. You are mine, the choice is simply a formality. Submit, and this can all become more… comfortable”

You could hear his smile widening. One gout-ridden hand gripped your face as he pulled you to look at him

“One day, you will accept. A gilded cage is far more comfortable than an iron one”

He drew in close, pushing his tongue down your throat. You gagged on it, the taste of rotting meat and fresh blood filling your senses. It writhed in your gullet, sliding down beyond what any reasonable tongue could reach. Your eyes bulged as your body struggled to breathe through the fleshy appendage invading it. Your lungs burned. You felt pressure in your head, as though you were about to pass out from lack of air, but down here you knew you’d get no such mercy. Nobody needs to breathe in Hell, just like nobody needs to eat. It didn’t matter what he did to you, you wouldn’t get the relief of a moment’s respite.

That obscene cock was pressing up against you. Every strangled sound you made caused it to swell and squirt its metallic sludge onto you, slicking your lower body in a film of semi-transparent slime. You knew you couldn’t stop him pushing it inside, he was just prolonging the anticipation. The head pressed against your slit, painting your cunt with precum, every so often a powerful spurt would drive the fluid up inside you.

Every thrust made you squirm against your chains, every movement drove him on.

His hands gripped your hips, holding you still as the flapping of wings drove his hips into yours. You felt yourself sinking onto his cock. It wasn’t any smaller inside you, driving upwards until it hit your limit. Your body twisted, trying to get away, held in place by the chains suspending you. The cock didn’t hurt like it used to. Daily abuse had left its mark, stretching you out, never giving you a chance to recover fully until it slid in with ease. The tip butted up against your cervix, bruising your back wall with every flap of his wings.

Tears welled in your eyes, the repeated hammering of your body driving bolts of pain through you. You could feel yourself clenching against him, the stimulation coming from the obscenely huge member pounding you bringing you to a climax. Your eyes rolled back in your head as you screamed into his mouth, legs twitching and cunt gripping hard against the cock barely halfway into your body.

You felt him pulsing inside you. The strokes shortening to just a couple of inches of motion. Thick cum squirted out of him, filling you in moments. Pulse after pulse flooded your womb, dribbling down the sides of his cock to run in steaming rivulets along your thighs. He kept you held against him, the throbbing, spurting head of his cock buried as deep into you as he could get it, tongue still halfway down your throat, drooling into your mouth as your eyes rolled and your limbs spasmed in their chains.

He pulled out. The built-up pressure of his cum pushing the flanged head of his cock from you as he softened, still dripping as he beheld his handiwork. You panted as you hung there, leaking a slow stream of thick brassy-gold onto yourself and the spreader bar beneath you.

“All this can be made far more enjoyable if you only accept it. Why make things harder, when you could just be a good pet for me?”

His tone was mocking, but he had a point. You were already at rock-bottom. Fuck it

“All right then.”

You heard him pause “What?”

You looked up at him, meeting his gaze. You weren’t sure how much the hatred in your eyes was visible in the dim light

“You heard me”

[whencyclopedia]

Oheka Castle

Oheka Castle, built by the industrialist Otto Herman Kahn (l. 1867-1934), is one of the best-known luxury hotels of Long Island, NY, USA today. In its time as a private residence, it was the site of the kind of lavish parties which inspired the F. Scott Fitzgerald novel The Great Gatsby and continues to offer that same experience.

You step into the immense expanse of the foyer and there's the Grand Staircase ahead, wrought iron railings gracefully curving up from the stone landing on which fresh flowers rest on a marble altar. Your footsteps echo loudly across the stone floor and again up the steps to the second floor where a long carpet-runner muffles them as you pass by paintings of various sizes on the walls and statuary on pedestals, all quietly bathed in soft golden light.

Halfway down the hall, you open the door on your left and walk into a room ornately decorated with a silk embroidered couch beneath a gilt-edged mirror, flowers in a vase on a marble pedestal. Sunlight streams in through the window on the far wall and you move past the receiving vestibule with the couch to the bedroom area, draw back the drapes, and look down upon the manicured gardens and fountains. Off beyond the gardens you see Long Island Sound, and, in the silence, you can hear the deep booming of the ship’s engines and the long, low bellow of a tug's horn.

If you feel yourself a character in The Great Gatsby, well, you are not far off. Fitzgerald's novel is set on the so-called Gold Coast of America in the 1920s - the area of Long Island, NY where the wealthy elite built their summer homes between c. 1900 and 1920. Many of the most famous names - Vanderbilt, Phipps, Woolworth - had grand estates here and some have been preserved and are open to the public for tours. The one you have walked into is different from the rest in a number of ways, however, and, most notably, you can stay there. You are in Oheka Castle, formerly the home of investment banker and philanthropist Otto Herman Kahn which, today, is a luxury hotel in Huntington.

Time Travel to the 1920s

Although famously known as a "castle" the building is actually an early 20th-century French-style Chateau designed by the famous Olmstead Brothers Firm (which included Frederic Law Olmstead, the architect who designed New York City's Central Park) who also planned the intricate lawns and gardens. Originally an estate of 433 acres, the site is now comprised of only 23, most of it a golf course, though the French gardens and much of the statuary of the original estate remains.

A weekend at Oheka Castle is time travel back to the 1920s. The owner, Gary Melius, has carefully renovated and preserved the building to reflect the interests and tastes of the original owner. Vintage artwork hangs on the walls and one passes by statues and busts of Socrates, Plato, Epictetus, and Epicurus in the second-floor hallway. Walking down the winding back staircase from the second floor to the bar you feel like Gatsby about to throw another of his famous parties. The wood-paneled library, shelves lined with volumes, looks out through floor-to-ceiling French doors onto the gardens and the lawn and you cannot shake the feeling that Hemingway or Gertrude Stein or T.S. Eliot could stroll into the room any moment.

We were there for a wedding for which we would be staying the weekend and arrived on a Friday. Guests are encouraged to enter through the main gate though one can also access the grounds through a back road. A gatekeeper radios one's arrival and opens the gates. The drive up to the parking lot is impressive enough, passing manicured hedges, statues, carefully cultivated ivy on the archway, but once you pull in to the spacious parking lot, the impression of the hotel is stunning. Oheka is a commanding presence and even before you set foot inside you understand you are experiencing something exceptional.

On this trip, as on most, my wife Betsy and daughter Emily were along, and we all experienced the same sensation of stepping back in time as soon as the high wooden front doors were opened for us and we set foot in the foyer. The lighting from an opulent chandelier high overhead and wall sconces illuminates the grand hall in a soft blush of gold as from candles or oil lamps.

After checking in at the small office just inside the door, we were directed to our room on the second floor and took the ancient elevator up. It should be kept in mind that one is staying in a vintage hotel and the elevator will not operate at maximum 21st-century speed. Remember, you have stepped back in time; everything moved a little more slowly in the 1920s. The elevator opened on the long hallway decorated with artwork and sculpture under soft lighting, noted above.

Our room, previously described, was spacious with bathroom en suite complete with a vintage claw-foot tub and modern shower. There is a television and telephone in the room, neither of which we used, and WIFI is available and password-protected for guests. Modern amenities are never our priority when travelling, however, as we always opt for the time-travel experience in full when we can. Gazing out the window of our room down at the intricate gardens, fountains, and statues under the high blue canopy of a June sky, I thought of the original owner and the people of the past who had stood where I was standing.

Continue reading...

[loquaciousquark]

I got a ton of prompts last week; thank you! It turns out crawling all over Hawaii's Big Island doesn't leave a huge amount of time for writing in the evenings. The airport sure does, however!

This is the first of two fills I managed to complete. I'm still plucking away at a few more, but considering both of these ended up much longer than I expected, they may take a bit as well. All will be posted on AO3 once I'm finished.

For @liliactrees, "china aster: jealousy." 2600 words, set about a week post-game.

--

Torches in silver sconces blazed merrily on either side of the fine carved doors. They called to passersby in crackling welcome, as did the cultured cheers and calls of laughter within which burst out at every entering patron. Every now and then the doors opened to reveal glimpses of diners in glittering gowns and robes, two glass chandeliers a trifle large for the space, and the scent of beautifully cooked meat.

Tav, who had a new rent in her cloak and a still-damp mudstain down her entire left leg, would just as soon have gone back to the Elfsong for the evening; but a crew of rebuilding construction workers had at last taken on the inn’s shattered west wall, and all guests had been summarily displaced for the duration. Two days, they’d said. Three, if the Elder Brain’s death throes had fractured the foundation. Not much she could do there without taking up a hammer herself.

And besides, Astarion was here. It was a restaurant and auberge just to his taste: on the low side of the Upper City, grossly overpriced, staffed with obsequious parlor-maids and utterly choked with gilt candelabra. She’d as soon taken up at the Blushing Mermaid, but Astarion had made it clear washed sheets were a non-negotiable, and that had severely limited their options. 

Nothing to be done for it. She shook out the road-grit from her cloak, re-tied her hair more smoothly, and pushed open the door. A man in a starched white shirt leapt to pull it the rest of the way for her—unsettling enough even before he apologized for his lapse in attention—and Tav muttered some generic benediction before fleeing past him. 

The main room was fine, very large and very crowded. On the left side were two dozen tables, crammed with velvet-cushioned chairs and bedecked with platters of steaming fish and cut-crystal wineglasses. On the right was a small dance floor, overcrowded just like the rest of the room with men and women in full evening dress, a small string trio on a corner stage leading them through some swirling dance Tav didn’t know. 

Astarion would be at the bar, she knew. Tav kept her head down as she weaved through the crowd, avoiding the glances of curious diners at her leather armor, her bloodied gloves, the blasted mudstain down her leg. Bloody oozes. Bloody opportunistic looters without a goose’s sense among them, too foolish to understand that what they’d stolen from Sorcerous Sundries might in fact be very, very magical indeed—

There. The crowd parted enough she could make out Astarion’s white hair, and every ounce of tension melted out of her like oil off a hot pan. He was sitting at the bar on the back wall, one leg crossed over the other, his chin on his hand, his whole body turned toward the person sitting beside him. His eyes were lidded and unblinking and beautiful, and Tav wanted nothing more in the world than to walk straight into his arms and bury her face in his chest. 

Astarion’s neighbor said something, leaning towards him, and Astarion laughed. A conspiratorial laugh, low and inviting, and a smile afterwards that seemed full of promises. Tav stumbled to a halt. 

Who—a man. She didn’t know him. A little taller than her, she thought, and an elf, very slim, with tawny hair that fell in a straight sheet down his back. He was dressed in fine robes of orange and gold, and nearly every finger bore a jewel-studded ring. He leaned in towards Astarion again, and though she couldn’t hear the words from here, she could make out enough of his tone to know it was a question. 

Jealousy roared up the back of her throat like bile. Tav recoiled, shocked at her own vitriol—but a second wave crashed over her before the first had waned, and her fingers clenched around the hilt of her rapier. 

How dare he. How dare this man—this stranger—come to this overpriced hothouse of an inn and choose Astarion out of everyone, out of all the wretched jewel-encrusted gentry swirling around them to sink his soft unbloodied hands into—

And just as swiftly as it came, the jealousy vanished.

Why not? 

Why not Astarion? He was clearly the most handsome man in the room, apparently unattached and used to luxury, his fine white curls tumbling over his forehead, his eyes sharp as knives. He was dressed in her favorite black with red trim—the embroidery on this one was more subtle, less garish—and his long, elegant fingers played over the stem of his wineglass with careless grace. Even the silver threading on his shoes shone. He might have stepped down from a painting only moments ago, and she had blood on one cheek and sewer muck caked into the heels of her boots. 

What right did she have, after all? This man might be everything Astarion deserved. Self-assured, wealthy, able to keep him in fine clothes and carriages and company the way he ought to be kept. The diamond on the man’s thumb alone could buy half the Wide, Tav thought; surely someone like that could purchase Astarion safety from the sun. In her experience, the wealthy always knew people, or they knew people who knew people, and if nobody knew anybody then the money could always find someone for them instead. 

To Tav’s horror, her foot took a half-step backwards.  

Better this way, hissed a small voice in the back of her mind, one which sounded remarkably like her long-dead aunt. Better this way, you rotten lead weight. Fucking shackle, what good are you? Let go before you sink him too. 

Her foot took another step backwards, and then Astarion laughed. 

A beautiful sound on the face of it. Not that high giggle he gave when he was being shocking on purpose; not that punch of sound when he was surprised by his own amusement. It was a coaxing, persuasive sort of laugh, very musical, and to Tav’s ears—thin and fragile as a sheet of glass. 

Oh, gods. What was she doing? What was she doing? 

The fear released its hold on her feet as if she’d burst into flame. She strode forward, narrowly displacing a waiter with a tray of expensive-looking liqueurs, and split through a pair of cattily gossiping half-elves with matching feather fascinators. The mud was forgotten. The torn cloak was forgotten. The sideways glances and whispered asides as she passed—nothing at all. 

He loved her. How dare she forget? How dare she think such a precious thing might not be worth fighting for? 

She could practically hear his voice in her head. Little idiot!

She broke through the last of the crowd between them, and Astarion saw her. A shell fell away from his expression, so delicate and perfectly molded she’d hardly noticed it until it vanished, and then a warmth grew in his crimson eyes. Not some great blaze, not a raging fire that leapt from tree to tree; something smaller instead, quiet and very steady, the way one lit a candle at the door to welcome home a weary lover.

His smile was real. She thought she could survive a thousand years on that alone.

”Astarion,” Tav said as she reached him, and then she did what she’d longed to for hours and walked straight into his chest where he sat.

“Hello, darling,” he said to the top of her head, and his cool arm wrapped instantly around her shoulders. She shuddered in relief. “Gods below. Did you know you’re filthy?”

”It hadn’t completely escaped my notice,” she said, her words muffled in his collar. Despite every instinct she had telling her to curl up against him right here and sleep for a week, Tav forced herself to straighten. Astarion’s hand slid to the back of her neck, but he didn’t let her go, and he made no move to displace her from the cradle of his knees. “I see you’re very clean and pressed.”

”Volunteer less often for that nasty rebuilding effort, my dear, and you too can spend your days lounging on satin sheets and reading extremely awful poetry.” 

Tav laughed, and his eyes softened. She said, “I missed you.”

”Yes,” he said, as close as he ever ventured to such admissions in public. The string trio finished one set and began another; his thumb stroked up the line of her neck and down again.

The man beside Astarion abruptly cleared his throat. They both looked over; he lifted a manicured, arrogant brow. “You must excuse me,” the man said with the brassy air of one used to being obeyed. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.”

”Yes, Astarion, introduce me to your friend.”

Ah, he knew her too well. A wicked gleam flashed though his eyes, gone again before she could blink. “Of course. Good sir, this is the succinctly-named Tav, orphan of this fair city turned recently and disgustingly savior of the same. My love, this is…ah. Alexander.”

”Alahonder,” the man said, now decidedly icy. “My wife is Olara Hhune.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m not familiar,” Tav said, and she pulled her glove off with her teeth before extending her hand to shake. He took it for the briefest moment, his fingers limp as eels. “Have you two lived in Baldur’s Gate long?”

“Yes,” he said curtly. 

Astarion lifted his wineglass swiftly to his lips. Tav let him—his fingers were trembling with laughter against her neck—and rested an idle hand on Astarion’s knee. “How wonderful. You two must love each other very much.” 

Alahonder Hhune, who had one of the most infamously contentious marriages in the city’s history—who had, Tav knew, been thrown twice from his Upper City manse within the last three months by his furious wife—curled his impeccable elven lip. “Of course,” he said, even more glacial than before. Then he seemed to rally, and with a visible effort he gathered together the scraps of his composure and turned back to Astarion. “My dear boy,” he said, all coaxing honey now, “let me find you again later. Alone, I think. We could pick up right where we left off, hmm?”

”Of course,” Astarion said gleefully, and he brushed his free hand through the man’s tawny hair where it framed his face. “Come back tonight, near midnight. Don’t worry. I’ll find you.” 

“Oh,” the man said with a bloom of painfully obvious lust, and without another glance at Tav, he stood in a flourish of orange and gold robes and strode away into the crowd. They parted for him, then closed again behind him like water as if he’d never been. 

Astarion, who was still running his thumb over Tav’s neck, turned her face to his. “Well, hello,” he purred. “What curious timing you have, my dear.”

”Just lucky, I suppose,” she said, unable to keep the stupid smile from her face, and before she could succumb to the doubt she leaned up and kissed him. 

Astarion let out a low, surprised noise that made her wish to instantly spirit them both away to privacy, then slipped his hand into her hair and pulled her mouth properly against his. The kiss wasn’t long, but it was uncharacteristically tender, and when it was over he let out a little sigh that nearly took her to pieces. Against her mouth, he said, “You really are filthy, you know.” 

“And you’re impossible. Alahonder Hhune, really?”

He sat back, looking immensely self-satisfied. ”What can I say, darling? Had you felt a little less altruistic today, I would have been a little less alone, and a little less alluring to unhappily married second-rate oligarchs.”

”You could always—“ she began, but the memory of exactly why he couldn’t follow her to these daytime excursions flung itself hard against her, and she swallowed the rest of the sentence like glass. “Look less beautiful,” she said lamely instead.

Astarion smirked. “My poor little love. Jealous, are we?”

”Yes,” Tav said, defiant now, and she kissed him again. “Don’t leave me for a Hhune.”

”Certainly not. I’ll hold out for at least a Linnacker.”

”Hm. You could do even better.”

Irritation sparked briefly across Astarion’s face. ”I don’t want better,” he said, sharp enough the tiefling behind the bar glanced over at them. “I know you can be painfully dense, my dear, but let’s not pretend you’re amnesiac, too.” 

How stupid, that the more acidic he became the more her heart puddled in her chest. “Fine,” she said, leaning into him, and he wrapped his arm around her once more. “Let’s see it, then.”

Astarion laughed. He flicked out his wrist, then held up an earring: a polished amber pendant wrapped in heavy gold wire. He twisted the earring this way and that for her amusement, the room’s lavish candelabra flickering fire through the facets. Then he rippled his fingers in a little wave, and the earring vanished. 

“Very good.” 

Astarion laughed. “How smug you sound.” 

“I take my wins where I can get them,” Tav said, and she splayed her fingers to reveal three of Alahonder Hhune’s rings arrayed between her knuckles. Framed on either side by gold and rubies, the diamond worth half the Wide gleamed like cold fire.

Astarion’s smile widened toothily. There was delight there, she thought, and a certain novel pride; and under all of it that same slow-burning affection, richer than any basket of diamonds. How wonderful to be the reason for that fanged smile; how precious to feel her own proud delight in turn. That she’d failed to recognize the glassy-eyed mask earlier seemed the height of impossibility, especially against such a clear window into his heart. 

“You're wonderful,” she said at last, secreting the jewels back into the pouch at her waist, and she framed his face in both hands. “I’ve a confession to make.” 

“Oh, do tell.”

”I’ve gotten mud on your trousers.”

”Ah—ugh,” he said, with very real disgust, and he pulled her hands from his cheeks to examine the streak she’d left against his knee. “Why do I put up with you? Honestly.”

”Because you love me,” Tav said.

”Because I love you,” he repeated with tremendous longsuffering, and he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and kissed her carefully on the mouth. “I’ll love you more if you bathe and change.” 

“An easy heart to buy. Don’t you have a date later?”

“Yes, though it won’t be with any Hhunes or Linnackers.” His thumb slid to the vein of her throat and pressed there, carefully. “Dinner and a show, I think.” 

Tav laughed. A few of the patrons nearby cast her a glance, but it was swiftly followed by another whisper of her name and an unexpected summary of her recent erstwhile heroics, and then Tav stopped listening because it didn’t matter anyway, because Astarion was smiling at her and Astarion loved her and that was worth any shade of gossip the city could scrounge up. The strings launched into a sprightly minuet, and a new crop of glittering men and women swept onto the floor in a seamless tide.

”I’m glad you’re here, Astarion,” Tav said, meaning it. “I’m glad I’m here with you.” 

Astarion stood, eyes serious, and looked down at her. “I am, as well,” he said at last, and then he shook off the mood like a cat jumping from a bath. “Come on, let’s go. Before this nauseating sentimentality makes me do something I’ll regret.” 

Tav laughed, and when he put his hand to the small of her back she let him guide her towards the stairs. Halfway up the stairs their fingers brushed; he’d gone for the rings at the same moment she’d reached for his pilfered earring. She laughed again; he snorted, and they settled for taking each other’s hands instead.

—

end.

[treasuresfromthearchives]

Grand Pianoforte

Manufacturer Érard French Designer George Henry Blake

ca. 1840

"This piano, featuring an extraordinary marquetry satinwood case designed by George Henry Blake, is one of the most elaborately decorated instruments of the nineteenth century. It was commissioned from the London branch of the distinguished French firm of Érard by Thomas Henry Foley, Baron of Kidderminster, for Witley Court, his residence near Herefordshire and Worcestershire.

The decorative program of the piano consists of mythological personages, references to the Foley family, and symols related to music-making and musical instruments. The piano case features extraordinary marquetry that utilizes materials such as holly, mahogany, burl walnut, tulipwood, ivory, mother-of-pearl, and silver wire. When closed, the center of the lid top features a large music-themed marquetry trophy with instruments that include a hurdy-gurdy, tambourine, viol and bow, lute, panpipes, hunting horn, French horn, and sheets of music and a volume of Beethoven's symphonies. The elaborate lid decorations also feature images of animal and human grotesques and floral sprays as well as representations on ivory of Persephone, Ceres, and Bacchus. The lid, case sides, and key flap also feature extraordinary marquetry and scenes of every day life such as a woman and child warming themselves by a fire, a shepherd boy with a dog, and figures making music or dancing. The exposed underside of the lid flap has a large decoration of the Foley family coat-of-arms with two lion supporters.

The entire instrument has heavy gilt wood edging in the Louis XV style that incorporates carved flowers, scrolls, musical instruments, shells, and masks of Bacchus, Apollo, Diana, and Venus at the top of each leg. Each of these likenesses is said to represent a member of the Foley family. The pedal lyre has the face of "Wind" and attached are two three-dimensional carved and gilt birds. The instrument sits on a stand with a stretcher, in the style of eighteenth century French harpsichords. In the center of the stretcher is a reclining painted figure of Apollow with his lyre.

The keyboard compass is CC-g4 (80 keys) with ivory naturals and ebony accidentals. There are two marquetried wood pedals, the left for the una corda and the right for the dampers. The instrument has the double-escapement action invented by Sébastian Érard and refined by his nephew Pierre, the most advanced for its period and the basis for the modern piano action. The instrument is triple strung except for the five lowest notes which each have two overwound bass strings. The strings for the top 26 notes pass beneath a pierced brass bar, Pierre Érards "harmonic bar" patented in 1838. The open-bottom wooden case is reinforced by longitudinal steel bars."

[theworldbrewery]

50 Items of Sinister Manor Dungeon Dressing

Running a haunted mansion adventure? Solving the mystery of a missing lord? Visiting a reclusive heiress or freeing the captive children of a terrorized village? Add some ambiance to the scene with this list of sinister manor dungeon dressing items!

Iron chest

Torn velvet curtains

Silver candelabra, tarnished

Bureau, covered in cobwebs

Rusted, jagged knife

Cracked bronze bell

Serving platter, polished to a mirror shine

Broken windowpane

Servant’s uniform

Bookshelf concealing a secret door

Leather riding gear

Tattered slippers

Wine glass

Moth-eaten bedsheets

Suit of armor with a double-headed axe

Wedding gown, yellowed with age

Mouse nest

Empty casket

Key ring

Keg of a rare vintage

Grand piano, untuned

Penknife

Mildewed portrait in a gilt frame

Footprints in the dusty carpet

Chains fixed to a wall

Lockbox filled with a defunct currency

Gossamer dressing gown

Oil lamp

Loose floorboard

Tapestry depicting a gruesome scene

Surgical shears

Vase full of withered flowers

Bottle of perfume

Hatchet

Tome in an unrecognizable language

Large stonework oven

Dumbwaiter shaft

Brass chandelier

Fireplace with paper fragments in its ashes

Bottle of red ink

Book of poisons

Chapel with a barred or locked door

Crowbar

Violin with a broken bow

Wasp’s nest

Fencing épée

Door covered in claw marks

Marble bust with the face smashed

Hank of bloody hair

Crystal pitcher full of frozen water

[nanamikentoseyebags]

pairing: kento nanami x f!reader

content: just two grumps being grumpy together, alcohol consumption, pathetically self ship coded!!

wc: ~ 1.3k

a/n: my poor lil attempt to write something again, don't judge too hard, i just needed to feel some comfort

Whoever is in charge of the event has terrible taste in music, Kento Nanami mentally remarks, taking a small sip of the way more disgusting whiskey and placing the glass on the bar with an audible "clink". He wearily surveys the room, running his eyes over the expensive gilt-framed paintings, the elaborately inlaid furniture, and the huge elephant in the room in form of a grand black piano, that most definitely hasn't felt a human touch in at least a couple decades.

Myriads of stars are scattered across the ceiling in intricate patterns, like fluttering moths surrounding a lonely chandelier, decorated with what looks like tiny diamond droplets. It radiates a soft glow that seems to make even the faces of these people look pleasant somehow. He hates this place, or rather he has to hate it, because now it has become a nest of the most poisonous snakes - a reception for the richest, most prominent, most influential people in the city: the owners of the biggest financial companies that seem to own the whole world in their heads. Kento frowns, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly and cursing his boss for obliging him to attend it.

A quiet “Ughhhh, that’s disgusting,” snaps Nanami out of his thoughts, drawing him to turn in your direction, watching curiously as you spit out one of the appetizers and wrap it in a napkin. "This is a real culinary crime! Who the hell would think of ruining food so cruelly? Ugh, I should sue them for the moral damage this appetizer just did to me". Reaching for your glass, you took a couple sips and held it out to your boyfriend, cringing, "and serving people champagne like that is a crime too. I thought everything was top notch at these receptions," you paused, "you know I'm going to say this, but I'll say it anyways, here: I could have done it better...God, I need something to wash this disgusting taste down with."

"Of course you would, darling," Kento chuckles, "And I don't think there's anything edible here at all," he sets your glass on a tray of a passing waiter, "I'm afraid you're the only sweet thing here."

A death stare, that's what he sees, turning to you again. "Very funny," you roll your eyes playfully, nudging him lightly in the side, "I always wonder…how do they do that?" you motion your hand to the groups of people talking amongst themselves.

"Do what?" his tilts his head to the side, leaning closer to you, his arm goes around your waist, slowly stroking the curve of your hip.

"Pretending to like everything, from terrible food to engaging into conversations with people they can't stand. Sometimes I think their faces are about to crack from those strained smiles."

“Long years of practice, I think. I doubt they'd be much good at it if they didn't know how to cast fake smiles at every partner and then ruin their firms with the same grin."

"Atrocious," you give a dismissive glance to another pair of presumably millionaires fluffing up their feathers and parading like male birds in front of a couple of women.

"Sorry for bringing you here, I-" he doesn't have time to finish the sentence, feeling your arms tightly circle his torso.

"I don't mind at all, I might even enjoy standing here with you all grumpy and dissatisfied with everything and everyone. It's more fun together," you wink at him, stroking his back.

“Oh yeah, I wouldn’t want anyone else to be grumpy with,” he pauses, looking at your perplexed expression, “okay…” with a sigh he continues, “in my defense I might just say that it sounded less cheesy in my head”. You giggle, watching the tips of his ears turning red. “On the other note,” Kento’s hand flies up to gently caress the apple of your cheek with his thumb, “I know I’ve said it like a thousand times today but you look absolutely divine.”

And he means it, as much as he hates to be here, he thinks you are made for this. You are made to be surrounded by this splendor he believes he fails to give you. As if you'd stepped out of one of those ornate paintings, in that ethereal silk dress of yours and hairdo, you really do look like a deity to him, walking around your chambers.

And before he even gets a chance to tell you this, a loud “Nanamiiiiii,” thunders across the whole space, the approaching steps of his boss reverberate tenfold in Kento’s head, as he reluctantly lets go off you and turns to face the horror in the flesh.

"Our most reticent Nanami has finally shown the world his gorgeous chosen one," the nearly bald, stocky man approaches you two with a broad smile, plastered on his face, exposing his porcelain teeth. His wrinkled face is adorned with a pathetically thin mustache, with gold-rimmed sunglasses perched on his nose. He smells of expensive alcohol and cheap cologne, you have time to notice a pair of huge rings on his fingers when he, without a second's hesitation, takes your hand and brings it to his lips. "Pleased to meet you, Ms. Y/n, Nanami doesn't spread himself too widely about his life, but your name almost never leaves his lips."

"Y/n, this is my boss, Mr...."

"I'm just Steve to you," he blurts out in a half-drunk grin, still not letting go of your hand. Kento’s eyes roll to the back of his head, as he rubs his temple tiredly, struggling to keep his cool.

"Nice to meet you...Steve," looking absolutely unimpressed, you gently pull your hand out of his iron grip, taking your now speechless with anger boyfriend, under his arm, and smiling with feigned gentleness, "Kento has told me a lot about you, thank you for inviting us to this wonderful dinner."

“Nah, that’s the best decision I’ve ever made,” he chuckles, “you should try to convince your man to go out more often, especially with such a beauty by his side, it should be a real pleasure. He has a great future, my dear, a great future,” he wagged his finger right in front of your face, “okay, lovebirds, I have to go… I have to go, I have to cheer up a couple of losers, whose careers I will destroy tomorrow.” And he bursts in an almost inhuman laugh that seems to make everyone in the room but him uncomfortable. “But I'll see you soon," and once again taking your hand in his leaves another loud, wet kiss on your palm before retreating to another direction.

“Ugh, what an asshole”, you wipe your hand on the soft fabric of your dress, "'so, did I get to act all happy? It was quite hard since I was affected by the sight of his awful mustache.”

Hearing no reply, you raised your head to meet the two agates that had been staring back at you for a long time, gleaming adoringly. Kento's face is playing with the brightest smile you've seen this evening.

“What?” you frown, not sure where the sudden burst of amusement is coming from.

“Nothing”, he smiles wider, “just glad I'm here with you. Speaking of which, why don't we sneak out of here right now?” he holds out his hand to you.

“I thought you'd never ask”, you let out a sigh of relief, intertwining your fingers, as you quietly head for the exit. Away from the lying people and cruel games, quietly grumbling about various little things along the way. He carries a pair of your uncomfortable heels in one hand as you walk beside him in your evening dress and favorite sneakers, clinging to him tighter and thinking that the world isn't so bad when you have someone to be grumpy with.

[smallgodseries]

[image description: A stunning Black woman with a large afro, a short red dress, retro wedge heels, a tattooed on her right shoulder and a pair of earrings in the shape of a rifle sight. Other sights appear all around her as she kneels in front of the Earth, holding a smoking pistol with a ridiculously long barrel. Text reads, “57, Nefertiti Smith, Travel Agent .006 ~ The Small God of Seeing the Sights”]

• • • • • •

Velvet curtains cover the windows.  Velvet tapestries drape the walls. The overall result is like walking into a bordello, or the heart of a teddy bear the size of a Titan.  It’s easy enough to imagine this opulent space, dripping as it is with crystal chandeliers and golden gilt, as a playground for children too large to be contained by any structure sized for humanoid bipeds.

The idea that all intelligent life must follow the basic blueprint of Earth is quaint and so outdated as to have become antiquated, and most people with any sense of adventure have long since abandoned it.  Those who haven’t are likely to find themselves swallowed by the sapient slimes of Rigel IV, who don’t much care for being so casually dismissed.  Have your right to sapience challenged one time too many, learn the delights of human flesh, as Professor Winchell always used to say.  Or not.  Some species never turn to man-eating, and choose instead to block humanity’s expansions into greater space.  They have no time for small-minded bigots, they say, and no one who’s met many humans can really argue with them.

But people who’ve me the right humans can sometimes make a decent case for allowing them to expand.

She steps into the club like she owns the place, like the party has been waiting for her arrival before truly getting started.  She doesn’t walk; she dances, every step a perfect extension of the one before.  Her dress is a shade of red subtly different from the curtains.  It should clash.  Instead, it makes her look all the more valuable, against a backdrop of suddenly cheapened velvet.  Her heels are tall; so is her hair.  She is the best of what humanity has to offer, and if far too few of her admirers understand her divinity, that’s fine.  She knows she’s a goddess.  She’s the only one who matters here.

Belly up to the bar, Nefertiti Smith flags down a server, a smile on her gilded lips.  “Tell Dave I’m here,” she instructs.

There’s always a Dave.  Boston to Betelgeuse, there’s always a Dave.  And he always knows her, and he’s always happy when she arrives.

Tourists are good for business, after all.

• • • • • •

Artist Lee Moyer (Trident of Aurelia, 13th Age) and author Seanan McGuire (Wayward Children, October Daye & InCryptid series) sincerely appreciate you, whether or not you're a Dave.

[because-hayden-said-so]

At Gilt Bar

"Don't sit there. That seat is not for you." He grumbled.

[houserosaire]

Prompt #24: Bar

A man with golden eyes watched him from the shadows. Silvaineaux could feel his presence as much as he could see him, a dark shape pacing slowly around him. They paced around each other for a moment, circling like a pair of unfriendly cats, or like a pair of hawks with their eyes fixed on the same prey. “Who are you to bar my way?” The man asked, his voice a low and venomous hiss.

“Who are you at all?” Silvaineaux snarled in return. “Nobody.”

“You wish I were that.”

“I do.”

Another shadow loomed beside him, he was aware of it as he stepped carefully around the other. This one  was large, hovering great and square at the edge of his sight until gradually he knew what it was even before he looked at it. 

He kept his eyes fixed on his opponent and stepped again. 

The man with the golden eyes was gone. 

He was in the fine sitting room of a house and now it was books that circled him. They flew around him in a tornado of heavy bindings, their pages filling the air with a sound like a thousand wings. He ducked as the first one flew  -at- him. It slammed into his  shoulder, then another came and another. Until the shelf seemed to have hurled its entire contents at him. Yet one book remained unmoved in the center of the room. The cloud washed afternoon sun caught in the gilt on its leather cover.

He took a single step toward it. Afternoon light was suddenly the blue of evening, the dust and frost had vanished and every book sat once again in place upon a shelf save that one. 

A man came into the room, his movements furtive, hurried. Silvaineaux did not know him and the man moved past him in his unerring path toward the book as if he was not there at all. 

And so he merely watched as the man hastily tugged the book open. Silvaineaux recognized it then for a holy book. Yet the man sought no prayers. Instead he looked up hastily toward the doorway by which he’d entered and then drew his knife.

Hastily he worked the blade beneath the fine colored endpapers at the back, working it loose a little at a time. Every few moments he looked up again, not at Silvaineaux who watched him but at the empty doorway. 

After several moments the man made a soft sound of satisfaction. He tugged a paper out of his jacket. The sheet was folded once so that Silvaineaux only had the briefest impression of closely packed words showing a little through the paper. The man shoved the paper hastily into the space he’d made under the endpaper, then slammed the book shut.

The sound of it made both of them jump.

The man looked up again at the doorway, but this time there was someone there. He took a hasty step back from the book and then turned toward the door.

A lady stood there.

The lady with her red hair and her enormous blue-grey eyes. This time Silvaineaux thought she was not yet a ghost. And yet.

“There’s someone at the gates.” She said quietly, setting her small hand on the man’s arm.

“Who?” He asked, covering that hand with his.

“I do not know, but I am afraid.”

“I promise you do not need to fear.” He said. “I will not let anything harm you, no matter what it costs me.”

Silvaineaux looked from the man to the book and then back again. The man gently drew away from the lady. “I will go and send them off.” He said.

Silvaineaux watched him leave the room.

When he looked up again the lady was looking at him. She smiled as she caught his eyes.

Silvaineaux jerked awake. It took him just a moment to place the familiar shapes and hues of his own bed hangings. He scrubbed his hands over his face and drew in a heavy breath. The unease of the dream hung over him like a cloud. “I didn’t even drink that much  at the bar last night.” He whispered to the empty room, just to break its silence.

[badwolfwho1]

Finally starting my Wheel of Time reread, for context I've read the series once I want to say a decade ago and my memory on a lot of things is really hazy on a lot of things but with the show being cancelled and all seems like the time to finally get back into it. So theoretically full Wheel of Time spoilers could be mentioned in this reread but in practice its whatever is still stuck in my mind.

Straight off the bat I get why the show couldn't start with "Dragonmount". It'd probably be so expensive to pull off, even aside from literally creating a mountain, but its such a striking intro.

The palace still shook occasionally as the earth rumbled in memory, groaned as if it would deny what had happened. Bars of sunlight cast through rents in the walls made motes of dust glitter where they hung in the air. Scorch-marks crossed the blistered paints and gilt of once bright murals, soot overlaying crumbling friezes of men and animals which seemed to have attempted to walk before the madness grew quiet. The dead lay everywhere, men and women and children, struck in attempted flight by the lightnings that had flashed down every corridor, or seized by the fires that had stalked them, or sunken into the stone of the palace, the stones that had flowed and sought , almost alive, before stillness came again. In odd counterpoint, colorful tapestries and paintings, masterworks all, hung undisturbed except where bulging walls had pushed them awry. Finely carved furnishings, inlaid with ivory and gold, stood untouched except where rippling floors had toppled them. The mind-twisting had struck at the core, ignoring peripheral things.

You sorta get the future that Rand is gonna face in the show with that random Channeler who already has the madness, but it's to such a lesser extent compared to seeing it with Lews because that literally is him that is front and center what it means to be Dragon, the Breaking of the World in miniature, why it's a terrifying mantle that I don't think is always emphasised to the degree it should be in the show. It's the great inevitability the prologue ends on "You cannot escape so easily, Dragon. It is not done between us. It will not be done until the end of time." Which is a theme going forwards right through to the very end of the series, there's reason the first chapter of every book opens with the whole the Wheel of Time Turns, there are neither beginnings or endings to the Wheel of Time spiel. But this is a beginning.

I feel like maybe if the show went to s4 we'd have gotten this flashback there, Rand's madness is starting to go in full swing so it'd be a good spot to show off exactly what that entails, plus showing off what Lews was like towards the end closer to when Rand starts getting that constant running commentary from his past life which I'm looking forward to even just this brief glimpse of Lews in and out of lucidity I miss those times, I'm looking forward to reaching them again.

Admittedly I did have to look up which Forsaken Elan Morin Tedronai was mostly because he was giving massive Demandred vibes, "not so tall as Lews Therin,", the sheer amount of spite he had towards Lews despite being sure that he'd have to be Ishamael given which book this is. But maybe that's just early installment weirdness for him or maybe I've just been spoiled by the take the show has on Ishamael and it's overwritten book Ishamael. But I feel like I remember there being more to book Ishamael than this.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Marlon - When dreams grow up

OMG I only came to this book threw @dwkinternational and looked it up the description and the cover was (for me atleast) promising and I'm so hyped to see what Masannek made of his masterpiece and the ,,sequel". Since I wrote a fic that has a little time skip and I can't wait to read it and how he did things.

It will be published on 14.5.2024.

Summary under the cut

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

Beschreibung

Was machen die Wilden Kerle heute? 20 Jahre nach dem Spiel gegen den Dicken Michi + + +  18 Jahre nach Gonzo Gonzales + + +  17 Jahre nach den Biestigen Biestern + + +  16 Jahre nach Ragnarök + + +  15 Jahre nach ihrer Reise ans Ende der Welt? Berlin.>Berlin. Heute. Die Wilden Kerle gibt es nicht mehr. Das Schicksal hat sie in alle Himmelsrichtungen verstreut. Keiner weiß, wo der andere ist. Leon gilt sogar als tot und Marlon, der heute Musiker ist, will die Vergangenheit vergessen. Er nennt sich jetzt Sparrow. Spatz. Er streift allein durch die Stadt. Er will unsichtbar sein. Doch wenn ihn seine Musik dazu zwingt, wenn er irgendwo in dem Meer aus Bars und Clubs auftaucht und auftritt, zieht er die Menschen in seinen Bann. Er verzaubert sie mit seiner Sehnsucht nach Freiheit, Leben, Liebe und mehr. Doch jede Nacht zwischen drei und vier Uhr holt Marlon die Vergangenheit ein. Ein Alptraum verfolgt ihn und dieser Alptraum wird Wirklichkeit, als der charismatische Angel Investor Tom Shepherd aus Dublin nach Berlin kommt. Shepherd, der Marlons totem Bruder Leon so gleicht wie ein Zwilling, der aber trotzdem so anders ist: gefährlich anders. 

Marlon ahnt nicht, dass aus dem Kindertraum von damals eine Kraft entwachsen ist, die die Ordnung der Welt, in der wir in Zukunft leben, in der unsere Kinder leben sollen, mehr als bedroht. Eine Zukunft, die Shepherd für uns gestalten und aus der er alles, was die Wilden Kerle jemals verkörpert haben, verbannen will. Marlon muss sich entscheiden: Ob er seine Vergangenheit für immer vergisst, oder ob er sie wieder aufleben lässt, auch wenn er dafür mit seinem Leben bezahlt. Doch es geht nicht um ihn. Es geht um die Zukunft von Nessie, der zwölfjährigen, rebellischen Fußball-Ballerina, ihrer Freunde Tippkick und Coke und der Zukunft des Jungen, in den sich Nessie verliebt. 

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

Description

What are the Wild Bunch doing today? 20 years after the game against Fat Michi + + + 18 years after Gonzo Gonzales + + + 17 years after the Beastly Beasts + + + 16 years after Ragnarök + + + 15 years after their journey to the end of the world? Berlin >Berlin. Today. The Wild Bunch are no more. Fate has scattered them in all directions. No one knows where the others are. Leon is even presumed dead and Marlon, who is now a musician, wants to forget the past. He now calls himself Sparrow. Sparrow. He roams the city alone. He wants to be invisible. But when his music forces him to do so, when he appears somewhere in the sea of bars and clubs and performs, he casts a spell over people. He enchants them with his longing for freedom, life, love and more. But every night between three and four o'clock, Marlon's past catches up with him. A nightmare haunts him and this nightmare becomes reality when the charismatic angel investor Tom Shepherd comes to Berlin from Dublin. Shepherd, who resembles Marlon's dead brother Leon like a twin, but who is nevertheless so different: dangerously different.

Marlon has no idea that the childhood dream of yesteryear has grown into a force that more than threatens the order of the world in which we will live in the future, in which our children should live. A future that Shepherd wants to shape for us and from which he wants to banish everything that the Wild Bunch have ever embodied. Marlon must decide: Whether to forget his past forever, or whether to resurrect it, even if he pays for it with his life. But it's not about him. It's about the future of Nessie, the twelve-year-old rebellious soccer ballerina, her friends Tippkick and Coke and the future of the boy Nessie falls in love with.

Forever Wild.

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