#Gold Towel Rails

[tapronlimited]

4 Best Bathroom Radiators And Heated Towel Rail Options For Your Stylish Home

The Tapron blog post "4 Best Bathroom Radiators & Heated Towel Rail Options for Your Stylish Home" discusses the importance of choosing high-quality, durable, and stylish radiators for your bathroom. Highlighting four top selections, it emphasizes the aesthetic and functional benefits of each type, including elite matte black radiators, bold and brushed black radiators, timeless metallic gold radiators, and classy chrome radiators. These options are designed to complement various home decors while providing efficient heating. For a detailed look at each option, visit the full guide here.

[udosystems]

Best Quality or Design Soap Dishes | UDO System

Soap dishes are an essential part of your bathroom. Transform your bathroom with unique accessories from our latest selection of soap dishes and other items. We set out to produce bathroom accessories of high quality at more reasonable rates. Visit our store and shop for the best modern bathroom accessories.

[whisper-in-the-night]

Undesirable

Plot: Thomas is omega who will never find his true mate. Or no?

Warnings: omegavers; deviation from the canon; omega!Thomas Hewitt, alpha!male!reader / Y/N

Note: sorry for a long waiting, I finally finished it :)

Part 3 | Part 1, Part 2, Part 4 , Part 5

•••

You entered the comfortably furnished kitchen, which was noticeably cooler than outside under the scorching Texas sun. The dark light curtains on the windows were tightly pulled apart, leaving the room in a slight semi-darkness, but this did not particularly affect the visibility in the room. The light source was a chandelier on the ceiling with a slightly crackling yellow light bulb.

Luda kindly sat you down at the table and put a kettle on the stove. There was a strange, but not unpleasant smell in the room, rather just an unusual one. You glanced around the room, admiring the small, but once lovingly furnished by the Luda herself. Obviously, this was the place where the woman spent most of her time, and not because of any household chores, but simply because of the peace of mind felt in this room.

There was a shrill whistle, and Luda, after putting a towel on the handle of the kettle, took the kettle off the stove and began pouring boiling water into cups. They were very beautiful cups that looked like real pearls. They looked very thin and delicate, each cup was painted in a delicate pastel color and framed with a gold border. And even though there were chips on the cups in some places, they still remained beautiful and graceful. After pouring tea into cups, Luda went to one of the cupboards and pulled out a plate with a small pie, in which several pieces were already missing. It must have been an apple pie, although you couldn't tell just by the look of it.

The woman carefully placed the pie in front of you and sat down on the next chair.

"Honestly, I wasn't expecting guests," she said with a smile, putting a piece of pie in your saucer. "Besides, I'm often not at home. It's been a long time since I've just had tea with someone, Y/N."

In response, you slightly lift the corners of your lips and thank the woman for the treat, breaking off a piece of pie with a teaspoon. But despite your first impression of this lovely woman's children, you realized from her further talking that they weren't so bad. Yes, Luda spoke of them as big children, but she loved them. And they obviously did too, just showing it in their own way. Right now, for you, she was just a woman who had a lot on her mind, and who simply had no one to talk to before you appeared. And you turned out to be a good listener. By the end of her dialogue, you've already eaten three whole pieces of pie.

"Thanks for the food, Luda. You cook just amazing," you said, smiling, "And where is your toilet..?"

"Oh? On the second floor, the second door on the right, honey."

You nodded briefly and went in the indicated direction. The bathroom was small, obviously it was a guest one, but cozy and clean. You quickly went to the toilet and hastily washed your hands when you heard new voices downstairs. A car door could be heard slamming violently from the outside, and then the front door closed. The house was filled with a lot of footsteps. Luda said something displeased to the newcomers, but you didn't hear what exactly. More footsteps, knocks, metal scraping. And silence.

You carefully left the bathroom and went down the stairs. Your fingers dug into the wooden railing with force when you saw strangers in the middle of the room. In the living room, an elderly man, a little older than Luda, was sitting in an armchair, and another man was standing next to the woman herself, who was standing in the center of the room and actively talking. In a beige uniform, taller than a woman, he looked like a typical sheriff you've seen in neighboring states. His hat was slightly on one side, and his hands were in his pockets. And his every resistance to Luda began with a tearful 'Oh mom!'. It was obviously one of her sons.

Finally, the man turned around, his wrinkled face frowning.

"Who the hell is this kid?" He gave you a look full of contempt.

"Charlie! This is our guest, he brought me home," Luda replied, grabbing her son by the nose.

"Mom, I asked you not to call me that in front of someone!"

The man came up to you, examining you from head to toe and as if constantly chewing something. He chuckled.

"You're a tough guy. Clearly not one of those.."

You smiled nervously, not knowing how to behave. The only thing left for you in this situation was to make a good impression and behave politely.

"Hello.. I am Y/N Y/S," you said in as even a tone as possible, holding out your hand. The man grunted in disbelief, but returned the handshake. "Hoyt. Sheriff Hoyt. "

There were heavy, slow footsteps and deep breathing behind you. A mixture of a pleasant peach fragrance, mixed with metal, wood and something else, hit your nose. Luda's face softened a little, and a soft word came out of her mouth 'There you are, Tommy.' You turned around and saw the same big, sweet guy you saw that day at Mrs. Hewitt's store. Thomas's dark hair was tousled and looked damp with sweat, and he was wearing a plaid shirt and a work apron stained with something dark brown.

"Tommy, why don't you take our guest to his room? And change your clothes, please. Dinner is coming soon."

The door handle clicked, and the man gently opened the creaking door in front of you. The room was small but cozy. There is a large bed in the corner of the room, a desk against the wall, a wardrobe and a large window curtained with white, slightly dusty curtains. The window was wide open, so that the air that had warmed up during the day penetrated into the room. You gave a short nod to your new acquaintance and entered the room. The mattress was incredibly soft, although there were old springs in some places, so it really made you feel at home. The bedspread was a little dusty, probably due to the rare use of this room, but the sheets underneath were crisp and clean. You looked up at the giant standing in the doorway and smiled slightly.

"Thank you," you said, and you could have sworn that in the blink of an eye, the room was filled with even more delicate scent of peach and honey.

The man nodded curtly and walked away. Immediately, another door creaked. Apparently, your room was next to his bedroom. You sighed, sinking your whole body onto the bed, small specks of dust rose into the air at once, now clearly visible in the rays of the evening sun. These people were strange. But they were.. nice? Maybe. At least they're better than your narcissistic relatives.

[nvuy]

obsidian...as carmilla....with a laura reader....(vampires save me oh vampires)

carmilla — obsidian

summary. you wake up drunk, bloodied, and with lipstick stains all over you in a bathtub. strangely enough, there’s a woman in the adjacent bedroom with her lips painted a similar colour.

notes. obligatory nvuy wlw post YAYY lesbians!!!!!!!!!!!! i couldn’t think of a way to form this more into carmilla and laura entirely, and considering obsidian’s personality, i tried to piece this nonsense together. enjoy hopefully.

warnings. minors dni, fem reader, bottom reader harhar, obsidian is a weirdo, can be interpreted as slight dubcon, uhhh vampire biting and blood stuff and things, explicit sexual content, wowww obsidian gives you head woo hoo!!!!!!!!!!!!, implied further sexual content i guess???????

A cold sweat drips down your throat when you wake up in the middle of the night, panting heavily with a sharp pulsing pain down the side of your neck. You’re frozen for a moment, staring up at the ceiling until you find it in yourself to raise a trembling hand from the water that has since grown freezing.

You draw your hand away, and there’s blood coated over your palm.

The water is so cold you struggle to remove yourself from the tub. When you fall away, your knees hit the tiles, and bottles and bottles of empty wine are scattered all over the floor. All of them licked clean from the rim to the very tip. Not a drop of red remains in any of them, and there’s a raging headache behind your eyes.

You’re aching everywhere. Your bones and muscles scream as you try to stand. Your knees burn and creak against the tiles. The usual cream colour is painted over in red. You’re not sure if it's wine or something else. The stains have since dried over the floor. 

You’re wearing nothing. Literally nothing, and you don't remember ever getting undressed. Nothing but these fancy heels that you most definitely do not have enough money to afford. They’re a sleek simple black that glosses and glimmers in the light. The bottom of the shoes are blood red. 

You wipe your face of the cold water and stand to your feet, quickly kicking off the shoes. They clatter into the corner. You have no idea what the place is. This isn’t your house, these aren’t your shoes, the panties with the small bow aren’t yours, and your clothes are gone. You manoeuvre around the wine bottles, careful not to step on them and smash the glass to pieces as you reach over and grab a folded towel hanging on a golden rail. 

You wrap it around yourself, desperate for a hint of warmth. 

Then, you catch your reflection in the mirror.

Dizziness strikes you within an instant. 

You’re covered in what you can only describe as puncture wounds. They’re everywhere; they sit over your shoulders, throb at your chest and hips, litter your throat at every inch of skin where the flesh is most supple, down to your legs and ankles. They’re all swollen and dark with bruises, and they burn and sting even more when your head clears. 

Not only are you covered with blood and sticky with the lips of another woman who seems to have mauled you, but there’s writing on the mirror in deep red lipstick. 

‘I wonder whether you feel as strangely drawn to me as I do to you.’ Below the beautiful cursive is a giant heart scrawled in red. 

It’s the same red as the lipstick stains on your skin, and they trail down much lower than where your eyes dare venture.

You blink, dazed, trying to stay upright. 

Your hand instead juts out to examine the faucet. A strange gold that’s cool to the touch. It glimmers so brightly below the dimmed yellow lights you’ve almost convinced yourself it’s real. Marble countertops, clean aside from the wine spills. You spin around and realise what you'd fallen asleep in was more akin to a jacuzzi than a simple bathtub. There’s a separate shower tucked into the corner, and there are handprints on the glass.

You try not to think about it.

Instead, you’re distracted by a noise from outside the door. It makes you jump and pull the towel tighter around you.

Fuck. The noises continue. A drawer opens and you hear objects shift around inside.

Then, humming. A tune of some sort. It sounds like a cheerful upbeat pop song, but you can’t pinpoint exactly which song it is. 

There’s someone out there, and your clothes are nowhere to be found. They don’t seem to be standing right outside the door wielding a knife and readying to drive it through your chest the minute you step through the door. 

You exhale shakily.

Just breathe. 

Slowly, you twist the handle and push open the door. You peek through the gap between the wall. You spy nothing but the side of a wooden dresser and the corner of a large window of sorts. 

You open it further and spot a person. 

It’s a woman with her back facing you, leaning over the vanity mirror in the room. She’s admiring her reflection, and in her hands is a small brush she slides against the top of a smeared lipstick. It’s the same red shade as the writing on the mirror in the bathroom. 

She’s wearing nothing but a black button up shirt and her black underwear with lace at the hem. 

She’s painting her lips and singing something softly. 

She sighs, frustrated. 

Your blood runs cold. You can’t seem to catch her reflection in the mirror. 

The door creaks. 

Her eyes most likely snap to yours in the mirror. 

Her small makeup brush she holds slightly smears across her bottom lip when she stretches her mouth into a grin. “Hi.” 

You don’t dare step closer. You remain fixed at the door, ready to lock yourself in at a moment’s notice. No knife that you can see, but her teeth put you on edge from where you stand. 

Razor sharp. Fangs, like a carnivore’s, the same shape as the puncture wounds all over your body. 

You swallow nervously. 

She then turns in the seat at the vanity. Bright red hair falls past her shoulders like water. It’s tussled at the top with knots as if she’s been rolling across the silk sheets of the bed that sits in the middle of the room. The blankets and quilt are thrown across the mattress carelessly, tangled together. 

She has bruises across her neck. Pink and reds and purples along her pale skin; too pale. She looks almost translucent, glittering beneath the dim lights. 

“You look sore,” she comments, pouting. 

You are. You say nothing. Still, you did not step forward. 

Your chest heaves with fear when she slowly stands from the seat and crosses the room. She sits down slowly on the bed and pats the spot next to her. 

It’s only then you hesitantly step out of the room. You keep the towel tight around your body with one hand as you slowly inch towards her. Your feet are still damp from the water, but the carpet is surprisingly warm. 

You glance around the room. Same golden decor. It’s strange, though. Less modern, more as if an ancient princess obsessed with glimmer and glamour lived here once. The furniture is curved and intricately structured. Frilly and lace pink curtains line the bed frame. 

The woman doesn’t look away. 

Hesitantly, you sit next to her on the bed. 

She says nothing. Her grin softens. 

Your eyes flicker down to her chest. “That’s my shirt.” 

Only the first two buttons are done up, exposing most of her belly down to the low waistband of her panties. “It is.” She admires the ends of the sleeves. “It’s a nice shirt.” 

You’re not sure whether you should thank her. You stare at the wall. There’s a giant wardrobe. Briefly you wonder whether she’s stored your other clothes in there. Pants would be nice. 

“I, uh…” You look to your right. The bathroom door is there, and another adjacent door. It must be the exit, but it’s shut. The lock mechanism is weird. “Is this your house?” 

She giggles. “We’re at a hotel, silly.” She leans against you. The wounds on your arm ache and you almost hiss. “You don’t remember?” 

Right. It made sense, at least. This doesn’t look anything like your house. You only hope she’s paying for the room. You wouldn’t be able to eat for the next month if that isn’t the case. 

You don’t remember. Not much past what stories linger on your skin. You were clearly drunk. You remember leaving your house to attend a party, and that was the extent of where your memories laid. 

“Did we…?” Stupid question. Of course you did. 

She answers anyway. “Mhm.” Her hand cards over the skin above your chest. It’s still damp with water from the tub. She hums pleasantly. “You smell lovely.” 

You don’t feel like you smell lovely. You feel like you’re covered in sweat and cold water and wine and blood. 

She leans closer and you grunt in pain. 

She licks over her teeth. “Are you sore?” 

You lean back until your head hits the pillows in the bed. All feathered with silk cases. They sink with your weight. 

You only hum in response. 

“Y’know what helps with pain?” Her lips find your neck and you tense. Her tongue cards along the wounds and the bruises. She lightly presses her freshly painted lips to your skin, breath and tongue hot. “A nice warm bath.” 

She pulls back to stare at you. 

You almost feel sick. Your head spins and the room tilts on an axis. You’re relieved you’re already laying down. 

“What did you…” Your strength is wilting. “Why am I–” 

“I got a bit carried away,” she explains. She pinches the side of your neck, dangerously close to the deep puncture wounds. You lurch and hold the sores. “You’re delicious.” Her hand ventures daringly over where the towel is tied. “You should’ve stayed locked in the bathroom.” 

What? 

You try to sit up. She holds you down with little strength; you’re too weak to do anything. 

She tugs the towel free and you yelp. 

Her thumb cards over your lips. “It’s fine. You won’t pass out on me. I know your limits now.” Your bottom lip trembles. “I’ve done just enough to keep you placated and docile. All pretty and numb for me to drink from.” 

“You–” You instinctively curl into yourself when her nails rake softly down your torso towards your navel. “What…?” 

“Are you sore down here?”

She grins. 

Her head lowers where her hand is. Her lips whisper soft praises along your stomach and your heart flutters nervously. You find no strength to reach for her. Your arms stay locked and heavy by your head. 

Your eyes sting with exhaustion. 

Something sharp traces over the skin below your navel and you jolt. 

Her tongue drags lower and you try to squeeze your thighs shut. Your legs barely wobble and don’t answer your desperate pleas. 

Instead, they only seem to twitch wider apart when her tongue pools over your clit. It’s soft, barely there with a ghost of her breath, but your muscles lock up as best they can instantly. 

She hums again at your reaction. Her hands come forth to rub soothingly over the wounds along your thighs, encouraging them even further apart. Her nose slides over your clit as her mouth trails down to kiss at the entrance of your twitching hole. 

You shiver. You find no strength to grip the sheets. 

“You’ve been so good. So good at taking me.” She coos, and her thumb stretches your cunt as wide as it will do so. “So swollen.” Her breath washes over the skin, and you notice the heat between your legs, and the throbbing and begging of the flesh to coax her tongue inside. “What would you like?” 

She sucks at your entrance again and you mewl weakly. Fuck. You want her to stay down there and tease your clit. Your legs part wider to accommodate how her lips sink against your skin. Your toes curl weakly. 

She’s gentle. Very gentle. Light touches. You can’t find the strength to cant your hips towards her mouth as she smears lipstick all over your skin. 

“Want my cock again?” 

She’s pointing to the nightstand. You barely have the energy to turn your head, and notice an abandoned thick and dark red cock on the wood. 

Your thighs somehow twitch wider when you see it. 

You throb. “Gods…” 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” She kisses your clit and pulls away from your cunt. You whine tiredly. “Tell you what: I’ll run you a bath, and you lie still and take my cock like a good girl while I tear you to pieces.” 

You don’t even think you can move to the tub. 

“Alright,” you mumble. Sounds great. 

She hums, clearly pleased. “I’ll stretch you out again. I’ll go run your bath. Keep your legs spread just like this for me.” She pats your clit softly with her palm before she lifts herself off the bed. 

You frown slowly. “Can’t you just fuck me now?” 

She giggles. Her thumb ventures downward between your thighs to circle around your clit softly. Fuck, you’re twitching. You’re almost embarrassed when she lowers her thumb and then lifts it to her mouth to taste what drips from you. 

“Hot water is better,” is all she whispers. “You’ll bleed more.”

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Fuhgeddaboudit! Mafia wife wannabe decorated this 1960 (looks nothing like a mid-century modern) home in Brooklyn, New York City, NY. It has 5bds, 4ba, and they're asking $2.399M. It already has a pending sale. Check this out- it's not just the decor, it's the matching architecture, too.

Clearly, the open stairs indicate that at one time this looked like a mid-century modern design, but it was given fancy schmancy railings and a tile floor. (Why would they leave it open like that, they look odd.)

Check out the ceilings and arches.

What a horror.

Note the gold lines in the tile.

So, what do we have here, 2 sitting areas. Note the coffered ceiling strip going around the tray ceiling.

A pony wall separates the dining room from the sitting areas.

Wow, look at the kitchen. I like dark cabinets, they seem timeless, but look at the green island and exhaust hood. It has a pot filler b/c every mafia wife needs one for the pasta. I'm half Italian and my dream kitchen would have a pot filler.

The kitchen has an opening to the seating areas. What is that pipe coming out of the ceiling?

Tile backsplash and copper undermount sink. I love my undermount sink- no farm sink for me.

Tiled guest powder room.

Coming up the stairs.

Large primary bedroom has a wall of closets.

The bathroom has mosaic tiles. Look at all the towels piled up on the bathtub step.

No matter how much they fancy it up, this is still a mid-century build and it doesn't have huge bedrooms, nor does it have big closets, so they have clothing racks for the overflow. Remember, someone is buying this for $2.4M.

This bedroom has an en-suite shower room. Not bad.

Down to the rec room.

No kitchenette, but they have a fridge down here.

I thought that was a bar, but it's just a dining table on the right.

The 5th bd. is down here, too.

I don't see a bathroom down here, but there's a laundry room and storage.

There's a nice yard. The home is just on a standard subdivision lot.

It's about 2 blocks from Jamaica Bay, so you can keep a boat there.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/208-Mayfair-Dr-N-Brooklyn-NY-11234/30788177_zpid/

[octuscle]

Hotel room - Blue

Frederik hated Berlin. Chaotic. Dirty. Politically far left. Sexually promiscuous. And now it was Christopher Street Day. The city overflowed with fags running half-naked and some even completely naked through the city. Frederik couldn't wait until he was back in Munich. He was looking forward to the comfort of first class on the ICE train he was about to board. The platform at Berlin's main train station was crowded. It was Friday evening. Crowds of people were leaving, crowds of people were flooding the city. Thank God his train was leaving in ten minutes.

"Dear passengers, due to a technical defect in two signal boxes, rail traffic at Berlin Central Station is suspended for a short time. Trains in the direction of Hanover will run today only from and to Berlin Spandau. Train services in the direction of Hamburg and Munich will be completely suspended until further notice. We ask for your understanding."

There was a second of shock on the platform. Then crowds of people started moving frantically, storming rental car counters and the cab stand. People made phone calls or frantically tried to book flights on their cell phones. Frederik traveled a lot on business. He stayed in at least three different beds during the week. He knew what this situation meant: Find a hotel bed! Now! Because you won't get out of this juggernaut before morning. He had quickly phoned his regular hotels. No chance. All that was left were the hotel chains where he had gold or platinum status. After fifteen minutes, he had called all the four- and five-star hotels that came into consideration. Finally, he was recommended a hotel where, according to the internal system, there was still a room available. That would have been blocked for him. A three-star hotel near KaDeWe and Kurfürstendamm. Okay, better than nothing. There were no more cabs.

Frederik hated public transportation. His mood was correspondingly bad as he stood in the lobby of the hotel. Everything was decorated in rainbow colors. In front of him, a group of beefcakes in leather gear were just checking in. Behind him stood a skinhead, under whose bomber jacket a latex shirt shiny emphasized his six-pack. Frederik felt uncomfortable. Extremely uncomfortable. And when he was told that the room was wrongly blocked for him, his collar burst. He demanded this room, after all he was a Platinum customer and had a right to a room. The receptionist tried to explain to him that the guest who had been staying in the room had actually moved out. However, it was only because he had obviously ended up in the hospital with a bit much alcohol in his blood. A friend had just picked up the clothes and paid the bill, but housekeeping hadn't had a chance to do the room yet. And there would be no one else in the house at that time of day. However, given his status, they would fix it up first thing in the morning, and he could move into it at 08:00.

From behind the skinhead came forward. He had quite a suit fetish, Frederik was very welcome to spend the night with him. "Listen," Frederik pleaded with the gentleman at the front desk. "I don't care about the condition of the room. I just want my own bed and my own bathroom." After promising not to complain about anything, he got the door card. And Frederik hurried to get out of this den of iniquity.

The bed was not made. There were knotted condoms and tissues on the floor. There were still clothes in the closet that had been overlooked. Shower gel was still in the shower and there was still a razor. It smelled of sweat and sweetish perfume. Frederik didn't care about anything. He looked again after the status of the German Rail. Supposedly, trains should start running again at 07:00 in the morning. He set the alarm clock in his cell phone to 06:00, undressed and hung his clothes neatly in the closet. With a used towel, he wiped the shower, toilet and washstand. And fortunately, there was still a clean towel left for him to use. He lay down on the bed. The pillow smelled of the sweetish perfume. Slowly, he calmed down. And fell asleep.

At 04:00 his cell phone woke him up. He had received a new message. "Sweetie, how are you". And there were at least two dozen more messages and missed calls. What the hell!!! Darn it! Had he been drinking yesterday? Actually, no. But somehow he had a hangover. A glass of water might help. He went into the bathroom and ran the cold water and drank straight from the tap. Yes, that felt good. He washed his face with cold water and looked in the mirror.

FUUUCK! Frederik was 42 years old. He had once been athletic, but lately he had let himself go quite a bit. As a self-employed management consultant, he earned a lot of money and made a point of maintaining a well-groomed, discreet and conservative appearance. But what was that in the mirror!?!?!?!?

Shit, Freddy had really drunk a lot after arriving in Berlin yesterday. For a short time he had gone black before his eyes. But now it worked again. And in the name of Cher, Bette Midler and Zarah Leander: He wasn't here to sleep it off. Freddy put on his one-million-dollar smile and answered the last message with a selfie. And the subtext: "Honey Bear, I had to freshen up for a minute. Where are you?"

He quickly swapped the baggy shorts go his pink glitter hot pants, put on matching sneakers and pink chest harness and left the room. He didn't get far. In the elevator he met a skinhead whose upper body was in a shiny latex shirt. He was no longer completely sober. But he obviously thought Freddy was hot. And somehow the latex made Freddy horny. One blowjob more or less didn't matter anymore. His friends could wait a few more minutes for him.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unsolicited 18

Warnings: bad self-thought/talk, bullying, insults, low self-esteem, money problems, noncon, coercion, cum, some untagged sexual and dark elements.

Wouldn’t mind some feedback! Lloyd was driving me nuts so I had to do it. Thank you in advance 💜

Masterlist

With nothing else left on your list, you take the time to bask in the steam of a well-earned shower. You spent much of the last hour scrubbing the grout in the downstairs bathroom and now your hips ache in the heat of the water. You sigh and let the downpour trickle past your shoulders, lapping over the curves of your body.

Lloyd’s been AWOL much of the day. It isn’t much different from his previous absence but the threat of his appearance is always in the back of your mind. Your thighs tingle as you think of the day before, the smell of window cleaner and the sensation of prickly hair on soft skin.

You groan and crank off the faucet. With any luck, you’ll be able to wind down early and get some decent sleep. The longer you’re there, the less you think of your husband. It’s only what’s ahead that keeps you up. A divorce, of course, and then… when Lloyd’s done with humiliating you…

You wrap yourself in the soft towel, the water dripping off you onto the plush bath mat. You close the shower door and pat yourself dry lazily. You yawn and drag your feet across the tile, pausing at the slightly ajar door… didn’t you shut that?

You enter the bedroom. He was definitely in here. You near the bed, a red velvet dress speckled with tiny gems is spread out beneath a piece of stationary with the initials LH in the frame. “7pm.”

What now?

You check your phone. It’s only six. You have some time. You look over the dress, feeling the fabric with your fingertips as you stand in the towel. You know he’ll be looking for any reason to be disappointed so you better look good.

You get ready with some urgency. Being late would be the first of many gripes you don’t want to hear. You feel entirely unprepared as you try to wake yourself up from the afterglow of the shower. So much for a cozy bedtime.

The dress fits, if a little tight at the hips and a little too showy in the bust. You adjust your bra and check your profile in the mirror. Oh god, does the slit really go that high. You step into the heels and take a few steps to gain your balance. You look okay? Presentable.

You merge at quarter to. You’re on time. Ahead of time. That will make up for everything else. You get to the stairs and hold on tight to the railing as you descend, a step at the time as you fear falling on your face. It isn’t until you reach the bottom that you wonder what all this is for.

Then the anxiety hits. You pace, nearly bending your ankles, heels clicking in an echo around the airy foyer. You chew your thumb but stop yourself as you worry about messing up your lipstick. What if this is all just another ploy to embarrass you? What are you wearing? You look ridiculous…

“Ah, you got my message,” Lloyd enters behind you.

You turn and nearly double take. He’s in a sleek suit, a dark blue jacket with precisely tailored pants, a black shirt with a hint of matching navy under the collar. He has the usual gold ring on his pinky and a chain around his neck. Usually well-kempt, he looks immaculate as his silhouette takes the cut well.

“Uh, yeah,” you say awkwardly, folding your hands before you, “are we going somewhere?”

He scoffs and doesn’t answer you as he goes to the closet and pulls out his jacket. He shrugs it on and searches out an embroidered scarf. He wraps it once around his neck and reaches in again, pulling out an ivory curt trimmed in matching faux fur. He opens it to you as he turns on his heel.

You cross to him and poke your arms into the sleeve with a thank you. He is oddly laidback. There’s some trick. You know it. You face him as he buttons his coat and tucks in the scarf.

“Dinner,” he says curtly.

“Alright,” you agree, knowing you have any other choice.

“My treat,” he pokes your cheek playfully, “I don’t hear a thank you daddy.”

You curve your lips in an effort to hide your irritation, “thank you, daddy.”

“Mm,” he drags his finger down and keeps you from closing the coat as he takes in your figure, “if you’re wearing panties, take them off now.”

You flinch and follow his eyeline. You look down at yourself and sigh. You pull up your dress and hook your thumbs in your panties, pulling them down and stepping out of them. He snatches them and stretches them, letting them go so they fly across the room.

“You can take the bra off too,” he brings his hands up to frame your chest, “let’s not be late. I made a reservation.”

You huff and take off the coat. You hand it over and reach back to unhook your bra. You slip it off beneath the top of the dress and pull it from beneath the velvet. That you throw yourself before grabbing back the coat.

“Ready,” you declare breathily.

“You look good enough to eat,” he winks and passes you, opening the door as he waits for you to follow. His gallantry further dismantles you as you step outside. His hand swings down and he spanks you, groping you through the coat, “mmm, I don’t know if I’ll make it to dessert.”

He shuts the door and gestures you onward. You march down the walk and to the long driveway. He unlocks the flashy new red corvette as you round the hood. You get in on the passenger's side as he drops behind the wheel. He takes his time adjusting the mirrors and seat.

“You like the new wheels?” He asks.

“Um, sure, I don’t know much about cars.”

“Sits low,” he wiggles in his seat, pushing his legs wide as he turns the keys, “comfy, huh?”

“Yeah,” you lean back into the leather. It’s not as stiff as your old beater, or as cramped.

He flips the engine and rests his arm across the space between your seats as he backs out. You watch his estate as he rolls away and your eyes trail over the barren hedges. He stops at the end of his property line, peer back and forth along the street. He turns out and lets his hand fall down onto your thigh.

He steers with his other hand casually as his fingers walk along the velvet, gathering it until he touches bare skin. He pinches you and spreads his hand over your thighs, prodding between them.

“Spread em, baby cakes,” he shoves his hand down until you part your knees, “I need a little something to wet the appetite.”

Your eyes meet his in the rearview as he gives you a leer. His fingers delve between your folds and he tuts as he feels along you dry lips. 

“Come on and get wet for daddy,” he twirls his fingers around your clit as you inhale sharply and squirm, “that’s it, baby.”

He rubs you harder, his other hand gripping the wheel until the leather squeaks. Your thighs quiver and you grasp the door as your nerves ping together. He slides his fingers down again, through the slicks sheen that’s risen. He drags his fingertips back up and flicks your clit so you spasm.

He clucks and draws his hand away. You watch him press his fingers to his mustache and spread the glisten across the short hair. It’s as revolting as it is disarming. You sit stunned, with your legs wide.

“Baby, you’re gonna wanna cover yourself up,” he stops at a sign, “anyone could see in here.”

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Dammee and shower sex ???

Nervous? Fraidy cat? Shy?

You could be one or a combination of the three.

He wants you. He told you this many times. Too many to keep count. And you want him too. You both just had an intense make-out session on his couch and the way he pulled you over his lap…the way his hands snaked up your waist…how he would shift his hips beneath you to hide his erection…how he took his time to kiss you…

“I need a shower.”

You blurted that out and climbed off of him. His fingertips tried to secure your waist but you where already walking up the stairs to his condo, finding his bathroom with ease. You cracked the door and stood at his luxe sink. Your eyes scanned the bathroom. Black marble: it’s beautiful, it’s elegant, it’s visually arresting. If you’re looking to add a little luxury, and a little drama, to your new bathroom, then black marble is the right choice. You look at your reflection and began to undress.

All you need is a nice hot shower —not too hot —and you’ll be ready for whatever happens next. He has a corner steam shower which is impressive, something you’d never seen before. Naked, braids in a bun, you climb in and close the glass door behind you. He has wall mounted body washes so you chose a coconut and vanilla scented one. You grab a folded African exfoliating sponge and lather it up. As you scrub your body, you can’t explain why the nervous feeling in your stomach wouldn’t go away.

After rinsing your body, you hear the glass shower door slide open and when you look over your shoulder, Damion is standing there, a black cotton towel wrapped loosely around his tapered waistline. You can’t hide, you’re exposed for him to see. Damion drinks you in slowly. You wait for him to speak, heart hammering in your chest. This wasn’t what you were expecting. But you can’t deny that it’s what you want. If it had to be in the shower, so be it.

Damion removed his towel with one hand and your eyes fell like a moth to a flame directly on his dick. You couldn’t tell because of how thick and fluffy the towel was, but he is hard and leaking pre-cum. And you thought the veins in his arms were intimidating. It’s nothing compared to the veins engorged beneath the sepia flesh of his thick shaft. This man is big everywhere. The V-cut to thigh ratio had you bracing yourself against the shower wall. His skin was flawless; unblemished. The gold chain around his neck with a circular pendant sat between his pecs.

“Hi.” He said, stepping into the shower and sliding the door gently shut behind him.

“Hi.” You respond.

He crowds you, your back hitting the shower wall. You’re looking up at him through your lashes, and he’s looking down at you with no intention of letting you out of his sight.

“I figured I could use a shower too. You don’t mind, do you?”

His deep voice sent shivers up your spine despite the heat of the filtered water.

“N–no.”

Your eyes drop to his chest. Beads of water covered his skin like splattered paint on a canvas. It was beautiful.

“Love,” Damion tilted your chin, “I’m tired of waiting.”

Your eyelids flutter and your lips part.

“…Can I have you?”

He planted his hands on the wall on either side of your head. Dipping his head lower, he started kissing your neck. Your head falls to the side to give him better access.

“Is that a yes?”

You nod your head.

“Words, baby girl.”

“Yes.”

Damion crashed his lips onto yours and as you kissed his hands explores. He’s squeezing your breasts, cuffing your ass, and fingering your pussy. Impatient, Damion brings one of your legs up, gets down on his knees, and starts eating your pussy. You brace yourself on a railing in the shower, afraid you’d fall from this awkward position. Damion had you and you were able to enjoy the pleasure he was giving you. Water fell over his body and it didn’t stop him from devouring you. He forced your thigh back and it smacked into the shower wall.

“Dame!” You moaned his name.

Your braids had fallen out of its bun at this point. You were about to climax in his mouth. With one final cry, you release into his mouth and he hums with approval.

“Good girl that’s what I like,” Damion is back on his feet now, “You know what else I like?”

“What’s that?”

You’re trying to catch your breath and him sucking on your nipples back and forth wasn’t helping. He finally stopped to look at you. You break eye contact to stare at his dick that keeps poking you in the thigh from it bouncing.

“I can’t help it,” Damion smiles at you.

You wrap your hands around his girth and Damion groans. He groaned like he’d waited his entire life for you to do that. Without a word, you’re on your knees, kissing his tip while stroking his shaft. It’s not like you hadn’t sucked dick before, you just hadn’t done it in a long time.

“Show me how you suck dick, baby,” Damion commanded.

One hand stroking, the other full of nuts, you suck him off and make sure it’s sloppy. Damion’s hands are on the wall and he’s looking down at you. He’s coaching you, talking nasty about how pretty you look with a big dick in your mouth. He says he likes the sounds your throat makes when you try to fit it all in. He says your hand is soft cradling his balls. He couldn’t wait to cum in your mouth.

“Fuuuck, baby,” Damion has one hand in your braids, gripping it tightly in his fist, “Damn.”

First time in a while tasting cum and it was great.

“C’mere,” Damion brings you to your feet and tongues you down, “Now, I’m taking that pussy. I’ve been waiting for this shit.”

He picks you up and while staring you in the eyes he finds your opening and glides himself in with his hips. You open up for him, sure, but it wasn’t easy. Damion can feel your legs tightening so he hooked his arms under your knees firmly and locked you in place. There is a ledge on the shower wall that Damion placed you on and before your ass could touch the ledge he was pumping his hips to feed your pussy hard dick.

“Unh! Dame! Wait! Wait,” you push at his chest, “Oh my god—”

You can’t believe how wet you are. You can’t believe how BIG he is.

“Keep that pussy open,” Damion said.

He had enough of you moving. He picks you up and worked his dick in and out of you with nowhere to run. The collision of your skin-to-skin contact bounced off of the walls. Damion fucked you like he’d been waiting his entire life for this moment. Like he lost sleep over the thought of fucking you. All of his wants and needs were being fed. And he was a glutton.

[kelyon]

Courtship 21/21: Happily Ever After

Mr. and Mrs Gold do what they'll do for the next 28 years

Read on AO3

On the first morning of the rest of her life, Mrs. Gold woke up in chains. The leather cuffs Mr. Gold had given her on their wedding night pressed against her wrists like his own strong hands. Eyes closed, she listened to the scrape of the metal chain against the iron rails of the bed in the cabin. There was enough slack that she could bring her hands to her chest and hug herself under the blankets.

She ached more than should have been possible. Not just in the various places where Mr. Gold had fucked her, but everywhere. Bobby pins scraped against her scalp. There were blisters on her heels from all her dancing. Muscles burned in her arms and legs. Her tight wedding dress scratched and dug into her skin. Her ribs ached from her corset and her head was pounding. Was this a hangover? Or was it some other result of the best night of her life?

Either way, the pain was worth it. Some of it was a pleasure all by itself, but even the sensations she didn’t like were a fair trade for what she got in return. She was Mrs. Gold! That was worth a little exhaustion, a little feeling like she’d been run over by truck. In this new life, bites and bruises were marks of affection and honor. It followed that sore feet and aching bones were just a sign of a good time. 

She rolled from her stomach to her back, twisting the chain. Where was Mr. Gold? He wasn’t in the bed. A folding screen separated where she was from the rest of the cabin. She couldn’t see him and she couldn’t exactly get up and look for him. 

As if in answer, the smell of coffee wafted over to her. Then cooking oil, and a propane stove. If she concentrated, she could hear the faint sloshing of a liquid being whisked, the subdued clatter of a silverware drawer, the steadily uneven gait of Mr. Gold walking on his cane.  

She sighed in relieved satisfaction. 

“Mr. Go-old?” She stretched out his name until it was half a whine and half a song. 

After a moment, his footsteps crossed the length of the one-room cabin. He stood at the foot of the bed, fully suited, wiping his hands with a towel. 

“Are you awake already, pretty thing? I thought I would have exercised you better than that last night.”

“Oh you did, Mr. Gold!” Smiling, Mrs. Gold tossed her head back on the pillow. She wiggled out from under the blankets to show off her body. “I just can’t sleep because of how much I want more.”

He shook his head. “Wanton creature,” he tutted. “You’re a slave to your appetites as much as you are to me.”

Stepping closer to the bed, he ran the back of his hand against her leg, calf to thigh. Her stockings had stayed in place all night, held up by her garters. Mr. Gold stroked her up and down, always stopping before he reached the hem of her skirt. She tried to spread her legs wider. She hitched up her hips in invitation. He was so close to her, so close to giving them both what they wanted.

“I’ll give you a choice.” His voice was so low she almost didn’t hear it. “If you want me to touch you right now, if you want me to make you come, then you’ll have to stay in this bed until I’ve satisfied both of us--which I’m sure you know won’t be for several hours.”

A shudder went through the whole of her body. 

“Or,” Mr. Gold went on, “you can let yourself out of these cuffs. It should be easy enough, even while you’re wearing them. Then I’ll allow you to eat breakfast and clean yourself up a little before I ruin you again.”

Mrs. Gold whined, then recovered herself enough to speak. “Do you promise?”

“Promise what?”

“Promise you’ll ruin me? Even if I don’t stay chained up?”

Looking down at her, Mr. Gold grinned. He bent down and kissed her, slow and soft.

“Your chains are in your mind, my dear. Even if I never restrained you again, you would always bind yourself to my pleasure.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, exactly. I’m always yours, Mr. Gold. No matter what.”

Still smiling fondly, Mr. Gold rubbed his hand over her curves. “So you do want to be let out?”

“I want to be with you. If you’re having breakfast in the kitchen, that’s where I want to be.”

“Mm-hmm.” He kept touching her. “And do you want to be naked, or do you want to keep wearing your pretty dress?”

Mrs. Gold bit her lip. “I, um… I’m not sure. This dress has gotten dirty, and it’s not very comfortable. But--but I don’t want to freeze either.”

He grazed his fingers over her neckline, where he had come on her last night. Most of it had landed on her skin, but a few drops had stained the beads and sequins. Mr. Gold found the white-on-white spots and outlined them with his fingertips. Then he flipped her over to see what he had left on her back. There was more here, from after he had fucked her in the ass.

“So dirty,” he chuckled. He clapped his hand against her ass--not quite a spanking, but a confident grasp of ownership. “Keep it on for now, you filthy girl. I’ll give you something to change into after you’re clean.”   

He turned away, and left Mrs. Gold to unchain herself. The leather cuffs were fastened with a buckle, like a belt. There were no locks or anything to keep them on. When she was out, she left the cuffs on the chain tied to the bed. They hung from their golden o-rings like charms on a bracelet. It all took less than a minute.  She could have gotten out whenever she wanted. 

But she didn’t want to until Mr. Gold said it was allowed.  

In the privacy behind the bedroom screen, Mrs. Gold stretched herself awake. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and tried to comb her fingers through her hair. She had packed a brush when she’d prepared for this honeymoon. Where was that little bag? Where was her toothbrush? As much as Mr. Gold liked deriding her for being dirty, he would still want her to start the day looking presentable and smelling nice. She had to be some level of pristine if he was going to ruin her. 

“Is there plumbing out here?” 

Mr. Gold seemed too sophisticated to go anywhere that didn’t have running water, but it was possible that flushing toilets were less important to a man than they were to a woman. 

“Around the back,” he answered from the kitchen. “Don’t shower yet, but be sure to wash your hands.”

The bathroom was tiny, just a shower stall, toilet, and sink. Her things were laid out around the sink like they had always been there. Her toothbrush was in a holder next to Mr. Gold’s. It all looked right. She really did belong here, with him. 

Mrs. Gold got as ready as she could, then went back into the kitchen. Mr. Gold was toasting a slice of dry bread on the stove. A small table was home to one chair, one table setting, and one mug of black coffee. Obviously, that was where Mr. Gold would sit. 

What was she supposed to do? He had talked about breakfast like they would both be eating. Had she misunderstood? The mistake people made with Mr. Gold was believing what they thought he meant instead of what he actually said. Her husband was a man for technicalities and trifles, for abiding by every letter of the law while completely disregarding the spirit. 

She stood awkwardly at the edge of the kitchen space, waiting for him to notice her. When he finally did, his eyes glinted. He came over to her, wrapped one arm around her waist, and gave her a kiss to take her breath away.

“Good morning, Mrs. Gold,” he purred. “Get on your knees.” 

Relief flooded her as she slipped from his arm down to the floor. There was nothing awkward about kneeling, about knowing that she had to kneel. This was her place, this was what he wanted. She never had to question it.

“Thank you, Mr. Gold,” she said softly.

He made a pleased sound then went back to the stove.

“Crawl to the table,” he called without turning around. “I want you to kneel at my feet.”

“Yes, Mr. Gold.”

There was a hole in one of her white stockings. Sometime last night, her knee had scraped against the rough wooden floor. She would have to get better at crawling, if Mr. Gold really liked it that much.

She knelt by his chair, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She looked up at her husband as he worked. He cooked the toast until it was black, then slid it onto a plate next to something white and green. He put his plate on the table, then went back to get a small bowl, which he placed on the ground in front of her. Inside the bowl were yellow eggs, wrapped around a dark green mush.

“I used to have to throw away the yolks,” he said as he sat down. He nodded at her bowl. “But now I have a less wasteful way to dispose of them. Eat up.”

As he cut into his egg white omelet, Mrs. Gold stared at him. Was she not going to get silverware? Had he meant to give her some and forgotten? Was she supposed to fetch it herself?

“Um?”

Mr. Gold looked at her quizzically, apparently confused by her confusion. 

“You may pick up the food with your hands or eat from the bowl like a dog,” he explained patiently. “Be grateful I’m giving you a choice today, Mrs. Gold.”

Oh.

Her face burned, more from embarrassment than shock. What an idiot she was to need him to explain that to her. Of course he hadn’t forgotten to give her silverware. Mr. Gold wouldn’t forget anything. He didn’t give her silverware because she didn’t deserve to use it. Just like she didn’t deserve to eat at the table with him. Groveling at his feet was the most she would ever be good for. 

Mr. Gold knew how worthless she was. She didn’t have to pretend to be anything more than his thing. That must have been why it was so easy to lower her gaze and put her hands on the floor. Bending forward, she kissed his shoes.

“Thank you, Mr. Gold,” she said softly. 

Then she ate her egg yolks and spinach out of the bowl. Just like the animal Mr. Gold knew she was.

****

After breakfast, Mr. Gold permitted her to stand up and take a shower. When she got back, he had laid out a line of lingerie sets on the bed. They were all different styles and colors and materials--leather and silk and velvet, black and pink and red. One even seemed to be made entirely of rhinestones. 

“Never saw these at Sugar’n’Spice,” Mrs. Gold said as she looked at them. 

“It’s remarkable what you can get from the right catalogs. Speaking of which…”

Mr. Gold began to take out other items from a burgundy suitcase on the ground. The more he brought out, the wider Mrs. Gold’s eyes got.

Some of these toys and tools, she knew what they were called and what they were used for. Some of them she had to guess. Very, very few had she ever seen before, though she had read about them. Lacey French’s romance thrillers teased at things like floggings and gags, and no good slave story was complete without a collar. Of course, the virginal heroines of those stories had quivered with fear at such implements, not in desire. 

Lacey French had spent her nights devouring fantasies of gear like what Mr. Gold was setting out before her. In real life, she had never so much as seen a dildo before, let alone used one. Not to mention the variety in sizes and colors and shapes. They took up the whole bed! Butt plugs and paddles and all kinds of restraints. Tools of pleasure, tools of pain, Mr. Gold handled them all like an expert. 

“Fuck,” she whispered.

He grinned. “Yes, that is the idea, Mrs. Gold.”

“Wh--” she sputtered. “What do you want me to do?”

“Well you need to dress first, of course.” He set the top of his cane against a lingerie set. It was gauzy, forest green, the same color as his tie. “And make sure you wear these.” He picked up a pair of nipple clamps--gold, of course, with round weights dangling from the ends. “I’ll let you pick out which dildo you want to start with.”

“Start with?”

He gave her a warm look of amusement. “Take your time,” he said. “Make yourself pretty, make yourself ready. Then come join me in the living room.”

“Okay,” her voice shook, then she pulled herself together. “I mean, yes, Mr. Gold.” 

****

Making herself pretty calmed her and excited her all at once. She went through the familiar routine of putting on makeup--dark and heavy eyes, with slut-red lips. Then she took the most expensive perfume sold at Dark Star Pharmacy and spritzed herself--on her neck, on her wrists, in her hair, and a little bit over her well-shaved mound. Mr. Gold would probably like that, and if he didn’t he would let her know. He would tell her everything he liked, everything she had to be, for the rest of her life.

She left her hair down, and put in a little mousse to make her curls more soft and manageable. Mr. Gold never seemed to like her hair, but he never seemed to dislike it that much either. At least this style would make it easier for her to deal with after he was done doing… whatever he wanted to do to her. 

Fuck, what was he going to do to her?

The lingerie was so flimsy it might as well have been a mist that wafted over her skin. The bra had puffy tulle sleeves and an underwire with a little peplum skirt around it--and nothing else. Apparently this was one of those shelf bras. It left her boobs completely bare. Her unprotected nipples stood out in the cold. No wonder Mr. Gold had chosen this outfit to show off some clamps. 

The clamps reminded her of tweezers, with black rubber grips on the ends. Her nipples were already hard and pointed, all she had to do was open the clamps a little and then let them close around her. They started working her up as soon as she put them on. As she stood in the bathroom, her whole body seemed to lunge forward, leaning into the pull on what had now become the center of her universe.

 Bracing herself against the sink, Mrs. Gold took a deep breath. Then another one. Fuck. The pressure from the clamps was the perfect blend of pain and pleasure. It was impossible to know what she was feeling, only that she was feeling.

God, she was feeling everything.

When she was able, she looked herself in the mirror. It took a little tweaking to make sure the clamps were on straight. Touching them even that much was enough to drive her to the edge. The weights swung on her breasts, and every movement rippled out into the rest of her body in an endless echo of pleasure. Fuck, if it weren’t for Mr. Gold’s rule about coming without permission…

The panties he wanted her to wear were crotchless, with a little skirt just like the bra. The skirt was only around the back, and only long enough to drape over her ass. The whole outfit was loose and flouncy, almost innocent. It was like a porn parody of something a princess would wear in a fairy tale. An enchanted ball gown with nothing to cover up how wet she was, what a shameless whore she was.

Before she went out to meet Mr. Gold, she had to pick out a dildo. Some items in the collection were too big to think about, even for her. Longer than her forearm, wider than she could get a hand around, weirdly bumpy and ridged--it was a lot to imagine going inside her body, at least not without Mr. Gold guiding her through every inch. For her first time with a sex toy, she wanted to start small. 

She stayed away from the dildos that were anatomically accurate. Choosing a toy that looked like another man’s cock felt disloyal to Mr. Gold. If he told her to use any of these, of course she would obey. But he had allowed her a choice today. She wanted to make the right one.  

In the end, she picked up a small length of glass that tapered to a rounded point. It was about the size of her hand, with a globe of pure blue on the holding end. Swirls of cobalt decorated the solid interior. The dildo was heavy in her hand, sturdy, but still small enough that it would be comfortable wherever Mr. Gold told her to put it.

When she came out from behind the screen, Mr. Gold was sitting in an easy chair by the iron stove. He was looking over a collection of loose papers, marking different places with a pen. He had the same look of concentration and triumph on his face that other people would give to a challenging crossword puzzle.

This time, Mrs. Gold didn’t stand around awkwardly. Mr. Gold’s desires were clear, even if he hadn’t given a specific order. She knew what she was, what was expected of her. Boldly, confidently, Mrs. Gold strutted across the living room to kneel at her husband’s feet and kiss his shoes. 

Mr. Gold gave her a quiet chuckle. “You’re a fast learner, I’ll grant you that. Stand up and let me look at you.”

She was on her feet in an instant. Her breasts bounced with the sudden motion and Mrs. Gold had to stifle a gasp.

She didn’t stifle it well enough. Mr. Gold saw her face and grinned. 

“Do you like my presents, Mrs. Gold?”

“Yes, Mr. Gold,” she said promptly. “Very much.”

“Now you’re going to show me just how much.” 

He looked her body up and down. His slight nod was enough to make her tear up. She dug her nails into her palms. She couldn’t start crying yet. Later. Later, he would want her to cry. Later she could get all the release she needed. 

“Which dildo did you pick out?”

She held out the blue glass in two hands. Mr. Gold picked it up. “An attractive option. But such a modest size. I would have thought an insatiable slut like you would go straight for the horse cock.”

Mrs. Gold blinked. “Which one was that?”

“You’ll find out,” he smirked. “Lie down on the ground for now. On your back, feet facing me.”

She obeyed. There was a rug on this section of the cabin, a rough, braided oval between the couch and Mr. Gold’s chair. It was rustic and homey in a way that didn’t quite fit Mr. Gold. His mansion in Old Town had soft, expensive Oriental rugs. The skin on Mrs. Gold’s back started to prickle as she lay there. At least it was better than the bare floor. 

“Knees up,” Mr. Gold ordered. “As far apart as you can stand. I want to have a good view of my property.”

“It’s yours,” Mrs. Gold whispered as her dripping cunt stared him in the face. So this was why he had given her crotchless panties. God, he thought of everything! “I’m yours.”

“Yes you are,” he murmured. “That’s why you’re going to obey me, aren’t you, my little wife?”

“Of course,” she whispered. “About everything.”

Leaning down, he placed the dildo on her stomach. 

“For this game, you’re going to tease yourself,” he told her. “You’re going to fuck yourself. You will work yourself up, you will drive yourself mad.” Every sentence, his voice got lower. “And you will not come.” 

Just hearing him say it sent a jolt through her. Clenching her fists against the rug, Mrs. Gold fought off the sensation.

“Oh shit,” she breathed. “This is gonna be hard.”

“That is the idea,” her husband grinned. “And depending on how well you perform for me, you may be rewarded, or you may be… Well, ‘punished’ isn’t really the right word considering the sorts of things you take pleasure in, my deviant. But rest assured, it won’t be something you enjoy. Do you understand?”

Biting her lip, Mrs. Gold nodded. “Yes, Mr. Gold.”

“You will go on for as long as I want you to,” he said. He leaned back in his chair and picked up his papers again. “So I advise you to pace yourself.”

****

She tried to start small, tried not to do anything that would make her lose the game immediately. If she came, she lost. If she came, Mr. Gold would be disappointed in her. He had threatened to punish her, but that barely mattered. Disappointing him was bad enough. Being anything less than what he wanted was unconscionable. Mrs. Gold would never be less than what her husband deserved. 

But it was hard. Just getting ready--just wearing this getup and being told what was expected of her--had wound her up like a spring. It would have been easier if Mr. Gold wanted to force her to orgasm. He could have ordered her to come a hundred times in a row and she would have done it. That would have been a picnic compared to holding herself back.

She ran her hands over her thighs, scraping her skin with her fingernails. The light pain gave her something to focus on, a different type of arousal than the molten need between her legs. She tried to breathe, breathe deep, but her exhale just came out as a shudder. 

“Don’t forget to use the dildo,” Mr. Gold reminded her. 

He was still looking at his papers, or at least pretending to. How much was he actually ignoring her? How long would he be able to ignore her? If she put on a good enough show, surely those papers would lose their appeal.

With one hand, she picked up the dildo, then she opened her folds with the other. Her cunt was hot and sensitive--sopping wet even on the outer edges. She ran the dildo over the slick flesh, and winced. The glass was cool, cold against her heat. The feeling made her hiss and clench and she had to fight against every force inside her that wanted her to come.

Gasping, Mrs. Gold fought her own body. She denied herself pleasure because it pleased Mr. Gold. She was a worthless, lust-crazed animal, but she was his animal. He was training her to be what he wanted, because she belonged to him. If there was anything of value in a trashy slut like her, it was when she did what Mr. Gold said.

She would obey him. She would be good enough for him.

Whining and moaning, she eased the dildo into her cunt. She had to go slowly. Her pleasure was a brimming bucket and she had to carry it without spilling a single drop.

Once the thing was lodged fully inside her, it was actually a relief. The dildo gave her something to clench against when the waves of pleasure overtook her. Like the pain, it was something to focus on. When she took her hands away, part of her had to concentrate on holding onto the toy, keeping it in place. There was a strange peace in that.

She breathed.

“You don’t think you’re done, do you?” Mr. Gold’s voice cut through her stillness.

“No, Mr. Gold,” she answered. “What should I do next?”

“What do you think? Fuck yourself. Use the toy like it’s my cock, dearie.”

She jolted at his words, at his tone, at the contempt he had for her. He was right, of course. He had told her to torment herself. There wasn’t supposed to be peace in that.

“This isn’t big enough to be your cock, Mr. Gold.”

He scoffed. “No, of course not. That’s why that cock can’t make you come, no matter how hard it tries. But I promise you, Mrs. Gold, once you get the real thing in you, you’ll be able to come until you forget your name.”

She moaned. Holding the dildo by the ball on the end, she rocked her hips against it. She had to try to make herself come, but she had to fail. Just like every other man in the world would fail to please her. Only Mr. Gold could make her come. Only his cock could drive her wild. His cock and his hands and his mouth and--

“No!” She squealed as her body seized. Her pleasure spilled out and swept her away.  She tried to stop it, tried to pull herself back. She yanked out the dildo, rolled onto her side--but it wouldn’t stop. It was too late. Crying and whining, she humped the floor, empty and aching but undeniably orgasming. 

She came for an eternity. Mr. Gold didn’t try to stop her. What would be the point? She had already failed. She had already shown him that she valued her own whorish needs over his orders. 

She wept, as she came again and again. It wasn’t fair! She had tried! She wanted to obey him. She wanted to be good enough for him. As the tears overtook the ruined pleasure, she turned away from her husband. Mr. Gold didn’t need to see her like this. She didn’t deserve to have him look at her. 

Fuck. She’d fucked up everything.

When her sobs became sniffles, Mr. Gold’s voice broke through the fog. “Are you quite finished?”

She was sitting on the floor, her arms around her knees. She forced herself to look up at him. “I’m sorry, Mr. Gold.”

He sat back in his chair. His papers were gone. He looked down on her in cold judgment. “Tell me what you’re sorry for.”

Carefully, she got down onto her knees. At least she could do that right. “I’m sorry for coming.” Her voice trembled. “I’m sorry for disobeying your order. I’m sorry for giving in to my body’s instincts. I’m--I’m sorry for ruining the game.”

Mr. Gold cut her off with a shake of his head. “Losing a game isn’t the same as spoiling one, my dear. That’s not something you need to apologize for.”

Mrs. Gold sniffed. “Really?”

He nodded. “Now, don’t misunderstand. You did lose, you did disobey my order. I will punish you for it. And begging for forgiveness was correct. But that’s all in good fun, isn’t it?” Leaning down out of his chair, he held her chin in his hand. He looked her in the eye. “You haven’t done anything that makes me want to stop playing with you.”

She started to shake. “Are you sure, Mr. Gold?”

Grinning, he shook his head. “What a stupid girl you are. You’ll learn to take me at my word, Mrs. Gold. For now, kiss my shoes.”

She fell to the ground in her eagerness to obey. If he was letting her show him affection, then things really were okay. He forgave her. Or maybe there was nothing to forgive. Either way, he still wanted her. She belonged to him. She would always belong to him!

The lesson was firmly set in her mind by the time Mr. Gold told her she could stop. He went back to the bed and she followed him on her hands and knees.

“All these toys,” he told her, “they are your responsibility now. You’ll have to clean them, and care for them, and put them away when we’re done. I want you to make yourself familiar with them, especially the dildos and the paddles. You need to know what you’re getting into when I tell you which one I want to use on you. Do you understand, sweet whore?”

On her knees, she nodded. “Yes, Mr. Gold.”

“Good,” he said. “Right now, I want you to put everything away, back in the suitcase. When you’re done. I want you to make yourself entirely naked, and then lock yourself back into the cuffs. You’ll wait, until I decide I want to fuck you.”

Her toes curled against the wooden floor. “Yes, Mr. Gold.”

“If you had managed to win our little game today, you would have been permitted to come as many times as you wanted, once my cock was inside you. As it is, it seems you need another ‘hands-on’ lesson in self-control.”

Mrs. Gold let out an involuntary whine.

Mr. Gold grinned. “Either way,” he said, “the fun has just begun.” 

[denjjisgf]

thinking about... meeting eren at a halloween party. 

cw: alcohol consumption, suggestive content

[note: it’s nice to be back; currently contemplating a part 2..]

“yeah. i’m coming! listen- i’m locking the door right now,” you lower the phone speaker to the door handle, so your friend on the phone can listen to the jangle of keys against the lock. you tuck your phone in the space between your ear and shoulder to re-situate yourself. you fumble with your backpack, deciding to sling it over one arm and speed walk out the door. 

“are you in your costume yet?” they ask. 

you check yourself out in the window reflection, “of course i am! i got ready in the bathroom during work.” this halloween, you were a fairy, adorn in a tight black dress with a small pink butterfly printed on the swell of your breasts and pink matching wings to pair. your friends gave you the idea to lace satin pink ribbon up your legs, tied at the top of your thighs with a bow. a nice touch, you think. 

“see you soon. don’t forget to send me the address!” you tell your friend and end the call. you chirp your car alarm to unlock it and slide in the front seat. your phone vibrates from the incoming text and you respond with a “cool, i’m on my way.” 

you pull into the open spot alongside the house’s curb. faux spiderwebs are strewed across the grass and plastic cups litter the porch railing. opening the door, you kick your sneakers off onto the pavement and slip into your black pumps and adjust the bows one last time. 

once inside, you’re hit with the overpowering smell of cheap brown liquor and the heady scent of sex and bad decisions. the bass reverberates against the worn hardwood and you can feel it in the walls as you weave through clusters of people in the hallway. your vision fades through shades of red and blue when you round a corner and collide with your group of friends, all of them dancing and bubbly from the alcohol. 

“oh my god! i’m so glad you made it,” one of them shouts over the music. you smile and shout back, “i’m so glad i made it too! where’s the booze?” 

they all laugh and your best friend pulls your ear to their mouth. 

“in the kitchen! the host is in there playing bartender!” 

you throw up a thumbs up and a cheeky smile before you make your way through the swarm of grinding bodies and into the kitchen. you push open the swing door, greeted by yelling and the shattering of a bottle. 

“eren! be careful!” 

“you’re such an idiot! that my pink whitney, you bitch!” 

“oh suck a fuck, jean.” 

“suck a fuck? why don’t you just-”

“both of you need to grow up! chill out, seriously.”

you stifle a laugh behind a closed fist, shift your weight onto one side, and take a closer look at the comedic intimate scene you walked into. what an interesting group of costumes, you thought. 

standing around the island centered in the kitchen is what you can only assume as a close group of friends. a bright-eyed blond boy was dressed in a rapunzel wig and a puffy princess dress. next to him was a tall, ash brunette dressed to match in a white dress shirt, unbuttoned twice and cuffed at the elbow. he was wearing a green, corduroy vest and khaki skinny jeans. 

closest to you were two girls, one with an elbow resting on the counter watching the bickering disney couple with amusement, the other soaking up sticky pink liquor with paper towels. in the middle of it all is a sly smiling cruise director, dressed in a cheesy white suit and a captain's hat, with “captain” printed in gold embroidery on the top. he has loose chocolate brown hair that caresses the tops of his shoulders and beautiful green eyes. 

“what can i getcha little lady?” he says, his voice warm and baritone. he meets your gaze and your heart skips a beat when you smirk and he responds with a stellar smile that would make anyone melt. 

“what’re you serving, captain? i heard about the tragedy,” you feigned sympathy with a frown at the flynn rider look-a-like. “no more pink whitney tonight.” 

the group laughs and they introduce themselves. you learn that armin, or rapunzel, is the unlucky victim of the night after being tricked into thinking it was a princess-themed party and untimely couples costuming with flynn rider jean. the two girls, mikasa and her girlfriend came matching in skeleton t-shirts and skull face paint. 

and lastly, there’s the handsome host and resident bartender, eren jaeger. 

everyone eventually splits up to do their own thing, leaving you and eren to make small talk in the kitchen. he oozes charisma when he talks, letting out breathy laughs as he mixes a concoction of kool-aid and mystery bottle number four. with playful mischief emanating in his aura and a suggestive glint in his eyes, you take the solo cup and down the contents. 

the night spins by to the rhythm of the party in the other room, yet you found yourself settled comfortably on a bar stool in the kitchen, talking to the stars and eren about anything and everything. after a few drinks and teasing touches, the friendly banter between the two of you turned sexual, the tension thick in the air. 

flirty quips flip to dirty talk and suddenly your hands are knocking eren’s stupid hat onto the floor and your fingers twist into his hair to deepen a kiss. you nip at his lips, twisting your tongues together in a mess of alcohol-tainted saliva and light pants. he tugs at your body, his hands roaming over your exposed skin and memorizing every second.  

you get up from the stool and let your hand fall from his neck to rest flat on his chest. he knocks his nose against yours and ghosts his lips alongside your cheek. he puffs warm air onto your skin, making you shiver. 

“where are you going?” he pouts, heavy lids with thick lashes dazing at you longingly. his fingers thrum at your hip, digging into your side and holding you close. 

“hmm, i don’t know,” you loll your head to the side and notion towards the door, “maybe somewhere we can get a little closer. wanna have a little fun?”

eren smiles at you and twists his hand to grip your wrist. he leads you behind him, out of the kitchen and into the strobe of throbbing lights. squeezing your hand, he leads you out to the center of the party, spinning you around in a circle, his innuendo of a dance invitation. 

you press your back against his chest, his hard-on stiff between your ass. you giggle and toss a teasing smile over your shoulder while he brings a hand to your waist and brings your closer. 

jesus fuck, gorgeous. where have you been all my life?

god, you look so hot grinding on me like this. 

don’t stop.

eren’s praise rolls out of his lips like a mantra as you dance together, like the party didn’t exist and the curious eyes in the room aren’t focused on you two alone. he holds you out in front of him and turns you to meet him, his face a breath away. the world slows when you exhale, 

and those eyes- he stared back at you with deep intensity, the corners crinkling in tandem with a smile and his pupils blown, rounded by a ring of emerald. his gaze drops to your lips, his mouth opening slightly, and heat spreading over his cheeks. a hand comes to cup the side of your face as he brings to speak in your ear. 

“we need to get out of here, i need you alone. now.”

[the-void-writes]

SOLM - Unwanted Visitor

I don’t know what happened, but suddenly I keep getting ideas for Lockhart 🤣 This one at least let me work on more horror writing kind of? I still need to practice. There’s a special twist here that I hope makes sense lol.

Summary: Martin is a thief who dreams of riches and power. His solution is to rob the richest family in the mountains— the Lockhart family. As he lets his greed consume him, the true nature of this twisted manor makes itself known.

WC: 1.8K

It had been laughably easy to sneak into Lockhart Manor. All of the staff had gone to bed, and the window to the parlor room slid open with only the slightest push. Time-worn floorboards squeaked under Martin’s feet as he crept into the main hall. The silver that lined the walls and chandeliers could pay for a country-wide feast, but for Martin, it would make him a king.

He started with the framed portraits on the mantelpieces. Decades of stone faces and piercing eyes stared back at him as he stuffed a family’s legacy into his sack. What loss was there in a few old photos? If they weren’t going to use this shimmering palace for the good of the people, then surely Martin could help himself to whatever he liked.

As frames and silverware and ancient art flew from his hands into the bag, Martin dreamt of the fate that would await him back in his village. He had successfully crossed the mountain to the quiet lumber town of Hawthorn, crawled into the home of the richest family, and made it back with enough money to last him a lifetime. People would write his name in history books, women would tear each other apart for the chance to marry him and share his wealth, and countries around the world would beg him for his resources.

His bag began to crush his shoulder with the weight of silver and gold. It would have to do— he couldn’t risk a return trip. With his prizes in hand, he crept back towards his secret entrance. As he passed the grand staircase, something above him shifted. Martin pressed himself against the wall and waited. Nothing else followed.

His eyes wandered up the gorgeous wooden railing, which stretched across the whole upper floor. The parlor was full of enough precious metals to set him for life… What else could be hiding higher up? If this was what they laid out for visitors to see, what valuable goods did they hide in the safety of their rooms?

Martin set his bag down at the foot of the stairs and crept up to the second floor. He would find one last thing and leave before the family woke up, it was all he could afford to take. The furthest door at the end of the hall was slightly ajar— that must have been what he heard. Had an open window pulled it closed, or was someone rummaging around in the room.

Part of him wanted to turn back and leave with what he had, but he couldn’t leave until he knew he would return home as the richest man in town. He searched the closest room first, finding a linen closet with some embroidered towels. If he was desperate, they would probably sell well to the poorer families.

The next room was a common washroom, though its luxuries were obvious. Martin made sure to pocket a golden hand mirror on his way out. He turned right to enter the next room, only to find himself in front of a wall.

Martin looked around the isolated floor. He had been certain that the staircase was only one door away from him… now it was three. Perhaps he had miscounted. It was a large house, after all.

He walked into the next room, only to find an empty bed and an open window. The winter chill and the howls of wolves floated into the small room. Martin quickly turned around— and found himself at the foot of the staircase.

It was the stress, Martin told himself. He was tired from the hike, and on-edge from sneaking around such a grand manor. His sense of direction was being muddled, that was all. He memorized the exterior of the next door he tried. A plant sat at the windowsill, and the portrait of a pale lady with deep green eyes stared daggers into him.

This room was filled to the brim with books and toys, and glittering gems that hung from the ceiling. In the corners of the room were two small but grand beds, with two children sleeping peacefully under thick covers. They barely moved an inch as they breathed, as though they were merely mannequins.

Martin slowly backed away from the children and reached for the door. He couldn’t find the knob, so he took his eyes off of the eerie children. His breath was caught in his throat.

There was no door.

Desperate hands felt around the pale wallpaper, as if the door was simply hiding from him in the dark. This couldn’t be real— He had just walked in, he had studied the entrance. How could he have entered if there was no door?

One of the children rolled over in their bed, still asleep. Martin had no time to panic, he needed to leave before they woke up and called for their parents. His only solution was the window to his left. He pushed it open and looked outside. There was a small ledge to stand on, and a long drop down into stone and dirt.

Martin climbed onto the ledge, pulled the window down behind him, and began to shuffle along towards the open window of the empty room he had entered before. The wind seemed to whip against his face as he crawled on his hands and knees. He kept his eyes forward, for he believed that if he looked down at the ground, the wind would push him over.

Finally, he made it to the empty room and climbed inside. The door was in plain sight. Martin had to stop himself from running out of the room— his paranoia was foolish. Clearly, the door in the children’s room was obscured in the dark, or hidden as a secret panel.

But why would they hide the door from the inside?

Martin opened the door and stepped outside, where he immediately ran into another door. A potted plant sat on the windowsill, and the portrait of a pale woman with green eyes stared daggers into him…

He had just been here— he had just memorized the entrance to the children’s room. Martin turned back around to the door he had just come from, which was now closed. When he stepped through, he found himself at the edge of the stairs, nearly falling over until he caught himself on the railing.

It had to be a sick joke. Someone was rearranging the furniture, or unlocking new rooms for him, or… he couldn’t understand what was happening, but by God, it made his blood boil.

Before he could head downstairs and retreat with his bag of stolen goods, a loud creaking noise caught his attention. The door at the very end of the hall, the one that had been slightly ajar, was fully open. There was nothing but darkness within.

The homeowners were taunting him, and they had just revealed themselves. Martin ignored the room and climbed down the stairs. His bag was still there, waiting for him. He took one last step from the staircase, onto the main floor… and then, he was standing in front of the dark room on the second floor.

Martin had never believed in curses or witchcraft. They were fairy tales that the elders in the village spread around to sell protective charms for a profit. This was no fairy tale… this was malevolence, and it seeped out of every inch of the darkness.

He tried to back away, but he hit something big and sturdy. Martin turned and found himself face-to-face with a tall, mountainous man. Threads of silver peeked through his dark hair, and the dim candlelight hid his eyes behind a blinding light, which bounced off of his glasses.

“I’m sorry,” he said with a voice that could have shaken the sea. “We’re not finished with you.”

His large hand seized Martin’s throat, and they were both thrust into the darkness. Martin felt as though he was falling through the world itself, past layers of dirt and rock to the fiery pits of damnation. His skin burned the closer he got to the end.

Then, he opened his eyes and found himself in a large cellar. He couldn’t move his hands or legs, but he could look around his new prison. There were shelves full of books and boxes and things preserved in thick jars of something green. Papers were scattered on a desk with a singular candelabra, the wax of which was dripping onto the wood. Chains hung over Martin’s head, covering the ceiling like cobwebs.

A large hand covered his mouth, muffling his scream. The man hushed him gently, like a doctor tending to a patient. His eyes were clearer now, as dark as the pitch black that had just consumed them both. Martin knew who he was now: Stefan Lockhart, the owner of the manor.

“Easy, son,” Stefan whispered. “Your suffering is over.”

As soon as he uncovered his mouth, Martin began to plead. “I won’t tell anyone about this place, I swear. You can keep the silver— Just let me go, please.”

Stefan turned and studied something on a desk that Martin couldn’t see.

“You’re fortunate to be alive, son. The manor isn’t always merciful. It certainly doesn’t let any foreign visitor into my children’s room with such ease. My Clara and Cyrus deserve better than having some thief running around their room.”

“I didn’t mean to go in there— The door, it disappeared!”

“I wonder about that. What is it about you that the manor finds so interesting? Why would it show you so much?”

Martin laughed. “You’re insane, just like the people back home. Your superstitions consume you. Do you truly believe your house is alive?”

Stefan turned back around, holding a scalpel to Martin’s throat. The thief flinched and winced as the blade pressed into his skin.

“Do not talk of superstition. You have no idea what sleeps in these walls.”

He pulled back his scalpel, and something small and wet trickled down Martin’s neck.

“Please,” Martin said, shaking in his restraints, “let me go.”

“Save your breath,” Stefan said. “We’re going to figure out what the manor wants from you, and if you have nothing to offer… then you have other uses.”

A noise to their left made Martin jump— the sound of a person colliding with metal. Stefan disappeared from view and spoke gently.

“Patience, my darling. I need to test him first. You can have him after.”

A shiver ran up Martin’s spine as the most guttural, depraved growl echoed around the room. Stefan returned with a stool, a scarf for his mouth, and a syringe full of murky water.

“Let’s make this quick,” he said. “My wife is starving.”

[1shirt2shirtredshirtdeadshirt]

Ch. 4 of Sparring Partners just dropped.

Prominently featuring Jim, and his campy red fleet-issued yoga pants.

Preview below!

Sparring Partners by 1Shirt2ShirtRedShirtDeadShirt on AO3

Chapter 4 Preview:

Spock's fingers were tracing one of the more accomplished attempts at shaya-ralash when a voice from behind broke the reverie: "Well that's embarrassing. Please don't look at those, they're terrible."

"You discredit yourself," Spock said over his shoulder, dark eyes still scanning over Kirk's progress on the scroll curiously. "They are impressive rudimentary attempts considering the brief length of time that you have been studying the art of Gol, Captain."

"Jim. And you call two and a half months brief?!" The human cackled as he approached, prompting Spock to glance back at his raucous entrance. Spock stifled the nonsensical sensation of amusement he experienced when he absently thought about how Jim's voice did tend to carry. His Vulcan half was fully preparing to launch into a fresh new inner campaign of scolding and guilt about the flagrant emotionalism of his human half, especially as of late – it was developing into an urgent matter of self that he must address and repress. It was unbecoming of a Vulcan.

Then the First Officer fully took in the visage of his Captain coming toward him, and his thoroughly compartmentalized, well-ordered Vulcan thought train went careening off the rails exploding into chaos.

Jim had waltzed out wearing nothing but vibrant, tight red Starfleet yoga pants, momentarily obliterating the Vulcan's ability to be productively communicative.

He could see – well – everything.

There was immodesty, and then whatever space well past that Jim was occupying right now.

It marked the second time Spock had ever been taken off guard by Jim's choice of attire, the other being the green wrap. But he was not going to think about that right now, as that would be wholly illogical. Spock had not even registered the stillness in the room, the fact that Jim had actually taken the needle off the record, enveloping the room in silence.

His face felt hot as he watched Jim disappear into the bathroom, returning after a few beats with a gold towel about his otherwise bare shoulders.

[Read more]

[wanderingaldecaldo]

Word Search Tag Game

Getting caught up on some old tags and I love the word search game! I was tagged by a few people in the last few months:

@morganlefaye79 - cake, occupied, outside, staring, heart @merge-conflict - gold, bright, laugh, impatient @chevvy-yates - gazing/gazed, rain, black, lovingly, phone

The fics I'm searching:

The Corpo!Val longfic

NOGLY sequel (which only has 500 words)

Corpo!Val PW(ithout)P based on "Spread your legs" prompt from DustyMagpie

Streetkid!Val PW(ith)P based on "Rough or gentle?" prompt from Bunny

Panzerboys PW(ithout)P based on a prompt from Chevvy

Considering the Corpo!Val longfic has 62K words and the others range from 500-3000, I imagine it will get most of the hits, but I'm hoping to spread the love!

Cake

From the unnamed Corpo!Val longfic:

He leans back against the counter and watches as she prepares the tea. She starts with water, dispensing it from the special faucet by the sink into the kettle then places the kettle on the electric burner. While the water heats she turns to the paper packages and he watches mesmerized as her golden fingers flip and sort through them. She settles on a variety and turns to him with a triumphant smile. She opens the packet and takes a whiff then offers her hand, holding it up toward his face. 

“Think you’ll like this one.” 

He hesitates then leans in and takes a deep breath. It smells floral with a faint sweetness, reminding him of a fancy cake his aunt made once for her birthday. He didn’t like it at the time and had complained about it, but she ignored him and happily ate his portion.

Occupied

From the unnamed Corpo!Val longfic:

The second floor overlooks the lower level, and the bedroom is no exception. His hand grasps the railing as he follows behind, the cool metal beneath his hand helping to ground him. The bed is unmade, and a few articles of clothing are strewn about—practically the only signs that the place is occupied. He wonders how much time she spends here, or if she lives in that bar of hers. She opens the locker at the foot of the bed and withdraws a folded sheet and a thin blanket, deposits them in his outstretched arms then grabs a pillow from the bed and places it on top.

Outside

From the unnamed SK oneshot from Bunny's prompt "Rough or gentle?":

Val watches out the window fascinated. She hadn’t been outside of Night City, much less California, before she joined the Aldecaldos, and the mountains are truly a new experience. She knows these aren’t even the big ones, that it’s just the tail end of the Rocky Mountains, but it’s still breathtaking. 

“Does it snow up here?”

“Sometimes. Not as often as it used to, of course, but it’s too early in the season now, at least down here. Doesn’t get going until late December.”

Staring

From the unnamed Corpo!Val longfic:

Val drops to the ground, stretching out her long legs and leaning back on the heels of her hands. Again he hesitates only a moment before joining her.

“Didn’t expect to be lying on grass staring up at the moon tonight.”

Val hums. “‘’S Night City. Anything can happen.”

Heart

From the unnamed Corpo!Val longfic:

“Shit, shit, fuck, I’m sorry, Mitch—” she sputters as she backpedals from the bathroom.

His heart pounds as he quickly lathers his hair and rinses, then kills the water and grabs his towel. He dries quickly, avoids looking at his reflection in the mirror as he dresses. 

Why should he be so bothered by her walking in on him? He's been showering around others for most of his life so why should this be any different? Between his head and stomach he doesn't have the energy for this now; something to keep his mind occupied on the drive home.

Gold

LMAO I really thought I would have more choices with this one, given Val's gold cyberware. I was wrong. From the unnamed Corpo!Val longfic, and part of the same scene with "cake":

“Normally I would prefer loose leaf but I do like this particular variety.”

“What’s the difference?” 

Her lips quirk up slightly, and she turns back to grab a glass jar, opening the lid and holding it out for his inspection. He takes the jar and holds it close, appreciating the depth of the aroma compared to the packet she’d offered previously. He can also see the tea leaves, long twisted and dried, each leaf worth more than its weight in gold.

Bright

From the unnamed SK oneshot from Bunny's prompt "Rough or gentle?":

Though the sun is bright outside, it’s dim in the cabin and she can barely make out the fixtures. It’s simple—a small kitchen with table; a couch and a screen; and bedroom and bathroom—but Val doesn’t need much more to be happy. Privacy is such a rare commodity these days that she will take whatever moments she can get with Mitch.

Laugh

Yes!! So glad I got to drop this one here! I love, love, love writing Carol and Cass. From the NOGLY sequel :

Mitch crosses his eyes and glares. “Nope, you’re not coming with us, can’t afford it.”

Panam glares back. “If you think I’m not going with you to save my best friend, you’re even stupider than I thought.”

"He's right," Cassidy chimes in across the table, and Carol on the end nods in agreement. "We can't risk losing you. Who's gonna take over if something happens to both of you? Us clowns?"

Carol laughs and smacks his arm. "Us clowns sounds like a satire band."

"We'd be just about as useless in an Us Cracks band as we would be running this family."

Impatient

From the unnamed Corpo!Val longfic:

“My aunt had ties to an Aldecaldo family and the rest is history.”

“And then you met Saul. From what you said, seems like he’s changed over the years.”

“But who hasn’t? I used to be hot-headed and impatient, but now?” He shrugs. “People change, sometimes for the better. Saul lost a lot of his tolerance for risk.”

Gazing/Gazed

Gotta admit, I was surprised by the results from this one. I use "gaze" (or "gazes") 36 times in the Corpo!Val fic, and 34 of those were as nouns. (0 times in the other fics, which I find astounding.) The two verb usages? They're both in the payoff. Here's a non-smutty one. From the unnamed Corpo!Val longfic:

Back in the bedroom she finds Mitch propped up against pillows, his hands linked behind his head. He watches with a smile as she returns and reaches for her as she sits on the bed beside him, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her over him, back to her side of the bed.

She giggles as she flails, then she settles into his arms and gazes up at him. She can feel the love pouring from his eyes and the warmth washes over her, enveloping her, as he caresses her cheek with his organic hand. Before she can think too much he leans down and presses his lips against hers and threads his hand through her hair.

Rain

From the unnamed SK oneshot from Bunny's prompt "Rough or gentle?":

She drains the cup and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand then grins. “Can’t believe people used to drink this from the tap.”

“Well, that was before the Red. Some places weren’t affected but most were because of the blood rains. Only been in the last twenty years that things have been cleaned up and well water is safe again.”

“Forget you lived through that.”

“You saying I’m old?” He narrows his eyes but his lips twitch with a repressed smirk.

“Do I gotta?”

“Gonna start callin’ you kid again, you don’t behave.”

Black

From the unnamed Corpo!Val longfic:

“I’ll email the full findings but the identities are solid and clean. Took the liberty of digging up some photos of your man Mitch. Cleaned him up and ran him through the deaging filter, slapped a suit on him. Not too shabby for an old Nomad.”

At that Nix turns to look at her and she steps into the office, joining him at the desk and peering over his shoulder. Young Mitch stares back—full head of mussed black hair, twinkling blue eyes, unlined and unscarred face. Handsome.

“Huh. Nice work."

Lovingly

Nothing! Clearly no love in my fics. 😂

Phone

TBH I'm surprised to find this one! I tend to use "agent" instead of phone, as that's the term from the TTRPG, but of course it was in the unnamed Corpo!Val longfic:

She grabs a large, woven bag she uses for outings like this, and loads it up with all the accessories a bored housewife at the beach would want—tablet, phone, sunglasses, water bottle. The door to Mitch’s room is closed when she emerges to the living room, so she proceeds to the elevator. 

The outdoor pool level is only a few floors beneath theirs and a quick elevator ride away. The sun blazes above the portico and she pulls on her shades before striding through the white deck chairs to an open one between the edge of the pool and the railing that provides little safety from the dizzying heights of the city.

Final Score

Corpo!Val longfic: 9 hits SK!Val "Rough or gentle" prompt: 3 hits NOGLY sequel: 1 hit Corpo!Val "Spread your legs" prompt: 0 hits Panzerboys prompt: 0 hits

13/14 words found!

Can't say I'm surprised that the Corpo!Val fic won. I'm sure I could have found the other words there as well, but like I said, I wanted to share the love amongst all my WIPs.

Tagging with zero pressure to play: @luvwich, @fly-amanitaa, @neon-pink-witch, @banukaihelpme, @impishbiscuit, @genocidalfetus, @medtech-mara, @themightiestpotato, @cinnamon-mey. Also retagging @chevvy-yates, @merge-conflict, and @morganlefaye79 to play again, as well as any other writer who wants to play! Tag me if you do!

Your words, should you choose to accept: privacy, claim, suspicion, flush, chords

[danwhobrowses]

My Highlights of WWE Payback 2023

Yet another uneventful week from the most uneventful, unnewsworthy and uncontroversial sport on the planet...

But it's time for WWE Payback, a smaller card from WWE without Roman, Iyo, Gunther or the Women's tag champions, but a solid set of matches with a John Cena injection at least peaks some interest into the show, so let's see what we got.

Spoilers for Payback, also reminder this will only be positive highlights, because we deserve to just talk about some positive stuff in wrestling

Grayson Waller is a dick but he's got charisma, crashing the kick-off was a nice touch to build up his segment with Cody, I kinda liked how we was 'if I get punched in the face, maybe that's what I want' because yeah a heel would want a reaction

Pittsburgh Crowd is hot for Payback which is cool, I was kinda worried that Wembley would ruin crowd noises for me but I love the noise, Pittsburgh often have good crowds if I recall

Widow's Peak by Trish and Twist of Fate by Becky was a nice callback

A cage roof Tree of Woe was unique

It was a very good finish and the right woman won, props to all the women

The match aftermath too should put Zoey Stark on the right path

Knight and Cena squaring up was a nice tease

It's fucking hilarious that they had Cinnamon Toast Crunch sponsor not one, but two Rey Mysterio PPV matches XD At some point Rey's gonna be feuding with that cereal

I like the context given for Rey's gear as well, we've had a year of Heel Dominik, which also means a year of the Judgement Day laughing meme

I do like that we're carrying on with Tiffany Stratton's botch of saying Becky was a former NXT Women's champion by teasing Becky going to NXT, and honestly I think she should. She deserves to complete the grand slam set like her fellow horsewomen

Easy heat for Finn to stamp on the yellow towel things Pittsburgh likes

Owens with the Terry Funk shirt

Quick Hockey jersey costume change too was fun

The Swanton was a good spot, I feel bad for Owens' legs though he overshot it a little

Ripley with the Chyna gear sending Owens through the barricade (Barry's already dead though, Simon already killed him)

Judgement Day winning was surprising, though I don't mind them holding all the gold (meaning that Finn got his Grand Slam too; UNI, IC, US and now Unified Tag titles)

Grayson "I'm not gonna fight in front of these beautiful trees" Waller

Again, Rhea Ripley and her Chyna gear, Buddy tell us your secrets...or just me, tell me your secrets

Cena keeping Southpaw Regional Wrestling alive referencing Lance Catamaran, even the pink bow tie

Shinsuke with almost a Wrestle Kingdom-esque entrance

Muta in the crowd

Nakamura caressing Seth's lower back for the mind games

Seth almost got Montez Ford height with that Frog Splash

Conclusion Overall it was a nice show. In my honest opinion I think there was a bit of hyperbole going on, I wouldn't call any match a 5-star classic (not compared to the cage matches, texas tornado, stadium stampedes and anarchy in the arena matches we've had) but they were still really good. Some booking didn't go the way I expected them to but I'm not mad about it, though other matches did feel like they dragged, could've benefitted from having one more match on the card like Gable/Gunther or a Women's Tag Title defense. All in all it was good from WWE, and sometimes that's good enough.

Match of the Night: Gotta hand it to the Steel City Street Fight, do love me a bit of chaos and it just edges the Steel Cage match. Best Entrance: Nakamura especially with his whole comic buildup thing. Best Attire: Rhea with the Chyna homage, easy one given how Seth and Becky went tame again with the outfits. Best Performance: Give it a tie to Trish and Becky, both women had something to prove opening the show and worked hard to start strong. Spot of the Night: Owens' Swanton off the railings to Dom. He overshot it a little but it was definitely the high spot of the night.

[xandriagreat]

Wishes to Reality

Chapter 1: Welcome to Rosas!

Prologue | Last chapter | Next chapter

Author’s note: Just want everyone to know that the song’s lyrics are going to be bold and italic. Some lyrics are color coded: Asha’s purple, the woman is orange, the young man and little boy is blue, and everyone is green. Plus we made some changes to the song so it would make sense to the story. Also the assistant/secretary that are mentioned are based on Louis the alligator from Princess and the frog, Cassandra from Tangled the series, and Walter is a reference to Walt Disney. River is the only name that we thought would be just fun to add.

Notice/warnings: food/eating, slapping, sass, rude, death mention

▪︎▪︎▪︎

In the suburbs area of Rosas, there was Asha, a young biracial 17-year-old Afro-Hispanic teenage woman with freckles across her cheeks, nose, and neck, was shoring and drooling a little on her pillow in her sleep with her arm around her head when she felt fur rubbing her face. She groaned a bit as she woke up to see her pet goat smiling down at her.

“Hehe. Good morning, Valentino.” said Asha, petting him before getting out of bed.

She begins checking her calendar on her phone.

She smiled big as she thought, ‘Today is the day!’

Then Asha begins getting ready for the day.

She got her purple headwrap with yellow stars off of her head and took her light pink calf-length nightgown in the bathroom and took a quick shower.

☆

Asha begins humming a song and brushes her teeth when she finishes showering and drying off with a towel.

She began doing and fixing her hair into one of her favorites, a braided hair that has been swooped to her right side, with the left part of her scalp possessing cornrows, with a mix of soft mini passion hair twists.

After getting dry and her hair done, she started putting on her matching lavender adjustable racerback sport bra and brief boy shorts with a gold-colored diamond pattern, she got on her favorite outfit, a magenta tank top over a beautiful amethyst tunic, embodied with light pink rose-like patterns on the sleeves that sparkles, dark lilac legging pants, and violet knee-length flounce skirt over it.

After Asha got her outfit on, she started putting on her ankle-length hot pink socks with a light blue rose pattern on the left and light yellow diamond pattern on the right before slipping on and buckling her ankles with rose shaped buckles on her beautiful medium purple ballet flats.

Before leaving she got something that belonged to her father. 

It was some sort of a green coat. It once belonged to him but she kept it in his memory.

She began tying it around her waist.

She begins getting her bed done and opening her curtains while Valentino plays around her feet.

When she was done getting those done, she left her room with Valentino running after her.

Then Asha went down the hallway, and greeted a picture of her late father, “Hi papa.”

She twirls around the stairway and slides the stair rail for breakfast with Valentino running after her.

Asha and Valentino saw Saba Sabino when they got to the kitchen, getting some eggs and yogurt with blueberries 

“Morning, Saba.” Asha said, before kissing her grandfather on the cheek, “Happy birthday!”

“Good morning and thank you, Asha.” Sabino said with a soft chuckle.

Asha smiled as she got Valentino his usual food in his food bowl before getting herself breakfast. She began getting out some cereal, a banana and some orange juice in a cup.

She couldn't hold the excitement, knowing today was the day that her Saba was turning 100. Not only that, another special day is happening on that same day… but for now she had to act cool.

“After breakfast, I want to give you something.” Asha said in a singly tone.

“Oh, really?” Sabino asked as he walked over to the table with his food.

Asha nodded as she placed her food on the table. 

The two start to eat their breakfast.

“So, how did you sleep?” Asha ask with a softly smile

“I slept alright.” Sabino said, chuckling softly. “How about you?”

“Well, I slept pretty great.” Asha said, trying to hold her excitement. Early around 8:30 last night, but she couldn't contain her excitement as she tossed and turned about his birthday until she finally jumped into sleep around an hour later.

“Really? What did you dream about?” Saba Sabino asked after swallowing some food.

“I was having a dream last night of me floating with the Stars, and there was a beam of light around me as I was playing happily like a child.” Asha said, smiling softly. “I think that was it but it felt so real.”

Saba Sabino hummed and ate.

“What did you dreamt last night, Saba?” she asked before eating more. 

“Well… it's the same one that I’ve had every once in a while… I dreamed that I had my wish back, I felt whole again.” Saba Sabino said, smiling softly while a longing look was in his eyes.

Asha hummed and nodded in understanding.

They continued to eat.

Asha smiled softly when she finished the last bite of her breakfast and got to go to wash her plate and cup.

She was very excited that she washed her plate and cup quickly and then put them on the dish rack. 

Then she turned around to look at Saba Sabino. “I’ll get the gift for you.” Asha said to Sabino before she then ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs to get the gift.

Saba Sabino chuckled softly as he finished eating, he waited for her. 

When Asha laughed as she came back from getting the gift.

“Ta-da!” Asha exclaimed, handing the gift to Sabino.

It was wrapped in almost messy but perfect purple wrapping with a pink bow and ribbon.

“Thank you, Asha.” Sabino chuckled softly as he took it from her. 

“Open it.” Asha said, excited to see his reaction.

Sabino chuckled softly as he opened it.

It was revealed to be a journal along with a beautiful mandolin.

Sabino was surprised as he touched the mandolin. “This feels familiar but l… I don't know why.”  he said as he felt something familiar about this gift.

Then they heard the front door open.

It was Asha's mother, Sakina, a middle-aged North African woman with dark skin, brown eyes, and black curly hair tied in a bun. She was wearing a warmer purple shirt with yellow trims, beige cropped pants, dark dark purple flats with lighter trims and yellow soles, and was wearing a seamstress apron. 

She was carrying a basket of bread.

“Hey, guess what?! There’s a wish ceremony tonight!” Sakina said excitedly.

Asha begins to realize something as she gaps excitedly. “Saba! This might be it!” she said to Sabino.

Sabino still smiled but he looked worried. “Oh, knock on wood.” he said as he knocked on the table wood.

Asha smiled and chuckled softly. “Don’t worry, I have a feeling that your wish will be granted.” she reassured him.

Then Asha looks at the clock and gasps in a panic. “Oh no, I'm going to be late!” Asha exclaimed, getting her bag.

“Woah, woah, sweetheart.” her mother said as she stopped her daughter.

“Don't worry, mama, I got my lunch in my bag!” Asha said, still trying to run out.

Sakina stopped Asha from running and gently held her hand. “No, no not that…” Sakina said, rubbing gently Asha's hand. “It's his birthday, we can make a cake.”

“Oh… no… can't today.” Asha said, rubbing her mother's hand before letting go. “I have a busy schedule today, I have to give a tour and help my friends.”

“Anything else you need to tell us?” her mother asked sternly, knowing her daughter.

Asha was quiet for a moment before saying, “Nope!”

“Asha, you did your pauses. There's something up.” Sakina said, eyeing her to see if she could find a clue on her.

“No, I'm just excited. Now I need to go.” Asha said as she ran out with her goat following her. “See you at the ceremony!”

As Asha slammed the door closed, Sabino and his daughter-in-law sighed together.

“That girl is something, is she?” Sakina said before looking at the photos of her late husband and her late parents. 

“Just like her father.” Sabino said, walking over to Sakina.

Sakina nodded, still looking at the photos.

She married a Jewish white man named Tomás because she loved him and was there for her. He took her in after she immigrated from Northern Africa, specifically from Nigeria as a teenager, shortly after her parents passed away, to live with her aunt, but accidentally stumbled into what is now her home with her father-in-law and now late husband. After marriage, they had Asha, whose personality reminds her of Tomás almost every day.

“If they were here, just to see how Asha… well have grown. They would be proud.” Sakina said, smiling softly.

Sabino nodded with a smile.

Sakina sighed softly and looked at Sabino. “Let’s start making a cake.” she said, smiling softly.

☆

Asha drove to the docks with Valentino in the back, baaing happily.

When Asha got to the parking lot near the docks, she parked and turned off the car. She got her tour flag as she and Valentino got out of the car. After locking the car, Asha and Valentino ran to welcome the guests.

“Hi! I'm- I’m here!” Asha said out of breath as she almost clumsily tripped in front of the newcomers but thankfully she caught herself. “Sorry that I'm a bit late… just… let me catch my breath.”

The new arrivals smile at her as Asha catches her breath, just arriving from their ship along with their bags.

When she finally caught her breath, Asha began looking at the newcomers, fixing her hair and outfit, as she began welcoming them with a hello in several languages, as it was acquired for most of the tours guide to have.

“Hola! Shalom! Salam! Hello!” Asha greeted, waving her tour flag.

She begins leading them to the opening of the whole city.

The town was like a futuristic utopia but it was also a combination of each building from medieval, Renaissance, colonial, and even modern buildings as if they're walking through history with beautiful diverse flowers all around them. 

“Welcome to Rosas! Come on to this amazing place! Where different wishes comes alive!”

Asha begins showing them the town and the possibilities, even showing some of the people who had their wish granted.

“There's no other place just as full of surprise where you are safe here in this wonderful city!”

She begins showing people the things that are her favorite part of Rosas, from showing a view of the sea to showing the bakery that had wonderful smells from its opened windows.

“You wanna dance on beat? Or to have hair touch down to your feet? Go to outer space?”

She begins showing a dancing couple who were just exiting a dance studio to another man bowing down with his hat open revealing to have very long hair reaching to his feet and then to the children who were playing on a rocket ship kiddie ride that was in front of the astronomy place.

“Well, hey, you've come to the right place! 'Cause here in the city of Rosas, You can turn all your wanting to wishing! It's all possible when you believe it!”

“Oh, here in the city of Rosas!  It's unlikely that you'll be unhappy with so much to discover! A home for me! For you! And all of us. The city of Rosas!”

She then began showing a statue of its mayor, with him acting all powerful and a plaid saying; ‘We all have dreams and wishes, which become real here- Mayor Magnifico’.

“So like, we have this Mayor named Magnifico and he built Rosas many years ago.”

Asha began playing around with the children of the group by acting as Magnifico.

“With lightning for hands and eyes that can glow-”

Asha noticed that the kids were getting scared, so she stopped acting as Magnifico and went back to herself.

“No, no, no, I'm totally kidding! But he is powerful.”

Asha sat down on the base of the statue as she explained, “He's just like us, but no one knows where he got them.”

Asha frowns for a moment as she looks at the statue, a bit worried and curious. Then she looked at the tour and smiled at them as she held Valentino.

“But he’s someone that I'd like to kiss!” a woman said, who wasn’t listening, before pretending to kiss the statue as if she has a crush on him already.

“Oh, dear!” Asha exclaimed as she covered her goat's eyes.

“A magic swish And there you have it, poof, there's your wish!”

Then Asha shows the newcomers murals, tapestries, and paintings of the mayor and even a puppet show of how the wish ceremony works. 

“Ooh hey fun fact! Did you know when you turn eighteen, You get to give your wish in a ceremony. He keeps them safe, every wish he acquires. And once a month he grants someone's greatest desire!” 

The tour starts to follow Asha again as she takes out her sketchbook.

“It could be you someday or even someone special as my Saba Sabino! Ooh, I can't wait!”

She looks at her own drawing of her grandpa, begins hugging it and spinning around for a moment. Asha put her drawing away and looked back at the group.

“Does it hurt?” one of the men asked with concern.

“Do you cry?” a little boy asked, worried.

Asha looked at them, understanding their concern and worry but she smiled reassuringly at them.

“Oh, no, and you won't even miss it when you say ‘goodbye’." Asha reassured them as she picked up a dandelion and blew it, making the fuzz fly in the wind as if it was magic.

After that, she began taking them to the best for last, and that is the grand finale where the other tour guides and some other citizens each took a place, with a planned choreography and everything as they began taking out the carpet riding to the stairs while rose petals were tossed into the air and slowly fell.

The tourists looked at the carpet landing on their feet before looking at the tour guides and citizens with big smiles.

Asha began going down the stairs as more rose petals began falling and flying everywhere and led the tour up the stairs.

“'Cause here in the city of Rosas! You can turn all your wanting to wishing! It's all possible if you believe it!”

“Oh, here in the city of Rosas! It's unlikely that you'll be unhappy with so much to discover! A home for me. For you. And all of us. The city of Rosas!”

Asha danced and danced with flamingo music with the people around and they began to dance until the very last beat.

Everyone took a breath as the performance came to an end.

Asha took a deep breath after all that dancing and touring. She looked at the arrivals as they got back to being a group and as everyone, including the tour guides, got back to the usual businesses.

“I’ll give my wish!” one of the young men said excitedly.

“I have a question. Is it true that you forget your wish?” one of the arrivals asked, raising their hand.

“You forget without regret.” Asha answered as she said one of the city’s catchphrases/slogans.

Everyone in the tour group smiled at each other, thinking it’s a good thing.

“Well, I want to meet the mayor.” one of the women said excitedly.

“Well, you are in luck,” Asha said with a smile, “there’s a wishing ceremony starting tonight!”

The guests were excited while Asha took them to a buffet table as she added, “You’re happy to stay and watch.”

Then she heard the city bell ring twelve times, making her gasp. “That’s all from me! See you tonight!” Asha said before running to her car and shouting to her goat, “Come on Valentino!”

Valentino quickly got an apple from the buffet table and ran after Asha while the arrivals started to eat.

“I want to live here.” one of the arrivals said to another.

“Hm! The food here is delicious!” another exclaimed after eating a bite of food.

☆

Asha drove to the Mayor's Manor for an interview. She parked outside of the gate before she and Valentino got out.

The Mansion is quite big. Of course outside it, The only thing around here that isn't filled with color like the rest of the Town, apparently it was marble with the colors being of white gold server and blue.

The young woman took in a shaking breath as she quickly went to the gate.

“Good afternoon, Ashy.” said a voice, in a teasing tone with her nickname.

It was one of the entrance guards to the mayor's office and one of her friends, Samantha Winters.

Samantha Winters was a year older than her. She has medium brown skin with white spots all over, curly black hair reaching to her shoulders, tied up in a ponytail, and beautiful eyes, yellow on her left and brown on her right. 

She was about to start her shift after her mom finished her shift.

“How are you, kiddo?” she said with a smirk. “Trying to get by just to keep on schedule again?”

Asha nodded. “I’m… ok? No and I need to go inside… for an interview.”

“Well, then I wish you luck, because I have seen each and every interview walk down the moment they try to be his secretary or assistant.”

Samantha knew the history of people who tried to interview or even tried to be a secretary or assistant to the mayor which did not go well. Of course she had a secret. She didn't tell anyone yet, besides her brother, but she still has her wish that she didn't want to give up on it because of some device and a bad feeling she had. But that also means she has to work harder than everyone else.

Samantha steps to the side, letting Asha and Valentino in.

“Thanks, Sam.” Asha said before running with her goat. She was huffing and puffing as she ran inside.

☆

Asha got to the kitchen, where she met up with Dahlia, one of her many friends that work at the manor, who was stirring the cookie batter.

Of course, all the teens of Asha's friend group are all working summer jobs at the mayor's manor.

Dahlia is the same age as Asha and has a chubby body with medium light skin, dark brown eyes, short black hair with bangs, and a pair of overall spectacles with gold framing.  

Dahlia was wearing a short-sleeved ruby red T-shirt with a drop-shaped keyhole and matching cropped jeans with a brownish pink flower and dark purple and yellow diamond pattern on the bottom of the jeans. She also had her chef outfit and cook apron over her clothes.

Dahlia happened to be born with a disability called Phocomelia ever since birth, due to that she had to use a robotic prosthetic leg with two gold-trimmed purple bandages and a crutch to help her walk.

“Good afternoon-” Dahlia started when Asha and Valentino came in. 

“I need help, doc!” Asha interrupted as she ran in and started to pace back and forth, clearly nervous.

“Oh? What is it?” Dahlia asked in a sarcastic and teasing tone, before guessing correctly, “Is it about your interview with the mayor to become his assistant and secretary?” 

Asha stopped pacing and looked at her, nodding nervously. “Yes… but please! Help! Oh quick! Give me a possible question!”

Dahlia rolled her eyes and chuckled softly as she stopped with what she was doing, turning around to look at her. “Ok, ok. Could you tell me about yourself and describe your background in a brief summary?” she said, giving a possible question.

“Okay… Um…” Asha started, thinking for a moment before answering. “I’m from a mixed race. My mom is African and my dad…” 

Asha tried to continue with her answer but she couldn’t. Her breathing became heavy and tears peaked at her eyes as she felt like she was back in the past for a moment; back in the morning when she realized that her dad was gone…

Dahlia noticed as she stopped what she was working on again. She walked over to Asha, comforting her.

“Hey, look at me.” Dahlia said, her voice soft and comforting.

Asha looks at her, getting back to the present time.

A timer went off.

“You will be great!” Dahlia said before turning the timer off and getting a batch of cookies out of the oven.

“I don't know what to do…” Asha said, playing and stroking her braids to calm down. “I feel like a mess… Do I look ok? Is my mouth drooping? I feel like my mouth is drooping.” Then Asha did some raspberry with her mouth so she could have some feeling back in her mouth.

Dahlia rolled her eyes as she walked back with a pan. “Asha, you're my best friend and you are very smart. Do I have to remind you that you graduated high school early? You're that smart. Also, you're kind and you have friends here to support you.”

The sense of smell alerted everyone.

“Cookies?” said Simon, who was woken up by the sweet sugary smell. 

“Cookies!” the other four friends exclaimed as they ran to the table.

They all begin rushing over and getting each of the cookies shaped in the face of Mayor Magnifico. 

“Cookies!” Dario shouted, running past everyone and the cookies.

Everyone looked at where Dario ran off before taking a cookie off the pan.

It's very clear that Asha, Samantha, and Simon are the only ones in the friend group that graduated high school, with one of them graduating early while the other two graduated with the rest of their class. 

One for Asha because she had excelled in her classes and the most important part was the project of her astronomy class which ultimately got recognition from all the teachers and the principal who noticed her extreme intelligence which ultimately led to now. Samantha and Simon were already in graduating class after they did very well in their training.

As each of the friends got the cookies, Gabo, the shortest in all of them, tried to grab a cookie while everyone got one. “Come on, come on! Hey move over!” Gabo growled as he reached, as he finally got the cookie.

Safi, a young teen with tan skin, curly light brown hair, brown eyes and a big nose, begins smelling a cookie to smell the smell before eating.

“Wait, no Safi, there's lemons in there!” Dahlia exclaimed to try to warn him, knowing his allergies but it was too late.

“Oh no…” Safi said, feeling a sneeze coming.

Gabo did a victory laugh when he got a cookie. But it was short-lived when Safi sneezed on it, along with the other cookies in the pan.

Gabo was disgusted by the now slimy cookie and he dropped it back on the pan. “Life’s so unfair.” he grumbled, wiping the leftover snot on his hand on his red hoodie with a picture of a dog sewn into it.

“Here. You can have my cookie.” said a soft voice coming from Bazeema. A teenage girl with olive skin, brown eyes, and brown hair in a low braided bun with a flower hair clip, along with gold diamond-shaped earrings with red gems. She wears an orange-yellowish plaid shirt with some sun designs over a black undershirt, a light blue caragein around her shoulders, an ankle length skirt with flower patterns, and blue sneakers with white socks underneath.

Everyone jumps at the suddenness of Bazeema appearing as she hands Gabo her cookie.

“Oh hi!... Bazeema.” Gabo said, slowly taking it. “Where did you come from?”

“Hi.” Bazeema said sheepishly, waving and backing away.

Of course, like Asha, Bazeema had Autism. It was different from hers but still they were different from others.

Gabo watched her for a moment before eating the cookie. 

Then Asha hands Gabo her cookie. “Here, you can also have mine. I don’t feel hungry for it.” she said as Gabo got her’s.

Gabo nodded and took it. “Oh right! Your interview with the mayor!” the short young man said to Asha before eating it. “Hey, look at me. We will be here when you fail.”

“Gabo!” Hal said, a young black woman wearing a blue jumper with yellow lining, giving him a look. 

Then on cue Dario, a tall young blonde man wearing green clothes and a purple beanie, went to the table. Dario had come from a happier and hippie family, so sometimes he’s a bit out of it.

“Ah! There are cookies!” Dario exclaimed happily, reaching for a cookie from the pan.

“Dario, Safi sneezed on those.” Dahlia warned him.

“Oh. Thanks.” Dario said but then ate it anyway, leading everyone to get gross out by the action.

“Anyway…” Gabo started, looking at Asha again. “I wouldn’t blame you for cheating the system.”

Asha was taken back by that. “Cheating? I’m not cheating on anything.” she said, her arms crossed her chest.

“Gabo, cut it out.” Hal hissed at him. She's the more tomboyish to the group. ”Don't make it worse for Asha.”

“What? I’m just telling the truth!” Gabo explained in his fast and slow tone. “The Mayor’s assistant and secretary normally get their wishes granted, along with their family’s wishes getting granted too.”

“That’s not always true.” Dailha starts but stops when she remembers if it was true or not. “Oh wait… true. Louis and his family, Cassandra and her family, River, Walter and his family as well. Almost everyone who has been the assistant and secretary.”

Everyone, except for Asha (who was now very worried) and Simon (who was now asleep again, now on the table), nodded in agreement.

“Wait, isn’t your Saba turning 100 today and still waiting?” Gabo asked, a smug look on his face when seeing that he hit a nerve point on Asha.

Then Samantha, who was having a quick break, came into the kitchen. “Hey, here to check on-” Samantha starts but stops when seeing what’s going on. “If it’s about Asha’s interview, we’re done talking about it.”

Samantha was often considered the older sister of the group, aside Asha.

Gabo stops what he was doing to make Asha worried and takes a few steps away from her as Samantha walks over.

The guard sniffed the air and could smell some cookies as she walked over. “The cookies smell good. At least save one cookie for me.” she said with a smile.

“Safi sneezed on this batch.” Dahlia said, picking up the pan with an oven mitt and walking over to the trash.

“Oh, I think I'll pass until the next batch.” Samantha said, nodding before walking over to Asha. “Is Gabo bothering you again, kiddo?” 

Asha did not look too good as her worry started to take over her. Before Asha could say anything about the situation, she looked around and asked, “Wait… Where’s Valentino?”

Then out of the blue, Valentino fell from the banister and onto the flour that was on the table, surprising everyone, except for Simon (who was still asleep).

Everyone dusted off the flour off of themselves while looking at Valentino, who baaed happy at them.

“Not again.” Samantha sighed with a groan. “I'll go get the broom before the maids find out.” She can be very helpful with the other servants and workers.

As Samantha went to get a broom from the cleaning closet, the rest of the gang looked at the sleeping Simon.

Simon is a big red-haired man who is wearing a long sleeve teal shirt, a matching teal knitted cap, brown pants, and black boots.

By the looks of it, he should be threatening but he doesn’t look threatening because of him always falling asleep. It’s one of the side effects of giving up your wish.

“Now that’s just sad.” Gabo sighs, shaking his head before looking at Asha, who just got her goat off the table and finished dusting the flour off of her. “You better do good in the interview, Asha. Or you’ll probably end up like Simon or like your Saba.”

Then Simon woke up, yawning a bit. “What about Simon?” he asked, rubbing his eyes before looking confused about the flour that was almost everywhere.

“Oh, you know. You’re more, well, boring now.” Gabo said honestly.

Everyone got quiet as their eyes widened in fear, noticing that Samantha was walking back with a broom and it looked like she heard what was said.

“Gabo!” Samantha said, slapping some sense into him.

“Ow! What?! He is!” Gabo shouted, rubbing where she just slapped and pointing at Simon.

Samantha facepalmed and growled as Simon got worried. 

“Wait… You all think I’m boring now?” Simon asked, worried on his face as he looked at the friends.

“You’re not boring.” Samantha reassured him. Then she looked at the others with a glare and asked, “Isn’t that right?”

Almost everyone just stayed quiet, unsure what to say to him.

“Um… Yeah! You're not boring, you just…” Asha said, trying to think of a word to describe him.

“Calmer.” Dahlia and Bazeema added together.

Asha nodded and pointed at them. “Yes, that.”

Samantha’s glare became a smile at them. “Thank you, guys.” Samantha said, nodding to them and setting the broom next to the table before looking at Simon and holding his hand gently. “Don’t worry, little brother. You’ll get your wish back soon, we promise.”

Samantha's actually Simon's older twin sister by 19 minutes. She has been protective of her brother and her friends since childhood.

Simon smiled a bit at Samantha.

Just then came the assistant mayor, Amaya, a tan-skinned woman with hazel eyes, and long dark brown hair, tied in French braid, along with a beauty mark on the right side of her face near her lips and wearing a white dress shirt, matching khaki pants, and blue high heels.

“Oh, goodness! It’s Amaya!” Bazeema said in her soft voice.

Everyone quickly got in a line and bowed to Amaya.

The assistant mayor smiled softly at them before looking at Asha. 

“Asha, the mayor is ready to see you.” Amaya said, a soft smile on her face.

“What?! Now?!” Asha asked nervously, getting out of the bow.

Amaya nodded. “Well, yes. You see, the last appointment-” the assistant mayor started but was interrupted by a crying man running out, screaming, “IT WAS A DISASTER!”

Everyone watches the crying man run out, slamming the door on his way out. 

Then the teens look at the assistant mayor again as Amaya looks at Asha again.

“-Finished early.” the assistant mayor finished with an awkward smile.

Asha nodded and hummed, still nervous. “Um… ok.”

“Come along.” Amaya said, signaling Asha to follow her.

Asha started to walk with Amaya when she looked back at her friends. 

Everyone waved at her as Samantha gave her thumbs up to Asha and mouthing ‘you got this!’

Asha smiled softly as she walked to her interview.

‘I got this… hopefully.’ Asha thought, feeling excited and nervous as she followed Amaya.

[lupismaris]

The Opening Act of Spring- a Black Sails Fic. Chapter 2

Welcome to Chapter 2 (yes its been a long time coming its been a helluva year) in which Anne comes collecting a very defeated Silver and brings him a little more up to speed on everyone’s lives five-ish years after the Urca Gold Heist

A harsh spray of ice water woke Silver the next morning, the skies opening up in a thunderous downpour. It left him gasping for air as he tried to sit up, his one good leg slipping on porcelain as he threw his arms over his face, muffling the flustered curses he uttered.

“Morning,” came a dry voice, dripping with thorough amusement. “You look like right shit.”

The water shut off and Silver, after a moment’s hesitation, given that he entirely expected the downpour to resume the second his arms lowered, peered over his forearm.

A woman stood there, slim and androgynous in her loose fitting men’s jeans with torn up knees and boxy t-shirt, cuffed at the shoulders. Her long red hair, fine as a spider’s web, was pulled up in a careless bun atop her head. On her hip, looped through the belt loop of her jeans, hung a black trucker hat with the name of a bar, and a carabiner heavy with keys and pepper spray. A heavy industrial chain hung on the opposite hip, her street legal answer to brass knuckles, Silver guessed. She smiled down at him, if the sharp toothed grin of an alley cat could be considered a smile, and crossed her tattooed arms over her chest as she leaned against the bathroom wall.

“Anne?” He croaked by way of greeting.

“Morning, jackass. Your sister wants to see you. Rise’n’fuckin shine then.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“The fuck did you turn the shower on for?”

“The fuck you sleeping in the bathtub for?” Anne replied. “Practically begged me to douse you. Was it the old better to puke in here than the carpet bit?”

Silver groaned and tried to sit up, grabbing at the sides of the bathtub to pull himself forward. His vision swam a little but he could see the bottle of whiskey sitting at the other end of the tub, three quarters empty.

That would explain the pressure behind his eyes then, the pulsing rhythm in his temples, the dryness in his throat, heaviness in his limbs.

“Seemed smarter,” he said. “Not a good time, hopping n’crawling to hurl on something you can clean n’all that shit.” He sighed and looked up at her again, then at the shower. “Actually can you just-”

Anne switched the shower on and Silver sighed as the cold water washed over him, soaking through the pillows and blanket that he’d had the presence of thought to grab the night before, to make passing out in the bathtub a smidge less miserable. He’d slept in less comfortable places truth be told, bedrooms floors, back rooms of bars, store closets, dingy bathrooms at rest stops. This tub was practically a queen size bed in comparison, he told himself, rolling his neck and savoring the click of vertebrae releasing one by one.

After a few minutes he waved a hand and the water switched off, Anne dropping a towel on his head unceremoniously.

“I’d recommend a proper shower if you can be quick about it. You smell like cheap booze.”

“I feel like cheap booze.” Silver held out his hand and without a word Anne took it, bracing her boot clad feet against the marble floor so Silver could leverage himself up onto his good foot, his other hand gripping the artistic safety rail on the wall. “Just grabbed what was easiest from a shop on the way.”

“Clearly,” Anne said. Once Silver was steady on his one foot she reached down and grabbed the sodden pillows and blanket, tossing them aside. Silver was grateful she didn’t comment on his lack of clothing, even to just make fun, but then living with Rackham and Vane she was probably used to a certain level of uncouth male nudity. She passed him the light-weight bathroom stool the room had provided, and once that was situated, a mug of black coffee. Silver guessed it came from the hotel room, it was nice enough to have a little kitchenette corner though he hadn’t bothered to really look it over the night before.

“Shower,” she said firmly. “Drink your coffee. I’ll find you some clothes.”

“Thanks.”

“Yep.”

Silver pulled the curtain shut and switched on the water, before taking a seat. The tub was pressed against the wall with a window at the head of it, thick tinted privacy film covering the glass so that, even with the lights on the view from outside would be obscured. Silver set his mug on the edge of the tub next to the bottle of whiskey and opened the window, breathing in the cool spring air. They were high enough up on the 28th floor that the smog was mild, the traffic sounds below muffled some into an ambient drone.

He’d fled back to his little midtown hotel room the night before, taking a winding route from The Village, on foot, on the train, just in case Flint had decided to follow him after all. After two hours of wandering and a sense that while he wasn’t safe he at least wasn’t being followed, he grabbed his things, checked out, and headed for the address printed on the card Rackham had given him. Some swanky place on the Upper West Side as it turned out, not quite in the same neighborhood as his sister’s condo but an easy enough walk, or better still an easier Taxi ride.

So he reasoned he must have checked in, but how it had gone he didn’t clearly remember. The dissociative fog that had carried him into a taxi in Midtown, oversized duffle under his arm and his only suitcase with his collapsible crutches carefully stowed in the trunk, had persisted all the way until Anne had woken him. There were clearer moments than others, sure. Greeting the pretty brunette at the front desk, who welcomed him as Mister Robinson and asked how his flight in from San Francisco had gone. The feel of the bottle in his hand, bourbon from the second to last shelf, as the man behind the counter passed it and a two packs of cigarettes over the counter to him. He vaguely remembered the smell of fried food- had he eaten dinner?

“Get a move on Silver!” Anne called from the next room.

Silver sighed, wiped water out of his eyes, and chugged half of his coffee. He reached for the bottle of whiskey and poured a shot or two into the mug and sighed.

He was already considering his return to the Western Hemisphere a mistake.

Twenty minutes later, Silver was lighting a cigarette on the street corner, freshly showered, medicated, and dressed in the old jeans and off-white Henley that Anne had dug out of his duffle. He’d pulled his curls up with a claw clip and hid his aching eyes from the morning sun behind old over-sized shades he’d stolen from someone at a party once.

Anne snagged his lighter and pack of cigarettes, helping herself to one. “There’s a decent egg’n’cheese shop on the way. She’s working so you’ll probably have to wait for lunch.”

“S’fine. By the way I get one good shot in at your man. He deserves it.”

“Dick is off limits or else Chaz’ll be cross but yeah, fair enough.” Anne puffed at her cigarette before offering him a grimace. He took it for the sympathy it was. “Break his nose though and I’ll rescind my blessing.”

“Fine. Did you know he was gonna pull that?”

“Nah. Thought he’d do something stupid but didn’t think he’d go just- full blitz stupid. Thought Flint was gonna skin him alive and send him home to us in deli paper,” she laughed as they fell into an easy stride. Anne had always been good about Silver’s somewhat slower gait, never making it seem like a nuisance or hindrance, always being the first to fall back with him on nights out.

Silver looked up at the sky, watching as slivers of clouds fought their way through the towering rooftops of stone and metal. “And did he?”

“Nah, Jack just said he seemed shaken, so much so that he forgot to be angry. Didn’t even say anything to Jack just said goodbye to that chef guy and bolted.”

“Hilarious.”

Anne shrugged, turning them down a side street of residential buildings. “Maybe. Not like he’d have done anything, can’t risk the attention. And he knows better, his husband would have his cock in a vice faster than he could utter his safe word.”

She smiled around her cigarette as she said it, glancing sideways at Silver for his reaction. The idea that anyone, let alone the great Pacifist Saint that Thomas Hamilton was rumored to be, could have Flint on so tight a leash was laughable to Silver. Even he, when they had been one malformed creature, hadn’t managed to keep Flint on a leash like that, nor would he have wanted to. You didn’t cage a wild and beautiful thing after all, you found it a proper home, etcetera, etcetera.

“Why can’t he risk the attention?” Silver asked instead. “He’s got a clean record, same as you lot. Nothing would flag if he got brought in on disturbing the peace.”

“Just because you got a clean record doesn’t mean you can go ‘round tossing known associates off rooftops whenever they piss you off. Much as we all wish that weren’t the case some days.”

“Then why bother keeping tabs on each other at all?”

The street opened up onto Broadway, where they stopped for bagels and coffee before turning southward. Anne led the way, keeping the route somewhat winding. It was an old habit, one Silver maintained, one that he knew Flint likely practiced as well. Even if they weren’t being followed they still threw an extra block or two into the route to avoid congested areas and obvious details to their end destinations.

So when their path took them to the South end of Riverside park, Silver wasn’t all that surprised. It was a nice change from the concrete and polished glass, the midmorning crowds emerging from offices for their coffee runs or early lunches, the tourists pouring out of the 72nd street station.

He felt steadier with food in his stomach, the greasy perfectly balanced egg’n’cheese (he’d bought two of them and inhaled the first before they reached the park) soaking up the last of the bourbon with grace and flourish. He lit another cigarette and sipped his coffee, the slightly burnt taste a perfect accompaniment to tobacco.

Alright maybe, just maybe, he’d missed the little details of life in a grungy city.

“Why are you keeping tabs on Flint?” he asked again, once Anne had finished her food.

She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. “We’re not.”

“Bullshit.”

“Nah it’s not keeping tabs, it’s more like- tentative alliance.”

Silver stopped in his tracks. “A what?”

Anne rolled her eyes. “Oh don’t look at me like that, it’s just this thing your sister and him agreed to- same city n’all. We keep an eye out for him, he keeps an eye out for us, for old times’ sake, and no one gets hurt. No stepping on toes, sends info our way if theres anything we should know about, clients for your sister to pitch designs to, shit like that.”

“Flint doesn’t help people for no reason.”

“I’m not saying he does.” Anne shrugged. “I’m just saying he’s mellowed out a bit, you know, know he’s getting a good fuck regularly?” Silver scowled at her. “Was that mean? That was mean wasnit?”

“And you all trust him because?”

“He’s got no reason to fuck around these days. He’s retired, same as us, plenty on the line to lose.” She shrugged again. “So we help each other out a bit. Not gonna say it’s trust, but It does mean we get invitations to their swanky dinner parties n’shit.”

The face Silver made sent Anne into a short fit of wheezing laughter, hiding her mouth behind her coffee cup.

“Dinner parties? Jesus fucking Christ- who are you Martha Stewart?”

“Oh you think thats bad? Chaz has a fuckin job now-”

She timed it well, waiting until Silver took a swing of his coffee, knowing it would would garner so much genuine shock that he would likely choke on it. Anne’s laughter, crackling and rough-edged, rang out loud as Silver coughed, trying to clear his throat.

“He has a what? The old bayou bastard has a what?” Silver demanded. “You’re fucking with me! You have to be fucking with me- Anne please tell me you’re fucking with me-”

A world in which Charles Vane had an honest job was not one in which Silver wanted to live, at least, he was pretty sure of that. Charles Vane was the last bastion of hill country, bayou basin, working class freedom, white man edition, who held no job, no credit cards, no permanent address, and no legitimate Government ID. His Fakes were better than any you could buy but Silver would wager a hefty sum that he didn’t have a social security number and if they went looking, probably wasn’t even listed in the citizenship records under a legal name these days. He’d burned off his finger prints as a teenager to make sure they’d never be found at a crime scene, just in case he happened to slip up badly enough that the cops would track him down. Why would he be at a crime scene you ask? None of your concern, he’d answer. To Silver’s knowledge, the likelihood of cops catching him was so slim that Vane had to start the fight himself for the cops to even know he existed most days.

Or at least, that had been the Charles Vane Silver had come to know, in a dusty beach hut in old Nassau, quietly day drinking while Flint tried to convince him of the greater good. That conversation had ended, as most did back then, in a brawl. Silver didn’t remember the winner.

“I am not.” Anne shook her head. “He has a fuckin’ job. Wanna guess where?”

“Not really. Still having trouble wrapping my head around them finger printing a man without finger prints. Or making him sit through HR Training, can you fucking imagine?”

“I don’ think they have HR training for line cooks.”

Silver made a face as he thought about it, trying to picture Vane in a busy kitchen, surrounded by equally stressed out and strange people, tattooed and strung out, with their own code of ethics known only to them.

“Actually no that- that I can absolutely see. Line cook suits him. Constant access to sharp dangerous objects. Something always on fire. Questionably legal substances. Only demographic more bat shit than he is.”

“Flint gave him the job.”

“Oh fuck off, what?”

Anne smiled, the small almost grimace. “Yeah. At his bar.”

“He- he owns a bar.” She nodded. “That’s his big retirement gig? A bar?”

“Yeah he opened it few years back with that old quartermaster of his, wass’is name-”

They made their way through the park as they talked, passing little pods of nannies with their charges in brightly colored designer strollers, joggers out with their dogs, the occasional remote employee making use of the open lawns and calm spring day to get some work done outside of their shoe box apartments. Silver felt more queasy than he had before his breakfast, all the new information racketing around his aching head, his stomach churning with confusion and a sense of- well, unreality. Everything he had been certain of, everyone he had been sure of, was suddenly beginning to unravel around him in the strangest of ways and he felt as if he was left to grasp at the threads, flimsy and fraying in his hands.

“His quartermaster? You don’t mean Gates do you?” he asked. It couldn’t be Gates, there was no way in hell that Hal Gates, of all men, would be in New York running a business with James Flint of all people.

“Mm yeah that’s the one, short bear of a man, bald? Mutton chop sort of thing?” Anne asked, running her knuckles along her jaw to mimic the rather iconic facial hair of the one and only Hal Gates. “Yeah he and Flint co-own a place across the river. Flint gave Chaz a job last year when he got picked up by the-”

Silver felt dizzy, his prosthetic aching as it pressed against his knee. He wasn’t listening to Anne anymore, as she explained, no doubt, the very interesting story of how Vane came to work for the man he once hated and who had once hated him in turn, tentative alliance aside. No, Silver was having too much trouble processing the fact that Hal Gates, father to all and longest suffering man alive, who had walked away from a fortune all because Flint required, if Silver remembered his words correctly, “too much heartbreak to believe in these days”, was not only back in Flint’s life, but committed to him again in anyway shape or form.

He could still clearly remember the way Flint’s hands had looked wrapped around Gates’ throat, the empty, wild look in his eyes, the softly spoken words that had made Flint stop before it was too late.

“You good?”

Anne’s voice cut in on his thoughts with sharp precision. Silver blinked, the world around them coming back into violent focus, leaving him reeling. Anne was watching him patiently, her eyes tired with a lifetime of ghosts behind them. He knew he didn’t have to explain, knew she got lost in her thoughts as often as he did. But even so, it never felt good to get lost so easily. He prided himself on his ability to be present, to keep his wits to tightly controlled that his will was greater than any god’s, and yet-

He was rattled.

“I wasn’t ready. For him,” he admitted in a small voice. “For Flint. For anyone to have just… Forgiven him for everything and moved on.”

Anne nodded. “S’fair. None of this is gonna be easy. Wasn’t easy for us in the beginning. Still weird at times.  But, if I’ve learned anything, it’s that they win if we let them. And we let them by holding on to these wounds, these… failings.”

They.

What a simple all encompassing term. It could mean the world at large, it could mean Rogers and the the Bankers who had tried to run them all into early graves. It could mean Flint.

Whatever it meant to Anne, whatever it meant to Silver, the point remained. It was for Silver to decide what victory he allowed them, what space he made in his life for them. If he chose to face it, chose to do what Anne and the others had done, in whatever way he saw fit, chose to face the things left unsaid rather than running, then at least it would be on his terms, and no one else's.

“Besides. I can’t speak for Gates, or the others, I’m not them. Ain’t never had much Issues with the man. But Flint- he’s been alright.” Anne continued, once the distraught look on Silver’s face lessened and they began to walk again. “Mind’s his manners well enough. If you need information or resources he’ll get you what you need. My money says he’s done the therapy gauntlet a bit with his husband but that’s just a guess. You know how you can tell when people use them big words n’all?”

Flint in Therapy, that was almost more ridiculous a thought than Vane with a job.

“All I’m saying, retirement suits him well enough, you may find yourself pleasantly surprised.”

“That’s if he doesn’t strangle me on sight,” Silver replied. “You all seem to be forgetting things didn’t exactly end a la When Harry Met Sally for us.” Anne frowned. “I ditched and he’s pissed, remember? Not exactly a rom com ending that’s gonna make him swoon when I walk in his front door, carrots.”

Anne rolled her eyes at the nickname. “Not if you keep avoiding him it’s not. That’s just gonna goad him on, I tell you right now.”

“Let it. I think if anyone can avoid him it’s me. Been doing it just fine for the past five years I think I can manage just fine a bit longer.”

The curve of Riverside park brought them back up to street level, alongside the elegant prewar buildings that lined the boulevard, wrought iron balconies with the first shocks of spring greenery reaching out to the morning sun. Anne tossed her empty coffee cup into the bin on the corner and held out her hand, Silver passing her his pack of cigarettes and lighter without pause.

“Sure you can,” she said around a cigarette, pausing to light it. Silver watched as the sparks lit her face, embers glowing against bright sea glass eyes, freckles turned to ash across the bridge of her nose. She lifted her head and looked skyward, looking for something unknown to him, finding it, and smiled sadly. “You’ll keep running, he’ll keep chasing you. His husband will let him, even.”

She pulled out another cigarette and passed the pack back to Silver, waiting until he opened his mouth to argue, knowing he would, to place the cigarette in his mouth. Rackham, who wasn’t a smoker in the traditional sense, fell for the trick often and really, Silver should have seen it coming. He fixed her with a tired look behind his sunglasses as she lit the cigarette and continued.

“You’ll run and run ‘til your heart gives out or he dies of old age n’grief, which ever comes first,” she said casually, as if they were the only two in the world, unbothered by the people walking past, “and the guilt you tell yourself goes away, eventually, will finally catch up with you when you get the obituary in the post, or he turns up at your deathbed confessional. Whichever way you like it, Silver, you’ll get it, you always do.”

“I didn’t want this, Anne.”

“Yes you did. You convinced yourself of it, because it was easy, because you couldn’t cock it up,” She scoffed, “can’t cock up what you don’t commit to, mm? Please, you ain’t the only one who’s been running for a lifetime. Ain’t the only one who knows the tricks. Don’t act like you and your neurosis are somehow all that unique.”

“You didn’t leave Max. Or Rackham,” he reminded her. “You had the chance to do both.”

“Didn’t have to. They both tried it with me,” she replied, taking a long drag from her smoke.

Silver stood there in silence for a moment, letting his own smoke burn out in his fingers. There had always been and uncanny familiarity between the two redheads. They were incredibly different, no mistake to be made about that, unbearably different. But there had been moments, since the inception of it all, when shadows would cross Anne’s face, or a light might hit Flint’s eyes, a weight in her slim shoulders, a grace in his hips, a violence and a loneliness in them both- and Silver would be struck by an unnerving sense they should have, in another world, been siblings.

Of course the notion that Anne was, in this moment, able to sympathize more readily with his Ex than himself was less of a comfort than he liked and the unnerving familiarity was bordering on slightly terrifying, if Silver was going to be honest.

“Face him, or don’t. Fuck if I care in the end, unless you drag us into it and then I will have you by the balls,” Anne said flatly. “But you’re wasting a hell of a lot of time, aren’t you? Running? And for what?”

She turned and kept walking before Silver could reply, making it abundantly clear that the conversation, and any advice she was willing to give, was over. Silver was left standing on the street corner for a moment, watching fellow pedestrians hurry past, cars crawl along the boulevard with their echoing engines, the cigarette still burning out in his fingers.

He sighed and took a drag from it, waiting for a gap in traffic before jaywalking across to the next block to rejoin Anne, who was lurking in the shadows of a flower shop awning, buying a bouquet of irises.

He was far too hungover for this.