#Shelf Service bouncers

[octuscle]

Cursed Ken, part 5: Kev, the bouncer

"Ajith" meant "the invincible one". What a silly name. Ajith thought of it regularly. But what could he do, he couldn't help his name. Ajith was one of those IT nerds that everyone needed but no one took seriously. Ajith was the first to arrive in the morning and the last to leave in the evening. At some point, his hard work would pay off. He was sure of that…

It was already quite late when Ajith walked towards the cafeteria. The coffee machine in his department had already been cleaned and switched off. And if he wanted to keep going for another two hours, he urgently needed a coffee. The corridors were deserted. He heard footsteps coming from somewhere. A giant was heading towards the exit. A muscle-bound guy with a shaved head. Obviously one of the janitors. He was carrying a bin liner. Suddenly Ajith saw something fall out. A box. And although it would certainly have been sensible to point it out to the janitor, Ajith didn't. Instead, he walked as inconspicuously as possible towards the box. Ajith immediately recognized the box as a prototype toy. Professionally made. But clearly not a product that would be on a toy store shelf in this packaging. Or in a sex store, Ajith thought to himself. The young man on the packaging didn't look as if Ajith would let his daughter, whom he didn't yet have, play with it. And definitely not his son.

But Ajith was clever enough to realize that there was a market for this type of prototype. Fags were certainly willing to spend a lot of money on something like this. And Ajith could more than use the money. He cursed not having a jacket or a bag with him. But there had to be paper bags in the cafeteria for the sandwiches you could get there. And even if he had just found a treasure, he still had a few things to work off and he needed a coffee to do so.

Ajith's leather pants creaked with every step he took. He loved the feel of the unlined black leather hugging his thighs. As expected, the cafeteria was deserted. Only a young guy sat bored at the cash register, playing with his cell phone. When Ajith put the tray with the Coke and pastrami sandwich down at the till, the impressive bulge in his leather trousers had to be almost exactly at eye level with the young man, who was lying more than sitting in his seat. The young man's eyes widened in shock as the sight and smell of the leather snapped him out of his daydreams. Ajith asked with a grin if he liked the sight. The young fellow grinned and said that he had seen worse. He kneaded the bulge that appeared in his jeans. Ajith was sorry, but unfortunately he had to work. But he would be at Boxers HK from 22:00. If he felt like it, he would be happy to welcome him there.

Kevin wondered why he was actually sitting here in the cafeteria eating a really bad sandwich instead of eating at the store where he worked before his shift started. Shit, where was he anyway? Oh yeah, right… He had hooked up with the guy working the register for a quick blowjob via Grindr. And the boy had blown like the devil. And that had made Kevin hungry. But now he was late. If he wanted to be on time for his shift, he had to take an uber. Fortunately, there was one available nearby. The driver also seemed to like the passengers getting into his Prius. And Kevin wasn't exactly disgusted either. He liked Indians. They were polite and pleasant customers. And submissive and docile in bed. At the next red light, Kevin moved from the back seat to the passenger seat. And his driver didn't necessarily reach past the gearshift more than once by mistake. No wonder with an automatic gearbox. And with the pole sticking out of Kevin's pants. Shit, after the driver had operated the wrong gearshift a few times, he had to pull over again. And suck the pole next to the gearshift.

Being late was not good. But Kev was basically reliable and his boss overlooked the ten minutes. However, starting the service completely horny was never perfect either. Customers tended to stare at Kev's crotch rather than his face because of his hard-on. And with a hot guest, Kev sometimes disregarded the rules of the club. If the guest was a potential after-hours victim, he was allowed in the club. Kev was perhaps not the toughest bouncer in town. But he was one of the hottest and horniest.

[caffeinatedowlbear]

Unlikely Occupations for Handsome Jack

I played this on the soon-no-longer-twitter, and figured I like these too much to lose them when that site inevitably becomes an ex-parrot. This post will collect all the previous AUs I've made, and you can request new ones in the comments.

The rules are simple: name a job/occupation that would be very unlikely for Handsome Jack, and I'll try to come up with an IC(ish), (mostly) not crack explanation of how he ended up that way. All ideas generated from this exercise are free for the taking, as long as: 1) the prompt giver doesn't mind; 2) you let me know what you make of it.

Note: while any minimum wage job fits the 'unlikely' criteria, ideally I'm looking for suggestions of jobs/occupations that someone (but normally, not Jack) would conceivably WANT to do, and not just to survive. It's sad but true that people rarely end up in minimum wage jobs for interesting reasons. So please go easy on burger flipping, shelf restocking, call centers and the like.

Prompts filled so far: Janitor, DJ, Florist, Marine Biologist, Preschool Teacher, Pediatric Nurse (new!).

Outstanding prompts: cab driver; mortician; therapist/social worker (got ideas for this one); supermarket cashier (got half a plan)

Filled prompts below, starting with a fan favorite.

Janitor

Now, I know that ‘it’s just a front’ may sound like a cop-out because it can apply to any ‘Jack in a minimum-wage job’ scenario. So I tried to make it more interesting.

Setting: can be modern-day, can be sci-fi, but needs to be an AU in which Jack isn’t instantly recognizable by all and sundry. He is a rich and successful asshole, though. But there’s a certain shiny object he really, REALLY wants to get his hands on. Could be physical thing, could be information. Either way, something that money (of which he has plenty) can’t buy, because it’s held by another, even richer asshole.

Multiple attempts to infiltrate the guy’s home, where the shiny is kept, have failed. The mark is famously a recluse, his security systems are deadly, and all his staff are life-long friends and acquaintances. There’s only one tiny security hole: cleaning and maintenance. Now, most of it is automated, but once every few months, there’s a need for human labor. So every few months, a trusted and vetted housekeeping services agency dispatches some of its most trusted and vetted workers. And isn’t it lucky that Jack has a contact at said agency?

It goes off without a hitch at first. Agency Contact makes sure Jack’s fake identity passes all the background checks, and adds him to the next crew dispatched to Rich Asshole’s house. But then, Agency Contact is busted for an unrelated piece of shady business. Their latest acts in the company come under scrutiny. Jack’s employment status holds, but not his assignment. He is supposed to have at least six months of spotless (...sorry :p) record with the agency before he can get assigned to high-priority jobs like this.

So now Jack has two options. Say "fuck this shit, I'm out" and look for a different solution that might not even exist... or hold out for the sure-fire way in, even if it means spending six months pushing around a mop while toeing the company line. What’s it gonna be, Jack??

DJ

Going off the beaten track for this one, because I didn't want to do the obvious option of 'rich guy's hobby/vanity side gig'.

My take is, we're back on Tantalus and in Jack's (John's?) youth. It's a place full of poverty and violence, but also a colorful night life. Of course, many night clubs are fronts for drug and arms (and worse) trade. Getting in with the clubs is a solid strategy for a young guy with his head on his shoulders.

Jack tries to do different jobs that take him all over, to see the backstage stuff as much as possible. (He even has a brief stint as an unlikely bouncer: no-one expected the scrawny 20yo to throw some real good punches.)

His first DJ experience happens when he's a stage hand / gofer at a club, and the actual DJ goes off to screw someone, telling Jack to take over for half an hour. The music is cued up, just look like you're having fun, he's told. This is the first taste he gets of the kind of power he didn't think he wanted. Because the power that comes with money and access and control is one thing (and make no mistake, he wants that). But the power to stand in front of a room full of people and command their mood? To be cheered? To get them to chant your name, even? That hits something really, really deep inside young Jack. He knows that day that however he gets to the top, he won't just be the man behind the curtain. He will be the one whose name the crowd is chanting.

From there on, Jack's goal is clear. Not only is he going to get power and money and his slice of all the shady business, but he's also going to be a goddamn ✨celebrity✨ while at it. For bonus points, add a scar earned in a gang war ten years later and make Handsome Jack his crime name *and* stage name.

Florist

Setting: semi-historical or steampunk flavored Victorian. There is a war on, but it's pretty far away or a relatively cold one. So no immediate danger on the home front, but spycraft is in high demand. Jack is an era-appropriate Bond type who gets saddled with an assignment to...

"Make bouquets? Is this a joke?"

No, it's not. The flower shop Jack would be operating out of is a hub receiving intel from multiple covert informants. It will be Jack's job to pick out what's important, and pass it to the right people, encoded via flower bouquets. Sending messages via different flowers are already a thing in this society, as they were in our world's Victorian era, but obviously, the spy organization obviously has its own code book, so no harm done if a bouquet falls into the wrong hands.

"Except I'd have to bloody make it again, so, actually, plenty of harm done."

In order to maintain the cover, the flower shop also has to do legitimate business, so Jack gets to make plenty of "civilian" bouquets as well, and be all polite and gentlemanly with the customers.

There's only one silver lining to this dismal assignment. The assistant assigned to help Jack with sorting and aggregating the intel is pretty darn cute.

Marine Biologist

(Short write-up, but this is one of my personal faves!)

Canon-adjacent BL settings, but instead of Pandora, Jack is drawn to Aquator in his vault-hunting pursuits, searching for a vault rumored to be at the bottom of the ocean. Helios is a city-sized submarine!

For bonus points, add a Rhack plot featuring mercreature!Rhys, who has knowledge of the vault, but is reluctant to reveal its location, and whose trust Jack is desperately trying to win.

In a Preschool

Modern-day, Passable Dad AU. It's career day at Angel's school. Jack didn't want to come, what with being a currently unemployed head of a recently-failed startup. But he can't say no to Angel, so... sigh, here we go.

Jack is the last one to talk, his hope being that maybe they’ll run out of time and he won’t have to. Alas, his slot comes up. A few minutes in, the teacher gets an urgent phone call and steps out (don’t come after me about child safety protocols in this AU, okay :p).

Then the period is technically over, and the teacher isn’t back (guess the phone call was urgent enough to make them run out without telling people; they’re so fired). Other parents have left at some point during the period, because they have jobs / better things to do. Jack tries to send Angel to go find an adult, but she declares they’re not allowed to leave the classroom on their own (because she’s an ass). But, she continues, they can’t be left on their own, either (like I said, an ass).

So, Jack is stuck with a bunch of preschoolers for an hour. Once he runs out of failed startup stories, he just starts rubber-ducking new business ideas off of them. It’s surprisingly effective: kids are really good at poking holes in what seem like reasonable plans to adults.

And this is how, once a teacher finally comes to see what’s going on, Mr. Lawrence is offered a job as a substitute teacher at his daughter’s preschool. He will get fired once he deals with a bully by holding the offender up by the ankle until a believable apology is delivered.

Pediatric Nurse

(the prompt giver was very specific that it should be nurse, not doctor)

Setting: Tantalus, Jack is a single dad and dirt-poor. Angel is hospitalized with something that requires long-term inpatient care, and Jack literally doesn't have the money to pay for her treatment and rent, so he loses the apartment and starts low-key living at the hospital.

He's getting away with it pretty well. Angel shares a room with a few more kids, whose parents catch on pretty quickly, but don't mind that an extra parent is hanging around, because the hospital is permanently understaffed, and the kids like having company. (He gets more than an occasional meal from other kids' parents, too.)

When Jack's not doing gig work on his laptop, he's reading up everything about Angel's condition as well as all-purpose medical care so he can take care of her when she's finally allowed to leave the hospital. He's a fast learner, and soon ends up helping out the permanently overworked nurses with basic stuff like changing dressings, giving an extra hand with whatever, and even fixing up some medical equipment when something outdated inevitably breaks. It's not long before the kids in Angel's room (and the adjacent rooms) start calling him Nurse Jack.

The only one who's not thrilled about Jack's permanent presence on the ward is a young (and very attractive) doctor who's being a real stick in the mud about 'non-medical personnel outside of visiting hours'. The fact that, thanks to Jack's liberal use of nicknames, the kids start calling him Dr. Cupcake doesn't win Jack much love, either. Things between them getting more tense by the day, and Jack is this close to getting banned from the hospital outside of strict visiting hours.

That is, until one day, some Tantalus bandits barge in, demand that the whole floor is cleared so that their boss can get medical attention, and even take some medical personnel (including Dr. Cupcake) hostage to make their point. Little did they know that one of their hostages is: a) not a licensed medical professional, but b) real handy with a gun.

[madtickler39]

Welcome to Club T’s

One of my fan favorites from the old blog, enjoy:

One could look at Emily and assume her life was perfect A nice home, well off family that was well known in California.  Naturally blonde hair, a petite little figure and long legs all around a smile that could turn a man to stone. Going to movie premieres, sports events and mingling with LA bigwigs, Emily was never long without something to do. Oh dont get me wrong, Emily never complained. She loved her family, loved her friends, loved her job. She’d never complain for a second. But still something was missing.  That’s why Emily found herself where she was, in a taxi outside a new and mysterious club in downtown LA.  She stared at the door for a long time before the driver finally asked “Are you gettin out or what?” Emily came back to reality and paid the driver, and stepped out of her car as confidently as she could.  What she couldn't sell her blue dress and black heels could. She walked into the club like it was nobody’s business, and was an instant bombshell to the eligible young men at Club T’s.   What made her walk into this particular club that night? Well, to understand that, we have to go back a little bit.  Emily had a friend named Stephen, and one time not too long ago Stephen did something she couldn’t get out of her head.  He tickled her.  It wasn’t her first time being tickled, not by a longshot.  For some reason, the feeling she got when he finally stopped kept coming back to her head like a drug, needing to come forward again and refusing any lesser pleasure. She had no trouble finding a man to do anything she wanted, but for some reason this one request proved elusive to her charms.  After a brief search on the internet, she found out that club T’s was the place to find what she wanted.  It wasn’t easy to find out how to get in, the people she was here to see were very secretive.  The main club was just like any other club. The music was too loud, the drinks were too expensive and you couldn’t see or move anywhere.  After a few minutes of moving around she found the specific corner that housed the VIP section of the club, she said the codeword to the bouncer, and with a smirk he let her in.  It was the look a wolf gives a deer after a day without food, and it unsettled her. Inside, the VIP area was another world.  The clothes were different, the lights were a bit brighter, and you could hear yourself over the music.  The men were dressed in anything from suits to T-shirts while the girls were wearing some pretty revealing clothing, anything that exposed the belly, shorts, mini skirts and few of them wore heels.  They wore colored wristbands, green yellow and red.  Green was an open invitation, yellow required an ask, and red meant not to approach.  Emily had a yellow wristband, fastened around her ankle like the website advised. There was more seating space than at any normal club here, couches and chairs everywhere.  The dance floor had some people, but others were chasing each other around the floor, and in a couch by the corner a man had a captive girl in his lap.  Her hands were bound and her feet were in his lap.  As he grabbed the toe of her sock, her bound hands came up to her face to conceal her smile and she shook her head.  He grinned evilly and slowly pulled the sock off, revealing her bare foot. At the edges of the dance floor were a few suspended cages, each with a girl inside and a person outside sticking a feather duster in.  Emily asked the bartender “What’s all that about?”  A cute redhead in a black corset said “Those girls work here.  The customers pay to use the feather dusters for a time.  They can also pay to remove clothing or lower the cages.  It breaks the ice for the newcomers.  Speaking of, is this your first time?” “Why yes” said Emily looking around. “Is this actually for real?” The bartender, whose nametag read “Sam” said “It sure is.  I can lock you in that cage if you’re too nervous to get started on your own?”  Emily blushed, and suddenly a voice came from behind her that said smoothly “Sam, hasn’t your boss told you not to mess with the new talent? Or do I have to tickle you for your tips again?” Sam blushed now, and backed towards the liquor shelf nervously.  Emily asked the tall, suit clad stranger “What?”  He said “Oh you haven’t heard? If you find their service in any way lacking, you have to give them the oppurtunity to get their tips tickled back into them.  That’s why she wears a corset, her pits are her worst spot.”  She hissed “Damon!” So you weren't kidding on the website” Emily asked. “This really is a tickle club.” Damon said “Oh yes, but if you want to see come by when Sam brings my bottle of Dom.  She needs a good tickling to earn her tips back after that hiss…”  Sam gulped.  She’d done it now.  Damon slapped down a 20 and said “Whatever the lady likes is on me.” Sam fixed Emily a drink and grabbed a champagne bottle, but Emily hesitated as Sam left.  Sam looked over her shoulder and said “You comin? This is what you wanted right?”  Emily finished her liquid courage, and followed Sam to a door labelled “Barefoot Room”  Upon entering, Sam said “It’s quite literal, no shoes allowed inside.”  Sam quickly kicked off her pumps and went inside, and Emily removed her peep toed heels to join her. “You learn quickly Emily” Damon smiled as he smiled at Emilys little feet as she flexed her toes “Im just amazed” Emily replied blushing as she felt Damon's gaze on her toes “Theres nothing to feel scared about Emily" Damon smiled as he took a sip of his drink. “so tell me what brings you here”” Emily took a deep breath, and then she started “It all started when my friend Stephen tickled my feet a few months ago.  It felt...well I guess how a normal person feels being tickled.  Sure, the laughing was fun but when it was happening I just wanted him to stop after a few seconds...afterwards I couldn’t get it out of my head.  I tried forgetting it, distracting myself.  Anytime I was alone with my thoughts, I thought of that sensation and how badly I wanted it back.  So I found this place...and here I am.” “And here you are.” Damon said.  He saw Emily look down nervously and said “Emily, come sit by me.”  She came and sat down next to him hesitantly, and drew her feet behind her knees, where Damon couldn’t see them.  It was all she could do not to blush.  He asked her “Sam needs to be tickled if she wants her tips from me, where should she be tickled?” “Her underarms” Emily replied without hesitation.  Sam shut her eyes and raised her arms, beginning to breathe heavily.  She begged “Please be gentle.” Damon looked and raised an eyebrow “you answered that quickly for a newbie; I think we may have a little sadist here.  Sam, I think we should let your new friend here do the honors” Emily looked nervous again, and said “You want me to tickle her?”  Damon nodded silently and said “If you'd prefer I can tickle her.  The whole time you watch her suffer knowing that it's coming for you next…” She was up in an instant, and facing Sam directly.  Sam felt her breathe and winced, that gave Emily an inexplicable pleasure.  She pounced. Emily dug her nails into Sam’s underarms, and Damon smirked as she screamed.  Sam was able to hold her arms up for a few seconds, but within 15 seconds they came down reflexively.  Sam laughed like crazy but Emily wouldn't let up.  Sam tried to turn away, but Emily kept at it, and pulled Sam closer. The punishment became a wrestling match soon as the girls came to the ground, with Emily straddling her hips.  Emily leaned forward and pinned the poor bartender’s wrists over her head and blew on her underarms, which drove sam into a mad fit of giggles.  She begged “HEHEHEHE Stop teasing!” Emily couldn't tell you why she said this, but she shouted “This is club tease!”  Before she could sink her nails back into Sam’s smooth hollows, Emily burst out laughing “HAHAHAHAHA!” And lost her grip. Sam scrambled out from under her, and went to Damon, who was holding Emily’s ankle, with his other hand gently stroking her sole.  She giggled gently with each stroke of his hands.  He patted Sam on the butt and said “That’s enough sweetie.  Call me when you get off work.  For now I have some soft, pretty feet to break in.” This comment made Emily blush, and wiggle her baby blue toes.  As Sam walked out of the room and grabbed her shoes, Emily looked down, anticipating the tickling.  The tickling was slow, methodical.  He was really tickling her brain more than her sole.  Reminding her that he could do what he want, control her body against her will.  He could make her laugh whenever he pleased.  All it took was a foot and a finger.  He had the finger, and the foot may as well have been a plaything of his.  It was in his grasp and she wasn’t getting it out. Emily remained on all fours(or threes, not counting the foot that belonged to Damon at the moment), and giggled when Damon wanted her to, otherwise she just accepted the breaks and caught her breath.  Sometimes she would look back at Damon, nearly melting him with that forced smile.  Other times she looked away and tried to just take it. During a break, Damon rubbed her sole with his palm and commented “I see you took the website’s advice and got a pedicure.  How recently?”  Emily giggled “A couple hours ago hehehe.”  she heard Damon inhale deeply and felt his lips rub along her sole now. His lips tickled ever so slightly. She giggled “hehehehe are you smelling my foot?” She read many of the men here also had foot fetishes, but never expected to find herself here tonight… He replied “You used a vanilla scented lotion.  It’s my favorite.”   “EEP!” She squealed, something had pinched the ball of her foot, and one look back at Damon licking his lips told the whole story.  Could she really drive him so crazy with just her feet? This could add some fun to the tickling...but before she could finish that thought, her mind commanded her to laugh again. Emily fell flat on her belly as she felt a warm, wet sensation streak across her arch.  She turned her head to the side to release peals of laughter, and started pounding the carpet with her fist.  If Damon’s finger was mean, his tongue was just cruel.  Emily was at once suffering and feeling an indescribable ecstasy.  All she could do to cope was laugh, and between breaths beg “Hahahaha! Stahahahahap!” Emily got herself a momentary respite from Damon’s tongue, but only because he needed it to taunt her.  His fingers returned to gently stroking her arches as he taunted “Oh you don’t want this to stop.  If you did you’d pull your foot away.  Look.”  Emily flipped over and saw that his hand was open, only cupping her heel.  He tickled with all his fingers slowly, and she reflexively pulled back a few inches, then paused. Emily hesitated a few seconds, it tickled so bad but there was just nothing like it.  Her foot slowly slid back into his grip, and his hand closed around her ankle.  She gasped, what had she done? Damon taunted “See? I knew you liked it!” And he tickled her sole all over again with his fingers, making her laugh even louder, wondering why she gave her foot to him.  He lifted her foot up to his mouth, but there was resistance from her tight little dress.  Damon lowered her foot and said “Emily, your dress is lovely but if you want to have more fun, it may be best to change.” Emily blushed again and said “I don't have a change of clothes.”  Damon began stroking her instep and commented “Not to worry.  There is a private changing room in here with spare clothes, better for our activities.”  Damon helped her up, and opened a wall panel that led to a cozy changing room. Emily removed her dress and placed it on a hanger, then found a pair of little pink shorts and a white tshirt to put on.  The shirt was awfully short, and only came down to her ribs, leaving her midriff vulnerable.  The shorts were quite short, revealing her long tanned legs. She emerged a little sheepishly, but Damon gushed over her, making her blush for the umpteenth time tonight.  She came up to the couch where he sat and requested “Where do you want me?”  She felt his eyes combing every inch of exposed skin, searching for a spot to make her squeal.  She felt uneasy, but exhilarated. Damon grabbed her by the hand and sat her on the couch next to him.  He draped her legs over his...and once she breathed out he lobster clawed her knees.  Emily shrieked, breaking down in helpless laughter as she tried to sit up and reach his hands. After a few moments of squeezing her legs and knees, Damon began to gently scribble his fingertips all along her thighs and up towards her hips.  Emily’s laughter went up in pitch as Damon reached her hips and pinched, and he licked his lips looking at that bare midriff. Damon gave Emily a break to catch her breath, and breathing heavily she sighed “hehehe that was fun.”  Damon had an evil smirk on his face, she asked him “What is that look for?”  Damon said “I’m going to have that cute tummy of yours next.  But I’m going to give you a choice, my tongue or my hands?”  Emily’s eyes bugged out, and she couldn’t possibly choose between tortures for a moment.  She thought about her feet, and his tongue was much worse there.  She answered “Hands.” Damon smirked, had she chosen wrong? What was he playing at?  She didn’t have time to think any further as ten fingers began wiggling along her midriff, and her tummy exploded with ticklish sensations.  She let out a loud belly laugh, and cursed as her hands wanted nothing more than to seize his and make it stop.  Despite this desperate need, her mind would not allow them, making them twitch up and down her sides in a comical fashion.  The game changed utterly when Damon managed to wiggle a finger into her navel, making Emily scream like a banshee before breaking down in frantic laughter.  She tried to get him off of there, but her hands were swatted away by his free hand.  This was almost as bad as her toes, or that tongue! Maybe she should have let him use his tongue after all… After a minute or so of her navel being explored and prodded, Emily couldn’t take anymore.  Her begs became more desperate, and Damon heard it in her voice.  She cried loudly “Uncle! Hahahahahaha! Please! Mercy! Hahahaha!”  Damon stopped rather quickly, but Emily didn’t manage to stop giggling for another minute.  He rubbed her belly during this time, and at last she recovered.  She propped herself up on her elbows saying “That was wicked...I’ve never felt anything like it before.”  Damon smirked, and said “I bet not.” Before they could say anything else, a blonde woman and a brunette with golden brown hair came into the room dancing with each other, kicking their shoes off as they entered.  They plopped on the couch opposite Damon and Emily.  The blonde said “I told you if we danced Damon would get us a snack!”  Emily covered her face nervously as she blushed like a teenager, and would have curled into a ball had Damon not held her knees.  The brunette asked “Who’s the tickle toy?”  Damon said evenly “Girls, this is Emily.  Emily, that is Shay, and Blair.  Two tickle slaves of mine, who need to remember what happens when they don’t use their manners.” Damon continued “Emily is new, and I think she has had enough for one night.  Blair, why don’t you tie Shay’s arms over her head?”  They got to work, enjoying themselves and clearly under the influence a bit.  Emily asked “So what, just like that we’re done?”  Damon smirked and said “For tonight, after I do one quick thing.  If you want another session I’ll see to it that you can contact me.  Sit tight.”  Damon got up and tested Shay’s bonds, who was standing on her tiptoes in the middle of the room, suspended from a chain.  Damon produced two more cuffs and said “Your turn Blair.”  She giggled as she assumed position for her restraints. Once they were restrained Damon instructed Emily “Give me your sole” holding his hand out.  She placed an ankle in his hand, and he produced a pen.  He slowly and painstakingly wrote something on Emily’s sole, but she couldn’t tell.  All she could do was laugh and scream until he finished.  It felt like an eternity of that ball point pen stroking her arches, but it was bliss for her.  When he finally finished, he pecked each of her soles goodnight and she left for the evening.  She inspected her sole before putting her shoes back on, and it read Damon’s number and address.

[sayitaliano]

Follow up to the previous question about foreigners: what kind of jobs do Americans/foreigners typically get when they move to Italy? Any tips about actually making it happen?

Ciao!

It really depends, especially nowadays. You can theorically try to apply for whatever you want, but remember that first the economical recession and now the covid, are making things hard for many (Italians and not, appliers and job givers too). Not to mention how some workers are treated in random factories or job places (but I guess it's not happening only in Italy).

Ofc, if you want to aim to certain positions in specific companies, it depends on your curriculum/studies. E.g. You might have studied to work for a Consulate or whatever else. Notice that sadly not all the Universities abroad release a degree certificate that is useful also in our country (and this is true also in the opposite way: not all our degree certificates/studies are valid abroad). I remember a Romanian guy I met some years ago: he graduated as an architect in his country, but could only work as a construction worker here (I think he could have studied a little more here to get a valid degree certificate, but he decided it was better to work - I'm not sure how this certificates-thing works though, so please take this info with the benefit of the doubt and be patient with me. I'll try to find more resources, if you want me to. Or if someone else knows better, please leave a comment, thank you!).

This said, it's also a matter of will (as everywhere, I think): you might need to adapt to jobs that aren't really your cup of tea, especially at first. Shop assistant (customer service person, salesperson), barman/barmaid, receptionist, doctor, warehouse worker, shelf-stacker, construction worker, bouncer, security guard, gardener, translator (esp. books), interpreter, caregiver, teacher (esp. your language), cashier, farmer, house cleaner, mail carrier, waste collector, but also jobs in which you can work in contact with other Nations' clients (manager/foreign trader): knowing two languages and the market/culture of the target Nations of your company could be a + point for you. I think these are probably some of the most common occupations foreigners might get (at least, for what I know/see). But I'm sure there are also other fields in which foreigners work here: as I said, it can really be whatever. It depends on you, how much you believe you can do something, how much you work for that, and... luck (sadly - I mean, meeting the right person, the one that wants to give you a good job opportunity, is a good boost. Not just working your way out to get it. And this is true for foreigners but Italians too).

All I can say, which is what I've been told myself, is to never give up and keep on trying and applying for your dream job (or come up with something yourself). No matter how many doors closed you will get, one day you'll make it. One way or the other. (I'm a little disappointed about making a job happen TBH, so yeah, take this with all the positivity and luck I can send you and all the ones searching for a job).

[chainsaw-to-the-heart]

Closed Starter

Ugh...another long day. Or was it a long night? A long century? Did it even fucking matter? Time just blended together in the afterlife. Though slightly less so for a being untethered to a single destination. Delivering souls from the living world to Heaven, Hell and all placed in between. The chance to wander betwixt them was a small perk to the eternal, unending assignment.

Despite it's myriad of torments, Grelle actually preferred to spend a fair bit of her free time between collections, in Hell. Everything was a lovely shade of red, the residents were far more lively and entertaining, and the drinks...well...at least there were drinks.

That day's final collection having been delivered, Grelle dropped it off at The Gates. Just some rando soul doomed to eternal torment for some infraction that The Powers That Be deemed worthy of such; probably something absurd, like jaywalking or fully justified murder. She couldn't be arsed to delve into specifics of it.

A flip of the hair and a swing of her chainsaw to flick it free of blood spatter, the reaper sighed before tucking it into the back of her jacket. Time to kick back and indulge in a little revelry.

She picked a bar that looked moderately less seedy than the rest on the block and traipsed her way past the porcine-looking bouncer with nary more than a huff and a roll of the eyes. He tried to stop her, but was quickly put in his place with a glare of chartreuse-glowing eyes.

"What th' fuck ever..." The bouncer muttered, pretending he didn't see her enter "I ain't paid enough t' go fuckin round with some reaper."

Inside, the bass beat pulsed like a rapid heart, the lights swirled like a bad trip, and the air was heavy with the smells of smoke, alcohol and sweat.

Making her way straight to the bar, Grelle sat herself down at a free stool and hailed the bartender. "Oi! What's it take to get some service for a lady, here?" Her nails drummed impatiently in the counter. "Give me a double cosmo...heavy on the vodka. And make sure it's top shelf! I don't want something that tastes like turpentine."

While she waited for her drink, she noticed a patron harassing a lanky looking individual. Annoyed with the behaviour, the reaper wadded up a bar towel and chucked it at the back of the harasser's head.

"Why don't you bloody fuck off and go snort some sulpher, you rancid knob!" Hopefully that would get the arsehole out of the way so they could all enjoy their drinks in peace.

@angeldustedwebofhearts

[sp00kworm]

Butterfly

Pairing: Jesse Cromeans / Chromeskull x Female Reader

Warnings: Slasher horror and gore

A/N: This fic is blocked from the tags but please enjoy! Reblogs are always appreciated. Gif is by me.

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His home was lonely. Jesse looked at the clock, his eyes burning with the need to sleep, but his mind racing. It was late. Approaching eleven o’clock. He’d had to work today. His company didn’t run itself, and there was a lot of accounting and management to do outside of his little hobby. Jesse looked away from the clock and stretched his jaw, the bone clicking from where he was cracked around the face with the bat. The bone had healed rather easily, but it hurt from time to time. His face, that was mauled. He wasn’t the stud he used to be. Handsome, a straight jaw and high cheekbones. Cynically, he snorted at the picture on the mantle he had of him and his late wife. Mrs Cromeans clutched at his arm at some high-class party, her red lips spread in a smile to match Jesse’s smirk. The second was him kissing at her cheek as she pushed him away. Sentimental. He was feeling sentimental. He didn’t hate his wife. She was convenient. A life outside of his hobby. Pretty. He didn’t even know she was pregnant. The police informant he had revealed the death report tentatively to him. The unborn child inside her wasn’t old enough to be saved. An accident he never expected to occur. He’d been gone nearly 4 months, and she was pregnant. He didn’t remember a message, but then he tended to let Spann handle such things. He probably ignored it. Jesse stood from his black leather couch and walked to the mantle.

He took the picture in his hand. His face was partially cut off, the camera focused on his wife and her smile. Jesse looked at it before he leaned over and threw it on the fire. The glass shattered with the force of hitting the logs and the frame quickly burst into flames, black paint peeling off the wood as it crackled and snapped. The photos disappeared into curling pieces of charcoal and he watched the frame burn with a certain amount of upset. Sentiment, he reminded himself, as he pushed himself away from the mantlepiece and touched the tattoo on his chest. The shaded skull stared back at him with hollow eyes. It was a reminder of the urges he had. With a sigh, he touched at his arms and traced the patterns of screaming, swirling ghouls all the way down to his wrist before daring to stand up a little bit straighter. He reached for the laptop of his coffee table and opened a chat window with Spann. It took a moment for the secure connection to open properly.

 Spann’s face appeared in the bottom corner, her tired eyes looking at him through the camera. She was still sat in the office, but she gave him a smile, “What can I do for you, Sir?” She asked as she shuffled the paperwork away.

Jesse made sure his face was out of frame, ‘Make sure there is a clean-up crew on standby.’

Spann peered at the text, “Of course, Sir. Where are you heading out to?” She asked curiously as her fingers whipped across the keyboard lightning fast, “You’ve been in Hollywood for a while now, have you finally taken a fancy to someone? You’ve not been as active as you once were.” She smiled, sickly sweet and twisted, just like she always did.

‘Just have the crew ready. I will text if I find something.’

“Of course. Have fun, Sir.” Spann nodded and he closed the chat window before disconnecting from all the rerouting services and opening the internet to have a look for a bar that suited his fancy. Something exclusive so he didn’t have to sit and be gawked at by people that could well lose their eyes. His good eye roved the names of bars before he spotted a club. He recognised the name. A mob boss run thing, he was sure, but it would mean he didn’t get stared at with a knife on his hip underneath his jacket. Perfect. Jesse snapped his laptop closed and headed upstairs for a shower and to get appropriately dressed up.

 The hot water eased his sore back, but it hurt on the sensitive skin of his face. He covered his face with a hand to his forehead as he washed the smell and aches from himself. The soap was sensitive, and he carefully washed his face, making sure to get around his eyes, to avoid any form of gunky infections. Those had been hell when he was laid in the hospital bed recovering. Still, a great deal of more work on his face this past year had made him far more recognisable, but it wasn’t the same. He was still scarred and twisted, his nose looking rather out of place. He ran a finger over the rougher skin, where the scaring was worst, tracing back over his forehead from his eyebrow. They had managed to graft new muscle and replace areas that were damaged. He felt more human now, but nothing would ever replace how he used to appear. Still, Jesse had paid good money for his better face, and he would be damned if he didn’t use it a little. He turned off the shower and dripped in the wet room for a moment before he wrapped a towel around his waist and pulled his razor out to sheer the hair from his head. It was therapeutic. Jesse leaned over the water to catch the hair on the back of his head before he held his jaw and angled the mirror to check his face. Nothing grew anymore, but that didn’t stop him checking.

 He turned the mirror to his face and stroked the newly constructed nose. It had been four months of healing this time around. Plastic surgery galore. He’d had mountains of work since his run in with Princess’ little friend. He almost resembled a person. Still, he was scarred, and his eyebrows no longer grew hair along with his jaw. He was still blind in one eye, the brown eye cloudy. Jesse plucked his eyepatch from the shelf and replaced it before brushing his perfect teeth. He had paid too much money for most of himself to neglect it. He towelled himself off and walked from the bathroom to his room, stark naked, stretching his back before he plucked out his designer black shirt, trousers, and jacket. Once he was dressed, he pulled on his oxfords and pulled his case from underneath the floorboards. Jesse undid the latches and peered inside. The chrome skull stared back at him, along with the polished knives he used to remove pieces of his victims. The box of gloves sat nestled in the top corner but he didn’t put any on for the time being, letting his tattooed hands breathe. He pushed his fists together and looked at the two words. The words ‘FEAR’ and ‘PAIN’ looked back at him. With a final adjustment of his cufflinks, he took his wallet from the nightstand and left his house, activating the alarm and locking the door before he opened his Chrysler 300 and slid into the roomy interior. The engine roared to life before he pulled away from the drive. Jesse rolled down the tinted window before he pushed his middle finger out of it, flagging the neighbours who glared at him from their windows.

 The bar was half of a club with the back for exclusive clients, which ranged from those involved in mob work, to celebrities. Jesse tugged at the breast of his jacket as he let the eager doorman take his car around the back. He stopped him with a finger in the air and he unlocked his phone and typed into the speech app.

‘Open the trunk or my glovebox and I’ll have your fingers, bellboy.’

“Yes, Sir.” He swallowed as he climbed into the Chrysler, pulling it away smoothly into the back of the club. Jesse looked around, his silver mask shining in the gaudy lighting. The mob knew him. He was the one who moved the weapons through his shelter companies. He took care of some of their business, butchering people like pigs for them when they took his fancy, and in, exchange, they let him have his pick of their girls for his games. He stepped through the door and a bouncer waved at him from the curtain separating the areas. The bar went around both sides, but no one could see through the curtains. Jesse walked through the bar, passing a group of women in lingerie as the bouncer let him through the other side.

“Good to see you again.” He grunted, looking up at the man as he drew out his phone.

‘Did you miss me?’ Jesse snarked through the automatic voice.

“You’re hardly any trouble.” He tipped his head towards a booth, “Make yourself at home.”

Jesse walked past him and headed for his table, pulling the curtains back before he placed his briefcase down and slid inside, sighing with the low lighting. He relaxed back against the cushions and reached for the mask over his face. With a hum, he pushed his thumbs into the mild adhesive and plucked the piece of chrome free with a twist underneath his chin in order to apply a new layer.

 It was quiet at this side of the bar, the curtains blocking out a lot of the noise and the people that he didn’t want to look at. Exclusive. Jesse ran his fingers over the leather of the couch and hummed at the quality before he tucked his case beside him. The knife strapped beneath his jacket wasn’t going to cause any problems here. Jesse pulled the case around and listened as the curtains rustled beside him. He was used to this. The silver skull turned to face the red fabric and Jesse lounged back on his seat as it parted to reveal the curious face of the bartender. He smiled behind his mask at the professional wear, a shirt and bowtie on. His eyes roved lower behind the black material over his eyes, looking at the short skirt attached. Perfect. He greedily took in the sight, laid back against the cushioning, and slid his phone from his pocket.

 You nervously parted the curtains of the exclusive booth and poked your head inside. Great, you thought as you slid the notebook from your pocket, holding your pen in your hand as you tried not to stare at the silver mask leering ominously back at you. His head dipped to look at your legs, admiring the view.

“What can I get you, Sir.” You asked, pen poised to write on the paper, “Any food or are you just drinking?”

The man in the mask didn’t respond, but his fingers whizzed across the keyboard of the phone, typing out something across the screen. He turned the screen to show you the words, ‘Drink. A bottle of bourbon. The one at six hundred.’

“Okay. Do you want a glass and ice?” You asked carefully, watching as he tilted his masked face.

His fingers clicked rapidly across the keyboard again, ‘Two ice cubes. Crystal tumbler.’

You had his sort before, “Of course, Sir.” You ducked back out and replaced the curtains before you headed back towards the bar to grab the expensive, six-hundred-dollar bottle of bourbon whiskey.

 Jesse watched you through a small parting in the curtain, eyes following your backside as you returned to your colleague at the bar. He made sure to drop the curtain back into place as you turned from the bar and headed back towards him.

 “Your drink, and your glass.” You placed the bottle and the tumbler down in front of the chrome-faced man and watched his tattooed fingers twitch against the leather as he leaned over to inspect what you had brought him.

Lazily, he took hold of the bottle neck, and peered at the label before he nodded and typed rapidly on the phone again, ‘Thanks. Run along, Piggy.’

You nodded and left his booth alone, catching a glimpse of tattooed hands pouring a drink as the red curtain closed behind you.

“Rude asshole.” You muttered under your breath as you headed back towards the bar, where you were needed on the other side, with the normal clientele of the bar. They were perhaps worse than the questionable celebrities and mobsters of the exclusive side, but you could cope with serving the sex workers and incredibly drunk men.

 Joe gave you a look of concern as you came back through the curtain. He was an old man and had worked at the bar since he was young. He knew the sorts that tended to frequent the establishment. He leaned over towards you as you threw some glasses in the box for cleaning.

“Don’t fuck with that one.” He whispered, “The Boss doesn’t like him here, but he puts up with it. Rumour is he’s a bit of a knife for hire. Tends to get those jobs that required someone gutting for a video.” Joe scowled and rubbed at his moustache, “Stay far away and keep him happy with drinks.”

“Thanks, Joe.” You uttered before you served a beer, “What’s with the mask?”

Joe shook his head, “Best not to ask.” He then left you alone as you pulled pints of beer for a group. It wasn’t long before you swapped again into the back, smiling as you peered at the booths. You frowned as the curtain to the stranger’s flickered and he waved his hand before he curled his finger towards himself and pushed the phone through.

“Come here.” The automated voice called ominously, and you took a deep breath before you opened the bar door and headed towards the booth again, your notepad in hand. You parted the curtain and smiled at the mysterious man.

 What you saw shocked you a little. He’d taken the mask off, revealing his scarred face to you. You tried not to stare, you really did. Awkwardly, you maintained the smile as he stared up at you, brown eyes dark as though he was daring you to say a word. One was covered with an eyepatch.

The phone clicked away before the screen was presented, ‘Entertain me.’ The voice was absent this time.

You read the words and frowned, “I can offer you a food menu or a different drink, Sir.” You replied quietly, dreading the next words that were going to come out of his mouth, “Unfortunately we don’t have any live music…and other options are not in my job description.”

Tattooed fingers curled against the leather before he grinned, exposing, bright, white teeth in a vicious smile. His chest jumped before he gave out a breathy, long chuckle. He curled his finger again for you to properly step into the booth.

He typed on the phone again before holding it up for you to see, ‘I don’t want you to suck my cock. Sit. Talk.’

Suddenly, you felt a little bit stupid, “Talk? What about?” You were still suspicious of the man.

‘Your boss. He owes me something. I want to know more.’ He turned the phone back to himself and typed again, ‘Ever mention ChromeSkull?’

 Suddenly, you realised who he was. The personalised plates out the back of the bar, and the chromed mask in his lap. This was a dangerous man. Still, he was very capable of ending you now, with no one there to see.

“He doesn’t talk about business in the bar.” You swallowed nervously, “He only said he hoped he never saw your face in here again.” Your gut dropped as you realised either way, you might die.

‘Thanks, sweet thing.’ He typed and showed you before continuing, ‘Call me Jesse.’ You watched his face smile again and suddenly you realised that once he was very handsome. It looked like acid or chemical burn scarring. The mob liked to disfigure people as pay back sometimes, but you had an inkling his weren’t inflicted by the mafia.

‘What’s your name?’ He pushed the screen before your eyes as his fingers danced over the leather.

You cleared your throat and told him, “So are you here for payback?”

‘Something like that.’ He replied on screen, ‘Better company this time.’

Flattering but you still wanted out of the conversation. There wasn’t an opportunity to, however, because as you stood up to straighten yourself out, your boss walked into the booth.

 Judgemental eyes roved you up and down, spotting you playing with your skirt. Jesse was quick to turn and replaced his mask, before your boss could see, the medical adhesive painted along the seams and the area of his nose. He turned back to look at Antony, the owner, with the haunting black eyes of the chrome skull mask peering through him.

“Making yourself at home with my staff?” Antony shot as he pulled a cigarette from between his lips, his face twisted with a glare, “Pretty sure you’re not welcome here anymore.” He dragged a hand through his slicked back, brown hair and snarled viciously before he returned the cigarette to his lips for another nervous drag.

Jesse’s mask tilted before he pointed a finger through the curtains and let the automated voice speak for him, “Justin had no issue letting me in, Antony.” He continued, “Plus, you owe me.”

“If this is about that fucking weapons crate again. I swear to God I didn’t know it was rigged to blow.” He dragged on his cigarette again.

“You lost me a factory, Antony.” The automatic voice droned hauntingly, “And I still haven’t had the compensation.”

“You’ll get your money, shit face.” Antony’s hand twitched for his jacket.

 You panicked as Antony took a seat across from Jesse, his fingers steepled under his chin. It was tense, and you began to panic as Jesse loomed over in the man’s personal space. He was a giant, solid wall of power, and you instinctively took a step back.

Antony clicked at you, “Drinks. Pour them. One for our guest here too.” You nodded and dashed for another glass for Antony before shakily taking the bottle in your hand and pouring both of them shots.

Jesse ignored the drink as he took his silver briefcase and slammed it on top of the table. The wood shuddered under the force of the blow and you jumped as he snapped open the clips.

“Put your fucking knives away, Cromeans.” Antony scoffed.

Jesse slid his first, sharp hunting knife free from his hip and you swallowed as he took a camera from the case. The device had a stand that clipped to his shoulder and he snapped the little tripod on before tapping the top. A red light blinked on. Recording.

“Oh, so you’ve come for something to play with?” Antony laughed, “There’s a toy stood right next to you. Be my fucking guest!” He exclaimed.

 You gave a squeak as Jesse’s large hands grappled you by the waist, dragging you into his lap, your legs pinned between his own as he breathed down your neck. He trapped you as he reached for the box of black nitriles in his case. Methodically, he peeled one free at a time and tugged them over the black tattoos covering his hands. The black nitrile traced the edge of one knife before he span it once, twice, and then placed the edge of the blade against your neck. Your breath caught in your throat at the cold press of metal against your soft skin. His other hand trailed over the skin, his hot breath tickling your ear before he swiped the knife up and dragged the sharp side through your hair. You listened to him inhale before, tauntingly, he made a kissing noise next to your ear. The blade was replaced against your throat as he typed on the phone once more.

“I catch my own fish.” The voice droned before Jesse shook the phone teasingly in front of you, showing you the text he had typed out, ‘Though I don’t think I want to play with you, piggy. You’re too much of a deer.’

Antony scowled, “What the fuck does that mean…” He howled in agony as Jesse flicked the blade around again and slammed it through his hand. The fingers twitched before he drew his other knife and sliced the appendages free, pinning you in place with his legs as he watched blood spurt over the wood.

 Shock. You felt your heart burn as you wiggled backwards, closer to the killer’s chest before he peeled you free from his lap and dropped you back into the booth. Gruffly, Jesse slammed his bloodied hand over Antony’s mouth.

‘This piggy should have stayed home.’ His phone droned, again and again as the giant stood up, touching the tip of the hunting knife as he admired the shine of blood over the cold steel. With another flourish, he turned the saw half downwards and wrestled Antony over the wood, pinning him with a slam of his head before he dragged the saw downwards and watched skin and muscle part. He paused when Antony passed out and left the knife embedded in the man’s wrist as he looked back at you.

‘Look away.’ He typed with his clean hand. You did as you were asked, fear making you want to cry. He sawed the hand free and looked at the hand left, pinned to the table before he pealed his gloves free and brushed the bottom of your chin.

 “Look alive, sunshine.” The voice chittered, “Get moving.” It continued.

You opened your eyes and Jesse was quick to turn you away from the mess over the table.

“Up. Walk. Back exit.” The phone said. With a shuddering sigh, you got up. Jesse’s mask tilted before he offered his arm. You hooked your arm through his and almost cried as he shut the curtains and blocked you from the view of the other bar staff with his towering figure. His video was still recording.

“Why did you…” You were cut off by a sharp grip.

Jesse didn’t speak until you were both outside, his keys in one hand, snatched from the storage and  his phone held up to you in the other, “I taught them a lesson. They don’t fuck with me and get away with it.” He offered before he dragged you over to his car. You looked at the custom plates and the expensive brand. He laid his briefcase on the bonnet and sighed as he peeled free the chrome covered mask. Beneath was the same as before, heavily operated on with taught skin. A few scars were deep and heavy. His eye that was previously covered with an eyepatch was open, revealing itself as almost blind, the brown iris milky and covered. Still, he wasn’t a monster, just disfigured and evidently, through all the surgery, unhappy about what had occurred.

 “Staring is rude.” The phone whirred, “Should be staring elsewhere, sugar tits.”

You felt yourself go red, “You just killed a man! You don’t have any right to flirt with me after you just made me an accessory to murder!” You flew off the handle, “And now you’re taking me out back to end me too!”

Jesse grinned, white teeth clenched together dangerously as his knife curled and span idly, looking you up and down. He held up the phone nonchalantly, “No I’m not. I’m taking you home.”

“You…You’re joking.” You took a step backwards only for him to grab you once again, breathing in the smell of your hair as his knife traced down your chest. With a flick of his wrist he popped a button off your shirt.

His phone appeared in front of you again, ‘Home address.’

You swallowed and repeated your address for him quietly. He hummed behind you, the knife disappearing before he turned you to face him. His face dipped down to meet yours as he laid a single kiss over your lips.

‘Let’s go for a ride, baby.’

[shelfservicebouncers]

Address: 1017 Wedgewood dr Chattanooga, TN 37421

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[raendown]

A commission for @thatshipcat done earlier than I thought it would be! Hurrah!

Pairing: ObitoSasori Rated: T+ Word count: 1686 Summary: Obito wakes up with a hangover, no memories, and a new ring on his finger.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the blog header!

Forever Begins The Morning After

Judging by the hammering sensation inside his skull the moment he woke up, last night had been pretty good. Obito really wished he could remember what happened. The last thing he remember was Hidan ordering a round of shots while Obito declared him the best friend he’d ever had, a statement that had less effect when he remembered that he had also declared one of the bouncers the best friend he’d ever had for letting him in despite the fact that he was visibly unsteady on his feet. It could be impossible getting in to The Star and Kunai sometimes.

Doing his best to think around the sensation of his own skull repeatedly imploding, Obito realized that he was really quite warm, surprising considering how cold the spring weather had been so far this year. Also he was fairly sure that whatever was draped across his chest was not a blanket.

When he cracked one eye open he was met first with a face full of red. Blinking did not remove the red but it did focus his blurred vision enough to identify a head of thick red hair. Irritation swept through him immediately. Had he really taken home a redhead when he was too drunk to remember it? Obito adored redheads; they always made the best partners in bed.

“If you are attempting to pretend you’re still asleep then don’t bother. You stopped snoring five minutes ago.” The voice that spoke was melodic and very clearly male. Obito’s interest rose when the hair in front of him shifted, lifting away to reveal an utterly gorgeous face, though it was slightly marred by the appearance of a frown. “You’ll need to break that habit, I’m afraid. I will not be married to a man who snores.”

“Uh…what?”

“Hm. Unintelligent in general or merely in the aftermath of alcohol? To be determined.” The stranger blinked impassively before getting up and leaving him behind with a loose jaw.

Obito watched him as he stood from the bed and wandered about the room with curious eyes, perfectly comfortable in his own nude state. It was hard not to notice how pretty he was. His entire body was a work of art from the red hair to the sculpted chest to the intricately carved prosthetic leg on his right side.

Unfortunately it was hard to concentrate on any of that when his eyes snagged on the slim silver band around the man’s left ring finger. Judging by how brightly it shined even in the low light it was either frequently polished or brand new. Obito got his answer to that query when he lifted one hand to wave for the stranger’s attention and caught sight of the matching band on his own finger. Why was he wearing a wedding ring? He hadn’t been wearing a wedding ring yesterday. That definitely seemed like something he would have noticed, being single and all.

In the name of all that was unholy he was going to kill Hidan. Worst friend ever. Clearly this was somehow all his fault and Obito vowed to make sure he suffered for it.

“We didn’t…did we…are we married!?” Moving to Kiri was an absolute mistake, he should have listened when Kakashi told him to stay in Konoha. For fuck’s sake he lived right down the road from one of those drive through wedding chapels.

“Ah, your memories have yet to reboot.” The stranger didn’t seem to notice Obito twitching at his choice of words. “Yes, as a matter of fact, we did get married. Regrettable that you did not take the time to court me first but we’ll make the best of it, I’m sure.”

He wasn’t even finished speaking when Obito began scrambling through the mussed blankets around himself, looking for his phone and trying very hard to ignore the fact that he also appeared to be naked. Last night had apparently been the night of his life; it was a shame he couldn’t remember most of it because he had a feeling there were lots of other interesting tidbits hiding just behind the wall of his blackout.

Exclaiming softly with triumph when his fingers met the smooth glass of his phone screen, Obito pulled it out and scrolled through his contacts until he found the one labelled ‘Religionut’. Hidan picked up after three rings.

“Good morning so far?”

“Don’t take that smarmy tone with me, ass-fuck. You march your religious ass over here right now and annul this shit! Yesterday I was single and this morning I wake up to find out I have a husband!?”

“Annul?” The stranger in his bedroom turned away from the window and narrowed his eyes, pinning Obito in place as he listened to his now-ex-friend’s mocking laughter. “No such thing will happen. You may hang up the phone with who I assume to be our mutual priest acquaintance because his services will not required.”

“Not–? Hidan, stop laughing! Oh fuck it.” With a noise of disgust he ended the call and tossed the phone away from himself. He could always call back later.

His guest nodded in approval. “Marriage is eternal. I will accept nothing less.”

“Alright listen here…uh…”

“Sasori,” the man provided helpfully.

“Right. Listen here, Sasori. You’re hot and all – really hot, actually – but you can’t be serious. We just met. Clearly we were both drunk. And, I mean, look at me.” Unnecessary as it was, he still lifted one hand to gesture at the scars covering the right side of his face. Obito believed in seeing things how they were without sugarcoating them and he was well aware that he was no prize these days. Not since the accident.

Instead of looking at all convinced Sasori hummed and gestured to his prosthetic. “Look at me,” he offered in a bland voice.

After opening and closing his mouth a few times Obito snapped it shut decisively and stood from the bed, dragging the sheets with him to preserve what modesty he could while he rustled up some clothing. It had been a long time since someone looked at him and saw passed the scarring he carried on his face and as touched as he was by Sasori’s casual acceptance he found he wasn’t quite ready to face that without at least two cups of coffee in his bloodstream. And maybe an entire handful of painkillers. Honestly, possible overdose sounded better than continuing to live with this headache.

Breakfast was made slightly awkward by the fact that Sasori still hadn’t put any clothes on and his nudity was very distracting. Not because it made Obito uncomfortable to see a naked body but more because he was having a hard time not thinking about what the man would look like spread across the table like a one course buffet.

“You know it’s a terrible idea for two strangers to stay married,” he said to distract himself. Sasori hummed and carefully stirred a bit of cream in to his coffee. No sugar, Obito noted.

“Beauty can only truly be found in things that last forever.” The spoon made a delicate ringing sound when he tapped it against the edge of his mug before setting it aside. “And a marriage cannot last forever if you give up on it so easily. I will not sign any annulment papers. Now, where do you keep your eggs?”

“My…what?”

“Eggs. I was thinking omelets might be a nice start to the day.”

Thoroughly bemused, Obito pointed to the fridge and then directed him to the bottom shelf where they were hiding behind a carton of orange juice lying on its side. He stayed quiet and poked at the bowl of cereal he’d made for himself, privately admitting that it would be rather nice to have someone around who could do more than just buy the eggs and wait for someone who could cook to show up. It was surprising they were still in date, actually, since he didn’t remember when he’d picked them up.

While he whipped up an omelet for himself with graceful ease Sasori questioned Obito about himself, what he did for a living, what his name was, how long he had lived here in Kiri, where he had grown up. Obito spent the entire conversation twirling the new ring on his finger and trying not to think about how he was already growing comfortable with its weight. Sasori was nice. He was interesting and mature and blunt and he clearly had more brain cells to rub together than Obito ever had.

The more he thought about it the more he realized that he had already capitulated to this madness somewhere in the back of his mind.

Sighing and rubbing his hands down his face, Obito did what he did best. He justified his decisions after the fact. All of his friends had been bothering him to settle down and he had been lonely for a while now. In fact, hadn’t he said something to Rin just last month about how he wished a loving life partner would just magically appear in his bed overnight? The old saying about being careful what you wished for floated through his mind but he shoved it away. In this case he wasn’t so sure it was a bad thing that he had gotten what he wanted.

He was dragged out of his musings when Sasori settled across from him, pushing his own abandoned bowl of cereal away and happily digging in to the eggs he’d prepared.

“Alright. Well. Marriage, huh?” Obito paused in fiddling with his ring when he saw the fond look Sasori gave to his own.

“Indeed. I did always want to get married someday. Do try to make an effort, won’t you?”

“Heh. I suppose I could give it a try.” Obito rolled his eyes and shoved a bite of cereal in his mouth, trying not to smile around his spoon. Marriage as a concept had never been something he objected to anyway.

And he had a feeling that Sasori would make a fine husband in the end.

[cherrycarp]

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[yourarmynoona]

Red Light District || Chapter 1

(Moodboard by Me)

Description:  [Sex Worker!AU] [DomTae!AU] You were young, naive, and oh-so desperate to keep your head afloat in the big city. Working in the Red Light District was easy. Until he came along.

Rating: M

Pairings: Taehyung x Reader; Jungkook x Reader; Jimin x Jungkook x Reader; Taehyung x Jimin x Reader

Themes: S-M-U-T. Drugs, Alcohol, Sex, and mentions of abuse.

3.5k+ Words

Notes: Find the music for the dance scene here. This is the SECOND piece I’ve ever written for BTS AND THE LONG AF. I’m hoping to keep it to 5 chapters, though who knows. I get carried away.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

It was Friday evening and the city streets were beginning to fill with the sounds of patrons laughing and stumbling drunkenly about from one establishment to another. As the golden and lavender painted skies began to fade into a deep midnight blue scattered with glimmering orbs and the moon’s luminescence illuminating the glowing city skyline, a neon red glow begins to creep onto the damp asphalt and pavement of a familiar set of streets deep within the concrete jungle. The air is cool and damp, the familiar echo of footsteps following groups of men and women who cast shadows as they walk between the red hued lights filling large windows with scantily clad women and men in seductive poses or swaying their hips to the low thrum of music emanating from within their establishments.

Like any other Friday evening, your shift at Euphoria began as soon as the sun disappeared beneath the city skyline at 8pm sharp. Tonight was a special night, however. You had been working and dancing at Euphoria for almost 4 months since you had started going to college almost a year ago. Despite having excellent grades and doing well in High School, financial aid was barely enough to cover the tuition for your classes and your family could barely afford to send your younger brother to the private schools you had attended for the best education possible. It was tough at first. You had moved into a seedy apartment because the cost of housing was so high in the city and had spent nights unable to sleep between the domestic fights of your neighbors to your right, the loud drug-filled parties upstairs, police sirens, and the multiple part-time jobs you took to eat, pay your tuition, and not end up on the streets. After half a year of sleepless nights, tired and aching muscles, and struggling to not fall asleep in class, you had decided you had had enough. Searching through the various “Now Hiring” ads online in job forums, you had seen a tempting ad for weekend work with incredible pay and no experience required for women only. Normally, you would have been sketched out by the requirements for the job however, you were beyond exhausted and had made up your mind to toss your pride (and dignity) aside and take a chance on the job.

That was how you ended up at Euphoria as a dancer and server. Euphoria, compared to many other clubs and “hotels” in the area was higher-end with most clients and patrons paying thousands a night to see the most beautiful men and women dance at their feet or make their deepest, darkest fantasies come true. It was a large, spacious establishment with a large vaulted and mirrored ceiling that encompassed a central stage with two go-go cages at either end and three, iridescent poles, all illuminated by neon red and magenta lights surrounding the stage. There were various leather-clad booths with rich-wooded tables and private niches filled with large velvet cushions, inset leather couches, and weighted privacy curtains along the far wall with smaller pole platforms for entertainers strategically placed throughout. 

Euphoria dripped wealth and luxury for its patrons from the surroundings to the expensive top-shelf spirits that filled the enormous magenta-illuminated bar staffed with multiple bar tenders and bar backs shaking up the newest mixology creation or wiping down crystal glasses that hung from racks between the library of spirits that spanned to the ceiling. The venue began to glow with various shades of crimson and pink as a sensual playlist selected by the resident DJ began to play in the background. In addition to the vast stage and dancefloor, there was a long hallway between the VIP booths guarded by a singular man of abnormal size and musculature. One didn’t get to know what resided down the long, red-lit hallway. Unless they paid the right price, that is.

The night had only begun and men in crisp, dark business suits were filing in group by group as they checked with the resident bouncer to ensure their favorite booth or table had been reserved. There were attractive men and women beginning to sit beside patrons that were slowly becoming inebriated by alcoholic creations that would equate to a week’s pay for the average person. Girls with their perfect eyeliner, false eye lashes, and scarlet lips wearing revealing outfits laughing at haughty businessmen attempting to make small talk with them and muscled young men in tight fitting jeans with shirts unbuttoned to expose their finely chiseled chests serving refined older women with their legs neatly crossed in plush seats became a part of the highly orchestrated nightly activities that filled Euphoria.

At the moment, you were leaning over the bar requesting a drink for one of your regular patrons, Mr. Bong. Mr. Bong came in every Friday night and requested to be seated in your section and though he never requested services beyond perhaps the occasional private dance, he could be a handsy man. However, you most often didn’t mind because paid more than the average wealthy patron. From what you knew, he was the Chief Operations Officer for some major conglomerate, but the name currently escaped you. As you leaned over the bar to yell the order, the hem of your black bandage dress riding up your backside, a young bartender with a defined nose and large doe-eyes came over with his familiar bunny smile.

“___! Mr. Bong again? Is he having the usual Dalmore ’64?” he asked giving you a brief glance before sliding over a rolling redwood ladder that slid along the bar and reached the highest tiers of the library of liquor stocked at Euphoria.

“Yup! I swear, Jungkook, he should just buy the bottle. He has all this money and he just buys per glass. He knows we reserve bottles here” you kicked your legs off the bar, your breasts pressed to the bar and threatening to spill over the low neckline of your dress.

Jungkook just smiled as he quickly climbed up and down the ladder, bottle in hand. “You would think but eh, he can waste whatever money he wants here as long as he keeps tipping me good.” Jungkook grabbed out a cleanly wiped crystal glass, a round frozen whiskey stone, and began to pour the liquor carefully into the glass before recapping the oddly shaped bottle. You could only roll your eyes in response.

 Jungkook was only a year younger than you but he had come to the city with the dreams of becoming a singer and dancer. His family was much like yours in that they were not wealthy and he was having to pay his own tuition, thus he ended up becoming a bartender at Euphoria about the same time you started. The both of you shared a unique bond since you were the youngest of the staff and he was the only male on the crew who hadn’t made a pass at you in some way. Though you weren’t sure if it was because you had a special friendship or it was his naturally shyness around women. Even though the bar was illuminated by bright red and magenta, you could definitely see the times a heated blush rose to his cheeks when he glimpsed your breasts in a revealing outfit or a woman would touch his arm flirtatiously.

“You got that straight. I’ll be back soon for more so store the bottle. Don’t want you having to go up and down all night unless you’re getting paid for that” you laughed, your magenta lips peeled back into a smile as you laughed at the innuendo. Sliding the glass filled with the deep golden liquor in your direction, Jungkook just shook his head. You had to admit, he was finely muscled and extremely attractive with his pierced ears and the few tattoos you had glimpsed on his chest and upper arm. Maybe if there was a time you were both lonely one night, you wouldn’t say no. You gingerly grabbed the glass, giving Jungkook a final wink, and sauntered off back to Mr. Bong with a seductive smile. 

The next hour you spent in conversation with Mr. Bong, touching his arm delicately and speaking about the things you were familiar with, ushering him to perhaps seek a private dance with you before you were to go on stage. However, tonight he was far too inebriated and simply paid you a rather large tip from his Black AMEX card before you had to say your polite goodbyes.

The club was now packed and filled with not only the business types, but the young and wealthy socialites who were heirs to family companies and had come to blow off steam from their duties or education. There was an assortment of men and women of all ages who were in attendance as you made your way from the VIP booth with Mr. Bong, past the stage, and towards the back to get ready. Jungkook was extremely busy with a group of young men who looked like they had stepped out of a runway magazine and you could see the DJ, Yoongi who went by the alias AGUST D, was head bobbing as he began to mix a faster and more upbeat set of songs for the remainder of the night.

“Hey, _____! You look positively gorgeous tonight” you heard a voice call. It was Jimin. He, like you, was a server and entertainer. Jimin, however, was the most in-demand dancer at Euphoria. He had grown up and danced for most of his life, which had afforded him a lean and muscled physique that looked as if it was sculpted by the gods. Jimin had been dancing at Euphoria for the last year and was known by his stage name, “Christian”, after a drunken night where he had gone from his sweet and cheeky demeanor to straight Dom, pushing down and spanking poor Yoongi who was just trying to get him to sober up. Jimin had regal and princely features with his jet black hair parted neatly down the center, plush lips, and the copious amount of silver rings and earrings he wore. He walked the line of androgyny quite well and both men and women loved him.

“Thanks Jimin! I’m going to try something new tonight and hope I don’t bust my ass” you said sarcastically, slipping on your black silk robe.

“Oh? Something new you say?” Jimin remarked with his best acting.

You giggled, placing one foot up on a nearby chair as you strapped your patent leather platform heels on.

“Duh, I’m going for this new ‘Subby Leather Vixen’ vibe. I feel like I’ve been playing it too sweet this entire time.”

Jimin opened his mouth in an ‘O’ in understanding. He was a very seductive dancer and naturally good at it. You however, had to adjust and become comfortable before exploring the direction you wanted your stage personal to take. There were a handful of girls and guys in the coed dressing room currently other than you and Jimin who were chatting and laughing as they applied copious amounts of makeup or changed into their outfits for the night. Untying your robe and slipping it down your shoulders to take a look in the full-length mirror of the dressing room you heard a whistle from behind and a catcall coming from Jimin.

“Ah ____ I love it!” Jimin cheered grasping you in a rather large hug from behind, his chin resting on your bare shoulder. “You know, I’d totally be down to fuck one of these days if you wanted” Jimin said seductively, his dark hooded eyes meeting yours in the reflection of the mirror as he gently rocked your body in his arms. You blushed as you laughed out of his grasp, your nose scrunched at his comment. Jimin was indeed shameless.

“Jimin! I thought you were all over that Min-booty last time we were out? And hey, what about Jungkook? I could have sworn you said you were going to get in his pants by the end of this year?” You said jokingly, your hands adjusting your faux-leather bra-top and your faux-leather thong that had an “X” of tiny chains across the front. Jimin simply laughed and clicked his tongue. Bingo.

“Yoongi, maybe if I was super drunk again and Jungkook clearly has a thing for you. Not stepping on toes there ____. Though I wouldn’t mind jumping in on some action between you two so-“

“Foxx on in 3!” the stage manager called, promptly interrupting Jimin’s comment and much to your satisfaction.

“Gotta go Chimchim, see you in a few!” you scampered out of the dressing room, your platform stilettos clattering across the hardwood of the dressing room and into the crimson lit hallway as you laughed at Jimin’s displeased expression. You just had to love his brashness. Jimin was pretty much your best friend and even though he joked about sex with you from time to time, you wondered how much truth there was to it. A part of you really wouldn’t mind. After all, the night Jimin had gone total Dom on Yoongi was also a night you had made out with him and if his kissing was any inclination as to how he could fuck, you were probably down to do it. It was better fucking a friend by choice and having a good time than someone you had met five minutes prior.

You were waiting patiently for the girl before you to finish her routine, her body sliding to the floor in rhythm with the end of the heavy guitar riff and the lights cutting out. As men cheered for her and the lights dimmed up only slightly, you could see the bouncer assist her in gathering the wads of money that she had been writhing in only moments earlier right before the stage manager approached her. She was going to get lucky tonight. One of the men in the audience was intrigued enough to pay for her private services.

In just under a minute, that was going to be you.

Removing your loose silk robe and hanging it on the doorhanger in the hallway entrance behind a heavy velvet curtain, you did a series of hops to shake off your nerves. It wasn’t the first time you had gone out there but the nerves never seemed to go away.

“You’re on!” the stage manager called from behind you.

You put on your best act and sauntered out from behind the curtain, a brilliant spotlight on you. It followed your form as you crossed one foot in front of the other and walked up the stairs to the platform, the pulsating rhythms creeping into your body, making your body fill with a passion and desire that even the most heated lover could only hope to give you. Your song, “Wicked Games” was playing and it never failed to turn you into the vixen men dreamed of.

You walked slowly, seductively, your hips exaggerating a drop with every cross of your black stilettos before you. You worked your hands over the bare flesh on the outer part of your thighs and drug them hashly, sensually across the curve of your hips and the swell of your breasts, running them behind your neck to raise your hair up in unison with the beat and the slow, passionate sway of your hips.

You swayed your hips side to side, creating an infinite pattern you were slowly losing yourself in. Your hands wandered from behind your neck and crossed around your throat with your thumbs running along your plush, magenta lips before sliding back down your breasts, stomach, and along your thighs as you dipped down low to the ground, spreading your knees outwards and swinging your hair around. Slowly you brought your thighs together and slid forwards onto the floor reaching outwards on the black reflective stage.

That’s when you saw him.

He was a man of about your age, dressed in a plum silk shirt and dark slacks, his legs crossed elegantly as he reclined deep into the velvet of a VIP couch. Something about him was alluring and his ash brown hair was doing little to hide a carnal stare of dark eyes following your every movement. Your eyes met his and you beckoned him forwards from his seat with a long, elegant curl of your fingers before turning around and laying down onto the stage, writhing as if in pure ecstasy. With your arms above your head, you kicked your legs straight upwards, making small languid circles before letting them fall open and down, bringing them to an angle to which you swiveled your hips as if seeking pleasure from a lover.

Though your eyes were closed, you could feel his eyes on you, his heated gaze ready to set your skin alight. Bringing your legs together, you swiveled them together to position your body on all fours. You were going to make sure to give him a show he’ll never forget. With the bass pulsing deep inside your veins, your rolled your body upwards, your hands grasping a chrome pole before you. You could see his lust. Bringing your hands to your top, you leisurely unzipped your top, letting your naked breasts free. His tongue ran leisurely across his wonderfully plump lips as you tossed your top aside and grasped the pole, walking gracefully around before pulling your body upwards, your legs tightly wrapped around the pole as it spun. You closed your eyes and let go.

You bent back with your arms outstretched before grasping the pole and splaying your legs open as the pole carried your magenta and crimson illuminated figure delicately in a circle. As you spun, you lowered your body, grasping the pole lightly and letting your legs carry you around before they met the floor. His searing gaze fueled your desire. With hands holding tightly, you grasped the pole tightly and flipped yourself onto the pole, your thighs tightly clamping to the slick metal so that you could reach outwards, as if beckoning him to come to you. Your body was feeling hotter than normal as the cold metal of the pole stung at the flesh of your thighs as you slid to the floor and crawled on all fours one last time towards the edge of the stage.

Your veins were coursing with desire as you noticed he was waiting for your attention, his teeth with a firm grasp on his lower lip. With a swing of your hair and roll of your hips, you brought your hands to his face, running a thumb across his bruised lip. Your breath quickened when you felt him take a thumb into his mouth and suck it harshly as he stared into your eyes as if trying to penetrate the darkest depths of your soul. Your thumb slid out from between his lips and your hands worked down his throat and to his chest before you brought them to the floor. He grimaced at the loss of contact and you could tell he desperately wanted to reach out and touch you.

The music began to fade as you sauntered back to the pole to grind passionately on it, your hips swiveling back and forth and into circles. His eyes were hungry for your body and you wanted him to know exactly what you would do with him if he was willing to pay the right price. As the music dissipated and lights dimmed low, leaving only the neon glow of the stage, you left the stage, giving one last glance in his direction.

By the time you had left stage, cheers and whistles erupted from above the music and the MC made his announcements about how to meet with you.

When you got back stage and grabbed your robe. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat.

Your fingers were aflame.

Your core was throbbing.

You prayed desperately that he was going to have you tonight. If you didn’t get a chance to fuck him, you thought you would end up having to finger-fuck yourself into oblivion to relieve the tension his gaze and mouth had created.

“Oh my God ____! That was SO HOT! I’d sell my firstborn to get a chance with you tonight! I haven’t seen you perform that way in ages. Who got you horny?” Jimin was shouting excitedly as you made your way down the hallway.

“Oh my God Chimchim!” you blushed, “I was just feeling it tonight is all.”

“Lies, all of it.”

You smirked and held back a laugh.

“Okay maybe. There’s this guy out there, he looks like a fucking model. He’s wearing this dark purple silk shirt and dark slacks. He’s sitting right in the front VIP area and-“

“WAIT. Oh my God, ____! That’s V! He’s a famous model and actor! He’s pretty much the hottest thing out there right now. You’re so lucky ___! I’d kill for a guy like him.”

“V? Like, the V from that one period drama series?!”

“YES FROM THE PERIOD DRAMA SERIES!”

Jimin was grabbing your hands and leaning close as he excitedly explained just who the VIP in the front row was. V was his stage name but apparently he was an international model for GUCCI and also acted in a new show on TV. You didn’t get to watch television much but if Jimin knew who he was, he must be big. Jimin was a pop culture aficionado who knew everything and anything current about celebrities not simply from TV, but because he had habit of befriending anyone and everyone who was of some importance. He had a way with schmoozing his way into ritzy parties and taking you along for the ride. And you thought that part of him would never come in handy.

“___, I have a request to meet with you. VIP in booth #7. Willing to paydown big bucks for a night. Come out when you’re ready” the stage manager called out to you and you felt your heart stutter.

“___ THIS IS IT. You’re going to get to fuck the one person guys and girls only dream of!” Jimin was cheering as you rolled your eyes and walked off, slipping your bandage dress overhead and leaving the dressing room. Jimin was too excited for his own good.

And you were more nervous than you had ever been.

[babyhufyty]

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[keramalusundeep]

THE HOLY NARCOTIC

There are two types of places in this world. The first one is where you are happy. The second is where they are.

Our places are yet to be conquered. Even the ones who, among us, claim to have, are still in the process. Because happiness too, is just another step cousin of perfection – always a work in progress.

The places that are theirs are coveted, well-respected, and the holiest. In any way, I am not talking about the run-of-the-mill temples, mosques, monasteries and other mundane places of worship. I am picking a bone with the Woodstock of the Meccas and Medinas.

Very recently, the headlines from this year’s (2015) Haj pilgrimage grabbed the balls of our Amygdala – the ragpicker who hopelessly and endlessly rummages through the colossal garbage of fear-evoking data dumped by media corporations across the world to see which one specific news item increases our heart rate and decreases our chances of escaping, were we to encounter “something” like that.

First of all, these are the holier-than-thou places, right? Which means Satan will have his rear kicked by the bouncers here. So does any form of evil. These places have the greatest form of insulation from the bad things and blah blah.

However, what happens when the one you are going to take the purest form of blessings from, considering the place, is actually the bad boy in disguise? How can you verify the authenticity of God in that region? Or the miracle one is to receive from visiting such a spot at such a time (read: sacred) of the year.

The recent Haj (1,000 dead), Amarnath 1996 (256 dead), Kumbh Mela 1954 (800 dead), 1990 Mina Disaster (1,426 dead) shows that we, somehow, have come to believe that taking a dip, touching the stone, kissing the Pope’s ring is going to glorify the virility of our wishes and therefore tender a better reality for us. It is a beautifully civilised shortcut. No two doubts there.

The hard truth is that these places are so little in their land size radius, it makes it impossible and very inconvenient for the prodigal numbers of people trying to live their moment of pious obligation in the G-spots (God Spots) as set out in their mythological records that is deemed very legit and appropriate even to this date.

When we were kids, our fathers and mothers would tell us don’t do this and don’t do that. Back then, we were kids. We had to listen to them. If we didn’t, we were grounded or spanked. Then as we grew, we listened to them less and less. Eventually, we listened to them for nothing at all.

Our Gods have never been shy in asking for blood offering. Be it Abraham. Be it Muhammed. Be it Jesus. Be it Shiva. I feel bad for Jesus though. Because in his case, he was the offering.

God, as we have come to see, is no less than a bloody dictator. He wants this. He wants that. He tells us that if we didn’t give him what he demands of us, shit will fall on our heads. Or we will fall into shit. Either way, we are shit-fucked. See the obligation that the Gods put us through. Yet somehow we still want to bloody please them, even if we are grown, old, and haggard. Where is the dignity man is supposed to have? He is after all, a form of the God, right? We are made in his image. We may not be as broad, and as magical, and as mystical as him, because for one thing . . . we are here and we bleed. Whereas, he is hiding somewhere in the middle of nowhere, and simply follows the Rockefeller PR and exhibits that he is just planting his good seed for the human feed and that’s him doing his good deed without a shred of greed.

I think God is dead. Really. If those big stars up there have a shelf life, so do the Gods. They may be eternal. Again, eternity has a validity too. Ask your mobile service provider, he will tell you. They know what “lifetime” means. Even Hancock’s people died. I say – Gods live up to a maximum of 1000 years and that’s it. They get bored of life too. Eternity might have made esoteric arrangements for its afterlife like the Egyptians did with their ‘book of the dead’, but to complete the circle of life, they still have a coffin to answer to.

A classic rendition of the 40 days and 40 nights, the pilgrimages, the natural calamities, the deadly viral infections, the election of Trump, the Brexit, the ISIS, the crisis, the gamble of our dices – are all established protocols of cleansing. In one way or another, we end up being a casualty in their headlines.

The new technological superlatives which we spit and rhyme every other morning is only as strong as the last prayer we just made. I think as long as we have blood flowing through our veins, we will be superstitious. Because praying is believing that we may be, and we will be looked after by him. That’s a decent aspiration worth falling back on when you are punched in the face or kicked in the nuts.

Photo by Ona Bovollen

[shelfservicebouncers3-blog]

5 Lessons About Shelf Service Bouncers You Can Learn From Superheroes

There are yard motion pictures, pool celebrations, and lots of other ideas that you can do for a party for older kids or adults . Why not do something totally special like lease a mechanical bull?

Leasing a bull is a excellent concept for celebrations. In the past it was not possible to have a bull Mechanical Bull Rentals in your yard or at your home due to the sheer size of the bulls that were being made in the past. Nowadays there are bull models that quickly fit through a side gate at a regular house.

When you lease a bull the rental business can set up the bull in your extremely own backyard. They will provide the bull to your backyard, set it up for you, and even run it for you.

You can lease mechanical bulls from your local rental business, generally for between $700 and $1300 each day, depending upon your market. If you live in an location where there are many mechanical bull business, you may pay less. More seasonal environments will pay more due to the small availability of the bulls if you live in chillier.

You can set up the inflatable bull outdoors or inside your home and require extra floor cushioning to secure the gamers all prepared to take a ride of their life. The bull can be set up in less than half an hour and the business representative personally attend to the installation in a really inexpensive quantity. The bar will certainly be set very high when you lease your bull!

In the past it was not possible to have a bull in your backyard or at your home due to the sheer size of the bulls that were being made in the past. In the past it was not possible to have a bull in your backyard or at your house due to the large size of the bulls that were being made in the past. Leasing a bull is a excellent concept for parties. In the past it was not possible to have a bull in your backyard or at your home due to the sheer size of the bulls that were being made in the past. The player climbs on to the bull and swings in the air hanging with the manage connected to the body of the bull.

[bouncetillyoudrop-blog]

Portable Mini Golf (city)

Portable Mini Golf (city) is just one of the great rentals you will find here at shelf service bouncers.  We offer a huge selection of various party rentals, including portable mini golf (city), that will be sure to please.  These rentals are all state inspected and meet all the qualifications required to operate safely.  We work with all kinds of different organizations that are looking to have a little fun.  Our bounce houses, as well as portable mini golf (city), are perfect for church events, school events and community events of all kinds.  You bring the people and we'll bring the fun. 

The bounce house rentals and portable mini golf (city) come delivered and set up.  Literally, all you have to do is rent them, tell us the date, time and location and be there to tell us where to put them.  It might be a good idea to ensure you have the room to put them as well.  All the dimensions are on the product pages to allow you to see how big they are.  Some of our products can come very big and this can be an issue for smaller venues.

Are you working with a small venue?  Not a problem.  We have longer and skinnier units as well as smaller footprint units that will work in smaller locations.  However, if you have a nice large field, well, don't be shy, fill it up with all of our great selection of bounce houses, interactive games, water slides, and portable mini golf (city).  Just ensure that there is power to the location as well as water if you order a water slide.  Most of our water slides can be used as big slides without water as well. 

Renting Party Rentals (city) is Easy

Creating a super fun environment for your guests have never been easier. All you have to do is decide which items are perfect for your event and order them up.   Give us a call or send in a request for order.  When your date finally arrives we will bring your items out, including the portable mini golf (city) that you ordered and set it up for you as you wish.  It is that easy.  We will be back to disassemble and roll up.  There is nothing heavy for you to lift and nothing for you to set up or tear down.  

All of our event rentals (city) are cleaned after each use to ensure all of our guests get nothing but ready to use rentals. Even all the cleaning is done for you.  Really, there is nothing more simple than renting party rentals from Top Shelf Bouncers.

We rent all of our rentals to (city) and the surrounding area and pride ourselves on customer service.  If you are looking for something fun and unique for your next fundraiser, how about considering bounce house rentals and portable mini golf rentals (city)?  This is a great way to raise money for your cause.  After all, people love going to a carnival and will be happy to attend your fundraising event. Don't make the kids sell overpriced unwanted candy and other trinkets, do something different and fun by renting bounce houses, interactive games and portable mini golf (city).

[mosylufanfic]

Killervibe 31?

31. prostitute/client au

This was so interesting to write, thank you! Also please forgive any historical inaccuracies, I kind of did the bare minimum of research. Obviously NSFWish for topic.

Strictly Business

The bedsprings creaked as Caitlin sat up, shaking out her wild hair. She snagged a silky robe from a hook and wrapped it around her body as she moved around the bed, running the tips of her fingers over the naked shoulders and side of the man in her bed.

Cisco rolled to his back and put his arms behind his head, smiling at her. “So what’s this I hear about you getting a telephone installed?”

She sat at her vanity, picking up a comb to work it through the disordered waves. “Where did you hear that?”

“A little bird told me.”

She rolled her eyes, smiling. “Would that little bird be the sheriff’s deputy, by any chance?”

“It might.”

Of course it was. She’d talked to Dr. Allen about the telephone line, and the Allen man wasn’t born who could keep a secret for more than five minutes. He’d told his son, of course, and Barry had naturally passed it on to his best friend.

Cisco sat up, unashamed of his nudity, propping his elbows on his knees. She eyed him in the mirror, then checked the time.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t enough left of his hour to do much of anything. He was one of the few clients she charged by time rather than by the acts that they wanted, and she didn’t feel right letting him go into a second hour when it was so close to house curfew.

Of course, his mind was still stuck on gadgets. “Why do you need a telephone? Are fellas going to call in an appointment with one of your girls from the next train station down the track?”

She paused, comb halfway down her hair, to consider that. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea. I’ll consider it. But do you know the amount of business correspondence I have to keep up with? And how long it takes? A telephone could cut that down to nothing.”

“Seriously, you’re going to pay all that money to run a line from Starling City, knock holes in your walls, install and learn new machinery, just so you can terrorize your suppliers more efficiently?”

She arched her brow at him. “I saw how much of your whiskey you left behind downstairs. It’s swill, and that new liquor supplier thinks he can pawn that stuff off on me? He doesn’t know who he’s dealing with. He definitely needs to be terrorized.”

Cisco snorted. “Not that you’re wrong about the whiskey,” he said. “But is that the only reason?”

She scowled. His eyes were entirely too knowing. He always thought he had her all figured out, and the hell of it was, he was usually right.

“Look,” she said, swiveling on the padded bench. “It’s 1895. In five short years we’ll be in a brand-new century, but you’d never know it by this town. The modern world will leave Central City behind if we don’t at least make the attempt to keep up. Now, we could put it to the town council, and they could argue and debate and levy taxes and hire cronies and all in all, it’d be ten years before we got ‘phone service out there. Or - ” She pointed at her chest. “One of the town’s wealthiest businesswomen could just get it done. I know which one I’d prefer.”

He grinned at her. “And once a line gets run out here, it’s that much easier for, say, the doctor to get a ‘phone. And the sheriff’s office. And the reverend - ”

“- and anybody that people need to get ahold of. Not to mention if enough people sign up for telephone service, we might have our own switchboard in a few years.”

“And a switchboard will bring jobs with it.”

She eyed him. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” To her regret, he reached over to the chair next to the bed and picked up his underwear and his pants.

“Looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” he asked, buttoning his pants. “Like that whole ice queen act is a front? Like the so-terrifying Madam Frost is really just Caitlin Snow, civic-minded marshmallow?”

“It’s my home too.” She tossed her head and twisted around to face the mirror again. “And it makes good business sense.”

“Sure, yeah, business sense.” He nudged her aside and sat down next to her on the bench. “I gotcha.”

Her comb hit a snag, and she growled. “Dammit, Cisco, why do you always play with my hair so much? I have a knot the size of Montana in here.”

“But it’s so pretty,” he said, dropping his head to nuzzle her shoulder. “You’re so pretty.”

All the work she put into it, she’d better be.

He brushed his lips over her neck, creeping up her throat toward her lips. He paused with his mouth against her cheek. “How much longer?”

She checked the clock that sat prominently on her dressing table. “Five minutes,” she said.

He sighed against her skin and lifted his head. Though he respected it, she knew he thought it was an arbitrary boundary. But the line had to be drawn somewhere, and she didn’t kiss for pay.

“So when is it getting installed?” he asked, taking the comb from her and gently working at the stubborn knot.

“Still working out the details,” she said, letting herself soften into his touch. He was far gentler than she was, and it was nice having anybody do these kinds of things for her. She’d spent so long on her own. “The company rep seems to think he should get a few perks from the House of Frost.” She gave a daintily contemptuous snort.

“Boy, he really doesn’t know you, does he?”

“We only accept cash for sex,” she said. “It’s a very simple rule.” And one she broke for nobody.

He ran the comb from her scalp to the ends of her hair, then smoothed his hand over the waves. “I’d like to see that.”

She gave her a look over her shoulder. “My, I didn’t know you leaned that way. I’ll have to set something up.”

He laughed and bumped her shoulder with his. “You know I meant the telephone.”

She leaned into him, smiling. “I know. And you’ll be the first one I tell. I couldn’t let you miss it.”

The clock on her vanity chimed softly, and they both glanced over at it. She looked back at him, feeling her heart flutter. “Three o'clock,” she said. “Your hour’s up.”

He reached in his pocket and handed her a few bills, already ready for her. With any other client, she would have counted them and then tucked the roll into her bosom or her pocket before walking him to the door.

With Cisco, she just took the folded bills and went to her wardrobe to slip them into the slotted safe on the high shelf. He was the only client who knew where it was. Although not the combination. She wasn’t completely a fool.

She shut the closet door, turned back, and took his face in her hands to kiss him. His arms slid around her waist, pulling her down onto his lap. She put her arms around his neck, luxuriating in his mouth on hers, in the softness of his touch, in his skin under her palms.

This little pocket of time every week was the only thing in her life that wasn’t about business. It was just for her, and him. She’d fucked near every man in Central City, but she only ever kissed Cisco.

When the clock chimed the quarter-hour, they were leaning together, foreheads touching, breathing each other’s air. “I guess it’s time,” he said regretfully.

She nodded and got off his lap. She found a pair of feathered mules to slip her feet into while he put on his shirt, suspenders, and jacket, and took his hand to lead him out of the room. They walked down the stairs like that, fingers entwined, pausing on the landing to kiss a few more times, whispering to each other.

At the door, he kissed her one last time, soft as duckling down.  "I almost forgot. Iris wants an interview about the telephone.“

“She should ask her father-in-law. The town doctor reads much better in that respectable paper of hers.”

“She wants to talk to you.”

Caitlin tipped her head to one side, considering. Iris Allen, nee West, seemed much more willing to acknowledge Caitlin’s existence, both in print and in person, than most women were.

But all the same, Iris was a respectable married lady, and she was already plenty scandalous for being a colored woman married to a white man and running the town newspaper. Interviewing the town madam would be bad enough without it getting out she’d gone to the actual brothel.

“Let her know I’ll be at the telegraph office at three this afternoon, if she’d like to catch up with me.”

“I’ll do that.” He kissed her again. “Next Tuesday?”

“As always,” she said.

He kissed her one last time and let her hand go, settling his hat on his head. “Gideon,” he said to the doorman.

“Mr. Ramon,” he said. “You have a nice night.”

“You as well.” His eyes flicked over Gideon’s broad shoulder to meet hers, and he gave her one  last smile before heading down the steps to the street. She watched until he turned the corner, heading for the junk shop he ran, fixing everything that could be fixed and disassembling anything that couldn’t. He lived in two small rooms above the shop, which she’d never seen.

She shut the door.

“We’re all clear?” she asked Gideon, who was her doorman, her bartender, her bouncer, and kept the appointment book.

“Yes, ma'am. Mr. Ramon was the last.”

She nodded in satisfaction, glancing at the grandfather clock that was just starting to chime the half-hour. The House of Frost operated on a strict schedule. The kitchen closed at midnight, the bar closed at two, and anyone not employed by the house had to be gone by three-thirty. “Do I need to see to any of the girls?”

“No, ma'am. Dr. Allen stopped by. He says hey, and that he’ll need to push back the checkup. Mrs. Queen is having her baby, it seems, and he doesn’t know how long it’ll be.”

She pursed her lips, considering. The girls’ monthly checkup was important to her, but babies waited for no man. “Tomorrow will be fine.” She could use the time later today to get caught up on some things, like giving that liquor distributor what-for.

“Oh, and that Vandal Savage fellow came around.”

She whirled. “After what he did to Maisie last week? The gall. Why didn’t you come get me?”

“I ran him off,” he said. “It was all right.”

“Still,” she said.

“Ma'am, the girls and I try our best not to disturb you when you’re with Mr. Ramon.”

She stood still, feeling her cheeks heat. She averted her eyes for a moment. “Yes, well. That’s very kind of you, I’m sure. Go ahead and lock up, and you have a nice night.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

She climbed the stairs, listening to the soft noises of Gideon doing his last checks.

In her room, she washed and cleaned herself and took out her sponge, rinsing it well with vinegar before putting it away until her first client tomorrow. She braided her hair to keep it from tangling in her sleep and put on her face cream for the night. All that done, she peeled off the silky robe and kicked off her shoes. She considered putting on a nightgown, but opted to climb into her bed naked. She nuzzled her face into the pillow, breathing in Cisco’s scent, and pulled the blankets up around her.

It was why she always saved the last hour on Tuesday nights for Cisco, so that once a week, she could go to sleep in a bed that smelled kindly and sweetly of the man she loved.

FINIS